Doltga, Golgan Province; 2:39 PM BST; February 13th, 1973

The old Diesta movie theater wasn't in the best condition but that didn't take away from it's appeal of a simpler time. Everything was a throw back to 1940's and 50's. The concession stand was serviced by an employee in a white collard shirt and red and black vest while the ticket booth was isolated out front in it's own little island underneath the brightly lit sign. Everything was nostalgic including the prices. Following a new trend of one Rurk movie admissions, the owners of the Diesta had decided to switch to the "Rurk Movie Theater" business model and show old movie reels for a cheaper price. While over all they didn't see an increase in customers it had been a successful switch with an increase in concession stand sales. So the switch had paid off.

Gret Volnazov and his friend Dieter Frankten had visited the Diesta on a regular basis for over four months now. Every Monday and Thursday they stopped by the Diesta on their way home from school (their wood shop instructor was kind enough to let everyone leave early if they got their projects done on time) to drop a Rurk to travel back to a time that they had not even known about until recently. It was a nice break from pressent and even though currant events seem to be echoing the past it wasn't a matter of concern for either of them.

With a bag of popcorn hand, a box of chocolate coated caramel drops in their pockets, and large paper cup filled to the brim with soda-pop tucked in the crucks of their arms they handed their tickets to the ticket master (both thought it was ridiculous title for someone who only took slips of paper) and made their way to their seats.

The movie in question today was an old comedy about a man who had nothing but bad luck with the ladies until he enrolled in the local gym's basketball team, but that wasn't what Gret and Dieter came to see to today. Thursday's at the Diesta were "Great War Throwback" Thursdays with the heading cartoons and news reels straight from the Great War.

Both lads’ fathers had served in the Great War on the front lines and both had come home decorated heroes. That old patriotic spirit had not skipped a generation, like it had with some of their more contemporary peers. It had given them no ending of frustration to see some of their own friends gather at demonstrations against the military. The confrontations between the police and some of the more militant protesters did bring some joy and laughter to Gret and Dieter, but it was still sad to see Fienka begin to tear it self apart from the inside.

After the last cartoon ended the two boys quited their laughter, luckily they were the only two in the theater, as they both leaned forward. The screen went dark and then in big, bold font and blaring red the word ‘WAR’ flashed on the silk screen. The Fienken Defense Corps anthem played in the background as clips from the front played before the voiceover started.

THE CORPS HOLDS THE LINE! A new day brings more waves of Belkan troops who smash them selves against the might of the Fienken military, black and white clips of soldiers digging fortifcations and felling trees to build defensive positions are shown on the screen as the narrator speaks.

The great Reist holds her own against the Belkan aggressors as another winter sets in and the mighty trees block any armored advances, A single clip of a snow covered pine forest pans across the screen.

The bravery of our soldiers knows no bounds as counterattack after counterattack retakes what little ground the Belkan Riechsheer siezed, making them pay dearly with their blood, a group of Belkan soldiers are marched across the screen, Fienken soldiers standing guard as several trucks stop soon after to pick up the prisonsers.

Even imprisoned, the eternal soldiers of Feinka defy their Belkan captors. Fienken troops were baffled during the Battle of Hill 191 when Belkan soldiers turned on each other; only to find out that a group of escaping Fienken soldiers had impersonated the enemy to reach the safty of the Reist Forest. A group of Fienken soldiers greet what appears to be a group of Belkan soldiers. The clip cuts to chears of soldiers as a young Ayman Vonzer pulls his Belkan gas mask off and waves to the gathered Fienken soldiers.

The spirit of the Reist and the strength of the Republic will carry us on. Victory will be Fienka’s!


*****

Northeastern Fienka, Dierter Military Instillation #0; Exercise FORADE Headquarters; 4:30 BST, February 20th, 1973

The wind out side was howling against the two story concrete building in the center of Dierter Military Instillation #0. Situated at the base of the Hiet mountains, the base took the brunt of most of the westerly winds. The below zero temperatures and the snowstorm that had just arrived made it almost unbearable outside even with winter gear on. It was a hell of a place to situate the headquarters for joint FOrce RApid DEployment exercises between Fienka and Navaran forces, but it was the only large enough military instillation situated near the Hiet mountain range, the Reist forest, and the Golgan plains nearby. The ten thousand Fienken soldiers and the roughly the same number of Navaran troops were being held in the dozen instillations that were part of the Dierter Military base. It was a strain on the logistics but it had been a good exercise incase Fienka had to host more Navaran troops incase of attack from Belka.

While the outside environment would be best described as unbearable; the inside of the CO’s office was toasty and comfortable. The building’s boiler was running full time to keep the officers warm and cozy. Second General Revod Medeved was enjoying a the luxuries afford to the officers. A good cup of coffee, a comfy leather chair, and nicely rolled cigar. The smoke wafted from the tip of the cigar out of the ash tray it currently sat in. Medeved was busy skimming through a several folders worth of intelligence and reports coming in from the exercise. It was almost too much to take in. There were days he wished he could go back to being enlisted. He’d been around during the end of the Great War, turning old enough just in time to finish training and fight the last Belkan push. He missed those days were he just got to shoot at things. Looking back though he remembered all the friends he had lost and all the officers that had in combat been killed to get him on the track to being an officer. He probably was best off here given what men was using to kill each other with nowadays. Medeved plopped his last folder down on his desk. Thinking he was finally finished, he soon was disappointed when his aide came in with another stack of folders.

“Furket; why do you hate me so Grest, why do you do this too me,” Medeved sighed, his mustached face lowering in to his hands, “I give you pay raise and this is how you treat me.”

“My apologies sir, but command was wishing to be briefed on these by the end of the week,” Lieutenant Grest earnestly tried to apologize for something he had no control over.

“I’m only kidding with you Grest, these heart aches are not your fault,” Medeved laughed slightly as he leaned back in his cushy chair, “besides I guess I need to do something besides shout at the men under my command; I assume you’ve gone over these at least once, give me the quick wrap on them.”

“This first one is from our 2nd armored battalion, mainly logistic numbers, projected casualties, and a few reports from the FORADE combat judges,” Grest said as he pointed to the top folder, “the new G-70s aren’t performing as well as he had hoped, but all still with in what the field test reports say we should expect.”

“We just need to be inventive is all with our tactics,” Medeved took folder and quickly browsed through it.

“This one is a ‘comprehensive’ report on the statuses of our troops and how they’re fairing in different situations, a present from you-know-who,” Grest snorted a quick laugh, “our men are doing superb in defensive measures, special in the wooded areas, but when it comes time to push an attack or fight on terrain other than woodlands, they’re having a hard time; all except for what elements of the 143rd, they’ve done exceptionally well on all counts,”

“Vonzer’s men have always been that way, I think it reflects on what kind of man Ayman is,” Medeved contemplated about that as he took the folder from Grest.

“The rest here are purely logistic stats and request that need to be filled out, nothing out of routine, I’d suggest a yes to at least most of them; except the one for ‘Female Personal Councilors’, I’d like that but I don’t think that’s what was on their mind when who ever filled this request, filled this request,” Grest chuckled as he plopped the rest of the folder on Medeved’s desk, “Oh and there were two letters for you that just came in a half hour ago; both are from Doltga, one from you mother and the other has no adress.”

Medeved took the two letter’s from Grest. He looked them both over and automatically threw the letter from his mother into a desk draw for later. Looking over the other letter he could automatically tell who it was from when he flipped it over to open it and found an ink stamp of a wolf’s head on the back. “Thank you Lieutenant, I’ll get looking at these right away,” Medeved said as he distantly stared at the envelope. Grest left the room without a thought to the thousand-yard stare that Medeved was giving a piece of paper.

When Grest gently shut the door, Medeved took out a letter opener and quickly opened the non-addressed envelope. Just as he had though, the ’Wolf Pack’ had authored this letter. He wasn’t a member of the clandestine group but he did sympathize with their cause and felt similar in their beliefs. The letter was typed out on a simple piece of paper. It wasn’t even formally written, almost as if it was one of the many reports now on his desk.

“Intellegeince reports indicate,” Medeved mumbled to him self as he read the letter before him, “Belkan plot to kill… stepping up plan… Helgatta primed… will have forces deployed with in the month… prepare to update Exercise FORADE to Operation FORADE.”

Medeved put the letter down, still staring in to space. He didn’t like what he read, but he knew it was going to come regardless. He picked up his cigar and took a drag and glared out the window to the blizzard that now was raging outside.

Office of Defense, Elrich - 10:41 BST, February 21st, 1973

Secretary of Defense Welren Vortimer had his ear on his office's phone, listening tenaciously to the OoD's liaison to the Welrenwaffe, the main supplier of hardware to the country's military. He was getting impatient with the corporate man on the other side.

"Mr. Canson, I do not care for you company's excuses, the fact remains that the order is three weeks late," he said with much restrain.

"I understand that Mr. Vortimer, and once again Welrenwaffe is extremely sorry for the delay! But we have previous orders from our foreign contracts to fill, and because of it we have no stock to send to you. You will simply have to wait until more stock is made before we can finish your order," the Welren representative said with faked humility.

"That's the same thing your secretary told me a week ago!" Vortimer said with raised voice. "You have a contract to oblige to. Mr.Canson, your company is leaving this country DEFENSELESS!"

"Please Secretary," the man calmly replied. "I am as much a patriot as any Elexian, but I think you're over-stressing the issue. We will try to complete your order as soon as possible, until then we have other business obligations to prioritize to. I apologize for this, but business is business. We cannot favor anyone in our contract priorities, even if it is an order from our own country."

"If this is an issue of money, then - !"

Vortimer stopped mid-sentence. The door to his office was wide open, and standing under it was a tall brown haired man in a dark blue custom-tailored Gervotain suit. The man walked up to Vortimer's desk and gestured him to hang up the phone. "Mr. Canson, I will have to speak with you later," and the Secretary of Defense dropped the phone back on its set, his face heavy with frustration. The man in front of him open his mouth to speak.

"Welrin...what are you doing?" the Chancellor of Elexia asked in a discrete tone as if a father was lecturing a son. Vortimer took a deep breath and explained himself. "The armor-piercing munition for our tanks, Welrenwaffe is diverting production to those damn- "

"I know that. What I meant is why are YOU pursuing the matter," Chancellor Hilrich Isen said sharply. "You're the Secretary of Defense. Not a logistic desk jockey. Let the aides in Acquisition handle it."

"But the shipment is late, and those imbeciles in Welrenwaffe-"

"Its not your job to do! And what your doing is affecting our standing with Welrenwaffe, who you know were very generous to our last election fundraiser. I don't want you spitting in the soup. Its not behavior thats been keeping me in the Seat for seven years."

"I can care less about the feelings of those corporate barons," Vortimer retorted. He rarely spoke out of his station with Isen, seeing how it was at the Chancellor's discretion whether the military gets its additional funding asked for every year. "My prerogative is to arm this country. I'm sure you can see the signs Chancellor, the tension between Belkan and the world that's been building up since the War."

"Here you go with your seer's ways again," the Chancellor replied. "If there was war, I will steer this country well away from it. And this tension you talk about, its good for the economy. And that's my prerogative. Companies like Welrenwaffe are bringing in money that's maintaining jobs and growth. They are selling to the world's insecurity. So what if your shipments get diverted to the Belkans or Azuricans? Its more money in the government's pocket as tax, while your department is just costing us that tax money!"

Before Vortimer can respond, the Chancellor was already walking out the door. "No more of this Welrin! Just sit in your chair and scratch your balls for all I care. And your request for more funding to upgrade our ground radar - will be denied."

Will be denied. That bill hasn't even been voted on yet and Isen had already condemned it to the trashcan. It was a gauge of the Chancellor's hold of the Congress in his majority government. Hard to believe that just twenty years ago, that same man was a young colonel under his air force command. He had joined Isen's cabinet because he thought they shared the same views on the military shortcomings. Instead, Isen was just another imbecilic politician determine to remain on the sidelines, ignorant of the hidden dangers. Even sometimes a race car drives off the tracks.

Once he was sure the Chancellor had left him in peace, Vortimer pulled out a stack of paper from under his desk. He flipped through the pages, they were shipment manifests that his inside man in Welrenwaffe had smuggled out. On the ledgers were various military items destined for Belken and other foreign ports. While the EAF was struggling to fund its modernization, the nation's defense industries were selling their workmanship like hot cakes to outsiders. Vortimer scanned down to one ledger where the items labeled "tungsten carbide rods" were typed in. This was the cause of his bicker with the liason Canson. Welrenwaffe forged and machined super-hard tungsten carbide penetrators for the new generation APFSDS rounds used in tanks. While every nation had different specifications, Welrenwaffe was still able to sell sized tungsten carbide rods to countries abroad where they were re-machined for their own APFSDS penetrators. The demand was high, and the OoD had to barter hard for a fair price in acquiring APFSDS munition for their own tank units.

But Welrenwaffe had cut them out of the production queue. And it wasn't just tank rounds. Various orders for artillery guns, mortars, rockets, explosives, and even uniforms have been backlogged by other companies who sold at a premium to foreign customers. He had pushed Isen to raise tariffs on military exports, but the Chancellor shot it down. Now nothing was getting done about it, and he hated it. It was easier getting results back in the military, you put an order out, and your men did it without question. But here...directness is a rarity in the thicket of political clamor.

"You will see my colonel Hilrich Isen, things will change."

February 24th, 1973
Presidential Palace of Manjuin, Sagoon, 14:28

General Hayashi stood behind his own desk. To his right hand he had inspected a small pendant he had received during a state visit into the Belkans. It was a pin of solid gold, proudly bearing the nation’s visage of the eagle presenting its wings. He had remembered the trip fondly; it was a diplomatic venture to insure that the financial interests in Manjuin were not to be nationalized. Prince Eduard was the one who presented him the pendant at the state dinner in his honor and he could still hear his vigorous speech on 1970, how the nation of the Belkans admired “statesmen of action, those who are willing to be firm and do what is needed for the security and well being of the future of their mother land.”

In his left hand was today newspaper. . .

It had been printed in almost every newspaper around the world. The destruction of the Royal Entourage to his highness the Prince was a most unfortunate occurrence. He had wired the embassy in the Belkans for clippings for the local newspapers turn on the story. What was returned was the great roars of lionhearted, the demand of blood and war that came from the general public.

Colonel Ito, chief of the military police of Sagoon and Fleet Admiral Hiroshi Nakamura, the highest ranking officer in the Navy were both present, both elder and grey senor officers who somewhat waited silently for their General to comment on the matter. “His former highness Prince Eduard was a great and popular figure to this nation… I would like to wire the Imperial Family Manjuin’s condolences for such a tragic lost as soon as possible.” He first made brief to the two senior officials of the paramilitary Junta.

“The nation will be placed in a public memorial for his former highness for the rest of the week, as an official proclamation, all standards are to be lowered half way as to honor the loss of our Belkan neighbors.”

Colonel Ito somewhat resettled himself in his chair before adjusting that of his starched stiffen collar around his flabby neck before he continued to speak “Perhaps the Prince was a bit too popular amongst the nation, in Sagoon alone I had to break up a riot in the Acirerosten sector of the city. There is an outrage against the Acirerosten… It seems the war hawk spirit of the Belkans have sweep into the streets of our capitol sir.”

The Military Dictator wrapped his wrinkled hands across the small pendant of gold once more “I will not allow the nation to bite at the hand that gives it fresh grain… I want the urbanized sectors of the nation to be closely watch these next few days, I want the media to mourn the loss of the Prince, any talk of violence to the Acirerosten or protest to their actions are to be censored from the media. The last thing this nation needs is it to be used a front line for the politics of three super powers.” He claimed as he adjusted the lens of his glasses once more.

“Colonel Ito if there are any more attacks on the Acirerosten citizens in the city I will expect you to bring down these acts with the full inventionary force of the police.” He claimed. The chief somewhat saluted his commander and general as he stood upward to hail him so. He then motioned over to Fleet Admiral Nakamura who somewhat turned his attention to the general.

“Fleet Admiral Nakamua, As head of the Navy I am intrusting you with this task. Wire the Rear Admiral of the 44th Fleet stationed in the Island of Hanji and tell them to fortified the northern water ways through the islands and wired Military Intelligence of the Island of Shogennui furthest island from our republic and tell them to double submarine surveillance about the coastline of the Democracy and the Republic. In these trying times we need to keep a great eye on these two. Also, order Vice Admiral Aomori of the Lower Island Fleet Command and his various Rear Admirals to be on high alert. Just because we must keep our eyes peeled on two of the super powers, does not mean we should completely ignore the third.”

The two senior officers nodded their head “Once more… I don’t want any of the business executives on this island to be touched by the authorities, but if they are acting as spies I want them watched.” He ordered and with that the members of the Junta left the general to ponder within the confines of his office.

He would wire the Manjuin Embassies in Dinsmark, AlncFord and Hystria. He was keen to know of the other political responses of the super powers before anything else.

February 25th, 1973
A hotel near Embassy Row in Douglashien, 13:17

It was early afternoon five doors down in the Alabaster Palace a hotel that had recently opened on fourth street in the city of Douglashien. Bellow its rank and file dwelled a well stocked casino, at its center a show of exotic show girls entertaining a vast array of tourists who were curious for oriental culture and life, a paper thin cheap commercial mockery. In this room was military police inspector Captain Ayama Takahashi. Considering he was a oriental man with a rather sharp features about his face and somewhat well trimmed hair wearing a very neat formal attire.

Douglashien was a city were the many business executives and other tourists that invested a great deal of money n the country’s modernization would relax themselves in paradise and luxury in certain districts of the city. In reality, it was a city of spies. Agents of the various governments that these ‘investors’ hail from would keep tabs on the activities of the government, manipulating a third world regime for their own nefarious ends. What could the inspector do about it?

All he could do was keep tabs on these individuals, he wasn’t allowed to touch them, to arrest them, even detain them for questioning… All he could do was having each of these fiends tailed and figure out what they were doing in advanced and find some way to go around it and sabotage their plans. It was a job that was unforgiving and unkind, the police inspector having lost a spouse to it in divorce. He took a smoke as he examined the building outside. Right outside embassy row did he had the Belkan Sanction wired to try to figure out what the ambassador was planning for the Manjuin state.

He had heard the sound of women, booze and other indulgent things that would normally grace that of an important states man but treachery for the most part was not one of them. He somewhat worked on the blinds for the hotel room as he simply narrowed his eyes in the view of the Embassy. The blinds closing once more he took a seat back downward as he heard a knock on the door.

In walked a much larger man, almost resembling that of a skinned gorilla with a turf of black hair and dressed in a military uniform as he was readjusting the collar. This man was also an agent of the Military Police known as Sergeant Kato , a man of immense respect amongst the barracks and normally acted as the police inspector’s right hand in these matter of events. “Captain Takahashi…” he announced as he took a seat at the bed as well removing his own helmet due to the unbearably humid weather today. “Sergeant..” Ayama spoke in response his ear still pressed to one of the head sets of the wire.

The large man turned his head in the Captain’s direction, a look of rather bland curiosity on his face “Who is he fucking now?” he claim as he knew that look of morbid disgust on his partner’s face. The Captain took a moment to place the head set back down in irritation “Some other fucking show girl from some sleazy show room near the Heights… Why the hell am I always assigned the fucking play boys to keep little notes on.” He claimed. Sergeant Kato eyes somewhat light upward as he took the head set and somewhat giggled. “They seem to be the only ones having a good time.” He joked around with a brief laugh “Right Captain?”

Ayama merely rolled his eyes as he took another smoke “I don’t even know why Military Intelligence wants me to keep taps on this one! For all it seems to me this is just another Belkan prick who wanted a cushy job in a tropical paradise where he impress girls with his big flashy position, free state dinners, free car rides, all those damn things these sausage stuffing scum bags like from us these days.” He claimed as he took another puff of his cigarette.

Kato somewhat light up as well his ear still pressed on the head set for a while before placing it downward. “Military Intelligence is sending us a liaison to back our efforts upward.” He was first to claim. Ayama did not like this one bit, in fact, he normally did not like any of the people in Military Intelligence as they were keen of messing up the natural order of things that happened around Douglashien. “Who are we expecting…?” he inquired to his partner. The Sergeant somewhat fumbled about records and order transcripts before uttering the name “Daisuke Yamamoto, 2nd Lieutenant..” The older inspector merely rolled his eyes. A second Lieutenant was merely a private with benefits.

“You called for me Sergeant Kato?” A somewhat more soft spoken voice claimed as it entered into the room. There stood 2nd Lieutenant Yamamoto a much younger, less savage looking man compared to his two partners wearing a very simple looking suit and tie. “I brought the stake out food like you request.” He added as he held three meals enough food to last them the rest of the evening if possible. “Ah! Very good Daisuke place it over by the table if you can we are going to be here for a while.”

The young man complied as he placed the food upon a nearby desk and his eyes slowly wandered to the headset on the bed. “Is that the wire to our current target??” he inquired as he gestured over to it. Kato let out a big grin as he uttered “Sure is…”

The young officer was very eager as he pulled out a notepad. “Ah! I’ve been waiting for this for a while! I think it would be a good idea to take notes on names and addresses and whatever else is said on tape… Sort of look into them after this stake out.” He claimed as he motioned to the headset. As he pressed it against his ear he paused for a moment curious to know what those stranger noises were, when he dropped the headset Kato let out a large burst of laughter and Captain Ayama merely smacked his own forehead.

February 25th, 1973
Outskirts of the Village of Sayashi upon the Island of Kaya, 18:43

Night had cooled down the very hot and humid barracks that were between the two villages of the Island. First Lieutenant Junko Oshiro was still sick in bed due to massive heat stroke which the local doctor prescribed rest leaving Corporal Tanaka in charge. The Corporal was nothing more than the personal minion of Oshiro only obtaining his noncommissioned rank by completely schmoozing their commander with his speech on General Hayashi’s Birthday a day that was consider a national holiday by most.

Despite that, the corporal was merely nothing more than a weasel and was rather indecisive as a fool and as unpopular as their screaming, riding crop wielding commander. Within the night two soldiers were seen silently slipping away from the barracks.

“I still don’t think anyone but the mosquitoes are going to be interested in our uniforms Hachiro!” was the first words that came out of Kazuko’s lips. “I am sweating like a horse here!” The other private let out a small laugh before shaking his head. “Kazuko, Kazuko, Kazuko, haven’t heard??” he inquired to the private. This prompted the other man to somewhat motion closer as he fanned himself with his cap “What??” he inquired simply enough. “Women are into this…” Hachiro claimed with confidence.

This caused Kazuko to somewhat pull back in oddity “They are??” he claimed as he looked at his sweaty self. Hachiro somewhat shook his head “Ah! Always the farm boy Kazuko! No! No! The uniform! Women like the uniform! It’s an absolute magnet to them!” he claimed as he made big gestures with his arms and then motioned further for the bright lights of the village. Kazuko paused again before uttering “Are you sure??”

How the hell did he get dragged into another one of Hachiro’s schemes again? Was he simply a sucker for something different on this station now and then? He began to consider if he was just insane to still be listening to his friend as most of these ideas and plans of his usually meant him losing some money he never get back and gaining some harsh beatings and demerits from Oshiro. Of course, their commander was singing nursery rhymes with a large bag of ice on his head at the moment so he doubts he would do anything soon.

The two made their way into the village. It was not a modernized place as most of the buildings were more traditional to Manjuin’s customs. Of course there were exceptions like the fishery, the post office, the planter’s mansion and so forth and one of those exceptions was the movie theater that was now in front of the two. The two handed in their ticket to a rather elder man at the front and pushed into a one room theater with many pews for seats a projector in the back and an old projection screen in the front. Many villagers were here as a showing of a movie was a very rare and celebrated luxury around the village.

Hachiro somewhat waved over to the two village girls that he was talking with the day he asked for the 400 Zen loan. “Our dates for tonight.” He whispered to his companion “The first one wouldn’t agree on the date unless she could have also gotten a date for her younger sister.” he claimed. Kazuko merely rolled his eyes: He was his wing man, typical Hachiro. The group somewhat moved with the pews and joined in a brief conversation of greetings and hellos. He found out the older one was named Fumiko and the his date was named Hana. The lights went dim as everyone took their seats.

Suddenly a spot light shot from the stage emerging out to thunderous applause was a very old man with a merry grin on his face. “Thank you! Thank you all for coming!” he greeted the group as he let out a brief chuckle “With all the tragedy that has befallen our friends and neighbors, it is still good to see we can still gather around for a single evening and enjoy one of our favorite classical The Old Man.” he announced as he lifted up the old film reel. The village was excited as they applauded once more. Kazuko remembered seeing that film as a child himself… It was an old Geryotain western about a man named Daniel Cooper, though he could not remember the name of the actor. He barely understood the English, but the gun fight scenes were always a favorite pass time of his, seeing the heroes win, the villains punished for their misdeeds.

Suddenly Kazuko felt something hot and realized everything was brighter around them as he looked around seeing that he and his companion were now in the spot light with their dates. “We at the village are proud to service our FIGHTING MEN!” the elder claimed as even more thunderous applause clamored in the building. It was about this time when national anthem began to play on the screen, like it did before any movie as the cluster of people began to loosely sing in praise of their motherland.

Kazuko could feel the tugging as he and his friend were brought on stage to help with the anthem, both removed their caps and join in the singing. The private stood in the bright lights, merely awed by what he seen. Here a collection of people, people he never met or known, proud of him, proud of what he was doing and part of. This sense of pride somewhat tingled inside the private’s heart for he had never felt such a tremor of affection before. Was this truly being a soldier was about? Upholding ideals that the many look up to?

The Anthem ended briskly and with a final comment from the elder he motioned to the very back of the room and began to work on the projector. The film slowly began to run before adjusting itself. Crude subtitles were at the bottom of the screen for those who could not understand English as their date began.

Gervona South Armory & Training Facility, 22km from Gervona city - 13:28 BST, February 24th, 1973

Prince Eduard's death was the top of the news on base. Recruits and officers alike chattered about the strange circumstances revolving it and the coming storm that has resulted. On the minds of many was one question; will there be war? The tragic incident had jolted the Elexian military from its peacetime slumber and they all wonder whether they themselves will be involved this time around.

But the heads in OoD were quiet, and the military readiness level remained unchanged. Training and exercise routines in GEV South Armory were par usual, a slow day of "bush hiking" in the snowy woodlands surrounding the base, and the rest of the day off for new recruits to do whatever they please. Military life in the Elixian Armed Forces was never as strenuous as those in other countries, and training was especially lenient during the winter months. As many EAF recruitment officers will call it, "A paid vacation."

A blizzard has hit the area, so many of the recruits stayed inside for lunch. In the mess hall, a squad of 3rd Nachtjäger Regiment men discussed the Prince's death over lunch.

"I'm telling you, the Belkan's did it to themselves," Private Herg Wogren said loudly as he sipped on a mug of hot milk tea. "That bastard Eduard might even be alive; sitting on his royal ass on silk cushions in some secret underground hideout eating chocolate pastries."

"You're an idiot Herg," Corporal Sheen Shulz responded with a mouthful of cheese pasta. "Why the hell will they fake an assassination of their own?"

"I don't know, Belkans are weird like that. If you ask me, they're trying to drag everyone into war, get the home crowd roused up before the final match you know? Its bloody brilliant if you think about it."

"Only idiots result to conspiracy," Shulz took another bite from his cheese pasta."The plane got shot down, by intent or accident, I don't know. But they sure hell didn't blow up their own royalty. If you ask me, those Acires are at fault for having such draconic air control. Shooting a blimp on a radar just because you couldn't tell what it was? Hey Oreg, isn't your brother a pilot in Helios Air?"

A intelligent looking young corporal looked up slightly from his hot soup. "Doel tells me Acirerosten is a nightmare to fly into. You fly an inch outside of the flight corridors and the local ATC will call for your skin. Whole country is a big no-fly zone, airspace more locked up then a Vestal virgin. And they don't send their birds up to warn you, they just shoot."

Corporal Shulz grimace in unease at the answer. "...Can't be that bad?"

"Could be just wives tales, he never actually flew flights there. Just heard from other pilots." Oreg went back to eating his soup. "If it was an accident, someone fucked up big time."

"I'm telling you, it was no accident. Emperor Walther called a hit on his baby boy," Worgren repeated.

"No they didn't, idiot."

"You just saying that cause you're Belkan."

"I'm third generation," Shulz snapped back. His family was among the many old Belkan stock that came to Elexia during the 1880's, and he still had relatives in the Reich but barely knew. Since the prince's death, his parents had been getting phone calls from cousins in Dinsmark, asking them to petition Elexia's government into antagonizing the Acires. Shulz knew there was a lot of deep anger in Belkan right now; it made him wonder if Worgren was right about Belkans being weird like that. "In any case, Eduard stirred up a shit storm by dying. Whole world's pulling out the guns, waiting for that first bullet."

"Except for us," Worgren added. "We're still on standing alert, which is no alert at all. And I think the Prince getting blown up will already be the first bullet, no?"

"...Maybe," Shulz replied unsure. "But I'm sure no one's gonna bother us. Or else they got the 3rd Nachtjäger ar-gee to worry about."

"Oh yea," Worgen agreed with a grin. "We'll knife them in their sleeping bags while they sleep. - " Worgen jerked his attention to the entrance of the mess hall. A burly man in his 50s stood there, his eyes scanning the mess hall. He paused to observe the tables where the officers and drill instructors sat for their meals. He then calmly walked to the serving counter.

"That's Drill Sergeant Gortz," Worgen whispered to the others. "Osmen from 2nd told me this guy use to be Belkan army. Fought in the damn War before getting hired by OoD to instruct here."

"He's Reichsheer?" Shulz said with amazement. "Damn, he must be old. He don't look older than 40 though; probably can take both of us down in a fight. Shit, look at those arms."

"Ha! Not me he won't. But yea, he's the real deal. Osmen says he's got bullet marks all over." Worgen watched the sergeant with discomfort. "There's something fishy about him."

"Why, cause he's Belkan?"

"No...something else that's not right. Call it a hunch." Worgen gulped down the last of his drink. "I'm keeping my eye on him, especially with what's going on right now."

"You need to see a therapist," Shulz mumbled. "You're paranoid."

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


Sergeant Gortz walked to the counter, where a tall young corporal was on station. "What can I get you Sergeant?" the young corporal politely asked.

"Coffee, two sugars. No milk," Sergeant Gortz smilingly said. "Milk isn't agreeing with me these days."

"Still a coffee drinker I see," the corporal grinned. "I think you and the other FS instructors are the only reasons we keep a tin of Bimar beans around. Not a lot of us Elexians drink the stuff."

Seargeant Gortz grinned back. "Well, coffee's an old habit of mine. And tea just don't cut it for a old soldier like me. Spend two straight months in the trenches and you'll know what I mean."

"Alright Seargeant," chuckled the corporal. "Give me a moment to brew a fresh pot."

"Appreciate it Corporal. You're the only soldier here with the talent to make a proper cup of coffee."

As the corporal disappeared into the kitchen, Gortz took the opportunity to check on the officer's table again. He saw that all the officers on duty were slowly enjoying their lunch, including the Colonel Velderhanz, the base commander. Beside the officer's table was the one for the base's drill instructors. Gortz turned away before any of them notice him and asks him to sit down. Time was the essence. He waited for the corporal to return with his coffee, thanked him, and made a subtle beeline for the door.

He calmly pushed the door open into the blowing cool winter air outside. White snow covered the ground of the South Armoury, its whiteness marred by tracks of mud where pedestrians walk. The drill sergeant walked up the main path of the base leading to the command office. The cup of coffee was still in his hands, untouched. When he was aware that no one was close by, he pulled a small vial from his coat pocket and pour its contents into the coffee. He returned the vial to his pocket quickly, and climbed up steps to the main entrance of the command office building. Standing outside the entrance was a shivering private on guard.

"Private Osmen!" Gortz shouted to the guard.

"Sarge!" Private Osmen replied cheerily. Good to see you!"

Gortz smiled at the young private and handed him the coffee. "Thought you could use a hot drink and some company."

"Ha! You're a lifesaver Sarge!" The private graciously accepted the steaming cup. "Woah, is this coffee?"

"Drink of a real soldier," Gortz smirked. "Wakes you right up. Not like your watered down tea."

"Heh, thanks Sarge." Private Osmen sniffed the black brew, and slowly took a sip. "Eh, its got bite alright. But not bad." The private took another slow sip.

"I'm more partial for Majuin fine roast, but this is alright." Grotz watched patiently as Osmen downed the spiked drink. "Coffee is like a religion in Belkan."

"Hmm, is that so?" Osmen gulped down more of the coffee, letting the hot brew warm his shivering body. "Do you miss it, Sarge? Belkan I mean."



"Sometimes."



Gortz chatted with the private, talking about his life before the War as a young boy delivering flowers for his mother's shop. How he joined the Imperial Army at sixteen and his part in the ruthless combat that took place during the Great War. He talked about the friends he made, and the friends he lost. About the time he faced the strafing fire of an enemy fighter while manning a triple-A gun. All through the conversation he subtly looked at his wristwatch, keeping track of the minutes that passed. "Any minute now."

"Uh....not feeling so good Sarge," said the private as he clenched his stomach."Oh...this is bad. Real bad." Gortz expressed surprise. "Are you not well Private?" The private's face contorted in pain. "Aw....I have to use the lav," the private grimaced. "You mind keeping watch for me Sarge?"

"I don't see why not."

"Heh, thanks again Sarge....Awrrh, just give me five minutes." The private handed Gortz his EAR-244 rifle and hurried to a nearby lavatory next to the command office. Gortz waited until the lavatory's door closed behind Osmen, then laid the rifle down. It was time to proceed to the next stage of his task. The sergeant made sure that no one about watching him, then quietly opened the steel doors of the command office and slipped in.

He had spiked Private Osmen's coffee with an laxative. By his estimates he had twelve minutes before Osmen was done expelling the contents of his colon. It could had been longer, but the private had a light breakfast and lunch today. Nevertheless, twelve minutes would be enough time to get what he needed.

Grotz proceeded swiftly down the hall of the command office towards his goal. He knew the layout from day-to-day observations he made when he came into the office to liaison with officers. From his earlier reconnaissance of the mess hall, he knew all the officers including Colonel Velderhanz had left the office for lunch. From what he observed everyday, it would be a while before they returned for work. And just one guard to keep anyone from strolling in while they were gone. Even he admits, it was a little too easy. There weren't even CC cameras to monitor the hallway. In Belkan, this would never been the case for a facility of this significance.

Gortz stopped at a walnut door with a glazed glass sill. It was Colonel Velderhanz's office. Gortz tested the door handle; it was locked. He had half expected it to be unlock, but no matter. He pulled out a leather pouch from his coat pocket, and from the pouch he drew out a torque wrench and several lockpicks. He kneeled down to the keyhole and started to work. The lock was an average six pin tumbler, he cracked it within half a minute. The door opened up to a spacious office, the colonel's mahogany desk sat in the back while cabinets and two plainer desks for his aides sidelined it. Another door, steel paneled, was off to the side of the colonel's desk. Gortz left the desks alone, and stepped to the back where the steel door was.

The security lock on this door was tougher. But it also held a more lucrative prize. He immediately began to work. He would had preferred a lockpick-gun to hand picks, especially with his old fingers, but concealing it would had been a risk. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he fiddled diligently on the lock. He glanced at a clock hanging from the wall; four minutes has passed since Osmen left him alone. There was a moment of slight panic as he wondered if the private had returned early, but then the lock's cylinder rotated loose from its position, and the steel door popped open. Success.

Inside, it was a shelf of folders holding documents sent in from Elexia's Office of Defense. Unit strength, call signs, proficiency reports, etc, but Gortz had his eyes on a red booklet that sat by itself on the shelf. This was the booklet his handler had told him about. Gortz exited the file closet with the red booklet, and set it down on the colonel's desk. He turned on the desk lamp and positioned it to illuminated the area of the booklet. Flipping the red booklet open to the first page, he pulled a micro-camera from his pocket and started snapping images of the content. The camera was ironically Elexian-made, his handler had sent him it for several tasks before this one. For Gortz, it was an excellent tool for reproducing clear images of the text and maps within the booklet. He worked fast but steady; after a few dozen shots, he looked at the clock to check the time. Three minutes before his predicted time of Osmen's return. "Almost done."






"Hey Sarge?" Osmen shouted out.

"Yeah?" Grotz was leaning on the wall relaxed, his arms crossed. "Did you eat today's cheese pasta? I think it gave me the runs," the young private grunted. "That was the worst "sitting" ever."

Grotz laughed. "That's why I stay off the dairy. You feel better now?"

The old Belken veteran felt a little guilty for conning Osmen; the private was a honest young man who he liked. But the intelligence he had gathered was far more important. Inside the red booklet were intimate details of Elexia's defense plan; operational scenarios of what Elexian commanders were to do if the country was invaded. It had maps depicting locations of bunkers and supply caches, general strategies, and contingency procedures. His comrades in Dinsmark will be thrilled with his finding.

"I'll see you soon Osmen." The sergeant waved goodbye to the private, and headed on back to his barracks; the camera and its film safe in coat pocket. He will send the film to his handler on his next leave to town. The old veteran sighed. For twenty years he had been an intelligence agent for his homeland, twenty long years where he's been away from his family and home. Before that, he had fought as a soldier for his country. What sort of man survives a war against all odds, only to leave his wife and children again to serve his country in espionage? A patriot? Perhaps. He just hope his mission in Elexia will end soon, then he could return to his beautiful Emma and see Anita and Johanna again.



*FS - "Foreign Service"

"Good afternoon Geryotain! It's Flick Green coming at you live over the air waves! Today, the listeners, you beautiful people out there, asked what I thought about Conrad von Schulz. You know, that chubby diplomat from Belka? He's here to talk to President Krisbur and other members of our government, on the basis of 'ensuring Geryotain trade and prosperity'. You'd have to think there's a pink flag on Tang Sui to buy that! The fat bastard is probably trying to shove Geryotain into a mutual military pact..." The host sighs, shaking his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, taking a breather.
"His lack of style appalls me. He thinks he'll come to Geryotain soil and throw his weight around just because we accept food imports from Belka. And if we are forced into joining their side in this war, we'll be dealing with every assualt up the Long Sea!
I say down with Belka, down with government controlled media, and Pink power!
This is the program you need to be listening too, people. Where we give the facts to you, and don't sugar coat them to make it better. Stay pretty, Geryotain. Flick Green, going to commercials.
And I need a drink... Oh shit, did I-"

Jeremy flicked off the radio as a commercial for a cruise through the Geryotain Reef came on, returning his attention back to the road where it belonged. The weather was nice out now, and he would have had his windows open in his junker, if it weren't for the noxious smell wafting from the Long Sea beneath the interstate. Today was a fairly pleasant day in Krisburg, all in all. The sun was shining, the mills were polluting, the cops were arresting.
Jeremy patted the paper bag behind his knees, assuring himself that it was still there. His next fix rode against his chair and legs, bustling around with each grave sized pothole he careened into. Jeremy wiped his palms, clearing them of sweat before returning them to the wheel. Being a drug mule was nerve racking business! Every cop that he spied made his heart rate triple, and clutch at the bag.
He was close to the dropoff though, and he'd get his money there. The clunker veered off the interstate and onto a badly maintained exit ramp, emerging into a cramped cluster of leaning brick apartments. The stoops here were concealed with copious amounts of graffiti, and small gangs of teenagers roamed menacingly over the crumbling sidewalks. This was one of the worst parts of town, just downwind of the industrial sector and the shipyard, which left the air visibly clogged with smog and small flecks of debris.
He was approaching a mechanic's shop, or maybe it was a workshop of some kind? Jeremy didn't know, or care for that matter. All that he was worried about were the ten men dressed suspiciously in front of the building, blasting loud music and rolling dice up against the side of the workshop mechanic place thingy.
As the car pulled up, one of the men approached, leaning in to tap on Jeremy's window.
"You got that V-killer?" He asked, referring to the drug in the bag, now referenced as Violinist killer due to it's reputation for having killed an important player in the movie industry. Jeremy nodded and passed it over, reciting the message he'd been forced to remember.
"Shameel says take this to John Q. and to tell him 'The time is right'." Jeremy frowned as he mumbled it again to himself. It sounded like the whole message.
Raising an eyebrow, the man inspected the bag. His expression of confusion increased.
"This ain't V-Killer... what the fuck is this shit?"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I said get the fuck out of here!" Tommy's voice echoed down the hallways after a shapely figure storming away with tears glistening in her eyes. Tommy tossed out a basket full of clothes, scattering them before the doorway. Scrambling through the pile, he retrieved a camera, nearly ripping it's back off to get at the film. He snatched it out in a hurry and charged inside, slinging the film and camera both into the fireplace. Relief knocked him over into a chair while the film crumpled and belched out a strange colored smoke.
His life would have been ruined had he not destroyed the shots of him injecting himself with 'V-Killer'. The bitch had come up to him not but thirty minutes earlier, to tell him the shots she took were great. Lo and behold, apparently he had met her at a party the night prior, but he hardly remembered it. He was so out of whack that night he wouldn't have know he was hit by a truck. Luck was on his side though, and he'd burned the only roll she'd used. Hopefully.

"Fuck me, I'm so great..." He cooed and leaned back in his chair, the firelight glittering in his eyes. Then the two shimmering orbs flashed to the television, and he was overcome with an urge to flick it on, like a nagging woman telling him to watch it. There was supposed to be something on that he wanted to record, but he couldn't remember. Giving up on his thoughts, he brought the set to life with a press of a button.
"-swear that we will observe both sides of this debate equally, and consider them with the best interests of Geryotain in mind. The safety of our streets and schools is of no laughing matter to this administration!" President Krisbur said his thank yous and stepped down from the podium. Along the bottom of the television, the newsreel brought Tommy up to speed. Apparently, there was a big push for doing something about the rampant narcotics. Some debate was going to happen between two old farts, and they were going to propose some new stuff about introducing more harsh drug laws and cleaning up the streets with narcotics police. The other was going to preach what Tommy wanted to hear, legalization! Then he could parade around town high as a kite, without any punk ass cop messing with him.

He jumped as someone pounded on his door.
"Sir! You have a photo op to be to in... fifteen minutes! You need to get ready, right now!" His aide scrambled at the door, pleading with him to actually show initiative.
Tommy rolled his eyes and kicked the television off, taking a last look at the ashes that were once a roll of film, covered in the end of his career. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Besides, he really wanted to see when they'd be doing all the debating, so he could do a speech or some shit about it, and share his opinion with Geryotain.
"Coming mother..." He groaned to the door.

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

"It's Flick, still on the air and screaming what they don't want you to hear! First up on my list of things to rant about is... oh, this'll be good. You've all heard about that 'Incident' in Acirerostian airspace, right? With that plane getting shot down, and Prince Eduard going down in it? That's what's on my list. And won't you get an earful today. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they canceled me for this!
A lot of conspiracy theories have been flying around because of this. I've heard some ranging from Geryotain Black Ops agents taking the plane out, to it being an inside job, and even some as far flung as to say that extraterrestrials had a hand in this! Now, you can pick whichever you want, just don't listen to the official story. If it's on government media, it's a lie.
As far as the facts go, what's certain is that Prince Eduard is dead. You hear that? Dead. Acirerostia is going to claim it as an accident, and then there'll be a brooding cold war there. Or, if worse comes to worse, then we'll have a full scale invasion going on! If that war is successful, then Belkans will have Acirerostian oil to fuel their war machine! From there, Belka might as well have the world on a silver platter. Nobody else will really want to step into the conflict on this continent, nobody's stupid enough. If, and here's a big if, the superpowers on the east decide to step in, then maybe we'll see resistance here against Belka. It all looks pretty bleak from this side.
Either way this goes, stay pretty, and remember: Pink Power!

Now then, next up on the list is the Northern Security Initiative. This thing is pressing to get passed into law immediately, and will allow for any suspicious craft, in water or in air, to be subject to a search by the military. This means, while you're off fishing, a patrol boat could decide to search you with nothing but an odd feeling in their gut. They'll practically tear your ship apart trying to find something illegal! And do you think they'll put it back together for you once they find out all you were doing was fishing? No!
And this is all because a bunch of loons out on the Reef decided they wanted to start being even more 'active' in their cause. These people are chucking grenades onto cruise ships! Hell with 'inspecting ships', just get the navy out into the water and catch them and their friends! Nobody else is attacking cruise ships, so why subject us to these stupid laws?
Flick Green, disputing government stupidity. We'll be right back after the station rakes in it's ad money. Stay pretty and pink!

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

"So, are you with us?" The heavyset man leaned on his elegant cane, raising an eyebrow at President Krisburg in the chair across. Marking the silence with a sip from his glass, enjoying the taste of an old, smooth whiskey, The President would flit his eyes over Ambassador Conrad Von Schulz. He seemed to be a competent man, more than willing to do deals with a businessman-like attitude. Gulliver set down his glass and reclined in the hand crafted mahogany chair, stroking his chin with a hand.
"You want us to side with you, is pretty much what you're asking me when it all boils down. We'll do a political tango, dance the night away, and then go to war in the morning?" His question hung in the air, unanswered. Conrad shifted his mass in the chair, medals and decorations jingling faintly as he did so. With a clearing of his throat, and a brief stroke of his mustache, Conrad spoke up.
"Surely you have felt the rising tension, between west and east? If sides are not drawn up, then we shall surely be crushed under their collective heel!"
"We? As far as I can see, this is about you. Belka versus the democracies. You Belkans have been eying the globe for a while, and you're just giddy for a chance to get your hands on it. And this incident over Acirerostia..."
The Ambassador's expression turned sour. His cane smacked down onto the floor, disrupting the brooding silence in the room.
"If Geryotain wants to stay out of this war, then they will side with Belka! Otherwise, the West is going to chew you and your little pink nation up and spit you out looking like a five Geryo whore! Every navy under every flag is going to 'occupy your port' and clean themselves up with your neutrality contracts! I can only imagine how disappointed your Belkan citizens will be when you let their homelands be ravaged by the West when you could have prevented it!" The rage occupying the squat, overweight man was enough to leave Gulliver in shock as Conrad rose to leave. The door slammed hard behind him, and Gulliver swore he heard the frame crack.
"Occupy my port? These Belkans are desperate." His thoughts went to ramble off through contracts and charters, weighing options and morals.
"Mister President, is everything alright?" His secretary came in, sniffling and rubbing at her nose. "I saw the Ambassador leave and..."
He waved the question away and eyed her curiously.
"Something wrong with your nose? Need a tissue?" He asked, sitting up now.
She looked nervous, and passed him a pile of documents before vanishing quickly into the other room.
"Thank you?" Gulliver asked the empty room, flipping open the first manila folder. Grain import figures from Belka. Ratio of food intake to local agricultural output. Crime levels in Krisburg.
Things were looking grim, and what looked worse, was how deep Belka was ingrained into Geryotain.

10:30 PM, February 25, 1973
Sarzanne, Navara

“One minute, Mr. Capaccio.”

The intern shuffled off, dismissed with a wave from the veteran newscaster who sat still in his seat, attended to by a flurry of make-up artists and various other station staff doing last minute preparations for the night’s broadcast. Vittore Capaccio had been lead anchor of Sarzanne Tonight for the past 17 years and felt so comfortable in the hotseat that he could nearly be bored with the pressure. Instead of focusing on the papers in front of him, he made suggestive glances towards a young intern holding a clipboard behind the cameras. As the minute counted down, the staff attending to him left one after the other until it was just he alone at the desk, shuffling papers before quickly downing a glass of scotch proffered to him from a rushing intern who quickly scampered back behind the safety of the cameras. With a wink and a smile to the girl with the clipboard, he did a quick swivel in his chair before coming to a rest in his signature position, leaning forwards on the desk facing the camera casually.

“Good evening Sarzanne!” He enunciated loudly, in the typical tone of a television newscaster. “And welcome to Sarzanne Tonight. Today in Trevia, parliament has passed the anti-drug laws proposed last week. Nicknamed the Bernacchi Bill, in memory of the celebrated violinist who died of a drug overdose in Geryotain earlier this month, the legislation is aimed at cutting the heads off of the spreading networks of drug traffickers across the country. The new laws include tighter sanctions on imports to the country as well as a wider net of police influence across the country. Carabinieri Chief, Pietro Garibaldi, said today in a press conference that the laws will lead to a breakthrough in blocking the flood of illicit traffic coming from Bimaristan. He promised greater cooperation with the Repubblicano Marina as well as coordination alongside the Geryotain police in combating the import of drugs as well as their distribution. In the same conference, Mr. Garibaldi also announced a wide sweeping police operation that was put into action early this morning, arresting nearly two hundred people involved in the drug trade around Trevia alone. But it was not all celebration of the new laws, as opposition party leader, Enrico Sturza, spoke out against in the increase in new power. Warning of the sweeping changes, Sturza urged the Bernacchi Bill could lead to an abuse of power on behalf of the Carabinieri. Despite these claims, many supporters of the bill are glad to have seen it passed.”

“To international news now, the situation between Belka and Acirerostan appears to be escalating. In what is being called a ‘tragic mechanical malfunction’, Prince Eduard of Belka was killed by the Acirerostan Navy two days ago as his plane was flying towards the country for a diplomatic meeting with the government there. The Acirerostan government has offered its sincerest condolences to their Belkan counterparts, in an attempt to assuage the drums of war that are beating amongst the Belkan populace. It remains to be seen precisely how the Belkans will respond to the situation, but the world waits with bated breath to see if the days ahead will unfold as they did years ago during the Great War. We will discuss this further tonight in our Panel Discussion, but first to local news…”

-

7:30AM, February 25th, 1973
Bello Station, Paese, Navara

Nico frowned heavily as he trudged through the train station, nearly empty at this time in the morning. Hefting a dufflebag over his shoulder, and dressed in uniform, he, wandered through the station with purpose, his booted feet clapping along the ground with every step. His surly attitude had started an hour away in the mountains as he had gotten on the train in the pouring rain and oppressive darkness. His love, Luci, had been there. Shivering in a thin fleece as the train churned away. He watched her, crying, as she stood alone on the platform. Nico rarely got leave time, his obligation to the Verbani being considered a priority over his personal life. This made their time together absolute bliss, but their goodbyes were always so much harder because of it. More so when it was cut short as it had been. Nico had been recalled to his regiment the day before, with his unit being put on high alert due to ‘developing international tensions’.

His churlish attitude must have been apparent as the few people present in the station gave him a fairly wide berth. As he emerged from the station, he stood for a few moments in the drizzling rain while trying to flag down a cab. Managing to get hold of one, he simply threw his bag in the backseat before clambering in after it. The cabbie made to ask for a destination, but upon seeing the frown and fatigues, he simply nodded before speeding off in the direction of the Verbani base on the other side of town.

“Leave cut short, eh?” The cabbie asked, trying to cut through Nico’s sour mood. He chuckled at the silence from the back seat. “Has something to do with Belka, eh?” He asked, not expecting a response. He waited for some sort of a sign from the back seat before continuing. With nothing forthcoming, he laboured on with the conversation. “I was lucky, I got out back in ’56.” He hoped the mention of military service would coax the young soldier into conversation. The tactic proved correct as Nico softened up slightly.

“What unit were you with?” Nico asked hoarsely, coughing slightly to clear his throat before repeating the question.

“4 Verbani.” The cabbie said with a smile, knowing the implication it would have on his passenger. He watched as Nico’s face lit up with the understanding of what the man driving him to his destination was.

“Paracadutisti!?” Nico nearly shouted it from the back seat. The Verbani Paracadutisti were one of the special forces of the Navaran military, and one of the most highly trained light infantry forces on the planet. The cabbie held up a tattooed forearm for Nico to admire, a 4 clearly emblazoned attached to an open parachute taking centre stage. The pair continued to speak for the rest of the ride, swapping stories and discussing the current state of the Verbani compared to nearly twenty years prior. Nico was so enthralled by the living legend driving him to the base that when he stepped from the cab and through the gates of the Armoury, he had entirely forgotten about the morning’s heartbreak.

-

12:30PM, February 25th, 1973
Dierter Military Installation, Northeastern Fienka

“So we’re staying?”

Carlo was ecstatic. He was trying to sound respectful while addressing his Company commander, but it was proving extremely difficult with his current mood. The rest of the Lieutenants in the Company were assembled as well, and were almost all in the same mood as he. The combined exercise had been over for two days now, but the Navarans had been slow to leave Fienka due to developing situations in Belka. And now, with their deployment extended indefinitely to dissuade any Belkan aggression north, the prospect of actual combat was dangling tantalizingly in front of the inexperienced soldiers eyes. The Company Commander smiled at the assembled troops as he confirmed their hopes before dismissing them to break the news to their troops.

Carlo strode towards the plywood shack being used as a platoon barracks, his excitement barely contained as he rushed through the cold night air.

-

4:30PM, February 25th, 1973
Western Strait of Mezzana, Off the coast of Navara

“See anything, Sepp?”

The pair of pilots were soaring far in the skies off the coast of Navara, acting as pickets over the gulf that separated Belka and Navara. The A-12s had been flying these interception patrols almost constantly over the past few days in response to the Belkan calls for war. The pilots were eager for contact with some of the fabled Belkan aces. Eager with the foolhardy belief that they were invincible. Despite this, the Flight darted across the sky, growing increasingly disappointed with the lack of contact.

“Negative, Johnny.” The other pilot, Sepp, retorted to the question. His voice crackled over the radio into Johnny’s headset, sounding a little distorted for some reason. Johnny tapped on the receiver in his ear a few times to try and clear up the signal, but simply cursed instead.

“These new radios are pissing me off.” He said casually to his wingman, genuinely upset. The new radios in question were proving to be unreliable at best. There was talk amongst the Group to replace all of them with the old ones, but it was only being considered by the Flight’s command, but it had thus far not happened.

“I hear you.” Sepp responded. “Or I guess I don’t.” He added quickly in an attempt at humour.

“Alright, let’s poke around out here for a little bit longer and then head home.” Johnny decided, having been put as Flight lead for the patrol.

“Copy that.”

-

11:00PM, February 25th, 1973
Navaran Parliament, Trevia, Navara

Aldo Gasperi, Primo Ministre of the Navaran Republic, sat in his office with five of the most influential people in the country. The council, as it were, had been discussing the international tensions for the better part of the afternoon, letting their conversation bleed into the late evening in an attempt to address everything that was occurring in the best way possible. Despite the optimism of some, it seemed that war with Belka was an inevitability. Ways to circumvent it had been discussed, and would be employed by the Republic in due course, but it seemed that the nation of Belka was too far along the path of retribution to listen to any sort of diplomatic reasoning. A call for an international investigation into the death of the Prince had been rebuked by the Kaiser, and even now tensions between Belka and the rest of the world were sharply on the rise. With little option for a détente, the Navarans were busy preparing as best as they could for the coming days.

“So the Geryos are going to stay neutral?” Louis Celotti, Chief of the Defence Forces, asked the group, unsure of the political aspect of the surrounding countries. A powerfully competent military man, he had never been familiar with diplomacy or politics, preferring instead the upfront way of war to the underhanded subterfuge of government.

“The Geryos are a hard card to read.” Ulisse Dini, chief political advisor to the Primo Ministre, said in response. “They are filled with Belkans, and yet they have an established tradition of neutrality. The same goes for Elixia. We are surrounded by Belkans in the middle of a Belkan war.” He stood up and wandered over to the window, in thought, as the rest of the room waited on him to continue.

“What of the Bimaristanis?” Matteo Ricci, a member of Gasperi’s cabinet, asked.

“What of them?” Ulisse asked back, not bothering to look back from the window. “They are fickle as always. They have been unresponsive in helping us stem the drug war, and if war comes they will no doubt be unresponsive then too. They are a divided country on the verge of civil war. On top of that, there is little love there for the Belkans. They will provide little threat should war come, if they do not declare neutrality outright.”

“The Fienkans we can count on.” Louis chimed in, simply just to assure himself that they were not alone in the fight.

“But can the Fienkans count on us?” Salvador Luria, the former Navaran ambassador in Belka, commented. “Even now there’s some that call for us to back out of our alliance. Protesters picketed the announcement of the most recent exercise. They may be a minority, but casualties will change that. Once mothers begin to get letters telling them their sons have died fighting the Belkans on behalf of Fienka, we will all be greeted by a very angry populace.” He mused thoughtfully. “No, unless we are threatened directly we cannot support a prolonged combat.”

“If we were to put pressure on exports bound for Elixia, especially grain, how swayed would they be to see our cause in a sympathetic light?” Aldo turned to ask Ulisse, still staring out the window.

“It’s possible. But there is the risk that we could push too far. If we do, then that puts them firmly in the Belkan camp.” He added, contemplating a course of action. “Although how the Belkans would supply them is beyond me…”

“We’d be in a two front war. Not a lot we could do to stop them. It’d be quite a short fight too, if that came around.” Louis added.

“It appears as if it is our only way to deal with the Elixians. Either that or ensure their neutrality somehow. We cannot risk any sort of Belkan influence on our northern flank.” Ulisse said.

Aldo mulled the idea over for some time, as the rest of the room was quiet. “I will speak with the Elixian ambassador in the morning.” He said at length. “As for the Geryos?”

“They have been warm to working closer with us in the past, but there is no certainty as to how they will lie. With your permission, I will go personally to see the ambassador in the morning to speak with him.” Ulisse asked Aldo.

“Of course.” Aldo responded almost immediately. The room once again fell into silence. “Louis, do you have an order of battle yet?”

Louis Celotti adjusted himself in his seat as he sorted through his ideas. As he did so, an aide came in with coffee for each of the men. It was surely going to be a long night.

Ministry of Defence’s Office

With Azurian Unification Day come and gone, the Department of Defence was back on its feet after the chaotic few days spent getting everything up-to-date and ready. Of course a skeleton crew had been provided, but that would hardly have been enough if the event which had rocked the international world had happened just a few days earlier. Acirostan shooting down a Belkan plane! Of course Acirostan might try to write it off as some sort of oversight, but Dennis knew you either had to be incredibly stupid or incredibly unlucky for something like that to happen, and he didn't believe Acirostan was currently either of those things.

After the event, the DoD had been in an uproar, wanting to make sure that no important diplomatic individuals were flying over Acirostan at the time of the event. Thankfully, no one had been, and so the Department had cooled down some what, though that didn't stop the Readiness Level from dropping to 3 for a brief period after the incident. All of it was precautionary of course; just a way to show any attackers that they should mess with Azuria. All bluff and bluster, with no real bark behind it. No one in the government truly believed Acirostan would turn on them, but it was the Azurian way to prepare for unlikely eventualities.

The Minister sat at his mahogany desk, carefully polished and free of scratches. Everything on the desk was arranged carefully; there was a picture of his wife and children off to the side, two stacks of documents stacked almost perfectly symmetrical, and a blocky personal computer taking up most of the desk space. On its colourless screen was a rudimentary User Interface, with various documents displayed on the screen for the Minister to survey. Each of these documents was delivered to the Minister early each Monday on a floppy disk, and on a whim the Minister could take a disk from a previous week and analyze the reports from back then for discrepancies. It had taken a lot of Shells for the “Personal Computers” to be installed in every Department; truly, a marvel of electronic engineering.

Most of the documents on the screen were concerning reports made by scouts on the Azrican border, although one was from a spy satellite currently over Acirostan. Most of the images were low resolution, and unfortunately the satellite hadn’t been over the site when the Belkan plane had been shot down, but it was still useful information none the less. Suddenly, an aide rushed into the office, appearing flustered and out of breath. Dennis looked up from his desk in time to see the Minister of Intelligence brush the aide aside. The blond-haired Saean Tribal aide looked at the other Minister with a vengeful look before departing, every inch of his dark skin except for the silver infinity symbol on his forehead brightening with anger.

The Minister of Intelligence (otherwise known as Nelson Harris) sat down in front of Dennis’s desk, arms folded in front of him in an aggressive manner. Even though the man wore only a suit and tie with dress pants, Dennis couldn’t help but feel that Nelson had several weapons hidden away that he was ready to bring to bear in a moment’s notice, political consequences be damned. Dennis casually switched off the computer and leaned forward. “Good Morning Minister, is there anything I can do for you?” Dennis knew there was something wrong; almost every month he received some complaint from the Ministry of Intelligence about him not informing them of some military operation or another that they felt would be a danger to their operations. Most of the times they were wrong, although this complaint had to be serious enough if the Minister himself had decided to pay Dennis a visit; Dennis assumed it most likely had to be something concerning the Military Exchange Program with Azrica.

“Cut the bullshit Green, I’m not exactly in the mood for pleasantries right at the moment. Now, I know you have considerable sway with the President, more than I do, and I also know that you proposed the plan to him yourself. Now, I want you to get that plan rescinded immediately. It’s bad enough we’re letting another country look at our techniques, but what if there are intelligence operatives in the soldiers we receive from Azrica. Did it ever occur to you that we may not want those operatives poking around our military installations?!”

The Minister’s head was swelling, and his breathing had increased steadily since the beginning of his tirade. It was clear he was unnerved by the prospect. To Dennis it seemed like Nelson always took potential intelligence operations against Azuria personally, as if they were spying on his own house. He respected that amount of patriotism in a man, but that didn’t stop him from thinking Nelson could go completely insane if provoked enough times.

“Fine then, no pleasantries. Nelson, what in the hell are you doing barging into my office? Was it not good enough for you to wait for my aide to bring you here? Back to the topic though, I’ve heard Montoya has made sure that the troops transferred from Azrican have the clearance level of recently promoted rookies. They won’t be able to get anything sensitive, and even if they do, so what? They’ll be caught and punished, no questions asked, or should I demonstrate the Azurian penalty for spying on you right here in the office?”

Nelson stood up from his chair, the rage subsiding, but slowly being replaced on his face by a sort of tranquil fury. “This won’t be the last you’ll hear of me Green. Trust me; I can make your work experience rather uncomfortable.” He made a brisk escape from the Green’s office, and closed the door just as Dennis gave a mock solute to the Minister. “Be seeing you.”

Horizon Training Camp

Jannet awoke earl in the morning to greet the rest of the recruits that hadn’t been sent away after the last exam. Today was the next step in their training, and it would introduce terrain and ways one could use it to hide his/her position. Of course that was only with the sniper team she had been training yesterday. For when a soldier is chosen to become a Horizon, he can choose which weapon he will specialize in for the duration of the training. There was specialized training for each weapon, and some of them could even choose vehicles for their training. Once a soldier had completed his Horizon training he was sent to his unit and more often than not given command of a single unit. As a sign that they had finished their training, a single targeting reticule was sewn into their uniform on their shoulder. It was a mark of pride, so much so that soldiers often got into scuffles when it was insulted.

Jannet continued her routine, putting on her uniform with the Horizon reticule on her uniform. The reticule was accompanied by a red dot in the middle, to signify her status as a teacher and a 2nd class Horizon. There were 3 classes of Horizon, 1st class were the normal troopers, 2nd class were the teachers and trainers of the program and 3rd class were the commanders, fit to lead troops into battle but also fit to fight if need be.

She made sure her military fatigues were in proper order before walking out of her tent to see the sniper group standing at attention. She had no idea how long they had been standing there, but that was a nice touch. Around the camp she could see other teachers greet their respective groups before heading off.

“At ease soldiers, now for today’s lesson we will be learning about the various kinds of terrain and how one can use that terrain to hide yourself from the enemy. Additionally, we’ll be learning about what kinds of terrain you should avoid if you can. Now follow me.”

The soldiers did just that, however on the way an aide walked up to Jannet and whispered in her ear confidentially.

“Uh, miss, we have a problem, can you go over here for a few minutes? I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Sure thing, Jack, just a second”

“Soldiers, head to the training area and wait for my arrival. I’ll only be a moment. Run 2 laps around the compound when you get there. Move!”

As the soldiers ran off to the training area, Jannet followed the aide to the commander’s tent. When he pushed back the flap, a gruesome sight was revealed to the woman. Sitting in his chair was Commander Morris, with several stab wounds on his face and chest. She drew a deep breath, trying not to look at the blood splattered interior. The aide dropped the flap and turned to Jannet.

“As you can see, we have a major problem; the commander has been murdered and it is highly likely the culprit hasn’t left the facility. I’m telling all of the trainers this because the brass believes the murder is one of the recruits, because the stabs were done with a standard issue knife given to all of the recruits. The serrated edges on the commander or trainer knives don’t show up on these wounds. We want you to be on the look out for the one who did this. Pay close attention to the recruits under your command. That is all.”

Jannet regained her composure momentarily before nodding. “Alright Jack, I’ll be sure to keep a look-out, now may I go back to my men?”

“Of course major. I have work to do myself.”

Jannet left the aide and returned to her soldiers to begin the lesson. She looked at each recruit carefully, looking for any signs that any of her recruits were nervous. A murderer, among her own recruits was unthinkable, but she had to remain vigilant anyway. She didn’t want to be caught off guard.

Passenger liner Saean on route from Azuria to Belka

Gregory looked over the ocean as he headed towards Belka. A small part of him worried over not being given any equipment by his bosses, but he knew that any guns or other weapons would alert security, which he could not afford. Still his task ahead was daunting, which meant it was all the most important that he succeed. He took a cigarette from his pack, lifted it and lit it. He breathed in the sweet, sweet smell of nicotine, and continued his view of the ocean. It was a long way home indeed.

5 hours later.

As the Saean docked at Belka’s most travelled port (all the better for him to avoid detection), Gregory took the suitcases from his room and walked down the gangplank. Belka was a completely different place from his home country of Azuria, but his bosses had tried to prepare him for the culture shock. They had succeeded, marginally at least.

Walking around the unfamiliar city and the unfamiliar locals, he made sure to smile or nod at a few locals, to make him seem friendly at least. He walked around for a few minutes, acting like a lost tourist before he found what he was looking for. It was a large double-decker bus and from the sign it was transporting passengers to Belka’s capital. That is where he needed to go; his mission was there and even if it wasn’t, he had bought his house there before leaving Azuria. What luggage he couldn’t carry by hand would be delivered them shortly. As he got on the bus, he relaxed, just a little bit. He’d make sure his mission was completed, or he’d die; simple as that.

Azurian transport plane: McFranklin Airbase

Private Roy Harper sat in the Azurian C-160 as his Commanding Officer tallied the various men and women being sent to Azrica as part of the Military Exchange Program. Roy was a little unnerved about all of this frankly. It was bad enough being on the military base for most of his day, but now that he was travelling to Azrica he would have no chance to see his family until after the Program had run its course. It was going to be an incredibly lonely couple of months.

The CO began his speak, and Roy mentally groaned. His CO’s speeches were always laughable, but he still respected the man mainly because Roy knew the man could lead his men, and lead them well. However that respect didn’t stop Roy from tuning out the CO during his speech. Sometimes it seemed the man ripped them straight out of one of those self-help books Roy knew were littered around the CO’s office. Soon the speech was over and Roy could get back to cleaning his rifle.

He was so engrossed in the task that he didn’t notice the ground crew’s hand signals to one another and the door to the plane closing up. He was only distracted when he felt the plane leave the ground and head on its way to Azrica. For better or for worse, he was going to be landing in foreign soil very soon. At least he had the squadron of Mirages flanking the transport plane in case of trouble.

Sinjan

Ahmad Safak stood for a moment on the front steps of the National Police offices, blinking in the bright sunlight. He took a deep breath: the air reeked of diesel and rotting vegetables, but it was free air. He was no longer a prisoner-- at least, not for the moment.

"Ahmad!"

Mohsen, Safak's brother in-law, was waving at him from behind the wheel of the an aging Udo Albea parked on the curb. Ahmad clambered into the passenger's seat and the two men embraced. "Thank you for picking me up."

"Eh, what could I do?" Mohsen said with a friendly shrug, speaking in Sorghuz, the language of Rakistan. "You're family." He looked Safak up and down. "How bad was it in there?"

"It's been worse," Ahmad admitted, having to shout over the syrupy Issam Bachiri love song blaring on the radio. "But I don't mind what they do. The scars remind me what I struggle for.

His brother in-law shook his head, putting the car in gear and lurching out into traffic. "I hope you don't tell Zainab that."

Ahmad smiled at the name. "How is my sister?"

"Worried about you." This late in the afternoon traffic in downtown Sinjan was a nightmare, and Mohsen had to swerve hard to avoid a truck which had barreled out of a sidestreet without checking for oncoming cars. "You know she doesn't approve of what you do," he continued, after unleashing a barrage of curses at the guilty truck driver.

It was Ahmad's turn to shake his head. "I do what I must for our people and our faith."

Mohsen snorted. "Eh, you do that, and I deal with your sister worrying. Which of us has it worst?"

Ahmad laughed, gazing out the car window at the crowded street flying past. "So what's the news? I've been inside for too long."

"Nothing good, I hear." Mohsen switched the radio off. "A Belkani prince got killed a few days back and now everyone's talking war."

"War?" Ahmad shrugged. "Let the infidels fight each other, what difference is it to us?"

"There are rumors," Mohsen said slowly. "Rumors that we may become allies with the Belkani."

Ahmad's eyes widened in disbelief. "Allies? With the Belkani? Why would we do such a thing with our greatest enemy?"

Mohsen blanched at the fire in his brother in-law's voice. "I don't know-- that's just what the rumor says."

The conversation lapsed as Mohsen leaned out the window to shout abuse at a slow driver in front of him, and Ahmad resumed his staring out of the window. His eyes saw little, however, for he was in deep in thought: already planning his next move in the battle to come.



Hidoglu Mountains
Cairaea

Across the narrow valley, poppy and hash fields were burning. Pillars of ugly gray smoke rose from bonfires of threshed plants as soldiers and National Police officers threw more on the flames.

From a boulder atop a neighboring mountain Meriam Rafoul watched the proceedings with a pair of binoculars, a smug smile on her face. Sometimes an anonymous tip to the authorities about the location of a rival supplier's fields could be a cheap and easy way to ruin a competitor. What did she care about the dead Belkan prince who had been all over the radio and television stations the last few days? Her war was right here, and she was winning it.

Satisfied, Meriam took the binoculars from her eyes and let them hang about her neck. Adjusting the strap of the assault rifle on her shoulder, she climbed down from her perch to where several of her men, armed and dressed in traditional shalwars and combat vests, waited quietly. "It looks like ALL of Yosif Qaddar's fields are burning," Meriam said, her tone of exaggerated horror drawing a laugh from the men. "Now I think it's time we pay a visit to Sheikh Qaddar," she went on, hefting her rifle, And make him an offer he can't refuse."

Doltga Television Station #3; 8:15pm BST; February 25th, 1973

Now on to international news, tensions are still on the rise after international suggestions to investigate the death of Prince Eduard was ignored by the Belkan government today. Denying that this could be anything but an act of war, the Belkan response has continued to be to move away from any possible diplomatic talks. While the focus of the tension is centered on Acirerostan and Belka, the Republic government officials have remained relatively silent on the matter as a Belkan response grows. One official is quoted saying, “the Belkans would never agree to meet for any talk, winning the Great War has taught them that they don’t have to talk, just do.” When asked if it could be possible that Fienken officials might sit down with Belkan officials for talks he responded, “we left that table long ago.”

In other news, violence in Helgatta continues to grow as the two decade long civil war has begun to escalate once again as the People’s Revolutionary Movement moved against the standing interim government again this month. Refugees are now flooding towards Fienka’s northern border in hopes of fleeing through the few roads that lead through the Heit mountain range that separates the two countries. In response the Fienken military has stepped up security to stop and filter out any political agents from the People’s Revolutionary Movement. Some officials are calling for a full military intervention by Fienken forces in hopes of bringing stability to the region as PRM forces slowly move towards Raltstev, the Helgattan capital, only fifty miles from the boarder.

Lasdtev, Helgatta; 4:34pm BST; February 26th, 1973

The port city of Lasdtev was in flames as the People’s Revolutionary Movement forces were assaulting one of the few cities not under their power. Rioters were filling the street in the industrial district. Gun shots could be heard in the distance as the few remaining Helgattan government forces fought the best they could against a force that outnumbered them two to one.

Most the city’s population had fled the day before as soon as the riots began, which invariably would lead to PRM force coming in to seize power. For the most part they would be welcomed as ‘heros’ but if only because no one who would stand against them was left. Anyone that did was shot in the streets as a warning to all who would stand in the way of the ‘Revolution’.

Three figures stood across the bay from the industrial district north of their position. Dressed in street clothes, no one would have mistaken them for anything but ordinary citizens. In reality they were anything but. The three men who stood on the beach were Fienken Intelligence Service agents.

They walked farther towards the opening of the bay and the ocean, marking positions in the sand with large rocks just above the high tide mark. In a few positions they set small metal boxes high off the ground on some of the large boulders that dotted the sandy shore. Eventually they reached the mouth of the bay and the vast northern ocean that Fienka had dominated for so long.

One last metal box was put into place facing the ocean, its radio signal transmitting.


Lasdtev, Helgatta; 7:45pm BST; February 26th, 1973

The sun was going down as the first transport ships entered the bay. The large ships disgorged their smaller troop transport boats into the water. The radio beacons set earlier in the day guided the small boats towards the beaches. With the element of surprise and the raging chaos that still engulfed the city, the soldiers had no complications landing and disgorging from their transports.

The destruction and violence that filled the street drowned out the humming of helicopter blades overhead as a dozen ErG-33 helicopters descended on the city. Several of the birds veered off from the group towards the docks near the industrial district. The rest headed north along the coast and then veered towards the east once they reached the outskirts of the city. The ErG-33’s spread out over the countryside, dropping altitude to just under two-hundred feet and finally landing behind PRM positions outside the city.

Meanwhile the transport ships shifted coarse towards the docks, which had now been occupied with Fienken soldiers who were there to insure no one got near the docks. The ships rammed against the concrete docks, their reinforced bows withstanding the impact. G-54s, VkL-60s and three G-70s disembarked from the transports and were accompanied by several platoons of soldiers. On the flanks of the armored vehicles were the numbers 143.

Over the general communication channels

“In a bold move this morning PRM forces seized Raltstev, several high ranking Fienken diplomats were seized and executed several hours later, now PRM forces are moving to mass at our boarder, we will not stand for this; officially we are not at war with Helgatta, but we have been at war with the PRM for years now, today will be the final day we see these treacherous dogs live to seize another breath, today will be no different than if Belkan soldiers stepped foot on Fienken soil and today we will end this terror that calls itself the People’s Revolutionary Movement! Show no mercy comrades, for none will be granted to you!”

Doltga Television Station #3; 5:05 BST; February 28th, 1973

Fienken military forces continued their advance today as another city once held by the People’s Revolutionary Movement was assaulted and seized. Casualties are estimated to be in the double digits while PRM casualties are believed to be in the hundreds. Military officials report that their string of victories can be attributed to many things but chiefly the determination of those soldiers on the ground. Several military spokesmen have stated hopes that major fighting will end with in the next four to six weeks.