LerodasBoard

Expansion Post I
Chapter Four

Haenvyrr finished his speech with an applause roaring back, but many were still doubtful. No matter, Haenvyrr thought, once we successfully retaliate and destroy Qaelsziq's army, we may see the end of this war for good.
He left the stage and entered his convoy once again, ordering them to Carrithyrr. He needed to oversee operations there, this battle cannot be underestimated in importance and needed oversight.
Once Haenvyrr arrived, he was greeted by his top commanders, "The Qaelsziqs have retreated into the forest, but once our army is ready, we can quickly attack them before they can ambush us.". Haenvyrr nodded, "Good, I want to see this war end, at least not in shackles.", his commander nodded and quickly went off to
continue organizing the attack. Not too long after, the army departed and went into the forest.

By all means, this would be a good time to celebrate. But as the army continued into the forest, gunfire and rockets seem to flank them on both sides. Haenvyrr watched in horror, realizing what's happening.
He ran to commanders to order the armies to retreat, but it was no use. The screams have stopped. Dead. Silence. "No..." Haenvyrr said, quietly. "No, No, No, NO!" Each 'no' grew in volume and pure unbridled rage.
If you listened hard enough, you could hear one last, soft 'no', in pure defeat.

Chapter Five.

Qaelsziq looked at the now quiet battlefield, solemn in respect for Haenvyrrs defeat. He had never wanted this war, truly. But Haenvyrr was hopelessly naive, thinking every nation was an ally, thinking that as the nation crumbled,
he could unite it back with diplomacy.
Qaelsziq and Haenvyrr could be called 'friends' at one point, but that was long gone. Qaelsziq couldn't stand by as the nation crumbled, even at his own friend's expense, even at expense of tens of thousands of Cyrrthians.

Hvaer Jyrryy approached him, his face, solemn, filled with pain. "I'm sorry.". He knew that Qaelsziq wanted nothing less but peace. But the time of 'want' was long gone too. Qaelsziq stiffened, he couldn't show weakness, not now. He turned around and began walking with Jyrryy, "After Carrithyrr is captured, we must stop from other minor Bannerlords from taking the opportunity to pick at the corpse.". Jyrryy nodded, "Our spies have informed us of troop movement
east, the largest of the breakaway states is going to try and destroy our legitimacy by taking Carrithyrr.
I have organized a force to stop and reincorporate this rebel bannerlord's territory into ours." Qaelsziq nodded, "Do it, adding onto that, I've decided you'll be in charge of reuniting these breakaway states into our territory.
civic duty calls me, I cannot continue my campaign with you.".
A silence filled between them, but as Jyrryy understood, he stood straight. "Sir.", "I am grateful to serve under you.". A smile broke between the two, "Don't thank me yet, now, lets get a drink, shall we?"\
And so they did.

Chapter Six

Jyrryy rode in the armored vehicle as his army marched east, so he had plenty of time to think back to the times where he and Qaelsziq fought together as friends, brothers. Hell, if he kept thinking he migh-,
a sharp crackle interrupted him, then a voice. "High Banner Jyrryy, come in, this is urgent, over.". Qaelsziq quickly stood up, taking the radio, "High Banner Jyrryy here, over.". A voice quickly replied, "We have spotted the enemy army approaching the Vylghaerr Gap in 8 hours time, over.", "Affirmative, you are dismissed. Return to our position immediately, Jyrryy, out."

Jyrryy exited the hatch of the armored vehicle, standing up. He got contacted his commanders to order a complete halt.
The army slowly halted. He talked into the radio, "Set up an FOB, after you're finished telling that to your men, come to me immediately to discuss our next move.".
Around 30 minutes later, he and all of his commanders stood around a table with a map overlayed. After making sure he had everyone's attention, he wasted no time, "The enemy force is heading towards the Vylghaerr gap here," He pointed to a spot on the map, "For whatever reason, they thought they could outmaneuver
us and flank us by taking the shortcut. But if we quickly establish an ambush force in the valley, and once they enter, we flank them behind and front, trapping them within this area, either guaranteeing their complete annhilation, or a white flag.". One of the commanders responds with a question, "How long until they arrive there?", "Seven and a half hours at most, so time is of the essence. I want to see you ready within five hours, or else the mission may be compromised.".
He looked around, "Everyone understand?". There needed to be no answer, they all saluted and continued on their way, already shouting orders.

Five Hours Later.
Surprisingly, there were no signs of the enemy army moving, and with everyone already in position, this seemed an easy victory. And it was. The plan went off without a hitch, they knew the short war was already lost.
Jyrryy quickly routed his way to the bannerlords capital city and they marched in with cheers. Soon, we shall see Cyrrthia united once and for all!

Des Bar: Show Of Force
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EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…

Alarms screeched and red lights lit up the control room of the National Airspace Control Center of Des Bar. Colonel Díez, who had been half asleep, was suddenly wide awake and rushed over to the telephone, knocking over his coffee in the process.

“Saunders, I need a report, now!,” he shouted while taking the phone off the hook and dialing Army High Command.

“Four unidentified aircraft, Colonel. Moving extremely quickly.”

[...]

President George Hargrave was sitting behind his desk, reading an opinion piece by one of the Representatives of his party in the newspaper, when the emergency phone rang. He quickly answered it and was immediately greeted by the sound of ringing bells and alarms.

“Mr. President, this is Milford! Four unidentified aircraft have just entered our airspace, and they are moving at speeds we would expect only from jet fighters. They are headed for the capital, sir!”

“F*ing hell...”

“We need to scramble our own jets now, sir!”

“Okay, do it. Shoot those intruders down if you have to. And keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir!”

[...]

“Scramble. Scramble. Scramble. This is not a drill. Scramble. Scramble. Scramble.”

The robotic voice echoed through the hangar. Lieutenant Lindon quickly ran over to his jet while putting on his helmet. Mechanics were already preparing it for flight. He, like many other pilots, hadn’t expected to receive an actual scramble order this early in his career, but here it was. The Des Bar Air Force had only existed for a few months, but owned many state of the art fighter jets, purchased from Blacksmoke Defense Solutions. Lieutenant Lindon’s jet was a BS-7, developed by Blacksmoke themselves and it was one of the best fighter jets out there right now. Nonetheless, Lindon was nervous. He didn’t have much flight experience and he definitely hadn’t been in a dogfight before. He climbed into the cockpit and could hear the jet engine starting up behind him, after which his radio crackled.

“All right, we’re good to go, Lieutenant. Four unidentified aircraft, likely jet fighters, have entered our airspace. Scare them off, use deadly force if necessary.”

“Roger.”

Lindon breathed heavily as his jet was rolled out of the hangar. This was the real deal. As soon as he exited the hangar, his radio crackled again.

“Eagle Three, line up and you are clear for take-off. Show ‘em not to tread on us, will ya?”

“Roger, Eagle Three lining up and clear for take-off.”

[...]

“Good evening. This is the Des Bar daily news update provided by the Liberty City Times. It has now been confirmed by Speaker of the House Diego Sanchez that, earlier today, President Hargrave did indeed authorize the scrambling of eight fighter jets of the Des Bar Air Force to defend against a violation of Des Bair airspace by four, at the time, unidentified aircraft, most likely fighter jets. When the Des Barian jets intercepted the hostile aircraft, it was confirmed that they were indeed fighter jets. One of the hostile jets immediately engaged the BS-7 jet of Lieutenant Lindon, who was forced to eject. Fire was immediately returned and two hostile aircraft were taken down, while the other two fled. The Des Barian jets pursued them for a few minutes, but they were soon called back to base by President Hargrave. It is unclear at the moment whether Lieutenant Lindon, as well as the two hostile fighter jets, have already been recovered. According to Speaker Sanchez, it is not currently known where the four hostile jets came from, or what their mission was. Mr. Sanchez has also confirmed that, as this was an official military order given by the President, President Hargrave will have to justify his order to the National Congress within the following weeks. Many Representatives have already expressed their support for the President’s order, so this hearing is not expected to cause any problems for him. In other news, ...”

The Dominion Expands
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199 ME - Mesha, Maharaya

Despite the fall of the communist regime, many places in Maharaya still suffers from the many conflicts as the result of the revolts, and rebellions, and interventions. North from the capital city of Amene, several sub-urban population centers are in turmoil, turned into hideouts of the remaining holdouts of the now deposed communist regime.

Silam had amassed a force enough to root out the remaining remnants, while Meharin arranged for the logistics of the strategy to be possible.

Across the coasts of Ilimsa Bay, General Limasar Tangri, a former member of the communist regime sympathetic to the Filibuster Revolution leads the charge against the communist remnants.

In the days of planning, General Tangri’s scouted the areas, and in the days of execution, his army struck in the dead of night, ambushing the remnants, and ending it quick, and clean. Bullets flew, and the thunderous gunfire was heard, and the sound of rolling vehicles echoed through the ground. In a matter of days, General Tangri’s army would sweep the southern coasts of Ilimsa Bay, until they reached the last county, as marked in their maps, and given away by a conceding member of the communist party.

“They’re in Mesha, just further east from here...”

It was the words of a troubled male teenager, forced to be trained as a soldier by the remnants of the regime. General Tengri grieves on the fate of these boys, he sacrificed the life of his own men so that these indoctrinated boys would live, even in the ones in the gunfights.

There is much commotion among the soldiers with General Tangri’s tactics, but they cannot deny the reality of the situation, that for almost every engagement they have fought, children as old as fifteen are seen shooting with firearms towards them. The soldiers could not muster the courage to shoot back, and it is understandable.

At the borders of the city of Mesha, once a thriving city, now showing signs of collapse, the brutalist architecture bearing the pockmarks, and depression of gunfire. Some building are missing windows, either broken or completely non-existent.

Instead of striking at the dark, General Tangri believes that it is time for a different approach, the aftermath of this revolution cannot afford to be as bloody as the revolution itself. Believing that his name still bears any semblance of recognition within the communist remnants, General Tengri presents himself forward before the border. He is met with two armed men, with a blood red band tied around their arms, symbolizing their allegiance.

So far, no sounds of gunfire and ill intentions.

“This has gone far enough...” General Tangri says with compassion. “I’d rather not spend another river of blood just to secure the future of others...”

The soldiers look at him with respectful defiance, understanding and aware of General Limasar Tangri’s reputation. They are not the teenagers employed by the remnants, but they do not act. They keep their strong expressions, only giving enough respect to The General as the man he was once to them, but not the man they face now.

The sounds of a four-wheel offroader echo in General Tangri’s direction, the two soldiers before him hear it, and so does the General’s. General Tangri signal’s his men to stay their weapons, he’s stood before them for this long. If he’s to be shot then he should have been shot in the moment he showed his face.

The vehicle stops two feet before the three, four men are within the offroader, three of whom General Tengri knows.

The former Minister of Media, Duninam Matravo.

The former Minister of Labor, Satuto Letum

The former Master of the High Command, General Limaham Tangri. General Limasar Tangri’s twin brother.

Fish Soup and Cooked Rice
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199 ME

Though many places across Maharaya burn in the chaos and turnmoil of the revolution, there a few places, far from the cityscapes and the urbanization, where the common people flee to hide, and simply live their lives. With the success and reclamation of The Filibuster Revolution, the common folk have slowly spread out from the rural countryside and have slowly come back to the urban sectors.

“Brother... It feels good to be back here no?”

“I’m not sure Sister... I can still see the banners of the old regime flying high...”

“Don’t be such a coward, Brother... Everything will be alright.”

“You say that... You always say that...”

“Why of course... Why wouldn’t you be happy to the outlook... The Regime is gone for good.”

“And replaced by another...”

The Sister gives her Brother a worried, but disapproving look. She is the older one, and yet she has to be the cheery one.

The two carried on their way within the city, they see the folks finally walking around. There are vehicles from The Revolution here and there, but sparsely, only armed with a machine gun, and barely more than four in a vehicle. The city shows no sign of conflict, only dusts, and cracks coming from faulty construction or poor maintenance.

The Sister finds herself optimistic with how the city looks, and how the people seem a little bit more hospitable now that The Regime is disposed, and the conflict now coming to an end. She waves at the people passing by from elderlies to soldiers, most of them return the kind gesture back to her but The Brother is a little bit on the fence, somewhat paranoid and suspicious of everything else aside from his Sister.

The Brother looks up to her Sister and then back to the road. He still looks with worry, the guns on the soldiers still scare him, still remind him of the days that The Regime, and The Revolution fought. He saw no difference from the sight, guns will be guns, devastating tools that take lives, only made more ironic that a new leader sits on their leadership a former playwright and poet, that had turned on the use of violent tools, and violent tactics.

The Sister saw a bright horizon.

The Brother saw the same dark road.

The two would carry on exploring the city, until they found themselves hungry, and thirsty. The rumble of their stomachs echo to each other.

The Sister looks at her brother, her nose catching the sniff of cooking food in the distance. “Look, Brother! Finally, something for our appetites.”

The Brother nods on, though still suspicious and frightful of the people, soldiers, and the city, he will not forgo his hunger. He follows behind his Sister, and with speed.

When the two had reached the source of the smell, their eyes catch sight to an orderly crowd. It is a hawker stall, openly offering stewed fish, and cooked rice to the people coming by. The stall is operated by an old lady, and flanked on the stall are two soldiers from The Revolution, lightly armed with a rifle, and a pistol sidearm. The soldiers help in serving of the food, and helping the old lady make the food.

The Sister smiles at the scenery, the two would have to wait, but the line progresses easily, they would have their meal in the short minutes.

The Brother remains skeptical, but the smell of the food and his hunger alters his opinion at the most momentarily.

Eventually, the two would receive their respective portion of fish stew and cooked rice, and they would be chauffeured by one of the soldiers in the tables set down before the hawker stall. “Thank you.” The Sister said to the soldier, and The Brother merely nods at the soldier.

The two had a meal so different from what they have eaten since the beginning of the conflict. Both had smiles on their faces as they ate.

It was just the two of them since then.

It still is now.

The War on the western front
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The War on western front is still fresh on people's mind, the brutality and effectiveness of the Mobius Grand Army shown in their blitzkrieg campaign across the whole sector. Historians and avid military strategists have divided the Mobius Operation into 3 phases. The preparation phase, the battle phase and the “Clean up” Phase. Human Right activists until this day are still protesting toward the brutal campaign in the west, but many on the people mind and the war veteran deemed it was necessary. After all when soldiers step into the field of battle, there are only 2 choices they have. To be killed by them or killing them. How does pride and conscience can hold when the enemy blatantly disregards the rule of war? Nowadays some argue that the Mobs are better equipped and trained. But in reality at that time, the Mobs army is thinly held by morale and their equipment does not make much difference in general. The only difference is the Mobs already specialized in one combat style that is apparently very effective against her enemies. People overestimate too much on the young federation capabilities, but war propaganda hides this and the government never openly speaks up on this except the fact that they fight against something more closer to beast than human.

The enemy itself is the Jingoist Arscadian Liberty League. Note that even with the word liberty, the ALL is an authoritarian nightmare that deposes their previous constitutional monarchy. While some argue that is only Mobs Propaganda, the truth is more closer albeit some might exaggerated it. The ALL start as a normal Jacobin revolution, who in turn of time become a dictatorship led by their original founder “heir”. When this heir ascended to the seat of chancellor, he started what is known at the time a “Re-education Program”. Something that is more well known by every state outside them as Political Purging. The ALL boast stronger military capabilities than the other state, with millions of men ready to be conscripted and forced into the meatgrinder of war. But they ALL fail to consider that their people are already afraid of their own government, and already suspicious of each other. Disadvantages that will rear it ugly head at the time of war.

The ALL are the first to those who declare war against the Mobius, but they never go into the offensive for they are fighting a 2 front against the northern and the southern sector. At the time of war, and preparation phase, many of Mobius Agent and special forces is send behind the line on the heart of ALL sector. Seed of disown and suspicion is spread between the many faction inside the ALL. sabotage on their logistic and military reserve hinder they capabilities of war. At the time when the preparation phase end, one general between the other does not exchange information and at each other throat. Airforce and naval force does not work together, the infantry battalion leave behind to fight alone while the cavalry and tanks trying to pick up the stagger like a vulture over corpse. The ALL does not have any cooperation and they are in disarray. The Heir, now suspicious of anyone retreat more to his special section on their capital city guarded by their own paramilitary unit.

The Battle Phase was more shorter, with the Mobs know the enemy position and location. Their movement and logistic, they can punch through one point like a needle and hold that position then spread more toward the other fragile but important point that late to be fortified. With the enemy suspicious within their own ally, some outright attack each other in retalation. At the end of the month, the Grand Army already at the capital and besiege them. Only to find out a days later the citizen revolting against the ALL and find the Heir suicide in his own mansion. What next lead to the cleaning of the sector, with subjugation of the ALL remnant with the help of like minded population that side with the federation.

The Southern Membership
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The Southern State membership have been shaky since the day of unification. Once the enemy of ALL state that neighbour both them and Mobius, when the war end, they turn toward the Mobs state asking for time to discuss their membership and eventual unification to the federation. It took nearly 2 decades of “Secret War” before all of the southern alliance join the federation. Yet it seem the other 2 state still more rebellious and dream of take over on the federation from the Mobs Leadership. Yet the Mobs found an Ally in the one state that closer or direct neighbour on The ALL.

The Arscadia Merchant State, is one of the proponent of unification on the Federation. They argue with the other state, that to avoid other ALL state rising again is the need of unified council and senate where all the other state can come and debate or discuss the crisis and question that might befall the people of Arscadia. The Mercantile state itself is a landlocked state and in need a free access toward the port of other state to be able to trade with the outside world. The Mobs itself very delighted with this and declared the AMS as the southern representative, urging and tasking them with the unification of the southern state. The Mobs then help the AMS with both infrastructure and Security. Highways, Railroad and even Airport is built to accommodate the flow of goods and transport between them. The Mobs hope that with this incentive and help the other state will lessen their suspicious and then embrace the idea of unification.

But the Mobs does not expect the southern state upper echelon to be crafty and cunning, in public they give the idea of opening up toward the Mobs. Allowing the Mobs civil aid to be sent toward their government and state, but propaganda and indoctrination is still being done inside the state. This lead to a cold civil war between the Federation and the Southern states alliance. The start of this cold civil war is when the AMS decide to leave the Alliance and join the federation, making it the first member that join the federation voluntary. Then with the Closing Border of the alliances states toward the Mobs. When asked for reason, the southern answer with execution of supposed Federation Agent that spread discontent and “Bad Thinking” within the populace. They then demand the federation to surrender and other ridiculous demand. At that height the Federation fully realize the horror of what is the southern alliance now. With the federation currently hold 3 states resources and manpower, and the rebuilding of the ALL state now renamed into Western Mobius State. Soldier can be diverted to guard the southern border, fearing for military conflict invasion by the south. The south respond back with their own soldier and tank. Then special agents and police is sent to AMS and their state government is to be held and interrogated to avoid any moles within the federation government system.

At that time the Cold Civil War are starting, while the Federation win at one state they instead found another 2 states become their enemies. But not all is bleak nor against the Federation, for they have another northern state that might be their allies and join them peacefully. The 2 states of the horn of Arscadia, The Citystates, and the Monarchist. As the Civil War start turning hot, the inspection and investigation of AMS, is being done with many of southern alliance ideologist sympathiser is being held in prison, killed or banished. Another lucky streak for the federation that AMS membership in the Southern Alliances is all for mutual defense pact against the ALL, and now they dont have any loyalties toward the Southern Idea of “order” in their government. The Federation have bought time and rooms for preparation, but the civil war turning hot and military confrontation will be fully realized the weeks after the northern start joining the federation.

Early Steps

Pelkland Influence Post

Alfred Doiron quieted himself as he watched the Pelklander soldiers take up position on the range. ‘Soldiers’ was putting it gently, so he thought. They were a misshapen bunch in disheveled uniforms that looked foreign to them. They did not belong in those clothes, and Alfred could not help but see his duty as ultimately training civilians in the art of war. He had yet to make the distinction for many of the new recruits, who were rushed in by the collapsing government or filled with childlike gusto and boyhood ambitions. Many of them he could tell were friends, choosing to join up together in what they surely thought of as a minor, punitive expedition to defend the homeland once and for all against communism.

Lieutenant Doiron hoped that he was shipped home before he had the displeasure of seeing them soaked in warm crimson; their crumpled bodies and muddied souls introduced to the horrors of adulthood; families left with holes that never could be filled, and a nation unable to forgive. In this sense, Alfred was a conscientious objector. He was hardened by his time in the Arvenian military, and his service was exemplary, if boring. Though he had nothing of the spirit of the old guard, or the past-heroes of his regiments. He saw matters plainly and hoped to express this viewpoint through his training. If he even imparted a single ounce of self-preservation and gravity into the minds of his apprentices, then he considered his personal mission a success.

Armed with an assortment of battle rifles on lend-lease from Arvene and Pelklander domestics, the trainees opened up in an assortment of 7.5 and 5.56 cartridges. Watching the boys fire, the lieutenant saw just as many rounds hitting the dirt as they did the sack dummies, sputtering off against the wet mud and kicking up clumps of dirt and grass. Unsatisfied, he took this as an opportunity to approach them from the side, leaving the small incline he stood at, and yelled for them to stop firing. His Pelklander adjutant, Pranciskus, followed closely beside him and translated his words, though the language barrier did not hold back his meaning. Grasping the Arvenian rifle from the closest member of his group, Alfred hoisted the heavy gun to his shoulder and emptied the remainder of the magazine—four rounds—directly on target.

“You are ineffective!” He shouted. “Useless! Fools!”

Pranciskus did his best to shadow his words, turning red in the face at the lieutenant’s words.

“Boys! You fire this rifle like it’s a gun! Like it’s a cap gun to pop off for fun. If you do not aim and acquire your target, how will you hope to hit anything? Ask him that, Pranciskus!” He yelled, pointing at his translator.

The young man, red as a beet, looked between the Arvenian foreigner and Pranciskus as he stuttered out an answer that he had tried his best.

Lieutenant Doiron, predictably, did not find his answer satisfying and glared at the soldier.

“You are a child! Call him that, Prancierre. You tell him these exact words—you should have stayed home with your toys and your girls if you treat this like a sport. Out there? Out there, tell me, do you know who you face?”

Alfred paused, placing his hands on his hips as he gathered his breath. “Your foe are communists! Your brothers,” he said, waiting for Pranciskus to catch up with him, “Will kill you at the first chance they get. They are motivated by their beliefs and their love for tyranny. If you do not love your country, if you do not love your republic and fight like it, how will you defeat them? You’ll be corpses in graves by your first engagement.”

The group of Pelklander recruits, who had until now looked like school children caught red-handed in the act, grew somber and whitefaced with the lieutenant’s casual discussion of death and their demise. The internal struggle within Pelkland had not been addressed in such plain terms; the government hoped to end the rebellion decisively, and not many had made mental preparations for what that would detail.

“And that’s not your only foe. You should count yourself lucky to only fight your own treacherous countrymen. The Aatelisans that walk among them? They’ll kill you in an instant! They are seasoned warriors! They will pull their trigger and extinguish your very existence without a thought elsewise.”

Reading the field, Alfred could tell their characters had changed, and he softened his voice. “I cannot get you through this,” he admitted, looking down to the ground to hide his own shame. “Some of you will die. But if you face your fears with the determination of soldiers, you will overcome them. I can give you the tools, and the route, but you’ve got to build the road yourselves.”

Yet scarcely a hundred miles away from the training fields, the situation on the other side of the GCAM-affiliated FOBs was entirely different. A small cadre of Arvenian officers, joined by their Pelkland counterparts, watched from the safety of sandbag walls and concrete pillars as a distant aerial run was planned for the rebel-controlled town ahead of them. The volatile nature of the rebellion, combined with the great untamed pine forests and swampy grounds made clearance sweeps difficult, and security was hard to maintain. The Arvenian advisors had secured permission from their allies for a swift bombardment on the rebel center, hoping to cause disarray that their joint-forces could prey upon.

Brigade General Claude Mouet stood at the front, dressed in his drab jacket. Looking ahead with a pair of binoculars, he surveyed the field and forested landscape and waited for the confirmation that the run was successful. At the same time, a contingent of the 227. Pelklander Infantry Battalion was returning from an extended sweep along the perimeter. While most of the Pelklander officers ignored them as they marched by, many of the Arvenian advisors could not help but express interest in them—a mix of curiosity and revulsion across their faces. The 227. was adorned in nationalist iconography, painted with the nation’s colors and dressed in paramilitary uniforms blemished with personal affections. They were formed out of remaining soldiers consolidated into their battalion, and reinforced with hardline ideologues that met their high standards. They marched by in rapid-step, just returning from another successful mission. Every voyage out into the forests was a life-or-death struggle, and for the members of the 227. a natural home and calling.

Mouet paid them no attention as his eyes focused on the prize. A mere moment passed before a great shattering blast emerged from the direction of the possible enemy encampment. A number of the soldiers stopped to watch or gossip about the sight as the flames burst high over the forested canopy. The general dropped his binoculars down to his lanyard and pumped his arms up into the air.

“Legault you beautiful bastard! I could kiss you if you were here right now. I love our defense budget!”

Of Republics and Grain

Pelkland Influence Post

Despite the formation of GCAM and the subsequent military involvement of the Arvenian nation with Pelkland, not all interactions could exist purely in a defense advisory role. The inner-turmoil and breakdown of order in the northern republic saw widespread industrial decline and infrastructural collapse. This mismanagement, coupled with Pelklander youths participating on both sides of the rebellion, and the introduction of regional warfare in the rural regions of the republic, brought food shortages to Pelkland. The country’s harvest had reached record lows and food collection was unusually slow. The issue had become politicized with both factions, the Republicans and the Communists, blaming one another; both even went as far as to claim purposeful sabotage.

The Arvenian intelligence community largely agreed with these claims, but couldn’t move to gain political capital by criticising communist Aatelisia’s support for the rebels—as it turned out, the republic’s supporters had engaged in shipment harassment as well, and many local milities forcibly steered food away from conflict zones to induce famine. While Aatelisia was fighting for the expansion of its ideology, Prime Minister Gaudreau lamented, the Arvenian Republic entered the conflict with ostensibly benevolent aims. With the situation rapidly growing out of control, Gaudreau summoned an impromptu meeting with Arvene’s ministers of foreign affairs, economy and agriculture, along with the Pelkland Minister of Foreign Affairs, Titas Strasunskas. Despite the suddenness of the summit, the meeting went ahead in Chasney at the Prime Minister’s offices, where Gaudreau and two of the ministers were introduced to Mr. Strasunskas for the first time.

Gathered around a mahogany table, the five ministers exchanged pleasantries. The offices of the prime minister were allotted out of the old royal palace, which had been modernized in recent decades following the abdication of the monarchy. Despite the oddity of its origins, the palace now had a distinctly republican air about it. The drawing room they sat in was one of the old royal levees, used to entertain guests of the king.

Iven L'Angelier, the minister of foreign affairs, had already spoken with Strasunskas in the past. Much of their interaction in recent months had been regarding the creation of GCAM and official Arvenian support for Pelkland and the republic. The other two, Landers Généreux and Louis Marcoux, were ministers of agriculture and the economy, respectively. Généreux was rarely involved in foreign matters and entertaining dignitaries, and as such was out of his element, but Gaudreau included him since the agreement they hoped to make included his ministry.

“The consequences of the food shortages in Pelkland will come clear, whether soon or later. If we do not act first, the Aatelisians will surely start a program of their own. This could be, obviously, disastrous.”

L’Angelier’s speaking pattern was familiar to Gaudreau, punctuated with unusual pauses and thoughtful delays. His description of the situation was indeed thought out; Arvene was nervous about Aatelisia gaining additional ground in their historically independent neighbor, and if it meant breaking down the traditional neutrality the two nations enjoyed between them, then the prime minister was prepared to be that man.

“Aatelisia’s giving of food and supplies to starvation-affected areas could endanger the republic’s security. It’s our principle that Arvene should act first, which is why I believe a comprehensive humanitarian plan would best serve your country’s present state.”

The prime minister’s words rang out true to Strasunskas, though the Pelklander seemed reluctant to admit to needing Arvene’s support. The fiercely independent history of the border republic was tarnished with such agreements, but Pelkland was hardly in a place to negotiate.

“I am not yet convinced this is necessary,” Strasunskas said in accented Arvenian. “The President is not convinced the shortages are that significant. We believe with the support of your advisors, in full cooperation with GCAM, that joint military forces could secure agricultural lines and ensure timely food delivery.”

The four Arvene ministers exchanged looks with each other. Prime Minister Gaudreau grew somewhat impatient with the man, and so clarified his point, hoping that he would understand him.

“Mr. Strasunskas, if Pelkland does not sort out its food issues, then the Aatelisians will gain the upperhand. This will lead to the republic’s collapse, the inability of your military to restore order… and well in our legal rights, an obligation for our armed forces to intervene in totality to defend Estora from communist expansion.”

“I believe I’m beginning to understand.” The Pelklander admitted slowly.

“We seek to extend an olive branch,” L’Angelier started, “I feel that you, and your president, understand that it is better to be allies, so allow us to assist you.”

Strasunskas thought for a moment before nodding his head.

“Very well. I can’t officially agree to anything here, but give me a day or two and I believe I can convince our government of your reasoning. I’ll have the president call you regarding this, Mr. Gaudreau.”

“Ah, yes,” the prime minister said, rising to shake his hand. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

Rifles for Pennies

Bozkirey Influence Post

Divisional General Serge Bergeron and Ambassador Soren Chauvet waited patiently in the lounge area. Their counterparts were late to the meeting, undoubtedly handling the current calamity of the war that pitted Bozkirey against Buyakistan. Baskent was far removed from the conflict zones, though the communist Buyakistanis had launched a successful military invasion of the border, and their hosts were rapidly mobilizing reserves and conscripts to stem the tide and staunch the bleeding.

Ambassador Chauvet helped himself to a small plate of falafel that had been offered by the staff. The blond-haired man mumbled in apparent approval of the food, and glanced at Bergeron with a nod.

“Want some?”

“I don’t think so.” The general replied.

“You sure? They’re quite good, despite the exterior, surprisingly.”

Bergeron smirked. “I’m sure. Besides, I speak better on an empty stomach.”

“Complete opposite here,” Chauvet said with a smile, taking another bite before continuing, “Helps to calm my nerves, you know? Business on a full stomach ain’t great either, but I need something.”

The general sighed, leaning back in his seat. A small TV in the corner flickered hues of reds and oranges as the news narrated the events following the invasion.

“Buyakistani soldiers forced their way across the unprotected border. The military had left the border ungarrisoned as a sign of goodwill, and Buyakistan treacherously betrayed the nation’s trust and attacked. Unprotected areas were subject to mass executions and labor camps under the Buytakistani Communist agenda, but General Nasim’s activated divisions have sent cowardly Buyakistan into a full retreat on all fronts!”

Bergeron couldn’t help but chuckle as the state news anchors continued their propagandized nationalist spiel.

“That’s not exactly how I heard it.” The Arvenian general muttered under his breath.

According to their own intelligence briefings, the situation in Bozkirey was anything but what the news had said. The Bozkirian army had antagonized Buyakistan for a few months now, and suddenly launched a half-hearted probe into the communist state, likely testing their defenses. Clearly the military dictatorship hadn’t expected Buyakistan’s response, as the incensed people’s army spearheaded a sudden invasion in retaliation. General Nasim, one of the main figures of the country’s military, was off elsewhere when the attack happened and the garrisons surrendered or retreated without much of a fight. The two men left for the country before they heard anything else, but if the news could be trusted at all, then Bergeron imagined that General Nasim was rushing to the front to hold back the communist lion.

Bergeron was interrupted from his thoughts as his colleague crunched into another fried ball. “How do you think it’s going for them?” He asked between bites.

“Poorly.” Bergeron admitted plainly. “But I imagine that the Buyakistanis can’t keep up this momentum for long. They don’t have the supply to push all the way into the interior. At least that’s the report I’d give to the general staff.”

The doors at the end of the lounge opened, and the general sighed in relief as the Bozkirian delegation finally arrived. At the forefront of them marched General Abdul-Basir Musa Awad, another major figure in the military and the country’s general-triumvirate, and a competitor with General Nasim. Awad was a tall, formidable figure with broad shoulders, but was in poor shape and somewhat overweight. He quickly found the two Arvenian delegates and eyed them suspiciously before breaking out into a wide smile and extending his arms.

“My friends! Welcome to Bozkirey. Would it be that it was a better time, I would offer to show you around the country.”

General Bergeron quickly rose to his feet in greeting his counterpart. Ambassador Chauvet was a few seconds behind, putting his unfinished food behind him.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Chauvet announced. “I am Soren Chauvet, the ambassador to your country. I think we’ve met before?”

General Awad nodded. “You, I know. But him? He’s new.” He said, gesturing a finger at the Arvenian general.

“Divisional General Serge Bergeron, Army of Arvene.” Bergeron stated. “The pleasure is all mine. I too wish I had a chance to experience Bozkirian customs, but perhaps there’ll be a chance after we handle this imminent threat.”

Awad’s eyes narrowed. There was an air of hostility between the two delegations. Things worked differently in Bozkirey, that much the ambassador had explained to him.

“Situation? Yes. Maybe ‘calamity’ is a better word, if the fool Nasim doesn’t get his act together.”

“Prime Minister Gaudreau is prepared to do whatever is necessary to prevent the expansion of communism in Altera. You’ve already seen our lend-lease proposal, I hope you found it to your liking.”

The ambassador looked to Bergeron as he explained their position, defusing the best he could.

“Yes, yes I have. We’ve all seen it. Even Nasim. For someone who is so eager to help us, Gaudreau sure asks a lot of us.”

“It’s the cost of doing business.” General Bergeron answered in Chauvet’s stead. This is a very fair deal for your country. The profit margins for us are small, but we must still justify for the people a gain.”

Awad held his hands up. “Is killing communists not enough? And I thought you wanted to stop the Buyakistanis?”

“We do,” Chauvet intercepted Bergeron, “But that’s not how things work in Arvene. We’ve already extended a friendly hand with the transaction in the first place. Anything more at this stage mobilizes our country too far, too quickly. Estora is not as gungho as it used to be, but we still have to make a stand where possible, to what measures we can.”

“Spoken like a suit.” Awad cackled. “But fine, we have already decided to accept your deal. This was more a formality than anything, and to see where you stood.”

Bergeron waited a moment for the general to finish his closing words before chiming in. “If the situation continues to worsen, the prime minister has informed me that the temporary formation of an advisory group may be on the table.”

“Ah, first you sell us the guns, then you sell us the knowledge to use them as well?” Awad retorted derisively.

Bergeron smiled. “Anything further will be on our dime.”