WA Delegate (non-executive): The All-Encompassing Glory of Castelia (elected )
Last WA Update:
Embassies: Valentine Day, Northern Ocean, Lisseum, Codex Ylvus, The United Empires of Carson, Urana Firma, The Chuckle Playground of Fun and Games, Gypsy Lands, Fredonia, The Monarchy alliance, Greater Middle East, Regionless, Teremara, and Union of Terra Nova.
Regional Power: Moderate
Today's World Census Report
The Most Patriotic in Azure Watester Federation
World Census data collectors measured the fervor with which citizens believed their own nation was the greatest of all.
As a region, Azure Watester Federation is ranked 1,103rd in the world for Most Patriotic.
|1.||The Dictatorial Kingdom of Vlamms Statt||Iron Fist Consumerists||“No Justice No Peace”|
|2.||The Eternal Empire of New Imperial Britannia||Iron Fist Consumerists||“The Sun Never Sets”|
|3.||The Imperatoria iter theocratica of The United Peoples of Caedis||Father Knows Best State||“Sanity is for the weak!!”|
|4.||The Empire of The Castelian Federation||Iron Fist Consumerists||“Glory To God, And Strength To The Federation!”|
|5.||The Universal Novohispano Empire of Kynor||Corporate Police State||“A solis ortu usque ad occasum”|
|6.||The Legionary state of Jamstown||Father Knows Best State||“Through Victory my chains are Broken.”|
|7.||The Kingdom of Salcanceacy||Father Knows Best State||“Peace through power”|
|8.||The All-Encompassing Glory of Castelia||Benevolent Dictatorship||“Nothing lies beyond our grasp.”|
|9.||The Golden Rose Sanctum of Krvava Koupel||Iron Fist Consumerists||“Dead Men Tell No Tales”|
|10.||The Unified Territories of Vaktaria||Compulsory Consumerist State||“Vaktaria and victory”|
- : The Federal Kaiserreich of 2nd Imperial German Reich arrived from Lazarus.
- : The Empire of The Alpes and French arrived from Balder.
- : The Kingdom of Kongurrikki Droidenska arrived from The North Pacific.
- : The Germanic Empire of Austro Reich arrived from Lazarus.
- : The mexican imperium ceased to exist.
- : The Borderlands of Slatos1 of the region Slatos proposed constructing embassies.
- : The legation provinces ceased to exist.
- : The Regno of Confederazione Italiana arrived from Osiris.
- : Temna hruza ceased to exist.
- : The Seventh Reich of Nordegard departed this region for Europeia.
Azure Watester Federation Regional Message Board
New Reitland, Vaktaria
The outer slums of New Reitland were, well, slummy. Major Matthew Williamson had been here often enough, restoring order whenever crime and unsavoury social elements became too much for the police to handle. What he was here to combat was just as unsavoury, just as disorderly, but vastly more dangerous than what he had encountered in these slums before. The Sons of Rendower, or so they called themselves, were armed, violent, and fiercely dedicated. Worse, thought Williamson with some disgust, they had been joined by misguided officers and enlisted men, breaking their oaths to Vaktaria to follow vainly in the worship of that man. That Grand Marshal who defiled his status and title by standing against the homeland.
He stood up from where he had been leaning against his Fighting Vehicle and dropped his cigarette to the ground, grinding it under one heel. It did not do, he thought, walking around to the back of the vehicle where his staff were sleeping in their seats, it did not do to smoke in front of the men. It gave the impression that one was stressed, bad for the morale.
He went about the cabin quickly, shaking his men awake as he sent one out to sound the rising cry. Moments later the bugle rang out in three long notes, and the convoy quickly became a hive of activity as the officers roused their NCOs and men. Soldiers stumbled out of vehicles, stretching and massaging hidden knots out of their muscles, while in each vehicle the kettle was loaded up with rations to be heated.
The Major tore open his rations and dug in with his spork, pulling a wry face at the menu he'd had the bad luck to end up with. God knew what the factories did to those ingredients, but they did not make a savoury porridge. He made small talk with his staff, mostly about the morale of the men, they agreed it wasn't as high as it could be but, all things considered, not too bad.
As the column finished breakfasting, they were expecting to move out for a scouting manoeuvre to understand the size and location of rebel forces, such luxuries were denied to them. At once, a burst of gunfire rang out from a couple hundred metres away, the sentries. Meanwhile, the radio in the Major's vehicle crackled once and gave life to a torrent of sound, a report. The sentries were indeed under attack by rebel forces, mechanised infantry like them.
Within minutes the column was on the move.
The column split into three, the companies and mortar battery sped off the assist the sentries, but Williamson didn't intend to stop them here.
"Get those crates out! Come on move it you God forsaken communists!"
The Lieutenant of the engineer platoon was whipping his troops fiercely as they scrambled to unload the crates. Cracking the lids on the crates, they withdrew from them large flat discs, anti-armour mines. They moved quickly, tearing up the tarmac of the street as gunfire echoed in the distance, the engineers redoubled their efforts, fearing that every second wasted was costing their comrades' lives.
Meanwhile, Major Williamson set down an empty crate in the middle of a public square. He stepped up, looking around the square, a few dozen homes surrounded it, and it was small enough that his voice would easily carry around the square. He withdrew his service pistol from his belt, lifting it with one hand high in the air, he fired two shots in the air. The sound cut the air, and reverberated around the square.
"Loyal Vaktarians, this is the winter of our discontent! Your sovereign rights and freedoms are now under threat from a malevolence that does not bend to the common law. In denial of our rightly elected government, the so-called Emperor of Japan has brought together traitors, vagabonds, and criminals to press his unlawful claim to this land. Those foul undesirables are now advancing on a war footing, to attack this great city. They will not hesitate, nor will they be bound by laws of engagement protecting civilians. The Vaktarian Army is standing guard to defend the rear but you must withdraw to the inner city to avoid the battle to come!"
He expected something, anything to happen, maybe they'd move with one accord to withdraw to Grenadier Square. But, there was no movement around the square, people stepped back from their windows, and Williamson felt their eyes turn away. He knew he had lost them, better to get on with the rest of the plan than waste time on a lost cause, he thought. On the main road the engineer platoon was standing around one of the crates of mines they'd been ordered to lay.
"What the blistering blazes are you doing?" Williamson yelled, anger blossoming at their apparent laziness on this time sensitive operation. The platoon Lieutenant approached him,
"Sir, the mines aren't operational."
A pair of emotions, dread and despair, came across Williamson's face, all those men sent forward into combat for nothing.
"What? How did this happen?"
The Lieutenant led him towards the crate, crouching next to it, he motioned towards a man wearing a Corporal's insignia, who snapped off a salute.
"Here's your problem sir", he pointed with a chisel at one of the mines, where a small cylindrical area seemed to be missing. "The detonators were removed. Looks like some time ago too, this bare metal where they scraped the paint off has already oxidised, it was probably deserters."
"And we don't carry spare detonators?"
The corporal gave him an apologetic look, and Williamson stood straight, muttering obscenities under his breath. He paced for several moments before his radio suddenly crackled to life, he could hear gunshots and yelling, but then a voice came into focus.
"Major!" It was Captain Leroy, commander of the vanguard company. "We're losing our footing here, permission to retreat?" Williamson had already decided to give the order, this position was pointless.
"Yes Captain, retreat to Grenadier Square."
The captain's reply could barely be heard over the gunfire.
Grenadier Square was the headquarters of the Vaktarian Army, a Napoleonic fortification, surrounded on all sides by several hundred metres of clear road. When Williamson arrived there it had already been abandoned by the high command. However, they'd evidently been preparing for a siege, the windows were covered by steel rollers, SAM systems were set up in the courtyard, and the crenellations had been mounted with heavy machine guns. Williamson inspected these defences with a critical eye as he drew up his plans.
Shouldering his rifle, Williamson stared down the road approaching Grenadier Square as his men took up positions along the ramparts, adjusting their sights for range as the rebels lined up their vehicles. There was a tense silence as they waited for the attack to begin, and when it did, there was an almighty crash of gunfire. Williamson threw himself below the ramparts on instinct as a hail of bullets flew over his head, knocking a few of his men to the floor, splattering the contents of their skulls across the courtyard. He motioned for his men to stay down as the rebel IFVs continued to advance, occasionally raking the tops of the ramparts with machine gun fire to suppress Williamson’s men. As Williamson lay on the ramparts, he sidled to the edge, looking down to where the captain of his artillery had set up his six guns behind the steel shutters of the ground-floor windows. He motioned to the captain to prepare to fire, and the guns were quietly loaded, the barrels parallel to the ground. He turned, motioning again, this time to his electronic warfare specialists, they carried just what he needed. They nodded, understanding his meaning, and fixed steel tubes to the barrels of their rifles, still lying prone.
Now less than as kilometre away, the defenders could hear the rebel infantry dismounting their vehicles, resuming their advance, Williamson counted down the time. He motioned to the captain, 900 yards, 800 yards, 700, at 600 he made a decisive chopping motion with his hand, the captain nodded, turning to his battery.
At once 6 high explosive shells ripped out of the barrels of their guns, tore through the steel rollers, and rent the frontal armour of six separate IFVs, detonating inside them, killing the men inside and igniting the fuel tank as burning diesel poured over the road.
Williamson rolled to his feet, joined by the EW specialists, who activated the high-powered lasers on their rifles, aiming them towards the remote controlled machine guns on the remaining vehicles, dazzling their operators and rendering them useless.
“At arms!” Williamson cried, and his men jumped up, a wordless cry rising in their throats as they opened fire. In a split second a dozen rebels were thrown to the ground as automatic rifle fire slammed into them. Some defenders took control of the heavy machine guns, halting the advance of the other IFVs, shredding their tracks. A second round of artillery fire destroyed half of the remaining IFVs, and the rebels fled. But it was not so easy. Williamson’s men stopped their automatic fire, employing single shots delivered to the back of the head or the torso of the rebels furthest away, all the while .50 cal rounds rang around them, sending up stone shrapnel from the flagstones of the road to shred the calves of the retreating rebels, or turn their bodies into a fine red mist. Minutes of killing later they could see no more rebels retreating, and as the wind picked up, clearing the smoke, they could see that the attack had been wiped out, slayed to a man. Williamson wiped away a tear, it didn’t do to let the men see you crying.
Williamson was now in a fine predicament, the artillery was in an insecure position now, he couldn’t retain it, unwillingly, he ordered the captain to prepare his pieces for transport, they were now useless in a combat situation. When the second attack came, it was more successful.
Without his artillery, Williamson’s main weapon against the rebels was man-portable rocket launchers, powerful to be sure, but not like artillery. This was made all the more evident as the active protection of the Rebel IFVs came into play, destroying as many of the missiles fired towards them as hit. The occasional vehicle was disabled as the powerful machine guns on the ramparts ripped their treads apart at the joints, but not enough, they were still coming. The Rebel infantry, dismounted from their disabled vehicles was now coming ever closer and returning massed fire at the ramparts, causing Williamson’s men to duck, their advantage was waning, and it would only get worse if the rebels managed to breach the front gate. Already their ability to defend the front gate had been compromised by the half-dozen holes in the front shutters, a necessary evil as they had been now a dangerous liability as points of entry, or of fire, for the rebels.
At this point Williamson surveyed the battlefield, the enemy had sustained heavy losses in this assault, not so bad as the last, that would have required an exemplary effort from his men, but still bad, they would struggle to mount an offensive in the future. However, the situation was deteriorating rapidly, the rebels were now less than a hundred metres away, IFVs moving with the pace of the infantry as fire was traded and cover won. Meanwhile, infantry engineers could be seen moving amongst their fighters, edging closer to the Square ready to breach its defences with all manner of explosives. One of Williamson’s men went down, a luck shot barely clearing the rampart took him in the head, and now the rebels were only 50 metres ahead. He moved quickly, issuing orders to disable the machine guns mounted on the ramparts, remount, and get out of there. Almost an afterthought, he grabbed one of his sergeants, they exchanged a short conversation. He needed a veteran, trustworthy, a capable commander, who wouldn’t waver in the face of danger but knew when to retreat in the face of overwhelming odds. He was pointed to a corporal and his crew, and they were detailed to the rearguard.
As Williamson led his forces back through the commercial district he winced hearing gunfire over the radio as the Corporal and his men did their level best to hold back the tide of rebels, but it was a lost caused and he could hear the Corporal ordering a retreat, though their IFV had been taken down. They would be moving on foot; they would be lucky to survive.
Hours later Williamson sat at the base of the Old City walls, surveying the newest infrastructure that had been established along its length, enough to resist a siege, the past hours had been a brutal bloodbath in the city. His retreat from Grenadier Square had precipitated a poorly planned ambush in the Commercial District that succeed in spite of its Captain’s failure. The rebels had retreated in disarray to Grenadier Square, while the Captain had foolishly redoubled his efforts with an artillery strike on the Square.
Not only were his attacks resisted, he was encircled, and his entire force captured or killed, leaving Williamson shorthanded in the defence of the wall and the road to the senate building. He could see the Rebels from the walls, but they weren’t advancing for some reason, holding their positions.
He could guess what they were up to though, he thought, leaning his head against the ancient stone wall, the port was outside of the city wall, they would now have to survive on whatever rations were left within the inner walls, even if anyone was willing to support them with supplies and materiel, they had no means to deliver them en masse to Vaktaria, at this point it was a matter of time until the senate - until democracy - fell.
With that sobering thought Major Matthew Williamson, a son of Vaktaria, put on his helmet, picked up his rifle, and mounted the barricade for the last time.
Kongur Eirik fingered at the lapel pin on his jacket, depicting the coat of arms of the House of Kjaersgaard, nervously. As the time soon approached to give a speech before what remained of the Folketing, and the Royal Cabinet, he grew ever more nervous. He had been thrust into the position of 'King-in-exile' sixteen years ago, and he was still burning with rage. He had lost his crown, his people, and most tragically, his wife. He would, with trembling fingers, deliver a speech to the men who served his kingdom so loyally which would bring them to arms. It would fuel them with rage.
"Sixteen years ago, we lost. It is painful to admit, I understand, but it is true. Sixteen years ago, Droiden fell away from God, and embraced the bastardization of an arguably noble man. Under the son of my father's adversary, we have been driven from out homes, we have been driven from our families, and we have been driven from our churches. Those who would call me an oppressor cheer and dance in the streets on pain of being gunned down. They work back-breaking hours in the fields, in the factories, and in the workshops under the guise of perpetuating the peace of the revolution. But it is this revolution that is the oppressor. For it has rendered the Droidenian people unable to live under God. It has rendered them unto an elite far worse than what they would call us. This body, the Council of Labour, has held the Droidenian by the neck for far too long, and with Christ as my witness, may the world understand our goal: We must bring about the end of the Syndicalist Government. To do this, we must call for war."
Althior, Government District, Worker's Syndicates of Droiden
The newspapers were furious. Never had the streets of Althior been so filled with the hurried clacking of keyboards as loud and as cacophonous as this. Despite the lack of unison in their typing, each journalist typed the same words: "WORKER'S SYNDICATES UNDER ATTACK!" The news of Kongur Eirik's declaration had filled the Droidenian Worker's Army with rage. Troops already deployed to the Syndicalist/Monarchist border had gotten into skirmishes, meaning that without action, this would escalate. Though, it would likely escalate regardless of intervention. The hatred that Felix Juul felt towards Eirik II Kjaersgaard was mutual. Despite this, there was a sort of mutual precedent that the lives of Droidenians mattered more than a power grab, and despite the desire to spread the Syndicalist cause to what remained of the Monarchy, Felix Juul observed a sort of restraint, and Eirik had done the same. Apparently, this formality had been broken. Juul gave a speech at the People's Assembly that afternoon
"The mite bites at the sleeping bloodhound. This would inevitably come knowing the impatience of the cruel Kongur of the Finns. They wish to dismantle us and return the barbaric Monarchy of old. But the spirit of the Droidenian worker is stronger than that! We have been freed from their grasp for far too long to allow it to return! We must persevere, for the sake of freedom of the working class. The Droidenian people must defend themselves from becoming enslaved oncemore, for the enslavement of the Droidenian Worker results in pain for us all! We cannot falter in our defense of Worker's Freedom!"
And so, after sixteen years of relative peace, war returned to Scandinavia oncemore.
A Side to Pick
The fronts were coming to a standstill.
For months, the British and Waffle navies had stood warily, watching each other in the Channel. Caedisia had gone silent with the defeat of its navy, and Castel was similarly inactive after being bombed. The Russians had just defeated the British forces in Winnipeg, and as Lieutenant-General Anderson waited for his reinforcements, there would be no more advances.
In the mean time, there was a new development on the world stage. The Syndicalists and Monarchists of Droiden had gone to war, and there was now an opportunity to pick a side. And the choice was obvious. A Syndicalist faction who would most likely join the Concordat and create another hostile presence in the North Sea, versus a Monarchist Droiden who could be convinced to join the Tripartite Pact or at least stay neutral. It was clear that the Monarchists needed to win—and there was a clear path to ensuring it. Simply claiming some blood ties, which were surely present, would suffice as a cause for intervention.
Today was a much more somber day, however. The King personally received the families of the soldiers who died at the Battle of Winnipeg—their conduct had earned them the highest military decoration, the Imperial Cross of Valor. As per historical precedent, the King was to read out the names of each recipient and present them with the Cross; in the case of a deceased recipient who was receiving the award posthumously, it would be presented to their family members.
“…Captain John Smith. I award you the Imperial Cross of Valor for your conduct, bravery, and valor.”
Captain Smith’s family consisted of his wife and son, both of which were present at the ceremony. They walked up to the podium together, and William Lancaster himself presented them the medal that represented the highest military honour in the land. It came with its own benefits—a modest pension, free university tuition for any family members that needed it, and of course the respect of any man in the military.
The public were wary of another expeditionary force being sent off to Droiden after the almost complete failure of the Canadian force. Indeed, so were the members of the Imperial Cabinet—they were concerned about the money, lives, and resources that direct intervention would cost. A resolution, therefore, was to send only limited support, in the form of weapons and military supply. Canada was ultimately more important, as it was necessary to challenge the Russians who had themselves sent troops.
Far away in Canada, Lieutenant-General Anderson was receiving his new tank regiments. Two thousand of the nation’s finest, taken from various armoured divisions on standby. They would aid the British armies with the next attack on Winnipeg, helping to reduce the Russian armoured advantage. But High Command had warned, that if there were no special circumstances, there would be no further reinforcements apart from replenishments. As much as escalation was no longer a concern, many still did not want a full-on war.
Maybe that was what they were going to get.
The Battle of Pajala
The front lines of the icy front of the Second Droidenian Civil War were nigh-upon unbearable. The Droidenian Worker's Army had set up a sizeable defense at the city of Vittangi, and had repelled a decently large force of Monarchists there with minimal casualties. However, this minimal force was the distraction.
The Monarchists attacked at dawn, dropping into the city, cutting supply lines, and pushing into the square, both aiding citizens and the DWA units who had been injured, yet were still salvageable. However, as the monarchists pressed forward, the resistance from the DWA became more harsh, and the monarchists found themselves being attacked from all sides. Fortunately, they had dug in, and had a good amount of cover to get behind. Air support eventually got to the surrounded monarchist troops, and relieved them. The monarchists pushed deeper into the city, and eventually forced a ceasefire.
With the news of the relative victory in Pajala, the Finnish, nay, Droidenian Kongur saw fit to make an announcement.:
"We have won a great victory in Pajala. Our forces defeated the illegitimate government of Droiden in a surprise attack, catching the reds offguard, and delivering a swift coup-de-grāce to their forces. However, despite their nature as reds, we must remember that these are not foreign invaders, rather, they are our countrymen. As such, any destruction of the property, any purposeful killing of Worker's Syndicates citizens, and any harm to the land of Droiden will be an offense worth a court martialing. Good evening, may God be with you all."
Feodor Romanova-Holstein-Lansov, By the Grace of Rod Czar of all Rus, Sovereign of all Slavs, Defender of the Faith, The Prophet of Rod, Perun on Earth, He Who Straddles the Urals, Patriarch of the line Romanova-Holstein-Lansov, Protector of the Balkans and of Siberia, Khagan of the Cumans, of the Pechenegs, and of the Tartars, King of Poland, of Serbia, and of Ukraine, Prince of Moscow, of Zemlya Petra, of Galicia-Volhynia, of Crimea, of Tsaritsyn, of The Northern Caucasus, of Armenia, of Komi-Khanty-Mansiysk, of the Urals, of Western Siberia, of Saratov, of the Senior Zhuz, of the Middle Zhuz, of the Junior Zhuz, and of Outer Transoxinia, Duke of Kaskia, Sovereign of the Order of Most Wise Justiciars, etc.
To our trusty and well-beloved rulers of the Federation
I look with great displeasure upon the recent assault upon our friend and ally, The Workers' Syndicates of Droiden. I further look upon those nations who wish to intervene in this conflict with some measure of anger, to take advantage of a nation in conflict for the advancement of one's own geopolitical goals is the worst form of disrespect to a nation and its people.
I would remind all nations of the Federation that as a signatory to the Declaration of the Watester Concordat, and under Article 6 of the Terms of Affiliation of the same, 'An attack on [The Workers' Syndicates of Droiden] is held as an attack against the whole institution and its constituents'.
As such it is my duty to inform the nations of this august Federation that the Czardom of Russia Major now considers a state of war to exist between itself and the Kongurrikki Droidenska, mobilisation of forces sufficient to enact ground-based operations against the aggressor will follow swiftly and it is the belief of Our General-Feldmarschal and of Our Nebostra˛a-Marschal that victory will follow within a reasonable timeframe. We would urge the Kongur of the Kongurrikki Droidenska to immediately engage in peace talks with The Workers' Syndicates of Droiden in which we would gladly mediate if guarantee of a ceasefire could be issued.
We are and shall remain the humble servant of our People of Russia Major.
Rod Save the Czar.
Is it not Obvious?
It had been quite some time since the Zentralreich had faced an attack from the Slavic Brotherhood. Schulz's mandate over the East has long since expired, though the majority of his policies had remained as precautions against the terrorist group. The dropping of nuclear weapons in Rubis caused panic among both Zentralian citizens and government, as fears of fallout reaching the nation spread widely. Schulz, who had stayed in Berlin after he lost his mandate in order to make sure his voice could always be heard, was noticeably unconcerned with the situation, though it is likely that was because his rule in Dasilber depended not on Berlin.
Schulz had organized an audience with the Kaiser this evening, and he had much to discuss. He knocked with considerable force on the door of the Kaiser's study, and was invited in by a tired voice on the other side.
"What is it now, Schulz?" Wilhelm was clearly exhausted, it was quite late after all.
"Well, Kaiser, I'm sure you've heard about the situation in Droiden. Their old monarchs in Finland have finally decided to put down the syndicalist dogs that confined them there."
"I have, though I'm already sure of what you're about to say. You want us to intervene on behalf of House Kjaersgaard?"
"Of course. This is a perfect opportunity. Not only would we crush the reds across the Baltic, we'd be able to gain a strong and sizeable ally close to home."
Wilhelm mulled over the pros and cons of intervention for a moment. On the one hand, it was clear that the current order in Scandinavia was by no means ideal, the Danish Straits being controlled by a hostile nation was at best a great annoyance and at worst a massive roadblock. On top of that, the Syndicates were viable to call in Concordat support at any time, something even more likely to cause problems. Supporting the Finns meant indebting a powerful nation to the Zentralreich, sure, but it also meant sparking further tensions with our neighbors if things went south. No matter that, though. The choice was clear from the beginning.
"Well, I suppose we can send a few detachments for now."
"Great, I'll let our high command know. You get everything covered on your end."
Schulz left the study, leaving Wilhelm alone to think. The clock on the wall read one o'clock, and it was unfortunately signaling for the morning. Fighting back a yawn, Wilhelm stood and exited the room to retire for the night. He'd need energy for the morning, and at least he could sleep on his decision for now.
Across the Baltic
The next morning
The broadcast began, cameras focusing on the Kaiser at a podium in the center of the Imperial Parliament. Being signaled to, he began to speak.
"Citizens of the Zentralreich and leaders of the Federation. The newly reignited war in Scandinavia presents a clear threat to the sovereignty of both the Zentralreich and its former ally currently exiled in Finland. The Kongurrikki Droidenska represents not only the legitimate and illegally ousted government of Droiden, but also the Northern Pillar of the Golden Throne once allied to our people through the Phalanx League. And while the tides of war might have driven us apart in decades past, they will now pull our realms towards each other once again. The Zentralreich hereby announces its support for the Kongurreich of Droiden in the Second Droidenian Civil War."
The broadcast clicks off, and the wheels of the Zentralian government begin to turn. Much preparation is in order for the conflicts to come.
The Eleventh Hour.
1059 Hours, 2021/06/23, West Vaktarian Sea
The many warships of the Emperors fleet sit motionless in the water, calm seas and clear skies gives an almost eerily peaceful atmosphere.
Every Officer already knows what they are about to do, some of the Noncoms suspect so as well.
An ultimatum was sent, received, and ignored by the forces of the Senate.
Retribution is due.
Just 6 hours ago the Senate fleet intercepted the Imperials on their way to New Reitland, Admiral Ross surrendered his forces without a fight and was offered merciful terms.
The execution was carried out an hour later, for the next three hours the remaining officers and seamen pledge a new allegiance for a new age.
Since the new arrivals have been integrated and briefed it has been a waiting game. Waiting to see what will happen, waiting to see what Command have decided to do.
It is exactly 1100 hours when the shot is fired.
May God have mercy on their souls.
Vaktaria and Victory