"Never forget that the most sacred right on this earth is man's right to have the earth to till with his own hands, the most sacred sacrifice; the blood that a man sheds for this earth..."

Stierburg, Belkan Empire, 2:34 PM BST, February 9th, 1973

"... and that's what my daddy does for the town."

A reserved yet toothy grin soon broke the face of the child who stood by the blackboard, both hands clutching a photograph of the man in question - a county clerk and city official. A decent enough man, if one judged by his daughter, who seemed a rather pleasant, if shy, girl. The wave of applause broke out as it had for every other one of the kids who'd presented their family project, a small activity that he'd had them put together. It built good character, with speaking and planning skills involved, and the benefits would hopefully start to show themselves in a few weeks... or so educational theory proposed. Leading the applause, perhaps with the most vigor or just louder than the rest, the instructor, Hans Dieter, soon ushered the young girl back to her seat. "Very good, very good, Alina... and that is it for the day... yes?" Eager to agree with the young, in comparison to most, teacher, a vast majority of the students nodded in affirmation, save for a few apathetic souls who were too busy day dreaming to really care. His smile unmoving, Dieter soon spoke, "Well, free time for the rest of the day... but voice level two!" Almost roaring with approval, the youngsters burst into conversation amongst themselves as Hans shook his head, returning to his desk to outline lesson plans for the coming week, the job proving to be a more than a little distracting under the barrage of noise emanating from the children, despite his warning. They were having a good time though, no need to foul their mood by being the grouch of the day, considering it was almost over. Would only be a few minutes, but then there was the matter of a staff meeting to deal with. Sighing, Hans went back diligently to his plans, scribbling away with his head propped up by his left arm, at least until a stray paper ball managed to catch him right on the temple.

The kids weren't very loud thereafter.



The meeting was, as most were, quite tedious, dominated centrally by a man who was so full of hot air that the government could go to him for their energy problems, and not those damn Acirerostans. Rather stumbling out of the room, several members of the staff soon beat feet to the teacher's lounge, and its ample supply of coffee, Hans among them. The large crowd already gathered about the pot deterred him though, having come in on the line at a most unfavorable place, retiring to a wall, he leaned against it, waiting for the rush to die down. Soon joining him was a friend that he'd only recently made - a 'permanent' substitute by the name of Kurt Winslas, a good man, though he seemed odd in the recent weeks. Greeting him, Hans nodded in his direction, "Think you'll make it?" A small smile broke on the man's face, though his eyes could tell a different story,

"Not if we get another one of those speeches... guh." Shaking his head as he took up a spot on the bricked wall to Hans' right, he sighed, possibly thinking on a great many matters, though it soon became obvious as it seemed that he was making small talk. "So, the kids as much of a challenge as the heer?" Chuckling lightly at the suggestion, Hans offered a brief glance to the man before turning back to observe the line,

"They're almost as scary as my old Feld, if that's what you're asking!" The small crack did little to help ease the air about Kurt, who seemed more odd today than usual, despite his outward expression.

"Still in the reserves?" Not paying the question much heed, Hans answered half witted, at least before he thought to add on a question of his own.

"Yeah... why do you ask?" Kurt glanced about the room hurriedly once again, his eyes shifting subtly, thinking before he decided to answer.

"I've got some friends, high up in the pecking order..." Pausing before he continued, probably thinking on just how to word it without betraying his comrades' trust, he almost ushered an annoyed, 'And?' from Hans, though he quickly cut off his chance, "Something's brewing." A skeptical look managed to make itself complacent upon Hans' face, his right eyebrow cocked at a rakish angle,

"Something?"

"Something big." Blinking twice, looking at the cheap carpet that covered the floor of the room, he soon turned his eyes to Hans, interlocking with his own gaze, and he almost sent a chill down Hans' spine as he spoke, "Get out while you still can." Hans' look was one of genuine confusion now, but Kurt attempted to explain before he excused himself, "Trying to look out for you Hans... you're a good man, and the Army takes good men and butchers them. Anyway, I've got some papers I've got to run off," gesturing in the direction of the less-crowded coffee 'station' as he left the wall, "I'll grab a cup later." Then, with a nod, the odd fellow was off almost as soon as he'd come. Attempting to blink the thoughts from his mind, Hans soon made his way for the pot, the line diminished from its former size, and soon bumped elbows with the more experienced Ms. Kathrine Dohle, who taught about thirty paces down the hall from him. 4th graders, a bit more advanced than his own flock, but still within the same age group. For a while now he'd been attracted to her, but the different grade levels provided for little interaction with the older woman. Offering as friendly a greeting as he could, having not had coffee and just having received a fairly cryptic message from a very odd man, Hans smirked,

"Hey there."

"Oh, hello... Mr. Dieter." The young woman averted her eyes momentarily, though as to why Hans knew not, though it seemed she tried to fiddle with hair that wasn't there, her hair having been affixed snugly to the rear of her head in a bun. Soon enough she redirected her gaze back to him, "What's new?" Shrugging with little effort, Hans returned the much used expression,

"Same thing, different day. How're the kids?"

"Oh, wonderful, save for the occasional shi-trouble maker here and there." Her eyes took on a sparkle as she spoke of her pupils, though they likely couldn't manage the same for her. Looking soon to Hans with a genuine smile, she added, "They still speak highly of you." Such a statement meant more to Hans than almost any other, and his heart burned with pride for a moment before he stepped up to pour his own cup of the good stuff. The statement had caught him offguard, the children were his passion, and to think that he, even in his first year of instruction, had managed to make a good impression on them... well, it was enthralling, to say the least.

"Do they?... really?" Nodding in response as she prepared her own cup, Kathrine maintained her smile, though she said nothing her reply made his heart swell again, even if only partially with pride. The lull in the conversation soon began to nick at him, though, as the two made their way out from the small coffee station, hoping to avoid the end of the line that now beset the small pot and its accessories, and for the longest time Hans didn't really know what to say. She soon disengaged, rather preferring to make her way back to her own devices than just standing around. His mind fumbled for a moment or two, soon asking, "Do you have anything planned for the weekend?" Pausing for a moment to think, she took a light sip of the steaming beverage she'd acquired,

"Not really. Why?" Stifling his grin into a more humble smile, he elaborated,

"How opposed would you be to grabbing a bite in town?" Smiling herself, she pondered for a moment or two before giving an answer,

"Perhaps, Hans. Perhaps." Disengaging from the conversation, he couldn't help but smile to himself as she carried herself off on whatever errands she'd planned for herself, perhaps he could make something of his chance.

Bifröst AFB, Belkan Empire, 7:28 AM BST, February 11th, 1973

The day was to be an interesting one, considering that 8 Kampfgeschwader was being outfitted with the new Großer Vogel, the Ra-60, replacing the old Koeppen 52s they'd been using for so long. The new birds were enormous, as most strategic bombers are, but even compared with the Hephaestus, the smallest strategic bomber Belka employed, the Ra-60 was a giant. The thing looked to be a giant dart, a missile carrying 60,000 pounds of death to whoever pissed Belka enough to warrant it... and Hannibal got to drive her. The thing could hit targets a couple thousand miles away, going twelve hundred miles an hour, but the thought that he could wield such power in the sky again, it thrilled him. It couldn't dance like his old fighter, he couldn't fight with other pilots, but he could still pack a punch, and he could still fly. Watching as the many crews prepared for the day's training sortie from behind his reflective aviators, he relished the feeling of a flightsuit, his body no longer kept in the stuffy wools of his officer's uniform, and the feel of the helmet in his hands. He'd pulled some strings that he had higher up, which though an underhanded tactic, it was understandable, given his love of the sky, and now he was CO of KG 8, the wing having fallen behind the others in recent months. So, he was presented with a carrot - improve KG 8, and he could stay as CO for as long as he liked. Initially, the job seemed to be no problem, though even one week in he could tell the challenge was greater than he expected. The flight crews were apathetic, and the ground contingents were corrupt as one could expect, most of them being from the trashy hole of Lumen, though Hannibal had a way of making people see his way, even if he was a scarred up old relic.

Dinsmark, Belkan Empire, 6:24 PM BST, February 11th, 1973

The large map of the world was a bit melodramatic, but then again, so were most royal families, and the Dollmann dynasty was no different. Walther often found himself toying with the thing, moving the several figures that dotted the map, representing fronts, armies, corps, divisions... 3rd and 4th armies pushing into Acirerosta, the 1st Front making its way into Bimaristan, 4th and 7th Luftflottes conducting a strategic bombing campaign against the northerners... All of them ideas, but ideas that could become reality. Emil was a great man, no doubt, a great emperor as well, but Walther... he could become the Kaiser of Kaisers. He could make Belka the greatest nation known to the world, to all of history! He could truly lead Belka to greatness, if God was willing. Though, every time he moved the symbolic legions, he always returned them to their places, though this time he struggled, the dreams of conquest having taken their roots deeply within his heart... reluctantly the soon moved, one by one, back within Belka's borders. He did, however, place them closer to the border... War is not a thing one does lightly, but the people, they seem to ask for it, they want it. It is not Belka's calling to stand and stagnate, Belka was, and always shall be a militaristic power, not a peaceable neighbor... not even to her allies.

Expansion was always in the nature of the Belkan people, even in the ages before the Unification, when the Barony of Riedel and the Kingdom of Granz fought each other for domination of the peninsula, when the fugitives from the old world made their homes here anew, so many centuries ago. It was in their blood, and now their time had come. Walther would seek the Archduke's advice, of course, he was his most trusted adviser, this war would be one that history couldn't easily forget, and to go into it blindly could spell the end for Belka.

Or it could make it the greatest power known to man.

Like a goddamn prima donna, every year." Grumbled the man, his flowing black dress coat wafting in the chilled breeze of the harbor as he peered out across the platuea that lead to a sheer cliff edge on the northeastern coast of Azrica. The sky above was suspended in a gray film, the calm waves below slowly soaking the sandy and rocky clifffaces below as the small entourage of suited men moved through the rows of tombstones. Far ahead from the four man team, a wiry young man manuevered through the rows and rows of whitewash stone, his hands sealed tightly in his pockets while his eyes darted from gravesite to gravesite. Monitoring the Prime Minister, Agent Kyle Dawson inhaled the cold north Azrican air before expelling it in one gruff and looking towards the other Counter-Balance g-man beside him. Agent Killibrew, was his name, a former Army sergeant and Azrican Ranger before joining Counter-Balance's elite Action Organization. Had Dawson not joined up with Counter-Balance after his mandatory stint in the Republican Army, he would have undoubtedly witnessed the election of Prime Minister Dominic DeGaul, a charistmatic marine fresh from the Naval Academy before plummeting into the tumultous political agenda of the country.

"Rain or shine ... " A g-man said, taking one long drag from his cigarette before looking back toward the vehicles parked at a road two hundred meters away. Another operative followed his gaze, the bulky four-doors squating along the sidewalk in the dull coastal weather. Nearly six hundred kilometers south of Keddick Harbor, a major Azrican naval base, the small city of Denswick was only noticeable on a map becaused it housed the graves or nearly three thousand servicemen and women of the Azrican armed forces. Holding the extinguished fires of nearly three wars, spanning a period of nearly forty years, the Alacomb National Cemetry was a famous landmark throughout all of Azrica, and possibly even the globe.

"Sleet or snow, DeGaul is always ready to pay tribute to the dead guys." Killibrew replied, smiling occasionally before following the groups gaze over to the Prime Minister. He had stopped at the sight of a tomb, kneeling down onto one knee as if inspecting a name. Dawson fidgeted in his jacket, the cumbersome automatic pistol tucked against a holster in his jacket prodding his side, and causing slight discomfort.
"He do anything other than this on the 8th? Or will we just be at this damn cemetry all day?" He inquired, Dawson shrugging his shoulders before catching the sight of a low-flying Azrican Tu50 VTOL as it swung low over a Navy frigate moored against a dry-dock port off in the bay. Beyond that, the open ocean expanded far beyond the horizon, across the puddle countless other nations with countless other problems.







The Bird Cage, AlncFord
Counter-Balance Intelligence Operations




The Department of Covert Intelligence, Azrica's formal cloak and dagger intelliegence agency of the modern era, was housed in a rather large yet indescrepit concrete reinforced building and a nearby complex. The civilian and military operators of the DCI refered to the obese building as the Bird Cage, a fortress for carrion situated against gentle hills and a dense cluster of military bases. While few took notice of the massive construct, others took notice of the sheer technology on location. Radar dishes were fixed in a permament installation to a much larger network some two miles from the building, and a stack of external generators were feeding the already monstrous facilities energy source.


"Half the damn city uses less power than us and we can't run the fuckin' air coniditioner ... " The Lieutenant replied, glancing over his shoulder toward the soldier behind him as they manuevered out of the elevator amongst a traveling group of office aides and desk jockeys. One man hurried himself ahead of Alex as the doors opened to reveal the third underground floor of the Cage; nearly three hundred feet beneath the ground and encased in a reinforced copper-dampener and steel cage concrete, the security afforded in the Bird Cage was overwhelming. Alex enjoyed it.

"All these people ... what are they doing?" Alex asked to the Lieutenant, who had quickly ushered them away from the traveling groups and was now running parallel to another couple of officers. Alex let his eyes wander, first to a large television screen imposed in a wall displaying a wide map of the globe; the Azrican continent slowly rotating to the east end of the globe. The far eastern borders of the world, where mankind appeared to take a much darker impression. To the east, he watched the globe slowly turn, until it reached Belka.

"They're monitoring the most risky of those nations across this planet that may harm us." The Lieutenant responded, finally slowing himself while he approached an enclave of armed soldiers and security guards, with another office aide manning a small Rolodex identifier and a metal detector.
"Keeping an eye on the most dangerous of the dangerous, the ones like -- walk ahead, Alex, the detectors will not go off -- " The Lieutenant redirected, giving Alex carteblanche of movement as he quickly sped through the metal detector; they did not go off, but as he turned and waited he noticed several other armed guards across the floor.

"As I was saying, we are monitoring the ones like -- " As the Liuetenant stepped through the metal detector behind him and continued his walk, Alex held one hand in the air to cease the Lieutenant's speaking.

"The ones in Belka, you mean, there's something going on there." Alex remarked, the following time he said that he could have sworn two persons turned to look at him. He couldn't manage another look to investigate as he was ushered through another set of armed security detachments and a metal detector. The Lieutenant was already stepping down toward a large pair of double doors, a manila folder held tightly in his grasp as he opened the door leading to a massive atrium.

"Of course the ones in Belka, Alex. No one knows yet, but that place will quickly become hot ... It'd restart the war all over again." He said, following behind Alex as the entered the nexus of the Bird Cage. Down nearly twenty feet below a massive television screen broadcast a full display of information in a streaming broadcast. Around it military officers hustled amongst one another, weaving between computer displays and terminals where a cast of operators monitored radio waves, electronic fluctuations and even atmospheric disturbances. The air was charged with a soft whispering of transmission codes, the cooling growl of audio playbacks and data and the secrets buried within the Azrican intelligence agency. They approached a room, equipped only with one large screen and several chairs to ease viewing.

"You're officially not here, and you never witnessed anything of any sort of what you saw at these premises, this is a cafeteria." The Lieutenant informed as he closed the door behind Alex, who quickly turned to the screen as it displayed a high-qaulity map of a country; he recognized the location of the capital, Dinsmark and Anfang, Sudentor and Stierburg dotted the map too. The Belkan homeland appeared in a red haze, the eagle prepared to strike.




ANS Killigan
CVM-154
Somewhere in the South Atlantic


To all those listeners out there, I've got some fresh new songs from the Geryotain band [i]Tears and Fears. Right off their new album, here it is, To Rule The World. This is Republican Army Radio, bringing the tunes to Azrica's finest.



The dull speakers began to hum joyously to the song as the Tu-50 banked into its last turn. The waters of the south Atlanic flew past far below him, Alex had to remind himself of his location while gazing out across the sprawling ocean before him. With the bay door open, the two massive turboprops made loud chopping sounds as they carved through the air and propelled the VTOL. Sixteen hours since embarking from a small ANS frigate known as the Cutie Alex and his five-man team had rode through across the Atlantic in relative silence. Positioning himself out the window on their final approach, Alex was the first to witness CSG Rocky, a fifteen-vessel carrier task force, as it steamed through the waters. Long white trails sprang from the helms of the Azrican vessels, the assortment of heavy cruisers and destroyers capitalized by the two flagships of Rocky, the medium carrier Killigan and the battlecruiser ANS Sharpton. In its final approach, the Tu-50 flared its belly upward to bleed off speed as it descended toward the helipad located on the far back end of the flatop carrier. Alex his orientation shift before he was jolted from his jumpseat beside the bay. Fumbling for the lock, Alex stuck his feet out the bay and dropped down onto the tarmac of the Killigan.


"Now look at that over there! Almost makes me want to join the Air Force!" The voice was loud enough to even pull his ears from the chopping of propellers and wail of jet engines. Turning his gaze over his shoulders, he watched as the second man behind him disembarked the VTOL. Sage was often identified by his heighth and that salt and pepper hair adorning his skull and chin. A Master Sergeant, formerly Azrican Rangers, he was now an operation-level commander that would be overseeing this most silent of missions. As the rest of the Counter-Balance team vacated the aircraft, Alex spotted the first of four marines moving toward them after parking a small buggy toting a rock of missiles.

"Sage, looks like we didn't get the red carpet after all." He remarked, nodding his head to the two marines as they approached with their rifles across their chest. The Azrican AC-14 was a modernized, lightweight 7.21 millimeter carbine that had just recently entered service with the Specialized Marine Corps, the ASMC representing the sharpest tip of the 'evolving' Azrican military. Decked in full gear, flak armor and all, the first marine gave a coarse salute as Sage stepped before Alex and engaged the first marine with a wave of his hand.

"Master Sergeant -- the Admiral wants you in OpRom ASAP, we'll take care of the baggage." The marine stated, Alex glancing beyond Sage and the marines to the massive island command center that sprang from the deck of the carrier. It rose into the air before tappering off into a flattened box structure which would contain the entire task force's brain and command modules. Alex was quick to fall in behind Sage and the marines, the others who had joined him following at a farther pace as they entered the island of the carrier. As they ascended the three stories to the OpRom, a strategic war-room dedicated to multi-national operations, Alex would occasionally glance out a window and see himself rising higher and higher above the ocean.

"Where is Von Ritterson?" Sage asked as they sailed up one more flight of stairs. The last of the two marines at the front of the line turned his head to the Master Sergeant while the door before them opened.

"General Von Ritterson departed the Kelly-G about eight hours ago on a ST-10 Stratopanther. He should be landing in Hoffnung by the end of the shift." The marine replied as they entered the OpRom. Suddenly, Alex was overwhelmed by flashing lights, shining beacons and computerized displays reviewing all sorts of information. The air outside was torn by the shriek of engines as another pair of F/M-17 Airaider's took the ski jump at the end of the Killigan and sprang into the air. Utilizing an advanced swept-wing design allowed the Airaider to take off easily from the ski jump of the medium carrier with a fixed wing launch, then using advanced mechanics transfer to a much more agile delta-dagger wing flow to allow increased manueverobility and power.


"Master Sergeant ... Glad you finally made it out here. I was thinking the Prime Minister had ignored me all together." Admiral Jacob Tweed was standing against an observation deck nestled against the far window of the OpRom, his sides flanked by banks of superpowerful computers that increased the temperature of the whole room by tens of degrees at a time.
"General Von Ritterson departed two hours ahead of schedule, at the beckoning of someone beneath the Belkan Emperor himself ... " Tweed stepped away and turned to the six men standing in front of him, Sage the closest to Tweed.

"Like a dog to his treat, we made a stop by the Bird Cage before we got on the tin can ... there's plenty of blank tapes in Ritterson's voicemail." Sage remarked calmly, another pair of Airaiders launching from the ski jump, the metal birds screaming into the sky as CSG Rocky steamed toward the Belkan continent.




ST-10 Stratopanther, en route to Hoffnung
ETA 3 hours & 31 minutes
Somewhere over the western Atlantic



The light transport bumped slightly as the General placed his hands on the edges of his seat. It had been a fair time since he had flown, it was painfully obvious he had lost the stomach for it. Beside him, his military entourage followed; all of them had occupied themselves with something, one reading over a stream of telecommunications from some continental installation in western Belka. General Von Ritterson once again felt his stomach lurch as the Stratopanther hit another crowd of turbulence, shuttering lightly before letting its inhabitants settle back into their seats once more.

"General, we have a telegram from the Belkan outpost ... We're authorized to approach Hoffnung." A Lieutenant reported to him, stooping down to his shoulder and passing the telegram transmission on a slip of paper to the General. He observed the transcription and scratched at his jowl, the slight pudge of his neck betraying the handsome Belkan features, a stern nose and firm cheek bones ending in a full head of hair. The General rolled his eyes as he slipped the note into a small pocket, looking out down the aisle and into the open cockpit, where the two pilots of the Stratopanthere were jostling flying the plane and also communicating with the radio outpost guiding them into Hofnung from their flight over the expanse of the Atlantic.

"Radio Post Thiala this is Sky Master One, ETA two hours and ten minutes until feet dry. Confirm, Radio Post Thiala, transponder verification broadcasting."

Thorn Valley, Fallfields.

"You wanna get in or what, Stephen." Kelly Atlanta looked at her brother standing by the car, squinting from the glare coming off the overbearing gate of the Thorn Valley State Detention Centre. Shrugging with a mixed look of apathy on his face Stephen tossed his bag in the back and jumped into the back of the old model Belkan convertable.

"What are you doing all the way out here, sis?" he said looking over at the gate of the TVSDC, his home for the past half a year, as his sister slowly pulled the car out onto the road. It had been a short six months compared to the other prison terms he had served, boring too, with the new president in power laws had been enacted to prevent prisoners from having to carry out manual labour, and with the Don Hovan Desert being what it is, the prisoners didn't have much to do apart from sit around and sweat.

The car sped east towards the city of Thorn Valley, its small mass of buildings a haze on the horizon among the giant sandstone formations of the desert.

"What, so not even a word of thanks for driving all the way out here?" said Kelly in a irritated tone. She lived in Quesserde, so they were quite a ways out from her home. Unlike the rest of her family, she had moved out of Isoran City the second she could, perfering a normal civilian life as opposed to her criminal shithead brothers. "So are you planning on joining up with the army now or something? You just go from one extreme to the other, don't you."

"Yeah, so what's it to you, eh? You can get parole easier if you agree to military service, it's not like anything is ever going to happen right? The whole country is lazy as balls. Shit, they wouldn't even shoot back if the Belkans decided to bomb Jervis." Stephan said as a few cars passed, as cloud of dust blooming up from behind them.

"I don't think so, the government seems to be on edge over something, Govenor Virginia gets antsy everytime someone asks him a question on the TV, and the President seems uncomfortable when a reporter asks him about the breakdowns in talks with the Belkans. The way I see it, even if you don't actually fight, you'll be doing service for at least two years before this whole thing blows over.

The car continued down the desert highway.


National Security Operations Centre, Government Sector of Jervis City.

"Damn, vulture reporters." Governor Virginia rubbed the bridge of his nose while he waited for his styrophome cup to fill with cheap government coffee. Once the machine had finished, he halved the amount of hot liquid in one long sip. "And what was that crap the President was sprouting about everything being 'alright'. Shit, I dunno." Virginia talked to himself as he made his way back to his office, the room was buzzing with activity as Civil Servants made phone calls and filed paperwork.

Virginia returned to his desk, which was already piled twice has high with paper work in the short two minutes he took to get a coffee. He began to quickly sign through the work that would need to be approved regardless of what it was, buerocratic formalities and such, pausing for a thought on approving the construction of a new Battleship. He signed the paper, he didn't want to get an earful from Crise, the Head of the Navy. Even though he had been the one that had to convince the previous President that expanding the navy in the future was necissary. And faced with the current vibes they were getting from the East, it had been a good policy.

"All we can do is wait it out and see what happens." he said putting his hands on the back of his head and leaning back, his chair's leather creaking.

Doranbul

The party was going on inside, the sounds of music and conversation carrying out onto this balcony lit only by colorful paper lanterns and the glow of a half-moon in the clear night sky. A man stood alone on the balcony, leaning over the railing and seemingly unaware of the chilling wind which blew in over the harbor from the tossing sea beyond.

“Wine, Ismet?” Another man joined the first at the rail, a glass in his hand.

Ismet Bayar, President of the Republic of Bimaristan, shook his head. “I’ve had enough, Ali.”

“Suit yourself,” Ali Yazici, First Assistant to the President, replied. “May God forgive me,” he said, then had a long sip.

Setting the glasses down, he too leaned on the rail and joined Bayar in contemplating the scene before them. The medina of Doranbul lay in the far distance, the domed galleries and slender minarets of the Golden Mosque bathed in a creamy yellow light while the heavy stone walls of the Old Citadel, illuminated by rose-colored floodlights, loomed above. Closer to the balcony was the rest of Doranbul—an urban labyrinth set ablaze with the light of countless streetlamps, open windows, and flashing advertisements. Smoke and noise rose from the Spice and Ali Pasha bazaars, which were still doing a brisk business even at this hour, while from the harbor a ferry sounded its mournful whistle as it made its way through a maze of moored freighters and loading cranes.

“Why aren’t you inside, enjoying the party?” Yazici asked at last, turning to look at Bayar. “What’s on your mind?”

Bayar didn’t seem to hear him. “It’s a beautiful view,” he said slowly, “I remember when we first entered Doranbul, after the Sultan had fled. We had such hopes for the future, despite all the defeats and setbacks we had suffered during the war.” He chuckled, recalling the memory. “Such hope.” The soft laughter died. “But we were young; what did we know?”

With a sigh, Bayar straightened up from the railing. “There are labor strikes in Gorbul, separatists and drug runners in Cairaea, and a revenue shortfall that can’t match our budget—now I hear that journalist we have in house arrest is calling me the next Sultan, and there’s a security brief on my desk that says there’s increased activity in Belka.”

“We have faith in you,” Yazici said loyally, “Things will get better.”

Bayar smiled. “Thank you, Ali. And I hope you’re right.” He looked at the empty glass in Yazici’s hand. “Perhaps I could use a drink after all.”

Together, the two men left the balcony and returned inside.



Sinjan

No one usually paid much attention to the War Monument that stood in the large square at the south side of the Harbor Bazaar. A large block of granite covered with names of Sinjan’s fallen, its only regular visitors were the pigeons who roosted on its top and streaked its sides with droppings.

Today, however, the pigeons were nowhere to be seen and their place was taken by a new visitor. Imam Ahmed Safak was tall and dark, with heavy-lashed eyes and neatly trimmed black beard. Dressed in a gray kaftan and white knitted kufi, he carried a megaphone with which he addressed the crowd assembled before him in a powerful voice.

“Brothers and sisters, what has this country forgotten?” he asked. “Why do we have people hungry in the streets without jobs or hope for the future, while others grow rich and fat off their efforts? Why have we lost our morality, and indulge in decadence and sin while neglecting our proper and holy duties? Why have those in power turned their backs on the will and interest of their people, and sell us out to strangers?” He looked out over the crowd and repeated, “What has this country forgotten?”

The crowd knew the answer. “ISLAM!” they shouted, cheering and waving banners which were emblazoned with verses from the Qur’an and the slogan “Islam is the Answer!” On the edges of the square shoppers and vendors watched curiously, while a pair of policemen surveyed the assembly and spoke into walkie-talkies.

“Islam is the answer!” Safak said. “This nation has forgotten the values and laws of God which once made us a great people. We have turned our backs on the morality and social justice which is found in the Qur’an and the practices of the Salaf. We have forgotten, and we have suffered. Now we must remember Islam, so that we may remember what we once were!”

The crowd roared in approval and Safak smiled, in the same instant noticing the onlookers to the rally had vanished. He’d just recognized the two policemen had likewise disappeared, before the streets and alleyways leading into the square erupted with a surge of young men wielding clubs and shouting “Go home, Rakis!” or “Death to traitors!”

The rally dissolved in a panic, some of the protestors trying to fight back against the mob while others tried to flee. Safak stayed where he was. “We will not let the forces of darkness silence us!” he shouted into the megaphone over the screams and shouts. “Islam is the answer! Islam is—“ A glass bottle glanced off his temple, turning his vision into blood as he staggered backward. Safak felt hands take him by the arms and lead him away, the sounds of the desperate struggle in the square fading behind him.

“I think we’re safe here,” a voice said in his ear, then added angrily, “The Revolutionary Youth Brigade—God will judge them. At least it’s over.”

“No,” Safak said, speaking clearly despite his obscured vision and the incredible pain in his head. “It’s only begun.”



Kartal II Firebase
Hidoglu Mountains, Cairaea

Kemal Kilicoglu stood silently, staring at the bodies of two dead soldiers which had been laid out on the ground before him. A blanket had been thrown over them to keep the flies away, leaving nothing visible save two pairs of booted feet . There was blood sheeting the floor of the A12 from which the two bodies had been carried.

“We got ambushed just past kilometer 14 on the Ardahan-Yanatli road, Colonel,” explained the Junior Lieutenant who had been in charge of the patrol. “They fired an RD-4 at our lead A12, and then a sniper got Aydin and Ilker the moment we deployed.” The young man shrugged helplessly.

Kilicoglu continued to stare down at the bodies. “Any casualties among the insurgents, Lieutenant?”

“Nothing confirmed, sir. Very sorry, sir.”

Kilicoglu looked up from the bodies at the junior lieutenant and saw an angry, frustrated, and frightened young man. “Nothing you could have done, Lieutenant. We can’t make the insurgents fight like honorable men if they don’t want to.” He put a hand on the officer’s shoulder. “Go get some rest, son. The regiment is being transferred out at 1950 hours.”

“Transferred? Transferred out?” Kilicoglu saw anger flash in the lieutenant’s eyes and understood the unspoken question. Why did we have to go out on that patrol, why did these two men have to die, if the regiment was leaving the same day? It was a good question, and one Kilicoglu wished he could answer. It made no sense, but then again nothing about this small and ugly war high in these remote mountains made sense.
He let his gaze wander around the snow-capped mountain peaks which rimmed the entire horizon of the firebase. He would not be sorry to be leaving this place, though the transfer only brought new worries. The redeployment orders he had received were sending the regiment west to the Belkan border, and with the rumors of trouble brewing with that country Kilicoglu was forced to wonder if these orders were merely a precaution or an omen of something more ominous.

Kilicoglu had studied in Belka: he had enjoyed his time there and come away with a respect for the nation and a liking for its people and culture. And yet Belka was Bimaristan’s time-worn enemy, and any war involving one would likely come to include the other. It was not a prospect he relished, but he was resigned to its eventuality.

Two medics arrived bearing a stretcher and set about loading on the first body. Kilicoglu turned away and searched for a cigarette.



Niconpoli

In the crowded and noisy confines of Niconpoli’s central bazaar, no one paid any attention to the woman in a brown yashmak and shapeless dress who made her way through the throng of shoppers, a large handbag on one arm and a child clutching her hand. A pair of Aschen tourists even took a picture.

No one stopped the woman as she hurried through the Carpet-seller’s Alley and pressed a piastre into the child’s palm before disappearing alone inside a busy coffeehouse. It was exceedingly uncommon for a woman, much less an unaccompanied woman, to enter such an establishment, but the men who sat drinking thimble-sized cups of coffee or puffing on hookahs as they watched a soccer game on a grainy black and white TV paid her no mind as she slipped into a back room and shut the door. The room’s only contents were a battered table and two chairs, one of which was occupied by a blonde man idly playing with a cigarette lighter and who looked up at the woman’s arrival.

“Meriam…Meriam Rafoul, isn’t it?” he said in Azrican-accented Bimaristani. “It’s a pleasure meeting you in person.”

The woman pulled the veil of her yashmak, revealing an angular but pretty face and a pair of intense green eyes. “You might not be so pleased to me when you hear what I have to say.”

The man’s eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

Meriam Rafoul reached into her handbag, revealing the butt of a pistol. What she withdrew was a pencil and pad of paper. “We need to renegotiate our deal. Prices are going up.”

“Going up? By how much?”

“The price per kilo doubles.” Meriam replied, writing a figure on the pad and sliding it across the table.

“You’re doubling the price?” The man replied, sputtering in indignation. His outrage only increased when he saw the price she had written. “You aren’t renegotiating, you’re cheating me!”

Meriam laughed, an unpleasant sound. “Robbing you? I’m giving you a good deal. There’s rumors of war, which means transportation of my product to your buyers could get much more difficult very soon. Let’s see how high the prices go then.”

The man started to say something, but she cut him off. “Don’t act surprised either—I know you’ve been snooping around town the past few days, hearing the same rumors. I know you also know that that price I just gave is the best one you’re going to get. One of the benefits of all these troubles is less government troops burning my crop fields or intercepting my deliveries.” She smiled thinly. “I pass the savings on to you.”

“Well then,” the man said, shaking his head. “I guess I don’t really have a choice. Double it is. But what I don’t get is why you brought me all the way out here. A simple message would have been enough.”

“Maybe,” Meriam admitted, “But would you have believed me? I can’t afford to lose a customer; I wanted you to come over and see things for yourself, let me tell you in person.” She extended a hand. “We have a deal?”

The man took her hand. “We do. I need the first 100 kilos ready for shipment in a week.”

Meriam nodded .“You’ll get them.” She put away the pencil and pad and returned the veil to her face so that only the brilliant green eyes remained visible. “While you’re here, buy yourself a carpet. The Azrican tourists always do."

And then she was gone.

Geryotain Federal Building, District of Geryo

“Mister President, the press are waiting outside.” The bulky security guard slid back out of the door, leaving President Krisbur sitting at his desk, watching the people swarming outside of the Geryotain Federal Building he was sitting in.
“The press… those parasites.” Rising from his chair, he checked himself in the mirror, noting that his jaw was still broad, his eyes were still green and strong, and all in all, he looked as he always did, like a firm leader.
“Sometimes I wish Geryotain didn’t have that free speech and freedom of press stuff…” Sighing, he faced the mahogany door, readying himself for an experience with the press he didn’t want to have.
As a final preparation, he fingered the pink band around his wrist, proud to display his national colors, and hoping they’d impart some of his nation’s strength.

The doors opened wide, and camera lights flashed and sparkled before his podium, framing him in a holy light as he took up his pose before the audience. “People of Geryotain, The President.” The speakers blared out his introduction, to the applause of the gathered.
“Today, I stand before you with a great deal of important news.” His voice was grave and filled with an air of importance as he started up his conference. “Due to the outbreak of illegal drug smuggling from the Bimaristan area of Niconpoli to Krisburg, and then to our great Geryotain Island, the government is looking to strengthen our policing of the Long Sea, which will be voted on in The Federal Chambers in the coming weeks. This is of the greatest importance to the country, as many youths are affected poorly by the drugs that make it’s way into our great country. With this new bill passed, several more ships will be put into service, and the naval recruitment will be expanded upon. Your opinion in this matters, and you should write in to your local representatives with your opinion.” With that he stepped back, and winced as the explosion of questions erupted from the crowd.
“Mister President! Is this proposal for a larger navy in response to the growing sense of uneasiness in the global political atmosphere?!” A reporter in the front of the pack stood poised with a pen over his pad, looking up expectantly at Gulliver.
“No, this is only that we may better patrol our borders, and keep our citizens safe.”

Krisburg

The TV flicked off, ridding it of the thickly built president and his poorly hidden attempts at expanding the cash devouring military Jeremy laughed at.
“Dude, can you believe that shit? Trying to crack down on the drugs? They should be trying to legalize this shit, man.” Jeremy’s friend Ronald lifted his pipe to his lips, holding the lighter beneath it’s steel bowl and lighting it. Inhaling deeply, the vapor from the Bimaristan hash filled his lungs.
“Hey! Lay off that man! Shift’s on in thirty minutes and you wanna show up stoned?” Jeremy tossed a jacket at Ronald, slipping on his own. “You’ll be snacking on things all day!” With that, he collected up his car keys, heading out the front door. If you didn’t show up early at the factory, then you’d have to park a half mile away, and you usually ended up late for that.
“Ronald is gonna get himself in trouble…” He muttered, stepping into the cheap Geryotain car, which, more likely than not, he had worked on in the factory. Kicking at the floorboard of the machine, he willed it to start as he wiggled the key in the ignition.
“Come’on, make it through today and I’ll get you worked on, I promise baby, just start for me!” He pleaded with it as it refused to grumble to life, the engine just turning over with a scrape. “Damn it! If I don’t make it today, the boss’ll fuck me over!” He slammed his hands onto the steering wheel, giving the car one last try. It started up on the first try this time, as if only just agreeing with him. “Temperamental thing… I might not get you that tune up…” He sped off towards the factory, checking the time anxiously.

Alaster City

“And… cut!” The megaphone screeched as the director let off of the trigger, letting Tommy out of character. The other actors deserted the set, rushing for the catering table.
“Mister Crick! Mister Crick, your coffee.” His aide, a young female in her twenties, whose name he could never remember, hurriedly set out his lunch before him, scrabbling to do his bidding.
“Babes, you forgot to tell ‘em to take out the mayo!” He lifted his sandwich, pointing to the thick white substance dribbling out from between the meat and bread. “I’m- I’m sorry, I thought you asked for extra mayo!” She seemed shocked, flipping over her notepad to scan over it.
“Chill out, I’m just joking wiv ya!” At that, Tommy took a chomp out of the sandwich, spilling more of it’s innards over his front than he got in his mouth. “Pretty good!” He said, a mouthful of the stuff showing plainly as he did so.
His aide was clearly disgusted, and a napkin seemed to materialize in her hand. “Here you are sir.’ She passed it over to him, wishing that he’d use it.
“Alright people! On the set, next scene!” The director ordered the extras onto the scene, and started barking more orders to the rest of the cast. “Well, looks like The Tomster has to get back to work, see ya later.” He rose from his chair, leaving the sandwich laying beside it, and gave the woman’s rear a nice slap, much to her disgust, before crossing over to the set.
“Alright, let’s get rolling!”

Hiet Mountain Range; 10:34 AM BST; February 11, 1973

The cold wind of the mountain air was a refreshing change from the warmer and more humid air that circulated the forest. It was fresh, crisp, and almost had no smell to it what so ever. The breeze whipped back and forth over the mountain road, sending snow drifting back and forth. The snow banks on the shoulders had begun to pile up high and higher, building off each successive snow fall and clearing of the road.

As the paved highway began to climb higher into the mountains, its shoulders began to narrow. The twists and turns soon sharpened there after, becoming a dangerous road during any of the frequent snow storms that smashes against the sides of the Heit mountain range.

“Come one Dmitry, these roads are fine, hit the gas,” Ayman Vonzer shouted over the roar of the wind.

“NO,” Dmitry shouted back, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his face.

“Hahaha, we’re perfectly safe, plus I want to get back as soon as possible,” Ayman said with a grin on his face.

Dmitry didn’t repond and continued on at their currant speed. Dmitry knew how horribly top heavy the UFA’s Strups were and he’d seen enough rollovers to know not to go too fast. He was however still a bit angry at his CO for deciding to go with the top down. The wheather nipped at Dmitry and he did not like it. It figure that Vonzer would enjoy facing such conditions.

Eventually they did show up to their destination; Verkuta Military Instillation #9. The road widened back to it’s orginal width with full shoulders on it’s last five miles to VMI #9. Pulling up to the guard post, Dmitry pulled out their papers from the glove box in the middle of the dash board. The guard on duty took the papers and gave them a quick scan. Once he spotted the name Vonzer on the forms, the guard snapped to attention immediately. Vonzer quickly returned the salute.

“Sir, you’re papers are in order, sir,” the guard handed them back to Dmitry, “if you don’t mind me asking sir, but aren’t you a bit far from the Reist, sir?”

“Yes, but duty has called me here,” Vonzer’s face broke out in a smile as he explained why he was here, “I’m here to make sure things are in order.”

“It’s good to have you here sir,” the guard motioned for the his counterpart to open the gate.

Dmitry pulled forward and continued along their way. Following the signs posted, Dmitry and Vonzer headed for the CO quarters. VMI #9 was smaller base with only four hundred souls stationed at a time, but it served as the closest base to Fienka’s northern boarder. While the real menace came from the south, it paid to watch in all directions and so VMI #9 would serve as the UFSR’s first alert to any attack from the north. It also would serve as a possible staging area if the UFA was to launch an attack on the north. Not that Fienka was a militaristic state by habit, but given it’s constant state of apprehension with Belka even it’s northern neighbor Helgatta was watched carefully.

Exiting the vehicle, both Vonzer and Dmitry were escorted to CO’s office by the guards stationed out side the building. The guard poked his head inside the CO’s door to let the commander, a man named Papanov, know that General Vonzer had arrived.

“Come in, come in, it is a pleasure to meet a man of such report, sir,” Papanov saluted Vonzer as he entered the room, “now, what can I do for you?’

“We are here as per request of,” Vonzer paused for a moment, “certain VIPs in Doltga, in particular I’m here because things are degrading quicker than most would like to admit, specially certain VIPs in Doltga,”

“So, what is it that you, General, wish of us?” Papanov asked, curious as to exactly Vonzer’s agenda was.

“When we go to war with Belka, for it is no longer a question of if, Fienka will fight bravely as we have before but eventually we will be overrun by sheer numbers, we will have to call up our reserved, which means less hands turning the wheel of industry,”

“And?”

“We can out source our war production but that means debt, more debt than we could ever deal with, or we could seize the additional strategic resources,”

“Are you suggesting we invade and annex another country?”

“Yes, our fine neighbors to the north, who were so happy to seed dessent into our fellow countrymen just before the Great war, would make great additions to the Republic,”

“Perhaps, but what you are suggesting is nothing but behaving just like Belka,”

“Helgatta is already in chaos, broken by civil war for over three decades now, they’re aggression even extends into Fienka with their skirmishes, that is why you are stationed here,”

“Your words are spoken with truth General, but what is it that you need from instillation number nine?”

“To be ready to spring, Fienka Special Intelligence is already working in Helgatta, and parts of the UFA are ready to move, but first we must pool what material we have to strike swiftly,” Vonzer smiled as he leaned forward in his chair, “most importantly comrade, remember that patriotism begets victory.”

***


Reist Forest, Folkan County; 5:43 PM BST; February 11, 1973


“Three Rurks says I can get the net on in one fell swoop,” the words echoed disembodied through the woods.

The wooded county of Folkan was peaceful and scenic. The only disturbance had come from the half a dozen men working, their laughter and voices carried through the forest. Despite the darkened clouds of war on the horizon they did not falter in there amusement.

“Five says you can’t,” another voice challenged the first.

The men continued their work setting up a surface to air missile launcher. The spindly support struts jutted skyward, waiting for a SAM to cradel. Metal grid work stuck out sideways like spokes of a wheel from the contruct. Several cammo nets had already been set up to disguise the launcher but at least a half a dozen more needed to be set up on the two story tall metal frame work.

“Haha, I knew you can’t do it, you owe me five bro,” one man who bet against the other shouted as he continued his work, his comrade still fumbling with the large net in front of him.

“Both of you, cut it out, we’ve got another hour before inspection,” the gruff voice of authority sounded off from the small shack set up near by, the words emanated by Sergeant Frietstant Stetreft.

The men got back to work, the chatter quieted down significantly. It continued on that way for a half hour before a noise startled the group. The sound of a snapping tree cracked through the forest and soon was followed by the muffled thud of the felling of a tree. The group jumped from their positions, those who had a weapon handy readied it in case of an attack. Frietstant grabbed his ZZkH-73 from his work table and motioned for the three nearest men to follow him. They quickly disappeared into the woods, silent as any local hunter.

Friestant and the three others returned soon afterwards. Their faces were solem, devoid of any expression. Like any Sherfi, the men had a fearful respect for the forest but none of them ever believed the old legends. That didn't mean they never thought about them though.

"What was it, what happened," came the inevitable questions.

"Tree fell down, snapped at the base," Frietstant answered in a flat tone.

"So, that happens all the time, trees die and they eventually fall down," one man spoke, his tone carrying a sense of fear, as though he was trying to comfort him self by explaining it away.

"Tree was still alive, it was splintered at the base," Frietstant replied generally to the group, "I want a two man team on watch at all times, we'll take ten minute rotations until inspection, no one goes out of this clearing alone, understand."

The men nodded in acknowledgement, everyone making sure their weapons were with in reach.

Zeus Mountains, Scorpia Defense Command Base - Eastern Scorpia [Defense Zone EASTSCORCOM]

"Aten-ha!" The Colonel barked over the hum and the droning of the various Aschen equipment operating in the area, slowly the man walked past a formation of soldiers as they monitored th eastern border with Arcadia.

"I need a SitRep on movements on the other side of the border." The Colonel said as he went over the radar screens in the control room of Eastern Scorpia Defense Command, EASTSCORCOM. EASTSCORCOM was one of the many defensive zones that were utilized by the United Aschen Protectorate in the event of an outbreak of war, Eastern Scorpia Command was also responsible to monitor trade convoys to Azrica, that utilized the main road through Arcadia. The responsibility of EASTSCORCOM was paramount for the security of the Aschen Protectorate.

Silently a Lieutenant turned to face the Colonel, as the radar readout seemed to be nothing but blackness, emptiness denoting that the base had picked up zero movement in the area. Then the Colonel nodded, stroking his short goatee as he sipped his coffee.

"There's nothing going on here, all's silent... the next convoy out of Azrica should be due here pretty soon... as you were, Lieutenant." The Colonel said as he walked through the hallway down towards his quarters, only to be flanked by a young flunky, another Lieutenant in a different sector of the base.

"Have you heard about the situation west? Caprica has been making noises about flying the Aurora Recon planes over Belka... there's talk of launching the BCG-45 to the south, and monitoring the potential situation." The Lieutenant was concerned, as he walked alongside the Colonel, whom simply shook his head.

"This is our world, here in the eastern border, Scorpia, etc... what happens in Caprica is none of our business." He said as he rounded a corner.

"Lieutenant return to your post."

And with that a door was shut in the Lieutenant's face.

---

UAPN BattleCarrier Atlantia - BCG 76 [Combat Information Center]

The Battle-Carrier Atlantia was a massive cigar-shaped ship that slowly sailed through the western Oedipus Sea, roughly six hundred Kilometers off the coast of Belka, positioned roughly several kilometers from the Azrican fleet that was running operations off the coast, it was accompanied by the remainder of BattleCarrier Group Seventy-six, which included six heavy cruisers, two Escort Battleships, ten Destroyers, which were escorted by five frigates. The Battle-Carrier provided the Command and Control for the entire floatilla, situated in the center of the fleet as it sailed through the oceans.

Blue waters lapped up against the gunmetal gray hull of the ship as it cut through the water like a knife would cut through butter, her prow cutting against the water as the fleet positioned itself, each running a tight standard formation, while the flight deck of the Battle-Carrier Atlantia seemed to be alight with activity as two LR-3 Aurora reconnaissance planes were situated atop the mid-level deck, their chassis hooked up to the sophisticated catapult mechanism that was designed to hurl the planes forward, and off the deck of the Battle-Carrier.

"Avionics are a check." Captain Achilles said over the radio as he flipped several switches on the aircraft as her engines powered up, the radio clacking in response.

"Achilles, Atlantia Command, you are go for a sweep and watch recon over Belka, take photos only, maintain hypersonic cruising speed and altitude, land on the designated Battle-Carrier to your west, Columbia will be awaiting your confirmation, over." The radio chimed as Achilles offered a nod, and then gave the thumbs up to the LSO of the Atlantia Deck Two.

"Go..."

Achilles would then feel the tug of G's pulling and nagging on him as the engines ignited and the catapult lurched the craft forward, the Aurora would careen through the length of the massive deck of the Atlantia, catching a jump at roughly four hundred twenty five kilometers per hour, as the Aurora caught the jump, it was launched into the air allowing for the burners to kick on.

"Atlantia, Achilles, I'm away and commencing mission, climbing to altitude now, over." The Pilot replied as the Atlantia chimed in.

"Acknowledged, proceed at speed." The voices replied.

---

Admiral Nagala was a rather stout young Aerilon woman. Hailing from the capital city of Gaoth. She was the CO of the Battle-Carrier Group Seventy-six. Her role was relatively simple, and that was to run reconnaissance missions over the Belkan continent, to allow the folks at OIA to garner as much intel as they needed.

Of course Nagala was quick to allow the Azrican Navy knowledge that she was behind them.


"ANS Killigan, this is APBC Atlantia, Actual speaking, I've got a couple of my birds going over your location, confirm and reply, over... I'm running Operations in this sector... friendlies on your six.."

With that she fell silent, awaiting a response.

Hystria: Parliament Building

President Montoya walked through the halls, on his ways to meet with the House to vote on an important matter concerning the redistribution of the country’s military towards the Azrican border. This wasn't the first time such a proposal had been noticed either; every 3 or so years one of the members of the Senate decided that since Azrica was sharing a border with them, it obviously needed even more troops than it already had. As it were, there was an airfield nearby, and a permanent division stationed there in case of any hostilities towards them. Montoya believed they were well prepared for a surprise attack from their ally to the north, but of course some of the senators disagreed with them. At least a motion concerning the distribution of troops anywhere required at least a 70% majority vote to pass, and he knew most of the senators agreed with him on this fact; putting more soldiers near the border with Azrica might provoke hostilities or increase tension between the two nations.

The parliament building was filled with politicians, secretaries and the janitorial staff rushing about to prepare for their day off tomorrow what with it being Azurian Unification Day. That was the special celebration where Azurians remembered the day when the Azurian Civil War ended, around 1900. The Azurian Civil War was a dark time in Azuria's history, where the Resinaan and Saen Tribals had split off after negotiations between the two racial groups and Azuria broke down. The ensuing civil War between the three groups that followed lasted 12 years and almost managed to tear the entire country apart at the seams.

That was when the Prime minister of Azuria at the time, Jason Hendrix, managed to set peace talks with the two groups to stop the bloody conflict. Then, on February 17, 1900, the Azurian Unification Treaty was signed at a neutral point in the Royal Flush Casino smack dab in the middle of A dos Ladrões. From there on, President Hendrix deemed the day to be a national holiday, giving Azurians a reason to stand up and cheer throughout the nation. Montoya hoped the division in the Senate on this issue wouldn't spiral out of control like it had during the Civil War, but he was not the type to forget history. He knew the simplest things could cascade into the worst disasters in history if a leader wasn't careful.

As he entered the Senate Wing, an offshoot of the Parliament Building, he looked around the room at the spectacle which befell him. There were 100 senators, one for each recognized Sector of Azuria. Each Senator was tasked with overseeing that Sector, and relaying duties beneath his station to lower political leaders like Mayors. Every Senator turned to face the door as he entered, temporarily forgetting whatever small talk they had been engaged in before his entrance. Montoya inhaled deeply, approaching the stand with a fleet of marbles rattling in his head.

"Senator Reese Hitchens has proposed the motion that Azuria redistribute an additional 2% of her troops to its border with Azrica. All in favour of this motion say ‘aye’.”

45 of the senators responded. This was troubling, but all this meant was that the senate might need a little more convincing in the future.

“Motion dropped”, his voice read out loud from his stand. Rattling his papers, he continued.

“I propose we begin talks with Azrica concerning a military exchange program between our two nations. If Azrica agrees, a select number of troops will be sent to Azrica to partake in their military training process. In exchange we will receive some of their troops for the same purpose. Of course BPEC will not be included, for security reasons, and I highly doubt whatever intelligence division they have would be included as well. However, if the program is a success, we would be able to modify our training to better adapt to situations, and this will help to foster international relations between the two countries.”

A senator, a young blond man by the name of Reese Grinswell, spoke up

“That’s a good idea Mr. President, but what happens if Azrica or ourselves for that matter go to war with Belka while we’re still exchanging troops?”

The President nodded his head in agreement with the valid point made by the senator

“Then we’ll be able to see how each of our countries reacts in a time of crisis. We’ll then use that knowledge to refine our own methods and response system.”

The senator nodded, and then sat back down in his seat. The President raised the issue to a vote.

“All in favour of this motion being passed say ‘aye’.”

78 of the 100 senators said ‘aye’. Once the votes were properly counted, the president smiled warmly back at the senate.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have the Azrican representative to call; let’s hope this arrangement works.”

Hekrat Mountains: Horizon Trooper Training Outpost Alpha

Up in the Hekrat Mountains Colonel Jannet Herris pointed at several human shaped targets 500 metres away from the new Horizon recruits.

“Those are the enemy men, now hit each body part exactly where I specify. In war, you won’t get a second chance if you miss your target, which could mean the difference between life and death for your unit. This is your first exam. If any one of you misses the mark, you will be immediately asked to pack up your bags and ship out to your previous unit; any questions?” When there were none, she nodded “Now, begin!”

The 10 recruits knelt down on the ground in front of the firing squad, rifles pointed directly at their appointed targets. Jannet began to rattle off a list of body parts

“Left leg, directly above the knee; right knee; left elbow; chest, heart quadrant; brain.”

Each of the recruits did their best, and once each of them had shot off one part, Jannet moved to the next. After the training was completed, Jannet jogged to the targets for inspection. When she got to the training dummies, almost every one had holes punctured in exactly the places she had specified, except for 3 of them. One of them, the recruit had missed the quadrant for the heart while another had missed the head entirely. This was pretty normal for the first exam; Horizon training was difficult, and not everyone made it to the end, especially when the trainers brokered no margin for failure.

“Alright then; Rogers, Moor, Mary pack your bags! You’re leaving tomorrow morning so you better make sure you’re ready before then. I want to see you 3 out of here by 0500 hours, got it?!”

The 3 recruits stared back at Jannet dejectedly, before they saluted her, and yelled back a half-hearted “Yes Ma’am.” Their training rifles were given back to the quartermaster and they would be but a memory by the time tomorrow evening rolled around.

“Alright, first exam’s over, everyone go back to your barracks and prepare for tomorrow. Training starts at 0700 hours right here, and if I see any of you sleep in you’re scrubbing the latrine all week. Got it?! The 7 recruits immediately tensed up and saluted Jannet “Yes Ma’am!” “Dismissed!”

The recruits headed back to their barracks, while Jannet made her way to the commanding officer of the base. These next few days for the recruits was not going to be easy. She estimated only 2 would make it to the end of the training, but those 2 that did would be the best marksmen they could possibly be. This was going to be a fun week.

A dos Ladrões: Central Strip

Gregory smoked a Marlboro as he walked down the central strip of A dos Ladrões. He had read that the name meant something in Portuguese, but he hadn’t had the will nor the time to research what exactly it meant. Most of his time had been spent preparing his move to Belka. If he was successful with the phone call today, he’d be granted a Belkan visa to move to the country.

Of course, he doubted there would be plenty of people moving from Azuria to Belka, so he planned to lay low for a couple of weeks until their inevitable sliding under the microscope was completed. His orders had left plenty of room on how he completed his objective, just that he complete it without being detected. They hadn’t given him a time frame for it either, which was useful. It essentially meant that he could do whatever he wanted as long as he wasn’t captured or found out.

He had been issued the order by his commanders a few weeks ago, and it had taken a large amount of paperwork to get him ready for the move. It had taken thousands of dollars worth of purchasing consumer goods to get the necessary materials to make it look authentic. He had spared no expense, and besides, it had been an opportunity for him to buy things he had always wanted since he had left the roost. He wasn’t going to pass that opportunity up.

He calmly opened the door to his house, just a few hundred metres from the strip. It wasn’t exactly prime real estate (there were many homes that were closer) but it came pretty close. This was the place he had bought with his admittedly rather large payment from the government for his previous services. The Azurian government paid the operational members of BPEC really well to keep them from leaving and plying their trades on the black market. Still didn’t stop some from leaving, although most defected to Belka instead of going rogue. Of course there was a possibility he might meet some of his former colleagues while he was overseas, but he was trained in case of such emergencies. He was confident he could get out of that sticky situation if it arose.

He began to hum a little ditty he’d heard on the radio, as he got on the phone and rang up the number he’d use to get a visa from Belka. If this all worked well, he’d soon be living in a country that was likely to turn into a fireball in the next few days. This should be fun.

"I believe the only reason people get married is because of the term 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'" Harry Dewen; Former sniper

Head Arcadian Building: new Alexandria

Director Forest was in a meeting with a bunch of Arcadian representatives. "We should keep our defensive stance, it is what Arcadia is best at!" "We should focus on negotiations of peace with our neighbors!" "I say we declear neutrality, not even get into this way!". He sighed, and spoke louder then them. "We must maintain a peaceful but defensive stance just in case. That is what our intelegence says is best.". The room agreed with him, as well as the president.

He walked down the hall. He saw Agent Dennon waiting for him. "Sir?" "we are going exactly as we should. if we stay our ground, we might be able to avoid the fight entirely". "Good, that would save many Arcadian and refugee lives". "You really think that enemy forces might fire on civlians?" "Well, we are already picking up increased immigration." "Very Well, i want all our men to be checked for corruption." "Ok sir" he said, walking into Forests office and sitting in his chair. Forest looked at him, and said "Better be gone when i get back...."

Head Arcadian Building lower floors: New Alexandria

"I need to meet with Sgt Sully, Carter, i need you to check with McKay. And i want tactics to keep constant communications in case of a surprise attack." General O'Neill told them. Carter replied "understood sir, il check up on him now". As he entered a helicopter and headed off, she went across town to the lab he was at. "Oh hi Tealium Cesh." "Please, i prefer teal'c" "Right, well, what are you doing here?" "Picking up a new weapon, the X-1 sniper, for our troops" "Im heading down there too, il join you." she noted.

(will be finishing soon, Christmas eve Dinner though)

Tag. So I find this. Edit'n.

Mainland Manjuin, Sagoon, Western Common District, 23:11, February 11th 1973

A letter to the office of the Chairman of the Board to Belkan West Indies Industrial,

Dear sir,

I know this must have been the 19th letter I have written to you, I know that it may not even reach your eyes, or be even aware of my existence of the little yellow man that installs the small wheels on your chairs; but somehow writing to you gives me some matter of comfort and closure in the trials of my life.

As I have written to you before, my name is Toyama Noshiba; I am a foreign employee working at one of your branch factories in Western Sagoon in my native land of Manjuin.

I am a very hard worker, before the sun is even peeking out I and many of my fellow workers are already moving into the factory. We work for hours on end with the exception of 30 minute lunch break around one in the afternoon. Afterwards we continue to work into late into the evening and for that I am given a very bountiful sum of what you might consider to be 88 cents per day.

The factory though, it is like a furnace. The machines run all day, they emit all matter of gases and smokes that fill up the crammed room which we work. This strange smoke fills our lungs, waters our eyes, many have become sick and few can’t eat as well. It is a smoke that has become a major problem for the health of many of the workers at the factory.

I still believe if you merely shut down these machines for a single hour in the middle of the day and allow the morning smoke to clear; it would greatly increase the safety of the work force at large. Your Manager which the company has appointed does not share this sentiment, but I fear that I do not see him around the factory enough times to truly think he knows how dangerous these vapors our.

Please, I am begging you as the request of a simple fisherman’s son… Please look into this matter. I will try to learn some more Belkan so I might send a Belkan script letter.

-Your Obedient Employee,
Toyama Noshiba

Main Land Manjuin, Sagoon, General’s Palace, 08:43, February 12 1973

General Ichiro glanced out of the window. These quarters had been seized in the coup when he had removed the prime minister and dismissed the parliament. It had been good quarters to manage the country, it was a very fine house to invite foreign ambassadors to, it was grand enough to bring a sense of awe and pride in the people and special enough and fortified enough to serve as a great command center over the local garrisons of the capitol and center of his regime.

Everything he had done; he had done to insure that people could walk out of their homes without being devoured by mobs, to insure criminals and other agitators could not terrorize the people with war and disarray, to insure that entire villages full of people and neighborhoods would not be massacred for praying to a different god. It was far much of a poisonous leech than a single man should have handled, slowly did it drain him of his strength and conviction and replaced it with grief, sorrow and loss. It was clear to the Dictator; there were not enough soldiers in the world to contain this tension forever.

It was always another conflict to resolve through strength and will. Factory workers wishing to destroy the machines and murder their foreign overseers, religious groups attacking ethic settlements in their attempts to purify the nation, attacks on the foreign districts in major cities, agitators and anarchists attempting to topple the government, warring indigenous tribes attacking more peaceful ones, attacks on immigrant neighborhoods from the Belkan Colonies; it was an endless struggle to try to keep at bay. The General fought the great tides though, no matter how big they appeared and through his will he forced them to still. It was the first time talks were opened between many groups under the watchful eye of the military, it was the first time in many years did a Manjuin government took a stand against its class, race and religious struggles that graced the island nation with its diverse population.

The General took a great breath through his nose; he took in the grand view of the palace window in his office overlooking the entire natural harbor of Sagoon, a city as old as the recorded history of the island nation. His posture was straight, elegant and his eyes were fiery and firm. They darted in the direction of the pair of elegant doors which opened outward. Standing out the door was a young man in full military uniform. By his side were two large men, members of Ichiro’s personal guard.

The youthful messenger stood and saluted the general before he spoke “The command staff have finally settled sir, they are ready to receive you.”

A deep silence filled the office as the General remain focused on the window and the view of the city bellow. He finally reached for his pin that lay effortlessly upon the desk. It was in the shape of the eagle, a constant reminder of Ichiro’s Belkan Military training and education in the empire… and he knew for certain that it was a country that breed strong determine leaders and that is what Manjuin needed at the moment. He fastens the old cadet’s pin underneath his own collar and he patted it for good luck before he followed the staff officer to the next room.

There was a long corridor of portraits that was between the General’s Office and the war room. Four more members of his personal guard were at his side as a row of armed soldier’s saluted the senor officer as he made his way down the hall. Each painting held the visage of former governors of Manjuin, many of the General’s aids and political advisors requested to take them down but the Military Dictator refused to. These were all men that lead the nation through shrewdness and courage and he wished to be reminded of their commitment to their own discussions for the nation.

The doors were finally pushed through by two more guards leading the General and his escort into a much more modern conference room. There was a large oak table at the center of the room with a projector standing upon it. The blinds for the room were closed and all the doors and entrance though the room was well light by the lighting above. In the chairs of the table stood nine old men with various distinctions and medals the group of them wearing a variety of high military uniforms. The four guards by the General took to their stations and the nine quickly rose from their seats saluting the General as he entered inward. These men were all members of Ichiro’s local command staff many were experts and veterans in their field of the armed forces and long time friends of the General.

There was another present at the room who was by the projector screen with a few military uniformed technicians would were working on the slides. He was a tidy looking officer who spoke in a very respectful and loud tone as he had removed his hat in the presence of the general. “We finally have the projector ready General Hayashi! We are ready to continue the briefing as planned!”

The General took a seat at the head of the table, as the senior staff all resumed their posture sitting back down. Tea was being served to everyone as the General remained stiff and firm. “You may continue Captain Leung.” He responded back.

The youthful officer nodded his head raising the remote control to the projector screen as a new slide was presented. Before the group was a detailed map of the Pacific Ocean with the Coast Line of the two continents between them. The three great super powers were instantly highlighted in the slide: Belka, Azrica and Azuria.

The Captain redirected the attention of the staff to the golden colored island chain that formed Belkan’s pacific colonies. “Military surveillance of the flow of ships coming into and out of five observed points including the colonial capitol of Khumkah and the Belkan naval yard of Abeune has greatly decreased in the last few days… It seems a lot of efforts are being redirected into the main land itself, our experts believe that the Empire is attempting a main push of its most major rivals; this of course is just speculation at the current moment as we learn that the colonies are still very battle ready for invasion of even our eastern coast line.”

There was a large murmur within the room. Vice Admiral Aomori of the Lower Island Command Fleet was keen to speak “Captain Leung is there any sort of mobile response from either the Republic or the Democracy?” he inquired rather soft and calmly.

The Captain somewhat stiffen his own posture in respect to the Vice Admiral as he began to flip through several slides before they the group was presented with some black and white photos of a coast line that held a great train track with a fast moving freight train moving by. As the Captain continued to flip through several more detail picture, he continued to speak “These are pictures of the Republic of Arzica from our submarine reconnaissance four days ago. Under a leak by undisclosed source we believe that inside these trains are new fighter jets that are being transferred to a northern air strip. It is some matter of counter measure to the Belkan air superiority under extremely heavy military escort.”

The murmuring was now a bit louder. Several Generals, Commanders and Senior Officers were now publicly voicing their concerns. General Ichiro brought both his hands together as he kept his focus on Captain Leung. “Is there any word or signs that Azuria is also mobilizing?” he inquired. The Captain paused as he the projector was still running as he uttered outward “General Hayashi, We are uncertain of the activities of the Democracy… It appears whatever surveillance we have placed has not yet returned at this current moment. I am certain when they do return we have more details on the matter.”

The General nodded his head before he replied with “Make it a top priority.” The military dictator continued by inspecting Colonel Kenshin Ito, Chief of the Military Police. As the officer took notice of this, he rose from his seat standing to receive orders like a good soldier. The older general nodded his head in respect as he lean a bit over to speak. “Commander Ito, I have special instructions for the Military Police.” He warranted. “There is to be no convictions of our highest foreign investors, these men are the controllers of our industry and the key for our country modernization… I suspect any legal matters that conflicts with these men sincerely hope will be discreetly pushed aside and I am certain you know that is not a suggestion. With war time loom much closer, there are certain to be high tensions in the foreign districts… I want your personal attention in this matter.” The officer slightly paused knowing the seriousness of the matter before he saluted the General.

The Island of Kaya, 09:53, February 12th 1973

Far off from the main land of Manjuin across its vast southern island chain off its very eastern tip laid the small island of Kaya. It was meager province in the lower islands of Manjuin, consisting of two simple fishing villages that dwelled on either side of the island’s coast line. Between the two villages was an outpost for the military. It was a local garrison to insure order on the island, but despite this the life in Kaya was a relatively peaceful one.

Private Kazuko could commit to that. He seemed to have a great understanding of the lay of the land, the absolute law that governed all military personal on the small island base in Kaya: Digging. He and many of his comrades had never had to use their spades so often than their station in Kaya. “I am starting to think the army is in a desperate need of ditch diggers instead of soldiers.” His friend Akira had joked once and was given a firm beating by their commanding officer for such misconduct. Still, here Kazuko was one of the fifty or so soldiers now stationed on Kaya.

The morning was greeted with sand deep inside his boots as the division was digging up a local shore line three kilometers off the village of Sayashi. Above the team of thirty or so diggers, Kazuko could only peek above the ground to see their vicious overseer of a superior First Lieutenant Junko Oshiro. A small chuckle almost escaped the simple private’s lips at the sight of the man sweating as he was dressed in full military regalia and even distinctions and medals at the cadet academy in the hot tropical weather.

He barked like a mad man all over the site shouting and beating a riding crop in his hand which seemed sweaty and sore already. “Dig faster you swine! I wanted three more pill boxes before the afternoon! No foreign devil is going to take a single inch of MY station!” he exclaimed. Kazuko had to dig his own hands to prevent his laughter as he knew it would give him nothing but trouble in the long run. Finally the first Lieutenant could no longer endure the harsh weather and somewhat stumbled backward trying to prevent himself from collapsing.

Kazuko knew the entire unit would have let out a cheer of great joy if it was not for the fact that it would have probably encouraged the obsessed fool. He still could not believe it though, out of all the units across all the Islands controlled by Manjuin, he was stuck with the one superior who thought this small plot of land was the only thing between the whole might of the three powers and that of Sagoon.

Kazuko tried to blank the image of his commander from his mind as he continued to dig deeper into the sand. Suddenly he felt something, as though it was a nudge upon his shoulder. His eyes wandered from the work as they fell on his good friend Hachiro. The young man had a bright grin across his face as he pocketed a pair of glasses as he motioned closer to whisper to his friend. “Kazuko, Kazuko, I know you have 400 zen… do you think you can spare that much? I can pay you back when we reach to the barracks.” He promised as he took a good look around.

Kazuko stared at his compatriot with a very odd look across his face before he reached into the pocket and pulled out a collection of wrinkled bills before passing it to his friend. He knew Hachiro too long to question him about his crazy schemes; they were the only things that made this station less unbearable though. Sneaking the money in he saw his friend slip about the ranks reaching the edge of the work site and appeared to be chatting with a pair of young village girls. Kazuko slightly rolled his eyes before he continued to shovel the sand.

It was only a short while when he felt another nudge across his shoulder, the young soldier turning around to stare into the face of Hachiro once more. His friend had a bright smile across his face as he nodded his head “Thank you Kazuko! I will not forget this kindness soon! Here I want you to have this!” he exclaimed as he took another gander to see if the close to heat stroke Lieutenant was close to passing out or not. He passed him a strange slip of paper.

It was written in a strange language, most likely foreign which gave the simple private a quizzed look on his face. Kazuko finally turned to Hachiro as he lowered further bellow to pretend to be shoveling “Alright, Alright, I’ll bite Hachiro… What is this?” he inquired. His friend smile widen as he uttered “Oh those are just the ticket to your date…” he boasted.

Kazuko face turned slightly pale “My what?!?”

Doranbul

The Belkan Embassy was not located on the long stretch of Atabimar Boulevard nicknamed "Embassy Row", but instead occupied a property which had once been a hunting lodge of the Sultan in the neighborhood of Kavaklidere. The palatial embassy complex sat on a hill overlooking the administrative district of Çankaya, and the massive Belkan flag which flew above served as a constant reminder of Bimaristan's place in the Belkan sphere.

The fact that the president of Bimaristan would travel to the embassy to visit the Belkan ambassador -- rather than the other way around -- served as a second such reminder to Ismet Bayar as he passed into the Embassy building. As least the Kaiserliche Marine guards flanking the doorway looked suitably respectful as they saluted his passing. A slim blonde in a gray jacket and slacks led him through a grand entryway and pulled the doors shut, leaving Bayar's entourage behind and Ismet standing alone in a large study. The room was panelled in dark wood and decorated in the typically overwrought Belkan style, but when Ismet cast his gaze to the arched ceiling he saw that the colorful zellij and Qur'anic scrollwork had been left untouched. He smiled at that.

"Mr. President, it is good to see you."

Bayar turned to find the Belkan ambassador, H.E. Mischa Heidenburg, standing in the room as well. Heidenburg was a plump and well-bred man with the good manners of a diplomat and the smooth confidence of a Belkan. "Is there anything I can have brought in for you. Tea, perhaps?"

"Thank, but no," Bayar replied, speaking in Belkan. "I expect to be leaving soon."

The ambassador nodded. "I see. So you have considered our proposal?"

Bayar nodded. "I have. And I have accepted it."

"I see." Another nod. "Your people may not be happy to hear you have accepted an alliance with Belka. Many even now call for war with my nation."

"What the people of Bimaristan want and what is best for them are sometimes two different things," Bayar said smoothly, his tone cold. "It is the job of a leader to think past the former in pursuit of the latter."

Heidenburg chuckled and held up a disarming hand. "Apologies, Mr. President, I meant no offense. It is my responsibility to ensure that this agreement will be honored by your country, and not just by yourself."

"It will be."

The ambassador crossed the room to a large window of bullet-proof plate glass, through which the rest of Doranbul could be seen. "I believe your negotiator mentioned some prerequisites that would be included in any such agreement between our two nations."

"There are." Bayar joined Heidenburg at the window. "I require forgiveness of all outstanding national debt to Belka."

"Done."

Ismet wasn't finished. "I further require that Belka provide additional aid to Bimaristan, both military and financial."

Heidenburg frowned. "You understand, Mr. President, that it is most unusual for the weaker party in an agreement to be so demanding."

"I request only what is needed to make Bimaristan a respectable ally for Belka," Bayar said evenly.

"Did it occur to you," the other man replied, "that Belka might not have any need for a 'respectable ally' on her eastern border?"

Bayar said nothing. After a moment, Heidenburg turned away from the window. "In any case, I have no authority to guarantee anything to you at this moment. I will, however, pass on your prerequisites to my home government." He cocked his head. "Is there anything else?"

"There is not." Bayar, his face a mask of controlled anger, strode from the study without a backward glance.

***

Sinjan

Ahmad Safak sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair, staring at the scratched pinewood desk which was the only other piece of furniture in the small and dimly lit room. The only light came from a dim light bulb hanging on a solitary wire from the ceiling, whose off-white paint was stained and peeling. Safak shifted slightly, causing the handcuffs around his wrist to clink together. In his head, he recited his prayers. Praise be to God, the Cherisher and Sustainer of the worlds...

Behind him, a door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded on the cold concrete floor. A man wearing a National Police uniform appeared to Ahmad's left, moving past him and taking a seat behind the desk. There was a moment of silence as the man opened a thick manila folder before him and flipped through it.

"Well, Imam Safak, it seems as if we've seen you here before," the man said at last, looking up. He was short and well-built, with thick glasses and a graying moustache. The rank insignia on his collar and shoulders marked him a Major.

"Your masters do not like what I have to say," Ahmad replied.

"My masters are your masters as well," the man replied. "Your government is my government."

"A government which does not follow the law and does not care about its people is not my government."

The man chuckled. "Whatever you wish to call them, the ones who sign my paychecks and feed my children do not appreciate you disturbing the peace and calling them traitors to God."

"If disturbing the peace means trying to give a voice to those who have none, then I am guilty," Ahmad said.

A pencil appeared in the man's hand. "So you confess to your crimes?"

Ahmad remained silent and the man laughed, making a few notes in the file. "I thought not," he said.

"What is your name?"

The question surprised the man. The pencil hovered on a paper, waiting. "My name is Murat," he said, "and I am the one who gets to decide what happens to you." Another few quick notes, and then the folder was flipped shut. "I am recommending that your case not immediately be brought to trial, and that the charges of slander and disturbing the peace be put under review. In the meantime, you will continue to enjoy the hospitality of the National Police."

Murat pushed a small button on the desk, and a mechanical buzz sounded in the next room. Ahmad heard the door open, and felt two pairs of hands grasp him by the arms. "Take him back to his cell, but be gentle," Murat said, "None of the 'special' corrective treatment this time."

As he was led from the room, Ahmad called back, "Peace be upon you, brother."

Murat said nothing, and watched as the door swung shut. "Crazies," he muttered.

(as i think you all don't want to look back up, this is the finishing of my previous post)

Abraham Military Base: Special Ops Training Grounds

Tens of solders were here. A very little amount for any nomral military training, but this was not normal. This was special ops. Each one of these troops had been handpicked out of thousands. They were the best of the best. So they were sent to training to be better. A skill that you had to get here would be tripled in size and then some after training is complete. And the training is brutal. Brutal Survival missions, Mountain climbing with very little safety equipment, these men and women knew what they would experience here. Everyone here was determined to serve their country here.

Sgt. Sully walked out, pointing at Pvt. McKalis, Corporal Deniro, and Pvt. Skip. "You 3, head to the weight room now! I want 50 push ups, 50 sit ups, 50 curls, 50 of all types of weight lifting, and 50 laps around the track field now!" he told them. They immediately went to do what he said. He went to his clipboard. They passed alright, the extra training was just because they were special ops, and they might need it.

He then looked up at a helicopter landing, and General Jack O'Neill getting out. He saluted, and Jack saluted back. "At ease Sergent". "Yes sir, never thought id ever salute to you though" he said, jokingly somewhat. "Well, things happen. So, is your team ready yet?" Jack asked. "Just chose them. The best here that will work together. Corporal Deniro is very good with a firearm too. She can hit a target without miss. She has not had one miss on hers, and she has mostly lethal shots, excluding the ones we said not to do a lethal shot on.". "Good, i need your team ready on a moments notice, Belka is making some...sketchy.....movements. We are taking a defensive stance though, and will only attack if attacked." "Good about that Sir, Arcadia Specializes in defense." "Indeed it does".

(will finish now/soon, this is just a precaution)

“The future isn’t what it used to be.” – Eva Burrows

---

Navaran East Coast, 46°02°27N 47°04°20E

The wind whipped at Gianni’s face as he walked along the deck rail of the small tug. He drew his collar up as high as it would go, willing it to go higher and protect him from the cold. Cursing as the inadequacy of the jacket, he stared at the sky and cursed the clouds as well, looking past the Bimaristani flag that hung above the deck to mark the ships registrar. A drop of rain hit him near the eye and he swore and stormed off towards the bridge. Lighting a cigarette as he entered the small cabin, he was greeted with a stare by the captain of the vessel. A thin Cairene man, as was the rest of the six man crew, Gianni felt uneasy around him and the others. Perhaps it was that he was an outsider, or perhaps it was the nature of their business. Either way Gianni felt unwelcome.

“We there yet?” He mumbled around the butt of his cigarette in Navarro. He felt miserable, and wanted off the rolling waves of the ocean as soon as possible. He was met by another cold stare from the Captain, this time accompanied by the other man in the bridge who was looking over some papers looking up to stare for a few moments before going back to his business. “I didn’t think so.” Gianni mumbled, almost at a whisper.

“We will arrive before the day is done.” The captain said from behind a long wiry beard. He spoke with a fluent knowledge of the Navarro language, but the distinct Arabic accent still permeated his speech. Gianni chuckled at the statement as he took a drag from the cigarette. He had no reason to doubt the man, but he still didn’t believe him. He had a feeling that he was going to miss the arrival time on the shipment, and that worried him more than any hostile Bimaristani ever could. The trio passed the time in silence as Gianni stared out at the horizon while the crew went about their business. Gianni turned to leave, preferring another walk on the deck in the cold wind than being trapped in the company of the Captain.

“What’s that?” The Captain suddenly said, pointing to a speck off in the distance. The other crew member instantly was on his feet with a pair of binoculars, handing them to the Captain as the pair strained their eyes. Gianni stopped to look as well, but by the time he had located the object, the crew member was off and running, leaping from the bridge and onto the deck before sprinting off to warn the others.

“What is it?” Gianni asked, taking the binoculars from the Captain. The Captain stayed silent as Gianni was able to answer his own question. Through the lens, he could see a black helicopter streaking through the grey skies, already almost upon them. A chill ran down his sine as he read the name emblazoned in yellow on the side. Carabinieri. Gianni was out on the deck in an instant, the binoculars forgotten as they dropped to the deck behind him. He swung a camouflage net off the barrels secured in the centre of the deck as he tried desperately to untie the knots in the rope that affixed them. The six crew soon joined him as their expert hands undid the knots while they began to heft the barrels overboard. No matter how hard they worked, Gianni could tell there was too many as a barrel landed heavily on his foot, knocking him down and causing him to call out in pain.

“Police! Stop!” Came a shout from the helicopter, amplified by a megaphone, as it banked to a halt overtop of the vessel. A rope unfurled from the back of the helicopter as several armed men slid down, instantly taking up positions around the deck to ensure the crews compliance and complete surrender. Gianni cursed at the turn of events as he felt for broken foot. The pain he felt was surely far less than what his employers were going to do to him for allowing the illicit cargo to be seized by the Carabinieri.

---

Navara, Verbania Mountains, Several miles outside Paese

“Nico, slow down!”

The statement was more gasped than said, as the girl who uttered it tried vainly to catch her breath. Doubled over, she halted her uphill battle as she sucked at the wind in a desperate attempt to recover. From above her along the path, a laugh drifted downwards drawing an angry look as she tried to take a dignified pose. Thwarted by her still empty lungs, she tilted her face downwards while trying to muster the strength to continue.

“Come on, Luci, it’s not that bad. I’m carrying all the weight.” Nico said, shaking his rucksack to show what he meant. He smiled down at his girlfriend. It had been her idea to go for a trip into the mountains around Paese. Nico got enough of that at work. He simply wanted to spend his leave relaxing at home. But she had insisted and he had never been one to deny her what she wanted. And so he sighed audibly, indicating his feigned impatience at her lack of athleticism.

“Oh stop.” She said as she closed the gap between them. “Mr. Verbani.” She said, saying the word slowly a few inches from his face as she passed him. He tried to steal a kiss but she merely passed by him, turning her chin up towards the top of the ridge before he could plant his lips. A smile creased her face as she did so.

“That’s right, Mr. Verbani.” He repeated as he jogged after her, arms outstretched as he mockingly tried to grab at her. “Let’s see if we can get you going faster.” He said in a jokingly menacing tone as he unclipped the emergency straps on his rucksack, letting the heavy pack fall to the ground. Giggling, she fled his grasp. Despite having a head start and going at a full sprint up the hill, she couldn’t outrun the conditioned soldier. Falling into the soft grass together, the pair rolled and laughed as they enjoyed their young love and the beautiful terrain.

Nico enjoyed the moment. Being in the land he loved, with the girl of his dreams. He felt invincible.

---

Geryotain, Loenn

“Are you going to be ok, man?”

Andre asked the question slowly and loudly, enunciating each word as he tried to cut through the haze that the man hanging off his shoulder was in. The pair stood in the doorway of an apartment, a penthouse at that, with one of Andre’s friends standing behind in the hallway. The friend laughed as the man slipped off of Andre’s shoulder and hit his head on the wall, leaving a slight dent in the drywall. He gurgled slightly as he hit the ground. Andre cursed as he kneeled down to look at the man while his friend simply laughed behind him.

“This isn’t funny!” He shouted as he checked the man’s pulse. He vomited as Andre tilted his head, and Andre backed away instinctively. “We need to get him to a hospital.” Andre was panicked. They had met the man earlier in the night at a party. He was already off on something when they had met, and the three of them had been having a good time up until the ride back to his place. That was when he had started convulsing and passing in and out of consciousness.

“He’ll be fine.” The friend tried to reassure Andre while trying to stabilize himself in the doorway. “Let’s just leave him and go. Come on, man.” He took a few steps forward and began to pull on Andre’s arm, drawing him away from the prone man as he started to wheeze. The pair stumbled from the apartment, the weighted door closing on the scene behind them. Behind it Claudio Bernacchi, famed Navaran Violinist, took his last breaths on the floor of his penthouse apartment.

---

Northeastern Fienka

The roar of the helicopters was deafening as Luca leapt from the bay of the ‘Corvo’. Rolling as he hit the ground he fumbled with his rifle as he took a knee and aimed at the surrounding treeline. Squinting against the bright sun setting off in the distance, he tried to focus on anything that looked like a target in the woods while also reducing his own profile in the open clearing. Around him his section did the same as they unloaded from the helicopter, with the other two sections in the platoon filling out the rest of the area in a clover pattern. As the thumping of rotor blades faded off into the distance and a silence settled over the rapidly darkening clearing, the platoon moved into action. Hand signals and low, muffled grunts spurred the men of the Air Assault regiment towards the trees. Luca bounded across the ground with the rest of his section, leading the charge into the treeline with his rifle at the ready.

“Get down!” The call went out a half-second before the entire treeline broke with movement. Suddenly men appeared from every single tree and bush within sight. The Navarans were overwhelmed. Freezing in their tracks, they couldn’t do anything but stare back at the ambush the enemy had prepared for them. For a long tense moment not a single sound was made on either side as a man strode forwards from the trees, rifle pointed at the Navarans, and uttered a single word.

“Bang.”

Instantly, the tension was shattered as the Fienkan lines broke into laughter. The Navarans begrudgingly did as well as the pair of lines came together to mingle slightly before the observers could break from their positions and separate the two platoons. With the Navarans having been ambushed rather soundly, it was decided that the entire platoon had been eliminated with minimal casualties to the Fienkans. A loud debriefing was run through by the Navarro observers, going over everything the platoon did wrong. It was slightly humiliating to be shouted at in a clearing while those who had defeated you watched, but luckily for the Navarans the Fienkans were ushered off to reinforce another platoon under ‘attack’ by Navaran forces nearby. It was all apart of a vast exercise the two militaries were currently engaged in in north-eastern Fienka, with the Navaran Air Assault and Paracadutisti brigades assaulting Fienkan positions in the region. It was a wide-scope event, and was thus far proving to be disastrous for the untested Air Assault brigades. Nonetheless, it was experience of some sort, and after learning from their mistakes, the Navarans were off walking back to their FOB to rest for the night and prepare for a renewed day of attacks and exercises tomorrow.

The Bird Cage
DCI Headquarters
Eastford Basin, Azrica

17 days ago

"But, Captain," The Lieutenant was silenced by one shake of the superiors hand. The lowly Sergeant beside him cowered at the hand of his superior as well, and the severity of the situation was not given enough justice set to the soft moaning of the air conditioners machinery. The Captain paced around the small command module which served as his desk; pushing aside a set of folders stuffed full of papers, the Captain reached one hand to the bridge of his nose while examining the screen of his desktop.

"Lieutenant, you have to be certain that with a claim like this the investigation will go nowhere." He remarked, opening the cover of one folder and cursing beneath his breath at the text that greeted him. The papers were deployment issues, vehicle manifests and vessel shipping rights to unmentioned or unidentified ports on the Belkan continent, and destinations across the entire Empire. Signed by Speaker General of the Military Council Von Ritterson, every paper had been checked for authenticity and verified by the technical staff at the Bird Cage.

"Captain, it's blatant proof that there is a conspiracy within the Military Council to arm Bel -- " The Sergeant in the corner stepped forward, brandishing a leaflet of papers bearing the seal of the Prime Minister, as well as a list of several nations and their heads of state. The Captain reached forward and took the folder from him, cracking it at the spine and reviewing the sheets within.

"From the Prime Minister, sir, a stall of information. De Gaul is plugging the whole system, effective immediately." The Sergeant finished, stepping back into his position beside the Lieutenant. The Captain stalled near his desk, placing the papers beside him before looking at a small map displaying a single green dot off the Belkan coastline.

"Redirect the team straight to Bimaristan once they complete the objective, I can work on preparing a force to retrieve them afterward, where exactly are they now?"












Sign XULU-YANKEE
346.8 kilometers from Belkan waters
94 minutes for Belkan response force




"Left -- left, Alex! Not right!" Alex blotted Jasper's screaming from his ears as he traced the 12.7 millimeter machinegun back and forth along the bow of the AS Spirit. Brass ejected from the cumbersome M5 as it spat out a hail of fire from the sturdy bay of the Tu-50. Banking around again, the pilot gave Alex the entire bow for his weapon. Hunching down and aiming through his arms, he pulled rounds into a straight line across the rear light house of the freighter, blowing away a window and the four man MG team that was preparing their own nest in it. The house splintered from the gunfire, windows shattering and falling fifteen feet onto the deck as the Azrican sailors hurried to what little battlestations they could man.

"Whoa there, far right, your side! Launcher!" Jasper screamed again as he planted one gloved hand on the window in an attempt to steer the helicopter with his mind. In the co-pilots seat, yet barred from the controls, Jasper could only sit and watch as bullets, missiles and grenades came flying up at him.

Alex swung in his mount, utilizing the free-floating motion onboard the helicopter to direct the M5 in a wide trail along the side of the vessel, ripping clear through fifteen men before finally meeting contact with the rocketeer and spreading him against the wall in a fine red jelly. Alex heard himself whistle loudly as the Tu-50 spun around the stern of the ship, allowing the second VTOL alongside them to bathe the enemy resistance there in 40 millimeter grenade fire. Cargo containers and small supplies popped and exploded from the rounds as they landed across the boat and ripped away its skin, tossing men and machine overboard as Alex felt the VTOL descend toward one of the dual helipads onboard.
"You guys ... get down there, I'll stay here and keep the place tight!" Jasper shouted, aiding Alex in disembarking the rig of the M5 before handing him his rifle and ushering him off the VTOL.

"Alex, get your ass over here!" Sage shouted as he came from the left, totting his rifle by the hip as the four other men disembarked the second Tu-50. Garbed in a clean cut olive drab fatigue jacket and assault rig, the Azrican operatives looked far different from their sailor counterparts; this was probably given to the fact they wore no identification on their persons. Sage waved on the eight man team down the walk-way and onto the deck of the freighter, managing their step in case they came across a gaping hole or burning core from the impact of ordinance. Even as they neared the ruined bow house, Azrican sailors could be seen pouring from the deckways to below with weaponry.

"Fifteen total, spread across the deck!" Mite shouted the enemy positions before the first rounds had been exchanged. The entire eight man team had jumped into cover at the crack of the first rifle. Alex was first to return fire, hefting the AR-25 into his shoulder and unleashing a steady burst of 7.21 millimeter fire, the battle rifle cracking in protest toward the resistance. He returned to cover once the notorious rattle of the AC-14 sounded, Sage peeking out from behind a double stacked crate of oil drums and squeezing the trigger. One man fell when a round caught him in the chest and tossed him overboard, and several others were systematically killed by pinpoint rounds until the survivors were forced from the deck and into the cargo hold. Alex and several others hand sprang from their cover and were approaching the entrance to below decks before he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Sage yanked him back from the doorway as another tossed a set of hand grenades down into the depths of the vessel.

"We don't have enough time to get 'em all!" Sage yelled over the sudden roar of engines, already a Tu-50 could be seen touching on the helipad. Alex was hauled back as the Tu-50 struck overhead, unleashing its full contingent of armaments into the forward end of the vessel, rockets launching from the hardpoints of the VTOL's stubby wings and ripping the boat in half. A grenade bounded down onto the deck and nearly caught Sage and Alex in its blast, destroying the doorway in front of them and spreading burning oil across the deck. Alex covered himself with his hand as he fell back toward the helipads, passing by three others as they placed explosive charges across the bow of the ship.

"We'll blow 'em all to hell, Alex, don't worry!" Sage replied as they hustled their way up the railing and toward the last waiting VTOL. Several others joined them as the Tu-50 lifted from the deck of the freighter, the Spirit beginning to lean from the rocket strike on its stern, fell away beneath his feet as the VTOL ascended into the air. He continued to watch the freighter fade away before a second sun bloomed atop the water. The boat was eviscerated from the bow up in a violent firey flower, water turning into boiling steam as the superheated deck slipped beneath the waves and disappeared into the Belkan abyss.

"This is Xulu-Yankee, we are feet wet and oscar-mike the hell out of here!"

"What happened after the Spirit, Alex, where did you go next?"

"Bimaristan! We went to Bimaristan, but they already knew we were coming, they were fucking waiting for us."

Sign YANKEE TWO ONE
Somewhere in the South Atlantic
26 minutes for Belkan response force


"Affirmative, Sharpeye, they cleaned it all up -- I mean all of it," Lieutenant Jamens replied to the Stratopanther flying AWACS high above. Nearly six-thousand feet below, the team of four F/M-17 Airaiders performed a series of slow turns over the murky, oil stained and frothing waters below. They had witnessed the explosion in the distance on their approach to the site, and while they had begun their patrols of the area they witnessed the last sight of the ship slip beneath the waves and leave an inky oil slick as its only indication.

"Whatever was on that thing is dead now, that's for sure." Captain Hanes replied brutishly before banking his own Airaider to the west and leaving the patrol of the slick. Jamens cranked the joystick and broke away with the Captain, leaving Yankee Two Two and Yankee One Two to continue the vigil of monitoring the refuse.
"Nothing on long-range scopes, they're gone by now," Hanes replied, sparking the inquiry in Jamens mind. He had known there was a team of special operations on board, for however little time; the timing of this situation was too much to pass away.

"Where to, Captain?" Jamens inquired, leveling off the Airaider and allowing his nose to point in the exact same direction Hanes explained. His eyes fell off to the horizon, still some nine hundred kilometers out from the Bimaristan coast.

"They're going to Bimaristan -- we'll be redeploying too, handing off the patorl here to the Aschen."



Lazzen, eastern Azrica
80 kilometers from the Protectorate-Arcadian border
Ministry-1




The bullet-train flew smoothly over the tracks as the Azrican railhauler flew through the Josalc mountains toward northern Arcadia, its cargo packed snugly in a warmed and heated presidential car, while a heavy complement of Counter Balance servicemen managed security both inside and out of the train. Traversing the uninhabited Azrican countryside at a steady pace of 80 miles an hour, the Prime Minister had spent the majority of the trip from Yulta staring out the window and brooding amongst himself. While his trip across Arcadia has seen few stops, the Prime Minister, a pinnacle of democratic practice and progressive momentum, had made his stop unannounced to the Arcadian city of New Alexandria to consult personally with government representatives. While his personal security detail had risen hell about the operation, there was no denying the acceptance of his arrival and the positive situations that followed. As the train crossed the border into the Protectorate near Invierre, the speakers were still chirping with broadcasts of DeGaul's speech on the steps of New Alexandria.

"New Alexandrians across the city, and Arcadians across the nation -- I visit here today to view the cultural achievements and progression of the Arcadian as a nation and as a people. Years ago, there were troubles no country could ignore on this continent, our continent, our hemisphere has never been in more volatile a situation than it is now. It comes with a heavy respect that I say those of us living safely across the ocean from the rest of the world are here because we have recognized when our differences must be set aside, and our cooperation amongst one another must be gaurenteed. Arcadia is just as an important member of our lives as is any other nation on the Azrican continent -- not Azrica's continent, it is where the brothers of the Aschen, the Azrican, the Arcadian, the Liberion, the Azurian and the Trigotian all share their livelihood. It is the continent which I expect every one of us, as neighbors and compatriots, will commit to the mutual defence of ...

The broadcast faded away into a cacophony of clapping and interference, DeGaul opening his dozing eyes as a Senator seated himself in front of him and reached forward with one hand. DeGaul recognized the Republican Senator as Wryan Waynes, governor of an unrecognized district in Southern Azrica, nestled against the border with Azuria.

"Mister Prime Minister, I was unable to make the speech -- caught up in the New Alexandria life -- but I just wanted to say your speech rocked the entire city, they had it blaring through every freakin' channel." Waynes replied as DeGaul shook his hand firmly, looking out the window in fractured interest as the train passed by a small Aschen farm, the farm-to-market road running along the tracks as the Ministry train neared the first of several checkpoints within the Protectorate.

"Thanks, Waynes, but all we can do now is pray that it sticks to their heads -- let's face, it's not like anyone's really content with cooperation at this point."




DF-9001,
65 kilometers from the Azro-Arcadian border


The wail of the Kaiser's engines was enough to dominate his hearing without the screening radio waves coming from the VTOL electro-warfare aircraft. Sergeant Runnings checked over the displays nestled in front of him. Frequency jamming output, power-relay systems boosting the aircrafts radar beyond the limit of visual range and target acquisitioning throughout the entire area. Below them, the mountainous rocky ground spread beneath them, Arcadias rocky border forming the strong spine to the end of the Azrican continent, leading out to the rolling plains of the Arcadian heartland and the Protectorate breadbasket. The mountain range below was a rugged, dangerous terrain that still managed to separate the condensed population of Arcadia from the uninhabited Azrica forestland across them. The 56th Air Squadron of the ADF had redeployed to air patrols in accordance with the Arcadian Air Force, conducting mutual exercises with one another often to maintain effectiveness and display animosity toward accepted allies.

"Check the LR-Locator, I think I see some phantoms beyond the 50 kilom mark." The co-pilot, Lieutenant Arken, commanded as he curved the Kaiser around the peak of a mountain on their eliptical control through the two air spaces of the nation; the flight of four aircraft, two FB-72 Kaisers and F/M-17 Airaiders, would follow a wide eliptical patrol thirty kilometers into Arcadian airspace, and then sixty through Azrican border space before finally landing at the Lackdam AFB.

"Affirmative, zooming now -- I don't see anything, Lieutenant." Runnings replied as he eyed the large radar display neatly. While the boosted electronics of the FB-72 gave it tremendous capabilities, there were still limitations to the technolog, and the Kaiser found that its eyes could not see far; farther than any enemy could, though.
"Could be Arcadian commercial flights, might even be some cadets monitoring the fly-by." He interjected as he felt the Kaiser shift downward to avoid a bank of clouds, the peak of a mountain range passing in one quick flash below.
"Jesus, Lieutenant, where the hell are you taking us?"


"Just ping 'em, Sergeant, let 'em know we're here." Lieutenant Arken said with a hefty smirk as he eased the nose of the Kaiser downward, the stubby wings of the VTOL holding the bulky frame together as the first ridge of a mountain broke the view of the horizon. Several seconds later, the entire four plane flight had descended into a gaping valey between two mountian peaks. Sergeant Runnings let his training kick in as he operated the electronic suite before him. Locating the four Arcadian fighters from a rough one hundred and six kilometers away, the Kasier's LAMPET system used rebounding phased relays to improve range and accuracy exponentially. Pressing several more instruments, the signals of the Arcadian aircraft were directed to the remainder of the Azrican team, a wail sounding through his headset as the Lieutenant activated the weapons lock, notifying the Arcadian team that their Azrican counterparts had locked onto their position from the depths of a valley.

"Daaaaamn that's gonna' mess with them."





Niconpoli



As Jeffkins entered the little buggy, the Azrican beside him gruffed in protest as the technical rocked from the sudden weight placement. No matter how rich this Jeffkins character claimed to be, he would never provide for the Elite Corps that passed through his scope. Closing the door beside him, Jeffkins nodded toward the Elite to drive on, finally eleveating the stuffy traffic and continuing on to a roadway. Passing by a Bimaristan patrol on the street, Jeffkins frowned his protest and made himself audible with a brief swear.

"Buncha' fucking dirt monkays, the lot of them are, can't understand when a business is good." He remarked bitterly, placing one thumb to his lip and chewing aggressively at the nail as the Elite pulled the technical onto another wider roadway to the outskirts of the city, where the other would be waiting.

"It's not their fault you're having to pay, you knew the terms of the agreement when we brought you over here." The Elite remarked coldly, his sunglasses adding an extra amount of intimidation to Jeffkins, who slunk farther into his seat and shrugged his shoulder.

"And you grungy puppets! You come in here armed for a fucking revolution and expect the Bimaristani's not to have a dumping egg!" Jeffkins remarked with a distateful glance toward the Elite, whom casually peeked over his shoulder at the assortment of assault rifles and body armor in the back seat.

"The locals are a lot more likely to take a Cay than Piastre, and they'll gladly refuse bullets," The Elite remarked before pulling away the loose jacket and revealing the automatic nestled against a holster. Draping the jacket flap back down, he activated the turn signal of the technical and changed lanes to the left, taking the most direct route out of the city in the direction of Sarda, to the central hub of the 1st Elite Corps, a brigade sized force of Azrican internationals handling the orders of General Von Ritterson.

"That woman I just spok with, Meriam her name was, she won't refuse the bullet she'll put one in you." The Azrik remarked, drawing his window down with a the crank as he prepared a cigarette and ignited it, releasing a thin viel of smoke out the window. The Elite shifted lanes once again to the left, putting him in the fast lane on the clear route out of the city and towards a large industrial park funded by international companies. In recent months, the many Azrican subsidaries there had become quite a useful asset to the Elite Corps, often providing an avenue of entry and a warehouse for equipment the Elites were utilizing throughout the entire country.

"I'm sure she's exactly aware of what your objectives in this country are," The Elite remarked, causing Jeffkins to tense up at the mention of attempts, but then the Elite relaxed and lit himself a cigarette of his own. Driving past a truck full of women inbound to the city, the windows occupied by black viels, and vague human shapes.
"You're some street scum dope dealer, but you're a connection to every Azrican college student or teenager in the nation."

--Geryotain Barrier Reef, onboard the fishing ship Derek--
"Sir, the cruise ships are on approach." The first mate waited patiently for his Captain's orders, looking tense as he stood in the bridge's doorway. Standing at the wheel, Captain Jay Orphis stood resolutely, gazing out over the waters of the reef. On the horizon, three ships bobbed, just barely gliding over the water's calm surface. He turned to face his first mate, flashing him a smile. "They'll stay out of these waters this time." Jay said, promptly picking up the radio receiver.
"Attention Captains of the Red Decker cruise line. These waters are protected by the Clean Reef act of 1960, which states that there is to be no dumping, littering, or illegal poaching of species in this reef. If you do not turn your polluting ships around and leave, then we will engage you." With that, he hung the receiver up, placing his hands on the wheel. "We will save the ocean, starting with it's most precious gem." Jay would have sounded insane to anyone else but his crew. To them, he was a man of passion, and would lead them to victory against the vile corporations tormenting the sea.
Over the next hour, they waited for a response from the captains of the Red Decker ships, but nothing came over the radio. All the while, they headed straight for the ships entering the reef. "Their lack of a response, and their not complying with the Clean Water act warrants that we take action to stop them." Jay turned to the first mate, ordering the crew to suit up for an attack on the ships.

--Onboard the Red Decker ship A113B7--
The staff of the ship was in a frenzy, rushing about trying to make preparations for the attack that they knew would be coming. Up on the bridge, the captain was radioing for help, hoping to get the Geryotain Coast guard, or any local enforcement, to come to their aide. But he feared they wouldn't be able to do anything to the nutjobs legally. His fears were confirmed when his radio for help was turned down. They couldn't do anything unless a law was broken. But laws were about to be broken, and that was plainly obvious as the fishing vessel changed course to come up alongside them. There was no running from this, there was only preparation. It would be in less than an hour.

"Incoming!" People screamed and ran, struggling to make it down into the belly of the cruise ship. Flashbangs, teargas, and stinkbombs bombarded the deck of the cruise ship, crashing into passengers and crew alike. On the deck of the Derek, crew hands threw everything they had with all the might they could muster, shouting such warcries as "Save the Earth!" and other eco nonsense.
In the midst of all the chaos was the attendant Jessica Chase, who was cowering in the corner with her serving tray over her head. "Fuck... fuck fuck fuck!" She muttered her profanities to herself, wincing as another flashbang went off over the deck of the ship. Bodies pressed against her as they tried to force themselves below deck, but there was no room for them down there. They were sitting ducks on the deck of this ship.
A big burly man shoved her out of his way, sending her tumbling to the deck in a mess of flailing limbs.
Jessica wrestled to her feet in the madness, and was promptly greeted with a can of teargas crashing with full force into her face.

--Krisburg, Geryotain--
"Today in Alaster, over thirty people were arrested on charges of drug possession, spiking the rate of drug related arrests to over 200% from last year. Officer--" Once again, Jeremy flicked off the television, giving a laugh. "Those people in Alaster, don't know how to handle the cops." Ronald joined in the laughing, lounging on the bed. "Yeah dude, and some violinist guy kicked it too, OD'd on some shit." Ronald giggled, tossing a foam basketball through a plastic hoop mounted on the door.
"Really?" Jeremy looked at him inquisitively, not sure if it was one of his things. "Have I heard any of his stuff on the radio waves?"
"Yeah man, he was on that one channel you listen to."
"Seriously? I loved that song he did..."
"Yeah... but man, you look a little pale. Need a drink?" Ronald sat up, cocking his head at his friend. Jeremy sat there, quiet. Suddenly the happy mood that had previously held the room, was gone. Jeremy got up, heading out the door in a huff.
"Yo! Jeremy! Wait up man!" Ronald grabbed his jacket, hurrying after him.
Outside, the air hung heavy with factory smog, filling their lungs. The air was cold, and tunes drifted out of various shops along the street. The two figures walked up the street and into their favorite bar, to mourn the death of a man they never knew.

--News Today Studio, Alaster--
"Police officials deny more claims that the Belkan shipping line responsible for eighty percent of imported grain and dried foods is secretly smuggling Bimaristan drugs through Geryotain ports. Others claim that several ships have been found with the narcotics onboard, yet the Minister of Trade had the warrants voided. More protest broke out as more allegations were made against the Minister of Customs, who has been accussed of letting over thousands of tons of Bimaristan narcotics.
In other news, Claudio Bernacchi died of a drug overdose in Alaster, which has sparked outrage in the local populace. Political activists in Krisburg demand stricter drug enforcement laws, and are protesting against the move to legalize drugs in the Geryo District.
President Krisbur assures the public that talks will take place concerning drug legalization and tightening up security in the ports quite soon.
And over in the Reef, a crisis is brewing. The Red Decker cruise line is claiming that a fishing vessel crewed by members of the Poseidon Foundation, a group dedicated to cleaning up the earth, are attacking their ships. They say that thirty passengers or more have been injured directly by members of the organization in the assault. We have been told that a coast guard vessel has been dispatched to deal with the issue, but there are no definite facts.
That is today's news, I'm Tiffany Sanders signing out."


--Geryotain Federal District--
"Mister Velodivic, the Minister will see you now." The friendly secretary led him to the thick wooden door, opening it for him with a smile.
"Simon Velodivic, the Minister of Trade... what can I do for you today?" The voice loomed from the shadows of the study the secretary had led him to. Simon grimaced as he entered, never enjoying the time he spent with his partner in crime, Bernard Crake. The Minister of Trade and the Minister of Customs, all in the same room with their goons.
Simon gave a nod to one of the mayors he'd bought, a bit of an acknowledgment of the shipment of Bimaristan hash he'd overseen sent to him. Taking his seat, Simon looked over the table at the coalition of evil that had assembled.

Captains, responsible for providing the ships to transport the drugs, Bimaristan contacts, responsible for getting the drugs to the ships, Mayors and officers of the law, responsible for getting them through the ports, a web of criminals that sold it to the masses, and then several bankers who laundered the money and fed it to those at the head of the table: The Minister of Trade, and the Minister of Customs.
Bernard gazed over the assembly, letting his gaze rest on each of them briefly, so as to let them feel the weight of this situation.
"My friends. We have come to a choice. The Geryotain government is considering two options. Either we increase port security, or, we legalize the whole process. Now, this is all up to a vote, one that many of us here will be participating in. Now, this means that most of this vote rests on our shoulders. We hold the majority. What should we do?" With that, he sat down, scanning over the faces here.

Three hours had passed, and the conference had ended. The vote was to increase the security of the ports, and increase prices across the board. Drugs were going to get a lot more expensive in Geryotain.

Eastern Scorpia Prefecture
Aschen-Arcadian border.
Trans-Azrican Railroad

The Azrican Train proceeded noisily along it's tracks, the farm road coursing besides it as the Aschen countryside seemed to surround them. Scorpia was made mostly of jungles, due to it's location, the thick forests seemed to line the tracks either way, cleared out for farmland and other utilities. One by one power line towers passed by the field of view as the train moved through it's tracks. The skies over the Scorpia prefecture was clear, dotted with the occasional puff of white cumulus clouds. Aschen buildings dotting the horizon.

A Sign would greet the Azrican train as it progressed eastwards, the near-alien realm of the United Aschen Protectorate greeting them with a sign that was read in several different languages.

Celeste - 403Km
Judgement, Libran - 1,254km
Oasis, Caprica - 2,376km

The Train would be quite the distance from the Aschen capital, and would have to pass through several cities in order to reach the Capital. The Transfer Station in Oasis would direct the train eastwards, into Caprica City once it reached Oasis. Of course if anyone were to mess with the switching parameters set for the Azrican Train, it would be diverted southbound to Delphi, which was far from the Aschen Capital.

The weather would be mostly fair as the train passed through the Aschen countryside, with the billowing of a thunderstorm seen in the distance as the train moved, nearing the border of Sagittaron.

---

Caprica City, Caprica
Presidential Office

President Richard Adar was always a hardliner when it came to military policy, with the Belkans showing aggression, and the Azricans conducting exercises off the coast of Belka, it seemed concerning to the president.

The man quietly seemed to preside over a map. The map detailed the entire world as mapped out, with all the respective nations colored in various colors. President Adar also had a series of plastic pieces representing military units, he was looking over a strategy one of the Generals had presented. The massive Protectorate Battle-Carriers stationed in strategic sights around the Protectorate, guarding their waters respectively.

"Admiral Nagala, I want you to reposition the Columbia in these locations so we can secure our waters accordingly." He explained as he slid one of the plastic models across the map, the plastic models of the Battlecarrier stopping just short of Geryotain. "There's been a lot of news of drug activity over in this location, and what better way to deter the transport of drugs then to position a Battlecarrier in International waters. If they have a problem with it.. then we can make them shove it. Understood Admiral?"

Nagala offered a distinct nod, and inclined her head. "I'll personally see too it, I'll take the Atlantia and form a task group, from there we'll head to the Geryotain trading areas and act as sort of an.. intimidating presence." She said before she offered a crisp salute, and moved to walk out of the office.

Adar simply stood there and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I also want us to be ready in the event Belka goes to war."

---

BattleCarrier Rycon BCG - 34
Commander Lionel Harper
Patrol duty - 675km Off the coast of Bimaristan - International Waters

"Sitrep." Ordered Commander Harper as he watched the Radar screens and the visual spotters kept a close eye on the ever expansive ocean. Battle-Carrier Group Thirty Four operated a floatilla of roughly six Aschen vessels, one Battle-Carrier, two Battleships, two Cruisers and an Escort Destroyer, these provided the eyes and ears of the United Aschen Protectorate as they seemed to keep an ever expansive early warning network.

The Rycon was the eyes and ears of the Aschen off the coast of Bimaristan - Though it was far enough, the Commander was relatively uneasy.

"I know that Caprica is going to order us into action soon enough, with the media hype surrounding Belka it is only a matter of time before we're called into war, and I know that we're the only barrier between the Belkans and the Protectorate. So long as we listen and make no move to startle our.. neighbors across the pond.." He said as the soft glow of the CRT Monitor seemed to reflect off his face.

“What is the good of your speeches? I come to Sarajevo on a visit, and I get bombs thrown at me. It is outrageous.”

23 kilometers south of Hoffnung's outskirts, Park Ranger Station Oscar-Kilo, 6:37PM BST, February 13th, 1973

The shorter days were barely noticeable, but things of even the slightest difference seemed monumental to the Baron, needless to say when subordinates of the esteemed General von Ritterson had approached both he and the cabinet on matters of a most clandestine nature, ones that could greatly assist the Empire in its efforts against its foes, they couldn't say no, and his head couldn't stop spinning. At least not after careful deliberation, but that was a moot point, there was much more to be gained here by accepting the offer. Such was why the Baron Sudentor found himself sitting in a stuffy and rather drab Park station just south of the industrial giant of Hoffnung, as well as accounting for his sour mood. The General might've been one of proper stock, but that didn't change that he was a barbarian, most of the pigs across the ocean were. With his right leg crossed over his left knee at a right angle, leaning against both the back of the chair and the wall he sat against, the Baron clad in his waffenrock, his attention was largely focused on a small mug of lacking coffee that sat on the flimsy table before him, having not touched it, save for stirring it, rather unsure of its contents. The pasty yellowed walls that surrounded both him and his immediate entourage were made from cinder blocks, and were likely painted white at some point in the past, though cigarette smoke undoubtedly remedied that situation. However, the foul mood that the Baron currently enjoyed likely wasn't drawn from the international situation, the coffee or the undeniable stink of cigarette smoke, rather it was the... pollution that emanated from the radio that one of his guards had found fit to turn on. Even if he had only turned on the radio there would've been little quarrel, but instead of the news or something reasonably intelligent, they had to turn it to the remotely electronic sounding filth that the small box played... something about people claiming that 'They were the Robots.' or some other such nonsense. The slight tapping sound that one of his men was making, though he knew not if it was with his foot or some other appendage, he soon silenced him with a brief, icy glance, after which silence resumed between all the men, their boredom undoubtedly intensified by the anal personality that was their superior.

"Will someone please shut that shit off?" It was rather odd for the man to resort to profanity, considering his personal aversion to it, though desperate times called for desperate measures, even if only for his personal comfort. Reluctantly, the nearest subordinate shut off the pathetic radio, silence permeating the room once more, and the Baron offered the men a smile, rather small, but a smile none-the-less. Two of the men, one arguably the youngest present, was obviously troubled by the stench, both of whom looked to be a shade paler than the others, undoubtedly some of that crowd who opposed tobacco and its uses. A good cause, though they needed to get a stomach sometimes.

"Baron?"

"Hmm?" Sudentor didn't move a muscle, aside from his usual toying with his coffee, idly spinning the small straw around in the rather odd liquid. It was the older of the two men who had spoke up, his eyes traveling quickly between both the Baron and the younger man a couple of times before continuing,

"Unteroffizier Arning isn't feeling well, sir, perhaps some fresh air will do him good?" Pausing for a moment or two, the Baron released the small stir stick, which whisked about in the coffee for a few moments longer until coming to an idle rest, and soon turned to look upon the speaker, a man of middle-age, clad with a feldwebel's shoulderboards, had the look of a father about him. Standing slowly, idly brushing his uniform as he did so, the Baron soon approached the two with calm, measured footsteps, speaking as he neared them,

"Perhaps it would do you good not to ask things of your Baron." Standing rigidly, his back straight and looking the part, the Baron smirked, the two commoners before him bordering on slouching, such improper visions of Belkan purity. As if to put a stop to his haughty thoughts, the younger man puked up what little he had for lunch, his stomach acid making up for the lack of substance, the extent of the splatter coming well within an inch of the Baron's jackboots, much to his dismay. Almost hissing as he drew himself back, he quickly ushered the younger man outside, along with most of the guards, leaving the older man behind to clean up the mess. Just the thought that one of his own men would come so close to soiling his uniform infuriated him, though such fury was cut short by a curt report from one of his aides, who approached him as the men made their way out of the minute structure.

"My Baron." He spoke, nodding as he did so, and the Baron, who was putting on his gloves, soon bade him to continue, "We've eyes on an Azrican Stratopanther." His eyes widening only slightly, the Baron took on a much more pleasant air, allowing the man to lead him to the LZ. Only a few moments thereafter the stratopanther arrived in little time, touching down gingerly, and the Baron stood at parade rest only meters away, ready to meet the General who had taken such an interest in his heritage.

Belkan Empire, Abuene, the Office of High Commissioner Harald Limbach, February 13th, 1973

Mr. Noshiba,

I regret the delay in which I've failed to reply to your letter, the running of such a vast business does take up one's time, but it piqued my interest to know that an employee from Manjuin had written me. As I had allotted the time to read your letter, the situations described within pain me, as I'm sure it pains most to hear of them. Such conditions of work aren't pleasant, I must admit, and as such, I must consider your point, as much as any other employee. We are, after all, each a cog in the machine of West Indies Industrial, which itself is in turn a cog of the Empire. We have all endured hardships at some point in our lives, us here at West Indies Industrial especially, our livelihoods are based upon it, and though many may not think it, I myself am very stressed by my work here. After all, overseeing the manufacture of weapons and ammunition all to be used to a lethal end does little for one's soul, though one must do what one must... otherwise, how would my family continue its existence? To force them to rely on those more fortunate than themselves is not the Belkan way, such a mentality that should be shared in all the world. These fumes you speak of must pain you and your coworkers, and thus I must take action against it, for when the cogs fail the machine breaks. This machine, the Belkan machine, it runs the world. When one looks for the forefront of advancement, it is the Belkans to which their eyes turn, and as such, we must strive forward in every way possible. So, I must regretfully deny your request for an hour free of operation, however, I can, and will, allow two fifteen minute breaks to be allotted in addition to the thirty minute work break and distribute respirators to the workforce. Your concern for your coworkers is duly noted, Mr. Noshiba, such a mentality is good to possess in the workplace.

Sincerely,

Harald Limbach, High Commissioner, West Indies Industrial

Dinsmark, Belkan Empire, 11:39 AM BST, February 15th, 1973

The morning was progressing rather well, or so the Archduke thought, until he was confronted with a rather interesting proposition from the Belkan Embassy in Doranbul... one of an alliance. Belka's history with Bimaristan was not a pleasant one, the war with the Sultanate was still fresh in Dreyer's mind, considering his efforts as commander of an infantry division in the war. Simply put, the Belkans didn't care for the Bimarstanis, and they weren't too keen on the Belkans. The thought of an alliance unnerved him, an enemy so close to home while the focus of the armed forces was, undoubtedly, turning west and north. Shifting uneasily in the plush chair that he'd seated himself in, he set the communique down, having only read halfway into it before becoming quite overwhelmed, already having dispatched a new emissary to Geryotain this morning. Walther's decisions were getting quite rash, and the coming war would only add to the load that the Archduke had to deal with daily. Clad only in a leisurely robe, he soon diverted his attention to a slice of toast and two eggs, hoping to think things over some food. Being only a cousin of the Emperor, the Archduke was not next in line for the throne, rather it was the Kaiser's half-brother, Eduard, who sat next in line, son of the late Emil's consort, however he was trusted - and for good reason. Eduard was a fool, and though Dreyer might seem one at times, he couldn't truly compare to the man. Taking a spoon in his left hand, the Archduke scooped some of the yolk from the egg, and dabbed the dollop onto the slice of bread, sighing as he did so. No matter how much sway that he held with the Kaiser, the final decision still remained with the autocrat, not with the Archduke. Taking the toast in his right hand, he folded it back on itself, and proceeded to partake, his expression rather distant as he did such, his mind on the Kaiser and his ambition...

Camp Bielsk, Belkan Empire, 8:49 PM BST, February 19th, 1973

The noise of irregular footsteps on the concrete floor was music to Hans' ears as Dog Company turned in for the night, the week being one specified for increasing readiness in the Belkan armed forces, another day of training completed for the 12th Infantrie Reserve. PT in full kit was not a fun experience, as any of Dog could tell you, though the aching feet and worn back were not what drove Dieter to his bunk, rather thoughts of home and the closer deadline to returning home. Stowing most of his gear in his footlocker and quickly stripping himself of the grimy fatigues, Hans soon boosted himself up to his bunk, which sat above Adam Brenig's, though it wasn't even ten seconds before he called out from below, already engaged with the fatigues that he was still clad in, "Alright, 20 marks on the table."

"Take a shot." With a grin, Hans replied, it was almost customary, the two trying to test Adam's supposed 'psychic' ability that he liked to brag about, if only when they were playing 'dumbass'. Leaning over the edge of the bunk, Hans dipped his head low enough to look at the man while he worked his 'magic' - with a grimace and tightly shut eyes. Smirking in response to the view, Hans soon returned to a rather relaxed position on his bunk, rather enjoying the the feeling, or rather, the lack of feeling that being free of the sweat and funk of the day brought. Sighing heavily, he hadn't but eight seconds with his head on the pillow before Brenig spoke,

"Sleep." Grinning rather widely, Hans soon returned to the side of the bunk to see Adam's curious expression, undoubtedly eager to see if he'd hit the nail, though judging from Hans' expression one really didn't need someone to tell you that the teacher had won twenty marks. His look of curiosity turning to one of defeat, Adam reached for his footlocker, taking a small notepad out and scribbling something down on it, likely his new debt to Dieter. "Can you at least tell me what you were thinking about?"

"She has a name, you know." Now the look of defeat changed to one of annoyance, though it wasn't too serious. Returning to his more relaxed position on the upper bunk, he relaxed a bit more, the day's PT still managing to bite at him.

"Dietz, you haven't even known her for two weeks. Come on man." Smiling to himself as Adam turned to remove his boots, he crossed his arms over his chest as he turned onto his left side, savoring the feeling of the bunk, he whispered to no one,

"Doesn't matter."

Just off the western coast of Freistaat Kolov, approaching Acirerostan airspace, Prince Eduard's personal Koeppen K-12 Civil Airliner, 4:39PM BST, February 23rd, 1973

It was as it usually was in the cabin, serene, peaceful, quiet, the dull hum of the engines drowning out most small noises that could be heard. The blue sky outside of the canopy was only sparsely interrupted by hazy clouds, the The slight whine of the turbojets could be heard, though they were only a fraction of their true noise, the cabin managed to neutralize most audible distractions, and Theodor, the copilot, looked not only to have the jitters but also a pallor to his flesh. The plane was en route to Fostend, a typical diplomatic mission for one such as the Prince, though there was an air about his coworker that Adrian, the pilot could pick up on, and he wasn't one for social nuances. Flying at about two-thousand feet, low enough that his lordship could enjoy the view, the beaches were rather nice on the coast. Keeping with the flight plan, the K-12 was to loop around the Kolov peninsula and move in on Fostend, and the plane moved along at a rather lazy pace. The other man looked about the landscape more than usual, rather than checking instruments, and already their usual conversation was lacking. No word on the family that he was so proud of, or the new car that he'd been yakking about for the past two months, saving up his money until he could take out a loan for the rest of the value. Odd, to be sure, for him to be lacking his usual gab, but such couldn't, and wouldn't, stop Adrian from carrying out his task. Banking the rather lithe plane to the right, Adrian continued on the path designed by the nobleman's advisers, chosen primarily for aesthetic enjoyment than practical transport. Almost suddenly Theodor spoke up, the first words that'd come out of his mouth since the two had stepped onto the plane together, "I uh... I gotta go." Pointing back to the passenger's cabin, Adrian nodded, thinking he'd ascertained the reason for his odd behavior. People acted odd when they were sick, surely even Theodor must shut up every now and then.

"No problem man, take your time." Rising out of his seat, Theodor quickly made for the restroom on the other side of the passenger compartment, and Adrian soon returned to his work, piloting the craft a good distance away from Acirerostan waters that were nearby. All it took was one second with the IFF off and things could get hairy, considering past relations... but such was why the Prince was off to meet with their dignitaries. With Theodor absent, things became a bit more relaxed in the cabin, and thus things proceeded for quite some time... almost half an hour really, though almost too soon his co-pilot returned, closing the door behind him with a soft click, Adrian not even bothering to turn and look at him, rather asking, "Everything good, man?" Taking a moment or two to reply, Theodor stepped closer, pausing before speaking,

"No..."

"What's up?" Looking only a moment away from the controls to him, he barely had the time for his eyes to widen as Theodor apologized.

"I didn't want to do this."

The Prince's 'guards' never heard the silencer.

Excerpt from the front page of the Belkan Newspaper Der Adler, February 24th, 1973



In an unprovoked attack yesterday, the Acirerostan Navy fired upon our beloved Prince's private airliner and shot it down, killing all on board. 'Such a tragic event is not to go unpunished!' claims our mighty Kaiser, undoubtedly mourning the death of his half-brother, who had made earnest efforts to promote the labor unions and women's rights movements, much to the distaste of Walther. Hiding behind the flimsy excuse that their IFF (Identify Friend/Foe - device utilized for identifying an aircraft's origin and type) was offline and that the plane was on an intercept trajectory. The Acirerostan Navy, and by extension, the State, offers its most sincere condolences. Such is not what we, the Belkan people, seek! There is only one language that such barbarians understand: Force. If they insist on speaking it, then we, as Belkans, shall respond in kind! 'Our people are not ones to be toyed with, and we...'

Unlabled Unmapped Military Command Center located deep within the mountains..... (Febuarary 23rd. 1973: 9:43 PM)


A red alert went off. General Jack O'Neill walked into a room full of people. One of them was Director Forrest, and Col. Carter was there as well. As he sat down, they were all arguing and debating. So, he did his standard thing. He breathed in deeply, and then yelled "WOULD YOU ALL SHUT THE HELL UP!?!". They all quieted down and shuted up at this time. He then asked "What the hell happened?".

Director Forrest stood up, and then spoke "We received reports of Belkan Prince murder and that it was caused by an outlying force. "Did it get to papers yet?" "No not yet, but we have already confirmed it was not in our airspace or near any of our ships. Looks like it was the Acirerostan, although i have heard rumors about foul play, and one about a Terrorist cell". "Well, seeing as how there is always a terrorist Cell, i think we can exclude that for now. Still, i want Arcadia to stay out of this one. And you Mr. President?". "I Agree General, we should stay clear. Seeing as how our crime rate is lower then most others, we should expect heavy refugees. I want the Construction of a new town near New Alexandria, and i want our defenses on high alert". "Yes sir, and i think you made the right decision Mr. President." "Also, i want Mr. Woolsy, our Diplomat, to go to Azrica and secure our treaty with them. He has proven to be very good with people in the past, and im sure he is the man for the job".

Jack O'niell then told everyone "I want eyes on our skies and ground the whole time. I want to know if anyone tries to even get close to us with any hostile forces. I want the Guard increased. I want all our teams ready to deploy at any moment. We are to stay on high alert incase they attack, but make sure we never show any sign of offensive attack. I don't want to provoke anyone...."


AID Command Center (February 24th: 1973: 10:12 AM)

Agent Dennon sat in his chair sipping his coffee. Ok, thats actually only half right. It was Forrest's chair and Forrest's Coffee. Tom walked in and noted "You have a call on line one from Forrest so ya know...." he noted. Dennon looked blankly at him for a moment, thinking "How the HELL did he know.....right, im usually here even when he is here....". He picked up the phone, and was told his orders. Apparently, he was to help escort a Diplomat that was going in a plane soon near this building. He went to the elevator and took it to ground level, where he found a Car that took him to the plane. Soon they were flying toward Aschen/Arcadian Embassy, where they would then go to Aschen's president on a diplomatic mission. They were calling him right now to inform him.

The diplomat was Dr. Weir, and who was friends with the pilot, because he kept calling her Elizabeth. Dennon kept his cool as she was talking with someone, but he couldn't tell who. He did hear though. "WE believe that speaking with your government would help keep peace. We are all aware of Belka's movements, and we wish to keep our treaty. From what i understand The General is being very careful all around its border, and it would please him to hear our forces will not have to fight each other. We would like to set up a good treaty and foundation for a good relationship, in order to be able to count on one another and keep both of our people safe. I will see you soon."

Agent Dennon was on edge. He preferred gathering intelligence and keeping his country safe, not babysitting.


AID Command Center (February 24th: 1973: 10:52 AM)

Tom Kam hooked up and contacted the Azrica Team. "Guys, you may want to work on your signal, its kinda weakish. But the coordination is good. However, you may want to listen to this, i just got this on the newspaper...." he told them, and read them a Belkan News paper headline. The one about the Prince. "I'm sure your government knows about this by now, but just the same, you should tell anyone you can as soon as you can. This looks like it could get ugly....".



Arcadian Embassy, Azrica (Febuary 17th: 1973: 12:34 PM)

Mr. Woolsy woke up, ready for his meeting with whoever Azrica planned to meet him with. Hopefully the leader himself. Mr. Woolsy walked over got his suit on, then going into the main room, where he sipped his coffee and waited for whoever Azrica decided to send...