SDNWorld Redux: Story Thread the Second

[RogueIce]

"Yeah...listen, there's a thing I wanted to talk with you about. You seem to be dancing around some issues when my wife's around...why's that?"

"Because I wasn't sure she made the transition from the old Nova Terra or not. I know she was with you from the start, but then so was Coyote's little harem - not that I think it was like that for you, but a King having a Queen would make sense. And it's been a good 45 years since I last checked SDNet, despite my aging amazingly well," at this Rufus grinned, "so I really don't know. I just didn't want to come across as some crazy guy, talking about SDN or the 'other world' in front of her if she didn't know."

[Shroom Man 777]

[THANKS SETZER!]


Sovereign Stories
Somewhere in Sirnoth

The Prime Minister's arrival at the Principality of Sirnoth was met with ceremonies and such, but it wasn't a big ceremony - as there were only twelve elephants. The big ceremony was reserved for the FUN Forum, which would be a couple of days later.

But Sovereign Setzer did come by to say hello and shake Shroom's hand, and then they drove off and after a morning's discourse that began with breakfast and lasted to lunch, the discussions on Free Unions of Nations got sidetracked by games of polo and an afternoon of fox-hunting and bloodhounding.

With the afternoon nearly done, Sovereign Sirnoth dropped the Prime Minister and his SSS men in the place that would be their residence for the duration of their Sirnoth-stay.


Stately Anethga Estate...

It was a quaint chateau, and leading to the manor's entrance was a path that took the Prime Minister through a garden populated by butterflies, surrounded by intricately cultivated flowers and other forms of exotic shrubberies. There were ponds of lilies, and there were dragonflies, kingfishers, and in the late afternoon atmosphere, chirping crickets could be heard.

Quite pleasant, the Prime Minister had to say so himself. Melfirth chose a very lovely place to call home. The rustic aesthetic of the chateau's interior contrasted with the outside gardening, but was rather cozy instead of pretentious - despite having all the trappings of things like fancy antiquated carpets, chandeliers, and even a few statues of naked Greeks flanking the hallways.

"Shroom?" a familiar voice said from somewhere, prompting the Prime Minister to turn his head.

"Ali?" the Prime Minister smiled as he saw the distant figure wave at him. "Hey, it is you! Come here, you!"

"Missed me?" Alison asked meekly as she approached her employer.

"Not really, I had Melchett keep me company," the Prime Minister replied nonchalantly, to which Alison pouted. "Awww... actually, Shrooming Street was rather quiet without you. It's not as fun watching those silly DVD movies by yourself. And with you gone, I actually had to familiarize myself with the workings of my own government - the office is a mess."

"Tee-hee!" Alison giggled at the Prime Minister's expense.

"So, what have you been up to in the month you've been here?" Shroom crossed his arms. "I sure hope you enjoyed your time here with Melfirth... I mean, Lady Anethga."

"Oh, I most certainly did!" Alison replied enthusiastically. "Come on, she's waiting for you!"

"Huh? Oh, yes. Of course."

With that dignified response, Alison grabbed the Prime Minister by the sleeve of his suit and tugged him into a room down the hallway. There, in that room, was a fireplace that casted a warm glow while at the same time making shadows on the walls... the walls lined with bookshelves carrying literature of obscure titles, walls lined with portraits and paintings of rather... sensual nature. There was also the faint smell of perfume, and as Shroom looked around, he discerned that the place was more like a lounge than a library - with very sofas and other furnitures both strange yet rather comfortable-looking, despite the peculiar positions they would put anyone sitting (or lying) on them in.

"Prime Minister, so glad to see you," Lady Melfirth Anethga made her entrance. She was wearing a rather slinky dress, and every movement of her body made Shroom notice that fact. "And you brought your lovely assistant. It's such a pleasure to see you."

The two girls hugged, wrapping each other in an embrace right there in front of the Prime Minister. After a while, the two of them eventually parted.

"We have a day or so before the conference begins," Alison began as she composed herself. "Will that be enough time?"

"I imagine he'll be quite exhausted," Melfirth went to lock the room's only visible door from the inside. "But in a good way..." she smiled. "Now, Alison and I already went through most of this book but we'll really have to start from the beginning."

Shroom was surprised. Lady Anethga, Melfirth, suddenly had a very thick and very heavy-looking book in hand.

"I'm glad you don't mind the extra work," Shroom loosened his tie. "So, what will we be doing first?"

"The first chapter deals with rank and precedence at a court function," Alison said.

"Huh? What?" the Prime Minister didn't quite get that.

"And then there are rules regarding gifts, how to display said gifts... " Anethga continued.

"What?!" by now, Shroom was getting a little bit confused.

"Titles of Rank and Titles of Function... "

"What?!" the look in the Prime Minister's face went from bewilderment to sudden realization.

"...and the proper standards of dress for any given function."

"Hence the outfits." Alison finished.

Wordlessly, Prime Minister Shroom went over to Melfirth and gazed at the big book she had opened.

The Sirnoth aristocracy are raised to believe that they must be deserving of their great wealth and power. With their privilege comes responsibility. While it would be wrong to assume they are completely self sacrificing, neither would it be fair to portray a Sirnothi noble as an isolated despot drunk on their wealth and power. They will usually work for the betterment of their inferiors, with the implicit idea that those benefiting from their actions will show appropriate gratitude.

Precedence: This is a simple rule. No superior must ever be made to wait for an inferior. Whenever there is a court function,
the highest ranking person invited should be the last to arrive. Thus, it is expected that everyone responds to an invitation to verify their attendance — so that the host
knows not to let the event officially begin until the most superior guest arrives.

If everyone adheres carefully to this rule, then superiors will always speak before inferiors, will always be the first served in matters of gift-giving and other procedures and will always be called upon to perform,
demonstrate or act before inferiors. Breaking this order of precedence implies a direct challenge of authority, and is an acceptable lead-in to a duel (even if it were unintentional — but not if it were directly caused by the superior).

Gifting: Among Sirnoth Nobles, the giving of gifts is a remarkable statement. Any gift given, whether in public or private, may imply affection, support or deference.
What is most important is that the gift demonstrates significance, effectively saying that the giftgiver believes the recipient is worthy of notice. Refusal of a gift is, of course, an insult proportional to the sacrifice the gift represents. A refusal can lead to a duel, if the parties involved are hot-headed enough, or to a long-lasting enmity, if they are not.

Many nobles give small gifts of jewelry to one another as a bonding exercise, simply to acknowledge ties of family or friendship (and to
make sure that anybody who sees the exchange understands that the participants are on good terms with one another).

It is customary, upon settling a dispute in a manner that is to the satisfaction of both parties, to bestow minor gifts as a final sign of reconciliation.

Display: To accept a gift is one thing. To wear or display it is something entirely different and provides yet another subtle statement to the gathered nobility.
Wearing an accepted gift in public implies a return of affection or support for the one who gave the gift:
It primarily symbolizes the giftee wishes to be associated with the gifter.
Not such a big deal in most cases, but when you’re talking about a noble who’s out of the Sovereign's favor, or a foreign figure considered a terrorist by some, it can be the source of significant scandal.

Display does not solely apply to gifts. Where you enter and where you stand are equally important. Standing at the shoulder of someone indicates support, while taking the arm is a declaration of affection.
Facing another person without bowing the head indicates a formal indifference, while bowing the head is a display of subjugation. Men greet each other by shaking hands, men greet women by kissing their extended hand, and women greet women by hugging briefly.

Simply attending an event indicates support for the host.
Thus, it is expected that all the nobility attend every official event (unless they want to bring their loyalty into question).
Even making an appearance at a function hosted by another noble can be considered a declaration of association, assuming the visit is peaceful.

Displaying a weapon carries no special significance in the Sovereign's Court. However, touching the hilt or grip of the weapon, even lightly, indicates a wish to duel. Nobles who are presented with such a demonstration must either rise to the challenge or respond with a submissive gesture.

Finally, displays of wealth are considered virtuous (and mandatory)
among the nobility. Ostentation can help secure a noble's standing in court,
by demonstrating their wealth to all and sundry.

Respect: While the nobility do not agree any more then normal people, they hide their disputes between a veil of respect.
Speaking crassly or insultingly to another noble is unacceptable. A profane word let loose by a careless tongue can destroy years of carefully cultivated status.
The principles of aristocratic society demand that respect be shown to both peers, and betters. While technically a noble can behave how they like with the lower classes,
if they do something other nobles see as cruel, petty, or otherwise unacceptable, it will damage the reputation of the noble in question.
Because of this rule, insults must always be covered in a veneer of courtesy.
In Sirnoth, it is best if one can completely humiliate one’s enemies, or force them into making a faux pax.
This damages not only the reputation of the noble in question, but their relatives and descendants.

Sirnothi nobles always refer to each other formally, unless the two are close personal friends. Formal address means using the given name and Title, such as Prime Minister Shroom.

Results:

FUN Forum is about to start. Alison and Anethga are making sure the Prime Minister behaves in a refined and cultured fashion, as to not embarrass himself in front of the uppity Sirnoth folks.

[PeZook]

"Yeah...listen, there's a thing I wanted to talk with you about. You seem to be dancing around some issues when my wife's around...why's that?"

"Because I wasn't sure she made the transition from the old Nova Terra or not. I know she was with you from the start, but then so was Coyote's little harem - not that I think it was like that for you, but a King having a Queen would make sense. And it's been a good 45 years since I last checked SDNet, despite my aging amazingly well," at this Rufus grinned, "so I really don't know. I just didn't want to come across as some crazy guy, talking about SDN or the 'other world' in front of her if she didn't know."

Paul nodded to himself, "Yeah, this is what I thought. Well...I can tell you that she remembers everything. I've been asking myself this question since the start of...this round. You know, whether or not she's, um...real, or not."

"But she remembers, so I decided to drop it. It would've driven me insane", Paul motioned with his hand, "And besides, we are our memories, aren't we?"

He paused for a minute.

"Anyway, I'm sorry about Kamila. I gave her two weeks off when you came to PeZookia, but, well...I couldn't keep her on vacation forever..."

[RogueIce]

"Anyway, I'm sorry about Kamila. I gave her two weeks off when you came to PeZookia, but, well...I couldn't keep her on vacation forever..."

"I know. And I heard through the grapevine that she's married now." Rufus let out a sigh. "It hurts, you know. But I've mostly come to accept things as they are. Although if I could I would punch Q in the face. And I, for one, refuse to accept that the old world is just dead and gone. I'd rather think that some form of us continues on, and the people of our nations are even still rebuilding from what that bastard Sheppard did. Maybe it's a fool's delusion, but it helps."

[RogueIce]

Internal SRAF Memorandum

The 13th, 16th, 32nd and 34th Fighter Interceptor Squadrons are to be redesignated as Strike Fighter Squadrons to coincide with their transition to the F-35 aircraft.

All Fighter Interceptor Squadrons equipped with the F-16 aircraft will retain their current designations until such time as they transition to the F-35 aircraft, at which time they will be redesignated as Strike Fighter Squadrons.

The 3rd and 4th Fighter Squadrons are also formally activated as F-22 equipped units.

[Norseman]

Isbilliyah, South Velaria

A small crowd surrounded the Sirnothi reporters wherever they went, some of them were the BOSS minders there to keep them safe, some were guides, and others were curious locals who'd never seen foreigners before. As they passed through the dust covered streets the Sirnothi's filmed everything; rescue workers going through the rubble, screaming women holding pictures of their children, and half of a teddy bear peering out from under the rubbish.

"This is the site of the communist attack on our city," the guide intoned.

"Was there any damage to the military facilities?" the reporter asked.

"None! It's as if they weren't even aiming at those."

"What did this use to be?"

"That building was a Children's Creche, want a look inside? Come."

Inside the air was musty, and the walls covered by children's drawings, and turned over or broken desks. A middle-aged woman stood by one of the walls, trying to salvage the drawings there. When she spotted the camera she tried to pull away, but immediately the guide ran over and begged her to come speak to the reporters. It took a while, but in the end he persuaded her to come.

"My poor children, my poor children," the teacher said, wiping her eyes, "We've been hiding them in a bomb-shelter ever since the attack."

The report went on like that, interviewing teachers, small children gap toothed children holding small toys, and of course the parents. Most of who still had deep black rings under their eyes. Further away the reporters witnessed Astarian Army personnel handing out special gasmask bags designed for small children.

Their last stop was at the cemetery, where they panned the cameras over the fresh graves, covered with flowers, pictures, and small stuffed animals. There was a woman by one of the graves, kneeling down, and resting her hand on the tombstone, tears streamed down her face.

"And what about her?" the reporter asked, "Can we talk to her?"

The guide shook his head, "She's been mute for several weeks now. Ever since her child died."

Tonkin News Network

The images the Sirnothians had taken flashed across the scene, in typical sleek capitalist infotainment style, with a side helping of glurge. The talking heads looked grim, "And that is the result of Communist attacks on Astaria."

"No one deserves that."

"Not even Astarians eh?"

"Even back in the days of imperialism the great powers would at least make their demands known before opening fire, the Crimson Star Republic makes no demands they just attack."

"Typical communist aggressor, that's true."

"And now for the exciting Miss Tonkin semi-finals!"

IRT Times

Among other newspapers the IRT Times featured a double page colour ad, cunningly disguised as a real report. Here a respected, though financially struggling, journalist described in great detail the suffering that the CSR attack had inflicted on the common people. Then of course it condemned the use of violence before they had exhausted diplomatic means.

As the most read IRT newspaper it would circulate to millions of people, and it even had a nice international distribution. Furthermore similar pages found their way into many other international newspapers, spreading the news wide and far.

Regent's Office

The Regent turned off the television, "You know we couldn't get that good coverage if we paid for it!"

"As a matter of fact Excellence, we did pay for it," said Director of Section 8, "Quite handsomely too."

"I know, isn't international capitalism grand?" the Regent said, smiling widely, "But why didn't you get that talking head, whatshisname, to compare the CSR to rabid dogs?"

"That would have been two million extra, and we were already over budget."

"Ah well," the Regent said, and then he sighed, "Why do we have to knock ourselves in these ads?"

"It makes them seem more unbiased Excellency," the Director said, "That way more people will think it is a perfectly legitimate outpouring of criticism. If they simply attack Communism without acknowledging the, ah, somewhat low view the world community seems to hold of us, that would be bad."

"Yes, yes," the Regent said, then he picked up the note from the table, "And then there's the CSR 'compensation offer'." Lady Margaret snorted, so the Regent frowned, and in a mock serious voice said, "Now, now, we must be very, very angry, and very, very offended about this. We certainly shouldn't laugh."

"It's hard not to," Lady Margaret said, "And you know that means we're getting under their skin."

"You think?"

"Oh yes, calm rational thinking won't come up with something like that," Lady Margaret said, "Our enemies are passionate, romantic, they think with their hearts, not with the..." She touched her head.

"True, but that also makes them dangerous," the Regent said, he slowly lit the note on fire, "Pity it's too over the top to be believable propaganda."

"Yes."

"And Minister Akhtar?"

"He knows, but he's agreed to keep it hushed up. As you say it's a bit too over the top for good propaganda."

"You know," the Regent said, as he watched the note burn, "If they're angry it means they'll be coming after us again."

"Indeed it does Excellence."

[Norseman]

[OOC: Astarian post 2/3, once number 3 is out it's all fire free. BTW the war here is more or less a wag the dog sort of operation. Note that if Stas and company would hold off a bit I'll be sure to describe MaLF and MALP in more detail. I've talked about this idea to others, but being busy I haven't had time to do a proper writeup.]

Astarian Television

The national anthem "God Save Astaria," began to play as the Seal of State appeared on every television screen in Astaria. The central image was of a yeoman farmer ploughing his field, rifle on his back, and a cosy homestead in the background. Above him was a banner with the text "Freedom or Death," and surrounding this image a wreath made from wheat, tobacco, cotton, and indigo plants. The outer ring bore the legend "Grand Seal of the Free Republic of Astaria."

Then the seal faded away, to reveal the Regent, standing behind a podium flanked by deep red drapes, and the Grand Seal on the wall behind him. The music stopped as he prepared to speak.

"I call on you to look across the seas, to gaze upon the outside world. What do we see there? To us it seems a nightmarish place, where tyrants oppress great nations, robber barons exploit the capitalist system to crush the people under heel, and great ideological menaces try to spread their madness across the world. It is a horrid place, and instinctively we recoil from it, revolted by what we see.

"SO what then is Astaria? A light among the nations, where for over a century we have lived in peace and tranquillity, here even the meanest citizen can rest assured that no one can trample on his rights. Astaria is a beautiful land, bountiful and rich, and we have always stood ready to defend her.

"Jealous hateful eyes now gaze upon Astaria, angered by our peace, by our freedom, and see our small nation as nothing more than a tasty morsel. The Communist nations, who would confiscate your property, and reduce you all to nothing more than serfs toiling in the machinery of the state. There is also the Capitalist nations, who see each man and woman as nothing more than cogs in the machinery of finance, no more than a tool for making more money. Two bestial systems, almost equally depraved, now seek the ruin of our fair state.

"Great and strong they may well be, but they lack heart, they lack the courage to strike against those who could fight back. Only some days ago fifty men, women, and children were burned to death by one of their hit and run raids. Not more than a couple of months ago they rained missiles on our harbours, then too they killed only civilians. By these means they seek to terrorize us, to frighten us, to make us cower down so we'll worship either the State or Mammon! Anything else fills them with hate. They cannot bear the thought of free people existing anywhere on the planet; freedom itself is abhorrent to them.

"We will not be frightened, we will not be cowed, we will not bend knee to tyranny and greed! This nation was built on the ideas and ideals of freedom and justice, if we leave those behind there is only darkness.

"True we will suffer in this war, but we have always suffered. Isolated, surrounded by wilderness, tormented by plagues and natural disasters, has not this always been our due? Has any year gone by without such suffering? No, not a one, not a one without hundreds, or thousands, or tens of thousands of deaths. We will suffer, but we have suffered worse before.

"Yet we are not without recourse. The Communist enemy has always supported maroon bandits hiding out in the mountains to the north of South Velaria. These bands have long been a terror to the people there, raiding, and destroying seemingly at will. Recently they've been strengthened still more by Communist weapons and supplies. They've grown confident and bold... and that will be their undoing.

"I have ordered the Third Army, and the First and Second Colonial Armies to prepare an offensive against them. For over a year now we have built up supplies, prepared runways, and moved artillery pieces into position. They cannot hide in the wilderness anymore, we will go in there, we will blaze a trail, lay down roads and railways for more troops and workers to follow. We will liberate their dark wilderness, as we will vanquish them, and force them into the light.

"Though dark days still lie ahead of us there is one thing we must never doubt, and that is the inevitability of victory. For as god made the heavens and the earth, so he made right stronger than might. May He bless you all."

Northern reaches of South Velaria

It was an immensely impressive sight, dozens of weighed-down fighter-bombers roared over head, releasing their heavy cargoes in the distant jungle. Gouts of flame and smoke rose in the distance, and then the heavy guns began to fire

A shout of "Yaa Dhiskiaon!" rose up from the hundreds of soldiers there as they charged into the jungle, occasionally stopping to fire their rifles.

It all looked wonderful for the cameras, excellent propaganda, but of course the real fighting, the real war was elsewhere...

Jungle north of South Velaria

The maroon village lay deep inside a river valley, well hidden by dense jungle foliage, as well camouflage nets spread across village clearings. The access routes were protected by mines, punji-pits, and of course hidden guard posts. Still no Astarian patrol had ever gone this far in, so the biggest fear was always airplanes. Usually Su-24s and 25s with napalm or gas canisters, depending on how angry the Astarians were.

Peter Al-Manib and two other MaLF guerrillas were eating their lunch in a small forest clearing. It was nice to have some light for once; it was also so murky on the jungle floor. Then they heard a loud droning noise, and looked up just in time to see two camouflage painted airplanes flash overhead. Peter scrambled towards the field telephone, and began cranking the handle, but in the distance he heard loud crashes and explosions; the bombing run was already underway.

"Hello! Hello! Base Station, this is Outpost 7," he yelled into the receiver.

It seemed like forever before he got a reply, "Outpost 7, this is Base Station, this is a gas attack. Maintain readiness."

Then he heard it, a soft thumping sound in the distance, "Base Station, Outpost 7 here, helicopters!"

"Outpost 7, this is Base Station, confirm helicopters?"

Peter Al-Manib craned his neck back, there was no mistaking it, those were helicopters, "Yes! Confirm helicopters!" Peering up he saw two gunships moving towards the village, "Confirm Hind gunships, two sighted, there may be more!"

"Confirmed outpost 7, gas is affecting village, resist or retreat as required."

As they spotted even more helicopters, heavier transport helicopters this time, they realised what the message meant: You're on your own.

*** *** *** *** ***

Looking out of the small porthole Corporal Alexander Moore was nervous, in fact he was terrified, but he kept himself together somehow. The jungle landscape had passed by in moments, and now they dipped into the stretched out river valley. Tall forest clad hills rose on either side of them, beneath them stretched an unnamed brownish river.

Then the whole Hind helicopter shook like a wild horse, there was a dull explosion outside, and even more wild shaking. Something streaked by just outside the window, and then the helicopter shook again as it began to fire its missiles.

Moments later they swooped down towards the ground, and the intercom crackled to life, "This is it boys, get ready to fight!"

As one they yelled, "Ay Resheph!"

Then the door slammed open, the Hind was hovering above the ground, but there was no time to wait. They threw themselves out, and rolled onto the ground, clutching their EM-2 rifles. Immediately they were under sporadic fire, but then the Hind's Gatling gun opened fire, forcing the enemy to keep their heads down, as the Hind once more rose up into the air.

"Move out!" Corporal Moore yelled.

His squad answered, "Yaa Dhiskiaon!" Before they spread out into standard attack formation, moving towards what they'd identified as the central point of the village.

*** *** *** *** ***

The attack had come without any warning, one moment Samir was relaxing with the rest of his squad. The next the air siren had gone off, and then the explosions began. Everyone ran outside, those who had them scrambled for their gasmasks, just in time to see a whitish fog spread across the village. Non-combatants, mostly women, children, and the very old, simply keeled over, with none of the struggle that Samir expected. For a moment he thought they were dead, but then he saw that they were still breathing. 'Knockout gas', it was good they were alive, but if the Astarians used knockout gas that meant something terrible; they wanted prisoners.

"Don't let them take you alive!" someone yelled.

Who they were was clear a moment later, when the first wave of Hind helicopters swept over the village. It was a terrifying sight; they sprayed flares, and jerked around in wild evasive manoeuvres as MaLF guerrillas hidden in the hillside fired their Igla MANPADs at them. The Hinds replied with concentrate Gatling fire and rockets, but to Samir's delight one of the Igla's hit a Hind, sending it crashing down into the underbrush on the other side of the river.

Then another swarm of rockets smashed into the village, and the first group of Hinds began to unload their soldiers. Dark green shapes, and when they looked at you there was a blank black surface where their faces were supposed to be. Samir had fought against the regular Astarian conscripts, but they would run for cover if they were under fire, the Special Assault Brigades just kept on attacking no matter what. Sometimes one or two of them would fall, but the rest would just jump over, or run around their own wounded, and continue the attack.

*** *** *** *** ***

Corporal Moore felt a raging erection press against his trousers, there was death and screaming all around him, but they were winning! Suddenly a maroon popped up from behind a hut, and began to fire. Corporal Moore shot back, dropping the maroon, and tearing open his stomach, but he was still alive until Corporal Moore shot him in the head. It basically exploded, splattering blood and brains all across the brownish soil.

Up ahead lay the largest building in the village, roughly fifty feet wide, mounted up top of poles that lifted it a few feet above ground. A couple of windows were open and used as firing slits, but other than that it seemed quiet.

"Let's go!"

Getting to the building meant crossing a courtyard maybe thirty or forty feet wide. It was the longest forty feet in his life. As they charged the Maroons began to fire, and they were damnably accurate, dropping men to his left and right. He kept going though, even when he felt a bullet tug at his sleeve.

Then he slapped against the wall, there was no time to lose, flashbang grenades went in through a nearby window, then he threw himself inside. It was dark, and he crouched down as he tried to see the enemy. The moment another soldier joined him they moved on, quickly as they could, hoping to overwhelm the enemy by speed.

Gunshots rang out the moment the looked into the hallway, then there were gunshots from outside, and then... the building shook, and dust filled the hallway. When they looked into it again they noticed that a dead maroon, laying in an odd way like a tossed away ragdoll.

Chaos.

More soldiers flooded into the house, and they began clearing it. One more there were gunshots, but then only silence as they passed from room to room.

It was towards the back that he found it, a medium sized room, where someone had spread a big map over a table. The gas seemed to have surprised them, so much so that one of them had dropped a glass bottle, which had shattered against the floor. Four men, and a woman, all of them wore maroon uniforms, if you could call them that. Two of the men were old and bearded, they fitted the description, but Corporal Moore was a pessimist in many ways. As he knelt down he half expected that they'd be only a pair of bush colonels, then he pushed aside the first ones beard, and examined the rank insignia.

An honest to God lieutenant-general!

"We got him! Damn but we got him!"

*** *** *** *** ***

The bedraggled maroon survivors were gathered into a courtyard, most of them trembled with fear, and tried not to look straight at the Astarians. The Major walked up and down the line, studying each of them, occasionally picking one or another to be sent back aboard the helicopters.

In the end there were still roughly eighty left, and even that was with half the village wiped out. Knockout gas was theoretically non-lethal, if you had medical treatment, but of course only the important prisoners were treated. As for the rest, well the remaining prisoners were soon put to work digging a deep trench, and throwing the bodies into it.

Corporal Moore watched the scene without much emotion; it was the way of things, no more. When the Major came over Corporal Moore straightened, and saluted.

"Corporal Alexander Moore?" the Major asked.

"Yes Sir," Corporal Moore answered.

"You're the one that found the bastard?"

"Yes Sir."

"Well done."

"Sir, I was just lucky."

"Don't sneeze at luck, I like luck, and beside you were in the front during the charge, Sergeant Moore."

"Sir, thank you."

"You've earned it, this was a rough one."

"Yes Sir, but... in the future could we just napalm them?"

The Major chuckled, "Don't worry, they'll fry soon enough."

Northern Expeditionary Railway Base #4

Brigadier Abd-al-khidr al-Icanti felt annoyed, yes certainly being in charge of this railway project was a promotion, but still... He had faced off the Japanistani military, and now he was building a railway into the Green Hell.

A very apt name, he had just come back from visiting the hospital. Even now it made him shudder, dozens of men half-eaten away by jungle fevers, most of which had no name. Who knew how many would die before this railway was complete? Hundreds without a doubt, probably thousands. Between the malaria, the jungle fever, the insects, and the damp heat, well the maroons were almost a delight.

There was activity all around him, huge sweaty slaves worked night and day to expand the railway, filling the air with the sound of metal against metal. Out in the distance trees creaked and fell, and big tractors pulled them out of the way. Forty thousand slaves, five thousand soldiers, two thousand free labourers, over 350 tons of food and water consumed each day, and close to ten times as much in other supplies. All to push two railway tracks a few miles forward each day.

Of course it wasn't just a railway, it was railways, drainage systems, buried communications cables, bunkers, and, for security purposes, clearing a strip a mile wide on each side of the tracks.

The din of the railway camp was so loud that he hardly heard the large An-12s flying overhead. They brought a smile to his lips, heavy, laden down with Agent Orange. If they could pour enough of that on the damn jungle maybe the Green Hell would recede a bit.

Then again maybe monkeys would come flying out of his butt...

[DarthShady]

Hotel Von Schrom

Two Black Hand soldiers; accompanied by two GROM commandos, approached the penthouse door slowly and carefully. Their orders were to set an explosive charge and blow open the door, this would be a signal for the other teams to start the operation. Down the hall the rest of their team was waiting, ready to go in at the first sign of trouble. The GROM commando began placing the charge, while his comrades carefully listened and watched. To their surprise the penthouse was as quiet as a tomb.

In the corner; near the door, a flowerpot was located. This wasn't unusual so the men ignored it and focused on the task at hand.

This proved to be a mistake.

The flowerpot had been specially prepared by Karic's men. It contained two kilos of explosive material and twice that amount of screws, nails and sharp metal objects.

The four men never stood a chance, the flower pot blew up spreading death through the corridor. Three of the men were instantly killed, and several others badly wounded. The place was a mess, blood and pieces of human flesh were smeared all over. Karic's men charged out, breaking down what was left of the door and. Bullets filled the air as the terrorists fired their assault rifles, explosions filled the hallway as grenades were thrown by both sides.The commandos found themselves in a dangerous situation, they had no choice but to retreat to the stairwell. In the stairwell they could set up a kill zone and gain the advantage.

Several men provided covering fire, while the rest dragged the wounded. For some reason the terrorists had retreated back inside the apartment, this gave the commandos enough time to drag their wounded friends to the safety of the stairwell.

"Move.", the Sergeant yelled. He didn't like seeing his men die. He was angry, so angry he could barely think straight.

"RPG!", someone yelled.

The Sergeant barely had time to turn around when someone slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and through the door.

"FUUUCK!!!", he screamed as he landed on the stairs.

The resulting explosion was so fierce that it blew the metallic door off it's hinges and into the stairwell. Luckily nobody got hit and it slammed into the wall.

"Motherfuckers!, someone shouted.

"Get ready.", the Sergeant yelled and his men obeyed. They were expecting the enemy to charge them.

To their surprise, the terrorist were not following them.

"These guys are a lot smarter then we thought.", one of the GROM commandos commented.

"Let's hope they are not smarter than us.", his friend added.

The sergeant waved his hand ending the conversation.

"All right boys, listen up. The Shroomanians are going in through the windows. These bastards won't have any other choice but to go through us. We can't let that happen."

"Yes Sir!"

Meanwhile Shroomanian special forces were now braking into the apartment though the windows. The apartment was previously filled with tear gas, and as they entered the only thing they could see was overturned furniture and smoke. In the centre of the room was an unusually large chandelier that seemed to have something taped to it.

"Clear."

"They're not here."

"Check the bedrooms."

"Sir, what is that?"

"Wha-"

The realization came too late as the chandelier exploded sending deadly pieces of metal flying through the room. Some managed to hide behind the furniture, the others were not so lucky. They were thrown back by the force of the explosion and cut down by the flying shrapnel. One of the men was thrown out of the very window through which he came in.

He slammed into the ground and splattered all over the side walk.

Soon another explosion was heard.

"Goddamn it.", one of the Shroomanians shouted.

"Jesus fucking Shroom Christ, the whole place is rigged with bombs.", his partner added.

"Get the sappers in here.", the Shroomanian Sergeant shouted, "And where the fuck are these bastards?"

"Sir the GROM/Black Hand team are holding the staircase. They didn't go though there."

"They couldn't fucking vanish into thin air. Search this place and be careful, there may be more booby-traps."

A few frantic moments passed as the Shroomanians searched the penthouse.

"Sir, you need to see this."

"What?", the sergeant shouted and followed the soldier to one of the bedrooms.

"Holy Shit."

The Sergeant was surprised at seeing a hole in the floor, where the bed was supposed to be. The terrorists had drilled their way down with explosives, completely circumventing the Stairwell ambush.

There was another hole in the floor below.

"All units, the terrorists have evaded us. They are on their way down.", the Shroomanian Sergeant shouted into his radio. "Smart fuckers. They must know the layout of this place inside out, while we had to contend with those awful floor plans that looked like someone used them to wipe his ass. Move out men, we're going after them. We'll leave this mess to the sappers.", he said and jumped through the hole, his men followed.

Police helicopters were now landing a sapper squad on the roof, they needed to disable any remaining bombs before they could be detonated.

Meanwhile Karic's men had almost reached the lobby, after blowing their way two floors down and evading the cops.

"Dumb Fuckers, aren't they?", one of them said as he ran.

"Yeah.", his friend added.

"You've got to hand it to the boss. He's one smart bastard."

"That he is, now shut up and get ready. There is bound to be more cops in the lobby waiting for us."

However, unknown to them the combined task force had set up two ambushes, one in the hotel lobby and another in the basement. Meanwhile police helicopters were now landing additional troops on the roof and sappers were disarming the remaining booby-traps in the penthouse, while the Shroomanian team followed the terrorists.

Karic's men would soon find themselves between a rock and a very hard place.

The hotel lobby of the Hotel Von Schrom was a work of art. Beautifully decorated with high priced paintings, expensive furniture and ancient statues. Now it had become an ambush site with overturned furniture and improvised barricades. The large wooden door that lead from the lobby to the staircase were closed, and now every soldier in the lobby had his weapon pointed in their direction.

The terrorists had reached the ground floor and were preparing to assault the lobby, they knew there was no time to lose. The cops had more friends coming down from the top floors.

They attached a small bomb to the door and took cover.

The Resulting explosion tore the door to pieces, sending large parts of it flying into the lobby. Grenades flew through the air landing on the improvised barricades and making them dissapear in a flurry of explosions.

Unfortunately for Karic's men, the commandos were ready this time.

"Fire.", someone shouted.

Bullets filled the air as at least twenty commandos fired their weapons, muzzle flashes illuminating the lobby. The Terrorists charged the commandos, firing in return and throwing themselves behind anything that could be used as cover. The walls received new bullet hole shaped ornaments, floors exploded as more grenades were thrown.

"DIE!", one of the terrorists shouted and charged the commandos, only to be cut down by a hail of bullets.

The terrorist commander hid behind a sofa, trying to coordinate his men; suddenly his head exploded splattering blood and pieces of his skull and brain on the sofa. A police sniper smiled in the distance.

"FUCK! We're getting slaughtered. We have to do something.", one of the terrorists panicked as he covered behind a statue.

"Shit", his friend answered firing his AK-47.

A spread of bullets struck the statue disintegrating it and turning the man behind it into Swiss cheese. He fell down with a look of shock in his eyes.

"Nooo! You bastards.", his friend shouted and began firing his AK wildly. He managed to hit one commando in the leg before getting cut down.

After five minutes of frantic fighting, the last of Karic's men fell down. Wounded and bleeding he tried to crawly his way to his weapon. It was a futile effort. He was soon surrounded by taskforce commandos.

"It's over.", one of the commandos said and flipped the man on his back.

Everyone was shocked when the man revealed a small detonator and before he could be stopped he pushed the button, detonating the large bomb and blowing the penthouse and the sappers in it, to pieces.


After getting confirmation on what had happened the Black Hand Commander approached the man and shot him in the head.

"Fucking bastards.", he said. Everyone else was silent.

What was once a beautiful lobby, was now nothing more than a ruin. Bullet holes riddled the walls, priceless pictures were torn to pieces. Broken glass and shell casings littered the floor. Broken statues and dead terrorists everywhere, the place was a mess.

"This was interesting...", Brigadier General John Kulinsky the GROM commander said pushing a dead terrorists body and sitting down on a blood soaked chair.

"A bit too interesting.", Nero the Black Hand Commander added.

"How about a drink Comrade?", Kulinsky asked.

"You're buying.", Nero smiled.

"Deal.", Kulinsky said .

Soon the area was crawling with police officers, paramedics and fire-fighters who were trying to put out the Penthouse fire that the explosion caused.



One week later...

"So it's him?", The RIS commander asked.

"Yes, the body you recovered from the penthouse is that of Srdjan Karic.", the medical examiner said, "We have confirmation through his dental records."

"So...the bastard is finally dead.", the RIS commander said.

"Good riddance.", The NOD commander said, "A lot of people will be happy to hear this, especially the Premier."

The following evening...

The streets around Hotel Von Schrom were empty, not a living soul for miles around. Everyone was sleeping, everyone except him. Srdjan Karic crawled out of his hiding hole and out onto the streets of Farbanti. He lit a cigarette and smiled, his ride had arrived. A black car parked across the street, with Rotan's smiling face looking at him.

"How does it feel to be dead boss?", Rotan asked as Karic entered the car.

"It feels great.", Karic laughed, "It is very liberating."

[Shinn Langley Soryu]

Ashford Times Headlines in Brief

Frigates Ordered from Byzantium Officially Commissioned
Ships due to be in active service with the fleet by mid-year

Tian Xia Arms Deal Finalized
F-14 Tomcats to replace A-6 Intruders in maritime strike role

KyoAvi Unveils Prototypes of Militarized ERJ 145 Jet
AWACS, recon, maritime patrol variants planned for limited-scale production

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE? Y / N

[Raj Ahten]

Parliamentary Election Results In.

Indhopals Parliamentary elections are now over. President Raj Ahten's close ally the MDC coalition lost big in the election to the right wing Independence party. The MDC now only has a razor thin majority. Many analysts think the new government will likely be paralyzed by infighting.

[Setzer]

The FUN conference was being held in a grand reception hall built specially for this event. It was made of fine marble, with brightly painted Corinthian columns. The gardens outside had all manner of exotic flowers, which would be changed daily.

His citizens would have their own misconceptions of hierarchies based on who arrived when. Therefore, he'd built the entrance with many doors, enough for several dozen to enter side by side. With the appropriate amount of fanfare, the various leaders would enter, each following a standard bearer carrying the respective national flag. That saved the trouble of publicly announcing them (with the ranking the order would imply), while ensuring that everyone was aware of their identities.

That was the first problem out of the way. Now he just had to make sure there weren't other difficulties. The night's events seemed harmless enough. After the reception, there was the feast. All the dishes were cut into tiny pieces that spoons and forks could easily handle. Therefore, the absence of knives would have a logical explanation. A logical explanation besides "So the attendees couldn't stab each other."

Afterwards, the guests would relocate to the conference chamber upstairs. There, they would discuss various matters concerning FUN, FASTA, and probably many other acronyms Setzer had never heard about.

[Norseman]

The Regent's Dream

It was warm, late summer perhaps, out on the Northmeer estate. The grand ballroom was filled with revellers, men in bespoke suits, and women in designer dresses. A swirl of colour and elegance as the orchestra played a waltz, and everyone danced, danced, danced, as the sun began to set.

The Regent felt, felt like Walter Northmeer, felt like someone else from far away...

"I didn't think you'd be dancing."

Walter turned to see who interrupted his chain of thought, and blinked, it was his son, one of them anyway, but...

"Yes I'm the dead one," Jack, his son, his handsome young son, smiled and leaned close, "The one you killed."

"I don't think I killed you," Walter said, "Not directly anyway."

"Of course not, and King David didn't kill Urias either," Jack smiled, "Not directly anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes, part of you are, the part that's not my father. You're in the body of a devil."

"He means well."

"No, no, some of the things he wants to accomplish are good, but he doesn't mean well," Jack leaned closer, "He sacrificed his own son for politics, look." Jack seemed to be melting, as if he was a wax candle and the fever the flame, blood began to run from the skin, "Horrible way to die! A relief when they shot me, really."

"It had to be done."

"Now that's my father speaking!"

"For what it's worth it hurt."

"Oh, killing the innocent hurt? Or just family?" Jack pointed at the ballroom, and as the light of the setting sun struck the dancers they bled, and fell onto the ground.

"The last great plague."

"Yes, the 1980s."

Death all around him, everywhere, he walked onto the ballroom floor, through growing pools of blood, and yet the orchestra played on. Then he passed outside through the glass doors, onto the great garden that surrounded the mansion. Somehow he knew where he had to go, the lookout point. Here you could see across two counties, and see the villages of the Northmeer estate.

The old man was waiting there, ancient and grizzled, writing down a long list on a scroll. With each item the shadows grew longer, and the light redder, red as blood, an ominous shade hovered over the land. He didn't seem to notice Walter's arrival, or if he did he failed to act.

"What are you writing?" Walter asked.

"Things to come," the old man said.

"Blood, death, plague, and war."

"That is your punishment, for dwelling in the Green Hell," the old man smiled, "All but the last; that is new." He opened the scroll, and upon it was written names and fates, of nations as well as people.

Walter leapt forward and wrestled with the old man, who was far stronger than you would think, but somehow he wrested part of the scroll from the old man. Then he staggered back, while the old man showed the part of the scroll, seeing it Walter blanched.

"I will trade you this for the scroll," the old man said, offering the scrap that was left.

"No," Walter said, and then somehow swallowed the scroll whole.

The old man smiled, "Fool, that is much suffering you have swallowed, but I will trade you this for your fine white cloak."

At this Walter became away of his cloak, which folded around him silken like, and seemed to shield him from the world around him. For a while he stood there, frozen, pondering what he should do, but then he shook his head, "No."

"Ah what fools you mortals are," the old man's smile vanished, "They will never forgive you."

"Who will never forgive?"

"None of them, none of them will forgive, and you will see, you will see."

Walter wrapped his long white cloak around him, "I still have my cloak."

"What hath a man more of all his labour, that he taketh under the sun?" the old man smiled again, "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity."

"God will forgive."

"Dies Ira," the old man said, and his voice was deep and terrible.

That's when the Regent woke up, shivering and bathing in sweat.

Cabinet Meeting, Regent's Palace

The room was quiet, deathly quiet, the Regent watched the ministers as they finished reading the various proclamations and acts. None of them seemed to have anything to say about it.

"Is it done," the Regent asked at last.

"Yes Excellence, the country is shut down. Plague protocols are fully in place, the reserve is partially mobilized, and emergency stores opened," said the Minister of the Interior John Hewith-White, he wrung his perfectly manicured hands, and added, "But Excellence, this will be devastating for the economy. Not as much so as, our other ventures, or the war time mobilization, but..."

"We all make sacrifices," the Regent said, "All of us. However in the end our sacrifices will give us victory. That I think is worth it."

"Given that this might provoke our enemies into launching a massive offensive, shouldn't the cabinet disperse?" Lady Margaret asked.

"Yes, I think that would be best," the Regent said, "They may hurt us, but we should do our best to avoid a decapitation strike. Now then, I have to see the Archbishop."

Chapel, Regent's Palace

The archbishop was dressed as simply as a man who held his office could be, which meant a bespoke suit, with a purple shirt, and his collar on too. In fact he looked out of place in the gilded baroque chapel, surrounded by saints in elaborate Byzantine costumes.

"Bless me father for I have sinned," the Regent said as he entered the chapel.

"Is there time for a confession?" the archbishop asked.

"No, too many sins, and too deep," the Regent said, before looking for a seat, "I've used fear, deceit, and bribes to corrupt the House of Commons. I've authorised the Bureau of State Security to violate civil rights, I've abused state ownership of television frequencies, and... I have in short behaved like a tyrant in the making."

"Perhaps it would be best if I heard this under the seal of confession," the archbishop said.

"No, no," the Regent said, "Too many crimes to atone for you know."

"Christ have atoned for you."

"Yes, but that is my hope for the day of judgement," the Regent looked up at the crucifix, "But in the here and now my sins torment me. I am sure that it has to be done, to make them vote my way, and yet... Every tyrant probably had the same certainty."

"Your sins should torment you, until confessed and forgiven, but may God be so merciful as to make our works turn out for the best, despite our weaknesses."

"Yes, right now..." the Regent looked up, "Here and now, I think God's mercy is all I have to hope for."

Astarian Television

Once more the the national anthem "God Save Astaria," began to play with the familiar background of the Great Seal of State. As the music and seal faded away it revealed the Regent, standing behind a podium flanked by red drapes, and with the Great Seal on the wall behind him.

"People of Astaria, you have heard of our great victory against the maroon bandits in South Velaria. Many of their leaders are now our prisoners, the seemingly impregnable strongholds have fallen to our brave men in the field, and the impenetrable wilderness seems to be anything but. As they are coming to learn we know the jungle just as well as they do, but where they skulk and hide we bring civilization.

"However this victory came at a great cost, a cost in workers, in material, in weapons, and in lives. Meanwhile our fleets must be ever vigilant, not only to defend our coasts, but to prevent pirates and other criminals along the Velarian coast from taking advantage of our distraction. Our airforce guards the skies, so far deterring the enemy from launching the feared massed bomber raids. And yes, our civil defence force does its best to protect the civilian population from further attack.

"Despite this these efforts are not enough, if things go on as they do now we will run out of munitions, we will not be able to repair further damage to our ports, or to properly defend our own population from enemy violence. If things go on as they do now darkness awaits us.

"Therefore things cannot go on as they are now. We stand at a threshold, and we must decide whether we will re-enact the fall of Rome, and let the rampaging enemy forces find the streets packed with drunken revellers. Or if we will do as the ancient Romans first did, as our pioneer fathers did, and join ranks, pool our resources, and make whatever sacrifice is called for to see this war to a victorious end.

"I for one know what path I would chose, our motto is 'Freedom or Death', and defeat in this war means nothing short of the loss of our freedom! We will make whatever sacrifices are necessary! We will endure whatever must be endured! And we will win!

"Yes we must sacrifice, and that is why I asked Parliament to pass three bills today. They are in order the Labour Mobilization Act of 2010, the Labour Registration Act of 2010, and the Luxury Imports Act of 2010. As of today all slaves will be nationalized with compensation for the benefit of the war effort, the Labour Registration Act provides for a temporary agency that will register all slaves and their current situations so as to enable us to allocate their labour more effectively. However until such a time as any one slave is needed for the war, or after such a time as the slave is no longer required, their previous owner will retain the rights to his or her labour, as specified in the terms of the Labour Mobilization Act.

"This is a harsh measure, harsher than any we have passed before, however at such a dark moment in our history it is madness to let twenty three million workers remain unused. We must mobilize all our strength to be able to stand against the dark forces that are arrayed against us.

"God bless Astaria."

Byzantine Embassy

Mouzakios Kyriotes was a career diplomat, but even he had been shocked by the recent turn of events. The whole country shut down, well not entirely but from his point of view it was close enough. Then there was this peculiar speech, and troop movements, and strange whispers. It was enough to make him snap, "What is taking so long? I want a copy of these Acts, and any recent Regent's Orders."

His young assistant bowed humbly, "My Lord the local internet connection is very slow; both Parliament and the Regent's website are blocked."

"Well keep working at it!"

"Yes My Lord."

It was nearly an hour later before he got a hold of the text of the Acts, he began to read while the pages were still warm of the printer. As he read his frown grew deeper, "Where is our legal counsel! And the military attaché!" When the two of them arrived he got them to read for themselves, and both of them seemed very perplexed, "Well does it say what I think it does?"

"Yes My Lord," the legal counsel said, "But it's very peculiar."

"I've read the Regent's Orders, and if they're serious," the military attaché shook his head, "They seem to anticipate an adverse reaction from the CSR."

"Yes, so they do, so they do," Mouzakios Kyriotes nodded sagely, then he picked up his pen and began to write.

Ee Democratia tis Astarias echei katargisei tin douleia. Oi proin douloi echoun metekselicthei se ypiretes me dekachroni symvasi. Tha akolouthisoun perissoteres plirofories. Parakaloume opos enimerosete ton Aftokratora to syntomotero dynaton.

[PeZook]

James Stephen Memorial Hospital

Convincing Dr. Gorman to let Rebecca and her consultants from the Abolitionist Society take a look at Kasia was a horrendous ordeal, but ultimately successful. Gorman still controlled the visits tightly, but he had to admit that being able to talk with a trained psychologist who spoke PeZookian could only do his patient good.

For the first few days, all she could do was cry and hug Rebecca. Slowly, however, she opened up and the real therapy could begin. It was obvious the girl would have emotional problems for years, but she had a strong personality - stronger than most, the Society psychologist explained, who almost invariably broke down after being rescued or otherwise freed. Especially since Oliver Gill apparently liked to reshape the identity of his...playthings.

But he was dead. While recovery would be long, that man would not hurt another human being ever again.

Despite the fact that, after a week, Kasia confined in Rebecca most of even the most shameful events from her horrible ordeal, she requested not to see any of her friends or the soldiers who freed her. That, along with binge eating, relationship dysfunction, confidence problems and other behavioral problems would trouble her for a long time.

While Kasia was being treated and given proper attention, two dozen other slaves were recovered, from all around Astaria. Most women had the same set of problem as Kasia, while the men were treated far better. They were all concentrated at specially designated facilities in Bleak Castle, where teams of psychologists could debrief and treat them properly.

As days flew by, with PeZookian and BOSS investigators working furiously to finally close the case, international tensions rose, and with them came travel restrictions and mobilization of the economy.

Dixie Hotel

Amanda was packing. The liaison team was almost done in Astaria, and she couldn't wait to return home. Dad was probably worried sick, only getting occasional updates through the Byzantine embassy. No international phone lines went out of Astaria, and their Internet was cut off from the world. She wondered how her brother was doing - he was stationed at Jerusalem, and he promised to get Amanda a few trinkets from the Space Center there. All in all, she was happy to leave - and even happier that she got to do that with the people she and her colleagues came here to find.

Somebody knocked on her door right as she was trying to stuff her clothes - which seemed to have balooned somehow - into the same bag she brought them in.

"Who is it?"

"Sebastian"

She opened the door. Sebastian was there, and he seemed worried.

"Have you seen the news?", he asked right off the bat

"Why, I'm glad to see you, too!"

Sebastian didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes. He grabbed Amanda's
remote and flipped her TV on, setting it to the news channel.

"There was an attack on one of the highways near the shore. Something like fifty people killed.", he commented, pointing to the screen. It showed dozens of burned-out cars littering a stretch of road.

"Jesus...what was it about? Do they know?"

"Some sort of anti-slavery partisan groups claimed responsibility."


They watched in silence for a while. The Astarian propaganda machine was already beginning to milk this for what it was worth, even before the news segment was over.

"I thought there were no anti slavery partisans here.", Amanda finally said. For some reason, she couldn't find much sympathy for the victims. It was a horrifying feeling, somehow, but she reminded herself these people held human beings like cattle, and saw nothing wrong with it.

"That's what the BOSS says, of course. They think it's a setup of some sort."

"So, how does that concern us?"

"I don't know. But apparently, Whitcomb wants to see us at Bleak Castle right away."


Bleak Castle, January 20th 2009

Getting to Bleak Castle was something of an adventure in itself; Montalba was under a black out order, and there were multiple roadblocks on the way too. Each of them manned by a group of humourless, sub-machinegun wielding BOSS stormtroopers. Astaria had always been a tad paranoid, but today, these last twenty-four hours really, things had gotten completely out of hand. The whole country seemed to have shut down; the official explanation was a nationwide emergency drill.

When they finally got there the car drove into the dark underground garage, a garage that seemed ominously empty. There were only a handful of other cars, and when the doors slammed shut the sound echoed through the hall. Moments later the welcoming committee arrived, that is Captains Whitcomb and Parkhurst.

"What is so important that we have to come here?", Sebastian asked. He wasn't even angry or irritated: the situation seemed serious, and even Whitcomb didn't seem lighthearted.

"Lady Margaret wanted you here tonight," Allan Whitcomb said, as if that explained everything. He stopped for a moment to light a cigar, then he added, "I'm sure there's a good reason though."

"I hope so", Sebastian answered, "To be honest, we were preparing to leave."

"That..." Whitcomb began, he sucked on his cigar, "That maybe difficult."

"Difficult?"

"Let's go inside, it's much nicer there."

They passed through the hallways of Bleak Castle, until they wound up in a large comfortable meeting room. Someone had set out a small buffet, and there were comfortable leather chairs surrounding a big eighty inch plasma screen TV; and imported Tonkinese model.

Everyone mingled for a bit, wondering what this was all about. The investigation was winding down, and most of the team was packing in the hotel when BOSS troopers came to bring them here. For the past two weeks, severe travel restrictions were in place, and civil defence drills seemed to be run almost daily. If they were drills.

Fifteen minutes later Lady Margaret entered the room, "Ah how good to see you, I'm so glad you could make it here tonight. I'm sorry for being late but I was in a cabinet meeting, but don't worry there's," she checked her watch, "Still time."

"Time for what?", Amanda asked. She was already looking forward to getting out of this country.

"Time to watch the Regent's speech of course," Lady Margaret said, before she picked up a remote control and turned the television on.

The Astarian coat of arms came up on the screen after a brief propaganda message reminding citizens to keep their gas masks on hand. Then, the Regent appeared, sitting behind an oaken desk, with flags viisble behind him. The scene had an aura of extreme importance about it.

"People of Astaria, you have heard of our great victory against the maroon bandits in South Velaria. Many of their leaders are now our prisoners, the seemingly impregnable strongholds have fallen to our brave men in the field, and the impenetrable wilderness seems to be anything but. As they are coming to learn we know the jungle just as well as they do, but where they skulk and hide we bring civilization."

The Regent continued in this vein for quite some time. The PeZookians listened on along with BOSS people, while shooting each other confused looks.

"...if things go on as they do now we will run out of munitions, we will not be able to repair further damage to our ports, or to properly defend our own population from enemy violence...As of today all slaves will be nationalized with compensation for the benefit of the war effort, the Labour Registration Act provides for a temporary agency that will register all slaves and their current situations so as to enable us to allocate their labour more effectively."

Everyone's attention perked up at this point. The Regent was explaining the most important points about his wartime declarations now.

"...this is a harsh measure, harsher than any we have passed before..."

The Regent continued, stressing the importance of these regulations for the war effort. The PeZookians watched on, somewhat confused.

"God bless Astaria!"

The speech ended, and silence fell in the room.

"So...what was that all about?", asked one of Gralewski's technicians.

"An emphasis on the importance of our war effort," Lady Margaret said, then she picked up her briefcase, and handed some papers to Sebastian, "This is the text of the latest war time measures, I think you'll find that they affect your mission. The Regent only touched upon the most important points in his speech.

After reading through it for a moment, Sebastian looked up, "Do you have a copy of the Astarian legal code?"

"There's a book of statutes on the desk over there, with commentaries, the section you're interested in begins on page 987."

There was a pause as Sebastian recovered the brick-like book, and flipped through it. Then there was another pause, a long one as he looked from the documents, to the legal code, and back, "This is impossible. Madness, he'll never get away with it."

"Madness? This is Astaria," Lady Margaret grinned widely, "I think that'll be a real kick in the chest for our enemies."

"Okay, can someone explain what the hell just happened?", Rebecca seemed irritated, and most of the PeZookians looked like they didn't have any idea what was going on, either.

Sebastian closed the book and rubbed his chin.

"Well...it seems that we witnessed was...well, essentially...abolition."

Everyone just stared at him in shock. Nobody expected that.

"What?", Amanda managed to spit out after a while.

"Let me explain...please, correct me if I got something wrong", Sebastian said the last part to Lady Margaret, "The Regent just decided to nationalize all slave ownership...with compensation, but all slaves are now government property...and according to this", he held up the statute texts, "Government slaves are never sold, and they're usually freed after a while but, he's gone one further, he's formally converted them into indentured servants," he held up the statute text, "I just had to make sure it wasn't a trick. Basically they're protected from all the tricks people use to prolong indentures; they get civil rights and all. Ten years from now they'll... well... they'll be completely free."

"Now you know why we are preparing for trouble.", Lady Margaret said after yet another pause ,"This might very well provoke a WMD attack, which is part of the reason why we've gone into bunker mode."

Amanda gave Lady Margaret a strange, disbelieving look, "WMDs?"

"Weapons of Mass Destruction," Lady Margaret said, "Gas and biologicals."

"I know what WMD means, I'm sorry Ma'am but..."

"Yes?"

"Isn't a WMD attack..." Amanda looked for words, but from what little she picked up from Nalicki's explanation this situation seemed surreal, "Excessive?"

"And their actions so far aren't?" Lady Margaret asked rhetorically, "Our enemies are romantic, emotional, and run by ideology. At the very least the war will continue with renewed vigour."

"I really doubt it.", Rebecca commented

"Perhaps, but we won't risk the lives of citizens by betting on their sanity."

Result: The Regent pulls a fast one on the Astarian middle class and takes all their precious slaves away.

[PeZook]

Midgar, Shinra Republic

The King and President's chat was interrupted by an aide. The young PeZookian slipped in quietly and left a folder on the coffee table, and then slipped out without saying a word.

"Well, damn...looks like something important has happened...if you'll excuse me.", Paul put down the teacup and took the folder. He read it for a while.

"Holy shit...", the King eventually said, in a definitely non-royal manner, "You're not gonna believe this."

Paul handed the folder over. Inside was a two-page report on the Regent's speech from two weeks ago, and a short summary of the regulations introduced.

[MKSheppard]

Somewhere over Astaria

The reconnaisance drone flights of the past couple weeks had paid off, the people in AIR ASTARIA had been able to assemble a working sketch of the Astarian agricultural system and how it worked.

Now came putting that knowledge to practical use.

Once again, scores of Firebee drones were launched from An-22s towards Astaria.



Only unlike the medium to high altitude reconnaisance drones used before, these Firebees were low altitude clipped wing versions; originally intended for propaganda use, but modified for their new mission.

As they flew across the Astarian landscape guided by their on-board inertial navigational systems, their onboard computers flipped on and off the sprayer machinery as needed.

The various anti-crop and anti-livestock agents, a mixture of chemical and biological munitions had been picked by the specialists back "home" at Biopreparat under the direction of Shroombekov for the most efficient and rapid destruction of Astaria's agricultural system.

"The best part," Shroombekov had said at the meeting of the biotargeteers, "is that because of Astaria's isolated location, viz international trade routes and the general amount of trade that goes through it; it is the perfect test ground for our new warfighting doctrines; because there is zero chance of any of the various anti-crop and livestock agents spreading beyond Astaria."

The program had been ready to go several days ago; but had been slightly delayed by the "emanicipation" of all of Astaria's slaves. However, General Sheppard had been unconvinced by the arguments, and had said that indentured servitude was just slavery under a new fancy name and ordered the program to go ahead.

Results
Unmarked drones spraying a mixture of Uber Agent Orange, Various crop blighting diseases, cow diseases, chicken diseases, etc over Astaria. Collapse of Astarian agricultural sector estimated in 90 days.

[DarthShady]

Shady News

T-90 Production Continues

300 new T-90 MBT's have been produced by Shadow Industries and delivered to the Army. The Government is considering purchasing additional T-95 MBT's from the CSR after the evaluation Battalions excellent performance in the re-joined territories.

MiG-31 Production continues

Working together with our Byzantine allies, the Shadow Industries is producing an ever increasing number of MiG-31's. The Production line has been expanded and additional funds diverted by the USSR.

Strange Rumours about the Kirov Airship Project

It would appear that the USSR does not actually plan on building any Kirov Airships, we have heard rumours that the funds allocated to the project are going elsewhere. Keep in mind that these are only rumours and that the Ministry of Truth has assured us that the Project continues on schedule. Whether this is true, it remains to be seen.

[DarthShady]

Location: Temple Prime, Sarajevo, USSR



Premier Shady walked down the dimly lit hallways of Temple Prime, his assistant Sofia under his arm. Kane followed a few steps behind.

"So, you say that the Shroomanians sent the bastard to us?", Shady said as he walked.

"Yes, He was the one who got caught by that guy and his elephant.", Kane said.

"Shroomania.", Shady though to himself, "Such a strange place..."

A pair of Black Hand soldiers saluted the Premier and opened the door that led to the basement.

"He is here?", Shady asked.

"Yes, we are interrogating him.", Kane answered, "It doesn't serve much of a purpose now that Karic is dead, but you said to make his scream...so we are making him scream."

"Good.", Shady said with a cold smile on his face.

A few moments later the small group of people had reached the holding cell beneath Temple Prime. There a scene of pure horror unfolded. A man strapped to a metallic chair, people with dark robes and sharp objects circling around him. He screamed, but there was no purpose; his captors seemed to have no souls. In fact they seemed to be enjoying his pain.

"Please help me.", the man begged upon seeing the Premier and Sofia, "I'll tell you everything...just make them stop."

Sofia turned away upon seeing the man. His body was covered with wounds, bruises, lacerations and god knows what else. His captors had been torturing him for days.

"You think you deserve mercy?", The Premier asked touching the scar on his own chest; reminding himself of his near death experience, "There will be no mercy for you. None of you."

Shady turned around and began to walk out. He stopped at the door. "Torture him for as long as he is alive and if he dies...revive him and continue. Make him regret the day he was born."

With those words the Premier and Sofia left the room, the man's screams followed them into the night.

[K. A. Pital]

COMMUNE-2. PCIA COMMINT Center

- Are you sure? - Andropovsky held several hastily printed A4 papers.

- Yes, we are. Massive disruptions were reportedly detected all over Astaria before this broadcast, but they were indicative of a planned action, not a civil conflict, - a young COMMINT officer reported.

He was so young, thought Andropovsky, and yet he decided to move into a closed city, essentially a military facility full of bunkers, R&D and intelligence centers... denied fame until his deeds would become public knowledge - for decades! - cut off from the people. Travel restrictions. Becoming a shadow of a man, a nonexistent person in a city that never existed and was never drawn on any map. Vanishing into nothingness for the glory of the Motherland. Andropovsky once again looked at the man. Truly he was a patriot of his nation.

"The greatest among us are those which forsake their own time and become a living part of times yet to come", the words of President Stanislav suddenly came to the PCIA director's mind.

- In that case, call the K-378 off. It's clear that our approach yielded results. The Astarians will no longer be a kidnapper's den now that they are even more isolated than they were, and all their slaves are controlled by the government. Neither should their merchant ships pose a threat to people - their trade is disrupted for a long term, maybe for months, and they will be sending priority vessels to Japanistan to receive arms.

- But what if...

- You mean, what if an Astarian vessel, - Andropovsky started slowly, as if he was telling a fairytale, - travelling to a foreign port, is implicated in a kidnapping of a citizen of the CSR? And what if that citizen is enslaved by Astarian government? Is that your scenario? In that case Astaria will be issued an ultimatum to immediately liberate this citizen. Regardless of their actions afterwards, their merchant ships, every single one of them, will be destroyed methodically across the world. For there is a saying, "fool me once". But if they do release the citizen, that would be all. If they do not, war will be declared until said citizen is liberated.

- Yes, that's what I thought, - the young analytic murmured. - I should tell the K-378 to head to port, or?

- It's patrol duty is not over yet, but it needs to replenish munitions. Tell the boat to sail to a designated area where CSN "Anadyr" will take the submarine on-board and re-stock it with missiles. Relay the message via a Tu-160M-CP.

[Steve]

Smith-Hall Defense Quarterly


Cascadian Navy to procure nuclear-powered carrier


After months of infighting in the Defense Department and haggling over projected costs, the Cascadian Navy has finally gotten the prestige symbol it has sought since the 1980s: a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. In late January the Defense Department contracted Nuclear Engineering of Olympia to produce the reactors that will be installed into CVA-04. NEO is already on contract for producing the reactors used on Cascadian nuclear-powered submarines and is about to finish work on the Skipjack's power plant.

Although the Defense Department has not released particulars, a source in the Department of the Navy indicated that the design would be a version of the 70,000 ton displacement CVN that the JCVA Project with Serenity developed on behalf of the Serenite Navy.

No name has yet been announced for CVA-04.


5th Gen Fighters to come to Air Force


The Cascadian Air Force is being given the green light to begin contracts for the next generation of fighter craft. According to sources, by 2012 the Cascadian Air Force will be getting the first deliveries of Boeing's BFX-18, a model of lightweight 5th Gen fighter that uses a Pelikan tail design and which will replace the aging ASF-9 force. The BFX-18 won a competition against the JSF-produced MSF-15/F-35 fighter that is already in use by the Cascadian Navy. Sources state that the benefits of the Pelikan tail and other considerations led to the choice of the native design over the international JSF one. 2015 is the target date for North-Lockheed's XF-20, which defeated the BFX-19 to replace the ASF-10 Condor force.

The programs, which have together already cost nearly $90 Billion since 1998, will permit the RCAF to field a fully-capable fighter force into the 2040s.

[RogueIce]

Shinra Republic Announces Plans to Bring Back B-52s

The Shinra Republic has announced today that they will be reinstating up to forty (40) B-52s, taken from the Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Center (AMARC) with upgraded engines and avionics. This is considered to be a temporary measure until the current B-1B fleet is upgraded to the B-1C standard and new-build B-1Cs are acquired.

Additionally, the SRAF has stated they will be acquiring up to twenty (20) new E-3 AWACS aircraft, and begin studies into an eventual replacement.

[Steve]

Adams Capital District


The notification from the Cascadian officials in Constantinople had confirmed a report out of Hue regarding Astaria's recent escalation of military preperations. It remained at it's place on President Garrett's desk as he looked out the window, SecDef Dale and SIA Director Cowlins standing in front of his desk. "So they're preparing for war. And this nationalization of their slave labor force..."

"The Byzantine experts on Astaria believe that they have effectively implemented immediate and total abolition, though it could be years before the last of the slaves are fully freed. As of now they're considered servants of the state."

"Provided, of course, that this government survives," Garrett remarked. "Provided that when the promised attacks don't come, the middle class and slave-owners don't realize what's been pulled on them and try to undo the acts."

"Even so, this system means that foreign nationals that were illegally enslaved will be found. They're going to go through so much vetting by the Astarian government that they should be found and repatriated."

"Likely, Robert. And I suppose that makes this all worthwhile." Stephen nodded at him. He remembered having a couple sleepless nights after the Star of Sweethaven incident and again after meeting Amber Sanchez and the others, wondering how many more innocent people like them had been caught up in Astarian slavery. From that had come the impetus he'd demanded from his diplomats on improving on fighting human-traffickers across the world and a determination to do the best his office could manage to stop the trade in human beings. "But it'll take a while for them to process it all. The longer it takes, the more likely the Astarians' slavocrats might be able to undo all this if they get the opening. I'm thinking we need to keep the pressure on, make them feel like they're still under threat. And if this all works out in the end, if Astarian slavery ends for good..." He gave a slight smirk. "Well, in a way.... how different would they be from us then? Why would we have anything but close and friendly relations with Astaria?"

Thinking of one last thing, he added, "We'll let Project Gold Mine continue setting up, but I want to make sure we don't let the Shepistanis pull something, not from our airbases. The only reason their unmarked aircraft are to land at el-Yasuj and Welles Island is to join in providing arms and materials to the guerrila groups in Astaria's southern Velerian allies."

"Why pursue Project Gold Mine if we're going to try and make friends with Astaria? The risks we're taking, the risks for you Mister President, are high. To pursue it anyway when we're getting what we want..."

At Cowlins' question, Stephen gave a sarcastic half-grin. "The threat of attack against them is what is helping the Regent's government impose abolition from the top down. If it means ending a century and a half of increasing Astarian isolation and dealing a vital blow to the human traffickers of the world, well, I'm not against playing the villain with Sheppard and Stanislav. At least, to an extent. There is a line that we will not cross. If they do so, they'll go on without us."


OOC Note: This is before the attacks on Astaria's agriculture.

[RogueIce]

Paul handed the folder over. Inside was a two-page report on the Regent's speech from two weeks ago, and a short summary of the regulations introduced.

"Well, that's a hopeful sign. Astarian emancipation? We can only hope."

Rufus considered his options. "Well, we'll make an attempt to get in contact with them. I don't know if they'll accept our help or not. If they don't, maybe we can discreetly aid you and that aid goes to them? I would very much like to see this emancipation happen."

[Lonestar]

In Astaria

The only thing worse than Shepistanis, Colonel H. Jones of the Old Dominion Bureau of Military Information thought, are the Goddamn Astarians.

He concealed his immense distaste at his host, a Lt. Colonel in the Astarian Army. Instead he took another swig of some local lager that tasted like watered down horse piss.

“So, that’s the offer?” The LTC murmured “That’s it? You flew all the way out here for…that?”

“Ten Million Humanitarian Rations in exchange for BMI teams to take samples of the rock-chuckers’ BW pathogens and chemicals.”

“Yes, but Ten Million…is not nearly enough to help feed our country in the event of agricultural collapse.” The LTC paused. “I am surprised that the Old Dominion has sent a representative down so quickly, especially as we haven’t publicized the attack…”

Jones shrugged. “Obviously, we keep a close eye on Shepistani military actions and their BW program. It wasn’t too hard for us to put 2 and 2 together.”

“We may need more than 10,000,000 though…”

“Tough.” Snapped Jones. “We’re only just now coming out from the other side of our own disaster. I have been authorized to tell you that we will share any defenses gleaned from the samples with you, our genetic programs are undoubtedly far ahead of yours.” Goddamn SPACE Herpes. Goddamn aliens.

“I must confer with my superiors. Please do not leave the hotel until I return.”

“Of course.” Where else would I go on this Christ-forsaken island?

[PeZook]

"Well, that's a hopeful sign. Astarian emancipation? We can only hope."

Rufus considered his options. "Well, we'll make an attempt to get in contact with them. I don't know if they'll accept our help or not. If they don't, maybe we can discreetly aid you and that aid goes to them? I would very much like to see this emancipation happen."

"I am a little concerned that...some people may not want to stop their attacks unless they get regime change. Which is a foolish goal, really, since it's the current regime which is trying to force emancipation down the self-obsessed slavocrats' throats.", Paul stood up and paced across the office, "I'll confide something in you...we actually have an Astarian liaison team in PeZookia. They weren't doing much except co-ordinate and pass messages to date, but I think we can put them to good use and have them help arrange aid."

"It would be best if Pezookia's involvement remained secret for the time being, though."

Discussion about the nature of help for Astaria went on far into the night between the two leaders. The following day was taken by another round of goodwill meetings, trips, press conferences and photo-ops, but by the day's end, the situation changed once more.

Anoher report found its way to the King's hands.

"Goddamned Shepistanis", Paul murmured under his breath, flipping the pages.

[Karmic Knight]

Shroomston, the Southern Republic


Brandon had chose Shroomston as his speech-giving locale for multiple reasons, the first being that it would definitely display the unity and safety the Commonwealth now operated under. Brandon took his time getting to the podium, using this time to actually prepare more of his speech besides the usual one word notes he took the day before.

Upon reaching the podium, he took one look at the many people gathered to meet the man they just elected King for Life, he was the supreme ruler, granted this went against everything the previous personality had preached, but Brandon had always believed in enlightened absolutism, and he would hopefully create a commonwealth that would last until Shep, Stas or Skimmer blew everything to shit.

Brandon decided, then and there, time to preach world peace, for the rest of this existence “People of the Commonwealth, you have chosen well, even without knowing what indeed your choices were.

“You decided, of your own free will, to follow me, I promise you, you will never regret…” Brandon could not finish his assurances. A loud bang cut off the King of Vineyards before he could get a few lines into his speech. A single bullet hit the King in his right shin, an obvious error on his assailant’s part. This was made ever the clearer by the subsequent shots fired more wildly and much less accurately into the crowd.

Chaos flew around Shroomston, you didn’t get away with shooting the Supreme Sovereign. The killer was found almost immediately, twitching in a corner, in the same room that he had been shooting from.