The Southern Cross

Apartment on Wakerley Avenue, Harton

Callum Hill was a short but stocky young man, probably in his mid 20s, looking like your typical Natalian of mixed ancestry, a "Coloured" by the census categories or Engell and Loda ancestry. He was finishing his studies as a postgraduate at the Equatorial University of Harton when the Long, Hot Winter has come and agitated the spirits of young students, radicals, and environmentalists to protest against the old guard in power in politics. It wasn't a protest against targeting a specific someone or something, but it was enough to develop the interest in politics in the young generation, which was satisfied with the launch of the Inkundla system later. During that time, Callum was active in the Students for a Democratic Society, but he was contacted by the INTAF and after a mix of persuasion and blackmailing, he was put on the payroll of the institution. Since then, at their behest he joined the NRA too, with the mission to observe and see if the leaders of the Nethian Revolutionary Association, in their push for Himyarism and anti-colonialism are fostering racialist ideas that might threaten the Natalian social and racial concord.

The meeting, while it felt a bit as an open secret, has a conspiratorial atmosphere. The sense of revolutionary youth was replaced with the very heavy presence of Simba Sibanda, the Chairman of the Organisation, which really shown that while the meeting was relaxed, with music playing in the background and people smoking, some your typical tobacco, others cannabis, was extremely important.

"Banzadi* is a lesser problem, on the same level as Imerimajaka. They have their own movements and liberation struggles, they are politically developed enough to see their national liberation happen," said Simba Sibanda, the large and tall man with a strong voice whose charisma always managed to attract the attention of everyone in the room. Before he became the leader of this Pan-Himyari national movement, he was the leader of the Communist Party of Central Himyar, the revived Natalian Communist Party, and you could observe that from his rhetoric, Callum thought.

"Problem is in the lands of the Keke and the Kintu," he continued. Callum loved history, and the Himyari subjects were extensively taught in Natalian schools and universities and such he knew the history of the two aforementioned peoples. Keke and Kintu were extremely respected in the intellectual Nethian circles as they represented fully Nethian states in a cultural point of view, as Azraq and the Cyanopians were seen as diluting their heritage with Islam, the Rozvi with Utatu Orthododxy and the Loagans with Catholicism, but to them, Keke and Kintu were the ones that managed to survive the colonial onslaught and remain fully Nethian and Himyari religiously and culturally. They were creations of the Benue migration which destroyed the Nuk-Nuk civilisation in Natal and survived the Engell mercanitilim and refugee waves that brought them to Natal, they survived Mbunda and Rozvian invasions, they managed to keep themselves independent when the Gallians came and colonised the Al-Kez and Nzadiland, managed to keep themselves isolated from the great communist onslaught of the 50s coming from Kadikistan until the signing of the SQT, but now, something changed. It may have been the chaos that was started by the LLC in Loago, it may have been the Engell imperialism, first showing it's face in Al-Kez and now in Bourgogne, but it seemed that the kings of the Keke and Kintu have chosen to ask for Pelasgian protection, something, which the Nethian community saw with horror as their death.

"The Pelasgians are coming now in masses to rape the land and it's people. They may have asked for protection, especially after seeing what happened in Al-Kez, but look at how the Pelasgians swindled them and is now sending in the thousands the worst of the worst from their country. A mix of wildmen thinking that they can steal away the lands, the cattle, the wealth, and God knows what criminals and 'adventurers' that live only with the idea of their racial and cultural primacy, with the world being ready to live under their abuses. That is why we are here. We need to aid them. The elites of the two kingdoms may have surrendered their sovereignty to this Pelasgian Southern Himyari Company, but the people are now in a fragile state in which they will be seeing northern settlers coming and destroying everything in their way. This is the time for us to go and aid them in pushing the Pelasgians back where they feel the best, into the sea and also punish the elites that surrendered their land and people to Propontis," concluded Simba Sibanda. The Rozvi man's emotion and charisma managed to get applauds from the people in the room. Callum looked around and there weren't only Nethians or 'Coloured' around. White Natalians were present in the room too. It was a specific development of Natalian society, the idea of Pan-Natalism or Central Himyari exceptionalism, which stated that while in the late 18th and early 19th century, there were wars between whites and Nethians in today's Natal, but the signing of the Treaty of the Federation in 1909 changed everything as it made the relationship between the Coastal and inland peoples start from scratch, and the economic and political success the country later enjoyed cemented this relationship, which was further enhanced by the miscegenation that took place over the years.

In the room, there were some Kikintu** and bikeke** people who went afterwards to talk in private with Simba Sibanda. Callum knew that he had to write up a report to the INTAF, but what he knew was that the response which he will receive might surprise him.


*Bantu (Benue) term for Nzadiland; Nzadi being the root, Kinzadi the people, Banzadi the Nzadi country and Kinzadi the Nzadi language;
**Bantu (Benue) terms for Kintu and Keke peoples, following the same patters as above.

NOTICE TO SEAMEN
From: Third Fleet Admiralty, Tiganion-Tyros Naval Base & Marine Base
To: PN Skylopsaro (SSN-47)
CC: Tephanon Naval Detachment HQ
Subject: Orders
Date: 06/09/2019
Classification: TOP SECRET

The present order is addressed to the following Pelasgian Navy vessels:
Submarine PN Skylopsaro (SSN-47)

The aforementioned vessel is hereby directed to depart its base of operations at the Pelasgian Sovereign Base Area of Cape Saint Nicholas, on the isle of Zarakas, and to head southward and eastward, to point 37°S, 85°E.

The vessel is directed to stay 300 nmi clear of the Himyari mainland, to avoid detection and, in the case thereof, to avoid the impression that its task is related to the Himyari countries by which it will be transiting. During its mission, the vessel is to maintain complete silence to be as stealthy as possible.

Further and more detailed orders have been provided in print, in a sealed dossier, to the Commanding Officer of the vessel. In any event of mission failure, these orders are to be destroyed, as per standard Navy protocol.

Signed and sealed,

Dionysios Zephyrou
Admiral of the Fleet




NOTICE TO SEAMEN
From: Second Fleet Admiralty, Mendes-Cassandris Naval Base
To: PN Xiphias (SSI-61)
Subject: Orders
Date: 06/09/2019
Classification: TOP SECRET

The present order is addressed to the following Pelasgian Navy vessels:
Submarine PN Xiphias (SSI-61)

The aforementioned vessel is hereby directed to depart its base of operations in the Federal District of Kyphtic Memphis, and to head southward, to point 6°S, 50°E.

The vessel is directed to stay clear of the Himyari mainland and to remain closer to the Pelasgian coast in areas where accessing deeper waters is more difficult. The vessel is to use its ultra-silent Stirling engine air-independent propulsion system and relatively small profile to avoid detection. During its mission, the vessel is to maintain complete silence to be as stealthy as possible.

Further and more detailed orders have been provided in print, in a sealed dossier, to the Commanding Officer of the vessel. In any event of mission failure, these orders are to be destroyed, as per standard Navy protocol.

Signed and sealed,

Himerios Mourtzouphlas
Admiral of the Fleet

Matt used all his power to snort his nose, pushing back the flehm and swallowing it down his throat. He wiped the clear liquid dripping from his nose on the sleeve of his flannel as he continued up the stairs of the vessel to the main deck. He had been feeling shitty for several days now, but it would be many more before the thing saw land, let alone a doctor again. For now, the ragtag collection of over the counter drugs and good, ole fashion alcohol would have to work their magic on his ailments.

Even if the calendars had called for the end of summer and the beginning of the South’s Fall, Mother Nature had refused the call. The air was as warm as it had ever been, even with the heavy overcast that had the effect of making the grey waters in the distance difficult to distinguish from the gray clouds.

Matt’s long, brown hair fluttered in the warm winds of the South Thaumantic as the MY Tohora’s steel hull sliced through the choppy southern waters, throwing sprays of sea water into the air, occasionally hitting the deck. It was here, on these waters, that he felt the most at peace while simultaneously overcome by a near divine sense of purpose. The men aboard this ship survived by nothing more than the grace of one of Nature’s greatest powers.

Further along the deck of the MY Tohora, Captain Harry Kent stood, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the side of the ship. He had long, blonde hair, tied in a pony tail with a beard to match. A towering figure at 6ft, 3 inches and 220 pounds of pure muscle – he was a brute of a man.

“How ya feeling, mate?” Harry called – hearing Matt’s footsteps.

“Shit,” Matt replied “Same as before, a bit knackered though.”

“You’ve spent damn near the entire day asleep,” Harry turned and leaned his back against the railing, facing Matt “You sleep too much, that’s the problem.”

“Where are we?” Matt asked.

“Wop Wop’s, for now,” Harry offered a cigarette and Matt declined “not far from Vincente Island. Wish we had made more progress, but it can’t be helped.”

“Direct course for Port Neocus?”

“Abouts,” Harry answered, putting out his cigarette in an ash tray he had precariously placed on the side of the ship “Don’t want to be too close to the ‘Far South.’ Not a lot of law up there yet so’s it is, but I find no need to be closer to it. We want to catch ‘em farther out to see anyway.”

“Right,” Matt agreed, leaning against the railing, facing opposite of Harry. He looked back over his soldier, toward the ship to see the grey skull and trident painted onto the ship, which had a blue, black, and white color scheme – to blend into the water as much as possible. The vessel showed its age – to the trained eye, fresh coats of paint covering the rust that had formed in spots. The old Commonwealth Navy coastal patrol craft had seen better days, but she hadn’t seen better missions.

“Oh I almost forgot,” Harry jumped up from the railing and began walking down the deck “Come on now, follow me.”

The two men walked to the back of the ship, waving to whatever crew members they saw along the way. Harry didn’t wave, though. If you were too far, you got a nod of the head. If you were within reach, he’d grab your hand, pull you in with his strength, and clasp your back in a strong sign of comradery. Despite being a brute, he was a handsy guy. When they got to the back of the boat, they saw Roman who was wrapping long stretches of rope together.

“Roman, my friend,” Harry gave his bear hug “They’re ready I hope?”

“The first few are good to go,” Roman smiled, presenting his accomplishment.

Behind him were three collections of metal and rope haphazardly tied together with little organizational sense.

“Prop foulers!” he exclaimed.

“What’s to stop these from just tearing apart like the others?” Harry asked, with an excited grin already knowing the answer.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Roman grinned back “May I present to you the first ropes made entirely from Kevlar. These fuckers, quite literally, will stop a bullet.”

“Will they stop a propeller?” Matt asked.

“You best believe that they will,” Harry said “Fucking Pelasgians aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.”

Harry grabbed the two men with one hand and flung them to his soldiers, the three of them looking off into the horizon as the wake of the ship foamed off into the distance.

Lok, Highland Kéké Protectorate, Pelasgian Far Southern Territories

The town of Lok, a village by the standards of most highly agricultural or urbanised countries, was located near the edge of the Pelasgian Crown's territories in the Far South, on the rough and mountainous southern border of the Highland Kéké Protectorate. The village itself was but a stone's toss away from the Northern Kantu Protectorate, being separated by a small river called the Loko River. Inhabited by around two thousand souls, Lok was famed for its traditional pottery among the local populace, and was often used as a stopping point for convoys heading to the territories administered by the Pelasgian Southern Himyari Company in the Crown's name. The locals were celebrated for their hospitality by settlers and other Kéké alike, though history had made them not so welcoming of Kantu and Tusgai. Largely consisting of stone-built houses of two stories at most, the settlement was built close to the riverbank, and was -like most Kéké settlements- ruled by a Council of Elders.

As the morrow of September 20th, 2019, broke, a small convoy on horseback appeared atop the hills overlooking Lok. The party consisted of a dozen or so men, ten Constables of the Imperial Far Southern Constabulary (APAN) and two Kéké guides. The green-clad officers of Constabulary were led by Sergeant Leontios M. Kontogiannitis, a native of the Pelasgian city of Thoricus and a veteran of the Imperial Pelasgian Police's Corps of Special Constables, who had been brought to the Far South to help set up APAN. To his right was Tuu Kx'a, a tall Kéké native who was fluent in Kéké, Kintu, northern Tusgai and Pelasgian (to an amazing degree for someone who had only been introduced to the tongue but a few months ago).

"As I was telling you, War-Chief," Tuu said to the Sergeant, "we can stay here a day to rest, and I promise you the locals will make you want to stay. And then, in a day or so, we can be at Hui !Gaeb to report to my King."

Kontogiannitis took his cigar of his mouth, releasing smoke, before responding to the tall, sturdy Nethian.

"If you say, so, Tuu. All I knew about this town before coming here was that they make vases. Maybe I'll get one for the wife."

The two men laughed at the memory of how agitated the Sergeant's wife had gotten when he'd come back from the last trip empty-handed. Their laugh was cut short by the cry of one of the Constables leading the party.

"Sergeant! Tuu Kx'a! !Ui Nossob! You need to see this!" the man's cry echoed, calling out to them and the second Kéké guide.

The trio rushed forward to a point on the ridge from where the settlement could be clearly seen. A shocking sight awaited them: flames and smoke emanating from the ruined stone houses below, and the fields nearby set ablaze.

"Fuck the Devil!" the Sergeant shouted; "Everyone on me! We've got to get down there."

The twelve men galloped down the hill as fast as possible, reaching the outskirts of the town around twenty minutes later. A few hundred meters before entering the town proper, they came across a young Kéké boy, still dressed in traditional garments of the local peasantry. Tuu dismounted, as did the Sergeant, who offered the young boy a drink of water from his canteen. The two men knelt beside the boy, who was on the ground, barely supporting himself on the wall. Tuu begun speaking to him, turning to the Sergeant to translate every couple of sentences or so.

"He says he's hurt. A bullet, from what I understand. His family was killed by some men who came across the river. He hid with the cattle, but the men killed the cattle too, and one of the bullets struck him. The men burned the town and killed everyone they could see. Then they left."

"Does he know where the men came from? Are they Tusgai? Unregistered settlers maybe?"

The tall Nethian did not need to speak to the boy to answer that question.

"There's only one people who live across the river. And the phrase itself, as the child said it, is only used for those people: the Southern Kantu."

"Impossible," Leontios responded. "The King of the Southern Kantu is a Vassal of the Emperor of Pelasgia. He signed a perpetual peace treaty with your King, and we've been entrusted with upholding it. Besides, the last major Kantu Invasion ended almost a hundred years ago."

"These aren't the King's men, War-Chief," Tuu said. "They are Kingless beasts. Rebels. They hate the King for promising peace; the way they see it, if it weren't for you People of the Boat, the Kantu would have conquered the Kéké by now, instead of bowing to a foreign High King."

"Does the child at least know which way they're headed? We need to warn whoever's next on their path."

Tuu asked the child one last question, receiving a pained answer. With his last word, the boy let out his last breath, a long, painful groan. Tuu closed the boy's eyes before translating.

"North. Towards Hui !Gaeb. The next town on the road must be Naje Dana."

The Sergeant drew a deep, angered breath, taking in the ash and smoke-filled air. He looked at the wall above the dying child, which had been vandalised with the light blue war paint of the Kantu: "NRA" and "KANTU FREEDOM" could be seen on the wall. If I were a Nethian, I wouldn't want such 'freedom' anywhere near me, he thought.

"Koulouras," the Sergeant ordered one of his men, who was carrying heavy backpack with an antenna. "Call High Command on the satellite phone. Tell them the NRA's been here and they're headed north. And tell them Lak has been wiped out."

Jake’s arm recoiled in pain as he lobbed yet another bottle of the diluted sulfuric acid on the hull of the Pelasgian Navarinon. Smiling, he started rotating his right up in a vertical circle, the movement of the muscle being audible.

“Ya alright?” Preston called to him.

“Sure, throw me another!” Jake shot back.

Throwing the bottle, Jake let go of the metal guard rail on the side of the RHIB and just when he did, the small boat lurched into the air from colliding with a massive wave. Lifting into the air with the boat, and holding onto no supports, Jake slammed into the hull when gravity took its course. Luckily for him, the bottle of acid seemed to have dropped into the ocean. Laying on his back, he went to wipe the sweat from his forehead to no avail as his arm was just covered in the cold salty waters of the South Thaumantic. Despite spending years of his life at sea, the taste of salt water always made him recoil. On the floor of the boat, looking up, Jake got his first genuine glimpse of how large the Navarinon was in comparison to his tiny little craft. How one wrong move would send him straight into the icy depths.

“Let’s go mate, on your feet,” Preston called reaching out to help Jake up. Grabbing with his left arm, he suddenly felt just how sore he had made himself.

“Jake! Get the prop fouler, we gotta stop this cunt,” the pilot of the boat called back to him.

The others on the boat had already begun untangling the mess of nylon ropes, steel chains, floats, and a ragtag concoction of whatever else was onboard the MY Tohora to throw into the propeller of a Pelasgian whaler.

“Ready!” Jake called as the crew successfully put the fouler in position for deployment. The pilot nodded and quickly sped up, getting ahead of the Navarinon and then closed in on its starboard side. Once close enough, the crew threw the rope into the water in the direction of the boat and then waited.

After only a few moments, the rope tightened and then was flung into the water at a speed that was almost lethal if anyone would happen to find themselves in the path of it. The crew of the vessel cheered as the fouler had successfully wrapped itself around the propeller of the Navarinon. Now began the agonizing minutes of waiting to see if it successfully disabled the vessel’s propeller or had no effect at all.

Sure enough, after a few moments the wake of the Navarinon deceased along with the boat’s speed. Before long, it was just coasting – its propeller tangled and disabled. The crew on board through up their arms, embracing one another and cheering at their momentous victory. The ship, in the condition that it was, would need to be towed back to port at the Far Southern Territories. All in all, the Navarinon would be whaling again any time soon.

The boat turned and sped back to the MY Tohora, to celebrate with the rest of the crew.