Their Finest Hour (MT, Semi-closed)

[Freidlichen]

OOC: Yes, I stole the name from one of my/Leistung's earlier RPs. Nobody laugh at the cliche.

This is closed to everyone but those pre-approved by me in the OOC thread and to international responses and statements. Yadda yadda, making my post look better because of this ridiculous advertisement bar. Bloody capitalism.



“Freidlichen will never go to war. It is with this in mind that the original Military Spending Act was passed, and it is with this in mind that this revision shall too be passed into law, creating a more harmonious society for ourselves, our children, and our children’s children.”

-Prime Minister Hansel Bonn, on the Military Spending Act of 1987

The soft voice of the radio host came over the airwaves as he always did at seven thirty, speaking in a barely audible whisper which to an outsider would have sounded like the absolutely most pretentious, falsely reverential tone a human being could ever assume. “Good morning Freidlichen; it’s seven thirty and we’ll be coming at you all day with the best in Mozart, Beethoven, and of course, our very own Johann Kuester. Listen in to this cool tune and remember, Freidlichers—live every day like it was your last.” Sophie physically smacked her forehead at the clichéd line, the likes of which were becoming all too common on these so-called ‘cool tunes’ radio stations in Altenberg.

Signing off on yet another generic piece of civil rights legislation passed unanimously through parliament, she rubbed her eyes, ink from her pen smearing on her eyebrows. Damn it, she thought, wetting a tissue and pulling a makeup kit out from the top desk drawer. Peering in the mirror, she rubbed her eyebrows clean and stopped for a moment to look at her reflection. While foreign politicians she had met during her tenure as Prime Minister of Freidlichen had droopy eyes, prematurely graying hair, and a host of other issues which seemed to transform them into ancient replicas of their former selves, Sophie looked exactly the same as she had the day she assumed office some two years ago.

She had been complimented on it numerous times at galas and conferences, parties and summits, but in truth, it frightened her more than any other issue in Freidlichen. Was it really that Freidlichen was so benign that her job was that calm? Over the past two years she had watched helplessly as more and more power was turned over from the elected assembly and herself to the Crown Prince, who, for the past two hundred years, had been a figurehead more than anything else. It had reached the point, in fact, where her day-to-day duties were centered more around catering to the whims of the various activist groups which bombarded her office with pleas to save the whales, save the chimps, save the children, and she swore, once, save the Neo-Nazi movement (it was not an altogether far-fetched idea, in fact—Freidlichen’s free speech ideals had given rise to groups so far left and right wing that they ceased to even exist on the normal political spectrum), than the actual duties a head of government would normally assume.

“Miss Metzger?” The voice of Sophie’s secretary broke her rather dismal train of thought, a line of thinking she was only too happy to be rid of for a while. “The Crown Prince is here to see you.” Oh Lord. Perhaps the only thing worse than lamenting what should have been her administration’s role in government was actually meeting the man responsible for power being taken away from parliament and her on a daily basis.

She grimaced and pressed the intercom button to her secretary’s desk. “Send him in,” she replied, running her hands through her hair and standing from her chair. Crown Prince Erich Krause von Freidlichen XXI was an imposing man by any standards, but the manner in which he entered Sophie’s office that morning both infuriated (for the man had neither knocked nor greeted her upon entering) and frightened her. With an enraged look on his face he sat in the chair opposite her desk, bidding her sit.

Sophie cleared her throat and folded her legs. “What brings you here this morning, your Highness? Have I been deposed?” Krause ignored the barely concealed contempt in the Prime Minister’s comment and coughed to clear his own throat.

“The National Defense Committee tells me that our neighbor to the north has been mobilizing forces on our border,” the Crown Prince said, picking up Sophie’s mug of coffee and taking a sip, completely ignorant to the fact that she had, only moments ago, taken a drink herself from the same cup. “I suppose you are completely uninformed, so shall I go over the specifics?”

“It would be easier to be informed if the Committee answered to the leader elected by the people rather than yourself alone, your Highness,” Sophie snapped back. “Besides, Zakrapat has mobilized before—they may simply be saber-rattling, as they tend to do every twelve minutes or so.” The Holy Empire of Zakrapat (an ironic name if there ever was one; Zakrapat’s government ruled over a mere one hundred million souls, and it was the farthest thing from religiously-minded) had indeed saber-rattled in the past, but even without the details of the move, Sophie knew that it was cause for concern. Mere months ago Zakrapat’s entire supply of oil had dried up, wells shutting down throughout the nation. They had turned to the infamous Griffencrest Corporation for assistance, and since that time, no aggressive moves had been made, though the Zakrapatian army was reported to have been vastly expanded for, to the government of Freidlichen’s knowledge, no particular reason.

The absence of saber-rattling over the past four or five months was initially met with relief, but the general feeling in parliament soon turned to suspicion. This sudden aggressive move would certainly unnerve the politicians, though the people would likely just shake their heads at the Zakrapatian embassy and sing hymns to whichever New Age thinker they had decided to embrace this week.

“You and I both know that any move of this sort must be met by calmness and dignity,” Krause said, raising his chin and causing Sophie to flick her eyes upward at the melodramatically noble gesture. “We mustn’t seem weak by appealing to larger nations for assistance, and we mustn’t seem antagonistic by mobilizing our own forces on the border.”

“And if I should think differently?”

“Then I will be speaking to a different Prime Minister by next week,” the Crown Prince replied calmly. “You know that the people will demand your resignation if you call up the reserves—they have not been summoned since the Eighteenth Century; and if you have yet to notice, our people would not be overly happy at the idea of leaving their lives to march through the mountains and confront a non-existent foe.” The Crown Prince was right, of course, and both he and Sophie knew it. There was a feeling she couldn’t shake about this turn of events, though—the Zakrapatian Czar was no fool, and the buildup of the Zakrapatian military was certainly not an issue that should have been tiptoed around. Regardless of her personal feelings though, she would undoubtedly be deposed should she call up the reserves without the Zakrapatians literally breaking down the gates of Altenberg, and the title of Commander-in-Chief would pass to the Crown Prince, leaving Freidlichen in the same position as if she were to do nothing.

“Send any further reports to my office directly, if you please, your Highness,” she said, catching herself halfway through the line and adding a pleasantry at the end so as not to seem too informal with the Crown Prince of Freidlichen. “If there are any further reports, of course.”

“I doubt there will be, Prime Minister,” Krause replied nonchalantly. “Zakrapat is of no concern to us.”

[Defense Corporations]

OOC: Foreshadowing for future mercenary involvement; further, character introduction (Lee Jets). The bank in question is just a local credit union, not an FBG branch.

"First off, I want to apologize that I'm here instead of David. He's had a complex contract to work out, and it's kept him in the office the last few nights," Ming Law said, leaving out the nature of the contract. No reason to give the fool early warning.

"That's quite alright. I understand you're here to talk about mercenaries?" Mondo Advertising replied. He wore his perpetually goofy smile like a shield, Ming thought.

"I'm here to discuss our proposal to set up a private security firm. There is a clear market for such a firm, considering the level of instability in the world -"

"And we'll break into the market how?" Mondo cut in. Ming glared. Let me finish, you idiot, she thought.

"Considering the level of instability in the world, we could definitely find a niche. We'd focus on providing security to facilities and installations, VIP protection, and similar roles. We envision detachments of about 100 to 300 men being deployed, with primarily infantry equipment, though light ships and some aircraft would also potentially be of use -"

"So how do we break in?"

"The security firm would allow us to give our security forces experience. It would raise our profile, and the profile of our weapons. It would allow us to showcase them -"

"You're ignoring the one question of importance -"

"Of course there's a market! Do you know how damn big this planet is?" Damn, that was off-script.

"Nonresponsive. You should be ashamed; your law professors would be. Rejected!" Mondo said, then hummed a little ditty.

"But -"

Mondo stood up, then said, "Seriously, is that your big idea? Mercenaries, but not even on a strong enough level to be worth a damn in battle? Go tell your boss to try something...bigger." Ugh, was that a pelvic thrust?
---
Lee Jets grimaced as he walked over to the little command post the cops had set up. Some morons had tried to rob a bank, and were now holding hostages. Among those hostages was the director of research for the propfan division of Eichi Jets, so her personal platoon got called up. Which was all well and good, except he had to deal with the dumbass local cops on the scene. Half of them were probably Triad members anyway.

"So, what's the situation?" he asked the cop in charge.

"Five suspects, armed with carbines, took over the bank an hour ago. They want a flight out of the country and 5 million in USD. They say they'll shoot a hostage every fifteen minutes, starting in ten minutes, if their demands aren't met." The cop was shaking a bit. Ooh, something harder than your typical shakedowns of tourists? Lee laughed.

"Just let us professionals handle this."

Probably disgruntled factory workers. They probably bribed the supervisor to let them take a few samples from the production line.

The first texts from the snipers' observations came in - one, two, three, four targets identified. Two were easy shots, three weren't. Lee then talked with the other squad leaders in his platoon. A few minutes later, everything was set.

The snipers' shots took down the clear targets. A millisecond after they fired, a missile blew a hole in the side wall of the bank, distracting everyone. Tear gas grenades were fired into the bank through the jimmied-open front door, and Lee's squad moved in, even as Two and Three squads moved in from the side. Everyone shouted "Stay down! Stay down!", and the suspects who weren't shot were swiftly detained. They were on the floor, coughing and vomiting. Hadn't they ever heard of tear gas before? Had they never been in - or even near - a riot? No matter.

So, three dead (including one hostage - just a bank teller, nothing too serious), and the rest vomiting and coughing. No casualties on his side, and just two bullets, a missile, and a few tear gas grenades used. All in all, a successful outing.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

For some time now, the Griffincrest Corporation had been pumping oil into the cold, corrupt, miserable nation of Zakrapat, just as it had done for dozens of other nations around the world. That was, however, until Claudius Griffincrest realized that he had a bit more to gain from his arrangement with the ex-Soviet puppet.

Just to the south of Zakrapat lay the nation of Freidlichen, a nearly defenseless nation in terms of military size today, and a nation of vast wealth within its borders. This stood in stark contrast to Zakrapat, nearly Friedlichen's exact opposite, with a large military and a near destitute populace. Claudius sought to capture the wealth of Freidlichen, and in doing so also to broaden oil sales into that nation, and he was going to use the military of Zakrapat to do his dirty work.

Military advisors had started flying into the country months ago, along with weapons and supplies. In just a short time, the poor quality Warsaw Pact military of Zakrapat was beginning to look more and more as if it could compete on the modern world stage, and this competition was likely, given the interventionalist nature of the world today. These advisors did not bring only weapons, they also brought money, and lots of it, to ensure that they had the loyalty of the Zakrapatian generals and politicians. Those that did not seem loyal had a tendency to have "accidents", or would dissappear in rather mysterious ways.

Finally, now, after months of training and re-arming, the Corporation decided it was the right time to strike. The Zakrapatian Army had massed all along the border, and as soon as the order was given, they began to surge over it, smashing through guard posts and seizing small towns and other assets close to the border. Overhead, Mi-28 gunships and MiG-25's provided air cover, firing off munitions indiscriminately into anything that seemed to be evn of remote military value in the area now being invaded. These strike were supported by the simultaneous launch of over five hundred TOS-1 Boratino's, raining down absolute hell upon those within Freidlichen. The armoured fist of Zakrapat, mostly Griffincrest supplied Mercury APC's and Soviet made T-72's, made a dash to cut as far inland as possible.

The surprise attack was a low move, and Claudius knew that. It was opted for, however, because it would hopefully allow the Zakrapatian forces to seize the nation quickly, before international forces could come to Freidlichen's aid. Griffincrest had set a timetable. They wanted to be in the capital within two weeks. Time would tell if the table would be met.

[Freidlichen]

OOC: Altenberg is very close to the northern border—all you have to do is pass through an undefended mountain range and you’re in the heart of Freidlichen. The push towards the capital shouldn’t take more than two or three days.

Altenberg, Freidlichen

Sophie awoke from her slumber with a jolt, the encounter of the previous day weighing heavily on her conscience. She rubbed her eyes and pushed back the covers, flicking the light switch next to her bed and pushing the hair out of her eyes. She walked over to the windows of her private residence and pulled back the curtains, revealing downtown Altenberg in early morning. It was a beautiful city certainly, the crystal blue waters of the city’s central canal snaking through the buildings and reflecting the morning sun into her eyes as the first people emerged from their apartments into the cold air.

A sound foreign to her broke the sereneness as a siren louder than any she had ever heard before reverberated through the apartment, raising and falling in volume until it took on the properties of a single clear note. A blinding flash of light accompanied a deafening blast and three objects which she identified as fighter planes zoomed at high speed over her apartment, the engines shaking a glass of water off her mantle to smash on the wood floor below.

Her eyes widened as smoke began to billow out of numerous buildings and the siren continued to blare. The peaceful lines of pedestrians on the streets below scattered, running with briefcases over their heads to cover as another three airplanes whizzed overhead, dropping another series of explosives in quick succession. Sophie reached for her cellular phone on the table next to the window in a daze, grasping at air until she felt the plastic cover under her fingers. She began to dial a number hastily, but her phone began to ring as she hit the number seven button and she quickly hit the green talk button, putting the speaker up to her ear. “H-hello?”

“Miss Metzger, we’re ascending the stairwell to your apartment now. Stay calm and remain in your room until we arrive,” the voice on the other side of the receiver demanded, his tone fluctuating between resolve and fear. “Do not, under any circumstances, leave your room, Prime Minister.”

“Alright…who is this?” she asked, still in a daze.

“Lieutenant Bayer of the Freidlicher Guard—we’re ten seconds away; all your questions can be answered when you’re safe, Miss Metzger.” The phone cut out to silence and Sophie retreated to the window again, gazing outward as smoke began to obscure her view of the street below. A knock on the door was followed by the sounds of smashing wood as the door frame crumpled and collapsed inward.

Four men in grey and black flecktarn uniforms burst through the gap in the wall, three fanning out with weapons and one sprinting to where Sophie was standing at the window. “Prime Minister, we need to move now,” he yelled, raising his voice to be heard over the blasts outside. Without waiting for a response, the uniformed man grabbed Sophie’s arm and dragged her out into the hall before turning to the remaining three men.

“I’m going to clear the rest of these floors—you three escort the Prime Minister to the safe zone,” he said, grabbing the shoulder of one of the three armed soldiers. The man nodded in response and beckoned for Sophie to follow, but the lieutenant extended a hand to stop him. “Corporal—if anyone tries to stop you…don’t hesitate to do your duty. Shoot to kill.” The corporal, identified as Hans Koenig by his name tag, swallowed and nodded again before taking off at a run towards the end of the hall, Sophie and the other two men following close behind as smoke began to billow into the hall.

Ten Miles South of the Zakrapatian-Freidlicher border

Alois held his newborn son tightly in his arms in a futile attempt to stop his crying. T-72 tanks emblazoned with the Zakrapatian coat of arms had begun rumbling into his village only a few hours ago, and the procession did not appear to be stopping. The tanks shook the very floor he slept on, awaking him much in the same fashion hundreds of thousands of other Freidlichers would be awoken that very morning. Standing with his wife and child in the freezing cold mountain pass which housed his village and his home, he watched as men in green camouflage jackets and dark grey ushankas paraded through the barely-paved street leading away from the border further inland.

Resistance collapsed literally within seconds as the lead Zakrapatian soldiers simply shot anyone outside their houses when the column began its trek through the tiny, insignificant village. Their bodies were being piled up near a group of soldiers who were drinking heavily from vodka bottles from the village’s liquor store (the owner had been shot as well when he tried to protest), and more and more bodies seemed to be piling up as droves of civilians asleep and at peace mere hours ago were accused of various crimes against Zakrapat and summarily shot.

Three of the marching soldiers approached him and his family, balaclavas covering their mouths and noses and Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders. The lead man spoke in a heavy Russian accent. “Shut up the baby,” he said plainly, pointing towards Alois’ son, the other two nodding and pointing also at the small child who was still wailing. Alois nodded quickly and placed a pacifier in his son’s mouth, the child mercifully quieting as if he knew the alternative. The soldier turned his attention to Alois’ wife next, gesturing for her to come closer.

Alois’ eyes darted from her to the soldier and back to her as she tentatively moved forwards. The soldier grabbed her and pulled her towards him, whispering something in Russian in her ear and throwing her to one of his fellows. Alois moved forwards towards the soldiers and contorted his face in rage but was quickly bludgeoned with the butt of an AK-74 and collapsed onto the snow, his son falling next to him and starting to cry yet again. The lead soldier put a boot on his chest and pressed down, causing him to howl in pain while the other two led the young woman forcefully towards a makeshift encampment near the ruins of city hall (fires still burned in the building itself from the onslaught of thermobaric rockets launched in the early moments of the attack).

Snow began to fall again, starkly contrasting with the black smoke rising from most of the now flaming houses and the streaks of scarlet red blood which seemed to be everywhere, all leading towards the ever-growing pile of bodies. The soldier released Alois and walked briskly back towards the encampment, where sounds of a struggle between a woman’s voice and a group of men’s could be heard vividly. A scream preceded a single gunshot and another body was added to the pile.

E-91 Connector to Altenberg

The road leading to Altenberg was one of the widest in the nation, though it only really consisted of six lanes, three going north, three going south. It was on this road, twenty miles south of the border and only ten miles north of Altenberg herself, that the sole Freidlicher Guard armored division was making its stand. With only two hundred-odd Leopard 2 tanks able to be mustered to defend the vital road, the sight of the division was somewhat underwhelming to the suburbanites surrounding Altenberg.

“Here they come,” Karl muttered with dread, peering through the viewfinder on his Leopard 2A6 tank. He turned to his crew, whose expressions were just as worrisome to the beleaguered civilians as his own. “Maybe if we just explain our neutrality they’ll call the whole thing off…” he said, in a half-hearted attempt at a joke. No one laughed.

“Helicopter coming over the horizon,” Karl’s tank commander said, keeping his eyes on his own viewfinder and motioning towards him to make ready to fire. “Elevate gun to ten degrees and load M830A1 rounds.” The loader placed a round in the main gun of the behemoth and gave a thumbs up to Karl. “Fire main gun!” he exclaimed. The helicopter literally vaporized, shards of metal shooting out on all sides as a ball of flame engulfed the spot where the aircraft had been hovering.

“Nice shot, Karl!” the commander yelled as the loader and driver let out a cheer. “Recalibrate for anti-tank fire and advance with the division.” The line of Freidlicher tanks advanced slowly towards the approaching mass of hostiles, firing indiscriminately as they moved, the sounds of 120mm guns exploding mixing in with the screams of the wounded and the rumbling of the armor on the autobahn.

[Saint Clair Island]

~ Citadel, Frederickstown. Central Briefing Room. ~

"...and if you gentlemen agree, we project that we'll be able to complete the Arcangelo Project well ahead of schedule with additional costs of only ten to eleven billion dollars," said Varáinn, stepping over to turn off the projector. "Are there any questions?"

A hand went up, visible in the half-light provided by the candelabrae and gas lamps. On the far side of the room a tired voice said: "The Council recognizes the honourable Sir Anicid."

"Sir Varáinn," said Elgon Anicid, patriarch of his eponymous noble House, "I believe you have explained your position satisfactorily. However, I once again wish to call into question whether the Arcangelo Project is worth attempting in the first place. It is quite costly already, and is it really worth attempting to maintain such a military edge when any advantages Saevitia gains technologically are far outweighed by the size and scope of the militaries of --"

Iapetus Varáinn sighed: Anicid made this argument practically every time he campaigned for more funding for his department. As the Crown Secretary of Defense, Varáinn naturally believed that a sufficient budget could outweigh any numerical or technological disadvantages. He was preparing a time-tested rebuttal when the door opened and Sir Gerard Karajan entered, doffing his hat as he did.

"-- Ah, good morning, Sir Karajan."

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Karajan, not turning to look at the other. "And Sir Anicid. Pray continue."

"Where was I? Ah yes, any minor technological advances the Saevitian Royal Navy maintains will be rendered irrelevant due to the vastly larger and more combat-oriented navies fielded by nations in the five-to-fifteen billion range, of which, needless to say, there are many."

Varáinn said: "On its own home turf, SARN is the most powerful and advanced navy there is. An invasion force of thrice its number of ships would be hard pressed to take even part of the Saevitian Archipelago without paying dearly for it in blood. Every advancement we make further strengthens the safety of Saevitia itself. Any other questions?"

No hands went up. Varáinn nodded decisively. "Good. Make a note of it for the ballots. I now yield the floor to Sir Karajan."

Sir Gerard Karajan came forward now into the light. Brushing a few silver hairs back from his face he said: "I present today new intelligence, brought to us by Eastern Command. The illegitimate state of Zakrapat is currently launching an invasion of the nation of Friedlichen. This is a disturbing development, as previously we had assumed its mobilization to be a military exercise or a similar matter of internal consequence only."

Karajan turned to the laptop computer, pressed a few keys and turned on the projector. It displayed satellite images from the Friedlichen-Zakrapat border. "Sources have indicated that Zakrapat is being propped up primarily by foreign money at this point. As it is not considered a legitimate state by the Secretariat of Foreign Affairs, we cannot enact diplomatic sanctions against it of any kind, nor issue a declaration of war. Thus, the only recourse available to us is economic action, which, coincidentally, would also damage Zakrapat the most."

A hand went up. The recorder said: "The Council recognizes Sir Anselm von Browning."

von Browning stood. "Could you remind the Council once again why Saevitia should seek to support this... Friedlichen?"

"Certainly," Sir Karajan beamed. "First of all, we have an embassy in Altenberg. Mister Jourdan and his family may not be noblemen, but they are certainly wealthy and influential, and if they were to die it would spark outrage in the streets and canals of Frederickstown....."

~ Altenberg. The same day, 0645 hours Friedlichen time. ~

Andreas Jourdan awoke with a start. Perhaps it was the sirens; perhaps it was the sound of aircraft passing overhead; perhaps it was the shouts and noises from without, muffled by the walls of the complex, but not deadened completely. Or perhaps it was the sound of his bedroom door opening. It took him a few seconds to absorb all of that, and when he was done, he couldn't remember what had caused it.

"Good morning, Sir," said the Marine, whose nametag indicated that he was Corporal Thomas Paine.

"'Morning, Corporal," said Jourdan, untangling himself from the bedsheets and sitting up. "What's going on?"

"The city is under attack, sir," said Paine, moving to the window to look out, before fastening it shut with steel shutters. "I'd recommend you shower and dress before the water pipelines are destroyed. We'll help the staff move your belongings and valuables to the bunker below."

Jourdan mumbled something unintelligible and probably unprintable, then stooped to retrieve his fuzzy slippers. "Have you awoken my wife and children?"

"Yes, sir, by your orders; they should be awake already."

Then Jourdan heard a new noise added to the mix: The gates of the Saevitian Embassy were slamming shut. The Marine detachment accompanying him and his family was preparing to turn the Embassy into a small fortress, with practiced ease, but simultaneously, dread. On the flat roof of the two-story ambassadorial residence, below the flagpole from which Friedlicher and Saevitian flags fluttered, a quartet of Marines were setting up machine guns and mortars, already encased in their lightweight body armour, and waiting. One of them had brought a radio and was trying to tune into the local news station to find out what was going on, but all he could get was classical music, sports, and people chattering away in Russian.

"Fucking Altenberg," grumbled Lt. Loki Brenner (not at all a morning person, and on his third cup of coffee).

"... Second of all, estimates hold that at least twenty percent of our imports come from Friedlichen and companies based there. If they fall, will the new government be so willing to sell to Saevitia? It seems unlikely. Finally, there are numerous Saevitian citizens living in that nation. Combine this with public opinion, and yes -- if we don't do something about Friedlichen fairly soon, it'll come back to haunt us."

Karajan paused and looked around. "So, economic embargo?"

He smiled. "Excellent."

Official CSSA Communication

To the International Community,

It has come to our attention that the non-recognized state of Zakrapat has launched an invasion of Friedlichen, its southern neighbor.

While Friedlichen is a friendly nation to the Saevitian Archipelago, it is not an ally, and we are not proposing to defend it with military force. However, we have become aware that Zakrapat is being backed up with foreign money, and, as it is not considered a legitimate state by the Saevitian Government, this gives us cause for concern, for similar situations could affect the CSSA itself if whatever national or private organizations are propagating this violence do not cease.

Therefore, the CSSA hereby announces that it is instituting an economic embargo against Zakrapat. We urge all organizations, national or private, to cease any trade with Zakrapat that they may maintain, as its profits are only going towards regional instability and violence; those organizations who choose not to listen will be considered to be aiding and abetting a rogue state, and will be added to Saevitia's watchlists.

We advise sea traffic control organizations in the region to prepare for an increase in regional traffic, as portions of the Saevitian Archipelago Royal Navy (SARN) may be arriving to enforce the embargo.

In addition, we have issued internal travel advisories for all Saevitian nationals residing in Friedlichen, Zakrapat, and the contested region. The situation is to be considered a Class Two threat to civilian life and industry. More information is available with messages distributed by your local Saevitian Embassy or Consulate.

Gerard Karajan
Sir Gerard Karajan
Crown Secretary for Foreign Affairs
9th Earl of Saint Thomas Island, etc., etc.

[Defense Corporations]

OOC: The Confederacy's intelligence assets are poor, and mostly focus on corporate intelligence. Thus, our assessment of the invaders is pretty poor.

"Mein gott," Eva Klaus, a manager of a local branch of the Freidlicher Banking Group, muttered. The television blared on as she watched her homeland under assault; she turned the volume down, then called home - to no response. She checked the news online, looking for how far inland the invaders had pushed. She suddenly cried out in horror, seeing the bombed-out wreck of her parents' home.

"What is it?" her flatmate asked. He was a refugee; unlike most of the expats in the area, he had no family to fall back on.

Eva just sobbed. They were probably dead. Her parents. Dead. Gott, why? What had Friedlichen ever done to anyone? It was the senselessness of the war that got to her. Didn't they know that war only hurts?
---
"Sorry for calling everyone in so late, but this is potentially huge," Boris said once the assorted representatives had filed into the conference room. "Friedlichen is under attack."

"What's that again?" Hideki Armory, who had taken over the daily operations of Smith Armory from its namesake, asked. "Why does this matter?"

"We bank with them. I've got $3 trillion, and MACHI|SAEDS - you remember, our partners with M.A.C. - has a big account there, too."

"Surely they can transfer the money?" Jacques Tanks asked. "What makes this war any different from the others we've watched?"

"It looks horrible if we do nothing. Keep in mind we've got Friedlichers working here, in the branch banks and elsewhere. They make up a good chunk of the expat community. Besides, it's an opportunity - Friedlichen may have been neutral before, but they won't be able to be so neutral in the future. They'll need to buy our stuff," Mondo Advertising said.

"Aren't you jumping ahead a bit? How do we make sure they win the war?" David Law asked.

Can't he just agree with me once?, Mondo thought, then said, "Well, I wouldn't recommend outright war - we're nowhere near capable enough for that. But we could send in mercenaries." He smiled, seeing the looks of interest among the Board. Imitation isn't the sincerest form of flattery; outright theft is.

"Mercenaries? What size force are you thinking? Where do we get the manpower? I like the idea, I'm just not sure it's practical," Hideki asked.

"The invaders are the kind of enemy we can beat. They're using aging equipment en masse, using numbers to their advantage. We can beat numbers with our own stuff. Unless what you've been telling me is wrong?" Mondo said, looking in Boris's direction for a moment.

"Nope. Our new technology is far superior to what the invaders apparently use. We can leverage improved networking technology, superior armor, and advanced aviation to secure victory, even if our opponent has greater numbers," Boris replied. "The Ground Combat Network we've developed will allow us -"

"Let's be serious here," Luis Aviation interjected. "That technology is of use for trained soldiers. We've only got well-armed police. Any mercenary force we raise won't be able to win on our own."

"Nor would it work politically. We need to back someone else, giving them some mercenary support. Let someone else be the main proponent of defending Friedlichen," David said.

"How about Saint Claire Island? They're already embargoing Zakrapat, and they might be willing to help, especially if we offer support," Mondo replied, quickly. Hey David, I did do the research, he thought.

"Okay, let's put this to a vote," Boris said. "All those in favor of raising a mercenary force to support a Santheres-led campaign to defeat the invasion of Friedlichen?" He raised his hand, then Jacques raised his, then Hideki, then Michael Shipyards (who had been surprisingly quiet this time around, for some reason), then Luis. Once the last of the Big Five raised his hand, everyone else did, in unison, as it always went. "Motion carried."

[New Manth]

Some office somewhere in the bowels of the Military Intelligence Directorate

"...and so at this time it does not seem appropriate to recommend any action regarding the Friedlichen-Zakrapat war."

Mohammed Zakir took the brief pause after delivering his briefing, glancing around the roomful of military men.

"Thank you.... One question. It says here..." a man towards the back shuffled slightly through his papers, "...that the government of Zakrapat may have been receiving support from outside its borders. Can you tell us any more about that?"

"Not at this time, sir. As you know the area has not been an intelligence priority," - the understatement of the month, Manthian "intelligence" in Freidlichen and Zakrapat was limited to reading international news headlines - "what with other more pressing demands relating to the Delian League and the situation in Nova. I can however have someone look into it...?"

"Yes I think that would be best. Where does that information come from?"

Ah... Mohammed turned slightly red as he answered. "Associated Press report."

Aware of a certain silence entering the room he felt the need to keep talking.

"The press picked up a statement by the government of a third-party nation, uh, the Saevitian Archipelago, alleging foreign money behind the war and branding Zakrapat a rogue state. The latter is debatable, some recognize it, some don't. It's possible... Zakrapat certainly does not seem to have been this aggressive before, so it is something to look into..."

Mohammed glanced around the room and saw a wall of very blank faces.

"...so I'll have someone look into it, then." he finished lamely.

[Defense Corporations]

To: Sir Gerard Karajan, Crown Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Earl of Saint Clair Island, etc., etc., on behalf of the government of the Saevitian Archipelago
From: David Law, on behalf of the Board of the Confederacy of Defense Corporations
Re: Friedlichen crisis

Given the deteriorating situation in Friedlichen, and our shared commerce with the imperiled country, we would like to know what your intentions are, and to make an offer of concrete support in the event you choose to intervene on the side of Friedlichen. At what point do you go beyond an embargo? What is the trip line for you?
In terms of support, not only are we prepared to offer logistical support for whatever operations you intend to undertake through Universal Air Freight and through the naval components of our security forces, but we are also preparing a military force for combat duties against the invaders from Zakrapat. Two weeks from now, we would like to send over Yang Halbi, commander of the Sultan Oil security force, and his staff for discussions about any future operations, whether in support of an embargo in force, an outright blockade, or an armed intervention against Zakrapat.

---
"Your highness, in light of the situation in Friedlichen, I ask permission now to commit the entirety of your armed forces to battle some time in the near future," Yang Halbi said into the telephone. It was a formality - the Sultan, in his capacity as CEO of Sultan Oil, had already approved the proposed intervention. Still, formalities like these were important. They were a sign that the Sultan hadn't fully submitted, that he still held power independent of the Confederacy. They were certainly not silly.

"We approve. Tell the men that they will soon be going to war. That their cause is that most just of causes, that of preserving the independence of a free state against the depredations of barbarians. That, if it be the will of Allah, they will do Us proud. And that they have Our best wishes and Our fullest support," the Sultan replied. "That will do. We appreciate your service."

And so we go to war, Yang thought. He looked over the list he had compiled of assets he'd be getting. Every company would be sending a contribution, for a total of about 20000 troops. The largest single force was the Sultan's contribution of the entire Armed Forces of Brunei - usable assets: one light infantry brigade, three corvettes, two landing craft, a light transport plane, and 28 medium-lift helicopters. It was meager, but it was the only asset of its size to have trained together. It would certainly have been forming the core of his force, if it weren't such a weak unit. But what else could be the core?

Yang reread the list. 'Military' police from the smaller companies and subsidiaries - mostly beat cops, it appeared. The subsidiaries shouldn't have done much better, yet there's Eichi Jets sending one-third of their managers' platoons, 34 in all. Fairly well-equipped, too! No vehicles, though. Looks like we'll be relying on a lot of friendly logistical support, he thought.

As he expected, the Big Five would be contributing the majority of his forces, providing a well-equipped, but ill-trained force. To be fair, he would be getting 50 good fighter pilots - Luis Aviation had contributed half their test pilot corps.

The biggest problem remained organizing this ugly mess into a coherent fighting force. The second-biggest problem, however, was logistics. Sure, he had lots of air freight assets to work with, but it would still be a mess dealing with all sorts of different equipment.

It didn't help that they said he'd be shipping out to the Saevitian Archipelago soon.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

The rapid Zakrapatian advance through Friedlichen was progressing well ahead of the Corporation's timetable, something which made Claudius very happy. In a show of gratitude, he ordered some of the finest vodka in the world, straight out of TWSP, to be sent to the Zakrapatian President, Yuri Pantoniev. Along with it, Claudius sent a letter of thanks and congratulations, and promises of more things to come if the Zakrapatian military could keep up the good work.

In Yalat, the capital of Zakrapat, Yuri and his advisors stood in a shitty concrete bunker, gathered around an ugly brown table in a room lit only by a single, bare bulb hanging in the center, reviewing several maps displaying the positions of Friedlichen and Zakrapatian forces. This was the War Room of Zakrapat, but soon, Yuri promised, they would have a palace for these meeting, and it would all be paid for by Griffincrest, just as long as the military of Friedlichen didn't somehow rally and repulse his brave soldiers. Outside the bunker, television sets in homes shops and restaurants all around the nation showed brave Zakrapatian soldiers marching in formation, clutching tightly their Griffincrest supplied G36E assault rifles while just behind them, T-72's and Mercury APC's rumbled along, their commanders waving and smiling to the onlookers from the hatches on the turret.

Meanwhile, in Friedlich, Octavius Whiteleather, a Griffincrest advisor to the Zakrapatian military, looked through his binoculars as his Mercury cruised down the Friedlicher autobahn. There were no roads like this in the Confederacy, and it was a shame the people who built it wold have to have it turned against them, he thought to himself, but such is life. Nothing was in sight yet, and so Octavius decided to relax. He shouted in Russian down to his driver for a lighter, and pulled out a cigarette. No sooner had he lit it, however, had the call came through of the lost chopper not far from his columns position. "Fuck...fuck just my luck" he thought, throwing the full cigarette onto the road before ducking into the vehicle and shutting the hatch.

Not all of the advisors had the easy ride that Octavius had. Colonel Lucius Greenbeard and a small team of about twenty other Griffincrest mercenaries were stuck with a Zakrapatian rifle division that had just seized a small town. A pair of Zakrapatian soldiers were killed by local resistance, and despite the efforts of Lucius and his men, the Zakraptians slaughtered indiscriminately. To make it worse, one by one, the mercenaries, so drawn by the loot, were beginning to participate in what the Zakrapatians were doing. By the end of the night, even Lucius himself was converted, and began playing cards and drinking vodka with a group of other officers in the house of a family, currently layind dead on the street just outside.

Now came the next stage. SCUD missiles were beginning to be prepared, and were being launched against several major population centers (although they really weren't all that large) without mercy. Hundreds of missiles were cracking down, but none were ordered fired upon the capital. That would be taken by the sheer power of the Zakrapatian armoured fist, and none other. This was not the only thing that the Zakrapatian/Griffincrest officers had decided upon to break the spirit of the civilians of Friedlichen. Lewisite gas was also going to be deployed, and Griffincrest was supplying it to the Zakrapatian military by the shipload. The horrible blistering effects of the gas would, as the officers hoped, caused such horrific suffering that the people of Friedlichen would beg the government to surrender, no matter the cost.

[Saint Clair Island]

~ Overcliff, Frederickstown, Saevitian Archipelago. 1530 hours SA time. ~

The young man in the faded blue greatcoat watched dispassionately from the edge of the promenade, taking in the scene below from behind the sturdy railing. Two hundred feet below him he could see the main buildings of the Portside neighborhood of Waterfall City, where the Caledonia River had once plunged into the sea (now it was mostly dammed for use in the waterways of Frederickstown and diverted for agriculture and industry). And he reflected on how much the island had changed since he was a boy.

Once Saint Clair Island, the largest of the many islands making up the Archipelago, had been mostly farmland and empty space, with high snowcapped mountains always looming in the distance (and being exploited by weekend vacationers). Frederickstown had still been its largest city, but back then it had fewer than five million inhabitants, compared to more than thirty million today. There had once been marked separation between Frederickstown and Waterfall City, a stretch of the Caledonia along which no houses or buildings stood; now the capital was nearly on top of the port, sometimes literally, as here. And leading into the heart of the island from Frederickstown there was a new canal under construction, only half completed and already a major artery of commerce and industry.

Over the noises of the city and the distant sounds of the sea and the river, the young man heard footsteps, and turned around to face Frederickstown itself. He saw the distant skyscrapers, arranged in clusters around key neighbourhoods; he saw Lock #1 on the main Caledonia opening to allow a dozen boats access to the Waterfall City run; he saw the older buildings of Overcliff neighborhood, some of them dating back four or five hundred years, to the days when it had been a separate village an hour on horseback from Frederickstown itself. But he didn't really take those in the way he took in the man wearing a colonel's uniform, walking briskly across the promenade towards him with a newspaper in his hand.

"Still watching the press, Uncle?" asked the young man, the ghost of a smile hovering on his face.

The older man shook the newspaper at the younger one. "You'd do well to remember the power of the press, boy," he said. "It served your father well."

"Ah yes, my father, who did very little of consequence as I recall, because he was too worried about what people would think?" The young man leaned back against the railing, watching his boot tap against the brickwork. "Regardless. Let's have this paper, then."

"You're missing the point, Matthew -- as usual," said the older man. "Under your father's rule, Saevitia worked. It prospered. True, most of this was due to plans set in motion by your grandfather, but even if Robert did not take stands on major political issues, he accomplished things of importance for the nation as a whole -- rather than for any political faction."

King Matthew I frowned. "Mother was right. They only ever call you 'Your Majesty' when the cameras are rolling." He reached for the newspaper. "What did you wish to show me, Uncle?"

His father's brother, who was technically Prince Konrad, the Duke of Grandon, the Count of Frederickstown, and numerous other historically significant but ultimately meaningless titles, stabbed a finger meaningfully at the headline below the fold on page one.

IS WAR INEVITABLE?
The SARN mobilization is ostensibly a military exercise and blockade of a rogue state. But is it definitely going to lead to full-scale war, or only possibly?

Matthew scanned it, his frown deepening. "They do know that if we consider it a rogue state, diplomatic measures such as declarations of war can't be levied against it, right?"

"A formality," said Konrad smoothly. "We can still shoot at them. And it is the opinion of many that we will, whether we say so or not."

"So... what? I am to initial a declaration of war just because people want it?"

"You misunderstand, Matthew. People do not necessarily want it. But they expect it. It is likely that if it happens, they will accept it. Not wildly patriotic, but not openly disapproving."

"I see."

"Good."

"But what is the point of any measure other than warfare? Even the embargo has been ineffective. There are still foreign ships docking in Zakrapat, ignoring our statements."

"On the contrary. The embargo has been quite effective indeed. We maintain a small but active satellite network and regular long air patrols -- we know who is trading with Zakrapat despite our embargo. It's a corporation, one dealing mainly in oil, armaments, and mercenaries. Griffincrest. You probably wouldn't recognize the name anyway. Now that we know, we're going to bring them to court."

Matthew paused for a moment. "We can sue a corporation that is not a Saevitian national, over a violation of international law?"

Konrad twinkled at him. "Watch and see, boy."

~ Some six hundred nautical miles from Zakrapatian waters. ~

The initial taskforce deployed by the Saevitians was not large. It was one of the anti-piracy squadrons, usually sent to clean up troubled areas where merchant ships had disappeared or suffered damage, comprising no more than a dozen vessels. Its mission had been made very clear: prevent any international shipping from entering Zakrapatian waters, apart from humanitarian missions.

Commodore Valen Seria was leading the operation from the Athens-class ACL, Chennai. It was expected to be a relatively simple, if potentially long and rather boring, operation. Yes, they would experience resistance -- naturally -- but short of the actual Zakrapatian military attacking them, it seemed unlikely that anything could seriously shake the strike force. Nonetheless, Seria was rather apprehensive, as he stared across the endless sea from the carrier's deck. The contested region was full of violence, which could easily spill over onto his taskforce, and somehow the knowledge that SARN would show up in force were his squadron to be destroyed didn't help much. Seria was fine with dying for his country, but he'd much rather live to a ripe old age for it if that was a possible alternative.

Noises from behind him alerted him; he turned to see four K-39s rolling out of the elevator, evidently preparing for a flight switch. He decided he wanted to keep his hearing for a few more years and turned to go inside.

Official CSSA Communication
Encryption: Standard (key provided)

Dear Mr. Law:

Despite the apparent mobilization of the SARN, we do not intend, at present, to launch a military incursion into the Friedlichen-Zakrapat region, unless Saevitian nationals or shipping are threatened. Moreover, should our intervention be required at a later date, the Saevitian forces deployed would most likely be sufficient in numbers and training to deal with any enemy forces they encounter. In the unlikely event that the Confederacy's assistance would be required, however, we would be glad to contact you. In the meanwhile, we would welcome Mr. Halbi and his staff, if they are indeed interested in assisting us to maintain our embargo in force against Zakrapat.

Gerard Karajan
Sir Gerard Karajan
Crown Secretary for Foreign Affairs
9th Earl of Saint Thomas Island, etc., etc.

[OOC: I'll get to the embassy later.]

[Sortmark]

Flashback

"That is a lot of money."

"It is, Jarl. And as you know it is only the advance payment - if you accept."

Viktor Viktorsson glanced up from the suitcases to the black-suited Griffencrest man behind them.

"It's not common in this land not to give your name."

"Business decision, Jarl. I work for the Corporation and that is what is important." the other answered smoothly, as he had the last three times the question had been brought up. "And speaking of business, you've seen the offer, so let me ask you straight: do we have a deal?"

Viktorsson glanced at the contents of the suitcase again.

"My men get rights of spoil and this. No Hirdsmen will fight for simple pay, without battle-trophies."

For the first time in a while, the Griffencrest man allowed himself a smile.

"Plunder, my friend, is not going to be a problem... It is a very rich country, you see."

The man was holding out his hand. Viktorsson looked at it blankly.

"Do we have a deal?" the Griffencrest man tried again.

There was a short pause before Viktorsson reached for the suitcase, and nodded.

"For this and what you promised, I will send Hirdsmen to your war."

[Freidlichen]

Nearer, My God, to Thee

Hans' Shack
Somewhere in Freidlichen

The window pane swung inward, smacking against the inside of the wooden shack with a resounding thud, and Alois shut it again hurriedly, his son still cradled in his arms. It had been fairly easy to escape the village under cover of darkness and make for the mountains, though Alois honestly could not believe his luck in finding a warm bed, and even a television, with one of the mountain men who often roamed the north of Freidlichen. He returned to the hard wooden chair in front of the screen, which flickered to darkness intermittently and watched.

“We are broadcasting on all networks,” the news anchor began, his toupee lopsided and his suit torn. “If anyone is still watching, we will be on the air with you as long as possible.” He took a deep breath and continued. “We here in Altenberg and the northern expanses have been completely cut off, and Zakrapatian forces have been reported moving south rapidly. We urge any and all citizens with the means to do so to leave Freidlichen immediately and head as far south as possible into neutral territory.”

“Not bloody likely,” a voice muttered from the corner, accompanied by the sound of metal on wood. Hans, the owner of the shack, had undoubtedly saved Alois and his son from certain death, but there was no shaking the feeling that he was not a man to be crossed. As he whittled a wooden knife (with another knife, Alois noticed), Alois turned his attention back to the television, and the broadcast.

“Forces along the E-91 connecter have reportedly retreated further into the city, and Zakrapatian infantrymen have been seen as far in as Marxallee,” he said, his voice as beaten as his body appeared to be. “No word has yet reached us of possible foreign interventions, and—” A booming interrupted the anchor and the camera shook violently, followed by voices in the background. “No, I certainly won’t turn this camera off,” he said, rising from his chair. Three uniformed men with weapons advanced towards him as he turned once more to the camera.

“God save us all,” he whispered, before three flashes of light cut the camera off.

Marxallee, Altenberg

Johann attempted to cross himself, though his hands were shaking so much that they barely reached “the son” before he was forced to shake them out and start again. He poked his head over the pile of rubble he and his squad were huddled behind as two Zakrapatian T-72s rumbled unmolested down Marxallee, causing the pebbles to bounce up and down even as far down the street as Johann was. He turned to the other members of his team of Freidlicher Guardsmen; men who had trained with each other for some twenty years now—the best of the best of the best, facing odds so insurmountable that any hope of victory had faded the moment the first bomb fell.

“We’re all out of ammunition, Lieutenant,” the private next to Johann whispered, motioning towards his empty SG-550 assault rifle and grimacing. “The rest of Second Platoon reports a similar situation on the opposite side of the street.” Johann removed his helmet and ran his hands through his hair, flexing his neck and gazing upwards at the sky.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this one, boys,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky. The popping of gunfire was wholly one-sided now, as Zakrapatian infantrymen advanced warily forward, firing at nothing in particular. “Anyone feel like surrendering?” Not one man budged. “Right. Didn’t think so,” Johann murmured, though his eyes had still not left the sky.

“One hundred meters, sir,” the private said, peering through his binoculars at the advancing mass of men.

“Thank you, Nicklas,” Johann replied flatly. His eyes finally left the clouds, and when they met his men’s, they were bloodshot. “Fix bayonets, men.” The squad nodded slowly, removing the knives from their back pockets and affixing them to the barrels of their rifles, the clicking barely audible, even to him. “Men…” he began, trailing off and swallowing quickly. “It’s been an honor serving with you.” He grabbed hold of the pile of debris in front of him and hoisted himself up.

“Second Platoon!” he bellowed, his men already rising from cover. “For your families, and for Freidlichen—charge!”


…and with this in mind, I hereby offer my unconditional surrender. May God forgive me.

-Last words of Crown Prince Erich Krause von Freidlichen XXI

[Defense Corporations]

"David, I have an idea," Mondo said. He was always full of ideas. "See, it looks really bad for a nation like the Saevitians to hire mercs. But what if it's not the government who does the hiring?"

"Elaborate," David said. There was a kernel of an idea there, but it wasn't necessarily any good. Still, he didn't have much to do, and at least this kept Mondo busy while the other lawyers worked on gathering allies among the Big Five.

"Perhaps there's some sort of organization that could hire us? Some lobbyists?"

"Uh...no. Lobbyists hiring armies would cause people to throw fits." Mondo frowned, sighed, and thought a bit. David was considering getting up and leaving when Mondo smiled broadly. Aha, he's got an idea after all.

"Okay, so the government hires them. But not the top-level guys. Let me put it this way - do you actually write out every message your name appears on? Of course not! That's why we have secretaries and assistant secretaries and people like that. They do the work we're too busy to do. Well, why not contact one of those? Figure out who's particularly hawkish, ambitious, and foolhardy enough to risk being a fall guy among this Gerard guy's staff, get in touch with them, and see how that works!"

"It would require some time. But it could be done."

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

The surrender was accepted by General Ivan Coroniev, the man in charge of the Zakrapatian 1st Shock Army, the group tasked with making the spearhead into Altenberg. From him, the message was relayed to Yuri, and from Yuri, it made its way all the way around the world, to Paradise City, where it was read by Claudius Griffincrest to a jubilant boardroom full of sixty somewhat year old men, all cheering and breaking out the whiskey.

In the Zakrapatian war room, the generals all cheered and hugged as they also began to pour themselves drinks, though it was vodka in their case. Above them, outside of the Presidential residence, Yuri was giving a speech to the hug crowd of proud Zakrapatians that had assembled in the square below him. Fireworks lit up the sky as row after row of men and vehicles drove by in a grand military parade, unseen since the times of Stalin. Overhead, MiG's were performing all sorts of aerial acrobatics, and in the small port, the few vessels of the Zakrapatian navy were offering up a twenty one gun salute to those who had fallen during the fight.

No time was wasted in putting the massive Griffincrest reward to use, and several new public buildings were being planned, and statues of their great leader were being planned for placement all around the country, and also in the newly annexed Friedlichen. In Altenberg, Zakrapatian soldiers were tearing down any statues of the old government, and architects were drawing up their replacements within minutes of the word of the surrender.

All over the countryside, helicopters buzzed overhead, announcing in a variety of different languages that the Friedlicher government was no more, and that the citizens should lay down their arms. Not all of these helicopters were the bulky ex-Soviet ones that were used in the initial invasion, however. Now, a number of sleek black Griffincrest AV-18 VTOL gunships had joined in the mission, sweeping the ground with their searchlights hoping to catch any possible saboteurs or would-be rebels planning an ambush.

Mercenaries and their Zakrapatian comrades were all by now going on a spree, smashing windows and taking valuables and women for their use. Just like almost every other Griffincrest operation, scores of drunk and high mercs and soldiers stumbled along the streets, randomly shooting people and objects that presented themselves, singing drinking songs from back home as they went.

Octavius was looking out from the hatch on his Mercury once again as it slowly made its way through a street in downtown Altenberg, Not far ahead of him was the burned out wreck of a T-72, taken out apparently by an M-47 rocket. He casually smoked his cigarette as he looked at the rubble all around him, bodies being crushed under the wheels of the APC. Several of the Zakrapatians he passed by were drinking heavily, as were his own mercenaries, and he listened, when he was able, to their stories. Many of them had impressed him, and in a way he felt pity for the Friedlichers. He quickly pushed this thought away, but it would keep popping back into his head when he heard stories of just how bravely many of them died defending their beloved homeland.

In the sea just outside of the frozen port of Yalat, beyond the celebrating ships of the Zakrapatian Navy, the Griffincrest tankers began to grow concerned with the ships threatening sanctions. Just in case of a possible situation, the hidden missile systems aboard each ship was but on stand by, and the men on the Zakrapatian coastline were put on alert to provide support, if need be.

In Paradise City, nobody outside of the boardroom would ever know what was really going on. The situation was a mere flash in the Confederate newspaper, something which nobody really took notice to. Nations were at war all the time, it had seemed, and there were more important things, like the ongoing civil war, for the people to be concerned about. That night, the members of the board of directors all entered the limosines, and made their way back to their penthouses and mansions where they slept easily, not giving a second thought to the hundreds of thousands, if not millions of lives they had destroyed for the sole purpose of procuring a new market and additional untapped resources.

[Sortmark]

Viktor Viktorsson's Hirdsmen began entering Freidlichen about a day after the main assault had begun, since they were hired to be a garrison for conquered territory, not on the front line of battle. Nevertheless, news that the enemy had surrendered already, and that there might not even be any fighting caused surprise throughout the Hird and some disappointment.

Near Altenberg

Geirr Telfsen leaned back on the wheel well, and winced as the 4x4 bounced over ruts and the occasional large crack. He looked back over the convoy of trucks behind him, proceeding south near the remains of the main autobahn to Altenberg. A sharp contrast to its condition a few days ago, now the highway was littered with debris and dotted with the occasional burning Freidlichen or Zakrapat tank. News of the surrender had just been shouted back by the men in the cab, where the radio was, and now the Sortmarkers were discussing the news.

"These people are cowards." Varg, across from Geirr spat out into the road as he spoke. "They are already crying like a girl on her first night and I heard that people will not fight even to defend their houses."

The others nodded. They had heard the same, that there had been very little fighting overall and that the civilians were showing not much spine.

"And look at this. This is way to their capital city, and this is all they gave to defend it?"

Varg motioned to a lone Leopard lying half-smashed beside the road. Smoke still rose where the top had been mangled by some projectile or other.

"You know if this was Kiev or Novgorod no man would let the enemy into his city except over his dead body! By my arm, I don't know if I would carry a battle-trophy from men like these if I found one!"

Geirr shifted as he listened to the burly warrior rant on, then sat up straight and pointed ahead.

"Here, we can put them to the test Varg!"

The convoy was coming up on a small town, a village really, which looked relatively undamaged. The convoy was still very close to the border, and perhaps when the Zakrapat attack had overtaken this area there had still been fighitng going on, and no time yet for looting. Either way it was the first encounter with Freidlichen citizens for the Sortmarkers.

"See if these people have any guts in them after all. It is a little town and our friends in Zakrapat won't miss it even if it's gone, hey? Besides, it is our job to set examples and make sure nobody gets ideas of resisting the new bosses!"

"I don't know, looks kind of small. Not enough to go around maybe."

This was Adolph speaking, and his voice sounded doubtful. Nevertheless he was already reaching for his gun, which was leaning up in the corner of the truck bed.

"Oh shut up Adolph. If we run out of girls you'll have to take a boy, but you probably like that."

"That's what he's hoping for!" Varg cut in.

Raucous laughter filled the air as the truck ground to a halt and the Hirdsmen spilled out. There was a brief conversation with the following trucks, whose Hirdsmen quickly joined the growing crowd. Soon over a hundred Sortmarkers were advancing on the village, which probably held no more than 500 souls. Marching down the main, and only street and watching windows and doors carefully from behind their rifles, the Sortmarkers began to bang on doors and bring out the local population to stand shivering under watch in the center of town. They wondered whether any of the inhabitants would resist, not knowing that Freidlichen was so peaceful a country that the inhabitants did not even own guns.