The West Vaasa Conflict


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2 miles northwest of Yelamki,
West Vaasa, Arcanstotska
15 September, 2020
4:30 AM

The city lights shined brightly in the distance, further down the shoreline. The noises of the city, though faint from where the group of about thirty or fourty were standing, could still be heard. Trade ships appeared as blackened silhouettes on the ocean horizon sprinkled with lit windows as they were pulling into port. They could even see the under-construction skyscrapers being built by the new government.

By a government not their own.

March of 2020 brought with it the Arcanstotskan invasion of W. Vaasa and the final collapse of the Ereion state which had oppressed the Vaasan people for such a long time. While most of the region’s residents supported joining with Arcanstotska, many instead placed their hope in an independent West Vaasan state. A hope which was squashed when West Vaasa was officially incorporated into Arcanstotska in April following a referendum.

Once again the people of Vaasa found themselves beneath the rule of a foreign state. The Arcanstotskans were not the Vaasans. They did not speak the same language, they did not share the same culture, and they did not share the same blood. They were foreigners. They were occupiers. They were yet more oppressors who merely had yet to show their methods of oppression. And yet most of the locals supported joining Arcanstotska. The group of young men and women by the shoreline hadn’t considered or pondered as to why, but instead they merely allowed the passion and anger of youth to twist and turn them inside where it fused with a love for their home and their people. They were angry in ways only the young could be. The West Vaasan people had grown soft and weak, they told themselves.

Those Arcanstotskan bastard rats would leave West Vaasa or suffer for their occupation. They just needed the weapons and money so they and their comrades in waiting could achieve West Vaasa’s independence.

A light started flashing off and over the water. One of the group’s numbers, a woman who looked about 20, grabbed a flashlight and turned it off and on as a sort of morse code. A small boat pulled up on the beach, its crew jumping out to haul it ashore assisted by three men who had run out to help. The boat was about the length and height of a house; small enough not to be noticed in the dark, yet large enough to transport its cargo. The cargo was largely weapons, explosives, money, and ammunition. Exactly what they needed. They didn’t need to worry about being spotted on the beach by any late-night strollers; the beach had been off limits for years.

One man from the group stood up on a stone. “Alright, start loading the cargo onto the trucks! We have to get these back to the complex before dawn! Move it!” Everyone else jumped to their feet and began moving the large containers into the pickups which they had brought with them.

“You all know what to do,” one of the men from the boat said to the leaders of the group while the rest moved the packages. “No one must know of our involvement.” The leaders nodded.

6:00 AM
The sun was only just beginning to peak over the eastern horizon, bathing that side of the complex in a bright morning light. The automatic gates retreated behind the walls surrounding the complex as trucks carrying the cargo were hauled in. It was the last they needed to launch their plan. The trucks parked up against the south wall. Men and women ran out of the complex to start unloading the munitions and money they needed and hauling the crates into the complex.

The oldest of the group which had gone to pick up the supplies jumped out of the driver’s side of his pickup. “That’s the last bit we need. Everything is ready.”

An older man, somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, stood in front of the complex door with his hands dug into his pockets. “You have a flight to Ramelensk later this evening. Some of our sympathizers are working at the airports. They will help you smuggle your gear and weapons onboard the plane. When we hear the news of your attack, we shall begin the uprising. West Vaasa will be an independent state by New Years.” The older man pulled out a lighter and a thick brown cigar. “I just need you to send the message to those pig-dog occupiers of ours.”

“Yes sir!” The young man saluted before marching off with his group to get ready. Everyone was dressed in old Ereionese army uniforms with any and all Ereionese symbols removed, along with army boots and other throwaway military gear.

There were complexes like this one hidden all over the West Vaasan countryside, packed with weapons and fighters ready to unleash hell upon what they perceived to be an occupation of their homeland. The money would be used for bribing locals to their cause and buying more weapons and supplies should the need arise. The old man had no doubts in his mind that Arcanstotska would give in to their demands; that after this attack they’d be far too afraid to stand against his cause.

Ramelensk Port
Later that evening…

The evening saw no end to the cargo ships coming and going with goods. Ramelensk was a busy city. The night sky was at great contrast to the brightly lit port. Airliners could be heard over head every now and again.

One kept getting louder and closer. People finally saw it diving towards them and ran from the port in a panicked frenzy.


A massive explosion erupted from the port as a commercial airliner crashed into the administrative buildings. Body parts and hunks of burning metal were sent flying in every direction. Police, firefighters, and emergency response personnel were on the scene minutes later. The port was in flames. It took hours to put all the fires out.

Back in West Vaasa
The old man sat in a dark room with a sky mask over his face so as to conceal his identity. Standing on either side of him were two individuals dressed in military gear and ski masks, each carrying a Type 72 in their arms. Before him was a camera mounted on a tripod.

The news had just come in: a plane had crashed into the Ramelensk port. It was time.

The man standing behind the camera turned it on broadcast.

“Brothers and sisters,” the man began, “for so long we have struggled under the oppressive overlordship of the Ereionese. For years did we strive for independence; for a state of our own. A state for the people of West Vaasa. But now, with the collapse of the Ereionese state, we find ourselves under the overlordship of yet another foreign people: the Arcanstotskans.

“They claim that they want to help us rebuild and prosper. They claim they want us to be happy. But this is a lie. They are waiting for us to become weak and soft and vulnerable so they can return us to the pain of the past. Many have already grown complacent with the rule of these foreigners.

“But not us.

“We fight for an independent West Vaasan state, as is our right. Brothers and sisters, the revolution is now! Go forth and seize your liberty! Find our foreign occupiers and annihilate them where they stand! Their sympathizers too must be punished!

“And to the Arcanstotskan bastard rats who would dare call us a part of their country, know this: we are not some gang of teenagers or criminal mobs. We are a real force. We can strike wherever and whenever we desire. And so long as West Vaasa remains under your occupation, the blood of your kin shall be on your hands!.”

Trucks flooded onto the streets of towns throughout West Vaasa, machine guns mounted in their backs. Men and women armed with assault rifles and submachine guns poured out and stormed local administrative offices. In Yelamki, the militants managed to overpower the local police and storm city hall. A West Vaasan Free State was declared from city square. Local politicians who had supported integrating with Arcanstotska earlier in the year either fled further inland or were executed for treason against West Vaasa’s people. The roads and railways leading in and out of the West Vaasa province were blockaded by militants, and anyone trying to enter or leave without permission from the provisional government was dragged from their drivers seat and shot.

Despite the fact that there were many in the countryside who took up arms of their own in an attempt to resist the insurrectionists, and the fact that Fort Pyotr had continued to hold out, the insurrectionists held control over vast swathes of the West Vaasa region.

Just like that, an entire part of the nation was being held hostage.
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City Hall Building, Yelamki,
West Vaasan Free State
September 17th, 2020
9:48 PM

Kuno Lehning stepped into the meeting room to be greeted with a group of men all seated around a large table blanketed in a detailed map of the West Vaasa region. At the moment he entered, an explosion erupted a few blocks away and could be seen through the window. Immediately all eyes in the room turned towards it, and for a moment some of them caught fear that there may be a chance that the military was pushing back. “Calm yourselves, gentlemen,” he spoke up, clearly so as to catch everyone’s attention. “I assure you, our section of the city is secure and it's only a matter of time before the last holdouts of resistance fall.”

Sporadic gunfire could still be heard in parts of the city as West Vaasan separatists clashed with local police and Arcanstotskan soldiers desperately trying to contain the situation. Or rather, what was left of them. The city police were destroyed; burning police cruisers dotted the streets here and there, along with the bodies of the men and women who had stood against the uprising. Only a handful of officers were still standing. Only the Arcanstotskan military still put up any serious resistance.

Things were going well.

“Alright,” Kuno concluded, taking his seat at the head of the table. “What’s our current situation in the rest of the region? How much longer until it’s fully secure?” A man with whitening hair stood up from his seat. He was dressed in an old Ereionese officer’s uniform decorated in medals which he had done little, if anything, to earn aside from being an associate of Lehning. He looked down unto the massive map unfolded across the table and pointed over to a number of countryside regions circled in red. “Militias loyal to the Arcanstotskans have been pushed out of most of the countryside towns, although they have retreated deeper into the countryside. They’ve taken up residence in the forests and fields. We have troops already in pursuit.” The man then turned his attention to the portion of the map resting just in front of Kuno. The man walked over and spent a moment looking down on the map before he continued. “As for the city of Yelamki itself, there are some isolated pockets of military and police resistance. Thus far, they’ve been overwhelmed. It should be ours complete”

“Good,” Kuno replied, “I want them captured or dead; we can’t allow them to link up with the Arcanstotskans.”

“Speaking of the Arcanstotskans,” the man continued, “over a month has passed since we began the revolution. Arcanstotskan army and air force assets have begun moving into position to attack. It’s only a matter of days at most until they push back.”

Kuno didn’t like to admit it, but he knew the man was right. He had been notified throughout the last three weeks of enemy forces moving into positions to strike. “What’s our plan of resistance for when they do attack?”

“Currently, Chancellor Lehning,” the man spoke, “a guerilla campaign is our only real chance.”


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Khanapa Cemetery
Khanapa, Vorkudny Province, Arcanstotska
September 28th, 2020
7:30 PM

The flowers were still alive and colorful, though it wouldn’t be long before that changes. There were some other people at the cemetery, having come to pay respects to their dead friends or family. Maybe both. Arkadiy couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the ones they had come to honor died the same way his sister had. He knew he’d probably never know the answer; one can’t just walk up and casually ask how another’s loved one perished. Among the others present was the Gorbunov family; Arkadiy could see Mr. and Mrs. Gorbunov standing by a grave a few yards away.

Arkadiy’s eyes shifted back to his own sister’s gravestone, a slab of deep black marble and granite sticking up from the ground where his sibling was laid to rest just a few days earlier. Or rather, what was left of her. Arkadiy hadn’t gotten to see her body; that’s how bad it was. They said she was in the same building the plane crashed into. All they had left of her in terms of physical objects were her belongings, as well as old family photos and videos. The grave was surrounded with bouquets of flowers; roses, tulips, and her favorite: carnation.

11 JUN, 1991 - 15 SEPT 2020

Arkadiy’s father was on a knee beside the grave, his hands up to his head in prayer. Arkadiy’s mother took a few hours to stop crying. As for Arkadiy himself, he hadn’t cried as much but he still did. But Arkadiy’s father also cried; even longer than his mother.

Arkadiy’s father never cried, not for anything. He had never seen his father cry for anything his entire life. That man was always more of a “strong and silent” type of person. He didn’t find it surprising; he couldn’t imagine any parent being capable of holding back tears after the loss of their child, though he still found it odd.

His father finally rose to his feet and walked back to his truck and came back with another bouquet for the grave. He walked up the grave slowly and placed the flowers gently upon the grass in front of the stone. He stretched his back after standing back up, flinching from the pain. His back was bad these days, something that just came with his line of work after so many years.

His father had worked in the logging industry, cutting down trees for over thirty years. It had taken its toll on him; his back was bad and painful and he was dealing with some nasty arthritis. Still, he was tough. Even though it hurt, he would always try to work through it.

Especially now. Especially for this. Especially for her.

Arkadiy’s father kissed the tips of his fingers and touched them against the gravestone over the name. He got up, walked back to the truck and climbed into the passenger seat. Arkadiy followed and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Arkadiy and Alyona never really got along as children, constantly fighting over the smallest things. She had always bossed him around and teased him, and he would always find some way to get back at her, which only ever led to her getting paypack over his payback. It was an endless cycle for years. It wasn’t until he turned fourteen that they started to grow closer as siblings.

But none of that mattered now. At least he still had the memories.

When the two got home they found Arkadiy’s mother looking through old family photographs of Alyona. Birthdays, family trips, holidays, everything and anything. “Dinner’s ready,” she said in a saddened, monotone voice, motioning towards the kitchen counter. There was just an oven-cooked pizza sitting on the counter, with only a single slice missing. “I didn’t feel like cooking.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

Dinner was quiet; no one spoke. No one touched their pizza either. Arkadiy needed to get something off his chest. He knew he had to tell them but he was scared of how they’d react.

Best to rip it off quickly. Like a band-aid. He looked up from his plate, stating bluntly, clearly, and suddenly,

“I’m enlisting in the army.”

Immediately his mother’s eyes shot up at him in sheer horror of the notion. He could already see a new waterfall’s worth of tears building up in them. “No. No! NO! Absolutely not! You’re not joining the army, Arkadiy!”

He brought his eyes to meet her’s. “It’s too late. I’ve already spoken to the recruiter and signed the enlistment papers. I have to report for some exams day-after-tomorrow. After that, it’s off to basic training and then I go to fight in West Vaasa.”

His mother’s voice was already shaky, and tears were pouring from her eyes. “So what, you want to run off and fight in some war! We just lost Alyona! We can’t lose you too!

“You have responsibilities here! You have family here! We need you here!”

“And what would you have me do, then!?” Arkadiy shot back. “Sit here, cry, and do nothing!?” His mother looked shocked from his response. She rose from her seat and ran back to the bedroom to sob. Arkadiy turned to his father, who had thus far been quiet.

Silent with tears in his eyes. And one already down his cheek.

“Father,” he leaned over, “you have to understand. I can’t just sit here and do nothing while the people who killed Alyona are out there doing the things they’re doing.”

His father’s eyes looked up from the table and met Arkadiy directly. He could see the fear. His eyes were screaming out in fear for Arkadiy. Fear that he might not return.

“Arkadiy, I want you to listen to me very carefully.” He could feel his stomach sink at those words. “I want you to promise me one thing.”

“Yes father?”

“I want you to promise me that you’ll come home. I don’t give a single shit what you have to do and how bad the things you have to do may be. I don’t give a single damn shit about any of that. You. Come. Home. Alive. No matter what.

“Do you understand me, Arkadiy?” His voice too had begun to shake from the tears. Arkadiy knew he couldn’t promise anything, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to confess such a thing.

“I promise.”

His father lept up from his seat and embraced his son, finally succumbing to the tears.

Then the rain started, partially drowning out the sound of his mother’s wails of sorrow in the background.

He had no expectation of survival. At least now he knew he had good motivation.


Some sad music to go with this post
Yelamki Airport, Yelamki
West Vaasan Free State
September 18th, 2020
8:45 AM

In the wee hours of the morning, planes began landing on the airstrip at Yelamki Airport onboard the planes, soldiers waited to exit them. The planes taxied themselves out of the way of the oncoming planes and began to disembark from the planes onto the tarmac. The officers exited first their outfits not fitting of the usual officer motif, they were not dressed in their officer attire but, wearing black wool sweaters, Black beanies, and black sweatpants. These men watched as dozens upon dozens of soldiers exited off of the transport planes onto the tarmac. After the planes had landed and all the troops disembarked the officers' lined the men up in the center of the tarmac and awaited the arrival of West Vassan officials.
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8:50 AM
Gunfire, though faint, could still be heard in distant parts of the city. The airport, however, was firmly under the Separatists' control.

Five jeeps pulled up to the tarmac. Some separatist soldiers stepped out of four of the vehicles, armed with assault rifles and machine pistols, slouching up against the vehicles or walking around. Some were dressed in old camouflage military uniforms made for the increasingly cold temperatures. Others wore non-camouflage civilian clothing which were also meant to suit Northern Craviter's cold September temperatures. Some of the soldiers wore masks or beanies or just simple black and gray ball caps.

A man, dressed in a black trench coat, stepped out from one of the jeeps. He took a moment to look across the large group of foreign soldiers before approaching the black-clothed officers, flanked on either side by Separatist soldiers.

"Is this all of them?" He asked them.
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West-Vaasan/Arcansotskan Border Region
November 25th, 2020
1:10 PM

The armoured column’s anxious silence was only broken up by the sounds of engines and the crunch of dead leaves under treads and wheels. The train of half a dozen tanks and almost 50 APCs stretched back along the road. To their right, down into the valley, flowed a picturesque river. On their left, the valley turned to forested hills. The soldiers packed inside were far from the friendliness that Arcanstotskan citizens had showered them with as they rolled through each town. The West Vaasans wouldn’t be shaking hands and giving them bouquets. Towns were empty and the countryside was quiet. They were meant to push slightly into the rebellious province and establish a front line of fortifications in order to be ready to push after forward the air campaign had devastated the West Vaasan supply and morale. Feelings were mixed. Other than some officers, these men had never seen live combat. Some were excited, others nervous.

The frontmost driver spoke urgently and each driver’s radio squeaked “Convoy, Spear 1, halt. Halt. Over.”

The column complied, and the roof-mounted guns of the APCs swung sideways to watch the hills. A voice questioned, “Spear 1, this is Command. What’s the situation? Over.”

The driver responded, “Copy. In the road-”

With a bang, a rocket-propelled grenade soared out of the trees, heading straight towards the side of the frontmost tank. The active protection system detected the projectile before any of the soldiers had even processed the attack, launching a counter-rocket from the turret and detonating the incoming rocket before it could hit. A flurry of gunfire came from deep in the forest, and the turrets of each tank and APC swivelled to return fire. The order to dismount came, and soldiers filed out. Some dove for cover in the roadside drainage ditch, others ran behind the safety of their carriers. The whole hillside was peppered with a mind-boggling volume of fire, and it was soon joined by underbarrel-launched grenades.

A few minutes after contact, mortar fire from far back in the column pounded the insurgent positions, and by the fifth salvo, their guns had fallen silent. The troopers in the ditch and behind their carriers cautiously moved up the hill, ready to continue the fight, but they reached their foe’s position without any more opposition. They found no foxholes or trenches, only bullet and shrapnel riddled bodies. These fighters were dressed in mostly earth-tone civilian clothes and seemed to be armed relatively lightly. Other than the RPG’s they had managed to gather, they mostly had 7.62 caliber rifles, probably stolen from Arcanstotskan military arms caches. The dismounted soldiers recovered what weapons they could to prevent their use in the future, and also began looting for personal treasures. After the officers had enough of their taking of West Vaasan patches and wristwatches, they returned to the column, coming back aboard. The wounded were carried back to trucks which turned around and began taking them back to the nearest aid station. While they had passed the sign telling them they were entering West Vaasa miles back, they hadn’t truly been in rebel country until they had been shot at.

Fourteen soldiers badly injured, no deaths.
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Yelamki Airport, Yelamki
West Vaasan Free State
September 18th, 2020
8:52 AM

An officer turned to the man and replied. "Yes, all five hundred of them. The air units should be ready in a matter of hours."

He said speaking Mercanti in a thick accent. The man in the trench coat looked around at the soldiers and nodded.
"Get your men situated and head to the town hall, Mr. Lehning will get you familiarized with the situation."

The officer nodded and saluted the man. The man in the trench coat saluted back and entered his car leaving the airport. Soon after the man had left the officers commanded the four hundred seventy-five soldiers to meet up with West Vaasan forces that were a few miles away. In the meantime, the twenty-five officers that had been sent to advise and assist the West Vaasans in their efforts climbed into their humvees and drove to the town hall to meet with Mr. Lehning.

Yelamki Town Hall, Yelamki
West Vaasan Free State
September 18th, 2020
9:10 AM

The officers arrive at the town hall after an eighteen-minute drive through the city of Yelamki. The guards out front of the building approach the convoy of Vehicles and wave for them to approach. The cars roll up to the sidewalk next to the building and the officers proceed to exit their vehicles and enter the building. The men entered the building and crowded into a conference room on the bottom floor of the building. Inside was Mr. Lehning an older man of large stature, balding wearing an old army uniform. He greeted the men at the door and waited a minute until the officers were in the room. He began to update the officers on the situation in West Vaasa saying that the Arcanstotskans have been forced out of the West Vaasan region except for a few pockets and that Arcanstotskan forces are moving into position. He also informed the officers of the plan to halt the Arcanstotskan forces by using a guerilla war campaign which he hopes will force the Arcanstotskans to give up and let the West Vaasans stay independent. From the front one of the officers after he was done giving the brief raised a hand and asked.

"So what are we to do?" He asked with a light accent. Mr. Lehning turned to the officer and replied.

"I would like your forces to help us coordinate defenses and also perform raids on the Arcanstotskan forces and any other enemy forces we may come across. I would also like you to assist in the air and keep their air forces at bay." The officer nodded and then along with the other men they spread out through the town hall to help assist the West Vaasans.
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December 4th, 2020
7:30 PM
Altenfurt, West Vaasa

Arkadiy couldn’t keep his eyes shut. The anxiety felt almost overwhelming. Basic training and the instructors did all they could to prepare him for combat, but that didn’t stop the intense feeling of unease. He had been trying to sleep inside the APC but he just couldn’t keep his eyes shut.

Altenfurt itself was rather small. Arkadiy’s convoy unit was passing through the town square. Everything outside was quiet. No bystanders or civilians or Separatists to be seen. The town seemed dead.

His NCO looked over and nudged him with his elbow. “You good, private?”

“Uh yes, Sergeant Ryzhkov.”

The sergeant chuckled. “I get it; you’re nervous and anxious. I was too right before my first time in combat. Just keep your head down, remember your training, and you’ll be fine.”

Sergeant Ryzhkov had been on the ground since November when ground forces first started moving into Separatist territory, whereas Arkadiy had only just gotten out of basic training and arrived at his unit two days ago. Arkadiy had occasionally overheard the NCOs talk of elite Separatist guerilla fighters; too well disciplined and coordinated to be ordinary WVFS grunts. Perhaps it was the mysterious foreign suppliers people kept talking about; some foreign nation or organization supporting the Separatists which had yet to be identified.

The armored convoy came to a halt. Sergeant Ryzhkov went to his radio, “Stingray 1, this is Warlord 3-1, what’s got us hold up, over?”

Arkadiy couldn’t make out the reply, but things quickly went to hell. Rounds started hitting the hull of the APC from every direction in the town. The doors opened, troops rushed for cover, explosions tore into the less-armored vehicles within the convoy. Arkadiy rushed out from the APC when the corporal next to him took a bullet straight through the neck. He rushed for cover by an alleyway to the right of the vehicle.

Then they were hit from behind by more separatists. But unlike the other WVFS grunts, they weren’t dressed in old or stolen military uniforms, these grunts were dressed in all black. They were like special forces; their fire was precise and disciplined. A complete turn around from the often drunk or doped-up WVFS “soldiers” who fired all over the place on full-auto. Another seven men fell, Sergeant Ryzhkov among them. Arkadiy took a bullet to the leg and desperately tried to apply pressure while firing his weapon at the enemy.

Ultimately the Separatists were unable to do anything about the armor. The tanks blew the buildings to pieces, scattering WVFS grunts and their parts all across the streets along with the rubble and debris.

A medic, who had thus far managed to survive the fighting, rushed over after having checked the other Arcanstotskan bodies lying on the streets. Twelve soldiers were killed and another fifteen were injured.

Arkadiy knew it would only get worse once they got into Yelamki.
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15 September, 2020
11:13 AM
Presidential Palace
Siloyev, Arcanstotska


Sidorov opened his heavy eyelids to see nothing in the darkness of the Presidential Quarters. He turned his head to the right to see the time on his alarm clock. Only thirteen past eleven in the evening. He rubbed his eyes and sat up to reach for his phone. Whatever they wanted, it had to be important.

On the screen above the number read “Minister Surikov.” Sidorov’s tired eyes widened with worry. He tapped the green button and brought the phone up to his right ear.

“Mr. President,” the female voice on the other end said with a serious tone, “it’s urgent.”

“Minister Surikov, what is it?” Sidorov swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped his feet into his slippers. He leaned over to the bedside table and turned on a lamp.

“There’s been an incident in Ramelensk, sir.”

“What kind of incident?”

“An airliner just crashed into the port facilities, Mr. President. There’s been significant damage to both the port and the city itself. First responders are already on site and trying to clean up the scene and recover any survivors. You’re needed urgently at the MND headquarters.”

Sidorov’s eyes went wide with horror and disbelief. A million thoughts rushed in and out of his mind all at once. He jumped to his feet, “I’m on my way right now.” He moved towards the closet and took out a set of clothes, a suit, and some shoes before heading to the bathroom to change out of his robes.

Melaniya turned over to see her husband walking out. “What’s going on?” Her tiredness was noticeable in her voice. She yawned as Sidorov looked over.

“Something’s happened in Ramelensk. It’s urgent and I have to get to the Ministry of National Defense.” He walked back over and kissed the First Lady on the forehead before walking out.

Later, at the Ministry of National Defense…

Sidorov walked into the conference room within the MND HQ. Within the room was a long table with many people already seated. The Minister of Defense, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, members of the Homeland Security Council, the National Security Council, the Director of the National Intelligence Service, and many more. Their eyes were turned towards three TV screens mounted up on the far-side of the room, all of which were playing news coverage of the situation in Ramelensk. Their eyes all then turned to Sidorov.

“What’s the situation?” Sidorov moved to take his seat, his eyes locked onto the news channels.

“A commercial airliner has crashed into the Ramelensk port. It struck the administrative facilities but debris also struck an oil tanker, which only served to worsen the damage. At least one-hundred-and-seventy people are confirmed to have died as a result of the crash and the subsequent explosion of the oil tanker.”

“Dear God…” Sidorov mumbled under his breath.

“Do we know why? this happened? Was it a terrible accident or a deliberate attack?” He asked.

One of the people in the room pushed a button on a remote and the TV’s changed from news coverage to a paused video of a man sitting between two armed persons in a dim room.

“This was broadcast across the nation shortly after the attack, sir,” Minister Surikov stated, “you’re going to want to see this, Mr. President.”

The video played and the seated man began to give a speech about rising up. It was a call to arms; the signal to ignite and insurrection.

The video ended and Minister Surikov looked over. “Our military satellites are showing armed militants seizing rural communities. Fort Pyotr near Yelamki is under siege and the insurrectionists are moving on the city as we speak.”

“We believe these insurrectionists hijacked the airliner and forced it to crash into the port facilities,” explained one of the intelligence officials.

Sidorov was in disbelief. West Vaasa was in rebellion and his people were under attack. Pictures showed dead bodies and flaming cars on the sides of roads as people tried to flee West Vaasa. Trucks moved into small towns and militants piled out to take control. An entire province was in open rebellion and he couldn’t believe any of it.

Sidorov finally snapped himself out of it and looked towards Minister Surikov with a serious expression.

“Sound the general mobilization order. I want this rebellion put down and the ring leaders of this terrorist operation to pay for their crimes. I’ll prepare an address to the nation immediately.”

Two hours later, back at the Presidential Palace…

Sidorov sat at his desk in a room filled with news cameras and their crews. Behind him was a window facing out towards the Palace Plaza and the rest of Siloyev. Between him and the window, two Arcanstotskan flags. He took in a deep breath to calm his nerves and the anxiety.

A camera-man looked over to the President, mouthing a countdown.

3… 2… 1…

“My fellow countrymen, three-and-a-half hours ago on 15th September, 2020, a commercial airliner which had been hijacked by a malicious and violent organization operating out of West Vaasa, crashed into the port facilities in the coastal city of Ramelensk. Shortly after the attack, an individual we believe to be the ring-leader of this terrorist group broadcasted a video in which he called for West Vaasa to rebel.

“As I am speaking to you, the province of West Vaasa is in open rebellion. These insurrectionists have taken West Vaasa and its residents hostage in an attempt to subject the region to their cruel idea for an independent state which does not reflect upon the general wishes of the West Vaasan people.

“They are a radical few who have taken the peace-loving many hostage, and are holding the many in their current state by fear and the threat of violence.

“I have already sounded the call for a general mobilization order for the National Defense Forces to assemble, move in, crush the terrorists and separatists, and restore peace and order to the region.

“Rest assured, when the orchestrators of the Ramelensk Attack are located - and they will be located - they shall be served justice for their despicable crimes against Arcanstotska and her people. Do not show fear, because showing fear will only empower these malicious individuals. Stay strong, fellow citizens of this great nation, as doing such will deny our enemy any fear or submission - those things which he most desperately craves.

“And to the aforementioned terrorist orchestrators; you can send as many threats of violence and fear as you like, for it shall change nothing. You have awakened within the hearts of every Arcanstotskan a fire. It is a fire which seeks justice and revenge; it is a fire which shall burn you and your colleagues to the ground; and most importantly, it is a fire you can never hope to extinguish or frighten into submission. You have angered a sleeping giant; a giant which is now prepared to seek you out and crush you. Prepare yourselves for utter defeat, for you have no hope of triumph.

"Justice is coming to collect your debt."


West-Vaasan/Norsian Border Region
November 25th, 2020
1:20 PM
11th "Dire Bombardiers" Attack Squadron
Alan Kadlec 'Meteor 2-1'

Alan tightened his grip on the flight stick of his *D-31, almost white-knuckling as he took deep breaths. His flight like several others had just screamed over the Norsian Arcanstotskan border into West Vaasa and was fast approaching his target. He'd flown many times before already, but never in an active combat scenario.. this would be his first. The targets are real, the dangers are real and gods help him if he has to eject behind enemy lines... His eyes laser-focused on his IR camera as everything else seems to go black. A Separatist weapons cache tagged by the Arcanstotskans. Just a few more seconds...

"Meteor 2-1, Rifle. Rifle Two." As the missiles speed towards their target, his nerves seem to go with them as he eases on the stick taking another deep breath, and shifts to another target, pulling the trigger sending a hail of heavy lead raining down before pulling off and away, dropping one last present in the form of an unguided two-hundred-fifty kilo bomb. All along the border, White Norsian planes bearing the image of a Wolf riding a falling bomb on a Red and gold shield would launch their strikes at their targets, The first of many but nowhere near the last. the skies will fall on a West Vaasan December.

*D-31 'Thunderer' Norsia's current generation Attack aircraft. a twin-engine single or tandem seater aircraft. Norsia's favorite ground striking multitool, capable of carrying heavy load-outs of missiles, bombs, rockets, and high caliber gun pods. it entered service in 2017.


RolePlay Moderator
29 December, 2020
SFC. Nikolai Kamarov
12th Airborne Assault Infantry Division
West Vaasan Separatist Territory


The whirring of the helicopter went on as Nikolai checked his weapon. Full magazine, locked and loaded, ready to see action. Though he didn’t expect to see any survivors; the countryside warehouse they were travelling to was yet another warehouse used by the separatists to store weapons and ammunition. Another warehouse flattened by Norsian airpower. Their job was to fly, inspect the damage, gather any intelligence, and capture or eliminate any militants who may have managed to survive.

“Approaching,” the helicopter’s pilot reported over the radio as Nikolai looked on to the other helicopters carrying other squads of soldiers, “Thirty seconds.” Nik could see the burning and flattened structure grow closer as the helicopter soared over a see of white hills.

The helicopter touched down beside the warehouse. Nikolai and his squad jumped out of the helicopter. There were bits and pieces of the building scattered everywhere, as well as the mangled bodies of separatists. Some were older men, some looked like they were barely out of university or even high school. The sight and smell of burning and mutilated bodies caused one private to throw up into the snow; a city kid from Sirinsk named Pavel.

“This is Pyotr 2-1 Actual,” Nikolai leaned his head over to his shoulder-mounted radio, “you know the drill. Check for survivors, intelligence, and confirm the damage. First squad with me, second squad will check the back, and third and fourth squad will check the woods. Get moving.”

Nikolai held up his rifle and started moving towards the compound with his squad behind him. The other squads did as they were told. The door was blown down. Nikolai checked the corners as he entered the doorway. He didn’t want to take any risks.

All clear.

There were bits and pieces of militants and rifles and bullets lying everywhere. Now Nikolai was starting to feel nauseous too.

A few minutes went by of checking rooms for survivors. A corporal from second squad came over the radio, saying there’s something he needed to see.

The corporal held up a piece of metal with a symbol on it. Kamarov was initially puzzled before it clicked.

“It’s an Aydinese jet,” Pvt. Pavel confirmed.

Kamarov sighed. “Let command know what you found, kid.”

30 December, 2020
8:12 AM
Arcanstotskan Embassy
Antalya, Aydin Empire

“This is an outrage!” Ambassador Larion Panfilov wore an expression of anger as he showed Grand Sultan Osmanek I the pictures of the bits and pieces of the destroyed Aydinese jet recovered the previous day. “Grand Sultan, how is it that your military assets have ended up in terrorist hands?!”

Osmanek looked over the photos and looked back up to meet Larion eye-to-eye. “I do not support these terrorists, Mr. Ambassador. I have never approved any military aid to them whatsoever. I-”

Grand Vizier Rifaat leaned in and whispered into Osmanek’s ear. Osmanek whispered back before looking back to Panfilov.

“I was just informed that military equipment has been going missing from Aydin military armories. We’re working to find out who has been stealing this equipment but whomever it is is the one responsible for this; not us.”

Panfilov crossed his arms. “Well, Grand Sultan, the fact that this has supposedly been happening beneath your nose speaks volumes. My government would greatly appreciate it if this military equipment thief were uncovered as soon as possible. The press will be notified of this development as well. They have a right to know.”
Last edited:

John Doe Smith

Grand Mæster

30 DECEMBER 2020 — 1438

From: Imperial Military Central Headquarters, Glaienbeck, Ravensburg
To: Eisenbach-Lindenloopenvorn Army Base, Eisenbach, Brunswick

To all personnel assigned to the 237th Armoured Calvary Regiment (237. Panzerkavallerieregiment),

Due to the situation occurring with the territory of Arcanstotska, all personnel are to commence with preparations for deployment effectively immediately. A battlegroup will be formed under the command of Generaloberst Karl Rugginbrotzz. This battlegroup will be designated Battlegroup 108 (Kampfgruppe 108), and will consist of the following units:
  • 114th Light Infantry Battalion (114. Feldjägerbattalion)
  • 230th Armoured Infantry Battalion (230. Panzergrenadierbattalion)
  • 143rd Armoured Battalion (143. Panzerbattalion)

Additional units from the Imperial Army and Imperial Air Force will be attached to the battlegroup for support. Stand by for further orders.


General Michael David Hillenbrand von Immelberg
Imperial Army Central Command​


RolePlay Moderator

By Petr Malinkov | 1/29/2021

President Pevlovich announcing the defeat of the West Vaasan Free State to the nation during a special public address on 28 January.

SILOYEV - Yesterday at 7:15 AM, the Presidential Palace Press Chief announced that at 8 o'clock in the morning, the President would deliver a public address of national importance. Due to news outlets across the nation being flooded with articles and broadcasts about the Battle of Yelamki since the shelling of the city began on 15 January, many were anxious and eager to hear what President Pevlovich had to say. At 8 o'clock, the President stepped up to the podium.

"My fellow Arcanstotskans," he began, "it is with great pleasure and relief that I have come before you all with an announcement of great importance. Our military forces, which have, for months, struggled to defeat a volatile separatist movement in West Vaasa, have finally secured victory in the region. Yelamki has fallen. The West Vaasan Free State's remaining leadership has surrendered. Arcanstotska is once again at peace."

What followed immediately afterwards was a wave of national celebration. The streets of many major cities and towns - especially Ramelensk - have been flooded with cheering crowds in celebration of the war's end. In Ramelensk, the local Cathedral of Saint Viktor saw a large prayer group held in honor and memory of the many who lost their lives in last year's terrorist attack.

President Pevlovich also announced that the Army would be maintaining its presence within West Vaasa until the last bits of separatist resistance and until reconstruction is completed and government authority is reestablished. Plans are already being drawn up for reconstruction and the ongoing humanitarian efforts in the war torn region will be put into overdrive. Those within the upper echelons of the W.V.F.S.'s leadership structure who have been captured are set to face trial for treason, inciting insurrection, organizing murder, and dozens of other charges. Kuno Lehning, the self-declared "Chancellor of the West Vaasan Free State," has been found dead within city hall.

After months of war, Arcanstotska can at long last breathe a sigh of relief.​