Tyvia
Establishing Nation
Saha Tribelands, Andal Commonwealth
The early winter didn't bring the cold to the shores of Andaluz, much as it might have in the northern reaches of the continent. Instead, the Vandal Sea brought little but wind and rain as the season moved on, coating the hilly coastline for weeks on end with a constant downpour. The clouds surged onward until they hit the Sierra Nevada, the mountain range which extended through the center of Andaluz down until it finally terminated somewhere within Auraria to the south. There, against the mountainside, they deposited the last bit of moisture they might have held and dissipated, leaving the land beyond an arid wasteland inhabited only by a few Urudoah exiles, and native tribes.
Yet it was still land considered integral to the Commonwealth, and in times past it had yielded much for the colonial regime which had then claimed suzerainty over it. The Saha caravans–descendants of Muslims that'd been banished from Frescania during the 16th century–had taught the Hlaalu natives how to cultivate frankincense and myrrh, both of which could be grown in abundance in a few fertile strips scattered sporadically throughout the desert. This enterprise ensured their prosperity and autonomy, and so the Hlaalu and Saha both had remained free from persecution and much in the way of governance even after the abolition of colonial rule, after the fall of the republic, and into the Commonwealth's hundredth century.
Yet there was still a good portion of land in the desert which had been seized and appropriated for military use. This was done with the tacit approval and permission of the natives, though in truth they'd had little choice in the matter. Saha caravans had exclusive rights to travel through military lands, for in many parts of Andaluz' eastern reaches, it remained the best way to ferry goods from settlement to settlement, from oasis to oasis.
Towards the south, the oases grew rarer and the land rockier. It was around one of these few water sources that a military base had sprung up, supplied by rail from a depot that'd been built only a handful of years earlier close-by. An airstrip had been carved meticulously into the ground, and several homes wrought of mud and brick had been erected around the spring. A fence, half of it earthwork and the other metal, delineated the perimeter.
“Do caravans still come through here?” del Ciro idly asked, being led along through the compound by a pair of attendant soldiers. Beside him was Colonel Iago Gómez-Seletti, a relation of the general, and presently the commander of the troops stationed here on exercise.
The Colonel rolled back both shoulders, pausing in his gait to gesture sideways past the earthwork perimeter. The cigar between his teeth flashed as he drew in a pull from it, the illumination provided by the burning embers granting his features an almost malevolent quality in the twilight. “They do. It's the only water source for quite aways, and we're obliged to let them access it. We've got a tax-man here from Agusan, too, seeing as we're not allowed to levy the tolls on 'em ourselves.” He spat into the earth, adjusting his cigar absently. “Would save us all a lot of trouble, but reckon that'd be a bad idea.”
“How ready are you to proceed, should it come to it?”
“You give us the go, and we can get to hopping without a second thought. I admit that I'd be glad of a few more of those boys that'd seen the fire in Monkecia, I ain't got more than a handful that have any idea just what in the Virgin Mary “peacekeeping” actually entails, sir.” said the Colonel, rubbing his brow thoughtfully. Together, the pair trailed off and approached the perimeter fence, leaning idly against it as they spoke further. The distant din of activity was audible even from here, for a few regiments of men almost always produced a great amount of noise. Far away, del Ciro thought he could hear the repeating rhythm of a plane's propeller.
“How're the timetables looking, chief?”
“We've got too many commitments now, or too many possible ones popping up. Zulia-Santander's a big place, and we're risking being stretched thin right now. Auraria, Monkecia, the Implarian, and now possibly even the Faroes too–. . It's a goddamned balancing act right now with me and the Foreign Affairs Committee in Agusan.”
“Ain't that a good thing, in some respects?” the Colonel asked, decidedly tossing his cigar aside. It bounced against the fence, falling away into the dust on the wall's other side.
“It is, for the time being,” del Ciro grudgingly acknowledged. “I've come to give you orders in person, should the worst occur in Auraria.” With that, a letter was passed between the two men. It found its way into the Colonel's pockets, though he refrained from opening it for the time being.
“Synopsis?”
“General objectives are obvious. In the event of armed internal conflict, priority is given to securing Aluche up to the river. A cordon. Same operational procedures as in Monkecia. Primer, Santa Rosa, and Dorotea are the focuses. Not an invasion. This is peacekeeping, make it look like it. Now, there's one other thing–. .” and with that, the chairman cleared his throat. He fixed Seletti with a firm, even gaze, his tone grave as he continued: “until you receive instructions to the contrary, you are to seize or render inoperable all Sylvanian naval facilities upon entering the Republic.”
The implications of such a move were more than obvious to the Colonel, who merely nodded his head in response. They exchanged a few more courtesies before going their separate ways, with del Ciro having several appointments in the capital to attend to as yet. How wonderful it was that an investment had been made so many years hence in the airship network.
Agusan del Norte, Andal Commonwealth
He found it amusing that the chess pieces were magnetic. Their bottoms had little magnets affixed to them, such that they tugged the pieces back down even as one lifted it up to make a move. Some effort was thus required, a tiny bit of exertion so as to place them into the desired configuration. “All these wonderful metaphors,” he commented, earning himself a snort from his companion.
The two sat idle within a sprawling chamber that was somewhere between an office and a lounge. The balcony at its end was more like a covered veranda, and it was there, amidst the humid morning air, that the two sat and enjoyed their game. They were garbed similarly, like statesmen, and shared the same Andal complexion–sun-baked and dark. The speaker, a larger and taller man by far than the other, had one leg thrown over the arm of his chair and was spread out languidly across its velvety surface.
“We may need to perform a pivot at some point,” he continued, his slower drawl betraying his education: he'd studied and been raised in Frescania, in old Andaluz, not the new. Enrique Vélez, an expat in all but name, had nevertheless put in the time and earned his right to vote and office. Now he headed the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Gran Consejo, serving in a de facto capacity as the Commonwealth's premier adviser in that department. “A pivot on at least one key point.”
“Or you can prioritize,” responded his compatriot, Antonio de Arista, interim Moderator of the Gran Consejo. He was not technically one of the representatives, but instead the man responsible for ensuring the proper flow of debate and procedure in the legislature. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to become involved in political affairs, but it was something of an inevitability of the station and of a resident of Agusan del Norte. “You can choose what's most important. Two of three, or perhaps even just one.”
“What'd be ideal,” Vélez said, “would be if this Thaumantic business went on for a great deal longer yet. Charleroi's eyes are focused close to home, and their fleets are busy. It gives us time and space.”
“Space! El espacio crítico! Why do you say that? I've heard it in your speeches before, but I've not read your book.”
The bishop moved forward, gliding three black tiles diagonally. de Arista looked down at the move and regarded the pieces with little interest. He didn't bother to move any of his own.
“If you were to look at Charleroi, you wouldn't think that this continent is as big as it is,” explained Vélez, sighing. “We should have clamped down on this business long ago, when Auraria leased them those damn bases. Space. To avoid domination by the Franks and Angles, the Frescanosphere must have it. To operate freely and independently. We've barely avoided them going into Monkecia–. . That's the only bloody reason we're even on that miserable island, to preempt them from doing it.”
“So what's your logic here? With them preoccupied, we have a free hand in the south?”
“Not a free hand, but it's an interesting opportunity. I've gotten offers from the OAE, who are asking me if I don't want the situation in Auraria getting just a bit worse. And truly, I don't know what to tell them. It may either be a precipice, or merely a small rise. There'll doubtless be a meeting on it, but I think it's clear what will happen here, if not in the Thaumantic.”
“War?”
“It may come to that, and at the moment it looks like that'd be more beneficial to us than anything else. I don't know, we'll have to wait and see. A government in Auraria willing to renege on their agreements would be even better, truth be told, as it'd save us all a lot of time, effort, and money.”
“Lives, too.”
“And lives, yes. It'll be another year, maybe even two if they make more cuts, before they can get the Iago Hidalgo anywhere near finished. A direct challenge would not be preferred, but I've advised del Ciro that it might be possible given the circumstances.”
“Ah. Scorched Earth, is it?”
“Area denial, really. We have our priorities, just as the Angles do. It's interesting to see what they do when their local ones are threatened, isn't it?”
With that, their game continued unhindered.
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