by Max Barry

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Region: Lazarus

Afonasei ran his hands through his hair and checked his watch.
Still a few minutes to spare.
A half-hour ago, he couldn’t keep pacing the same boardroom with the military analysts and top brass, so he moved into the Principle Chairman’s office. He kept the office dark not because it hurt his eyes or because he felt particularly eco-friendly that day, but because, as he put it,
It helped with the mood.

As he paced along the spacious and cleanly kept chamber, he felt the need to talk to himself.
“Maybe it’ll get the shakes out. Maybe, maybe, maybe.” Afonasei paused and seemed to reset. Walking to a bookshelf that spanned the entire wall and pulling loose what could’ve been a novel or an encyclopedia in the dim light, he started again.
“Operation Pugachev they called it. For all the deceit that went into this, it does earn its name. But, you see, it was necessary because the northerners would not accept our demands by honorable means. But, thankfully, the Cossacks will earn their honor in what is to come.
Battle… It’s a wonderful thing. I wish I could stop and tell you all about my experience in the Civil War; not only was it honorable, but it was empowering-- you knew you were in the right, and all arrayed against you and your comrades, your cause, were wrong: something to be squashed and spat upon.

And my brethren and fellow citizenry will be able to taste that dignity and discipline that comes with battle. Once we have properly lured the northerners in, we can cut them off and leave them to drift. With the Compact’s ships, we will strike without warning and without mercy at the vitals of their battle groups; cripple their carriers, their tankers, and their supply ships. Leave them only their warships and their ability to think, and they will either take that and run or, against the Cossacks, they will lose.

It’s a shame the original plan didn’t work out so much; Northern Alliance-- Bah! I should have never even associated with them. But this Operation, it will do just as well as the last one. Operation Pugachev will show the world not just of Southern tenacity, but of Cossack resolve and strength.”

As if he had just received momentous applause, Afonasei took an extravagant bow before the audience of a portrait of Yermak Timofeyevich.
Nearly jumping, he suddenly angled his watch in the light to check the time.
It’s begun.

Counter-Admiral Kutznetzov had been recalled from his escapade. He was even more enraged when there was a submarine attack upon Leonism: an unforeseen consequence of Tsvetkov’s arrogance, but one they had to suffer nonetheless.

Radio chatter between ships was awfully quiet that night. He hadn’t supposed that so much had changed since he’d been gone, but he felt as if the mood was not just the solemnity of the occasion, but something far worse.

Alexei was proven correct by the hasty orders he received from the Timofeyevich, the hardly-functioning mother bee of the Cossack fleet.
19:45
Alexei didn’t know what exactly had come to pass, but it did. There were orders that he and his inferiors had received, and if Kutznetzov failed to act on them he would likely be shot for treason and would hardly be missed. Alas, he chose life, however long or short he would squeeze from the tit of nature.
Would my life come to an end if I gave these orders? I’ve feared for my life for long hours in the stuffy conditions of a submarine, but is this how it ends? Some brass above waters?

“Sir? Admiral Kuztnetzov?” The captain of the Miś asked apprehensively. Kutznetzov looked at the captain’s face. It shone of mediocrity and inexperience, but organic in its liveliness and health.
Waterlogged flesh… Came a brief thought before Alexei snapped out of it.
“Open VLS cells, launch all!”

A minute ago the Strait lay silent in the moonlight. Not even patrolling aircraft way up high even disturbed the serenity of the sea. On the deep and royal blue of the water stood prickly little dark blocks that could’ve been ships, but then they were illuminated rapidly and with quick succession by stars flying away from their decks and hulls. Out on the horizon, one could see the same kind of plumes rising from the east; and even towards the south, stars rose high into the night. The fleet of the FRCP had opened fire with anti-ship missiles. The navy of the Glorious society had opened fire with anti-ship missiles. The armada of Dernel, likewise, had opened fire with anti-ship missiles.

The stars of destruction they projected rapidly and without pause either stretched high towards the moon or immediately clung to the sea; they targeted the carriers, the supply ships, the fuel tankers; secondary targets were the support ships and the anti-aircraft frigates.

The fighter craft high in the sky above the fleet dove down; PkV-43A strike craft launched NZ-21 hypersonic cruise missiles; these made quite a sound while the strike craft veered away towards the mainland to resupply. PkV-16 fighters and other assorted fighter craft of the Cossack Peoples drew away from the event but kept a watchful eye over the developments.

On an interstate north of Korf, traffic was halted as TSP Scuds were positioned properly; in various airfields, impromptu interceptors were made ready, most notably Rapier 3 interceptors from Loftegen 3.

Blacker than the night sky, rumbling engines pass between the navies of Glorious society and the Cossack Peoples; a squadron of fighters from Dernel skim the ocean, while up in the stars three streaks of red and orange mark the entrance of their QDID’s.

….
After months of plotting, hours of toils and days of strife, the South’s wrath was finally unleashed.

Steadfastness, Fluffiness, Glorious society, Leonism, and 1 otherLoftegen 3

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