Ashes of Gothis: The 2nd Dučrijekan War

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Continued from this thread!
OOC Thread

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6:17 AM, May 10th
The town of Čenik, on the Andrennian-Dučrijekan Border
On a Sunday

The rumble of a distant engine thundered through the little Dučrijekan border town of Čenik. Heads turned towards the road as the engine roared closer. More engines joined the cacophony, some even accompanied with... was that electric guitar? Andrennian metal being played from radios, to be exact. SVP-21 Oswald tanks crested over the highlands, flying Andrennian flags on their engine decks, painted with remarks such as "NIK BRZEVODA", "DEMOKRASIJ IM ERDISTYGE" and "VUOGGSIA MÖRDAARJA", among many, many, other Andrennian profanities and phrases.

They began a relentless armored assault in the region, followed closely behind by infantry, fighting with ferocity, brutality, and tenacity that hadn't been seen by them since, scarily, the Fascist War. It likely shocked even their closest allies. It was clear this wasn't a war of political maneuvering on Andrenne's part, but a war of revenge and justice for the hundreds of lives lost and the thousands of other lives affected by their various provocations. They were merciful to the civilians, thankfully, but they only just barely tolerated their presence. There was no mercy, however, granted to the militia men that Dučrijeka considered an 'army'. Rarely did they take prisoners. The story was the same across many other points on the border.

The Andrennians were well-trained, well-equipped, and far more experienced than their southern counterparts. Andrenne had built up Dučrijeka's confidence in it's own defense, given them a false sense of security, and then shattered both like glass. Their plans were ruthless and efficient. There was no room for error, and no room for compassion. This war would end when the streets of Brzevoda, no, every Dučrijekan city ran red with the blood of their spineless politicians and timid 'soldiers'. Dučrijeka had provoked a war with the great Heirs of Adrienna. The blood was on their hands, not Andrenne's. The Dučrijekans were but lambs to the slaughter. The 2nd Dučrijeka War had truly begun.

Warren Tristard eyed the Dučrijekan civilians suspiciously. Most glanced up at him for a moment before continuing on their way. He felt nervous. Like any one of them could pull out a gun and unload on him. Still, he gripped his rifle and kept his position, behind the assembled barricade.

"You'll learn to tune it out" Nikolaj Ravn remarked.
"Eventually you just sort of....don't notice the faces."

"How? Most look like they want to kill us."

"Eh, most are just worried. Like us. And you'll ignore it soon, like I said."

"You haven't been a solider that much more longer than I have" Warren remarked.

"Yeah. So take my word for it when I say you're going to get used to it soon" Nik shrugged. A tense pause came over the two. An Andrennian flag fluttered from the town hall they were guarding, a Royal Prydanian Army flag flying from their own barricade.
"So" Nik continued, "Warren Tristard. That's a Bayardi name eh?"

Warren nodded.
"Yeah, there's a good number of us down by the Kanadian March."

"You speak it?"

"Heh" Warren laughed.
"My grandparents did. My parents know a few words. I know less. But I can tell anyone to go fuck themselves, you better believe it" he said with a chuckle.

"Heh, reminds me of my grandparents," Nik replied absentmindedly.

"Huh? You're Bayardi?"

"What?" Nik replied.
"Huh? No, sorry. Nevermind. My mind's just wandering."

"Not good in a place like this" Warren shrugged.

"Nah, you're right" Nik answered with a blush. He focused, pushing that nervous feeling down into his gut. He noticed Colonel Bláfeld across the street, talking to some lower level officers in both Andrennian and Prydanian uniforms. He seemed to be pointing towards the town centre when a bang rang off. The Colonel ducked along with his entourage, drawing his sidearm, with Warren and Nik both tensing up, drawing their own automatic rifles. A gun shot had come from somewhere, and soldiers began to pour into the street.

"You two stay here" Corporal Mörk barked as he directed the flow of Prydanian soldiers.
"We need to stay on guard here in case..."

Another boom...a much louder boom...rocked them. An explosion had blown out the town hall, and gunfire was raining down on them. The Corporal pulled himself up, leaning against a sandbag barricade as he tried to keep control over the checkpoint.
Warren came to quickly, and saw Nik struggling to get up.

"Nik!" he cried, dragging him behind the barricade. He didn't appear hit. Just shook.

"Sh....shma....Y'rl....Shdd...." he muttered.

"What? Nik? Talk to me!" The air was full of smoke and bullets.

"Wha...what hap..."

"We're under attack!"

Hessunland-Ducrijecka Border

Approach to Planište

It was dusk when the convoy left Camp Christoph and crossed into Ducrijecka, by the time the Franktorf valley had faded from view it was pitch black. General Schulz had given Major Stiglitz 1000 men and instructed him to advance towards the town of Planiste and eliminate any resistance he found on the way there, Taskforce Breitschwert was the tip of Hessunland’s spear.

Stiglitz drove the Caracal* down the night shrouded roads, everything was bathed in the bright green light of night vision goggles. Angelic voices flowed from the vehicle's radio as the greatest hits of the Franktorf opera house played, Stiglitz had always found Seidel’s* work soothing when on long patrols. In front a Leopold tank rumbled along with brutish efficiency, the contrast with the gentle choral music was amusing.

“Major with all due respect, can we please listen to something that isn't old as shit!” Private Krause grumbled irritably

“When you're driving you can pick the music private” Stiglitz replied dismissively

Krause was the latest addition to Stiglitz’s command staff, in many ways the only thing particularly noteworthy about Tobin Krause was how utterly unimportant he was. The boy was 19, a delinquent from the roughest section of Franktorf with a rap sheet loner then Stiglitz’s arm. The boy had been caught stealing cars in Stahlberg a year ago and given a choice between military service or serving his time, his choice had seen him sent to the 10th Dussel.

In times of peace Krause would have been scrubbing latrines and getting chewed out by NCO’s like any other mouth breather to choose green over prison orange, but war tended to create opportunities for societies dregs. Krause may have been rude, lazy and downright insubordinate but he also spoke fluent Ducrijeckan, a memento from his time running with Duckie car thieves in Franktorf.

Der Kind* had been seconded to Stiglitz’s staff for that reason alone, the boy had been infuriating at first, but Stiglitz’s two subordinates, Haas and Schreiber did a good job of putting the brat in his place. Haas, a former policeman from Hessenberg, seemed to delight in tormenting the opinionated youth at every turn. Schreiber cared less for the boy, a devout Arvinist, the specialist was more concerned with his bible.

“What you shits in Franktorf consider music has more in common with a bowel movement!” Corporal Haas said in a mocking voice as he tapped Krause’s helmet with his knuckle, a gesture that always infuriated the kid

“Still better than that old hair metal Scheisse!” Krause muttered under his breath

“Donnerschwert are the greatest band of the age and the fact that brats like you cannot appreciate this fact merely proves your generation has no taste!” Haas replied before turning back to the window

Silence fell across the Caracal for a while after that, the convoy seemed to go nowhere. Ducrijecka’s border was a desolate place, mountains cast long shadows over everything, and cold winds shrieked as the convoy advanced down pothole covered roads. Stiglitz wondered in passing if the people would resemble their miserable land in character.

“So, you think the Drennies were right to invade?” Krause asked in a bored voice

“Doesn’t matter, they’re doing it” Haas replied with a shrug

“What about you Shreiber? You think the Drennies were “Right” to invade?” Haas said indulging the boy's prattle
Schreiber sighed and gently placed the bookmark in the creased old bible, he straightened his glasses and eyed Krause with an irritable look.

“St. Arvin* teaches that the architect manifests its will in vessels of its choosing, clearly Andrenne has been chosen” Schreiber replied disinterestedly before returning to his book

“Rule of thumb kid...you push the Drennies expect them to shove back harder” Stiglitz said never taking his eyes off the road

Whatever Hessunland’s reservations about Andrenne the fact was simple, Ducrijecka had gone too far. Shooting up half Andrenne’s parliament had caused outrage across Gothis, no one was going to spare the Duckies from the wrath Andrenne was bringing, not even Goyanes. It was going to be a bloodbath and all Hessunland could do was try to stem the flow.

“Can’t wait to cap some Duckies” Krause said smirking as he scanned the darkness outside with his rifle

A few weeks ago, he was doing press-ups and getting written up for offences, now someone had given the kid a loaded gun and he thought he was Jan Weissman*.
Stiglitz rolled his eyes, the Duckies had been fighting Andrenne, Yakuvony and each other for decades, they might have been outgunned but they wouldn’t be pushovers.

“You’ll be lucky if you get back to Franktorf without an STD” Haas said chuckling

Krause was about to say something petulant when he saw something flicker on his night vision

“CONTACTS!!!” the boy yelled as an RPG screeched across the inky darkness and exploded against the side armour of the Leopold in front. Stiglitz slammed his foot on the breaks and reached for his rifle, Schreiber was already on the Caracals mounted gun firing off bursts of machine gun fire.

Stiglitz gazed out the rifle's scope and saw shadowy figures illuminated in the eerie green light, there must have been at least twenty of them, all dressed in cobbled together uniforms and snapping off rounds with little discipline. Stiglitz trained his sights on a bearded militiaman who was reloading his RPG, he snapped off a round and the Duckie’s head vanished in a white spray as he fell back.

“All Elements this is Breitschwert actual, multiple contacts! Feuer Frei*! I repeat Feuer Frei!” Stiglitz barked over the radio

The stink of Gunsmoke and the heat of discharging firearms filled the night air as the convoy created a minor light show with their return fire. The Leopold tank rotated its turret and its machine guns began making mincemeat of the lightly armed insurgents. Stiglitz saw a militia fighter burst open as the tank's guns shredded his body. Rounds bounced off the Caracal as the enemy's gunfire began to wither.

Krause fired a burst of rifle fire and roared in approval as he hit a fighter “Yeah I got on....” Krause yelled only to be cut off

“Shut up and keep firing!!!” Stiglitz roared silencing him

Finally, the enemy guns went silent “Cease fire!” Stiglitz signalled over the radio before jumping from the Caracal

Squads of soldiers moved in around the militia positions, torchlight revealed a scene of slaughter. Men lay in gore-soaked heaps, some had been ripped to pieces by fire from the vehicle mounts. Stiglitz shone his flashlight over a struggling militia man who had been shot in the gut, a man might have been the wrong term. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, he was wearing a tattered army coat and a pair of rubber waterproof boots, he looked more like a farmhand than a soldier.
The boy glared up at Stiglitz with a look of pure hatred, it was as though he was trying to will Stiglitz’s death through look alone. The boy was pale, and he was coughing up blood, he was reaching for the rifle at his side. Stiglitz drew his Bergmann and aimed It at the boy.

“Don't do it boy” he said in a calm voice

“Fuck you Hessie!” The boy said in broken Mittengots, he was practically spitting the words

The boy grabbed the handle of the rifle and brought it up, Stiglitz fired a single shot to the head and the Jeckan fell back his skull leaking brain matter and gore from the new hole. Stiglitz swore angrily, the generational hatred was strong in places like this, the Duckies would throw their old and young at the invaders without care or reserve.

“Okay let's wrap this up, squad leaders be ready to move in 5!” Stiglitz said giving the order to reform

The soldiers returned to their vehicles and readied themselves to move again, a few men lit cigarettes and traded banter whilst damage checks were done. The RPG had left a thick burn mark on the side of the Leopold but had failed to penetrate. The tank commander grinned and patted the steel proudly.

“Bertha’s a tough Fraulein! Take more than a few Duckie’s taking potshots to do her in!” he said beaming as he did so

Stiglitz nodded in approval and then turned to regard his own vehicle, a few dents where rounds had bounced off but otherwise in good nick. Krause looked less intact, the boy was panting and doubled over with a steaming puddle of vomit at his feet. Stiglitz walked over to the boy and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“First time shooting someone?” Stiglitz asked gently

Krause wiped his mouth and nodded, the look on his face was one of frantic horror. Stiglitz had seen it before, the belligerent and the young liked to talk tough when there was no danger but seeing the reality of war was a truly harrowing experience. Stiglitz doubted the boy would eagerly talk about killing Duckies again in the future.

“It was you or them Krause, don’t overthink it,” Stiglitz said passing the boy a cigarette which he took eagerly as Krause lit it

They stood leaning on the Caracal in companionable silence for a few moments before Stiglitz stubbed out his cigarette and turned to enter the vehicle again. He gave Krause one last look before putting him on the back.

“Good shooting Krause, we might just make a professional soldier of you yet!” he said before climbing into the driver's seat

A few minutes later the convoy was moving again, Planiste beckoned.

*A Caracal is the standard utility vehicle of the Royal Hessunland Army
*Seidel was a classical Hessun composer known for his uplifting choral music
*The Kid
*Janus Arvin, founder of Arvinist Messianism
*Jan Weismann is a popular character on the Hessunland television show “Naesserhafen Brief” tends to solve his problems with a high body count and gunfire
*”Fire at Will”

Useless bloody snipers.

Almir practically groaned when he heard the bang and thud of the bullet impacting the ground. Nedim had boasted that he had had so much experience in shooting, so many kills against RVD insurgents, there’d be no way he could miss, especially against a massive enemy checkpoint that was crawling with soldiers. But of course, he had ruined it. Immediately. Right at the start of their first big ambush.

Peering out into the street, he saw soldiers ducking down behind their barricades and sandbags, drawing and readying their weapons. Terrific. Now they knew they were there.

Fuck it, it’s now or never he thought, and murmured to his walkie-talkie “it’s time.”

A split second later, with a thundering crash, the front walls of the town hall caved in, spraying shrapnel everywhere violently with a colossal explosion. God help any poor soul who had the misfortune to be in there.

It would only be seconds before the rest of their troops came pouring out of their buildings, having heard their explosive cue to begin the ambush. He had to act fast.

From his second story window, he aimed his LMG down towards the street below at the Prydanian forces who hunkered down amidst the scattering civilians, and began raking bullets around them and their vehicles. Keeping them down and suppressed was the key thing now; they could not be allowed to aim at his fellow compatriots.

Down the street he spotted one man crouching in a corner, fiddling with his backpack, before withdrawing a large tubular object - Almir identified it as the single-shot, disposable MA-9 from communist-era Predice - just as a dozen militiamen exited buildings along the street, brandishing assault rifles. The man began fiddling with the safety with a frenzied hurry, trying to ready the clearly poorly-maintained launcher.

The militiamen began to open fire on the Prydanians all the way down the street, the soldiers pinned from both sides from sporadic sniper fire and a hailstorm of bullets that bit their way into the columns of sandbags. Almir continued to sweep the top of the checkpoint with bullets, not really caring if his target was within the crescent-shaped machine gun sights. He rained down sustained fire from his window above the soldiers, even despite his unfavourable position right above the Prydanians, and poorly-made bipod, which made his already heavy and unwieldy machine gun difficult to actually aim directly down onto the Prydanians sheltering below.

Over the hail of the gunfire, he heard a voice shout “Jasno, braćo!”, and Almir looked back down the street to see the man scrunch up his eyes as he aimed his RPG towards the sandbags of the checkpoint.

It was time for the fireworks.

The militiaman attempted to scream only to find his cries muffled as his face was gripped by a calloused hand, his struggles ceased abruptly as a blade pierced his ribs, the duckie went limp as the life faded from his body. Horg let the body fall to the ground and then pressed his boot into the dead man's back, the Essalanean long knife pulled free with a vile sucking motion.

“Think I knifed an officer?” Horg said in a self-satisfied voice as he pointed to the striped leggings that the dead man was wearing

“Doubt it” Vasseric replied dismissively without looking up from his prone position “all the important one's wear camo” Vass said as he adjusted the lenses on his equipment

Horg wasn’t listening, the young Karg was pre-occupied with stripping the corpse of its leggings, Vasseric ignored Horg and busied himself with his binoculars as he scanned the settlement below. Vass was a veteran of the Karg war and his greying beard and braids held the iron rings to prove it, by comparison, Horg was young and eager to prove his worth through looting and blood deeds, the two could not have been more different.

“Make yourself useful and keep an eye out for unhorsed!” Vass hissed as he narrowed his vision

Horg did as he was told, the youths of the clans would always be a wild bunch but Norsian military discipline had been able to instil some order in Essalan’s folk. At least enough to ensure that Horg carefully concealed his victim's corpse and after stuffing the leggings into his kitbag began scanning the immediate area with his Skandan assault rifle.

Vass observed the town below with a hunter's keen eye, he had used that same gaze when sniping Horg’s kinsmen some four years earlier. Now though Karg and Volkmann stood shoulder to shoulder against external threats, threats that didn’t necessarily endanger the steppe proper. Vass didn’t share the Andrennian hatred for the so-called ‘duckie” as a matter of fact he admired them, they waged warfare with a ferocity that only the clans could truly appreciate.

The Ducrijeckans were a fierce clan, they had mastered the arts of ambush and raiding, Vass relished the challenge such fearsome prey offered. The war itself though? Vass cared little about the squabbles of the unhorsed, their odd notions of territory and ethnicity had no relevance to a son of Essalan. Vass did understand why Gaiseric had been so eager to commit troops to the war, however.

A warrior people needed wars and by engaging with the wider world the clans would have an unending supply. Peace on the Steppe meant stagnation for the warrior spirit that had sustained the clans, by taking their swords to the wider eras the sons of Essalan would keep their edge sharp and gain worthy foes in the process.

A sea of buildings stretched out below, it was by far the largest settlement that Vass had yet seen in Ducrijecka. Plenty of defenders too, he jotted down positions and emplacements with a pencil and pad as he surveyed the city outskirts. This wouldn’t be a quick skirmish like the earlier patterns of ambush and feint that had defined the early stages of the war, too many uniformed soldiers and fortified buildings for that.

“Big town, plenty of loot down there” Horg whispered with a wry chuckle

“This isn't going to be some half-arsed raid welp” Vass snarled as he continued to jot down information

Half arsed raids with minimal casualties were a feature from a bygone age. The clans had embraced modern warfare and all its horrors long since. It hadn't been honour or feats of arms that had broken the Karg at the battle of the pale plain, it had been rocket bombs and Volkmann boys with trigger discipline. The old world with its inefficient patterns of honour duels and artistic challenges was gone, the unhorsed modes of war prevailed even on the steppe.

The settlement below would fall as all settlements fell, house by house and block by block. Vass wondered if the Andrennian’s would leave even a single structure standing, they fought differently from the clans. Vass and his comrades fought to kill but they bore their enemy no real hatred, an Essalanean fought to bring glory to his name and ancestors, not to shame his enemy. The Drennies were different, they fought with anger that Vass found disturbing, this war was personal for them.

“Did you fight at Neuanfang welp?” Vass asked suddenly curious about his companion

“Too young, only took my trial a year ago, lost a few uncles at that battle though” Horg replied in a conversational tone

“I probably killed a few of those uncles,” Vass thought, he did not care to share that thought with the Karg youth

“The settlement below will be the same, narrow streets and costly engagements, assuming the Andrennian’s don’t bomb everything to dust” Vass said calmly

He could almost smell the ash and feel the cloying weight of dust, the city below would burn like a wick if the Drennies had their way. Vass wondered briefly if the information he jotted down was nothing more than co-ordinates for ordinance strikes, the warrior code seemed obsolete in the modern world of airstrikes and precision shelling.

“Not like the steppe then. We will struggle down there I think” Horg replied suddenly thoughtful

Ehrenseele, the ancient path of the honourable soul, it was the guiding codice for all scions of Essalan. But the tenets of that holy path had not been crafted with cluster bombs and light machine guns in mind. Vass sighed, the old code would need to adapt, the city below would be a major test as to whether the old ways could be saved. This war would shape the future tenants of a culture that had thought its modes of war perfected.

“We are sons of Essalan, we will adapt, or we will die,” Vass said finally, his voice filled with determination

He tucked his notepad into his vest and took one last look at the city, it looked fragile in the morning light, a fire was coming and the Drennies were its bearer. Vass shuddered and rose to his feet; it was time to return to camp and relay their findings. The Drennie colonel would want to hear what they had to report and Alric would want to know the terrain he was to lead his warriors into.

1:47 PM. June 26th.

Kosada. The Drennies’ first challenge.

Up until now, they had only faced irregular and militia forces. They had yet to come up against an urban environment, facing the full might of the Dučrijekan army, with its years of knowledge in warfare and shortage of weaponry and lack of preparation time and… even in his head he couldn’t suppress the overwhelming sense of dread.

He had done his part in the preparations for the Andrennian arrival. Land mines on the major streets, ammunition stockpiled in secret dumps, sniper nests created, whatever work he could do. Not that they could even do that much, with dwindling stocks in explosives and ammunition which was the major bottleneck in Dučrijekan defensive plans. Over two decades of constant counter-insurgency warfare had exhausted their supplies, with cross-border smuggling proving insufficient to meet their military’s demands.

The June sun scorched Lazar’s neck and he and several others struggled to push their towed rocket artillery launcher into position atop the hills that towered over the city. It was back-breaking work, with the launcher weighing nearly two hundred kilos empty, making it exhausting for a group of their few numbers. If only they had some vehicles; trucks, SUVs, hell, even his old hatchback from when he lived in Beyanika, before he had to abandon it and his city to the advancing forces of the RVD. But now wasn’t the time to reminisce, and besides, it wasn’t long to the top.

Breathless, the launcher was finally pushed to the peak of the hill, and rocks jammed under its wheels to ensure it wouldn’t roll back down again much to their chagrin.

He took a minute to regain his breath and take a long drink from his canteen as he gazed around him. Behind him was the city; a collection of emotionless, brutalist concrete tower blocks in its centre, surrounded by the red-roofed three-story houses and the narrow streets that zigzagged randomly around the city. In front, a wide sweeping plain, pockmarked with small villages and crisscrossed by ploughed fields, which gave way to the forested hills and eventually mountains that made up the northern canton of Zemriča and the Andrennian border.

He tried not to think about his impending doom, but a knot in his stomach had developed as his mind raced on about the incoming invasion. Their battery would be one of the few things standing between Kosada and the Drennies. His duty was to delay and stall the Andrennians as much as he could while the Kosadan defences grew, and give them targeting coordinates to direct counter-battery fire. As if they could even reply fire that much.

His eyes settled back onto those tower blocks. They were still filled with people, ordered to stay in place, and the Andrennians knew this; it was the ultimate Dučrijekan attempt to deny them the use of their airstrikes and artillery, and force them to manually clear the city on the ground. The curfew had been a public announcement, and even in other major cities not on the front line, families were still holed up in their houses and apartments to deter Andrennian strikes. The best they could hope is that the concrete and brick of their abodes could absorb the shock of a high explosive artillery shell.

Not likely, though.

The time for thinking was over now, though; there was more preparation to do. With one final swig of water, he set off back down the hill to carry their limited stocks of artillery all the way back up.

Their position on the hill overlooking Kosada would be their final stand in the face of Andrenne.

2:24 PM. June 26th.

Kosada. An urban bastion where every window could hide another rifle barrel.

The Duckies had put up little organized resistance so far. Guerilla fighters had dotted the verdant summer landscape of Bakruunsk*, but they’d yet to have seen proper military forces. Until now. Granted you may still mistake them for basic militia members, given their equipment and garb. The landmines among major roads and the dozens of snipers nests they had passed had proved decent roadblocks, decent enough to buy their enemies time to hold up in Kosada.

But it just wasn’t good enough.

Artillery of all sorts, both towed and self-propelled, had been brought to the now cleared and small villages that surrounded the city. Perfect positions to shell Dučrijekan army positions in and around the city. Many Andrennians agreed that shelling the city was the right course of action. Though of course, many others protested the decision making of the high command… Including Kapten** Rikard Oliynyn.

Rikard’s 7th Field Artillery Regiment was hesitant. For good reason, of course. They had been ordered to shell Kosada. Sure the Royal High Command had given the civilians advance notice but that was only half an hour ago. There’s no way they were able to evacuate in that time frame. Despite that, the 7th Field Artillery Regiment was to begin the barrage within just ten minutes.

Rikard had nearly sprinted to Vasamarskallkka*** Andreas Söderlund’s tent under the hot central Gothic sun, panting and sweating as though he had just run a marathon. “Va-Vasamarskallkka Söderlund! You c-can’t be serious…!”

The Field Marshall looked up from his map, illuminated by a single white LED light. His tent was immaculately clean despite being so hastily set up. “Hm? Kapten Oliynyn, shouldn’t you be preparing for the barrage?”

“Sir with… with all due respect it’s only been thirty minutes! ...Sir!”

“I’m well aware, Kapten. We gave them ample time to evacuate. They did not heed our warnings, clearly.”

“Sir- No, no, Söderlund, this is... this is wrong. This is horrible. We can’t shell a civilian target.”

“This is not a civilian target. It is a military target. We can’t discern their military forces from their civilians. We are shelling them to save Andrennian lives. Do you know how many men would die if we advanced without this artillery? Thousands. Do you want those men to die? I don’t. I know you don’t either.”

“Söderlund that is exactly the reason we shouldn’t bombard Kosada! We should just turn around and forg-”

“Watch your tongue, Oliynyn. Or I’ll tear it from that mouth of yours. I am your superior. Don’t talk back to me or the high command. These orders are straight from Mitta. You will do as ordered, or you will be dishonorably discharged. Get back to your regiment.”

“...Söderlund be reasonable!”

“Get out of my tent.” The Field Marshal looked back to his map. With his pleas gone unanswered and at risk of being discharged and tried for treason, Rikard hung his head and with anger plastered on his face he took several shaky steps out of the tent and moved back to his Field Artillery Regiment. The men could tell it hadn’t gone well and with hesitation moved into position to begin bombardment. They had no choice in this matter. Rikard took a moment to steel himself and brought his radio to his mouth.

“This is Archangel Lead broadcasting to all callsigns. On my mark, all artillery regiments begin bombardment of target Key. Kilo Echo Yield. Repeat, this is Archangel Lead broadcasting to all callsigns. On my mark, all artillery regiments begin bombardment of target Key. Kilo Echo Yield.”

There was a moment of silence and shaky breaths heard over the radio. “M-Mark. Fire at will.”

The noises that followed were as if Thor himself was shaking the skies with rolling thunder, but no, that was the sound of dozens of artillery pieces firing in staggered order. It continued for hours and hours, hundreds of artillery shell casings began to stack next to their howitzers into brass mountains, The smoke of rockets clogged the sky and hid the sun as they whizzed through the sky, and mortar shells whistled like the Trumpets of Jericho. It continued for hours and hours, on into the dark, starry night.

Dučrijekan forces tried to retaliate with their own rockets from the hills but their attempt was futile as they were soon to be silenced with precise airstrikes, metal Angels of Death relentlessly descending upon them and their city like vultures upon a cadaver.

---

* Archaic Andrennian name for the region of Dučrijeka
** Captain
*** Field Marshall

The 351st cohort arrived at the scene they were ordered to hold the flanks. To this end they went to a near by town, Krušalas this town was to be the first place to receive the legions. The Centurion in charge a certain Domitus Gaius Felix marched the cohort into the town and began to order the surrender of the town. The fabres (sappers) were head in reserve out of the town, the centurion had the translator on a loudspeaker where he was reading a list of demands to the town:

"By order of his most honorable Centurion Domitus here by orders that all civilians would turn over their weapons and any military men that are in the town. If this order is heeded then his excellency will show you mercy, however if his order is not heeded then there will be dire consequences."

After this was announced several times legionaries went from building to building looking for weapons and civilians, each building was ripped apart in the search for weapons and fighters. Once a building was emptied its inhabitants were put in the town square, there the legionaries awaited the order from the centurion. Then there was the largest apartment building in the town this required over one hundred legionaries to enter to get people to move. There was one room that was especially troublesome, the man in there would not leave. This young man had barricaded himself into his apartment, after a few minutes of yelling the door was bashed down and a legionary came and grabbed the man and began to take him down the stairs. He was yelling in Dučrijekan but the legionaries who were walking out with him payed it no attention. Once he was outside the man was thrown onto the street, when he pulled out a pistol he pointed it at the legionaries and fired.

A flight of six fighters were in formation and en route to Andrenne where they would be stationed. They were to help carry out air missions in Dučrijeka. The flight of Rieselfeldstadt Griefs from the No. 156 Fighter-Bomber Wing, No. 4 Squadron, the “Feuerspeiende Drachen*” (Jagdbomberflügel 156, Staffel 4) were to refuel before carrying out the mission. One of the pliots, Flugleutnant** Franz Zeissmann, was following the commands of his squadron leader just as he was finished with in-flight refuelling; it was now his turn.

“Feuerspeiende Drachen 2, do you copy?” were the words from the tanker aircraft operator.

“This is Feuerspeiende Drachen 2, copy,” he responded.

“Check you plane and prepare for refuelling, over.”

“Copy,” he said before doing a quick check on his aircraft. So far, everything was running smoothly.

“Feuerspeiende Drachen 2 to tanker, all systems are operating as normal, over.”

“Copy that. You may proceed with air refuelling, over.”

Zeissmann pulled out the throttle to increase his speed. He was getting ever closer to the tanker.

“You’re going too fast, reduce your airspeed,” said the tanker operator. Zeissmann scaled back on the speed as his craft was getting closer.

“1,200 meters to tanker,” said the operator as the fighter was fast approaching.

“900 meters.”

“600 meters.”

“300 meters.”

“100 meters to tanker.”

“50 meters.”

The pilot brought his craft closer to the tanker until he was at the right spot. He positioned his craft below the flying boom***, where it needed to be.

“Perfect, Feuerspeiende Drachen 2,” said the operator, “Commencing refuelling, maintain your current position, over.”

The fighter began to take on fuel from the tanker aircraft through the flying boom. It was only for a few minutes before the tanker was done as the flying boom detached from the fighter. The pilot then turned left and went back into formation. The other four aircraft proceeded to refuel, one by one, as there was still a long flight to Andrenne.


The fighters began to provide close air support for the allied ground forces advanced into the city of Kosada. They dropped their precision-guided bombs into the hills, as the Dučrijekans attempted to strike back. The ordnance made quick work of them, as the bombs brought them nothing but swift devastation.

Zeissmann had his sights on the target. The Dučrijekans attempted to fire rockets at the allies. “Target acquired,” said the pilot as they were locked on. He released the bombs on the target. The enemies below were engulfed in a firebomb, all swallowed whole as the bombs exploded. “Shack on the target,” he said when the bombs quickly eliminated the enemies below. The flight continued to bombard the hills, with such intensity that they may as well be bringing the wrath of God upon the enemy, leaving them no quarter nor showing any mercy.

---

*Translation: “fire-breathing dragons”

**Flugleutnant (“flight lieutenant”) is an officer rank (NATO: OF-2) within the Mintorian Imperial Air Force (Aleman: Kaiserliche Luftwaffe).

***A flying boom is a rigid, telescoping tube with movable flight control surfaces that a boom operator on the tanker aircraft extends and inserts into a receptacle on the receiving aircraft. This is found on air refuelling aircraft such as the KC-135, the KC-10, and the KC-46.

It was like a scene from the apocalypse, the sky was obscured by a haze of smoke and the air stank of fire and death. From their vantage point, the men and women of the 1st northern light infantry watched the bombardment with a growing sense of horror and disgust. Alric Volkmann scanned the horizon, his jaw set on edge by what he was seeing, the countless grimy blocks of Kosada were pockmarked by shell impacts and many were on fire, ash was slowly flowing from the fires and raining on the attackers like some perverse snowfall.

“What barbarians have you pledged us to brother?” Alric asked under his breath

The Andrennian’s had shown their true colours, giving the Jeckan’s a mere half-hour to evacuate their city. Alric had no compunctions with killing enemy soldiers, but unarmed civilians trapped in their apartments and shelled? It reeked of malice unbecoming of a warrior. The Andrennian’s were not fighting to conquer Ducrijecka so much as to level it, at least that was what it seemed like to Alric.

“Can’t say the enemy is much better, what kind of clan forces its bondsmen to remain in targeted buildings?” Korgun replied from the ammo crate he was seated on

Both men stood for a moment in companionable silence as the rain of shells shrieked endlessly overhead. The wail of falling bombs put Alric in mind of the tales of damned souls his father used to scare him with. This was how the unhorsed fought their wars it seemed, without honour and with even less mercy. Neither ally nor enemy seemed particularly noble, one used its own flesh and blood as a shield and the other burned and trampled everything in its path.

Alric had heard rumours of scoured villages and acts of brutality from both sides, but to see it up close left little doubt in the Essalanean’s mind that this war would be an ugly and merciless affair. The hatred that burned here on Gothis had become a firestorm that would only cease when one side was reduced to ashes. Judging from the horror in the city below, currently Andrenne was the one wielding the flame.

“Think they’ll actually stop shelling?” Korgun asked nonchalantly

The ageing blade master seemed to find the sights and shocks of the war far less jolting than the rest of the clan company. Korgun was death bound, in search of a worthy end on the battlefield, all his remaining strength he marshalled to aid in his quest for a good death. He had little time to get emotional, instead, the Niedrig regarded the shelling with a detached and analytical mindset.

“They will have to, the more you shell the more rubble you create for the enemy to hide in” Alric replied without looking

“You sound like your speaking from personal experience,” Korgun said with a grin

That part was true, the city of Neuanfang had been the site of Karg shelling as they had tried to dislodge the Volkmann defenders. In the grandest of ironies, the more the Karg had shelled the harder to remove the Volkmann had become, rubble providing excellent concealment to eagle-eyed snipers. The Volkmann had turned the rubble into a maze of death, much like the Jeckan’s might do in Kosada.

“Eventually the Andrennian’s will need to send troops in unless they plan to occupy dust when all this is done” Alric replied as a shell hurtled past in the sky above

The shell collided against the face of an ageing brutalist apartment, its explosion ripping through the stone and sending debris and fire hurtling to the ground below. Soon Andrenne would advance into the city proper, then the true horrors would begin. Alric turned to Korgun and motioned for him to follow.

“Come on, we need to have a word with the troops,” Alric said as he walked from the vantage point back to camp

*************************************************************************************
The men and women of the 1st northern light infantry formed up in a loose square around Alric’s tent. They were a strange sight in the otherwise uniform military camp, the clan soldier's appearance being an odd mix of modern and ancient. Bone charms hung around countless necks, beards and braids held together by iron rings graced many heads and each warrior sported tattoos and warpaint that spoke more to their rank than the bars or medals of the unhorsed ever could.

They were a perfect amalgamation of old and new, the fierce survivalism of the clans honed to a deadly edge and augmented by modern military training. Each warrior in the company represented an expensive investment on the part of both the clans and their foreign instructors. Norsian and Predicean military discipline had never completely broken their unruly ways but it had served to teach the clans how to fight as a modern unit. When left to their own device's clan commandos could cause absolute chaos.

It was this disruptive ability that Alric hoped the Andrennian’s would utilize against the Jeckan’s, no more scouting and false starts, it was time to let the clans sow destruction. Not that it mattered if the Drennies told Alric no, he may have been seconded to an Andrennian recon unit but that didn’t mean he took orders from them. He complied with their commands as a courtesy to his brother, but the second they tried to use his men like expendable Drennie footsloggers Alric would be quick to remind them of the clan's ungovernable nature. For now, though, that moment had not come to pass.

"I'm going to make this brief, when the Drennies eventually stop trying to flatten everything we will be heading into Kosada, for now, we will go where they tell us and work to their plan but do not forget brothers and sisters that we do not fight for Andrenne, we fight always to honour Essalan and Ziu! When you kill the enemy, you do so in accordance with Ehrenseele*! When the shells cease, and the advance starts you will be the tip of the spear and you will remind friend and foe alike what honour looks like!” Alric roared raising his right fist in obeisance to Ziu, the gesture was repeated by the 300 souls of the company

“True to Essalan!” Alric shouted, his company roaring the ancient vow back in unison

*Ehrenseele "The Path of the honourable soul" in Mercanti, the ancient Essalanean warrior code. Essalaneans follow the path strictly believing it to be vital to their admission into the afterlife. Ehrenseele forbids cruel forms of killing and demands that warrior slays their enemies using methods that are expedient. Gas, Fire and other controversial methods of warfare are considered dishonourable by Essalaneans.

General Níels Krummedike was studying a map of their combined allied positions outside of Kosada. This Captain Rikard Oliynyn had barged in, and had requested that Field Marshal Andreas Söderlund delay the shelling of the city. The Field Marshal had told him no, and the Captain had left, disheartened.

"Field Marshal" Krummedike had said after Oliynyn had left.
"Half an hour. That's not enough time for an evacuation. That's a cat toying with its food. I have to ask you to reconsider."

And he too was told that there would be no delay.

---

"Almost Valhalla, Prydania...Ash Ridge Mountains, Landerne River...life is old there, older than the trees...younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze..."
Fire was everywhere. Warren Tristard watched as Kosada was shelled. Fire consumed the city. The force of the explosions rocked eras under his feat. Warren wasn't a stranger to war. He was there, in Keris, when the very same army he was in now...General Níels Krummedike's army, hammered the Syndicalist positions. He could hear the rockets then, he could see the fire then but....it was nothing like this. The sky itself was on fire.

"Woodland roads, take me home...to the place I belong...Prydania, forests tall...take me home, woodland roads..."
"Why am I here?" he asked himself.

Nikolaj Ravn was likewise awestruck as they watched from the forward positions in the city outskirts they had secured. Warren saw him fumble under his flack jacket, and pull out a pendant around a necklace. It was small, silver, and it had a Yihuddi Star on it.
"Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba b’alma di v’ra chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon uv’yomeichon uv’chayei d’chol beit Yiraelya, baagala uviz’man kariv, v’im’ru..." he muttered, his eyes transfixed on the inferno that consumed the horizon.

"What the...what's that?" Warren asked, but Nik was too focused on the destruction in front of him.

"Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach, l’alam ul’almei almaya*" Nike finished, both awestruck and paralyzed by the sight he was seeing.
"It's a prayer" he said softly.

"Was that Yihuddi?" Warren asked. He'd heard Yihuddi only a few times in his life. He didn't think he knew any Shaddaists personally...

"Yeah" Nik replied, letting go of the pennant around his neck.

"You're a Shaddaist? And a prayer for what?"

"For the people we just killed" Nik muttered, ignoring the other question.

"That wasn't us that was..."

"We're the same side."

"And you're Shaddaist?" Again, Nik didn't answer.
"Nik?"

"Yeah I am so what?"

"Nothing I mean...I just didn't know is all."

"None of your business, Warren" Nike muttered as he stuffed his pennant back under his flack jacket.

"Sorry man, I didn't mean anything. No need to get defensive."

"We didn't give anyone enough time to leave that city" Nik said.
"That's why I said a prayer."

"I wasn't asking why you said it..." Warren replied, but Nik had taken a seat on the ground, his back against the barricade they were manning.

"Are you ok gaur*?" Warren asked. He'd been with since they'd loaded up onto ships back in Prydania. He'd never seen him like this.

"No" Nik replied.
"And you aren't too. I saw you. You saw what I saw..."

"I...I couldn't look away."

"What were you thinking Warren?"

"What?"

"When you were watching it? What were you thinking?"

Warren sat opposite Nik, sighing."

"I was thinking of Take Me Home, Woodland Roads."

"The song."

"Yeah, it reminds me of home."

"Yeah..." Nik nodded, seeming listless.

"Gaur, come on. Why do you think I give a crap if you're Shaddaist? I just wanted to know why you didn't say anything."

"My family changed their name to sound more Prydanian a century ago or something. We haven't been that open about our faith. Got me through the Syndicalists...and I had to just stand around, pretending I didn't see anything when Syndicalists came and..."
Nik stood up, angrily kicking a stubborn sandbag and leaning over it. He looked up at the inferno that burned before them.
"I saw my cohen's house on fire...I saw...more fire."

"Nik...I..."

"Why were you thinking of that song?"

"I told you it remind me of home."

"Yeah but why?"

"Because...I needed to be reminded of home."

"Because of all the dead people?"

Warren just got up and stood still for a moment.
"Yeah."

"There you fucking go" Nik mumbled.

"You fought in the War though."

"Yeah because I had to. The Syndicalists...well you know. I fought when I was old enough to save my family. I came here because I thought we'd be helping the Andrennians save their people. But this is..."

"What the Syndicalists did?"

"Yeah" Nik replied, feeling the weight of what he'd signed up for fall on him. He'd become what he joined the FNU, and later the Royal Prydanian Army, to fight. Or at least it sure felt like it.

---

Colonel Bláfeld was stationed back by an armoured jeep, looking out over towards Kosada. He scanned the position, and hopped to the ground, approaching the two soldiers guarding their position's forward barricade.

"Tristan, Ravn?"

The two snapped to attention, but Bláfeld could tell they had something on their minds. Everyone did.

"At ease."

"Tristan. The Essalenean position is just to the west, that way, three main roads over. Head over. Tell 'em we have some brennivín. They're welcome to come over and help us finish it if they'd like. I think we could all use a drink while this is going on. Make good time too."

Warren looked at Nik, and then back at the Colonel.
"Yes Sir" he said before he took off.

"Ravn?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Keep your head about you. Won't do anyone any good if you get sent home in a box."

Nik just nodded, a bit frantically.
"Yes Sir."

---

*Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba b’alma di v’ra chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei, b’chayeichon uv’yomeichon uv’chayei d’chol beit Yiraelya, baagala uviz’man kariv, v’im’ru, Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach, l’alam ul’almei almaya= Exalted and hallowed be G-d’s great name, in the world which G-d created, according to plan. May G-d’s majesty be revealed in the days of our lifetime and the life of all Iraelia — speedily, imminently, to which we say Blessed be G-d’s great name to all eternity

*gaur= dude

---

If You Fall, I Will Carry You by Efisio Cross, 4:27

The ground shook as another salvo was sent hurtling towards the maimed city of Kosada, the shaking caused dust to fall from the tent roof, Alric frowned and set down the pistol he had been cleaning. He wondered if the artillery barrels were red from overuse yet, they had been firing without ceasing for hours already. It would be a miracle if any civilians still drew breath in the death trap, they had been imprisoned in.

“Thirty minutes,” Alric said bitterly

Thousands had been given less than an hour to clear Kosada, the Andrennian’s could easily have waited, they had the numbers and the strength to do so, but instead, they had chosen to toy with their victims like sadists. Essalanean’s were no strangers to violence, seasonal raids and feuds killed many young bondsmen every summer, but the obliteration of entire communities? That was something new.

When the call had come for the clans to send volunteers Alric had imagined a mere punitive expedition, instead, he felt like he was a witness to genocide. Even the most savage conflicts that erupted on the steppe were fought with the assumption that there would still be people on the other side left when the battle ended. The constant barrage outside and the ever-growing piles of shell casings seemed to suggest that Andrenne would not be happy until every Ducrijeckan man, woman and child had been reduced to dust.

He drew his blade from its sheath and looked upon the long knife, it was a simple and yet oddly elegant thing, the long snaking blade had ended many a life in the dark. It seemed utterly useless now, a relic of a bygone way of life that the rest of the world had long forgotten. While the clans had spent their centuries of isolation warring and duelling beneath the endless sky, the unhorsed had covered their lands in assembly lines and armaments factories. What utility did honour, or skill have when entire cities could be levelled?

Alric's unhappy musings were disturbed when Vasseric walked through the tent door and gave a respectful nod to his kinsman. Vass looked as tired and disheartened as everyone else in the camp, the fact that Andrennian artillery had benefited from the co-ordinates provided by Essalanean scouts left many feeling guilt. Alric sheathed the blade and sighed, he felt more tired from seeing Kosada burn then he had been when he stepped off the boat after days at sea.

“forsaken day,” Alric said wearily as he gave Vass a knowing look

“Aye it was, makes Neuanfang seem like paid leave by comparison” Vass replied

They had both been at the siege, buildings had been shelled and streets levelled, and even that had been more honourable then the horror being perpetrated outside. Thousands had died in the defense of the Volkmann capital, but they had been warriors with a fighting chance, the dead of Kosada were defenceless. Alric gritted his teeth as the thought of being trapped inside waiting to die passed through his mind, that was no way for anyone to die.

“so, what do you need Vass?” Alric asked after a long pause

“Messenger came from the Prydanian camp, they say they’ve got brennevin if we are interested in joining,” Vass replied motioning with his head in the direction of the Prydanian camp

Alric thought about it for a moment, the shelling was unlikely to conclude for a long time and the troops needed a morale boost after the horrors of the morning. Alric rose from his seat, they needed to blow off steam and the Prydanian’s knew how to drink. Grim musings on their present situation could wait until tomorrow, tonight he intended to drown them out with ale.

“Bring the barrels of ale and the four-string*, we accept their invitation,” Alric said with a grin

*A Four-string is a traditional Essalanean instrument

Even from his position on the hill several kilometres from the city, Lazar could still hear every single shot of the Andrennian artillery, see every impact bite deep into the concrete and send shrapnel flying in all directions, with every explosion sending a pang into his heart. Those bastards knew there were people in there. They didn’t care! They were willing, nay, determined, to slaughter as many civilians as they could to achieve their goals and soften up the city centre.

They could not let this go unpunished. Lazar snapped out of his stupor and yelled to his artillery squad “GET CLEAR!”, before smashing the button in his hand, each press unleashing the thunderous whoosh of each rocket being released from its tube and roaring skywards, towards the Andrennian artillery. It was mere seconds until all 12 tubes were empty, and the squad rushed to open the crates nearby, lifting the rockets out of each of their cases and shoving them roughly into the tubes, before ducking to cover once again. The cycle repeated again; fire, open, lift, load. Lazar looked over to his right, towards the rapidly-dwindling pile of spare boxes.

Fire, open, lift, load. He glanced over again. They were almost entirely out, just minutes into the battle. He prayed that his counter-battery fire had had some impact; some retribution for those trapped in the city.

He pressed the button another twelve times, the rush of air from the nearby back-blast now no longer a distraction. He took a moment to squint down towards where the Andrennian artillery when he heard it.

The gentle rush of air from somewhere above.

Time seemed to slow as his head turned slowly upwards, his eyes catching the reflective glint of sunlight off something metallic. Something big. Something coming directly for them.

He had barely a moment to process before the missile smashed into the ground just a few metres away, the world frozen at the split-second where it impacted the earth, seeming to dig into the dirt, before it exploded, engulfing the battery and its crew in a colossal fireball.

Their final stand.

In the early hours of the morning, on June 27th, the Xentheridan government issued a major press release regarding the Second Dučrijekan War.




In addition to this comminqué, the Xentheridan government has also taken it upon itself to call for an organised aid effort to aid the civilian population of Dučrijeka, delivering food, shelter, and medical assistance to the vulnerable in the Zemriča canton, with the hope to contain a humanitarian situation before it can totally spiral out of control in the face of continued Andrennian aggression.

Nik sighed as he watched the Andrennian shelling continue. It had only been a half an hour since it started... he felt helpless watching. He couldn't even focus on his technical task at hand. He was forward guard but...who was going to come up the road? The city at the end was being reduced to rubble.

"Warren!" he called out seeing his friend return.

"Where's the Colonel?" Warren asked.
"We've got company."

Nik looked up the road.
"I don't see 'em."

"They've got horses. They're coming with ale though."

"Nice" Nik muttered, before the good news was shattered with another round of Andrennian shelling.

"Nik?" Warren asked, leaning against the barricade. He was still limping a bit from that Dučrijekan RPG attack a week back. Why he was hiding it he had no idea. He could get sent back to Andrenne, or even back home, if he was open about how much it could hurt, but pride won out it seemed.

"Yeah?" Nik asked back.

"You served with General Krummedike during the Civil War. Do you think he approved of this?"

Nik looked back at Kosada.
"I don't ever remember overkill like this..." he trailed off.

"Do you think he protested?"

"I couldn't tell ya Warren" he replied.
"Don't think he had much in a say anyway."

Warren watched Nik as he stopped leaning on the barricade, giving his leg enough of a rest to put pressure on it.
"You know..." he paused.

"Yeah?"

"Nevermind. It was nothing" Warren replied. It wasn't worth mentioning. He was bothered by what was happening, but he could sense Nik was having a worse time of it. He didn't want to make him more uncomfortable. He just stood there, waiting for the Essalaneans to appear.

In light of the recent invasion of Dučrijeka by Andrenne and the recent condemnation by the Xentheridan Federation, we feel obligated to put out a statement. In regards to Andrenne, we in Sudo understand their anger and their need for retribution. The unprovoked attack on the Andrennian Parliament was ruthless and unforgivable. For this reason, Sudo supports Andrenne's reasoning for this war. Granted, the methods employed in this war are not ideal, that being said, we understand why they have went to war with Dučrijeka. Now, in regards to the condemnation by the Xentheridan Federation, we also understand why your nations is opposed to the methods employed by Andrenne in their war. However, trying to force Andrenne to abandon their justified war because of methods currently employed that can be stopped without ending the war is incredibly short sighted. Can any nation say, with one hundred percent confidence, that they would not have been enraged and even went to war with another nation if another nation bombed their Parliamentary building unprovoked? We do not think that any nation can say that they would not. We agree that the extrajudicial executions of POWs should stop, we do not agree that Andrenne should have to abandon their war and completely de-militarize just because of actions that can be attributed to anger and an extreme emotional response caused by the Dučrijekans bombing their homeland unprovoked. Let me pose this to the nations of the world, if a nation was to bomb your Parliament for no reason, would your nation not demand retribution for the attack? We want the other nations that are still on the fence to think about that question before slamming down declarations towards Andrenne.

The only lights that shined through the darkish room were a few large windows. Only four men remained there. One sat in a chair, while one kept a steady pace back and forth.

One of the four men was Alexandrov Lavr Yurievich, the President of Yakuvony. Two were his advisers, and the last person was the head of the army.

“Andrenne is moving into Duchrijeka. Each second we spend sitting here, and planning, our enemies come closer, and closer. We must prepare for war” croaked one of the advisers.

“We aren’t ready.” The second adviser. “We aren’t ready for this war. We weren’t ready for the last Ardealul War, and we weren’t ready when the Duchrijekans left the Republic.”

Silence remained for a few moments.

“So you think we should remain here, and wait for the Andrennians to reach our border? They’ll invade us. We don’t know how prepared they are after they repealed Kjellsama. If we do not take measures, we’ll be crushed, and we’ll be gone from this country! All the sacrifice our grandfathers did to protect us will not matter. We’ll go back to war with them as we did in the Fascist War. We might win, and the same cycle will continue. We lose, and we’re screwed. The Andrennians want Ardealul. And we need to make sure they do not get it.”

“We can prepare within our borders.”

“Oh you disgraceful bastar-”

“Alright. That’s enough” Alexandrov said, stopping his pace. “I’d like to hear what you think, Kirilov. You supervise the army. You know if we’re prepared or not. Also… No smoking here, please” Alexandrov said towards Kirilov.

Kirilov, who was smoking during the argument, quickly threw his cigarette into the ashtray on a small table. All attention was on him now.

“Well… I’m not aware of the capabilities of the Andrennian military, truth be told. Especially as of this moment, after they repealed Kjellsama. But.. We should be prepared enough to take on Duchrjieka, assuming we don’t face a crisis at home. It won’t be like the independence war.”

Alexandrov nodded. “What do you think? Kornilov?”

“My Presidency, while we are prepared for war with Duchrijeka, our people shouldn’t suffer under another war. Going into Duchrijeka is just suicide. Surely, we must prepare within our borders? Expand the military. Encourage our companies to begin switching to military construction. You remember the Ardealul War, surely? You remember how much we suffered under Dimitry Panteley?”

Alexandrov stayed silent for a moment. He did remember the pains of the last war. He remembered His father died when he went off to fight the Andrennians. His mother later died during the latter parts of the war, leaving him with his small family.

Despite this remembrance, he spoke out.

“Kornilov, I want to avoid a war. I truly do. I don’t want my people to suffer the cost of a war, and the occupation. We’ve had great times in peace. But we can’t risk it. Andrenne will attack us for Ardealul if we do the wrong move, and it’ll be a repeat of the last war. And we’ll encounter more pain then before. And if we let Andrenne take all of Duchrijeka, it hardly matters if we are prepared or not, we’re doomed by then….My father died to keep the Andrennians at bay…. And I should, as his son, do the same.”

The room stayed in silence. No one spoke up. Alexandrov let out a sigh, and continued. “I’ve decided what we’re going to do now. Kirilov.. I need the Army on the border of Duchrijeka. Notify the airforce, and navy of my decision. We’re going into Duchrijeka again.”

Kirilov nodded. Kornilov quickly spoke up. “..Alright, but what about the people? While what you said was fair, and true, I wouldn’t think the people would believe it.”

“Perhaps we could renounce the Treaty of Gojanesstad.” The second adviser spoke out. “Say we’re going to reestablish constitutional order.”

Alexandrov nodded. “I hate this. I really fucking hate this. But we have no choice.” he whispered to himself.

“My Presidency, I’ll go now. I’ll do just as you ordered”

“Aye, you do th-.”

“I shall leave as well. I have duties to attend to” Kornilov said.

“And me as well.” The second adviser said.

“That would be best,” Alexandrov said.

For a few moments, the three other people began moving towards the door to leave. Leaving behind noises of their footsteps.
Alexandrov continued his pace, as he had another meeting to do. But for now, he was the only person in that room. And only the sounds of footsteps echoed across the dark room. He took a quick pause to look through the window. The sun set, and now the moon was rising.

It was raining, a chill seemed to pervade the palace as though the cold was seeping through the ancient stones. Hugo watched the droplets hammer the window of his office with a wearied eye, it was as though the heavens were crying. He fidgeted irritably with his tie as he turned from the window to regard Leto, his husband was frowning.

“Are you trying to set your throat on fire with the friction?! There are better ways to die Hugo!” Leto muttered in exasperation as he rose and strode over to fix Hugo’s tie

Hugo had never understood the origin of that saying, Leto had attempted to explain it to him a few times, something about an old urban legend, even after all that it had sounded like nonsense. The Prince consort smoothed the crumpled tie and tucked it neatly back into the king's blazer, Hugo sighed and leaned heavily against his desk. He suspected he looked terrible, the reports from Kosada had been enough to trigger flashbacks to the bombings at Franktorf. Hugo still struggled to sleep, the images of an entire city burning had been seared into his brain.

“I was wrong,” Hugo said after a long pause, the silence was only broken by the pitter-patter of rain outside

“What happened at Kosada was not your fault!” Leto replied firmly

Perhaps not directly, but in Hugo’s eyes he had a duty to seek peace first, he had been no different from the rest of Eras when the Mitta attack had occurred, his first instinct had been to support Andrenne. It was a decision he was coming to regret; he knew firsthand how brutal the heirs of Adrienna could be. Andrenne’s recent decade of relative peace had seemed a hopeful sign of change, now Hugo realized It had merely been the calm before a new storm.

“And yet I am complicit in their actions! I was a fool! I allowed myself to believe that Andrenne would not repeat its past behaviour! I saw them bomb Franktorf and I still bought the line of a just war hook line and sinker!!!!” Hugo yelled slamming his fist on the table

Leto was taken aback by the king's sudden outburst, Hugo was famous for his calm demeanour, seeing him in such a state was genuinely unnerving. Hugo slumped into his armchair and gazed up at his grandfather's portrait for a moment, likely seeking inspiration from his esteemed forbear. That was how you could tell the King was troubled, he only looked to that portrait when he needed to steel himself.

“I am so sorry, I should have listened when you cautioned me about Andrenne, you were right Leto, Ducrijecka has awoken something terrible,” Hugo said in a low and unhappy voice

Hugo remembered the NGEC accords in Kallmö with growing bitterness, it had all seemed so hopeful such a short amount of time ago. Representatives from across Gothis had gathered to celebrate closer ties, it had seemed like the wars that had marred the old continent would finally be banished. The current situation made a mockery of such foolish aspirations, the ashes of Kosada marked the continuation of Gothis’s bloody cycles of conflict.

“While I do enjoy hearing you tell me I'm right, I'm afraid in this case darling you might be wrong,” Leto said smiling gently “The safe zone you demanded is a beacon of hope, it has the potential to save thousands” Leto said as he took Hugo’s hand in his own gently

Hugo had almost forgotten about the safe zone, his attention over the last day or so had been solely focused upon the grim reports coming out of Kosada. By all accounts, the death toll for civilians in the embattled city was likely to rise into the tens of thousands. How could a mere sliver of seized border offer any relief in the face of such naked aggression?

“Andrenne will never listen to reason, I know them well, they will just dig their heels into the ground until they have a trench” Hugo replied grimly

“Your job was never to make Andrenne listen,” Hugo said firmly

“what then? "Hugo asked unsure where Leto was going with this

“You're going to show Gothis that there are still people willing to stand up for what is right, you're going to show people that there is another way,” Leto said in a determined voice

Perhaps that was the only way to really challenge Andrenne, not with threats or demands that they would simply shout down. Hessunland would challenge Andrennian madness with Mittel Gotic humanity, they would hold the world to account by bearing the torch for its better angels. It would be a dangerous act though, possibly even a nail in the coffin of Gotic peace.

NGEC was barely months old and the new ties between Hessunland and Andrenne were vulnerable to stress. Hugo would risk much by challenging Andrenne openly, but then again morals died when they lay silent. NGEC be damned to hell if its survival meant acquiescing to genocide, Hugo would say what had to be said and accept the consequences gladly.

“The Prime Minister won’t like me standing up to Andrenne” Hugo said with a wicked grin

“What's she going to do, Fire you?” Leto replied with a chuckle
*************************************************************************************The rain had not ceased some hours later when the conference began, hordes of journalists had gathered in the palace courtyard in preparation. Hugo waited in the doorway to the palace, he watched as Sergeant Krantz marched towards him ready to escort him to the waiting press. Brunhilde Krantz saluted her crisp grey uniform immaculate even in the downpour.

“If you are ready, I will escort you down your majesty,” She said in a sharp and formal voice, still every bit the soldier on parade

Like most of Hugo’s protection detail, Krantz had only served the king for over a year, and like the others, she still hadn't quite settled into her new role. There was still the awkward deference, the stiff military protocols and the profound inability to have a non-formal conversation with the king. Hugo had begun to chip away at this wall of formalities, his ability to remember names and naturally personable nature making even the most disciplined of soldiers begin to relax.

“Very good sergeant,” Hugo said approvingly

He waved off a servant offer to carry an umbrella for him, instead taking it and holding it over himself and Brunhilde as the two walked towards the waiting podium in the courtyard. Cameras flashed in the rain and lenses focused in on the king as he took the stand. Hugo set his umbrella down against the back of the podium and leaned into the mic.

“When terrorists attacked the parliament in Mitta, I shared my fellow Hessunlander’s sense of shock and disgust. What occurred in that building was an affront to peace and humanity. Hessunland has and will continue to support all efforts to bring the perpetrators of this heinous act to justice.

However, I would be remiss if I said nothing regarding Andrenne’s conduct in Kosada. The indiscriminate shelling of civilian targets represents an atrocity on par with the one committed in Mitta. I condemn such actions in the strongest terms and call upon Andrenne to cease all acts of aggression against non-combatants. If Andrenne is still truly justified in its war, then it must demonstrate this by acting in an honorable and humane manner rather than simply mirroring the vile behaviors of terrorists. If Andrenne continues to respond to acts of inhumanity by engaging in its own atrocities, then I fear Andrenne will have proven it is no better than the enemy it fights. I challenge Andrenne to do better, a just war does not make unjust acts appropriate.

But I understand my words alone will not sway the course of this war, the forces that have been unleashed upon Gothis are unlikely to simply be reeled back in. The fire that was started in Mitta will take a long time to burn out. It is vital that we find ways to protect and shelter the many refugees caught in the crossfire of this most lamentable of conflicts.

I, therefore, call upon all nations, NGOs and humanitarian minded souls to assist Hessunland in the expansion and maintenance of a safe zone. Together we can stem the tide of bloodshed and provide hope for those currently bereft of it. I urge all nations opposed to this war to send aid to the safe zone. Thank you.”

Tobias was currently in his study. He'd been spending a lot of time in it lately. It had recently been refurbished. One more part of Absalonhöll reclaimed from Syndicalist neglect and vandalism. He'd been reading to relax his nerves when he heard a knock. It was a knock he'd be familiar with by now, but Colart usually waited for permission before he opened the door. This time he didn't He bowed and he held it open.
"Sorry your Majesty, but Her Grace is coming, and she is very irritated..." There were many things Colart could handle, that cold stoic exterior very rarely melts to reveal something else. A pregnant and moody Alycia...now that is one of few things that even he didn't know how to handle.

Alycia all but stormed in, Colart silently taking his leave and closing the door behind him, trapping the poor King. "Toby, love.. Listen to me." Tobias didn't even have time to respond before Alycia continued. "You have to listen to Peace not Blood and Thorbjörn Höjsleth and withdraw your soldiers from Ducrijeka, o-or turn them into a humanitarian force... Being Andrenne's ally in this conflict is a massive mistake.. It's political suicide." The look on Alycia's face was a mix of worry and anger.

"And before you try to retort and say you're helping an ally for all they have done for you, remember what happened last time Prydania helped Andrenne when Andrenne got this way, remember King Rikard VI and the Fascist War! Whatever justification Andrenne has for this war it doesn't justify turning an entire city to ashes with the people still in it! Is honoring and going to war for your allies in their time of blind rage really more important than your morals, the morals of your war sick people and the morals you want for Prydania?"

“They’re all against us. All of them traitors, cowardly dogs that hide behind masks of humanitarian aid. Even our so-called allies betray us. They call us monsters, beasts of war and death, harbingers of destruction. Fine. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps we don’t need them in the first place. They have only ever limited us, brought us to our knees and forced us to kiss their feet.”

The Grand King’s words dripped with venom. He stared down towards the floor, a bored expression on his face. An empty glass accompanied by a nearly empty whiskey bottle sat on his dark wooden desk. He held onto a stack of papers, condemnations and transcripts of speeches, with a vice grip. Ministers of the Andrennian government stood like statues, for fear had made it so. All but one.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect… You’ve lost your mind. You ordered the shelling of Kosada as though it were as easy as signing a bill. You ordered the death of thousands, for what? Revenge? You’re insane. This war is insane. I recommend we immediately retract our troops and apology--” Gvyn Janusson was cut off.

“Out. You’re fired. I don’t want to see your face in this country again. Flee, like the spineless rat you are.”

“...Pardon?” He shakily pulled his glasses off as his eyes widened.

“You heard me. Get out or I’ll have the Royal Guard escort you out.” The two Royal Guards at the door to the Grand King’s office looked to each other. Their dark sunglasses hid their nervous eyes.

Janusson folded his glasses and hung them from his suit jacket’s lapel, regaining his cool and collected composure, “Then… I shall be taking my services elsewhere.” He looked to the other ministers. “I advise you all to do the same.” Out the doors the old man walked, muttering to himself as he did, “That fool is going to get himself killed.”

The mahogany doors slammed shut behind him. “If anyone else wishes to follow his lead, do it now so I don’t have to look at your faces again.”

Several ministers followed after him. Those who stayed were only the most loyal to the Grand King. Lukas spoke up again, “Inform parliament… or rather what remains of it… that their services will not be required for the time being. They are only here to serve as a rubber stamp. I will be organizing advisers and ministers to my own cabinet.”

Ulfrik Dviiralt, Minister of Defense and War, nodded quietly.

“Oh, and Ulfrik-- Enact both the Idran and Myra Protocols.”

---

The Grand King had truly gone mad. Surely this was a joke? Giorgij van Kostaanza VI, one of the remaining members of parliament, read over the letter again. No, this was official. Straight from Kjellsama Palace. Effective immediately, the parliament held no legislative power. They were there for… for what, public appearance? Andrenne hardly had much of a reputation left, what was the point? Why not just disband parliament at that point? The most concerning part was the ending of the letter. He wasn’t to tell anyone of this act or he’d be arrested. What the fuck was wrong with Lukas? He had just torn down decades, no, centuries of progress towards a free and more democratic Andrenne. He had just made an absolute monarchy. A dictatorship. It was far too reminiscent of the 1930s for his liking. Old Prinz Andrensk was rolling his grave.

In the following days a little over half of Andrenne’s remaining parliament resigned or was fired by the Royal Government. The government that Artijom van Spaarva had built, that had looked so promising, was ripped apart. Van Spaarva himself, along with most of his ministers, had completely left the country out of fear. The press seemed to become isolationist, as they rarely put out stories pertaining to current events. Police raids got more and more common as the days went on, and there was no end in sight for marshal law. Fear gripped the nation, and protests were crushed with little remorse.

With parliament essentially non-existent, Lukas had organized his own cabinet of ministers. He referred to it as Küniglig Edvorigvaanyy Rådva, or with a little bit of scrambling and cherry-picking of letters, NERV. They seemed to be only a basic group of yes-man and lapdogs of the Grand King. Nothing more than mouthpieces, in some cases.

It only got worse. In the following days, the Andrennian Royal Army was ordered to evict multiple embassies within the country, by threat of force if necessary. Only Goyanes, Syrixia, Prydania, and Malor-Kanada’s embassies, as well as the embassies of nations helping Andrenne, were left with as is. Various other embassy staffs had been put under close watch of the Royal Army, though few were officially under house arrest. They pulled their entire diplomatic team from both the Pan-Gotic Union and the North Gothis Economic Council, though it wasn’t really apparent whether or not they were formally leaving either. They weren’t responding to communications from any countries except those who still had embassies, and the ones they had already responded held only cold, harsh words.

---

OOC Note: The first part of this post happens before the above post by @Andrenne and is a direct continuation from @Zyvun's post. Everything after the statement from the King of Prydania occurs after the above post from Andrenne.

Býkonsviði, Prydania

Tobias set his book down as Alycia stormed in. He took note of how quickly Colart took off.
"That man isn't afraid of anything" he thought to himself. He gulped. His wife was six months pregnant with twins. He was terrified of her. And the conversation he'd had with a beaten and bloody Thorbjörn was still ringing in his head.

He'd had the luxury of mulling over that conversation for a few days. And then the Andrennians shelled Kosada. That had forced him to consider a number of possibilities, all while Magnus and the Cabinet debated the issue themselves. Peace not Blood had staged a marched in Býkonsviði demanding the troops pull out too. And now they had a man in the Alþingi arguing the same thing....

And yet Duchrijeka had bombed the Andrennian Parliament. Andrenne had spilt blood for Prydania's Crown during the Civil War. And Andrenne...it was one of the two mother countries. They were kin. And he had promised them. He'd wrestled for this for a day when Alycia insisted they talk. He'd tried to get a word in edge-wise but she wouldn't have it.
And then she brought up his great grandfather. King Rikard VI. More then even his Uncle Anders, Rikard VI was the man responsible for the fascist stain that had led to so much misery in Prydania.

And what had he done? He'd thrown his lot behind Andrenne during the Fascist War, and all of his justifications...
They were kin...
They had spilt blood for Prydania in past wars...

It was a powerful thing to realize on top of everything else. He sat in silence after Alycia finished and let everything weigh on his soul once more. And he knew what side had won out.

"Thank you love" he said softly, kissing Alycia on the lips softly, for a moment. He picked up his phone...

"Stig..." he said, speaking to his cousin and chairman of the Prydanian General Staff.
"Call Níels" he said, as he was shaking. He was really going to do it. He was going to withdraw.
"Tell him all Prydanian forces are to retreat to the Hessunlander safe zone. Yes...yes we can't...we can't be part of this. It's too much. I want you order them to..." he paused for a moment.
"do whatever they can to do escort refugees to safezone. Save as many people as you can....no. We'll keep them there for now if they're needed for humanitarian work, but our part in this war is over. Yes....thank you Stig."

"It's over..." he said as he set his phone down.

---

statement:

​

By order of His Majesty, Tobias III Loðbrók, by the Grace of God, King of Prydania, Lord Protector of Austurland, Marshal of Beaconsviði, Lord Uniter, Defender of the Faith...All soldiers, officers, and staff of the Prydanian Expeditionary Force in Andrenne and Duchrijeka are ordered to withdraw to the safezone established by the Kingdom of Hessunland and to engage in the safe escort of Duchrijekan civilians to said safezone if possible.

The King, his Council, and his Government wish to make it known that the Kingdom of Prydania entered this conflict with the most noble of intentions, to help our Andrennian brothers pacify a rogue state that had committed an act of aggression against them. The Prydanian Realm, however, cannot abide by the blatant disregard for human life shown at Kosada. It is for this reason that His Majesty has issued the withdraw order and why the Prydanian Expeditionary Force, once in the Hessunlander safe zone, will cooperate with other forces on how to best relieve the humanitarian crisis that has now erupted in Gothis.
The Kingdom of Prydania also pledges aid in the form of food to to help alleviate said crisis.

The Kingdom of Prydania does not wish to sever ties with the Kingdom of Andrenne. The horrors of war are all too familiar to this country, and the King, his Council, and his Government understand the urgency the Andrennian military and government feels. The Prydanian Realm hopes that it can play a role in peacefully resolving the conflict and bringing those responsible for the attack on Andrenne's Parliament to justice.

Tobias III Loðbrók Konunglegur
By the Grace of God, King of Prydania, Lord Protector of Austurland, Marshal of Býkonsviði, Lord Uniter, Defender of the Faith ​

Click to expand...

---

Býkonsviði, Prydania

"The Andrennians have responded to our withdrawl" Marianne Toft mentioned as the Cabinet met. Joined by the King, in a rare showing.
"Better than could be expected. In fact we're one of only four foreign delegations left in the country."

Tobias looked to Magnus. He'd been taking this harder than he was, Tobias was sure. He'd argued for the soliders in the first place. To be fair though...could he have foreseen Kosada? Probably not. No one but the Andrennians could.

"And our troops are almost out" Reynir Aaker, the Minister of Defence, reported.

"Excellent" Magnus said quietly.
"I think that should be it, ladies and gentlemen. Let's all get some rest."

Tobias, however, stayed seated, and Magnus picked up on it.

"Is something wrong Your Majesty?"

"I'd like to talk."

Magnus' stomach turned. He really didn't feel like a conversation with the King at the moment.

"I promise, it's just a talk" Tobias insisted. Magnus clutched his cane and nodded, sitting as the Cabinet room cleared out.

"I wanted to say...I didn't know how to feel about it when you defeated William in 2018" Tobias began.
"William was practically my father...I had this...I was clinging to this dream that he'd be there. Forever...I knew it was foolish but I wasn't ready for him to be gone from helping me be King so soon. But Magnus, thank you. For being an honest Prime Minister. Someone I can trust. And know will tell me what I need to hear."

Magnus chuckled softly.
"If I didn't know any better, Your Majesty, I'd say you're asking for my resignation."

"No, I'm not" Tobias replied.
"You've helped me. And now I want to help you. You're not to blame for what happened at Kosada. We did what we thought was right, and we were wrong. We learn from our mistakes. People keep telling me that. So it must be good advice" the King mused with a grin.

"It's not that I feel guilty over Kosada Your Majesty. I feel...I suppose, saddened. That even in my old age I can still see idealism snuffed out."

"Idealism?"

"Yes Your Majesty" Magnus replied.
"It's not just for the young. Many of us manage to hang onto it well into our lives. It's in shorter supply of course, which makes it sadder when it shatters. The notion of a proud Andrenne, fighting a noble fight...and of us standing alongside our brothers who once helped us..." he sighed.
"Part of me believed that an assertive reaction to something like this, without the nonsense of the fascist movements, could lead to something powerful. Andrennic- and I include Prydania in that you see- strength driven not by racism and authoritarianism but by a liberal democratic morality. It could have been a forceful agent of positive change but..."

"Kosada."

"Kosada Your Majesty, yes. I suppose I was destined to be played for a fool one last time. Andrennic militarism can't be controlled. It can't be 'used for good.' It was always destined to end in Kosada."

Tobias listened, nodding.
"Let's help each other fix our mistakes then."

"You seem rather confident Your Majesty. It wasn't so long ago you weren't sure what you believed we should do" Magnus said.

"I got some advice from two people I respect a great deal" Tobias replied softly.
"Prydania should be ok if its King and Prime Minister take their advice to heart."

The echoes of war in northeastern Gothis have reached the quiet fringes of the south, first starting with the condemnation of Valland on the actions of the Third Kingdom of Andrenne in Ducrijeka. It was now Alliaronia's time to take a step, whether to be non-aligned, send aid, or choose a side.

---

"The Vallish Republic has condemned the actions of the Kingdom of Andrenne, Sire," Hans Wiezsel-Mörger, the Staatsminister* said to Hærmann XI. "Andrenne had invaded and bombed Kosada, a town in Ducrijeka, a few days prior."

"And? We have virtually no say in their conflict, Herr** Staatsminister," Hærmann replied. "We are in South Gothis. The winds of war may echo in our quiet countryside that flourishes."

"Sire, I believe, as a Gotic nation, we should take a side in this conflict..." Mörger insisted.

"No." Hærmann said. "Alliaronia is not a full-fledged militarized state. While we have started relying less on Goyanes and Valland for our arsenal, Andrenne has an extensive military history. We did not flesh out Alliaronia to be as militarized as them. Hence why we sided more with our Goyanean brethren than the Andrennians back when the United Kingdoms of Andrenne and Goyanes existed, for they were pacifistic and preferred to live in solitude."

"But don't you think it's a good move, Sire? We could exert our influence. Plus, the shelling of Kosada is not something we advocate for now, do we?" Mörger said.

"Yes, we don't advocate for such. However." Hærmann said once again.

"However...?"

"Nevermind. Have Herr Minister Horzst, the Utenriksminister*** come here," Hærmann ordered.

Mörger stood by as the Köngeritzervakte**** went on to fetch the Utenriksminister from the office in his palace. A few minutes later, Karl Freydrijk Horzst arrived, bowing at the presence of the King. He shook hands as well with Mörger, being one of his superiors.

"You seek for my presence, Sire?" Horzst asked.

"Yes, Herr Minister. Draft up an official statement on the Second Ducrijekan War." Hærmann asked.

"With pleasure, Sire. What shall it be?..."

---

* - Prime Minister (of Alliaronia)
** - Sir
*** - Minister of Foreign Affairs (of Alliaronia)
**** - Alliaronian Royal Guard

Ërrbog, Ajóvulką

The protests had started almost immediately after the initial invasion of Dučrijeka in May, and had been going more or less continuously since then. They were mostly peaceful, in the strict sense of the term, but anyone who participated in protests or even watched them felt the undercurrent of rage and rebellion in the attitudes of the protestors, once in a while flaring up with throw bottles and bricks or burnt effigies of various Andrennian figures, most prominently the Grand King himself. Though the Ajóvulkąni people were prone to protesting, especially that of foreign occupation, and one could always find a few vocal opponents or proponents of whatever happenings were making headlines outside the Allnamðr, this protest was different. Almost no protests were this large or this active, and even fewer had the fuel to burn on for a whole month.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, the current Vynïr of Ajóvulką, Yngvë Selmrssun, was often seen at the front of said protests, at least when not engaged in matters of government. A vocal proponent of autonomy from Andrenne and Goyanes, being a member of the Tÿþingasveit (“Worker’s Party”, a centrist political party currently holding a plurality of seats within Ajóvulką’s legislature), he was staunchly opposed by any attempt of the two nations to show their imperialist roots, which Andrenne’s actions were unmistakably so. In other countries, his staunch activism would perhaps hurt his appeal to the populace, but such actions only made him a celebrity within Ajóvulką. A few journalists surrounded him today, asking questions as he stood in front of the crowd of protestors, hoisting a sign that read, in strong block letters, “Stondva hrïða-in möt Dusrijeka!” in Ajóvulkąna and “Stop the attack on Dučrijeka!” in Mercanti.

“Vynïr Selmrssun, the protests against the invasion of Dučrijeka have been continuing for over a month now, do you see an end in sight for these protests?”

“Not until the damn Andrennians pull out and make reparations!” Yngvë shouted into the microphone. The man was known to speak in a friendly roar, and this morning was no exception, minus the barely hidden anger in his voice.

“And what does the Allnamðr plan to do to denounce the actions of Andrenne? Even with these protests and the apparent popular demand for actions to be taken, the legislature has not issued any denouncement or request for sanctions against the Andrennian government.”

“Unfortunately, the Aandrenrsveit and the Aflsveit have been stalling any progress being made towards actions against Andrenne, but hopefully we can convince the nationalists to take a stand against this imperialism with their fellow countrymen and agree to work with the rest of the Allnamðr.”

Yngvë’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and checked it - today’s Allnamðr session was due to start in a few minutes. He cursed under his breath, “One more question, I have to go now, and wrestle with my government again”

“Vynïr Selmrssun, there have been accusations levelled against you claiming that you have shouted inflammatory statements comparing the Andrennian government to the Valkjas of Andrenne during the Fascist Wars and even calling for the death of the Grand King of Andrenne himself. How do you respond to these accusations?”

“They are false accusations, but I understand and support those who believe said statements themselves. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach it will not be long before Andrenne casts its imperialist eyes outwards, and when that happens, the peoples of this world have a duty to stop them from causing more strife. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go”

He waved at the crowd and turned, quickly striding into the building of the Allnamðr, leaving the shouting reporters and impassioned protestors outside. Yngvë grinned slightly; it was not often that he looked forward to his job, but the theatrics occasionally made it worth it.

Hugo drained the last of the wine from his glass and reached for his pen, outside the low rumble of a thunderstorm filled the darkened skies. The weather was a fine match for the very real human storm that had swept across Gothis, the PGU reeling, NGEC in tatters and entire cities being bombed into ash. The events of the past month had an apocalyptic feeling to them, if not for the fact he was agnostic, Hugo might almost have been swayed by arguments that it was the end times.

But he did not believe the end of days had arrived quite yet, the horrors of Mitta and Kosada had been the works of misguided men and it would take the efforts of better souls to put things right. He put pen to paper his hand steadied by conviction, Leto had been right, he was not meant to stop Andrenne’s war, Hugo’s purpose was to ensure that the dispossessed souls caught in the crossfire survived.

He began to write, the scratching of pen against paper always oddly satisfying, the note was an ugly thing of blocky and uneven lettering. Hugo had once possessed beautiful handwriting, but Dachsi prison guards and liberal use of hammers had ensured he would never again fill pages with lines of elegant text. The act of writing was a personal exercise, Hugo pouring his conviction into the words that would reach his people. The letter may have appeared ugly at face value, but the language reflected a thoughtful and just mindset.


Major Dieter Stiglitz did not know the name of the bar he now drank in, the sign was a collection of bizarre letters that may as well have been written in Skandan. The towns local watering hole had been abandoned weeks before the Hessunlander’s had arrived, a thin layer of dust covered every surface in the forgotten common room. The troops had taken to calling it the “bolt hole” and promptly adopted it as their new off duty mess.

The place did have a certain rustic charm to it, pictures of proud Ducrijeckan peasants and peeling floral wallpaper covered every piece corner of the room. It was remarkably similar to the rural drinking houses that dotted Stiglitz’s home province in southern Hessunland, it seemed peasants liked to drink on both sides of the Franktorf valley. For now, there was only one peasant though, Stiglitz himself, he had wanted to be alone and so had chosen to drink in the small hours.

The buzz of helicopters filled the evening air, from inside the bar it was like a droning thump, the town of Planište was a hive of activity. Stiglitz clutched the glass of schnapps to stop the vibrations from knocking it off the bar, the flyboys seemed to be doing lower and lower passes over the town with each hour. He frowned and drained the last of the liquor, he savoured the burning sensation and the hints of peach as it passed down his gullet.

The royal army had entered Planište several days earlier, the locals had offered little in the way of resistance, anyone capable of fighting had likely already been pulled away to be thrown at Andrenne. Instead, the greatest challenge had been clearing booby traps and improvised explosives from the roads and buildings. Ordinance disposal had been combing the town and surrounding countryside for days, most of the time successfully disarming traps before they could do harm.

Today had not been a fortunate day however, a truck carrying some five soldiers had hit a mine, the blast had killed everyone. Stiglitz was a professional soldier, he had been trained to deal with any potential complication war could bring, there were no clear instructions on how to manage grief though. War always had casualties, that was the cost you paid for victory, but it was always a steep price no matter how few men died.

Stiglitz filled the glass and raised it “Bruner” he said before pouring a small measure out, he repeated the process another four times “Pfeiffer” “Karlson” “Bremner” “Richter” he intoned each time as he memorialized the names of the fallen. Outside he could hear the loudspeakers blaring out the same looping message that had been playing for days

“Citizens of Planište, this town is now under the jurisdiction of the Hessunland safe zone authority, we are here to provide aid and protection to the people of Ducrijecka, please remain calm and obey all commands issued by military personnel” The voice was jarring, the speaker attempting to sound so friendly it came across as disingenuous

Hessunland was now firmly established, the work of creating the safe zone was now well underway. Border checkpoints were erected, refugee camps raised, and an army of aid workers now scrabbled to restore basic infrastructure, all under the protective gaze of the soldiers of Hessunland. Stiglitz knew the war would exact a heavy toll, but he was prepared to pay it, for all his misgivings he knew that they were doing the right thing. He took one gulp of schnapps and then stumbled out into the manic evening air to find his bed.

General Wilhelm Schulz watched with quiet pride as he regarded the vast network of white tents and prefab buildings that now covered the recently established hospital zone. Trucks and helicopters arrived and departed unceasingly as they delivered an endless stream of personnel and equipment to the safe zone. Several nations had donated aid, Cojedes alone providing some 100 portable x-ray's and 5 state of the art MRI suites, when everything was assembled, they would be able to triage and treat thousands of civilians at a time.

“The pace of construction has been exceptional,” he said approvingly

“Not a moment too soon judging from the news” His female colleague replied with less enthusiasm

Chief Nurse Matron, Helga Lindhoff represented the civilian element of operation Falke, she had at her disposal thousands of trained medical personnel and had been tasked with caring for the vast number of expected refugees. Her attention to detail was meticulous as she noted down everything on a tablet screen. Schulz was responsible for keeping the safe zone exactly that, safe, but without Lindhoff it was essentially just a fortified border.

“Indeed, Kosada has been a tragedy of unprecedented scale” Schulz replied grimly

The general had been briefed extensively on the situation in Kosada, thousands were already dead, and God knew how many more would perish before the siege ended. Assuming the Ducrijeckan’s allowed their citizens to leave the city, Schulz expected a flood of fleeing humanity to come cascading towards Planište. For the humanitarian response to be effective Schulz would need co-operation with Lindhoff to be smooth and without complications, no mean feat in a warzone.

“I'm going to need a lot of equipment and fast to deal with the surge of people,” Lindhoff said never looking up from her tablet as she jotted down more notes

Schulz nodded “I am at your disposal Mrs Lindhoff, what do you need?” he said in a gentle voice

Lindhoff looked up from her tablet suddenly taken aback, Schulz often elicited that reaction when he worked with civilians. Most Hessunlander’s expected to deal with blunt and unsympathetic brutes when they were told they would be working with the military, this poor reputation a legacy of the Dachsi years. Schulz though had never fit the image of a military man neatly, his short stature, grandfatherly demeanour and aristocratic manner tended to put people more in mind of a rustic country squire.

“I'm sorry general could you repeat that?” Lindhoff asked in a sceptical tone

“As I said I am at your disposal, ask you shall receive,” he said his moustached face shifting into a gentle smile

Lindhoff processed the new situation with remarkable speed, quickly accepting that she would be dealing with parameters far different from the uphill battle she had likely expected. She nodded and as the two walked began to explain her needs in succinct detail. Schulz nodded and committed the information to memory as they toured the new facilities. The tents were cavernous, built to host large numbers of people in as much comfort as temporary accommodation could provide, all that was missing was the beds and the people.

“I'm going to need several hundred beds in the main tent hospitals, we’ll set up a triage zone at the border checkpoints and an isolation hospital a few miles from this main facility”

“Isolation?” Schulz asked in a curious voice

“Disease and malnutrition thrive in a warzone general, identifying and isolating the sick will be vital if we want to keep the rest of the population healthy,” she said matter-factly

Schulz nodded and pondered her words, the thousands that would soon be heading towards the safe zone were likely to be carrying all manner of sicknesses. War caused the niceties of modern living to vanish overnight, dysentery, starvation and lice were all common features of a people in flight. Schulz frowned; they would need to be cautious if they wanted to avoid epidemics.

“Very true matron, we will allocate a zone further south for isolation and treatment” he replied agreeably

Lindhoff nodded in approval before pausing, suddenly thoughtful “the news coming out of Kosada is bad...do you think...in your professional opinion general....do you think the Drennies are likely to repeat what they are doing in Kosada?” she asked suddenly less sure of herself

Schulz frowned; he knew enough about Andrenne to know they would never admit they were in the wrong. He also knew enough about Andrenne to know that collateral damage was not a major consideration and to know that when they were angry, and they were in a profound rage, they were impossible to reason with.

“All I can say for certain is that you're going to be in much demand in the coming day's Matron, I dare say what is to come will test our resolve to its limit,” he said in a calm but ominous reply
Lindhoff nodded and the two stood in companionable silence for a moment as crew rolled countless gurneys down the ramp of a grounded transport helicopter. Schulz wondered privately how long it would be before every single one of those pristine white stretchers was stained.

The Ephuis
Nidaros, Valland
The North Wing

"DAMNIT, VILLEM!"

Lord President Mark Hellstrand paced back and forth behind the chair at the head of the large conference table. He had convened the Cabinet to deliberate on Valland's next move. And now, whilst Andrenne was suddenly and rapidly regressing into an Imperyk-like state, here was Minister for the Treasury Villem Håjevik suggesting that they give a 'measured response'. The potential sanctions they had previously warned of. A measured response. As if mere sanctions was what Valland needed right now when Andrenne's government devolved from a close ally to a gang of deranged neo-Valkjas in a matter of days. Everyone with a passing knowledge of history knew what could very well happen next. And to think this time it was their king, not some politician. Prinz Andrensk would be reeling, he thought to himself.

"The fucking Mad King of Andrenne just SENT SOLDIERS to DEPORT OUR STAFF. VALLISH CITIZENS." he barked, before turning directly to his Defense Minister with a death stare in his eyes. "Do you remember why we were elected? Because those people, out there, recognized that it's time to put this country back on the map. To fight for the Vallish spirit! To build a new country! To be honorable! To crush the snakes under our feet!" Cornelius Fortuyn, the Minister of Defense, internally rolled his eyes, meanwhile - the President was drawing on his usual rhetoric. He recognized some of political commentator Lothar Dahlin's material in there. He was right, though. A bold response was needed, both for the sake of the country's strength and for the sake of its safety.

"I agree, sir." Cornelius chimed in. "If the Andrennians want to play hardball by ignoring diplomacy and using armed soldiers to manhandle our civilians, then we need to show that that kind of conduct can't be tolerated anymore. We have to...crush the snakes, as you so put it, Mr. President." Hellstrand sighed, followed by a light nod. "I think we're all in agreement there, folks." he replied, then turning to the assembled cabinet as a whole. "Here's the deal. First and foremost, Villem, freeze everything. All Vallish assets in Andrenne, until their army pays reparations to the families of those staffers they manhandled. Secondly, the economic punishments we previously threatened. Use them all. I don't want a single Vallish manufacturer touching Andrenne until they learn to get their fucking shit together."

Hellstrand turned his gaze to Gert Bane, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. A rather quiet individual by nature, Gert had kept silent for much of the meeting. Hellstrand knew what he was worth, though - what he lacked in outgoingness as a person he more than made up for in effectiveness as an administrator. He had masterminded the meteoric growth of the Industrial Contraction Initiative - Hellstrand's dream project of expanding Vallish manufacturing throughout the continent and working with other nations to do so - since 2018. Gert had silently turned that silly piece of campaign rhetoric into a tangible reality. Valland and its manufacturers were working with Goyanes, Alliaronia, Kozstoha, Hessunland, and Cojedes; and, seemingly until today, Andrenne.

"Gert, twofold plan for you. First, get Ken Lorge on the phone. Find out what Gojannesstad is planning, and coordinate in any way possible. Second - a given - get Ambassador Aartsen on backing the Xentheridans in the PGU. We can deal with NGEC later. Either way I want Andrenne fucking isolated." Hellstrand then paused, turning to Cornelius, whilst Gert nodded silently but firmly. "Cornie, twofer for you as well. Coordinate with any necessary proxies; find a way to break Lukas'...big intel gap or whatever." Cornelius smirked. The President was referring to how Andrenne had, almost overnight, become an intelligence black hole. Hellstrand continued, "Fund any pro-democracy groups in Andrenne. And put the Andrennian embassy staff here under house arrest. They can only leave the embassy if they go straight to the airport with a fucking army escort and get the hell out of the country. No fucking Vafeltrykk, no Etje's, either the embassy or the airport."

"All of you, be prepared for anything." Hellstrand concluded. "We were unprepared when they invaded however many years ago. We're not gonna fuck that up again. Let's get going." Indeed, later that day, the Federal Government began carrying out that very plan. Soldiers surrounded the Andrennian embassy in Nidaros, orders were made for the freezing of assets, and PGU Ambassador Sylvi Aartsen spoke at Cosonä in support of Andrennian suspension from the PGU. Both the Goyaneans and any available Vallish proxies in Andrenne were being contacted. The game was afoot and the Hellstrand administration had no compunctions about playing nice.

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

House of Cards - Main Theme, by Jeff Beal

For the past month, the Kingdom of Saintonge had observed the events unravelling in northern Gothis, specifically in Andrenne and Dučrijeka.

The Kingdom of Saintonge had ordered and organised the evacuation of all Santonian citizens from the Kingdom of Andrenne when hostilities commenced. Coaches under the diplomatic protection of the Kingdom of Prydania brought Santonian citizens and citizens of other nations to nearby Hessunland; three chartered Luftreederei flights evacuated Santonian citizens, plus citizens of other nations who needed help, to Goyanes.

All Santonian citizens in Andrenne had been evacuated and accounted for; our consular authorities in Frankthorf and Gojannesstad are facilitating their repatriation to Saintonge. The government of the Kingdom of Saintonge wishes to thank the governments and the representatives of the Kingdom of Prydania, the Imperial Goyanean Federation, and the Royal Federation of Hessunland for their assistance to our citizens.

His Majesty's Government would like to reiterate that Santonian citizens are barred from travelling to either Andrenne or Dučrijeka. Evacuation is also underway for the Santonian citizens in Dučrijeka, although reports from our legations indicate that a majority of Santonian citizens in Dučrijeka had already been evacuated to Hessunland.

The Kingdom of Saintonge remains neutral in the conflict between Andrenne and Dučrijeka and wishes to maintain good relations with the nations of the world. However, with the escalating hostilities in the region and having evacuated all Santonian citizens from Andrenne, all staff at the Royal Santonian Embassy in Andrenne had been transferred to Hessunland for their safety. Ambassador Martin-Philippe Lamirand will still be the accredited ambassador to the Kingdom of Andrenne but he will be performing his duties from Frankthorf. Any urgent concerns or consular matters regarding Saintonge in Andrenne shall be handled by the embassy of the Kingdom of Prydania in Andrenne. We would like to extend our gratitude to the Kingdom of Prydania for offering its good offices for such purposes.

Thank you very much.


EDIT: This post has been retconned. Pending approval.

The clan soldiers marched towards the Prydanian camp, the cart that followed behind was loaded with ale and meat. Alric marched ahead of his troops holding aloft a sheathed blade, a symbol of peaceful intent. The standard-bearer held the banner of Essalanea aloft, the scarlet and gold straining violently as ash tainted wind shrieked across the hillside. The Prydanian sentries recognized the Essalanean’s and greeted them in familiar voices.

It was an amusing change of pace to walk amongst unhorsed without the fearful glances, three days spent together on a cramped boat had removed any distance between the two peoples. The Prydanian’s allowed the Essalanean’s in without a second thought, they had learned to look past the tactical woad, tattoos, bone charms and wild beards. Of all the unhorsed peoples in Eras, only the Prydanians seemed fully at ease with the folk of Essalan. It was a sense of trust that Alric valued immensely.

The inside of the camp had the air of a funeral, some men watched the endless shells rain down on Kosada as they stood sentry, many others just sat crestfallen with dejected expressions. Whatever spirit of Gotic brotherhood Andrenne’s war had once inspired had now been broken, ally and foe alike shocked by the madness of Kosada. If ever there was a group of warriors who needed a drink, it was the ones in the Prydanian camp.

“Prydanians!!! Sons of the stag! We come with sheathed blade and provision! In the spirit of brotherhood let us drink and forget our troubles!!!” Alric roared as the barrels were hauled off the cart

Vasseric seated himself cross-legged upon the ground and began to strum a gentle tune as he sang an ancient song of spring, his throat boomed out the low chant, it had a ghostly beauty to it. Clan soldiers began to roast meat on flameless heaters and cups were soon being filled with ale and plates loaded with roasted flesh.

Garsendis and Horg watched as music and ale began to break the camps melancholy, soon jokes were being exchanged and laughter became freer and more frequent. It had been a long time since anyone had celebrated anything, and it would likely be a long time before such a gathering would repeat. Tonight, they would make the most of the fleeting moments of joy that were offered. Garsendis eyed the Prydanians with a mischievous look.

“One over by the tent looks strong,” she said with a wink

“I prefer the man on the right, big legs” Horg replied with a chuckle

Alric watched them stride over to the Prydanians with the slightest of smirks, all the signs pointed to it being a good night. Tomorrow the laughter would be gone, and the cold light of reality would smother all joys once more, even more reason to drink and be merry while it was still dark.

“Reminds me of home!” Korgun yelled jovially over the music

Clan soldiers were stamping their feet and cheering as warriors began to dance and mugs of ale were raised in toasts. Alric strode into the middle of the gathering and raised a flask filled with Brennivin.

“A toast to Prydania, long may our friendship remain strong!” He called out in a loud voice

Hundreds of increasingly drunken clan soldiers responded with a roar of approval loud enough to momentarily drown out the shelling. For the briefest of moments, the wounded souls of Kosada seemed to find peace.

outskirts of Kosada...then

Colonel Eragon Bláfeld approached the Essalaneans holding a green bottle of brennivín.
"You brought ale?" he asked with a slight smile.
"Here" he tossed Alric the bottle of brennivín.
"We might as well drink our sorrows away if we have to watch this slaughter..." he said, nominally still speaking to Alric, but speaking loud enough that everyone in both camps could hear him. He had a dejected way about him, even as he called for his men to enjoy themselves a bit. He picked up another bottle of brennivín and poured some of it into his canteen, raising it up to Alric.
"To friendship, even in the darkness" he yelled, looking around at his men who had begun to pour their own drinks.
"And RALT!"

"RALT!" the Prydanian soldiers called out before drinking.

The camps began to mix as Colonel Bláfeld approached Alric, extending a hand.
"I'm glad you all came. We need all the help we can get forgetting what's before our very eyes" he said. The thunder of the Andrennian rockets flared up again, as if to prove a point.
"I fought Syndicalists" he muttered.
"I've never seen barbarism like this."

Warren and Nik had raised their canteens, each containing brennivín as they relaxed. There was no need to be on watch. The city in front of them was being pounded to dust. Warren did his best to hide the pain in his leg, helped by the alcohol.
"Ever been with an Essalanean girl before?" Warren asked. Nik just raised an eyebrow.

"No, how about you, Mr. Landerene River. Any clans out that way?" he asked jokingly.

"Just saying" Warren replied.
"Most aren't bad looking."

"You're looking to get laid in a warzone?"

"I'm looking to have fun before I die, Nik" Warren replied.
"Look at that" more rockets launched, lighting up the sky.
"We're all going to be lucky if the Andrennians don't use us as meat shields."

Nik sighed and shrugged. He couldn't argue with Warren's logic. He looked around, his eyes locking with a fierce looking female Essalanean soldier.
"Hey" he said with a smile.
"Fancy a drink?"

just outside Planište, Hessunland-Occupied Ducrijecka...now

Warren winced as he marched, but managed it. He didn't know how to feel. Dučrijekans had given him this injury in that damn RPG attack, and now here they were retreating from the country and helping refugees escape. He looked over at them, escorted in Army trucks, baring the white barbed cross of the Kingdom of Prydania. Well some were. Others were walking with the soldiers. The trucks were flying both the Royal Prydanian Army flag and the white flag of truce.
Warren looked around for Nik, and found him just a few steps behind him. He was talking with a Dučrijekan child of around ten.

"What's your name?" Nik asked the boy in Mercanti.

"Redžep" the boy replied. The boy, like Warren, seemed to be limping a bit.

"Where are..." Nik paused, he didn't want to ask, in case the answer was too painful, but he had to try.
"Where are your parents?"

"Mama is over there" the boy said, pointing to a nervous looking woman holding a smaller child.
"My leg hurt, I had to stop..."

"It's ok Redžep" Nik replied, doing his best to pronounce his name. He was happy the boy's mother and sibling were still alive.
He sighed though. The memories of his own childhood as Syndicalists and Royalists clashed in the streets came flooding back to him, and he remembered when he was separated from his family. Unsure if they were even still alive, as their town burnt down around him. The scene had been quiet after the fighting was over. Just the wind through the devastated city.
He'd later find himself with the others who survived, cold and hungry, as the FNU set up aid trucks. He was older than this kid was at the time. Fourteen back then. His mother and him were waiting for whatever scraps they could get when he met the man who had ordered their withdraw. Tobias Loðbrók. He still didn't know why the then-prince stopped at him. Maybe he looked especially pathetic? Either way the Prince made his way to help distribute aid but before he did...he'd given him a candy bar. His family had opposed his decision to join the army when he was of-age. They'd told him that Shaddaists had suffered under the crown, like they had under the Syndicalists. It was foolish to pledge loyalty one way or another. Yet that act of kindness...he'd never forgotten it. He joined the FNU when he turned eighteen, in the last months of the war.
He looked down at Redžep and smiled.."like I said, it's ok." He took a chocolate bar from his rations pack.
"Here. We Prydanians don't have the best chocolate, but I think it's alright" he said with a wink to the kid.
"Come on, I'll take you to your mom."

Warren watched as Nik took the kid by his hand and led him to his mother and younger sibling, exchanging a few words in Mercanti before he began waving. An Army truck slowed down, with Nik helping the kid, his mother, and sibling into the back. It seemed cramped, but the kid was limping. It was probably better than more marching.

"I'll see you in Planište, ok Redžep?" Nik said with a smile. The kid replied with a nervous thumbs up and Nik motioned to the driver to get going.

"Yo" Warren called out after the truck took off.
"That was nice of ya."

"Yeah..." Nik replied.
"How's your leg?"

"Hurts like hell, but we're almost there."

"You know you could let me help ya" Nik suggested.

"I'll manage."

"You know, you're not proving anything to anyone? If you're hurt you're hurt."

"I know" Warren replied, "but I'm not doing it to prove I'm tough to anyone. Just myself."

"What do you mean?"

Warren blushed.
"I don't think you'd get it."

"I get more than you think, man" Nik replied.

"I was stuck 'conscripted' building ships, Nik. I want to prove I can be a solider."

"You survived an RPG blast" Nik replied.
"You're a solider, believe me." He took Warren's arm on his limp side and tossed it over his shoulder.
"Now don't be a G-ddamned idiot, and let me help ya."

Warren grunted a bit, but didn't resist. The relief felt good anyway.
"Thanks man."

"No problem, bróðir" Nik laughed.
"I hope you don't have a problem with a Shaddaist calling you that."

"No" Warren laughed.
"No, I don't."

"Ok then, one Shaddaist and one Bayardi. Limping their way to Planište together."

Gaiseric’s sat in total darkness save for the white light of his computer, the images on the screen seemed to stare out at him, Kosada was a wasteland of dust and corpses. Gaiseric reached for his cup and took a long gulp of wine, the alcohol serving to dull the growing horror he felt as the images continued to cycle.

He was reminded of his own trauma, of the shells that had rained down on his father and clan. The decimation of clan Volkmann was some thirty years gone but the scars remained, Gaiseric still woke up in cold sweats haunted by lingering visions of men and horses being consumed by fire. Now it seemed Andrenne had initiated its own decimation, a culling of the Ducrijeckans and they had done so with Essalanean support.

A surge of guilt-filled Gaiseric; he had hoped to support a brother nation in its time of greatest need. instead, they had used his goodwill and that of countless others to commit an even greater atrocity than the one perpetrated at Mitta. Andrennian shells had rained down on unarmed Ducrijeckans using Essalanean co-ordinates. They had made the scions of Essalan complicit in an act of war so bereft of honour it made Gaiseric feel ill to consider it too long.

Light flooded the room as Anegrette entered the office, Gaiseric frowned, it had been easier to brood in the dark before solar grids had covered Volkmann land. Modernity had gained a firm foothold in the fledgeling cities of Kimbria and Essalanea, renewables bringing abundances of light and sound to once-quiet settlements. That same modernity had also brought with it the flood of information and images, on the steppe proper a man could disappear into the silence of the endless plains, not so in Neuanfang.

Here in the heart of the new Essalanea the wider world could not be shut out, the airport and TV screens brought news from across eras. There was an old saying “The open eye cannot refuse to see” and it was proving very true. The queen of all the clans regarded her husband with a look of irritation, Gaiseric’s late nights were becoming a habit rather than an exception.

“Staring at a screen all night won’t solve anything,” Anegrette said bluntly

"what they did at Kosa...” Gaiseric started only to be cut off by Anegrette

“Was not your fault!” Anegrette replied sternly

“We provided them with co-ordinates!!!?” Gaiseric hissed in exasperation

“Did our soldiers shell women and children while they were trapped? Have Alric and his force burned villages or murdered unarmed unhorsed in the mud?” Anegrette asked in a critical tone

Gaiseric sighed “no....no they haven't,” he said agreeing “but I fear if we remain tied to Andrenne they might end up in that position soon,” He said grimly

“it's not too late, Prydania only gave the order for their troops to pull out a few hours ago, we can tell Alric to join them on the march to the safe zone”

“And what will the rest of the clans say? They will call us cowards for fleeing, this could topple all we have built!” Gaiseric exclaimed loudly

Nightmare scenarios filled Gaiseric’s mind, the mighty alliance of great clans fracturing, the chaos of the Karg war returning to scour the steppe of all progress. He had been king for less than a year, would the madness beyond his lands' end his reign before it even had begun? The appearance of strength had become a vital one.

“We will tell them that Andrenne acted without honour, that to stay was to lose our Ehrenseele, they will believe this, you have more goodwill amongst the clans then you think” Anegrette replied placing a hand upon Gaiseric's shoulder

Gaiseric didn’t answer immediately, instead, he turned off his computer screen and reached for the phone. He carefully dialled the number he had memorized, his brothers cellular in Andrenne. Anegrette was right, the Andrennian’s had chosen to descend the path of madness but Essalanea need not follow them.

“Gaiseric? Why are you calling?” Alric’s voice crackled over the shaky connection

“Brother,” he said solemnly “I need you to do something for me”

“What?” Alric asked in a tired voice

“Go to the Prydanian commander’s camp and inform him you will be joining him on the road to Planište, assist them on the road west and save anyone you can,” Gaiseric said his voice utterly serious

“What about the Andrennians?” Alric replied sceptically

That was a fair point, the Andrennian forces would not be pleased to see so many of their allies essentially desert their war effort, Gaiseric was betting though that they would be unlikely to press the issue too much. Picking a fight with a Luscova pact nation was an unwise course of action even for a country as warlike as Andrenne. Besides, he suspected Alric wasn't likely to give the Andrennians much in the way of notice before he left, Alric might simply vanish in the night, that thought amused Gaiseric immensely.

“Leave them to me, just tell the men to pack up, our part in Andrenne’s campaign of dishonour is done,” Gaiseric said in a determined voice

With that Gaiseric hung up and leaned back in his chair, the enormity of what he had just done would soon begin to set in. Essalanea was a distant speck on Andrenne’s diplomatic radar but after this any relations the two nations did have would likely be non-existent, the clan army could rule out fresh shipments of tanks from Andrenne.

“You did the right thing,” Anegrette said proudly a smile on her face

“I’ll have Magnar make a statement in the PGU tomorrow, our men will be put to better use by Hessunland” Gaiseric said in a gentle voice

Anegrette starting to laugh

“What's so funny?!” Gaiseric snapped in mock annoyance

“I just find it amusing that a nation that stiffed you on an airport deal is now going to help preserve your honour!” Anegrette trying to hold back her laughter

The two began to laugh, Hessunland had been a byword for broken promises, the prospect of it now being a saviour of clan honour was ripe with irony.
***********************************************************************************
It was a cold night, the convoy had stopped to rest a few miles from Planište, the rain had been falling in endlessly all morning and the roads were little more than mud pools. The Essalaneans had done their best to bunk down for the night in a clearing next to the road. Campfires lit with horse dung burned low as weary clan soldiers huddled around them trying to enjoy what little warmth they could. Alric watched as the skewered rats slowly roasted on the camp stove, his mouth was already watering.

“The rats in this country are fatter than the ones on the steppe, more meat!” Alric said licking his lips in anticipation

“I stuffed them with some wild garlic, they’ll be almost as good as my mother's!” Vass replied eagerly

Vasseric and Garsendis were similarly hungry, the day of riding and scouting taking its toll even on the cussed endurance of the clans. The smell of greasy rat meat was like heaven to the Essalaneans, their Ducrijeckan charges did not seem as eager. They had picked up the two wayward children on their way west, the boy was maybe thirteen and had introduced himself as Aksentije, his sister was Akvila and could not have been more than four summers old.

Alric had found them both on the side of a road outside Kosada, the exodus of Prydanian and Essalanean troops westward bringing them into contact with many such refugees. They had been a pitiful sight. The elder brother had stood on the side of the street with a shell-shocked expression, he was staring blankly into the distance as though he had been beaten about the skull. His younger sister had clung to her brothers' hand and a stuffed bear in the other, they both looked dirty, half-starved and utterly lost. Alric had taken them in on the spot, he knew they would not survive long on their own.

Most of the clan soldiers could not pronounce their Ducrijeckan names, the words hard to form on Sudengotic lips. Instead, they had simply become Kid and Cub to the soldiers who had taken them in, these new adoptees quickly folding into the strange new family of an Essalanean clan. The girl was young enough that she didn’t seem too affected by the turbulent events, she clung to Garsendis like a surrogate mother and was for the most part content.

The older one though, he already had the look of pain in his eyes, he had seen too much already, and the trauma would likely be lifelong. Alric didn’t know if there had been parents before the war, but the fact the kid never spoke of them suggested if there had been, they had met some sorry end in Kosada.

“You said you had an uncle in Planište?” Vass asked the kid curiously

“Uncle Beshim” the kid replied timidly

“And you're sure he is still there?” Vass said gently

The kid looked up with a sad expression, a look that was uncertainty and weariness all at once, it was the sort of look that Alric believed no child should bear. And yet there it was, the child did not seem confident that this Beshim still dwelled in Planište, but then what choice did he have but to hope?

“I hope so” the kid simply said

Alric sighed and stared into the fire for a moment, on the steppe war was waged in a cyclical fashion, clans fought over land and resources, but it was a different sort of war to the unhorsed ways. On the steppe everyone was armed, even a shepherd knew how to shoot, here things were different, the few unhorsed who waged war did so surrounded by unarmed innocents. It all seemed pointlessly cruel, all the more reason to help those caught in the chaos.

“Skewers are done,” Vass said with a grin

Alric passed one to the kid who took it and regarded it with a look of disgust and confusion, the cub seemed uncertain too as she watched Garsendis take a huge bite out of the middle of her rat. Grease ran down her painted chin as she nodded to Vass

“Garlic hits the spot!” she said before taking another bite

“Ewwww!!!” the cub yelled followed by a mischievous child's laugh

“You should eat up! No wonder you are so scrawny!!!” Garsendis teased as she passed a skewer to the cub who took it in tiny hands

“Do Prydanians eat everything they find?!” the kid asked in shock

Alric chuckled at that “We’re not Prydanians kid” he said with a grin

“Where are you from then?" the boy asked

“We are Essalaneans! Children of Essalan!” Vass exclaimed proudly, puffing his chest for emphasis

Alric suspected the child had never heard of the steppe, let alone seen its people in the flesh, the boy had probably just assumed they were some particularly rough looking Prydanians.

“Where we come from food is scarce, you eat anything you can find, it’s the only way” Alric explained in a matter of fact tone

“sounds horrible,” the boy said bluntly

“It's not for the faint-hearted, now, eat your rat before it gets cold” Alric replied in a relaxed voice

For a few minutes the group munch in silence, the rain continued to pitter-patter on the tarpaulin covers like tiny fingers tapping. Eventually when everyone had finished eating Vass reached for the four-string and began strumming it gently.

“tell me about Essalan?” the boy all but blurted out

The three clan soldiers burst into laughter; the cub joined in unsure what they were laughing at. Alric took a long swig from his canteen and regarded the kid with an amused grin.

“That's a long tale kid,” he said with a chuckle

“We’ve got time” the boy replied pointing to the rain-drenched night around them

Vass nodded and began to strum “well, it all began a long time ago during a winter so cold that the earth turned to bone...Essalan led his horse to a great tree and rested beneath its boughs....it was then that he dreamed of Ziu....” Vass began his lyrical voice matched by gentle music from the instrument

Hours passed sheltering from the reign, for a time the war and darkness beyond the camp was forgotten, the children absorbed by the tale of Essalan.

“Are you all ready?” Wilhelm ven Atmörjell, the Head of the Alliaronian Red Heart Society, asked.

A contingency of at least over a thousand volunteers of the ARHS had assembled and said “Yes!” in unison. After all, the ARHS had agreed to the Alliaronian government’s proposal of sending aid to both Andrenne and Ducrijeka.

It was the very first time Alliaronia dispatched their humanitarian organization in a military conflict. Although the country has a sizeable military force and could have interfered military-wise, the losses Alliaronia suffered back in the Fascist Wars, albeit successful in their objectives, had caused the country to generally avoid conflicts ever since.

Shortly after, the volunteers began to prepare themselves. The mode of transportation was easy - Æstfolzea stands within the Welfenzsee, a large lake within inner Alliaronia, with access to Friegöndterbukt via the river Ekvatt, a left tributary of the Braüs. This meant that Æstfolzea had sea access through the Welfenzseehavelt.

With access to the sea, two hospital ships, the Næde and the Sympfati, arrived a few days after their journey upstream from Friegöndthavelt. The ships had been recently commissioned for the ARHS, being requisitioned from cargo freighters.

The Kapten of the Næde, Fritz Kölendt, sent a message to Röthaartsplatz:

The Næde and the Sympfati has arrived for our mission in Andrenne and Ducrijeka. We await for the arrival of our indefatigable and courageous volunteers who value the welfare and life of others.

Click to expand...

“Our ships are here.” Atmörjell said to the volunteers. “With the Grace of the Almighty, may He bless you all in your journey. Remember our Code- the welfare and the lives of many matter. Venture forth!”

The volunteers, which had finished preparing and were all ready, headed off the Röthaartsplatz, walking to the nearby port. They were met by cheers and best wishes from the citizens, which viewed the action of the country as a major step in international diplomacy and to spread the Alliaronian culture of courteousness and compassion to its Gotic brethren.

---

POV of Alan Rözsenfeld
Alliaronian Red Heart Society volunteer

It was time at last for us to go. As we stepped out the Röthaartsplatz, cheers deafened our footsteps and gossips. We were finally going to help out our Gotic brethren in these dire times.

The risk is intense, but it is better to handle a medikit than a rifle and watching other people fall down not in defeat, but because you had murdered them in cold blood… with no remorse.

As we walked to the port, my close friend Riksten shook my stuffed bag. I turned to him.

“Oi, Alan, ‘bout time we were dispatched, huh?” he said.

“Yeah… I wonder what's in store for us there,” I replied. I never saw much footage of the war there. There wasn’t much news about it, aside from the sudden announcement of King Hærmann XI and the Staatsminister about our neutrality…

“Probably a lot of chaos,” he said. “You got everything up in your bag?”

“All packed and ready, yeah,” I replied. “How about you?”

“Just the same as you, bud.”

We walked together with the rest of us- about a thousand. We checked our logs on the way as we walked. It was around noon, but the cloudy and cold winds from the alpine regions of Alliaronia had us shivering. Or could it just be the winds of war again?

As we checked out our logs, I found out that we were on separate ships. He was assigned on the Sympfati and I was assigned on the Næde.

“Oh? You’re in the Sympfati?” I asked.

“Yup. Sorry, bud.” He replied.

“Hey, it’s alright.” I reassured him. “How about we write up in our diaries? I’m sure you have one in your bag. I know you, when you’re bored you just wanna write about jackshit.” I teased.

“Shut up, Alan!” He laughed. “Well, sure. Sure. Once we disembark, I’ll read your entries, m’kay? Don’t write something stupid or I’ll tease you endlessly about it!”

“Fine, fine, you ask for it, bud.” I replied. We continue to walk, and guess what? We were so distracted with our damned gossips that we were at the port already. Time flew so fast, who could have guessed?

We then stopped by the port’s entrance. Two higher-ups began to call out the names of those assigned in Næde and Sympfati.

“This is the part we disappear for a while, bud.” Riksten said again. We shook hands and hugged each other. “Duty calls for us starting at this point. We’ll come home together as best of friends, got it?”

“Sure, sure, bud.” I told him. “You’d better know how to dodge bullets,” I teased.

“You do realize that if they shoot us, one of them could be penalized for war crimes, right?” He said.

“Yes. I was just kidding,” I told him. He let out a small chuckle and patted my shoulder. Then I heard his higher up call him.

“RIKSTEN AJVÄTREN! Proceed to Sympfati this instant!” the higher-up said.

“Well, time to go,” Riksten said to me. “See ya, bud.”

“See ya,” I smiled. He returned it and ran off to the towering hospital ship. They were huge, and pretty much could be visualized from afar. They had all the IFRHS markings, with the organization’s ensign flying along with the ARHS flag and an Alliaronian civil ensign.

A few names later and it was finally my turn. I went to the Næde, as said in my log. As I boarded it, a ship officer directed me to my room, in which I just followed. When I came there, it was a pretty interesting room just for one person.

“Welcome to your temporary room, Herr Rözsenfeld,” the man said, and shut my door. Of course, it remained unlocked, in which I just locked it from the inside after placing my bag on the bed. Thankfully, I was assigned to a room that was solo- only I occupy it.

I sat down on a chair and looked at my log once more. After taking a gander at it, I decided to do what I promised: writing a diary entry for my friend.

Diary Entry - July 7:

7 JULY
K.A.O.S Næde

Well, I guess this is my first entry for this diary, huh?

I’ve finally taken shelter in this huge ship. It’s pretty big and identical to the neighboring one that is Sympfati. I don’t know what’s up right now, but checking my logs, I guess we’ll be investigating facilities tomorrow.

I wonder what really is in store for us in that country? Aside from chaos though. I also wonder if their people are kind and supportive of that conflict?

Pray tell that my questions get answered soon- and most importantly, pray tell that we land in Andrenne soon. I want to do my duty already.

I guess that’s it for today. Time for some rest.

Alan

Click to expand...

The fleet of six snow white planes bearing the Norsian AirForce marks started to fly over the Gothis mainland and over Hessunland. They had gone the long way, Ducrijeka was no fly and Command didn't want to deal with Andrennian ground control. especially as Her Majesty's government started to distance itself. Gothis from on high looked so peaceful from above, the vibrant and life filled cities and the quiet farmlands. It all looks so tranquil, you could be forgiven for thinking there is no war here. Hessunlands people going about their day to day just like people did back home, go to work come back home to your girl and kids. But just mere miles away over the border where we're going, there is no day to day; all they have left is the struggle to survive. What kind of hell brings a people so low?

"Sámi!" a Gruff and hard hand smacked and rested on Sámi's shoulder giving him a jolt as he looked up. "Colonel?" he looked to Colonel Visimar. "Gods mercy, boy. Beware of internal omens.* Gear up we'll be landing soon." The colonel looked out the window. "But you're right to worry, makes you human." The colonel walked off as Sámi secured his gear and loaded it into the command vic before donning his blue helmet.

The fleet neared Turpenitz airbase, one by one the planes secured permission to land and went in. The crews and passengers all put on their blue helmets all marked by the Wolf Supporter of Norsos and the Rod of Khariteas. As the planes came to a stop the doors and ramps opened. Crews, civil workers and the soldiers already fast at work to unload the airlifters of their cargo. Trucks and armored vehicles rolling down the ramps before taking turns starting to be filled with cargo. The Norsians were acting like a rehearsed and well oiled machine. The Armored Mobile Command Vehicle would roll out of the lead plane taking its middle position in the soon to be convoy.

Leo Tannhauser watched from the air traffic control tower as the Norsian planes landed one after the other often mere minutes apart. The base hadn't seen so much activity in decades and Turpenitz was the largest airbase in middle Gothis. For the past month, various nations had landed at Turpenitz, it had been an absolute flurry to co-ordinate. Santonians, Prydanians, Cojedians and now Norsia, it may as well have been some sort of one world gathering.

“Norsian transport, you are authorized to land at gate 3, proceed,” Tannhauser said with authority as he guided the last plane in the fleet to its landing zone

He took a sip of coffee and twirled one end of his neatly trimmed handlebar as he watched the behemoth of an aircraft descend onto the runway. A small army of maintenance and logistics staff would soon be descending on the plane like a swarm of worker bees. He watched as a small convoy of jeeps and trucks rushed toward the recently landed transport, he half wondered if the ground crews were rushing so they could get home soon, most of them had been working double shifts to keep up.

The sky was beginning to darken as the sun disappeared beneath the burnt orange horizon, it had been a long day, Tannhauser was looking forward to the end of his shift. Thankfully the last half-hour passed with relative ease, the radio playing Rudy Karloff’s greatest hits, the gentle crooning of the famed lounge singer serenaded Tannhauser to shifts end. By the time handover arrived he was already packed and ready to leave.

As he strode for the elevator, he glanced out to see rows of shiny armoured vehicles, their paint jobs were whiter than a Franktorf winter. Tannhauser watched as blue-helmeted troops boarded various buses with almost machine-like precision, he shuddered involuntarily, he was infinitely happy they were on the same side.


The drive home was uneventful, Tannhauser stopping only to pick up a takeaway from the local Sinitic, nothing was going to keep him from family time tonight. He had been busting his ass for the last week and a half trying to guide a veritable armada of air assets to their landing zones, he had earned some time with the wife and kids. He pulled into the garage and killed the engine, Greta opened the door and he embraced her gently, her bump nudging him as he did.

“You're getting so fat,” he said with a grin

Greta batted his shoulder playfully as he came in with greasy bags of noodles in one hand and his jacket in the other. Predictably his son Tony was lounging in the living room, dirge metal blazing out of his headphones as he busied himself with the screen of his leisure-boy. Leo snuck up behind the couch and leaned in close.

“TONY!!!!” he roared loud enough to break through the noise cancellation, the boy jumped off the couch in fright

“I told you to stop doing that dad, its invading my personal space!” The boy protesting in teenage

“Your 16, you don’t have personal space! Now come and eat!” Leo said with a chuckle

Once everyone was seated at the table a contented silence fell across the Tannhauser family as they ate, Leo lit his pipe and sat back in the armchair. He regarded his son with a curious look, for all the boy's adolescent moodiness the two did get along rather well, the nose ring was a sticking point, but the youth did like their bling.

“So, how's school?” Leo asked before taking a puff from his pipe

“Mr Linderman gave me an A for physics, then he threw an eraser at the loud Vallish exchange student for talking about hellstrand” Tony replied with a mischievous grin

“The man is a lunatic, but he does seem to give you good grades” Leo replied approvingly

“So maybe I’ll have the grades to get into flight school next year,” Tony said with a pleading look in his eyes

“You know the rules!” Leo replied prodding the boy with the pipe

“Yes Vater, graduate first and then flight school” the boy replied dutifully

He was a good child, moody and irritable like all boys of his age but a good student and not overly difficult to deal with daily. His aspirations to follow his father into the Luftfahrtkorps* had allowed the two to bond more than most father and sons. Still the current wartime footing that was spreading across Gothis was cause for concern, Leo worried that his son might end up on the frontline someday, at least if all the tension filling the north was anything to go by.

“Not long till your sister joins us,” Greta said with a smile

“Has Klassen signed your maternity leave papers yet?!” Leo asked with a raised eyebrow, risking his wife's disapproval by asking

“soon darling, the office is a nightmare at the moment, "She said in a placating tone

His wife’s corporate job was in almost as much flux as his, the seismic shifts occurring politically and economically across the continent causing businesses to re-organize overnight.

“That bad?” Leo asked as he tapped his pipe on the table

“The Vallish are re-arranging their manufacturing contracts, Klassen keeps saying “Adrenne's loss is Hessunlands gain!” truth is though I just seem to be gaining more pounds and more paperwork” Greta replied with a mirthless laugh

“Urgghhh all this because a bunch of belligerent Duckies decided to shoot up parliament” Leo replied with a roll of his eyes

Everywhere old certainties were being eroded, treaties that had stood for decades were being torn up overnight and old enmities being revisited with lamentable speed. Leo worried sometimes about the world his children were growing up in, but then he remembered the Norsians, those blue helmets and the promise of men and women who would fight for peace. He held on to the image of snow-white tanks and suddenly felt a little better

“Anyway, enough about the outside world, who’s up for a game of Inaius!” Leo said with a suddenly rather jovial voice

*Aviation Corps, Hessunland’s airforce

---

XXVI Batasan
IV Regelmäßige Sitzung



Recommendation
of the Committee on Foreign Affairs


for a decision on the bill presented by the Government:

Draft bill to impose sanctions on Andrenne
for its abuses in the Second Dučrijekan War (Andrenien-Sanktionsgesetz)

---

ZEITSCHRIFT FÜR BATASAN (1925-2020) → 2020s → Juli 2020 → Sitzungen des Batasan





SECOND DUČRIJEKAN WAR

[Relevant document: Report of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, on draft bill to impose sanctions on Andrenne for its abuses in the Second Dučrijekan War.]

The Chancellor (Mrs. Nifa Nakashad) - 12:30 PM


The Government of today differs in policies of the previous ministries. But careful, thoughtful discussion and internal debate in foreign policy has proven itself and, thus, continued to convince us, in Government, that the role of the Lawstoner Republic in the world, in its international agenda, must thoroughly and utterly remain consistent with the policies set by all ministries. For the sake of our neutrality. Recently, it has been disputed due to our involvements in the Commonwealth—[Hon. Mambabatas: "That's unconstitutional."]—and the implications of proposals from the Citizen's Loyal Opposition, including the rest of those opposite, who hold disagreeable stances on the question of joining the Iterian League, an economic and military alliance. A geopolitical organization that has recently been increasingly political as it tries to implement new institutions of worrying economic and military significance.

Rest assured, that if the Government has been aggressive and confrontational in its manner of debate, it has only done so in the Batasan. This is a democracy. I do not disrespect the views of the Opposition and those in our side of the Batasan who wish to agree with them. It is our right as legislators of the Republic to question and convince our legislative peers of our very distinct positions.

Now, let us recap the history of Andrenne and its abuses in the Second Dučrijekan War. After The Riksane Massacre, Grand King Lukas II accused the Republic of Dučrijeka for the attack and demanded an official apology and reparations from the Dučrijekan government. Ensar Redžep, Premier of Dučrijeka, denied allegations and refused to comply with the Grand King's demands. The Dawn Contingency was enacted and the Treaty of Kjellsama, which maintained Andrenne in a state of peace since 1951, was repealed. The Andrennian government, until Prime Minister Artijom van Spaarva recovers, is under the leadership of Grand King Lukas in accordance with the Dawn Contingency. They imposed sanctions and severed diplomatic relations with Dučrijeka, and systematically discriminated against Dučrijekan nationals in Andrenne in ethnically-profiled arrests and deportations.

The Dawn Contingency supposedly granted Grand King Lukas emergency executive powers, but it is unclear whether the Grand King is also granted an effective degree of legislative prerogative, which could not ascertain why the remaining legislators of the Andrennian Parliament have failed to regulate the conduct of war. However, this would explain reports of unnecessary brutality in Kosada and the alleged mistreatment—[Interruption]—of Dučrijekan prisoners-of-war. Total, unchecked exercise of executive power in a country old as Andrenne, with a military tradition that is ingrained in their national character, it is no surprise if the military leadership easily deviated from accepted standards of strategy and expectations of fair treatment. [Hon. Mambabatas: "Fair treatment? No such thing in Andrenne."]

On the 22nd March, Grand King Lukas declared a state of war between Andrenne and Dučrijeka. This declaration was made immediately after the Grand King announced two Andrennian civilian casualties in a skirmish with the Dučrijekans near the Andrennian border town of Arsaan.

On the 27th June, a statement to condemn Andrenne was released by the Xentheridan foreign ministry. The Andrennian offensive in Kosada and the surrounding Zemriča canton was aware of the fact the civilians in these areas could not successfully evacuate. The primary factors which led to the tragedy were the 30-minute deadline Andrenne gave for Dučrijekan civilians to evacuate and the orders of local Dučrijekan authorities who forced civilians to stay. Despite this, the Andrennian offensive proceeded and launched a saturation bombardment of the areas. The definition of saturation bombing is to concentrate one's air forces and drop massive amounts of bombs on an enemy's industrial and population centers to overwhelm their ability to resist, break their morale, and force them to surrender. In this case, the objectives of this strategy are yet to be achieved.

The Midranean government is the first country to reaffirm their support to the Andrennian war effort after Xentherida released their statement. The Xentheridan condemnation was followed by the Vallish government. In response to this, the Andrennian Royal Army evicted and escorted the Xentheridan and Vallish diplomatic missions out of the country. There are reports of embassy staff put under Royal Army surveillance or house arrest. The Prydanian embassy remained despite their government's opposition to the Andrennian war conduct. I am happy to inform the Batasan that the Lawstoner embassy is still open and continues to serve our citizens and the Republic's relations in Andrenne. The Andrennian government has also withdrawn their diplomatic missions in the Pan-Gotic Union and the North Gotis Economic Council. They have refused to respond to any form of correspondence from any country except those who still have embassies in Andrenne. The Andrennian government also announced it will no longer respond to diplomatic objections, even if it came from their own allies. They declared they will never sign another Treaty of Kjellsama, will not disarm their military forces, and they accepted the consequential eventuality of their suspension from the Pan-Gotic Union.

Prime Minister Van Spaarva did recover, but Grand King Lukas hasn't made any indication of relinquishing some of his powers. Furthermore, it has been reported the Prime Minister and several of his fellow cabinet colleagues left the country.

I will not go through all the events since then, as the Batasan is familiar with them. That is the history. And the Government is determined to accept this position: The Lawstoner Republic will not pursue any political or military action against Andrenne—[Interruption]. Therefore—[Hon. Mambabatas: "Shame on you!]—the Government has taken the recommendation of the Committee on Foreign Affairs to withdraw our bill to impose sanctions—[Hon. Mambabatas: "Sidapa will judge you."]—on Andrenne for its abuses in the Second Dučrijekan War. Any international pressure on Andrenne should only include nations willing to exert their influence at the expense of their resources. Neutral countries, like Lawston, are better suited to simply help people in need without any extension of services beyond humanitarian purposes.

The roots of the Republic can be traced from 1925, and democracy from the reforms of the great Emperor Samprati IV between 1870 and 1871, and we truly became a republic only in 1968. 51 years have passed since then and our constitution clearly states from the very start, in Chapter VI:


This is the first provision that forms the constitutional basis of Lawstoner neutrality. Originally, we disarmed the Republic and tried to peacefully coexist with other countries without the need of a standing armed forces. This proved illogical and threatening to the integrity of Lawstoner sovereignty. Lawston, with its large territory and considerable population, with no basic military capabilities to defend itself and its inhabitants, cannot be expected to reasonably exist or exist longer if it were to continue in its constitutional ban on maintaining military forces. We looked hard for exceptions and have made adjustments to better fit our current circumstances. We cannot afford to make further exceptions on a whim nor can we make the necessary adjustments now, as much as we would wish to do, just to preclude instrumental legalities to enable actions that may or may not provoke a constitutional crisis.

However, in this time of uncertainty, it is vital we maintain cordial relations with both Andrenne and Dučrijeka. Like in many things, if things are not easy, there are still many ways to solve a problem. If overtures of war brings sure death, then overtures of peace can only bring love. That is why I have spoken with the Palace and His Excellency the President has agreed to assist the Government by inviting the Andrennian and Dučrijekan ambassadors in a series of separate and private non-formal dining—[Hon. Mambabatas: "What?"]—and recreational activities—[Interruption]—where the Lawstoner Republic could ease any concern these two countries may have on relations between us. Who knows? We might settle a peace deal over dinner—[Hon. Mambabatas: "What a comedian."].

Lastly, and I think it will serve as a good conclusion: On June 28th, our Embassy in Franktorf has invited the Red Heart Society of Lawston, Emperor Samprati Charity, and other organizations to provide basic necessities and essential services needed by Dučrijekan refugees in the Hessunlander Safe Zone.

So these are the measures that the Government has taken and will be put forward to help resolve the Second Dučrijekan War. I will, as expected from decades of parliamentary practice, answer questions and defend the Government in its positions on this matter.

The Opposition Leader (Mr. Asad Alwablah) Insults are normal in our culture—[Hon. Mambabatas: "Hear, hear."]. Swearing in the Batasan was allowed and encouraged as a patriotic act until the 1970s. That's when we first began to broadcast our proceedings here in the Bahay-ng-Batas. Foreigners visited us and media technology began to spread, making media content available in places where it couldn't be. That's when we began to become more conscious of what we say. So we did away with swearing and vulgarities in parliamentary language and conduct.

So what does this have to do with the Official Opposition's response to the Chancellor and the Government she and her Cabinet represents? First off, I will talk about the war in Dučrijeka if the Chancellor admits that it is not a justified war but an outright invasion. Secondly and lastly, as this would be my final opportunity to speak here at the Batasan for today's sitting, there is something I would like to call the Chancellor for so long based on the moment we first faced each other here. This is for her and her Government's selfishness over Rio Verde—[Interruption]

Mr. President Order, order. I will not remind the Opposition Leader of what was supposedly understood the last couple of times I have disciplined him in this very gross and very familiar violation of the rules of the Batasan. Now, I will give the Opposition Leader another final opportunity, to withdraw what he said—

The Opposition Leader Fat chance!

Mr. President Get out of my chamber!

The President ordered Mr. Asad Alwablah, the Leader of the Citizen's Loyal Opposition, to withdraw from the Batasan during the remainder of the day's sitting.

Planište, Hessunland-Occupied Ducrijecka

Nik got down on one knee as he smiled at Redžep.
"Here, have another chocolate bar" he said with a grin.
"And share with your little brother. He deserves some too, ok?"

"Alright" the boy said smiling as Nik stood up.

"Thank you" the boy's mother, Almedina, said with tears in her eyes.
"Thank you for looking after him."

"I used to be where a lot of you are now, it's the least I can do" Nik replied, before smiling at the toddler Almedina was holding.
"Zikret, right?"

"Yes" the woman said with a nod.
"Is...is this place safe?"

"Yes" Nik said, nodding back.

Almedina set Zikret down.
"Take your brother, Redžep, to the tent they gave us. I'll be there shortly." The tent, in a block of them, was close by, within eyesight of the mother and the solider. Almedina nodded as her older son led his younger brother to the cots and turned to Nik again.

"Thank you again."

"Like I said, it's the least I could do."

"You said you were where we are now, before?"

"Prydania was ripped apart by Civil War. I know what it's like to feel helpless."

"So if you know that" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "why did you come to help invade my country?"

Nik wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't even feel angry, because the woman had asked it with such curiosity. He didn't sense any overt hostility.
"I don't know if you know this, but we Prydanians are related to the Andrennians."

"Yes, your accent gives it away. You sound like their seljačina*" she said with a chuckle. Nik wasn't sure what she said, but she just shook her head.
"I'm sorry...I just mean to say, I know. You came because of the attack on their government?"

"Yeah" Nik nodded.
"That war Prydania suffered, the Andrennians helped end it, and helped bring peace to our country. We wanted to repay them. This seemed like a righteous cause."

"There is a saying about good intentions" the woman replied, sounding weary.

"And that's why we're here now" Nik smiled.
"We couldn't stand by what they did. And I just saw a hurt boy, who needed help. Like I used to."

"You're a good man Mr. Ravn."

"Thank you, Ms. Terzić. I hope that your stay here won't be long." Almedina avoided that line of discussion, instead asking Nik another question.

"What will you do now? You and the rest of the Prydanians?"

"I don't know. Help if we can? I know our King gave orders that we were supposed to help the humanitarian crisis, in any way we could. I guess the General and Colonel are talking with the other military leaders here to figure out what to do."

"Do you trust your King?"

"I do, yeah" Nik said adamantly.

"Why? He sent you here in the first place. What if he changes his mind again?"

"I trust he won't."

"How can you know though?"

Nik smiled.
"It was my King who gave me a chocolate bar and made me feel not so hopeless, back when I was just a scared boy like Redžep."

Almedina nodded, with a weary smile.
"I need to tend to my sons Mr. Ravn. Thank you again" she took Nik's hand and squeezed tight momentarily before leaving him. He looked around. He had some time. He wondered if he could find Garsendis before new orders were issued.

---

CODE:002 by Asami Tachibana, 2:40

*seljačina= hicks

---

"Didn't expect this" General Níels Krummedike muttered as he and Colonel Eragon Bláfeld looked out over the sight of white refugee tents against an orange twilight horizon.

"Pardon Sir?" Bláfeld replied. He and the General were waiting to meet with General Wilhelm Schulz and Major Dieter Stiglitz of Hessunland. They were in command here, and Krummedike and Bláfeld were to coordinate with them in whatever way they needed. They had been waiting for a little under fifteen minutes. It had been silent up until just now.

"When the General Staff organized this. They chose me because of the Alataterva-Krummedike-Keris campaign of the Civil War. I chose you, Colonel, for much the same reason. Occupation. Pacification with as little collateral damage as possible. We both rooted out Syndies and did it in a way that very few people hated us."

"I'm unsure I follow Sir."

"Well now we're here. I just didn't expect it, is all."

"I don't think anyone could have expected Kosada."

"Field Marshal Andreas Söderlund" Krummedike replied.
"I HOPE he's the only one who could have expected Kosada, but I doubt it. I told him he should have given a wider warning window. So did one of his officers as a matter of fact. Obviously neither of us got through to him."

"I doubt you could have changed his mind Sir. It's best not to blame yourself."

"I don't, Colonel" Krummedike replied bluntly.
"You and I, we both dealt with Syndicalists during the Civil War. I mean in an intimate context. Looking another man in the eye, after they'd done something terrible."

"Yes Sir" Eragon replied, unsure of where the General was going.

"There were always two sorts right?"

"The soldiers and the butchers, yes. The Syndies who attacked military targets, and then those that attacked civilians in our territory."

"Colonel, I'll be frank. Our profession needs doing, but what we do sometimes attracts butchers. People who kill not because it's their duty, but because their duty lets them justify killing. You could always tell them apart when you interrogated enemy combatants. I could too. And the sad thing is that sometimes those butchers rise through the ranks. Sometimes they even become Field Marshals."

"Söderlund?"

"I've looked into enough men's eyes to tell the difference Colonel. And yes."

---

War Pigs by Black Sabbath, 7:53

Hessunland-Occupied Ducrijecka

The convoy had been moving for a while now, the sky was getting dark but their white vehicles still gleamed in the horizon. Sámi Looked out to the side of the road, shocked to see so many refugees already, he had forgotten he was driving as he had to pull the command truck back onto the road. "Look at them all... Where do you think they're coming from?" "I don't know, eyes forward.."

Visimar pulled up his command radio. "Gunners keep your eyes peeled, I doubt these people know our intentions. Rules of engagement stands, fire only when you or the civilians are fired upon. Do not fire danger close, keep collateral to only what is necessary, we're here to help these people, not aid in their countries annihilation. The only markings that are truly friendly here are ours, the Prydanians, the Essalaneans and the Hessunlanders. Anything beyond that you confirm with me or Lieutenant Sámi." He lowered the radio into his lap.

Sámi glanced over. "How long do you think we'll be here? will we even make a difference Colonel?" Visimar smirked slightly. "We're here for as long as our Empress says so, and we're welcome, and not a minute longer. And... Hmm." Visimar grabbed the radio again and changed the settings, starting to transmit over the loudspeaker as his tone became more confident as he started to sing.

"From the north, the frigid north, from Pylae to the mother peaks." Sámi's eyes lit up and he couldn't help but smile. He joined his Colonel in the march and soon others in the convoy would too, quickly it became a chorus. The crews of the IFVs turning out of their hatches to sing along too. Norsians sing loud and proud.

"Strong like an indomitable mountain, The Norsians go into battle, Strong like an indomitable mountain, The Norsians go into battle.
Being brought up sternly by the frigid north, The formidable storm of Remata, and the Norsian snow. The formidable storm of Remata, and the Norsian snow.

With neither fatigue nor fear; fighting during night and day. Listen, Norsos: in your famous years, in memory of glorious olden times. The honor of a great nation your sons and daughters will defend. The honor of a great nation, your sons and daughters will defend.

Norsos will rise again, by our sorrowly faith, this song will be heard inside the halls of the Gods. This song will be heard inside the halls of the Gods!"

By the time a Norsian pup graduated basic training they knew the march of the Norsian Heart, well; by heart. and knew how to sing it well in concert with their unit. Sámi and Visimar grinned to one another as the convoy continued down the road, and soon Sámi had gotten the unit singing another Norsian march as Planište finally came into view. Their proud songs and the trundle of their engines announcing their arrival as the convoy would soon come to a stop.

Stiglitz swore irritably as he struggled to get the ageing lighter to produce so much as a spark, he should have replaced it years ago, but the sentiment was a hard emotion to shake. His grandfather had brought the novelty lighter back from Syrixia in the spring of 42’ a souvenir from a successful business trip. The brass coating on the elephants and palms had long since worn away but Stiglitz kept the lighter in memory of his jovial old Opa Fritz.

He wondered what the old man would have made of the world today, he suspected the old man would have the lines of refugees and armed men painfully familiar, the Dachsi’s were gone at least. He finally succeeded in getting a light and held it to his cigarette with a hand covering the flickering flame, the warm inhalation of nicotine was a welcome counter against the bone-cold winds blowing across the checkpoint. Lines of weary, ragged and dirty-faced refugees crowded the checkpoint, many had likely walked and hitched rides from as far away as Kosada.

“Poor Bastards” Stiglitz muttered as he tried to follow the lines of brutalized humanity, refugee columns seemed to stretch over the hills endlessly

“Please line up in an orderly fashion, priority processing will be given to the sick, elderly and any with dependent children” A loudspeaker boomed out first in Mittelgotik and then in Ducrijeckan

Crowds of people were shouting and surrounding the cluster of registration desks, the clerks were hopelessly outnumbered. Stiglitz estimated some hundreds would be passing through this checkpoint alone each day. Thousands more were likely to follow as Andrenne’s offensive drove deeper into Ducrijecka, it had all the makings of a humanitarian crisis for the ages. A tsunami of sick, starving and wounded would soon flood the hospitals and camps of the safe zone.

Medics flanked by armed soldiers scanned the crowds for elderly or sick, whenever someone was located, they would assist them on to stretchers and quickly spirit them to waiting ambulances and helicopters for casevac to nearby field hospitals. Most were not so lucky and as the lines grew ever longer many would not be processed today or likely for days to come. Already small rows of makeshift shelters were forming around the walled checkpoint.

Stiglitz shook his head and took a last drag on his cigarette before stamping it out, overhead a row of attack helicopters buzzed as they flew over the border in low formation. Hessunland was taking no chances, a few miles back batteries of artillery stood ready to fire 24/7 and an entire wing of the aviation corps had been committed to protecting the skies. If Ducrijecka or Andrenne wanted to disrupt operations, they would have to fight for every inch of the protected region.

“Filthy habit” General Schulz said with a gentle smile as he approached

The general was as usual deceptively unthreatening, his neatly trimmed moustache and diminutive stature making him appear almost comical in his flacktarn battle dress. He reminded Stiglitz of a doting grandfather out for a spot of gardening more than he did a seasoned military leader. All the same, Stiglitz suppressed any amusement and saluted sincerely.

“you don’t smoke sir?” Stiglitz asked in a curious voice

“Health scare in 95’ haven't since” the general replied shaking his head

The two men watched as crowds of refugees continued to flow towards the checkpoint, at times it felt as though all Ducrijecka was moving west. There was something terrible about that sea of humanity, it spoke to forces unleashed that made dust of cities and uprooted entire populations. This war had spiralled beyond logic and far past any moral justification, the participants had long since forsaken morals.

“Do you think the Andrennian’s realize the consequences of all this?” Stiglitz asked after a long silence

“I imagine some of them are as shocked as we are Major, but what does that matter? They still went through with it” Schulz replied sadly

“murderous bastards didn’t even give this sorry lot time to evacuate, half an hour, maybe they really have gone fascist again,” Stiglitz said spitting in disgust

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge, it was not that long ago we were on the wrong side of history, do you remember much of the Gotmark war?” Schulz said giving the major a curious look

“I would have been five, sir, father was spared the draft because of his work as a farmer, uncles all got send to the front, one came back mostly intact, never heard from the others again” Stiglitz replied trying to remember the hazy images of his uncles in their dress browns

“I commanded an artillery battery, I would have been 29, we all got swept up by the tides of war, didn’t matter if we thought it was right or wrong, we just fought to survive by the end. Anyone can find themselves on the wrong side Stiglitz, remember that” Schulz said in a slow and calm voice after a pause

“Yes sir,” Stiglitz said taken aback by the Generals sudden admission

“We have a chance to do better, that’s why we are here, Andrenne will do what Andrenne will do Major, it is our role to see that their madness does not kill thousands, but enough philosophy, our new allies are waiting,” Schulz said motioning for Stiglitz to follow.

**********************************************************************************
The ride in the staff car was a short one, a few minutes of comfort before they reached the outskirts of the safe zone. A small muddy road marked the last border of the safe zone before the warzones beyond, a convoy of armoured vehicles with a barbed cross emblazoned on their sides signalled the arrival of the allies that Schulz had mentioned. Rows of mud-splattered vehicles, motorcycles and even horses of all things stretched out in front of the staff car, tired men gave them weary glares, they had been travelling for days.

“Prydanians” Stiglitz said surprised

“Indeed, they recently left the Andrennian front, they have journeyed along long and hostile roads to reach us,” Schulz said as he stepped out of the car, his boots squelching in the glue-like mud

Stiglitz followed his superior as they made their way down the muddy road, general Schulz would occasionally stop and converse with Prydanian’s in fluent Makari, they seemed to like that. Stiglitz knew of course that the general had spent time in Prydansk, the man had a damned hunting lodge there for god's sake. What he had not expected was for the good general to be so gregarious and easy-going with the common soldier, the man had a charm about him that was for certain.

Finally, the two of them reached the spot where they were to meet the Prydanian command, two weathered-looking officers greeted their arrival. Schulz and Stiglitz both saluted. Their gesture was returned by the Prydanians, these men seemed like they had just travelled through hell, then again, they had been at Kosada and that might even have been worse.

“Gentlemen, I am General Wilhelm Schulz commander of the 10th Dussel Fusiliers and acting commander of the safe zone, this is my second Major Dieter Stiglitz,” He said motioning to Stiglitz who nodded respectfully

“General Krummedike I shall spare you extensive pleasantries and be blunt, we are facing nothing less than a humanitarian catastrophe, your men are therefore most welcome and more importantly, in great demand, we are going to need all the help we can get to stem this country's bleeding,” Schulz said his tone calm but ominous

Stiglitz stared around at the convoy, battle-hardened soldiers sat on the various tanks and trucks, they looked dirty, tired and most importantly very dangerous. Stiglitz had heard of the civil war in Prydania, it had been long and bloody, these men were clearly the result of that decade long struggle. They would be no strangers to refugees or death and though their original mission was now abandoned, their experience would be a great boon to their new objective. It was as the general had said, they had a chance to do better, they all did.
***********************************************************************************

Lieutenant Milo Becker watched the sunset on the horizon with a lazy gaze, it had been a long and draining day. In the last few weeks, more traffic had passed through Planište then had likely done so in the last few years. An endless roster of troops, contractors, aid workers and supply convoys had all passed through Becker’s checkpoint, keeping up with it all had been nothing short of a logistical nightmare.

From his vantage point in the watchtower, Milo could see for miles in any direction, not that he had any great need to. There was no chance of a duckie attack on the Hessunlander side of the border, instead, Becker’s role was to process the endless stream of personnel and supplies heading toward Planište. It was an important job to be sure, not particularly glamourous perhaps, but someone had to keep tabs on the new arrivals.

At least for now, things were quiet, another hour and Becker would be relieved to go back to his dorm. The radio was stuck on some Duckie station, the wild sounding noise of wailing voices and crazed instruments too lively for a slow night on watch. Becker frowned and walked over to the coffee pot before emptying a cup's worth of lukewarm caffeine into his mug.

“I thought Hans said he was going to fix the damn radio,” Becker asked his subordinate as he sipped his cup of coffee, he pursed his lips as the vile taste of reheated caffeine hit him

“He’s been swamped trying to do maintenance on half the vehicles coming past, besides Ducrijeckan music isn't that terrible, they are very earnest about it sir” Corporal Haneke replied in a placating tone

“If this nonsense is the product of earnestness corporal, I think we need to send instruments and music teachers along with the tanks and nurses,” Becker said with a dismissive wave of his hand

Though he would never admit it openly, he got along very well with Haneke, they were an effective team and the latter's affable manner made him relatively easy to tolerate during long shifts. Becker wondered how much longer the two would work together before he was inevitably reassigned to another area of the safe zone. There would be many more border crossings to guard soon, for now, though they continued to process the vast traffic coming through the Franktorf valley.

A rumbling filled the evening air, it sounded like giants stomping, the hairs on Becker’s arms stood on end in response. He walked over to the window and pulled out his binoculars, the green haze of night vision filling his view as he scanned the horizon. A line of armoured vehicles was moving up the road, Becker signalled for the spotlights to be turned on.

Illumination filled the night sky as the large searchlights were pointed in the direction of the advancing convoy. Becker began to make out the shapes of trucks and armoured carriers, to his surprise they were painted in snow coloured white. He scanned the carriers for insignia, quickly noticing a snarling wolf bearing a winged staff.

“Do we have any allies with wolves on their tanks?” Becker asked confused

“Their Norsian sir” Haneke replied bluntly

“As in Norsos, in Craviter!?” Becker said surprised

Norsos was as distant to Becker as Astragon or Ulsthome, names of far off places that he occasionally read about in the Franktorf Enquirer. He had heard stories of a resurgent power across the ocean, something about a warrior queen, but it had never seemed particularly relevant. They were harder to ignore when their troops were approaching your doorstep, the snow-white column seemed very relevant currently.

“Yes sir, they were deployed a few days ago, it was big news,” Haneke said in an excited voice

“Which I would have heard if Hans had fixed the damn radio!” Becker replied irritably

The two men watched as the Norsian convoy moved closer into view, there must have been thousands of them approaching. Despite knowing that these were allied forces, Becker found himself suddenly feeling afraid despite himself. There was something menacing about that disciplined line of snow-white vehicles, something a little too methodical and efficient. He began to hear a noise, a sonorous tone that filled the air, they were singing.

"From the north, the frigid north, from Pylae to the mother peaks."

“The formidable storm of Remata, and the Norsian snow”

“Norsos will rise again, by our sorrowly faith, this song will be heard inside the halls of the Gods!”

Becker chuckled, a sudden unexpected grin filled his face, the song boomed across the highlands as the Norsians approached. It was a proud, fierce song to stir even the dullest of hearts, it reminded Becker of the stories of the Mittelgotiks driving out Adrienna, it had the same mythic quality to it.

“By Arvin they are magnificent!” Becker exclaimed in an awe-struck voice

“Aye sir, what should I tell command in Planište?”Haneke asked

“Tell them we have made contact with the Norsians, tell them the blue helmets are coming” Becker replied with a broad smile
He lingered for a while watching the columns and listening to their proud song, it was a hopeful tune and it seemed to have infected Becker with its spirit.

(Note: This post is set directly after the PGU's expulsion of Andrenne, which isn't completed yet OOC)
(Note 2: If your nation has a reaction to this, respond within this post's dedicated thread and NOT in the DW2 thread.)


Betlarahöll has been closely observing the events ongoing between Dučrijeka and our friends in Andrenne and we first extend our gratitude to the Andrennian soldiers involved for their brave attempts to combat global terrorism.

Dučrijeka is a failed state. Run by and for terrorists who seek only to destabilise their neighbours who they look at with only contempt and jealousy. While many believe the evacuation times afforded by the righteous Andrennian armies were too little, we believe they were too much and undeserved for a nation of thugs. It is simply shameful that any nation would turn their back on one of Gothis' most important nations so readily in favour of these brutes.

This is most notable in the diplomatic atrocity that is the Pan-Gotic Union and its unfair expulsion of the Kingdom for exterminating its violators and their sympathisers. It's simply ironic that the Union is incapable of retaining its core ideals of Gotic Unity, likely being influenced by Szlav-related factors we can only theorise at this current moment in time. It is with this that we make the first declaration of this statement: Jómfrúland will officially boycott the Pan-Gotic Union as an institution and sever all relations* that it currently holds with it. This is effective immediately.

As well as this, in order to combat the isolation of Andrenne, we have chosen to offer the following if desired:

• Discounted opportunities with all regiments of the Jómfrúska military assigned to the Málaliðaherir, our junior PMC force.
• Similar opportunities with all regiments of Nýfyrirmyndarher, our senior PMC force.

Ultimately, Jómfrúland cannot stand by and watch our Gotic brothers stand by and face unfair ostracisation for enacting what we only view as a fair, reasonable response to awful abuse from Dučrijeka and its terrorist populace.

Spoiler

*While Jómfrúland isn't in the PGU, it can be assumed it has some form of cooperative relationship with it before now.

Commander Katerina Zorn watched the tree line through the slit of the bunker, the engineers had promised a demonstration like no other and as the orange haze of evening descended her anticipation rose with each passing minute. The flight from Franktorf had been uneventful, several hours of green and grey views followed by a swift descent into the Grand Duchy. Arrival had been more of a culture shock, Gotmark was a land of forests whose untamed forms were only occasionally broken by the rude din of human habitation.

The place reminded Kat of her mother's old ghost stories, of woods filled to the brim with all manner of cultists and witches, there was something eerie about the trees. The drive from the airport had quickly become a lonely journey along an empty road, dark shadows encroaching on the precarious concrete as the trees loomed overhead. The Hessunland delegation had been instructed to head toward a blink and you'd miss it town on the border, Nybro, they might as well have been heading for the end of the world.

The darkness of early evening had been unnerving as Kat had stared out the tinted Sedan window, at least once she could have sworn, she had heard a wolf howl. Eventually they had arrived in the tiny settlement of Nybro and promptly been greeted by a welcoming committee from the aviation corp. Small talk and rushed pleasantries had given way to yet more driving down empty roads, the delegation spirited to a secretive testing zone on the outskirts of town.

As Kat watched the tree line, she could help but find irony in her presence in Gotmark. The Grand Duchy had a messy history with Hessunlands predecessor Gottia, the invasion that had finally destroyed that reviled nation had been into Gotmark. Kat had lost a dozen relatives to Himdach’s ego-driven war, for her part though Kat knew little about the Markers save that they worshipped VTOL and trees in equal measure.

It was precisely the former that had proved the reason for her present wait in a chill ridden bunker. Hessunland was rearming, the falcon unsheathing its talons once more, and the aviation corps wanted their new birds to bear the gift of VTOL. The recent insanity that the Ducrijeckan war had unleashed had arguably set the cause of peace in Gothis back by decades, Andrenne was acting more like their fascist ancestors with each passing day and Hessunland had begun to eye its eastern neighbour with nothing short of fearful disgust.

Barely three weeks ago the prime minister had declared the treaty of Hessenberg null and void, now every ministry and armaments official in the country was scrambling to acquire the necessary weaponry to arm a growing war machine. Franktorf was a flurry of cabinet meetings and industrial bargaining as foreign and domestic producers alike jostled for endless new contracts, meanwhile, Dussel’s war factories had begun churning out all manner of deadly implements. Gothis was entering a terrible new age of fear and uncertainty and comfort was to be found in the reassuring grip of a rifle.

The aviation corps calls for a new superiority fighter had been answered by a secretive firm in Gotmark, evidently, they had been working on something special with Hessun contractors for several years. They likely would never have released it in a time of peace, but the looming war had a way of making money materialize out of the ether. The demo brief had borne an ominous title, Project X-32, it was time to see what was lurking behind that mysterious name.

“Well looks like they are ready to begin, time to see if it was worth the long drive,” Colonel Pohl said with a hint of irritation in his voice

Pohl was less than enthused about being pulled from his work in the war ministry to stare at “overpriced tinsel” the army colonel did not share Kat’s enthusiasm for replacing Hessunland’s aging Vesp fleet. The colonel had bluntly pointed out that the money the contract had been offered would have been far better spent on a new battalion of Leopold tanks. Kat rolled her eyes; shortsightedness would not deter a threat like Andrenne.

“Have some faith colonel, I am told the project has exceeded all projections” she said in a placating tone, mostly to prevent Pohl from whining through the entire process

“We shall see,” he said in a dismissive tone

The lights in the bunker signalling the start of the demonstration began to flash alarms of red and orange, the two Hessunlander’s reached for their binoculars and began to scan the horizon.

“For your consideration, the x-32" a thickly accented voice called over the intercom

Something began to rise silently above the nearby tree line, a sleek gunmetal accented shadow, thrusters hummed rhythmically, Kat was put in mind of some terrible Geist as she regarded the craft. Suddenly the craft roared into life as it climbed high into the burnt orange clouds with unimaginable speed. A spotlight below illuminated the shell of an ancient Oslo tank, a piercing shriek filled the air as the x-32 descended upon it.

“Arvin’s beard it's fast!” Pohl exclaimed his tone now far from dismissive

A dark shadow swooped overhead and strafed the tank with fire from its cannons, the buzzing noise was utterly terrifying as superheated projectiles ripped through the ageing steel. The craft climbed again,
disappearing into the clouds in a blur of speed. Seconds passed, then it descended again, a thundering sonic boom caused the lights in the bunker to shake as the x-32 swooped down for another strike. A missile lit the evening air with a glowing trail as it hurtled towards the wreck. The explosion that followed was deafening as a ballooning pillar of flame and smoke surged upwards.

As debris rained down the x-32 hovered into clear view for the first time, it was a thing of odd beauty, its grey-black paint body covered in missile bays and assault weaponry. It glittered as spotlights turned to illuminate it. The most noticeable feature was its sleek top and fat underbelly, the two connected by an amusing induction below the plane's beak. Pohler had begun to chuckle.

“Something funny colonel?” Kat asked in surprise

“Just...it looks like a heavily armed Pelikan!?” he said his face softening into an amused expression

That was one way to describe it, for her part Kat had just seen a weapon capable of changing the face of aerial warfare, those hardpoints and darkened wings promised death not amusement. More tests would need to be done, but deep down she already knew the X-32 would prove a success, it was a beast to give the greatest aviation marvels of Eras pause.

“Maybe so colonel, but I would hate to be on its receiving end,” she said grimly

St. Arvin help her, she was going to call Franktorf and recommend the corps buy a squadron load.

A shot rang out, a legionary had fallen. What came next was a flurry of fire from the buildings that the legionaries had not gotten to. As the shots ran out members of the crowd that had already been cleared began to run to the area of the town that had not been searched yet. The initial shock had caused ten legionaries to lose their lives, the centurion began to try to get his men into order. He screamed into his headset:

"Testudo!"

The legionaries knew that this meant to find as much cover as possible and await further orders. Domitus, the centurion fell into cover with a few other officers they quickly began to look for where the shots were coming from. One of the lower officers saw window on the second story of an appartment complex about 100 meters away. The fire was concentrated on a fire team of legionaries they were pinned and a group of what was thought to be civilians was approaching the pinned legionaries, now armed from their comrades. Domitus began looking for his other teams, there were one thousand legionaries in this town and when he needed them he couldn't find any of them. As he was thinking this, a fire team commander radioed in saying that his team was engaging the approaching hostiles. Firing started from a apartment block to the east, the first three floors unleashed a hail of led on the advancing teams of Ducrjekans. The Duck squads were decimated and the survivors began to retreat to defensive positions, allowing for other Imperial fire teams to advance the hostile machine gun team hesitated for a moment due to the amount of targets was in turn met by a hail of fire from several fire teams. Once the machine gun team was eliminated the legionaries were able to move out and clear dugouts and buildings.

After a few hours the legionaries had rounded up all the civilians again. A group of legionaries was sent to find all of the dog tags of the decease, fire team commanders reports made it seem as if twenty legionaries had been killed. As the bodies were found the number seemed to hold up. A legionary named Constantine began to speak to his comrades about the grim job remarking:

"I hate this, every time I flip over a body I just think that it could have been me or my brother. I haven't seen him since the fighting started."

The squad sent to find the bodies and Dog tags eventually came across the body of Constantines brother. The young legionary went silent, as he fell to his knees he didn't move, blink, or speak he just stared into the lifeless eyes of his brother. The rest of the squad allowed for the man to have a moment with the Blood God and his brother. Constantine eventually came back to camp later that day, the rest of the cohort had set up a makeshift holding camp for the civilians of the town and were preparing to send them on their way tomorrow. Constantine however had his own plans, he began to give a sermon to his platoon and a few others they had all came from the more rural and religious regions of the Imperium. Constantine began to speak on the legionary past, and the damnation of inaction. This began to stir up the hundred or so men that were in their allotted religious time. Constantine spoke for the next thirty minutes before ending his sermon with the old saying " Sanguis enim Sanguis Deus!" (Blood for the Blood God!) The legionaries had made their revenge plan. As the night came and the camp went to sleep when a contingent of the now Zealous Legionaries was sent on watch a signal was given to the other members of the conspiracy, and they all began to go to get their weapons from the armory. They then moved in on the civilians, they rounded up all of the men that they could find and began to kill them.

At 3:20 am Domitus was awoken to the sound of gunfire and screams. He jumped up from his cot and began to sound the alarm, he called into the squads on watch for a report but heard nothing. Just then he realized where the shots were coming from. His stomach sank, all these years he had served in the legions as someone with the intent of fighting for something greater than him today he felt as if he failed. The rest of the camp also began to awaken and Domitus gave the order of "Decimation" The legionaries sprung into action, they got their rifles and moved into apprehend the culprits of the massacre. When they saw what was happening some puked, some cried and some were driven to anger. The treasonous legionaries had killed over one hundred men. The traitors were eventually brought down and the civilians that remained were given more food and water than before. This incident was then passed up the ladder to the Imperial General staff where a single General took the whole decision making process away from the rest of the staff and changed the report to say that the civilians had tried to attack the legion at night. When this was given to Augustus he decided that as the information stood punishment would wait until after deployment was over and investigators were able to be safely sent. Until such time the official report was to be that there was an indecent where legionaries had killed a large number of civilians.