NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: For all matters concerning claims to territories previously held by Cotland. Claims must be thoroughly RP'd or they won't be given. Let's make this our best RP yet and use it as a model to recruit new members. Here's the list thus far:

Given Claims

Gataway/Unkerlantum: Belgium, Luxemburg, Netherlands
Nerotika: Ivanovo Oblast, Kostroma Oblast, Nizhny Novgorod Oblast, Ryazan Oblast, Vladimir Oblast, Yaroslavl' Oblast


Initial Claims

Nerotika [Post 24522 & 24523]: Leningrad Oblast, Novaya Zemlya, Vologda Oblast
Pushka [Post 24536]: Faroe Islands, Shetland Islands
RomeW [Post 24513]: Arkangelsk Oblast, Franz Josef Land, Karelia Republic, Komi Republic
Saint Bryce [Post 24714]: Albania, Austria, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Kaliningrad Oblast, Kosovo, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Montenegro, Poland, Pskov Oblast, Romania, Serbia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Switzerland


Open Claims

Nenetsia Okrug


Cotland has specified a backstory here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=14523468&postcount=24530) that we're going to use.

Remember if you're going to claim, make sure you do the initial post in the Earth II thread or it won't count. Counter claims are encouraged and pay special attention to decrees 3, 4, 9, 15, and 16. Good luck...

Addendum: For all OOC discussion please use this off-site thread (http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22).




"There will be bloodshed." Were the only remarks by the Emperor when he heard of the death of the Cottish Royal Family from the Cottish Flu Pandemic. The Cottish Flu Pandemic brought back memories of the 1918 Spanish Influenza, which killed between 2.5% and 5% of the Earth's population, affecting over 20% in total. Millions died during the deadly outbreak in 1918 and millions had already died. Even more deadly than the Bubonic Plague was in the Middle Ages, the Spanish Influenza had been previously described as "the greatest medical holocaust in history" but that was all changing. The Cottish Flu Pandemic was worse, far worse. It started off like a wildfire in Norway, spreading outwards quickly and before anyone could stop it. Estimates put at least a quarter of Europe already suffering and an untold number in Asia, particularly in Cottish land. The greatest casualties thus far had been the Cottish Royal Family and unconfirmed rumors also gave the flu to the Cottish Prime Minister.

Hundreds of questions surfaced about the disease itself. The origin of the disease remained unknown and theories ranged from a biological attack from Russian and Nerotikan terrorists to God's Will. Scientists were working around the clock to find the origin of it and though the first cases had been in Oslo, the Cottish capital in Norway, theories linked the disease itself to a disease research clinic outside of Treblinka (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=550955) in Poland that was owned by the Umbrella Corporation, a Layartebian corporation. The Cottish were also the hardest hit, suffering untold casualties but they weren't the only ones suffering.

Weakened, the Cottish Realm went through changes, major changes. Territorial governors in Benelux quickly ceded their land to the Gatawain government to their east, hoping for order amidst the crisis as they suffered deaths upon deaths. Without a strong consensus in Oslo, the transition was met without any physical opposition, most of the soldiers too sick to fight well enough to mount any resistance. They would be branded as traitors by the Cottish but who were they to care, the Gatawains weren't falling apart, they had medical supplies, even though they were limited and no cure for the disease had been found. They had more than their own government and that was the raw truth of the matter. Panic ensued in the capital and throughout the Cottish Realm and opportunities presented themselves. Nerotikan invaders soon found their way into southeastern territory in Russia. Thanks to a peace agreement between the Nerotikans and the Cottish and subsequent demobilization of the Cottish military in the area from its high alert status as well as the pandemic, Cottish forces would eventually be overrun, unable to coordinate a proper battle plan. The military had been hit just as hard as the rest of the populace and that was bad news.

Ten weeks after the death of the Cottish Royal Family, the Prime Minister was declared dead, and the panic turned to chaos. The Cottish Realm was, in essence, in a state of anarchy. Opportunities continued to present themselves. It was up to the Empire to provide some haven but its own territories in Ireland and Iceland had been struck by the pandemic as well but not nearly as hard as the Cottish. Hundreds of Layartebian citizens had perished and quarantines had been enacted. Military forces would soon take to the streets to preserve law and order, if necessary and decisions had been made.

Bound by the October Alliance treaty, the Empire immediately opened its doors to Cottish citizens but quarantined them in Ireland, providing whatever medical care was needed and offering safe passage to those who showed no symptoms and never developed any, allowing them to cross the Atlantic. A large bulk of the Cottish Air Force and Cottish Navy had also been accepted, fleeing to Iceland and Ireland, where they were provided safe haven. The army, in many regards, would be left alone, to fight without much help from the air or sea. Layartebian forces in biological gear moved into the major cities in Scandinavia to provide medical care and help. In addition, they provided a line of defenses against Russian or Nerotikan or even Gatawain forces from entering Denmark, Finland, Sweden, or Norway. International biological response teams would be welcomed, to help treat the sick and dying and prevent genocide.

Following orders from the remnants of the Cottish government, before the Nerotikans attacked, the Empire evacuated Uren Air Force Base, Perevoz Air Force Base, and Bor Army Base in Nizhny Novgorod Oblast, leaving behind neither track, trace, nor remembrance of themselves. In Hammerfest, Norway, the Empire kept its naval base for now, using it to evacuate those who had yet to get sick, trying to save as many lives as possible but even there it was beginning to look grim. Cottish citizens had flocked to the base, expecting safe passage but they were greeted by Layartebian barricades. "No honor amongst thieves," the opponents of the October Alliance would shout but they had failed to read the charter carefully. Article III, Section X did read "No member-state shall allow another member-state to be taken over, whether through revolution, coup, or outside intervention by forces that are hostile to the member-state, this alliance, and the ruling government, unless it is the will of the ruling government." However, Article II, Section I read "Each member-state of The October Alliance shall never have its sovereignty violated or infringed upon by this alliance or any member-state herein" and Section VI read "Each member-state has the right to accept or deny assistance from other member-states in the event of crisis." The Empire had violated nothing and its own national security was at jeopardy. If the pandemic made its way across the ocean and to North and South America, billions more could be in jeopardy.

The stage was set for a truly gruesome international crisis that promised to bring both war and peace but who knew in which order...

OOC: I put up a summary (http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22) of the Treblinka Affair off-site if anyone wants to read it and if anyone wants to use it for a potential story line.

Once the pandemic struck the Federation did all it could to prevent its spread through the nation. After the Ebola pandemic in the not so far off lands an extensive bio hazard containment plan was put together to defend the country if something like that happened again. The tax payer money went to work as specially trained volunteers of the Citizen's Militia (CM) with help from the armed forces and the Federal Bio Hazard Response Agency rushed in, testing everyone who crossed the border into the Federation. All trade with Cotland was immediately stopped, airports shut down, quarantine centers were set up outside of every major city. All the trouble payed off, only 354 Federations citizens died.

The collapse of the Realm of Cotland created a window of opportunity, the once impossible dream of united Rus now had a chance to become reality. The Federation quickly began to mobilize its armies to a full war footing, as a front holding a series of naval, air and ground exercises close to its western border. One thing that was left was coordinating the Federation's actions with Nerotika, the dream was a most precious thing and to see it vanish because of a misunderstanding between two fraternal states was not acceptable.

The Cottish Flu Pandemic was no joke, nothing to be taken lightly. By the time the Cottish Prime Minister was declared dead, there were four hundred and seven Layartebian deaths in Ireland and Iceland, as well as nationals inside of the Cottish Realm. Many more were infected and showing symptoms and the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia had declared the entirety of Europe a hazardous environment. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs strongly cautioned against travel and warned any and every Layartebian citizen traveling outside of the country that they would be subjected to a medical screening and blood test if they traveled to any areas with the infection. No cases had been reported in Layarteb proper and the Empire was hell bent on keeping that statistic as such. Mortality rates continued to fluctuate daily but what was certain was the Empire's control of the matter or slight lack there of, especially in Scandinavia. Cottish forces who had yet to develop symptoms were quickly retasked to assist the Layartebians there, given the proper gear, and put under Layartebian command. Many of them were not pleased and as a result some deserted, taking whatever they had with them. That put a strain on the Empire's supplies but with a strong contingent of approximately twenty thousand ILDF forces from Layarteb, Ynoga, and South Eastern Virginia, the effects would take a while to be truly detrimental. While they focused on Norway, Denmark, Finland, and Sweden, others would be mobilized in Ireland and Iceland to deal with the sick there as well as with the flow of Cottish refugees coming into either. Because of the colder temperatures in Iceland, the flu bug wouldn't be expected to live as long but, with the weakening of immune systems, it was just as potent.

The pandemic wasn't the only contention the Layartebians had. The advancing Nerotikan armies in western Russia as well as the Roman armies presented a dilemma. Surely they would be joined by the Russians, at the very least to help out the Nerotikans. Without the Hawdawgians and Cottish, the October Alliance was left just to Layarteb, Eurasia, and Hirgizstan. There were several fronts now and each one had to be addressed accordingly. Any Nerotikan and Russian intervention would certainly rank highest, especially with the Empire but that was something each individual nation would have to make. The Romans were of less concern. The Empire had little problem with Roman occupation of Cottish lands, they weren't going to be a threat to the Empire any time soon or even ever. The threat was to the Nerotikans and Russians and whomever else joined their war machine. Where the Third Spanish States stood was a concern as well but they would likely be suffering some effects of the pandemic as well. That left, the next priorities to the Empire the Faroe and Shetland Islands, the former more so than the latter mainly because of their position. The Faroes were right between Iceland and Ireland and the Shetland Islands on the coast of Scotland. Any attempt to seize the Faroes especially would be met with fierce Layartebian opposition, politically and militarily. Independent, they could be accepted but occupied, not in the least likely. The stage remained open for action, decisive of course.

reserved

As the pandemic reeked its havoc across the realm it seemed relatively docile within the state; many would attribute that to the heavy border and strict civilian travel between the state and the realm. Although the border was far less secure now than it had ever been, military on both sides toned their defenses down sense the peace accord had been signed, when the pandemic began the state immediately beefed up the border, a mile out from the fence the realm used, to keep any spread into the state from happening. Once the royal family had fallen ill the state knew it had to act, its actions would solidify its new government and full support was given to the Federal Official.

Military border units moved to clean up what the dissipating cottish military could not, some territories were virtually left defenseless as cottish forces left the territories and people within to the ravages of the disease. When Trucks loaded with medical supplies and food rolled into town resistance was null and people praised the flag that adorned the trucks side. A Nerotikan state flag, something these people were raised to hate, was now bringing them aid and they had no choice but to allow it. When hardly a gun was seen adorning the aid workers coming into the area the people choose to surrender themselves to the state rather then live under a regime which was becoming fragile and slowly failing. Many of the people also felt betrayed, when the cottish military left to defend larger zones and help out in the more harshly hit areas the people were left as though supply from the government had been directed away along with the military. Medical supplies were running low, fuel for vehicles was following and food was scarce as many of the farms in the area were slowing production due to sickness. The situation left the area free for the taking and Federal Official Yuri Andrew knew this.

FO Andrew had routed hundreds of supply trucks over the cottish border in lieu of military forces to gain the peoples trust, meanwhile he organized a military plan for going into the harder area's like Vologda and Liningrad, once the people in the initial area accepted state rule the military would roll in and officialize it with their presence. Territories on the list for aid only would be Ivanovo, Kostroma, Nizhny Novgorod, Ryazan, Vladimir and Yaroslavl'.
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Ivanovo, The City of Kineshma, 8th Army division - Medical Attachment/Peacekeeping forces

To prove their presence in the area the medical unit had traveled as quickly as possible to the heart of the cottish southeastern territories passing through towns and cities to get into the heart quicker. Although they were followed by an even larger supply unit the 8th medical was designated to get into Ivanovo and secure the territory and supply to population ASAP. Most air drops of supplies were deeper in and only a few air drops happened in Ivanovo, the 8th would give the local population confidence in the state's ability to deal with the situation and it would give the state confidence to continue supplying the area without strong military forces.

With only a hundred and thirty-two armed men in the group of nearly three thousand medical personnel the members of the peacekeeping company in the medical attachment had to be on guard at all times. These people were cottland and no matter what the news was back at home they weren't entirely taking to well to nerotikan help. It was clear to them that this was a takeover, they were just to weakened to resist but some had managed to get their hands on weapons left behind by their own abandoning military and attacks had to be expected from these people. Although Kineshma was the last place anyone expected a fight, most would assume the main capital of the province would be the most defended, the armed company walked patrols around the blocks where medical supplies and food were being handed out.

As the patrol made its nightly runs, tightening up near the hospital that medical personnel were working at, a group of determined cots had gathered together inside a downtown bakery. The group planned an assault on the hospital and anyone who accepted treatment from the invaders. A group of thirteen it was small and had very little punching power but they hoped the little resistance they caused would wake the cots up from their personal problems and let them remember the glory of their nation and what it ment to be a cottish citizen.

Waiting until a unit of five patrols walked past the thirteen men in the resistance group crossed streets to be within the patrol area border. They then moved in through alleyways to within a block of the hospital. Down the street from the ally they were in sat the HQ of the peacekeeping force, a different 5 man patrol was outside smoking and talking among themselves. Inside were off duty units sleeping or waiting until they traded duty with incoming patrols. The building was formerly the cities police station, where once the cottish flag hung now a nerotikan flag was staffed. The group talked out their plan, they would move down the sidewalk slowly to get as close as they could to the HQ and then they would begin the attack with molotov's, anyone who tried leaving the building would be shot.

As the group gathered against the line of buildings on that side of the street they hid in the darkness of the night, with the moon to their backs they were easily in the shadows as they crept closer to the corner. The lead man of the group signaled the attack and without warning lighters ignited the molotovs and guns went off aimed at the patrol group outside. The group split up, three of the molotov carriers went out into the street to gain a better throwing distance as they chucked their cocktails toward the patrol unit who were frantically moving for cover and preparing themselves to fight back. As the patrol group moved to the other side of the corner a molotov caught two men before they could find protection, they lit up immediately being drenched in the nasty napalm concoction that the cots had formulated for these weapons. The two men danced in the street, a painful dance of agony as they desprately tried to put out the flames. Their screams were overshadowed by the gunfire that continued now being responded to by the remaining group.

More molotovs were thrown toward the windows of the building, luckly for the men inside the cottish police force had reinforced the glass with bulletproofing and the cocktails exploded on the outside only burning a little against the brick of the building. By now the men inside were alerted to the attack and men moved to the roof to get an advantage over those on the streets. The three men outside were responding with accuracy and precision to the threat infront of them, the molotov throwers in the street were gunned down quickly. The remaining resistance members had all found cover back in the center alleyway from which they had come. They were taking occasional shots at the men outside but already one fighter had taken a bullet in the forehead when he peaked out with his pistol at the wrong moment.

Those who made it to the roof of the HQ first found themselves overseeing a gruesome sight out front where in the middle of the street two comrades lay, one still painfully rolling as he continued to burn and the other already dead having taken a bullet from one of the fighters. Patrol in the nearby area's redirected themselves and now the fighter group was stuck, surrounded inside the alley with limited ammunition. They finished off the last molotovs by exploding them near the entrances of the alleyway and moved the two dumpsters to build a small barricade for them to fight behind. With all this preparation there were no prepared for something from above, the men on the roof of the HQ were now hoping roofs to get to the alleyway and drop grenades in so no one would need to risk getting shot.

The fighters waited, gunfire stopped so suddenly that some might not have thought it went on at all if not for the bodies strewn in the street and on the sidewalk. As the fighters prepared themselves slight clicking sounds drew their attention upwards as three small object fell from the sky around them. They recognized them as grenades and before they could move the weapons went off and shrapnel covered alleyway inbetween the dumpster barricade and all around it. The fighters were hit, some died on contact and others were shredded up but still breathing. They all were no longer able to fight as the peacekeepers found out when they jumped turned and looked past the wall of light flames to see some crawling to the wall so they could prop themselves up and others laying about just moaning. As the nerotikans just watched them a small crowd gathered around, some began throwing rocks at the fighters, others screamed nasty comments.

"Learn your lesson! Your nothing but punks! These people are really here for us, your bitchs compared to them!" were some of the comments thrown out as the people started to get more built up. Before to big of a crowd gathered the peacekeepers turned them all away and moved in to arrest the surviving fighters, those on the brink of death received a mercy killing. Anyone who was able to be stood up and walked away would be tried under the laws of the state, with the peoples support the state had laid claim to the territories it sent aid into, and according to those laws this was an act of treason (Assault on nerotikan military personnel) and was punishable by death.

Only four men were able to be lined up, they were scratched up pretty hard by the shrapnel and one man had a huge gash on his side that was bleeding pretty hard. As an officer read the men's rights and the charges against them that wounded fighter collapsed, seeing no point in giving him medical attention he was dragged away from the other three and pushed down a ditch where he was shot. As the officer finished speaking the remaining three fighters were turned to face the crowd, they made no remark and stayed speechless as they were put on their knee's and shot.

Unperson Pandemic Control, Menorca

Since the outbreak of the Cottish Flu, the Mediterranean has been quite active with ingoing flights, as the Goodbrother took the necessary steps to contain the pandemic. The massive Wall of the Pyrenees, the iron curtain that shielded most of the Goodrule from the failures of the weak and corrupted, was again fully closed, and nobody was allowed to come or leave the territories of the Goodrule anymore. Meanwhile, those too sick to be productive for the society, like the dying cells of a body, had to be excised. Isolated at the very least so they could not infect more.

Six soldiers, dressed in black NBC suits with the flag of Goodrule in their armbands, and armed with electroshock weapons, sat down near to the cargo hold of a Globemaster fllying through the Mediterranean, awaiting further orders as they stared at only each other, ignoring the wails of the countless naked unpersons piled together like if they were cadavers prepared for a funeral pyre. Men, women, elders and children, cancerous cells beyond any cure, taken away before they could contaminate the others. Some were malnourished and beaten, others, the few healthy among them before being taken there, abused, for unpersons had no worth, and to harm them was more irrelevant than harming a fly. Such was what everyone was taught since before born, as the voice of the Goodbrother said to them even while they were still under the bellies of their progenitors, values reinforced by the mandatory membership into the Revolutionary Youth. Coupled with the deprivation of fleshly pleasures, such factors made of the sick and ugly the least unlucky among the unpersons. Or perhaps not, for if they were too filthy for the soldiers, they weren't for each other, and it was not uncommon for them to be ordered to commit the most degrading and humiliating types of orgies during flight to amuse the bored soldiers. Working in such roles allowed for all misfits from the vile necrophiles to the equally disgusting pedophiles to survive instead of being thrown together with the unpersons.

The lives of unpersons are less relevant than the lives of flies, and thus they were as close to worthless and nothing as possible in the eyes of those who loved the Goodbrother, of those who saw him as the savior of the European people, as the man who would not let their womans be forced to wear burgas or for them to be forced to worship the inferior and false religions of the Dhimmis. Those who betrayed the Goodbrother, were defectors to the Dhimmitude, and as everybody knew what happened to unpersons, they had no excuse. Forcing Muslims into doing horrendous acts under their religious beliefs was a favorite, and there was a good reason why nearly rotten dog meat was the primary way unpersons were fed.

As the Globemaster prepared to land, the soldiers observed the air base located at the soutwestern edge of the island. Around as far as the eyes could see, six meters tall fences of razor wire covered the island, giving to it the peculiar impression of being a massive prison, or "Control" as dictated by newspeak, where undesirables would be put to never again return. Massive plantations could be seen, as large industrial facilities, and a grim ashen smoke coming from some of the buildings, which nearly covered the entire island, exhaling the unmistakable smell of death.

The six soldiers left the airplane a few moments after it touched the runway, and moved to its rear where the cargo hatch was located. As it opened, they stood at the sides, awaiting in amusement for the piles of naked alive and barely alive humans to roll through it. And thus the scene happened, as like worthless beasts coming to a slaughterhouse, the piled bodies of such unpersons tumbled into the cold and harsh runway ground, some hitting it with their very heads, and as soon as all of them were unloaded, one of the soldiers shouted:

"Raise it!"

The unpersons, agonizing and wrecked, were in a state where even the act of getting up was difficult. They have lost the will to live, and in fact, many of them would have killed themselves if given the opportunity. Some were lucky enough to hit the ground with their heads and immediately die among the pile, but for the rest, the true fate of unpersons awaited.

Sighing, the leader of the six looked at one of the base personell and ordered:

"Bring watergun"

Nodding, the man ran through the field, until vanishing among the personell that walked there, as they observed the pathetic unpersons and decided to kill some time play target practice with their tasers. As each wire hit the flesh of the unpersons, again and again, screams of agony echoed through the island, which with its smog of death, painted a scenery of Hell, the fate of all traitors and enemies of Christianity and of the Goodrule. Sometimes, even children screams echoed in a truly haunting moment... and yet none of them had any strength left to react. Eventually the screams would stop as a large, menacing hose was brought to the captain, and he ordered two of his men to help him hold it, while he directed it on the disheveled pile of unpersons ahead. An extreme pressure propelled the jet of water with enough strength to burn some of their skins, as more wails of agony came. Afterwards, the captain repeated, in a loud tone:

"Raise it!"

And yet the unpersons did not answer. Frustrated, he took his taser and fired against the wet pile, ordering all others to repeat his move as a new set of human screams came to indicate the fate of the unpersons, regardless of whether they became unpersons by their conscious will or by a circumstances they could not control like epidemics. With this, nearly a quarter of the pile became a pile of dead bodies, arguably lucky to have died from electrocution. And again the captain shouted to the wailing, panting and trembling unpersons:

"Raise it!"

Like beasts of burden, they struggled to raise after such repeated tortures they have suffered, and naked like slaves they stared blankly at their master. Except for one... it was a woman, a mere teenager from her body, filthy and full of scorch marks, who clearly refused to comply with the order.

"Look it!" the captain then shouted as all unpersons looked at the rebellious girl, and looking at a listing he took from his pocket, he finally remembered such girl was indeed, like her looks indicated, from Morocco, and a Muslim to add to the insult. Only gesturing to his soldiers and to the personell, they left off as he approached the teenager and violently grabbed her by the neck, forcing her to raise up as she shrieked, for he nearly broke her neck and began to choke her.

"Goodexample unperson. Goodexample," he said as her eyes left tears and the fear anyone would feel if facing Hell evident, and in silent she recognized her fate. He began to punch her face until one of her eyes could no longer open, leaving immense bruises, until his personell came. Goodexample was the word for traitors who were made an example of, a public one. A camera, nails, a knife, a chainsaw and a wooden post were brought, and a medic would stay to supervise it, ensuring the unperson wouldn't die, but be forced to slave work as a handicap in one of many assembly lines across the island, once finished.

"Record!" the captain shouted as the teenager was tied into the post for the deserving punishment, a punishment which would be televised in a Live transmission to everyone, everywhere by the thousands of public telescreens across the Goodrule, so they would know what happens with traitors, Dhimmis and other unpersons.

First, both hands and feet of the teenager girl were nailed to the post, as her screams could perhaps be listened from Portugal, at least before her tongue was cut off, and her eyes gouged out, while crowds across the entire Goodrule stopped moving to watch the live transmission and cheered, shouted and screamed gutturally "Dhimmi Scum!" and delighting at the horrors. Although what happened alone was enough to break her will. It was not enough to make a Goodexample... thus her finger and toenails were removed, her teeth yanked out one by one, her legs were skinned, bathed with alcohol and salted, slowly and painfully by the captain, as the wails of agony echoed through the televisions and computers of the Goodrule, to then amputated the legs with a chainsaw, and drive two immense nails over the sectioned bones on the remaining stumps. The girl passed out and the transmission was cut off. Behind the scenes, a medic and three nurses moved to attend her while she was being taken off the post, and the captain threw her skinned and amputated legs to the unpersons, shouting with delight:

"Bonusfeed! Now Line!"

Every one of them, scared and with their wills totally broken, complied, making an immense line, while one of them, a skeletal figure, pathetically took both legs like if they were an adequate source of food. The captain then waved them to follow him and his soldiers, as they entered in a Jeep and forced the unpersons into a march to follow them, threatening those who couldn't keep with the same fate of the girl, who would now, blinded, muted and mutilated, be forced to work into pressing the same button over and over, fed on dog meat. twenty hours per day, until brought to death by exhaustion. Torturing them to death would be too merciful of a punishment.

Eventually the thousands of sick or traitors among the unpersons were brought to two lines, one of men and one of women. The soldiers were becoming extremely excited as they knew it would happen again, and usually their shifts weren't as amusing as this. Every female unperson would be ganged, and every male castrated, with no exceptions, regardless of their age, before being sent to an open field with thousands of cages, barely able to hold an human being inside, where they were forced to stand, and to endure the outside weather, although medics would attend to ensure that their suffering wouldn't bring permanent damage to their forced labor.

Thus they would remain for two weeks, barely fed, sometimes even with feces and urine, and constantly humiliated, until finally their cages would open, and they would be given rags, not unlike those wore by slaves in the past, which barely protected them from the dangers of the industrial facilities most would be forced to work at... the agricultural concentration camps were a place for the second luckiest unpersons after those who just died, for at least there they wouldn't have to breath smog. All of them would have to obey anything... they wouldn't be allowed to even move a finger unless ordered, for such was the fate of unpersons.

And such was the way they were indoctrinated... abused and manipulated, that eventually all of them would die, loving the Goodbrother. And thanks to such facilities, the plague that swept most of Europe would bring much less drastic consequences to the Goodrule Spanish Three. And no matter how ironic it sounded, such concentration camp has saved thousands of lives.

The fact all the draconian measures were being publicly broadcasted could bring International Response... however the Goodbrother knew what had to be done, and that if necessary, a conflict would be beneficial for War is Peace. And with all broadcasts blaming the Layartebians for such virus, what happened with such unfortunate Muslim girl taken as an unperson was nothing compared to what the masses of the Goodrule wanted to happen with any Layartebian stepping on their ground untainted by the filth of multiculturalism and of governments which tended to the weak and inferior.

Novgorod, 1st Novgorod Guard(Officially the 19th National State Guard), Fort Plaesus on the border of Leningrad

The Novgorod guard, a military force that was pulled from military members of the Hawdawgian force that occupied the territory before. They were elite enough to know combat abilities of their former comrades in the TOA and now had both training of Hawdawg tactics and State tactics as well as being infused with state military that transferred to Novgorod to form a stronger guard unit. They had in their command an armored unit of thirty-eight Lariat "Long arm" L1A2 main battle tank's all combat ready and all prepared to roll across the cottish border backed up by the Guard infantry who would drop into St. Petersburg directly.

Twelve-thousand infantry had already been loaded up into PT-13 Cargo planes, they would drop into St. Petersburg as soon as the Armored unit was a mile out, armed with Model 12 Assault rifles (Basically a M4 flattop) with various attachments; Red dot sights, long range scopes, Infantry laser designators for air support. A new design to give infantry the capability to paint targets while still being able to fight the infantry laser designator was a quicker alternative to the bulky designator that would leave a squad member useless as he painted targets, with the infantry designator the squad member could keep his weapon up while the designator sent the target information to the planes above through encrypted frequencies that would be unscattered through the new system inside the F-23's that circled the completly controlled skies of Leningrad.

http://www.defencetalk.com/pictures/data/3022/F-23-DefenceTalk.com-00.jpg
Nerotikan F-23's flying over uncontested skies of cottish controlled Leningrad

Already the constant missile assault from the eighty F-23's deployed in Leningrad have done crippling damage to SAM sites and ICBM launch pads within Leningrad, cottish capabilities to defend Leningrad were nullified and now the F-23's were flying sorties to remind the cottish citizens that their military was becoming useless as well as to make sure that the incoming PT-13's would be able to drop the troops in to safe zones. Bombings of the predesignated zones had already occurred and civilians in St. Petersburg had already been evacuated.

(OOC: The invasion of Vologda and Novaya will happen simultaneously, I just wanted to get a start on the takeover...my next post will have more details in Vologda and will focus on when the infantry gets dropped in, mainly those dropped into the palace square, but for now this is a start.)

Stockholm, Sweden

Stockholm, a normally vibrant and wonderful city, seemed in a state of perpetual gloom. The skies remained a sickly shade of gray and the cold air that swept through the streets seemed especially cold. Despite the harsh Baltic winds the stench of death remained. The streets were quiet save the sinister howl of the wind. It was a moonscape, barren and desolate. Certain parts of the city were completely uninhabited as they had long been evacuated or the population killed. The only sign of life were the occasional dogs that roamed the streets searching for food. It was a terrifying place, truly a hell on Earth.

It was hard to imagine the mighty Empire that once ruled over this magnificent ghost city. Cottish flags still fluttered on frost covered windows with each roar of the wind. Beautiful stone and marble statues stood proud alongside once busy roads. Even as unnatural as the city now appeared it was still incredibly picturesque. The Cottish were a proud people and took care of their city. It was a small spec of hope in the middle of chaos.

Who remained in the city were the infected and quarantined. Despite everyone’s best efforts to evacuate or move the infected to quarantine zones that were set up in places like Ireland and Iceland there were still people stuck in the city. Most were scheduled to be relocated but the enormity of the operation left it behind schedule. The Cottish that were still in the city showed quiet determination and resolve choosing to remain passive instead of taking to the streets and pillaging their city. Nevertheless they had needs that needed to be addressed and with the city and its people slowly dying aid began to arrive.

Baako Ssanyu was part of this relief effort. She led a team of fifteen doctors and other medical professionals some from Disease Control and Defense Center or DCDC (the African equivalent of the Layarteb CDC). It was their job to establish a medical treatment and research center in Stockholm in order to help the local populace. The Republic needed first hand information regarding this outbreak. Because of its relative distance from the influenza outbreak’s epicenter the country was for the most part safe. Once news of the outbreak became a serious global matter the country had taken steps to prevent it from reaching Africa. A few reported cases were dealt with in incredible haste and so far the mortality rate remained in single digits. Nevertheless because of the potency of this new super-flu every corner of the Earth was at risk of sudden and widespread pandemic and the climate of the Republic was perfect for this new super-bug. It was Ssanyu’s job to make sure they had all the information they could in order to prevent it from spreading.

Imperial Republic Territory

Despite the close proximity of the Republic to the Cottish, as of now the flu pandemic had had only minor effects and in all had not cost the Republic much in numbers of citizens.

It would seem the dislike and distrust that had been started by the Cottish strikes on the Republic's military during its infancy, had now placed the Republic in a greatly beneficial position. The saving grace was the fact that because of the dislike between the two peoples travel between both states had been very restricted as such only minor outbreaks had accrued, quick quarantines had thus far kept the flu from reaching the disastrous levels it had elsewhere.

This was not to say the flu pandemic did not present the Imperial government with challenges, hundreds of thousands of Cottish who fled their homelands seeking help and reprieve from the death and chaos at home now flooded the Imperial boundaries, at first they had been rejected and turned away, now as mass crowds of thousands formed at border checkpoints the Imperial government had little choice hut to handle them.

The refugee camps were established no less than 100 miles form the nearest Imperial city, and checkpoints lined the roads that led to the camps ensuring no one unauthorized was allowed in or out.

The camps themselves were dismal places, the flu that so many had fled tore through camps in some instances killing off over 90% of the camp's refugee population. Food was served from behind layers of insulated plastic and by men and women dressed in full bio gear. The hospital facilities were little different, patients were separated from loved ones by plastic walls, the air conditioning and heating systems didn't even run together.

Large crematoriums sprang up near the camps as the bodies of the dead were burned their ashes even heated to the point of vaporization, bodiless cemeteries seemed never ending as people mourned the loss of their loved ones.

Some news agencies called the camps Hospices, despite the efforts of the Imperial military to offer medical aid death tolls continued to rise. At one point ground transportation of supplies was halted and aircraft para dropped supplies into the camps out of fear that ground supply convoys would spread the disease.

The low Countries

While the territorial governors had turned the land over to the Republic before they themselves died of the flu these newly aquired lands were not instantly "colonized" by Republic citizens, in fact the Imperial government had issued an edict forbidding travel into or out of the low countries, save medical personnel or authorized military units.

Here in the Republic's new territory the flu ran wild, entire cities were devestated as the disease showed no signs of letting up killing man woman and child indiscrimantely. Imperial military units in some instances had been orderd to clear villages and towns, torching them and the bodies leaving nothing but ash behind them.

The Imperial navy blocked all ships from entering or exiting, and the Imperial air force had already had to shoot down three air craft filled with desperate refugees attempting to flee and spread the disease.

Large camps were set up around Brussels and Amsterdam, here the Imperial government and military fought the disease, administering new medicenes, trying new procedures, anything they could think of almost was attempted to halt or slow the deadly flu.

OOC: Alright finally got the time to do this. Closing week at work so you know I'll be here and there but I'm trying to get as active as possible this way I don't let anyone down.

The Ministry of Intelligence and Ministry of Foreign Affairs had both watched the Third Spanish States with extreme curiosity when they first solidified Portugal, Spain, Morocco, and England. Once a part of the Holy Republic of Hawdawg, the four states formed their own union, an extreme union that reviled the Empire at every turn. What had been the cause? The Empire and Hawdawg, its citizens, and its leaders, were part of an alliance, strong and just but now that was over, the alliance between the Empire and Hawdawg gone, withered into the wind for their collapse. Spain and Portugal, Germanic in their roots, felt nothing but contempt for the Empire and for their actions against them when they attempted to leave the Reich. The Moroccans fell into suit, driven by the hatred the Spanish and Portuguese felt, coupled by the Algerians who fled there following the defeat of Spain and Portugal. England was a different story. On the Empire's doorstep, next to the Irish Republic, England stood close to the Empire and the contempt they drew to the Empire was a shock. What had been the cause? People asked over and over but answers were hard to find. They blamed the Empire for a lot, perhaps the collapse of their beloved country. Surely there were things to do but the Empire had not been given the chance. The Hawdawgians formed a new country, a new union, a new hatred. The Empire was left to the wind and the contempt grew.

The Third Spanish States arose, ruled by a brutal, fascist regime that opposed the Empire at every turn. Now the Irish Sea was a tumultuous zone. Layartebian naval vessels and fighter aircraft routinely patrolled it, providing cover for mine and SOSUS laying operations that went around the clock both above and below the sea. With the two countries so close there was nothing but preparedness to be had. Missile batteries along the coast were activated, camouflaged, and oriented outwards, towards the enemies of Ireland. Forces from Ynoga and Dnalkrad were brought up to reinforce Ireland and Iceland, the two enclaves the Empire had across the North Atlantic Ocean, which remained still in its control. There was no negotiations, no alliances, to be had with the Third Spanish States, only war or an uneasy truce. Any incursion by them onto the Empire and into the Empire's sovereign territory or boundaries would spark a conflict of tremendous proportions and vice versa. When they began to blame the Empire for the Cottish Flu Pandemic everyone knew that time was not in their favor. The people, already disgusted by the Empire, would eat up the lies. They would call the Empire the hand of doom and thus would begin a new era, an era not of peace but of bloodshed.

The Empire had never envisioned the collapse of the Reich, or the Cottish Realm, or the Hawdawgian state. Those states were tantamount to the projection of power the Empire had maintained. Was the balance of power shifting? Was the Empire weakening? To a degree the balance of power was shifting but in an unconventional way. The Empire wasn't weakening, it wasn't ready to fall into itself like the others had. It wouldn't. The Empire kept bases abroad, throughout the Middle East, in France and Germany, and thus far in Norway as well. Naval bases along the North Sea in Germany would give the Empire access to areas east of Spanish England. A naval base in Hammerfest that remained under Layartebian control would given them access far north of Spanish England. An air force and advanced research base in southern France could give the Empire power projection as far as the Urals, anything east handled by bases in Kazakhstan, Turkey, and Iran. No, the Empire was and remained strong. Its tactics would shift and they would change but strength would not erode. The North Atlantic would remain well in the hands of the Empire, SOSUS nets connecting France to Ireland to Iceland to Greenland ensuring that anybody entering it would be known. More nets along the southern portion of the ocean and the Med made sure that there was no weak spot to be had and intermittent nets throughout the ocean allowed even inside monitoring. It had always been the plan of the Empire and the Reich to close the North Atlantic in the event of a global war allowing supply lines to remain open and that plan would have worked, had it been employed but this was a new age. The Third Spanish States had access to the ocean from the east and that meant they could not be blocked nearly as easily as needed. Clandestinely, the Empire worked to solve this, sortieing much of its navy and putting them to sea in the North Atlantic. In Ireland, missiles and radar coverage could blanket all of England without effort, especially thanks to the Vesta SRBM, which had been forward deployed to Ireland. Units would be deployed into Iceland just the same. If they wanted war, they would get it.

War was afoul in the world now with the Nerotikans moving against Leningrad. Certainly this madness had to be stopped and the Empire could resist, they could give the Cottish there some will to fight and they would. Hammerfest was home to the 1st Carrier Strike Group of the Imperial Layartebian Navy, part of the 7th Fleet. The fifteen ship battle group was primarily for quick strike and escort operations and that was just what they could do in this instance. They moved out of the port and near Murmansk, territory that remained free from any claims and a territory that would benefit from the Layartebian aide as it bordered Scandinavia. Already there, the pandemic was being abated and units were being reinforced, moving up to the border with the Karelia Republic, until the eyes of the Roman Empire already. The Romans weren't of much concern, they weren't hostile. Joined also by some of the ILAF's aircraft that had evacuated Nizhny Novgorod Oblast, the Cottish there could make a formidable stand. They would not allow the Nerotikans and their filthy ways to encroach upon them. When the bombings in the Leningrad Oblast began, the ILAF and the Cottish Air Force quickly reacted.

Fighters from both the ILAF and Royal Cottish Air Force, what remained that was, quickly took off from their bases in Murmansk and flew through Finland to get to Leningrad Oblast, refueling along the way. Most of the aircraft were Cottish but the Empire was not about to let them fly solo. The initial attacks by the Nerotikans and their F-23s would be countered by several wings of JA-20A Enforcers JA-23A Demons from the RCAF and F-35D Lightning IIs from the ILAF, all armed with Dodsengel and Gryphon missiles for BVR combat and Escape missiles for dogfighting. The five wings of aircraft, totaling eighty fighters were split in various groups at various altitudes and spacing. The Enforcers and Demons kept their ordinance internally except for external fuel tanks, which they would drop when they got close to the border. The Lightning IIs carried theirs internally and externally. The biggest priorities weren't necessarily the fighters but rather any transports in the air. They were high value targets and using Dodsengel missiles, they could fire from ranges in excess of two hundred miles. Transports weren't agile and were easy prey for the two-stage, long-range missile, which carried a single, forty pound, blast-fragmentation warhead. Not very fitting for its weight and range, the warhead could nonetheless destroy anything in the sky, even the mighty Zeus bomber. Using a lofted trajectory, the missiles achieved their maximum range flying at almost Mach 5, utilizing the thinner air for less drag. Jointly developed by the Cottish and the Empire, the Dodsengel was a devastating missile with great effect. Not as deadly as the Halcyon, it certainly made anything in the sky its bitch, so to speak. Dodsengels would be saved mostly for the transports while the Gryphons, with a range of one hundred and ten miles using the same warhead, would be used against the F-23s. The Gryphon was a major improvement over the AMRAAM, utilizing the added range of a ramjet engine and a cruise speed of Mach 4 as well as a lofted trajectory. It was highly agile, using thrust vectoring and could maneuver against aircraft and UAVs pulling over +12Gs. Both the Gryphon and Dodsengel were guided by dual-mode IIR and active radar seekers with added home-on-jam technology that made a kill a positive assurance. The Escape was a dogfighting missile and it used IIR to guide itself to the target, maneuvering against fighters with a 135° field of view. It held a 25 pound, blast-fragmentation warhead and it was capable of detecting and destroying very hot targets out to 18.75 miles but its effective range was under 10 miles for most engagements. It was even more agile than the Gryphon and Dodsengel and its velocity at burnout was Mach 3.5. The thirty-two Enforcers and thirty-two Demons both carried eight air to air missiles each, allowing them to move 256 Gryphons, 128 Dodsengels, and 128 Escapes while each of the sixteen Lightning IIs carried the same loadout for an additional 32 Dodsengels, 64 Gryphons, and 32 Escapes, plenty of missiles. Because the Lightning IIs would have extra space in their internal bays, they carried additional ECM equipment, which would allow them to provide long-range jamming against the Nerotikans. With their powerful LPI radars and EO/IR systems, all three aircraft types kept subsonic to avoid being detected very easily and the Lightning IIs stayed far behind the rest of the pack, they having external ordinance which could give them away.

While the battle mounted and the aircraft drew closer to each other, there was a third factor, the Imperial Republic. The Empire had made it their intention to be positive and friendly towards the Imperial Republic, especially in the wake of the Cottish war. Now with the BENELUX countries in their possession, along with the dead and dying, the Empire reached out again. The CDC could and would help, they would also ask the Imperial Republic for another favor, to strengthen their alliance with the Empire but their intentions in Europe, particularly with the Third Spanish States and Nerotika had to be found out first. The Empire asked them for their intentions and views on both, hoping for some sort of positive reply. Only time would tell.

(From The Winter War)

Arkangelsk, New Komi Republic

The days after the collapse of the Cottish Realm provided nothing but uncertainty. While, in hindsight, the collapse appeared obvious due to months of inactivity, when it happened no one really knew what to think. There wasn't an analyst in the world who could explain why a country that was so powerful could vanish so suddenly, but history is full of states whose time in the Sun went from noon to midnight in mere minutes, and this would prove to be one of those cases.

In its place, several new states would spring up. Two of these was in the Karelia Republic (which signed a protectorate agreement with Rome the day of its independence) and an area now called the "New Komi Republic", formed out of the territories of Arkangelsk and Komi. The Komi saw the new republic as a new beginning, free- in their minds- of the tyrannical Cottish regime, but despite being in a sleepy part of the world, they were determined to be anything but.

It was here in Arkangelsk that, several months after the collapse of Cotland, Andrei Rhizmev, the brother of Yuri, decided to journey deep into the shady new Republic. It was there where was told he would meet someone named "The Master", the proclaimed leader of the Komi and someone he was told would help him rescue his brother from the clutches of the Romans at Port Hardy. The Master was a renowned expert in terrorism, someone the Koryaks went to frequently to plan their attacks against the Romans (including the Piazza del Gerani attack) and while Andrei wasn't after something quite that extravagant, he was certain The Master would be able to help. In front of him would be a nearly 300 mile journey from the port to the capital of Komi in Syktyvkar, deep in the heart of the Russian tundra.

"If the Romans think the Koryaks are the terrorists, they ought to look in the mirror," Andrei said to himself, "and if they don't have one, I'll be glad to provide one."

Nearly three days earlier, thirteen thousand men had reported for duty in Ballyshannon, a town in western Ireland right along Donegal Bay. Ballyshannon was nested in Donegal Bay and home to the 2nd Carrier Battle Group, part of the 1st Fleet of the Imperial Layartebian Navy. Centered around an Enterprise class CVN, the 2nd Carrier Battle Group consisted of twenty vessels: the carrier, an Arsenal Flight II class missile ship, two Dnalkrad class air defense frigates, one Earthquake guided missile battleship, an Emperor class submarine tender, a Hampton class oiler, two Heretic class frigates, one Hunter class attack submarine, one Scythe Flight II class attack submarine, one Supply class supply ship, two Unforgiven class cruisers, a Venom class cruise missile submarine, two Verrazano class anti-submarine destroyers, two Voodoo class destroyers, and a Wilson class supply ship. The Wilson had remained in port for this journey along with its sailors. The nineteen ships and submarines that left port nearly three days earlier left with one hundred and ninety-seven aircraft, one hundred and thirty-six of them fixed wing. The rest were helicopters, mostly Fire Scout UAVs and MH-60s. There were also SH-102A Sky Lord helicopters that, like the MH-60R Sea Hawk, were for ASW but, like the MH-60S Knight Hawks, they could also double as SAR and CSAR.

The stormy, rough seas of the North Atlantic made the trip north of Ballyshannon a slow journey. The carrier battle group had made their way to a position four hundred miles north of Ballyshannon, a little over two hundred miles from the northern coast of Scotland and just one hundred and seventy miles southwest of the Faroes. Spread out in a combat formation, the nineteen ships and submarines were under full combat conditions. Their sensors were in passive mode, their radio communications kept to a bare minimum, their crews alert, ready, and begging for action. There were some fleet operations underway, the essentials to protect the fleet as much as possible. A single ME-11C CSA AWACS airplane was orbiting the carrier group at an altitude of 36,000 feet, where the horizon was over two hundred miles. Along with the single CSA, the fleet also had a pair of F-14F Super Tomcats in the sky, each armed with two AIM-216 Halcyon ultra long-range missiles, six AIM-202 Dodsengel long-range missiles, and four AIM-204 Escape missiles. Two more sitting on the deck of the Enterprise were on "Alert 5" and a flight of four F-57B Wraith fighters were on "Alert 10."

Flight operations were kept low due to the situation. They weren't in a full scale war and when the F-14s in the sky exhausted their fuel, they landed and were replaced by the next two aircraft. Because there were flight operations going on, an MH-60S Knight Hawk with the carrier was ready to go, should something happen. On the destroyers, frigates, and cruisers of the fleet, helicopters stood ready to begin actions, primarily against subsurface contacts, should any be detected either by the submarines below or the surface ships above.

Aside from these, relatively minor operations being conducted, there was one other tasking being prepared and that was a reconnaissance flight. A single RA-5E Vigilante reconnaissance aircraft was finally being put into place on catapult number three onboard the Enterprise. On the deck of the carrier, technicians covered all of their checklists and the various color shirts took their respective places for the launch. Inside of the catapult launching booth, on the deck of the carrier, two operators sat in comfortable chairs, elevated to see the entire deck. The booth was sound proof, enclosed, and climate controlled. It was also state of the art, like the carrier itself. From there, the operators controlled all four of the electromagnetic catapults and four arresting wires. One operator controlled take offs, the other landings. The takeoff operator looked down at his main control screen. The screen showed the status of all four catapults. The two fighters on "Alert 5" were on catapults one and two, both of which were in yellow status, meaning that they were armed but not charged. It would take only forty-five seconds to charge each of the two catapults. Catapult three, which was being loaded with the Vigilante was also in yellow but it would soon be charging and, lastly, catapult four was in "red status" because it wasn't armed and it wasn't charged.

The takeoff operation, called the Launch Control Officer, looked out of the window and across the deck. He watched, particularly, two men. One of them wore a green shirt and stepped back as he hooked up the nose wheel of the Vigilante to the catapult shuttle. He stepped away and the LCO turned his attention to the man in the yellow shirt who was standing, looking up at the pilot. Inside of the Vigilante, the pilot had pushed the throttles up to full military power, looking at the instrument panel in front of his, especially the MFD for the aircraft engines. Satisfied, he moved the various control surfaces of the aircraft, making sure that all of them worked. His RIO seated behind him was quiet, already in the launch position, holding onto the hand grips in front of him. Satisfied again, the pilot saluted the man in the yellow shirt, a sharp salute as he pushed the throttles to maximum afterburner power. Behind the aircraft, the blast deflectors, already raised, were almost touched by the long, flames from the afterburners. The Cat Officer, the man in the yellow shirt, looked for thumbs up from a variety of men, called "Checkers" all around the aircraft. Safely back, away from the aircraft, they gave their thumbs up and the Cat Officer made his final checks, including checking the windage and the aircraft itself. He was satisfied himself and he quickly dropped to his knee and looked at the Launch Control Officer through the booth, who gave his own thumbs up, the catapult being full charged.

There was no way to mistake the charged catapult. On older carriers, steam catapults were used and the steam would flow all over the deck, especially in the cold air of the North Atlantic. However, with electromagnetism, there was no more steam. Underneath the deck, a giant electrical generator, which had always been humming, increased its volume to a deafening roar as the coils around the catapult charged with 122 megajoules of energy. The storage control system sent a signal to the booth that the catapult was charged, armed, and ready, placing it in "Green" status. The Cat Officer, even though he wore the best headphones in the world, still couldn't hear his own thoughts as the engines spooled up to maximum power on the Vigilante, the catapult charged, and the waves washed around the bottom of the ship. Everything was done by hand signals or, at night, by lights. The whole process to ready the Vigilante took less than five minutes, from the moment it was brought up to the shuttle. Forty-five of those three hundred seconds were spent charging the system for the catapult and it would take just two to expend all of that energy.

The RA-5E Vigilante was an old aircraft, modernized in the late 1990s and put back into service with entirely new-built airframes. Originally designed in the 1950s as a naval bomber for thermonuclear ordinance delivery, they were modified during the Venezuelan War to use their high speed and long range for reconnaissance aircraft. Subsequently, they were retired in the 1970s, before the Empire came to be, replaced by much more capable aircraft and the TARPS system, fitted to F-14 Tomcats. They were brought back into service in three versions. The A-5D Vigilante, the first version, brought the Vigilante back to the attack role, as a bomb truck. The RA-5E Vigilante was a reconnaissance version and the EA-5F Vigilante was for SEAD duties. All three aircraft were equipped with modern electronics, robust and efficient turbofan engines. They could fly as fast as Mach 2.35 and they maintained supercruise capabilities in certain configurations. Reconnaissance aircraft, unarmed, could fly supercruise missions at Mach 1.2 at altitude. Their range was 1,200 miles, combat and 3,000 miles in ferry configurations. Their two turbofan engines put out 56,000 lb. of thrust at maximum effort, which, at maximum weight, meant a thrust to weight ratio of 0.62:1. The 78,000 lb. aircraft, locked to the deck of the Enterprise, was ready for flight. They were unarmed and ready for action. They could record hours upon hours of film and take still pictures as well using a number of high-speed, highly sensitive digital and film cameras mounted throughout the aircraft. Digital photography cameras had resolutions over 50 megapixels and the aircraft's digital storage devices were located on the two seats, the film inside the belly of the aircraft. Their mission was to fly an unarmed reconnaissance mission north of Scotland, watching just what the Third Spanish States were up to and they were going to do it at high speed as well.

Locked, loaded, and ready, the Cat Officer gave the signal for launch, extending his hand outwards. Inside the booth, the Launch Control Officer lifted the plastic cover on the launch button, checking to make sure he was lifting the lid to catapult three. Underneath the cover, the button illuminated green and it was next to the other three, which illuminated yellow and red, just like their catapult status. He pushed down and held the button in for three seconds, which was yet another safety. He would have to hold the button until the aircraft cleared the deck of the carrier, which wasn't very long and his thumb was used to it. After the three seconds, the locks released and the catapult shuttle unlocked. The shuttle released and the aircraft was violently thrown forward, accelerating to 155 knots in just 2 seconds. The aircraft was flung over the side of the ship and the pilot grabbed the throttles and stick, banking the aircraft to the port side, reducing his engine power to conserve fuel and raising his landing gear. His mission had begun.

The RA-5E Vigilante (http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Nation-States/LDC/Air/a5.htm) cruised at 600 mph towards the Scottish coastline at just over 8,000 feet. When they began their run, they would increase their throttles to maximum military power, 37,600 lb. of thrust. When the RA-5C Vigilante flew, its maximum afterburning power was only around 36,000 lb. Though the maximum takeoff weight of the newer Vigilante was higher by some 10,400 pounds, the addition of more fuel efficient turbofan engines and the reconstruction and internal redesign of the airframe allowed it supercruise capabilities. The Vigilante, callsign "Echo 1-1," had taken off almost completely clean. A pair of four hundred gallon fuel tanks hung underneath its inner wing pylons, giving the aircraft another 5,280 lb. of fuel, or, an additional 20 percent. The Vigilante, flying at 8,000 feet and 600 mph would cruise to within forty-five miles of the Scottish coast and then the pilot would push his throttles to the maximum dry setting, propelling the aircraft past the sound barrier to 888 mph, Mach 1.2. At that speed, the Vigilante wouldn't be very agile but, because it moved so fast, it was a hard target to engage. Modern SAMs firing in a tail chase scenario or even to its side would have trouble maneuvering to keep up with it and fighters would have to go to full afterburner to keep up with the aircraft, exhausting their own fuel in the process. It would take a head-on shot to guarantee any good pK and that wasn't all too impossible either. The aircraft wasn't a stealth plane by any means. While it was more stealthy than its predecessors, the RA-5E was not designed to be invisible.

Moving closer to the Scottish coastline, the pilot brought up his route on one of the MFDs. The route would take them north of the Scottish coast, inside TSS airspace; although, just barely. At 8,000 feet, the Vigilante could see as far as the horizon, over a hundred miles. The Vigilante, during its mission, would employ several detection and reconnaissance methods. Cameras, both digital and film, would record and take snapshots of predesignated areas and targets along its flight path. Nothing would be missed. Infrared cameras could provide a continuous strip image of infrared sources and was especially useful during night missions. This system could detect infrared radiation emitted by military vehicles or stockpiled supplies. Electronic sensors would watch for anything out there from the ground up, recording everything seen. The primary goal was to look for search and tracking radars. The system could detect radio emissions from enemy radars and record their location, frequency, pulse repetition rate, and pulse width. There were also several SIGINT sensors on board, which could, in limited effect, intercept some signals communications, depending on the aircraft's location. Capable of functioning at altitudes of between tree top height and over 40,000 feet, the Vigilante was the premier reconnaissance aircraft for the fleet and even the air force used it for BDA. With its long-range, efficient engines, and supercruise abilities, it was one of the most valuable tools to either the navy or the air force's air component.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/DRC/vigi-path.jpg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snnwjoToN-8

At the cramped confines of a Tiburón Class SSK, a man took sips of a cold spearmint tea in its dining room, where in a table for four person he stood next to the communications, engineering and combat officers of the diesel-electric U-boat, which was taking standard patrol routes next to the borders with Scotland. All men were weary, and most allowed their beards to grow, despite having other choices, as they had little time available for aesthetics. Their speak was in oldspeak, for in fact, for now, newspeak was nothing but a fancy, faulty project of the goodrule which couldn't be perfectly enforced.

"So far, another event-less patrol," mentioned the admiral, raising his cup for another sip, "those Layartebians and their masquerade of civilizedness, or perhaps they lack the balls for going in."

"They are biding their time, Admiral Holloman" the communications officer replied, "Once they have everything prepared, they are going to launch an invasion, of this I have no doubts."

"Let us not precipitate on guessing our enemy moves with no clear message, Officer Carter," thus argued the engineering officer, while he ate a raw carrot, "they had a great chance to invade us when the Dhimmis set our nations into disarray, yet they dismissed it, why would they act differently now?"

"Because now they have a pretext under their civilizedness pretense," answered the last one of them, who was simply drinking a cup of cold coffee, "and I would not become surprised if a Dhimmi banker dreg used his financial power to bribe their government into attacking us."

Then a sailor arrived, stepping carefully through the bulkhead, and clearly in a hurry, as he saluted Carter and answered:

"Sir, we have received urgent communications from command!"

"Gentlemen, I must leave your conversation," Carter then replied, as he followed the sailor towards the communications room. Far beyond that of older subs, the comms room had multiple redundant interfaces, and ran on a firmware operating system that exhibited a very streamlined and utilitarian desktop where the message was being signaled. The officer sat down and began to check the encrypted message. Inserting a crypto-USB flash drive he kept carefully into one of the comm computer slots, he then began to decrypt it with his key.

"EYES ONLY

Missionkill aircraft carrier. Coordinates X.."

As he read the message, he immediately realized the grim situation. There was nothing wrong. The digital signature matched perfectly, the highly compact message standard was there, and thus, he mustered, they would have to go through a mission were achieving the objective was possible, but retuning alive would be a miracle. Technically, speaking, the cost of a Tiburón, no matter the engineering challenges taken to allow it to safely reach the depths it was able to, of the training of everyone there was significantly cheaper than the cost of an aircraft carrier and of any airplanes inside. They were, after all, disposable. There was no choice, if refusing the order, court-martial tended to lead to gruesome methods of execution, thus, he could only set the printer to pull it in a paper, share it with the admiral and with the other officers, and carry on praying they would somehow manage to survive. Now he truly wished that such would have been just another event-less patrol.

"Admiral Holloman, we have received orders," Carter explained, handling the printed orders to the admiral. His eyes denoted few expressions, and he simply passed the paper to the other officers in the dining room, saying no words, as they browsed the orders and coordinates given by High Command. A morbid silence, broken only by the sounds of the sea, filled the room, like that of the last moments of prisoners sentenced to death realizing their predicament and lack of alternatives. There was only one way to head towards, the harm's way posed by an entire fleet escorting the carrier they were supposed to mission-kill, with only one submarine.

"I will set our course," the engineering officer then replied briefly, leaving the room. The three remaining men kept their burden hidden from the innocent rest of the crew. Seasoned veterans, they already knew what to expect from the Goodrule, unlike many of the young men who sailed with them.

"I wish I could send a letter to my wife without breaking EMCON," Carter said, "she is going to have my son in four days at most."

"Well, officer Carter, we all have families," the admiral replied, and scowled, like if refusing to believe in what he spoke, "the Goodbrother shall tend to them, as he did to all parents of the martyrs of our struggle against cultural," he interrupted, saying then as emphatically as possible, "decadence."

"A drink for the Goodrule!" the Admiral then said, raising his cup with spearmint tea up as the others cynically followed his gesture, "now we better get back to our posts, he concluded as they finished their drinks, and left the dining room, immediately to which one of the young men came to grab the dishes and cups and wash them, without being ordered first.

The submarine began to triangulate its trajectory through an internal compass system integrated with the maps in the navigational computer the Admiral browsed. multi-function displays showing feed from highly pressure-resistant waterproof cameras seamlessly built outside came, a few of them in IR mode, as he could see the far brightness of the distant surface of the sea from one of such optical devices placed above the submarine.

Carter prayed that a retcon would come indicating such order was given by mistake, as he anxiously stood next to the comm integrated computers, with such a hope that it would only fade once they stood exactly next to the carrier fleet. Like him, the combat officer also had hopes, that he would not have to perform actively his duties.

The submarine would take nearly an entire day to reach its target, as the routine continued, and everyone thanked daily there was a shower inside, or otherwise their medic would be extremely busy with the unpleasant need of treating louse problems. The bathroom was particularly uncomfortable, but they had to use it. Everything worked on hot seat, the same, cramped beds was shared by the day and night crews, and usually placed above reserve torpedoes. Living inside a submarine wasn't very comfortable. Dying inside one could be either swift, or slowly painful, in either psychological or physical ways, or both.

Once it arrived as close as possible to its target before risking too high chances of being detected, it would shut down its diesel engine and move slowly by pure, silent electric power, for its electric system was much more developed than those of most subs exactly for its purpose: the "sniper" of the sea. Or perhaps "suicide bomber of the sea" would be a better fitting analogy.

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

"Powerlesness..." an imposing man, whose mere presence demeaned fear, respect and obedience, muttered in a private office, staring at a man wearing an air officer uniform. The room wooden paneled walls were covered with four world maps and had a set of drawers labelled "factbooks", where the most peculiar thing to notice was a world map where only one nation was recognized and everything was marked as its territory: Goodrule Spanish Three.

"Powerlessness is a temporary state. The once weak will become strong when all barriers and incentives to wallow at weakness are lifted. The developing nations of today might become the powers of tomorrow, for powerlessness is as much of a temporary state as the fact Layarteb, Gataway and every single corner of this planet do not belong to the Goodrule"

Such were the words of the Goodbrother himself, ironically dismissing newspeak as well for non written communications, as the air officer listened to him, not even hinting that he would comment anything, until he finally said:

"Speak."

Prostrating himself, the officer lowered his head, avoiding eye contact with the Goodbrother, as he began to speak:

"I understand why we will not take any actions against Layartebian recon patrols," he then replied, pausing for a while to think on which words to say, as he continued, "Goodbrother, I will keep my men calm about it and we will avoid showing any hostile intent or revealing much about our defense grid through exhibitionism that the weak seek, for the strong need not to demonstrate their power, for I shall honor your teachings."

"Very well Marshall, I can assume everything is safe then. Dismissed."

It has been a long day, calling ever major army, naval and air force officer with any possible autonomy to discuss the matters and personally order them to not commit any forces to intercept incoming Layarteb vessels or planes, but now the Goodbrother was sure they would not fall into the Layartebian ploy. For now, let them play their exhibitionist game, but five years from now, the flag of the Goodrule would be exhibited over Layarteb City.

OOC: TSS see here (http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22) for just a few minor questions.

Entering its patrol route, the RA-5E sped up past the sound barrier to Mach 1.2 and began its reconnaissance preparation work. In the rear seat of the aircraft, the RIO spun up the cameras, allowing them to run through a variety of test shots that judged the light and white balances settings. They would be configured instantly by the onboard computer and, while they were taking shots, the computer would automatically adjust the settings based on the results, the goal being to keep the photographs as perfect as possible. Shadows or darkened areas could hide necessary details while areas too bright could have the same effect. The photographs taken, both by the digital and film cameras, had to be just as if they were seen through the human eye at 20/20 vision. They also had to be taken accurately and as such from extreme angles moving at high velocity. Wide apertures and high-speed film would allow for faster shutter speeds while other aides would assist in properly balancing all of the white across the photos. Seeing as far as the horizon, over a hundred miles away, the Vigilante entered Spanish airspace shortly after it accelerated to supersonic cruise speed. Keeping off the afterburners, the pilot was able to conserve more fuel than he would have if he were flying an older RA-5C airframe, which would have required afterburners to fly supersonic speeds. The pilot kept his eye on the aircraft itself and on the electronic warning and collection gear, his fingers ready to activate the jamming systems, if necessary. It was a tense time for both him and the rear instrument officer in the rear of the aircraft as they both watched their instruments and screens carefully.

They expected a surge of activity once they crossed into Spanish airspace. That was the reason they were flying into Spanish airspace, to illicit as much activity as they could, record it all, get out, and fight another day. The Vigilante crew were troubled when they completed their first leg of the run with minimal activity. While their cameras were recording everything they could, their electronic systems were unmistakably quiet. "Notice we aren't being lit up like a Christmas tree?" The RIO, 1LT. James Fryer asked as he glanced at the RWR on his own screen set.

"Roger that. We should be painted and tracked by every radar they have down there. We know they got them, why aren't they active? Maybe they're just hiding. All we got is that single search radar and it looks like it could even be civilian." MAJ. Nelson Apel, the pilot said as he banked the aircraft towards its next waypoint. "Keep an eye out anyway, they're down there and we are violating their airspace, even if by just a few miles."

"Roger." The Vigilante continued its course, thus far unopposed, flying the entire way without being tracked, engaged, or threatened. The mission, the first of many to come, wasn't supposed to be as simple but it wouldn't lull the Layartebians into any false sense of security. Future flights would continue to be conducted against the Third Spanish States using long-range reconnaissance UAVs and other manned flights, some entirely in international airspace, others crossing into their own. A future planned mission by an RQ-4B Global Hawk on a SIGINT mission would bring the drone to within only a few miles of the coast of England while another carrier battle group, the 3rd Carrier Battle Group from Charleston, South Carolina, identical to the 2nd CVBG, made its way towards the coast of Spain and Portugal, between it and the Layartebian controlled Azores where the 7th Carrier Strike Group had already gone to full alert.

At the same time, the Ministry of Defense approved a status upgrade to the Readiness Condition Level or REDCON. It was upgraded to level three, "Increase in force readiness above normal readiness," which was essentially heightening the entire state of the Imperial Layartebian Military throughout the entire world. Certain bases had already gone to this alert and now they were matched by the rest of the military. All callsigns in use changed from previously known ones to different, still-classified ones. Aircraft alert times on bases throughout the world were upgraded and aircraft previously on thirty minute alert status suddenly went to fifteen minutes. If the REDCON level reached two, callsigns would be changed again. Already, reservists were being called up to duty and the entire armada of the Imperial Layartebian Military and its approximately 14,500,000 military and 2,000,000 civilian personnel were preparing for the defense of the Empire. Because reserve levels had traditionally declined since the gradual wind down of the Conquests, the total size of the military force of the Empire was 14,872,299 military and 2,005,280 civilian, a total of 16,877,579. By rules set fourth by both the Emperor and the MOD, 16,500,000 was the bare minimum the ILM could have. It's lowest point ever had been only two years prior when the forces dropped to 16,650,270. Since then, it had been steadying towards the 17,000,000 mark with an increasing number of civilians being employed. It would never again reach the size it had been during the height of the Conquests but it was still sizeable enough, though only 1.27% of the entire populace of the Empire.

If the condition passed to level two, there would be a lot of changes. Already, continuity of government plans were underway and strategic elements of the Empire were being readied. Ballistic and cruise missile submarine patrols were increased, carrier battle and strike groups were put to sea or readied for sea, bombers were loaded and crewed, tanks fueled, and satellites repositioned. Everything would be shuffled around, irregularly and, if by some chance, it went to REDCON Level One, that meant all hell was breaking loose. That condition was reserved for an ongoing or imminent attack on Layartebian forces. From there, MOD officials would judge whether or not the attack was conventional or non-conventional. As a policy of the Empire, unless the attack was non-conventional, nuclear or chemical weapons would not be used. Should the attack be non-conventional, the appropriate response could leave billions dead. Nobody wanted that, especially not the Empire.

The Layartebian battle group, though centered around the carrier, wasn't only for offensive operations. There were three main components of the carrier battle group and each one had a tier to watch. Submarines and anti-submarine vessels took care of undersea operations, the biggest threat to any carrier group. The carrier and its immediate escorts handled surface warfare against land and sea targets through aircraft and cruise missiles. Lastly, several escorts were dedicated to anti-air warfare, protecting, above all else, the carrier, from bombers and long-range missiles. The nineteen vessels of the 2nd CVBG at sea were all operating under those conditions. The Heretic class frigates, Verrazano class destroyers, and Hunter and Scythe class submarines were operating a barrier around the carrier group both inside and outside of its perimeter, using their passive sonar to search for potential targets. Because the battle group was under EMCON, they weren't using their active sensors and they were moving within their tactical silent speeds. Both of the Verrazanos and the Heretics had their towed arrays dragging a kilometer to a mile behind them, well back where the propeller wash from the ships themselves couldn't interfere with their detection. Years of practice with war games and the lengthy Conquest wars meant that the ILN was no slouch when it was at sea. Surface warfare was handled by the Enterprise carrier, primarily but also by the Arsenal class missile ship, Earthquake class battleship, Venom class guided missile submarine, and both the Voodoo class destroyers and Unforgiven class cruisers assisted. Anti-air warfare was primarily in the hands of the Dnalkrad Flight II class anti-air warfare frigates as well as the Voodoos, Unforgivens, and even Heretics, which all carried anti-air missiles. The Emperor, Hampton, and Supply class vessels were all support ships.

When the Vigilante came back to the carrier for landing, it caught the second wire, yanked itself to a stop, and was taxied to the elevator, brought back underneath the deck, and gone through post-flight checks. Its photographic and other reconnaissance data was downloaded out of the aircraft and brought deep into the bowels of the ship, to a specialized room for intelligence decoding. In an armored vault, the room was guarded by armed soldiers at all times and only a certain few people were allowed into and out of it, the captain of the ship not included on that list. While they went to work, another flight of F-14F Super Tomcats were launched, to relieve those on station already. Of the four F-57B Wraith fighters on "Alert 10," two were moved up to "Alert 5" and two more F-14F Super Tomcats were raised to "Alert 15," just to make sure that they wouldn't be surprised.

The threat of war loomed for the battle group from both the south and the east. The North Atlantic was teeming with activity to match the situation. The ILN had 112 Venom class missile submarines in service. Twenty-eight of them were sailing with the ten Amphibious Assault Groups and eighteen with the Carrier Battle Groups. The remaining eighty-four were arranged in fourteen Submarine Missile Groups, six boats per group. Of those eighty-four, half were permanently tasked with the nuclear weapons contingent of the Empire, each carrying thirty UGM-219A Venom SLBM missiles, twelve hundred and sixty missiles, each with eight, 550 kiloton warheads. Those forty-two submarines carried a combined total of 5.544 gigatons, enough to level most of the world. The other forty-two carried a variety of weapons such as cruise missiles or Vesta SRBMs, many of them armed with nuclear warheads. The twenty-eight Venoms moving with the various fleets were generally armed with conventional weapons. The single Venom moving with the 2nd CVBG was armed with one hundred and forty long-range, cruise missiles and ten long-range, heavy, anti-ship missiles, each one capable of sinking most ships in the world in a single salvo.

OOC: I put up a summary (http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22) of the Treblinka Affair off-site if anyone wants to read it and if anyone wants to use it for a potential story line.

Midwestern News Alert

Capital, Des Moines, Iowa

“This is a Midwestern news alert, we have just received word that the Chairman of the Central Council Brendan Marlon is set to address the nation shortly on the ever going Super Flu crisis in Europe. He is expected to lay out the Commonwealths plan for action in the region, as well as discuss a few other issues at hand. Now, with me I have one of our annalists, a former Soviet Bloc government aid who has had much experience with political affairs much like this. Sir what do you expect to happen here today?”

“Well I predict we are going to hear a strong resolved response to this issue. So far in this first couple months of power, the Central Council has taken a hard line on foreign matters, specially when concerning the safety of its citizens. I would imagine he will lay out his support for one of the factions in Europe now battling over the former Cottish soil, and then he will discuss what the Commonwealth is prepared to do.”

“So you believe we the commonwealth will be getting actively involved in the European theater?”

“I can not say for sure, so far there has not been any Deaths due to this flu, my opinion is he needs to challenge the issues at hand that have been effecting our nation, such as the trafficking of young American women to foreign nations to be exploited in the Sex Trade, not dabble overseas in European affairs”

“So you don’t see this super flu as a threat to the American people?”

“What I don’t see is a strong domestic policy from the council, one that will protect its citizenry from this trafficking threat, there is only so much we can do in Europe, but we could be doing so much more here.”

“Im sorry to interrupt you sir, but the Chairman is just about to begin his speech, lets listen in.”

Chairman Marlon stood behind a podium in the press conference room of the Commonwealth Capital building, cameras flashed and reporters waited as he began his speech.

“My fellow Americans, today I come to address you on issues that are plaguing the world at this moment, the first of which is the formidable plague that now is ripping through the European main land. This Cottish Super Flu has claimed many lives in its short time, and it will continue to spread if not stopped by the responsible governments in the world. Therefore the council has enacted Operation hindrance. This operation will consist of a joint operation of the Ministry of Housing and Services and the Army Corps of Nurses to give aid to former Cottish citizens in the ravaged European theater. These units will attach themselves to Imperial Forces already in the area.

On that note, the Democratic Commonwealth also gives its full support to the Imperial effort to protect the lands of the former realm from ravenous nations who wish to exploit these times to their own ends. We the council hope that in our efforts the people now effected by this disease will be able to survive until a cure for it can be found. God bless them, all of them.

On a second note, there is an issue that has lately hit much closer to home. This issue has spread much like a virus, and has destroyed many families and left many innocents dead or missing. This is the issue of Sex Trafficking, and it has plagued us since the birth of our nation. For the past 6 months of our nations life, over 3,000 young women have been kidnapped and exploited in the Sex Trade around the world. The Commonwealth Special Service has made a huge effort to stop such trafficking however their efforts have not been able to keep up with the number of cases happening every day. Overwhelmed these agents have worked day and night to stop our innocent young youth from being exploited in far away places away from their home, friends and family. However, the trade still continues and American women still account for 2% of the international Sex trade. This may be a small number, but this is an issue that keeps getting bigger. So today the council has authorized that a joint coalition of agencies that will be working together under the leadership of the Director of the CSS, these agencies are: Defense Intelligence Bureau, Central Police Agency, and the Agency for the Protection of Youth. This grouping of agencies will form the spearhead of our fight against trafficking, and put and end to the exploitation of children and young women. This ends here and now, the American people will not put up with it any longer, thank you.”

Press Release From the Republic of Alaska

The Republic of Alaska has heard of the Cottish flu epidemic in Europe and elsewhere, and the dead of the Cottish royal family. The government is willing to aid in operations in Europe against the spread of the disease. We pray for those in the affective areas and may God bless them.

OOC: Something came up, won't be back until next week. So I decided I'll post everything I can. Since it's long, it's divided into two posts. :wink:

The Baltic Sea - 193 km in its average width, with its half-brackish water, freezing cold in winter - separates Austroslavia's northern coast from its Fennoscandian neighbors: Denmark, Sweden, and Finland. For a while the seemingly tempestuous body of water had held off the pandemic from reaching the Austroslav coasts... but not for long...

------
http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/6165/messagefromaustroslavia.png
die Regierung von Österslawien
the Government of Austroslavia
Palast der Regierung, Mittelplatz 1, Altstadt, Preßburg

Following the reports of the recent outbreak of illness in the Realm of Cotland, the United Kingdoms of Austroslavia suspends all travel with Cotland and with other countries affected, or potentially affected, by the flu. This solely a preventive measure against entry of the disease into the country.

As such, we are ordering the partial mobilization of the Royal Austroslav Armed Forces. Units of the Royal Austroslav Army will augment border controls, especially in areas bordering stricken areas. Ships of the Royal Austroslav Navy will be deployed to the Baltic, Adriatic, and the Black Seas to help the Royal Austroslav Coast Guard in patrolling the nation's shores.

We are requesting the nation's health care workers to report any suspicious cases to their Provincial Health Office. We are requiring health care workers, hospitals, and other concerned sectors to undertake reasonable measures to prevent the arrival or transmission of the disease.

Citizens are urged to remain calm. The government is monitoring the events and will do everything in its power to safeguard the health of the citizenry and respond appropriately and adequately to any issues and events that may arise.

On behalf of the Government of Austroslavia,

(signed)
Christoph Pottendorfer
Reichskanzler von Österslawien
MP, Österreich

------

off the coast of Stolpmünde (Ustka), province of Pomerania, Prussia

The captain of small fishing boat MV Lycklig had finally sighted land. "We're nearing Pomerania!" The occupants of the ship, hitherto huddled in the cramped lower levels of the ship, rushed to the deck, brimming with excitement from the first sighting of land for two days. Supplies were running low for the overloaded ship.

They were the luckier ones. As the disease swept through Sweden, disrupting society, government, public order, and welfare, the inhabitants of their tiny village of Torhamn set out in boats in an exodus out of their disease-stricken country. Desperate families crammed into fishing boats and whatever watercraft they have in order to cross the Baltic, unsure of where to head. God knows where the others are now. As the coast of Pomerania neared them, their sense of safety heightened. They will be safe.

The wailing sirens of two boats heading towards Lycklig's direction interrupted their elation. It was not just any ship. The two boats were two fully-armed patrol boats of the Royal Austroslav Navy.

"The Austroslavs!" somebody in the boat shouted cheerfully. "Over here!" Many in the boat were more elated with the news that the Austroslavs are coming.

The two patrol boats inched close enough to Lycklig to establish communication though a loud megaphone. "Unidentified ship, this is KÖM Hartberg of the Royal Austroslav Navy. Establish contact on 13600."

One of the people on deck, who can understand German, relayed the orders to the captain.

"This is Captain Björn Mortensen of MV Lycklig, over," he said nervously in Swedish. He doesn't know any German, let alone dealing with these kinds of situations. He was just an ordinary fisherman...
After a few tense seconds, the radio crackled to life. "This is KÖM Hartberg of the Royal Austroslav Navy," somebody replied in heavily accented Swedish. "You are trespassing in Austroslav waters."

-----

city of Königsberg, province of Prussia, Prussia

He lay there, weak, wet, cold and delirious, his sunken eyes looking feverishly at passersby. Some averted their gaze, a few looked at him sympathetically, most did not seem to notice.

His presence here was illegitimate, his existence was insignificant, but he is not to be inconsequential. He wandered into the city from that wretched small coastal town and nourished himself from whatever seemed edible. Everything was moving so fast, everything was so out of touch, even his grumbling stomach seemed unimportant. Earlier that morning he found himself so hot he literally crawled into the Pregel River to cool off.

He laid himself on the riverbank, his heavy, wet and dirty hoodie, T-shirt, and pants drying under the midday sun. He was delirious from hunger and fever. He slowly dragged himself towards the riverside footpath, muddying himself in the process. The hand of his outstretched arm was rolled over by a bicycle. "Vorsicht!" The rider shouted at him as he drew near. "Scheiße," the rider cursed as she crushed his hand with her two-wheeler. To him, it was all a blur - the pain mingling with everything he was feeling. He thought whether this was how his life would end. He was too young, he is twenty-five, he has lots of dreams, he had other people to think of...

His mind was running haywire, his vision was distorting, and in desperate hunger he unconsciously began to nibble on the plants on the riverbank.

"Hey, was ist mit dir los?!"

A female passerby, walking her dogs, stopped by him and bent down to look at him. "Sind Sie okay?"

For a fleeting moment he looked at her blankly, but his consciousness left him suddenly. His head plopped softly on the muddy riverbank.

She frantically called the ambulance and soon he was on his way to be consequential.

-----

The following letter was sent to various governments and research agencies:
http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/6165/messagefromaustroslavia.png
Königlichen Österslawien Instituten für Gesundheit
Royal Austroslav Institutes of Health
Donaustraße 288, Engerau, Preßburg

Greetings!

In our efforts to help stem the burgeoning epidemic and curb human suffering, the Royal Austroslav Institutes of Health (Königlichen Österslawien Instituten für Gesundheit, KÖIG) is conducting research on the disease. The research fields are for the etiology and pathogenesis of the disease, treatment and prevention strategies for the disease, and other fields relevant to the goal of defeating this epidemic.

We are sending this message in order to inform you that you are welcome to join us or to coordinate with us in our efforts to tackle this disease. We believe that with international cooperation and sharing of information, we will be able to get results faster and more efficiently.

If you would like to join us in research and development, please contact:

Dr. Kilian Steiger, MD
Hauptforscher, Forscherengruppe für die Cottische Grippe
Lead Researcher, Research Group for the Cottish Flu
(+15)(+1) 2257-0010
Zimmer 204, Schneiderbau, Königlichen Österslawien Instituten für Gesundheit
Donaustraße 288, Engerau, Preßburg

Thank you!

Dr. Katarzyna Sobieska, MD MPH
Direktorin, Königlichen Österslawien Instituten für Gesundheit
Director, Royal Austroslav Institutes for Health

Government Palace, Pressburg

Chancellor Christoph Pottendorfer watched as his ministers arrived one by one to his hastily-called closed cabinet meeting.

"Guten tag, Herr Pottendorfer," Health Minister Kaspar Śniadecki greeted the Chancellor. The Pole had been Pottendorfer's third choice to lead the Ministry of Health, but with his two other choices leaving Parliament, he was only left with this young medical doctor, who had just finished his master's degree on health administration and management at the Royal Jagiellonian University of Poland. Impeccable credentials, but somewhat deficient in experience. Nevertheless, Pottendorfer had confidence in his health minister to avert a potential health crisis.

Pottendorfer returned the greeting. "I have one thing, Mr. Chancellor," Śniadecki whispered in Pottendorfer's ear, "I am leaving for Königsberg within three hours. Will the meeting finish within that time or do I need to reschedule my flight?"

"Nein, you don't need to."

When all of his ministers are in and after the customary exchange of greetings, Pottendorfer moved on with the agenda. "I requested this meeting because I would like some updates and would like to make further plans. Moreover," he glanced momentarily but meaningfully at Foreign Minister Bruno Röthlisberger, "His Majesty would like to meet with all of us."

The first to report was Defense Minister Joschka Drögemüller. "Our partial mobilization is complete. The Army is stationed with the border guards at crossings, and are patrolling our border areas. The Navy is helping the Coast Guard monitor our sea borders. We have some reports of refugee boats trying to land on our Baltic coast, mostly from Sweden and Finland. We aren't swamped there... yet."
"What are they doing for the refugees?" Welfare Minister Endre Pető asked.
"The Baltic command is turning them away - "
"Outrageous!" Pető commented.
"Let me finish," Drögemüller said. "We are turning them away to anchor at several uninhabited islets offshore. We do not want to risk them anchoring on populated areas lest any of the passengers harbor the disease. BaltCom had an agreement with the Coast Guard that the Coast Guard will supply them on those islands."
"Did your people make the necessary precautions?" Śniadecki asked.
"Like what?"
"Masks?"
"Not really," Drögemüller answered. "My men are not in close contact with the passengers of the ships."
"How about the Coast Guard?"
"We provided them with the necessary equipment you requested and instructed them on its usage," Interior Minister Cristian Calmanovici replied. "The Coast Guard is also screening for potential cases on board these ships and quarantining them if we found anything suspicious. The rest of the refugees had been given antiviral prophylaxis, as you requested."

Śniadecki was next. "We have no reported cases - so far." He smiled in satisfaction. His early institution of the travel bans and partial mobilization of the armed forces had been successful - so far. "We in the health ministry are conducting inspection of our health care facilities and assessing our readiness to deal with any problem. We also have antiviral/antiflu drugs stockpiled and ready for distribution. Currently we are negotiating with the manufacturers to let the Royal Apothecary manufacture the drugs."
"Are the drugs effective?" Education Minister Dubravka Čobankovica asked.
"Yes, if given after the exposure or as prophylaxis. It is not that effective if given late in the illness. Admittedly, we still do not know much about this epidemic - it seems like it is a new strain of virus. The Royal Institutes of Health is researching the matter and is looking for a cure."
Vice Chancellor Ludwig Wagner posed a question."What would the Health Ministry do if the disease is found in the country?"
"Isolate and treat the patient, quarantine and monitor the contacts, and if this cabinet so decides, close all borders - international, provincial, district borders. That would isolate the disease in the same locality and prevent its further spread."
"And how do you propose that?"
"Mobilize the Home Guard, and/or the entire Armed Forces. Should the disease appear in this country, I propose that all travel between provinces be suspended. And then, any district that has a suspected case should also be quarantined - all travel into and out of the area will be prohibited."
"Is that even possible? How about feeding those people trapped in the quarantine zones?"
"Joschka, Cristian, and I, plus our ministries, had prepared a contingency plan. Basically we would close all provincial borders if a case is found in the country, and additionally, we would quarantine the affected district. Supplies will be airlifted or dropped into the quarantined districts courtesy of the Royal Austroslav Air Force." Śniadecki pulled out a document from his stylish briefcase. "Here. It's better if it's signed in advance. You can read it later if you want. I'm leaving for Königsberg today, after everyone signs, you can entrust it to Cristian."
"Is it legal?"
"Legal? The what?"
"Limiting the freedom of movement of people," Wagner asked.
"It is legal," Justice Minister Vojtech Šrobár declared. "We will find a way."

Other ministers briefed the Cabinet too. Treasury Minister Blažej Jankov assured the cabinet that resources are available and they can get further funds on Austroslavia's "rainy day fund". Communications and Media Minister Dariusz Robrzych said that a media campaign to educate the people is on its way.

For Foreign Minister Bruno Röthlisberger, "Finland is requesting our assistance."
"What assistance?"
"The Ministry of Foreign Affairs received a telegram from the government of Finland two hours ago. They are requesting for help, medical and non-medical. Their medical system could not cope with the number of ill people. Public order and the government is collapsing. Ambassador Myllyrinne told me that he might not even have a government to report back to."
"So what are the proposals?" Wagner demanded. "Invade Finland?"
"That would expose our soldiers and medical personnel to the brunt of epidemic," Šrobár observed. "They could carry the disease home, or succumb to it."
"I say we should not be involved in Finland at this time," Śniadecki agreed.
Many of the ministers nodded in agreement... but Welfare Minister Pető was aghast. "We, of all people, should not be ignoring such a humanitarian disaster! We are the ones in the best position to help them, being neighbors, being unaffected!"
"Would you want to risk that humanitarian disaster spreading into this country, Minister Pető?" Wagner asked testily, his eerie green eyes sending a stern message across the table. Wagner, the leader of the Liberals, knows his MPs and ministers well. He knows how to twist anyone's arms. And Pető knows not to risk it again this time. "Well?"
"I still think we should intervene," Pető said, raising his chin, "but if that isn't the decision of this cabinet, so be it. I'd like to be on the record that I want to intervene... Mr. Chancellor?"
Pottendorfer was just observing the proceedings. He was in favor of sending humanitarian assistance, as long as it doesn't risk the health of his people. He knew there will be a way, but there is strong opinion against intervention. Like what saying goes, "if your neighbor's house is on fire, it's time to save your own skin." Will Austroslavia save its own skin, or will it help put out the fire? He wished the King would arrive now...

As if on cue, the King - and Queen - of Austroslavia entered the room. The ministers were on their feet and bowed to the monarchs.

"Guten tag, ministeren," King Franz Adam greeted them as they all sat in their seats. The King wasted no time going to his agenda. "Perhaps Chancellor Pottendorfer had already told you that the Queen and I wanted to speak to you today," the King said rather somberly.
"I did not come here as King, on behalf of the people of Austroslavia, as I am satisfied with how this Cabinet is running this country. Indeed, I am confident that the people here in this room will do a good job in weathering this crisis and protecting my people."
"I came here for a personal appeal. You know that my mother is a Swede. The queen," the King nodded towards his wife, "is Danish. We have all heard the news of what is happening in Sweden and Denmark. I'd be frank with you that your Queen and I deem ourselves lucky. Most of our relatives in those countries are either dead or dying. The fate of the peoples of Sweden and Denmark are terrible. However," the King paused, "I believe that they are not doomed. There is still hope for them. My personal appeal is that we help these countries by sending humanitarian help, medical help, and if possible, help in restoring public and social order."
"If this personal appeal is not enough, I implore you to help these peoples for humanitarian reasons and in the interest of good neighborly relations." The King looked at his wife. The Queen, although she held her composure throughout the course of the King's appeal, now started to have tears in her eyes.
There was silence in the room. Here was the King of Austroslavia, pleading with them to help their neighbors, who are they to refuse such a request?

It was now Pető's turn to look smugly at Wagner. Others simply exchanged concerned, bewildered, or sympathetic glances.

"Finland also requests our assistance," Röthlisberger broke the silence by repeating his earlier statement. "If we would help our neighbors, now is the time to make the decision. Thousands are dying everyday due to our inaction."

Again an uneasy silence.

"So do we agree that we will send help to our neighbors?" Pető asked them. Almost all of them nodded, but not one disagreed.

"So what are the proposals?" Wagner asked again, this time respectfully.
"We can airlift supplies into the affected countries," Trade and Commerce Minister Edgar Savinmaa suggested.
"Public order and social services are failing, if not broken, in those countries," Drögemüller told them. "We need to put our own people there, to offer and distribute help."
"I'd also propose that everyone would be given prophylaxis and treatment," Śniadecki added. "In addition, our people should also get prophylaxis and adequate protection like face masks and haz suits if needed. And treatment should be given there, not here. They have to be certified disease-free before being allowed to enter the country - "
"Perhaps," Pottendorfer interrupted them, "if I may suggest, we form a committee for the relief of victims in neighboring countries. The planning and execution should be undertaken by the Ministries of Foreign Affairs, Defense, Health, Treasury, and Welfare. I hope you have available manpower for this?"
Röthlisberger, Drögemüller, Śniadecki, Pető and Jankov all nodded.
"Can they meet immediately after this meeting?"
"We're sure we'll have people available."
"One thing, though," Wagner said, "can we make the relief operations voluntary? Especially the soldiers that would be posted to the affected countries. I would like it to be voluntary, not forced upon them to go and risk dying there."
"We'll take that into consideration during our planning," Drögemüller answered diplomatically. He knew that was somewhat feasible, but not really practical. Drögemüller felt that Wagner still did not approve of this project and was only riding on it because it was the King's request and he was the only one still opposed to it.
"By the way," Pottendorfer asked, "Anyone who would like to head the relief efforts?"
Silence.
"I will," the teary-eyed Queen declared. "I will head the relief efforts. I would like to do my part too."
Several ministers looked in Chancellor Pottendorfer's direction.
"Sure, if that is what Your Highness wants," Pottendorfer said with a smile. "I'm sure Her Highness will do a great job."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TG9-j3eevL4

"My dear Julie," a hand wrote over an old, yellowed paper placed over asmall wooden table, challenging the flickering Newspeak, "I have accomplished my duty, and soon I will no longer remain in this world. Let my sons remember me as a hero, as a good man who sought the best for them and for this country. Do not shed tears for me, for I never wanted for you to suffer, but remember of the good days, of our happiness, of our joyful family. We had many good days, and although I will no longer be here, always have hope, always have hope that better days shall come."

"Better days shall come...", he thought, letting hopelessness engulf his mind as he recognized the doublethink of such message. Admiral Holloman has for his lifetime suppressed rebellious thoughts, aware of the pointlessness of even trying to resist the Goodrule. His submarine offered more privacy than even a typical bathroom in land, for surveillance inside them would damage EMCON. But perhaps they knew it, perhaps that was the reason: they wanted to dispose of him, but rather than through a public execution, in a far subtler manner, by sending him and his crew into such suicidal mission.

"Better days shall never come, the fools were all wrong to challenge the unchallengeable, to attempt winning a hopeless war. And thus they perished in pain and suffering. And now I shall perish as well. Holloman morbidly concluded, as a terrible pain ached his soul, the pain of powerlessness, and perhaps of cowardice as well, to challenge the will of the Goodbrother, but in truth, there was nothing he could do, and to recognize such fact was the greatest pain.

The electronic depth meter was already in a orange hue, indicating they were not in the fully safe range of depth, for otherwise detection would be nigh and their mission a failure, and even then, there was a risk involved with the pressures at such depths, a risk still smaller than the chances of being detected at lower depths. The admiral still wanted a honorable execution. If like Aristotle, he was given a tool to commit suicide, he would not simply drink it, but force them to the ultimate doublethink: by recognizing officially a traitor as a national hero, by erecting monuments, streets and schools in his name. It was the only way he could avenge such injustice, seven hundred meters beneath the seas, beneath the flying patrols of Layartebian origin, beneath the speeches and hate rituals of the Goodrule. Beneath the omniscience of the State, he kept most of the young crew in their innocent, blissful ignorance about the incoming fate.

His headset then reacted, as he listened to the engineering officer's voice, reporting that the decisive time was coming. A few played cards, talking about their lives, their families, their loyalty to the Goodbrother, naive, or perhaps trying to escape from reality.

"Admiral, reporting situation, over," the voice, almost hushed, explained, "Diesel engines at full stop and fuel cells operational, we are at maximum silence now. Awaiting new orders."

"Very well officer," he then pondered, as he accessed his computer terminal to recap information on Layartebian anti-submarine operations, "lower depth to one thousand three hundred meters."

"Admiral," the answer came promptly, "the Tiburón maximum test depth is of one thousand meters."

"And our chances of succeeding if we don't push this sub to its limits are nil. This is an order." the Admiral sighed after his reply, as he realized the stress he was pressing over all of them. It was necessary however, for no submarine was expected to be at such depths, for the very reason such SSK was developed was to dive beyond the effective range of every known sonar system of the world, and still remain combat able while drastically reducing the chances of detection. But to truly achieve this, it was necessary to risk both submarine and crew, as reality limited the dreams of its developers to create a perfect counter-offensive anti-shipping platform.

To risk human lives was perhaps a difficult choice, but when considering the frustration of knowing every viable choice would lead to such result, there was not much to ponder regarding morals. In moments like this, people had to do what they had to. Dozens of families would bear the loss... and for many, everything that has ever happened would be only another statistic, another game of numbers.

A steady decent was displayed, as worrisome noises echoed through the hull, the struggle of its titanium hull against the increasing pressures, the challenge of getting past the deep sound layer to ensure optimal chances of bypassing destroyer and frigate screens, and something that would certainly cause damage to some of its equipment, but considering their chances of succeeding at the mission and returning alive, it was irrelevant.

One thousand meters was indicated, in a red color, and the number continued to increase. Many sailors awaited, anxiously, holding tight and alert should something happen. The sound of metal bending to extreme pressures happened again, and the Admiral remained stoic, aware that there was no turning back

"One thousand, one hundred fifty meters," the engineering officer informed openly, to reinforce the situation they were facing, "stabilizing tanks now"

The descent however, did not slow down, and fearfully, Holloman watched as the depth went past 1,300 meters , something that only a handful of Soviet submarines have managed to go through.

"Electronic controls are inoperable," the engineer stressed, as sounds of men struggling to move handles could be listened, "we are trying to use hydraulic controls for the ballasts."

The sounds of metals twisting slowly intensified, and the red number grew further as even his recognition of the inevitable could not alleviate his tension and worry. Perhaps now it was their time to end, as now the depth came to one thousand, four hundred fifty meters, and he knew that although tough, the Tiburón would soon be smashed like a soda can in a thrash compressor, and as soon, they would be forgotten, ignored as much as an actual soda can, their deaths in vain, and his last moments filled with guilt and despair.

A large, splashing thump then came, as a bolt was thrown from the hull, indicating the beginning of the end. And then, a few seconds later, another bolt was splattered over the metal floor, as sailors cowled in fear, bracing themselves, their eyes staring which could be the next bolt to fly, or the next lamp to implode. Young men, their will broken slowly as they approached a meeting with death.

"What have I done? Why have I accepted this?" the Admiral wondered if perhaps, moving towards the lands of nearby democracies would be a better choice than accepting death and damning everyone with him. With one thousand, four hundred and fifty meters, the Tiburón began to show its limits. Men desperatedly attempted to repair the crescendo of damage the deep pressure was exerting over the sub, hoping it would stabilize somehow. Eventually, the screen of his terminal shattered, and now all that remained was the analog display next to it, its pointer at the end, as their depth went beyond design parameters, and now all the Admiral could do was to pray.

Then, it stopped, at last, as the struggling ballasts managed to stabilized the depth. They had luck, for now, but counting further on it would not be a good idea.

"This is Admiral Holloman, requesting damage report, over." with a sigh of both alleviation and fear, he proceeded as he could no longer analyze the situation through a computer screen.

"Situation under control. No critical damage, three computer displays were destroyed, two informational computers are damage and twenty fluorescent lamps were broken. One of our sailors has been wounded by a glancing hit from a rogue bolt against his head but he will recover in a few minutes."

"Or he could have died," the Admiral added, "we must thank God we are still alive."

And thus, in depths no known submarine ever dared to explore, by either sheer chance or the will of God, they remained able to continue the mission. One thousand five hundred meters below the Layartebian surface fleet, and remaining at operational silence, in a sluggish speed, but with far greater silent than what a nuclear submarine could achieve. The consequences of such bold action however, were still uncertain, and now another moment of worry was to come, the lull before the conflict, the tension of hearing the distant wakes, the hunters searching for their prey.

And they were all alone, without support, without allies, without any significant chance of survival. Dying for their country, so others may live without purpose.

"Everybody in your battle stations!" the Admiral shouted as men began to move at their designated roles, except for those still repairing the damage that could be repaired.

Now, they awaited, tensely, for in the next minutes, the uncertainty on whether they would be ironically detected by the enemy screening vessels, after all they went through, after all he risked, or not, was the primary thought in their minds, as they carefully listened to their passive sonar instead of only trusting their systems to interpret it. The submarine, like a marathon runner challenging his limits, panted through such unimaginable depth, and tense men prepared for either the chance of destroying a carrier, or of not dying before bringing some of the Layartebians together.

They were getting close... very close, it was clear there was something they were approaching, despite being perhaps far above them. There was no way to be certain however, and thus they awaited in worry for what fate or chance reserved for them. For sometimes, people could not even choose how to die. And perhaps, the choice was already made for them.

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

Hell. It was a Hell, to think how he should explain to the Goodbrother, that somehow, one of their submarines have departed without any express order, perhaps with unpersons seeking political asylum, and to betray their secrets. A primal fear of punishment, and the belief that perhaps ignoring it would be more beneficial to him, were good reasons for trying to cover-up such happening.

The Goodbrother after all, was anything but forgiving, and should he discover that such man has failed in his responsibilities as a head of Navy, dying with the men of Holloman would be an unfathomable wish bred in his mind while he faced the draconian punishment for such incompetence.

And thus, he proceeded with his routine, ignoring the incident as it wouldn't truly make a difference in the bigger picture. Just a bunch of stowaways in a stolen submarine, an acceptable loss that could be overshadowed by his competence in other endeavors. They were indoctrinated to believe that after all, that individuals other than the Goodbrother could never achieve anything of importance, and thus, why blame him for such event?

The carrier fleet continued its zigzagged patrol route, moving closer and closer to the Faroe Islands, their ultimate destination, to spearhead a potential attack by now renegade Russian forces. Spread out over a distance that extended past the seeable horizon, the nineteen ships of the 2nd Carrier Battle Group maintained a vigilant watch, protecting the carrier at all costs. Surface operations were done quietly, without active sensors, relying on information beamed from the high flying AWACS and even higher flying satellites. Aerial operations were done just as well, AWACS operating its LPI radar at its maximum capabilities, combing the skies for threats both on the surface and in the air. Patrols of Tomcats and Wraiths, armed to the teeth with short and long range missiles maintained invisible patrol lines over a hundred miles from the carrier and thus the center of the battle group. Subsurface operations continued using already submerged submarines and various elements of the surface fleet, especially the dedicated ASW destroyers, Verrazanos. Both of these ships had been specifically designed to hunt submarines and blow them clean out of the water without relying on anything but itself. Its mission capabilities were heavily enhanced when they were combined with submarines and aerial platforms. Long, heavy, and expensive, each Verrazano carried a single MH-60R Sea Hawk ASW helicopter as its aerial contingent and while plans to develop an ASW UAV had been placed on the table, none had passed the prototype stage just yet. The Verrazano's main armament against submarines came from its two Mark 32 Mod 1 SVTT triple-tube launchers, each tube carrying a single Mark 50 Mod 2 Barracuda torpedo. Designed to attack high-speed, deep diving submarines, the Mod 4 packed a sizeable, 150 lb. plastic explosive warhead that gave it a TNT equivalent of almost 300 lb. The Mod 4 had originally been designed only for the Tiburón torpedo boat but had since been adapted for the Verrazano because of its devastating capabilities. Weighing 950 lb., the torpedo could attack submarines up to 4,500 feet beneath the waves out to thirty-two nautical miles or less, depending on its speed, which maxed out at 60 knots, so fast that no submarine could outrun it. Other ASW weapons came from its VLS cells, of which there were 224. Originally the Verrazano carried only 64 but following a modification that increased the length of the ship by 100 feet, an additional 160 cells were added. These cells packed mostly VL-ASROC missiles that carried Barracuda or Mako torpedoes themselves and extended the range in which the Verrazano could strike.

Lethality was the Verrazano's goal and it was achieved. Underneath the waves it was joined by two attack submarines, specifically designed to hunt other submarines. One was a Hunter class and the other a Scythe class, the former an entirely new vessel that entered service only a few years prior. The Hunter class, like the Scythe class, was a completely unknown hull. The world was led to assume that the ILN used the Virginia class submarines and while they were used, they weren't the pinnacle of the Layartebian submarine fleet. The Hunter and Scythe were, two classes that had entered service secretly, protected most of the navy's battle groups. The submarines entered and exited their underwater and underground pens completely submerged, never having surfaced in either of their lives. Repairs were done completely inside and rivers were purposely dug out to allow for submarines to travel entirely underwater. Murky water prevented any sort of visual identification from above and light civilian shipping traffic often passed over the submarines without ever knowing they were underneath. It was a costly but worthwhile endeavor. The Hunter was designed based on the principles of both the Virginia and its descendents but with knowledge and foresight from the Mike class. It was double hulled, 12,500 tons submerged, and was powered by a pair of pebble bed nuclear reactors, which allowed for refueling every thirty-three years. Each one generated 125MW and the submarine had a power output of 80,000 shp allowing it to cruise as fast as 35 knots or sprint up to 40 knots. Covered in anechoic tiling both inside and out, the submarine was silent at up to speeds of 25 knots submerged and its construction allowed it to maintain a crush depth of 5,000 feet, nearly a mile down, slightly deeper than the Mike class. The Scythe class was almost identical in capability and application.

Sensitive sonar equipment on all three ship classes listened in the best medium possible for sound transmission for anything unusual. Echoes of anything not aquatic would trigger alerts. It was one of these alerts that brought, to attention, the presence of a possible hostile submarine. Moving with the fleet at just 12 knots, the Hunter's sonar picked up far distant sounds that translated into pressure effects on a hull. They were barely audible at first, traveling through the water very rapidly and very far. The sounds were indicative, at first, with a submarine diving well below 800 feet, and the creaking and groaning alerted the sonar operators to the presence of a submarine somewhere out there. The submarine had dove too fast and not gradually enough to eliminate the sound or its construction didn't allow for inner sound absorption inside its hull. The spaces between the Hunter's hull was coated with a highly dense, rubberized foam that trapped sound from both inside and out. The sounds were far enough away to be just echoes but when the next salvo of sounds came, they were louder and closer. At first it sounded like a submarine was imploding, possibly as a result of exceeding its crush depth but there wasn't an actual implosion sound. That would have been too loud to mistake for anything else and yet none came. Something was definitely out there and coming closer to the fleet. The towed sonar array of the Hunter told as much as it trailed more than a half mile behind the submarine. It would have to investigate and the captain of the vessel, upon reviewing the sonar data put his submarine into an odd route towards the sound. It was definitely something transiting in their general direction but he couldn't go straight for it. The bow sensor of the submarine, which more than capable, was not its most valuable asset. That was the towed array, trailing behind the submarine, behind where there was no noise from the propeller, machinery, or reactor. Though shielded, all of those reduced the effects of sonar and there was little way around them for hull sensors. That was the beauty of the tower array, it was only attached to the hull, not part of it. Already below the initial thermocline layer, the Hunter's captain order the vessel into a very gradual dive which would bring him to nearly 2,000 feet under the water.

On board the Verrazano, around the same time as the Hunter picked up the sound so too did the sonar operators on board. They were cause for instant alarm and the Sea Hawk would be dispatched, ordered to drop some of its sonobuoys near the location of the sound. Each AN/SSQ-111 Thermal Penetrating Sonobuoy operated in one of two modes, active or passive, just like a sonar for it was a mobile sonar. However, these buoys were unlike those normally deployed. While they floated, they were able to descend a very small but very sensitive sensor that traveled to more than half a mile underneath the water, well underneath the thermocline layers. That sensor could listen or emit active "pings" and transmit the information back to the Sea Hawk and thus back to the Verrazano and wherever else. With just twenty buoys on board, the Sea Hawk would move to the general area, deploy two and move to another area, deploying them in a very precise grid. They would be, initially passive but could be remotely switched to active. Capable of floating around for hours upon hours, each sonobuoy was an expendable sonar that sunk when its mission was complete, where the sea water would, over time, destroy it and wither it away. The game would begin...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Irish Sea was a tense place for anyone to be, especially a civilian business jet. Flying south from Iceland to mainland France, the LDC Model 006, essentially an LDC built Dassault Falcon 7X, cruised at 32,000 feet. It was flying through a specific corridor under the careful watch of ground radars on both sides. The sea had an invisible, electronic fence that extended from the seabed all the way up to the highest level of the Earth's atmosphere. On the east of that fence was the Third Spanish States and to the west was the Empire. Both sides stood on either side, glaring across the fence, at each other, fists clenched, feet ready to knock the fence one way or the other and charge. It wasn't the best place for a civilian business jet, especially one so important. The jet was carrying three executives from the Umbrella Corporation including Dr. Michelle Sloan, PhD. She was the Chief Operating Officer of the European Division and had been one of the few who declared the Treblinka Research Center a lost cause on that fateful night. The upper echelon of the corporation, including her, swept the mess under the table and with the tacit approval of the Layartebian government, claimed it to be an accident and reaped insurance benefits. This particular airplane was one of those benefits and the three executives along with two pilots and a single, beautiful stewardess were flying throughout various points in Europe, meeting with doctors from Umbrella, to ensure that whatever caused the Cottish Flu Pandemic wasn't linked back to Treblinka, if it was even related at all. The plane flew a specific course over the night sky, its lights blinking, its strobe light flashing, warning other aircraft of its presence.

Everything seemed normal and fine for the plane and its passengers. The three executives talked business while the stewardess fixed herself a coffee, light with two sugars. She was young, barely twenty-three years old, tall, skinny, blonde, and mysterious. She worked her way into the Umbrella stewardess program after dropping out of college at the age of twenty-one and managed to get her way to the European contingent through less than moral means. She winked at one of the executives before and when he winked back, she lifted her eyebrows a little. He would be hers for the night and she knew he'd beg, most men who flew on her aircraft, executives of course, were in superficial marriages, if they were in any at all and not divorced. A stunning stewardess in a skirt, heels, and a revealing shirt would give them some life back and she would remember their names. She wanted to be rich and she didn't care how she'd get there. That was all going to change though. Cruising at 550 mph over the Irish Sea, the pilots relaxed, the cockpit door closed so they could chat with one another privately. They had the aircraft on autopilot and they drank coffee themselves, looking out at the endless night sky, its stars radiating everywhere when, suddenly, there was a hard jolt. The plane instantly lurched forward and up, violently throwing the autopilot off and flinging them and the passengers from their seats. The engines revved up to high RPM and burst into flames, shards of metal tearing through the weak fuselage of the business jet, a trail of black smoke and red flames shooting out of the rear of the aircraft as it nosed over into a dive. The violent stress on the aircraft tore its starboard engine clear off and flung it back, into the sky, left to plummet towards the sea below while the rear of the aircraft caught fire. Inside, Michelle Sloan had been thrown across the whole cabin and hit her head on the cockpit door, instantly knocking her unconscious. She had not had her seat belt on while the other two executives who both did, remained in their seats but were violently tossed about. The beautiful stewardess, who had been standing at the time was flung, head first into an aluminum compartment door that was open. She had no time to react and death was instant. Both pilots, who had their seat belts off as well, were thrown forward, up, and down, their hands flipping knobs and switches, pushing the throttles to near maximum effort. One was knocked unconscious, the other suffering a broken leg.

The plane dove out of control, its speed increasing rapidly past its maximum velocity, the ground coming closer and closer, altimeter dropping wildly as the engines burned behind the aircraft. The co-pilot, lying against the controls of the aircraft bled from his head while the pilot struggled to reach for the radio. He saw the warning lights and heard the bells and whistles. The aircraft was on fire, the hydraulics inoperable, and the fire extinguisher button out of his reach. The radio was barely there and he reached for it, keying up the microphone button and screaming in panic. "Emergency! Emergency! Umbrella 1452 declaring an emergency. We are going down. I repeat. We are going down, aircraft is out of control, explosion..." The radio went silent as the fuel lines caught fire. The explosion was instant while over twenty thousand points of highly flammable jet fuel flashed and vapors ignited. The plane was torn into millions of pieces at an altitude of 26,249 feet above the Irish Sea, its death a seemingly unexplainable occurrence.

It was at that moment that a single, elusive, very quiet, black shade, trailing two and a half miles behind the falling business jet banked away and towards the west, towards Ireland. The aircraft was an F-24C Knightowl, a top secret, Layartebian stealth escort fighter. Designed to escort the F-19C Ghostrider to and from its target, the Knightowl was a supersonic aircraft that could fly over 80,000 feet in the air and carry a sizeable missile payload internally. Invisible on radar while subsonic, the Knightowl had engaged the business jet with a single Stinger missile, heavily modified for use at high altitude. The missile's light warhead had been enough to destroy the aircraft's center engine and cause its eventual, cataclysmic demise. A highly clandestine operation, the Knightowl would soon return to base at Tuam Air Force Base, taxi to its protective hangar, its presence, existence, mission, and flight a mystery.

From the English version of the online newspaper Österslawicher Zeitung:
http://www.zeitung.co.as/n2430294.stm

http://img379.imageshack.us/img379/1176/osterslawischerzeitung.png

Refugees swamp the Baltic coast
Austroslavs to send aid to stem the tide

By Karl Schleicher
STETTIN - An estimated 60,000 refugees from Denmark, Sweden, and Finland took the treacherous journey across the Baltic sea towards the Austroslav coast, in the hopes of escaping their plague-torn homelands.

Baltic coast swarmed
Yet only 15,000 were reported to have arrived in the Austroslav coast, according to last night's joint report by the Royal Austroslav Coast Guard and the Royal Austroslav Navy. Pursuant to the Cabinet Order 2009-109, which closed off the Kingdom's borders, the Royal Austroslav Navy is turning away any watercraft headed towards the Austroslavia's Baltic coast. However, this was tempered by a request from Welfare Minister Endre Pető for the Austroslavs to render humanitarian assistance to the refugees.

"We are not 'turning away the refugees to let them float in the Baltic'," said Admiral Gerhard Jäger of the Baltic Navy. "We are guiding the refugee vessels to several islands off the coast and on designated "landing areas" to anchor there temporarily. The occupants of the vessels are being examined by the Bureau of Quarantine and are provided for by the Royal Austroslav Red Cross and the Ministry of Welfare. We require them to stay there to be observed for about two weeks, the period recommended by the Ministry of Health, in order to ensure that no occupant carries or develops the flu. After which we expect them to be admitted and processed by the Bureau of Immigration."

Already some of the vessels have been affected by the flu. Off the coast of the Estonan island of Ösel (Saaremaa), two ships from Stockholm moored on the islet of Püskumadal were carrying infected passengers. The Coast Guard quarantined the ships, and as of this writing one-fourth of the passengers aboard these two ships have been declared dead.

Died at sea
The remaining 45,000 may be dead or dying in the numerous 'death ships' that were found or will be found by the Royal Austroslav Navy along the Baltic coast. The Navy ship KRMS Baranya found a Finnish ship floating off the coast of Spithami, Estonia, with all the occupants dead. "If it's not the flu, it's the lack of supplies for the crossing, compounded by the danger of the journey, that may have made it deadly," said Kapitän János Rajcsányi of the KRMS Baranya.

Another Danish ship from Bornholm beached on the Pomeranian Coast between Rewahl (Rewal) and Horst (Niechorze), with all its passengers dead. Officials from the Bureau of Quarantine quickly arrived at the scene and disposed of the ship and its load to prevent diseases that will be spread by the decomposing bodies.

Indeed, with the many death ships floating in the Baltic, the Navy had prepared plans to burn them at sea rather than waiting for them to beach and pose a health hazard to the Austroslav coast. "We hope our plan gets approved," said Admiral Jäger.

http://img244.imageshack.us/img244/5615/burningboat.png
A small "death ship" being burned after beaching at the Estonian island
of Dagö (Hiiumaa), near the village of Kaleste. The Royal Austroslav
Coast Guard said that the ship came from one of the Stockholm suburbs.

Austroslavia at the receiving end
Austroslavia's 5,055 kilometer Baltic coastline meant that most of the refugees would land on its coast. From Estonia, though Latvia, Lithuania, Prussia and to Pomerania, coastal towns are being overwhelmed with the preparations needed to protect their communities and to aid the refugees. Stettin's emergency fund had been almost depleted by the costs of preparation, while its income-generating shipbuilding and sea trade had been severely crippled by the closure of Austroslavia's maritime borders. Without any federal declaration of a state of emergency or state of calamity, Austroslavia's federal emergency fund is not available to the communities and provinces. All of the provinces bordering the Baltic had already pronounced their jurisdictions in a state of emergency and is pouring in money to bolster preparations and aid. "We need Parliament to mobilize that money so our preparations would be faster and more efficient, our defenses better, and our aid larger," said Premier Adam Krippenstapel of Pomerania.

Not just by sea, but on land
The Baltic is not the only place refugees try to cross. Austroslavia shares a border with the Realm of Cotland in the provinces of Ingria and Estonia. With the Narva River separating Estonia from Cotland, the brownriver section of the Baltic Navy is strictly monitoring the river boundary to prevent anyone from crossing into Estonia. Still, an estimated 8,000 people tried to cross from Cotland into Austroslavia via Ingria, with varying degrees of success. Elements of the 3rd Infantry Division, based in Falkenbach (Strugi Krasnye), and the Ingrian Home Guard had been heavily patrolling the mostly wooded border. And the penalties are harsh. "My order is shoot-to-kill," declared Generalmajor Johann Schwabach of the 3rd Infantry Division. Border crossings into Ingria are still jammed with the Cottish despite being closed.

The situation is "an emergency," said Premier Toomas Siinmaa of Ingria. In a stirring speech in Gidow (Gdov) yesterday, Siinmaa declared that the refugees "are Ingrians too." The Cottish side of the border was historically the northern part of Ingria. "We promise that we will do everything we can to help our brothers," and that "we will overwhelm anyone who dare build walls between us!" Already there are signs of tension between the premier, who commands the Ingrian Home Guard, and Generalmajor Schwabach with regards to patrolling the Ingrian borders. In response to Siinmaa's speech, Generalmajor Schwabach announced that he will be relieving the Ingrian Home Guard of it patrol duties, and that all of the borders of Ingria - including that between Ingria and the provinces of Estonia and Latvia - will be patrolled by the 3rd Infantry, assisted by the 8th Mechanized Division, based in Pleskau. Siinmaa is lobbying Preßburg to either open the borders or send humanitarian assistance to Cotland to ease the pressure on his province.

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Cottish crowds at the closed border crossings into the province of Ingria.

Austroslavia to send aid
Austroslavia announced that it will be sending humanitarian assistance to Sweden, Finland, and Denmark through the newly-created Royal Austroslav Aid Agency (Königliche Österslawische Hilfsorganisation, KÖHo). The KÖHo is personally headed by Her Majesty Queen Margaret and is supported by the Ministries of Defense, Foreign Affairs, Health, Treasury, and Welfare, plus several private charities.

In a press conference last night, KÖHo announced their plans to aid Denmark, Sweden, and Finland. KÖHo had appropriated A€ 9 million to aid the three countries. With the government and order collapsing in the three nations, Defense Minister Joschka Drögemüller announced the deployment of several army divisions into the three countries (see deployment map below). The soldiers will distribute the aid and help in treating the ill, and also will restore order in their countries. The deployment would also include the Royal Austroslav Navy and Royal Austroslav Air Force, which will supply the Army units and carry the aid intended for the country. The Air Force will also airlift supplies into the inaccessible areas.

Drögemüller was quick to allay fears. "Our men will be adequately prepared for this mission. We will ensure that we will protect them from the disease as they do their humanitarian job." Drögemüller added that the Health Ministry will be helping the Army in this regard.

With the Finnish government almost nonexistent, Finland's Ambassador to Austroslavia Juhani Myllyrinne gave the assent to deploy the Royal Austroslav Army into his country. The rump Swedish Riksdag also communicated their agreement to accept the aid and deployment of the Royal Austroslav Army into Sweden. No word had come from Denmark, but Danish Ambassador to Austroslavia Timothy Lüth said his government's acceptance is forthcoming.

The first convoy of aid will leave Danzig for Karlskrona later at noon today.

Deployment Map
http://img244.imageshack.us/img244/4343/help.png
[NB: Einwohnersahl - population; Todesfälle - deaths; colored lines indicate the port cities of departure and arrival.]

"Sir, the Austroslavians have closed their borders, finally. The developing chaos is quickly growing uncontrollable. Our forces were too thin to stop some 60,000 plus refugees from running south, across the Baltic Sea. Many were interned on the various islands north of the Austroslavian coast and we know not what's going on there either and many never made it. They'll be floating around in the sea for some time and that isn't going to be beneficial at all sir. The Austroslavians are taking it upon themselves to destroy and burn as many of them as they can find. The chaos is completely out of control." The Minister of Foreign Affairs informed the Emperor as both of them walked along the outside of the Fortress of Comhghall. It was a clear, starry, and mild night in Layarteb City but not mild enough to warrant the lack of a jacket. A gentle breeze swept over the island as the Emperor stopped and looked out, facing northward. The lights of lower Manhattan, of the World Trade Center, the Tower of Luna, the Empire State Building, and the dozens of other sky scrappers lit up the night and a single cloud above the city. The sights and sounds of Manhattan were lost from this far away, only the outlines of its buildings and the light they emitted visible. The Emperor had needed a walk, needed fresh air. The whole day had been a difficult and stressing one. Any other man of his age, doing what he did, for as long as he did would have collapsed by now. Yet he endured, his health excellent and his will strong.

"So it would seem that the Austroslavians have, in essence, the same concerns that we have. We cannot allow the spread of this pandemic and neither can they but we both go about it in different ways. The infected are a large mass of people that we've largely contained but this breakout is indicative that our containment is failing. How many have died already?"

"Sir. Best estimates are over fifteen million already, mostly Cottish deceased and another twenty to thirty-five million infected worldwide. The disease remains localized to Europe. Neither the Irish nor Icelandic republics show signs of infection of our populace but this can change all too easily with the flood of Cottish refugees. They believe that if they stay in Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Denmark, they have no chance of survival but if they escape, they have a chance. They are defying the orders of our peacekeeping forces and a small group even attacked some at the port in Bergen. They failed in their objective but it sent shock waves throughout the Cottish populace. Sir. We need to act."

"How do you propose we do that? Slaughter them? I may have always acted in the best interests of our Empire, regardless of the situation but turning an entire culture against the Empire is not in our best interests. The Empire has already been friendly to the Cottish and we must always be friendly to them, regardless of what is going on in the world. The Nerotikans are encroaching upon them and who knows who else is looking around. The Third Spanish States as well. Europe is a fragile place right now, very fragile. Too fragile. We are almost at war with the Third Spanish States, we are at war with the Nerotikans, we are faced with the unknown threat of the Austroslavians, and all the while, the Russian Federation is crumbling away to some unknown entity. The Eastasians have called it quits to the world and with the assassination of Premier Zhao who knows what's to come of their country. The world is teetering on the brink of a second World War and while we stayed neutral the first time around I doubt, highly, we're going to be neutral this time. Get word to the Austroslavians that their actions are contradictory to what needs to happen. We and others, including the Brinkians, have established an international response to this measure, one that wasn't simple to do. The international stage is volatile and they need to either cooperate with it and prevent the spread of this disease with us or step aside. We will help to stem the flow of refugees moving over the Baltic Sea but they have to know that even the dead or dying have a place. They must not be burned at sea. Bodies can still become infected and we have no idea how this will affect fish populations. They could be immune, they could become carriers. We must keep this controlled to what designated areas we have established. Get that message to them and get it to them quickly. If they continue to act in contradiction we're going to have to take action and yes, we have the capabilities to do just that." The Minister of Foreign Affairs nodded and quickly set off to send the communique. It would be sent to both Seine Majestät König Franz Adam von Habsburg-Lothringen and Reichskanzler Christoph Pottendorfer and the Emperor also requested a meeting with them at the earliest convenience. It didn't have to be face to face just yet as the Empire and the United Kingdoms of Austroslavia had no diplomatic relations yet but it had to be sooner rather than later.

Baako's eyes were transfixed, unflinching and cold. Her bottomless brown eyes lifeless and stoic. A cold wind tossed around her hair but still she didn't, couldn't, move. In front of her was a row of about seven bodies covered in white cloth. Most of them were kids no older then fourteen. Their tiny feet poking innocently from underneath the blanket was a sight she simply could not bare. Her legs were weak and her stomach was in knots. A grieving young mother, beautiful and tragic, wept at the feet of the tiniest pair of shoes. She grasped her young child's feet trying to pull him back into the living. A young man, presumably her husband, swung his arms around her, trying desperately and unsuccessfully to calm her. Her cries grew louder as she pulled the man tight burying her head into his shoulder.

He gently ran his hands along her head, whispering something into her ear. Baako watched them in silent agony. The man was so young, so handsome, so strong; but completely powerless. He saw Baako standing there and with a tear streaming gently down his cheek said, “Waarom...waarom?” He turned back to his wife knowing no answer was possible.

Baako could do nothing but stare. Dutch. These people weren't even Swedish but here they were dying for no reason. Her emotions were beginning to overwhelm her. She began to think about the rest of the bodies underneath the blankets. Who were they? How did they get here? How many mothers couldn't cry for their children because they were already dead?

A hand was quickly on her back and she flinched because of it. She let herself somewhat collapse in the arms of the stranger, breathing heavily as she supported herself on the person's weight. The person was head of the African Relief Effort in Stockholm, or simply her boss, Kgosi Tau. Tau was much older at 61 years old. He had a thin white beard and a balding head. Glasses sat perched upon his pronounced nose and his cheeks were slowly starting to droop. He was kind and gentle and perhaps the most respected doctor in the Republic. Despite his age he still carried himself like a twenty year old, with confidence and vigor.

He rubbed her arms to try and warm her up. He too looked over the white blankets flapping in the breeze. He removed his glasses for a moment, cleaned them, and slid them back onto his nose.

“We are going to stop this,” he said to Baako trying to comfort her.

She continued to look at the bodies while replying, “tell that to them.”

He could sense the growing anger inside her and removed his arm. She turned and he turned with her. Tau was right, Baako's sorrow was quickly turning into anger and rage.

“Where is everyone,” she said, her voice growing.

“What do you mean,” replied Tau.

“We are here watching people die, watching them suffer and starve. We can only do so much. Yet the rest of the world sits on there hands trying to tiptoe into around it.”

Tau understood what she was saying. He thought a moment trying to defuse the situation. “You know how governments are. There are a lot of interests here, including their own personal safety. They are doing what they can for now.”

“Bullshit,” Baako shouted, surprising Tau, “people are dying and they close down boarders. People try and run and they are gunned down. Has the President seen that row of children? Has the Emperor walked the streets of Stockholm? They sit in their offices thousands of miles away getting information from people who haven't even left the capital. I had to choose today between three people who got medicine because I didn't have enough for them all. You know why?

“Because every fucking country around us is closing up boarders and enforcing strict military regulations.”

Tau knew he couldn't calm her down, he had to just let her say what she had to. Baako was a strong woman. She was fierce and determined. And she was right. He, everyone in the group, felt the same. They were running low on supplies not to mention many of them were working nonstop. He personally hadn't slept in 48 hours and he knew Baako hadn't slept in at least three days. They needed help.

He made another attempt to calm her, “It'll change soon. Just give them a little more time. The world will do the right thing.”

She stopped and looked at him, straight in the eye, “no, the world will do what it does best...nothing.” With that she walked away.

Königsberg General Hospital

"Patient was found unconscious in Pregel Park by a jogger," the paramedic told the emergency room physician as he wheeled the man into the emergency room of the Königsberg General Hospital.

A team of nurses, doctors, and interns swarmed over the unconscious man. One nurse cut away the man's muddy clothes to expose his upper body. A technician wiped off the mud and dried his chest in order to put on the monitoring electrodes. An intern palpates the right radial pulse in order to get one of the vital signs, while another intern ties a tourniquet on the upper left arm to insert the intravenous line. Indeed, the patient did not move as the intern inserted the needle and cannula into one of the dorsal veins of the hand.

"PR 125, RR 45, Temp 40.2 degrees Centigrade, BP 90/60, GCS score 6 E1V1M4, pupils 8mm NRTL," the intern blabbered out the vital signs to the doctor and the tech who wrote it on the record. The intern looked down on his portable pulse oximeter. "O2 Sat 79%."

Dr. Höchst, the ER physician, issued orders. "Get a CBC, serum electrolytes, BUN/Crea, run a tox screen, get a blood GS/CS. Once stabilized we'll get a chest X-ray."

"ABG?" the intern offered.
"Yes please." Dr. Höchst looked at the patient. The patient's lips were of lavender color, and his face with a slight bluish tinge. "Although from the looks of it I know the patient is cyanotic. Institute oxygen therapy as soon as possible."

Another nurse went over to Dr. Höchst. "We are in for a surprise check," the nurse whispered to the doctor. "Health Minister Śniadecki will be dropping by."

"Okay," the doctor said. "We'll have a visitor coming... you make a primary working impression while I examine the patient."

"Sepsis?" The intern offered. "Tachycardic, tachypneic, febrile, hypotensive, hypoxic. Most probably with a pulmonary primary infection. I'd call this a bacterial pneumonia, severe."

"Could be drug abuse," the other intern said. "Some of the commonly abused drugs can produce derangement of vital signs. Plus the fact that the patient was found in a public park with signs of delirium... though I have to agree with Knut, this looks like severe bacterial pneumonia with sepsis."

"I'd go with that. I hear crackles. Ensure that the chest X-ray will be done," Dr. Höchst said, and then turned to the tech holding the patient's chart. "Pupils 8 mm NRTL, (+) tonsillopharyngeal congestion, (+) cervical lymphadenopathy," she dictated her findings. "Muffled breath sounds, (+) fine crackles all over the lung fields. Distinct heart sounds, tachycardic, regular rhythm, no murmurs. Abdominal exam essentially normal. Weak radial and dorsalis pedis pulses, nailbeds cyanotic, no clubbing, no pedal edema. Normoreflexive - "

They were interrupted by the sight of an entourage going their way. The attention they attract, the way they move, made it apparent that these people were important.

Leading the group's rounds was the senior emergency physician on duty. The head nurse was there too. The chairperson of the hospital's Department of Emergency Medicine was there, as was the hospital director. There were faces that Dr. Höchst could only see on TV. The Prussian Minister of Health was there, as was the federal Minister of Health, Dr. Kaspar Śniadecki.

The group stopped by Dr. Höchst and her patient's bed. "We are here to ensure your hospital's preparedness for the epidemic," said Dr. Kronecker, the Minister of Health of the Province of Prussia, to the group.

"It seems you have enough facilities to tackle with the epidemic," Dr. Śniadecki told the group, and then turned to the hospital director, "Can I ask you staff some, er, stuff?"
"Sure."

Śniadecki approached Dr. Höchst and her patient. "Good day," he said, smiling, "I am Dr. Kaspar Śniadecki. And you are?"
"Dr. Johanna Höchst," she replied.
"What this case?" He asked, pointing to the patient.
"We believe it's severe bacterial pneumonia, with sepsis, sir."
"Ah, I see. Can I ask you some questions?" Śniadecki did not even wait for Höchst to answer. "As you know, we are being faced with a spreading epidemic, the Cottish flu. We should increase our index of suspicion for any cases that may be the Cottish flu. Who would be the patients that you think we should evaluate for the flu?"

Dr. Höchst paused. With the look the hospital director and the department chairperson is giving her, she ought to be able to answer all of these questions...
"Ah, I know that," the intern named Knut said to the other intern.
Śniadecki heard the intern. "Yes," he said, gesturing towards the intern as he read his namepatch. "Intern Knut Gröbler."
Gröbler smiled as he blathered out the stuff he had just read. "We would suspect Cottish flu if the patient exhibits signs and symptoms of flu and a viral illness, such as low-grade fever, malaise, prostration, cough (which can be productive or nonproductive). If it becomes significantly worse there can be dyspnea, orthopnea, cyanosis, hypoxia, and signs of pulmonary edema. Ultimately there would be respiratory collapse. Of course, we would increase our suspicion of the Cottish flu if the patient had a history of travel to areas affected by the flu, such as Cotland, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, and others."

"Very good," Śniadecki said with a grin, and then turned to the hospital director. "I'm glad that even the interns are aware of the flu..." Śniadecki faced the intern again. "So if you encountered a suspected case, what would you do?"
"Immediately institute quarantine measures. Aside from giving the standard treatment, we would give flu prophylaxis to contacts, which can be oseltamivir 75 mg OD for 7 days, rimantadine 100 mg BID for 14 days, or amantadine 100 mg OD for 14 days."
"Very good. What else?"
Gröbler paused. "Follow stringent hospital infection control measures."
"What else?"
"Uhhhh, give the patient medications too?"
"What else?"
"Ummmmm..."

Dr. Höchst briefly glanced at Gröbler. It was time to save the intern's ass. "Contact the provincial Ministry of Health, in order to launch an epidemiologic investigation."
"Correct, that's an important thing to do," Śniadecki said, "what else?"

Pause.

"What if the patient dies?" Śniadecki asked.
"Then we would send the patient's tissues, especially lung tissue, to a designated laboratory for confirmation if the strain is indeed the Cottish flu. For Prussia, the designated lab is the Institute of Biotechnology of the Royal University of Prussia - Königsberg."
"Do you need the patient dead to get the sample?"
Dr. Höchst stopped to think. This guy wants patients to undergo lung biopsies?!
"Er... perhaps we can send sputum... and blood," Gröbler interrupted from Dr. Höchst's back.

"Very good," Śniadecki said, turning to the hospital director. "Your staff is good."
"Thank you, Dr. Śniadecki," the hospital director said, leading the group away from Dr. Höchst and her patient.

Dr. Höchst's team attanded to their patient. X-rays were done, and the patient was stabilized.

"It looked like multilobar pneumonia on the radiograph," Dr. Höchst said as the patient was wheeled back to the ER from the XRay suite. The tech was making a good job of rummaging through the patient's pockets while pushing the patient's bed.
"Bingo," the tech said as he fished out a damp leather wallet. "Rich guy?" He remarked, taking note of the billfold's thickness. Opening it he found a bundle of wet Swedish banknotes. "Scheiße," he muttered.
"What?" Dr. Höchst asked.
Flipping over a pocket, he saw an ID and read the details: "Patrik Björn Brännström. Age twenty five. From Nynäshamn, Stockholm, Sweden."

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

--snip--
The message had reached the Austroslav government. Obviously the Layartebians have a lot of concerns about their efforts. The consensus in the Austroslav government was that their situation is far more different. Austroslavia does not have an faraway island to which it can evacuate the entire populace. Neither is it watching the horrendous death and destruction from an ocean away. Measures had to be taken, however drastic and painful they may be, in order to save their country.

http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/6165/messagefromaustroslavia.png
die Regierung von Österslawien
the Government of Austroslavia
Palast der Regierung, Mittelplatz 1, Altstadt, Preßburg
To: The Emperor
of the Empire of Layarteb

Greetings!

We at the United Kingdoms of Austroslavia are at the forefront of this fight against the pandemic. While we understand your concerns, our situation is far more different than what you might have been facing. With only there mere Baltic separating us from death, Austroslavia is bearing the brunt of the refugees and the threat of the epidemic. We place so much value on preventing the epidemic from entering this country; because the moment the Cottish flu enters the country, Austroslavia is done for. Our survival depends on preventing the epidemic from entering the country, but at the same time, we know that we must provide for humanitarian assistance to our neighbors.

As of this writing our ships will be docking in Sweden, Denmark, and Finland. They will be carrying aid, food, medical supplies, and the logistics necessary to distribute them. All of our efforts is coordinated by the Royal Austroslav Aid Agency (Königliche Österslawische Hilfsorganisation, KÖHo), a public-private charity set up for tackling this crisis. KÖHo would welcome any help and would be glad to coordinate with you and the other relief agencies present in the area. I'm sure that with more coordination we would tackle this crisis more efficiently and more effectively.

The King and Queen of Austroslavia and I would be very much interested in meeting with you. However, with travel restrictions in place, I'm afraid we can only meet via video conference. Just propose a date and time and I'm sure we can accommodate that meeting.

Thank you very much.

On behalf of the United Kingdoms of Austroslavia,

(signed)
Christoph Pottendorfer
Reichskanzler von Österslawien
Chancellor of Austroslavia

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBTIoL5vaOM

"Every man to his battlestation!" a commanding voice echoed with rapid steps, bouncing back through the sound ablating hull until eventually fading, as men began to move, to prepare for a battle that could come at any moment. Holloman knew that they were coming, drawn by their error, a mistake done by few desperate men who saw no possible outcome, regardless of what they tried, besides death, men cursed with knowledge of truth, unlike those who worked hard for the attempt of succeeding at their mission, men who were driven into thinking they were serving a greater good, men who still were expecting to return home, to meet again the families who missed them so dearly, with medals for their courageous attack to serve as examples for their children.

The Admiral stopped moving as he reached the communications room, and sat down in a seat next to one of the still intact computer screens, where a wireframe 3d map of their nearest surroundings was shown, at the moment empty for the enemies weren't detected yet, but they knew they were coming, that they heard the screeching of despair, of their vessel sharing their state of spirit, as it delved beyond its limits, and overcame them.

The combined sight of many sensors, giving 360 degrees coverage for the Tiburón, formed the image of such map, as it mockingly remained blank, except for the projections of the estimated enemy carrier position, which were layered very, very close to their current position. It was only a matter of time now.

"Thirty-nine degrees starboard", the admiral ordered through the communicator, and thus silently, the rudders gradually moved, turning the submarine into another direction in the matter of many seconds, as it remained at electrical power only, and maximum silence. Slowly it continued, its way towards the core of the enemy fleet, only this time in a tangential rather than perpendicular route, at least for now, which would reduce chances of having their exact location detected. Holloman however, knew that another direction change after a couple of kilometers would make it even more difficult, for they should now move impredictably, rather than straight to the bulk of enemy anti-submarine warfare, where they were probably being expected.

Its depth and slow movement in many ways made success or failure as much of chance as of tactics. The chances were being pulled against them at the moment, and as they worriedly awaited for the battle that has not yet come, a few minutes would pass, tense minutes as they awaited for their enemies to be detected.

"No hostiles detected yet." the communicators officer announced, minutes since they remained relying on passive sensors only, completely unaware of what measures could have been deployed in the blind luck attempts of spotting them.

"Maintain maximum silence, it is irrelevant that we do not detect them as long as they do not detect us before we destroy the mission objective." Holloman then ordered, as he knew that if they gave in any form of indiscretion to them, they would jeopardize their mission objective, specially now that it seemed to be coming so close. Instead, he maintained reading the estimated distance indicator to the carrier of the fleet. A good killer knew how to hide from the bodyguards and take the C.O. unprotected, and that was a good metaphor what the admiral hoped to achieve.

Submarine warfare required as much of emotional resistance and patience as of combat skills, for beneath the seas, only death awaited the impatient and the desperate. Now accepting his ultimate fate, the Engineering officer was far more serene and calm, and would almost certainly not make the same mistake again. If he was to die, at least let him be remembered as a legendary hero, as one of the men who challenged one of the greatest naval powers of the world with a lone, unescorted submarine, and succeeded.

Time wasn't going to be forgiving to the impatient. The cautious vigilance over the integrated information of its sensors by Admiral and communications officer would probably take many minutes of tension, as every man tried to hold his emotions, their hearts beating faster as they knew their fates would soon be decided. One minute has passed, as the complete uncertainty about how many forces were after him and approaching served as a much greater reason to desperate than the knowledge of where they truly were, and although nothing has been detected yet, the admiral reminded himself that it was wiser to be prepared, to be the first to fire should some of their vessels come too close and thus became able to easily detect them.

"Have rear torpedo system ready for deployment." and thus they prepared, working discretely to ensure that all that remained to do was to lock and launch them. The rear section of torpedo launchers also supported another form of torpedo besides conventional ones. The TT-9F Delayed activation torpedoes were developed as the evolution of the old anti-submarine mines, for they could be deployed without their propellers activated, making minimal, if any noise, and through their own internal buyoancy system, maintain depth in wait, until the enemy submarines came close enough, and the submarine which dropped them left far enough to not have its exact position pinpointed as they were fired. However, such devices wouldn't serve for their purpose at the depths the Tiburón was currently moving through because anything fired at such pressures would give them away, but instead they would be useful at quite lower depths, or as defensive measures, and thus they were kept in a reserve storage.

The chances of they detecting their enemies, and thus of being detected by them, increased at every moment, and even though they were still somewhat small, there was a certain worry, a certain sense of alert that at any moment it could happen. Their approach to reach the carrier remained slow, but steady, and they haven't come close enough yet to detect the enemy carrier from such depths. It was evident that both sides of this asymmetric battle were cautious, silent to avoid being easily detected, however a carrier was anything but silent and stealthy, and to detect it was only a matter of time.

However, to head back towards it, they would have to move a few degrees through port, and increase the chances of meeting some of the anti-submarine warfare screens of theirs. Further depth changes would probably bring far too much signature, and thus the admiral kept the Tiburón always at the same depth, for now.

Should the Tiburón have been built with vertical launch cells sacrificing its extensive, and sometimes considered excessive arrays of sensors, their chances of succeeding would be far smaller. Were thoughts like this, that things could be worse, that they could be running in an old, obsolete submarine instead with far higher chances of being detected, that served as small boosts to the broody, depressive mood Holloman hid beneath his stoic facade.

They were coming even closer now, their extreme silence very unlikely to be caught as they took an unorthodox course to intercept the carrier, and to meet failure, was to realize the irony of how some times, after getting so close, people still failed to achieve their utmost goals, the same irony that once in history happened, as the Goodrule was nearly defeated by a revolution, one year ago, that had everything to succeed, except for one thing: the complete loyalty of its perpetrators to the cause they fought for.

In his complacency and peace with his fate, the admiral didn't ponder about the strategic and political consequences behind such mission, which the Goodbrother, no matter how ruthless, would never be insane enough to approve. Yet his growing negative view about their government have blurred his view, making him believe it was more than likely that their ruler was willing to conduct a surprise attack against the Layartebians, without a declaration of war.

For now the sounds of the sea indicated nothing but calmness. The two Layartebian attack submarines had initiated a protection program based on previously established SOP. The Scythe Flight II class returned to protecting the fleet after the sounds in the water essentially vanished while the Hunter continued. There was definitely a submarine out there but since it dove to whatever depth it had gone to, it had vanished. It was definitely nuclear powered or running on some sort of electric power since the waves were quiet. The Hunter proceeded ahead at eight knots, well under its tactical silent speed but it had initiated a searching course. The most capable array on the vessel was its towed sonar array because it was so far from the actual submarine but that array was blind to the front 15° arc because of the propeller. The next most capable array was the bow array, which was blind to the rear 15° arc, also because of the propeller. Side arrays of the submarine looked to 60° outward to the port and starboard. The various arrays were all for a different purpose. The towed array trailed between one and two kilometers behind the ship and there were two arrays, one for high-speed and one for sensitive, low-speed operations. The bow array could handle both narrow and broadband contacts but because of the flow of water against the hull, at high speeds, its effectiveness was decreased. The side hull arrays looked purely outwards and mainly served the purpose of target identification and, as such, its range was more limited than the other two arrays. Because of these systems, the Hunter identified the bearing of the noise and traveled towards it at an off angle, zigzagging every once in a while on its way to the location. This was done for a few reasons. It allowed the Hunter to use all of its arrays at once and by switching course, it allowed the submarine to listen for possible echoes that could be misleading contacts.

It was a game and the Hunter's captain was well trained to play it but he was also up against a foe that had an inherent advantage. A submarine running on electric power was simply quieter and there was no doubt about it. The Hunter was silent, quiet enough that if against itself, the two submarines could crash into each other before either of them knew the other was there but an electric submarine was flat out silent. The only thing the captain of the enemy submarine had to do was maintain his depth, course, and speed and the Hunter could easily pass by it. There was only one thing that could help the Hunter but it was a long shot more than anything else. Its towed array was equipped with a still classified magnetic anomaly detection system, very similar to the kind used by the Sea Hawk and Orion. However, the MAD system, was very limited. It was really only effective within a few hundred yards, normally less than five hundred in optimal circumstances and less than three hundred in combat circumstances. Still, the chances of the two submarines passing that close to each other was slim to none but it was there, just in case and towed one to two kilometers behind the submarine, the detection wasn't possible until after the submarine had passed. Still, the Hunter could fire on the target, even without coming about, a beautiful part of wired-guided torpedoes.

Tension, a silent unbroken remained all across the sections of the Tiburón. The torpedo tubes were already loaded and prepared to be fired, the compressed air chambers of both aft and fore torpedo tubes full, and the passive sonars and magnetic anomaly detectors of the Tiburón ever vigilant for the minimal relevant noise that could be detected. Everything was already prepared, the course continued unchanged, after many changes, and if the mastery of computing by the Goodrule could be trusted, all they had to do now was to it.

And despite, everyone was fearing that at any second, the alarms of incoming torpedoes would sound, that the situation could change with no previous warning. Their fears were completely unheard, suppressed over barriers of ideological indoctrination, of whispers many of them heard in their infancy, of the new paradigm of reproduction the Goodrule was trying to implement. But fear could not be controlled, could not be removed even by the most extreme push of fanaticism. Yet, in their discipline, they remained silent in their duties, ready for the battle.

"How will History judge us? What future are we creating? A future of subjugation to the Empire of Layarteb?" Admiral Holloman pondered, staring at the still signal-less 3D display of the many sensors of his submarine, seeing as the estimated beacon of the carrier was now very close, only a dozen of kilometers away. He could not refuse to comply with such order now, but he could still mentally question it. The mission was almost over, and many of the crew were already weary and tired. The shower was filled with filth in the corners of its hole, and cleaning never sufficed. Many had their eyes red rimmed from extreme tiredness, and a very strong sense of anxiety was trying to break their discipline.

Thirty minutes have passed, yet for some they seemed an eternity, and the closing of another chapter of the future books of World History was coming ever close, shaped by a handful of men against the part of the entire naval might of a superpower.

"Holloman," the Communications officer whispered, conditioned to lower his voice during operations even if the sound-proofed hull would absorb all but the loudest noises, "I would like to discuss an idea I had, that may give us a chance of returning alive."

"Returning to the embrace of the man who sent us to our deaths?" the admiral sneered, as a faint hope began to build into his mind, as he reminded of geographical factors that could give him a chance to escape the madness, if the slim chance of their escape happened, "no way officer, if by a struck of extreme luck, we manage to evade them after their carrier is destroyed, we shall move to the region Königsberg, even if we have to get past multiple Layartebian patrols, and make a stop at Unkerlantum."

"But don't get your hopes up, officer," in a posthumous manner, Holloman reminded him of the facts, "we will suffer less if we accept the fact we are going to die, rather than fight against it through nearly impossible hopes."

"Admiral, don't you wish to hear my suggestion?" the officer asked him, aware of his mindset about their hopelessness.

"Very well, what do you suggest officer?"

"They will inevitably launch torpedoes at us, and once that happens, we must first..." he shrugged at his own idea, as he began to realize its silliness, "hope we will succeed at intercepting the incoming torpedoes, and if we do, then we should rig our escape capsules with extra torpedo warheads, and explode them simultaneously at the minimum safe distance from our own, to give them the illusion we were destroyed."

"Officer," he began to ponder on the idea. In fact, the gradual surfacing could be judged as a mistake in desperation, and if they are careful enough, it could work before they decide to investigate fully the debris, "this might be our best bet, and thank God they did not save in the escape capsules materials, which are the same of our submarine, making the sound they will provoke once blown similar."

"If our decoys catch all torpedoes meanwhile," again his gloomy realism surfaced under their whispered discussion, we should already thank God, officer, for He gave us a miracle. I am not slandering your idea, officer, but regardless of what we try, our chances will be slim. Let us wait, in the next twenty or twenty-five minutes we will probably detected our objective."

"All I wanted was for my letters to arrive..." the communications officer then said, "so they know I have always loved them, even if I couldn't have the liberty to stay with my children."

"Once we are detected, I will transmit the letters of everyone," Holloman tried to smile at such moment, "They will know what you wanted to say, they will know."

"No, admiral Holloman," the officer remarked in a less than happy tone, "they will never know, because the Goodbrother would not allow for such thing to happen."

"Cri..." the silenced sound of a 9mm pistol ended the discrete accusation, as one of the crew members overheard them, and now was put down by the hand of Holloman, he could no longer feel any compassion for those who were taken of nearly all they had of the capability of thinking as individuals, and their lives seemed fickle in comparison to that of men who thought for themselves. Yet he could not help but feel a pity as his saw the blood coming from the head of a man he would have to label as traitor.

"Now we have a corpse as well," Holloman whispered, "so they will be sure we all have died." Suddenly another crew member reached their room, and immediately the admiral glanced at him with a cold professionalism:

"Comrade, place the body of this traitor into one of our escape capsules."

"But admiral..."

"Do you dare to question my order?" he finally threw in a threatening but silent manner, throwing a fist at the young sailor, "get someone's help and place this traitor in one of our escape capsules!"

"Yes, admiral" the man hesitantly obeyed, as he moved away for a while to get help, eventually he would return with another sailor, and both dragged carefully the body, trying to avoid making noise, as they moved with the corpse through the ordered location.

"He was my best friend, I can't believe he betrayed us, I can't." whispered one of them as he, still downed by the loss, stepped out from the capsule to return to his normal duties. Yet, like in a conditioned reflex, he refused to question further the events. For such was the way of those who were shaped to obey the Goodbrother. To die for him, and to kill their very friends and family, should they betray him, for the love of the Goodbrother should be greater than any other form of love, and to love him is to obey him. "Obey" was one of the many words echoed in speakers to newborns, as they didn't even known how to speak, and humidity, heat and cold were used to condition them as well. The emotional suppression drugs, more known as the SOMA cocktail, however, were completely nonexistent inside such vessel, for the Goodbrother's control was not as absolute as it first seemed to be. For Holloman would never throw away all that made them human for the Goodbrother.

"Humanity does not deserve this." Admiral Holloman couldn't stand the sight of the brainwashed sailors who stood with him, innocent drones, who perhaps could yet be changed. What he served out of fear could finally become farther enough for him to become free, and that would be a greater blessing than anything else... perhaps his dream of freedom, of leaving the frivolous wife the government forced him to marry behind, for he already knew his family was beyond hope, and had not even the minimal hope of survival he had in regards to their freedom. Perhaps the greatest threat would be to keep the crew under control, if they somehow survive, for they would soon perceive the sedition, and like loyal drones, mutiny against it.

They awaited thus further minutes, for the furtive attack against them after an unexpected chance of them being detected before they could fulfill their mission, of the suddenly flashing sign of the carrier detected by their passive sonars, of the time of their reckoning.

"Contact! We have a large contact almost above us! Weapons Officer, Prepare four torpedoes for lock, and get your personell ready to load four new torpedoes at once!" the Admiral did not even wait for his mind to process the information entirely as he spoke in a decisive manner. A few miles sooner than the estimation, the carrier at last appeared, detected by their vast array of passive sonars, and soon a tracking reticle began to appear over its symbol in the screen.

"God have mercy on us" in the near future, a historian typed with the same certainty the outcomes of such action as Holloman, taking a deep breath, hearing the faint sound of the wake and sound homing lock, ordered the decisive action, for the objective had to be destroyed, for such was the will of the Goodbrother.

"Launch all fore torpedoes!"

With precision, the Weapons Officer complied, and soon the noises of pressurized air pulling the torpedoes came, and four wake and sonar guided torpedoes began to ascend from the depths of the Tiburón in an increasing speed. Dozens of men began to pulley further four torpedoes at once through the torpedo, but they would take some minutes to reload the tubes, a time through which their enemies could already answer.

"God have mercy on us" Admiral Holloman thought for one last time as he diverted all his attention and thoughts to the brutal battle that has just started, and their element of surprise was at last gone. When he claimed they would need a miracle to survive, he was not being pessimistic, but there was one last thing he could do, as their position would be given away immediately anyway.

"Communications Officer, broadcast all crew letters to their families to Airstrip One."

And thus, letters of hope, of love and compassion, of things they could not simply rip away from mankind, traveled beyond the waves of the sea, through the electronic waves, until they would at last arrive in England, to likely, ironically, never reach those they were destined to. Regardless of the outcome, they would definitively, never see their children, again, as those in the Layartebian carrier would perhaps never see theirs.

The sound of the four launching torpedoes was unmistakable in the sea. Everything in the Layartebian battlegroup was waiting for some sort of submarine attack since the first sounds had been detected and now they had been heard. They came from deep down, meaning that the submarine was well below the layer, giving the Layartebians and advantage. The deeper they were, the fewer torpedoes they could launch because of air requirements but even four torpedoes were enough to deal with at any level. Layartebian action was swift and quick. The Verrazano ASW destroyer nearest to the carrier and the location immediately put a pair of ASROCs into the air, each equipped with deadly Mark 50 Barracuda torpedoes, capable of diving to forty-five hundred feet and moving at a speed of sixty knots. The torpedo could use active or passive sonar, depending but because of the nature of the situation, they would be using active sonar. All four torpedoes would take some time to ascend from forty-five hundred feet to the surface while the other two torpedoes headed downwards. At that time, the Hunter class SSN turned to the bearing of the noise and, because it was already at depth, would have an easier time. Because there wasn't any direct contact, the captain ordered a snapshot, sending a pair of Mark 76 Advanced Heavy Torpedo into the water. Each of those torpedoes could travel to fifty-five hundred feet below the water and move as fast as seventy-five knots but only up to twenty-two nautical miles. At fifty-five knots, it could travel ten nautical miles further. Estimating range based on sound, the target was almost twenty-two nautical miles away allowing the Hunter to engage the submarine. The torpedoes were set to travel to the target at fifty-five knots and at forty-two hundred feet. The torpedoes would use passive sonar until they were eight nautical miles from the sound bearing, when they would engage their active sonar. Using wire guidance the whole time, both torpedoes would be controllable throughout the course of their journey, especially if the target fired again. If they did, it was a sure indication that the submarine wasn't firing a wire guided torpedo, making them easier to avoid since they would be entirely on their own. With four torpedoes inbound and four outbound, the odds were nearly even.

A pair of MH-60R Sea Hawks, using dipping sonars and sonobuoys began their work. Because the submarine was so deep, the MAD detector was worthless. It was only good within a few hundred meters not over a thousand. With the exchange underway, defensive action had to be taken. The Enterprise class carrier wasn't able to outmaneuver anything, especially not a torpedo but it was equipped with certain defenses. Built to taken damage upon damage and under wartime conditions and strict training, damage control parties were immediately called to their stations as general quarters was declared. The centerpiece of the Layartebian fleet, it was the obvious target even though every ship conducted the same rituals with general quarters. Watertight compartments were already closed and the massive displacement of the carrier lurched into motion as the engines went to flank speed. The carrier wouldn't be at flank speed for some time but the extra thrust provided by its thrusters and its propellers would aide in its agility as the AN/SLQ-25C Nixie systems being towed behind the ship suddenly became active. The Enterprise had eight system but generally only towed two at a time, one deemed capable enough to distract torpedoes, let alone two. The Nixie systems worked by emitting simulated engine noise, masking the ship's own noise with the intention of drawing the torpedoes away, to a more attract and louder target. There were other defenses that the ship could use as well, which consisted of acoustic decoys flung away from the ship, where they would separate, sink, and make more noise.

The Hunter had given away its position just the same with its own retaliation but, designed to hunt and attack other submarines, it was equipped with eight, forward 660MM torpedo tubes and six external, unreloadable 660MM torpedo tubes. The two torpedoes launched already had come from two of the eight. The other six were loaded with four more torpedoes and two anti-ship missiles. Its six external tubes were loaded with anti-ship missiles as well. If the enemy submarine retaliated, it would draw them off the carrier, the desired option and the Hunter would be left to fend for itself, something it could do far better than anything else.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A day after Umbrella flight 1452 was shot down over the Irish Sea, there were still more questions than there were answers. It was evident that the plane had been shot down, initial analysis of the wreckage, which rained down into the sea, showed signs consistent with a missile explosion. Whether it had been engaged from a ground SAM or a fighter was still under question. Reviewing the radar data, there had been no reported contacts and so the theory that a surface-to-air SAM had been used gained more weight. It had obviously not come from Ireland and thus tensions began to rise further when the Ministry of Foreign Affairs put out a statement not necessarily blaming the Third Spanish States but certainly implying that it had been downed because of hostile action and that it had not come from any Layartebian source. However, the Third Spanish States would respond was up to them but time would certainly tell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dunloy, Ireland was a town with a census-recorded population of twelve hundred and sixty-seven but an estimated population of thirteen hundred and eleven, based on birth, death, and tax records. Nearly the whole town was Roman Catholic and the rest were Protestant. The Layartebian Pagan Rite was no where near getting into the town. Nearly a third were under the age of sixteen, more than half were women, and a little over eleven percent were over the age of sixty-five. It was a quiet town just thirty-four and a half miles northwest of Belfast, a city of a half million Layartebian citizens. It was close, just a half hour away and it had never been on a major map until early that morning when the town's doctor was awakened just after six in the morning. He was still sleeping and struggled to find the phone receiver on his night stand. A man of sixty-seven, he was an old-style doctor who still made house calls, even though he was retired. The nearest hospital was in Belfast and it was a long drive to make with someone who was sick enough that they needed a doctor but not sick enough to need a hospital. He gave inoculations, physicals, tended to stitches, and mended sprains and what not. "Margaret? What's wrong?" He said, unable to even introduce himself as the woman on the other end frantically went on about something he couldn't understand.

"David's sick! He has a high fever. He's sweating. He can't get out of bed either and he's throwing up. Please get here as fast as you can, he's burning up." She said and the doctor, realizing the severity of the situation, sprang out of bed. David was only nine and a kid who had been sick only twice in those nine years and both when he was an infant. Margaret was his mother and his father had, unfortunately, passed away the winter before due to heart disease. It took the doctor less than fifteen minutes to get out of the house, a record for a man who's age and arthritis had caught up to him. He didn't live too far away, easily walking distance but, for a man his age, driving was just simpler and he climbed into his four-door Chevrolet Impala sedan. It took him a few moments to get in, get his coat in, and shut the door. His ritual thereafter was simple, he put on his seatbelt, put the key into the ignition, and started the car. It wasn't a new car, made in 2000, so it took a few seconds to turn over but when it started it, the engine began to purr. Mechanically sound except for a dying starter and battery, both original, the car's RPMs stabilized and he put the car into drive, pulling out of his driveway slowly. Minutes later, he was parking in front of Margaret's house, her lights already on inside, the door unlocked and open, and the sun slowly rising ahead in the east.

Margaret greeted him at the door with a frantic look on her face, "Charles, thank you! Thank you very much!" He smiled and walked in, his bag in his right hand. His bones creaked as he walked through the living room, down the hallway, and into the bedroom, where her son was lying in bed. He could tell right away that he was sick just the way his skin looked. The boy was sweating profusely and he had a cold, wet rag on his forehead. The boy was sniffling, shivering, coughing, and he had only just threw up moments before the doctor arrived. Quickly, he pulled out his stethoscope without saying a word, put it on, and reached underneath the boy's shirt, putting the stethoscope to his chest. He listened as he moved it around, a look of dread coming over his face as he listened. Moments later, he took out a thermometer and gave it to the boy, putting it underneath his tongue. It was difficult to get a reading but the boy held on long enough for a reading. When the doctor pulled it out, he didn't believe it and insisted on a second reading. He allowed the boy a few moments to relax his muscles, which ached, he complained. He threw up once more, by now simply dry heaving. Growing sicker by the minute, when the doctor took a second reading on his thermometer, he knew it was true but he still needed to be sure. Swabbing it with alcohol, he took his own temperature and when it showed that he had a normal temperature, there was no doubt about it.

Quickly, he stood up and turned to Margaret, who hovered behind him, her body shaking from tension. "Plastic bags with ice immediately." The thermometer had not lied and he knew the consequences of any prolonged fever. "Give me several bags." The boy was too young for aspirin and with a fever of 104.8°F he was in serious trouble. "David. David. Please look at me." He got the boy's attention and smiled. "You have to tell me what's wrong. How do you feel David?"

"Sick." The boy muttered and the old doctor smiled.

"That's good. What specifically? Do you have a headache?" The boy nodded. "A sore throat?" Again he nodded but it took a second as he coughed. "Does your body hurt?" He nodded. "Where? Just point. If you can." He pointed to his legs, his arms, and his chest. It was obvious that the boy had a fever, he was coughing, and vomiting. From the kitchen, the echoes of Margaret smashing ice cube trays filled the house. He stood up and met Margaret in the kitchen with disturbing news. "He has the flu. Based on the severity of his fever, it is serious. I'm going to take a blood sample and send it for immediate testing to be sure that it isn't Cottish Flu. I cannot say for sure. We are both infected either way."

Belfast, Ireland - 09:15 [GMT]
Infections: 3 - Fatalities: 0

Dr. Ahearn drove the blood sample to Belfast himself, two hours after the boy's temperature lowered to under 103°F, which was still high but not dangerous. He ordered Margaret to keep close watch on his temperature, taking it every half hour. Other instructions he gave were for her to keep him hydrated. Because of the vomiting and his fever, he was losing fluids fast. Water would do the trick for the time being but he had sent her neighbor to buy almost two gallons of Pedialyte, a specialized drink that provided rapid hydration. It was the #1 recommended brand by doctors throughout the Empire and it was essential that the boy not dehydrate. He also ordered Margaret to not let anyone else inside the house for risk of spreading the infection. If it was Cottish Flu it would stay between them three and die with them three, whether by their deaths or by their immune systems. As a preventative step, he instructed Margaret to begin loading up her body with essential vitamins and amino acids. It was a "shock treatment," as he called it, meant to boost the immune system. He would do the same but, because of his age, he was at greater risk.

When he arrived at Belfast Medical Center, he smiled and waved at the nurses as he walked with the vial of blood in his pocket, inside a plastic bag, to ensure that it if it should break, it wouldn't immediately spill all over his jacket. He was careful with it and he made his way for the hospital's main lab without stopping, walking around people and between objects like he was twenty years old. When he finally got to the lab it was obvious he wasn't as he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. A long time colleague had been there, waiting for him and took notice. Before Dr. Charles Ahearn had left Margaret's house, he phoned his colleague about the situation and asked for his help. His colleague would certainly help and he advised the good doctor to be as discreet as possible. All of the hospitals in Iceland and Ireland received memos from the Layartebian CDC when the Cottish Flu Pandemic first became such advising them to isolate and report any cases immediately. Failure to do so would cause serious, criminal consequences for those who disobeyed. This was one order the Layartebian government was not lenient about and as millions lay dead or dying in the former Cottish Realm, none lay dead or dying in the Empire, yet. That was a sign that the sternness of the order was justified.

"Charles, old buddy! You made it. Why out of breath?" His colleague asked upon seeing him come into the lab. He was alone in there until now.

"Garrick, thank you. I just need to catch my breath. Moved like I was in college." He laughed as he stood and let his breathing relax.

"Would you like a seat?" Garrick began to pull his stool around but Charles waved him off, "Sure?"

"I'll be fine. Is there anyone else here?"

"Empty like you asked."

"Good." He reached into his pocket. "How long will this take?"

"Thirty-eight minutes."

"Good. That's quick enough. Where can a fella find a cup of coffee?"

"Cafeteria is just around the corner. Tell them to add it to my account."

"Would you like a cup?" Charles began to head out the door and Garrick nodded that he was okay. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Keep this quiet."

"You got it." Thirty-eight minutes was a long time to wait when the results of the test were so crucial but it wasn't long to wait considering other tests took days and weeks. Testing for Cottish Flu was easy enough, requiring a simple combination of chemicals and a microscope. What took the bulk of the time was waiting for the chemicals to react with the virus. The boy was definitely sick but to what degree was an unknown. He had all of the symptoms of the flu, the Cottish Flu to be more precise but only a laboratory test could confirm. Silence filled the air as Garrick looked into the microscope and observed the blood sample. He sat back moments later, his face as white as a ghost, his lips colorless and turned to Charles, "It has come..." The boy had Cottish Flu. The Pandemic had infected its first Layartebian citizen in the down of Dunloy, thirty-four miles northwest of Belfast. If it spread to Belfast, it could kill hundreds of thousands. Containment was the only option. "We have to alert the CDC."

"Yes. Yes we do. We must." Charles said as he looked down at his coffee. "His mother is infected. I am now infected. There's still time for you to avoid infection."

"Understood. Good luck Charles."

"Thank you old friend." They shook hands, despite the dangers and Charles made his way out of the hospital quickly while Garrick picked up the phone in the laboratory and a pen. He looked at the speed dial numbers and pushed 8, instantly dialing the CDC all the way in Atlanta, Georgia.

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

Governor's Island, Layarteb City - 06:00 [EST]
Infections: 3 - Fatalities: 0

It had only taken thirty-five minutes for the news to get from the CDC in Atlanta to the Health Department within the Ministry of the Interior, to the Secretary of Health and the Minister of the Interior. From there, both the Secretary of Health and the Minister of the Interior informed the Emperor. It was barely six in the morning when he got the call. Resting on his couch in a period of complete silence, he had asked his secretary that he not be disturbed until the sun had risen over the horizon so when he noticed the clock showed it was only a quarter to six, he knew that whatever was important enough for her to disturb him was serious. His buzzer echoed in his silent office and he was too far from it to warrant getting up and going to his desk. Instead, he went to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. "Are we about to get nuked?"

"Not sure sir. The Minister of the Interior has the Secretary of Health on the line and they need to speak with you urgently." The Emperor nodded, returned to his office and took the call, standing beside his desk.

"I hope this is important. I asked not to be disturbed until the sun rose over the horizon."

"Sir." The Secretary of Health, a middle aged woman said. "This cannot wait. CDC has just been informed of a confirmed case of Cottish Flu in Ireland." The Emperor's face went pale just like the laboratory technician less than an hour earlier.

"Details!"

"Sir." The Minister of the Interior began. "It's a nine-year old boy in the down of Dunloy. Located thirty-four miles northwest of Belfast. One confirmed infection via blood test from a Belfast hospital. Two unconfirmed but certainly probable infections, the doctor who brought in the blood and the boy's mother."

"How the hell did it get there?"

"We don't yet know sir. But we must take action."

"Damn straight we must! Order a quarantine right now. Put a lid on the press. This information is now classified. I am calling an emergency cabinet meeting for 06:00 hours via video phone if we have to, get on it!"

"Yes sir."

The call ended abruptly as the Emperor pushed the intercom buzzer. "Declare Condition Foxtrot immediately for 06:00 hours via person or video. Sharpness!"

"Yes sir." His secretary knew exactly what to do and brought up a specialized window on her computer. From there, she reviewed each name and checked them off. With a single push of the F8 key, all of the names were informed of the condition and all of them were also informed to be at the Fortress of Comhghall by 06:00 hours sharp or on video conference with the Emperor. There was to be no tardiness.

When 06:00 hours rolled around, the Emperor found himself alone in his office except for the Minister of the Interior. Everyone else joined in by video phone and, from there, the Minister of the Interior explained what had happened. It was a quick explanation, time wasn't on their side. The Emperor took the floor before chatter could ensue. "We are declaring an immediate quarantine of Dunloy. Martial law will be declared over the town and military law will be put into immediate effect. This cannot spread to anywhere else, especially not to Belfast, which has a population of nearly a half million. If it spreads to Belfast it can spread anywhere in the Empire, including right here! We will not go down like the Cottish Royal Family, understood? Good. Clamp down any media on this and make sure that when they get to Dunloy, they do a head count. I don't want anyone missed and if someone is missing from the town and has been there in whatever time frame it takes to get infected, make sure that you find them and that they are quarantined too! Good. I want a status update in four hours." The meeting was ended quickly and everyone knew what to do. The biggest role would be by the Ministry of the Interior. They were responsible for this situation and when the Cottish Flu Pandemic was first declared, the Ministry of the Interior dispatched several units to Ireland in the event of a quarantine. One such unit was just west of Belfast, only forty-five miles from Dunloy. They could be there within those four hours.

The Infectious Disease Quick Response Unit (IDQRU) was a specialized branch of the Interior Ministry Forces. There were eight IDQRU groups, each numbering one hundred personnel dispersed throughout the Empire. Two were deployed now to Ireland and one of them would immediately get orders to move out and secure Dunloy. The one hundred personnel would pair up with an additional battalion of Interior Ministry Forces numbering about six hundred men as well as one team of sixteen men and women from the 10th Black Operations Group, "Force Storm." An elite black operations group, their job was to respond to biological and chemical threats. Though mainly geared for wartime attack, they were capable of dealing with civilian accidents and spills as well as pandemic infections. Mainly made up of trained doctors and medical scientists, they would spearhead laboratory operations on site while the remaining seven hundred men operated within the town itself. There would be two perimeters established, the inner maintained by the IDQRU forces that covered the whole town itself. The outer perimeter would extend for an additional three miles around the town and that would be under the control of the Interior Ministry Forces. Command would be located within this perimeter rather than inside but the mobile laboratory would be inside. While not necessarily a conquering military force, they would be rolling into Dunloy with armored trucks and up to four infantry fighting vehicles armed with anti-tank missiles and large caliber machine guns or cannons. No tanks would be deployed. Aerial support would exist as well, in form of six UH-95A Super Hueys, four MH-6J Little Birds, two MQ-1B Predators from an airbase in Tralee, and two AH-99A Anasazi attack helicopters. The entire quarantine zone would be off limits to everyone outside and everyone inside would be kept within the inner perimeter. If someone got out of the inner perimeter and made their way into what would be referred to as the "Dead Zone," they could be shot on sight. Under martial law, there was no judge and jury. There wouldn't be time for questioning or lawyers. It was what the soldiers said or else...

Government Emergency Facitily 04-G
Somewhere in southeastern Norway

"Vi har fått tilbake kommunikasjon med omverdenen." [We have got communications with the outside back up and working.] The voice said.

"Det var jammen meg på tide. Vi har vært innelåst uten kontakt med omverdenen i over tre måneder nå!" [It was about time. We've been locked up here without contact with the outside world for over three months now!] The man sitting in the dimly lit room replied tersely as he took another puff of the cigarette.

He finished the cigarette before he rose from the spartan chair and walked the six steps it was over to the heavy metal blast door and pulled it open, revealing a white-painted concrete corridor with a vaulted ceiling. The ceiling of the vaulted corridor was concealed by a wide metal frame that contained a myriad of wires, fibre-optic cables and fluorescent tubes that illuminated the corridor. Rounding the corner, the man navigated his way through several corridors and tunnels that were filled with people, supply crates, and equipment.

After stopping briefly at a checkpoint guarded by a pair of armed soldiers where he identified himself, the man was allowed past the checkpoint and into the operations sector of the bunker, which a overview chart hanging on a wall identified as having six sectors, labeled A through F, and spanning over four levels and encompassing a total of 56,000 square meters, and being connected with the outside world through three entrances and a underground railroad line. The bunker was located somewhere in southeastern Norway, and was buried deeply enough to be able to survive a direct hit from a 15 megaton nuclear warhead.

"Herr Minister." [Mister Minister.] A woman wearing a field uniform and distinctions identifying her as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force said, muting the loud cacaphony of voices in the operations room.

"Oberstløytnant. Hva er vår status?" [Lieutenant Colonel. What is our status?]

"Herr Minister, vi har oppnådd kommunikasjon med omverdenen. På nåverende tidspunkt ser det desverre ut som at scenario fem har slått til. Samfunnstrukturen har brutt totalt sammen." [Mister Minister, we have acheived communications with the outside world. At this time, it unfortunately appears that scenario five has struck. Society has collapsed completely.]

"Herregud... Hvor mange døde?" [Good God... How many dead?]

A tired-looking elderly man dressed in a dirty suit with a white doctor's coat over his shirt spoke up.

"Det blir bare spekulasjon på nåværende tidspunkt, men basert på tidligere estimater antok vi at rundt åtti til nitti prosent av befolkningen ville bli smittet når pandemien brøt ut for fullt, og at helsevesenet ville raskt bli overbelastet. Av de som var smittet antok man basert på de tidligste smittede at dødeligheten ville ligge på rundt seksti prosent. Dette er alt basert på at viruset ikke har mutert og blitt resistent mot vaksinen vi holdt på å lage når anlegget gikk i alarmberedskap." [It's just speculation at this time, but based on former estimates we assumed that roughly eighty percent of the population would be infected when the pandemic erupted, and that the health services would be overloaded quickly. Of those infected, we assumed that, based on the earliest infected that lethality among these would be around sixty percent. This is all based on the assumption that the virus hasn't mutated and become resistant to the vaccine we were making when this facility went into lockdown.]

The Lieutenant Colonel spoke next.

"Herr Minister, jeg vet ikke helt hvordan jeg skal si dette..." [Minister, I don't quite know how to say this...]

"Det beste er å bare si det." [The best would be to just say it.]

"En av de første tingene vi hørte når vi fikk tilbake kommunikasjon var en Kode Oransje melding." [One of the first things we got when communications was restored was a Code Orange message.]

The Minister suddenly began to cold-sweat.

"Kongefamilien? Regjeringen? Stortinget?" [The Royal Family? The cabinet? Parliament?]

"Vi må gå ut fra at de er døde. Herr Minister, du må sende koden din til serveren." [We have to assume that they're dead. Minister, you must send your code to the server.]

"Ja, ja så klart. Er du klar?" [Yes, yes of course. Are you ready?]

"Ja." [Yes.]

"Koden er D for Didrik, fem, ni, tre, åtte, to, sju, H for Harald, ni, U for Ulrik." [The code is D for Didrik, five, nine, three, eight, two, seven, H for Harald, nine, U for Ulrik.]

The communications technician sent the code along the same frequency that the automated Code Orange message, which was a automatic distress beacon designed to be activated automatically in the event of most of the goverment and the Royal Family was dead or otherwise incapacitated.

A few moments later, the printer in the corner began printing. When it finished, the communications technician took the piece of paper, looked at it, and handed it to the Minister, who took a look at the piece of paper before dropping it, his face suddenly pale as if he had seen a ghost.

"Vi trenger en lovbok." [We need a lawbook.]

Ten minutes later, many of the bunker's current population of three thousand two hundred had been assembled in the large dining hall of the cafeteria in Sector B, with the Minister standing in front of a large Cottish flag, a priest holding a lawbook standing opposite him, with the military officers, senior government officials that had been brought to the facility before it went into lockdown, and the senior bunker officials standing on the makeshift podium, while two soldiers filmed the whole thing for prosperity.

"Jeg, vennligst si ditt navn, sverger med dette at jeg vil trofast skjøtte mitt embede som Kongeriket Cotlands Statsminister..." [I, please say your name, do solemny swear that I will faithfully execute my office as Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Cotland...]

"Jeg, Ørjan Rødberg, sverger med dette at jeg vil trofast skjøtte mitt embede som Kongeriket Cotlands Statsminister." [I, Ørjan Rødberg, do solemny swear that I will faithfully execute my office as Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Cotland.]

"...og at jeg med den Allmektige Guds hjelp vil beskytte, bevare og forsvare Kongeriket Cotland, dets Grunnlov, dets Styreform og dets Befolkning etter beste evne." [...and that I with the help of God Almighty will protect, preserve and defend the Kingdom of Cotland, its Constitution, its way of Goverment, and its Population to the best of my ability.]

"Og at jeg med den Allmektige Guds hjelp vil beskytte, bevare og forsvare Kongeriket Cotland, dets Grunnlov, dets Styreform og dets Befolkning etter beste evne. Amen." [And that I with the help of God Almighty will protect, preserve and defend the Kingdom of Cotland, its Constitution, its way of Goverment, and its Population to the best of my ability. Amen.]

The assembled crowd applauded politely as the newly sworn-in Prime Minister addressed the crowds.

"Det er med tungt hjerte jeg mottar dette høyverdige verv. Mange av våre medborgere er døde av denne forferdelige pandemi som har feid igjennom vårt rike og som har tatt livet av så forferdelig mange. Vi vet enda ikke hvor mange av våre brødre og søstre som fortsatt er i live, og vi vet ikke hvor ille det virkelig er. Likevel har skjebnen besluttet å legge den tunge bør som det er å skape en ny og bedre verden fra asken av den gamle på våre skuldre, og det er med tung hjerter vi aksepterer dette. Jeg gir dere nå mitt ord på at vi skal jobbe for å rydde nasjonen for denne pandemien, oppnå kontakt med overlevende i omverdenen, og igjenopprette det Cottiske Kongerike. Med Gud den allmektige som mitt vitne, dette sverger jeg. Takk." [It is with a heavy heart that I accept this honored office. Many of our fellow citizens lie dead from this dreadful pandemic that has swept through our Realm and that has taken the lives of so dreadfully many. We still don't know exactly how many of our brothers and sisters that are still alive, and we don't know how bad it really is out there. Still, Fate has decided to place the heavy burden that it is to create a new and better world from the ashes of the old one on our sholders, and it is with heavy hearts we accept this. I now give you my word that we shall endeavour to rid the nation of this pandemic, establish contact with survivors in the outside world, and reestablish the Cottish Kingdom. With God the Almighty as my witness, this I swear to you all. Thank you.]

With that, Prime Minister Rødberg left the podium and headed for the communications room, where communications technicians were already working on the freshly repaired radios to get in touch with survivors out across the Realm. The survivors had a lot of work ahead of them.

Encrypted Frequency
October Alliance Satellite Network
Priority 1 Communiqué

...FLASH...FLASH...FLASH...

5947-6403-6436-3412-5793-2676-9809-3578

...FLASH...FLASH...FLASH...

FROM: National Command Authority, Kingdom of Cotland
TO: National Command Authority, October Alliance Member-States
SUBJECT: Continuation of Government
PRIORITY: Highest

...MESSAGE BEGINS...

Has assumed the Office of Prime Minister as mandated by the Continuation of Government Protocol.

Interim Cabinet has been convened in secure underground facility in SE Norway. Is attempting to establish contact with surviving government officials, emergency services, military units and other assets. However, situation is chaotic at best. Intend to restore lawful government and return the Kingdom to Law and Order. Formally request assistance & intervention as per Article V, Section III of TOA Charter with intent of reestablishing law and order, and security for distribution of humanitarian aide.

God Save the King. God Save Cotland.

(signed)
Ørjan Rødberg
Interim Prime Minister of Kingdom of Cotland

...MESSAGE ENDS...

OOC: A minor update for Cot and figure since we hadn't had one yet.

The Empire had never left the Cottish Realm and what forces were inside Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Murmansk were more than pleased when the Cottish Realm suddenly became an entity again. This would mean help, assistance, organization and with millions dead across the four land masses, there was no mistaking the need for assistance. Layartebian forces already there had already enacted the provisions established under the TOA charter and were more than pleased to hear it being re-requested by the new prime minister, Ørjan Rødberg. His safety was of absolutely crucially and flash traffic was sent back, returning the Layartebian pledge for assistance but also requesting his location for two reasons. The first and foremost was to establish an additional perimeter around his location to protect the rising government and the second to ensure that it was not subject to the same quarantine measures that had been imposed already. Law and order had almost evaporated from the Cottish Realm as a whole when the royal family succumbed to the pandemic. When the Layartebian forces landed on Cottish soil, they worked furiously to establish law and order but, to date, they controlled less than 33% of the actual land in Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Murmansk, most of that being the cities, military bases, and a few other spots here and there.

The Imperial Layartebian Military, which totaled over 16,500,000 in total, including civilian personnel, had deployed only 40,000 personnel to Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Murmansk, a sliver of what was actually needed but it was all that could be mustered in the time of chaos. With the Third Spanish States opposing the Empire, the threat of the flu pandemic touching Layartebian soil, the Nerotikan push westward from Russia, and brewing troubles at home, 40,000 was exceeding what was really available but humanity's survival was at stake. With the United States of Brink and the Romans offered to help it alleviated some of the pressure and soon the Empire built up a broad, international coalition of peacekeeping forces and pushed them out to the various Cottish territories. Still, it almost felt like it wasn't enough.

The 1918 Spanish Influenza pandemic left between seventy and one hundred million people dead in total and that was only around 3.5 to 5% of the population at the time. Thus far, the Cottish Flu Pandemic claimed the lives of approximately two hundred and sixty-five million people and an estimated two hundred million more were infected across Asia and Europe, most of them in the former Cottish Realm, which was now only beginning to re-establish itself. War with the Nerotikans in the east would kill millions more and who knew what was to come of the Third Spanish States, which flirted with war against the Empire.

There was a heavy hiss as the heavy blast door opened and exposed the forty men that stood in the access chamber to Facility 04-G to the outside air. Unfortunately for the men, who had been breathing the recycled air of the closed facility, they couldn't breathe that said that due to the fact that all forty were wearing military MOPP-4 protective suits. It was a precaution that the Interim Prime Minister and the facility's doctors had insisted upon, as the scientists had yet to determine whether or not the virus was in fact capable of surviving for extended periods of time as an airborne element, something the Chief Surgeon's Office had feared just prior to the collapse of government. The facility itself wasn't at any direct risk, as there was an airlock between the facility proper and the outside, which consisted of a large lobby with a cargo elevator that connected the deeply buried facility with the surface, and the fact that the facility was kept at constant overpressure, preventing any outside air from getting in.

As the blast door finally rolled over and revealed a clear exit, the military component of the expedition - two squads of infantrymen drawn from the infantry company that was assigned to guard the facility - had their rifles raised and scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was none, something they were glad for. Satisfied for the moment, the expedition leader, an Army Captain motioned for the men to proceed to the elevator that would take them up the two hundred meters it was to the surface while the blast door was closed again and the facility sealed once more.

Emerging on the surface after a five minute ride in the large cargo elevator, the infantrymen preformed the same drill as downstairs, only that this time their discoveries weren't so calming.

It appeared that a battle had raged inside the warehouse building where the secondary entrance to the facility had been concealed, with decaying corpses dressed in what was once COTPAT digital camouflage uniforms and what appeared to be civilians lying near the elevator entrance. It appeared that the soldiers had tried to defend the entrance, and apparently with some success, if the positioning of the corpses were a pointer. A few rifles and machine guns were located near the corpses, as well as hundreds of spent shell casings. The corpses, it appeared, had died mostly from gunshot-inflicted wounds.

After taking the dogtags from the rotting corpses, the expedition proceeded, weapons drawn as they had no idea what awaited them. They moved through the battle-ridden warehouse and passed dozens of corpses, some military, some civilian, on their way, until they finally got outside, where the sun was shining and the temperature a mild 16 degrees centigrade, typical for an early May morning in the interior of Norway. It would have been a perfect day too, if it hadn't been for the fact that the place looked like a mess, with litter scattered throughout the streets, no people in the streets or any other form of normal activity.

Proceeding with caution, the expedition leader decided to check some of the nearby residential houses for signs of life. As the doors were locked, the soldiers had to kick the doors in, but in every house, they discovered the same thing: decaying corpses of ordinary people who had perished from the illness, many of them covered in their own vomit and fesces. In one of the houses, the soldiers discovered a family of five, including a small infant that appeared to have died of hunger as its parents and siblings had succumbed to the decease. It was enough to make even the most seasoned of the soldiers, a Master Sergeant who had served through three wars, break down.

Deciding they had seen enough, the expedition leader got the men out of the buildings and, after letting the men recover for a moment, proceeded to have the scientists in his expedition take some samples of the air in order to find out if it was contaminated by the virus, radioed back their status and findings to the facility.

After getting the go-ahead to proceed with the expedition, the expedition leader sent one of the squads back into the warehouse to get some transportation. Ten minutes later, the forty men and their supplies were loaded onto the back of two five-ton trucks and a jeep, and were driving out from Otnes in Hedmark County, a small hamlet of 307 registered inhabitants during the last census two years ago. Their destination was the army post in Rena, where they hoped to be able to link up with and get in touch with whatever remained of the Armed Forces.

In situations where a member-state is attacked, other member-states have a duty and an obligation to assist that state by whatever means necessary to repel aggressors unless doing so jeopardizes the sustainability and survivability of that member-state, in which instances, the member-state is still obligated by duty to provide whatever assistance it can provide to the survivability and sustainability of the attacked member-state.

"And as it is written we must provide as much assistance as we can," the Emperor said as he held a high-level meeting with his Cabinet. "The Cottish have requested a large number of forces in addition to the forty thousand we have already sent. Unfortunately, what they fully request we cannot fully provide but we can certainly provide more forces. Minister, how many Marines can be made available, immediately, to be sent?" The Emperor addressed the Minister of Defense first, waiting for the response while he made mental notes of what there was already at stake. Knowing full well that the Third Spanish States threatened war and that operations against the Nerotikans were underway, he knew that the number wouldn't be very high but he hoped for at least two divisions, which would provide nearly double the amount of personnel that the Empire already committed.

"Sir. Two divisions. The 2nd Division out of Charleston and the 8th Division out of Mobile. This will be in additional to the deployment of the 6th Division to Australia, 7th Division to the marshalling area to counter the Nerotikans, and 10th Division to the marshalling area to counter the Third Spanish States. That leaves five divisions presently behind or ninety-two thousand, five hundred men plus reserves."

"That will do. We are working with limited resources here ourselves. Of the forty thousand peacekeepers of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces, how many more can be sparred?" Now he moved to the Minister of the Interior. One corps from the 1st Defense Forces Group had been deployed already and that left the 1st Defense Forces Group, which provided security for the Province of Layarteb around eighty-five thousand men. Two more corps could be pulled from the 10th Defense Forces Group and the 8th Defense Forces Group, which protected Dnalkrad and Ynoga, respectively. When the Minister of the Interior confirmed this, the Emperor did some quick math in his head and smiled. "That gives us a total deployment force of roughly one hundred, sixty-one thousand and five hundred men. Correct?" The ministers and aides nodded, a few checking the math on paper. "Good. Let's get the help there right away. While it represents less than one percent of our total military it represents a major commitment with air force and naval support. We'll easily be deploying more forces to the Cottish Realm than we have ever deployed, except during the Conquests. The Imperial Layartebian Military has been trained for deployments like this and it is up to them now to provide the safety and security that the Cottish people need. I would also like to provide specialized assistance in the way of special operations forces to provide bodyguard detail for the new Cottish government. Will the Minister of Foreign Affairs kindly inquire as to the nature of this request?"

"Absolutely sir."

"Good. Moving aside, where do we stand with the remnants of the Cottish military?"

"Most of them were deployed to help stave off the Nerotikans while the rest was kept within Scandinavia to assist our forces. They will be uplifted with the news that the Cottish Realm is no longer a chapter in the pages of history."

"Sir. If I may?" The Minister of Defense spoke up, having done additional math. The Emperor nodded. "This additional deployment, though it will raise our commitment to the Cottish Realm to roughly one hundred and sixty-one thousand, five hundred men, will raise our total deployments to nearly a half million between Australia, Nerotika, Third Spanish States, and the Amazonian Control Territory or roughly three percent of our total available forces."

"That is correct and the Ministry of Defense can handle this, correct?"

"Yes sir. We did so during the Conquests."

"Good." There was truth in everything the Minister of Defense said and the deployment could easily be handled but it would certainly weaken the Empire should someone decide to attack. If anyone did, the Empire had plenty of forces to defend themselves between the army and defense forces alone. While the days of the Conquests saw millions and more than half of the military deployed, the military was far larger and far better funded, not to mention that the locations were far closer too. "Now onto the next order of business." The meeting pressed on more about domestic issues than anything else.

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

Dunloy, Ireland - 18:00 [GMT]
Infections: 3 - Fatalities: 0

Dunloy was a town under siege from the moment the first armored truck passed its limits. The IDQRU received their orders just after 11:30 hours, local time, not long after the Emperor ordered them and they were in Dunloy by 13:00 hours and that included the men and women from the 10th BOG, "Force Storm." Both perimeters had been established within an hour after arriving and by 18:00 hours, the town was completely under the thumb of the military. The one hundred and sixteen personnel from the IDQRU and 10th BOG established the inner perimeter on the town's edges while an additional six hundred men established one three miles from the town's perimeter. They were joined by an additional thirty-six airmen and crew chiefs who landed their Super Huey, Anasazi, and Little Bird helicopters in the outer perimeter at a cordoned off clearing just behind the HQ. When the HQ staff came in, the total number of forces deployed went from seven hundred and fifty-six, including the four pilots of the two MQ-1B Predators to eight hundred and twenty, nearly as much as the town itself.

When the two perimeters had been established a few things happened. The first and most obvious, aside from the presence of the Layartebian soldiers was that all communications went dead. Land lines were blocked and cell phone communications were left without signals, thanks to high powered jamming equipment set up inside and outside of the inner perimeter. Shortwave and citizens band radio frequencies were filled with static and one last avenue, the internet, was blocked. It took less than an hour to cut the town off from the rest of the world and it was only 15:00 hours when all of this happened, a mere nine hours after the events of the town had been set in motion. What followed was a single M2058A1 Multipurpose Armored Car dressed in ILDF drab driving through the city with loud speakers. There were four people inside of the car although its maximum capacity was six. One drove, one sat in the front passenger seat, taking notes and familiarizing himself with the town, one manned the M35A1 Light Machine Gun on the roof, and a fourth operated the loud speaker system. A recording had been made and it was just looped over and over as the vehicle drove down the streets. It was something surreal to see the military car roving through Dunloy, its speakers blaring, and every one of the town's one thousand, three hundred, and eleven residents on their lawns, listening. "The town of Dunloy, effective immediately, is under indefinite quarantine. Martial law has been imposed and, effective immediately, there is a curfew between 16:30 hours and 10:00 hours. Military personnel within this town are here to enforce law and order and will react to acts of hostility with force. Your safety is our concern. Please comply with all orders given and should assistance be needed, the emergency number remains operational." The message was simple, effective, and looped some more while the M2058 passed other armored cars and M2008 Dingo and M2010 Bushmaster armored trucks.

So much was going on at once around the town. The roving M2058 announced the status of the city, military personnel secured possible escape routes while others set up shop in the town's police barracks. Mobile laboratory and hospital units were brought in to care for the sick. Only three infections had been confirmed but soldiers saw many more who could be infected as they walked and drove around, wearing their MOPP4 suits, the highest level of protection available. Doctors wore different suits that weren't as bulky but certainly as protective. This distinguished them from the military and providing a different psychological response, which was beneficial. Doctors weren't signs of authority and they need not be feared. They had work to do and their first order of business was to determine how much of the town was infected. To do this, they had to go house to house, which providing them the ability to do a head count as well. Tax records, employment records, and so on and so fourth had been compiled and when the commanders rolled on Dunloy, they knew who was supposed to live in the town, where they were supposed to live, and they needed to make sure everyone was there.

Doing this were four teams of doctors, moving around in M2010 Bushmaster IMVs. Each vehicle was carrying three doctors and three riflemen, one gunner, and one driver. Magnetic, red crosses had been attached to the sides of the four trucks converting them, in essence, from military units to ambulances. Still, they retained their weapons and that was done on purpose. Each truck had a specific route that allowed the four of them to canvas the entire town. It would take more than a day to do the whole town but not much more, even though they would stop at 21:00 hours and pick up again at 07:00 hours the next morning. When the trucks pulled onto their assigned streets, the doctors would get out with their riflemen bodyguards and go house to house, each taking a different house. The riflemen would ensure that the doctors were not harmed and the gunner in the truck would ensure that nobody got any bright ideas. The doctor's mission was simple. They would verify everyone in the household and take a blood sample from each person, labeling the vials with each person's federal ID code, which was not unlike a social security number. They would put the vials in a special carrying case and eventually deposit them in the truck after each house, to ensure that none were broken. They would also get a feel for each person in the house, ask them if they had any symptoms of the Cottish Flu and inform them that, should anyone become sick, to contact the emergency services right away, using the emergency phone code, "911." That number had not been deactivated although all calls would go to the HQ rather than the local switchboard in Belfast. If anyone was missing, the doctors would find out as much information as they could and transmit that back to HQ. That person would be sought out then, especially if it were possible that they could have been in the town as many as twenty-one days prior to this day. While the incubation time for the virus was only seven to ten days, there were no chances to be taken. This was one infected town that could yield over a thousand deaths. The Empire had over a billion people!

Active sonar on. Diesel engines online and at maximum safe speed the screen showed as hiding was no longer important for the moment, and pings began to be emitted towards all directions to detect the extent of enemy forces. Holloman focused nearly his entire attention at the screen seconds after they launched their attack. They would not wait for his men to load another set of torpedoes before striking back, they would not let them come out alive. Predicting that something could try to stop them, the captain had now a difficult choice between either ensuring greater chances of destroying the carrier or giving a boost, mostly insignificant, to their chances of survival, by taking down another submarine which would probably hunt them and fire soon.

"Weapons officer," his hand held firmly over the headset, as he tried to gulp his nervosism, staring at the still coming signature of the carrier they were supposed to destroy, aware he could not waste time to take his choice "launch all rear torpedoes! Prepare to reload immediately!" and thus he has chosen to boost their chances of destroying rather than their chances of surviving. Two more of their torpedoes emerged from the rear tubes, which like all their TD-9 multiple source guided torpedoes, were capable of homing simultaneously on wake, sound, and terminal guidance over heat signature and optical profile as a way to compensate for the extensive measures that were developed against them in the last decades, one of many consequences of the fact Goodrule's greatest naval strength has always been focused beneath the waves.

There would still be a time for the torpedoes to reach their goal, with an interval of ten seconds between the first and second launches as the Admiral has chosen to stay closer to both death and mission success.

"Incoming torpedoes detected!" as the sailors struggled to pulley more torpedoes in the now completely emptied rear and fore launch tubes of the Tiburón, of their sunken tomb, for no hope would change their dim likelihood of surviving.

It would not be quick, no, that was far too forgiving, for the torpedoes would take their time to reach them, as they worked, as Holloman awaited, hearing the naval alarm, hearing the beep in increasing frequency, he awaited, for there was only one way to stop the incoming threats, only one way to survive. They had to shoot back, and at such depths, anti-torpedo decoy rockets would not be one-hundred percent assured. In fact, nothing could truly protect completely against torpedoes: there was no AEGIS in submarine warfare besides remaining hidden. The time was getting briefer as eventually the torpedoes would be in enough proximity to detonate and annihilate their submarine with their shockwave.

The active sonar would have picked the realization of their doom, they were outnumbered at least in five to one, and they had no form of support. The admiral refused to let fear take control over his action, but he couldn't escape from it. The four torpedoes were coming, as the sailors desperatedly loaded the torpedoes, racing against time, going to their limits in the awareness of the sands of time burying their existence every second, their muscles bulging and straining at their collective effort. The beeps were getting more frequent, the enemy torpedoes closing in, and both stations still not reloaded.

"Launch and prepare decoy rockets!" powerlessness was the word to describe what Holloman was feeling, he could not magically load the torpedoes into the tubes, he could not turn his men into supermen capable of loading as fast as a soldier would load another magazine in his LA-65 rifle. His life was now entirely at the hand of his sailors and of the decoy rockets that could fail in their purpose, and yet he was supposed to be their superior.

"Come! Faster! Faster! We will do it!" the weapon's officer interrupted his struggle to speak, but he was helping the very men under his command to load the torpedo with his own muscles, despite his age at late thirties, as they struggled, still not completely aware of their doom, and he tried to push them beyond their physical limits, sweating through their uniforms as they pushed in four teams, each of the torpedoes to be loaded, a gesture followed by men in the aft of the submarine.

The alarm was the simplest sign of urgency they had, and the tube was getting close, while they have not been destroyed yet, there was still time, but whether such time was enough or not was yet to be seen.

"One!" the four torpedoes were less than a meter away from their tubes. Admiral Holloman again contacted the Weapons Officer as he saw the only way for them to... survive.

"Communications officer! Get ready to disable our active sonar at the exact moment of my command," he first ordered, as he typed to switch his orders to the hard working men... aware of the beeping, of how there were only, at best thirty and at worst twenty seconds left before they could

"Engineering officer! Get everything ready to eject our escape capsules and disable our diesel engines at the exact moment I order! We don't have much time, quick!" and at last, the final matter.

"Weapons officer, what is your status?"

"Fore..." a difficult voice of a man at a state of extreme physical exhaustion replied, "torpedoes ready."

The key moment was coming, they would either die or survive, having to rely on their trick in hopes of fooling their enemy that they were destroyed. Four more torpedoes then were the last to come from the Tiburón, as it was nearly being reached by the enemy ones. Four torpedoes that had a steep cost... one of their sailors could not stand it, having gone beyond his physique capabilities for duty, and simply died of exhaustion, collapsing at the exact moment the torpedo he helped to load was inside and ready to be fired. Many others also collapsed over the floor out of exhaustion, being pushed to their very limits. For three minutes they were weary of the threat, desperate. And perhaps now, their fate was as sealed as the fate of the Layartebian carrier, for the first decoys have failed to truly stop the torpedoes, serving instead only to buy them some time... a few more precious seconds before such torpedoes would be in enough proximity to crush them.

"Release water from fore ballasts, inclination thirty degrees!" the submarine began to incline as fast as it safely could at its depth, challenging further its structure while the torpedoes continued to head against it, the sailors held over beams to not slip due to the new inclination, and now they were ready for their last move.

"Brace yourselves! Ten seconds for contact!" the admiral did not shelter them from their doomed reality, as he prepared to issue the command, watching as the timer was running out.

May God forgive us.

"Now!" he issued the command to all officers. The diesel engines were halted, the active sonar stopped, and as the torpedoes were nearly reaching proximity range to detonate against them, four escape capsules were launched together with multiple decoy rockets, moving barely many meters away from the submarine as they would impact against the enemy torpedoes.

The admiral felt like if a grizzly bear have just shoved him against the ground when the shockwave came, for despite not being in optical close distance to destroy them, their effects could yet be felt, in such event that happened in fractions of seconds. The screen he once was reading was torn into splinters, and he held stiffly over an inner beam, his muscles nearly breaking. Lamps shattered across the submarine, and the very metal seemed to bend to the explosion. Men nearly exhausted were thrown against the shaken walls, two having their ribs broken as they agonized, expecting a death that never came. The terror has paralyzed them in fear for seconds, as they could barely become aware of the wounds the near miss dealt against their bodies.

Ten seconds later, as their despair waned and physical pain proceeded to do its part, a medic began to scour, walking silently through the decks to provide assistance to the wounded, as a standard procedure despite all acoustic dampening inside the vessel. Holloman stared at the shattered screen, and could not believe it.

Am I still alive? the pain on his old joints was genuine, and thus, he said in a whisper, through the communicator:

"Engineering officer, status report, over."

The silence lasted for ten seconds, as the Admiral hoped for an answer to come, it would be ironic if they survived for now, but no longer had a crew to go further. His nerves were being held, but were growing stronger at every second.

"Our diesel engines seem, at surface, beyond repair, three of my men are wounded, the water reservoirs of our rear torpedo tubes were damaged but we remain in operational silence, electric engines are still operational, our active sonar has been severely damaged. I shall run a diagnosis, Admiral, and hope we can keep traveling unnoticed, we will stand no chance if they discover we were not destroyed."

"Engineering officer, set our inclination back... slowly so we won't give in they have not destroyed us." Holloman then shifted his comms to another officer, "Weapons officer, status report over." he knew the answers would not be good, and tried to maintain calm over their delicate... extremely dangerous situation.

"Two men dead," still exhausted, he answered back, "one gravely wounded... and six wounded... not enough manpower to load more than one torpedo at once. Rear tubes are operational and were loaded now... but damages won't allow for more than the two loaded torpedoes to be fired."

Great... and if the reports are true Holloman sighed, looking at a map of Europe stooding next to the communications room. They could not send a distress signal, as that would give them away immediately. Out of the fire to the frying pan... or to the cold pan of the Cottish flu pandemic... there was only one way they expected to have the least likelihood of being intercepted and from the map he marked an X with a nearby pen, at the south coast of Norway in the Baltic Sea. Unkerlantum was far too hostile and suspicious for them to risk travelling through, and the Goodrule probably wanted they dead.

They could not cheat death, for if not by battle, disease would be the culprit, and ironically, the Goodrule was not completely wrong in their blaming of Layartebian "hideous biological weapon experiments" for the Flu, even though they lacked any evidence to support their accusations, even if such accusations were nothing but tools to control their populace with a focus of hatred.

"Navigation officer, those who seek to kill us, will expect for further of us to be coming from the Mediterranean and from Spain and Britain seas. But they will not be expecting for any submarine... to head... we have to go on. We have to reach the ruins of Cotland. Our other choices are death and torture."

"Understood Admiral," a heavily burdened, berated voice replied, "I will set our course to Norway Sir. May God help us all."

Death sometimes had a terrible sense of cruelty. To spare them from the immediate, to give them hope and yet, in the end, their chances of surviving remained as small as before... the chances they could still be detected, the chances the virus would kill them all.

Everything was against them, and now they no longer cared whether their mission was accomplished or not, for their severely damaged sensors would mean they would never discover the fate of the carrier ten of their torpedoes were fired against, the last four being fired at a window of seconds before the enemy torpedoes would reach them. All they wanted now was another chance to live. Yet.

And they still had hope.

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

Something went terribly wrong, as a station captured dozens of letters of sailors to their families, and a man worriedly looked at his superior. Checking the origin from the transmission, right in the middle of a Layartebian fleet, a man staunchly ordered, refusing to even think much about such decision he was to made.

"Erase all of them and forget this!"

The order was accomplished, and soon the officer of the station tried to drown his fears and worries about the even with a heavy dose of S.O.M.A., to forget thinking on the consequences should his lie fall flat, for why should only the Goodbrother have the right to lie? Nobody had the courage to face the punishment merely announcing that one of their submarines went rogue and against the Layartebians would ensue. And thus their families would never, ever know what they truly, why they have done it, what truly happened to them, and how they loved their children.

But the Goodbrother is said to know everything, even if not now, eventually, eventually, he will know.

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

Meanwhile, in a forgotten place, still deserted from human presence and far too inhospitable for certain technologies, in the few still remaining preserves of Airstrip one, amidst hundred years old trees covering the ground from the inquisitive lenses of surveillance satellites, two pairs of boots treaded through the fallen leaves of the forest, two cloaked figures which seemed to have never been there, so insignificant that their existence was no worry to the Goodrule.

And they vanished... trapdoors quickly emerged and closed, leaving no traces as their camouflage blended perfectly with the ground of the forest, as the men took ladders down in two dug in tunnels which converged into a Y crossway, leading to a long way, a way long enough for those unwelcome be ambushed, long enough to be caved in, if necessary, a long way both figures in black cloaks treaded in silence, until a blast door with multiple holes, holes right next to the muzzles of rifles to allow for whatever came to be shot if a threat, and thus five large bolt were slid, as the door was opened by yet another man whose face was obscured by a black cloak, with three others across the room, leading to a bunker room of simple bricks, with no further way, and a large amount of heavy armament stacked around. AR-65 rifles, GEM-2 Air Defense Anti-Tank Missile Launchers, USS-12 Sledgehammer automatic shotguns, grenades and improvised explosive devices were placed in wooden crates.

But yet another wall passage in a section completely seamless with the rest of the wall slid open for their way, and closed again. This time, a blast door stood again in the end of the secret passageway, with an eye blood pattern scanner and a keyboard. One of the men placed his eyes onto the scanner while the other typed a long winding password. The doors once again were open, as beyond a meeting room lied, where another cloaked figure awaited them.

"The matter is closed... congratulations for your success," the words of the man were brief as he sat in a black leather chair lined with four others in a round mahogany table, "but now the stakes will be set much higher... the time is coming after all these years. And this is one chance for our generation, and perhaps for eternity."

"They are not united by belief, but by fear," one of the men who arrived replied, "among their ranks there are many who seek a chance to betray their Party and ascend to absolute power. That is their greatest weakness."

"I fear the Layartebians... the collateral damage." the other man who arrived then interjected, "what if we are annexed to their territory? Everything would be in vain, everything... to replace one tyrant by another."

"They will not lose, many will die now however, the price to pay for our liberty. Yet they will not lose. The Layartebians will help our cause, even if they don't know their actions will benefit our people in the long term. They will wound the beast... but is up to us to deliver the final blow. We will have only one chance." The man sitting down then replied to them.

"We should sleep now comrades... lay low until the time is ripe for action once again. I will answer no further questions." the men then turned his back, as both cloaked men left the room

How much will we have pay for our freedom? the man thought, questioning his beliefs, the mysteries of his mind shrouded as like a ghost, he eventually vanished from the room as well, taking through passageways to reach the next destination. Relying on forces they could not control was tricky, but they had no other choice. Their mission, for now, was accomplished.

As the expedition drove through Rendalen valley, they passed many small farms on their way, detecting no form of human life. Not even when they drove through the hamlet of Åkrestrømmen 14 kilometers south of Otnes, home to 553 people, did they attract any attention. The same story was repeated as they proceeded south. Either, everyone were dead, or, more likely, the survivors were hiding.

As the expedition approached Rena, they began to see human life in the form of masses of people carrying whatever they could carry with them, with surgical masks or makeshift masks over their mouths and noses, flocking towards the centre of the town. Rena had a population of 2079 people in the 2007 census, but there had to be more than ten thousand people crowded into the town centre. As the small convoy got closer, they began to understand why. Underneath a large Red Cross banner that flew from the City Hall, a large field hospital had been established that was trying to treat the people as best they could. They also saw relatively large quantities of men dressed in COTPAT-uniforms and carrying rifles and tactical webbing, a tell-tale sign that at least some form of organized military presence existed in the town.

Stopping at the field hospital, the MOPP-4-clad expedition began to make its way through the crowds, ignoring the pleas for help as they approached the soldiers, who raised their HK416s at the expedition, who in turn raised their own HK416s.

"Stand down! We're friendlies."

The soldiers maintained their aim at the expedition. It wasn't until a nearby officer noticed the little stand-off.

"Lower those fucking weapons!" He shouted, causing his men to reluctantly lower the weapons and letting the expedition enter the perimeter the soldiers were guarding.

"Captain Iversen, Special Operations Command." The Captain said, saluting the officer who had intervened.

"Major Lomheim, Second Brigade, Thirty-Second Infantry Division." The officer replied as he finished the salute. "Where the hell did you guys come from? I wasn't aware that the special forces were operating in the area."

"Long story Major. We're carrying out a force reconnaissance mission at the direct order from the Prime Minister. Our objective is to hook up with friendly units and find out what the situation is."

"The Prime Minister? But Gardason was declared dead in February!"

"No, not Gardason. Ørjan Rødberg, formerly the Commerce Minister. He was sworn in as Prime Minister in accordance with the Succession Act as he was the next survivor in the line of succession." Captain Iversen said. "He's currently trying to get his bearings, and that's why we're here."

"The fucking Commerce Minister? Jesus, how far down the list was he?" The Major exclaimed.

"Number fourteen. Still, he's the lawful Prime Minister and he's given me a lawful order that I hope you'll help me carry out sir."

"Yes. Yes, of course. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to see the Colonel."

Following the Major, Iversen got into a jeep and drove the five minutes it was from the makeshift field hospital to the garrison, where more soldiers were gathered. As they drove, Iversen got a quick summary of the past months' events and the current situation, which was relatively bad. As the Nerotikans had invaded and managed to defeat the weakened forces in the Russian territories, the Army had been forced to withdraw from the territories in order to shorten their lines and conserve what little remained of fighting forces. As a natural consequence, tens of millions of civilians had fled the wartorn areas, going anywhere they could. Into Karelia, Finland, Sweden, Norway and Murmansk, or abroad, and bringing the flu with them. The health services in the areas had not been prepared to handle such a large influx of internally dispersed peoples, and they had been forced to live in packed make-shift refugee camps with woefully inadequate sanitary conditions. As a result, decease had thrived, and the Influenza A sub-type H16N2, as the Cottish Flu was known as in medical terms, had been no exception. The rest was, as the Major said, history. Nearly the entire population had been infected, and the lethality had been extremely high since the virus appeared to have mutated so that it had become resistent to the normal influenza cures. The Cottish civilization had nearly disappeared, and decended into anarchy. Communications between settlements had nearly ceased. The people had armed themselves and started to attack and kill people they suspected of carrying the decease on sight, believing that they would be putting the infected out of his or her misery. Basically, the Major said, society had reneged back to how it had been around 900 AD, which was the year that the movement that would eventually establish Cotland as a nation fifty-seven years later began.

There was some good news though, the Major said. The Army had sucessfully managed to stop the Nerotikan advance near the Finnish border, and territorial army units had managed to remain relatively healthy and mobilized. However, the Major said, Cottish law currently only applied about as far as the military's rifles could shoot. In order to get things working again, the central government needed to reassert themselves and get hope back in the minds of the people. Also, a medical facility that elements of the brigade were guarding not too far away in Hamar had after several months of hard work managed to finally cook up a successful antidote to the influenza. It had been tested on humans with great success, but the only bad thing was that the facility didn't have the resources available to mass produce the vaccine in sufficient quantities.

After parking the jeep in front of the administration building in the military camp, the Major and Captain Iversen entered the building, took off their protective gear and uniforms, and proceeded under armed guard into a shower room where they washed themselves carefully. The Major explained that while the virus wasn't airborne and thus MOPP4 suits weren't really necessary, maintaining a good personal hygeine was crucial in preventing the virus from spreading, and thus anyone that got into contact with infected or potentially infected people had to wash themselves carefully. After the shower, fresh uniforms had been laid out for the two officers to wear, and after donning these as well as a surgical mask for Iversen, they proceeded up two floors to the office of the base commander, one Colonel Jonas Båhus.

Colonel Båhus was a experienced officer, having served the Kingdom and the Army with distinction for twenty-nine years and prevailed through nine seperate campaigns, most recently as a brigade commander against the First Nerotikan Invasion where he had earned a War Cross for his achievements in defeating twenty thousand Nerotikans with just over four thousand men. Command of Brigade 2/31. Infantry Division had been the General Staff's idea of his graceful retirement, which was originally intended to happen in April. Then the pandemic had stuck, and Båhus had been left in charge of six thousand reservists and a massive area to protect, with no one except his division commander to consult. Unfortunately the division commander had succumbed to the illness along with most of the divisional headquarters, meaning that the Brigade was left to its own devices. All in all, Båhus had done reasonably well. He had turned Rena into a strongpoint, and tried his best to keep control over the masses of people who flocked to the medium field hospital that had been established in the town just prior to the collapse, as well as secure the hospital in Hamar where even more people had converged on. While he had contact with other military units in the region, they told the same old story. They had control over whereever they had troops garrisoned, but little else, and supplies were running short. Thus, it was with mixed feelings Båhus rose from his seat and welcomed the Captain that was standing at attention, saluting the Colonel - another first, as Special Operations Command officers rarely stood in attention for anyone but generals, and most certainly didn't salute many people.

Returning the salute, Båhus motioned for the Captain to have a seat.

"Welcome Captain...?"

"Iversen sir. Thank you Colonel. It's good to meet other people."

"Indeed. You must apologize for the surgical mask, but one can't be too careful these days."

Iversen nodded in agreement, but didn't say anything.

"Well Captain, I understand from Major Lomheim that you're on a reconnaissance mission of some sort?"

"That is correct sir. I've been dispatched by the interim Prime Minister, Ørjan Rødberg, who is currently located in a secure government facility somewhere in this county, with orders to locate and rendezvous with friendly units and get the lay of the land, so to speak. The new Prime Minister wish to know what the state of the Kingdom is."

"The state of the Kingdom is that the Kingdom is sick and dying." Båhus quipped. "I'm sure Lomheim has filled you in?"

"Yes sir. People have reverted to a stance of heavily armed, paranoid isolation, and have lost all hope, which the central government, i.e. the Prime Minister, must give them as quickly as possible."

"That is correct Captain. I just hope we can give them that."

"Well sir, with your help, we can. I've been informed via radio that the Prime Minister has successfully gotten in touch with the Layartebians, and been promised a substantial amount of Layartebian humanitarian aide, including over a hundred thousand Layartebian Marines. The Layartebians have not yet been struck by the pandemic, but they haven't developed a cure for it either. I understand from Major Lomheim that a facility under your control has. If we could somehow get the cure to the Layartebians so they could mass-produce it for us, and then distribute it, we could get control of the situation relatively quickly sir."

Båhus nodded as Iverson explained further.

"I like your idea Captain. The trouble is that we don't currently have a communications line with the Layartebians and thus no way of getting into contact with them."

"We could relay the necessary information via the Prime Minister?" Lomheim commented.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

...FLASH...FLASH...FLASH...

FROM: National Command Authority, Kingdom of Cotland
TO: National Command Authority, Empire of Layarteb
SUBJECT: H16N2 Vaccine
PRIORITY: Highest

...MESSAGE BEGINS...

Cottish scientists have developed and successfully tested mutated Influenza A sub-type H16N2 vaccine on infected humans. Vaccine has up to 85% success rate, and is capable of curing the infected patient if injected within 48 hours after symptoms appear. The problem is that our scientists are not able to mass-produce the vaccine in sufficient quantities to cure the number of infected. Request assistance from Layartebian pharmaceutical firms in producing sufficient quantity of the vaccine to cure infected individuals.

Also request large quantity of surgical gloves and masks, medical supplies (Oseltamivir for easing symptoms of H16N2, analgesics to easen pain) and clean water for treating the sick, and body bags and several mobile industrial-grade incinerators for disposal of the deceased.

As for SpecOps assistance, NCA feels that the forces could be put to better use assisting our troops distributing humanitarian aid to the population.

(signed)
Ørjan Rødberg
Interim Prime Minister of Kingdom of Cotland

...MESSAGE ENDS...

Brooklyn, Layarteb City

"The peaceloving people of Cotland need your help. Call 555-HELP-COTLAND and donate §50 now. The money will go towards buying humanitarian supplies and shipping it to the afflicted area. Your donation will save live..."

The man flipped the switch and turned the TV off, shaking his head. How had it come to this? From one of the most advanced and wealthiest civilizations in the world to a third-world country that was depending on alms to carry on with life.

The man's line of thought was broken by the sound of a small child crying. Rising from the couch, the elderly man walked into the nearby bedroom, leaned over the baby crib and gently picked up the small child.

"Good afternoon little prince." He said with a smile, and got a large grin in return from the one-year old. "Did you enjoy your nap?"

Turning to head back into the living room, he noticed that someone was standing in the door.

"Good afternoon to you too." He said with a small smile.

"Good afternoon General." The woman in her early thirties replied with a sly smile on her lips. "Its surprising, but having a child on your arm becomes you."

"Yes, that's what my wife said when we had our first-born too."

"Here, let me take him." The woman said as she took the child from the General's arms. "You have to get ready for your meeting sir."

The General didn't reply, choosing instead to watch the woman take the child into the bathroom to change the dirty diapers. After she disappeared around the corner, the General walked into his bedroom and changed. Five minutes later, he left the apartment and got into a waiting car.

The drive from the neighborhood of Little Oslo in Brooklyn, a favorite place for expatriate Cottish living in the Layartebian capital to settle and thus the ideal place for a Cot trying to stay low under the radar to hide, to the causeway at Governor's Island, location of the Fortress of Comhghall took less than thirty minutes. The General got out of the car a block away from the causeway at Dikeman and Ferris, choosing to walk the rest of the way to the roadblock and the soldiers guarding the roadblock so that it would be harder for the Layartebians to identify the vehicle he had used and the driver. The General got a few puzzled looks from the few people out in the streets, something he had expected. After all, how often did they see a Cottish two-star general in full Class A uniform walking down the streets of Layarteb City, and a General who's unit badge identified as being attached to the Special Operations Command to boot?

Walking up to the roadblock, the General's trained eye could see that assaulting this position would be extremely difficult and extremely costly. It was a classical roadblock, with concrete K-bars positioned so that an approaching vehicle had to make several tight turns in order to navigate through, with what appeared to be pop-up steel barriers that could stop a speeding semi-truck dead in its tracks. There were two machine gun positions that if used were in a position to provide excellent overlapping fire, and at least two squads worth of soldiers guarding the very defensible position. Yes, any attack upon this position would be extremely costly for the attacker.

"Halt!" Challenged one of the soldiers guarding the roadblock, with several of the soldiers holding their assault rifles in a non-aggressive but never the less ready to use stance, watching his every move. "Approach, slowly. Identify yourself please."

The General did as ordered, holding his military ID card and passport so the soldier could inspect it, something the soldier - the General could now see from his insignia that he was being checked by a Staff Sergeant in the Defense Forces - did.

"Sergeant, listen to me and listen closely. 'The Winter Roses are blooming.' I repeat, 'The Winter Roses are blooming.' Do you understand?" The General said with a calm, but deadly serious voice.

The Sergeant looked at him perplexed but realized it was a codeword, one that he was not privy to understanding. He looked at the General and straightened up, "Sir, please wait inside," he pointed to a small building next to them. "I have to call security down here, they will escort you across the causeway."

"Understood." The General replied as he complied. Inside, a Specialist offered the General refreshments while he waited, something the General politely declined. After a short wait, the black Cheverolet Suburban carrying his escort arrived. The General thought that something seemed familiar with the aging man that commanded the escort team, and after a few seconds of intense thinking recalled it. A short while before leaving Cotland, he had read the dossier that the Cottish intelligence had on this man, as part of his preparation for this special mission. The man was one Jack Delaney, and while his official position was as the Chief of Security at the Fortress, Cottish intelligence believed that he was more than that, something which was based on two seperate operative observations of him in foreign theatres, most notably Kaliningrad a few years ago during the brief Layartebian occupation of that territory and Venezuela back in 1992. Naturally, Cottish intelligence had nothing more than brief observations of him, and discreet probes to find out more had yielded nothing, there was little more than speculations as to his real role. Of course, the General said nothing as he shook the hand of the escort.

"Sir. If you'll please step with me inside of this room." Delaney motioned to a secure and soundproof room that led off from the waiting room where he and the General could talk. The General followed Delaney, and sat down in the metal chair he was offered. The room reminded the General of a interrogation chamber more than a interview room, but he didn't flinch as he sat down.

Waiting until Delaney sat down, the General looked into the deep, cold eyes of the Layartebian and, in a cool, collected voice, said, "I have a message for the Emperor, and for the Emperor's ears only, from His Majesty King Haakon of Cotland. For you, I have the following to say: 'The Winter Roses are blooming.' Do you understand sir?"

"General, this phrase means much to me. We checked out your credentials and you are who you say you are, thus why I came here to escort you over the bridge. However, this phrase you use has been red flagged since the death of King Haakon. It was a phrase known only to himself so before I can permit you to cross, I need to know how you came to know it."

"His Majesty told it to me personally about it when he gave me the message he wished for me to relay to the Emperor. The message is for the Emperor's ears only. I assure you sir, the message is of the utmost urgency and the need for secrecy is paramount." The General replied without hesitation, maintaining his stare into Delaney's eyes.

One old soldier looked at another, the difference being Delaney's identity. "General. I will permit your audience with the Emperor. He is presently unaware of your being here and will be informed along the way. Are you armed General?"

Without hesitation, the General unbuttoned his uniform jacket, pulled out a chromed M1911A1 and handed it over to Delaney.

"Lead the way."

Delaney took the weapon, ejected the magazine, and cleared the chamber. The bullet was caught midair and Delaney relocked the slide and decocked the hammer. "You will please hand over any other magazine or stray bullet you have. You must understand the nature of our security and the nature of your unannounced visit. We cannot be too cautious. Ever. You will be permitted to speak with the Emperor. You are not required to salute but you must be respectful at all times, understood? Additionally, should you intend malice or hostile action, your uniform and nationality cannot protect you."

The General took out the two spare magazines he had and handed them over to Delaney, gripping the man's hand as he took the magazines with his other hand, looked the man deep in the eyes and said in a cold voice, "If I had intended to harm your Emperor, there exists far simpler ways to go about doing it. That is not my mission."

General, I overlook no scenario, simple or complex. We have a car waiting." He led him out of the waiting room and administration building where he held the door for the General as he climbed into the suburban, sitting by himself in the middle row with Delaney in the front passenger seat and his partner in the rear row.

The suburban made a quick u-turn and began to head over the causeway, maintaining 35 mph the whole way, slowing down at each of the two guard stations while the barricades were lowered. Then it continued onward, all the way to the end.

Once on the actual island, the vehicle maintained speed and headed along the outer highway towards the gargantuan Fortress of Comhghall in the far distance, where the vehicle would pull up the front and stop. Delaney would open the door again for the General.

The General exited the vehicle and followed Delaney through the large double doors of the ancient Fortress and through another security checkpoint where he was subjected to a metal detector and passed through before Delaney led him through a maze of corridors and staircases until finally they arrived at the waiting room outside the Emperor's office. After a few quick words with the pretty secretary, Delaney opened the doors to the Emperor's office and announced the General to the Emperor before he stepped aside and allowed the General, who by this time had removed his peaked officer's hat from his head and placed it under his left arm, to enter the vast office.

The General had stopped for three seconds in the waiting room to make sure his uniform was pristine, and after ensuring that it was marched into the office with the dignity and respect that he had built up over the twenty-six years he had served in the Cottish military. On the left side of his uniform jacket, five and a half rows of decorations revealed that he had quite a bit of experience, something which was emphasized by the fact that the Cottish military wasn't exactly the most generous when it came to handing out decorations. On his right shoulder sleeve, the unit badge - a black Nordic shield with a silver commando dagger on top of a pair of silver wings - revealed that this Major General belonged to the Special Operations Command of the Royal Cottish Armed Forces. On the right side of the uniform jacket, a few metal badges revealed that the Major General held the distinguishing honor of being a Master Marksman, Expert Parachutist, and belonged to a unit that had been awarded the Royal Unit Citation.

Approaching the Emperor with grace and an aura of respect, the General stopped one meter from the Emperor and in a single graceful motion extended his right hand from along his side up to his right eyebrow, presenting a crisp salute that would have made a drill sergeant proud.

"Your Highness, I am Major General Stig Larsen of the Royal Cottish Army, and I am here at the personal request of His Majesty King Haakon."

"General, 'sir' will do just fine. You must have an important message if you've come here to deliver it yourself and unannounced. We'll get to the specifics later of how you came to be here but please, go on." The Emperor replied.

"Sir, my message is for your ears and your ears only. I'm afraid that I must insist."

"Jack. Please wait outside, I'll be fine here." The Emperor said, dismissing Delaney, who shut the doors behind him leaving the Emperor alone with the Cottish General.

"Thank you sir," The General said, waiting for Delaney to leave before he continued, remaining at attention.

"Sir, first, I regret that I must inform you that His Majesty King Haakon passed away from illness on February Nineteenth of this year. Her Majesty Queen Marie died the day prior to His Majesty's passing." The General said, pausing a moment to allow the terrible confirmation of what everyone had suspected for so long to sink in with the Emperor.

"General, this is indeed tragic news. Please continue." It was news that need not be said, the Emperor knew this already.

"Before His Majesty died, he gave me one final command. I was ordered to ensure the safety of Your Highness' godson, Crown Prince Sverre, at any cost. I decided that the Prince's safety could not be guaranteed in the Kingdom, and therefore I decided to relocate the Prince to a more secure location. Prince Sverre is alive and well, and currently in a secure location within your realm. Indeed, somewhere within your capital city."

"General. You are telling me that presently there remains an heir to the Cottish throne, that he is here, ad he is alive and well? This is the best news I've heard since this pandemic began." The Emperor rose from his chair. He had been told that Sverre had been killed along with the rest of the royal family by the pandemic.

"General. We must make arrangements for his safe keeping and safe return to the Cottish Realm. I trust you are his protector? We can provide safety here for him."

"Yes sir, the future King of Cotland is alive and well. This is why I have come to you today sir. My message to you from His Majesty King Haakon is this: His Majesty asks that you as the godfather of the Prince ensures his upbringing and security, and that when the time is right, you will help to ensure that he ascends to the throne." The General said. "However, I must insist that secrecy is maintained for the moment. The political situation in Cotland is still uncertain, with no word from any survivors from the central government. Should news of the Prince's survival come out before we know that a lawful central government is in power and in control of the land, the consequences could be, shall we say, undesirable?"

"General, we have contingency plans for this already though they would concern my son or daughter. Thus they can be easily modified."

"What do these contingency plans entail? I must again insist that as few people as humanly possible learn of the Prince's survival and location. Secrecy is paramount for the Prince's security."

"I cannot guarantee his safety here in the city. But we would move him to a secure location nearby to be raised by only individuals trusted most. We have candidates who can raise Prince Sverre in secrecy. General, you were entrusted with his safety and thus I must entrust you with his safety as well."

"With respect sir," The General said. "The Prince's nanny has already been entrusted with the task of raising the Prince, so candidates to raise the Prince will not be necessary. I will naturally ensure the Prince's safety until my dying breath, as I promised his father before he died."

"General, you must know that now, as Prince Sverre's godfather, it is my neck on the line. General we must know if she can be trusted."

"She was hand-picked by the King and Queen three months after the Prince was born, and was thurroughly screened by our own security services prior to the pandemic. She also volunteered to participate in this mission, knowing full and well that it involved a seventeen-year commitment. She loves the child as if he was her own. Surely sir, you don't believe that we would entrust the safety of the heir to the Throne to just anyone? I trust her with my life sir."

"General, when it comes to children I trust very few people, having seen the hell that can be bestowed upon them. To ensure absolute secrecy you both must assume entirely new identities and thus so will Prince Sverre." The Emperor declared. "You will be part of a specialized plan that has already been created and you will be relocated to what I have dubbed Site N."

"Where exactly, sir, is this Site N, and how many people will know of this plan?" The General asked politely. He had not yet been released from attention, so he remained standing at attention. "I must inform you at this time sir, that once it is deemed safe enough for the Prince to return to his Kingdom, I intend to relocate him there. Naturally, I also intend to inform the legitimate government of Cotland of the Prince's location and status as soon as this government is restored to power."

"General, Site N is located in upstate New York, more than a hundred miles northwest of here. It is miles from any military installation and essentially, in the middle of nowhere. The town is a quaint, cozy town that isn't even necessarily on the maps. The education system is among the highest in the region and the town is crimeless. Those that know will be yourself, myself, and a trusted, embedded, and specialized group within our Secret Service who are tasked with protecting them." The Emperor explained, pausing for a second before he continued.

"General what I must ask though is how well can you trust the new government of Cotland. With all heirs to the throne, presumably dead, those that ascend to power will do so with the assumption that there is no longer a monarchy. The thought that I come to revolves around whether or not they would try to keep that so to maintain power and prevent a rise of the monarchy, to which the government is subservient."

For the first time, the General smiled slightly.

"Any legitimate government of Cotland will be obligated to obey the Constitution of Cotland, and the first paragraph of the Constitution clearly states that the form of government shall be a constitutional monarchy. The second chapter of the Constitution further explains the role and rules regulating the monarchy. The politicians know it, the judicial system knows it, the military knows it, and most importantly, the population knows it. As late as 1996 we had a referendum over the Monarchy. 87% voted in favor of the continued monarchy. Should the new government attempt to refuse the Prince his rightful throne, they will be in violation of the Constitution and thus not a legitimate government, and as such they will be deposed by the people and the military. That, and the fact that we have a little contingency plan prepared in case of such an attempt. A simple DNA test of the Prince and compared with the DNA sample of King Haakon would remove any shadow of doubt as to the Prince's legitimate claim to the throne."

"Understood but I am not too sure about revealing his true location. We're talking about the only heir to the Cottish throne. There are groups out there intent on seeing to it that the Cottish royal family remains outright deceased."

"Which is why secrecy is paramount at this time sir." The General finished. "Until the lawful government in Cotland has been re-established and ensured their power, the Prince's location must remain a closely guarded secret known only to a select few people."

"Very well General but before his whereabouts are disclosed to the future Cottish government I must be informed. This is a matter that is best done in person not via the phone. I will immediately begin the procedures for this matter. It may take up to forty-eight hours until you are settled into Site N. Until then, your safety and Prince Sverre's safety is of the utmost concern."

The Emperor stood up and walked to the General, "I must be allowed to provide a bodyguard until this can be completed or I must have you here in the Fortress."

The General smiled slightly. "If I'm locked up here,sir, who's going to be looking after the Prince?" He asked rethorically.

"The Prince is currently located in a secure location. 3562 Union Street, a townhouse in Brooklyn." The General said, referring to a townhouse located in the middle of a neighborhood that was known unofficially as Little Oslo, due to the fact that some 90% of the people living in that particular part of Brooklyn were of Cottish decent. It was also a well-known fact that the vast majority of expatriate Cottish were avid supporters of the monarchy, and thus hiding the Prince in this neighborhood wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"I've got three trusted and heavily armed men watching the Prince, with orders to use deadly force should anyone try to gain access to the townhouse without permission."

"I know this neighborhood General. It is a perfect location for him, for the time being. There will be a security detail posted immediately and I assure you that once this situation is ready, we will be coming for you. I will be personally there and should I not be there, you are instructed to get on the run immediately. Is that understood? General, the situation in the world and in the Empire is fragile. You are aware of the terrorism campaign that has been ongoing here and you must know that the backers of this terrorist organization have global influence. They are inside of governments and businesses. They will stop at nothing to achieve destruction of the Empire and the October Alliance, and thus you have to understand the security measures I wish to enact. Is this understood?"

"Yes sir, but with respect sir," The General replied. "I would advise against you coming to fetch the Prince personally. It would bring a lot of attention to something that should be handled quietly and discreetly."

"General," the Emperor extended his hand. "If you do not know and you may already, before I was blessed with the position I currently hold I served in the Republican Army's elite Delta Force branch. If there's anything I know, it is how to be discreet."

"I am aware of that sir, but when you were in Delta Force, your face wasn't known to every individual on the planet that hasn't lived underneath a rock for the past twenty years." The General said, taking the Emperor's hand. "Emperor or no, I will not permit anything that may jeapordize the safety of that child."

"Very well then I will provide a codephrase that if not spoken properly will act in the same manner. I will send my chief of security instead. He will utter this phrase, 'This world will be what I expected,' is that satisfactory?"

"It is sir, if it is acceptable to you that should whoever arrives at the door not utter the phrase correctly, said person's life expectancy and that of whoever is along with him can be measured in milliseconds." The General said with a cold voice, leaving no doubt that he would do exactly as he said he would.

"Agreed but be sure to evacuate instantly as police personnel have a very quick response time in Brooklyn. Someone will undoubtedly hear or see something."

"Naturally. If that is one thing we teach our operators, it is to never get into a situation where you don't have at least two escape routes at any given time. There is an excellent reason aside from superior firepower why no Cottish operator has ever been captured alive by an enemy. I assure you sir, I don't intend to become the first."

"Glad to hear it," the Emperor released the General's hand and escorted him to the door. Jack would escort him out of the building, offering the General his ammunition once they were on the other side of the causeway.

OOC: RPing with Layarteb done via IRC.

Towing two Nixie decoys, each one over a thousand feet behind the carrier was just one part of the decoy system that the Enterprise class CVN would employ. The Nixie decoys were advanced modifications based on the prototype AN/WSQ-11, known as the "Whiskey 11" or "Super Nixie." It was a development of the AN/SLQ-25B Nixie, which improved the AN/SLQ-25A Nixie giving it the ability to detect submarines and incoming torpedoes thanks to an active sonar array. As a decoy it would allow the Nixie to present a larger false target for the torpedo, giving it better chances against more modern torpedoes. Additionally, it was effective against wake homing torpedoes, which had advanced considerably since the 1960s and presented a large danger to surface ships. The prototype AN/WSQ-11 made the Nixie into a major sensor, allowing it to detect, localize, and classify multiple torpedoes using both active and passive sonar. It employed a variety of countermeasures with which to defend against incoming torpedoes. This "Super Nixie," as it was affectionately referred to as was definitely one of the best decoys a surface ship could employ among other systems such as the Prairie system, which suppressed vital and noisy parts of a ship, protecting them from being detected by a passive sonar guided torpedo. Against an active sonar guided torpedo, it was not the system to employ and when the first pings shot out of the incoming torpedoes, the captain opted to keep this system disengaged. Both towed Nixie systems would provide some of the best defense available for the carrier, which used them and information from the fleet to determine exactly where the torpedoes were. The next system they could employ was part of their AN/SLQ-51 system and that was a deployable countermeasure system capable of shooting two types of decoy systems away from the ship. The first type was a stationary jammer that could maintain a specific depth and essentially make noise. The other type of decoy was a mobile target emulation system. That particular system was a small decoy that moved away from the ship, mimicking its signature to distract all types of torpedoes. Each Enterprise class CVN had eight twelve-barreled launchers with four port and four starboard. Classified, new, and effective, the system showed promise in testing and now it would get its first combat test.

The hostile submarine had launched ten torpedoes towards the Enterprise and made a noisy exit from the battle area, noisy enough that it could be easily tracked and pinpointed. When the hostile submarine evaded both Mark 76 and both Mark 50 torpedoes, a million to one probability even under optimal circumstances, the fleet knew how to react. Thanks to the noisy exit of the submarine from the battle area, its location was available to airborne MH-60R Sea Hawk helicopters, two of which moved in to intercept the submarine. They dropped active sonar sonobuoys into the water and used their dipping sonar to locate the submarine. The active pinging easily bounced off the hull of the submarine and Sea Hawks knew where it was and responded by dropping two more Mark 50 Barracuda torpedoes into the water. They had two more, in case those didn't hit either. Evading two torpedoes was considering next to impossible for most submarines, let alone four, and now, let alone six.

The whole time, the focus of the fleet was on the incoming torpedoes, headed right for the carrier, which deployed sixteen decoys into the water, twelve mobile and four stationary. The captain immediately altered his course and the carrier heaved into the water, its direct turning as it moved at fifteen knots. Any faster and there was danger to the towed systems. Additionally, that would create a larger wake and more of an acoustic signature. Bow thrusters would allow the mammoth ship to turn faster and allow it to change its wake direction and force the torpedoes to expend more of their fuel to turn and follow. The decoys in the water also ran various courses, meant to confuse the incoming torpedoes and it was obvious how effective they were when seven of the ten incoming torpedoes swam after the decoys and one of the Nixie systems. However, three struck the keel of the carrier and immediately caused damage to the vessel. Watertight compartments closed immediately and flooding would be easily contained but hull damage wouldn't be the only damage the ship would take. The explosions would cause shock damage throughout the ship, and while the ship wasn't dead in the water, many of its systems were down and non-operational. It would be able to return to port under its own power but an easy year would be spent in dry dock, repairing the damage to the vessel.

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

Dunloy, Ireland - 07:00 [GMT]
Infections: 283 - Fatalities: 0

Doctors and scientists worked throughout the night, non-stop testing the blood samples and added another two-hundred and eighty people to the infected list by the time the second round of blood sampling began at 07:00 the next morning. While doctors continued to move throughout the town, collecting blood samples, a new group of soldiers went around to each house with confirmed infections and, carefully broke the news. Most of the time they said the same line, "We regret to inform you that your blood sample tested positive for Cottish Flu infection. We have a specialized area set up within the town for infected persons to received aide and treatment. You are required to come with us, you should pack a small bag with clothes and essentials you will need. We will provide many of the essentials but the more you provide for yourself, the better we can treat everyone." They gave the people ten minutes, at most, to get whatever they needed and then escorted them out to a military truck. Once the truck was full, they would drive to a special, quarantine area, which was within the inner perimeter. The IDQRU had seized the school in the town and set up a quarantine area in the gymnasium. Medical supplies were brought in and the IDQRU doctors set up the mobile laboratory in the parking lot.

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

The Cottish request to the Empire for help on vaccine production came as a complete shock. The Layartebian CDC had toiled day and night looking for some way to suppress the disease but had little success. Whatever efforts the Cottish scientists had been undertaking were completely secret and none of the Layartebian soldiers on the ground had any clue that any collective effort was underway by the Cots nor did they fully accept that the disease was non-airborne either and thus they kept their MOPP-4 suits on to ensure their own safety. Incoming Layartebian forces would do the same. The requests made by the Cots for medicinal supplies were already on the way and with the help of the Umbrella Corporation, mass production of the vaccine could be done. With the denial request for special forces, the Layartebians felt that the Cottish were passing up an opportunity that was more helpful than harmful.

Hamar, County of Hedmark
May 9, 2009

The sharp cracks of gunfire caused the crowd to stop dead in their tracks.

“Get back!” The soldier said, leveling the HK416 down towards the crowd again. “There is no more medication available! Disperse immediately, or deadly force will be employed! Get back I said!”

The soldier was one of thirty-three guarding the entrance to Hamar County Hospital, which was one of the few medical installations in southeastern Norway that were still open for business, partially because it enjoyed the protection of the military and thus managed to avoid the desperate masses that wanted medical treatment and vaccines that the rumor mill claimed that the hospital had. While it was true that the scientists in the hospital’s research ward had managed to develop a vaccine against H16N2 based on antibodies found in several patients, it had been decided to keep this information tightly under wraps in order to prevent the masses from getting it before they had managed to synthesize enough to treat the nation. That was, until a fresh rumor had spread through the city of 30,000 residents and an estimated 10,000 further internally dispersed people, and caused thousands to converge on the hospital, demanding a vaccine. It was getting too much for the exhausted understrength company of territorials that were assigned to guard the hospital and the precious vaccine.

“Get the fuck back I said, or I will fucking shoot you!” The soldier shouted again, aiming his rifle at a civilian in his thirties with tattered clothes and a desperate look in his eyes. The crowds were desperate, and the soldiers knew perfectly well that they didn’t have enough ammunition to hold off the hospital for more than a few seconds before they would be overpowered and probably killed by the increasingly agitated crowds. After a few tense seconds, the man stepped back and the soldier lowered his rifle slightly.

“This situation is spiraling out of control Sarnt.” A squad leader said to the acting platoon commander, a First Sergeant. “We need reinforcements.”

“I know, and I’ve told the el tee. He can’t get us any though. We’re just too fucking overextended.” The sergeant said, taking off his helmet and wiping the sweat off his forehead. The May afternoon was typically warm, especially now that the sun was shining, and the tension the sergeant felt didn’t exactly help either.

Just then, the Sergeant’s radio crackled to life.

“Niner-eight, niner-eight, niner-eight. All units, be advised. Friendly reinforcements are inbound from the west. ETA five mikes. I repeat, prepare to receive friendly reinforcements in five minutes. How copy?”

“Three-one copies,” The platoon guarding the rear entrance confirmed.

“Three-two copies.” The sergeant replied before he turned to the corporal. “Looks like your prayers have been answered. Friendly reinforcements are inbound from the west with an ETA in five minutes.”

“About fucking time. We’ve been here what? Two weeks now?” A private commented.

“Something like that.” The Sergeant replied. “Something like that.”

Seven minutes later, a column of three Strk.58A Tor armored personnel carriers, seven 5-ton trucks and two jeeps rolled up in front of the front entrance, dispersing the crowds back a few hundred meters as two hundred more or less fresh troops from Rena disembarked from the APCs and trucks.

“Did someone order pizza?” The officer in charge of the reinforcements jested as he walked up to the beleaguered platoon.

“Yeah. A big strong one with pepperoni and extra cheese.” The sergeant replied, smiling for the first time in weeks. “You guys were supposed to be here a week ago sir. What took you so long?”

“A lot of things have happened in the last week Sergeant.” The officer replied, saying nothing more as he proceeded into the over-crowded hospital to find the Lieutenant that was in command. Puzzled, the Sergeant stopped a fellow SFC.

“What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve reestablished contact with the central government and regrouped. There’s a plan in the works to reestablish law and order, and a hundred fifty thousand Layartebian Marines are on their way here.”

“Holy mother of Christ…” The Sergeant said. “How soon until they arrive?”

“From what I can tell, they’re carrying out landings in Trøndelag and Kattegat areas as we speak. I think they’re aiming at reestablishing control over the central areas first, then go on from there.” The freshly arrived Sergeant commented. “From what I can gather, the new PM’s been in contact with the Layartebians and gotten their help at mass-producing this vaccine you have going here, so we can distribute it to the population and get some semblance of order here again. Smoke?”

“Thanks.” The Sergeant said, pulling down the surgical mask he was wearing and accepting the cigarette and a light. After a deep puff of the cigarette, he commented, “It’s going to take a while to get the vaccine going though, won’t it?”

“Not necessarily. The Layartebians are confident they can get the first batch over here in less than a week, since the docs here have already done the field testing and stuff. I dunno, I’m not a medic. I’m just telling you what I’ve been told.” The newcomer said before he added, “You know, the distribution of the meds are going to be a cakewalk compared to what we’ve got to do afterwards.”

“The clean-up you mean?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck man, I try not to think that far ahead. I’ve got more than enough crap on my platter. Hell, as far as I know, I might not even live that long!”

“Why?” The newcomer asked, before getting concerned. “You’re not, you know, infected, are you?”

“No, no. Relax. I’m still in peak health.” The Sergeant reassured. “I’m referring to these crazy fucks out there. They’ve been getting frisky lately. We had to fire warning shots to keep them back just before you guys arrived. It’s a fucking powder keg out here. It just needs one spark in order to explode, and when it does, you don’t want to be anywhere near it. Trust me.”

“Relax buddy. We’re here to reinforce you now, and from what I can tell, there’s a Layartebian Marine unit on its way within twenty-four hours to help secure the hospital. A helicopter’s going to come and fly out a sample of the vaccine and a few of the scientists responsible for making it in a few hours.” The newcomer said quietly. “It’ll be over soon.”

Five hours later, a NH90 belonging to the Army Aviation Corps touched down on the helicopter landing pad on the hospital’s roof and embarked two doctors clad in biological protection suits and a padlocked crate marked with biohazard stickers before it took off again, heading for a Layartebian aircraft carrier located in the Skagerak Strait. The plan was that the doctors and vaccine would immediately transfer from the NH90 to a waiting COD, which would take them to Ireland, and from there to the appropriate location for the production of the vaccine.

Meanwhile, the central government began to get into contact with surviving remnants of the armed forces, emergency services and governmental agencies. One by one, the remnants recognized the Interim Prime Minister as the legitimate government and submitted to its instructions, which were quite simple. They were to cooperate with the international humanitarian aid organizations and troops that had already arrived and that were on their way, and to prepare for large-scale vaccine distribution. The hope was that by the time the vaccine was produced and available in sufficient quantities, the local areas would be ready to administer the vaccine quickly and efficiently. Until further instructions were given, martial law was to be maintained throughout Cotland.

Additionally, an open communiqué was issued by the new government.

Official Communiqué

Following the provisions set forth in the Succession Act of 1956, I have, following the death of my predecessor, Prime Minister Sverre Gardason on February 15th of this year, assumed the Office of Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Cotland with all rights and responsibilities which this office entails. It is with a heavy heart I accept this office and the responsibility this entails.

The Kingdom of Cotland has suffered a terrible pandemic which has infected a vast percentage of our population and brought forth the near collapse of our society. Still, the Cottish government prevails and continues as we speak to carry out their duties and obligations in caring for and protecting the people of Cotland as best they can. Unfortunately, we have suffered greatly at the hands of this pandemic, and our resources are quickly being depleted. Therefore, I must implore the world community to come to our aid in this, our hour of need.

Already, the generous and honorable nations of Layarteb, Saint Bryce and the United States of Brink have come to our aid, and I thank the leaders of these honorable nations from the bottom of my heart for the help they have provided thus far and for the help I hope they will continue to provide until this crisis has passed.

Nevertheless, we are in continued need for qualified medical personnel, trained peacekeepers and humanitarian supplies in the form of food, clean water, medication and blankets. I therefore implore the world community to come to our assistance in this our hour of need. Any assistance that can be provided will be the source of eternal gratitude from all the people of Cotland and their ancestors.

(Signed)
Ørjan Rødberg
Interim Prime Minister
Kingdom of Cotland

The paper, half crumpled in here hand, flapped gently in the breeze. It was an ordinary piece of white paper with typical black font. Her version was in English but the hundreds of other pieces scattered along the ground were in Swedish. Baako held it with indifference. Her first squeezed the crumpled part in her hand harder as she looked on in amazement. She laughed to her self a bit, shaking her head. She read it out loud again, mostly to her self, “and the United States of Brink have come to our aid, and I thank the leaders of these honorable nations from the bottom of my heart for the help they have provided...”

“Can you believe that,” she questioned?

Tau just looked at her curiously.

“They think we are helping them! As in the nation of Cotland.”

“We aren't,” replied Tau confused?

Baako looked back at him, breaking her gaze into nothing, “No. No, I...we are helping these people. I don't give a damn about this government. They sure did wonders.”

Tau didn't respond, just studied her. He wanted her to continue and she obliged.

“I thought that...i though through all of this these people would finally be able to choose for themselves. You know. I thought they'd have freedom.”

“They did before, Cotland wasn't a dictatorship.”

“Yes it was. Maybe not outwardly, but it was. Just another monarchy. People need to be able to choose. It's their right. Now they are going to fall back into this all over again. TOA is going to continue to hold a monopoly on world power.”

Tau laughed a bit, much to Baako's annoyance, “For such a beautiful woman you sure have a lot of hate. Maybe you should be in politics and not medicine.”

She just looked at him with a sour glance.

“Oh by the way,” he said, “Kaja was looking for you.”

Kaja Torborg was Baako's newest friend. She was four years old with long golden hair and sparkling blue eyes, your typical post card Swedish girl. She had been one of Baako's patients and she instantly took to her and Kaja to her. Kaja was lucky enough to not have been infected. Most kids her age or younger usually did contract it often times with fatal results. Kaja had come to regularly visit Baako and whenever Baako had free time she spent it with Kaja. The two were inseparable.

“When,” she questioned excitedly?

“About an hour ago, she was down by the hotel.”

Baako tossed the paper on the ground beneath her and started back towards the hotel to find her.

Tau interrupted, “There is something I wanted to talk to you about regarding Kaja.”

Baako stopped in her tracks and turned. His voice sounded serious.

“I did a little research. Kaja is all alone.”

“What do you mean,” Baako asked as she inched closer?

“Her family...her entire family has been reported dead. She lost her parents, brother, and two sisters.”

Baako stumbled forward. She felt tears rising up. She fought to keep them down. Her voice trembling she asked, “how...how is that possible. Who is taking care of her. When did this happen?!”

“I'm sorry. It happened a while ago. I don't know who has been taking care of her. I just found that out this morning. I sent for someone to get her.”

Baako was off near a full sprint. She didn't get very far. She stumbled and collapsed to the ground. She was panting and crying. It had hit her all at once. Everything around her came crashing down.

Juneau, Alaska

"So the Cottish government is active."

"Yes, Mr. President. We received a open statement from the new leadership."

"Ok, let's get them some help, also I need a report for any cases of the Cottish Flu."


"Right away."

Ljungstrand lean back in his chair. This flu had reported not yet arrived in the country, yet. However, he knew it would arrive and he was prepared when it did.

TO:Ørjan Rødberg, Interim Prime Minister, Kingdom of Cotland
FROM: The Republic of Alaska

We wish to aid your nation at this time of great troubles, we are willing to deploy peacekeepers, aid, and other items needed. We will send a regiment of troops to aid in peacekeeping and all items needed by your people. We also will send doctors to aid in the areas they are needed. We hope that we can do all we can for the control of this illness.

Signed,
Dusty Ljungstrand
President of the Republic of Alaska

"How will History see us? As martyrs or as villains who got their earned death?" Admiral Holloman could not bother about any other concern, only with such primordial question which answer he would not be alive to witness. He again heard the beeping sound of another incoming alert, six torpedoes against a damaged submarine. Perhaps such was the nature of death: one could avoid its glance, but once death has glanced, it would be like a hall of mirrors, impossible to not be faced, for whereas once their chances of getting alive were nearly nonexistent, and yet they did succeed, for naught, now their chances were nil. The ploy with the escape capsules has failed, which would become nothing but a mere curiousity to add to their wreckage, and they had nowhere to escape. His mind wavered... maybe delving into a hastened near death experience, and although the circumstances of his still breathing body did not make it as such, the situations made its basic meaning matter: they were nearing death.

´"No Joe, please, don't tell them this!" the beauty of the pleading woman was buried under months of stress and tears of one who was aware of the impending horrors. Holloman felt terrible, he knew what would happen to her after he denounced her crime, as he held a firm grip over her arms, locking her into his embrace, an embrace of punishment, to bring her to them.

But the worst was the fact no SOMA would keep his feelings of love for her completely suppressed. He simply tried to not think about how she would be mistreated, about the fate he was damning her life time to. He could not let the secret go over, but Holloman feelings were slowly digging from the layers of drugs that sedated his humanity. There was... another option. The only other choice. Staring around the place, he re-confirmed the absence of surveillance, as he shoved her into the floor, violently, she shrieked at the impact, and perhaps some of her ribs were broken over the marble floor. He tried to hold his emotions, it was the best... he tried to rationalized, the best he could do for her.

His slightly trembling arm, in a haste, lowered to grab the pistol from his belt, and aiming at her, Holloman pressed the trigger, sealing her fate, giving to her the only chance to become free in their land.

"I love you, Julia." his last words to her triggered a very dangerous burst of emotions into his mind, and he held his tears, gulping another pill of SOMA. Showing emotions for other individuals could be extremely dangerous, they would stare at the minimal changes of facial expression, and from them, judge whether one has become an unperson or not. It was too much what he was forced to do for his very survival. Maybe he could have spared her, but then, once she was caught, he would face the same fate as well. Death was merciful, but he still felt wrongly in doing so...´

"Admiral?" the voice of a sailor broke him from his trance-like state, "our decoys have bought some time, and we have the two torpedoes from the rear tubes still operational. What are your orders?"

"Pray soldier, pray for God," he looked at the green signs of the torpedoes as the kilometers between them and their submarine lowered, while speaking with a solemn tone, of a man who accepted his fate since a long time ago, "for no matter what we do now, we will face Him, and will be judged for what we have done in life."

"But sir? Are we going to simply let them destroy us?" the sailor showed his jovial ways and unyielding fanaticism for the cause of the Goodbrother, and his demand for fighting to the bitter end and killing as many enemies as possible.

"Vengeance is a sin soldier, and we have already sinned enough for divine justice to consider the possibility sending every one of us to Hell." Holloman sighed, putting the palm of his right hand over his face, "I don't want to leave any more people mourning for the losses I have inflicted. They punched my face at one side, and I shall offer the other" he repeated a fairly censored writing from the Bible, and sat up from his chair in the room, leaving the sailor behind as he made his way to their quaint officers dining room.

There he sat down one of the wooden chairs, and poured a spearmint tea over an already used cup, and placing his hand in one of his pockets, he also took a pill of SOMA and dipped it into the tea. He was alone, as others seemingly lacked the same serene ways of embracing inevitable death.

"For Julia." he touched the paneled wall with his cup and drunk it, as he awaited. Suddenly, he heard to sound of two torpedoes being launched, and his cup fell down over the floor as he simply remained sitting down, immobile for a while, considering everything. They have disobeyed his orders, and in doing so, they could condemn even more families and loved ones to suffering, the families of the crew of the closest Hunter submarine after them. His mind wavered from the SOMA, but he immediately shouted:

"Why have you done this?"

Sweating from a long run, the weapons officer suddenly appeared at the dining room, many of his medals no longer hanging from his attire as circumstances led him to lose them inside the submarine. He looked at Holloman with a look of both surprise and shame:

"My personell have mutinied Admiral, they wanted to take revenge for our deaths."

"Quick," the admiral sighed clearly not understand what would lead people who were just about to die to mutiny in their last seconds of life, "we have thirty seconds..." he then repeated what he meant to imply, "twenty-eight."

"Admiral... about what we have done today," the officer quickly grabbed the jar of tea and filled a cup as he spoke his last words, "we have created a casus belli, we have started a war."

"No," Holloman took a big spoon into a supper cooking pot and filled his plate and a plate the officer has grabbed, "the Goodbrother has started a war, we were only following his orders."

Sipping from a smaller spoon, the weapons officer then answered in a negative manner: "Wrong, that is wrong admiral. Look at the circumstances: you could have sneaked us to another country where we could be given political asylum, you could have chosen to refuse such order. We had choices that would lead us to remain alive, and yet you have chosen death."

"Officer," the Admiral got up sleazily from his chair, due to the effects of the drug, and offered his hand, their time was running out for arguments, "it was a honor to have you under my command." he immediately pulled a radio from his pocket:

"People, I am proud of all you have done. I have been honored to have you under my command."

The weapons officer shook Holloman's hand in response, and said.

"It has been an honor to have served in your command, admiral. See you in Heaven's courthouse." he saluted the admiral, and thus Holloman saluted him and everybody tried to salute, even the mutinied sailors who decided to launch the torpedoes against one of the enemy submarines. A second later, the implosion would quickly end their lives, and their submarine would at last be crushed by the pressure, burying them forever into an oceanic graveyard. Their fears, their dreams, their drug-induced ecstasy and joy, their hopes, their suffering. Everything now became but a statistic to be written in orders of battle and debriefings.

However, the torpedoes did not rely on the submarine that launched them to seek their given target, and thus, like the last lunge from the claws of a decapitated beast, the two continued trying to home against the Hunter, trying to nail yet another metal coffin for burial into the depths of the sea, and to feed even more the hatred that the Layartebians would now have for the Goodrule.

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

5 minutes later

The Goodrule had no idea of what was happening. Or at least, some fools hoped they wouldn't to avoid facing something that would make death welcoming in comparison. Wise rulers would not entrust a single man to give them communications. Redundancy and surveillance were constants, and thus, while in of the listening stations in Dover the message was ordered to be forgotten, in another one in Newcastle, a local tech sarge observed, intrigued, the love letters sent by a list of sailors to their families who crewed a Tiburón Class diesel-electric attack submarine, titled the U-709 as indicated in some of the letters, which gave no details about their purpose in the location the signal came from, but it was pretty obvious. There was only one purpose why they would be located right in the middle of a Layartebian fleet.

"Call a direct line to the Goodbrother, now!" the fiercely loyal man ordered as a man brought a phone to him, and complied without question. All those responsible for receiving potentially critical information, even from lower ranks, had the right to contact the Goodbrother directly, as a way to avoid such information to pass through intermediaries, among who traitors could exist. Abusing such right however, although not harshly punished, was nonetheless enough of an infraction for a demotion.

As he kept the phone in his ear, the sarge listened to the strong, charismatic but somewhat intimidating voice of their leader, who immediately asked him a very important question:

"Sergeant Hiller, what critical information does require my direct attention?"

"Goodbrother," his voice was obsequious and submissive, "I have evidences of high treason in our Navy, your listening station have intercepted several letters of sailors and officers aboard our U-709 mentioning how they love you and their families, but the transmission came from the Irish Sea..."

"Are you informing that an unknown traitor has ordered one of our submarines to attack a Layartebian fleet? How many minutes ago did this happen?" the voice was extremely cold in its professionalism, demonstrating no signs of worry or fear, which were by extension, signs of weakness.

"Yes, my Goodbrother, your guesswork is correct." the Sergeant answered through the phone, as the people around the station began to check the content of the electronically sent letters for further clues, "according to the logs, the transmission was sent five minutes ago. I apologize for such time, but one of your stations closer to the transmission direction should have reported this earlier... perhaps, forgive me for such suggestion, but perhaps not all listening stations are being commanded by sufficiently loyal men."

"Very well sergeant," he seemed to not have been bothered by his insinuation that one of the listening stations may have betrayed their duty, "your loyalty will be well rewarded, sergeant." it was perhaps fitting that the rewards in the Goodrule were sometimes as extreme as the punishments. People who worked as hard as those forced to work in concentration camps, but by their voluntary will instead, were extremely lauded and tended to ascend quickly in the ladder of Party civilian and military hierarchies, carefully created to minimize internal competition, as the Goodrule did not want for his men to go at each throat and accuse each other falsely of sedition and treason, for he knew that if such kinds of men were allowed to thrive in their trickery and deceit, one of them would eventually try to kill him and usurp his power. It was not common for the Goodrule to reward people who denounced crime think if they demonstrated clear hints that their only motivation to do so was selfish interest and ambition.

"Understood, Goodbrother. Do you wish any further services?"

"Dismissed, sergeant. Keep on your duties. If you receive any further transmission related to the U-709, inform me directly."

"Yes, Goodbrother, I will," the call was closed, and then the tech sergeant resumed his routine in the station, as he sat in a fairly comfortable chair next to his computer to type a report over such critical transmission, a mere formality to something the Goodbrother already was informed of.

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

The Undertower was an unique capitol building. Instead of being, as its name suggested, a tower that ascended to the skies, it was an underground bunker which descended into the bowels of the ground, like a tower turned upside down. Dozens of redundant ventilation systems and exits, buried hydro and aeroponics facilities capable of keeping the entire personell well fed, even if the entire surface was set ablaze by nuclear fire, heavy defenses and entire sections built to mislead intruders made from it an extremely difficult to penetrate bunker, built into the old city of London, which extension would make of rumors about it seem as legendary as those about the so called Area 51. And yet, there was a traditional tower above it, part of the misleading factor. It lacked windows, and was shaped like a towering, monolithic skyscraper, perhaps a fitting cinder block cover for the truth, for only a fitting symbol of doublethink could serve as their governmental core. Into the bowels of earth, a man wearing a heavy black jacket strode into the insides of a magnetic monorail, his back covered by four bodyguards dressed in black and wearing balaclavas. The Goodbrother was already doing his steps to prepare for the incoming war. How the acts of the Admiral of such submarine, now likely destroyed, would be addressed, would require an investigation to know whether he was a willing or unwilling participant in such treason. There were more important and urgent matters for the Goodbrother to worry about at such moment.

"Very well, Grand Marshall, we will discuss further about our strategy in S-8, I am already in a train to our defensive facility." The Goodbrother closed the call. He showed no signs of worry about what he was informed about, for worry was for the weak. If traitors wanted war, he would let them remain alive, but in immense suffering, to live enough time to witness as the war they provoked would only make the Goodrule stronger, to witness their failure, for nothing could defeat the Goodbrother. The train would take a couple of minutes, deep beneath the surface, to reach their undeground "Pentagon", from where measures would be taken in response to the Layartebian offensive that would sooner or later come.

Meanwhile, across many military airfields in both Spain and Airstrip One, Boeing 737 Airborne Early Warning and Control aircrafts began to take-off, to give forward-reconaissance regarding the moves of the enemy and increase the chances of spotting stealth aircraft, as the massive, entangled network of surface and air radars would work together, to ensure that no impending attack would surprise them, while CL-32s were readied to quickly take-off from air bases and taxiways covering the entirety of British Isles. Barracks were being active, and men already prepared the measures to start drafting, should it become necessary. The military was already going into maximum readiness level, even before the exact strategy was decided. It would take them some time to be fully ready, but the instructions came faster than how someone could type the paperwork after they were given.

Tank traps has for long been part of the scenery western and southern British beaches, while many scenic hills have been violated through the construction of scarps to hinder the movement of armor, remainders of the times when the Dhimmitude attempted to conquer much of western Europe, which were, due to the expectation of war, never removed. However, the Goodrule perhaps was not an easy prey due to only things that were visible and obvious. The Cottish Flu has been effectively culled before it could claim too many lives, bringing very little harm to most people, and unsurmountable harm to the few who were infected by it. There was something strange about the way the Goodrule emerged, on how it could have succeeded.

Perhaps everyone was an unwilling pawn to players in the shadows, perhaps everything has been long planned, and people like Admiral Holloman, and perhaps even the Goodbrother himself, simply were the cogs in such machinations. If such fact is true, then the pieces would soon begin to move into the chessboard of reality.

When the hostile submarine first launched its torpedoes, flash traffic entered the encrypted, military network destined for two locations: fleet headquarters in Norfolk, Virginia and the group's port in Donegal, Ireland. The traffic didn't have much to it, just that a submarine of unknown origin from a southern bearing had launched multiple torpedoes against the Layartebian fleet. When the torpedoes struck and the carrier took its damage, the message was updated to include that the submarine was making a noisy exit heading east. Its noisy exit allowed for it to be identified as a diesel-electric submarine but its classification was pending. Its signature had yet to be recorded by the Imperial Layartebian Navy and that wasn't much of a surprise to those in command. The Imperial Layartebian Navy had three submarine classes themselves that remained unclassified around the world. The Hunter and Scythe were attack submarines, one of each with the battle group, whose signature was made as close as possible to the Virginia. The Venom class was a guided missile or ballistic missile submarine, depending on the configuration and like the Hunter and Scythe, its signature was made to be something else, in this case the Ohio class. All three types of submarine were with the battle group and the Scythe had opted to remain with the carrier when the hostile contact was first detected. The Venom was far to the north, away from the action, ready to fire its own missiles on enemy contacts coming to the Faroe Islands. The 2nd Carrier Battle Group had been sent there due to intercepted communications and intelligence that suggested the Russians were going to move on the island group.

The Seahawks on the attack had found their prey and launched just two torpedoes and soon enough, they found their mark. The explosion echoed throughout the entire region and it was obvious that the hostile submarine, wherever it had come from, would never be returning there. Now they would never have a chance to classify the contact now that it was sinking into the black sea below, heading towards the bottom. The implosion sounds rang out underwater and the crews cheered. Despite the successful destruction of the hostile submarine, the Layartebian battle group had taken damage. Eighty-five sailors were killed outright by the torpedo salvo and another fourteen were critically wounded and in danger of dying. Another four hundred and seventy were injured, whether barely or seriously but they would live. Damage to the carrier would cost in the hundreds of millions of dollars and it would be in dry dock for at least six months, a year at the most.

The Seahawks had been sent after the hostile contact while the Hunter had broken off the chase. Once the hostile submarine was moving out of the area, the Hunter broke off and returned to the wounded carrier to provide protection, in case there were more submarines out there. Wolf pack tactics could be at play and the Imperial Layartebian Navy wasn't taking any chances. If, by some chance, the hostile submarine had evaded those four torpedoes on the two Seahawks, the Verrazano would fire off ASROC missiles with torpedoes attached. The submarine wouldn't get away either way.

When the hostile submarine had launched its two last torpedoes the fleet had no clue where they were heading. Decoys were fired into the water and vessels took evasive action to get themselves out of the way. The torpedoes harmlessly guided themselves into the decoys and the ships were safe, for now. Following the ordeal, fleet headquarters in Norfolk immediately got in touch with fleet headquarters on Akpatok Island in Quebec. Akpatok Island and its 349 mi² was home to the 4th Fleet, which was responsible for the Arctic Ocean theater of operations, which included the 14th Carrier Battle Group based out of Iceland. The 14th CVBG wasn't at port but instead marshaled to an area south of Jan Mayen along with the 10th Amphibious Assault Group. Both groups were there, marshaled for possible war against the Third Spanish States. They received new tasking orders as the situation drastically changed. The Imperial Layartebian Navy was on full alert across the globe and both the 14th CVBG and the 10th AAG had simple orders. They would join up four hundred and fifty-five nautical miles south-southeast of Jan Mayen and head to both the Faroe Islands and the Shetland Islands where the 10th AAG would split in half. Half of the forces would go to the Faroe Islands and secure them while the other half moved on the Shetland Islands. The Faroes were halfway between Scotland and Iceland and far enough from Great Britain that the Third Spanish States weren't in much of a position to counter. However, the Shetland Islands were close, just one hundred and seventy miles from the Faroes and a little over fifty miles from the Orkney Islands, which were just ten miles from the Scottish coastline. This was right on the doorstep of the Third Spanish States and their reaction wasn't going to be favorable. The groups would move southward with no clear destination in their course of travel and their communications remained fully encrypted with a cipher of 3072-bit, anyone trying to crack the code would see a supercomputer burn out first. They would be at the Faroes and Shetland Islands in just three days after the reached their rendezvous, traveling at fifteen knots constant.

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

In the Irish Sea, tensions were just as high. There were eight ships of the 4th Maritime Patrol Group in the small sea between Great Britain and Ireland and each one of them was conducting a special mission. Underwater there were two Loke class, diesel-electric AIP submarines, one clandestinely laying a minefield of Mark 67 SLMMs and another hunting for hostile submarines. On the surface were the other six boats. One of them was an Avenger class minesweeper, looking for enemy mines. A Huascar Flight III class patrol corvette was conducting ASW operations. The remaining four boats included a Huascar Flight II class missile boat, a Druid class patrol corvette, a Vigilant class corvette, and a Raef class corvette. The Druid and Vigilant were there for anti-surface operations while the Raef was there for anti-air and anti-surface operations as well. Surface-to-air batteries all over the Irish coastline would protect the island from an air assault from every direction and surface-to-surface batteries further inland could easily fire a devastating salvo of anti-ship or cruise missiles against potential targets for as far as a few thousand miles away.

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Dunloy, Ireland - 12:00 [GMT]
Infections: 722 - Fatalities: 0
Day Three

Dunloy feel eerily quiet by noon on the third day. The final blood tests were finished and there were seven hundred and twenty-two confirmed cases in the little town of just thirteen hundred and eleven, meaning that fifty-five percent of the town was already infected. Soldiers continued to move around the town, taking into custody anyone who was infected and bringing them to the designated area in the town's school. The gymnasium was quickly overcrowded and a spill over area was designated in the school's auditorium but, because of its setup, it was quickly overcrowded as well. Classrooms were designated next and doctors were brought in to supervise all of the individuals, who weren't allowed to leave the building. A trained janitorial staff was given proper MOPP suits and the school was kept as clean as possible, for a number of reasons. The soldiers and doctors didn't want the people there to feel as if they were being held against their will, even though they were.

Finding a cure for the disease was going to be far harder than it seemed. The Dunloy strain was definitely airborne and that meant more blood tests were going to have to be conducted at some point in the near future, especially if non-infected persons in the town came down with symptoms. Everyone was informed, by the doctors taking blood, that should they develop symptoms, they were to report them right away to protect themselves and others around them. If they were to spread the infection, they could risk hundreds more. Already, over seven hundred people were potentially dead. There was no telling just how lethal the Dunloy strain of the Cottish Flu really was until people began to die. Overall, the Cottish Flu claimed just ten percent of those it infected, a marginal figure considering that millions were already dead.

Scientists tending to the Dunloy situation had a white board filled with questions: Where did it come from? How did it initially spread? How did it get to Dunloy? There were dozens of questions posted throughout the mobile laboratory and while they were tending to lab work, soldiers outside of the laboratory roved the streets with locked and loaded M80A1 Assault Rifles. The nightmare scenario the Layartebian government first feared had begun to come true but, thus far, it was contained. Layartebian soldiers took the Belfast lab tech into custody and immediately gave him a blood test to determine whether or not he was infected. If he was, the entire hospital would be put until lock down and quarantine but, lucky for him, he turned up clean. Still, the hospital was put under careful watch. If Belfast became infected, there would be no way the Empire could hide a quarantine from the media, the public, or the world. Any quarantine of the city would certainly draw criticism but who was anyone outside of the situation to criticize it. The Empire represented a global presence and population portion that, if infected, could easily lead to the downfall of human civilization.

The curfew continued to be enforced. At 10:00 hours, people were allowed out of their homes but by 16:30 hours, they needed to be back in them. It was only six and a half hours but that was all the time required to do the essentials, such as go to the store and get some physical activity outside of their homes. Some would go to the school to visit their loved ones but they were required to wear protective masks at all times and anyone who went there was guaranteed to get a visit within the next forty-eight hours by a doctor looking for another blood sample, to ensure that they hadn't been infected. People passing into and out of the school would be sterilized before hand. There were precautions to take, dozens upon dozens of them but even they wouldn't be enough if even just one person subverted the system.

Finland

Finland was among the hardest hit places of the pandemic in Cotland, and the fatality ratio here was far higher than it was in Sweden or Norway, with an estimated 70% of the infected dying as a result of the pandemic, or from the multitude of other deceases that roamed through the refugee population and killed off the people whose immune system had been weakened by the vaccine. As such, Finland had mostly descended into anarchy. The only places where the Cottish government had any say were where there stood Cottish troops. On May 19th, the total troop count included 350,000 soldiers in nine divisions of the three Corps of the regular army that stood in southeastern Finland, and an additional ninety thousand territorials. On paper, this was more than sufficient for the Cottish to manage to reestablish law and order on their own. Unfortunately, the three Corps’ were unable to participate in the reestablishing of law and order in Finland due to the simple fact that they were busy keeping the advancing Nerotikan armies, currently stopped in Saint Petersburg and southern Karelia, from spilling into Finland. The result was that ninety thousand territorials had to try to contain a Finnish population of nine million, plus a refugee population of fourteen million. As such, the bulk of the Layartebian Army and Marines were requested to deploy primarily to Finland and try to help the remaining Cottish to get a grip of the situation. The interim government promised the Layartebians that the remaining half a million Cottish army troops that were deployed in Norway and Sweden would be sent to help them out as soon as Norway and Sweden had been cleansed of H16N2.

Trondheim, Norway

The city of Trondheim, the ninth largest city in pre-pandemic Cotland, was one of the places that had been spared the brunt of the pandemic. While over 40% of the city’s population had been down with the flu, the emergency services had managed to contain the situation and the four thousand police officers, helped by the six thousand territorial soldiers of the territorial Infantry Regiment No. 12, had managed to maintain law and order in the city of a quarter of a million. There had been a few attempts of rioting, but this had been crushed quite severely by the police and military, with the ring leaders of the riot given a kangaroo trial by the military commandant and publically executed. As such, Trondheim was the natural place for the Layartebian aircraft carrying the first doses of the vaccine they had manufactured to land and distribute the vaccines.

The vaccines were received by heavily armed soldiers and brought to the five hospitals that serviced the city and its immediate surroundings under heavy escort, and vaccination efforts began immediately. It was made perfectly clear in public service announcements over the emergency broadcast system that anyone attempting to storm the hospitals or otherwise disobey the instructions from the military that guarded the hospitals would result in immediate use of deadly force.

In nine different locations in Cotland (Trondheim, Bergen, Oslo, Murmansk, Stockholm, Göteborg, Luleå, Rovaniemi and København), Layartebian transport aircraft loaded with vaccines begun to land at the airports and were greeted by heavily armed Cottish troops, who escorted the vaccines to medical institutions and begun distributing the vaccines. The civilian population mostly complied with the instructions given by the heavily armed Cottish troops, and the hospital staffs begun distributing the vaccines to everyone, while those who showed symptoms were isolated, given a double dose of the vaccine as well as Oseltamivir in order to ease the symptoms and give the vaccine a better chance of fighting the virus, and analgesics to take away the worst of the pains they suffered. In the first twenty-four hours, one hundred thousand people were inoculated with the vaccine in Trondheim alone.

Phase one of what the Cottish interim government called Operasjon Renselse (Operation Cleansing), the eradication of H16N2 from Cotland and the reestablishment of the Cottish government, was underway. Phase one called for the major cities to receive and distribute the vaccine, while loyal troops reestablished law and order in the cities and their outskirts and got the society there back up and running. This included collecting and cremating all the deceased in order to completely remove the decease. The deceased had up till now been buried in mass graves or simply been left in their apartments where they had died. This would require the use of troops, though the interim government considered conscripting convicts that were still in prison (several prisons had undergone more or less successful riots or, in six separate cases, the jailers had locked the prisoners up in their cells and simply abandoned them there) to do this. Regardless, the dead had to be cleared out. Phase two would commence once the cities had been cleared, and would require a systematic sweep of the rural areas and smaller settlements, distributing the vaccine to the survivors and cremating the remains of the dead. This was estimated to take the better part of a month.

Only when Phase two had been completed in Norway and Sweden, Phase three, the cleansing of Finland would begin in full. Vaccines would be distributed in Finland by the Layartebians and the Cottish territorials, and it was hoped that the Layartebian and other foreign peacekeeping troops would follow the steps outlined in the Cottish plan, which was communicated to the Layartebians via encrypted communications.

Operation Cleansing
June 2, 2009

After almost a month of concentrated effort on the part of the resurrected emergency services and the armed forces of Cotland, with great assistance from the Layartebian, Alaskan, Austroslavia and other foreign nations and non-governmental organizations that had decended upon Cotland in its time of need, H16N2 was quickly in the process of becoming an endangered lifeform. Virtually all survivors in the urban areas and most of the survivors on the countryside had been inoculated with the vaccine that the Umbrella Corporation in Layarteb had kicked into mass-production and that started arriving in Cotland in large quantity, safely protected by the Cottish military. In the cities, most of the deceased had been collected and been cremated, with their ashes buried in fields that old warplans had regulated to be emergency cemeteries for those expected to die in the event of enemy invasion. The emergency cemeteries would fulfill their purpose, but not as the final resting place for war dead, but rather for those of the populace that had been killed by the pandemic. It was a horrible task that was being undertaken, but a highly necessary one if society was to be able to move on.

Oslo

As a symbol of the Cottish healing, Prime Minister Rødberg had left the safety of the bunker and relocated to Oslo, where he had taken over the Prime Minister’s Office after it had been sterilized by cleanup crews. Oslo had been among the hardest hit cities in Cotland, with most of the parliament and government infected by the decease. Still, a number of parliamentarians had survived the decease and had been requested to join the interim government as provisional ministers until a proper election could be called. The parliamentarians had agreed, but several had questioned the legality of the takeover. As a result of this, Rødberg had contacted the Layartebians again and asked if the offer of Layartebian protection in the form of special forces still was valid.

“I’m telling you. You were not appointed by the King, nor were you elected in as prime minister. The constitution is very ambiguous on this matter. Therefore, the only thing you can do is to call a general election as quickly as possible.”

“We can’t do that now.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because, we still haven’t gotten the country back on its feet. Communications between the regions, hell, even within the bloody regions are still sketchy. The only good communication we have is with the regional centers and with the military forces we have in the areas. Everything else is sketchy at best, broken at worst. It is practically impossible to call for and hold a general election under the present circumstances.” Rødberg said. “As for the legality of my ascent to this office, I am well within my right as per the Succession Act and the Constitution. The King approved of me when Gardason was confirmed as Prime Minister. Thus, legal precedence dictates that I have the King’s approval to take over the office. Besides, it’s not like we can go up Karl Johan and ask the King for his advice, now can we?”

“Careful!” Silje Nærholt, a young parliamentarian representing the Nordland county said coldly. “Insulting the King…”

“The King is dead! The entire Royal fucking family is dead! We have to stop living in the past. We have to look forward, to the future of Cotland.”

“We don’t know that. We haven’t recovered the remains of the whole Royal Family.”

Nærholt was correct. When the troops had first retaken control of the Cottish capital city, one of the first things they had done was to recover the remains of the Royal Family. The King and Queen had both been found in a refrigerated room in the Royal Palace’s basement, guarded by a few surviving Royal Guardsmen who had sworn an oath to defend the remains of the King to their dying breaths. After some persuasion, the guardsmen had agreed to permit the remains to be recovered from the refrigerated room, and the two coffins had been brought from the Palace down to Akershus Fortress, the nine hundred year old guardian of the capital and origin of the saying that said that “whoever commands Akershus, commands the nation.” In a quiet, solemn ceremony, the King and Queen had been given the last rites and buried in the Royal Mausoleum underneath the fortress’ chapel. The idea was that the King and Queen would be exhumed and given a proper funeral later when Cotland had been brought back on its feet.

“For all we know, Sverre died in a hospital somewhere after his parents died. Information is, as you know, still sketchy.” Rødberg said in the hope of calming down the aggravated parliamentarian.

“We have no proof of that, and until we have irrefutable proof that the Royal House is extinct, we would all do wise in remembering that the future of Cotland is in the hands of the people. Not you or me.”

“We shall see." Rødberg said with a smug smile. “Now, let’s put this academic debate to rest and concentrate on more important matters.”

“Very well.” Another parliamentarian who had observed the exchange quietly said. “Who’s in control of the nukes?”

“That is a very good question. From what the generals tell me, we’re in control of the three ICBM bases and the five air bases that have nuclear storage facilities. We also have most of the Navy’s nuclear weapons accounted for.”

“Most?”

“Two of the ballistic missile submarines have yet to report back.”

“Wait, wait. How many nuclear weapons are we talking about here?”

“From what I’ve been told, each submarine carries twenty-four ballistic missiles, each with six nuclear warheads in the four hundred fifty kiloton range, as well as four torpedoes with fifty kiloton warheads. Each submarine carries a nuclear payload of sixty-five megatons, or one hundred thirty megatons in total missing.”

“Good God…”

“Yeah. The Navy assures me that the commanders of those submarines are loyal officers, and are simply running silent. Navy’s checking all the different codes and stuff to see if they might have used the wrong recall codes when they first contacted them. I’m told not to worry.”

“What about the Army’s nuclear weapons?” Nærholt asked.

“What about them?” Rødberg asked innocently.

“Are we in control of them?”

“Pretty much.”

“Come again?”

“We have most under our control.”

“Most?!”

“A few nuclear artillery rounds are unaccounted for.”

“How many?”

“Three. One two oh three millimeter, and two one fifty-five millimeter rounds. We have a pretty good idea where they are though, and they’ll be back in our custody very shortly.”

“You’re certain of this?”

“I am assured of this.”

“You better be.”

Dunloy, Ireland - 09:00 [GMT]
Infections: 710 - Fatalities: 12
Day Five

Dunloy had grown silent and still. The military had the town clamped down tight and nobody had gone in or come out except a few officers in biohazard suits, reporting back to the main HQ. The populace of the town was subjected to strict curfew laws, which allowed them to be out of their hours only during a six and a half hour period between 10:00 and 16:30 hours. Schools had been closed, communications jammed, mail confiscated before it ever reached the town. It was a big operation for such a small town but one the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces was trained and prepared to carry out, under any circumstances, regardless of the size of the city. The bigger the city was, the more forces they would need. It was a simple, mathematical equation that the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces worked out years prior. As technology advanced, so did their SOPs. Never until this moment had the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces actually had to quarantine a town due to a contagious, biological agent. There had been several containment zones set up in the past for chemical contamination but never biological and never on this scale. So great was the endeavor that the General of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces put one of his best men in charge of it, Major General Morgan Salt.

Major General Salt was fifty-six years old and had served in the military for thirty-eight years thus far, joining the Republican Army in 1971. When the Empire was formed and the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces created, he already had a decade of service under his belt and joined the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces as a major. Throughout the Conquests, he advanced in rank, slowly but properly and with two years to go before mandatory retirement, he was the longest serving officer in the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces. Of course, his retirement could be postponed by the General of the Defense Forces but he had seen enough and lived long enough to know that a retirement wasn't a bad thing. He and the General of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces had fought together during the Venezuelan Civil War, when they were both in the army. At the time, Major General Salt was of higher rank but battlefield promotions, being what they were, advanced the general eventually.

MG. Salt occupied the HQ outside of the primary quarantine zone along with his executive office, a brigadier general with only one star, a rank and rate lower than he. They had never met before this event and there was some obvious clashing of their ideas. MG. Salt followed the SOPs and orders at hand while Brigadier General Donald Dyre, his executive officer, opted for a more aggressive strategy. It wasn't warranted and MG. Salt knew it, going so far as to scold his younger and more brazen colleague, behind closed doors. "This operation is under my command. Do you understand? Short of my contracting Cottish Flu, you will never, and I repeat, never, override any order I give. Is that understood?" His executive officer straightened up and acknowledged that he did. Eight years his junior, BG. Dyre had never seen combat. He had never received a medal for heroism or bravery. He had never made his name known and he saw this as his only chance. If he were ordered to firebomb the town, he would obey it without question, just to make a name for himself, regardless of the outcome. MG. Salt cursed being paired up with him but knew better not to do anything but file proper reports to his superior officers. Despite being of a higher rank, officers did not simply come out and bash one another unless there was obvious due justice and BG. Dyre had yet to display anything qualifying as due justice. He had never been insubordinate and he had never publicly berated any officer. His temperament was just unbecoming of what a general ought to have and he received his promotions more as a result of "time-served" than anything else.

MG. Salt left the primary quarantine zone in the hands of a doctor, the ranking officer and commander of the 10th Black Operations Group, "Force Storm." A medical doctor with ten years experience, Lieutenant Colonel Francis Ryan, who preferred to be called "Frank," was the opposite of BG. Dyre. He was not quick to jump the gun and he cared not for his legacy, so long as it remained positive. He had never seen combat either but he was far more level headed and less inclined to do anything rash, considering how many lives were at stake. They mostly communicated through encrypted, hard-wired radio links. LTC. Ryan was expected to give an update every eight hours and when he keyed up the microphone just after 07:00 hours, he had bad news. Of the seven hundred and twenty-two infected persons, twelve had died over the course of the night. Autopsies would be preformed to determine just how they died, whether it was the Cottish Flu or not. Of those twelve, they included the boy and his mother, the first two infected in the town as well as ten other individuals. The doctor, who treated the boy that fateful morning had yet to show symptoms but they took between seven and ten days to appear. Most of the people infected, when their blood was tested, didn't show any symptoms. Now they were beginning to show and the commandeered school was becoming a sniffling, sneezing, moaning frenzy. Impatient and helpless, the doctor volunteered his services for "as long as he was well," to the ILDF personnel. They accepted and mostly had him tend to the less sick infected, while they focused on the more serious cases. Younger, the ILDF doctors and scientists had learned an entirely different kind of medicine than the old doctor but they respected one another, despite the generational gaps.

By 09:00 hours, the Emperor had been informed that the first fatalities had been sustained. He bowed his head in silence, contemplating the impact the virus could have if it were to spread past Dunloy. "Maintain the quarantine until every last, infected patient has either died or is no longer carrying the virus!" He ordered shortly afterwards. The fate of billions rested on his decision and he had to make hard ones each and every day of his life. It was the role he chose, to be the Prince, so to speak, and it was a role he made sure he dedicated his every waking moment to, and that was all of the time. Dunloy loomed in the back of his head along with countless other "no name" towns that had been inflicted with some sort of disaster. There was Jay in Vermont that had been the catalyst to the Quebec Annexation in December 2005. A deadly chemical attack left all but forty-two people in the town dead. Blamed on a Quebecois terrorist group, the attack was really a false flag operation but one that had never been revealed to be such. There were towns in the Yucatán that had been wiped off the map during the annexation there, one due to a biological agent known as Cerebral Acute Fever, another attack secretly and clandestinely perpetrated by the Empire. There were others, many of them false flag or military operations that had all been buried. Truth, the Emperor knew, wasn't always the best thing.

The truth about Dunloy and the whole Cottish Flu was just as horrible. Months prior, the Umbrella Corporation suffered a massive incident at their Treblinka Research Facility, outside of Treblinka in Poland. The facility was publicly announced to be researching a potential vaccine and cure to Avian Flu primarily but it did research into hundreds and thousands of other diseases including encephalitis. However, the facility also conducted research into the top secret biological weapons program that the Empire never admitted to having and nobody knew existed. The facility was working on two potentially catastrophic bioweapons. One was Arctic Fever, an obscure but highly virulent virus. First discovered in 2004 in Huahinese territories, the fever appeared, at first to be nothing more than a deadly brain fever. However, research into the virus revealed it to be far more. Arctic Fever was some sort of evolution of malaria that shifted its host environment from warm, humid, tropical environments, to bitter cold. The virus itself was quite unusual. It had evolved in such a way that warm temperatures killed it. When introduced to the warmth of the human body, the virus immediately began to die. However, as it died, it released some sort of unique toxin that primarily affected the brain, the most obvious effect being a high-grade fever, normally in excess of 106°F. If untreated, the fever itself would kill the host but, if treated, the chance of recovery was high. An individual could ride the virus and its toxin out with proper treatment. The other virus the facility was researching was something called Crane Toxin, a fantasy-type toxin that was not fatal. Developed by Dr. Jonathan Crane, of the Umbrella Corporation, Crane Toxin was a hallucinatory and depressant toxin that was capable of surviving in the air. Dubbed as the "Fear Toxin," experiments showed that the toxin heightened an individual's phobias and fears causing completely irrational behavior. In testing, individuals went so far as to actually murder other test subjects, who they feared were going to kill them or rape them or even reject them.

The Treblinka Facility was working on a way of combining both Crane Toxin and Arctic Fever, to produce something much more deadly. However, during that fateful night, catastrophe struck. The Treblinka Facility, like any other Umbrella Facility was a sealed environment, carefully and cautiously monitored to ensure that, should something go wrong, it remained completely contained. That worked to the advantage of the human population but for those inside of the facility, if something did go wrong, they were doomed. Shortly before three in the morning on that cold Sunday, an individual or individuals, it was never determined, released, presumably, the entire facility's store of "Treblinka Flu," which was what they named this deadly bioweapon. Passed into the air circulation system, the bioweapon bypassed filters and scrubbers and soon affected the entire facility, causing horrific consequences. Unable to regain control of the facility, security personnel declared the facility lost shortly before noon and later that evening, Umbrella and the Empire initiated a crash program to destroy the facility. Presumably, everything inside of it, including each and every virus and contagion were destroyed; although, thanks to computer systems, the research data wasn't lost. When the Cottish Flu first showed up, several months later, scientists with Umbrella, who knew of the Treblinka facility and its research were immediately alarmed. What they found was a combination of both Arctic Fever and Crane Toxin, in small amounts, infused with elements of the H1N1 strain of Influenza A or "Spanish Flu." The Cottish Flu was, to these scientists, a direct descendent of whatever was being cooked up at Treblinka that had somehow escaped the facility. Kept as quiet as possible, few people were told and those who were, immediately fell under the envelope of national security. The Emperor was personally briefed by his liaison with the Umbrella Corporation, a retired army doctor who supervised the bioweapons program. With the exception of him and two scientists, all of the other individuals with Umbrella were killed when their private jet exploded over and crashed into the Irish Sea, as tensions mounted with the Third Spanish States. Those two scientists, part of the bioweapons program knew that they were to keep quiet about it, just like they did about the secretive bioweapons program that the Empire ran.

The truth, as the Emperor sometimes referred to it, was buried and whatever samples of Cottish Flu were collected, were immediately classified and brought to a secure facility to research. Dunloy now was a thorn in the side of the truth. People were asking questions. Loved ones were missing and the press would eventually get wind of something there, it was hard to do much without some reporter somewhere finding out that there were events. The more the government would hamper the press, the more likely their discovery of the matter and sometimes, as was often said, the best kept secrets were right out in the open. Dunloy wasn't going to be one of those.

When Baako came to she was laying on a cot in what appeared to be an aid station. The cots were aligned in rows six across. The room was quiet and dark, broken by the occasional cough of a sleeping patron. At first she couldn’t move. She blinked hard trying to adjust her eyes to the lightless room. It was cold and still all around her. She gulped hard wincing in pain. She moved her hand up to her head and rubbed gently on her temples. Pain. Something had happened to her head. She braced herself and sat up in the cot. Breathing heavy she looked around, trying to get a clue to where she was. Her head pounded and she closed her eyes hard. She tossed the covers off and swiveled around so her feet were touching the ground. She could feel the cold floor through her socks. With another push she was on her feet. She looked around for a moment before seeing a door on the other side of the room with light visible along the outlines. She walked slowly to the door, rubbing her bruised head every so often.

She opened the door to the surprise of two men sitting in guard uniforms watching a small television. They looked at her for a brief moment before asking her name. After her reply one of the men started flipping though a clipboard with papers wedge on it.

“Where am I,” she questioned?

“Well…I guess you could call it a refugee station,” one of the men said in broken English.

“Ah,” the other man replied finding something on the clipboard, “yes you can leave if you wish.”

She looked at both the men for a moment, the pain starting to ease up a bit. Without saying anything else she walked to the door. She noticed a coat rack and shuffled through it for a bit before finding what appeared to be her coat. It wasn’t a heavy coat, it was actually warm during this time of year but it appeared to be night and was still cool. She opened the door and was met with a slight breeze and a starry night sky. She looked upward towards the stars, the sky was dotted with a few low flying clouds but the night was beautiful nonetheless. The pain had subsided and she began to wonder what happened. She knew where she was, her temporary home not far away.

A few lights remained on in her home, a precaution she always took out of habit. She poured herself a glass of water and sat down at her table. The house was silent. After a minute or two she picked up the phone and dialed Tau.

The phone rang a couple of times before Tau answered.

“Hello,” he said half asleep.

“It’s Baako.”

“I figured you’d be calling. Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m home now. What happened?”

Tau paused for a moment, trying to wake up, “I told you about Kaja and you collapsed and hit your head. You were unconscious for some time. They took you to the nearest aid station and took care of you.”

Baako’s heart sunk. She had forgotten about Kaja.

“Where is she?”

“Don’t worry. I knew you’d want to spend some time. She is at the Aid Station 13, a couple of blocks from your place. Probably sleeping at this hour. You should do the same; you can see her in the morning. I told her you were coming.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Night.”

She hung up the phone. She wasn’t going to wait. She had to see her. The girl had lost everything. She must feel so alone. She got up and retrieved her coat again. The pounding in her had begun again though with renewed vigor. She froze in the doorway wincing in pain. Her stomach began to feel queasy. No. It would be better for both of us if I waited till the morning she thought.

The 10th AAG had split in two and made its way for both the Faroes and the Shetlands. The Faroes would be reached first, their proximity to the Layartebian fleet far closer than the Shetlands, which stood on the coast of Scotland. Increased activity made it obvious that the Third Spanish States most likely knew of the approaching Layartebian fleet so time was of the essence. The Faroes had to be secured and they had to be secured fast. It would take only a single brigade to subdue the islands, leaving two other brigades for the Shetlands and whatever lay beyond them. Rugged, rocky, with low peaks, most of the coasts were bordered by cliffs, making the Faroes a stronghold for any defending force. Those areas where the land was low enough to permit amphibious landings would be tasked for such while others incapable of this would be slayed by helicopters and other aircraft carrying Marines. With over six thousand Marines aboard the attacking fleet, the Faroes defenses were inevitably doomed. If they fought, they could certainly hold out, for some time and they would dish out casualties to the Layartebian Marines but they couldn't last forever.

Satellite intelligence had revealed that, with the absence of communication from Oslo, the Faroes had become lawless. The virus had not struck the island group but supplies had run thin. People gave way to panic and the central government present declared itself the sovereign ruler over the island group. Under conditions set fourth by the October Alliance, the Empire couldn't allow the Faroes to fall into hostile hands. Invasion was absolutely necessary and so, when the first strikes hit the island, the element of surprise was gone.

The 10th AAG had split itself into three groups. There was Task Force Dutchman, tasked with heading to the Faroes, Task Force Interceptor heading towards the Shetland Islands, and finally, Task Force Dauntless, which would move to a marshalling area. Dutchman focused more on the necessary assault for the Faroes with AAW and ASW support. Interceptor was focused on both ASW and AAW but also on absolute firepower. Dauntless was the logistics part of the group, stationed far behind the battle lines, with their own defenses against aircraft and submarines. The forty-three vessels and three hundred and three aircraft would be joined by elements of both the Imperial Layartebian Air Force and Defense Forces, who would provide AWACS, J/STARS, reconnaissance, and a number of other roles. Long-range assets on both Iceland and Ireland could help as well as assets in southern France and also Germany, where Layartebian aircraft and naval vessels were being sortied for action.

Task Force Dutchman

County: 1
Dnalkrad Flight II: 1
Heretic: 1
Jackal: 1
Mexia Flight IV: 1
Ocean: 1
Odin Flight II: 1
Verrazano Flight II: 1
Virginia Flight II: 1
Wilson: 3
AH-99B Anasazi: 12
CH-53N Super Stallion II: 25
F-35F Lightning II: 12
HV-24C Bulldog: 16
MH-60R Sea Hawk: 14
MH-60S Knight Hawk: 6
MQ-8C Fire Scout: 18
SH-102A Sea Lord: 7
UH-95A Super Huey: 20


Task Force Interceptor

Arsenal Flight II: 1
County: 1
Dnalkrad Flight II: 1
Earthquake Flight II: 1
Gotham: 2
Heretic: 1
Independence: 1
Jackal: 3
Mexia Flight V: 1
Ocean: 1
Odin Flight II: 1
Unforgiven: 2
Venom: 1
Verrazano Flight II: 1
Virginia Flight II: 1
Voodoo: 1
Wilson: 6
AH-99B Anasazi: 12
CH-53N Super Stallion II: 25
F-35F Lightning II: 12
HV-24C Bulldog: 24
MH-60R Sea Hawk: 16
MH-60S Knight Hawk: 9
MQ-8C Fire Scout: 32
SH-102A Sea Lord: 13
UH-95A Super Huey: 20


Task Force Dauntless

Emperor: 1
Hampton: 1
Supply: 2
Voodoo: 1
MH-60S Knight Hawk: 8
SH-102A Sea Lord: 2


The first bombs to fall on the Faroes came from F-35F Lightning II fighters flying under complete stealth conditions. Carrying their weapons internally, they used guided bombs to target anti-aircraft and early warning installations. All twelve aircraft had been sent over the islands, with just two acting as combat air patrol. It was a dangerous move but it was one that turned out to work just fine. The Lightning IIs flew quick but still subsonic, engaging targets at will, thanks to their stealthy configuration. After that, the secret was long gone. The helicopters would soon follow. Most of the troops would go in the Super Stallion IIs, under the escort of Hueys and Anasazi helicopters, armed mostly with guns, rockets, and anti-tank missiles. It was a major assault, all being conducted under the cover of darkness. They left fires burning in their wake as they dropped their ordinance and soon enough, their Marines. Under the same cover of darkness, at the various landing sites around the islands, HLCACs would be landing with their own equipment, mostly battle tanks and armored fighting vehicles that would help ferry the six thousand plus Marines across the islands.

Faroe Islands
H-Hour +4:15

The skies were turning light as fires burned bright over the Faroes. The combined air and sea first strike had wiped out the most dangerous threats on the island, including the island's main airport. The four radars guarding the island were taken out mostly by JDAM II bombs from the initial strike of the Lightning II fighters. Mobile SAM sites that had been active at the time had been destroyed with the same bombs as the radar sites and with a variety of anti-tank missiles from the Anasazi attack helicopters, flying low and fast over the terrain, using their radar and FLIR to locate enemy contacts. Command and control went second, only minutes after the first strikes were complete. Naval cruise missiles mostly took care of those targets while the Lightning II aircraft returned to the carrier to reload. Helicopters would fill in for them while they were reloading and refueling. Naval aviators would be flying plenty of sorties to keep themselves busy and, thanks to multiple crews, while one group of pilots flew, another one rested. On a large, heavy carrier, there were sometimes as many as three flight crews but lighter carriers mostly had two.

The airport had been the biggest mission of all. After rearming, the twelve Lightning II aircraft reformed in the air. Again, two were tasked to air-to-air sorties and the other ten to ground attack. Though these ten still carried a pair of Gryphon and Escape missiles, they were primarily armed for air-to-ground combat, carrying bombs and missiles. They attacked the airport from three different directions, ninety seconds after cruise missiles from the Heretic struck. The missiles that struck were a combination of Cobalt cruise missiles and AMESM strike missiles. The Cobalt missiles were equipped with BLU-106 BKEP and HB-876 submunitions, which were used for runway cratering. Three missiles flew down the runway and peppered them. Following them, AMESM strike missiles hit essential targets at the airport, including the control tower and the radar mast. Guided bombs took care of the rest and the airport lay waste under thick black smoke.

Cruise missiles and other strike missiles from the ships targeted plenty of other installations on the island group as the hours wore on but they were limited. Helicopters could be more effective at destroying them than the naval vessels could. Amphibious landing craft were beginning to arrive and offload their tanks and armored fighting vehicles. Of the six thousand Marines with Task Force Dutchman, one third of them traveled to the island group in CH-53N Super Stallion IIs, HV-24C Bulldogs, and UH-95A Super Hueys. The rest traveled by boat and amphibious vehicles, securing their landing zones right away. It would take less than an hour to put six thousand Marines on the island group and though their enemy was somewhat organized, they were nothing for the Marines. They may have known their terrain but they were already low on supplies and punishment was fourthcoming.

OOC: I just realized that in the timeline of things, I would have invaded the Faroe's ages ago when Pushka was moving towards them so really, by that matter, despite the fact that it makes not a lot of sense, by the time the Cottish government is reforming, the Faroe's are subdued. Right?

Faroe Islands
H-Hour +30:00

Thirty hours had passed since the first bombs fell on the Faroe's. The lawlessness of the island chain was coming to an end now. With the Empire having already deployed thousands of forces to Sweden, Norway, and Finland, the people on the Faroe's must have thought that they would be overlooked. Little did they know that the Empire had long been eyeing the Faroe's but not with desires for annexation. The Faroe's were midway between Iceland and Scotland and a perfect point to establish military outposts to prevent any hostile force from getting into the Atlantic Ocean. With control over Ireland, Iceland, and Greenland, any movements into the Atlantic would easily be watched but if the Faroe's fell into hostile hands, it could provide a gap in the coverage. Already Spain, Portugal, and England had fallen from the hands of the Hawdawgians and the new rulers despised the Empire. It was not something to have been expected and when the Faroe's weakened, the Empire had to step in and seize control. Originally, there were thoughts that the Russians were going to move on the island group and the Empire was prepared to push them back, too much rested on the island group to allow the Russians any control over them. Especially now that England had fallen into hostile hands, the Faroe's became even more important. The SOSUS nets laid between Greenland, Iceland, Ireland, and France were still there and they would still do their job. Patrols would remain the same but the stakes had been raised considerably. That was why the Empire was also moving towards the Shetland Islands. The goal was to surround them and, should the Third Spanish States move against them, the Empire would strike back, quickly and decisively, like a snake. The throat of the Third Spanish States was the Empire's target but, thus far, nothing had happened, so Task Force Interceptor remained vigilant, patrolling north and east of the island chain, watching. News of an attack against a Layartebian carrier had reached the entire fleet and though the origin of the attacking submarine remained a mystery, the Empire had its suspicions and the Third Spanish States topped the list. ASW patrols were doubled and the air around the carrier group was now never unattended. F-35F Lightning II fighters patrolled the skies looking for hostile aircraft and shipping using data fed from orbiting E-10A MC2A aircraft flying north and east of the Third Spanish States. The MC2A could scan both the skies and the surface for threats, combing the duties that both the E-3 and E-8 both shared. Joining them were MH-60R Sea Hawk ASW helicopters from the fleet and even P-7A LRAACA or P-8A Excalibur ASW, fixed-wing aircraft from Iceland and Ireland were on patrol. The Empire had certainly learned from its mistake. Submarines prowled beneath, keeping tactically silent so that not even the ships above knew their locations and everyone was vigilant, ready for war.

Over the Faroe's, helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft continued to fly back and fourth, dropping supplies and reinforcements here and there, when and where necessary. Marines had moved out from their landing sites and secured all of their initial points already but there were many more to go. Marines moving with armored units were moving quickly and had taken no fatalities yet. There had been a few casualties but nothing serious enough to keep any Marine from fighting onward. The Marines who had been deployed by helicopter had a slightly different story. There had been three fatalities thus far and eleven soldiers had to be evacuated from combat. One of the three fatalities had died on the way back to the carrier, going into shock and suffering cardiac arrest just two miles before landing. The medics could do nothing for him, a grenade had blown off half of his right leg below the knee and he had arterial trauma further up his leg because of shrapnel. He would have died on the battlefield had an orbiting UH-95 Super Huey not swooped down, in the midst of a firefight to pick him up, even though it wasn't their mission. The pilot had already been recommended for a Silver Star for what he had done but that wasn't known to him yet. In the whole battle, thus far, the Layartebian Marines were making good progress. Their enemies weren't particularly organized but they knew the land better and they had been fighting each other on the island for months now.

Bullets continued to fly through the sky and most of the ones fired by the Marines met their marks. Required to maintain a 75% accuracy rate in training, the Marines were shooting slightly less than that in combat, which was to be expected. Since soldiers were required to be able to shoot 75% in training, they would shoot between 40% and 60% in actual combat, depending on the situation, which had to be better than their enemies. In twenty-nine years, the Imperial Layartebian Marines remained undefeated in combat though there were a few losses here and there during training. The dismal failure in Kaliningrad had been attested to the Imperial Layartebian Army and the Marines had never been involved in the Amazonian Control Territory or its preceding war. They had made the first advances into Venezuela in 1981 and were victorious in Bogotá in 1983 when the capital fell. Backed by the Imperial Layartebian Army throughout the Conquests, the Marines often dished out six to eight times as many casualties as they received. Their greatest loss of life had been during the Conquests though and on one single day, they lost forty-two soldiers during battle, eighteen in a pair of helicopter crashes. That was during the war over Nicaragua in the early 1990s. While not the greatest loss of life in Layartebian history, it was a hard hit to the Marines at the time, even though they numbered over 250,000. Since the end of the Conquests, the Marines had been scaled back from fifteen to ten divisions; although, there was talk about reactivating three more divisions, moving candidates who would normally be sent to the army upon enlisting during conscription. There was an influx in recruits because of a bulge in the population. After the Province of Layarteb was established in the late 1980s, the Empire saw a record birth rate and while not necessarily a baby boom, per say, there was a definite increase that plateaued in the early 2000s. Now those babies were coming of age for conscription and the resources were there, to be had.

Tórshavn on the Faroe's remained the seat of power for the enemy. There were dozens of renegade groups all over the islands, some small, others big, some hostile, some friendly. Those that were friendly recognized the Layartebian flags and offered their assistance but they were few and far between. Intermeshed within the Marine units, mostly as guides, their information wasn't incorrect but the Marines had to wonder if they were guided by the desire for law and order or if they were just getting revenge. Who knew who owed who what and the Marines were largely at the mercy of the renegade guides. There were plenty of translators to go around, that wasn't the issue. None of the Marines knew the terrain as the Empire had never conducted joint exercises with the Cottish on the Faroe's. They were considered off-limits between the two countries for reasons never fully understood. Now that a quarter of the Faroe's were burning from Layartebian bombs, its beauty and elegance had eroded. Armored units had approached and surrounded Tórshavn just twelve hours after first landing but they had not done much except surround the city, awaiting other units to arrive. The enemy had surely known they were there and while naval artillery and aerial bombardment was unrelenting, there wasn't a lot to attack. Whatever anti-aircraft units had been located had been engaged and destroyed. If there was armor inside of the city and it was located on FLIR, it was blown up but buildings weren't bombed at will. The Marines didn't know which ones to hit and rather than bomb the city into oblivion, they would wait, which only made things more dangerous when the armored units finally entered the old, medieval city.

Not a gigantic city, Tórshavn rested right on the water and Marines surrounded it from the north, west, and south. To the east was water. Thanks to the Faroe's being so close to Ireland and Iceland, a number of ILDF corvettes had been tasked for assistance and they were given specific duties. Deploying a total of four corvettes, the ILDF put more firepower over the islands for the navy and Marines. Out of those four, two were Ra class and two were Huascar Flight II missile boats. The Huascar corvettes were armed with AMESM missiles and their main guns, allowing them to engage both ships and land targets, at will. The Ra class were all-purpose and they were best for providing additional help. One of the Ra's was on patrol just outside of Tórshavn, ready to use its 57mm gun to engage enemy units within the city. In the early morning hours, thirty hours after the battle began, the Marines were ready. Tórshavn was about to be sieged.

Tórshavn dated back to before the Cottish Realm was ever formed. It had certainly modernized but its streets weren't very wide. There were many houses and buildings, enough to fit almost 20,000 people in just 61 mi². Travel between the islands was easy enough thanks to many tunnels and a few major highways built by the Cottish but those were built in the more rural and less populated areas, where they wouldn't disturb the already established cities. Ferries worked to transport people otherwise and that wouldn't help the Marines. Night vision on, they ventured into Tórshavn, slowly, keeping their columns moving at just 15 mph, keeping at least fifteen meters between the vehicle in front of them. The columns were on full awareness, ready to unleash fury upon any enemy that dared stick its head out of a window or an alleyway.

Dunloy, Ireland - 15:15 [GMT]
Infections: 583 - Fatalities: 129
Day Ten

The Cottish Flu was especially brutal in Dunloy. Ten days after the first cases had been reported eighteen percent of those infected had died. One hundred and twenty-nine of Dunloy's residents had died already from the H16N1 strain of the virus, the original strain. Airborne, incurable, and highly infectious, the original strain of the Cottish Flu had largely mutated throughout the Cottish Realm into the H16N2 strain and, in the mutation, lost its airborne nature. Already, by joint effort between the Empire, the Realm, and the Umbrella Corporation, thousands upon thousands of gallons of a specialized vaccine had been delivered and the fatalities were waning. The ultimate toll would be in the hundreds of millions, perhaps making it the deadliest pandemic in the history of the world. The human race had caught a break when the H16N2 strain emerged and the H16N1 strain waned. However, the break was only slight as the strain reappeared in Ireland. Still under quarantine, the town's residents who weren't infected were growing uneasy. They wondered whey they had to remain in the town if they weren't infected. Eventually, they all feared, the infection would spread from the containment zones and infect them and they would die. Violent agitation grew within the populace and, already, three families had tried to break through the quarantine. Their vehicles remained where they had been stopped, their engine blocks once steaming. Taken into custody, the three families had gotten lucky. They moved against a roadblock with especially trained and skilled personnel, capable of putting rounds through their engine blocks rather than windshields. Despite their skill, they were especially rough when they pulled the families from their cars, throwing them hard onto the pavement and placing them under arrest. Thanks to the martial law imposed over the town, there were no laws and they weren't subject to the same justice they would have been otherwise. Most of the town watched as horror unfolded before them. The three families included six men, six women, and nine children, aged six months to sixteen years. All twelve adults were handcuffed and hooded, thrown into the back of a Dingo while the children were put into the back of another Dingo. They weren't handcuffed nor were they hooded but they were definitely under arrest too. That was on the seventh day.

Now it was the tenth day and the unrest grew. During non-curfew hours, the townspeople met with each other, discussing the possibility of escape or localized revolt against their wardens. When the curfews were done, few feared to tread outside of their homes. Of the fourteen that did, eight had been nabbed in the act and disappeared, making the total prisoners twenty-nine persons, eighteen of them female. Five hundred and eighty-three were still infected and quarantined in the town's school. One hundred and twenty-nine people had died, leaving just five hundred and twenty-eight of the town's residents actually free, relatively speaking.

"You may come in." The Master was a formidable figure, a portly but domineering man who commanded respect the instant one gazed their eyes on him. Being who he was, he didn't bother to turn around so that Andrei could be given the chance to see who he was.

"Master," started Andrei, "I have a problem."
"Doesn't everyone?" snorted the Master.

Andrei sighed then continued. "I know, I am probably not the only person who comes to you for a solution to their problems; but I want you to understand that I come from the heart. The Romans have taken my brother, for being nothing other than a Koryak."

The Master rolled his eyes. "Another one who wants to deal with the Romans...guards!"

"No! Wait!," Andrei pleaded. "You are my only hope- I have not the ability to undertake this task on my own. Furthermore, together we can take down the Empire".

"You expect me to believe that?" retorted the Master.

"Allow me to explain," continued Andrei. "The Romans captured my brother and his friend on something called a 'security certificate', meaning that they are considered 'threats' to the Empire and can be held in custody without charge. This flies in the face of any democratic institution, of which Rome purports to be. There's already reports that Canada is willing to separate from Rome over the spat...if we strike at Port Hardy, we can strike at the legitimacy of the Empire and deal a death blow to the Empire's reign in Canada, their most profitable landmass."

"Come with me," said the Master, tentatively warming up to the idea (knowing that one prison raid wouldn't be enough to destroy an empire but he liked where it was going), "and we'll get started."

Large tunnels, carved by some of of the most, if not the most advanced drillers of the known world, stretched straight ahead, taking curves to avoid geologically unstable areas as safety measures. On the sides, below and above, sets of large spotlights illuminated the underground rail system, while occasional rebreathing ducts, where fresh oxygen expelled by algae were thrown to recycle the otherwise damp air, creating a completely alien scenery, as the Goodbrother once again stared from the magtrain windows at such rapidly passing through scenery, sitting in one of its comfortable leather coaches, marking the last seconds before his arrival at the Blackburn Complex, one of the few prime command centers used by the military to integrate procedures and discuss the matters of grand strategy, and under most circumstances except for a millionth chance of happening ones, the standard facility for such purposes.

As the train carted through the maglev rails, eventually making one last turn to the left, amidst the center of the large underground tunnels that connected the secretive heart of the Party's government like veins and arteries to its many necessary limbs and organs, the Goodbrother remained silent, his disciplined thoughts wondering on the greatest threat he had to face.

The October Alliance seems to be a full alliance. These traitors, these damnable traitors have brought them against me now. It will matter little should I succeed against Layarteb, if these traitors remain.

The door slid off next to a suspended platform, leading to a catwalk next to a metallic blast door as tall as a standing grizzly bear, where their flag hanged above the door, placed in a slot drilled into the stony, concave wall, and two sentinels stood in their duties, armed with automatic shotguns, garbed in black-grey uniforms with the flag of the Goodrule over their armbands, and strangely wearing black sunglasses.

As he stepped of the train and approached the two guards, both extended their arms towards him and his escort, and thus, the Goodbrother typed a code in a numeric keypad, as suddenly, from nearby fake walls which slided to reveal their secrets,a set of retinal, facial and fingerprint scanners, coupled with a full body camera and with another keypad, and took the heartbeat sensor from the device with him as well. Placing his fingers and eyes at their right places, he then typed a long winding numeric code, as a siren sounded, and a red light began to flicker while the blast doors began to slide open.

Stepping through another suspiciously bare and undefended corridor that lied ahead, he waited as another blast door was opened from inside the facility, as a massive room was revealed beyond it, covered in strangely classical wooden panels which brought an anachronistic feel after all the sights before reaching it. With three sets of mezzanines, where men sat in office chairs, operating multiple electronic devices, from communications to Satellite Ops, ELINT and SIGINT, he then began to head downstairs to the ground floor, as a ground of four officers in their tea break hailed him.

"Victoria!" they saluted as he opened a glass door, above which was labeled as simply "Operations", consisting in yet another intermediary corridor he rapidly crossed with his bodyguards behind. The door was opened by itself, meaning he was supposed to be there, for there was no place where the Goodbrother was not supposed to be, and from there, he went into a large war room, with a sets of satellite images displayed from large screens over the ceiling, and a round table with its hollowed center, instead of covered with a glass, covered with a digital display where a map of Europe was shown.

He sat in the only spare leather foamed chair, as the many leaders of the Army, Navy and Air Force cautiously and obsequiously hailed him. As always, it was the Goodbrother who would start to inform the situation, for the Goodbrother aways knew what was happening, dismissing the need of being informed. Ironically, not even the Goodbrother adopted newspeak. In many ways, such briefings were no different from the speeches, as they were by and by, monologues bar for the very rare occasion when the Goodbrother wasn't informed beforehand of a new situation, or of the coincidence something happened while they were discussing the matter.

"The Layartebians are already in a skirmish with the fallen Cotland over claims for insignificant islands, logistics and resources wise. They are of no importance for our situation here." he closed his hand over the screen of Great Britain, as the map shown in it was dynamically zoomed in to focus on the island and on the nearing threat of the Layarteb-controlled Ireland, and of their own, with military symbols demonstrating the overall location of their forces:

"Britain is relatively safe for now, however, the Shetlands might be used as a springboard for amphibious operations, a matter I shall get deeper on later. Other points from where our enemies could plausibly launch amphibious assaults include Ireland, Cotland and even as far away as Iceland. Like it once happened, it will be in air that our island will prove itself once again unbeatable. For this, I expect you, Air Marshall, to prove yourself sufficiently able in your strategic and tactical expertise to succeed, and if possible, destroy as many enemy bombers and fighters as possible. No," he then added with a severe tone, "to take down at least ten of theirs for each of our downed aircrafts, and preferably more, for we will not achieve victory by mere attrition, we must achieve excellence, Marshall. Alas, I see you have positioned some of our fighter and close air support groups in particularly interesting positions, a matter to get deeper on later, I believe."

"Permission to speak, Goodbrother," the Air Marshall then requested in an obsequious manner.

"Speak," the ruler simply said, as he observed the positions of their fighters and light bombers, and also checked upon the Army readouts, and of their ready-to-deploy reserves.

"To minimize losses, I will do my part and I shall succeed, but Field Marshall Hearthman and Strategic Officer Yule," the two men promptly nodded as they were mentioned, albeit a bit annoyed, "will need to do theirs, and ensure that we will have maximum air coverage. Meanwhile, my Goodbrother, may I ask how many corporations could you shift towards the manufacture of more air units?"

"I will certainly take the measures to ramp up the production of our aircrafts in Britain and Iberia," the Goodbrother coldly explained, "but we cannot, with our current technology, or with any existing technology, manufacture good pilots, and I hope you understand this very well: a victory achieved through tremendous losses is a defeat, unless the enemy is less strategically able to recoup their losses than ourselves... and truth be told, Admiral, if we go through this carelessly, we will have to put twelve-year olds to pilot our best fighters four or at best five years from now, if not earlier."

He then looked to all present officers and said:

"The only who are 'disposable' in the Goodrule shall be the Muslim savages and unpersons. Anyone else, any men in the Army, in the Navy, in the Air Force, must not be sacrificed unless it is utterly necessary. If we are cautious and excellent enough to ensure tens of them will be lost for each of ours lost, we will be able to drain our enemies dry, and to force them to negotiate peace, or perhaps risk to end this for once and all, because if we do not deliver a crippling blow, our enemies would then rise once again, a few years after this war's end."

After concluding the preliminaries on such matter, he then turned to the Great Admiral of the Navy, and explained the pressing matters, clearly not amused at his faulty controls over operations:

"And to think you could have stopped all of this from happening!" he stared in an extremely hostile manner, as the man was seemingly hiding his despair over a cold facade, and explained, "but I do not ignore past records, and on overall, you have been competent enough, just keep a higher control over your personnel, and," the Goodbrother then glanced at the head of Intelligence, "do your best to help the Goodrule on capturing and bringing to Goodexample the traitors behind this provocation of war, but first, let us check military strategy as well, for now the traitors are not our only enemies."

"Thank you for your forgiveness, Goodbrother," the still scared leader said, his once proud stance reduced to that of a rat staring at its predator, " I will ensure our enemies logistics shall suffer as terribly as the traitors who try to destroy our nations, and..."

"But first," the Goodbrother interrupted the man, which was never a good sign, "you must be sure that such unrestricted submarine warfare operations you are proposing won't be a greater strain in our own logistics than at theirs, and that they will not bring other nations which ship resources towards Ireland against us. Besides, our submarines will be of little use in the long term other than for deterrence and defensive purposes."

"Why would they be of little use, my Goodbrother?"

"Because, Admiral, in the long term we shall conquer Ireland, and then, submarines will only be useful to crush, slowly, attempts to secure it back, for they will not give us any power projection capabilities."

"Are you going to shift our priorities?" the Admiral realized his career was at stake, for he was a man more knowledgeable of submarine warfare than of carrier-centered naval warfare.

"Not immediately, and you will probably earn your retirement before it happens, for it will require first, your success to follow my orders, Admiral, but as of now, we shall focus our shipyards in the safer East Coast to construct a proper surface fleet as our priorities were changed by this conflict," the Goodbrother then zoomed out the map to a global position, by placing his closed fist next to the map and opening it, "but first, we must secure the North Atlantic, and for that, you will play your role, as shall your marines and submarines play theirs."

Nodding, the Great Admiral then was overlooked as the Goodbrother looked at the last leader of the three traditional branches he had yet to address, the Field Marshall:

"I commend your placement, and I shall definitively discuss further these matters, in private if you may. I will recheck your certainty about the success chances of this plan of yours. Meanwhile, although I have full confidence our airspace will be completely secured and made air-drops suicidal, I ask for you to deploy some divisions closer to our interior, other than our reserves and garrisons."

"Very well, Goodbrother." the Grand Marshall as a man of fewer words than all of them and simply agreed upon as he already had in mind which divisions to deploy further to the interior"

"And likewise," the ruler complemented, "our production of mountain tanks and main battle tanks shall be expanded, and specially, mobile surface to air platforms shall be given priority in the next eight months, or perhaps earlier or later. However, you must understand why I am currently giving priority to the Air Force, at least until the optimal capability has been reach, past which further construction would have little use in all but desperate situations, which shall be averted."

"I do understand, my Goodbrother." and with little delay, the Goodbrother then nodded to everyone, as seemingly he had nothing else to say that was important for every one of them to here, aware everyone was already knowledgeable over the plans. Then, typing in a keyboard next to the digital screen, he shifted the divisional displays to something else. The image (http://img196.imageshack.us/img196/2154/warmap.png) was far less exact, as he promptly explained:

"Don't forget that what our enemy knows, or think that they know about our forces is as important as the way we build and deploy them. Maintain the logistical and force discretion protocols and this shall be an advantage of ours. Now I shall move to the individual discussion room, where I shall meet each of your for discussing in-depth strategy."

And thus, opening a door which led to a small, adjacent room to such war room, the Goodbrother began to give in the details of the strategy he has perfected with their aid.

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

Defense Facility #170, outskirts of Thurso, Northern Scotland

"We have received direct orders from the Goodbrother, Prepare to move in maximum discretion protocol!" the Lieutenant General, standing next to the barracks and bunkers which stood in a plateau high above, ordered to his immediate, as the man promptly answered:

"Yes sir!"

Dispersed trucks hidden behind trees began to offload with troops of soldiers dressed in their civilian clothing, as a strange event took place. Slowly, the place began to mend with the calmness of the environs, with the chirping of birds becoming the only sound to be heard, as in long intervals, these individual trucks, strangely of civilian variety, built for transporting cargo of everyday, began to move through different highways, blending into the normal traffic. Tens of thousands of men left their defensive posts, as they were being strategically redeployed elsewhere. None were left behind to defend the small, rough shore line north of the city of Thurso, leaving a small gap in the otherwise seemingly totally covered coast of Britain. In all manners, such move seemed completely insane or completely stupid, considering the circumstances, and the proximity of the Shetlands.

Obviously, on the other hand, the minefields, cheaply improvised deathtraps and sea-dropped mines in the region were not redeployed, nor they could be. In the city of Thurso, meanwhile...

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

"Goodcitizens!" the speaker loudly announced, "all able-bodied have been drafted to form our defenses against the weak, the traitors of Europe and the Dhimmitude! Prepare to move your families to shelters once the alarm is sounded, and one by one, you shall be requested to join the training facilities, where you shall be taught how to defend our native land from the foreign filth! The first five thousand draftees have been called by e-mail, please check your inbox and proceed with haste."

Looking from the decrepit windows of his old apartment lot, Thales Kierkgaard wondered about the announced he listened to, and like conditioned, he immediately headed to his old personal computer, opening its e-mail software. After checking, he saw in the inbox an unread message from the goodmen , the police forces of the city, asking for him to reach the Gaston Street, 125, in a little less than thirty minutes from now.

He went down through the stairs, as the elevator was cut off due to many "emergency reasons", meeting very few, other than a young, four-years old boy who interrupted his passage as he looked at his face and said in a childish, innocent manner:

"Hi, you look like a soldier, were you called to fight against the evil Muslims?"

He nodded silently to the boy, tapping slightly his shoulder, as the boy replied:

"I want to fight them too, but they don't call me."

Thales was no parenting figure, and thus he did not question the boy, although he feared what could happen to such innocent figure should he, by fate, get his hands in a pistol he could barely aim against a Layartebian, and charge against them. Hopefully the goodmen would directly instruct children to look for cover and avoid fighting, but perhaps... perhaps things were not so simple.

The streets were, plainly empty, as most people had assigned duties and leisure to spend their time loitering, however, the glaring cameras could be seen all around. From the one that capture his stare as he left his bathroom, in his very apartment, to four at each block, there was little that could be made that the Goodbrother would not be aware of. Walking past two blocks among old buildings and a few small franchise stores, of which the government had major shares over, he found the bus station, and boarded one of the plain buses towards his destination. The bus was normal, and lacked grates over the windows, but on the other hand, every seat had a camera facing directly its passenger, giving a much more intimidating feel than that of buses built like prison ones. The plastic chairs were not very comfortable, but at least its suspension was not completely beyond maintenance schedule, and thus eventually he reached a station close to the address. A massive row of individuals was already there, next to a small door of a plain warehouse, rather than of a clearly built military or police facility.

Taking his place in the end of the row, he awaited for three minutes, tapping his feet sometimes, as it came his turn to show his ID to a bouncer-like individual next to the door.

"Come in." he said plainly, as Thales walked inside. There, he made his place in a large square formation as a speaker asked for them to get themselves in proper formation.

"You shall now be taught the art of guerrilla warfare, as you must fight, if necessary, behind the enemy lines, and disrupt them, kill them! Destroy the pigs and traitors!" the hateful comments suddenly built up as a chorus was instigated, and every man present shouted together:

"Kill Them!"

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

Peter brought a small bench next to his father's closet, and wondered about where to find it. Opening its towering doors, he began to look at the drawers, seeing them one by one. Underwears, spare clothes and many other expected items were seen. Climbing inside the closet, he then at last found his coveted toy. His small hand reached for its handle, pulling it out of the underwear drawer it was hidden into, and the kid slowly adjusted its charging handle, his hands barely holding its trigger together. Satisfied, the boy brought the bench to its original place and closed the wardrobe, as he went to his own bedroom.

Opening a zipper from a large teddy bear, he carefully hid his father P70 pistol inside it, knowing his father was probably drafted, he felt compelled to follow the example set by him, and by the thousands of propagandas his mind has been subjected to.

He was the four years old boy Thales has met in his way.

Dunloy, Ireland - 08:00 [GMT]
Infections: 533 - Fatalities: 179
Day Twelve

Two more days passed and fifty more people died. Tension in Dunloy had nearly reached its apex. The previous evening, soldiers caught and arrested four teenagers trying to escape the perimeter of the town. All four of them were captured and brought out of the inner perimeter to the outer perimeter detention camp. The IDQRU had brought several, mobile, detention facilities with them, enough to hold up to one hundred individuals. They now had thirty-six people inside of them and the town still had five hundred and fifty people within its innermost perimeter. That morning, a fog rolled over Dunloy, reducing visibility to only a few hundred feet, at best. Soldiers inside of the town on patrol noted that the fog was cool and moist but hindered their visibility too much, especially inside their MOPP suits. They were far less effective than they could have been otherwise and the townspeople suddenly planned to use it to their advantage. They had been talking for days but action was limited and what few attempts they made never went well for them. Thus far they had all been captured but now they had an advantage in the fog. Inside the town, groups of people, adults, teenagers, children, women, grandparents all ventured out, trying to make their way to the perimeter and get out of the town, using the cover of fog to their advantage.

They mostly went on foot but two particular families decided to make a run for it by vehicle. One family was newly married, a man by the name of Tom and his wife Mary. They jumped into the front seats of his sedan while their neighbors dove into the front seats of their own car, an SUV, holding their young daughter up front. They pulled out of their driveways and followed one another to a dirt road that led to an old farmstead located just outside the inner perimeter. Little did they or anyone else know the reason behind the success the IDQRU had against those violating curfew. Orbiting twenty thousand feet above was a single MQ-1B Predator that had been overhead the entire time. When one ran low on fuel it was replaced by another and their powerful FLIR sensors allowed them to see people moving in the day and night, even the fog. When the thermal targets showed up this morning, those in charge immediately knew what was happening and knew how to react. Soldiers on the ground were given orders and locations and they reacted immediately. Everyone who was making an attempt to escape was going to be caught and arrested. They would get out of Dunloy and escape the virus but they were going to be brought up on a number of charges. Violating martial law was a no joke offense that carried serious penalties. Those in the vehicles would be dealt with much differently. A single UH-95A Super Huey was put into the air and sent to intercept them. Both pilots and both crew chiefs inside of it were nervous as they lifted off from the ground and vectored in on the two vehicles, using both their own FLIR and the FLIR from the Predator above. The helicopter pitched forward and zoomed towards the two cars.

The helicopter met the cars only a few hundred meters from the farmstead, swooping out of the fog and putting itself right in front of the two cars, hovering over the deck at just twenty feet. Both cars skidded to a stop and the pilot pushed a button on his console for the PA system. "Stop where you are! You are under arrest! Turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle with your hands up!" The voice echoed for a half mile and the car drivers knew that they weren't going to get too far. The lead vehicle was driven by Tom and his wife Mary while his neighbors were just fifty feet behind them. Inside that car, Michael and his wife Janet looked at each other and their daughter, a four year old they named Crystal. She began to cry and his wife's face was on its way to tears. His face said "I'm sorry" and she understood that the odds were against them. They wouldn't have minded staying in Dunloy, so long as their daughter could be evacuated out of the town.

The helicopter hovered about twenty meters in front of the lead vehicle, in front of Tom and Mary who were determined to get out of the town. "I'm not stopping." Tom said as he looked at his wife. He left his car in drive, his foot holding the brake tightly and he watched as the helicopter began to lower itself, to allow both crew chiefs to get out and arrest the car's passengers.

"Don't do it Tom," his wife said as he cradled a .357 Magnum revolver in his lap. It was loaded with six, high-power rounds that could ruin anyone's day but he chose the wrong target when he pulled the gun out of his lap, pulled back the hammer, and aimed it out of the window, towards the helicopter. Though he was right handed, he had no other choice than to use his left hand to hold the weapon because of where he was sitting in the car. A man blinded by his own hormones and anger, he squeezed off two rounds, missing the second one. The first round slammed into the armored glass of the cockpit. Had it penetrated, it wouldn't have harmed either the pilot or co-pilot. Instead, it left an impact indentation on the glass of the helicopter. Before Tom could get off a second shot, the pilot returned fire. The helicopter had been equipped with a pair of seven-round rocket launchers and a pair of fifty caliber machine guns on its armament subsystem. He squeezed the trigger on his flight control stick for just two seconds but he sent enough fifty caliber rounds through the air to shred the car to pieces and cause it to explode. Tom and Mary were killed instantly and in the other car, Michael and Janet gasped as they shielded their kid's eyes. They surrendered quickly and without a fight, after seeing the explosion in front of them. They had no other choice if they wanted to live. Their vehicles were left in the field and they were flown back to the HQ where those who attempted to escape were brought.

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

Faroe Islands
H-Hour +36:00

The assault onto Tórshavn was six hours old and the marines controlled more than half of the city. Those they fought had limited amounts of supplies and the superior marksmanship of the marines was highly demoralizing. Thus far the marines had a most unconventional assault. They had not leveled the city but they had called in a few fire support missions that resulted in precision strikes on a variety of targets around the city. The heaviest bits of ordinance dropped were five hundred pound guided bombs from the Lightning IIs flying CAS overhead although most of the ordinance dropped on targets for fire support missions were artillery shells from the naval ships off the coast and from artillery pieces places within range of Tórshavn. Casualties remained light for the marines but there had definitely been fatalities, six more for a total of nine dead. They were now up to twenty-two wounded who had to be evacuated from combat with serious injuries but they would all live.

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

The Ministry of Defense was a known but fortified building slightly outside of Layarteb City. At least fifteen stories above ground, and massive, the building towered above anything around but what was seen wasn't the true might of the Ministry of Defense. Above ground, the less sensitive operations were conducted but in the twenty stories underground, the more sensitive operations were conducted. Vaults and rooms shielded by reinforced concrete and armor plating ensured that, save for a thermonuclear weapon, the underground compartments of the MOD would survive any direct hit. The ministry buildings around the Empire were of similar fashion. They were known, obvious, they conducted public tours through non-sensitive areas but underground, they all had something to hide. The Ministry of Justice, Interior, Intelligence, and so on and so fourth, all contained underground floors heavily reinforced and protected against aerial bombardment. The Emperor's Fortress of Comhghall was the most protected, its underground facilities placed beneath the harbor, in the bedrock, capable of surviving even a direct hit, the cushion of the water above the best defense available. Even earth-penetrating weapons would be hard pressed to destroy the facility, the impact of a high-speed object against water being forceful enough to rip it to shreds, and its true location was unknown.

Inside both the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Intelligence, analysts poured over terabytes of data obtained from sources here, there, and everywhere, satellites, airborne assets, naval assets, submarines, and good, old spies. The latest batch of SIGINT revealed that the Third Spanish States were gearing up for war. A recent announcement over their public address system announced that the government was initiating a massive draft program. Hundreds of thousands, even millions would be drafted into the military and trained, hastily, to defend against some perceived threat. Nobody inside either ministry believed that the threat was anyone other than the Empire and neither did their leaders. Tensions had been crescendoing quite rapidly between both states and nobody was trying to stop it diplomatically. The Third Spanish States didn't want to talk and the Empire would never be bullied. Ireland, Iceland, and the Azores had been part of the Empire for decades now and it was evident that they were the prime targets of the Third Spanish States, who saw a moment of weakness in the Empire and decided to try to exploit it but they would find that weakness in the Empire was always fleeting. Despite obligations to the Cottish, those were dropping, thanks largely to the Cottish vaccine. Of the ten Marine divisions, five had been deployed, two of them to Cotland, one to the Faroes and the eventually the Shetlands, one to Australia, and one to a marshalling area north of Iceland. Four of the five were in striking distance from the Third Spanish States, which was approximately eighty thousand soldiers right there and marines to boot. They combined with an additional one hundred and twenty-six thousands soldiers from the defense forces stationed in Cotland, which took a corps from Ynoga, Dnalkrad, and Layarteb. Despite having five hundred thousand troops deployed between Cotland, Australia, the Faroes, and the Amazonian Control Territory it was only three percent of the Imperial Layartebian Military and most of the forces were from the defense forces. Out of those half million, less than one hundred thousand were marines, the most elite regular forces in the Empire's military. Above them were paratroopers and then special forces but they ranked above the regular army and the defense forces and eighteen thousand five hundred of them, a whole division, was no pushover force.

Deep inside one of the vaults in the Ministry of Defense, the order of battle of the Imperial Layartebian Military was displayed on an electronic board that took up all four walls of the room. Each wall showed a different branch: army, navy, air force, and defense forces. The south wall covered the navy and it showed each ship group and its status. There were seventy-five groups in total and twenty-three of them were deployed around the world, all of them at full alert status and for good reason. The world was a terrible place and things were growing worse and worse by the day. Not that it would have done differently otherwise, the Imperial Layartebian Navy had four submarine missile groups deployed, one per ocean. The submarine missile group was part of the Empire's nuclear deterrent. Each group had six Venom class missile boats and six attack submarines, all of them classified and remained unexposed to the world. By nature, the four groups deployed represented the front line of the Empire's nuclear deterrent. Of the four groups deployed though, only ten missile boats had been deployed. Four of those ten were loaded strictly with thermonuclear SLBMs. Four others were loaded with a mix of conventional and nuclear cruise missiles. The last two were deployed with a mix of heavy, anti-ship and conventional cruise missiles and those two were in the North Atlantic Ocean. Along with them, there were six submarine attack groups deployed into the Arctic Ocean, North Sea, Indian Ocean, North Atlantic, South Atlantic, and Pacific Ocean. There were the five amphibious assault groups deployed and three carrier strike and two carrier battle groups as well. The carrier strike groups were located in both the north and south Atlantic Ocean as well as the Norwegian Sea and both carrier battle groups were located in the North Atlantic. Two more carrier battle groups were preparing for deployment into the Atlantic Ocean and a third was going to be moving into the Indian Ocean within forty-eight hours. A fourth group was getting ready to deploy to the Pacific Ocean but it would take five days before they were ready. All of this combined with the massive amount of activity undertaken by the air force and defense forces, scouring the skies for enemy fighters and bombers and the seas for ships and submarines.

Miles away, in a still classified bunker, the Minister of Defense activated his videolink, joining the Emperor and several other individuals attached to the National Security Council in their daily meeting. This week, the Minister of Defense had been designated as one of three individuals in the Layartebian government to be removed to a secret location as part of the Empire's Continuity of Operations Plan. Every week, three individuals within the upper echelon of the government, except for the Emperor, were carted away in secrecy to one of hundreds of unknown bunkers throughout the Empire. Should anything happen to the Emperor and the government during that time that would otherwise prevent the government from continuing to govern, they would act, to keep the Empire from falling. It was mainly put into place to keep the government operational should the Emperor be killed by a nuclear strike but it had thousands of possible scenarios now where it could be utilized. The meeting began as usual, summarizing the various conflicts around the globe. Australia was winding down and soon, Layartebian assets could be released from there and returned to port. The Amazonian Control Territory had little change in its situation, which remained unstable. The Faroes had fallen and the Empire was negotiating the return of the Faroes to the Cottish Realm. The situation in the Cottish Realm was beginning to stabilize thanks to the vaccine but they wouldn't be back to full capabilities for years. Lastly, the meeting came down to the Third Spanish States.

"Sir, the situation continues to deteriorate." The Minister of Intelligence summed it up quickly and easily. "The latest intelligence picked this up from their public address system. 'Goodcitizens! All able-bodied have been drafted to form our defenses against the weak, the traitors of Europe and the Dhimmitude! Prepare to move your families to shelters once the alarm is sounded, and one by one, you shall be requested to join the training facilities, where you shall be taught how to defend our native land from the foreign filth! The first five thousand draftees have been called by e-mail, please check your inbox and proceed with haste.' Intelligence collection shows that they're gearing up for obvious war and while we believe it is against our forces in Europe, we are still guessing here."

"Sir. Presently we have ramped up our forces and we are pushing ahead with further deployments." The Minister of Defense took over and listed the deployments of the four branches of the Imperial Layartebian Military as well as the upcoming deployments. "Lastly, we've deployed several elements of Project OLYMPUS in support of intelligence gathering. We are now flying an RQ-4B Global Hawk around the clock near Thirdperson territory gathering everything we can. This is in addition to what spy satellites we are currently tasking to the situation as well as E-14B Bateleur flights. Airborne MC2A aircraft operating over our territory in Iceland and Ireland have not noted any aircraft or surface activity threatening to our borders but they have also picked up their fair share of ELINT and SIGINT."

"Obviously they're up to something and if not us, who else are they going for?"

"Sir, possibly Unkerlantum or Cotland." The Minister of Intelligence presented a number of scenarios but they were mostly speculative. The only ones that really carried merit and weight was that against the Empire, the only power of the many that wasn't actually European.

"Operations in the Irish Sea and the channels between Ireland and France and Ireland and Britain?"

"Sir. Completed. We have placed sensors, mines, and naval assets into the area. If they try anything under or on the surface we'll know it. SOSUS in the North Atlantic will easily track movements too and we've got surveillance on all of their known ship yards and air bases around the clock. Even those we suspected are under a watchful eye. We're poised to counterstrike the instant we're attacked. Our main retaliatory mission will be against known Thirdperson targets throughout Britain using Vesta missiles from Ireland and the Faroes. We are petitioning the Cottish to allow us to base several there as well. We doubt any strike by the Third Spanish States will be nuclear and thus the majority of our forces are conventional but we maintain the nuclear deterrence we need to effectively eliminate the entire Thirdperson war machine." The meeting continued with more deployments, more capabilities, and more scenarios until it got to a tense and important topic. The Minister of Defense was the one who brought it up and everyone on the meeting turned to everyone else with a look on their face that was obvious of the impending discussion. "Sir. I recommend we raise our Readiness Condition Level."

"We are presently on REDCON Three Minister. Moving up to REDCON Two means that war is inevitable. Do you believe that war is inevitable?"

"I do sir."

"And does anyone else?" The Emperor personally asked each and every one of those in attendance and the consensus was that war was inevitable. "Very well. Based on the evidence presented I must concur myself. It seems inevitable that the Third Spanish States will be at war with us. When they do, we'll make our first move onto the Shetlands and secure them as a jump point to Scotland, should we need to land forces on the island of Britain. It would be necessary for us to increase to Readiness Condition Level Two. We will immediately raise our alert status and prepare all forces for the inevitability of strikes. Continuity of Operations Plans will be revised accordingly and inform our allies in Hirgizstan, Eurasia, and Cotland. What is the current estimated time to completion before all of our forces are on this level?"

"Thirty-six hours sir."

"Very well, ladies and gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned if there is no further business." There wasn't and thus it was done. Half an hour later, a specialized, encrypted message went over the secured communications routes for the October Alliance, routes and networks that would take a hacker decades upon decades to crack. The message, coded and ciphered to 15360-bit RSA encryption used multiple key ciphers that changed unpredictably. Only the October Alliance was known to use such high level encrypted, which was phenomenally more than 3072-bit, which was guaranteed to provide protection up through 2030.

Official Communique

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/General/seal.png

Priority: High
Recipient: October Alliance Command
Origin: Empire of Layarteb
Classification Level: Experimental
Subject: REDCON Upgrade


The Empire has approved an upgrade to our Readiness Condition Level. We are currently at REDCON Level 2 in anticipation of possible war with the Third Spanish States in Britain, Spain, Portugal, and Morocco. The Ministry of Defense believes, based on actionable intelligence, that military action against the Empire from the Third Spanish States is inevitable. Forces deployed in your respective countries will be on alert immediately for possible counterstrike against the Third Spanish States.

Sincerely,
The Emperor

Dunloy, Ireland - 18:30 [GMT]
Infections: 500 - Fatalities: 212
Day Fourteen

Control of the town had been reasserted and with force following the attempts two days prior at escaping. Now there was a full curfew in effect and news of the incident with the Super Huey had spread fear throughout the town. With communication still cut off from the outside world, there was no way for the populace inside to express their dissatisfaction and thus far only few people had stumbled upon the military quarantine. They were all turned back before they got to the town and informed that, due to military training exercises, they weren't permitted into the town. It was unusual but acceptable since nobody on the outer perimeter were wearing MOPP suits. However, fourteen days into the quarantine, the rate of traffic going to Dunloy increased sharply. The soldiers on each road blockade stood firm at each barricade and waved off the vehicles, which included supply trucks bringing in groceries and beverages to the town's stores, travelers, salesmen, even a government official visiting his mistress who was completely unaware of the quarantine. Because Ireland was really the Irish Republic underneath the Empire, it had its own self-rule. Arranged as a republican democracy, its leader was President Shamus McMahon, who had been informed of the crisis long before the troops ever arrived. However, it was crucial to keep the crisis in Dunloy from getting out to the public, to maintain balance and order. It was absolutely crucial to keep the public in the belief that the Cottish Flu remained outside of the bounds of the Empire. With so many million dead abroad in Europe and even western Asia, there would be serous concern if a part of the Empire, even if it were in Europe, suddenly became infected with the most deadly pandemic in over a century.

Jay Wagner wasn't Irish by birth but he had lived in Ireland since he was five years old and had been elected as a representative for County Antrim in 2006. His four-year term was coming to a close and he was debating whether or not to see re-election or to bid for a higher office. He wasn't well known throughout the Irish Republic, only to his constituents who shared some disapproval with the way he ran office. They felt as if he were not representing them in their best interests but they had elected him and his term was coming to a close. He demanded to be let through the roadblock when his driver stopped in front of it just before 23:00 hours the previous night. When he was flat out refused by the military personnel there, he stepped out of his car and demanded to speak with the commanding officer. All he got was a lieutenant who informed him that the commanding and executive officers were unreachable but that he would be happy to help. Scoffing at the lieutenant, Representative Wagner got back in his car and returned to his office. Twelve hours later, he returned to the roadblock and, again, was refused entry. He repeated his routine and, once again, met the same lieutenant only this time, the lieutenant advised him, with no extra words, to turn around and go back to where he had come from or face charges for obstruction of a military exercise, a felony offense. Elected officials were not above the law and could be charged with crimes while they were in office and that held true for the republics as well. The lieutenant motioned to his sidearm and Representative Wagner was gone moments later but he had his own weaponry. After being refused an explanation by the office of the president, he called in the press. Just after 13:00 hours, four news vans pulled up in front of the barricade and immediately began to offload. There was free press within the Empire and now, suddenly, the plight of Dunloy risked exposure. The military personnel backed them off the checkpoint but could not stop them from being present, pushing them one hundred and fifty yards behind the barricades, under the auspices of safety.

Representative Jay Wagner may have been pleased with his actions to bring the press involved but President McMahon wasn't pleased and neither was the Emperor who contemplated bringing up Wagner on charges. The official story was maintained, that the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces were conducting a routine readiness exercise and had chosen Dunloy because of its proximity to the Third Spanish States. They stated false intelligence that the town had been a possible airdrop location for the Third Spanish States in the event of a war and the exercise fully authorized, scheduled, and the townsfolk of Dunloy were cooperating. They handed out falsified statements from townsfolk that showed optimism and excitement for being part of the exercise and explained that, to keep the military operation a secret and the tactics hidden from the enemy, communications into and out of Dunloy had been blocked but only with full permission from the elected officials of Dunloy and the Irish government. President McMahon backed up the statement and stated that, in the event of a personal, family emergency for any of the townsfolk of Dunloy, they would be granted immediate communication and/or extraction out of the town via military escort. Thankfully, from the position the reporters were kept at, they could not see the soldiers in MOPP suits patrolling the streets of Dunloy and no news helicopters were allowed within thirty miles of the town, enforced by the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces aerial division. AH-99A Anasazi helicopters intercepted any who attempted and escorted them back to the nearest airbase where the pilot was fined heavily and the helicopter crew given a stern lecture, which included threats of actual charges. They were eventually released and the message sent. The military wasn't messing around and all of this happened in only a few hours. Dunloy suddenly gained widespread, public attention throughout the Empire though most saw it as just another military exercise. The conspiracy theorists came up with elaborate, creative, and stunning stories to explain what was happening ranging from a downed UFO to a biological contagion to a massive mind-control experiment. Few believed them as thirty-three more people perished with many, many, many more on the brink.

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Faroe Islands
H-Hour +48:00

Two days had passed since the first landings by the Imperial Layartebian Marines and most of the fighting was dying down. Overwhelming force by the marines was all that was required. The low key operation certainly gained international attention but the path of destruction wasn't what one would expect. The entire operation had been precise, tactical, and ended with a resounding success. With the capital under marine control, the war was declared over, even though fighting lingered across the countryside and various other islands. The situation was considered safe and the dead were finally counted. In total, twenty-four marines lost their lives and a further three hundred were injured with injuries ranging from minor things like broken bones and fragment wounds to serious wounds that required amputation. They had even counted the dead of their enemy and while the figures weren't the highest in the history of the marines, they were high for the islands. Three hundred and forty-five enemy soldiers were killed, more than a thousand captured, and an easy two thousand wounded. With medical attention being given by the marines and peacekeeping units of the Cottish military that had escaped to the Empire previously, normality seemed to be returning. Fires still burned and buildings remained leveled but most of the fighting stopped.

«My fellow countrymen,» Spoke Prime Minister Ørjan Rødberg, beginning the historic first televised and radio-broadcasted speech to his people.

«Our nation has faced a gargantuan challenge over the past six months. A terrible pandemic has ravaged our fair land, spreading sickness and death where-ever it spread, killing many of our siblings, parents, friends and relatives in the process. Not since the Black Death ravaged our fair lands have we seen such vast devestation. No layer of society has been spared the sickness. Even our beloved Royal Family succumbed to the illness, something which combined with the ill designs of foreign aggressors against our borders pushed our government over the brink and caused the nation to fall into anarchy and chaos.

«However, our nation proved stronger than the combined stress of foreign invasion and internal pandemic. We adapted to the situation, we developed a vaccine against the Sickness, and, thanks in no small part to our Layartebian friends, we overcame this ordeal and retook control of our country. I am pleased that I can take the opportunity in this, my first address to the nation, to be able to inform you now that the Sickness that has ravaged our lands has been stopped and are in its final death throes.

«For the past few months, the Civil Defence, the Military and the civilian governments throughout Cotland have undertaken a vast project aimed at cleansing Cotland of the Sickness once and for all, named Operation Renselse. Operation Renselse has been concentrated around healing those who have not yet reached the terminal phase of the Sickness, administering the newly developed vaccine to all surviving citizens, and removing the sources of further illness. You have all had a personal encounter with Operation Renselse by now, as you've received the vaccine that helps your immune system fight the virus that has caused this demonic Sickness from the valiant doctors, soldiers and others who have worked around the clock for the past six months to stop the Sickness.

«I am very happy to be able to inform you that Operation Renselse has been an overwhealming success. The virus is all but exterminated in Cotland, and life is returning to normal. The society is gradually returning to normal. Martial law has been lifted in Norway, Denmark, Sweden and much of Kola and Finland, and the civilian authorities are again in control, with the military forces there returned to their garrisons. Many of the foreign peacekeepers and non-governmental organizations that have helped us with humanitarian assistance have been redeployed to areas in Finland where they can be of more help. I would like to take the opportunity to offer my heartfelt thanks to all those who have worked around the clock since the Sickness erupted, and who have sacrificed much in order to help others. You have the gratitude of an entire nation.

«However, the Sickness have taken a massive toll. Prior to the outbreak, Cotland had a population of almost five hundred million people. Presently, in the territories still under our control, we have a population of just over two hundred forty-one million remaining. Over half our population have been killed by the Sickness over the past six months. We have all been affected by this Sickness. Everyone knows someone who has died from the Sickness. I personally have lost many family members and dear friends from the Sickness, and I know that all of you have suffered similar losses. I therefore ask that we all observe a moment of silence in rememberance of all those who have died. May God Almighty watch over the souls of our family, our friends, our beloved Royal Family and all others who perished in the Sickness in the hallowed halls of Heaven.»

Rødberg fell silent and bowed his head, his lips quietly muttering something that may very well have been a prayer, before looking back up after a moment.

«As His Majesty the King perished from the Sickness, I have as Prime Minister been granted the powers of the executive until such a time that the heir to the throne can be determined, as per article Forty of the Constitution. As a consequence of this, I have requested the surviving leaders and other respected members of the political parties represented at Stortinget to join the interim cabinet, which shall remain in power until such a time that a proper Storting and Cabinet can be elected.»

Rødberg paused for a moment and looked directly into the camera as he continued.

«Given the need for a stable and consistent government body without limitations to its power, I hereby call for new national Storting-elections to take place on the second Tuesday of August, that being Tuesday the Fourth of August of this year, in just over three weeks time. I call upon all citizens to cast their vote in what is arguably going to be the most important election in recent Cottish history.

Until the next time I speak with you, I bid you all a good afternoon, and good fortune and health. May God Almighty bless you all, and may He bless Cotland. Good night.»

[OOC: Que Layarteb and informing the PM of the Crown Prince's survival]

The coded message arrived at the Layartebian Ministry of Foreign Affairs on cue and on schedule, not long after Prime Minister Ørjan Rødberg made his historic announcement. As far as the Cottish government and Cottish people were concerned, the Cottish royal line had basically been eradicated. Nobody knew that Prince Sverre, godson of the Emperor, was safely tucked away inside of the Empire, miles upon miles away from any urban center and miles upon miles away from any suspecting eyes. He was nestled inside a small community town in rural Ohio, nowhere near anything important. If the Empire were to be the unwitting participant in an all-out, thermonuclear strike the town would survive the initial blast. A specialized team, located nearby of elite black operations soldiers would go in after the fact, locate Prince Sverre and bring him to a much more secure, underground location. Such contingency plans were never expected to be carried out but no stone would be left unturned. The Emperor received the announcement himself, personally and as usual, he was invited to a dialogue with Prince Minister Rødberg as early as possible. He decided that this would be a good time to let the new head of the Cottish Realm know that there was still royal blood left in the world. When the call was finally routed, the Emperor was not surprised to hear that the new Prime Minister was beyond busy. "Prime Minister Rødberg, I want to thank you for taking the time to speak to me." The Emperor greeted him in Cottish. Fluent in Cottish, the Emperor had always preferred to address heads of state and government in their own languages, even when they came to the Empire. Business within the Empire was, by default, conducted in English but, afar, the Emperor would never use his native language unless he was in a country that used English as their native language.

"Good morning Emperor. Yes it's quite hectic here." He responded in English, a courtesy that the Emperor didn't mind much. "I assume you want to schedule a meeting?"

"Among the many things yes I do. I feel that it is a good thing for us. For concerns of safety I would like to invite you to the Caribbean aboard my yacht. It hasn't been used in some time and the warm weather will be most welcoming. We've had a dreary summer."

"I shall take it into consideration."

Before Prime Minister Rødberg could say anything else though, the Emperor interrupted, getting quickly to the point of his telephone call. "Prime Minister, I actually called with monumental news. It concerns the Cottish royal line. Contrary to beliefs, the Cottish royal line has not been eradicated by the flu. There is actually a sole surviving heir to the Cottish throne. I have been tasked with his care. I cannot; however, give you his whereabouts but please know that your history has not died with the most horrific pandemic to strike the world." The Emperor would wait until the gravity of his news sunk into the new Prime Minister. He wasn't entirely sure how well he could trust me, despite the closeness of the Realm to the Empire. He could have ulterior motives and wish the death of the heir, to further seat his power and the Emperor was not going to give up his location for some time.

With its two afterburners lit, the B-6A Dementor strike-bomber roared down the runway at Griffis Air Force Base in Rome, New York. A mile and a quarter later, the pilots were pulling back on the flight sticks and lifting their aircraft off the ground into an 8° climb. Clearing fifty feet, the pilots retracted the landing gear and eased off on the throttle, backing the engines from maximum afterburning power to maximum military power, conserving fuel in the process. The plane carried over one hundred and twelve thousand pounds of fuel and had an unrefueled radius of over sixty-two hundred miles but this wasn't a combat scenario and the bomber and her crew were tasked with a simple objective. They were to fly to a test area over Pennsylvania and fire at a pair of targets three hundred and twenty-five miles away. One was a simple, hardened structure and the other was a hardened, buried structure. The buried structure would be known only by its GPS coordinates and it would be operating under complete emissions control, which was possible for a buried military facility that wanted to give off no thermal signature. The bomber was carrying a full load of six, AGM-243A Wasp missiles internally giving them three chances to destroy the two targets. They would only need one if things went according to plan. The AGM-243A Wasp was barely in its IOC phase of development and few examples had been produced. They were hypersonic, short to medium ranged cruise missiles that packed a five hundred pound, penetrating warhead. Between its warhead and its speed, the missile was effective at penetrating as a two thousand pound JDAM bomb using a BLU-116 AUP warhead. Like that weapon it was equipped with a programmable, Hard Target Smart Fuze (HTSF). As far as explosive content was concerned, the AGM-243A had double the amount of the BLU-116, making it a much more potent weapon.

The B-6A Dementor climbed up to thirty-six thousand feet and stopped accelerating at five hundred miles per hour, setting its course for the launch area over Pennsylvania. Its wings were swept to give the optimal amount of lift necessary at that speed. The bomber skirted through the high but cold air with little effort to itself, arriving at the launch zone slightly ahead of schedule. Satisfied thus far, the test operators gave the green light for the launch and the bomber crew quickly went to work on the missile, making sure that coordinates programmed into its missiles were the correct ones. When all pre-launch checks were complete, the weapons were launched, ten seconds apart from each other. They each dropped out of the internal bay of the Dementor and into the aircraft's airflow where its powerful rocket engine ignited, sucking its first gulps of gel-fuel. The missile roared past the bomber, ascending to its cruise altitude of one hundred and thirty thousand feet where it would accelerate to Mach 5. Both missiles were just ten seconds behind one another and, thanks to thrust vectoring, they could perform excellent maneuvers and vector themselves onto the target with little effort or loss of inertia.

Both missiles were guided by GPS and inertial sensors, mainly. For low-altitude launches, TERCOM was included, and an active radar was included for terminal homing. Both of these would be used in high-altitude delivery mode, maximizing range and testing out the missile's dive technique, which put the missile into a gradual dive onto the target of almost 90° thanks to its thrust vectoring. It would enter the dive at above 80° and step up its angle of attack. Powered by a sustainer, its terminal attack maintained the speed of Mach 5 and provided the energy needed for the maneuvering, countering for any loss of speed by its maneuvers. Within terminal range, the missiles entered their dive and their sustainers pushed them Earthward as they gradually stepped up to a 90° dive. Less than thirty seconds after entering their dive, they both smashed into their targets. The above ground structure was ripped to shreds by the blast and its hardened roof did nothing to deter the missile, which penetrated very easily. The buried structure provided slightly more resistance but not enough to fend off the supersonic missile and its powerful fuse. Once it was through the roof of the structure, it exploded, cratering the ground and causing a volcanic explosion of dirt and debris. A strike well carried out, the AGM-243 Wasp was certified for its initial operating capability (IOC). A "B" version had also been developed that replaced its warhead with a variable yield, thermonuclear warhead, retiring what remained of the AGM-131 SRAM II/T inventory.