Our Rings of Faith (Invite Only)

Ahar, Stakhr

“It was a glorious day when the Satrap visited our village” Fardin Nargolwala explained to Moshik Eden, the IBC Iraelia reporter who was interviewing him.
“He and his host came from the east. He held court, in the ancient traditions.”

“What do you mean ‘the ancient traditions?’” Moshik asked.

“Before the revolution two hundred years ago, back in the time of the Empire. When the Satraps ruled in the Emperor’s name. That is why this man, we call him the Satrap. He is the true authority here, in the desert and mountains.”

Moshik nodded, recording the interview. He only had Asher, his cameraman. It was just the two of them, chasing the ghost of the Ten Rings.

“The Satrap sat there,” Fardin pointed up top. It was an old temple. The priests could still be seen attending to it from Moshik’s vantage point.
“He sat at the front of the temple, and received gifts. We all showed our thanks. Big or small, he accepted all equally. After that the children came to him.”

“He took my hand” Bavar, Fardin’s son of ten, said eagerly.
“He took my hand, and I could feel some of the rings!”

Moshik continued to nod, but now was the time to ask the question he’d been slowly building to.
“Why? This man, this Satrap, he commands so much reverence and loyalty. You yourself said he’s the ‘true authority’ here. Why him? Why not the central government?”

“The government is in the hands of Regunalian dogs! They bring their god, their language, and now they hold Stakhr hostage. The Satrap promises liberation. And he carries with him the legacy of Kuros Teispids himself. He is the heir to the great dynasty. A warrior King who has come to claim Stakhr from what it has become.”

“What happened, after the Satrap met with the children?”

“We watched. As he and his host killed those who are complicit in defiling our land.”

“The missing government soldiers?” Moshik asked.

“Yes, that’s right. All five. We watched them get gunned down.”

“They served the invaders” Bavar nodded eagerly.
“The Satrap has seen that they were punished.”

Moshik felt uneasy about a small child revelling in the execution of soldiers, but he kept going.
“Where are they now? The Satrap and his host?”

“Into the mountains. Beyond that we don’t know” Fardin replied. “The Satrap moves between the towns of the mountains and desert. We accept him when he comes.”

“Thank you Mr. Nargolwala” Moshik said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Thank you for speaking to us.”

“May you think good thoughts, speak good words, and do good deeds Mr. Eden” Fardin replied.
“Come, Barvar, let’s not keep your mother waiting.”

“Yes father.”

Moshik and Asher watched as the man and his son left. It had been like this everywhere they went. Stakhri towns in the middle of the Highlands with no sign of the Ten Rings. The Satrap was a presence to be sure. People revered him. Posters depicting his visage were ever-present. Actual signs of terrorist activity though...or anyone who could put them in contact with the group...were non-existent. All they could gather was that the Ten Rings existed deep in the mountains.

“You think we should bite the bullet and just pay a guide?” Asher asked.

“Would anyone be willing to take us?” Moshik replied.

“We’re just here for a profile. We’re not with the government.”

Moshik signed.
“That’s always the way, but people like this don’t want to be found. Come on. We’re onto Pars. Maybe we’ll have better luck there.”

Bahmard Jesung, their guide, was waiting for them.
“So...you get any luck?”

“Nope” Moshik replied.
“More ghosts.”

“Well today’s your lucky day” Jesung replied.

“What do you mean?” Asher asked.

“You’ve earned a meeting with the Setrap.”

Moshik and Asher didn’t even have time to respond. A number of armed men emerged from the town’s buildings.

“Get ready, it’s a bumpy drive” Jesung smirked, tossing Asher and Moshik bags to put over their heads.

Asher and Moshik exchanged a worried look, but it was Asher whose eyes went wide when Moshik began to put the bag on.
“Like you said. We’re not with the government.”

“No, and the Satrap understands. You’re lucky. You will both witness the dawning of a new age on Kian. The age of the Ten Rings.”

Regunalian assets had been shipped into Stakr with some regularity after the central government called for aid. The primary assets in country currently would have to be a mission team of the Regunalian Specialist Corps Anti-Terrorism Task Force (RSCATTF) which is coordinating Regunalian assets and planning on performing lightning raids once enough intel on targets is gathered. RSCATTF is working closely with the Stakhri Republican Security Bureau which is feeding the Task Force any intel they can get so that it can be acted on. Also in theatre is the Regunalian Marine 1st Expeditionary Force securing supply lines from Regunalia's southern coast to Stakr's northern coast, and then onward to Regunalian held bases in Stakr as well as the Regunalian Army Expeditionary Corps which is providing base defense, performing goodwill missions with local villages whenever possible, and acting as the most visible force.

Ten Rings encampment, Stakhr

The bags were pulled off of Asher and Moshik's heads. They were...they didn't know where, other then that they were somewhere in the Highland mountains. They seemed surrounded by a crown of peaks, almost a natural fortress. Old buildings dotted the clearing they were in. They looked like they dated to the 1950s or thereabouts. Armed guards with ski masks were everywhere. But just beyond a row of concrete buildings...

"I see a dish. And a generator. This place is set to broadcast" Moshik said in Yihuddi.

"Yes, but what are they broadcasting? Are we going to end up the stars of our own ransom video?" Asher asked.

"No" a gruff, deep voice said, speaking Yihuddi. Asher and Moshik looked up...and there he was. Clad in green fatigues and a green robe baring traditional Stakhri patterns...and each finger adorned by a ring.
"No, you will not" the Satrap repeated in Yihuddi. "I am not not a barbarian. I do not kill those I do not have cause against."

"You speak Yihuddi" Moshik replied.

"Yihuddi is a language of learning" the Satrap replied, approaching the IBC Iraelia reporter and his cameraman.
"And I value the importance of lessons."

"Was Bahmard always working for you?"

"Yes. He merely had to see if you cared enough. Enough to get what you purported to be here for."

"We're just journalists. We're here to do a story on you and your group."

"Yes, I know, but so many foreigners come to Stakhr with dubious intent. A wise man watches until such a person's true motives reveal themselves. Yours have. You wish to know the Ten Rings. I will show you. It's time."

The Satrap turned, waving his men along.
"Bring them" he said as he made his way to the central building in the compound.

Armed men moved Asher and Moshik along and they soon discovered that the outdated buildings contained a rather well-connected infrastructure. The Satrap removed his aviator glasses and pointed. It was a Regunalian news feed.

"What is this?" Moshik asked, switching to Stakhri.

"Right now, it's just Regunalian drivel. Hollow and full of lies. Watch though. Watch the moment Kian changes."

Asher and Moshik didn't have to wait long before the the news changed...
"This just in..." the anchorwoman remarked, "we are receiving word that there has been an explosion at a grain processing plant in Agricola. Yes, an explosion in Agricola. Please bear with us...."
The scene changed, as footage of a plant engulfed in flames came into view as a reporter entered the frame.
"Locals describe a thundering explosion that rocked the surrounding area. Firefighters have been scrambled and..."

"That was you?" Moshik asked.

"Yes" the Satrap replied before he made his way to an old yet ornate looking chair against a the backdrop of faded Stakhri banners. He took his seat.
"Are we ready?"

"Yes, Satrap" a man manning a television camera replied. He then held up a hand. They were broadcasting live. And the guns at Asher and Moshik's backs made it clear they were not to interrupt.


"In 2011 the Seven Pointed Star of Regunalia seized control of the port city of Nazarabad, Stakhir's only salt water port. It was through this port that Regunalia continues to, by proxy, control the flow of goods into Stakhr. Including food. Just now one of the largest grain processing plants in Regunalia was attacked. I...I did that. A plant of good, hard working men and women, working honestly to feed their nation. Wiped out in a blaze of fire. Now Regunalia, like Stakhr, will know what it means to have the flow of agriculture restrained."

"Ladies....children....sheep of Regunalia...some people call me a terrorist. I consider myself a teacher. King Leonidas, welcome to your first lesson. In time, you will know what it's like to lose. To feel so desperately that you're right yet to fail all the same. Dread it, run from it, your fate always arrives. I will see you soon."

(Aight, no more Mr nice king then, war it is.)
A clerk bursts into the meeting hall of the Grand Royal Palace while King Leonidas is meeting with the Minister of Defense. "Your Majesty...it's Agricola, the Ten Rings have struck a large grain processing plant, what shall we do?" King Leonidas' eyes go wide and he stands up with frightening speed and faces the clerk. "Attacking a weakened nation is one thing, but now this 'Satrap' has gone too far by attacking my people." (Facing the Minister of Defense now) "Our arrangements will have to wait, mobilize the National Guard and Honor Guard, 7 sided star to Alert 3. Priority 1 is regaining control of Agricola and weeding out agents of the Ten Rings wherever they stand. Call up any reservists we have on the rolls, we'll need every man we can get. With all due haste, GO!" With that, the clerk and Minister of Defense run out of the room to carry out the King's orders.

The King himself arranges for an impromptu speech to respond to this unexpected development. The sounds of excited murmuring can be heard as King Leonidas takes to the Grand Royal Palace with the King's Hand at his side. "My fellow Regunalians, I have just received word that the terrorist organization that calls themselves the 'Ten Rings' have carried out an unprovoked act of war by striking a nationalized grain processing plant in Agricola. Firstly, I would like to apologize to the citizens affected for not seeing this as a possibility sooner and acting to ensure the security of the citizens under my care. Rest assured, I will not allow Regunalia as a nation to roll over and take this without responding in kind. I have directed the Minister of Defense to move the 7 sided star to alert 3, along with deploying the Honor Guard and National Guard to ensure that Agricola is resecured and that any agents of the Ten Rings are weeded out before they can do more harm. To all the reservists out there, as we have moved to alert 3, you are required by Royal Law to report in to your assigned bases and await further orders. Failure to do so is a crime against the Kingdom."

King Leonidas turns to stare directly into the camera. "And to you, so-called Satrap, wherever you are, if you thought the 'Regunalian dogs' were bad before, you just poked the kennel, and the cages are being thrown open. Not only that, but soon enough, neighboring kennels will also throw open their cages. You have sealed the fate of the Ten Rings in the blood of the innocent. You will not be able to hide from us forever. You WILL answer for this. You have my word. Beaten and bloodied, Regunalia stands." With that, the King's address is over, and he returns into the bowels of the Grand Royal Palace to make arrangements for his response to the attack.

"King Leonidas has mobilized his Seven Sided Star military apparatus. Two hours ago my followers have responded by bombing seven sites in Regunalia across its four outer regions. Two theatres, fours shopping malls, and one local magistrate's office. And it is time for another lesson."

"This lesson concerns your family, Your Majesty. In 1986 Stirling Thornton crushed the freedom seeking peoples of your Commerciorum region, who were yearning for relief from your family's economic domination. The Seven Sided Star achieved near mythical status in that war.
It does not represent the seven branches of your military, Your Majesty, but the seven building blocks of the Regunalian state; gluttony for the resources of Stakhr your nation consumes, lust for the empty pleasures that permeate your popular culture, greed for the economic engine that exploits the people of Kian, sorrow of the despair your father foisted on the people of Commerciorum, wrath of a military apparatus that controls the state, vanity of a king concerned with his public image and reputation, and pride of such a king who did not believe his nation's actions had consequences."

"King Leonidas, I know this must be getting frustrating, but the season of terror has just begun. This is the start of the rest of your life."

---

Moshik watched news feeds of the bombing sites as Ten Rings soldiers kept him and Asher in place.

"He's insane" Asher muttered in Yihuddi. The Satrap might speak it but he doubted his grunts would. Moshik looked over at him and then back to the Satrap as his broadcast was ending.

"Are we ever going have a chance to interview you?" Moshik asked.

"Quiet! Do not speak to the Satrap like that!" a soldier yelled, going to hit Moshik with a rifle butt, only to stop when the Satrap held out a hand.

"The man is a journalist. He merely wants a story. I intend to give it to him, but not here. Mr. Eden, Mr. Yohanan, you have both bore witness to the birth of a new Kian here. We will talk later, when all the Regunalians and their central government lackeys find here are empty buildings and desert ghosts."

Two Ten Rings members forcefully put the bags over the heads of the two Iraelian journalists, forcing them to the convoy. And a night driving down the rocky, bumpy roads of the Stakhri highlands in total darkness.

Local Time: 7:00 AM Regunalian Standard Time
Kian Union Embassy, 107 Embassy Row, Central Political District, Regunalia City
Fortessium Duchy, Centrian Region
Regunalia

Honour Guard General Lloyd Millard: "My fellow Kian Union members, I regrettably must inform you that I have received multiple confirmed reports of attacks on Regunalian soil by representatives of the foreign terrorist organization so far known as 'The Ten Rings'. This organization presents a pressing and current threat to not only the Grand Kingdom of Regunalia, but the Union as a whole. I implore each of you to come to Regunalia's aid in eliminating this threat so that Kian as a continent may know peace once more, and control of the nation of Stakhr can be returned to the legitimate government of that nation."

-----Meanwhile, in the southern mountains of Stakhr-----
A Regunalian Specialist Corps Sniper Spotter Team (Saber Team specifically) has infiltrated deep into terrorist-held territory using full ghillie suits for the purpose of mapping out as many terrorist positions as possible before returning to base to share that information with the rest of the Regunalian forces for planning purposes. 15 miles south of Pars, the team encounters a terrorist camp consisting of 10 individuals and begins gathering intel.
Saber 1 (Sniper) (whispering): "10 visible Tangos, varied desert clothing."
Saber 2 (Spotter) (also whispering, but scribbling notes as he talks): "10 visible, varied desert clothing."
Saber 1: "Position, 15 miles, 3 minutes, 160 degrees sierra by sierra whiskey of Pars."
Saber 2: "15 miles, 3 minutes, 1-6-0 sierra by sierra whiskey of Pars."
Saber 1: "Armament, 10 assault rifles, foreign origin, 7.62mm in caliber."
Saber 2: "10 assault rifles, foreign origin, 7.62mm in caliber."
Saber 1: "Assessment complete."
Saber 2: "Roger, assessment complete, intent to engage?"
Saber 1: "Negative, stealth, observation, takes priority."
Saber 2: "Roger, no intent to engage."

Nazarabad,The Old Quarter, Stakhr

The streets were lined by rows of ancient townhouses, self-contained compounds that had stood for generations, many bore the distinctive red brick squares of Astragonese architecture. The echoes of the golden age were still strong in Nazarabad, old trading families from the exalted empire still holding court in the same homes that their ancestors had built long ago. On the streets outside the noise and traffic of market day filled the air.

Nazarabad heaved in the midday heat, crowds of shoppers held sun umbrellas aloft to hide from the sun as vendors tried to tempt them with bottles of iced tea and cheap handheld fans. From his office Manny Mobanzi could hear the entire tapestry of market day life play out below. He lounged on an ornate leather divan as he sipped spiced palm wine from an ice filled cup, a ceiling fan span lazily above him keeping the room agreeably cool.

Mobanzi’s office was like a relic from the golden age, tapestries of silk and cedarwood furniture filled the tastefully appointed space. He loved his family home, generations of Mobanzi’s had lived here, there wasn’t a spot in the entire house that had not felt the passage of ages. Like most Astragonese in Stakhr, the Mobanzi’s had arrived in the 1700s as traders, Nazarabad was home to one of Kians oldest and largest expatriate communities.

In many ways Manny was as Stakharian as he was Astragonese, the visits to the motherland and the childhood lessons in Hailakaid and Mondaba told only half the story. Manny spoke fluent Stakharian, ate and lived as the indigenous people did and his family had like many others adopted the local religion generations prior, controversial though such a choice had been. Manny loved Stakhr with as much fervor as he did Astragon, it was that love that had motivated him to risk so much.

For while Manny loved Stakhr with all his heart, he bore no such affection for the central government. The weak and ineffectual dogs of the capital had presided over the ruin of Stakhr, they dislodged traditional businesses and push millions into poverty all the while claimed they acted in the name of “progress”. Progress, as it happened, took the form of prostituting the country's vast resources to Regunalia and the Union.

For the Astragonese the arrival of foreign corporations had been disastrous, the Regunalian oil and agrarian corporations dislodging and muscling ancient families out of their traditional enterprises. It had been the loss of land in the countries interior that had caused Manny’s father to end his life, yet another casualty of “progress”. Manny had grown to maturity watching his family's livelihood become increasingly threatened.

Requests by the community for help had been anaemic for the last few decades, corruption and poor leadership in Astragon had dashed hopes of mainland support. That had begun to change over the last year or so, a new Empress had risen in Iteria and her ascent marked the beginnings of a new era. The changes in the motherland had been mirrored in Stakhr, the embassy in Tisfon was suddenly crowded and the ageing fop who had been its presiding ambassador had been recalled in favour of a Kevshah loyalist.

Where once the imperial ambassador had been placated by lavish parties and gifts, the new political order was far less easy to sway. And then there were the strangers that had arrived with the diplomatic corps, countless agents of the imperial state operating behind a veil of diplomacy. It had been the Shavashkaid that had approached Manny in hopes of recruiting him to the new governments political mission.

They had come to him during a community social, nondescript man in clean linen suits, they had listened intently to his complaints regarding the government and then, they had offered him a chance to get even. The Shavashkaid had been instructed to shift the balance of power in Stakhr and they wanted to make use of Manny’s business credentials and local influence.

The empire was no longer willing to allow a potential business opportunity to be stolen without resistance by the upstarts of Regunalia and the Kian Union. Astragon intended to use the Satrap’s revolution to restore its expatriates to prominence, the old trade would flow again and the people of Astragon would benefit as they had done centuries ago. But first, they needed to arm their new friends and discreetly.

“Sir, your visitors have arrived, should I ask them to wait in the guest lounge?” a servant asked respectfully

“No send them through, no sense dragging it out” Manny replied calmly before rising from the Divan

He straightened the collar of his white linen suit and downed the last of his palm wine, the Satraps representatives had arrived, it was time to play his part. He walked to his desk and lowered himself into his armchair, this was going to be his first meeting with the Ten rings, and he wanted to appear assertive.

An entire shipment of unmarked small arms had been shipped to Stakhr via a careful network of trusted middlemen, the small collection of crates Mobanzi was selling to today was merely an appetizer. The Shavashkaid had been stockpiling weaponry and equipment in various concealed depots across Stakhr, all through smugglers with plausible deniability of course. The Satraps men would be the most well-armed revolution in Kian, a revolution that would be indebted to Astragon. All Mobanzi had to do was shift the goods, a duty he would do willingly to save his community.

The Congressional building, Sudo, Mondari

President Roman approached a hastily assembled Congressional committee on the recent terrorist activities out of Stakhr. With the recent attacks on Regunalia and fearing attacks on its other Kianese allies, he knew he needed to get the military ready to move. “As all of you should know, the ‘Ten Rings’ in Stakhr have bombed seven sites in Regunalia, to include civilian buildings. Regunalia has already mobilized and moved forces to the region, we cannot sit idly by while our allies are attacked. We are forced into action as per Article 5 of the Kian Union charter. Regardless of this though, as the largest nation in the region, if we sit by and do nothing then it could encourage foreign aggressors to stick their heads into Kianese affairs and work to undermine all that we’ve worked to build. I am asking for permission to declare the ‘Ten Rings’ and their leader as top priority for the military, I also want permission to fully mobilize the military. We need to use the massive military might we have built up over the past decades to put down these terrorists before they build up the confidence to attack our homeland. I hope that everyone here agrees.”

Wing 3B of Kaiserhall*, Hadenburg, Illderia

Richard was new to the job, trying to navigate between the corridors and rooms of Kaiserhall was difficult even to a veteran general. Finally he arrived at a door that said Meeting Room 3B. The new crew chief checked his papers again and continued, opening the door. As he stepped in the atmosphere froze in that instant. He knew what he was signing up for but he did not expect to meet the top brass of Illderia in one sitting. Realizing the whole room was looking at him, he quickly stood at attention, saluted and said the following:

"Vizeleutnant Richard var Rothman 099735 reporting for duty"

"Take a seat Vizeleutnant, we're about to begin" responded Generalmajor Göbel, Chief of Special Operations and Richard's boss.

As Richard sat down in the dark room, Göbel turned a large screen on with the map of Kian.

"Gentlemen as you very well know the organization known as the 'Ten Rings' carried out acts of terror in 7 different locations within Regunalia, thus initiating Article 5 of the Kian Union charter. Both His Majesty and the Chancellor were informed and are currently in a meeting session with the Kronrat* and the cabinet. This is our current situation" said Göbel and switched to the map of Stakhr.

"The Regunalians are currently helping government forces in the north and northeastern parts of the country, while Ten Rings control most of the country's southwestern and mountainous portions. Our main objective is here, the port city of Nazarabad. We will help government forces strengthen their efforts in the cities region and then start establishing FOBs to its north and west to root out terrorist activity."

"KöMI* will move in first with elements of the HJK* to scout out potential threats, then a battlegroup, led by Oberst Bücher over here, will move through the city, while leaving a garrison behind and heading towards the western mountains. Tomorrow the Generaladmiral will issue a formal written order to all units involved in the operation."

--- The next day ---


1913
13 August 2020
FROM: Kaiserhall
TO: Nassanburg/Goldreich/Maasstadt

TO ALL RELEVANT PERSONNEL DESIGNATED BY GENERALMAJOR SAMUEL GÖBEL FOR OPERATIONS IN STAKHR
Due to several acts of terror perpetrated by the organization called the 'Ten Rings' in Regunalia and the triggering of Article 5 of the Kian Union charter, I Generaladmiral Viktor Kessler under the advice of Generalmajor Göbel and by the command of His Majesty the King, place the following Section 350, 355, 320 and 338 units under a permanent battlegroup led by Oberst Georg Bücher. These units are:

• Detachment B, 22. Jagdkommandobatalijon (Heer)
• 11th Parachute Brigade (Heer)
• Squadron F, 371st Special Engineer Battalion (Heer)
• Company A, 177th Signal Battalion (Heer)
• 5th Military Intelligence Battalion (Heer)
• 3rd Field Office (KöMI) - Placed under Krijgsmacht command upon consultation with KöMI Director Bruno Kossmann

Any Luftwaffe or Küstenjaegerkorps units shall be assigned to the battlegroup according to the Joint General Staff's and Oberst Bücher's needs. Service branch staff shall issue detailed orders to their respective units.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Kaiserhall: Illderian armed forces' (Krijgsmacht) headquarters building
*Kronrat: Illderian Privy Council
*KöMI: Royal Military Intelligence Service
*HJK: Army Special Forces

Bokassa stared at the television with a look of mild amusement, the Midranean’s were grandstanding, all the talk of liberty and preventing terrorism. The press statement was a glorious demonstration of the hypocrisy inherent in any nation state, the blanket statements, the black and white moral soapboxing and the utter lack of insight, it was the funniest thing Bokassa had seen in years. That wasn’t to say the Shavashkaid agent was under any illusions that his own nation was any less hypocritical, just that the claim that violence made a struggle invalid was a fool's statement.

The Midraneans proclaimed their shock at the bombings of regunalian targets with one voice, all the while supporting the annihilation of entire cities in Gothis with another. Even their claims to moral integrity within their own homeland were tarnished by the bones of the indigenous population that Midir had made a foundation for itself upon. The truth was that Midir wasn’t fighting against any great evil, merely pitting its violence against that of another in a quest for legitimacy.

For his part Bokassa didn’t truly care, he was an agent of the Shavashkaid not a political philosopher, one nation was as flawed as the next. What Bokassa did put effort into was understanding context, it was vital to know how your enemy thought, Bokassa cared nothing for morals but he was intensely concerned with effectiveness. So, when the Midranean government proclaimed its moral superiority, Bokassa chuckled and made notes.

Astragons interest in Stakhr was equal parts opportunism and ethnic nationalism, the communities of Kianese expatriates were both loyal imperial citizens and a potentially lucrative asset to the wider empire. In this interest Bokassa saw the reality of the world, beyond the grandstanding and pulling at heartstrings there was simply one nations interest pitted against another. It would either be Astragonese companies profiting from Stakhr or Regunalian and Midranean.

An impressive arsenal had already been spirited across continents and oceans into Stakhr, small arms, uniforms and explosives. The depots and pits that filled the deserts were like the seeds of a violent tree whose roots would soon rise to strangle the government in Tisfon. Midir and the union boasted they would shoot the planes from the sky and sink the ships beneath the waves, they were too late, the cargo was already being placed into the right hands.

And if the revolution failed? If the Satrap was crushed beneath the heel of the union? No matter. Proxies within proxies, shell corporations and middlemen, these were the only indicators of foreign aid that the union would ever find. And if they brought their concerns to the wider world? If they pointed fingers at Astragon? So, what, everybody in Eras had engaged in similar acts of subterfuge. An open secret proved nothing, it was like saying Syrixia was hot or Oclusia was a failed state, everyone knew it but the knowing changed nothing.

So, he watched the Midraneans as they roared their promises of war and justice and he smirked and took long drags on his cigar. The Shavashkaid would play their games and the pawns would dance upon the strings they had laid. Kian would burn in the purgative fires of a new uprising and Astragon would forge prosperity from the flames or vanish from view as the fools rushed to put them out.

12:42 PM
Western Stakhr

The dim moonlight shined down onto the cold Stakhran sands as the caravan passed through the desert at its head was a man. He was an older fellow, he was dressed modestly his head wrapped with a scarf. He was followed by several armed men on horseback dragging what seem to be old tractors and unmarked crates. The men after several more minutes of riding arrive at the designated meeting place and are greeted by several men. The older man at the head of the caravan calls out to them.

"Hello, my friends it is good to see you." The Older man says with a smile.

One of the men responds. "Hello to you as well, It has been a while since we have had a visit from the grand old Kapuji himself." He said as he approached the caravan.

"Well." The Kapuji said. "I have been busy. But I made it a point to see some of my favorite customers."

The man then asks. "So what do you have for the Satrap today old friend?"

The Kapuji replies. "Well, I have a shipment of tractors and a few crates of food. Or that's at least what the border guards thought." He gestures to the men on horseback. "But as you know I would never come to you with such items. I always deliver."

As he says that the men first open up the crates to reveal fruit but as the men moved the fruit out of the way it revealed stinger missiles and stinger missile launchers.
They then proceed to open up the tractors revealing whole anti aircraft pieces and ammunition. The Satrap's men eagerly moved to test out their new toys but before they do the Kapuji says. "You know the rules, pay then touch."

The man who first spoke to the Kapuji gestured to one of his fellow fighters and over he brought cash in two brown duffle bags.

The Kapuji looked at the cash and nodded his head. "This will do nicely."

He makes another gesture to the horsemen to get back on horseback. "My friends, I shall now take my leave, it has been my pleasure to assist you." The Kapuji smiled and watched as The Satrap's men take the Anti aircraft pieces and the crates of weaponry and place them onto trucks. "Thank you." Says the man.

The Kapuji nodded and turned his horse the other way and he and his men rode off into the distance satisfied with the deal.

OOC: Kapuji- The Gatekeeper.

Maxie sipped from his mug of coffee - plenty of cream, just as he liked - observing the large display in the Ministry of the Armed Forces strategic headquarters as intelligence began to flow in more and more frequently, updating positional reports of various Kian Union troop brigades on a combination topo-political map of Stakhr. The process was slow-going as it was based on situational reports from a fusion of HUMINT* and OSINT* sources, and would proceed much quicker once the rest of the Union opened up their communication channels and started sharing that data with their own servers. Various officers and enlisted were milling about, faithfully fulfilling their duties inside the joint intelligence center.

"Your Majesty," Rose-Marie Rémy, his Minister of the Armed Forces, began, "The Chiefs of Staff are here as you requested."

"Excellent," he said, "Send them in, please."

"...Here, Your Majesty?" Rose-Marie hesitated.

"I can think of no better place, personally, Rose," he said with a smile, not turning his gaze from the large display and taking another sip of his coffee.

There was a soft amount of shuffling behind him as the the Chiefs of Staff for each of his branches walked in and stood as professionally as they could despite the awkward choice in venue. Maxie studied the display for a couple of moments more, purposefully leaving the Chiefs in a state of bated breaths and suspense. "I'm sure you're all well-aware of this by now," the King began, turning around to address his heads of the armed forces branches, "At least, I'm confident that Minister Rémy performs her job to the utmost of her abilities. Regunalia has invoked Article 5 of the Kian Union treaty. We've expected this for some time, but it's official now. I'm refraining from any official acknowledgment of support until we're ready."

He turned back to the display, gesturing to various locations as he addressed the Chiefs, "I've worked it out with Leonidas so we'll have the lead in the western regions of Stakhr south of our border. We'll have air dominance and should use that to our advantage. Reconnaissance flights should take priority before we start moving ground assets into the area. It'll have to be slow-going and methodical, but I think it's the best and safest way. Unfortunately, the Navy won't have much to do. Regunalia has complete dominance in the Falcon Sea and hasn't requested any assistance. Tighten security and patrols to keep a watchful eye, but otherwise maintain operations as normal."

"All that being said," he turned back around to face the Chiefs of Staff, "I can only drag my feet for so long on a public announcement. I'll be speaking with the Senate tomorrow, but the Majority Leader has already told me that the vote tomorrow is purely symbolic and the war resolution will pass unanimously. You all have two days to get your assets into place before operations begin. The large movement of assets will surely not go unnoticed by the Ten Rings, so stress to your people to keep vigilant.

"Fluctuat nec mergitur*. Vive la Valence*," he declared poignantly, which the Chiefs of Staff repeated, then saluted and proceeded out of the room. He sipped from his coffee as he watched them shuffle out and hurry down the hallways to get to work and just happened to glance down to the feet of the airman who was operating a computer close to him. Oxfords, standard issue among the ranks of the Air Force, though this pair in particular lacked a recent sheen of polish. The King leaned in toward the young enlistedman and spoke only to him, "Your shoes could use a little bit of polish there, Airman." He winked and took another sip from his coffee as the young man sputtered a 'Yes, Your Majesty,' unable to keep a smile off his bearded visage.


GLOSSARY:
HUMINT: Human Intelligence - intelligence gathered covertly by agents or others via word-of-mouth or between people.
OSINT: Open-Source Intelligence - intelligence gathered from publicly-available sources such as news outlets or social media.
Fluctuat nec mergitur: a phrase roughly translated to 'broken, but not beaten'.
Vive la Valence: a rallying cry translated to 'long live Valencia'

Nazarabad, the Old Quarter, Stakhr

Faza looked around as he waited for he and his men to be called in. The office was decorated as one might expect for a traditional Stakhri establishment, save for the additions of Astrogonese art.

He subconsciously began to play with the ring around his finger. He was in government territory, technically, but the patrols had been easy to bypass by knowing which government officers were sympathetic and paying off the others who couldn't be avoided. Even men with no loyalty to the Ten Rings felt no love for the central government. No love that couldn't be mitigated by money at any rate.

"Mr. Mobanzi will see you now" a servant announced as he entered.
"This way please."

Faza nodded, waving for his two associates to follow. They had come unarmed as a show of good faith. That was what the ring Faza wore symbolized.
The servant led them to the office of Manny Mobanzi, the Astrogonese-Stakhri businessman sitting in an armchair befitting a man of his stature. Faza smiled. The Satrap
liked men like Manny Mobanzi. Men who were pillars of the community. Who did business, not predatory speculation. It was a preference of the Satrap's that Faza had shared.

"Mr. Mobanzi" Faza said as he and his associates entered.
"My 'associate' sends his greetings" he explained with a smile, holding up his left hand. One of the Satrap's ten rings adoring the ring finger. A calling card from the Satrap to inform Manny that this man spoke for him. And that they would conduct business as friends.

Ten Rings Camp, Stakhri Mountains

Asher held the camera steady as Moshik spoke to the Satrap, finally granted his interview.

"What is your name?"

"People who know me know" the Satrap replied.
"I am merely the Satrap though, until I am no longer needed to be."

"The Satrap...the name means governor, yes?"

"It's an adequate translation. The Satraps ruled the local provinces in the name of the Emperor back when Kian was whole. Each part of the empire had a number of Satraps, and each Satrap had a ring. A ring to symbolize Imperial authority. Stakhr had ten Satraps, until the revolution that overthrew the Kingdom that succeeded the Empire. And now, after many years, there is one Satrap."

"Ten Satraps, ten rings then."

The Satrap smirked.
"You learn quickly Mr. Eden. The revolution of 1853 that discarded our Kingdom saw the Satraps purged. The rings vanished. Until I and then rest of those charged with their protection, could find them."

"You searched the four corners of Stakhr?"

"No. The world."
The Satrap leaned in just a bit.
"The rings were scattered across the world. One even ending up in your holy temple in Iraelia, Mr. Eden. Carried along by the winds of fate. Until finally the last ring was found. In the private art collection of King Anders Loðbrók. Syndicalist revolutionaries raided it and a Prydanian arms dealer in league with them found it. Now it belongs to me. Returned to Stakhr."

"Prydanian arms dealer? Syndicalists? You're talking about Kurt Ventur Jr. He's being prepared to stand trial in the Iterian League."

"Yes, and he knows where he stands with me."

That answer sent a chill down Moshik's spine, knowing what he knew Kurt Ventur Jr. was capable of.
"So you needed all ten to start the Ten Rings."

"The Ten Rings have been around for far longer than my quest to find the rings" the Satrap said with a smile.
"Having the ten rings symbolizes legitimacy. The central government relies on foreign exploiters for legitimacy. I offer people a choice. An authority founded in the ancient ways of this land. We represent the ways of the Kianese Empire and the Stakhri Kingdom. We are the heirs to that great legacy, and we will save our nation."

"It should come to no surprise that your actions are being likened to terrorism."

"I am merely a reaction, Mr. Eden. The universe abhors imbalance. I do what I do for my people and to punish their exploiters."

"I have been on assignment in Kian for many years. I know Regunalia as a nation quite well. Their populace will not be cowed."

"Good. Let them toss themselves against these mountains and desert winds like waves against a cliff. Let them bleed in the sand."

Tisfan, Stakhr

Brigadier Ashour Lakka glanced at the bloodied man strapped to the chair on the other side of the two way mirror.

"Should we not resist such methods?" Javeed Laina asked.
"It makes us no better than the Ten Rings."

"That's why we have to" Lakka replied.
"They don't care, so neither can we. The side that handicaps itself usually loses."

Laina gulped but nodded, looking at the bloodied man in the chair. The middle man who had been helping surplus Army guns get into Ten Rings hands.

"Besides" Lakka added, "we now know something valuable. Inform our Regunalian allies. The Ten Rings have a confirmed camp in Dorud."

"Yes Brigadier."

Regunalian International, Centria, Regunalia


Murat picked up his duffel bag from the baggage carousel. The bag was patched and worn, much like himself. It was heavy, but he didn’t mind. The presence of a simple bag that had served him without failure was reaffirming. Especially now that he was in a foreign place, with foreign faces gazing at him. The uniform did not help. He stood out like a sore thumb. A diplomatic mission of peace and security he was told. The higher ups wanted to show off and make good impressions. So here was in his dress greens. The flight had been less than comfortable. Murat would not complain. It was not his place. As far as assignments go, this would be relatively simple. Crush any fanatics, or at least show these Regunalians how. He scratched his beard as he looked for the man who was supposed to be picking him up. Some young officer named Alden Ward. The airport was busy, many cars came and went. A large black SUV pulled alongside where Murat stood. A young clean shaven man in a suit hopped out and jogged over to the ragged Fussian.

“Mr. Lukashenka I take it. Sorry for being late. We’ll be heading over to the C3 center right away. You'll report in. Then we'll be shipping out to be meeting with the Specialist Corps Force Commander in The Specialist Corps Center For Operations In Stakhr,” Alden said in mercanti whilst reaching for Murat’s bag.

Murat grunted in response, jerking his bag away from the prying hand as he moved to climb into the SUV. He removed his hat and got comfortable. The leather seats were nice. He stared out the window as Alden drove off onto the busy highway.

“Will I be seeing your face a lot?” Murat asked in a heavy accent. He took out his pack of volkov’s and put one of the brown sticks to his lips.

Alden stared at the rear view mirror watching the man light his cigarette. “I will be serving as an attaché to your involvement in the region.”

Murat took a long drag before letting out the smoke which slowly started clouding the car. His eyes met the young man’s. “You better get used to the smell,” he chuckled. He took out a folder from his duffel. It had a detailed report of the current situation in Stakhr. Unfortunately it was still very thin. He flipped through some of the photos and papers, before arriving on his mission brief. Only one thing stood out. It was the last sentence.

No more second chances.

The Office of the Mondic President; Bernard Roman

Upon getting approval from the Congressional committee for his proposals, Bernard has been in a rush to get out messages to his allies to the south and west. The military had started its mobilization phase this morning, massing forces near the Falcon Sea in Newport. Sitting at his desk, he read over the message he was preparing to send out to his allies in the Union...
"To my esteemed allies in our great Union, it has become obvious to myself and my nation's Congress that this situation regarding those who call themselves the 'Ten Rings' in Stakhr could easily spiral out of control, especially if foreign actors decide to use this situation to destabilize the central government in Stakhr or by sparking dissent across Kian as a whole. This is something my government has decided it cannot tolerate, it has become apparent to me that your governments seem to have come to the same conclusion. To prevent foreign actors from trying anything, I have deployed my Navy to the waters between Valencia and Mondari to intercept any ships or planes trying to get supplies to the 'Ten Rings.' I have also deployed multiple fighter jet squadrons, bombers, and various other aircraft to the District of Newport bordering the Falcon Sea. We are prepared to flatten any terrorist strongholds discovered by your militaries. In addition, we are willing to send ground forces to help fortify the Valencian and Illderian borders along with any cities recaptured by allied ground forces, we have spend years building up our strength, we are willing to commit the entirety of our forces to put an end to this terrorist organization and their leader 'the Satrap.' I await your responses."

"The Kian Union. A subversion and perversion of what was once a great empire. The greatest empire the world has ever seen. Now, Great Kian is not unified by a grand empire but by a coalition of predatory states. So Kian. Are you ready for another lesson?"

"In 1864 in Newport, Midir the DDM military waited until the friendly Twanna braves had all gone hunting...waited to attack and slaughter the families left behind...and claim their land. Twenty hours ago the DDM's Nork Airbase was attacked. A quaint military church filled with wives and children of course. The soldiers were out on maneuvers. The braves were away."

"King Leonidas. You resist my attempts to educate you sir. The more you drag into this conflict the more the sands will run red with the blood of invaders. Ask yourself King Leonidas, how many Midraneans, Valencians, and Illderians must pay for your actions? And now you've missed me again. You know who I am. You don't know where I am. And you will never see me coming."

Nazarabad, Stakhr



Manny saw the ring on the end of Faza’s finger and at once knew the significance, the satrap was sending a clear message, it was a sign that the deal was considered important enough to risk one of the symbols of the Satrap’s legitimacy. Manny smiled and rose from his chair before heading over to Faza and greeting him in the traditional Stakharian way by taking both the man's hands in his own.

“I am honored by your masters trust, his confidence in our alliance shall be rewarded tenfold” Manny said smoothly as he motioned to the couches and divans

“But first please make yourselves comfortable, my servants will bring food and refreshments and we will converse in the traditional manner” He said passing a cup of cool water to Faza

Ettiquete, it was the beating heart of Stakharian culture and something that the central government had long since abandoned. In the old kingdom men conversed, took each other's measure and showed the proper respect when a pact was struck, such interactions were a currency which fueled society. The central government did not ask, did not show respect, they simply demanded and when they were refused, they took. That had been the pattern for decades, the government seizing all to line its pockets and to please its union masters, Tisfon grew fat while the rest of nation was picked clean.

Servants entered bearing alcohol, dishes of lamb roasted in cumin and good Astragonese coffee, it was small demonstration of hospitality intended to water the bonds of this new alliance. After they had drunk and eaten to their fill, Manny had ordered the room to be darkened, a projector was switched on and images of a far less genteel nature filled the darkness.

“My contacts have successfully smuggled a shipment of small arms and ordinance into Stakhr, your men will find these weapons far more effective than the aging armaments you were forced to make do with. As a gesture of good faith my men are loading your vehicles with the merchandise as we speak, more will follow and in greater quantity, of this you have my word” Manny said with utter sincerity

It had not been without risk, the Regunalians and their union dogs had stepped up air and sea patrols over the last few months. The oceans around Kian were now some of the most heavily policed in Eras, but that didn’t make them impenetrable. Skilled blockade runners had found numerous ways to sidestep the lumbering naval picket and the increased danger and hazard pay seem to have attracted all manner of elite smuggler and daredevil to try their luck. For every ship intercepted and plane shot down, there were countless more that snuck through.

The Vipers Nest Bar, Free Port of Kimbria, Essalanea

Ominous blue neon illuminated the countless darkened booths of the viper's nest, countless pacts, plots and alliances were made in the blue-tinted shadows. The old saying held true “Free Port means Free” discretion was guaranteed, a man could plot the greatest acts of villainy or heroism here and no one would interfere. There was only one law in Kimbria, no meddling in the business of the clan, beyond that stricture anything was possible.

Within the walls of the Nest diplomats, spies, criminals and dissidents all rubbed shoulders without fear of reprisal or recrimination. Outside in the narrow streets, the scene was less subtle, the masses of unhorsed drowning in the unrestricted delights of alcohol, drugs and the pleasures of the flesh. It was this permissive neutrality which had put Kimbria on the map and which shielded it from censure by the outside world. For as much as Kimbria treated with the darkest elements of humankind, it also hosted political activists and intelligence agencies. The Freeport did not judge, and this made it indispensable.

Anegrette sighed as she stared down at the empty glass of akavit, Ventur had introduced her to the delights of that spirit. Kurt Ventur Jr. Now rotted in a Skandan jail as he awaited a trial for his many attempts to meddle in Prydania’s affairs, a king brought low by his own schemes. She had warned him as much when they had last met but Ventur had been blinded by his own burning hatred and now it had swallowed him like an angry tide.

It wasn’t that Anegrette had any fondness for Ventur, the man's arrogance had frequently been insufferable, but the two had developed a long and profitable business relationship. Ventur’s loss had robbed Anegrette of one of her most reliable customers and left a power Vacuum that had become tiresome to try and fill. Since Ventur’s arrest, an endless rogue's gallery of would-be merchants of death had tried to fill the void, vultures come to peck at the corpse of a great beast.

Most of the upstarts had quickly discovered that filling Ventur’s shoes entailed more than simply attempting to inhabit the spaces he had stood in. The network of relations and arrangements that had been cultivated by Kurt over decades were not easily replaced, Ventur had been head of a self-made empire and it would take someone equally skilled to succeed him.

“Arms smuggling has become a complicated profession of late” a thickly accented voice hissed from the darkness

Anegrette smirked but did not look to see where the voice had come from, she reached for the bottle and poured two glasses, one for herself and one of her new guests. An aged man lowered himself into the couch opposite her, he moved without any hint of fear or deference as though he was the ultimate authority in any room he entered. Two icy blue eyes glared out from an elderly face whose wrinkles and sunken cheeks gave the impression that they had been carved out of stone.

“Herman Von Klaw” Anegrette said coldly meeting the elderly man's gaze with her own steely greys

“In the flesh” the old man replied without smiling

What little flesh remained was pale and sagged visibly, he had a quality about him as though someone had taken all of ages ravages and weariness and embodied it in one soul. Von Klaw looked withered to the point of death and yet he moved with a determination and purpose that suggested a menacing vitality.

“it isn't every day I meet with the dead, especially a man OSU was supposed to have silenced in the 85,” Anegrette said regarding Von Klaw quizzically as she sipped her Akavit

“I have been written off for dead many times before, in the fields of Gotmark and the sands of Iteria, OSU should have been more thorough,” Von Klaw said in a matter-fact tone

“And now you are here, what do you want unsterblich*” Anegrette Said almost spitting the last word in Rough Sudengotic

The stories were almost enough to chill Anegrette to the bone, almost, Hermann Von Klaw was a man who had many dark acts to his name. Stories of arms appearing in the hands of terrorists, rebels and insurgencies across Eras had all been linked to Von Klaw, his operations in the 70s and 80s had made him a legend. However that empire, in much the same vein as Kurt Venturs, had been toppled unceremoniously in 85. Everyone had thought Von Klaw dead, a nightmare buried.

“I have need of a partner for a momentous undertaking,” Von Klaw said ominously

“I take it you are referring to the situation in Kian?” Anegrette said probingly

“I require a port for my ships and eyes and ears to guide them to their destinations” He replied tracing a line across the table with one hand

Anegrette pondered his offer for a moment that seemed like an eternity, the mysterious contracts that had flooded the black market in recent months were tempting but they required a level of skill that most would-be arms dealers lacked. Von Klaw was not most men however and if he believed he could pull off an enterprise like smuggling to Kian, then it was a choice between Anegrette accepting and making money from his successes or someone else profiting in her stead.

“I will give your ships safe harbour and provide you with the necessary intelligence, on one condition,” she said putting emphasis on the final word

“Which is?” he asked

“Once you leave port, you are on your own, whatever enemies you make are yours alone to deal with,” she said bluntly

That was the Kimbrian way, information and services rendered, but to any who knew to ask, Anegrette was happy to supply information and safe harbour, but she would not be drawn into petty wars and squabbles beyond the steppe. If the Midranean's had known to ask she would likely have given them similar assistance, but for now Klaw alone would benefit.

“Done,” He said in an icy tone

“And Hermann, I Trust you will not attempt to renege on any agreements?” Anegrette asked as she gave Von Klaw a piercing glare

“Trust,” he Said with unnerving laughter that was utterly devoid of any mirth “I trusted a man once and for that I was repaid with betrayal as he destroyed everything I had built and left me for dead, I will never again indulge in such weakness and I advise you to do the same, but you have my assurances that I will not move to harm our agreement, after all, what is good business without guarantees?” Von Klaw Said in a menacing tone

No sooner had the bargain been struck then Von Klaw had risen from his chair and vanished back into the darkness. Anegrette poured another glass of Akavit, noting that Von Klaw had left his own untouched. The slightest feeling of discomfort filled Anegrette, it was an unfamiliar emotion that she had never felt with Ventur, she wondered if she had finally encountered a force beyond even her control.

*Deathless

Naval Air Station (NAS) Nork, Sudo
There was a massive boom ringing in the distance, Master Sergeant Ryan Matthews was awoken from his chair in the waiting room of the sick call building. Running out the door, he put on his cover and looked to the sky, a dark tower of smoke rose into the air in the southwest.
"What the fuck is going on, this shit can't be good." Running to his squad car, he radioed the other MPs in the area to get a handle on the situation

"This is Master Sergeant Matthews, has anyone responded to the explosion near Jackson gate?''

"Roger MsG, this is Lance Corporal Johnson, 2nd squad just arrived at the scene"

"What the hell happened LCpl? What caused that ungodly explosion?"

"Someone set off a bomb of some sort in the main chapel, the firefighters are on the scene trying to put out the flames, my Squad is working alongside the firefighters to get people out. It doesn't look good MsG."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, i'm en route LCpl." Lights on and siren cutting into the early morning light, Matthews knew this was the start of something he wasn't wanting to wrap up his last contract doing


Matthews pulled up to the scene to witness a horrendous scene, the entire left side of the main base chapel was missing, it was a miracle the church was still standing
"What's the situation LCpl? Have the perpetrators been found and how many are wounded?"

"Good to see you here MsG, 1st squad has the area surrounded, they're clearing out alleyways to find whatever sick fucks did this. They couldn't have gotten far. As for the injured, there are still some inside but... three children and four women are dead. The medics tried as best as they could but they were losing too much blood... they died within minutes of being pulled out of the rubble..." Johnson said, barely able to stifle the queasy feeling in his stomach
"Mother of god... was anyone able to be saved?"
"Fourteen people only managed to sustain 2nd degree burns. Eight children and seven women. Thankfully we didn't lose any more than we did, we're just lucky the building didn't collapse."
"Whoever did this will pay, may god have mercy on their souls when i get my hands on them..."

Four hours later over the city of Takht, Stakhr
The scream of the Hydra's engine ripped through the air, the hot afternoon sun gleaming off the shiny silver metal of the aircraft. The pilot scanning the horizon, preparing to reach the Ten Rings controlled city of Baneh, the goal of the mission was to eliminate a small arms factory that was producing weapons for the Ten Rings.

The city of Baneh started to come into view over the horizon, four Hydras peeled off from the squadron [OOC: a squadron is 20 aircraft] sent in to retaliate for the attack on the NAS Nork church early this morning. As the jets started to enter the city's airspace, a volley of six anti-aircraft missiles launched from a SAM system hidden on a rooftop, one of the jets launched a guided anti-radiation missile, wiping the SAM system out before the four jets spread out into an expanded finger-four formation. As the missiles started closing in on the jet, they peeled off from each other, rapidly rising into the air and releasing half of their first flare dispenser in an effort to throw off the missiles. Four of the missiles were successfully lost, crashing into a series of residential buildings, wiping them off the map. The final missiles were still tailing one of the jets, the pilot sent the nose of the jet downward. This caused the jet to rapidly lose altitude as one of the other jets shot the remaining missiles out of the air with its 20mm cannon. As the pilots recovered from the attack, they pulled back into a semi-staggered finger-four formation and refocused on the city's military facilities. As they approached the center of the city, the pilots spotted the target, they released their glide bombs, pulling into the air before it reached the target. As the bombs flattened the factory, the pilots headed back to regroup with the rest of the squadron as the squadron was preparing to head back to Newport.

Flying to Stakhr


Murat found himself once again on another plane. He had never been a fan, but all things considered this time wasn’t so bad. This was the most flying he had done in a while. At least this time he was in more comfortable clothing. His fatigues fit much better than his dress greens. Perhaps it was time to get them re-fitted, then again he never wanted to wear them again. He chuckled to himself. Like it mattered what he wanted. The cargo plane he was aboard was quite spacious despite the supplies it was carrying. The seats however, were obviously not so comfortable. Murat didn’t mind though. He was used to it. He turned to his new ‘friend’ Alden. He on the other hand looked miserable. Between the loud roaring of the engines or the bumpiness of the ride the man looked greener than a lime.

“You ever been out of country before?” Murat asked over his headset.

Sweating and holding onto his harnesses Alden could only shake his no. Murat thought back to his first time when he had left home. How exciting it was. To see the world. As much as he loved his homeland. The world at large was still something to behold. Murat had the sudden urge for skandan curry. Damn. It would be another half hour till they landed. Shaddai knew how long it would be till they could get food. He turned back to Alden.

“This Specialist Corps Force Commander, this Commander Skinner. What’s he like?” Murat asked, trying to distract the young man.

Alden didn’t turn, but responded, “I’ve uhhh...I’ve actually never met the man.”

“Oh so this is going to be a unique experience for us all. That’s good! I’ll help make lasting expression.”

Alden groaned in response before taking deep breaths. Murat chuckled at the reaction. One of the Regunalian airmen came over to give the signal that they were making their descent. Murat acknowledged. He wondered what kind of food would be available at the camp. He hoped for the curry, but as with all things in this life he knew he’d be disappointed.

Murat shielded his eyes from the bright sun. It was warmer than he anticipated. He pulled out his black hat and sunglasses. If he knew one thing though, come night it would be cold as his ex-wife’s heart. He walked across the tarmac of the airfield towards a hangar as his attaché, Alden desperately tried to keep up whilst carrying two duffel bags.

“Excuse me sir, but where the hell are we going?” Alden asked, still wrestling the inanimate bags. “Shouldn’t we be making our way to Ops?”

Murat expressed his disappointment, “tsk tsk Alden, patience brings good things.” The man was on a mission. He was looking for a grease monkey. Murat knew any mechanic worth his salt would know where the best coffee was in a hundred mile radius. Luckily Murat would settle for five miles.

“You there,” he announced as he approached a man sitting at a desk inside the hangar. The man looked up from his paperwork. He stared with a confused and concerned look until his eyes looked past Murat and at Alden.

“Yes? What is it you need?” he said, sizing the Fussian up.

“Beautiful day. Yes. Where would a man have to go to get some real coffee? On base is no good. Tastes like mother’s shit,” Murat asked him as he leaned on the mechanics desk. Alden was already turning away muttering things about wasted time. Murat paid him no mind. The mechanics face only contorted more to show more confusion.

“I uhhh...should I be talking to you?” the mechanic asked. Murat sighed in disappointment. He bid the mechanic a good day and returned to Alden who was waiting outside of the hangar.

“Are we done dawdling?” Alden asked, not looking Murat in the eye. Murat smacked the man’s arm before lighting a cigarette.

“Your mechanic is going to fall asleep on job,” Murat replied.

“My mecha-That’s not our problem! We have somewhere to be Colonel!”

“Polkovnik. Not Colonel. Not the same.”

“Polka whatever the hell. We have to report to Commander Skinner. As soon as possible.”

Alden was now facing Murat. The man looked ready to punch him in the face. Murat liked that. It was good to have a fire in your heart. A want for order in life. Murat killed his cigarette in a single drag. He gestured for Alden to lead the way, still carrying the duffel bags. Stakhr was already providing an interesting time for Murat.

An APC with Regunalian Specialist Corps markings rolls up outside the hangar that Alden is currently in. What appears to be a high ranking Specialist Corps member (His particular rank is not clear) gets out of the APC and approaches Alden. "You the one they call Alden?"

Murat could only smirk at the irony. His travelling arrangements seemed to be degrading as time went on. He figured as much would be his luck. Such was a military life. Alden was already talking with the ranked officer. They exchanged some words before the loading up the bags into the back of the APC. Alden beckoned for Murat to join. Murat sighed and climbed in. He sat across from the new officer. The man was staring at him intently. The clunk of the door to the APC was only drowned out by the roar of the engine as it whined signaling their departure.

The man across from Murat finally spoke, “My name is Sigivald Harding. I serve as Vice General to the Specialist Corps Force Commander. We’ll be meeting him shortly.” He extended his hand in greeting. Murat clasped it firmly.

“Murat Lukashenka. Well met. Not everyday you get picked up by a general,”

“Vice General.”

“Ah yes. Apologies.” Murat tried getting a gauge of the man. He was getting nothing. Either the vice general was an emotionless robot or he had a good poker face. Murat wanted to believe it was the latter.

“So Sigivald. You’ve been serving Skinner for many years, yes?” The general nodded in response. “What’s the man like? Just between you and me. Honest opinion.”

The general squinted his eyes. Murat could tell he would not be getting the answer he wanted. At least he had tried.

“He’s old school. A few wars will do that. He knows what he's doing,” Sigivald answered curtly, clearly ending the conversation.

Murat did not press the man. He noticed Alden was glaring daggers. As if he had personally insulted his mother. Murat resisted the temptation to smirk. He leaned his head against the hard head rest, he was tired. Three days of constant traveling. He dreamed of curry. And despite the awkward silence in the seating compartment. Murat took solace in what little he knew. Morale was high, at least among the brass. Loyalty to their leaders was still concrete. Murat knew the fire in their hearts was still fresh. Only time would reveal their true colors.

(Apologies for the long hiatus people)

As Murat and Alden arrive at the Stakhri HQ, the APC door is opened and they are presented with 2 rows of 3 Regunalian Honor Guard each forming an alleyway in between. The Vice General, Murat, and Alden, in that order, are ushered inside.


Upon entering the HQ the group would be presented with a single room filled with various banks of computers each of which has staff members from various branches of the Seven-Sided Star answering calls and coordinating operations. At the center of it all is the man of the hour, General Tyrell Skinner.

General Skinner: "Alrighty, time for the daily checkup people. What's the last word from the Marines?"
Regunalian Marine Comms Technician: "Marines are holding coastal assets, no enemy contact since the last checkup, Sir!"
General Skinner: "Last word from the Army?"
Regunalian Army Comms Technician: "Army is holding supply lines and inland assets no contact to report, sir!"
General Skinner: "Last report from the Navy?"
Regunalian Navy Comms Technician: "Navy is ferrying humanitarian supplies into theater, nothing else to report, sir!"
General Skinner: "Specialist Corps?"
Specialist Corps Comms Technician: "Saber is data linking the positions they've scouted and or discovered as we speak, Razor, Angel, and Bulldog are standing by. Nothing else to report, sir!"
General Skinner: "What word from other Union forces?"
Specialist Corps Union Comms Coordinator: "Midir has made strikes on the enemy via air, still waiting on contact report."
General Skinner: "Daily Checkup complete, no hiccups, that's what I like to see people." General Skinner looks over to Murat and Alden and walks over "Greetings gentleman, how can I be of service?"

North of Fasa, Stakhr; 0408 Local Time
Commando Parachutiste de l'Air No. 10 (CPA 10), Groupe III*
Lieutenant* Rodolphe Bechard and Sergent-chef* Hugo Mazet

Mazet shifted slightly from his seated position. He had the watch currently. It was a simple task: looking out for enemy combatants. Which there would be none because no one had any idea they were here since they'd dropped in almost 3 days ago now. But still, the last thing they needed was to be walked up on by a couple of goat herders or something similar. It'd really spoil the whole op. Still, it required vigilance while his group caught some sleep, even though it was fairly easy to not realize how still you'd been for the past 4 hours. It was only when -- for some reason -- your brain became of conscious of how little it had moved that you had the sudden urge to move even slightly to get the blood flowing back into various muscles. He could feel his joints creak like an old barn door and although he knew the sound was loud in his head, he couldn't help but be extra cautious in case any enemy scouts could also hear his creakiness.

He was so focused on what may lay in front of him, examining for any changes in the shrubbery or the silhouettes of the darkened jagged hills that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand set on his shoulder. "Maz," the low voice said from over his shoulder.

"Merde à la puissance treize*," Maz muttered quickly and quietly, "You scared the shit outta me, sir."

"I tried to get your attention, but you weren't responding," Bechard chuckled as he helped Mazet stand to his feet and shake out a bit of the stiffness, "You good? We're rolling out in five."

"All green," he replied, "No one knows we're here still."

Bechard nodded, the movement barely visible in the twilight of pre-dawn hours.

In nearly no time at all, Group III was on the move and trekked south toward Fasa, the outskirts of which were only 4 kilometers away. Fasa wasn't a huge city. More like a town, really, but still one of the largest settlements this far west, almost on the border of Stakhr itself. And a place that those ledixanne* sunsa-bitches had set up shop among the civilian populace. Which is where Group III of CPA 10 came in. The ops brief they had before they departed on this little trip said it was their job to locate the HQ of these guys here in Fasa, confirm its lack of civilians, then they to laze it. Then the flyboys from the 1/7 in Vierrac-du-Nord were gonna send a couple of angry 250 kilogram 'fuck-off' messages down that laser. Then they'd be outta here. Pretty standard operation for everyone, to be honest. It was only made easier by some previous high-flying ops involving the drone guys. They managed to get the location down to a street, but command still wanted in-person verification before they sent anything to go and level the place. Understandable.

As they'd gone over the night before, the group split off into three teams. A center group to act as a 'base camp' and fallback point, and one team to either side to form a pincer-like maneuver. All three teams would laze the target to triangulate its location so there would be no fuck-ups. Mazet went with the Lieutenant and they hunkered down in a low rise overlooking an odd-shaped compound. Just as twilight was beginning to wane and the glow of the sun began to illuminate everything in a greyish morning haze, Bechard withdrew his binoculars from a pouch pocket while Mazet stood overwatch to make sure no one came up from their rear and surprised them.

Geez, no wonder the intel guys had so much trouble ID'ing the place. It was a mess; hard to make out where one structure started and another ended. Oddly shaped -- definitely not like the clean square or angular blocks he was used to back home. The whole 'compound' -- a term he applied very loosely -- was surrounded by a wall that varied in height and composition as well as structural integrity. There were places where it was almost completely destroyed by wars long-past, but also places where it was clearly very recently reinforced. But still, on two of the rooftops, through a regionally-traditional awning, he could see a man with a gun in his lap. He was coking and joking with another fellow whose gun was propped against a table, his face covered by a shemagh of an admittedly tasteful design.

Bechard clicked his mic once. A tactical communication to let the rest of the group know that he had eyes on their target. Their radios were enciphered, but they didn't want to be on them any more than necessary. Just because they were enciphered, didn't mean that their enemy would know that they weren't out there. If they were broadcasting and all their foes heard were whale-like noises, then that was indication enough for anybody that something fishy was going on.

He briefly pulled away to check the time on his watch. Dawn and thus daylight was drawing ever closer, and soon it'd be hot as fuck, if the last three days were anything to go by. But that also brought morning and wakefulness. And being awake meant people going about their days. That meant activity. Over his earpiece he heard another click and then a separate one not too long after, indicating that the other two teams had also found targets.

The sun peeked over the mountaintops and began to beat down on him. Still watching. Still waiting. Patience was key. Then, a truck. Then two, three.

A convoy.

The plume of dust behind them obscuring any further vehicles, but Bechard could tell there were at least a couple more. They were older, military-style vehicles, with a framework over the bed and rudimentary camouflage obscuring the contents they were carrying, and they pulled right up to that bizarre misshapen compound -- to whatever served as a main entrance for the place -- then were engulfed by their own dust cloud. Bechard worried his bottom lip for the handful of minutes it took for the cloud to clear enough to be able to see. When it finally did so, he could see a man with a maroon beret and reflective aviators on -- a man, if he had to guess, was probably what served as the commander of their little operation here in Fasa -- and a huge smile on his face as he looked at the contents of a few crates that had been unloaded at his feet. The beret-man reached in and withdrew a fairly advanced-looking MANPAD*. This caused Bechard's eyebrows to quirk up. If they were receiving advanced weaponry then that meant someone was playing foul. He'd make a note of it in his report, but it was relatively out of his hands for now. It was all the verification he needed. He clicked twice over the radio, the tactical signal for confirmation of their target's hostility. He pulled the binoculars away from his face again to check his watch. They should be receiving communications any minute now from the flyboys when they got on-station.

"Bechard," Maz's voice came quietly from behind him.

"What?" he replied, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he concentrated on the beret-man once again.

"Are you tuned into AIRNET?"

"Fuck...!" he hurriedly reached down to fiddle with his radio and tune the secondary channel to the AIRNET frequency.

"--ulf-three, how do you hear?" a female voice he could tell was muffled by a high-altitude oxygen mask asked.

"Hear you fine, how me?" he asked back, a bit irritated at his own failure of having forgotten to tune his radio into the AIRNET frequency. They'd probably been paging them for a couple of minutes already.

"Read you just fine, Gulf-three! This is Lancer two-two, we're on-station about... 13 klicks above you and to your north. Lancer two-one and I are ready to roll if you are," she reported, sounding a bit too chipper for his own liking. Must be nice to be able to speak freely and loudly and not have to hunker down and hide and get shot at.

"Wait one. We'll laze for you. Just don't shoot short," he replied, only a bit concerned that they might be turned into a pink mist by their own munitions.

"Roger," she chuckled back, "Waiting for the laze, then on your mark, Gulf-three."

Bechard clicked his mic on their TACNET three times, activated his binocular's laser, and through the binoculars saw two other infrared lines pointing at separate nearby compound buildings. "Lancer two-two, Gulf-three, targets marked. Green for drop," he reported, keeping the laser as still as possible on the crate directly in front of the beret-man.

"Rrrrroger, Gulf-three, good lines. Sending three packages aaaaaand... bombs away, mark," she replied with the second-nature calmness of a woman who's done this a million times before.

There was silence. Just the soundless jovial laughing of the beret-man that Bechard could see through his binoculars. No radio crackles. No sound of shifting sands or rocks. Just silence.

Then, after three seconds, an ear-wrenching screeching rose quickly to a cacophony from the soundless nothing and the beret-man vanished in an instant, replaced by a dust cloud. A second later the deafening climax of the screeching caught up to their positions and shook the rocks on the cliffside along with their bones.

"Shit--" Mazet exclaimed, the shockwave literally knocking him on his ass from his crouched position and catching him by surprise.

Bechard re-situated himself and looked out at the three quickly-merging, but still somewhat distinct plumes of dust and radioed Lancer two-two over AIRNET once again, "Good hits, Lancer two-two."

"Roger. We're RTB*. Good luck down there, Gulf-three."

"Thanks. Save a drink or two for us."

"Wilco, Falcon two-two, out," the woman chuckled on the other end.


GLOSSARY
Commando Parachutiste de l'Air No. 10, Groupe III = Air Parachutist Commando Unit 10, Group III
Lieutenant = a goddamn Lieutenant (OF-1); god help you if you can't figure that out
Sergent-chef = Sergeant First Class (OR-6) equivalent
Merde à la puissance treize = Lit. "shit to the 13th power"; basically "holy fucking shit omigod"
ledixanne = [luh-deez-ahn], an abbreviation for "Les Dix Anneaux" (The Ten Rings)
MANPAD = man-portable air-defense system; think like a Stinger missile launcher, something launched from the shoulder by a single person
RTB = military shorthand for 'returning to base'

Ten Rings Camp, Stakhri Mountains

"King Leonidas' Kian Union dogs from Midir and Valencia throw ordinance at the Stakhri highlands again and again, like angry waves against a cliff. And like a wave against the cliff the only casualties are the innocent. Here, the innocent are the people of Stakhr, lives and livelihoods destroyed by more foreign military incursion into our land. You can kill men, women, and children but you cannot kill a movement. You can kill a revolutionary but you cannot kill a revolution. You can kill a person, but never an idea."

"The death of a person is still a meaningful thing though, and King Leonidas, King Maximilian, and President Roman have killed plenty of Stakhri. The universe, though, is bound on reciprocity. King Leonidas, as the alpha of this pack of wolves I offer a choice. Do you want an empty life, or a meaningful death?"

---

The Satrap stood as the broadcast was cut, and made his way to the new arrival at the camp. A scruffy looking man, wearing glasses with messy black hair. The sand and dirt from the mountains still stuck to him, but he clapped all the same with great enthusiasm.

"Fantastic" he exclaimed.
"Your anti-imperialist rhetoric never ceases to amaze me" he said with a grin.

"I see you've had quite a long trek through the desert" the Satrap remarked, not really responding to the main's praises.

"The heat has been killer. Must be my Prydanian heritage" he chuckled.

The Satrap removed his aviator glasses and looked the man up and down.
"It doesn't show as well as your Ascalonian heritage, Kristófer Ho. And I would have thought that- and the time spent with Kurt Ventur in the Skandan deserts- would have adapted you to the heat well enough."

"Uh well..." Kristófer stumbled, a bit thrown that the Ten Rings' leader wasn't acknowledging his praises, "I mostly stayed inside. I wasn't on the front line of Mr. Ventur's business ventures."

The Satrap smirked. The man reeked of phoniness, with a voice that sounded like he was trying to sound like a gameshow host.
"Well why did you do what you did with Mr. Ventur? Was it for the anti-imperialist cause, or was it for the money?"

"Um, pardon?" Kristófer asked.

"Kurt Ventur Jr. presented himself as a man of the anti-imperialist movement. He ran guns from Prydania to Stakhr for a number of causes looking to throw off imperialistic yoke. But he also made himself very rich. Until he...overextended with the Prydania Today gambit."

"I was in it for the cause, no doubts there!" Kristófer insisted. "My father protested against the Goyanean occupation of Ascalon. You might say it runs in the family" he said with an inviting grin that the Satrap merely ignored as he took a seat. Two Ten Rings militants pushed Kristófer into a seat opposite him.

"I understand you have a hobby, one that some would find strange for a terrorist organization's technical analyst. You collect Amitz-Brave and Verforvander figures, do you not?"

"I mean...yeah but I don't see..." Kristófer stumbled. That was the LAST thing he expected to come up, and he was utterly shocked as to why or how the Satrap knew that. The Ten Rings leader merely chuckled.

"Kristófer, I don't care one way or another about that" he said, sounding affable, causing Kristófer to begin to laugh along with him...before the Satrap stopped and his tone changed to a deadly serious one.

"What I care about is hypocrisy. You come to my country, my home, and tell me you wish to join me on some anti-imperialist crusade while engaging in such a capitalistic hobby."

"Well...that's not fair" Kristófer stumbled, "I mean if you examine the ethnics..." but the Satrap raised a five-ringed hand.

"I am not interested in your nonsense. Kurt Ventur was a fool. The man was no friend of national liberation. The Royalists who now control Prydania are no more pro-imperialistic than the Syndicalists he funded were. Ventur, like yourself, only believed in money. I don't hold this against men, because money is something real, after all. And a man who believes in something real can always be bargained with. It's the lying I cannot stand. Kurt Ventur Jr. would have made double his money had he sold arms to both sides of the Prydanian Civil War rather than just the side that lost. And he likely wouldn't be rotting in a Skandan jail for trying to subvert Prydania's politics with that media scheme. He would still be here, and be very rich, had he merely been honest with himself. So Kristófer Ho...are you being honest with yourself, and me?"

"I mean...I came all this way" Kristófer stumbled trying to sound indignant.
"It only seemed natural. Your organization and the one I worked for were very close partners. I thought it would make sense to continue the struggle here."

"Struggle" the Satrap grumbled.
"I know about more than just your hobbies Mr. Ho. And I do not see what a man educated in Ascalon's finest institutes of higher education could know about struggle. No, I have no use for Ventur's abandoned dogs who run to me for no other reason than a roof over their head. Nor people who come here, showing no understanding of my struggle. Or my cause. I am not raising an army for your faux-left wing ideals. I am doing it to save my country."

The Satrap stood.
"Kill him" he said as the two Ten Rings militants dragged Kristófer out of the building as he screamed.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I'M USEFUL! I HAVE SKILLS! YOU COULD USE MEEEEEEEEE" he wailed before the sound of a machine gun silenced him.

"You just...you just killed a man for no reason!" Moshik Eden yelled out. He and Asher had been watching the scene play out, and had kept quiet...until now.

"I had a reason" the Satrap replied bluntly.
"He came here. To survive. Nothing else. He was a parasite. I have no use for parasites."

"So when are you going to kill us?" Asher spoke up.

"I don't intend to. Not until you've gotten your story."

"I think we have enough" Moshik said, stonefaced.

"I assure you, you do not."

"What then?" Moshik asked.
"You say you killed that man for a reason. What? You're not actually going to follow through on your broadcast's threat, are you? You're not going to kill King Leonidas?"

The Satrap smirked.
"All will be revealed, in due time."

HMRAB Vierrac-du-Nord, Vierrac-du-Nord, Valencia; Runway 21L; 0501 Local Time
Escadron de Chasse 1/7 "Providence"; C/A-18 "Faucon"; Lanceur Escadrille*
Capitaine* Enzo "Tapoteur*" Kléber (Lancer 2-1) and Capitaine Brigitte "Chausseuse*" Peltier (Lancer 2-2)

Enzo performed the last of his flight checklist, poised at the end of runway 21L, his wingwoman Brigitte waiting patiently on the taxiway and ready to join him once the controller cleared her to do so. He waggled the flaps on his wings as a wave to Brigitte before the ground controller chimed in over his headset.

"Lancer 2-1, Ground, reading electronic completion of your checklist, confirm?"

"Ground, Lancer 2-1, a-ffirm, checklist cleared, request takeoff clearance along the INDIGO," he replied.

"Lancer 2-1, Ground, affirmative. Tower is one-two-three decimal niner, see ya!" The Ground Controller happily replied.

"See ya!" he replied before he kicked the throttle and took off down the runway. He gained speed, then lifted off the ground on a cushion of air, proceeding to climb along the INDIGO departure path. Enzo switched over to the frequency that the ground controller had given him to report to the air controller. "Air, Lancer 2-1, on the INDIGO."

"Lancer 2-1, Air, rrrrroger. Continue INDIGO, once out climb and maintain angels niner, turn right heading two-five-zero," the cool-as-a-cucumber voice of the Air Controller came in over the frequency.

"Continue INDIGO, climb/maintain angels niner then right heading two-five-zero, Lancer 2-1," he repeated back, steadily gaining altitude. Normally his Falcon was light and nimble, but it was a bit weighed down with the payload both he and his wingwoman were tasked to deliver to some very naughty Stakhri rebels. His bird felt sluggish, as if it were a bit drunk. Graceful, but still a bit drunk.

In short order he was on heading 250 south toward Stakhr, and his partner joined up a bit off of his 4 o'clock.

"2-2, off your four o'clock, 2-1," the feminine voice of his wingwoman, Captain Brigitte Peltier reported over their inter-craft frequency.

"Welcome, 2-2, I was lonely," he chirped back half-heartedly.

He could hear her chuckle back over the frequency, "I'm here if you want to hold my hand, Tapoteur."

Enzo laughed out loud in his high-altitude mask, but didn't transmit over the frequency, "Maybe when we get back." He switched his radio to the zone controller's frequency, then asked, "Vierrac-du-Nord, Lancer 2-1, 2-2, request clearance for mach 1."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Enzo was about to send his message again when he heard the controller's microphone key up over the frequency. "Lancer 2-1, VDN-ZC, wait one," a deep and mellow voice replied. It sounded as if he'd been on-shift all night. After a brief pause, the radio keyed up again and he reported in a sing-song probably for his own amusement, "Lancer 2-1, Lancer 2-2, VDN-ZC, request for Mach 1 to destination is approv-ed."

"Mach approv-ed, Lancer 2," he sing-songed back, then switched freqs back to Brigitte, "Ready for zoom, 2-2?"

"You know it," she confirmed, while he smirked and throttled up, kicking in the afterburner.


Pars, Stakhr; The Battle of Pars; 0726 Local Time
Valen-Midranean Brigade, 5e Régiment de Chausseurs (5RCh)*
C2 Main Battle Tank "Changez à la Poussière*"; Château 4*;
Sergent-Chef* Adrian Toutain (Commander), Sergent* Serge Trémaux (Gunner), Caporal-Chef* Damien Bouthillier (Driver)

The muted thwoomps of Castle Squadron's 120 millimeter guns sounded off sporadically in the blazing sun of the Stakhri mountains as Staff Sergent Toutain wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned in once again to the viewport of his scope. He was able to clearly see a pickup truck with a heavy-caliber machine gun firing down and into a position where Valencian and Midranean ground-pounders were taking cover. Barely concealed by an earthen embankment.

"What the fuck do you mean you 'can't see the truck'?!" He yelled at his gunner, "It's right fucking there, shooting at the infantry, for God's sake, Serge!"

"Listen, I dunno what magic you're using, but I'm telling you all I see is that white-washed building. No truck," Serge replied, annoyed.

"You're at three-four-zero, relative, right?" Adrian asked.

"Yyyyyep," Serge confirmed.

"You're fucking kidding--" Adrian grumbled as he hopped down from his seat and pushed his Sergeant's head to the side to look through the man's own sights. He didn't see a truck. He double-checked the number in the corner, then hopped back up to his own scope's viewport and made sure they matched. He frowned, still swearing in his mind at a million meters a minute, then stood up on the stirrups to the side of the commander's chair and shouldered the commander's hatch open so he could see what exactly was going on. He looked in front of the "Alter to Dust", immediately see what the problem was. His Commander sight sat higher than his Gunner's sight, and his Gunner couldn't see over the slight rise they were concealed behind.

"Sunnuva, motherfu--" Adrian swore loudly, sitting heavily in his seat then kicking his driver in the shoulder as he keyed his internal radio to more clearly talk to Corporal, "Corporal, bring us forward 10 meters! Crest the rise just in front of us!"

"Roger!" Damien responded as the C2's diesel engine revved up and the tank lurched forward and crested the rise.

"Pickup truck sighted, 450 meters," Serge announced. Adrian almost leapt out of his seat to punch the man in the throat. He just knew there was a smarmy grin on his stupid sweaty face.

"For fuck's sake, shoot it!" He yelled again.

"Firing," Serge said, a second before the thwoombp sounded and the tank rocked backward from the recoil. The HEAT* round soared through the air for a half-second before making impact, engulfing the truck in a brief fireball then a cloud of dust and burnt debris. Through his commander scope, Adrian could see the ground-pounders cheering and pumping fist back toward their position.

"Castle 4, Castle 1, come in, over," his commander's voice sounded over the radio.

"Go for Castle 4," Adrian reported back.

"Castle 4, give the infantry some fire support as they pull back so the Air Force guys can start their runs."

"Already on it, sir."

"Good job, out."

Adrian popped the Commander's Hatch open again as the infantry boys meandered on by and back within the defensive line currently manned by the tanks. Many of them offered hoots and hollers of appreciation, and he just casually waved back with a half-smile on his face. He remembered the days when he used to be that rowdy. Still, it felt good to give support to the infantry, considering they were the ones going door-to-door and clearing buildings.

"Excellent shot!" a voice called out and Adrian looked down, recognizing the Midranean equivalent of his own rank.

"Thanks, I'll pass the message along," he smirked, then he looked up as a distant echoing boom-boom-boom resounded down the hillside. Just beyond the position where they'd destroyed that pickup was suddenly bathed in fiery death. True hellfire and brimstone. He'd heard stories, but only just now was able to see the glory of the 155 millimeter Midranean artillery. He briefly registered the screeching sounds and delta-winged shadows of C/A-18 Falcons flying overhead, but it all paled in comparison to the power that the arty brought to the table. "Holy shit..."

"Thanks, I'll pass the message along," the Midranean man smirked, then followed after the rest of the infantry.


GLOSSARY
Escadron de Chasse 1/7 "Providence"; C/A-18 "Faucon"; Lanceur Escadrille = Fighter Squadron 1/7 "Providence"; C/A-18 "Falcon"; Lancer Flight
Capitaine = Captain (OF-2)
Tapoteur = Tapper
Chausseuse = Chaser
5e Régiment de Chausseurs (5RCh) = 5th Tank Regiment
Changez à la Poussière = Alter to Dust (the tank's name)
Château 4 = Castle 4 (the tank's squadron and callsign combination)
HEAT = High Explosive Anti-Tank

The Mondic Capital Building Conference Room in Sudo
0945 Local Time

President Roman oversees a conference room filled to the brim with reporters from various local and international new organizations. The reporters bustled with life, ready for a long needed update from Mondari's Presidential authority after the operations against the Ten Rings in Stakhr.

Roman cleared his throat, ready to make a declaration that he knew could potentially cause tensions with some foreign governments "Good morning to my fellow citizens and the wider world. Earlier this week, with out partners in Valencia, we launched a strike on Ten Rings terrorists in the Stakhr mountains. The assault was successful in wiping out a Ten Rings emplacement. We are preparing to move in and reclaim another city the terrorists illegally claim to control that rightfully belong to Stakhr's government. Now, the main reason this press conference was organized. After the unprovoked terrorist attack on the Naval Air Station on this very island that killed 15 innocent people that dragged us into this conflict, I have also learned that the Satrap and his terrorists have kidnapped two Iraelian journalists despite Iraelia not being involved in this regional conflict. With that being said, I am sending this declaration out to every government and world leader on Eras, if you or any groups sanctioned by your government are found to be aiding these terrorists known as the 'Ten Rings' that will be taken as an official declaration of war. The safety of my citizens is top priority. Mondari is more than prepared to defend itself and its allies. Do not make a mistake that you cannot recover from. If any of our allies are found to be aiding these terrorists we will move to have them barred from any and all organizations we are in. Thank you."

Local Time: 8:00 AM Regunalian Standard Time
Main Deliberation Chamber, Grand Royal Assembly Building,
301 Royale Way, Central Political District, Regunalia City
Fortessium Duchy, Centrian Region
Regunalia

The main chamber of the Grand Royal Assembly building is abuzz with TVR 2 staff making final preparations in the minutes before they are to go live kingdom-wide
[TVR 2 Producer signaling from behind the camera]: 3...2...1...live

[Kristina Robinson] (hushed voice): "Good morning Centria and good morning Regunalia. I am Kristina Robinson with T-V-R 2, your official source for royal news, kingdom-wide. I am coming to you live from the main deliberation chamber of the Grand Royal Assembly building where any minute now, the delegates will convene on the subject of funding for the war effort in Stakhr. It is expected to be a heated debate as delegates on both sides have expressed strong opinions as to whether or not funding should continue. In fact, here come the delegates now."
As Ms. Robinson says this, the various delegates enter the chamber along with the Royal Lawspeaker, chattering amongst themselves as they enter and take their seats.

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: takes his place at the lectern at the center of the chamber, then bangs gavel 3 times "Order!...Order!...Order in the Assembly please!
The various delegates cease their chatter, hush themselves and collectively direct their attention to the podium. "Now then, first off, happy new year everyone, I hope your break gave you a good rest, and to the newly elected delegates among us, welcome. Secondly, I would like to welcome representatives of the Voice of Regunalia, helping us to show the hard work we do in the assembly. Now that the pleasantries are done with, I should like to bring this meeting of the Grand Royal Assembly, on this, the 2nd of January in the year of our lord 2021 to order. Delegates, as I call the region you represent, please state how many of your delegates are in attendance.

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Centria"
[Morgan Longstaff, RE, CEN-12]: "The Centrian delegation has all 24 delegates present, lawspeaker."

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Agricola"
[Emily Burnham, GR, AGR-07]: "Agricolan delegation has all 20 delegates present, lawspeaker."

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Commerciorum"
[Dorothy Sanders, IN, COM-05]: "Commerciorum delegation has all 22 delegates present, lawspeaker."

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Institutum"
[Boyd Marlow, RO, INS-09]: "Institutum delegation has all 21 delegates present, lawspeaker."

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "and finally, Labos."
[Serena Nowell, NA, LAB-03] "Labos delegation has all 20 delegates present, lawspeaker."

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Wonderful, that would appear to be all delegates present. On today's docket, the main topic of deliberation is scheduled to be funding for the Regunalian war effort. A proposal has been put forth to not only continue funding, but to increase funding for the next year, with a proportional increase in troops, equipment, and capabilities. What are the positions of the regional delegations?

[Morgan Longstaff, RE, CEN-12]: "The Centrian delegation has voted as follows: 14 delegates have voted in favor of an increase in funding, 5 in favor of maintaining funding, 3 in favor of a decrease in funding, 2 abstain."
[Emily Burnham, GR, AGR-07]: "The Agricolan delegation has voted as follows: 9 delegates have voted in favor of an increase in funding, 1 in favor of maintaining funding, 5 in favor of a decrease in funding, 5 abstain
[Dorothy Sanders, IN, COM-05]: "The Commerciorum delegation has voted as follows: 8 delegates have voted in favor of an increase in funding, 14 in favor of maintaining funding, 0 in favor of a decrease in funding, 0 abstain
[Boyd Marlow, RO, INS-09]: "The Institutum delegation has voted as follows: 5 delegates have voted in favor of an increase in funding, 10 in favor of maintaining funding, 0 in favor of decrease, 0 abstain
[Serena Nowell, NA, LAB-03]: "The Labos delegation has voted as follows: 4 in favor of an increase, 16 in favor of maintaining funding, 0 in favor of decrease, 0 abstain"

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "I see, by my count, 46 in favor of an increase, 46 in favor of maintaining funding, 8 in favor of decrease, 7 abstaining. Therefore a decrease in funding by vote of the Assembly shall no longer be considered, I would now like to open the proverbial floor for those in favor of an increase in funding and those in favor of maintaining funding to make their arguments in an attempt to persuade others to change their votes one way or another. Lawspeaker motions with his hands across the assembled delegates

[Hardy King, RO, CEN-08]: "Lawspeaker, if I may, current funding in the Stakhri theatre limits Regunalian forces to a strictly defensive and intelligence gathering posture, this, in turn, limits how we can support our Kian Union allies that have graciously come to our aid in our time of need. We must increase funding to allow additional capabilities so that we may further support our allies on the front line!" immediate applause from the Centrian and Commerciorum delegations, polite applause from the rest.

[Brett Pearson, IN, COM-06]: "Lawspeaker, If I may, I must concur with my colleague from the Centrian delegation, an increase in funding for a proportional increase in capability is paramount. But I ask the Assembly to consider this, with an increase in funding, we could also ramp up our humanitarian efforts and increase the Stakhri standard of living substantially over time. Their infrastructure is crumbling and desperate intervention is necessary!" Roaring applause from the Centrian and Commerciorum delegation, polite applause once again from everywhere else

[Katheryn Forrest, RE, AGR-18]: "Lawspeaker, If I may, I MUST dissent, Regunalia's current peaceful approach to the war in Stakhr avoids feeding into the Satrap's propaganda and prevents unnecessary suffering for the Stakhri people. We MUST maintain funding."

[Leonard Moss, GR, LAB-04]: "Lawspeaker, If I may, my colleague from the Agricola delegation is dead on, we MUST not increase funding, an increase in funding would only further damage local infrastructure and bring Stakhr to absolute ruin."

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Alright, we've heard compelling arguments from both sides. Delegates, with these perspectives in mind, I ask you to recast your votes, a decrease in funding has been removed from consideration, I am also removing the option to abstain, as in this situation it is counter-productive, I shall leave you two options, a vote of AYe shall denote a vote in favor of increasing funding, a vote of Nay shall denote a vote in favor of maintaining current funding, your time to vote begins now."

[Kristina Robinson (TVR 2 Reporter)] (hushed voice): "This is it, folks, the delegates will now decide whether to increase or maintain funding for the Campaign in Stakhr. I think I speak for everyone when I say the kingdom as a whole waits with bated breath for the final tally."

Some minutes pass as each of the delegates consider their choice and turn in their votes to the elected leader of their respective delegations.

[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Alright, looks like the votes are in, Centria?"
[Morgan Longstaff, RE, CEN-12]: "The Centrian delegation has voted as follows, 15 Aye, 9 Nay."
[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Agricola?"
[Emily Burnham, GR, AGR-07]: "The Agricola delegation has voted as follows, 7 Aye, 13 Nay."
[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Commerciorum?"
[Dorothy Sanders, IN, COM-05]: "The Commerciorum delegation has voted as follows, 12 Aye, 8 Nay."
[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Institutum?"
[Boyd Marlow, RO, INS-09]: "The Institutum delegation has voted as follows: 11 Aye, 10 Nay, split."
[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "And finally, Labos?"
[Serena Nowell, NA, LAB-03]: "The Labos delegation has voted as follows..." sigh "...12 Aye, 8 Nay."
[Royal Lawspeaker Randall Baldwin, RO, CEN-16]: "Let the record show the final tally as follows: 57 Aye, 52 Nay. The Ayes have it, the funding for the campaign in Stakhr shall be increased, the delegates are adjourned to the committee meeting rooms to discuss details in private." bangs gavel

[Kristina Robinson (TVR 2 Reporter)] (hushed voice): "That's all for our morning broadcast, tune in at 9 for analysis."

For reference:
RO = a Royalist party delegate
RE = a Reformist party delegate
IN = an Industrialist party delegate
GR = a Green party delegate
NA = a delegate with no party affiliation (independent basically)
CEN-## = a delegate representing a duchy in Centria
AGR-## = a delegate representing a duchy in Agricola
COM-## = a delegate representing a duchy in Commerciorum
INS-## = a delegate representing a duchy in Institutum
LAB-## = a delegate representing a duchy in Labos

In the skies near the city of Ahar in Stakhr
2345 Local Time

A C-150M cargo aircraft skims the airspace of the city Ahar, 10 kilometers above the ground. A squad of paratroopers from the 3rd Special Forces Command, 1st Battalion, 3rd Special Forces Company stand, ready for their mission.

Captain Damien Ruiz stands to address his unit, yelling to overpower the roaring aircraft’s engines “ALL RIGHT MEN, WE ARE GOING TO BE CONDUCTING A HAHO DROP INTO THE CITY OF AHAR. OUR MISSION IS TO GO IN, ELIMINATE ‘ARYAMNA SOPARIWALA’ AN AVATAR IN THE TEN RINGS. WE BELIEVE THAT ELIMINATING SOPARIWALA WILL CRIPPLE THE TEN RINGS’ OPERATIONS IN THE REGION. THIS SHOULD BE A QUICK, QUIET, AND EASY MISSION. LET’S GET THIS DONE MEN”

The ramp whirrs open, cold air blasts the soldiers as the light from Ahar fill the aircraft bay. The soldiers stand, readying themselves for the “‘easy mission” ahead of them

“ALL RIGHT, LET’S GO, LET’S GO, LET’S GO” Captain Ruiz yells as the soldiers jump from the aircraft

Twenty minutes pass, the soldiers are hit the ground on the outskirts of Ahar. The unit collects itself and prepares to enter the city

“Let’s go men, Sopariwali should be in the embassy building near the town center, keep low and quiet” Captain Ruiz gestures to his men as they ready themselves

The unit moves in a wedge formation between houses through the city, dropping to a knee when they spot an enemy combatant. They had to be careful, taking out an enemy without ensuring none of the other Ten Rings combatants could see it happen would result in them being spotted and their mission being compromised.

“Captain, there’s a possible enemy combatant in front of the well blocking the embassy. Do I engage?” Master Sergeant James Hazel looks to the Captain for confirmation

“You’re clear to take the shot, do not miss”

“Roger that sir.”

MsG Hazel takes aim at the Ten Rings combatant and fires, landing a clean shot in the back of his head. The combatant falls back, lying strewn out in the middle of the road

“Good shot Sergeant. Let’s move” Captain Ruiz gestures to his men to move

The unit approaches the entrance of the embassy, the road is clear. They enter and move to clear the first floor

“All clear sir, no sign of enemy combatants on this floor.” Sergeant Blake Argent reports to the Captain

“All right men, let’s get upstairs”

The unit breaches the second floor, all quiet. No signs of life, the room is eerily quiet. Not even a rat to be found.

“All clear. Something’s off, it’s too quiet. Soldiers, check the room for any paperwork, Sopariwali should have been here.”

“Sir, you should come look at this” Sergeant Argent gestures to the Captain

A note, scribbled in rough Mercanti “You people have lost. This is where your nation will die”

“It was a trap, get ready to move men…” Captain Ruiz whispers to the men

Glass shatters, a bullet takes out one of the soldiers. The sound of gunfire fills the air

“GET DOWN MEN! FUCK, WE WERE SET UP, IT WAS A FUCKING TRAP!” Captain Ruiz yells to his men as Ten Rings combatants start hammering the building with small arms fire

“MOVE, GET TO THE ROOF. WE NEED TO GET TO A DEFENSIBLE POSITION, WE CAN’T HOLD THIS ROOM FOR LONG!”

The unit breaches the door to the roof, barricading it behind them, taking position on the roof

“WE NEED TO GET AN EVAC OUT OF THIS SHITHOLE” Captain Ruiz picks up his radio and tunes it to the airbase’s frequency
“THIS IS CAPTAIN DAMIEN RUIZ. WE ARE IN AHAR. WE ARE PINNED DOWN, TAKING FIRE. WE NEED EVAC ASAP”

“Roger that Captain, an evacuation helicopter is en route to your position, ETA 0130. You will have to hold out.”

“WE CAN’T HOLD OUT, OUR POSITION IS UNTENABLE. WE NEED EVAC NOW!”

“I’m sorry Captain, that is the soonest evac will be available.”

“FUCK” Captain Ruiz tosses the radio across the roof

“ALRIGHT MEN, START TAKING OUT THESE FUCKERS! EVAC IS ON THE WAY, WE JUST NEED TO HOLD OUT!”

The embassy lights up as the unit lays down fire against the Ten Rings combatants. The loud rumbling of an engine, and tracks crushing the dirt underfoot is heard

“WHAT’S THAT NOISE? ANYONE HAVE A VISUAL” the Captain screams, looking to his fellow soldiers

An SPG rolls into view, taking aim at the embassy

“SON OF A BITCH, THEY HAVE ARTILLERY? EVERYONE GET DOWN”

The SPG levels its cannon with the second floor of the embassy. BANG! The building’s second floor caves in. Bringing the unit down to the first floor in an instant

“SHIT, IS ANYONE STILL ALIVE?” Sergeant Argent looks around to the rubble strewn around him, the bodies of his fellow soldiers lay limp around him “son of a bitch, i have to let base know”

Grabbing the radio off his side, Argent tunes it to the airbase’s frequency

“This is Sergeant Blake Argent, my unit has been wiped out. I need evac asap. Enemy combatants are bearing down on my position”

Static. No response...

OOC Soundtrack: https://youtu.be/S_uYFmjJaG8

The Port District
Haguèves-Sur-Mer, Valencia
January 19th, 2020
12:00 AM

The moon shined bright over the quiet port, it's dim light sparkling on the dark waters of the sea. The Kapuji watched from the harbormaster's office balcony as the barge silently pulled into port. He watched as the men on the ship began to offload cargo onto the dock. After a few minutes, the men waved towards his position signaling they were finished. The Kapuji turned and walked into the office and approached the sleeping harbormaster.

"Wake Up my friend." He said to the old man. "It is time for your reward," he said placing a brown paper bag on his desk, waking the man from his slumber.

"Hmm-- what?" Said the man groggily. "Oh, I see." The man took the bag from the table and looked inside, he looked to the Kapuji and nodded.

"This will do nicely, it has been nice doing business with you." He said standing from his seat. "You really do know how to treat those who work with you, I'll give you that." He said chuckling as he moved towards the door.

"That I do, and I hope that ensures your loyalty as I wouldn't like to have to hurt those I consider friends." He said as he walked to the door.

"Of course sir." The harbormaster said opening the door.

"Good, expect a call from me in a few days I will need your services when I return." He said walking out of the door and into a small car waiting for him outside.

A few minutes later

While driving through the streets of Haguèves-Sur-Mer, his phone rang keeping one hand on the wheel he picked it up and answered.

"Have you received the shipment?" Said the caller.

"I have, it will be on route within the hour." He said distracted, and the car came to a halt at a stoplight.

"Excellent, ensure it reaches our Stakhari friends safely and you will receive additional payment once you return to Karasova." The caller hanged up the phone and the Kapuji continued his drive.

Approved by: @Mouxordia

Local Time: 2:00 AM Regunalian Standard Time
Regunalian Theatre HQ, Undisclosed location,
Stakhr


The recent vote in the Grand Royal Assembly begins to show fruit in Stakhr. Humanitarian building supplies are being shipped in slowly but surely, Regunalian Air Force Fighter and Strike Squadrons are being flown into government-controlled airbases and logistics chains are being set up, and Army and Specialist Corps assets are being shipped in to bolster current capabilities. Among all of this, Skinner is about to get one more item on his plate to deal with.

[Specialist Corps Union Comms Coordinator]: "General! Urgent communication from Midranean forces. One of their units conducted a failed attack on the enemy and are requesting intervention to rescue Midranean survivors."

[General Skinner]: sighs (under breath) "As if I don't have enough to deal with right now." (normal voice): "Alright people, focus up, where are the survivors, what is the enemy disposition, do we have ANY eyes in the air, what assets do we have combat effective and available? I need information!

[Specialist Corps Union Comms Coordinator]: "Last known position is in the immediate vicinity of the city of Ahar, enemy known disposition includes infantry, some with RPG's, information is scarce at the moment."

[Regunalian Army Comms Technician]: "1-3, 1-4, and 1-5 as well as Razer battery all reporting ready able and willing."

[Regunalian Air Force Comms Technician]: "No Regunalian Air Assets available at this time General, still setting up."

[General Skinner]: "Alright, roll 1-3 and 1-4 in Armored Personnel Carriers together with Razer Battery, get me someone from Valencian Command, see if they can shift a bird over to Ahar and get me some eyes in the sky until we can get our own birds up. Pray to whatever gods you have people, we need this to work."

[Specialist Corps Union Comms Coordinator]: "Aye Aye sir, hailing Valencian Command now."

Nerbangal Capital of Karzastan
Plaza of National Martyrs

The capital was blinding in the afternoon heat as the low hanging sun blazed across the white and gold of the city, chanting filled the air as thousands of citizens converged the plaza. Black Smoke filled the air as enraged demonstrators hurled anything with a Kian Union logo onto blazing pyres, the fire lent a hellish quality to the gathering as the crowd raged around the burning heaps. The flags of the member states of the Union were lit in petrol by screaming protestors who hurled them to the ground in disgust. Everywhere the same word was repeated in ever-growing volume, it was a deafening roar as thousands spoke in unison

"NERBANGAL!!! NERBANGAL!!! NERBANGAL!!!!"

The crowd was growing impatient, police lines strained as they sought to keep the manic crowd from storming the gates of the presidential palace. A foreign observer might have wondered why people cheered for a ruler who denied them free speech and who dwelled in the lap of luxury while they slaved away for scraps, was it devotion or fear that made them cheer for Nerbangal? the truth was that in Karzastan those two emotions were largely the same. Licensed vendors moved through the crowds selling plastic bottles of water with images of the nation's leaders printed on the front, the faces of General Farroukh and Turab Nerbangal glaring out at their former subjects. The event seemed more like a festival than a political rally, people waited in the stifling Kianese heat for a man to address them from an air-conditioned podium, like supplicants before an image of God.

The cheering grew to a fever pitch as a horn blew announcing the arrival of the President, presidential guards marched onto the balcony of the palace and parted down the middle as a Nerban Nerbangal strode into view. He was not a tall man his family hailing from the rural province of Korkhand, he had the short and stocky build present on every sheepherder and peasant in eastern Karzastan, despite his stature he seemed to be an imposing figure, he possessed a charisma that the crowd was electrified by. Ascending the podium with a practised stride Nerban held out both hands as though attempting to embrace the people below, cheers drowned all other sounds.

President Nerbangal stared out at the plaza with two dark brown eyes that surveyed the scene in front of them like a composer before the start of a performance, he held out a hand for silence and watched as the crowd below fell into obedient whispering. He took a deep breath and exhaled letting the tension below build as the people awaited his words, Nerbangal enjoyed nothing better then the sensation of having all attention turned toward him as though he were the gravity upon which the world turned. Finally, after seconds that seemed like a painful eternity, he put the crowd out of their misery.

"People of Karzastan! Patriots of our Republic and loyal heirs of Kian! I have called you here my children because a grave injustice is being done by the northern dogs and their vile union! My noble predecessor General Farroukh, May Allab bless him, once said that Midir, Regunalia and Valencia are the three faces of Shaitan! Even now as I speak to you these colonizing devils brutalise and murder our brothers and sisters in Stakhr all to prop up their weak puppet as it wavers against the will of the Stakharian people!" he paused letting the rage in the already hyped up crowd build, more flags were burned and promises of death to the union were screamed

Hatred of the union was one of Nerbangals tried and true tools for maintaining the loyalty of his people, how easy it became for the average person to ignore the misery of their own life when there was a distant target they could blame for their ills. General Farroukh had long attempted to divide the continent between the southern Kianese who were the true heirs of the empire and those upstarts in the north who had arrived from afar and dislodged the native populations. The trouble in Stakhr had arrived at the perfect moment, grandstanding and political drama were Nerbangal's speciality and the conflict just across the border was the ideal excuse to indulge in both vices.

"The time for silence is over! the true heirs of Kian can no longer sit idly whilst the invaders corrupt and steal our birthright with gun and greed! today I am formally recognizing the lands liberated by the noble freedom fighters, those faithful soldiers of the Ten Rings! today we proclaim the Satrap and his men the only true authority in the land of Stakhr! Death to the Union! Long live Karzastan and Stakhr!" he roared his hand flailing wildly for emphasis as he did so

The Crowds roared their approval between booming shouts of his name, he turned and walked back into the air-conditioned comfort of the palace audience suites, a servant wiping his brow with a linen towel as he entered the cool interior. The day was going very well, his people's attention was now turned firmly north.

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

A metallic tapping greeted Nerban as he entered the sitting room, an elderly man in cargo pants and a black linen shirt sat across from the president, his face was a withered mass of wrinkles and sharp edges and his eyes were so cold they reminded Nerbangal of the ice on the Qorqir mountains. A claw-like prosthetic tapped impatiently on the arm of the ornate chair that the elderly man sat in, Nerbangal ignored the noise and gently lowered himself into the chair across from the man. A servant brought in steaming cups of black Karzan tea and offered the president a cigar which he took as the servant lit it with a match, taking a long inhale of his cigarette Nerbangal sat back in his chair and exhaled a stream of pungent white smoke as he took in the sight of his new guest.

"An impressive display," Herman Von Klaw said in a thick Hessunlander accent

The man known on the black market as "the Klaw" was seldom a welcome sight, his arrival always portended the coming of misery and death, Nerbangal cared little though as long as that suffering was imparted upon his enemies. Nerban's father Turab had been a valued customer of the Klaw, before the formers death and the latter's disappearance, he thought it appropriate that he was assuming his fathers position as a favoured client.

"I merely speak with the voice of the people" Nerban replied in mock humility

The truth was Nerban cared little for human beings, even his own family were little more than a means to an end, all of humanity existed to be an audience for the grand performance that was Nerban's life. This war in Stakhr concerned him about as much as anything did, which was to say very little, it was the opportunity to grip the world's attention and that of his own people that truly interested him, all things a means to an end.

"And it seems the people wish for Stakhr to be better armed" Von Klaw said with a knowing grin

Yes, arms for Stakhr meant plenty of dead Midraneans and their ilk, those northern swine that always seemed so quick to interfere in Nerbangals affairs, he would watch with vicious amusement as the weapons Von Klaw spread across the border were used to butcher the union's armies.

"The people want Stakhr to become a northern graveyard!" Nerbangal replied emphatically

"That can easily be arranged Herr President, the weapons I have should go a long way towards levelling the playing field," Von Klaw said in an assuring voice

"Good, you shall have all that you require, access to my ports, men, equipment and funding, ensure that the Ten Rings receives all that then they need to send the dogs of the union home in caskets," Nerbangal said in a commanding tone

"Herr President, I guarantee the war in Stakhr is about to become far less one-sided," Von Klaw said that wicked grin crossing his features

Von Klaw watched the president nod in approval, much like his father the young Nerbangal was a malignant narcissist, just being in the presence of the man's self-absorbed airs was profoundly irritating for Hermann, but business seldom dictated that a dealer should like his client. After years in hiding following Axle Skov's abortive attempt at silencing him, Von Klaw finally had an arena to ply his trade and a patron with the resources to finance it. Von Klaw grinned once more, business was about to become very lucrative.

Outskirts of Nazarabad, Stakhr
51st (Airborne) Commando Battalion, Illderian Marine Corps

The shadows of Illderian marines were cast on the streets of Nazarbad. The hot sun battered the marines the same way as they were battering the insurgents in the area. Commandant Schwern's squadron was already making small gains on the northern side of Nazarabad. Arresting alleged Ten Rings militants, supporters and informants with the help of KöMI. Going door-to-door to find any information about the whereabouts of the terrorist organization's HQ in the area.

"Alright boys start searching, standard procedure. Kick down doors, not civvies. Kill Ten Rings not locals." shouted Staff Sergeant Bölmer as his team dismounted from their Goldreichs*. Marines with their commando wings began the search, questioning locals.

Bölmer walked back to the vehicles and started searching for Schwern, as he was supposed to follow No. 1 Troop's convoy into the suburbs. A minute later the Commandant's MRAP pulled up to Bölmer's position and as the officer dismounted with his staff, a bullet ripped through the air and zipped next to Schwern. The four of them immediately ran for cover as their adrenaline started to kick in.

"SNIPER" shouted an unfortunate young marine as he got hit in the arm by the marksman. As the troop medic runs up to the Küstenjaeger, Bölmer points at Hather, Kömir and Christopf, three of his best men to follow him. The 4 run up to a nearby building, while an inexperienced gunner sprays the nearby buildings and tower with his MG 4, just missing Bölmer's assault team.

Just as the assault team arrived at the base of the tower, the shooting stopped. Realizing this, Kömir along with Bölmer ran to the door to breach it, but it was already open. It looked as if the KöMI detachment got their first. This suspicion became true when paramilitary officers from the KG-ZbV* were already searching the dead body of the insurgent sniper.

"Well, well, well. Nice to see you here, talking all the credit" said Bölmer, after he walked up the stairs.

"You can take all of it, we don't care, we just need clues, information" said the OC of the KöMI unit, while he was searching the body of the sniper, pulling a folded map out of the insurgents pockets.

Outskirts of Nazarabad, Stakhr
Joint Expeditionary Base, 42nd Airborne Division

Both the marines and KöMI agents returned to the base. They reentered into an environment that was constantly changing and was on the move. The marines went to their barracks, looking back at the KöMI commando as they went into their command tent.

Vizeleutnant var Rothman's team entered the tent, which was filled with the command staff of 42nd Fallschirmjaegers. The deputy of var Rothman, grabbed a map out of his pockets, laying it out on the table. This map contained a suspected ammunition and logistics cache marked with a red cross. With this conformation, high command was ready to carry out their search and destroy operation that they've been planning for weeks.


------------------------------------------------------------------------
*KG-ZbV: Kommandogruppe zur besonderen Verwendung/Commando Group for special duties: KöMI's external paramilitary and covert operations group
*Goldreich: A Light tactical multirole vehicle of Predicean origin, built under license by Walter König Autos, used by most of Illderia's security forces

Deep in the Stakhari mountains

The convoy moved through the darkness with only headlights and the ominous glow of the moon for illumination. The roads, such as they were, were little more than long expanses of gravel, rock, and dust, it had been a hard journey and the drivers were all on edge. Getting out of Karzastan had been an easy task, aided considerably by the government's decision to look the other way on arms shipments, but out here in the warzone, the threat of union airstrikes and checkpoint searches were very real.

However, the convoy had advanced with almost unnatural speed, bypassing checkpoints and sidestepping air patrols with contemptible ease. Now they had only to deliver their precious cargo and get paid, the Tariqi brotherhoods stronghold loomed ahead of them. The radical group had arrived in Stakhr by the thousands, drawn north by the call of their cleric the aging Hassan Nurmatov to take up arms against the faithless dogs of the union.

The Tariqi had wasted no time setting up countless outposts in Stakhr’s poorly governed south, countless hidden strongpoints and training camps filled the mountainous regions of southern Stakhr. This was no mere camp, however, the network of caves and camouflaged tents belonged to the leadership of the brotherhood. This militant organization had migrated En masse on orders from their prophet.

“Fools dancing on Nerbangal’s strings,” Herman thought to himself coldly

The Tariqi believed they had come to fight a holy war, the truth was far less inspiring, their aging leader had never made any such declaration, he was somewhere in Karzastan rotting in a gilded cage. The truth was that this so-called holy war was in fact nothing more than another one of Nerbangal’s games, albeit a game supported by the cynical ambitions of men within the brotherhood.

A guard in khaki fatigues moved toward the lead truck his rifle raised, a flashlight filled the front cabin temporarily blinding the occupants. The guard was yelling in Karzan, Herman didn’t need to be fluent in the language to know what he was saying, it was always the same tired script with guards.

“Kill your engines and identify yourselves!!” The guard called out in a commanding voice

Herman nodded to the driver who turned off the truck's engines, the vehicle shuddering slightly as its overworked motor finally went silent. Herman opened the truck's heavy door with a creak and stepped onto the ground his boots crunching on the gravel as he did so. The guard moved forward continuing to bark orders at him.

“Enough Basim! Can't you see a weapons shipment when you see it!?” a loud man's voice roared

Upon hearing this the guard lowered his rifle and stood to one side in nervous obedience, heavy boot falls filled the night air as a shadowy figure emerged from the cave entrance. Mohsin Sabirov strode into view, he was wearing a mix of military gear and traditional Karzan robes, like a priest that had gotten lost in an army surplus store.

He was an ugly man, a potbellied amalgamation of muscle and fat, his few remaining teeth were slithers of yellowing bone and the side of his face bore the marks of the pox. What Mohsin lacked in looks, however, he more than made up for with ruthlessness and keen political opportunism. He was a good customer, but also a pitiful swine of a man who was little better than a glorified lackey to Nerbangal.

Herman did not like Mohsin, not that such a thing was required for business, but he considered the current head of the brotherhood to be an odious sort. Mohsin had eagerly betrayed his master Nurmatov, willingly allowing the movement to be co-opted into Nerbangal’s schemes. Under false pretense, the man had led his brothers across the mountains, eager to claim power for himself far from the oppressive control of Karzastan.

It wasn’t so much that Von Klaw objected to such methods, he himself had never let attachments get in the way of his goals, it was more that he could not help but despise a weak man who could not stand on his own two feet. Still, the money was good and repeat business assured and so Von Klaw did what he always had, he put weapons into paying hands and kept his judgments in the dark.

“Herr Klaw!” Mohsin called out with a smirk

“Von Klaw” Herman corrected in an Icey tone

He might have lost his holdings in Gottia long ago, but he would not have his noble title mangled by this clown, even now his aristocratic pride remained.

“My apologies! Come let us see what you have brought us”

Hermann merely nodded and gestured to the trucks with his prosthetic hand, his men knew the signal well and promptly began unloading crates of munitions and weaponry. One of the men cracked open a box to reveal the deadly contents within. Countless assault rifles lay stacked within the tightly packed crate, enough small arms and ammunition to equip a small army.

“Skandan type 58s! Excellent" Mohsin beamed as he gazed upon the weapons

It was like amusing a child with cheap toys, the rifles would be useful certainly but it was the next crate that would prove to be the unions true nightmare. The crate opened with a crack to reveal countless metallic tubes.

“Kozarian Strela 4 surface to air launchers, with these weapons you will be capable of hitting even the fastest moving union air asset”

“How did you manage to get these across the border?!” Mohsin exclaimed in shock

“I have my ways, that is all you need to know,” Von Klaw said his tone dismissive

A well-placed word here, a casual threat there and all lubricated by a language every customs official in Eras understood, that of bribery. Von Klaw wasn’t about to spill his hard-earned secrets to a fool like Mohsin, but suffice to say there were few places the Gottian arms dealer could not infiltrate. He had built an empire on the movement of weapons and when it had come crashing down on him in 1989? He had spent the next thirty years building it back cell by cell into a stronger beast, one that even Axle Skov would not be able to dismantle so easily.

There would a reckoning one day, that much Von Klaw was certain of, as long as both men continued to draw breath a confrontation was inevitable. Stakhr was merely another move in a greater game and all moves lead eventually, inevitably, toward a final battle with that accursed Prydanian. in his own way Von Klaw was leaving a trail for Skov to follow, breadcrumbs in the form of countless destructive conflicts, one day his nemesis would pick up that trail and then they would finally decide who was truly superior. Von Klaws thoughts were interrupted as Mohsin broke the silence with his obnoxious presence once more.

“BRING HIS PAYMENT!!!” Mohsin barked to a nearby subordinate

Moments later a case appeared and was placed upon one of the unopened crates, Mohsin grinned and opened the case with a satisfying click. The insides glittered like stars as countless diamonds were revealed, almost certainly acquired illegally and likely through no small amount of brutality, such commodities were the lifeblood that fueled the arms trade.

“Good, my men will unload the remaining cargo, our business is concluded,” Von Klaw said turning to leave

“For now, at least, I will need more such weapons” Mohsin called after him

“You shall have them, provided you have the means to pay” Von Klaw replied matter-factly without turning to look back

The money itself was of little interest to Von Klaw, it was a means to an end and nothing more, he had made countless fortunes in his lifetime. No, money was not the motivation behind Von Klaw’s operations, he was driven by something far more terrible. Von Klaw lived for the thrill of the trade, the godlike power that being able to put weapons into any man's hands gave him. He could change the outcome of any war, topple entire nations and alter the path of history simply by serving as the man who armed Eras.

There was no greater thrill than the manipulation of world events, it was the ultimate pursuit against which trivial pleasures such as drink or the finer things in life all proved hollow. He had enough money to dwell in luxury until the heat death of the universe, but why recline in a state of indulgence when he could make the world dance upon its strings. Nerbangal might have liked to think himself the sole master of the chessboard but Von Klaw was simply content to keep his own moves hidden.

Local Time: 12:00 PM Regunalian Standard Time,
Baneh,
Stakhr

Kristina Robinson is given a light blue helmet and matching ballistic vest, both with 'PRESS' emblazoned across their front and back. The camera crew and producers are in similar helmets and vest

[TVR 2 Producer signaling from behind the camera]: 3...2...1...live
[Kristina Robinson]: "Good morning Centria and good morning Regunalia. I am Kristina Robinson with T-V-R 2, your official source for royal news, kingdom-wide. I am coming to you live on location in Baneh, Stakhr with a special edition of the Evening News. Some time ago now, the measure to increase funding for the Regunalian war effort in Stakhr passed virtually by the skin of its teeth. My team and I have been extended an invitation by the Regunalian Royal Army to witness firsthand the effects of that decision in Stakhr which we accepted without delay. We find ourselves on the northern edge of Baneh where any minute a Regunalian Royal Army convoy is scheduled to drop off and distribute vaccines, medicines, and other medical supplies, as well as various foodstuffs, earmarked for the people of Baneh."

Off in the distance to the north, two long blows of what sounds like a truck's air horn can be faintly heard

[Stakhri Citizen running excitedly from a hill immediately to the north of Baneh]: "Trucks! Trucks on the horizon!"

The Regunalian convoy comes into view on the horizon, led by a Squad Transport Vehicle, with alternating armored trucks and STVs behind, all flying Royal Regunalian Army pennants. The convoy is composed of five food trucks, four medical supply trucks, and eleven STVs. The convoy rolls into the town and parks in a line covering the southern and western approaches to the town square. Regunalian army personnel fan out and secure a perimeter around the convoy and the town square and begin unloading and distributing supplies. It is at this point that Mayor Pasha Sheriyari makes an appearance, and is seen to shake hands with the convoy commander and himself help unload the supplies. None of them are considering the possibility of an attack by the Ten Rings. They wouldn't attack a humanitarian aid mission, would they?

Nobody wants to be a resistance fighter.

Maybe some people, especially young idealistic people from prosperous lands, think they do. Maybe they think they have a deep moral imperative or that their causes as that worthwhile, that being willing to take a life is something they will eagerly consider.

But even these wayward fools are lying to themselves. Because soon they realize what everyone else already knows- no one wants to be a resistance fighter.

To do so means to abandon all comforts and securities. ALL of them. Even the basic security that was a citizen of your country you will be afford some semblance of dignity. Because you're a rebel. You've forsaken everything. Everyone. No comfort you have now can be taken for granted. You've become someone outside of everything, raging against a system determined to stamp you out.

I know this. I understood this even before I practiced it.
That's what makes me effective at what I do.

I am the Satrap. And I have convinced an army of young men to live and die for me in the arid mountains of Stakhr.
Not just because I give them an enemy but because I understand their pains, doubts, and discomforts.

Even the most devout will hesitate if the cause demands they die for it.
But reach out and nurture his soul, understand his suffering, and promise him an uplifting struggle, and he WILL ride defiantly against the cold, blinding light of our enemy towards certain death.

In many ways I feel like my own life is in free fall. I am where I am because I have no choice. I cannot escape from the path I'm on. Not now. But in many other ways I've never felt so sure of myself.

---

Baneh, Stakhr

Hadish Afsheri looked down at the ring he'd been given. It had the Stakhri word for faith emblazoned on its jewel.

The Satrap would often give his rings to his commanders for important missions. Very telling that this ring said "faith." He'd need faith for this mission.

Though he wondered why he had the ring. The Ten Rings attacked many convoys. Not all of the attack leaders got rings. What made this one different? Was it merely the target? That the beloved Satrap maybe felt he needed the reminder? Faith in the cause?
Or was there something more?

That was not for him to decide. It was for him to follow his leader's will. May it wash across Stakhr and cleanse it of the Kian Union stain.

"We all have a task before us brothers," Hadish said to his men.
"May we die, doing good deeds. For glorious ends."

---

The mountain pass provided a covered approach to the town. It was these mountain pathways that were the lifeblood of the Ten Rings. They could spill out into the countryside and overtake a town, and retreat into the mountains. The Stakhri government and their KU allies could impotently whack at the deals that retreated before they could grab hold.

And now they were ready to lash out. Hadish looked at the ring.
"I don't know why you chose me, Satrap, but I will not fail."

He looked over the town. There were the Regunalian trucks....

"Fire!" he ordered into his com. And one of his men armed with rocket launchers let one fly. Like the breath of a dragon it hit one of the convoy trucks!

The Ten Rings' own convoy of trucks then sped down, advancing on the town. The Regunalians were better armed. They had to strike while there was confusion....

Deep in the Stakhari mountains


The fighter watched in the dark as the union helicopters buzzed overhead, he glared at them as though his hatred would be enough to tear them from the skies. The stalemate had been ongoing for months, the Tariqi and their ten rings' allies had fought the union to a standstill on multiple fronts, villages were seized and towns fell only to be reclaimed by the union. The fighter had lost count of the number of comrades he had lost to union airpower, countless lives snuffed out in seconds by the overwhelming firepower of far-off warplanes.

The Tariqi had attempted to fight back against the demons in the sky with all manner of primitive defenses, but against modern aircraft aging flak guns and rockets were like prodding the backside of a giant with splinters. That would end tonight, finally, the playing field would be leveled, the one known as the Klaw had gifted the brotherhood with weapons with which to strike at the sky.

The Strela 4 was a modern missile system, capable of striking at the once invulnerable hides of KU air forces, they now had countless launchers and a vast supply of ordinance, and the time for vengeance had come. The fighter watched as the targeting reticle on the side of his launcher began tracking the passing helicopters, a frantic beeping growing more rapid as a lock was ascertained.

“In the name of the faithful, death to the invaders!” the fighter hissed under his breath as he pulled the trigger

A streak of smoke and fire illuminated the night sky as the missile left its housing and screeched upward in search of its target. Other tails of flame soon joined the fighter's own, countless more of his comrades launching their own missiles at the hated enemy. The sky was alight with fire and explosions as the hunter became the hunted, the fighter suppressed the urge to cheer loudly knowing the danger of revealing his position.

It was the beginning of a new phase in the war, no longer would the union dogs be safe in their flying beasts, and now even the skies would burn.

Nights trouble me.
It's not that I don't wish to sleep, but I can't. The vast darkness of the sky preys on my imagination from when I was a young boy, a curiosity that even the hard path I have chosen cannot snuff out.

It's more than this though. More than the curiosity of the night. I am troubled. The Kian Union, the Regunalians...

I sit in bed and pour a glass of water, drinking it before I exhume in contentment.

Regunalia. I was already a grown man, already leading the Ten Rings, when "King" Sterling unified the lands to the North. As much as I was focused on my own country, and our struggles, I was unable to escape the gaze northward.

In many ways Sterling's transformation of Regulaia must be respected. It was the end result of pure vision and iron will. One man's desire to impose on history his future.

But wars are not fought against shadows. Nor scarecrows.They're fought against real men. And I met one.

Stuart Hayley. Who led the cave insurgency to fight Regunalia's unification alongside various other rebel bands.

He is dead. Sterling Thornton is alive. His son rules in his place.

But Stewart Hayley fought for an ideal. And he came with a warning. That though the Thorntons looked north then they would look south soon.

For a long while they didn't come. And I met this "King" Leonidas when he was crowned.
I was curious. Wondering if through him maybe, perhaps, something could be built? He was, after all, allowed to succeed his father on the belief that he would allow for new ideas.

But when the jackals seized control of our country and begged him to come to their aid did he resist himself? No. He did what Stewart Hayley warned his father would do. He came south.

I do not hate kings. Kings are special things. Ceremony and tradition. It's how we give meaning to our lives. And singular people can inspire loyalty for a cause. I've seen that in Prydania.

But this Regunalian "King" is no King. The military drips from every pour. The urge to crush, the urge to dominate. This is no King, but a man with a hammer. And when you have a hammer everything is a nail.

The Kian Union will not rest until we are beaten. Of that I am sure. Maybe meeting Stewart Hayley those years ago was a sign? A vision of my future?

But the Ten Rings has survived for a millennia. It will take more than KU ordinance to end us.