Firestarter

Xentherida

TNPer
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This thread is no longer for the 2nd Dučrijekan war, and is now solely focused on the terrorist attack on the Andrennian parliament and the build-up to war. If you are looking for the thread for the 2nd Dučrijekan War, click me here.




“I wish you good luck, my brother.”

The van was ready, its boot packed to the brim, its driver prepared to die for their cause. The fire would be rising upon Gothis in just a few short minutes.

Stojan now turned his attention to his comrades as they suited up, putting on their body armour and filling their magazines full of bullets, checking over their equipment and running over the plan.

“We’ll barely have a minute in there to smoke them before the damn Knights of Gyvn arrive. We need to be quick, we need to be effective, and we need to show those fucking Andrennians that we will never fall for their imperialism again.”

He took a quick glance at his watch. Their preparation time was up.



“In 100 metres take the next right.”

Kerim glanced at his satnav nervously. It was his time to shine.

He took the turn, and took a glance at the giant golden gates ahead of him at the end of the plaza. He pushed his foot down as hard as he could on the pedal, and the engine roared. The speedometer crept higher and higher, the gate approached closer and closer, until finally he collided with a massive SMASH.

The security guards opposite the gate had barely a second to process what had happened before there was an earth shattering BOOM, and the street was engulfed in fire, the guards’ bodies tossed aside like sticks in a fierce wind.

The gates were almost blown off their hinges, creaking slightly as they slowly swung as if in shock. The path into the parliament was now wide open, and Stojan’s men could begin their vengeance.
 
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Smoke rose into the air, clouding the beautiful midday sun in a noxious cloud as it began to ascend higher and higher. Broken bodies littered the street - from tourists who had been admiring Andrennian architecture, blissfully unaware of what was to happen, to security guards who had barely a second to respond before being explosively fragmented.

Barely a second after the debris had settled, two black SUVs thundered down the avenue, stopping just outside the parliament before spewing forth eight heavily armed militants. They took barely a glance at the scene outside before rushing into the compound.

In the first corridor, a pair of guards were putting up a limited resistance: the militants were forced to duck behind the many gigantic pillars that divided the room, before one of them leapt out and tore both the guards down in a deafening hail of automatic gunfire.

“You lot.” Stojan said, gesturing at four of the militants. “You go to the upper house. Us four will take the lower house.”

Guns raised, the remaining four slowly made their way to the giant oak doors at the end of the corridor. Their retribution would be here at last.

“Here we go.” Stojan whispered, and with a creak the lower house’s enormous oak doors slo-o-wly opened, revealing the hundreds of MPs cowering in their seats.

“FOR A FREE DUČRIJEKA!” he shouted, and all four opened fire. The screams of the MPs could barely be heard over the ear-shattering roar of the JP-61s, their sights flicking from one target to the next. Many could barely shelter themselves behind their chairs before being cut down by the merciless waves of bullets that threw themselves from the barrel of the assault rifles. Flesh was torn through, bones cracked, blood poured from wounds of the dying and wounded, but there would be no respite. No mercy. This was the fate that these imperialists had deserved for their centuries of oppression.

Thirty seconds of carnage.

Their job done, the militants fled the room, nodding at their comrades who had done the same to the other assembly. Now they just had to make their escape.

They rushed through the back alleys of the parliament, their footsteps echoing throughout the otherwise unnervingly silent hallways, until finally, breathless from exertion and shock, they took a minute to take a breather - a moment of respite, before they made their way through the final door and back outside onto the streets of Mitta. While they would hope that their escape would be successful, they knew, whether they made it or not, a fire had been started upon Gothis.
 
“You all know where the boat is, correct? Let’s make this fast and make it all home.”

Stojan took a deep breath, and slowly opened the parliament backdoor, revealing a noticeable absence of people behind it. That was a good start.

“Quickly. Down the ladder over there and get into the boat.”

One by one, the terrorists ran across the street, and hastily made their way down the ladder and into the boat, the only sound disturbing the silence of the afternoon being their footsteps as they began their escape.

Within a few seconds the whole squad of eight was in the speedboat, and with a quick rev, they began to race their way down the river.

Waves coursing against the boat’s hull, they ducked and weaved through bridge supports and zoomed straight past other boats, their occupants looking mystified as they observed the eight heavily armed and masked men whizz past them at high speeds.

But as they entered a particularly sharp turn, a sudden woosh caught Stojan’s attention. Something was wrong. The boat kept turning, and turning.

He turned to his left, and noticed his pilot slumped over the controls, a trickle of red oozing from his back.

“Khattab has died!” he shouted to his comrades as he lunged towards the wheel, but too late - before he could steer back away from the river’s sides, the speedboat ploughed into the wall, the portside fibreglass squeaking and shredding as it ground to a stop.

Another bullet whizzed past, barely missing Stojan’s head before impacting the water with a splash. In a panic, he scrambled up onto the river embankment, turning back to see another one of his compatriots be cut down by another bullet as he attempted to follow.

“Quickly, into this chapel!” he yelled, gesturing wildly with one arm, and the remaining six terrorists ran past scaffolding and scrambled their way into the building.

Inside was nearly pitch black - the only light source being a small window at the top, through which light feebly attempted to make its way through, scattering through dust particles as it attempted to brighten the damp and musty-smelling room.

It was a moment of reprieve for them - a moment to take a break and acknowledge the comrades they had lost. Khattab, Demir, both noble fighters for their cause. They had trained and fought together for years, and even repelled the forces of the Berović regime at Beyanika together. But their losses would not be in vain. They would begin the Duchrijekan rise to glory.

He snapped out from his thoughts, hearing talking outside. “Get ready,” he said quietly. “They’re coming in.”
 
Ka-crack! The shot of a sniper rifle sounded across the Adriennic River and struck it's target dead on. A shot through the heart. They dropped near-instantaneously. The man who fired it was Marijus Olsson. One of the Knights of Gvyn, an ancient order of the most elite units of Andrenne. They had managed to respond to the crisis at parliament in a matter of minutes. Even then they were too late. There could be no escape for them. No mercy. The Knights of Gvyn were the judge, jury, and executioner.

"They hit the wall. Suspects moving on foot."

Another shot from Marijus' marksman rifle rang out, just barely missing one of them and .

"Vuoggsia..." Marijus muttered. "Adrijan! Keep the damned chopper steady!"

Another shot and another dropped Duckie. A shot in the throat this time. A bad way to go out but Marijus didn't much care for how they died.

"They've fled into Niils Chapel. Six suspects left. Bring us around, Adrijan, we'll meet up with the ground team."

The helicopter swiftly banked left to the currently abandoned chapel. Meanwhile on the streets of Mitta the police had already arrived, sirens wailing. Though of course the Knights of Gvyn had beat them there; in an APC at that. They shuffled out of the heavily armored truck silently. Their blue and yellow patches on their shoulders indicated to the rest of the police of who exactly they were. That's all that was needed for them to step aside and let them go to work. The Knights stacked up around whatever possible exits there were.

"On my signal, all units breach and clear."

A moment of tense silence ensued as civilians gathered outside police barricades in a panic. Rain quietly pattered on the grey and black uniforms of the Knights. The royals lowered their 4-eyed goggles.

"Mark!"

Stained glass windows boarded up for construction and the skylight were shattered, thermal vision was activated, flash and smoke grenades were tossed, and every door of the chapel was near-simultaneously kicked in an impressive display of coordination. The only mercy that would be shown to these terrorists would be their swift deaths.
 
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It was a swift and brutal fight. It took only minutes for them to be dispatched. No survivors. No casualties taken on the part of the Knights of Gvyn. A smooth operation all things considered, something to be celebrated and yet... No celebrations would be had. There was only grieving. The Kingdom of Andrenne had been crippled. Over half of it's parliament dead or wounded. Even Artijom van Spaarva, the Prime Minister, had been wounded. A nation in crisis. What to do except demand justice? On a rainy morning in Mitta three days after the attack none other then the Grand King, Lukas II himself, spoke to the nation as a whole.

He cleared his throat. Lukas had never expected that he'd need to make a speech like this. Something so tragic and heartbreaking. The faces of the people in the crowd made him feel terrible. How could he look any of them in the eye and say things would be okay? He knew that wasn't the case.

"...To the loyal and brave citizens of the Kingdom of Andrenne. I know we are all grieving. I know we will continue grieving for centuries to come. This attack is the worst ever conducted on Andrennian soil. Worse then the Royal Massacre of 1932. Our ancestors look down upon us with pity. Despite this, we can not simply sulk in the rain and feel sorrow for ourselves any longer. It is often said that actions speak louder then words. I'm a believer of this so I won't keep you in suspense any longer but before I continue with that I would like to thank our loyal allies that have provided us support and kind words- but without further ado.."

Lukas rubbed his eyes for a moment. He looked tired, so, so tired. Pale, even. He hadn't shaved since the attack.

"From this point forward until the Right Honorable Prime Minister Artijom van Spaarva recovers and even henceforth I am enacting the Dawn Contingency."

Hushed murmurs arose from the crowd. Lukas raised his hand in a plead for silence.

"For those unaware the Dawn Contingency is a policy devised by my grandfather, Grand King Henry, may God rest his soul, in the case that something like this were to happen. It states that in the case of national emergency and impossibility of proper governance, until it is deemed no longer necessary as voted by parliament, the Grand King shall henceforth be given emergency executive powers. I know this will be controversial. There is no doubt about it. As your Grand King I must guide the people of Andrenne through these tough times. I can not lie. Parliament is crippled. Though it has unified for the time being with what it has left it is in no state to continue governance. I was given approval by the Parliament and the Right Honorable Prime Minister, Mr. van Spaarva, to enact the Dawn Contingency. It was agreed upon after the attack and ratified just hours before this speech."

The Grand King let his people talk among themselves for a moment. Reporters raised their hands, ravenous for answers, but were shooed off by Royal Guards who shouted that he will not be taking questions at this time. As they quieted down Lukas took a sip from his glass of ice water.

"Furthermore... We will not let this issue rest until justice has been dealt. We look to the nation of Dučrijeka and hope they do the honorable thing. We demand an apology of the highest degree. Reparations to the families of victims as well. There will be no concessions made. If they do not comply we will have to enact sanctions and, potentially, take more aggressive actions. We will be repealing any binding treaties to stop us."

Lukas scowled and stared at the cameras. His tone shifted to anger as he crumpled papers in his hands. He slammed a fist onto his podium.

"I say now to the President of Dučrijeka, to the cowardly politicians that hide behinds words in Brzevoda, whom I know shall be watching this, listen carefully! Duč rijeka will not go unpunished. No one will save you this time, not even Gojannesstad can bail you out! Be smart. Justice or death are your only two options. Andrenne will not back down again!"

With that he stomped off stage, prompting the crowd to go crazy with a scarily large amount of cheering and clapping. Cameras flashed and the Royal Guard had to stop reporters from following the Grand King. In the days following the speech radical new legislation fully establishing the Dawn Contingency was passed; Lukas had followed through on his speech as well and even got one very important piece of legislation repealed. The Treaty of Kjellsama, which had bound Andrenne to being a quiet and relatively peaceful nation, established in 1951 after Andrenne's loss in the Fascist War... Was repealed. Not just one or two articles, the entire Treaty. Thrown away. Following this Andrenne mobilized the Royal Armed Army, Royal Home Guard, and Royal Air Force to the Andrennian-Dučrijekan border. Patrols of fighter jets flew above to watch for any potential moves on part of Dučrijeka. A demand was sent to the Ducrijekan government demanding an apology and full reparations for damages and for the families of victims.

Following this was a series of controversial emergency orders in which Dučrijekan nationals were searched without warrants, hundreds being deported and hundreds of others arrested just for their ethnicity. All travel to and from Dučrijeka was banned. Andrenne was placed under martial law until further notice. The riots against this were all quelled scarily fast. Andrenne was on the brink of war now. The Eagle of Gothis had risen once more.
 
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statement:
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The government of the Kingdom of Prydania condemns the attack on the Andrennian Parliament by Duchrijekan terrorists. This vile attack on the principals of democracy by nationalist insurgence is an attack on the principles of good government of all free nations. His Majesty's Government believes that justice will soon come to the criminals who organized this attack, and pledges its support to the Kingdom of Andrenne in whatever capacity we may be able to provide aid.

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Magnus Brandt
Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Prydania

statement:
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I am saddened by the loss of life in Andrenne at the hands of those who would use fear to attack the innocent in pursuit of their aims.
The prayers of the Prydanian people are with our Andrennian brothers and sisters in this difficult time. We will offer out aid as they aided us, and we see this difficult time through together. Until justice is served.

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Tobias III Loðbrók Konunglegur
By the grace of God, King of Prydania, Lord Protector of Austurland, Marshal of Beaconsviði, Lord Uniter, Defender of the Faith
 
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Royal Federation of Hessunland

Albrechthof Palace, Franktorf
Hugo’s office was a cavernous room on the second floor of the royal palace, it was here he spent the majority of his waking hours. Hugo had never desired the crown but at his people's insistence, he now wore it and dedicated himself to service. Service generally meant public appearances, addresses and diplomatic missions, but today something wholly more unpleasant was about to occur.

The office was beautiful in a minimalist sort of way, white marble covered the unadorned walls and a collection of books and manuscripts lined the colossal shelves that filled the room. Hugo left the room free of decorations save for his grandfather Otto’s portrait, this he kept in a place of honour on the wall behind him. He liked the idea of the last duke of Granze keeping watch over his royal grandchild, keeping him honest.

Leto peered through the office window at the arriving guests in the courtyard below, the prince consort seemed uneasy. Hugo lit a cigarette with a single delicate motion and took a long puff before exhaling and turning to regard his husband with a curious expression. He felt sorry for Leto, the trappings of power had all but obliterated the quiet existence they had once known, Leto would be forced to put up with many tense meetings from now on.

“If you stare any longer, I fear your eyes will bore through the glass darling!” Hugo muttered softly

Leto sighed and turned away from the window “A lot of powerful people will soon fill this room, that usually means trouble” Leto said grimly

Trouble indeed, the terrorist attack in Andrenne could not have come at a worse time. The ink on the NGEC accords was barely dry when the news of the Mitta attack had reached Hessunland. Hugo had hoped 2020 would herald the beginnings of a new age of cooperation in Mittel Gothis, instead, things were looking all too familiar. By attacking the heart of Andrenne the Ducrijeckans had provoked the single most dangerous nation in Gothis. Already the eagle was shrugging off decades of economic misery and gearing up for the thing Andrennians knew best, War.

Hugo shuddered as he cast his mind back to the rubble and dust that had accompanied Andrenne during the Gotmark war. He had watched Andrenne and Goyanes reduce Franktorf to rubble from his prison cell, now he might see the former do the same to Ducrijecka, at least the view would be better.

“It will be okay Leto” Hugo assured his husband whose frown was so pronounced it seemed chiselled upon his face

“War seldom is, I don’t think Ducrijecka knows what it has unleashed on us all” Leto replied in an ominous tone

“All the more reason to have a plan,” Hugo said comfortingly as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray

Hugo had only hours before called Grand King Lukas to express his support and condolences, that had been an expected nicety. Now though came the truest expression of statecraft, now the prime minister and all her military advisors had come to brief the new king. He had risen to the throne hoping for peace, now he would have to consider war. A knock came ominously on the redwood door

“Prime Minister Linz and the cabinet have arrived in the waiting rooms, your majesty!” A guardsman in a grey uniform announced

“Thank you, Albert send them, through” Hugo replied gratefully, he had taken pains to learn all the names of his staff, he would rely on them much in the coming years

Albert saluted and went to fetch the Prime Minister, Hugo considered lighting another cigarette but thought better of it. Instead, he rose from his desk and regarded Leto with a sympathetic look. He adored his husband's passion and his kindness, but this meeting would require cooler heads then the prince consorts.

“I hope you don’t mind but I would like to discuss matters with the prime minister alone, it promises to be an unpleasant conversation,” He said resting a comforting hand on Leto’s shoulder

Leto patted the hand gently and nodded before wordlessly turning to leave the room. It was an unspoken understanding, love must wait when weighed against duty, the two understood this new arrangement even if they occasionally despised it. Not long after Leto had departed a second knock sounded, it was time.

*************************************************************************************​
Hugo looked up at the picture of his grandfather, Otto’s warm smile greeted his gaze, it was a ritual he often did before making any decision. His grandfather had understood sacrifice better than any person, the last duke of Granze had been ordered to abdicate in a humiliating ceremony orchestrated by Gebhardt Himdach, instead, he had shot himself. The defiant suicide had made a mockery of the Himdach’s but doomed the late duke's family to persecution and misery.

Perhaps that was why Hugo constantly looked up to the painting, as if to drawer upon the moral strength of his forefathers. His musings were interrupted as the door opened softly and Maria Linz entered, the Prime Minister was flanked by three uniformed individuals. Hugo recognized Field Marshal Karl Weissman immediately, he guessed the identities of the other two by their uniforms. Of the other two one was Admiral Helena Rosen of the Royal Hessunland Navy in her dress blues and the other was Minister of intelligence Mattias Meyer in grey.

Next to these immensely talented military figures, the rather demure looking Maria took Centre stage. Hessunland’s last president and the first prime minister had all the outward appearance of a middle-aged homemaker, she was short, with blonde hair in a bun and a motherly face. Her disarming appearance, of course, hid the truth, she was a political genius who had governed Hessunland for nearly three terms.

Demure she may have looked but Hugo had no doubt that should any of the officers in the room challenge her they would soon regret such a decision. Where Hugo was the face and soul of the new Hessunland, Maria was its brain. Now that terrible intelligence had come to debate action with the nation's conscience.

“Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice your majesty, we have much to discuss,” Maria said as she lowered herself into a waiting chair at Hugo’s insistence

“Yes, the Mitta attacks have sparked many discussions across Gothis” Hugo replied

“I had one with the prime minister of Andrenne this morning, we have agreed to assist our neighbours in any way we can,” she said trying to hide the weariness in her voice

Hugo nodded approvingly “I assume that our current meeting relates to your earlier one?” he asked

“Indeed, as of today, Hessunland will be operating under elevated security status”

That ominous-sounding title was far more troubling in its implementation. Elevated threat levels allowed for the suspension of Habeas Corpus, extraordinary rendition of suspects and perhaps most disturbingly the deployment of Federal security across the nation. The law would in effect turn Hessunland into a security state for the duration of its activation.

“That is a major step, what cause do we have to take it?” Hugo asked in a concerned voice

“I can field this if his majesty will allow me?” Meyer said confidently, Maria nodded

The minister of intelligence placed a folder on the king's desk and opened it, dozens of photographs of stacked armaments and warehouses were visible. Notes on the margins of the paper listed various locations from across every major city in Hessunland

“Federal security and Polizei across the country have been uncovering attempts to smuggle weapons and supplies across our shared border with Ducrijecka, we think they are trying to bypass Andrennian customs” Meyer said tapping the folder for emphasis

“how have border customs not detected these shipments?” Hugo asked quizzically

“Though not enormous the border with Ducrijecka is reasonably porous, their smugglers know this and have become adept at giving customs the slip,” Meyer said calmly

Andrenne took the lion's share of contact with Ducrijecka, followed closely by Yakuvony, Hessunland was a distant third but perhaps that was why they were now experiencing problems. Andrenne was on high alert, Yakuvony would likely have similar preparations. Humanitarian loving Hessunland with its border stations and welcoming attitudes was proving an easy target for cunning smugglers.

“It's not simply lands based smuggling either,” Admiral Rosen said chiming in

“I was under the impression that Ducrijecka was landlocked” Hugo replied curious

“That is true your majesty but their cells appear to be operating in many regions, shipments are being seized containing weapons and other supplies by my patrols, they seem to be using every available means to enter our country,” Admiral Rosen said her tone never rising above neutral

“Which bring us to the reason for our visit,” Maria said decisively

“here it comes,” Hugo thought anxiety building

“Your majesty, in the event of Andrenne and Ducrijecka engaging in conflict, we must secure our border with the latter,” Karl Weissmann said in an urgent tone

He was an imposing man even in his mid 60’s, Karl Weissman, the man who had built Hessunland’s armed force from the shattered remnants of Gottia. The nations entire doctrine of informed defence was the brainchild of the ageing field marshal, the goal being to avoid any repeat of the Gotmark war. Now that same man was advising a potentially aggressive action.

“You wish to ask my blessing to invade a neighbouring country?” Hugo asked suspiciously

He despised war, he had seen first-hand the suffering of the one that had ended Gottia, now they wanted to involve Hessunland in a potentially larger one. But then perhaps Ducrijecka had already made sure that such consequences were inevitable. Hugo sighed and stared up at his grandfather for a moment.

“It would be a limited peacekeeping action, securing the border on the Ducrijeckan side, our forces would not advance any further and would prevent anything from entering Hessunland” Weissman replied confidently

“And the immense number of refugees that this conflict will create? What of them?” Hugo asked struggling to keep his tone from sounding sharp

Hugo remembered the days after the Gotmark war, the dead in the streets and the mass starvation of thousands in the winter that followed. He would never be able to forget such horrors and he would be damned if he allowed such actions to be perpetrated against others.

“Majesty?” Weissman asked taken aback

“You have asked me to assent to what amounts to a minor invasion, as king I am but a figurehead, but if you wish for my blessing, I ask that you consider the suffering of the innocent. If you wish me to bless this operation, I would ask that your men be accompanied by humanitarian missions” He said in a stern voice

“With all due respect your majesty this is not a...” Weissmann did not finish his sentence, Maria silenced him with a raised hand

She had a glint in her eye, a look of opportunism that Hugo had come to know all too well, he had given her an idea and she was going to run with it.

“The king is correct, we have to show the rest of Gothis that soft power gets results alongside more direct actions, let us send volunteer nurses, construct field hospitals and turn the seized border into a safe zone for refugees,” She said her tone enthusiastic

Was she entirely sincere in her agreement? Perhaps not, Maria was a good woman but also a cunning politician, the potential for a PR victory was irresistible and she intended to capitalize upon it. Hugo didn’t really care what her reasons were, if it saved more lives, he would give her all the PR she could ever wish for.

“Very well, it seems that where the eagle goes the Falcon must follow,” Hugo said finally agreeing

Deep inside he felt immense pressure as the weight of the decision hit, this day would have consequences and for better or worse he and by extension, Hessunland would be judged by them. He prayed he had chosen correctly.
 
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KPS Hvirfilbylur, Phoenix Sea

Warren Tristard propped his head up on the thin excuse for a pillow he was allocated as the Royal Prydanian Naval Taskforce made their way to Essalania to pick up the 300 soldiers King Gaiseric had pledged to Andrenne. It was on their way to Andrenne from there. And then onto Ducrijeka.
The ship itself was tense. The whole fleet was. This was only Prydania's second foreign deployment since the end of the Civil War. The Oclusia Situation had ended peacefully after a tense standoff, but this...half the Andrennian Parliament was dead. They'd see action.

"O'er the hills and o'er the main. Through Kosada, Brzevoda and Dvocran. King Tobias commands and we obey. Over the hills and far away" Nikolaj Ravn sang from the bunk next to his.

"What's that?" Warren asked.

"Song from the Wars of the Republic. Some guys changed the lyrics for goin' to Ducrijeka."
Warren just shrugged and nodded.

"Not bad...except it's 'Dvocrna' not 'Dvocran.'"

Nik just stopped, turning to face him deadpan.
"Yeah, well the song doesn't work if it's 'Dvocrna' does it?"

"I guess not" Warren replied slightly cheekily as he absent mindedly played with a ring on the chain around his neck that also contained his dog tags.

"What's that?" Nik asked as he turned to his side to face Warren, his mood for continuing the song.

"My dad's wedding ring" Warren remarked.
"We lost him in the chaos at the end of the Civil War. We had no idea what happened to him."

"So he's..." Nik asked.

Warren blushed a bit, but smiled.
"He's alive actually. We found him back home in Landerene, in one of the refugee camps. An Andrennian one actually."

"Damnit guy, you made it sound like he was a goner!"

"Nah" Warren just chuckled...
"He's alive but...you know. Not everyone got lucky."

"Yeah I get it" Nik replied.
"So Landerne, eh? Western boy. You see any action?"

"Too young" Warren replied.
"The Syndies sent me to Keris to work in the ship yards when I was a teenager. Took me right out of high school."

"Ah" Nik replied.
"I joined Krummedike's boys a few years before the War ended. I was part of his push to Keris to cut off Syndie reinforcements to Beaconsviði at the end."

"You're a vet then. Like most people here" Warren replied, sounding a bit weary. He'd been through enough hazing at the hands of veterans from the Civil War who wanted to put newbies through their paces.

Nik just laughed though.
"I guess you could say that. I was only old enough to join for the last few years. Most guys here...man, they've served longer than I have. Thank G-d your lot came around. Gave 'em someone else to razzel."

"I'm glad we could help" Warren replied, rolling his eyes.

"Nah, but seriously. They might give you a hard time, but we're all brothers and sisters here. I don't know what you're expecting battle to be like, but we've all lived it to some degree. You can trust any person here to have your back."

"That's good to know" Warren said smiling.
"But I mean it's not like I've never seen action."

"What do you mean?"

"You know the Storm of Keris right?"

"Yeah..." Nik replied, his voice dripping with excitement.
"Don't tell me you were part of that..."

"They weren't expecting a storm" Warren chuckled.
"But the Syndie bastards got one all the same."

"So you have seen some shit then."

"I saw a bit more than 'some shit.'"

"What do you mean?"

"You know how the Storm started right?"

Nik thought for a moment.
"Someone vandalized the shipyards right? Wait...no...that wasn't you..."

"Me and my best mate Callum" Warren chuckled.
"We got drunk one night. This was after the Battle of Hadden right, and everyone could tell the Syndies were through...and we just fuckin' did it. Sprayed something to piss the Syndies off, and when they tried to clean it, boom. Riot. Whole town."

"Holy shit...and you're still alive?"

Warren nodded.
"I don't believe it myself. I guess the only guys who could ID us died in the riots."

"You really are a lucky bastard" Nik replied.
"Thank G-d you're in my squad."

"I hope it doesn't run out on ya."

Nik nodded and rolled onto his back.
"So tell me something. If your old man survived then why do you have his wedding ring?"

"Same thing. Luck. He survived the Civil War, and he had on him. Hopefully I survive this War."

"General Krummedike took the Syndies" Corporal Mörk barked as he walked by their bunks.
"He can take some Ducky fleshlumps."

"Yes Sir" Warren and Nik both replied as the Corporal found his own bunk.
"Now get some sleep. We arrive at Essalanea tomorrow. And then we head for the shit."
 
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OOC Note: The following was posted with permission and input from @North Timistania , who controls Essalanea and all of its characters.

IC:

Kimbria, Essalanea

"I'm very disappointment we couldn't come to an agreement" Kurt Ventur Jr. remarked as he took a drag from his cigarette.

"No" Angrette replied firmly.
"I won't let you blow up Prydanian ships in my port" she added, sitting back in her chair, a foot on the edge of the table as she calmly asserted her authority. Kurt was always a valued guest in Kambria. He did good business. And that's why it was satisfying for her to occasionally remind him he couldn't do what he wished in this city.
"Gaiseric and the Stag King have developed a friendship of sorts. We're not going to allow attacks on Prydanian soldiers on our shores."

Kurt just rolled his eyes and took another drag on his cigarette.
"The Stag King" he said with derision. "I thought Gaiseric would have better taste."

Angrette raised an eyebrow.
"Whatever your quarrel is with King Tobias it's best you don't let it spill out into the streets of Kimbria. Or anywhere else on the steppe" she said, her voice dripping with assertive caution.
"You're a good man to do business with, Ventur, but Kimbria gains nothing by bringing war to Essalanea. Our soldiers will board with our Prydanian allies without incident and you and I will go on making money day in and day out. Don't let yourself be blinded by rage."

Kurt put his cigarette out in the ashtray before he poured a glass of akvavit.
"I guess I'll have to settle for my weapons in the hands of Ducrijekans to kill Royal Prydanian soldiers."

Angrette leaned forward, grabbing the bottle from his grasp and pouring herself her own glass.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that" she said before taking a swig.
"If there's nothing else? You best leave, Kurt. Enjoy your night in Kimbria." Kurt just smiled as he set his glass down and stood up, nodding to the two bodyguards he'd brought with him.

"A pleasure as always, Angrette" he said as he made his way out.

"He's gone" one of Angrette's own guards remarked. Angrette just shrugged and took Ventur's glass, pouring the remaining akvavit in with her own.
 
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NOTICE REGARDING THE TERRORIST ATTACK ON THE ANDRENNIAN RIKSANE

The Empire has maintained a close and enduring alliance with the Kingdom of Andrenne since the end of the Fascist Wars. Andrenne is one of the Empire's strongest friends, and it breaks our hearts to hear what happened today in the halls of the Riksane at the hands of terrorist thugs.

The cowardly, senseless murder of 208 public servants, with all others being wounded in varying degrees of severity, is a crime of the highest order. Families have been ripped apart, and constituents are now left without their elected representatives. This is yet another case in a growing epidemic of global terrorism that cannot stand.

We have confidence that the international community will unite to defend basic human decency and to see that the men and women who lost their lives did not do so in vain. For our part, we gladly offer any and all humanitarian aid required by our cherished Andrennian allies.

Rahul Khanna
Secretary of State of the Syrixian Empire
 
Free Port of Kimbria, Western Essalanea
The darkness of the small hours shrouded everything in shadow, Alric gazed down on the port of Kimbria from the garrison wall with an anxious eye. Below in the courtyard bondsmen milled about loading gear and equipment onto waiting trucks soon to head for the Prydanian ships in the harbour. The lights of Kimbria in the early morning glittered with promises, Alric could almost see the docked transports from his vantage point on the rampart.

He could barely contain his anticipation, a commission from his brother meant actual combat. The relative peace on the steppe had left men like Alric without a means to practice their art, minor clan disputes might have satisfied the average bondsman but Alric required conflict at its most vicious.

The years since the Karg war had been difficult on the man the clans referred to as the golden wolf of Volkmann. He didn’t mind following his brother around at highbrow events, the food was always good and Alric had an appetite to put whales to shame, but he felt underutilized in such settings all the same. The difference between the two brothers was always subtle, Gaiseric was a diplomat who could fight, Alric was a warrior surrounded by diplomats.

The peace reigning on the steppe might have given ore barons and politicians time to shine but it offered precious little to a man of war like Alric. Thus, when news had arrived that a potential war was brewing in Gothis there was no doubt in Alric’s mind that this was the conflict he sought. He had been granted command of a small force, 300 men and women from the 1st northern light infantry. It may not have been a vast army but its ranks held some of the finest warriors ever to wear the uniform of the Essalanean army. Each was capable of fighting, ranging and surviving well beyond the limits of a regular soldier. The survivalism of the clans had been merged with the modern way of war practised in wider Eras.

Alric knew the 1st well, he had been their commander during the abortive Oclusian crisis, he still resented that anti-climactic deployment, Gothis though would be different. The Ducrijeckans had evidently seen fit to anger the most warlike clan in the elder continent, the great clan of Andrenne. Now the Drennies were out for blood and their call for aid had circulated across the Pan Gotic union, it was to be a family affair.

The 1st had been seconded to the Prydanian taskforce, this was likely an attempt to pair the unruly clans with unhorsed they knew and respected. Unhorsed they may have been but the Prydanians were strong, they were Gotic and they had proved themselves in battle. Still, the thought of 300 bondsmen cooped up on a swaying vessel for days did not strike Alric as appealing, he hoped the Prydanians would know to keep some distance.

“trucks are loaded and I told the louts to get their arses in gear, we shall join the Prydanians within the hour” a gruff old voice muttered from the shadows

Alric turned to regard Korgun Niedring, his ageing second in command. Korgun was an oddity among the mostly youthful soldiers of the Essalanean army, he was nearing his mid-fifties and a tapestry of scars and tattoos covered his wrinkle lined face. He had watery blue eyes with the hardened expression of a man who had survived into old age on the most violent land in Eras.

Korgun was shaven, an oddity of clan Niedring, he wore his hair in long braids fastened by iron rings, a sign of a victorious warrior. The old man moved with a limp when not fighting but Alric had seen him moved during fencing practice, Korgun was like a killing blur when pushed. Now the old blademaster would join Alric for arguably the first true operation of the Essalanean clan army.

“How are the joints?” Alric asked noticing Korgun’s limp

“They protest every time I use them” Korgun replied irritably

“Will you be fit for battle in such condition?” Alric asked with genuine concern

“Be at ease wolf boy, I ignore their protests” Korgun said with a mirthless grin

Getting old was a rare thing in Essalanea, most died in their prime to ceaseless clan disputes, illness and childbirth, the few that made it past that were a hardy bunch. But to be an elder was a difficult fate, in a culture of perpetual utility there was no place for deadweight. Elders survived as long as they were able but the spectre of death was always imminent.

“The unhorsed doctors could do nothing for you?” Alric asked

The presence of unhorsed medicine on the steppe was limited but growing thanks to Gaiseric’s modernizing. The outsiders could do many amazing things but they were regarded with immense suspicion by the majority, most preferred to take their chances in the manner of their ancestors.

“They are clever I will say that, but they have their limits too, no cure for old age” Korgun replied with a chuckle

The unhorsed for all their claimed superiority and endless appeals to their “modernity” had come no closer to overcoming man’s oldest enemy. Essalaneans might have died far younger but did that make their lives less worthy or perhaps more.

“Why not have a send-off*? Be with your clan one last time?” Alric asked unable to contain his curiosity

Korguns lip twitched, a sign of disgust, upon hearing the word “sendoff” he frowned before sighing and leaned on the rampart as if trying to support himself.

“I'm a warrior Alric, I've killed men and women from every clan on the steppe, I have lived a life free and without compromises, getting drunk with my family and having them slit my throat is not how I wish to end my tale” Korgun replied earnestly

It was the Essalanean way, death in battle was prized above all other ends. A man could die in his bed, he could take the sendoff and leave the world before he became a burden, but for warriors like Korgun, only death with a sword in hand would do.

“We shall fight together one last time then,” Alric said proudly, Korgun clapped him on the shoulder

“On the soil Essalan originated from no less! We shall teach these Ducrijeckan unhorsed the reason that men of Craviter fear the coming of the clans!” Korgun said with a broad smile

The two men stared out across the bay; a warm breeze met their gazes as the wind blew in from across the phoenix strait. They would fight together one last time; one would find purpose and the other a worthy end.

*A form of voluntary euthanasia in which an elderly or crippled clan member has one last night of celebrating with close family and friends before ending their life honourably
 
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बलय कलतोगन्
BALAY KALATOGAN
Ganatrastadt




His Majesty
Lukas II
Grand King of Andrenne
Mitta


Dear Your Majesty:

We are deeply shocked to learn about the horrible events that took place in The Riksane. The deaths of your fellow Andrennians, many of whom were working in the service of your parliament, are a terrible loss to democracies around the world. We would like to offer our most sincere condolences to all their families and friends and extend the many sympathies of the Lawstoner people, to join your country in mourning this tragedy.

Though it has saddened many freedom-loving peoples in the brotherhood of free nations, the terrorism we all have witnessed must not blind us of the important knowledge that still rings loud and true. The people's voice is righteous and vengeance will be warranted, but tread carefully for it is easier to step into the mist of our grief than to step out of it. In the extremes of our powerful emotions, sometimes and without our intention, people might get hurt and we might lose an important part of ourselves.

We also extend our condolences and sympathies to the tourists and bystanders who were killed at The Riksane. Intended victims or not, the terrorists have committed an unforgivable act against humanity. Those responsible must be brought to justice.

We wish a speedy recovery to Prime Minister Artijom van Spaarva and other survivors of this vicious attack.

Our thoughts and prayers are with Andrenne at this time.

Pagpalain nawa tayo sa pantay na hangganan ng hustisya at tadhana.

Hochachtungsvoll,

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Rajesh L. Galang
Präsident der Lawstoner Republik



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Dalisay Galang
Erste Dame der Lawstoner Republic






 
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January 10th
Brzevoda, Dučrijeka.


Smoke drifted lazily upwards, emanating from the glowing tip of a thick cigar that was clamped tightly between Redžep’s lips. He took a minute to re-read the Andrennian letter. So they wanted revenge, then? With their “King” slamming the desk like a petulant child. He almost wished that he had the satisfaction of actually ordering the attack.

He wouldn’t even dignify them with a video appearance. They would not receive any compensation when those soldiers had done a duty, destroying those imperialists. 208 down. Not a bad score - the only shame was that they hadn’t got more. If only they were alive, or he would’ve congratulated them himself.

Now, what to write… ah. He knew the perfect message to send.

Letter to Andrenne:
To the imperialist Lukas of Andrenne,

This message is being written to you since clearly it cannot be processed by what remains of the Riksane.

Dučrijeka refutes these allegations that it was behind the attack. While we would have absolutely relished at such an opportunity to strike back at the regime that we suffered under for decades, we did not order an assault on your parliament. However, with your unusually hasty response to the situation and enacting the “Dawn Contingency” - a way to quickly bypass the restrictions set upon you by Goyanes at the last time that your warmongering consumed Eras - it seems incredibly suspicious as to why we would commit such a belligerent act towards a nation to whom we despise no more than usual.

Therefore it is the belief of this fair nation that the Andrennian government orchestrated this attack against itself as a false flag operation in order to further its gains on Gothis. Clearly, this government of Andrenne found itself too spiteful and infuriated at the concept of a free Dučrijeka, and with no other valid reason, decided that falsifying an attack on yourself would be the perfect method to impose your authoritarian rule upon our fine nation once more.

Therefore Dučrijeka is announcing that there will be no apology, no reparations - “no concessions made”.

We refuse to repay a nation to whom attempted to justify yet another conquest of our nation, oppressed us under the Valkists for decades, and denied us representation and independence. A populist, neo-colonialist individual such as the monarch of a nation hungry for conquest will receive no quarter for its crimes. The Duchrijekan people stand proud and tall in the face of adversary, for this is truly is our honourable thing to do.
  • Ensar Redžep, Premijer of Dučrijeka.

January 14th,
75km northwest of Kosada.

“Anyone noticed that they’ve stepped up their patrols in recent days?”

“No shit, Mesud.”

The last few days had been busy for their battalion. More Andrennian fighters zoomed past, just kilometres from the border. It was a part of the Andrennian tactic to force Dučrijeka to apologise. Apparently they hadn’t quite liked the letter sent back.

Of course, this meant their outpost just within Dučrijekan limits had seen its fair share of narrow scrapes. Occasionally the boys at the radar station would warn of a particularly close flyby, and it had been their job to ensure it hadn’t crossed into their airspace. Or else they would be releasing fury onto whatever poor Andrennian had the misfortune of provoking Dučrijeka.

As for their equipment? It was more than suitable, if a little old. An RK-YLYG m/73, captured from the Andrennians way back in their Independence War. It had proven its worth all the way in Gottia, and now had made its way into the Stenovit Highlands - ironic, considering the official nickname of their missile was the Highlander.

“Heads up, 32nd Battalion - low flying Dren coming in close this time, eight klicks out, fast. It’s closer than ever.” came a voice from the radio - from the radar station, several kilometres away atop a particularly high peak.

“Stations, lads.”

A small black dot, far in the distance, appeared over the crest of a distant peak.

“I see him. Fast-moving, coming from the south-west.”

Quickly, the Highlander was oriented to face the oncoming fighter as it approached closer and closer.

“He’s too close.” Mesud whispered to himself.

“Five klicks.” said the radio

The dot was clearer now, its features distinguishable. A Drakon - the workhorse of the Andrennian Air Force. So many of them had passed near the border this week that he could identify them at relative ease.

“Three klicks.”

“Is he… over his side?”

“He can’t be.”

“Two klicks.”

“Ready up the Highlander.”

“Locking on…”

“One klick.”

“Which side of the border is he on?!”

“Locked on!”

“Confirm, is he on our side?”

“Fire!”

Amidst the confusion, Mesud took a deep breath, and pressed the button. His piece of revenge against the Andrennians, no matter what side their plane was on.

With a mighty roar, the solid fuel ignited and the missile engine fired up, and it rocketed up, disappearing from its mount in the blink of an eye as it zoomed up towards the Andrennian jet.

It sped closer and closer to the jet, who seemed to barely notice in time, but to no avail - it burst into a colossal fireball, fragmenting directly into the Andrennian plane’s rear, bursting its engine into flames. It barely kept its velocity as it tumbled down, down, barely horizontal, behind another mountain peak, and into the dense highland wilderness. Seconds later, a distant boom could be heard, and a smoke cloud peaked over from the nearby mountaintop.

“Hit confirmed. Andrennian jet down.”
 
First there was the radar lock tone, then immediately after the missile launch warning tone. There was no time to respond with flares before the Highlander's missile slammed into the engine. There was a great bit explosion, then flames. The impact shook Andrej to his core. The SJ/A 2188 Drakon was spiraling out of control and he didn't have much time to act, he had been flying at low altitude on a patrol-- Losing velocity, now losing altitude, he'd gone nearly vertical and started tumbling in just a span of a minute. There was no way he could belly land this thing, and even if he could there was nowhere to land it. He had to bail.

The g-force of the high velocity spiral as keeping him from bringing his arm up. He fought through it and the sudden darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision. Just one switch and a button, that's all he needed to activate. 1300m. 1200m. 1100m. The emergency bailout switch had it's safety glass slid out of the way and the switch shifted out of it's safety position. The button was so close yet so far. 1000m. 900m. 800m. Andrej was getting too close to the ground, he had to hurry. To Andrej it felt as though time had actually slowed but the truth was that he had only about 30 seconds to get out of there before his jet either slammed into the cold, hard dirt of the highlands below or he was burned to death in his pilot's seat. 700m. 600m. 500m. His arm was basically pinned to the safety switch. Andrej was on the verge of blacking out then and there. Alarms and warning tones were blaring like Jericho's trumpets before suddenly the sound of rushing air was all he could hear. He had done it, he had managed to press that button. Now all he had to to was descend slowly into the highlands and survive until he was rescued. No big deal.

Of course it would be a lot easier to do that if there weren't a group of Dučrijekan militants gathering under where he was going to land. He had no way of steering this parachute. There's nothing he could do-- Andrej reached for the survival kit behind his pilot's seat. In there was an m/00 survival rifle and ammo. It was chambered for 5.7x28mm, a pistol cartridge, but it would work just fine. Rifle unfolded, charging handle racked back and in position, safety off. Pop, pop, pop. Andrej made sure to lead the targets since he was descending. Too far away to tell if he got any hits just using iron sights. They returned fire. A bullet struck him in his right hand, causing him to drop the survival rifle and the rest of the kit as he screamed out in pain. Blood gushed from the wound. It didn't take long for his pilot's seat to finish descending... From there the Dučrijekans took practically ripped him out of the seat. He had hit at least one shot since one of them was bleeding from a wound in their shoulder. Andrej lost consciousness after the third or fourth blow to his head with the butt of a rifle. He wouldn't regain consciousness. Andrej Niirhald had been beaten and shot to death on January 14th, 2020.


It only took a few hours before Andrenne knew of the situation. Outrage ensued. People were marching in the streets. The Tides of War approached Mitta once more. Sanctions were enacted, embassies retracted, relations moved to an all time low-- Andrenne was mobilizing in secret during this time as well. There had even been skirmishes on the border between civilian militias since Andrenne hadn't done anything official yet. Though it never actually tried to stop the militias either. This level of hostility was almost unprecedented. The straw that broke the camel's back, at least publicly was a skirmish near the border town of Arsaan in which two Andrennian civilians were killed in the crossfire. They had pushed too much, they had caused Andrenne's parliament, what was left of it anyways, to snap. To tell the truth they had actually declared war back in January when that Drakon was shot down over the border but... had only delivered the message to the Dučrijekan government. Nothing had happened yet. They wanted to lull them into a false sense of security. A Phoney War if you well. Lukas made another big appearance on TV on March 22nd. He looked... angry, to say the least.

"It has come to the attention of the Andrennian government that two days ago, two Andrennian civilians were killed in the crossfire of a skirmish between civilian militias of Andrenne and Dučrijeka. We can not stand for this anymore. We will not sit here and take their flagrant aggression and lack of respect. They have inflicted too much pain with too little compensation. As of today, March 22nd, 2020, the Kingdom of Andrenne and the Republic of Dučrijeka have entered a state of war. To tell the truth we have actually been at war for three days now and are only now making the announcement."

The crowd was yelling and shouting questions, none of which were answered.

"I know this is a tough time. We will get through it. Andrennians always do. We will deliver retribution to their doorstep. For every Andrennian lost, they will lose three more. This was not an easy decision to make, but it was a necessary one. That is all for now. We will continue to update the public as the war continues. Goodnight."

Lukas left the stage without another word or answering a single question. The Eagle of Gothis had been sharpening it's talons these past few months, and now, it was moving in for the kill.
 
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Transcript:
OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM THE MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS

His Imperial Majesty’s Government condemns the Dučrijekan state for attack on the Andrennian Parliament. This attack was not only malicious and done with such depravity, it was an attack on the lawful government of Andrennian realm and its stability. His Imperial Majesty’s Government sends its condolences to the victims of this attack, and will pledge its support to the Andrennian realm in any way that is deemed necessary.



Signed,


The Right Honourable
Sir Frederich Hildebrandt Schachtschneider von Pourtalès
Minister of Foreign Affairs
HICM Government
 
The following is an official response from President Andrea Lacasa on behalf of the Government of Cojedes. The Cojedan National Assembly has, in extent of the President's speech, passed a resolution condemning the attack on the Parliament of Andrenne and expressing the deepest support of the nation to the Andrennian Government and its people.

"My fellow Cojedans. I have just become recently informed on an attack against the sovereignty of our neighbor Andrenne. Not long ago, the Andrennian Parliament was attacked by rebels who are calling for the independence of a republic this is not recognized by many, especially not here in Cojedes. We stand in solidarity with our Andrennian brothers in this time and will give them our full and undivided support. These attacks against sovereign independent nations should not be allowed or accepted by any civil society and we will certainly maintain our support for the Andrennian government in this trying time. For the safety and security of all Cojedans, the border guards have been instructed to do further checks on vehicles to ensure that would-be terrorists do not cross over into Cojedes and cause harm to our civilians. We also will stand by the Andrennians in their war against Dučrijeka and will, if necessary, provide whatever support we may to the Andrennian nation. Due to the declaration of war, the Republic of Cojedes will be adding stiffer rules to the border checkpoints and, if the war is to come closer to the border of Cojedes, will shut down the border if there is a major need. Cojedes will also provide humanitarian aid to Andrenne if they request it. The prayers of the people of Cojedes are with the people of Andrenne at this time and we will maintain support for all the people of Andrenne. "
 
Camp Christoph, Hessunland-Ducrijecka Border
Major Dieter Stiglitz stared down the snaking dirt path, trees flanked the path either side and overgrown bushes made the walkway harder to navigate still. It didn’t look like much but walk twenty minutes down that path and you would be in Ducrijecka. Its appearance was deceptive, a bucolic stroll that would end in questioning at the end of a rifle butt if you walked too far.

The path put Dieter in mind of the old Ivaran tales his mother had used to caution him, they had always concerned wandering fools whose trespassing led to them being snapped up by Nook. This pathway certainly looked like the sort of place Nook would hide, that is if Nook chose to take the form of murderous terrorists with a penchant for field executions.

He reached for his lighter and struggled with the ageing lever which now barely produced a spark. He should have replaced it years ago, but it held sentimental value, a gift from a favourite grandfather back from a business trip in Pataliputra, the equally ageing face of the lighter had been marked with intricate carvings of elephants and palms. Finally, a pull on the lever produced a flame and burnt Dieter's thumb
“Fucking Winkle!” he hissed invoking the Ivaran trickster god as he fanned his scolded thumb, still the lighter had done its job

He took a deep drag on the newly lit cigarette and exhaled a cloud of noxious black smoke, back home his wife would have boxed his ears for indulging in full tar but out here Dieter indulged whenever he wished. The last few weeks had been a mix of chaos and torpor, news flowing out of Mitta grew worse with each passing day, and now with pilots being killed and border skirmishes breaking out, war seemed almost certain.

The television in the officer's mess was a constant source of anxiety, GNN and other news outlets blurted out an endless stream of alarmist information. The Ducrijeckan premier barking his insults and the king of Andrenne promising to bring down fire to start a second Thaunic age of ash. Most disturbing though were the comments from homegrown politicians, normally soft-spoken Marie Linz was now practically a warlord as she promised that “where the eagle goes the falcon shall follow”

“A pity the prime minister won’t be the one doing the following, or the fighting,” Dieter thought bitterly

But far worse than the news was the waiting, the endless silent patrols and pointless briefings, the hours wiled away smoking, sleeping or playing cards. It was a torturous thing to know that at any moment the alarms might ring, and war declared, but not to know when it would come. so, they waited in the subdued silence.

Dieter had watched the border almost daily, he came to the secluded path like a pilgrim, come to gaze at the yawning darkness in hopes of some answer materializing. No answer had yet come, just birdsong and the nagging feeling that something terrible was on the horizon. Dieter was no stranger to war, he had been a child when Goyanean and Andrennian forces had marched on Gottia, but this was different, this time it was Hessunland doing the fighting, alongside its neighbours no less.

An endless list of questions spiralled in his mind, how many men would the duckies have? Would they resist and if so, how fiercely? Were his men ready for the coming trial? The questions produced only more fearful questions in their turn. Dieter had read somewhere that the spirit of fear was always strongest in the hours before the battle, perhaps the old philosophers had been right.

“Hoping to find Ivara Stiglitz?” a familiar voice asked in an amused tone

Dieter turned to regard captain Albrecht, she was his junior both in age and rank, but they got on well enough. She was one of the new generations of Hessun officers, all drawn from the prestigious infantry schools in Franktorf and Hessenburg. These new soldiers were every bit as smart as the academies claimed, trained to absolute precision in the Goyanean and Andrennian influenced schools, but they did lack some of the respect and courtesy of the older generation.

Many of the older members of the armed forces had come from poor backgrounds, industrial labourer's put out of work after the war or farm boys like Stiglitz looking for a reprieve from endless harvests. Albrecht represented something else, middle class and university taught; these new officers did not earn their rank they were trained into it.

“I’ll let you know if I succeed, black blood” Stiglitz replied in mock irritation as he stubbed out his cigarette

“Well you might want to put the hunt for pagan gods on the backburner, General Schulz wants us in his office for a briefing” she replied with a knowing look

Briefings, they had been unending since the Mitta incident, daily reminders of volatile borders and potential disasters just around the corner. It would not have been so bad if the news had been more relevant, but it was all policy and conjecture at this stage, war if condition A is met, Sanctions if B.

“Scheisse! Let me guess, he wants to remind us the situation is “evolving rapidly” “Dieter grumbled as he made mocking finger quotes

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” She said ominously as they wandered to the staff car in the clearing
*************************************************************************************
General Wilhelm Schulz was possibly the least imposing general ever to don the dress greys of the Hessunland defence force. In his late fifties and barely 5’4 the man had an almost bumbling air about him. The general's short stature was little aided by his comical appearance, bald and possessed as he was of the most archaic handlebar moustache Dieter had ever seen.

The general was like a throwback to the aristocratic days of yore, all he needed was a monocle and a homburg to complete the look. His office only added to the impression of ancient pedigree, a mounted stags head from the hunting trips to Prydansk, ornate tea sets and a cabinet of schnapps. Everywhere you looked you got the impression that the good general should have been home on some vast estate rather than stationed at the largest border outpost in Hessunland.

For all this, however, the most surprising fact about the general was that despite his eccentricities, he was a very competent leader. Calm under pressure and possessing the airs and graces of a kind old schoolmaster, Schulz was a veritable genius when it came to organization and strategy. The old man had been in command of the 10th Dussel Grenzers for nearly twenty years and in that time had moulded them into one of the best regiments in Hessunland, all strangely enough without ever raising his voice.

“Ah captain, major, please enter I have news,” the general said his tone ominous

That was concerning, it was rare to see the general dip even slightly below his typically jovial mood, Dieter felt the pull of great and terrible events. In the pit of his stomach, Stiglitz felt the anxiety swirl, it was coming to that terrible three-letter word that parents and cowards dreaded.

“The situation on the border has deteriorated further, the streets of Mitta are awash with angered crowds, an hour ago I received a call from Field Marshal Weismann”

Karl Weismann, the legendary man whose vision had rebuilt the ragged masses of Gottia into the modern Hessun Army. The very utterance of Weismann’s name carried with it the promise of great and terrible events, like the invocation of some baleful storm.

“Here it comes,” Dieter thought grimly

“As of this morning a state of war has existed between Andrenne and Ducrijecka, our own government will be declaring its own intentions this afternoon,” Schulz said his tone deadly serious

“Operation Falke” Albrecht said quietly

Falke, the contingency plan for intervention in Ducrijecka, an invasion in all but description really. The plan had been drawn up following the Mitta attack, a seizure of the Ducrijeckan side of the border should the worst-case scenario of all-out war prove unavoidable. It called for the use of some 30,000 troops and the setting up of a humanitarian zone to prevent a crisis in Ducrijecka. It was a curious mix of soft power and hard-edged military movements.

“Indeed captain, operation Falke shall come to pass, thousands of troops supporting thousands more nurses and aid workers, this will be Hessunlands first war and if we do our duty, her finest hour,” Schulz said gently

Dieter felt a chill run down his spine, he could have sworn that the path he had so long gazed down was now howling with Nook’s cruel laughter.
 
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Statement from the Mondic government
We in Sudo (the Capital city) condemn the attacks by the Ducrijeckan terrorists on Andrenne. We fully support the Andrennians in protecting their people and their sovereignty in defeating the terrorist organization behind these attacks along with the Ducrijeckan government itself if it participates in aiding and abetting these terrorists. Any attack on a sovereign nation to strike fear in the populace or to leverage the murder of innocent people to push a political ideal is abhorrent and should not be tolerated by any of the great nations of Eras.
Jackson Campbell
Secretary of Foreign Relations and Trade in the RM
 
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Statement from the Equestrian Commonwealth

The Equestrian Commonwealth has received word of a heinous attack on the sovereign nation of Andrenne, and condemns the acts of the Ducrijeckan terrorists. Furthermore, the Equestrian Commonwealth formally extends an offer to provide humanitarian aid, however and wherever needed, to assist the people of Andrenne in healing from these grievous wounds.
 
Smoke wafted through the air, scattering what few sunlight rays cascaded overhead as the sun struggled to rise above the horizon on this early and mild April morning. The border checkpoint was perched there near the peak on their mountain in the shadow of light.

Not that it was much of a checkpoint, if you could even call a glorified hut and a cheap wooden barrier blocking the dirt road a checkpoint. But at least they had a road here - border crossings between Duchrijeka and Andrenne weren’t exactly common, especially since their independence war, not to mention how border crossings hadn’t exactly been the top priority for the Duchrijekan government, what with their relentless insurgencies and now this.

Kazir sighed, staring down from his highland position into the valley below. Dark clouds were gathering past the Andrennian border. Hopefully they wouldn’t blow south towards him - God knows his job was already miserable enough as it was, and the corrugated roof of the checkpoint hut that he leaned against certainly wasn’t going to be waterproof enough.

“Nothing’s happened,” he said, nonchalantly flicking the stub of his cigarette to the ground. “It’s been three months and there’s been zero fighting.”

“Except those civvie militias.” replied Davor, swaying back on his plastic chair. “But they hardly count, do they? Not official ‘Rennie forces right. Though with how easy those militias are to kill, I don’t have high hopes for their actual army.”

Kazir murmured in agreement. “They’ve been in a war, what, once, in the thirty years since we beat them? They’ve probably stagnated their military since then. No point spending more on something that does nothing, especially since the Gojans have kept them on a leash since the FW.”

He took a moment to stretch his legs, kicking up the dust from the road. His shift had only just started and getting a cramp less than an hour into his duty wasn’t going to make it any less tortuous than it was already.

“How many did you get?”

“What do you mean?” Kazir replied, too zoned out to even process the question.

“Militia guys.”

“Like… two? I’m not exactly the one to count kills.”

“Ah, alright.” Davor replied, before smirking. “I got three. Tricky little buggers, but nothing to us proper soldiers, especially ones with actual combat records against insurgents already like ours.”

“Only ones you’re likely to get for the whole thing. It’ll be just our luck to have one fight and then sit out the rest of this motionless war guarding borders against a non-existent threat while this thing will just be solved with the politicians talking. I mean, with Andrenne’s existing war record, are they even going to bother with an invasion?”
 
Andrennian-Ducrijekan Border

The Royal Prydanian Army flag and the old Loðbrók clan banner waved against the grey, windy skies.
"You don' see an officer mingling this much with the grunts" Warren Tristard remarked, nodding in the direction of the Colonel in the jeep. He seemed to be focused on the horizon, the dim grey horizon that represented the enemy territory they'd be crossing into.

"If you can call that 'mingling'" Nikolaj Ravn joked.

"Do you know who he is?"

"Yeah" Nik replied,
"That's Colonel Eragon Bláfeld. One of Thane Krummedike's most trusted men. The General left him in charge of the Thanedom of Krummedike after it was retaken from the Syndies. The General had to push north towards Keris. Colonel Bláfeld was tasked with rooting out any Syndicalist and Herskár insurgents that were bound to pop up on our rear."

"How'd he do?" Tristard asked, curiously.

"I was part of the General's push towards Keris but" Nik answered, looking at the Colonel.
"They were rooted out. We never had to worry about Syndies in our backyard. The bastard over there tore them out by the root. There's a reason the southwest didn't get much attention when the PGU and Mouxordians helped with anti-Syndicalist activity after the War. It didn't need it. The Colonel was merciless."

"We're not going to be doing much peacekeeping are we?" Tristard asked.

"Nope. We're here to do what he did back in Krummedike. We're going to be hounding Duckies until..."

"Attention!" Colonel Bláfeld barked, causing the two enlisted men to stand up straight, partially in shock. They hadn't noticed the Colonel had gotten out of the jeep and had been making his way through the Royal Prydanian Army encampment. There was nothing particularly unique about Tristard and Ravn, but when he heard "Ducky..."
"Soldiers, I'm going to make something very clear to both of you. And I intent to impress this on the rest of the Army. I will not tolerate that slur under my command. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" both replied, and Bláfeld nodded.

"Good. Do you understand why?" he asked.

Tristard and Ravn both looked at each other sideways unsure what to say. They weren't expecting that. The Colonel didn't waste much time. And seemed happy to explain himself.
"When you use a slur you dehumanize the enemy. When you dehumanize the enemy you lack the ability to objectively measure their capabilities in relation to your own. And when you dehumanize the enemy you forget that they are people, like you or I. And like all people they will fight for their homes. Make no mistake, soldiers. We are going to Ducrijeka and the Ducrijekans will not want us there. They will do everything to ensure we either die or leave. As anyone would do when their home is invaded. When you understand this, when you realize what the enemy is fighting for, you become better able to anticipate their actions and neutralize their efforts. It is imperative that soldiers keep this in mind and not fall into the trap of degrading the enemy and underestimating their cause or capabilities. Am I clear in my explanation?"

"Sir, yes Sir" both soldiers replied.

"Good. At ease" he ordered. Tristard and Ravn both relaxed as the Colonel made his way through the encampment.

"G-d help anyone who gets on his bad side" Ravn muttered.

"Us, or the Duc...ijekans?" Tristard asked.

"Either."
 
Andrenne-Ducrijecka Border

Alric knelt and touched the soil with an ungloved hand, the earth of Gothis, it was from this ground that Essalan had sprung. That Essalan had only briefly dwelled on Gothis or the fact that this had all happened some 1500 years ago mattered not, this was the continent Essalan had emerged from and now Alric was standing upon it.

The voyage from Craviter had not been a long one, but the clans were not ones for sailing and the days they had spent cooped up in the hold of a troop transport had been long. The men had clambered off the boat on shaky legs all eager to savour the feeling of solid ground once more.

Alric had arrived in Gothis with a force of 300, small compared with the vast armies the other nations were mustering but its size presented it with a unique advantage. Each soldier under his command was a trained specialist, snipers, raiders and scouts all rolled into one, with such troops at his disposal Alric could make life miserable for the enemy.

“Horses are all unloaded,” Korgun said interrupting Alric's silent thoughts

“Good, see that they get chance to stretch their legs, we’re going to be relying a lot on them in the coming days” Alric replied in a pleased tone as he rose from the ground

“We’ve been getting a lot of looks, the unhorsed do love to stare” Korgun muttered with a roll of his eyes

“let them, horses don’t need petrol to move and their far harder to hit then tanks” Alric replied dismissively

Alric was expecting things to bog down quickly, the initial mayhem of airstrikes and armoured columns giving way to snipers and booby traps. The Ducrijeckans would be foolish to engage the Andrennian coalition in a pitched battle, especially when so many opportunities for asymmetrical warfare presented themselves. That was where Alric would catch them out, they expected conventional troops...they had not faced the warlike survivalists of the clans before.

He had studied the Ducrijeckan’s as best he could, they were a hardy people who knew both struggle and misery. In many ways, they were similar to the clans, stubborn, enduring and possessed of a singular will to survive. Alric suspected they would be worthy opponents; he would relish the opportunity to pit the finest Essalanea had to offer against the men of Ducrijecka.

“So, what’s the plan?” Korgun asked

“Tonight, we focus on rest, tomorrow we begin scouting the border and getting a head for the terrain, oh and keep the men away from the non-Prydanian troops if possible, I want fights kept to a minimum” Alric replied calmly

Korgun nodded and left to carry out his duties, Alric stared at the line forest that separated Andrenne from Ducrijecka, soon he would cross that verdant divider and then his forces would ravage the Jeckan lands like Thurderic’s second coming. Essalanea would be the tip of the PGU’s spear.
 
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