Over the Hills and Back (completed)

A brisk spring breeze blew through the crowd assembled just outside St. Ro's Cathedral in Beaconsviði. The crossed flag of the Kingdom of Prydania fluttered in the wind from balconies and flag poles across the city, but they did little to hide the damage. Seven months. Seven months it took to win the capital back from the Syndicalists. No one expected the city to be in pristine shape today though, regardless of the occasion. The dead bodies hanging from the street lamps, most of them aristocrats or royals, had been taken down though. That helped, if only a bit.

Prince Tobias sighed as he sat on one of the many crates clogging the hallway off to the side of the alter. It was only recently that the Cathedral had even been reconsecrated. The Provisional Government had seen to it that the exhibits to Syndicalism, left over from the Cathedral's status as a Syndicalist museum, had been hastily packed up. The city may still wear the scars of the Syndicalist dictatorship and the Civil War, but the Cathedral wouldn't.

"Not that I would know, but I have to imagine that you'd be a bit more excited at the prospect of being crowned King."
Tobias looked up, smiling. "Hey Axel" he said softly, almost a whisper. "It's not that I'm not excited. I've just been thinking..."
"I wouldn't recommend that" Axel Skov, the Prince's bodyguard, replied as he found some free space to lean against a crate.
Tobias looked up, seemingly confused. "Why not?"
"Well" Skov answered, "sometimes in life you just come across something that needs doing. It's best not to think about it. Just get it done."

"It's hard not to think about" the Prince responded, again barely above a whisper. "I guess I've always been waiting for today but, it's never been on my own terms, you know?" His bodyguard just nodded, knowing exactly what the boy meant.
"I guess this is just one more obligation..."

"Ah, so Will's been talking to you" Skov replied, shaking his head. "I don't suppose it would do you any good for me to tell you to ignore him?"
"It's hard to ignore him. He's been running my life since I was seven."
"And you wouldn't have made it to eight if it weren't for him" Skov responded with a slightly judgmental smirk.
Tobias just tossed his head back "I know" he groaned, "but this all seems like it's for him, not me."

Axel nodded and paused, thinking to pick his words carefully. "What if I told it you it wasn't for him? Or you?"
"Then who?" the Prince asked.
"Everyone else. The country."
Tobias just nodded. Skov continued. "This country's been though a lot. Your uncle, and then the Syndicalists. You weren't around before Anders and Stephen Toft, but I was. It was...normal. And after three decades of tyrants? Everyone out there..." Axel pointed in the direction of the altar..."deserves a bit of normality. If that means another Loðbrók on the throne? So be it."

Tobias just sat there, crossed legged atop the crate, looking down in thought. "You'll be there?" he asked softly.
"Until you tire of me, your Majesty" Skov responded with a chuckle."
Tobias smiled, hoping off the crate to his feet. "Thank you Axel. For everything." Skov just smiled and offered a nod.
"Of course."

---

The Cathedral began to fill. A coronation was traditionally attended to by all of the Kingdom's highest ranking lords and clergy, but fifteen years of Syndicalist rule had made for many a dead aristocrat. Those still alive made it, at least a third of them children who wouldn't be Thanes or Counts yet had their parents not met their death at the end of a rope. Priests and Bishops in attendance proved to be more numerous. The Syndicalists were more interested in humiliating clergy than killing them.

William Aubyn, the Governor-General of the Provisional Government and former Royalist resistance leader, was dressed in the uniform of a Royal Army General. He gave Skov a nod as the bodyguard approached him, in a Lieutenant colonel's Royal Marine uniform. It was the rank he held over three decades ago. It was his last official government rank. That X-77 OSU agent business never happened. Technically.
"How's he doing?" Aubyn asked. The space usually reserved for foreign dignitaries at a coronation was filled mostly with Royalist resistance officers. Aubyn had made the decision not to invite the world to Prydania's doorstep. Not with the country still half in ruins. The RUV cameras would broadcast the ceremony to the country and beyond, but no. He wouldn't parade foreign leaders through the shattered streets of the Prydanian capital.

"He's fine" Skov answered. William only nodded. He didn't want to press the issue. He knew how protective Axel could be. The music began to play.

Tobias wasn't the youngest king at the age of 22, but that still didn't make him look any less young to those watching. He tried to keep his composure, even as the robes he had adorned weighed down on him slightly. He gave a quick look around at the assembled soldiers, priests, and nobles and breathed deep before making his way to Vortgyn's Throne. The nearly 1,000 year old throne, refurbished so many times that little if any of the original chair remained, had seen better days. The Royal crest had been tarnished and bits broken off. Still, it sat there, in quiet dignity.

Tobias sat, keeping his back straight against the back of the chair. An attendant to the Archbishop of Sarum walked up to him to hand him a sceptre recovered from the Syndicalists' vaults. It wasn't the sceptre his great uncle and cousin had held at their coronations. That had been destroyed. This was a lesser one, a replica. Still, it would do. He gripped the metal as the Archbishop approached him. He lowered his head...

"May God almighty grant him fair judgment" the Archbishop proclaimed, holding the crown, "may He provide him wisdom, clarity, and strength. In the name of God, the Son, and the Holy Spirit I proclaim Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók as Tobias III, by the grace of God, King of Prydania, Lord Protector of Austurland, Marshal of Beaconsviði, Lord Uniter, Defender of the Faith." He placed the crown on the young prince's head before stepping to the side bellow "LONG MAY HE REIGN!"
Those in attendance joined in "LONG MAY HE REIGN!" as Tobias raised his head.

His uncle King Anders wanted him to be a tyrant in waiting. Syndicalists wanted him dead. William Aubyn wanted him to be the face of a restored nation. Tobias breathed deep. He wasn't sure how to be a King. Not really. He just knew he'd do what he had to do. For the sake of the people. He rose from the throne and slowly began to walk towards the door, into the courtyard. Armed Royalist soldiers scoured roof tops to weed out strangling Syndicalist snipers. It wasn't as if Tobias could focus on them for long though. His appearance brought forth cheers from the crowd assembled outside the temple.

Them. He'd do it for them.

William Aubyn took in the sight of the sunsent over the Beaconsfield skyline from the Prime Minister's office. It was almost beautiful, considering the war-torn cityscape. The Provisional Government was no more. The coronation of the King had resulted in its own voluntary dissolution.
Well that wasn't entirely true. The new government His Majesty had appointed was still very much provisional in practice, if not by name. Tobias III had pledged new elections in three years' time. Until then Aubyn would serve as Prime Minister in what was being deemed a "Caretaker" administration. General Carl Baner sat across from him, alongside Axel FitzOsbern, the new Defence Minister.

"I understand your concerns, Minister, but these are healthy men. Battle-tested even. The Royal Army could use them."
"They're Syndicalist soldiers" FitzOsbern replied, looking to Aubyn. "They fought for the enemy. They deserve to be held accountable."

William nodded, looking over the notes from his earlier briefing. Thousands of Syndicalist soldiers, enlisted men and officers, were being interned. Some had surrendered willingly when the Syndicalist government collapsed. Others were taken prisoner.

"What do you want me to do?" William asked, giving his colleague a beleaguered look. "Incarcerate every man and woman who wore a Syndicalist uniform? Where are we going to put them anyway?"
The Defence Minister coldly replied "the Camps." The words sent chills down William's spine. The General's too, if his reaction was to be believed.

"I can't" Aubyn answered, raising a finger to silence his Minister's incoming rebuttal. "Listen. Andrew and Crofts opened them. The Syndicalists co-opted them. I'm not sending the message that this government is like the two that proceeded it by sending political prisoners to internment camps."
"They're not political prisoners" FitzOsbern protested, raising his voice. "They're enemy soldiers!"
"Well what's the bloody difference Axel?" Aubyn retorted, raising his own voice. "What's the difference?" he repeated, calmer. "What's the difference been for the last thirty years in this country anyway?"

FitzOsbern sat in silence for a moment before speaking. "The peace won't last if you trust malcontents infect the armed forces."
"They're soldiers" General Baner said calmly. "Soldiers. Not malcontents. They fought for their country. Just the wrong side of it. They're Prydanian though, and it's about time we started acting like we're all on the same side for once. You have trained Prydanian officers. Battle-tested enlisted men. Prime Minister. Please. Let the military have them. We're all on the same side now. Let's show them we mean it."

William nodded at the General before turning to his Defence Minister. "I'll advice His Majesty to issue a pardon to all Syndicalist soldiers from Colonel on down. We'll try the officers above that individually..."
"You're making a mistake William..."
"Maybe Axel, but I'm finding it hard to choose the option that involves reopening those camps at the moment."

The Minister and General just gave each other a quick glance before both stood up along with the Prime Minister to shake hands. Axel wouldn't like his decision, but he'd carry his duties out. And at least he got go home...

Matthew Eriksen entered after him. Matthew had always been a bit bookish for an Uplander, his dirty blonde hair starting to grey, especially in his beard, and his glasses resting comfortably. His slightly worn houndstooth suit complimenting him nicely.
"I don't suppose you have any good news for me" he asked his Home Secretary.
"Like what?" Eriksen asked, thumbing through a file as he sat down.
"I don't know" William asked with a sly look on his face. "Maybe Cronaal fixed everything over the last twenty-four hours and we can send the refugees back..."
"I don't think there's anyone over there who could even begin to start fixing things. We estimate there's at least fifteen separate power centres claiming sovereignty..."
"It was a joke Matthew" William replied, closing his eyes. "What sort of refugee willingly comes to a country in the midst of a civil war?" he asked.
"A refugee from a place worse off than a country in the middle of a civil war" Matthew answered. "It's truly bad over there. I cannot stress that enough..."

William stood up. "I need a drink. You want one?"
"You're going to discuss this while drinking?"
"Maybe. Those poor sods are probably better off if I'm at least a bit sauced. You sure you don't want one?" he asked as he poured a glass of whisky.
"You know I don't drink" Eriksen answered, adjusting his glasses.
"That doesn't mean I'll stop asking" William retorted, sitting back down with his glass. He sipped the whisky before continuing. "Do we even have the resources to keep them fed in the refugee camps?"
"I don't know."
"It's your job to know."
"It's my job to know when we have all the facts. And we don't have the facts. The flooding in Hrotha is worse than we initially thought. The Syndicalists bombed the levies, and the storms did that no favours..."
William just stared down at his desk for a moment. Trying to think of something. Anything to say.

"We just can't keep them confined to the camps any longer William..."
"We have to grant them asylum."
"You're sure about that William?"
"Yes. What else can we do? We can't feed them otherwise. Entire neighbourhoods, hell. Entire cities across the country need to rebuilt anyway. Why not try to accommodate them?"

"You're asking for my office to naturalize these refugees? We don't have the means to do that."
"Well you'll have to do it sometime, won't you Matthew?"
"Pardon me?"
"Your office. Eventually we'll have to be in the business of re-establishing normal government functions. So you'll have to get the immigration and naturalization offices up eventually."
"I'll see what I can do" Eriksen said, getting up to leave.
"Worst case" William added, "His Majesty just grants them naturalization status."
"You may want to keep Tobias' Royal proclamations to a minimum, William."

Aubyn leaned back, sipping more whisky. "And why's that?"
"Because we aren't a dictatorship."
William just nodded. "Have a good night, Matthew."

William smiled a bit. He had a good view of Beaconsfield from the Prime Minister's office, and the city still managed to maintain a certain splendour, even with a lot of it still resembling a war zone. He could see Royalist soldiers patrolling the streets below. Some in traditional butternut, others in plain clothes wearing red bands with the Prydanian cross. Uniforms weren't in high supply at the moment. The dim hum of construction had ended for the night, as various Syndicalist statues and murals had to be disassembled.

He felt the stress of course. The impending food crisis, the refugee issue, potentially rearming thousands of surrendered Syndicalists. Still...they had to move forward. That wasn't going to be anything but painful in the current state of things.

He sat down, letting himself sink into its chair before picking up the phone. He was a proud man deep down, but he wasn't so foolish as to let that be a factor in how proceeded. He dialed the number for Prime Minister Jon Norberg...

"Greetings from Prydania" he said with a smile as heard of government for the Imperial Federation of Goyanes answer.

Norberg had just arrived from his usual lunch in the parliament building's cafe. He sat in the large leather chair that had been in that office for at least 100 years. Every single prime minister since the turn of the century had sat in that chair. It was a symbol of the second highest authority in the nation, besides that of His Majesty. He looked at the portrait of Amelia Kronnek, the first Prime Minister, which hung solemnly on the wall. He examined it, as usual when he was bored. All of a sudden, his usual stretch of post-lunch boredom was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone on his desk.

The caller ID on the phone's LCD screen read out "OFFICIAL NUMBER -- PRYDANIA". He picked up the phone to hear the raspy voice of William Aubyn.

"Greetings From Prydania" He said. Norberg waited a moment before finally realizing it was the new prime minister of the small nation, once a former colony.

"Good day Mr. Aubyn. How may I be of service to you today?"

"My people need some assistance. As you may know, Prydania has just exited a civil war, and our nation needs help. We are on the brink of a food crisis, our cities need rebuilding, levies are breaking, and there are localized power disruptions across the nation."

"Oh my." Norberg thought to himself for a second. This would definitely require another trip down to the chambers of the Stortinget. He spoke into the receiver again, "Mr. Aubyn, I will see what I can do. For now, I can divert some funding from the foreign aid budget until I can get something passed by the Stortinget."

"Very well then. I hope your parliament approves an aid program."

"I will try my best."

Norberg hung up the phone, and pressed the intercom button next to it. His secretary came into his office.

"Hannah, call in a full session of the Stortinget and have Stephan come to my office."

"Very well sir"

"Thank you ma'am."

Several minutes later, Stephan Busjenmayer entered his office. Stephan was a large man, with a clean shaven face, and brown eyes. He was the parliamentary whip for Norberg's National Union Party, or in Gojan Der Nasjonal Bundpartij. He gave Stephan a list of points from the previous phone call. Stephan already knew what to do. This was the standard procedure for impromptu Stortinget assemblies.

Norberg stood up, and he walked towards the main hall of the PM's office space.

---

Stortinget Chamber, later that evening

The MP for Kreisvrann stood up. "I agree with my honorable friend, Minister Leidr. The IAF Engineering Division should be dispatched to deal with the rebuilding efforts and the repairing of the civil works."

Defense Minister Leidr stood up again, for what seemed like the 400th time today. "Yes. The navy will have the Admiral Fannin, the Inkasund, the Bædurfjord, and the Syv Seer sent to Pyrdania to assist in the humanitarian operations."

Economic Minister Franskeier stood up after Leidr. "I suggest that after the foundation work is complete, we negotiate a trade deal with the Pyrdanians to allow some Goyanean business into the market to stimulate development."

The chamber agreed with a long, solid "ja". Norberg stood and petitioned the Lawspeaker to call a vote. He looked at the clock on the wall, and called the vote. The chambers cleared as the MP's left into the voting halls.

An aide walked up to the lawspeaker and displayed before him the sheet which contained the official result of the vote. He stood, and in the usual tradition of the lawspeaker, announced the results. "By the votes presented before me, it is apparent that the Ayes have won, 237 to 101.

---

Next Morning

Norberg walked into his office after the meeting with the military chiefs of staff. The ships were already on their way, having parted from the Northern Patrol Fleet. They would take the supplies necessary while underway. He reached for the phone's handset, and scrolled through the call log to the Prydanian PM's number.

"Hello Mr. Aubyn, this is Jon Norberg. I have very good news for you."

The Prime Minister smiled as he answered the call from his Goyanean counterpart.

"I'm very happy, and grateful, to hear that" he replied, relaxing back in his chair. He wasn't sure how his request would have been received, and an answer to the affirmative put him at ease.

"I've spoken to my cabinet" he added, "and they're amicable to whatever aid you can provide. The King is also eager. He wished for me to convey his sincere gratitude towards yourself and Grand Emperor Anthony I."

"That's very nice of you" Norberg replied, "I'll pass it along."

"That would be appreciated" Aubyn replied. "We look forward to seeing our Goyanean friends on our shores."

Waters off the coast of Prydania

The HMS Admiral Fannin sounded the 0600 foghorn call, and the other ships responded with their foghorns as well. The harbor of Prydania's capital was already in sight.

The waters were slightly choppy, but nothing that the behemoth ships couldn't handle. Admiral Forden, who was in charge of the initial humanitarian operation, looked through the thick glass of the bridge room.

"All stop. We will wait for clearance from the port authority before moving in."

"Aye Sir, all stop." responded the officer of the deck.

The ships came to a halt, and drifted there, as the comms officer dispatched a call to the port authorities requesting clearance to move into the harbor.

"HMS Admiral Fannin, this is the Royal Prydanian Port Authority, City of Beaconsfield. Permission to enter the harbour granted."

The Port Authority sent the signal to another officer, who grabbed the phone.
"Yes, Minister, permission has been granted."

"Understood" Foreign Affairs Minister Harold Daaé replied. "They're on their way Your Majesty" he said with a slight nod to the young King Tobias III, who just stood there at the head of the welcoming that had been arranged. His modest khaki slack and white cotton dress shirt made him appear a bit plain looking for a reigning monarch, but the optics were ideal given the state of the country.

"You'll do fine" Prime Minister Aubyn assured him, standing opposite the Foreign Affairs Minister, on the other side of the King.

"Thank you William" the young king of twenty-two answered, breathing deep to calm his racing heart.

One nautical mile off the harbor entrance

"HMS Admiral Fannin, this is the Royal Prydanian Port Authority, City of Beaconsfield. Permission to enter the harbour granted."

"Thank you, fleet proceeding in", responded the comms officer. He stood and faced the admiral. "Clear to enter the harbor, sir."

"Thank you officer. Please report this to the other ships, we will be getting underway now."

"Yes sir."

The foghorn of the HMS Admiral Fannin sounded as the 4 gas turbines of the ship roared to full power. The young deck hand who was waiting for the foghorn call, now raised the ship's jack, followed by the raising of the ship's jack by the other members of the fleet.

The ships entered the harbor, and activated their bow and stern thrusters and azimuth pods, guiding the ships to a soft docking on the partially damaged wharf. Deck hands lowered ropes and tied the ships into place, and davits aboard the ships lowered gangplanks onto the docks.

The first of the Goyanean humanitarian mission ships had arrived, and already were helicopters carrying pallets of food and supplies to various locations in the city.

King Tobias III looked up at the copters carrying crates of food and supplies. The crowd assembled behind the King and his ministers jostled to get a better look at the arriving Goyanean delegation. The crowd was peppered people holding mini Goyanean and Prydanian flags. There were even a few old Prydanian UKAG ensigns, a flag from a bygone era that seemed to take a new sort of importance as Prydania re-engaged with its brothers and sisters on the world stage.

The sight of the Admiral Fannin's lozenge jack had a calming effect on the young King.
"Do you suppose this means we're going to be alright William?"

"I haven't felt this positive about our future in over three decades Your Majesty" he said, still a bit nervous.

The King just nodded. So much of his life had been shrouded in uncertainty. Constantly moving from safe house to safe house. The constant threat of the Civil War as fortunes ebbed and flowed. It was hard for him not to be nervous. Certainty wasn't a luxury he'd had much of in his life. This was a start though. It was a good start.

Admiral Forden slipped on his jacket and headed downstairs from the bridge to the gangplank. As he made his way across the metal ramp connecting the ship to the dock, he was greeted with large crowds of euphoric people. He saw where the King was standing, and he walked over there, other officers following closely behind. He was eager to help the nation of Prydania get back onto its feet.

Forden did a small bow, and addressed the young king by his full name. "Your Royal Highness, King Tobias the Third."

He exited the bow, and extended his hand for a handshake.

Tobias felt his heart race for a moment before he calmed himself down. Most of his "diplomatic" experiences were usually in a bombed out safe house. He still wasn't use to the big stage. And the smartly dresses distinguished Goyanean Admiral didn't do much to calm him.

Still, he breathed deep and held out his hand. "Admiral Forden" he said with a smile.
"The pleasure is all mine. Thank you, on behalf of my country. From the bottom of all of our hearts."

"Your Majesty, It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope you are doing well. If we may, I have some important talks to have with you regarding the safe operation of our more heavy aid crews."

He pulled out a map from is old leather briefcase.

"Upon the assumption that the current airbases and airfields are out of service, until we can repair them, this is currently my plan of action. We will find a large clearing, and we will drop in some troopers to set up primitive survival structures for the time being. There will be first aid tents with AC and barracks for the troopers staying. The next day, airdrops of supplies, food, water, fuel, and generators will commence, and the troopers there will help distribute the supplies. We can start multiple operations of this type until larger scale operations can start on repaired airfields."

---

IAF Gojannesstad, 5:00 AM

"LETS GO PEOPLE!" shouted Sergeant Norbert, as crew loaded cargo into the last transport plane. It was already time to depart, and the last pallet was still being loaded onto the plane.

As the main cargo hatch closed on the transport plane, the pilots fired up the engines.

The squadron of cargo planes and their fighter escorts were to make their way to Kanada, refuel and wait for further orders, then continue on to Prydania to airdrop aid supplies into designated sites.

"KILOCHARLIE you are clear for takeoff, runways 19 L and 19 R."

The sound of jets filled the small Gojannesstad suburb as fighter jets and cargo aircraft took off into the early morning skies. There was slight turbulence on the way out, as they passed through some cumulus cloud clusters. The planes were soon flying eastward at full velocity on their way to Prydania.

Tobias nodded, listening to the Admiral. He knew that the Provisional Government would be handling the majority of the decisions on the Prydanian end of all of this, and he shot his Prime Minister a friendly smile before returning his attention to the Admiral. Still, he wasn't going to let the opportunity to learn something pass him by.

"That sounds wonderful, Admiral. And it sounds like a sound strategy. My government will help in whatever way you require." He looked up again at the sky at the copters carrying crates of food and supplies and back down at the map.
"If you don't mind a suggestion" he began, pointing to the eastern peninsula, "I know for a fact that this area is littered with mines from both sides from the war. Our army is currently engaged in mine clearing operations, but it's been time consuming given the, um, lack of equipment. And those areas need engineers above all else, to fix the levies. Clearing out those mine fields needs to happen if we're going to get your men in there..." he turned to Prime Minister Aubyn.
"You have the finer details, William?" he asked.

"Of course Your Majesty, I would be be happy to discuss the matter with the Admiral further."

"Excellent" Tobias answered, feeling a sense of relief for the first time that day. He extended his hand to the Admiral. "A pleasure to meet you, and again. My deepest thanks to Grand Emperor Anthony and Prime Minister Norberg."

---

Landerne was a small rural town in the Prydanian lowlands, on the eastern peninsula. The River of Steads flowed through the town. In better times the slate facade houses on the Gralon Bridge over the river created a picturesque scene. Most of the slate facade homes had been blown away though, and the levies holding the seas back had broken, flooding the river. And hence the town. Much of the town centre was underwater, and the parts that weren't were crowded.
Royalist soldiers did what they could to patrol the city, as makeshift camps contained the displaced right up against the homes of those still lucky enough to have them.

Warren Tristard had lived most of his life under the Syndicalist Republic. He always wanted to be a painter, but the local Revolutionary Authority had decided that the region didn't need painters. It needed labourers. Especially with the war against the Royalists growing more intense by the day. So he finished high school and was sent to Keris to work on the ships being built for the Syndicalist Navy.
When the Royalists cleared the way to Beaconsfield? The Syndicalists scuttled the levies. He, like most of the out of town labourers, did what they could to get back to whatever small town or village they came from as the Syndicalist government fell around them.

So here he was. Back in Landerne. His home. His brother and sister were back with their mother in one of the displaced citizen camps, but their father was still nowhere to be found. He turned a corner as he strolled through one of the areas of the city not underwater. Royalist soldiers were unpacking and distributing pre-prepared meals. The government couldn't send trucks in thanks to the uncleared mines across the peninsula. Still, they sent food and supplies from helicopter when they could. The problem was not enough food. Or helicopters.

"Didn't think I'd see you lot so soon" Warren said with a bit of a smile. "You were here only four days ago."
One of the soldiers smiled. "The Goyaneans showed up" he said. "The government doesn't want us holding back now that the shortage isn't as much a concern."
"I've got a sister a brother and my mother back in the camp in the north side of town. Think you can help me out?"

The solider just nodded. "I can only give you three but..." he pulled out a small disk in a white wrapper. "Give it to the little one, whichever one that is. We got lucky enough to get tagged with a few boxes of cookies."

Warren just chuckled at the sheer good fortune...
"Thanks sir" he said, taking the three meals and the desert in a brown paper bag before heading back. He took the longer way back to his family of course, because that was the route most heavily patrolled by soldiers. He didn't need some bandit to rob him of food for his family. Still? The longer walk would be worth it...

The admiral shook hands with the Prime Minister, then he looked at his clipboard, which on it had a manifest of the supply ship's contents.

"We have some mine clearing equipment onboard, we can get it to the affected areas. The engineering teams are boarding a helicopter now to the flooding zones. We also have aircraft on the way. They're going to stop in Kanada and wait for us to allocate airfields and drop points."

---

Onboard the supply planes

"Commander we are now on final approach for the Kanadian airfield."

"Thank you sir."

The pilots landed the planes at the airfield one by one. The cargo planes came first, then the Rafales. They would wait at the Kanadian airport until they got orders from central command authorizing an airfield and drop locations for the cargo planes.

"That's Goyanean alright" Warren nodded, looking through an old pair of Syndicalist Army binoculars.

"How can ya tell?" Callum Goff asked, yanking the the binoculars from his friend.

"Have you ever seen a Prydanian army truck look that nice?" Warren replied with a bit of snark. "Besides, the flag's a dead give away."

"How do you know what the Goyanean flag looks like?" Callum asked with a slightly confused look on his face.

"You don't? Didn't you ever look at that flags of the world section in the back of the book at school?" Warren answered, chuckling.

The two sat on the remains of an old, old stone structure that local legends say dated back to King Ryon. A lot of the ancient stone work had been destroyed, but the sheer amount of it meant much still remained. The two twenty year olds watched the Goyanean minesweepers clear out the farmlands and highways leading up to Landerne.

The town was in something of a frenzy as soldiers and city officials tried to tidy up the displaced citizen champs and streets. Clearing out the mine fields leading up to town meant full access to the Prydanian and Goyanean armies, which meant food and engineers. The city was trying to put its best face forward and Callum and Warren slipped out to watch the Goyanean minesweepers work. It was a bit dull but strangely fascinating.

"They find your dad yet?" Callum asked.

Warren just shrugged. "No" he said bluntly, looking down before collecting his thoughts. "He's probably dead."

"Come on, you don't know that..." Callum protested, before his friend cut him off.

"If he's not then it's a bonus" he sighed, leaning back so he was laying down on the top of the ancient stone slap, ancient runes still faintly visible, his feet hanging off.
"I mean I gotta take care of mum now anyway. I can't just hope he'll show up to make everything better, you know?"

Callum just nodded, unsure of what to say. He'd managed better than his friend had. His family's home was out of the flood zone. He just stayed quiet before handing Warren the binoculars.
"Hey, check this out. They're bringing in some specialists for this patch. This could be interesting."

Warren just chuckled half-heatedly, sitting up to grab the binoculars. "Lemme see."

Airspace over Hadden, Prydania

"This is KILOCHARLIE requesting permission to come in for a landing at the Hadden airstrip."

"Cleared for landing"

One by one, the airplanes landed onto the strip, taxiing onto designated parking ramps. There was little time between the engines shutting down and the cargo doors being opened to unload the foodstuffs and supplies. There were crowds of people waiting near the airfield's entrance for food to be distributed.

Lieutenant-Colonel Adia Bech waited as the Goyanean plane began to unload supplies and food from the aircraft.
She had trucks and armoured jeeps at the ready to take what her battalion could. The Goyaneans would distribute for Hadden and the immediate surrounding areas, but she had to make sure the small communes and rural towns in northern Lowland and southern Midland, for which Hadden served as the unofficial urban centre of, got what they needed as well while more work down south saw to the draining of the floods that threatened agricultural production.

She approached the Goyanean officer and saluted. "Lieutenant-Colonel Adia Bech, 3rd Reconnaissance Battalion, Royal Guard Hussar Regiment" she screamed to be heard over the sound of the engines as they shut down. "My men can can take what they need for supply distribution, but I'm authorized to offer your soldiers any help possible in maintaining order. A lot of these people...they haven't eaten in a while."

---

"Don't worry about the lights, just focus on the camera" Axel Skov said, pacing alongside the desk in the King's office in Absalon Palace.

"You've spoken on television before?" Tobias asked, nervously adjusting in his chair.

"No...Your Majesty" Skov said with a smirk. He'd known the boy since he was seven. He met him, in this Palace, to grab him before the Syndicalists murdered him as part of their efforts to wipe out the Royal family.
"But I've seen William do it plenty. During the War, when he would make those public addresses to try and rally support."

Tobias nodded before changing the subject. "So just so you know Vince, there's something we need to talk about."

"Well this is a hell of a time to bring it up, isn't it?" Skov asked back.

"Just don't let me forget, it's important" the King replied, as the director behind the RÚV camera signalled it was almost time to go on air. Axel made a hasty exit as Tobias once more read over his prepared remarks and swallowed forcing the knot in stomach to at least flatten out if not untangle.


The lights come on, and the young King addresses his nation.

"To my countrymen, of all political stripes, and our gracious friends and allies. Thank you for being here with me tonight. We as a nation have been through so much. Over a decade of civil war is now behind us. It's time for all of us as Prydanians, not as Royalists, Syndicalists, Social Commonweathers, Liberals, or Conservatives, but as Prydanians to come together to help rebuild our country."

"As I speak to you now our gracious friends from Goyanes, Andrenne, Kanada, Xentherida, and the Hastfradic League, along with our own army, are in the process of delivering much needed food, supplies, and infrastructure repair to all corners of our island. We welcome them as one country with our gratitude and our everlasting friendship."

"We are also pursuing observer status in the Pan-Gotic Union. The war is over and it's time we once more welcome our friends, our brothers, and our sisters to our shores. It is important that we show the PGU, as well as the world as a whole, that this Prydania- the one we are building now- moves on from the mistakes that plagued the Social Commonwealth and Syndicalist regimes. No more will a Prydanian need to fear the government simply because of his or her political association."

"I am issuing two Royal decrees in the name of reconciliation and moving forward as one nation. All prison camp complexes constructed by the Social Commonwealth and Syndicalist regimes will be dismantled at the earliest opportunity."

"I am also granting amnesty to all members of the toppled Syndicalist Republic's armed forces from the rank of Major or their equivalency across the armed services downward. All officers still in custody will receive fair trials for their part in the Syndicalist regime and the war."

"I am not my cousin. I am not Stephen Toft. I am not Thomas Nielsen. No government under my reign will ever have a hand in purges of a political nature. I promise all of you that, in Prydania and beyond."

Absalon Palace, unlike Lion's Rest Castle, the large estates of the landed nobility, or the churches and cathedrals had remained relatively unmarked by the Syndicalist regime. The Syndicalist Republic had used it as the headquarters of their executive branch. And so it hadn't fallen into disrepair.
Still, workmen did what they could to remove the monuments to the failed communist regime, and to return the paintings and statues to their rightful place throughout the palace. Those that could be found anyway.

Tobias III, for his part, kept to his office and his bedroom. He had lived here until he was seven, but hadn't returned to it until the end of the Civil War, at the age of 22. He was still in awe of its grandeur.

"Axel" he smiled waving in Axel Skov, his chief of security and the man who had protected him for 15 years. The young king's eyes were wide with excitement.

"What can I do for you, Your Majesty?" he asked. His weary smile complimented by impeccable fashion sense. Ares always felt more comfortable in a suit than he did in fatigues, if the latter weren't necessary.

"Well" the King answered leaning forward in his chair and over his desk, "I want to make you Lord General of the Order of the Knights of the Holy Flame." He couldn't contain the smile across his face.

Axel, however, wasn't as giddy at the prospect. "No, absolutely not" he said almost instinctively.

Tobias just looked at his protector in disappointment..."what?" he asked softly. "I thought you'd be..."

"Honoured, Your Majesty?" Skov answered. "No. No, I'm not."

Tobias just grunted sitting back in his chair. "Why not?" he asked just as bluntly as Skov had answered.

"Because we're not just helping this country recover from Syndicalists. That's why. You need to remember that before the Syndicalists there was the Social Commonwealth. Stephen Toft and your cousin, Andrew III. And everything they did to 'help' get us where we are now."

"The Order of the Knights of the Holy Flame existed for over nine-hundred years before Toft and my cousin..." the King began before his protector cut him off. Most people wouldn't cut him off these days. He was King now. Skov could though. He practically raised the boy, and had kept him safe during the darkest days of his life.

"Yes Your Majesty. But none of that matters compared what the Order meant under Stephen Toft and your cousin. Dorian Lund, as Lord General, terrorized the populace of this island for eighteen years. No offence Your Majesty. But I won't follow in that monster's footsteps."

"You knew him. Didn't you?" Tobias asked softly.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. When SSI came under their control, well...Dorian and I didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. He probably drove me to William and the Royalist resistance more than anything your cousin or Toft did."

"So in a way" the King continued with a smile, "I should thank him. Because otherwise I wouldn't know you. And I'd probably have ended up dead if we never met."

"That's one way to look at it" Skov replied. "But I just take the world as it comes. I try not to give tyrants undue credit, even if they manage a miracle here or there by mistake."

"I just wanted to do my part. To get things back to 'normal...'"

"You don't know what 'normal' is, Your Majesty. with all due respect" Skov chuckled. "But just because we restored some of what was 'normal' doesn't mean it all has to come back."

"Just promise me that whatever we end up deciding, that you stay on" the young King asked.

"Absolutely Your Majesty. I haven't come this far to leave you to your own devices" he said with a chuckle.

"Thank you, for everything" Tobias said softly. "And please. I don't want to keep you."

Axel just stood, and nodded. "It was my honour, Your Majesty" he said, just before he turned to leave.

20 August 2017


In a attempt to repair relations with the rest of the world community, the new Samarian government decided to help with reconstruction efforts in Prydania by sending aid. But in order to do so, they must first make contact with the Royalist government, who has now taken control of the situation in their nation.

---

This has been sent to Prydania in this nation's respective language.

MESSAGE FROM THE PRIME MINISTER OF SAMARIA​

To the government of Prydania,

We come to you to ask if you would like us to assist in rebuilding your nation.
We have heard that your nation was devastated in a civil war, and you intend to make new changes to your nation. We wish to give you supplies and aid to your nation, in order to help you rebuild your nation.

In addition, we would like to have talks with you, and discuss building relations between the two of us.

I hope that we will be able to assist you, and that this becomes the start of a new friendship.

Sincerely,

William Staedtler
Prime Minister
Kingdom of Samaria

William Aubyn read the letter sent from his Samarian counterpart. He rubbed his temple under his glasses as he set it down, and poured a glass of akvavit, sipping it as he waved in Harold Daaé in. The Minister of Foreign Affairs sat down across from his desk, the lights of Beaconsfield illuminating the cranes engaged in construction projects visible in the window behind the Prime Minister.

"So..." the Minister said, motioning to the letter on the desk.

"Exactly" Aubyn responded, sitting up in his chair. "The PGU won't be happy. Not that I blame them at all, mind you. But you know the saying. We can't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"I wouldn't think of it like that" Daaé replied. "The PGU has been gracious and generous. I'll contact my counterparts among the PGU. You need to talk to Admiral Forden."

Aubyn picked up the phone, dialing the number of the Goyanean admiral directing his country's relief efforts.

"Yes, Admiral? There's something we need to discuss."

---

"I can't believe this horseshit" Anders Mathiasson shook his head. That "king" the Royalists had installed just pardoned most of Syndicalist soldiers in custody. The Civil War was effectively over. No drafted Syndicalist soldier was going to keep fighting. Not if he was just granted a pardon by the young puppet the class enemies had installed. No one was going to risk a second chance at just keeping his head down...
"They're just going to drain us through apathy...I swear. If I ever see one of those traitors I'll shoot him."

"That's not going to get those damn PGU pigs outta here, now is it?" Anthony Jacobsen replied calmly. "We get them outta here, we can topple this sham government."

"Then you'll like this" Mathiasson said with a smile. "More guns. Coming in. From our friends."

Jacobsen grinned. More guns. More opportunities to harass the PGU until they just decided it wasn't worth it to stay...

Thousands of Kanadians are freezing and fighting brutally through the new, falling snow. Even as crises continues and the economy begins to shake under pressure due to the conflict, and the morale drops lower on both sides. Even as the Kanadian throne has a dagger sticking out of it's back, a letter is made to the Prydanian government, offering the aid as promised.

Official Letter sent to the Prydanian Government. Sent August 27th.:

To whom it may concern,

Kanada is now prepared to send food and building aid to the nation of Prydania in order to assist the country. Tonnes of food have been loaded onto freighters, and are prepared to send at your notice.

As you may have heard, Kanada has multiple rebels conducting operations, but it's nothing major. We will still be able to help your nation, and take care of the problem within ours.

Johann W. Leonit

Kanadian Prime Minister.

Click to expand...

---

A Kanadian Royal Air Force engineer sat in a lawnchair, watching over at the secluded airstrip surrounded by high trees and bright spotlights, which were always on to be seen through heavy snowfall. He sat comfortably with his white longcoat, watching the endless stream of Goyanes planes land and take off. All the Kanadian airplanes had been flown out of the airstrip, and the repair engineers were left with nothing to do but shout friendly, joking jeers at the pilots below, and occationally point them in the direction of where they could refuel.
The man stood from his seat, and slid down the somewhat steep side of a small, snow covered hill. He walked down towards the pavement, looking at some of the chilled soldiers waiting for their turn to takeoff. He grinned widely and yelled in a naturally booming voice, in Andrennian with a hope they'd understand, "We've got coffee, if you'd like some!"

1203 LOCAL TIME // APPROXIMATELY 15 NM SOUTH-SOUTHEAST OF PRYDANIAN COAST

The wind chopped across the starboard side bridgewing, momentarily buffeting the man standing there with binoculars as he scanned the horizon. The man's striking blue eyes flicked back and forth, eagerly scanning for a visual on land. His eyes caught something, and he immediately brought his attention back to the barely discernible strip of green far off on the horizon. With a grin, he strode back onto the bridge, dothing his foul weather jacket and setting it over the back of his chair.

"Set a course - bearing zero-two-zero, all ahead full," the Admiral said, taking his seat and watching the whitecapped waves roll through the forward viewport.

"Set a course - bearing zero-two-zero, all ahead full, aye cap'n," the Officer of the Deck repeated back, then turned to give the orders to the helmsman and throttleman.

Admiral Faust Soka? directed his gaze to his left, briefly viewing the RADAR contact picture, able to see the entirety of his fleet - all 17 vessels - sailing in formation around his flagship, the RoMS Uporište. The man couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride, knowing that all these pieces were coming together to make Task Force 111 run smoothly and efficiently. He knew the crew was tired and they were far from home in waters that may or may not be exactly friendly, but their work was far from done. They were sent to lend aid to Prydania, small island nation in what he supposed would be classified as an inland sea of sorts, recovering from the effects of a particularly harsh civil war. They were a kingdom, ruled by a newly-crowned King Tobias III, and were still recovering from the effects of a syndicalist regime. At the behest of President Gogovi?, Task Force 111 would be providing aid to the Prydanians 'in any form or shape they desire,' as his President put it.

The only thing that even remotely concerned Faust right now were the Goyaneans. They had arrived well in advance and, although they were kind enough to allow the Presidential Task Force to transit through their waters, he had no idea if they were remotely friendly or would take offense to such a large naval force approaching them in Beaconsfield's harbor. Faust didn't want to step on any toes and potentially founder relations between Mouxordia and Goyanes, let alone in waters that were neither of theirs. For that reason alone he had been actively transmitting over-the-horizon RADAR for the past hour or so, which served the dual-purpose of providing valuable navigational aid in unfamiliar waters but also broadcasted their presence well beyond the 12 nautical mile visual detection distance on the open seas.

"Cap'n," the Communications Officer (COMMO) said, gaining Faust's attention, "We have unenciphered radio chatter over channels one through twelve. Sounds Goyanean."

Faust left his captain's chair and sidled up next to COMMO, donning a set of headphones to listen as well. Although Faust didn't speak Goyanean, he knew what it sounded like, and it was indeed Goyanean. "Very well," he said, dothing the cans, "Broadcast over open frequencies the message we prepared. Send a notice to all Task Force vessels that we are broadcasting over open frequencies and to be on their toes - no one is to open fire on anything unless fired upon first. Also send a message to Admiral Topolovec on the Mošordia to ready his birds for humanitarian aid."

COMMO repeated back his orders and began to transmit their message in accented Mercanti, "Attention. Attention. Attention. This is the flagship RoMS Uporište, Task Force One-One-One of the Republic of Mouxordia, broadcasting on all frequencies, hailing any military or port authority of the Kingdom of Prydania or the Imperial Republic of Goyanes. We are a Task Force of seventeen surface combatants and three submarines. We are currently radiating over-the-horizon RADAR and lie approximately 12 nautical miles south-southeast of Prydania's coast. We offer humanitarian aid and come in peace. How copy, over?"

Faust leaned back in his chair and listened as the COMMO switched frequencies and repeated the message. Someone was bound to pick up.

"RoMS Uporište, this is the Port Authority of the Kingdom of Prydania, for the city of Beaconsfield" a voice replied, speaking Mouxordian with a Prydanian accent.
"You are cleared for port."

---

General Niels Hamar, Duke of Krummedike, watched as the ships came in. Soldiers hurried out alongside side him to secure the harbour. Mouxorida was friendly, he knew that much. Besides, he was the perfect person to welcome them. He was overseeing the Royal Prydanian Army's own relief efforts from Beaconsfield. He would know how to direct the Mouxoridian aide.

1305 LOCAL TIME // BEACONSFIELD HARBOR, KINGDOM OF PRYDANIA

Faust clasped his hands behind his back as he watched the crew moor the Uporište to her assigned location on the pier. His icy blue eyes scanned the concrete landing, spying a stationary figure amidst all of the busy-bodies. Clearly, that was the man in charge. His eyes, although sharp, couldn't see the details at this distance, but he could see quite a bit of gold adorning the man. Since he was watching the task force moor, Faust surmised that he was here to greet them.

"Admiral," a gruff voice greeted from behind him, "You wished to see me?"

Faust turned, eyeing the Colonel in his woodland battle-dress uniform, holding his red beret in his left hand. "I do, Colonel," he said, walking past the shorter stockier man back onto the bridge, "Walk with me." The Colonel easily caught up as they both proceeded out of the bridge and down the main passageway of the Uporište. "A Prydanian officer has come to greet us. No doubt he is in charge of the humanitarian efforts here. I want you to meet and coordinate with him. See if he needs any of our manpower to assist in any way possible."

Colonel Vidas nodded, "Of course, sir."

"And arm your Marines. We're here to help, but we don't know the extent of the situation yet. Our own safety is paramount. I don't want us caught with our pants around our ankles." Vidas merely chuckled. Faust couldn't help but smile either, "I'm serious, Bruno. And whatever Marines aren't being used for security or patrol are going to help with the supplies."

"Aye aye, Admiral," the Colonel replied, preceding the Naval officer down the brow and donning his beret as the bosun's whistle sounded both his and the Admiral's leave from the ship. A half-dozen of Mouxordian sailors, armed with the U3P2 assault rifle native to all of Mouxordia's armed forces, met them as escorts on the pier. Not that it was particularly needed. Nearly every individual on the pier gave the small group a wide berth as they continued to moor and throw lines to the task force vessels.

Faust approached the officer he'd seen earlier from the bridgewing. He exchanged a salute with the man as he approached, then extended his hand out in greeting. "Admiral Faust Soka?, Republic of Mouxordia Navy," he said in accented Mercanti, then gestured to the Colonel to his right, "This is Colonel Bruno Vidas, Republic of Mouxordia Marines. Thank you for the safe harbor. We come bearing food and medical supplies. The Colonel can lend you his help with security and patrols. What can we do for the Kingdom of Prydania?"

"General Krummedike, Royal Prydanian Army Central Command" Niels replied, shaking the Admiral's hand. "On behalf of His Majesty's government I welcome you to Beaconsfield" he added with a smile and a nod. Niels Hamar, Duke of Krummedike was an older man. And a hardened one. He'd cut his teeth in the Civil War, and was one of the few remaining members of the Prydanian aristocracy that was an adult prior to the Syndicalist seizure of power.

"We can coordinate your relief efforts with the Goyaneans. You and I can discuss the specifics with Admiral Forden. Colonel Vidas, we have use for your marines. We've been dealing with increased Syndicalist activity in the countryside west of here. It wasn't enough the damn bastards ruined the countryside, now the holdouts are shooting at any military vehicle- Prydanian or Goyanean- that they come across" he shook his head.
"Regardless, we to neutralize that so all of our soldiers and engineers can finish the work that needs to be done so we can get back to feeding ourselves."

"Welcome to Prydania Admiral, Colonel. I truly wish you could have seen our country under better circumstances. God willing you will soon enough."

---

Marianne Toft held the Ceretisian passport in her hand, looking it over. Marceline le Fay...she had mixed feelings now that the moment was here. She had dreamt that when she returned home she'd enthusiastically toss her alias aside. Now though? She felt a fare bit of sentimentality. Yes, the name meant hiding. It meant longing for home. It also kept her safe. And served as her face to the world for fifteen years.
She took a deep breath. No use in putting it off. She stood and walked over the roaring fireplace and tossed the passport in the flames. Her final act before accepting her homeland once more.

"We're ready for you Ms. Toft" a cagey looking man informed her, looking in from the next room. The safehouse wasn't much. Three rooms in the countryside. Out of the way, where no one would notice. The dreariness amplified by the overcast skies. The dim lights and the roaring fire the only source of warmth.
So much of a non-issue of a place that Marianne could hear what they were discussing in the next room, before they were "ready for her." Not that it mattered in the end, anyway.

She just smiled though. "Thank you" she said, following the man into the next room. There must have been ten or so of them. A few wearing Royal Army uniforms. A few in civilian clothing. One even wore an old Barghest uniform. Oh the Barghest. Black-clad Social Commonwealth thugs pretending to be military men, enforcing her father's will.
How long must that uniform have been in hiding? The full fifteen years probably. Neither the Royal Ascendancy Front or the Syndicalists would have taken well to it. And he took it out to wear for her.

"Brothers of the Social Commonwealth" the cagey looking man said, motioning to Marianne. "Today is a good day. We welcome Marianne Toft, daughter and only child of our leader, Stephen Croft, back to our country. May God rest your father's soul my lady" he said, with a bow of his head.

Marianne was a bit taken back. Her father was no nobleman. He came from a farming family, from Sarum. He wanted to be neither a farmer or a member of the clergy. And so became a solider before becoming a politician. He was salt of eras. His friendship with the late King Andrew III not withstanding. And yet here she was. A "lady" apparently. Her father's brand of romantic nationalism must have been potent to stick fifteen years and two regimes later. No doubt the man in the Barghest uniform fancied himself a knight, more so then the real ones in Prydania.

"I'm honoured" she said with a soft smile. "I left Prydania when I was fifteen. Half my life has been spent away from home. I'm happy that time has past. You forget the little things. The smell of the air, or the shape of the countryside. And then when you see it, all of those hidden memories you haven't thought of in years rush back to you. It's overwhelming in a way, but it just serves to remind me why I have returned."

"Out of love for your country!" a one of the men in army uniforms proclaimed.

"Indeed" the man in the Barghest uniform said. "You've come at the perfect time. The others, who remember what your father did for this country, will flock to you. The Provisional Government will turn to us too, when they see the support you garner. They'll have to. Aubyn and his cronies. They're all weak. They were weak when your father ran them out of Parliament! They're weak now too!"

Just then the door was kicked open, flash grenades blinding everyone. Royal Prydanian Army soldiers forced everyone to the ground, cuffing them with zipties, save for Marianne. Instead the commanding officer moved her out of the house.

"Ms. Toft, Ms. Toft, can you see?" he asked, moving his finger from side to side as soldiers pulled the various Social Commonwealth supporters from the old country house.
Marianne just nodded, her blurred vision returning to something approaching normalcy. "Yes...Sir" she said, nodding, slightly panicked.

"Lieutenant Colonel Ward will do Ms" the officer said, wrapping an arm around her as he lead her to a Royal Prydanian Army jeep.

"Traitorous bitch!" the man in the old Barghest uniform called out as he was being led out of the house.

Marianne turned to look at him. She said nothing but glare before turning back around to let the Lt. Colonel escort her to the jeep.

"We owe you a great deal of thanks for the tip Ms. Toft" he said, helping her in. "There are still a few Syndicalists cells holding out in the south. We didn't imagine there were many SoCom holdouts after all of these years..."

"I sincerely hope my list could help with that" Marianne replied. "Anything I can do to make up for what my family did."

Lt. Colonel Ward just smiled. "I'm sure the Provisional Government would love to hear that."

"I'm counting on it" Marianne replied smiling. It was good to be home.

(August 30th)
A radio crackle sounded in the quiet room overlooking the harbor. The sun was just coming up, and only three dockyard workers were up in the contacting tower. One man bent over a moniter tuned into the frequency and listened in.
"..repeat, this is the KRS Ovtache, leading ship in the flotilla heading towards Prydania. Do we have full permission to leave harbor?" The young man clicked on the microphone, "Calgary Harbor Contact Tower, one moment, please."
He tapped into his computer and peered through a spreadsheet, before leaning back towards the microphone, "Affirmative, you may leave harbor." He reached to turn off the microphone and the response soon came, "Thank you."

---

(September 4th)
The ships, four cargo freighters and an unarmed destroyer, crashed through the choppy waves just off the Kanadian shore. It wasn't uncommon to see rainfall and lightning in the distance, and definitly wasn't impossible to get stuck in a storm. As the new month came, the ships became surrounded in a flurry of rain and mist, and the constant shout from sailors across the deck was heard as the slip-slided around to their stations. When the storm was off, nearly two inches of rain pooled at the bottom of the KRS Ovtache, and more on the other ships.
That gave a job to the bored sailors, contant pumping and draining. By the time the ships saw the shore of Prydania, the hulls were empty, but still damp. After finding the radio contact to Beaconsfield Harbor, the Admiral, Johann Auftasen, picked up the radio microphone in the bridge of the ship, speaking in his low voice in fluent Mercanti, "Attention. This is Kanadian Admiral Auftasen of the Kanadian Royal Ship Ovtache, leading Royal Flotilla Oh-Nine-Two. I am in an unarmed destroyer followed by four cargo freighters filled with aid for your nation. We request entry to your harbor, and can view the entrance on the horizon." He repeated the message once again before ending it with an 'over'.

0800 METTERRAN MEAN TIME (MMT) // PALA?A ORLOVA, CERŠTUVA, REPUBLIC OF MOUXORDIA

Andrej sat at his desk in the Pala?a Orlova*, spinning the pen in his hand. He felt that what he had penned was... sufficient, but it still lacked. He wanted to be sure the King and Prime Minister of Prydania properly understood the message he was trying to send, but without trying to seem like he was kissing ass or expecting something in return. With a quirk of the brow, he continued to write.

As he signed his named with a flourish at the bottom, there was a knock at the door. "Come in," he said, not looking up at the portal as he blew on the parchment to dry the ink.

"Mister President," his Chief of Staff Anja greeted as she stepped into the office and softly shut the door, carrying an armful of paperwork that needed various amounts of attention, "Some bills that require your approval."

"Work never ends," he chuckled with a smile as he folded the parchment into thirds and slid it into an envelope. Andrej then took the small pot of golden wax that had been heating and poured a glob onto the upper flap. Placing the small wax pot back, he then took the Seal of Mouxordia stamp into his fingers and pressed it onto the wax. And there, in all its small glory, was a sealed letter to King Tobias III of Prydania. The five-pointed star atop a field of nine vertical stripes looked back at him with a welcoming gaze. He slid the envelope to Anja as she set the paperwork on his desk. "To the King of Prydania, please, Anja," Andrej said with a warm smile.

Taking the letter in hand, she handled it almost reverently. "Of course, Mister President," she piped back eagerly.

---

1306 LOCAL TIME // BEACONSFIELD HARBOR, KINGDOM OF PRYDANIA

Admiral Faust eyed the Goyanean vessels moored on the pier over as the General spoke. "We're here to help you make those better circumstances a reality, General," Faust replied, then turned to Bruno, "Colonel, coordinate with the Prydanian and Goyanean ground forces and root out those Syndicalists." Colonel Vidas saluted and smartly turned to carry out his task.

Faust turned back to General Krummedike with a lopsided smile on his face, "To Admiral Forden, then?"

---

*Pala?a Orlova: The Palace of the Eagles. The seat of the Executive Branch of the Republic of Mouxordia and the President's home.

Absalon Palace was a very old place. You wouldn't know it by looking at it but it was. Most of the building dated to 1794, but itself was built over an older palace which was built over an older palace, and so forth. All the way back in the murkiness of time. The earliest structure was the original Castle Absalon, which served as the home of the Marshal of Beaconsfield. It predated even Vortgyn I's unification of the nation, and was the castle he took up residence in when Beaconsfield proclaimed him and his heirs to be the Marshals of the city in perpetuity.
Most of that structure had either been integrated into newer parts of the building many times over. Or if not that, then ruins in the deep crypts that lay under the modern palace.

The throne room was itself newer, built during the reign of Tobias I. It had been built around, integrated into every newer addition, eventually outfitted with the comforts of modernity. And yet the old style remained...wood-lined walls, a tiled pattern reminiscent of of the art of the Nords, alternating teal and a rustic red. The wooden pillars carved with more patterns reflecting Prydania's North Gotic roots.
The thick wooden Lion's Throne, dating from Tobias I's reign as well, sat in the middle of a platform, itself three steps above the rest of the room. Stained glass windows lined the wall behind the chair. Each depicting a scene of royal Prydanian history. A red lion- the lion of Vortgyn- battling with the gold lion of his rival Aethas. Scenes of elk among the forests, all leading to the centre window- the previous red lion entangled with the green serpent of Lothbrok. The emblem of the royal lineage since 1902.
Surprisingly only the windows and the throne had to be restored when the palace was re-taken from the Syndicalists.

Tobias found himself in the room, sitting on his throne. A truly rare occurrence for a monarch these days. He even looked vaguely kingly. Wearing the red, black, and gold ceremonial jacket that was common for Prydanian monarchs. Of course he wore it open, over top a simple white cotton shirt and khaki slacks. One did not develop a taste for finer clothes when serving as the figurehead for an underground insurgency. Still, the jacket interested him, even if he preferred to wear it casually when not in the public eye.
And the throne? The war was, in part, to see that there was a monarchy in Prydania. The old styling of the room, only modernized and touched up when needed over the centuries, helped him feel a sense of connection to his ancestors. That was what was important about this king business, right?

And so he sat on his throne, a throne that dated to the 11th century CE, holding the letter from the President of the Republic of Mouxordia. He read it again.
William had seen it. The cabinet had seen it. Vince had seen it. All had their ideas, but he was asserting the power of his office for once. They didn't seem to mind, once he has convinced them he wasn't going to start a war via the post office.

The fact was, he just didn't know what to say. He wasn't even 25, and he was the head of state of a nation. He wasn't trained in the art or responsibilities of kingship. He lived most of his live on the run, from safe house to safe house. Even when the War turned in the Royalists' favour, he had to be cautious. And here he was, king of a country that hurt.
What could he say to those who offered aide, who offered friendship, when they weren't obliged to? He'd made speeches, and addressed foreign diplomats before, but it was brief. This was...personal. President Gogovi? didn't have to send him this letter. He did though. So he read it again, and thought, finally getting up from that very old chair.
He left the throne room, enjoying the quiet walk to his office. He sat down and picked up a pen, and just began to write, whatever came to mind. Finally, he was happy with what he had written. Sealed with wax, he called in his aide.
"Kasper, bring this to Minister av Rana. Have him deliver it through the Ministry to President Gogovi? of Mouxordia" he said in a soft tone.

"Of course Your Majesty" the former aide-de-camp to the current Prime Minister back during the Civil War said with a slight bow, taking the letter...

---

General Krummedike nodded. "To the Admiral then. He'll put us all to work, I'm sure" he said with a chuckle.
"Colonel Vidas, you should meet with Colonel Bech. He's been coordinating our efforts against Syndicalist cells here in the south" the general added. It wasn't just the flood water that needed to be drained for the countryside. That much was sure.

---

"Admiral Auftasen, KRS Ovtache, this is the Port Authority of the Kingdom of Prydania, permission to dock" a voice replied in Mercanti before switching to Andrennian.
"And welcome to Beaconsfield!"

Axel Skov watched the ship approaching through binoculars. He had just confirmed his men were in position to secure the site. He glanced down. The King was ready. The Mouxordia mission had caught the government off guard, but His Majesty would be there to greet the Kanadians. Vince knew he insisted on it personally, much to his own irritation. Keeping a king safe was bad enough. A king that insisted on meeting publicly with delegates was even worse. He couldn't blame him, of course. Still...

As the request for entry was granted, the group of ships entered the dockyards with a greeting of wistle shrieks and the occational foghorn. The looming ships fit together in a section of harbor, with mooring connected and fenders dropped below into the sea. The gangway doors were opened, and the Kanadian sailors waved their caps down at the Prydanian dockworkers. Orders were shouted in Kanadie, and gangplank-like ramps were lowered from the ships. On the KRS Ovtache, the Admiral stepped down the ramp towards the dock.
He was flanked by two mariners, armed with unloaded bolt action rifles, who emerged after him and followed him carefully as he glanced around the dockyard. Auftasen took his cap off his head, revealing an uncombed mess of light blonde hair, and looked over at the cargo ships, holding plenty of food for the struggling Prydanians. He eventually made it to the King, and bowed dutifully, "Your Majesty," he spoke in soft Andrennian, "It is my pleasure to meet you. We have plenty of food supplies from Kanada, which we can transfer to your people. We know heavy damage has been taken from the war, and if you need our help to build or rebuild anything, we have three platoons of Army Engineers."

Tobias wore the same red jacket he'd worn when he penned the letter to the Mouxordian President, only now done up. Paired with black slacks and polished boots, it was probably the most formal he ever look, safe for his coronation. He had insisted on the red jacket, with a high black collar, trimmed in gold. It was a traditional outfit associated with the Prydanian crown. Besides, the alternative was a full military uniform. He may be Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, but the idea of displaying that any more than his duties required didn't sit well with him. William, Axel, and Duke Krummedike had won the Civil War. Not him.

He offered the Kanadian Admiral a smile as he looked up from his bow and responded in Andrennian.
"Admiral, on behalf of Prydania, I both welcome and thank you, your nation, and Her Majesty. I hope to one day offer what I can to pay back Queen Grace, at least in part. Until that day I am relieved to hear that your army is close to ending the Sundeon rebellion."

"May I present William Aubyn, my Prime Minister" he added, looking over his shoulder. The Prime Minister of the provisional government stepped forward, his greying red hair, dark rimmed glasses, and a weathered face that of a man who had seen more than any one man should have to see. He extended his hand to the Admiral.

"Admiral Auftasen, it's an honour" he said in a voice that managed to be both soft and gruff at the same time. "Your engineers are badly needed in the south. Levies that need to be fixed. Farm land that needs to be drained back into the sea. Our Goyean friends have been working tirelessly, but with your help, and a joint operation to press the Syndicalist holdouts? We should be seeing real progress, God willing."

---

Matthew Eriksen, the Home Secretary, enjoyed his small office. Room 808, Parliament's East Wing. It was small, out of the way given such a high level cabinet position. The relative solitary was ideal though. The more dirty aspects of his job- particularly now- were best plotted in an out of the way alcove.

"We can't thank you enough Ms. Toft" he said as he leaned back in his chair. Marianne just smiled.

"I'm sure you could if you tried. Syndicalist cells blowing up Prydanian and PGU aide convoys. It must be quite a relief that you no longer have to worry about the same from the other side."

Eriksen chuckled, promoting Marianne to raise an eyebrow. "Staving off a right wing insurgency is funny?" she asked.

"No, excuse my manners" Eriksen replied as he composed himself. "The same from the other side. That's funny though. If you think about it. The PGU? Neither the Social Commonwealth fascists or Syndicalist communists like it, and condemn our membership in it. Of course the reasoning is funny too, if you look at what both say. If you ask Nielson's old lot of coal miners the PGU's imperialist swine. Which is what they say about the SoComs too. Of course the your father's fascists think the PGU's a neoliberal shitshow oozing false pretensions of morality. Which, if you think about it, is what they also think of the Syndicalists. And both want to kick the PGU out and toss us back into the black abyss of dictatorship."

"That's an awfully long-winded way of explaining the horseshoe theory" Marianne replied cold faced.

"Not just the horseshoe theory" Eriksen came back with. "Both sides see the modern, constitutional monarchy we're building as something corrupt. And both are yelling about it at the top of their lungs. When really, if you think about what they're saying, they're yelling at each other. Which I wouldn't be inclined to stop, except that they yell with bullets and bombs while we're stuck in the middle."

Marianne shrugged "if you're looking for a justification of my father's movement then I'm afraid I'm of no use to you. I was fifteen when the Syndicalists took over, and I was remarkably apolitical before that. Especially for a fascist dictator's daughter."

"So why did you do it?" Eriksen asked, leaning to one side in his chair. "The SoCom sells we routed out thanks to your help could have been your ticket to power."

"Maybe, but it would have been a long shot. I'm not so dumb to think a few cells of true believers of a dead ideology stand much of a chance against an army that just won a particularly brutal civil war."

"So your actions weren't exactly aultruistic then" Eriksen came back with.

"It's more complicated than a simple 'yes' or 'no' Home Secretary. I can tell you I have no love for my father's politics and I want to come home. Both of those are true. As is my belief that I've made my country a better place by giving you the list of those SoCom cells."

"You have to understand the government's concerns though. What your return could lead to."

"I'm the reason there are no more SoCom cells, Home Secretary. Believe me or not when I say I don't share my father's politics. But the fact remains that even if I did? I don't have any troops to lead in a glorious fascist insurrection. And any left that slipped through your fingers probably wouldn't follow me anyway after what I did" she said with a sly smile as she leaned over the Home Secretary's desk just a bit.

Eriksen looked down at the piece of paper for a moment before picking up a pen, signing it.
"There. You have the recommendation from the Office of the Home Secretary that your citizenship, and all due rights, privileges, and responsibilities be restored. I can't promise anything though. William likely won't be happy."

"And what will the King think?" Marianne asked.

"Whatever William tells him" Eriksen replied, motioning for the two soldiers standing by the door. The approached Marianne Toft.
"Ma'am?" one asked.

Marianne stood "of course boys, just doing your duty" she said with a smile as the two soldiers transported her back to her temporary quarters under lock and key in the recently re-established SSI building.

The trawler stopped miles off the coast, its lines dredging the sea for fish, down below the decks the chief engineer flipped two switches which caused the hull to vibrate heavily as the dragging weight was released. Beneath the waves the small submarine began it's run into the coast. Reaching the shore it surfaced and ran aground. The hatches popped open and the crew began unloading the cargo of guided AT rockets and assault rifles. Along with crates of ammo for both. The contacts arrived soon after and the cargo was loaded onto a number of trucks. The Sub pushed off and returned to the trawler. The operation took less than an hour, and the trawler began it's trip home

The Admiral smiled and waved at an officer to his right, who turned and scurried back up into a crowded gangway, "Why, of course. Our Engineering Corps would be happy to help. As for the food, it is on the cargo freighters. It is Kanadian cuisine, so do not worry, a good amout of bread, potato, and bratwurst. Should the food be given to your men, or do you need help to distribute it?"
The man finished his question as two neat columns of men in white camoflague speedily marched onto the docks, followed by another group of camoflagued soldiers. The officers shouted in Kanadie to them as jeeps and trucks filled with supplies were craned down by one of the freighters, which were taken by the soldiers and readied for action. The same commanding officer glanced at the admiral again, who flicked his wrist, and they were off into the streets and soon the countryside of Prydania.
"Do not worry," he said to the King and Prime Minister, "My men are experts at controlling the sea." He grinned to himself and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, "Mind if I smoke, your majesty?"

---

The loud jeeps thundered down the rubbled roads, nearly forty filled supply trucks and Willy jeeps moving in a convoy. Each man had a folded shoved under his bag, and a hammer hanging at their belts. Nearly every Kanadian port on their shore had bank levies, that were flooded over and broken through all the time by the fierce coastal storms.
As the group came to a stop over a flooded valley, just the first of many, they immediately began work, the little over a hundred of them beginning the backbreaking labor as night came.

Anthony Jacobsen banged the back of the last truck as the last of the crates were loaded in. If their intelligence reports proved to be trustworthy? They'd get back before the Prydanian, PGU, or Mouxordian patrols found them.

---

Tobias just nodded at the Kanadian Admiral with a soft smile "go ahead." Truth was that he'd grown accustomed to smoke. Men liked to smoke when they were in hiding. It was one of the few things they could do if they knew it wouldn't cause detection. He'd grown up around resistance fighters smoking his whole life.

The Prime Minister observed the Kandian troops. "I'm sure they are, Admiral. The legacy of the Kanadian navy is well known and well regarded in Prydania. I know we all feel safer with your men and ships helping protect our coastlines."

He turned to observe the crates of food being lowered from ships.
"Our own soldiers can distribute most of the food themselves. The Royal Army has been on disaster relief footing since the Civil War ended. The problem's always been the lack of food. The sooner the levies are repaired, the landmines cleared, and farmland restored? The better off we'll be."

---

Warren Tristard watched as the jeeps pulled up alongside the coast. He smiled. The Goyeans were working on clearing the mines, and now Kanadians were fixing the levies. Once the levies were fixed and the farmland reclaimed? They'd need field hands. That sounded like good, honest work that might pay well. Especially with food at a premium.
He heard gun shots in the distance and ducked behind an old wooden fence that was still standing. He peeked up. The Kandians were looking up too, their armed escorts on alert. It didn't seem to phase them though. Pockets of Syndicalist resistance in the distance, probably clashing with the Prydanian, PGU, or Mouxordian patrols.
Warren noticed a Kandian officer get on the radio. Warren didn't speak Kanadie, not that he was close enough to hear anyway. He guessed that whatever caused the gunfire in the distance wasn't a threat though, as the Kanadian officer nodded to what appeared to be his lieutenant. The workers just kept on at their work.

Not that the work was interesting. Digging and fixing broken levies certainly wouldn't be exciting to many 20 year olds. Warren watched though. Partially because it was one of the few things to do- watch armies repair infrastructure- that didn't grind him down. The other reason was perhaps one he wasn't fully aware of. As dull as these men fixing levies were? What they were doing was one of the few productive things he'd seen happen in his country his entire life.

It was just before dusk as the patrol rolled into the small town known as Landerne. The patrol consisted of two M1117 APC models. 16 troops, and 6 operators for the all terrain vehicles. They pulled up to the town hall, where the mayor was waiting for them. They were to confer with the mayor to see how things were going in the town, and if they needed any assistance.

Lieutenant Jonsson disembarked the APC and entered the town hall with the mayor. About 4 other men went in with him, and the others stood guard around the various entrances and around the APC's.

Private Kuling had recently joined the Army, and was sent to the Prydanian peacekeeping and aid operation as his first deployment. Little did he know, this was going to be his last.

As the Lieutenant walked out of the town hall, shaking the mayor's hand, and getting back into the APC, Pvt. Kuling was shot by a Syndicalist militiaman.

The other men saw the shooter, laying prone on a rooftop with a rifle, and began to return fire, as the medic tended to the dying soldier.

It took almost a week of deliberation, but the compassionate yet cautious semi-gridlock that is the Thenacan Parliament finally approved an aid mission to the civil-war-torn nation of Prydania.

---

The following message was delivered through diplomatic channels and translated into Prydania's native language:

To the Government and People of the Kingdom of Prydania.

It has come to our attention the desperate needs of your nation. And while the international community has responded already with words and actions of help, we have sat here debating the concerns and costs of helping a nation so far away.

Today, those concerns have been brought to rest, and we will contribute our share in this time of need. A large aid mission will be sent to designated retrieval sites of your choosing, pending your decision to accept this aid mission.

The aid mission itself will consist of: 12 cargo jets containing several tonnes of supplies, transporting vehicles, and the Peace Helper Company of our special-forces.

We hope this offer of assistance will prove useful in your nation's recovery, and create a lasting friendship between us.

Signed:
Albert Langley, Minster of Foreign Affairs for the Commonwealth of Thenaca.

Anders Mathiasson ducked as his comrades revealed themselves, approaching the primary entrance to the town hall. He popped up again from his spot on the roof, taking aim at another Goyanean soldier. He managed to hit his target despite the return fire, but he couldn't confirm the kill right away. The return fire had caused him to flinch, and he may have hit the solider in the armour. He hid as the firefight raged, emerging again to take another shot. This time a Goyanean bullet found him, striking his shoulder.

"Fucking hell!" he cried out, falling back on the roof.
He grunted and forced himself to his feet as he ran across the roof, paying no heed to the ambush on the ground. He was getting out. There was a safe house in town, one that hadn't been wiped away by the flooding. He'd lay though...he just had to get off this roof...

He jumped, landing in an open dumpster, struggling to get himself to his feet and pull himself out with only one good arm. Only to find himself staring down the barrel of an automatic rifle in the hands of a soldier of the Royal Prydanian Army.
"Scum" the solider grunted, pulling him onto the pavement as a fellow Prydanian solider restrained him.

Anders was dragged forward out of the back alley, to the Goyanean APCs out in front of the town hall. Lieutenant Jonsson and the mayor had emerged from the building now that the Syndicalist attackers had been restrained or eliminated.

"Got the shooter" Private Frandsen announced in Andrennian, forcing Anders to his knees in front of the Goyanean Lieutenant...

---

---

On the runway of the Fort Talmain airbase, October 3rd, 2017, 5:34AM

"Base Flight Control, this is Mama Bird-01 leading the Flock. Requesting permission to take-off, over."

"Mama Bird-01 and Flock, this is Base Flight Control, request is green-lit. Proceed to take-off, over."

"Roger, Base Flight Control. Proceeding to take-off, over-and-out." "To all Little Chicks, this is Mama Bird-01. Operation Northern Christmas is a-go, Operation Northern Christmas is a-go. Godspeed people."

The jet leading the aid mission was the command plane, call sign Mama Bird-01. Besides carrying part of the cargo and personnel, it is outfitted with valuable communications equipment required to stay connected to home-command, as well as maintain unit coherence and mission updates for all ground units performing the mission. The plane itself was a mobile HQ and home to the operations commander.

In this case, that commander is also the leader of the Peace Helper Company, Captain Rebeca Williams. At just 30 years old, she's one of the youngest to ever command a whole company. But it was her idea, approved and created a mere 5 years ago.

The unit draws from both the engineer and medical corps, for those that wished to be on the front-lines of a humanitarian disaster no matter where in the world. Many of its members are proficient in multiple foreign languages, and the company itself is technically one of the few unarmed military units allowed to work in active war-zones.

The technical bit involves their only protection beside their body armor: a concealed pistol loaded with only non-lethal rubber bullets. Meant only to scare off hostile wildlife and the occasional violent criminal, it satisfies their 'unarmed' condition and their motto: "Make Peace and Love, not War or Hate."

---

Around 5 minutes off the coast of Prydania, October 3rd, 2017, 6:51PM

The 12 TCP-10s had made needed refueling stops within Iraelia and Sil Dorsett (using money that was in the approved mission budget). But after a little over 13 hours, they made contact with the flight control of Hadden, Prydania, the city they were to stay and commence their mission.
In a letter from Thenacan air-command, the government of the Kingdom of Prydania were told ahead of landing what to exactly expect from this convoy of cargo planes.

"Hadden Airfield Flight Control, this is Mama Bird-01, leading the Flock of Operation Northern Present. Requesting landing to commence aid mission, how-copy over?"

The firefight raged on, the soldiers picking off the Syndicalist militiamen one by one. In the seeming clear after the firefight, a Royal Prydanian Army soldier escorted the sniper before Lieutenant Jonsson, forcing him to his knees.

"Why look who he have here. The man who killed poor old Private Kuling. You are a sack of criminal dirt. And a communist."

He faced the Prydanian soldier. "Do what you have to do with him. And take Sergeant Krann with you."

---

[OOC: Small time warp about a week later, specifically for this post]

Private Kuling's casket and body were shipped into his hometown of Kestinna, Laggen. It was a decently sized city. They gave him a procession through the old High Street, before bringing him to the City Cemetary. There was a somber attitude in those who attended the funeral, procession, and interment. His family stood there, nearby to the priest, silently crying, as they lowered his casket into the pit. An army bugler played Sunset. He was the first, and hopefully the last Goyanean Army casualty in Prydania.

"Mama Bird-01" Hadden Airfield Flight Control responded in Mercanti, "you are cleared to land."

Hadden International Airport itself was slowly but surely being repaired. A Mouxordian crew was overseeing the work, as Prydanian soldiers patrolled the perimeter. Soldiers, jeeps, and trucks also waited at the end of the primary runway, ready to help the Thenacians move the supplies and food to the central hub for northeast Prydania to be distributed.

---

OSU Headquarters...it hadn't been OSU Headquarters in a long while, but it was again. Anders Mathiasson found himself sitting on a chair in the centre of a room covered floor to ceiling in white tile. Illuminated 24/7 by a cold, yet bright, light. His hands were cuffed behind him. Such rooms were installed by the Social Commonwealth fascists, though the Syndicalists had found them particularly useful.

A man wearing khakis, a tan sports jacket, brown loafers, and a cotton blue collared shirt walked in. He sported a fine watch. His hair was greying but still mostly black. Impressive for a man of 71.
Axel Skov looked the man over. Officially he was a former Lieutenant?Colonel from the Royal Marines who currently served as head of King Tobias III's security. Official records, however, didn't account for what he had done between him leaving the Marines and going underground to fight the Syndicalist regime. He'd been a government assassin. Working out of this very building before the Social Commonwealth and Syndicalist regimes tore the nation apart.

He pressed his palm against Mathiasson's forehead, tilting it back. "Still not talking?" he asked before pulling back and punching him across the face. He couldn't hit as well as he could have 33 years ago, but still. It felt good at least.

"Go fuck yourself, pig" the Syndicalist spat back, his body tense as he pulled against his restraints.

Skov just shook his head and grabbed the man by his cheeks, squeezing. "I'm afraid you don't get to play with me anymore. You had your chance at that. I'm going to have to bring in a friend."
He released the Syndicalist and walked over to the door, opening it and waving someone in. Sergeant Krann, a broad shouldered and hard looking man wearing Goyanean Army field dress entered.

"He's all yours" Skov said in perfect Goyanean. The Sergeant nodded. Most Prydanians who could speak Andrennian could be conversational in Goyanean, but Skov spoke the language fluently. The Sergeant would have to inquire about that. Later though. There was more immediate business to take care of at the moment.

"You're staying, right?" Krann asked in Goyanean. "Command insists your government be represented in all...interrogations."

"I'll be here" Skov answered, "but my government's interests won't stop you from doing what has to be done" he replied.

An angry Mathiasson growled "shut the fuck up with that and speak Prydanian" he said angrily in his native tongue.

Krann just approached the man "you don't like listening to Goyanean?" he asked in accented but otherwise fluent Prydanian.

"No...you're just some foreign bastard, from a foreign whore who came over here to prop up these monsters" the Syndicalist growled.

Krann punched the man across the face. This one hurting far more than the punch from the seventy-one year old man.
"I've read the reports" he said calmly, raising the bloodied face of the Syndicalist with a hand in his hair.
"You're a communist. You're not one to call anyone else a monster."

Mathiasson just laughed, prompting Krann to draw a baton from his belt to smack against the side of the communist's face.

"At least we're honest about what we are" Mathiasson said with a wicked smile showing through his bloodied visage.
"Your lot's hiding behind respectability but you're just rotten to the core."

Krann gripped the man's throat and squeezed...
"I'll be perfectly honest with you, little man. I don't give a crap about why you're doing what you're doing. Or why you want to continue shooting people after all of this" he said in a strangely calm voice through grit teeth as his muscles went tense.

"But you killed a man who had no business dying. A man who came here to help people because it was his duty. Do you understand that?"

Mathiasson just choked and glared at the Goyanean sergeant. Kann let him go so he could answer.

"I don't give a fuck about that boy. He was here helping the enemy. The enemy will be destroyed" he said stone faced.

"That's just not a good answer" Kann replied, walking behind the man to undo his cuffs, dragging his limp form to a table on the far side of the room. Skov followed, helping to subdue the struggling prisoner.

"Now let me tell you what a good answer is" Kann said calmly. "You're going to tell me all about your cell of communists."

Mathiasson clenched his jaw shut. Skov knew exactly what to do, and stretched a towel out over the man's face, strapping it in place before pouring water over it. Mathiasson struggled, thrashing against his restraints. Skov stopped the water and pulled the towel from his face.

"Your cell. Tell me about them" Kann repeated. Mathiasson struggled for breath, but didn't speak. Kann just shook his head. Skov placed the towel over his face again, and poured more water.

Both men could use some sleep. They'd been up since the attack. Still, both steeled themselves. They were prepared to keep this up all night. And only the gasping, muffled screams of the Anders Mathiasson could attest to it...