Scions of Volshan

[North Timistania]

Central Volshan

Plain of Antyr

A few miles from the capital



Arnthe gazed out across the vast expanse, the poppy fields glowing blood red in the dying light of sunset. The ancients had referred to the plain as the “blood fields” enraptured by the seemingly divine beauty of the place, it was a crude appellation but a fitting one. The deep red of the poppy fields was not the sole reason for the grim moniker however, the plain was the only truly arable land in the entirety of Volshan.

in the millennia that had proceeded the unification, untold numbers fought and died to claim these sacred lands. The volcanic soil of the Antyr was a prize fit for any king, the barren lands to the north and the miserable fens to the south only adding to its allure. Legend had it that a wife of the god Auvoi had sacrificed herself to green the plain, her divine blood seeping into the soil and endowing it with life, she had not been the last to water the hallowed earth with her blood.

“Enough gazing! Come let's not keep the dead waiting” Arnthe’s wife, Vitellia said feigning annoyance

He smiled, in the 40 years he had been married he had always found his wife's humor to be the greatest comfort, he relied upon her now more than ever. He turned painfully on his cane, a dull ache flowing through his back and joints, he was feeling the weight of all 63 of his years today. Arthritis had not yet advanced beyond early stages, but already Arnthe had been forced to give up the pleasures of riding and long walks.

“Aye wife, no sense drawing things out,” he said warmly

The tomb of the gens* Sentina was old, the ancient stones laid when the world was young, figures danced across the walls, frescoes of feasting gods and victorious warriors lining every surface. The Sentina were not the wealthiest family on the plain, they could not boast the greatest military record or the vastest tracts of land, but they had birthed a Zilathe* despite humble origins. It was to this hallowed place that Arnthe now came, here to make offerings to the long dead.

Countless others across the autocracy would be doing similar as the evening descended, these were dark times and the Volshan rarely took any action without first consulting the ancestors. Many families would be praying for the safe return of sons and daughters, the preservation of the country, or even just survival. Arnthe had not come to pray for such things, he was wracked by the fears of a man thrust into a position of profound responsibility and the wisest council he had ever known lay in the tomb whose steps he now walked.

“Father, I have come to pay homage and beseech guidance, may these offerings please you as you feast eternally in Leinthe’s* twilight halls” he intoned solemnly

Arnthe’s father, Thucer, had not been a man of high status, no generals' epaulets or vast estates proceeded him. Thucer had been a simple farmer, an honest and loving father, and a dutiful husband and his legacy was greater than all the titles in Eras as far as Arnthe was concerned. He needed his father's spirit at his side now, needed to know the spirit that had steered him through so much adolescent trial watched over him still.

It was a longing made worse by his father's sudden death some thirty years earlier, a heart attack in the horse paddock snatching away the anchor of Arnthe’s young life. Thucer had not lived to see his son's ascension to Zilathe of the autocracy, but Arnthe believed the old man still watched his steps from Leinthe’s distant shores.

“Everything is ready excellency” Teitu, the household attendant, said pointing to the offerings with their hand

Arnthe nodded and signaled for the ritual to begin, bowls were brought forward with their gory contents, the blood of a lamb, the eyes of a cow, and a bundle of wildflowers were all cast into an open brazier. The hiss of burning viscera and singeing flowers filled the evening air as a priest chanted the ancestral summons.

“Blood for vitality, eyes to pay the Eye-Eater*, Wildflowers that the gardens of the dead might bloom” the assembled gathered chanted in unison

“Father, grant me your strength for what is to come” Arnthe mouthed silently

The sun had now vanished beneath the horizon, Arnthe gazed up and noticed a strange visitor on the domed roof of the family tomb. A Seeker bird rested upon the ancient stone, its silver beak idly pecking at its midnight blue plumage. Arnthe made the sign of the gods and mouthed silent thanks to his father, it was a good omen, the bird an ancient messenger of the dead.

*A Volshan clan bloodline, the members sharing a common ancestor

*Zilathe-An elected official who serves as the de-facto head of the Volshan government, an ancient role that replaced the prior Laucon’s (kings) of earlier times.

*The Volshan God of the dead, both man and woman and neither, ruler of the underworld and keeper of the dead. The souls of the Just feast eternal in their halls.

*A terrifying Eel-like creature that terrorized the Umbrials in myth. Defeated by Auvoi and cast down to the underworld, Eye-Eater swallows the souls of the damned and ferries the virtuous dead to the Halls of Leinthe on its back. Believed to cause earthquakes when it moves underground, placated traditionally with offerings of Eyes or Metal Eye Tokens.

Villa Sentina ​

The Villa that the Zilathe resided in was a humble abode, far less ostentatious than the palaces of many a president or monarch. A small courtyard led the way to a rustic home that was comfortable but minimalist. Arnthe eschewed ostentation as much as possible, taking pride in his origins, it was exactly that quality that had ensured some 8 years of steady approval ratings. Other liberal democracies in Ethia could boast all they wanted about being the light of liberty, but here in Volshan a farmer's son governed a proud republic.

The fate of that very liberty now hung in the balance, Ethia gripped by a tide of apocalyptic upheaval that threatened everything. Even now as Arnthe sat in the serene quiet of his study Aurorean forces were rampaging across the Scalvian border. In the last day alone, a nuclear scare had rocked the continent, it had proven false but been sufficient to ensure that any lingering hopes of diplomacy had been abandoned. Democracy would either die in the dark or be upheld in the fire of battle.

“The Council is here Excellency,” Teitu said respectfully with a slight bow of their head

Teitu had served the house of Sentina for the last eight years, the role of Seneschal to the Zilathe of Volshan providing vital support in the otherwise chaotic mess of high politics. Teitu was an impeccably presented person, their blond hair kept neat and short cropped and their blue household uniform pressed and without the slightest hint of a stain. Teitu was a quiet soul, but their management of the house was invaluable and now growing more necessary as Arnthe’s ailments grew more pronounced.

“Very good, send them in Teitu” Arnthe said with an approving nod

Arnthe took one last look in the desk mirror, his bald head and grey mustache making him feel ancient, his eyes had once been brilliant green but age had caused them to dim to a watery hue. He did not resent his age, but it now seemed to be a hindrance he could not afford, he had hoped to retire before the next election and pick a successor. however, War had come and dashed any hopes of peaceful dotage.

He felt inadequate to the task ahead of him, a man who had never so much as raised a sword in anger was now required to lead his nation into battle. He was no soldier, his youth was spent first as a clerk and then later as a politician, he stared down at his hands and felt a sudden feeling of disgust, he was no warrior king of old like Tollus of Korrior. That was of course the whole purpose of summoning his council here to the villa, what he lacked in military experience he would make up for in his ability to listen to those who possessed it.

The doors to the study opened gently to allow three people inside, Aranthur Macula in his indigo suit, General Thana Masu in her immaculate brown dress uniform, and Velchur Atna head of the state intelligence dressed in their casual evening clothes. They were a mismatched group, an odd mix of stiff discipline and languid strides, they were also the advisors that were going to help Arnthe win a war.

“Welcome, please have a seat” Arnthe said motioning to the seats in front of his desk

“Could this not have waited till the morning Arnthe? With all due respect” Macula began, his voice a nasally entitled whine

“It cannot,” Arnthe said calmly, cutting off Macula’s protests

Aranthur Macula was not a pleasant man, he was arrogant, petty, and frequently so selfish that Arnthe wondered if he had ever possessed a moments humility in his entire life. He was also a certified genius, able to make the economy purr with his insights into business and industry. Arnthe would have liked to do many things to Macula, would have loved to push him through a window on many an occasion, but he could not deny the minister of business was indispensable to his role.

“The war will test all our resolve in coming days and as you have no doubt seen, the rest of Auroria is faring little better than Ethia, I need an honest assessment of our situation and a plan to allow our state to emerge intact!” Arnthe said tapping the table with his finger for emphasis

“If I may excellency” General Masu began, Arnthe nodded affirmatively “The current crisis presents a window of opportunity”

“Opportunity?! I fear you will have to elaborate general; I see little of that when I look at the situation reports” Arnthe responded unsure what to make of the general's suggestion, the word opportunity seemed practically offensive given the current situation

General Masu gave a knowing grin, she was in her late forties, one of the youngest commanders ever to reach the position of head of the military. Much like Macula she was brilliant in her field of expertise, able to assess a combat scenario and chart the best course of action. Masu had built a reputation for unorthodox doctrine, pushing for the modernization of the armed forces and using the Stahl* paper to shout down the countless naysayers.

“The Aurorean military has thrown the bulk of its forces against Scalvia, leaving their borders with limited defense, if we can open a second front, if we can push into Aurorea, we can deliver a killing blow to their war effort”

“And what of Scalvia?” Arnthe asked

The situation was grim, even the most optimistic projection warned that loss of life would be immense. Outnumbered by their Aurorean counterparts, the Scalvian military was being forced to fight a moving battle of strike and feint, organizing retreats where needed to preserve their forces. It was going to get worse before it improved.

“Scalvia’s terrain is essentially flat, which makes the theatre of war challenging, with few defensible positions, and no real strong points. The Scalvians will hold them, but it will be costly and the front won’t likely stabilize until fighting hits urban centers” Masu explained her tone calm but serious

Scalvia had held back the Aurorea on three separate occasions, the small nation bloodying the nose of its aggressor each time, but the cost was always high. In an age of modern field artillery, missiles and rockets the human cost threatened to be immense, the longer the Aurorea was able to field armies the more innocent people that would be killed, maimed, and displaced in the chaos. Volshan had to act, any other course of action was unacceptable.

“What of Esthursia and the UAS?” Macula piped up “Surely our “esteemed” Neighbours can pick up some of the slack?” he said in his usual snide tone

“Not so” Velchur answered their tone that of an adult correcting a petulant child “Esthursia is adhering to a policy of neutrality and my analysts are fairly certain their leadership lacks the stomach for a war, the UAS is currently debating a potential intervention, that will likely pass but it will take time, time that Scalvia does not have”

“Bloody tea drinkers!” Macula grumbled

Arnthe did not hate his northern Neighbours, they championed values that his own nation held dear, however, there were distinct cultural differences that made cordial relations challenging at times. Where the Esthursians were prone to haughty self-praise, the Volshan mentality was quiet pride, the urbane Esthursian having little in common with the Volshan miner drinking in Canis dive bars. One thing was clear, they would not be coming to the rescue.

“We cannot wait for help, the time has come to act, Masu what are our options,” Arnthe asked posing the question to his military advisor

“We could hold the Aurorean's at the border, but I would advise against such an action, we need to put them on the defensive” Masu explained

“What do you suggest?” Arnthe asked


“That the Synod authorizes a full offensive, we need to cripple the Aurorean military before they can dig in and turn this into another war of attrition,” Masu said bluntly

“The Aurorean military on the border won’t be expecting a full-blown offensive, if we can knock out their air assets before the main push, we can take their entire southern front by surprise,” Velchur said enthusiastically

“Macula? Does our economy have the ability to absorb the shocks?” Arnthe asked

“Our mining contracts with the imperium are up in the air following the coup, but domestic industries can pick up a lot of the slack, our primary industries will endure if we can bring this thing to a close in a reasonable amount of time, worst case scenario we can go to the IBU for monetary support” Macula explained his tone suddenly that of an artist describing technique, calm and almost soothing

So, there it was, stay put and let the enemy dig in or launch a beheading strike against the Aurorea, the time for diplomacy had passed, and the time for war had arrived. Arnthe sighed and rubbed his temples with a free hand, the decision to invade was yet another unenviable choice he would be forced to make, the declaration of war only days old now. He knew that if he gave the order, there would be casualties, generations robbed of life by conflict, it was a grim calculus that had no silver lining.

“What are your orders, sir?” General Masu asked

“Ready our forces, we strike as soon they are prepared,” Arnthe said in a decisive voice

With that, the council was dismissed and the Zilathe was left alone to ponder his decision, the deaths that his order would cause, the consequences great and small that the war would create. The price of liberty was one steeped in blood, like the plains of his home, but to sit idly by would be to accept a far worse outcome, the time had come to fight.

*A paper written by Prydanian Brigadier General Caleb Stahl, the paper theorized that armies that pushed for cutting-edge technology and doctrine tended to succeed whereas those that chose to rely on tried-and-true equipment and strategy did not. ​

 

[North Timistania]

Oscium air base

24 hours before operation “Ethian Night”

​

Hundreds of targets glittered in the gloom of the briefing room, some were little more than checkpoints or radar dishes, others though represented mission-critical objectives. The dimly lit room was filled to capacity, the eager faces of countless pilots all focused on the projector. The mood was a potent mix of anxiety and excitement, this would be the single greatest air action the autocracy had ever undertaken.

“Squadrons will attack in waves, 10 minutes per run, of vital importance, is the destruction of these three airbases, Ttwa Eil, Gbar Eil, and Laith, these represent the primary air assets of the Aurorean southern command, their destruction will ensure our air superiority and the success of our ground offensive” The Wing commander Apunas explained

Everyone knew how vital the air campaign was going to be, they had all seen the apocalyptic images on the news of the Aurorean advance in Scalvia. Many of the assembled aviators were northerners, children whose families remembered the incursion war of 1974, the traumatic memories of abandoned livelihoods and families forced to flee south still visceral. Now they had a chance for vengeance against the Aurorea, like wolves cornering a wounded lamb they received their orders with hungry-eyed glares.

“What kind of opposition will we be facing?” one pilot asked with a raised hand

“Intelligence suggests that the Aurorean military is anticipating a conflict similar to the slow tempo border skirmishes of the incursion, they believe we will act with timidity, we need to make full use of that advantage”

The last war had been a slow-moving bloodbath, the Volshan military unprepared for the brutal attrition that had followed. Lack of aircraft and limited equipment had nearly doomed the northern regions of Volshan to a violent invasion. Only through costly sacrifices had the Aurorean military been pushed back, the lessons of that war had led to over 50 years of modernization, and the Volshan people were unwilling to be threatened a second time.

Fleets of modern Z-80* fighters and a growing number of drone units ensured that the current Volshan military was more than a match for its longtime adversary. The time had come to put these deadly tools to the test, if all went to plan then the entire southern border would be wreathed in fire. The screen flashed with new images, photographs of runways, and assembled planes.

“These images were taken by surveillance drones, the Aurorean's possess a sizeable air fleet in the southern region, in addition to the standard complement of cannons and missiles, your Z-80s have been equipped with parachute-delivered bombs capable of taking the enemy runways out of commission” Apunas explained bringing up images of the parachute bomb

The stakes were higher than ever, with the element of surprise the autocracy had the means to bring the Aurorean military to its knees, but they would only get one chance. Failure would spell the beginning of a war that could drag out for years, success would mark the opening of a second front. If they could hit the Aurorean's on home soil they could cripple them from within, but first, they had to claim the skies.

“In 24 Hours, you will all be taking part in the greatest air offensive in the history of our country, you have been given a vitally important mission and the honor of leading the defense of Ethian freedom, serve well, and may the gods keep you all safe, dismissed,” Apunas said bringing the meeting to an end

The Skies above the Aurorea ​

The offensive began in the dark, hundreds of combat aircraft shrieking toward the Aurorean positions under the cover of night. Chiron squadron had the honor of being the first to strike the enemy, their full might deployed against Ttwa Eil. T-11* stealth bombers had already moved ahead of the main force, their radar jamming technology rendering them invisible until their bombs had done their work. In short order, the enemy was blinded.

“Radar is down, I repeat enemy radar is down” came the report over the comms

Chiron squadron formed up and began its run, assault jets forming into a deadly arrow as they raced towards their target. The lights of Ttwa Eil glowed invitingly below, oblivious to the incoming devastation, planes, and hangars revealing themselves under the sickly green scrutiny of night vision. Tracer rounds flashed into life as the squadron began its assault.

Rows of parked aircraft were torn to pieces by superheated cannon rounds as jets strafed the ground, missiles created great clouds of white flame as they detonated, buildings and aircraft were reduced to smouldering heaps of burning metal as shrapnel flew in every direction. Men were vaporized as they were caught in the apocalyptic downpour of ordinance, the airbase reduced to a hellscape of fire and wreckage.

“Munitions dump sighted, missiles away!” Came the enthusiastic report over the comms

A Z-80 swooped in low and fired its missiles, two blazing tails of deadly ordinance screaming toward the ammunition dump below. Moments later a blinding flash filled the night sky as the roar of a terrible explosion shook the ground. Fire and debris rained down on the stricken airbase as the ammo ignited and detonated, it was like a hideous parody of the firework displays that one saw on festival nights.

“Returning to base for maintenance and re-armament" came the command from the squadron leader

As the jets departed their bomb bay doors opened, parachutes carried their deadly passengers to the runways below, their gentle descent a disturbing contrast with the havoc they would wreak upon landing. As the last lights of assault craft faded into the inky blackness of night, new explosions ringed the runways, carefully constructed flightpaths quickly being reduced to smoking craters as the ordinance impacted.

The air reeked of smoke and fire, the once potent might of the southern air force now reduced to a charnel house of wreckage and burning corpses. Alarms blared impotently in the night sky, bleating warnings that fell on deaf ears, it was unlikely many had survived to hear them. Countless more strikes would be carried out as the night progressed, the shriek of oncoming jets striking terror into the defenders below.


*The current generation of Volshan fighter, designed domestically with foreign aid, it is one of the finest aircraft ever constructed.
*The T-11, an experimental stealth bomber designed to be undetectable to enemy radar.

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[North Timistania]

“The dead lie in their thousands, cold rows of lifeless eyes that glare accusingly and demand wordlessly that we answer the unanswerable question of why?”

-Karkana



Tel Khitana

Aurorean Border ​

The battle of Tel Khitana was nearing its bloody end, the once quaint rural town now resembling something more akin to a hellscape. The stink of spent ammunition and burning fuel stung the nostrils and filled the night air with its corrosive perfume, smoke from burning houses only added to the suffocating miasma. Countless bodies lined the streets, more often they were Aurorean but enough Volshan grey lined the blood-soaked cobbles to hint at the level of slaughter.

In the sickly green tint of night vision, the haze was frequently illuminated by burst fire from strafing gunships, white-hot lances of tracer fire ripping into the buildings below. The advancing Volshan columns marched over countless shell casings as their air support kept a steady rain of shells falling from the heavens. Soldiers scanned the narrow streets and mouthed silent prayers, every alleyway and window carried the risk of ambush.

The Auroreans had fought like demons, the night’s engagement rapidly degenerating into brutal house-to-house fighting, they were making the Volshans pay a blood price for every inch of territory. Now the soldiers of autocracy were advancing on the city center, the last of the defenders were making their stand in the fortified remains of the magistrate's office, one last push awaited.

“Stop squirming Teitu!” Hathli snapped

The combat medic’s formerly pristine grey fatigues were now a dirty brown, the desert sands mingling with the blood of the wounded. A stray bullet had missed Teitu’s jugular by mere centimeters, he was still bleeding like a stuck pig though and between his fidgeting and the occasional bumps of the truck, the stitches were proving a nightmare to finish. It was a credit to her professionalism that Hathli was able to finish her gory task with such precision given the less-than-ideal theatre.

“There all fixed!” Hathli said relieved as she slumped against the wall of the truck

“So how deformed am I? Will the ladies back home still want me?” Teitu asked in a raspy voice, a smirk a mile wide covering his bruised lips

“You were ugly before the damn Auroreans shot you!” came the reply from one of his squad mates

The weary soldiers burst into laughter at that, a moment of much-needed levity after a bloody night. Teitu pulled out the bronze amulet from his blood-soaked shirt, the burning wings of Aurora* glittering in the darkness. His mother had sacrificed a lamb at the local Fanu* and bathed the amulet in its blood, a life taken to keep her son’s from being claimed, he kissed the charm and muttered a silent prayer.

“Coming up on the target, make yourselves ready!” came a yell from the driver

Teitu put the charm back inside his shirt and reached for his rifle, he hoped the gods would keep him safe for just a little longer.

*Aurora, the deity of light and mother of the Volshan people, devout Volshans claim the continent of Auroria was named after her

*A Volshan sacred site

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

Captain Pesna stared out of the cupola of his Taurus*, he scanned the street up ahead with his binoculars, the normally bustling market square was eerily quiet. Most of the town's citizens had fled days earlier as the Volshan advance had grown closer, in their absence the garrison had turned the whole town into a killing ground. Roads had been mined and doorways booby-trapped, Pesna had already lost a dozen good men to carefully placed explosives.

Whoever the Aurorean’s had tasked with defending Tel Khitana knew what they were doing, an aurorean officer with more than two brain cells to rub together was an unusual and dangerous adversary. Pesna couldn’t help but admit to grudging respect, with limited manpower and no air support this commander had put up a fierce defense.

His thoughts were interrupted as the convoy came to an abrupt halt, up ahead a burning roadblock had cut off the town's main road. The stink of burning metal and rubber filled the air as black smoke obscured visibility. Pesna gritted his teeth in frustration and reached for his radio.

“Sungod this is Canis actual, our route is blocked, need an alternate path”

“Canis actual, info from joint operations suggest closest unblocked route is Al Haffa street”

Pesna resisted the urge to swear “Confirmed sungod canis actual out”

Al haffa was 20 minutes in the opposite direction, the convoy would have to double back, the delay would buy the enemy time. The Auroreans had used the narrow streets to their advantage, Pesna now had an unenviable choice, delay the convoy or abandon it entirely. He hissed a vile stream of profanities under his breath before climbing down from the Taurus.

“Damocles, Theucer!” he yelled out to his subordinates “change of plan!”

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

Sergeant Stenia Damocles made her way to the ad hoc briefing, the convoy temporarily ground to a halt by the Aurorean roadblock. The tension was palpable, everyone knew that convoys that didn’t move were sitting ducks, they needed to get unstuck and fast. Captain Pesna and lieutenant Theucer were presently poring over an ash-stained map of the town.

“Sir” Stenia said saluting

“Get over here Damocles, we’ve got a serious mess on our hands!” Pesna said grimly

Stenia had been in Pesna’s company for only a few short months, her first combat deployment had thus far proven more challenging than she could possibly have imagined. The Auroreans were fighting for every inch of their borderlands and they knew the terrain and how to make it work against the Volshan army. Thankfully Pesna had proven an excellent commander, capable of adapting to whatever the Auroreans threw at them.

“Here’s the situation, the convoy will need to backtrack and proceed down Al haffa, that will create an unacceptable delay, I'm taking Gorgon and Typhon squad and continuing the offensive dismounted,” Pesna said tapping the map with a gloved finger for emphasis

Theucer’s lip curled as though he’d found himself downwind from a latrine, abandoning the protection of the Armour was an immense risk, anyone going in dismounted risked being torn to shreds. Theucer was frequently the voice of caution, some people confused this with cowardice, the truth was that the lieutenant always tried to avoid wasting the lives of his men.

“Sir, with respect...” Theucer said attempting to protest


“I am aware the situation is mucai* lieutenant, that’s why I'm sending you with the convoy, drive hard and meet us in the center!” Pesna replied silencing the lieutenants' objections

“Damocles you're with me! We are moving in fiv....” Pesna never finished his sentence

A gunshot rang out in the darkness, time seemed to slow as though everything was moving in a sea of honey, Stenia watched in horror as her commanding officer’s head burst open like an overripe watermelon. An explosion of bone fragments and brain matter showered everyone within arm's length of the captain, Pesna’s body dropped to the ground the top of the officer's head blown apart.

“Sniper!” someone roared as men started to fall

A rocket screeched out from a nearby alleyway and slammed into the lead vehicle, the detonation smashed nearby windows and send pieces of burning wreckage raining down upon the Volshans. Machine gun fire ripped through the front of the column; men were ripped to pieces as the Auroreans threw everything they had at the stricken force.

Stenia’s mind seemed frozen, still trapped by the horror of seeing her commanding officer unceremoniously cut down, her body moved as though on auto-pilot. She leapt into cover behind the hull of a Taurus and reached for her rifle, she took a deep steadying breath and then she was back into the fight. The k-14 roared as the barrel spewed out deadly bursts of high caliber ammunition, her aim was on point and an Aurorean trooper was torn to ribbons by her disciplined volley.

“Saties, put a Kerberos round into that building now!” Theucer roared over the loud din of battle

The cannon of Satie's Taurus spun round and fired, a shell shrieked across the street and smashed into the building with the machine gun. An acrid reek filled the air, smoke rose from the openings of the stricken building, the screaming started not long after. Aurorean soldiers ran howling into the streets their bodies burning as the phosphorous cooked them alive.

“Save your ammo! Let them burn” Theucer said in an Icey tone

Stenia felt a chill run down her spine as the wild screams of the dying men began to fade, dull pained moans and whimpers followed, and then only silence. She rose from cover and signaled for Gorgon and Typhon to follow her. Behind her, the convoy began the grim task of clearing the dead and wounded before pulling back.



*The Taurus is the primary IFV of the Volshan military, well armored and possessing a light cannon for defense.

*Volshan for Excrement

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

Teitu’s heart pounded like hammer blows as he sprinted to avoid the machine gun fire, tracer rounds exploded as they hit the ground sending clods of stone and dirt flying. The town center was a now the scene of a bloody last stand, the Aurorean defenders seemingly determined to take as many of the Volshan invaders with them as possible. Teitu ducked behind a stone wall just in time to avoid a burst of rifle fire.

“Gorgon actual to Sungod! Need immediate fire support!” Sergeant Damocles shouted into the radio as bullets thumped into the wall

“Gorgon actual, this is Sungod, enemy fires are hindering optics”

“confirmed sun god we’ll mark the target”

“Teitu! Vulcha! With me, the rest of you, covering fire”

The three raced from cover as a hail of suppressing fire kept the enemies' heads down, the town hall loomed ahead of them. Loading smoke grenades into their launchers the Volshans advanced using sandbags and stone walls for cover. The magistrate's office had been converted into a veritable fortress, Hesco barriers and concealed gun emplacements jutted from every opening.

As they got within shooting distance a tracer round lit the darkness, it slammed into Vulcha taking his leg clean off. Teitu felt himself being dragged by the collar to safety as a second round slammed into Vulcha’s skull. They ducked behind a nearby barrier as the Noman's land between the Volshan attackers and the garrison was shredded by exchanges of fire.

“Aim for the balcony” Damocles whispered

Teitu and Damocles fired, their grenades making a loud popping sound as their deadly payload arced toward the enemy position. Red smoke billowed from the enemy position; the buzzing of incoming helicopters signaled that the mark had been found. The roared of assault cannons and the shriek of rockets filled the early dawn air as fire lit the gloom, explosions burst from the stricken body of the town hall sending plasterwork and brick careening to the ground.

“Returning to base to re-arm" Sungod signaled over the radio as the helicopters raced overhead

“All squads move up!” Damocles signaled

The Volshan troops stormed the beleaguered position, the door to the town hall now blown wide open, Typhon and Gorgon stacked up on the entrance. A flashbang was hurled into the doorway exploding with a loud bang, breachers moved in covering the corners. The crack of rifle fire filled the darkened room as two Aurorean’s covering the stairs were mowed down by disciplined burst fire. The Volshans spread out and began the grisly work of clearing the building.

Sergeant Damocles led her squad up the stairs, stepping over bullet-riddled corpses, they moved as though in a minefield. A corridor of offices greeted them as they arrived on the second floor, one by one the rooms were checked. Most contained only the dead and wounded, some were little more than exposed ruins with gruesome chunks of unidentifiable slaughter scattered in every direction.

A shot rang out as they moved toward the final room, the magistrate's office, the door was kicked in to reveal a grim scene. Slumped over his desk the commander of Tel Khitana lay dead, a gaping hole in his temple was leaking fresh blood onto the formerly pristine cedar. Teitu reached down and pried the weapon from the dead officer's hand, the ivory handles and silver furniture marked it as a custom piece.

“Sergeant,” Teitu said holding out the ornate pistol

“Keep it, I want this room searched for documents and get a Volshan flag on the roof!” Damocles said with a relieved tone

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

The armored convoy arrived soon after to reinforce Damocles' mauled platoon, lieutenant Theucer dismounting his Taurus and saluting Stenia as the two reunited. The town center was in ruins, broken stonework and corpses marking the final act of the engagement. Soldiers moved amongst the ruins pulling maimed bodies from amongst them.

“That was damn fine work, Damocles, I'm putting you in for the Star of Tarquin,” Theucer said the pride in his voice evident

“Thank you, sir,” Stenia replied in a surprised voice

A small crowd of men in dirty green fatigues were escorted out of a nearby building at gunpoint, Theucer scratched his mustache and regarded the POWs with a curious expression. Shouldering his weapon, Theucer began to move toward the collection of disheveled-looking men.

“Mucai! Some of these bastards aren't even old enough to shave!” he muttered in disgust as the prisoners became more visible

Damocles left Theucer to accept the town's surrender, she slumped against a nearby pillar and lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. Exhausted she could do nothing but stare out at the charnel house that They had just claimed.​

 

[North Timistania]

FOB Spatha

Southern Aurorea

The prefab building was packed to capacity, hundreds of marines and their officers waited eagerly for the briefing to begin, the anticipation was palpable. The air force had won their glory during the opening salvoes of war, the army had made headlines with their drive across the Aurorean borderlands, and now it would be the corps' turn. Countless low voices conversed as impatience grew to unbearable levels, then suddenly the room darkened and everyone went silent.

“OFFICER ON DECK!” came the roar of an NCO

In a split moment over three hundred enlisted men snapped to attention in unison as colonel Nunias entered the room and ascended the improvised stage. A projector’s glow bathed the wall behind the colonel in white light before shifting to an image of a large map.

“Gentlemen this is As-Nashika, for half a century it has been the dark heart of the Barthist regime, while their people starved and endured daily power outages this region was afforded every expense in the name of preserving the regime” The colonel explained as his hand flowed across the map

Everyone had heard the horror stories about the Aurorea, a few of the men were border folk and had even witnessed them, an entire generation of Volshans had grown up in the shadow of a tyrannical Neighbour. Stories were one thing, facing the enemy in battle and killing them was another entirely, tomorrow tales would become reality.

“Tomorrow the corps is going to tear this vile heart from the Aurorea’s chest! While the army keeps the enemy busy with its northward advance the marines will systematically cripple the enemy's ability to maintain a war footing!” Nunias bellowed with a wolfish grin

Cheers and whoops followed the colonels' belligerent proclamations, months of tedious drill was about to pay off, the men were spoiling for a fight and they had just been promised a challenge that would make them legends.

“The Barthist troops defending this region are well trained, well equipped, and fanatically loyal to the regime! These are no militia pushovers; they are armed with modern weaponry and a psychotic belief in their racial superiority. They are defending their homeland and they believe they are destined to win this war by God himself! But their god never met Tarquin's dogs*!” The room exploded into life with wild cheering and roars of approval

Command had been preparing for this assault for months, recognizing early on that the marine corps would be well suited to the rapid assault that would be needed to cripple As-Nashika. While the hammer that was the army would bludgeon the Aurorean south into bruised submission, the corps would strike at its vital points and sever the precious arteries that kept the Aurorean war machine alive.

“Sleep well tonight marines, Tomorrow you make history! Dismissed!” Nunias announced over the cacophony of voices

The marines filed out of the prefab hall with eager grins and wild excitement, they were going to fight the aurorean's and they were going to win.

*The Tarquin dynasty of southern Lamprey was one of the first Volshan kingdoms to utilize marines, in the early days of the unification they were patrons of the marine corps and remain so to this day. The epithet “Tarquins dogs” was originally used by the dynasty's enemies but became a proud nickname for the marine corps which they carry to this day.

 

[North Timistania]

1200 hours

Province of As-Nashika



The night was a blanket of apocalyptic gloom only occasionally broken by the flash of ordinance detonation. The ground shook as though the earth was being beaten by the fists of a titan, the Volshan air force bringing the full might of its terrible arsenal to bear on the stricken region below. Those unlucky enough to not be sheltering underground were serenaded by the hellish screech of passing jets.

Operation Foehammer unfolded with calculated aggression, refineries, factories, and power stations were wiped off the face of Eras with ruthless efficiency. By dawn, the air would be a reeking miasma of burning industry and dark plumes of filthy black smoke, but in the bosom of the night, only a horror of distant fire and fearful shrieking could be made out.

As-Nashika had long been the industrial showpiece of the Barthist dictatorship an expensive bauble in the regime's malignant crown, the Volshans were determined to cripple it and by extension the aurorean war effort. But the destruction unleashed by the air campaign was only a prelude to what was to come, jets could only do so much from their lofty heights, the territory below would still need to be seized.

Thousands of marines readied themselves for the coming battle, their camps and outposts humming with the sound of combat preparations. Despite the horror of aerial bombardment, seizing the province would be no easy victory, the Auroreans would fight tooth and nail for their homes. In burned-out industrial parks and underground shelters, the soldiers of the Aurorea armed themselves and waited for dawn.

The Barthist regimes fanatical rhetoric promised that the Aurorea was chosen by God, destined to rule all of Ethia.The soldiers concealed in cramped subterranean darkness prepared with religious zeal and counted their current surroundings a durance to be borne by those who had been blessed with revelation. Come the dawn they would fight the Volshan dogs and cast them down with righteous strength, let the bombs fall, that too would pass.

 

[North Timistania]

“The following is an uncensored version of the personal diary of Volshan marine officer Cneve Apunas. Lieutenant Apunas has kindly agreed to our request to retain an unedited copy of his diary within the military archives, both for posterity and to aid in the ongoing study of war and strategy. While the general public has received a heavily censored copy of the lieutenants' writings (currently a bestseller in the civilian world) it goes without saying that many details remain classified information and only those with proper clearance are to be permitted to read this unedited copy.”



Province of As-Nashika

The Aurorea

July 13th



When I was young, I would spend long summers with my grandparents in the north, I have fond memories of those barren lands. My grandfather would take me with him when he hunted ash dogs* and my grandmother would always have cold beer and tender Paracanu* steak waiting when we got back. At dinner, grandpa would always say a prayer to Aurora and Auvoi and give thanks for the prosperity of our house and their survival during the “bad year”.

It took me several years to work up the courage to ask grandpa what the bad year had been, but sure enough, when I was six years old and bold enough to broach the subject, he fixed me with a piercing stare and told me everything. He spoke with a grim, brooding expression, as though recounting the events was physically painful for him.

“They came for us in 1974” he had with an expression as though he had felt someone walking on his tomb

My grandfather had always been a laid-back fellow, happy in his doting years and quick to laughter, seeing this side of him chilled the blood in my youthful veins. What he described was a horror of fleeing refugees, shells raining down from the border and countless lives lost in a senseless war. Faced with invasion my grandpa had put my father and grandmother on the first truck south and then took his rifle and marched north.

“We fought those Aurorean bastards for nine hateful months, we lost an entire generation of men at Oscium, the dead were the lucky ones too, the survivors were all crippled be it in body or soul, we drove them back lad, but at too great a cost”

Then he went silent, perhaps remembering lost comrades or maybe just overcome by a toxic mix of horror and exhaustion. Finally, he looked up and the eyes that glared out were not the warm greens of my dear papa, this was a violent and urgent gaze and it locked in on me with all the speed of a targeting computer.

“That is why you need to be prepared lad, one day they will come back and you must be ready to fight for our homeland, democracy dies in the dark lad” he had said before sighing wearily and reaching for a bottle of Canis gold*. The next day I had gone back home, the school year awaiting in the south, but his words stuck with me, they haunt me to this day.

“You have to be prepared”


*Dangerous scavengers that stalk the wastes of northern Volshan, known amongst foreigners occasionally as dingoes.

* “Pouch dog” in Mercanti, a strange animal that hops on powerful legs and carries its young in a specially evolved pouch on its front. Muscular and bearing sharp claws, not to be underestimated.

*Volshan beer, very good quality, best served chilled.



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

Province of As-Nashika

Workers town D45

12:30 HRs

My grandfather's cryptic words now made perfect sense as I stared out at the hellish scene ahead, he had been right though not about why I would need to be ready. The old fear of renewed invasion had finally pushed the Volshan nation to do something many people said we should have a long time ago, this time we were the ones doing the invading.

While the army spearheaded the drive toward the Aurorean capital, the corps had an equally vital mission, we had been deployed to As-Nashika. The province was the seat of the Aurorea’s industrial complex, a dark monument to tyranny, with countless miles of refineries, factories, and nuclear plants stretched across the barren expanse. A victory here would cripple the Aurorea’s logistics, condemning them to a withering death.

The proud aviators of the autocracy had already set about dealing punishing blows to the entire region, cluster bombs and incendiaries setting the province ablaze. From our vantage points, we could feel the earth shake, sleep soon becoming an impossible prospect, in the black of night the distant flames seem almost beautiful. Dawn quickly dispelled any illusions of beauty however, the land we advanced into rendered a charnel house.

From the hatch of the advancing Taurus, I could make out the burning shells of workers' dormitories and if I strained my eyes enough, I could just about identify the distant factory complexes through the black smoke. The reek of ash, chemical fires, and gasoline fumes was impossible to escape, the vile stink clung to our nostrils even through masks. The shriek of jets and drones overhead was constant and the deafening roar of artillery drowned out anything quieter than a roar.

Three full marine divisions had been deployed to seize As-Nashika, and thousands of marines advanced into industrial zones and workers' towns all supported by armored elements. A three-pronged offensive was underway and its primary goal was to cut off and destroy the major manufacturing hubs of the province. My section was assigned the honor of clearing the approach to the TADI* industrial facility, a major tank production hub.

We advanced down well-paved streets, our heads on a swivel as we advanced, every rooftop and window were a potential sniper's nest. My men quickly set about clearing every structure we found, doors were smashed in and anyone inside was either ushered out or mowed down. Soon the street was thronged with the accusing glares of countless civilians, the look of anger on their faces was unnerving.

“Someone want to tell these ingrates they are being liberated!” one of my sergeants grumbled over the comms

“You’re welcome to try, but given we just blew up their place of work and interrupted their sleep I suspect they won’t be too eager to listen” I replied glibly, laughter filling the radio

We'd all grown up on stories of the horrors across the border, masses of slaves worshipping at the feet of their tyrant even as he let them starve. These people, well that was exactly it, they just looked like ordinary, scared, and angry human beings. It's one thing to be told about your enemy, it's another to look him in the eye and realize he isn’t all that different from you.

The citizens of these industrial zones were here largely because it was a better option than starving on poorly run state farms or the abject squalor of the working poor in the big cities. These weren't diehard Barthist supporters, they were victims of circumstance, forced to choose between an empty belly or burying their heads in the sand and taking a dictator's paycheck. We like to think we would do better, that we would resist, but it's easy to think that way when your family isn't being dragged off in the night.

“Clear out any remaining buildings and then order the civvies back inside, once we’ve secured the approach radio MPs to begin cordon”

That was the approach we had taken all morning, marines would move in and eliminate the military presence, then the MPS would arrive to mop up and keep the civvies secure. So far, the approach had worked well, but that didn’t mean the Aurorean troops were push-overs, they fought like cornered tigers, IEDs, snipers, and booby traps greeted us at every turn.

“Someone in the window of that apartment!!!” yelled one of my troopers over the radio

A glint caught my attention and it was only reflex that caused me to duck inside the Taurus before the round screeched from the sniper's rifle and pinged off the metal hull of my command vehicle. Outside the crowds descended into chaos and screaming as gunfire filled the afternoon air.

“Sniper on the roof!” One marine called out over the radio

“Man down!!!” shouted another

I risk a glance through the Lense at the outside world, my platoon was scattered around the street, most taking cover behind parked cars and walls. Sure, enough on the roof of a nearby dormitory building there was a solitary figure, just barely visible, and his rifle was trained on the streets below.

“Keep your heads down men!” I signaled over the comms

“Larthius, put a Hesh round into that building, if the explosion doesn’t kill him the collapse will”

“Sir!” my gunner replied with a salute

The shell was loaded into the gun and rotated toward its target, milliseconds later a blast shook the inside of the Taurus. The roof of the dormitory split apart as though it was made from matchsticks, dust, and cracked masonry flowed down onto the streets below. We waited for the clouds of powdery white dust to pass, when the sights became clear again, we knew our enemy was dead.

“Good shooting!” I said clapping Larthius on the shoulder

“Want us to go and check the Barthe bag is dead?” a marine called out on the radio

“No, mark that building for the masons*, it's almost certainly booby-trapped” I replied shaking my head

I had to hand it to the Auroreans, they were fighting like demons, despite being outgunned and in many cases outnumbered they were still putting up a fierce defense. Every building was a potential ambush site, every street, and every village, town, and city was a maze of potential death. We could bomb, shoot and vaporize entire armies of the map, but these ambushes were taking a toll. For every soldier we killed we risked losing our own and attending to the dead and wounded slowed our advance and bought the enemy valuable time.

I had no doubt we would win this war, then or now, but I also have no illusions of an easy victory, the price for freedom will be calculated in the blood of countless good men and women. There was little time for sentimentality though, the casualty, a young man from Velester, was covered with a tarp and given quick but sincere blessings by his squamates, then it was time to saddle up and move on.

Behind us the military police soon arrived, occupation squads deploying to police the civilians we now temporarily governed. The Auroreans knew full well that we would need to garrison every piece of land we took, it made rapid advances difficult to sustain when we had to devote such resources to monitor the populace. As we headed out of the worker's town and the TADI complex I look backed to see civilians being dispersed by arriving MPs, accusing glares followed us as we left.

It's easy to look at our enemies and declare them evil, to proclaim our cause just and ignore the human cost of war. However, it's another thing entirely to try explaining yourself to people who have just seen their homes become warzones, who have watched you shatter the fragile shell of normalcy they have spent a lifetime building. I have no doubt that we are fighting the good fight, freeing Aurorea from a tyrannous threat, but those glares will haunt me for a long time to come.

In the distance the unmistakable buzz and whirr of combat helicopters filled the surroundings, black painted and unmarked they swarmed above the TADI complex like angry wasps. I could make out figures descending on ropes into the complex below, I didn’t need long to put two and two together. Soon a familiar voice raised me over the comms.

“Lieutenant, this is colonel Nunius” a familiar voice stated over the comms

“Receiving sir,” I said lifting the speaker to my face

“Good job securing the town, your orders are to set up a perimeter around the TADI complex and await further instructions,” the colonel said in a calm but commanding tone

“Confirmed sir!” I replied obediently

“Thought we were taking the complex?” Larth said disappointment evident in his voice

“Trust me Larth, when it comes to these guys it's better to hang back, whatever is going on it's above our pay grade,” I said with a resigned smile





*TA Defence Industries, a major defense contractor in the Aurorea

*The nickname “masons” refers to the engineer's corps of the Volshan military, the masons are known for construction, bomb disposal and repairs among other tasks.


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

TADI COMPLEX

12:45 Hrs

The afternoon skies were hazy with the smoke of burning buildings, the ground below shook as the Volshan air force pounded it with an unrelenting tempo of precision strikes. The formal operation had been dubbed “foehammer” and from upon high it certainly looked as though the hammer of the gods had chosen the Aurorea to be its anvil.

The mayhem below served as an excellent distraction; it rendered the whirring of helicopter blades nothing more than one sound drowned out by countless others. The confusion the wider offensive was creating on the ground had given the 188th the perfect window to swoop in and seize their targets, assuming their captors didn’t kill them first.

In the bowels of a night black combat helicopter the operators prepared, magazines were checked and final orders relayed. Cold metal rested in the grips of practiced hands though it soon the barrels of their guns would be hot as balefire. The TADI complex loomed ahead and within the precious human cargo, the para-marines had been tasked with acquiring.

“30 seconds” came the announcement over the comms

The Para-marines of the 188th were better known by the nickname “flying fish” a moniker that sounded more likely to inspire amusement or derision then fear, it was exactly that deception that had led to the name being adopted. The name belied the danger this highly trained formation posed to anything the Synod pointed them at, honed to a razor edged by rigorous training and psychological conditioning, the operators that were about to storm the TADI were one of the deadliest forces in all of Eras.

Four helicopters split up and fanned out across the complex, four sections were deployed in rapid succession, green for the rooftop, red for the gantries, blue for the outskirts and black for the front. The doors to each chopper swung open allowing the hot sunlight to stream into the inky darkness, without hesitation the operators abseiled down the ropes, the empty helicopters departing as soon as the last man hit the ground.

Green squad began the assault on the warehouse, smoke grenades were hurled into the warehouse below, blue meanwhile fired stinging canisters of tear gas through the factory windows. Black squad stacked up on the main doors and breached, flashbangs detonating seconds before the operators rushed through. From the gantries of nearby scaffolding, the snipers of red section watched with deadly silence as the assault began.

Inside the factory great barrel fires sputtered and hissed in the choking haze, the mix of smoke and teargas necessitating the use of masks and night vision. The scientists had all been lined up at the far corner of the factory floor, likely for ease of liquidation. The concrete was strewn with scattered papers and files, the Barthist industrials complexes' secrets laid bare as the fanatics attempted to immolate them.

Soldiers of the Aurorean army stumbled around in agony as their eyes burned with the acrid sting of gas, half blinded they had little chance to resist. With clinical efficiency the men of the 188th set to work, submachine guns mowing down the ailing garrison with vicious bursts of suppressed fire. The factory floor quickly became littered with bullet-ridden corpses.

As the smoke began to clear the whimpering voices of countless kneeling men and women could be heard, the scientists and experts held up shaking hands as they pleaded for their lives. A lone Barthist officer was presently screaming at the oncoming Volshan’s, hands gripping the pin of a grenade.

“I will blow them up!!!” He roared in broken Mercanti


A green laser sight glittered in the smoke for a fatal nanosecond, a shot rang out and the officer's skull exploded in a shower of bone and brain matter. A fountain of gore sprayed every surface and person in near vicinity as the now largely headless corpse crashed to the floor, hand still wrapped around the grenade, a para-marine quickly moved up to disarm the body.

“Factory clear, beginning extraction,” the lead officer said over the radio

The scientists were quickly secured with black bags over their heads and zip ties around their wrists, they were then herded out to waiting helicopters for pickup. The regular forces were radioed to begin securing the warehouses, then the 188th mounted their waiting transports and vanished with their precious assets back into the waiting shadows.

 

[North Timistania]

Tel Khitana

November 12th

Five months since the beginning of the Great Aurorean War

Lieutenant alexia commidus stared out the plexiglass window of the briefing room with a tired gaze, a sea of drab green army tents met her sight. They had been in the Aurorean borderlands for nearly half a year, an unwelcoming five months of dust and endless heat. It didn’t seem worth fighting over such miserable terrain, it barely seemed able to support the Aurorean's, let alone the vast army of occupation. Perhaps that was why the Aurorean's were constantly invading their Neighbours, the analogy of greener pastures taken to its aggressive extremes.

“Wakey, wakey Commidus, some of us have a war to fight!” Plecu chided in a teasing voice

“Seen much action from behind that desk have you Plecu?” Alexia fired back with full sarcastic dripping from each word

“Hey, some of those requisition forms have sharp edges!” Plecu replied with an amused grin

Plecu and Alexia had both been assigned to the 10th phalanx, hurried graduation from officer school being followed by urgent deployment. They had developed a close comradery during that time, one as much motivated by the extreme boredom of their current posting as any other shared hardships. in recent weeks it had become maddening, Alexia longed for more than a position as a glorified clerk, she wanted to serve on the frontlines.

“It must bother you surely?!” She hissed prodding him with an outstretched finger

“And what would that be?” Plecu asked in a teasing voice

“Being stuck in this garrison town filing papers!” Alexia yelled hands held up in exasperation

“Eager to get written into one of your uncle's* articles?” Plecus asked with a smirk

It stung to hear her uncle mentioned, she had lived in his shadow her entire life, his military glory made a mockery of her own deskbound endeavors. She wanted to serve, wanted to return home and stand before her peers with the same proud scars, the only scars she was likely to earn in Tel Khitana were from paper cuts.

“Eager for anything other than this limbo!” Alexia snapped back

“Then you’ll be happy to know today's briefing is likely to shake things up a bit” Plecu replied cryptically

“What nonsense are you peddling Plecu?” Alexia replied irritably

“General Cala is going to be present; the offensive is moving up,” Plecu said with an excited smile

*General Timmithius Commidus, commander of the 3rd Phalanx during the Aurorean Incursion, led the forces that broke the siege of Oscium, retired to Bergum, and began writing for the Markov group

*************************************************************************************
The briefing room was quiet as general Cala entered, the general staff standing to attention and saluting with machine-like precision as he entered. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air, everyone eager to hear what the general had planned, the general strongly suspected that they knew what was coming. He motioned for his staff to be at ease and then pointed to the round strategic table in the center of the room.

“Hook it up,” General Cala said in a gruff voice

A technician pressed a large plug into the table and the screen immediately lit up as the tactical map booted into life and began populating the glass with icons. A glowing facsimile of the Aurorea soon greeted the general, three-dimensional canyons and lakes rising to meet his gaze. It would have been easy to feel like a god with such a view, Rasce Cala simply felt the weight his decisions would have both on this land and the soldiers he commanded.

“Okay let's get this briefing started,” he said tapping a digital valley for emphasis

The map showed large areas of land covered by the red of the Volshan advance, already the borderlands, and a large portion of the As-Nashika industrial region had been seized. The barthist hydra had been wounded, but it was still far from dead, a killing blow continued to elude the Volshan forces and with each passing day the situation in Scalvia grew more complex.

“Fellows I shall be blunt, every day this war claims countless lives, right now Scalvia is burning and the longer we allow the barthist regime to exist the worse the inferno becomes. It is our moral duty to bring this war to an effective close as swiftly as our means will allow, which is why we cannot rest upon our successes in the border lands”

Cala ran a finger across the glass surface of the map, lines responded to his touch as he drew a digital arrow pointing to the capital of the Aurorea. Al-Zahra, the city of cities, was flanked on one side by a great inland lake and on the other by valleys and hills that stretched out for miles in every direction. Ancient Volshan legend had spoken of the great walls of Al-Zahra, a place where heroes would go to test their mettle, now the descendants of those heroes would have their turn.

“Al-Zahra, it’s the seat of the Barthist regime and their greatest stronghold, seizing it would be a deathblow that the Aurorea would never recover from” Cala said with a detemined tone
“Sir, permission to speak” Alexia Commidus called out

She looked a lot like her father, Commidus senior had died at Oscium and her uncle timmithius has retired to bergum long since. Rasce had always had a scion of that storied family on his command throughout all his battles, it was pleasing to know that in his final war he would maintain that unspoken tradition.

“Granted, let's hear it lieutenant,” he said with a nod

“Wouldnt an assault on the capital draw the bulk of their forces toward us, kicking the metaphorical hornets' nest?” Commidus asked skeptically

“Good observation, that’s where the next phase of our plan comes in” Cala replied motioning to another section of the map

The general drew another arrow toward the easternmost regions of the map, the Harbi provinces; these long-neglected lands would soon be alight. The Harbi had no love for the Barthist regime and with their assistance, the majority of the Aurorean military would be split in twain trying to fight the Scalvians, defend against the Volshan, and put down the Harbi.

“We will encircle the capital, like a wrestler putting his opponent into a chokehold and while we are doing that, VSI* will be arming the Harbi for full-scale revolt. The Aurorean military might be able to survive a war on two fronts, but three? They will be stretched to their limit. We will smother this regime of breath and then when the time is right, behead it” Rasce explained calmly, making countless arrows and circling vital objectives as he went

The coming weeks would be the greatest test of resolve the Volshan armed forces had ever faced, to seize their enemy by the throat or be driven back in disgrace. Al-Zahra was well-defended and garrisoned with the regime's most fanatical troops, but if it fell the war would be over, it was too great a prize to abandon because of caution.

“Prepare your men, we make for Al-Zahra at 0600 hours tomorrow morning, when we get there, we will break the barthist regime with such force that no one born to this aurora-forsaken land for the next three generations will even utter the name Barthe!” Rasce roared fist raised high

Cheers filled the briefing room, a raucous display of belligerent glee, the scions of Volshan marched to war and soon the entire capital would be rudely awakened by the sound of Volshan drums.

*Volshan State Intelligence, the intelligence arm of the Volshan state​

 

[North Timistania]

Villa Sentina

Central Volshan

Nine Miles from Antyrium



“For Hessaia’s kin, you shall bear no branches nor make placation with either wine or coin, instead gift to them only the iron of our forges, honed into killing edge, let them taste death delivered by a steady hand and pray that it is enough to ensure they trouble us no more”

-Excerpt from the Scroll of Tages



Arnthe leaned back in his chair, suddenly paralyzed by the mundane horror that was his present activity, the fountain pen dripped its dark ink onto the cedar desk as it lay frozen in his shaking hand. He had made it a point of personal duty to sign every death notice that returned from the frontlines, so many that he had begun to lose count. Presently the grim script before him described the death of one private Eluessis, 19 years old and hailing from the rugged hilltops of Maegaris*, the man had died two weeks shy of his 20th birthday when he had stepped on a mine,

The Zilathe of the Volshan autocracy felt an involuntary tear trickle down his wrinkled face, he mouthed a prayer to the hill father from shaking lips and hoped that the young soldier had not suffered. He lingered on the notice for what seemed like an eternity before composure returned and he was able to sign the notice with a mostly tremor free hand.

Arnthe didn’t have to do this, he could have delegated to any of the thousands of government officials beneath him, but he knew he bore the responsibility for these soldiers. Arnthe knew he had sent these men and women to die, frequently inglorious and agonizing deaths, he knew they had died because he had sent them to fight and while he knew that the defense of free Ethia bore a price, it didn’t make the payment any less heartbreaking. Still, he signed each notice, his personal duty to honor each soul sacrificed on the altar of war.

A knock pulled him out of his silent ruminations, he reached for a cloth and wiped his eyes, it wouldn’t do for his visitors to see how decrepit he had become. Carefully folding the note, he placed it in an envelope ready for collection and delivery, he hoped it would bring the recipient some closure, but he suspected strongly it would not.

“Come,” he said in a gentle voice

Arnthe reached for his spectacles and felt like he had aged a century as he saw his reflection in their lenses. At 63 he was withered beyond even his substantial years, sleepless nights and missed meals were taking their toll and his stubble-covered face and ragged hair extended to him a crazed look made worse by two bloodshot eyes. The war was ravaging his mind and body, but how could a man sleep in a comfortable bed when his countrymen rested on dirt and died far from their homes?

The doors opened and several military officials entered, led as always by general Thana Masu, the chiefs of every branch had gathered at the villa sentina. The war had been raging for nearly a year, and meetings like this were not uncommon, but something about this one seemed ominous as though fate was about to make some terrible decree.

“Your excellency, we do apologize for the intrusion,” Thana said in a respectful voice, giving a low bow of her head

Brilliant, efficient, and utterly professional were all accurate descriptors of the young general, at a fraction of the age of her peers she had spearheaded the modernization of the Volshan military. With strategic brilliance and innovation, Masu had turned a bloated frontier force into a razor-edged spearhead and proceeded to use that weapon to impale the Aurorea.

“Not at all general, I am ever at your disposal” Arnthe replied trying to conceal his weariness behind a façade of confidence

It was a mask that was becoming increasingly ineffectual, everyone could see the aging magistrate was dying a little more with each passing day. The heart palpitations had grown more pronounced, and the sensations of nausea and weakness were so constant he wondered how he was able to function at all. The war would kill him if it continued much longer, without ever firing a shot in his direction this conflict would be his death.

“We feel that the war is nearing its conclusion, the Scalvians have reached the outskirts of Al-Zarah and the Harbi are in near complete control of the west, it's time to finish this, time to seize the capital” Thana explained in a matter-fact tone, ever the detached analyst

One final assault, the killing blow that would decapitate Barthism forever more, it wouldn’t have seemed possible eleven months ago, yet here they were. Al-Zarah would not be an easy target, it would exact a steep toll on the attackers and would leave countless more noble Volshan’s dead, yet it would also end the war if taken and spare how many thousands more? It was an ugly equation that would never have a satisfactory answer.

“Do we have the means to take it?”Arnthe asked barely able to contain the apprehension in his voice

“Sir, we have three phalanxes at our disposal each boasting artillery, Armour, and aerial support, we have the means to take it a thousand times over, all we lack is the authority” Thana replied explained almost grinning as she did so

There it was, that terrible moment, time seemed to flow like treacle as he realized what the general intended. He would need to make the call, a decision that would sentence countless more to death. He felt the sharp pain of a heart palpitation as his chest burned from the last spike, what choice did he have? He chose the lesser of two evils.

“If you have the means to end this conflict and bring our sons and daughters home, you have my blessing general, take that city and end this war,” Arnthe said his tone resigned and exhausted

The die was cast, somewhere far beyond the sight of man the gods began to weave the fates of men.

*A famed shrine town in northern Velester, noted for the red stone used to make its bricks and the quality of its music and wine.