Tyvia
Establishing Nation
AGGREGATION
The rains had stopped sometime in the late summer; the eastern wind had brought none of the grey clouds so customary for the early autumn. Months passed, but the dry season refused to fade, even as the winter began to set in. The cold northern wind arrived shortly thereafter, coating all the heights under a thin white sheet. None cared, for it was not in their nature to grieve for the land – to mourn and lament its fate. All the pastures had been cleared away a century past, the herds of oxen either driven off or slain. Gwjna, the heart of the heights, had therefore changed considerably in the last century.
Cradling the banks of the Mara's easternmost curve, Gwjna had become a modern city. There was no agriculture, and its surroundings had long been converted into suburbs. A rudimentary public transportation system had been established, but culture and tradition both dictated that folk instead ought to make use of private means of transit. Its strategic position ensured it a place of prominence in the plans of the Gold Banner Army, the State's own armed forces, and so Gwjna sat in the direct center of the Burza Bulwark.
The Bulwark was a defensive line, thirty kilometers in radius, built around almost the entirety of the Gwjna Heights. Only a hundred kilometers separated the heights from the northern frontier, and the hated Zsjatj were only too willing to reduce that distance. It was not in the State's usual style to construct fortifications, but with the Mara river covering the heights to the west and partially to the north, the envelopment and defense-in-depth maneuvers which had become typical of Zarmaj combat actions were deemed impossible. To lose the Gwjna would be to lose the Mjarszat, too, and to lose the Mjarszat would be to lose the war.
Kolszalk Arkadj Tarnòw and his 181a Orzja Hrodj “Marszjalk Sidorow” were assigned the task of guarding Gwjna and manning the bulwark. They would be partially assisted by both the Mjarszat and the Kharjatj, the latter tribe providing the bulk of the funding and manpower for the locally-based Green Banner Army – the “Tribal Liberation Army.” Organized along military lines, this contingent was responsible for the defense of the western and southeastern components of the bulwark.
Considerate of the difficulties in communication likely to arise between the two forces, Tarnòw elected to establish his headquarters in the city itself, claiming part of the Weneclaw Opera House as his formal command post. Weneclaw Square itself, in the center of the city, was also home to the Mjarszat Assembly and the headquarters of the Tribal Liberation Army – entirely justifying the decision.
Tarnòw was a stocky man, broad at both the hips and the shoulders, and though of only average height, he still contrived to appear quite large. The Zarmaj officer's cap had been abandoned, and so the man's neat brown hair had been left visible. He tended slightly towards plumpness, his round cheeks and hooked nose emphasizing his Khazar origins. “An affable gentleman,” he had been called by a contemporary, his amiable manner and confident stride indeed lending him some popularity amongst the common soldier.
As a courtesy whilst in the city, Tarnòw was obliged to attend mass inside the Mjarszat tribe's own private cathedral, only a short walk from his headquarters. Few of the tribe's members were religious, but the mass served the primary purpose of allowing the Mjarszat's leaders free access to Tarnòw. They were all allowed to remain in the cathedral whilst communion was administered, and, as had become custom since his arrival, Tarnòw was bombarded by questions during this interval. Though finding it terribly irritating initially, he had quickly learned to ignore the tirade of inquires, managing to wave away the most annoying of his pursuers.
“Your record is good,” commented one, leaning partially against a nearby pew. Tall, dark and gaunt, his features were a direct contrast to those of Tarnòw. The man's uniform, too, was different, his beret a flamboyant scarlet and his battledress a true black. Rising, he strode forward a pace, closing the distance some between himself and the Colonel. “They're not SDC, though,” he said, waving a hand emphatically towards the tribesmen, “that doesn't mean too much to them.”
An eyebrow shot up, Tarnòw's gaze shifting towards the man.
“Ah, my apologies, oughtn't be so damn curt with a Kolszjalk,” he said, extending out his right hand. “Jozsjf Salum Mjarszat, sir. Żaszat Wlagj, XO.”
Their two palms clasped together, a brief affair.
“I can't say I've heard of your organization, Mjarszatj. You've managed to however capture my interest – what did you mean by that comment?”
“This is Gwjna, sir,” Jozsjf said. “Home of the Mjarszat. You're not born into it, and you don't apply. When you're selected, you're also tested. It's the tribe's mentality, Kolszjalk – they don't know what to make of you.”
“What to make of me?” Tarnòw repeated, his bushy brows furrowing together.
Jozsjf bowed his head apologetically, keeping his hands clasped idly behind his back. A thin smile found its way back onto his face, illuminating his patrician features. He gestured to the left, and the two proceeded out from the row, making their way towards a lone alcove off to the side.
“Once again, my sincerest apologies, Kolszjalk,” he said with a laugh, his eyes wide with amusement. “You've not been proven, not directly, not to them. They will listen to you, for you're of the Gold Banner, but they will not follow you, for they're uncertain if you're worthy of it.”
“The honorable Mjarszatj will find me “worthy” in due time, I trust,” the Colonel stated, himself already somewhat amused by their discussion. “The Kharjatj and their TLA seem to have no such reservations however. They've shown great resolve in committing themselves here – and Gwjna is not even their home.”
“Do not mistake our reticence for lethargy, Tarnòwj,” was the quick reply, the Colonel's own tribal name used. His tone had a mocking edge to it, becoming especially plain as he uttered the final noun. “Kharjatj funds and Kharjatj men are used only for Kharjatj aims, this is known. The Gold Banner Army's goals currently coincide with those of the Kharjatj – the liberation of Jortj – and so it is therefore profitable for them to cooperate.” He had tried and failed to remain tact, a certain vehemence creeping into his voice as he went on. Jortj, formerly the capital of the Kharjatj tribe, had been captured during the second series of Lesser Sarmatian offensives in 2002. It was widely believed that retaking it would strike a grievous blow against enemy morale, as it had so far been the only major city captured by either side. Though not a plan initially supported by the Mjarszat, the idea had gained some popularity in the SDC during the latter half of the previous year, pushed through with Kharjatj and Khaletsj support. Already, there was talk among the upper echelons – and, by extension, the Mjarszat – about the possibility of a new such offensive during the springtime.
“The TLA is here to build support and goodwill from the Gold Banner, but do not count on the Kharjatj to remain forever,” Jozsjf continued, edging closer, his voice growing progressively quieter. “They're therefore unreliable, sir. The Mjarszat – and the Żaszat Wlagj too, are reliable. The Gold Banner is not a plain sheet, after all; the Black Banner will gladly be its background.”
Tarnòw was silent for a moment, contemplatively fingering one of his greatcoat's many sizable buttons. All semblance of levity had disappeared, his normal affability replaced with an austere seriousness – something his associates would consider entirely alien for him. “You've given me quite a bit to think upon, Joszjf Mjarszatj,” he finally spoke, once more extending his right hand out towards the man. “The politics of it all are still a bit over my head, I confess. Thank you for your advice, we should speak again sometime.”
“I would be most honoured, Kolszjalk. I will not be present in Gwjna again until the 5th, at which point I may be contacted at the Sidorow Auditorium.”
The colonel couldn't help but laugh at that. “How strange that the building is not my headquarters. Will your organization be in attendance?”
“That is so, Kolszjalk.”
“I look forward to seeing them, too.”
The rains had stopped sometime in the late summer; the eastern wind had brought none of the grey clouds so customary for the early autumn. Months passed, but the dry season refused to fade, even as the winter began to set in. The cold northern wind arrived shortly thereafter, coating all the heights under a thin white sheet. None cared, for it was not in their nature to grieve for the land – to mourn and lament its fate. All the pastures had been cleared away a century past, the herds of oxen either driven off or slain. Gwjna, the heart of the heights, had therefore changed considerably in the last century.
Cradling the banks of the Mara's easternmost curve, Gwjna had become a modern city. There was no agriculture, and its surroundings had long been converted into suburbs. A rudimentary public transportation system had been established, but culture and tradition both dictated that folk instead ought to make use of private means of transit. Its strategic position ensured it a place of prominence in the plans of the Gold Banner Army, the State's own armed forces, and so Gwjna sat in the direct center of the Burza Bulwark.
The Bulwark was a defensive line, thirty kilometers in radius, built around almost the entirety of the Gwjna Heights. Only a hundred kilometers separated the heights from the northern frontier, and the hated Zsjatj were only too willing to reduce that distance. It was not in the State's usual style to construct fortifications, but with the Mara river covering the heights to the west and partially to the north, the envelopment and defense-in-depth maneuvers which had become typical of Zarmaj combat actions were deemed impossible. To lose the Gwjna would be to lose the Mjarszat, too, and to lose the Mjarszat would be to lose the war.
Kolszalk Arkadj Tarnòw and his 181a Orzja Hrodj “Marszjalk Sidorow” were assigned the task of guarding Gwjna and manning the bulwark. They would be partially assisted by both the Mjarszat and the Kharjatj, the latter tribe providing the bulk of the funding and manpower for the locally-based Green Banner Army – the “Tribal Liberation Army.” Organized along military lines, this contingent was responsible for the defense of the western and southeastern components of the bulwark.
Considerate of the difficulties in communication likely to arise between the two forces, Tarnòw elected to establish his headquarters in the city itself, claiming part of the Weneclaw Opera House as his formal command post. Weneclaw Square itself, in the center of the city, was also home to the Mjarszat Assembly and the headquarters of the Tribal Liberation Army – entirely justifying the decision.
Tarnòw was a stocky man, broad at both the hips and the shoulders, and though of only average height, he still contrived to appear quite large. The Zarmaj officer's cap had been abandoned, and so the man's neat brown hair had been left visible. He tended slightly towards plumpness, his round cheeks and hooked nose emphasizing his Khazar origins. “An affable gentleman,” he had been called by a contemporary, his amiable manner and confident stride indeed lending him some popularity amongst the common soldier.
As a courtesy whilst in the city, Tarnòw was obliged to attend mass inside the Mjarszat tribe's own private cathedral, only a short walk from his headquarters. Few of the tribe's members were religious, but the mass served the primary purpose of allowing the Mjarszat's leaders free access to Tarnòw. They were all allowed to remain in the cathedral whilst communion was administered, and, as had become custom since his arrival, Tarnòw was bombarded by questions during this interval. Though finding it terribly irritating initially, he had quickly learned to ignore the tirade of inquires, managing to wave away the most annoying of his pursuers.
“Your record is good,” commented one, leaning partially against a nearby pew. Tall, dark and gaunt, his features were a direct contrast to those of Tarnòw. The man's uniform, too, was different, his beret a flamboyant scarlet and his battledress a true black. Rising, he strode forward a pace, closing the distance some between himself and the Colonel. “They're not SDC, though,” he said, waving a hand emphatically towards the tribesmen, “that doesn't mean too much to them.”
An eyebrow shot up, Tarnòw's gaze shifting towards the man.
“Ah, my apologies, oughtn't be so damn curt with a Kolszjalk,” he said, extending out his right hand. “Jozsjf Salum Mjarszat, sir. Żaszat Wlagj, XO.”
Their two palms clasped together, a brief affair.
“I can't say I've heard of your organization, Mjarszatj. You've managed to however capture my interest – what did you mean by that comment?”
“This is Gwjna, sir,” Jozsjf said. “Home of the Mjarszat. You're not born into it, and you don't apply. When you're selected, you're also tested. It's the tribe's mentality, Kolszjalk – they don't know what to make of you.”
“What to make of me?” Tarnòw repeated, his bushy brows furrowing together.
Jozsjf bowed his head apologetically, keeping his hands clasped idly behind his back. A thin smile found its way back onto his face, illuminating his patrician features. He gestured to the left, and the two proceeded out from the row, making their way towards a lone alcove off to the side.
“Once again, my sincerest apologies, Kolszjalk,” he said with a laugh, his eyes wide with amusement. “You've not been proven, not directly, not to them. They will listen to you, for you're of the Gold Banner, but they will not follow you, for they're uncertain if you're worthy of it.”
“The honorable Mjarszatj will find me “worthy” in due time, I trust,” the Colonel stated, himself already somewhat amused by their discussion. “The Kharjatj and their TLA seem to have no such reservations however. They've shown great resolve in committing themselves here – and Gwjna is not even their home.”
“Do not mistake our reticence for lethargy, Tarnòwj,” was the quick reply, the Colonel's own tribal name used. His tone had a mocking edge to it, becoming especially plain as he uttered the final noun. “Kharjatj funds and Kharjatj men are used only for Kharjatj aims, this is known. The Gold Banner Army's goals currently coincide with those of the Kharjatj – the liberation of Jortj – and so it is therefore profitable for them to cooperate.” He had tried and failed to remain tact, a certain vehemence creeping into his voice as he went on. Jortj, formerly the capital of the Kharjatj tribe, had been captured during the second series of Lesser Sarmatian offensives in 2002. It was widely believed that retaking it would strike a grievous blow against enemy morale, as it had so far been the only major city captured by either side. Though not a plan initially supported by the Mjarszat, the idea had gained some popularity in the SDC during the latter half of the previous year, pushed through with Kharjatj and Khaletsj support. Already, there was talk among the upper echelons – and, by extension, the Mjarszat – about the possibility of a new such offensive during the springtime.
“The TLA is here to build support and goodwill from the Gold Banner, but do not count on the Kharjatj to remain forever,” Jozsjf continued, edging closer, his voice growing progressively quieter. “They're therefore unreliable, sir. The Mjarszat – and the Żaszat Wlagj too, are reliable. The Gold Banner is not a plain sheet, after all; the Black Banner will gladly be its background.”
Tarnòw was silent for a moment, contemplatively fingering one of his greatcoat's many sizable buttons. All semblance of levity had disappeared, his normal affability replaced with an austere seriousness – something his associates would consider entirely alien for him. “You've given me quite a bit to think upon, Joszjf Mjarszatj,” he finally spoke, once more extending his right hand out towards the man. “The politics of it all are still a bit over my head, I confess. Thank you for your advice, we should speak again sometime.”
“I would be most honoured, Kolszjalk. I will not be present in Gwjna again until the 5th, at which point I may be contacted at the Sidorow Auditorium.”
The colonel couldn't help but laugh at that. “How strange that the building is not my headquarters. Will your organization be in attendance?”
“That is so, Kolszjalk.”
“I look forward to seeing them, too.”