Ashes of Gothis: The 2nd Dučrijekan War

General Krummedike listened as General Schulz explained the severity of the situation.

"My orders were to withdraw here and to have my men aid in humanitarian efforts if at all possible. I'm happy to hear that they'll be kept busy."
He meant that in more ways than one. Soldiers with nothing to do were restless soldiers. And restless soldiers in close proximity to refugees was not a good combination.

"It has been suggested by various members of my government" Krummedike continued, "that a formal humanitarian coalition be formed. We have the pieces, between the your forces, our forces, and the Norsians, to lift some real weight if we all got on the same page."

The General then turned to Colonel Bláfeld.
"You spent some time with the Essalaneans. Would it be possible to persuade them?"

"They don't seem to like any unhorsed save for ourselves General" Bláfeld replied.

"And who could blame them after Kosada?" Krummedike said with a shrug.
"General," Krummedike said to Schulz, "we'd have enough soldiers to coordinate effectively if we could pool everyone who's here together behind one mission. And I would recommend haste. I'm not sure what news you've been hearing, but we crossed most of a damned country to get here. Andrenne may be flattening cities but the Imperium...they're emptying towns."

---

Warren leaned against a truck baring the shield of the Royal Prydanian Army. His leg was still throbbing in dull pain from the RPG attack. Still...it was dull. That was a good sign, right?

"Nik!" he called out. Nik, noticing his fiend, made his way over. Truth be told Warren had snapped him out of what looked like mindless wandering.
"What are you doing man? You look like you're out of it!"

"I was looking for Garsendis" Nik replied with a grin.

"The Essalanean woman? From Kosada?"

"Yeah!"

Warren raised an eyebrow.
"You sure that's a good idea?"

"Why not?!"

"Well you know Essalaneans...how do you know it wasn't just a one time thing for her?"

"Eh" Nik shrugged.
"I don't, to be honest. But look around Warren. I'm gonna try and find as much happiness as I can."

"You gonna move to Essalanea, become a clansman?" Warren chuckled.

"Hey why not? I'm a soldier. I can survive off the land."

"And then," Warren replied in a friendly mocking tone "you and Garsendis will have lots of kids. And when they ask where mommy met daddy they can say 'we spent a beautiful night together under the glow of a city being bombarded.'"

Nik smirked but rolled his eyes.
"Bye Warren."

"What? I'm pretty sure that IS a romantic story by Essalanean standards!"
Warren shifted a bit and winced. His leg. Ok. The march was over. They weren't involved in any fighting. Now it was time to see a doctor.

Býkonsviði, Prydania

Reynir Aaker was sitting across from the Prime Minister, who seemed rather distressed.
"Kosada still weighing on you?" he asked Magnus.

"How could it not?" Magnus replied.

"You act like you ordered the bombardment. It wasn't even us who did it."

"We decided to send soldiers to support the Andrennians" Magnus said, sounding defeated.
"And I went before the Alþingi, the people, and the King to advocate for it."

"We made the right decision" Aaker shrugged.
"And we're doing some good now."

"Yes" Magnus replied.
"But...I believed in what we were doing when we sided with the Andrennians. And Kosada...God Kosada. I've been thinking about it. How I let my idealism blind me to Andrennian aggression. It's more than that Reynir."

"What do you mean?" the Minister of Defence asked.

"We all spent a decade and a half fighting the Syndicalists" Magnus sighed.
"And I...I was charged with reaching out to ask for aid. Military aid. Maybe...maybe I'm too set in those ways. Maybe I was too quick to agree to the military option because that's what I've been doing. For all my talk about leading the country into the future...part of me is still fighting the same fight we all were for so long."

Reynir sat back, taking in what the Prime Minister was saying.
It was true. To a point. They had all been fighting that fight. Still, he'd never seen Magnus so...hopeless. So...tired looking. It was unnerving to see the usual steadfast and jubilant Magnus Brandt so disheartened.

"We've all been trapped by that war, Magnus. Everyone. Short of the babies and toddlers, anyway. You're not alone, is what I'm saying."

"No one else had to advocate for war on the international stage...not like I did..." Magnus said softly.
"I fear I'm may not able to see past that. Prydanians have already died thanks to my decision to send them to aid Andrenne. Will all the good our soldiers do now bring those Prydanian men and women back?" he asked. It almost seemed like he was asking no one...as if he were talking past Reynir. Reynir didn't know what to say though. He just let the weight of the Prime Minister's words hang in the air. Magnus, however, seemed to regain at least a bit of his jovial nature.
"Just the thoughts of an old man" he said softly with a smile.

"What I have to discuss can wait Magnus. If military matters aren't something you feel up to discussing..." Magnus shook his head.

"No, no. You're here" he chuckled.
"Don't let my sour mood take away from your duties. Postponing it because of me won't change anything."

"Well" Reynir replied, "I've been talking to the General Staff, and the folks in the Ministry. This whole thing seemed to have convinced everyone that we need to rethink our military ideology."

"Ideology?" Magnus asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Yes. We need to rethink what the Prydanian military should be."

"And what" the Prime Minister asked, "was the conclusion?"

"Broadly speaking? We need to reorient Prydania's military into a defensive-oriented force."

Magnus tilted his head and looked up. Reynir learnt not to let that bother him. It was how Magnus thought.
"We have Luscova Pact, Bergum Pact, and Pan-Gotic Union mutual defence commitments."

"Exactly" Reynir replied.
"Defence. We're not required to come to the aid of allies who launch offensive wars. And in cases such as this one where an ally was attacked, well...we've set a precedent. That we can- and will- pull out if an ally oversteps the bounds of a defensive action. The mistake of going into Ducrijeka can actually allow us to set a whole new military doctrine."

"Well..." Magnus replied as he looked through a report Reynir had handed him, "what needs doing?"

"We are in the process of rebuilding the military, which is essential. A defensive military isn't very useful if it can't strike back against an aggressor. Now other than that...it get tricky. Our nation has never taken this direction before. It's uncharted territory. Our officer corps knows how to fight a civil war, but a good chunk of our military comes from irregular militia from that war. I'm of the belief that this doctrine, should adopt it, would provide a means to streamlining as we rebuild. We just need help in how to structure the military, if this is to work."

"And who would you suggest?" Magnus asked.

"I made some gentle overtones to the Santonians while negotiating the purchase of the Renne. Their military doctrine has been defensive in nature for some time. And it's..." he paused.
"Have you ever wondered why the Santonian military is as formidable as it is for a nation that is renowned for its neutrality?"

"I suspect" Magnus answered, "that it's to ensure their sovereignty. As you said earlier, a defensive military isn't very defensive if it can't hit back."

"Exactly. Saintonge's military doctrine is to guard it against imperialistic threats. Functionally our aims- to be able to defend ourselves from foreign exploitation- are very close. And we have established relationships. My gentle inquiries were well received, I believe. I could, with your permission, inquire further about the prospect of military advisors."

Magnus grabbed a pen from his desk and tapped it a few times. The tap-tap-tap of the pen on the old wood desk comforting in a way. He felt the wear and tear on his soul. He was seventy. It was time to retire. He didn't realize just how worn he was after a lifetime of public service and a decade and a half of civil war on top of the two years in government, not until the realities of Kosada had dawned on him. The next election wasn't until 2023. Could he serve as Prime Minister until then? No. Not if he wanted to truly enjoy his latter years. He smiled at the pictures of his grandchildren on his desk.
Still...there was something that needed doing. He needed to get the house in order before he handed the keys off to someone else.

"Do it Reynir. Keep me informed."

"Yes of course" Reynir replied happily.
"And Magnus...you know that if you ever want to talk..."

"I know" the Prime Minister replied.
"But I think I'll be fine. I just need to think clearly on a few things."

"Well I'll get to it then" Reynir replied.
"Unless you need me for anything else."

"No, no Reynir" Magnus answered.
"Thank you for stopping by."
He shook his Minister of Defence's hand before Reynir left and leaned back in the chair. It was a comfortable enough chair, but he couldn't wait until he was out of it.

The Peace Corps convoy skirted around Planište proper just as the sun had given way to the pitch black of night. High Commands last second orders to divert and meet with the Prydanians along the outskirts illicited a sigh from Visimar. He brought out his night vision monocular. "Well sun is gone, going to start falling behind schedule. We'll have to stop the convoy in town for tonight or on the roadside and bivouac, I hope the next airlift doesn't come early.. Sergeant any updates from up high on where our Prydanian kinsmen are?"

Cenia looked up from the map and adjusted her headsets off. "If we keep going down this road we'll run right into them." Visimar nodded, tonight might be a long night.

Another fifteen minutes passed before the radio came on. "Regula one to High, we got Prydanian vics up ahead." Visimar and Sámi shared a smile as the colonel responded. "High copies, all vics pull to the side, we're stopping here, command is disembarking." The armored convoy pulled up and came to an almost synchronized stop, the Norsian convoy crews turning out to give their Prydanian comrades warm greetings, some even in the pidgin speak from Pelion and Alaterva.

Visimar got out of the command vehicle and Sámi closely followed; going down the line of Prydanian vehicles getting pointers from the Prydanian troops until they found the Prydanian commanders and the Hessunlanders too, just in time to hear Krummedike say, "Andrenne may be flattening cities but the Imperium...they're emptying towns."

"Norsos isn't here to fight the war for the Duckies, but we'll be damned before we let anyone gleefully murder unarmed civilians without a fight." Visimar called out with his rough voice before he and Sámi stopped and saluted. "Colonel Visimar and this is my ground commander, Lieutenant Sámi."

Planište, Dučrijeka

Warren lay down on a cot in a tent as an Army doctor looked over his leg.
"This will hurt," "you'll feel discomfort," "it'll pass soon..." he heard a lot of that but he managed.

Warren looked up as he tried to relax, breathing deep as he was examined.

"Arme fok, sy knie is seer sleg*" the doctor muttered.

"I'm Bayardi too" Warren muttered.

"Fuck" the doctor replied in Prydanian.
"Sorry. I should have known by your name, but I've been seeing an endless stream of refugees since we got here. Look, your knee is banged up bad."

"How bad?" Warren asked, his heart racing now. He had flashes of himself having to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

"That you marched most of the way here from Kosada didn't help" the doctor answered.
"You should have gotten a spot in one of the jeeps."
He didn't ask Warren why he didn't do that, he knew why. Poor kids, trying to prove they were invincible. He'd seen enough of that shit during the Civil War.

Warren though, he began to panic more. He shouldn't have marched here...oh shit. He WAS going to be confined to a wheelchair. He'd end up being a burden to his family that just started to their lives back on track too...."no, fuck, no...fuck no please..." he thought.

"We'll get you in a brace, some crutches. Stay off of it and it'll heal soon enough. But your soldiering days are done. For now at least."

"Oh thank God" Warren exclaimed, smiling as he exhaled. The doctor gave him a look. He wasn't sure if he was happy to be taken out of duty or that perhaps the damage wasn't as bad as he thought. Probably both.

"We'll get you set up in one of the hospital tents" the doctor added. "Until we can get you home."

---

General Krummedike greeted Colonel Visimar.
"Colonel Vismar, General Schulz of Hessunland."
He waited for the pleasantries to be exchanged before continuing.

"The Imperium is emptying towns...between us we have three nations' worth of military personnel, vehicles, and equipment. Four if we can get the Essalaneans on board. Engaging the Imperium could be risky, but we have the means to coordinate a true humanitarian response. And we should be able to put up enough of a front that no one- Andrennian, Mintorian, or Imperium- will be willing to fire on us working to save lives.

---

*Arme fok, sy knie is seer sleg= Poor fuck, his knee is hurt bad

Hubert Fischer walked uneasily down the ornate corridor that led to the deputy prime minister's office. The portraits on the wall only heightened his anxieties as he drew closer to the oak wood door, the silent gazes of King Hugo, Wilhelm Turpenitz and Karl Weissman all making Alric feel distinctly weighed down by expectation. He reached the office door to the minister's office, it was closed and ominously quiet, the gold leaf lettering read simply “Otto Simon”.

After a long pause Hubert finally summoned the courage to knock, well it was more a timid sort of tapping. A muffled “enter” was all the reply he received in response, he breathed in slowly and pushed the door open. The interior was a mass of paperwork, wall charts and open folders that lay strewn across every available surface. The chaos of the last months had caused every in parliament to work overtime as the war in Ducrijecka rocked the continent and erased old certainties overnight.

Otto Simon had never looked particularly dignified or official, his appearance was most notable for just how ordinary it was, at 66 the deputy prime minister was a portly, balding and temperamental soul. The stress of managing the chaos engulfing the continent was visibly taking its toll on the ageing statesman. His normally well-presented suits were now marked by grime and pen stains and judging by the sunken eyelids and reddened eyes, he probably hadn't slept properly in days.

“What is it Hubert I'm very busy!?” Otto snapped not looking up from his computer screen

“I have the report you asked me to compile, the Santonian part took a little longer than expected but the diplomatic service assures me its accurate” Hubert replied nervously

Hubert had been the deputy prime-ministers secretary for little over six months, most of that time had been spent attempting to deal with an ever-expanding mix of diplomatic and military crises. The NGEC celebrations at the start of the year had seemed like a sign of better things to come, instead, mere weeks later the Andrennian parliament in Mitta had been attacked by terrorists and the continent had descended into madness.

Otto had proven a decisive and arguably stabilizing force within the government during that time. But now things had devolved far beyond anyone's ability to control, the fragile peace that had existed on Gothis had been irrevocably shattered. Andrenne had lashed out at Ducrijecka like a wounded animal, bombing the city of Kosada into dust. The world had reacted in horror as tens of thousands had died in the unceasing bombardment.

Overnight Andrenne had gone from victim to perpetrator, the world turning against the embattled state as it parted disastrously with any claim to a moral high ground. A tidal wave of condemnations and expulsion had followed, the PGU had suspended Andrenne’s membership as the majority voiced their disgust. Andrenne had responded with characteristic belligerence, purging its own government and expelling the embassies of its critics. Reason had died a swift death as madness flooded across Gothis.

The continents situation was beginning to more accurately resemble that of 1940 then 2020 and as treaties such as Kjelsamma and Hessenberg were torn apart any attempts at restraint or diplomacy began to fall on deaf ears. Assembly lines began to churn out weaponry, battle lines were drawn and recruiting offices filled, everyone was certain another war was just around the corner. All of this made Otto’s request for a report on Hessunlands allies very suspicious, what was the old man planning?

“Sir if I may ask, why the sudden interest in our allies? Many in the department feel that our task would be easier if we...” he didn’t get chance to finish, Otto slammed his fist on the table as a look of utter frustration filled his aged features

“THAT'S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM!!!” Otto roared angrily “Everyone wants clarity, they want to know when they can finally get back to normal when their TV screens will stop being flooded with images of war and dust! When their sons and daughters will get to come home!” Otto growled as he rose from his chair and reached for a nearby bottle of schappes

“Sir I didn’t mean to...” Hubert said in a placating voice only to be cut off

“Nonsense you absolutely did mean to ask! and who could blame you hmmm? This entire year has been nothing but nightmares and uncertainty! Everyone wants to know how this is all going to play out, well I have no easy answers I'm afraid!” Otto said wagging a finger angrily as he took a long swig from the bottle before pacing the office

“This wretched conflict has driven everyone mad! MAD!!!! Andrenne turning cities to dust!!! Jomfrundlanders ranting about gotic purity as though possessed by Himdach’s Ghost! Epiphani legionnaires come from half the world away to depopulate towns!!! women and children butchered! CHILDREN FOR MERCIES SAKE!!!! And all while Goyanes and Ilia look on in total silence!!!” He roared before slamming his fist on the table again before slumping painfully back into his chair

“Sir I'm sorry,” Hubert said trying not to sound completely pitiful

“We’re all sorry Hubert...but apologies count for very little to the dead” Otto said gloomily

The old man suddenly didn’t look so intimidating, he looked frail, grieving and tired, the deputy prime minister of Hessunland seemed on the verge of tears. He took another long swig from the schnapps bottle and then otto reached for a Manilla folder and opened it before passing it across to Hubert. Images of various figures and photos of military leaders covered the pages.

“That file contains a detailed report of the entire disposition of all allied forces involved in this conflict,” Otto said in a weary voice after a long pause

“What do you intend to do with it?” Hubert asked timidly

“Tomorrow a request will be sent out to all allied heads of state, I have already spoken with the Prime Minister and the King, we have determined that only a united front will have a chance of ending this war” Otto replied tapping the file for emphasis

“We are forming a new alliance then?” Hubert ventured

“A Coalition to save Ducrijecka’s people, the working name is simply the Humanitarian league, but I honestly don’t care what they end up calling it, if it saves innocent lives, they can call it the bears arse and I'll still approve,” Otto said in an exhausted voice

“Thank you for sharing this with me sir, but why?” Hubert asked suddenly suspicious of his master's admission

“Because Hubert, I am going home to take a very long shower and to sleep for the first time in four days and then I am going to apologize to my wife profusely for my absence and while I am alternating between sleep, ablutions and marital redemption? You are going to be making this happen in my absence” Otto said with a sudden smirk as he rose and picked up his coat and a dusty homburg

“Sir, are you....” Hubert asked letting the words trail off

“Yes! Yes! I have every confidence in you, coffee is over there and if you touch my schnapps I'll kill you and conceal your body in the mound of legal forms in the corner, Guten abend Hubert” Otto said as he strode earnestly out of the office

Hubert stood in utter confusion for several seconds, the folder still in his hands, eventually he lowered himself into the armchair and sighed. On the one hand, he was sure he had just been promoted or at very least entrusted with a vital task, on the other though he would now likely be working all night and he suspected calling every friendly head of state in the northern hemisphere. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Welcome to politics,” he said with a mirthless grin as he reached for the phone

July 2nd, 2020, Outskirts of Kosada

---

Joakim hated this place. This war. It had been something righteous to fight for at first but only a month or so in and it'd just become a mindless bloodbath on both sides. They'd been besieging Kosada for almost a week now. Whole sections of the city had been turned to rubble. He didn't even want to think about how many innocent people had lost their lives in there. They had turned this once beautiful countryside and city into total shitholes. The metallic smell of blood accompanied by gunpowder and diesel fuel mixed violently with the naturally grassy scent of the green hills, hanging in the air and violating Joakim's nostrils with every breath he took. He saw dead or dying men decorating the battlefield everywhere he looked. Mostly Dučrijekans. He had signed up to fight a war of patriotism, but had wandered into hell instead.

The Duckies were resilient, even after constant shelling and being completely surrounded by the Royal Andrennian Army their guerilla fighters pestered the Andrennians constantly. The Prydanians and even the Essalaneans had long abandoned the front after seeing what kind of atrocities Andrenne was willing to commit in the name of so-called "justice". Joakim was one of a growing number of men that wanted to drop this war altogether. They were fighting for a lunatic Grand King that seemed to be going more and more senile with each passing day and his delusions of grandeur, and still many soldiers seemed to be loyal to him. Joakim... couldn't understand why. Maybe they needed to think Lukas was still sane so that they could go through with the horrible things they were doing on the ground. Maybe they just feared the repercussions of a mad king. Either way- they mocked Joakim constantly. They shouted 'coward' and 'traitor' like it meant anything to him, like he should feel bad for not wanting to slaughter an innocent population.

It was a standard morning, the sun shone through tall pine trees and warmed the verdant grass they stood on for morning roll call. Joakim got a basic breakfast from the field kitchen. An open faced sandwich on crispbread (with a little 'caviar' spread), creamy scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, venison sausage, and porridge. Oh- and strong black coffee. The breakfast was standard for Andrennians but those field cooks knew what they were doing. They had their weapon inspection shortly after. Joakim's m/02* was a bit dirty around the magazine well and bolt handle so they made him clean it up. Nothing out of the ordinary until 9:00 AM. Joakim had been smoking a cigarette before his morning patrol was about to start but they pulled him aside instead. Actually they pulled his whole division aside, he learned shortly after. A lot of other divisions too. This was a briefing-- for the assault on Kosada. They had surrounded the city in the past week. Cut it off from outside supplies. It was only a matter of time. They'd send in a probing force first, then roll in with light armor. A few attack helicopters for air support. Then the infantry-- That included Joakim. They would sweep up anything left behind. Flush out buildings. High command expected house-to-house, block-to-block fighting. The attack would start at midnight. Infantry should be marching in during the early hours of the morning as the sun rose. They were dismissed. One more quick patrol for Joakim and then him and the rest of the Army started their preparations, though it was all a bit short notice. Come midnight the death bells rang for Kosada as the assault began in full. Gunfire of all calibers rang reverberated in the city as the long hours of the night stretched on and the moonlight shone down upon those who fought.

*Refers to the GS m/02, the standard rifle of the Royal Andrennian Army.

Swallowing Dust - Unknown Artist

Býkonsviði, Prydania

Reynir Aaker was leaning back in his chair as he doodled mindlessly with an outstretched right hand over a pad of blank paper. There was only one thing he had to do at the moment, and that one thing had to do with Stig Eiderwig.

The Minister of Defence had known the Field Marshal and Chief of the General Staff for a long time. Long ago before either held such lofty titles. Back when Stig was merely head of military operations for the FRE, and Reynir one of a few agents tasked with relaying information between him and William Aubyn. He'd gotten to know Stig, Thane of Eiderwig well, becoming his longest serving contact. And yet that knowledge left him at a disadvantage today.
He knew the Field Marshal was a very no-nonsense man. Not particularly warm, but duty bound. Not charismatic but able to command the loyalty of his troops by leading by example. What was tripping him up about today's business was his pride. Stig was, by many accounts, dull and duty focused, and very uncomfortable around praise. Even if it was warranted. Yet it would be a mistake to say he lacked pride. He very much had it- perhaps too much. It just didn't manifest in a way it would for most. So that was waht Reynir had to ascertain. Would what was to be discussed today wound his pride?

"Minister Aaker, Field Marshal Eiderwig is here to see you" his secretary announced, startling him from his wandering thoughts and doodles.

"Thank you Viðja, send him in" he said pleasantly.

"Ma'am" Stig said to Viðja as he entered before taking his seat.

"The man's uniform is impeccable" Reynir thought to himself. He almost came off like a robot someone made and programmed to be a solider.
"Field Marshal" he said as he stuck his hand out. Stig shook it briskly before they relaxed back into their seats.

"I trust the General Staff has read the proposal over?" Reynir asked.

"Yes" Stig replied with a nod.
"We have."

"Excellent. And?"

There was a long pause. One Reynir didn't expect. He grew nervous.

"Yes, Minister?" Stig finally asked.

"Well...what did you all think?"

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"Pardon?" Reynir asked, sounding legitimately confused. What the hell was he talking about? Of course the opinions of the heads of the branches of the Prydanian armed forces would be relevant to a restructuring to this degree.

"This has the approval of the government, does it not?"

"It does."

"Well the military pledges to serve His Majesty. The government governs in his name. It's not my place, or the place of any of the others on the General Staff, to dictate policy to the government. It's supposed to work the other way around."

"Huh" Reynir replied. He was not expecting that. He sensed a degree of resentment, buried under the layers of proper respect for the norms of civilian government.
"Well...as much as I respect that you do not wish to impose a junta on us, we do value the opinions of the military brass."

"The plan put forward- to request Saintonge advise us as we restructure out military into a defensive and humanitarian force- is a good plan. Everyone on the General Staff- even His Majesty's young Lord General of the Knights- has seen war first hand. It's not hard to convince our lot that this is a positive thing."

"I'm happy to hear that Field Marshal" Reynir said with a smile.
"I truly am. Still..." he paused. Stig had given him an out. He'd endorsed everything. He could leave it here. He chose to dig instead.
"...I'm sensing a degree of hesitation."

"Why does that matter?" Stig replied.
"The government approved the plan. I said it was sound. What more is there to talk about?"

"I've known you for a long time, Field Marshal. I know when something is eating at you. And this..." he tapped a folder next to him on his desk... "this isn't like changing socks. This would radically restructure our military. Both physically and ideologically. We need to hear any concerns you have."

"There are no concerns. As an officer, it's a good proposal. As a man who's seen the worst of war it's a relief to know we will be looking to avoid or mitigate it in the future."

"So why do I get the feeling you're not entirely on board" Reynir asked. It slipped out. He had considered dancing around it but...he just said it. He felt the colour drain from his face. Stig Eiderwig was also tough as nails. And could be terrifying if he wanted to be. He just looked at him for a moment, before the Field Marshal spoke.

"Because I fought in the dirt, mud, and snow for fifteen years. I know how to defend my country" he said sternly.
"I did it all, wearing the title of heir to a crown I didn't want, to save and restore my country" he added. His voice didn't change volume. It didn't shake. It was just to the point.
"You ask me if I have concerns. I was being truthful. I have none. Yet I'm struggling with the notion that someone else will come here, and tell me how best to defend my country. My people. We all bled for them. It's a hard realization to have; that it wasn't enough."

"No one is disparaging what you did during the War..."

"I know that" Stig replied rolling his eyes.
"It's..." He sighed. Opening up was not the easiest thing for him. He wouldn't have even bothered, but Reynir and him went back a long ways.
"I love this country. It's why I went into the military. It's why I fought as I did during the Civil War. Everything about this country, Reynir. The sky, the fields, the forests, the fjords, the hills...the people. Some find that sentiment corny. I mean it though. It's why I did what I did. To save Prydania. To protect Prydania. And my cousin. And everyone else from the criminal gang that took it over."

"Saintonge helped too" Reynir replied.
"At risk to their own personnel. They helped. A lot of people." He kept his voice low. He didn't want to give Stig the impression he was arguing with him.
"I trust their intentions."

"As do I" Stig replied.
"It's not a matter of trust. It's just...a matter of realization of one's limits I suppose. I want our country, above all else, to be safe. And proud."

"It's my opinion" Reynir began, "that this plan. This proposal...is how we get there."

"I know" Stig said with a nod.
"It's why I told you neither I or any of the others on the General Staff had any objections."

"You seemed hesitant. I just wanted to know what was wrong."

"Sometimes" Stig replied, showing just a hint of a smile, "it's best to leave a man to his insecurities. But yes. Invite the Santonians. Formally."

"Consider it done."

Planište, Dučrijeka

"How much do you know about Hessunland?" General Níels Krummedike asked Colonel Eragon Bláfeld as they made their way to the agreed-upon meeting.

"Well Sir, I know they were in a situation much like ours, decades ago" Eragon replied. "After the Gotmark War. Hessunland was on the brink of collapse. Now they're able to do something like this."

"Do you find that affirming in some way Colonel?" Níels asked.

"I have to" Eragon replied.
"We all fought through what happened at home. You brought me here because of that, in part, Sir. You wanted me to root out partisans. Well...I didn't do that, but I saw something else from home. Misery. If Hessunland can help alleviate that, then we can too."

"I never took you for an idealist, Colonel. You always struck me as the calculating type."

"I'm sorry if you got that impression Sir I..."

"No, I like idealists. They keep me from going too dull having to put up with Field Marshal Eiderwig's stoicism" he winked.
"The world is getting darker. The more of us who stand in the light the better" he said as the two officers prepared to enter the conference room.
"Politicians" Níels remarked.
"Just try to manage" he said with a wink as they both entered.

The cohort had the order, they were to evacuate to the coast as to join the invasion of Yamantau. They would have to cross through a large swath of territory and on the way there they would take towns in the name of Andrenne. They were getting out of this dammed country.

Varus thought about finally leaving the place that had stained the name of the legionaries. They had hated fighting here and it was well known that not only was the Imperator infuriated, but the International community was not looking too kindly on the Legionaries actions. Secrecy was the name of the game there would of course be a message sent to Andrenne, however they needed to leave fast. Their first move was north where they would march into towns and raise the Andrennian flag and radio in that they took it. They were careful as to not kill civilians, and they only took what they needed to survive. Varus was sad about the lack of trucks, most of this journey would be done on foot.

Damn the marching. This was the thought that was throughout the legionaries, there was a general down feeling towards the marching. The legionaries wanted to leave however they didn't want to march anymore. Varus when at camp at night spoke with the other men about what had happened here.

"We not only brought shame to the Imperium, we unintentionally made it so thousands of other men will die on foreign shores."

Planište, Dučrijeka

Garsendis ran the whetstone across the blade of her axe in slow and practised movements, by now the edge was sharp enough to draw blood from even the lightest of touches. Her comrade Horg watched from the corner of the tent with amusement, the young Karg seemed to have a sixth sense for her moods, Horg cracked open a can of Prydanian lager and walk gingerly to her side, just outside of swinging distance.

"You planning to cut the sky open with that axe?" Horg muttered with a sly grin

Garsendis didn't answer, she just kept going with the whetstone, the rhythmic motions allowing her a measure of distraction from the world and its thousand worries. Horg slipped his beer loudly, his way of letting her know they weren't finished, she sighed irritably and finally set the axe down.

"Do you ever ask yourself what we are doing in this godforsaken land? sitting idle in this tent while the unhorsed debate strategy in that big hall!" She asked in a frustrated voice

Horg shrugged "its a strange change of pace from Kosada ill admit," he agreed before taking a long gulp from his can

The time since their arrival in Planiste had been maddening, the incessant shelling of Kosada being replaced by eerie quiet of the safe zone. Planiste had little need for hardened warriors, the endless lines of refugees needed doctors and medicine, not blades, in such a place the sons of Essalan were rendered useless. The only real action was the occasional food riot or queue fight, Horg would often join the MP's in breaking up the disputes that had become daily occurrences amongst the starved and tired masses, it wasn't a worthy use of a warriors time though, just another inglorious task.

"Alric says we might be moving deeper into Ducrijecka once this coalition gets its act together," Horg said hopefully

"I'll believe it when I see it," Garsendis said with a frown

"Oh don't be so glum Volkmann, What about your Seitensattel*?"

"His name is Nik!" Garsendis hissed from gritted teeth "and I haven't seen him since Kosada" she said reaching for the axe before thinking better of it

There was the root of the problem, even the scions of Essalan were not immune to the sickness of desire, Evidently, the Prydanian had made quite the impression on Garsendis. She had been brooding like a wounded she-wolf for days.

"Well, Nik isn't my type, too stocky for my tastes, but the Prdyanians are here, why not go seek him out!? Probably won't even need to do a trial of possession* to haul him back!" Horg said with a mischievous smile

"Hmmm, perhaps, not like we are going to be doing much else until this debate ends" Garsendis replied with a slight smile

It started to rain again as she rose from her seat and headed off, it was a fool's errand to look for one man in a sea of thousands, but it would be no more wasteful a use of her time then her present state.

*"Side Saddle" in Mercanti, slang amongst the clans for a casual lover
*A traditional rite amongst the clans in which a Bondsman fights to claim an unhorsed as his or her mate

3:21 PM. July 17th.

”...critical shortages are already being felt; our anti armour capability is hugely diminished with our limited stocks, especially after the loss of the last RPG dump from that airstrike.”

The basement was damp and dimly lit only by candlelight - electricity had been cut not long after the Andrennians had surrounded them - and Igor Pavelić was struggling to read the map laid on the floor in front of him as he shuffled about, trying to sit comfortably on the rug. From the other side of the map sat Jakov Zrinski, his fellow brigadier commanding troops within the beleaguered city. Not as if they had that much coordination, anyway, with how utterly disorganised the Dučrijekans were, especially with the supply situation. After the Andrennians had encircled them five days ago, supplies had been draining fast.

“What’s the situation on the landmines?” Jakov asked.

“Stocks are almost out. We can’t slow them down much longer.” Igor replied. “They’re well within the suburbs now and while they might have to take care advancing right now, the second we run out of mines they can advance as quickly as we want. I’ve heard reports that people are taking Rümbas - you know, those Xentheridan house cleaner robot things - and painting them green to make them look like mines to halt their advance.”

“Looks like some ‘Drennie EODs are gonna have a heart attack when the ‘explosives’ they’re defusing start running away.”

Igor took a long drag on his cigarette. “We can’t hold much longer. Soon enough we’re going to run out of ammo and men, and then what happens to us? We have ten days most by my estimates. No help is coming for us.”

“So what’s our plan?”

“We take as many of them as we can with us.”

11:37 PM, April 22nd, 2021

Miita, the Kingdom of Andrenne

Rain poured on the Andrennian capital. A true downpour. Lightning occasionally flashed in the skies, followed by roaring thunder. Kjellsama Palace sat upon the Adriennic river in the heart of Miita. It's bright lighting reflected into the misty darkness outside.

It'd been over a year since this war was declared, and every day it persisted the Grand King was growing more and more mad. Grand Field Marshal Elijas Syydynensson had been on board with the war-- But the crimes he was forced to commit? The horrors of war his soldiers had been forced to do by words of Lukas II? Exiling the Prime Minister Artijom van Spaarva? It harkened back to the days of Vilkas Nyström. He wouldn't stand for it. The Royal Army wouldn't stand for it either. But even that wasn't the breaking point. No, rather, it was March 8th. Over a month ago now, and yet it still felt like it was yesterday.

Elijas sat quietly in thought, his hands clasped together as he stared into space. He sat in the urban headquarters of the Royal Andrennian Army. A rather modern building, that clashed heavily with the more traditional ceremonial uniforms of the Army. The Royal Army and the Royal Government itself had been at odds. The Minister of Defense Lukas had appointed, Ulfrik Dviiralt, was an absolute moron that didn’t understand the complications of war. Or anything for that matter. Rather, he was just a personal friend of Lukas. A rich dumbass. Nepotistic piece of shit. On March 8th, Dviiralt gave the orders to fire on a crowd of civilians-- Andrennian civilians at that. Just for protesting in front of Kjellsama against Lukas. Dviiralt was a psychopath, through and through. A stark, raving lunatic. He was perfect for Lukas’ administration. Thank the gods, Elijas and the rest of the General Staff were able to talk Dviiralt down and cancel those orders. Not that Andrennian soldiers would’ve done it anyways. Dviiralt would have made the whole army mutiny if those orders went through. Which prompted an idea in Elijas’ head. He had the support of the armed forces for the most part-- of the intelligence agencies too. Or at the very least the one intelligence agency that mattered here, MIU*. The General Staff was all in agreement on the issue. Lukas. He was the source of all their issues. The reason they lost international support. The reason the government was in disarray and the reason the Andrennian people marched in the streets. Protests had started boiling over into riots and for once in quite a long time, the Royal Guard actually had to do something besides stand around when those rioters got too close to Kjellsama Palace. The Royal Guard were really the only hiccup in the plans of the Royal Armed Forces. That and other loyalists in the ranks. Though the Santarmeri** had promised that they could deal with them easily.

Elijas went over the plan once more in his head. Have the Royal Army secure Slotta Drakon. Deploy the Home Guard to seize Andrenne’s international airports, ports, and major roadways across the country. Pause all operations in Ducrijeka. Keep the remaining unoccupied Home Guard on the border to reinforce normal border troops. Give the Santarmeri the cue to raid and arrest loyalists in the military. Elijas, with the General Staff and Spec-Ops of MIU, are to raid Kjellsama Palace and other homes of the Royal family in case Lukas isn’t in Miita. The ensuing firefight with the Knights of Gvyn around Miita will be… Rough to say the least, but the Armed Forces had numbers and equipment on their side. After the dust settles, arrest Lukas. The clock struck 11:45. It was time to execute.

The Midnight Coup had begun.

...To be continued in a separate thread.

*Militaavyy Intylligensustainta, or the Military Intelligence Service
**Andrenne's Gendarmerie, which also serve as military police.
To clarify this thread is not ending, I am simply branching off the Midnight Coup into it's own thread so as not to distract from the rest of this thread.