Burning Bush

[Tyvia]

Northern Kapa Botjhabela
99th "Megalíx" Composite Battalion

The light titter of activity had turned into a general buzzing, especially now that a dedicated combat unit had been actually deposited unto the outskirts of Port Victoria. They'd rolled up to the camp which the 191st and 204th had erected over the past week—affectionately dubbed Isenicum after the Commodore—in a flurry of laughter, sitting high atop their trucks and personnel carriers. They exchanged some words, some jokes, and a great many fresh Alaix No. 2 cigarettes with the garrison before settling back into convoy order and mustering off towards the north. In their wake followed a small contingent of the 191st and its engineers, riding along in a handful of supply trucks and other such vehicles right after the trailblazers.

All of them were tattooed, even those who were of distinctly northern coloration. Though their stigmas differed in complexity, scope, and breadth, they were uniform in their style and color, every man painted in black on his right forearm and shoulder at the very least. It was the Raroua warrior-tradition, and it was one that the units stationed in Isarmorga happily adopted—for it had once been a Celtic custom too. Even now, many had rolled up their sleeves and proudly displayed these marks on their arms, a testament to the odd unity that had been achieved between the two peoples.

They were a varied mix of brown and white, with the majority in truth being somewhere in between the typical understanding of either. It was something they'd readily recognized, and was a point of great amusement when they were told about where they'd ship.

“Wonder how they view you island apes!” called out one lowly corporal from across the barracks, prior to their deployment, earning himself cheers, jeers, and tossed underwear all in equal quantities. Laughter rang out throughout the wide hall, and the pasty white corporal's smile only grew wider.

One paragon of virtue, a man altogether looking far more “native” than many of his compatriots, had stood himself up—entirely naked—atop one of the benches. With a broad frame and black tattoos running up and down it, the accent he put on for the following show—his best impersonation of what he must have perceived as genuinely aristocratic tones—garnered an immediate reaction: “the aboriginals of these southern isles,” he said, waving a finger dramatically about, “have displayed a level of civility leagues—leagues!—above that of the natives of this . . heart of darkness!”

He had been summarily pelted with underwear.

Now, they moved north along the Himyari mainland, their fates and objectives decided in a far-off place by humorless, grey-clad men sat around—of course—mahogany tables. It was taking time, but the breadth of peacekeeping operations was already expanding quite steadily. Only a week ago, they'd been constrained to just Port Victoria, and now they were ranging as far afield as the rough uplands of the north. It was in those territories that the Tyrrhenians had run into some trouble, finding themselves amidst what was a veritable hive of banditry and unrest. While there were no significant urban centers there either, it was nevertheless imperative to secure the country's frontiers—smuggling across them could serve to funnel arms into the wrong hands at this point.

As they moved further and further from Port Victoria, they entered the lands which had been scoured clean, thousands of refugees having made their way progressively south and towards the coast throughout the fighting. What forage there had been was now gone, and many of the crop-fields which previously dotted the landscape were burnt. With the dry season now in its advent, it was far too late to re-knit the earth and sew the seeds in time for the next harvesting period. It would have to wait for the next season, by which time many would starve with their food stores and reserves emptied by war and refugees. Thus, one or two trucks would break off from the main convoy and grind to a halt beside some of these larger settlements along their route. This was why the 191st had sent out its engineers, for they'd been tasked with enabling subsequent humanitarian efforts and relief throughout the area. Always, they announced their intentions first—entering these villages with interpreters in tow—and spoke to the local elders, chiefs, headmen, or what-have-you. While they did not explicitly ask for consent, they nevertheless made an effort to gauge the local feeling before beginning anything like preparations for construction.

Their goal was fairly simple. Whereas the 99th battalion continued north with the stated goal of aiding the Tyrrhenians, the 191st was to erect a series of supply outposts and minor depots. First just along the major arteries heading north, but thereafter to spread out along the other roads running west and east. The purpose of these facilities was to serve as staging and housing grounds for both peacekeepers and foreign humanitarian workers, as well as relief and distribution points for aid. It was on that basis that they were placed upon the most significant roadways and beside the larger, more economically-relevant settlements, with the hope that it might have a genuine impact that way.

“This ain't going to be a hell of a lot of fun,” commented the same pale corporal, sitting among his compatriots in the personnel carrier behind the leading—armoured—vehicle. He waggled a finger sagely in the air, his dark eyes flickering between the assembled men as he made known his wisdom: “fucking guerillas. Bandits, man, I read their fucking news! Live in the bush and the hills, man, like whole clans of 'em!”

One trooper was unimpressed. “You can read their moonspeak runes?” he asked, to general laughter.

“Ain't ever known ya' to mind the bush too much,” another added, garnering a similar reaction.

“You guys just wait,” the corporal simply replied, grinning wide even as he shook his head with exasperation, “you just wait.”

Port Victoria
1st ER Logistics/Medical Battalion

What was worse than a hungry man, Brícca mused, was one that was also idle. He'd seen it demonstrated before, when the economic recession which followed the August Catastrophe had hit Etnaea. There, in the north, criminality had increased to surprising numbers for about or year or so in the heavily-wooded areas until the economy had stabilized. Now, he wouldn't be surprised to see the same occur here, even in the heart of the Eastern Cape.

In his mind, independence wasn't likely to bring anything like immediate or even lasting stability. The roots of that would perhaps be planted, but it would be a long while yet before they were firm, time which would require decisive thought and action both.

He wasn't a soldier. Well, technically he was, but the youthful, fair-haired and oddly dark-skinned Cingetíbu (captain) was a member of the 1st Etno-Rarouan Medical & Logistics Battalion, which meant that he was, in essence, a glorified desk-jockey. While others were responsible for the management of supplies, he was meant to be in charge of seeing to the needs of the locals—a job which he'd initially responded to with some skepticism. He'd arrived with the 204th when it'd first shipped over, and spent the majority of the trip hurling into the sea while aboard. Then, he'd been far too occupied with helping the 204th create temporary housing for the truly shocking amount of refugees in and around Port Victoria to really consider the long-term of what to do with them.

The trouble was that many of them were unemployed. Worse yet, the majority of those were also uneducated, being therefore unable to compete with the predominantly white and educated labor-force in the area. Ideally, he supposed that they'd be repatriated to the areas from whence they'd came, but there was no way to accomplish that with current resources nor was there any reason for them to return. Yet living on hand-outs was no way to keep them happy, and it seemed clear to Brícca that resentment of such would eventually start to mount.

To this end, he'd went through his discretionary funds quite fast, handing out work to anyone that asked. They were paid far better than they likely would have hoped, all for helping the engineers, logistical teams, or assorted other units get along with their work. It was certainly expediting the process, and at the least they weren't lacking for housing at the time being.

He felt like he was running a small town, in some ways. People would come to him sometimes and ask if he could spare some money, or give them a job, or see about pushing them forward in line to see the doctors. His interpreter, a native by the name of Scipo—not Scipio—would always smile broadly at Brícca, as if amused, before providing the translation.

“He want start a business,” Scipo said, pointing idly towards the man. He stood parallel to Brícca's desk while the Cingetíbu himself sat comfortably behind it. The petitioner, a tall, thin, older aboriginal slowly gazed between the pair. From what Brícca understood, his name was far too elaborate and native for him to possibly pronounce, let alone remember.

“A business?” he asked, a brow coming up. That was a new one, to be sure. The question caused the two natives to speak further, exchanging several full sentences before they were done. Finally, Scipo let out a hearty laugh and turned to Brícca.

“He say, you tattoo-men use much men, much truck to move your food and stuff around,” Scipo, at length, provided. His hands moved creatively as he spoke, an affectation which Brícca had learned to tolerate during their association. “He say, people want go north, to go back home now war over. He say, he want money to buy bus and trucks, to make company to do that.”

Now there was a good one. He'd have to talk it through with his commanders, but--. .

“Tell him to provide me with a list of exactly what he needs by the end of the week,” Brícca instead said, making a note of this discussion on a slip of paper on his desk. “We'll review it, and if it's good, we'll give him the money.”

Smiles on all their faces, they unknowingly founded the first—with meagre beginnings—aboriginal company in the Eastern Cape that day.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Blood Red Cape of Himyar

Pheko Sechaba Bakwena was nervously fingering along the edges of his planet ticket as the pilot had announced they would begin the descent for the landing. He hadn't been at home in years, forced out of the country to survive, both from poverty and persecution. With great worry had he followed the reports of war and even genocide in the Eastern Cape - it had been harder to contact his family with each year that had passed since he left. Ever since the Valkanian military expedition to his homeland, he hadn't heart anything from them at all.

The plane touched ground, the sound of the propellers quietened as the engines slowly died down and the machine rolled to its parking lot. Pheko Sechabas hands began shaking. What would await him outside of this plane? He had written anyone he knew in the country a telegram that he was coming, that was returning back home. Just days ago, Pheko Sechaba had thought he would spend his entire life abroad in Frescania, would never come to see his home again.

Then it all had happened so fast. International outcry, embargoes, talks of war and suddenly, Valkany backed down. The next morning, a stranger had approached him at his workplace - he was working as a packer at a fish cannery - congratulating him for the independence of his homeland and handing him an envelope with money and a one-way plane-ticket. Pheko Sechaba was baffled, to say the least.

Only later had he found out that the man was working for Carentania, someone from the embassy, and the only reason that Pheko Sechaba had raised their attention was his membership in a socialist trade union. He wasn't even that overly political, but he believed in Socialism, in equality and freedom - and this particular trade union had been popular amongst the other packers, so Pheko Sechaba had signed in.

And now that had earned him a ticket back home, so it had paid off he would say. But still, the question remained: would anyone be there to greet him? Would anyone recognize Pheko Sechaba? Would HE recognize his country?

And then there was it. The moment of truth. Pheko Sechaba Bakwena stepped out of the airport, the warm air of the Eastern Cape engulfing him. And tears ran down the grown mans face when he found his parents, his three sisters, his grandmother and his two aunts waiting for him.

He was home.

 

[Natal]

Tyrrhenian Peacekeepers Base; Northern Territories of the Eastern Cape;
13[SUP]th[/SUP] Red Guards Regiment “Agapios Iordanos”

Lochagos Andreas Lysandros Metaxas, a tall man, with short brown hair and green eyes, woke up scared, looking around expecting to see someone attacking him at any moment. Only after nearly a minute of looking around the hut he observed that he was safe, in the middle of his hut and the attack that he dreamed of already took place a few days ago. He got out of the mud building in which five other soldiers were still sleeping and he approached a fire on which a private was boiling some water for coffee.

The Tyrrhenians occupied an abandoned village in the north-eastern parts of the Eastern Cape, close to the border with Mozambia. The Tyrrhenians moved into the mud huts and used sand bags to create a defensive perimeter, thus creating the first base of the Tyrrhenian Peacekeepers in the Eastern Cape. The attack that Metaxas dreamed of took them by surprise. No one expected such a thing, especially in the night in which the Eastern Cape was granted independence. What shocked Andreas more was the fact that the bandits had good weapons, modern rifles, submachine guns and other guns that gave them much firepower. This level or armament and the surprise factor were the fact that made the Tyrrhenians lose two thirds of their forces.

“Do you want coffee, comrade Lochagos?” the soldier asked.

“Sure…” Andreas muttered.

He looked around. When the battle finally ended and the survivors managed to contact Port Victoria, the asked for reinforcement and some help to transport the wounded and the dead. The Etnaeans moved quickly and managed to take the wounded but not all of the dead were taken yet. The stink of death was starting to be felt in village. There were a few Tyrrhenian dead that were yet to be transported, but there were around three times more loses of the bandits’ side. Even if the majority of the corpses were buried in common graves by the survivors, now and then yet another corpse would be found in the bush around the village. Andreas also thought that it was strange that bands of bandits managed to have such a force, so he believed that they somehow united together to make the Tyrrhenians disappear so that they can continue their doings without any problems, a think that Andreas already reported the Port Victoria, if it is believable or not, that’s another thing. Tagmatarchis Athanasios Raptis was killed in the attack and Metaxas was now the commander of the base until reinforcements would arrive.

“We need to make sure that such a thing like that must not happen again,” said Andreas referring to the attack, while looking at the soldiers that were standing on guard on the barricades, between two sips of coffee.

“Comrade Lochagos, I don’t think that they would attack again,” said the soldier that was standing near him, while poking the fire with his bayonet.

“You think so?”

“If you were right, when you said that they attacked us because they wanted to do their things unhindered, I doubt that we will be attacked soon, especially when we are only 1/3 of our effective.”

“Let’s hope you are right…” Andreas stopped tough he wanted to say something more, but he looked at one of the soldiers from the barricades that was waving towards him and called him over.

“Sir, there seem to be around seven of eight people approaching us.” The soldier on the barricade said as Andreas came to him.

“I see them,” said Metaxas as he took the binoculars and looked towards them. “White flag!” he yelled as he observed some sort of shirt that was tied to a wooden stick and dangled by a man in front of the group. “Let’s meet them on the field. I don’t want them to see that we are so few.

The Lochagos, two more officers and ten other soldiers came outside the camp to meet with the approaching group. As they started to see them clearly, they observed that another man in the back was holding a girl in his arms; she looked like she was shot and nothing could have been done to her. The man with the white flag started to speak in the native language and it took some time until Ypolochagos Fotios Pachis, a short man, with black hair and eyes and with the beginning of a belly managed to translate, telling the Tyrrhenians that those are villagers that ran last night when their village was attacked by bandits. They hoped that the Tyrrhenians might help in saving the girl and protecting them. As Pachis finished the sentence, three soldiers took the girl while the medic was trying to see if she was still alive, though he was sure that it was just wasted time, but he didn’t want to tell those people that they walked most of the night just to be told that the girl is dead and that probably they will be sent away as the Tyrrhenians themselves were lacking supplies. As the soldiers were trying to understand the story the refugees were saying, about their village being attacked by bandits and even burned, because of the opposition against them, another soldier came shouting:

“Sir, the Etnaean trucks are approaching!”

Port Victoria

Kommisarios Marios Floros, a small man with a swarthy skin, with black hair and eyes, wearing the black city uniform of the Red Guards was standing in front of around fifty or more men from Port Victoria and the coast of the Cape, white and black, with the red flag with the yellow sun behind him.

“Comrades, the events that took place here show us that it is nearly certain that the Eastern Cape will use the red flag soon.” He paused a little and then continued. “But socialism comes in all shapes, forms and colors. Currently, the ideas of Sorokin and presented to you by the Carentanians, the ideas of Iziaslav by the Kyivans and the ideas of Iordanos by the Tyrrhenians. You will see that there are many differences between then in time, when you will get the chance to study each philosophy closely, understand it and then find which one suits you the best.

I called you all here to make sure that you remember how the whole conflict in the Cape, and then in the international community started. It was Tyrrhenia the one that was the first and most vehement against the actions of the Empire. It was Tyrrhenia that supported you from the beginning and it will be Tyrrhenia that will guard your interests until the end.”

A slight murmur was heard in the room, but the commissar continued.

“Tyrrhenia knows what results may have the perversion of a political ideology. I do not want to remember you of the Zervos dictatorship in Tyrrhenia. We took the Carentanian model without having the basis for it. We didn’t have a political education that would have kept a council communist system moving. We were manipulated and ended up in a single party state, ruled, ironically, by the Communist Party, though they had nothing to do with real socialism or communism. That is why I am here, comrades. Carentania is the closest example to what Marx describes as the communist society, but it will be impossible to do it like that in the Cape.”

The murmur was transformed into an angry mutter.

“But Carentania’s proposals and genocide resolutions were the ones that made the Empire to stop from the maniacal wrongdoings and have granted us now a free state,” said some man from the front rows and he was immediately approved by others around him.

“Then tell me, comrade, how do you think you will make the people understand and accept the principles of direct democracy, in a state in which not even a half of the population know what that even is, let alone respect it? You will educate them; that would probably be your answer. But let me tell you that in Tyrrhenia we are educating the people for that for the last 30 years and yet we do not believe we are ready for that. Until then what will you do?”
The man didn’t say anything else and the murmur stopped.

“Iordanos showed us the way. The Socialist revolution, either literally the revolution, or figuratively, it has to be permanent. The people must always be ready to take arms again to defend what they fought for in the past. Real socialism and real communism aren’t inheritable, they must be fought for.

But in a civilized society, there would be no need for a revolution every few years, that is why, we propose, in the presentation of the Iordanist socialist line, the creation of socialist parties that each present a line of thought, so that there will be competition against the parties, a thing that will surely not give any socialist leader the chance to transform himself and his movement in a deformed bourgeois.”
The commissars continued to share books written by Iordanos to the people in the room.

 

[Valkany]

Valkanian EKZA (Eistern Kolps Zivilbeamten Ablösung or Eastern Cape Civil Officers Dispatch) Camp in Port Victoria;
Garrison of the XIX Civilian Officers Logistics, Support & Aid Corps Company "Noble";

Major Gustav was in charge of the XIX Civilian Officers Logistics, Support & Aid Corps Company that had been dispatched to the Eastern Cape to help the Cantignians with cleanup work under the name EKZA and the code-name "Noble". He and his men were trying to relax and get some sleep in the Garrison Camp they had set up near the Cantignian one. After all they would be under Peacekeeper protection. But Gustav couldn't get sleep that night; partly because his troops were busy playing cards and joking around and partly because while they were there to help most natives would probably attempt to exact revenge for their lost ones on them. His first worry was kind of a comical one; in the Valkanian military such displays would most likely get both the commanding officer and his lot lined up and shot for insubordination but the Valkanian HQ had no way of knowing. On his other concern, while they were indeed protected by the Cantignians, some of the best troops in the world, not an even entire army can keep back a people's will for righteous revenge. A familiar voice disrupted his thoghts.

Hans: Her Kommandant, you seem rather troubled, is everything OK?
Gustav: It's fine private, it's just that all this feels wrong;
Hans: Meaning?
Gustav: We can't bear arms, we can't bear distinct badges or military clothing and we have to be escorted around by ICD troops, who for the record constantly give us suspicious looks like we bombed Swetho or something; In sort we have nothing to saw that we're a medic-aid and non-combatant force and we have nothing to defend ourselves with. Instead we look like a bunch of whites escorted around by the peacekeepers, pretty much every black's ideal target for revenge.
Hans: You know Her Kommandant, I've thought about that too. In fact most of us have, I mean we aren't even Inside the Cantignian camp and we only have a couple of ICD patrols to protect us. I wouldn't like to end up like those guys in the Bloody Sands of Mongbaru.

Gustav remembered that movie. Most troops and Valkanians in general did. A classic of Valkanian cinematography it showcased the heroic resistance of a the XII Marine Regiment against a much much larger native force during the Cape Conquest war in 1846. The troops held on for days but in the end got literally butchered mere hours before the cavalry arrived. That was the glory and fate that each soldier dreamed and was scared of respectively when partaking in a Colonial Expedition with the Marines.

Gustav: Don't worry Private, try to get some sleep along with the rest of the troops. We'll be fine, I guarantee it.
Hans: OK, but I will keep a couple of shivs and knifes under my pillow.

Gustav managed to get some sleep himself. Then he started hearing something, like if a voice was calling to him; he opened his slightly eyes but the light indicated that a long time had passed, it was probably morning. His hearing and vision however were impaired by the light and the sleepiness he experienced.

Hans: Her Kommandant! Wake up, we're under attack!
Gustav: What the hell?!
Fritz: Sir, they're circling around the camp! They've got guns! They got Johann and Karl!
Gustav: Where are the goddamn peacekeepers?!
Hans: No idea, probably dead or running either for help or their lives!
Gustav: Great! Let's hope they're at least coming back soon, and they better bring an army! First platoon get pressure on the wounds of wounded! Dig holes and get in there with them, this shit-hole isn't going to stop their fire!
Hans: On it!

The men had already begun digging holes and small trenches. All those speeches he had given them at least taught them how and when to do that. They were taking cover in there and trying to help their wounded as they could. Some had handmade knifes made form broken bottles and scissors (aka shivs) and small rubber-band catapults in hand. Others had Moklotov cocktails they made using the 90% Alcohol Valkanian Vodkas and Whiskeys. Though bricks, Molotov cocktails and shivs weren't going to stop god knows how many natives armed with automatic weapons.

Franz: Sir it doesn't look the Cantignians can help us, they're probably unarmed too! We need to call all available ICD bases to help us!
Gustav: What nations have bases near our location?
Hans: I think the Etnaeans and the Tyrrhenians have a couple of camps next to ours!
Gustav: Tell them we need a lot of help ASAP! How many natives are there?
Hans: A couple hundred at least!
Franz: Mayday, mayday this is the Valkanian EKZA Camp to all nearby ICD and ECDF bases, including the Tyrrhenian and Etnaean ones! We are under attack by about two and a half hundred natives armed with military-grade weaponry! We are unarmed! Requesting immediate assistance, I don't think we'll be able to hold our for much longer! Do you co-

A bullet hit Franz's back and came out the other side, leaving Franz a lifeless shell of his former self.

Gustav: Damn it! Medic! Get a medic over here! Hans get on that radio and keep relaying the SOS. The rest of you help me transport the radio and Franz into that large trench in the center!

Hans grabbed the radio's microphone. The rest transported it to the large trench as he spoke while a group of medics took Franz's body to the trench.

Hans: Mayday, Mayday do you copy? We need armed help ASAP!

 

[Asylan]

Commodore Lange stepped out of the helicopter. She looked back at the tiny craft. She couldn't believe that just years ago these devices never even existed, at least not to be mass-produced. Walking up to her was a tall man in a suit arms outstretched, "Commodore! Welcome to New Algolis! I am glad you have made it!"

Behind Lange, the former rebel leader Akesson also emerged from the small helicopter. He jogged up to where the two were standing. He extended his hand to the white man, "Mayor Viitala. A pleasure to meet you again."

Behind the group the helicopters blades had finally calmed down, relieving the roar of the engines. They began to walk towards a small convoy of vehicles parked close to the make shift landing pad. Lange spoke up, "Mr. Akesson, how do you know the mayor?"

"He was the man who arranged for me and my group to escape."

The group all got inside the mayor's personal limousine, where the the conversation could continue in a more private setting. When they finally settled in to the car, Mayor Viitala continued, "Yes I was Commodore. I'll be straightforward with you, he represented interests that failed to be realized until now. I was part of a small group of more wealthy men who wished the independence of the Eastern Cape."

"What? I don't understand, I thought most of the wealthy would be for the Valkanian government."

"Publicly yes, and most now do still in private. But I with my other cohorts represented a certain set of business interests that wished for a different Eastern Cape, one without the thumb of the Valkanian rule. I hold the firm belief that the more wealthy my country becomes, the wealthier not only I can become but the business interests I represent."

Lange snickered, "Well I suppose that is one way at looking at the situation."

"Do not think so lowly of me Commodore. I may represent business, but I am no monster. What happened here was reprehensible and I took no willing part in it. I invited you here because you managed to do what I could not, save Mr. Akesson. And by proving you could do that, I believe Asylan can radically change the lives of these people. Am I wrong? Should I look elsewhere?"

"I'm sorry, no you shouldn't. We are here to help."

Viitala smiled, "Excellent, Commodore remember your country could stand to gain serious economic benefits here and I only wish to help, when can your peacekeeping forces arrive?"

Lange shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "Mr Mayor, that may take some time. I can authorize armed guards for our Red Cross workers in your cities, but patrol your streets? Not yet."

His smiled quickly faded, "There is chaos in the streets Commodore! No other peacekeeping force has arrived here. They've all gone to the largest cities but have left us to fend for ourselves. If we don't get troops, everything will go out of hand."

"Mayor we can help in the form of funding. We've decided to focus our area of relief to your city and the surrounding area. That is still a few million people to provide aid for. We believe we can relieve the chaos slightly with the aid, until our peacekeeping forces can arrive. Until a full peacekeeping force can be authorized we wish to continue the plan of having the leased land just outside the city limits on the coast. We would like to set up the compound with a mobile dockyard and small landing pad so we can begin to ferry in supplies and personnel to begin assistance."

Viitala turned his head towards the window, "Very well Miss Lange. Whatever help you can give us will be much appreciated."

----

It was sunset and Commodore Lange had finally made it to the large plot of land that they had begun to lease from the city. For now it would have to do. With its proximity to the city, it wouldn't be too difficult to get supplies and other relief to the citizens of the city. By the time she had gotten there the first of the Asylan amphibious craft had begun to land and dozens of workers had begun to make their way out of them. Large crates where being carefully extracted from a variety of small loading vehicles and placed farther out of the shoreline. Slightly out in the distance, the 1st Task Force was anchored off the coast, and even more small in the distance she could see the highest point of the Erdenshire Naval Base. She could hardy believe that Asylan territory was so close to the misery and death that had occurred here.

The only thing she needed now were some troops.

 

[Thaumantica]

Port Victoria, the Eastern Cape
1st Civil Affairs Battalion of the Exterior

Breaking bread together at the end of their first full day of work in the city of Port Victoria, heavy eyes and heads dropped for prayer within a near undamaged Catholic Church. A primarily Protestant band of construction workers and diplomats, the Cantigians reluctantly accepted Papist safe haven until Protestant, or God-willing Quaker Chapels could be repaired or built anew. For the construction workers, their first day had been consumed by simple surveying work and recruiting of local nations to join construction crews, and for the diplomats their day was spent meeting with Cathiopian and Tyrrhenian forced to coordinate plans of protection for themselves and their shifty attachment of Valkanians camped outside.

"They still look Valkanian," Harold Synnett, the Chief Engineer announced after their prayer was through, "They are in Valkanian tents and bear Valkanian tools, someone out there is going to notice that the butchers are not yet gone". Todd Icterine the Chief Diplomat of the mission nodded uncomfortably, "I understand that this is meant to be a form of repentance for them, but Jesus - we might all die for their sins." From across the common room one of the Papists stood up and raised his hand as if he were in a school class, "Yes?" Icterine inquired, "Oh, yes, well what about the monks?" the Catholic asked, "Dress them in the humble robes of a monk and mix them amongst your ranks, only then would they truly blend in . . " Those who were still paying attention grunted in approval over their cups of wine or water and plates of bread and stew, "And a vow of silence, every one!" Synnett shouted, offering up his wooden cup for a rousing cheer.

When the attack came later that night all those who could be called back in to the Church were shouted for, still though at least twenty fell in the streets outside and many more were farther out and un-accounted for. As the rebels drew near those who could make it inside began stacking pews in front of the closed doors, shouting the local language word for "Mercy" as the Catholics took to ringing the church bells to join the ruckus screams and sporadic bursts of gunfire outside. The Cantigians not tasked with battening down the hatches began stacking their hammers, screwdrivers, axes and any tools that could be perceived as weapons in a great big pile near the door. If they were attacked in safe refuge they would have no choice but to surrender, their fates already determined by their lack of firearms or coordinated protection from the armed peacekeepers.

 

[Portusgalia]

The declaration of Independence of Eastern Cape, made Portusgalia "rest in peace", and regarded that no war will come from there. A few weeks later, bad news came in. The border guard, the "Guarda Fiscal", a brand of the Guarda Real, made a urgent call to Prefect Coutinho of Mozambia, stating a entrenchment of "foreign communists" nearby the borders of Mozambia. Coutinho, by his side, called Lisbon, putting everyone "awake" of the situation. In the next days, intellegence gathered information of fights in Eastern Cape, and the presence of "foreign communists". The last drop was a rumour of a sunked valkanian vessel in the sea.

In a Sovereign Congress session, the situation was theme of debate, and the congressmen stated, and must of them show concern for the safety of Himyar, and portusgalian provinces in there. The Mozambians are getting stressed about this, and a lot of pressure is being made over Lisbon. The Queen officially made a decree, long time no seen, a general call to arms, and a official "Red Code" state, and a pre-war mode.

A sleeping giant is awaked, in sleep since 1928.

Mozambia was the first to give response to the call, getting all men out of the barracks, from soldiers to National Guard militias. And placing them on the border of Mozambia with Eastern Cape. The first ones to arrive where the Engeneer Corps in order to fortify the border in the best way avaliable. A fortification is is process, and several regiments are arriving to the border.

The 2nd Fleet of Himyar is rushed into the mozambian national waters in order to prevent any coastal attack.

The towns from Mozambia are starting to build up AA nests in order to prevent possible aerial raids.

 

[Valkany]

Hans: Sir nobody seems to be answering!
Gustav: Shit! Any ideas gentlemen?
Paul: Just one sir! Though you may not like it!
Gustav: Tell me, it's not like we have the comfort to be picky!
Adolf: We have Sodium, water and Ammonia, right?
Gustav: We do, we need them for restoration and field tasks. My chemistry studies are telling me you're going somewhere with this!
Paul: You see if we mixed water with Sodium we could create an explosion. And ammonia is highly hazardous and caustic too, so we would get an added effect.
Gustav: That's true but we would need those two to mix at the right time so they don't blow us up! How are we going to do that right now?
Hans: Well... remember when I said we were also scared of an attack? Let's just say we already made some preparations...
Gustav: Nice thinking! Though make sure you tell me about that next time! Anyway, how many Molotovs do we have left?
Hans: With all the alcohol we brought? Enough to set a city on fire! We also made a little potato gun during our breaks! We could use that to launch some of the explosives at them!
Gustav: You're starting to scare me... Anyway Edvard you speak their language, right?
Edvard: Of course sir. That's why I'm here in the first place!
Gustav: Good tell them we give up! Wait until they get about 50 yards from our lines and then shoot at them with everything we got! It should be enough to get them running, as they'll think we're armed too!
Hans: Good thinking! OK everybody, you heard the man!

Edvard grabs a megaphone. The rest ready their hand-made weapons for a last stand.

Edvard: Sisi kujisalimisha!
Native leader: Kupata yao!
Hans: Here they come!
Gustav: Hold your fire!

The natives get within 100 yards of the camp.

Gustav: Steady!

The natives are only 50 yards away form the camp! The Valkanian troops can clearly see them now!

Gustav: Fire!

The troops unleash a surprise attack on the natives! The potato cannon's shells are quite effective and the Molotov cocktails manage to cause mayhem in the tight enemy lines! The potato cannon and rubber-catapults fool the natives into thinking the Valkanians are armed! The natives start fleeing the battlefield but keep up their fire to cover their retreat!

Gustav: OK I think we're clear now! Hans get on that radio and let all the ICD guys know what happened! Karl and Fritz you're coming with me we need to see how many we killed and gather their weapons and bodies! We need the bodies as proof and we could potentially build a small barricade with them for now! The weapons could help us defend ourselves until the peacekeepers are here. And don't worry their serial markings and their weapon types don't match ours so it'll be clear they were native weapons! Also the natives have ammo for that stuff on them! The rest of you count dead and injured! Stay frosty they might come back!

The troops follow the Major's commands. The result is much of a victory though. The Valkanians routed the natives but lost 16 men in the process with another 24 wounded. The natives only lost 31 men. A number didn't even have any ammo left. The Valkanians were able to recover some very old Mannlicher type weapons and some Pphs-41s. (3 PPSh-41s, 9 Carcanos, 6 Steyr-Mannlicher M1895s, 8 Mannlicher-Schönauers and 4 Steyr Mannlicher M1901s). Pretty much old Valkanian junk they probably stole from some Eastern Cape National Guard Base. They barely even recovered enough ammo for all of them. The Valkanians broke up their potato cannon and returned the chemicals to their storage tanks. They then fortified and waited for the peacekeepers to arrive.

 

[Touzen]

The Blue Wedge

This was the moment he had been waiting for for so many years. Zero hour. Ever since he had returned to his native Cape, all his ambitions had been centered around preparing for this very moment. When he had left the Cape for Sylvania over 15 years ago, a convinced communist, he didn't expect to see his friends or family ever again, unless they would follow him into exile. But this was 15 years ago. Siemon Botha was a different man today. Living in exile amongst the brightest and most well-versed intellectuals from across the globe, spending your days in the reading circles and underground meetings of the blossoming radical scene of Charleroi, changes a man.

When he had come to Sylvania, he had nothing. Like so many poor immigrants, he somehow came by through a myriad of odd jobs such as the stereotypical dish washing, delivering papers or even selling religious literature from door to door. Back in the Cape he had been an idealist, a fighter against Valkanian oppression, but in Sylvania he learned what it meant to be humble. And when he had returned to the Cape seven years ago under a general amnesty and with the hopes to begin a new life, his experiences had changed him, though not for the better, if his old comrades were concerned. Because while in exile, he met a peculiar Touzen man. Taketori. The man who was now setting an entire continent on fire, stumbled upon him, the other non-white outcast, in the coffeehouse circles of the Sylvanian capital and took an immediate interest in him. At first, as was to be expected, they weren't the best of friends. The political ideals differed to greatly. Taketori was the disowned son of the revolution, a brilliant theoretician, but also arrogant and prone to all-or-nothing stances. Siemon had been a communist for as long as he could think, just like his father had been. Communism and the struggle against the Valkanians seemed like a natural match for the son of a man who had once owned hectares upon hectares of arable land, which the Valkanian authorities then had redistributed to white settlers. At times, their struggle wasn't just one of words, and they were even kicked out of a restaurant once for breaking a table.

But over time, the Caper began to see Taketori in a different light. Hadn't his comrades at home completely abandoned him? Had they not not helped him cope with his new life in Sylvania? Did they really care about keeping him up to date with the latest developments indicate? The lacking correspondence suggested otherwise. These and other questions Taketori had asked Siemon over the weeks and months, and even though he tried to the best of his abilities, he couldn't find a satisfactory answer which exonerated his supposed friends.

The two men began to meet more frequently, discussing the classics, Marx, Engels, Sakai, the vanguardists, the transcripts of the first and second International. Taketori was an eloquent men, one of those classical academics that simply knew how to convince a man. And, like Botha, he had been an outcast, someone who had been forced to flee his country and who yet didn't feel at home in the new one that had so generously welcomed him in its bosom. Botha couldn't exactly tell when the exact moment was than that he realized that he no longer felt at home with the political beliefs he had embraced as a youth, but when he took up the opportunity to return to the Cape, not before protesting Taketori's encouragement that he should, the communist Siemon Botha was dead and the post-delegationist Siemon Botha had embarked upon a third class ride in the belly of a steamship back towards the Valkanian Empire, back towards the colonial Cape.

Back home, he had put this revolutionary ambitions to rest, for the moment at least. He knew that the objective conditions for revolution in the Cape were not ripe yet. So for now, he settled down for a typical bourgeois existence. He sold the a small farm he had inherited after the death of his uncle, opened a small bakery in Nova Pretoria, had to close it down again due to problems with the authorities, married and later got divorced again, and eventually subsided on an existence as an irregular column writer for several local and regional newspapers on the variety of topics such as local sporting events, farming fairs, and other topics which steered wide and far from such critical topics such as politics or the nature of Valkanian colonialism.

It wasn't a luxurious existence by any means, but this way he could at least stay in touch with the developments in the Cape and get a feeling for the opinions and problems of the common people while appeasing his worried mother with a stable and ultimately boring life. In the street where his small apartment in Nova Pretoria was located, he became over time known as the man who had traveled the world, or so they said, and who always could lend a helping hand or had an educated opinion on a problem. Everyone there simply knew him as Siemon, the helping hand. His existence, though, was overall unremarkable. And had it not been for the remarkable events of early 1954, the only reason Siemon Botha might have entered the history books, if only as a footnote, would have been his chance meeting with Taketori, so many thousands of miles away from either's home.

But that was seven years ago.

Now, everything had changed, now the moment the helping hand had waited for for so many years had come, all of a sudden. He vividly remembered one peculiar discussion he had with Taketori about the nature of the revolution and if it could be predicted and planned for. Siemon had insisted that it could be predicted, by observing the objective material conditions, and that the revolution, when the time was right, would inevitably happen. Taketori had laughed, and challenged him why then had the Touzen revolution ultimately failed and degenerate into delegationism if only the time for a revolution had to be right? Siemon had known no answer, and Taketori had explained to him that a revolutionary situation without a revolutionary leadership was no revolutionary situation at all, but rather a recipe for chaos, riots and unnecessary death. Either that, or the moment when the reaction would assert itself even more brutally.

These days, Taketori was leading his own revolution, and Siemon often wondered if Taketori had not after all foreseen this, his new revolution. Whatever was the case, Siemon now knew what to do. The Cape was not very developed. It did not possess a worker's mass base, nor had Siemon been able to create the post-delegationist nucleus over the years of his unassuming existence in fear of retributions by the Imperial authorities, who despite of the amnesty had kept a close watch on him. The situation was far from ideal, but yet he had try. This was after all, he reminded himself once again, what he had waited for all these years.

Valkanian authority had basically crumbled overnight. As Valkanian troops and officers withdrew from the cities, they left a partial vacuum. Of course the settler police forces were still around, and they still operated for the largest part, but spontaneous demonstrations of joy over the end of white settler rule and looting of stores now unprotected by colonial authorities, operated by Valkanian expats who could do nothing against the emotions that was now unleashed against them instead of stepping out of the way, could be witnessed across Nova Pretoria. Siemon Botha could only speculate about the true nature of events across the rest of the Cape; he suspected that the pro-colonial newspapers and the press of the interventionists would do well to maintain a semblance of order for the peacekeeping mission.

In any case he didn't have much time. Under his kitchen sink, Simmon had stored a small trunk it inside the trunk a neatly arranged row of 20,000 Sylvanian Silverbacks now presented themselves to him as he opened the case for the first time in years. They were still in perfect condition, neatly tied together by small strings. A stable, valuable currency. His parting gift from Taketori, who said that he trusted "Colleague Botha" to know when it would be the right time to use them. He was confident: now was that time.

 

[Tyvia]

Port Victoria
1st ER Logistics/Medical Battalion

Brícca found this entirely unsurprising, all the events which were presently transpiring. The Cantignians and Valkanians had been assigned some zones within the defensive cordon (established more for the purpose of warding off bandits and processing refugees effectively than anything else), either within or around some of the refugee heavy zones, all with the intent to go and assist with civil works or some other such nonsense. Of course, they'd gone and made a mess of things, and his money was on the Valkanians having done so—whether purposefully or otherwise. He made an absent note in the back of his head to find out which idiot had decided accepting them, let alone assigning them to refugee centers for work was somehow a good idea.

He'd gotten the story in bits and pieces from several people, and the train of bodies streaming into the triage station he'd established—both living and dead—served to fill in some of the gaps of knowledge. By the time he'd gotten enough information to have a general overview of the situation, Scipo was laughing intermittently and shaking his head in disbelief. Apparently, some Valkanian troops—drunk and acting out—had ended up in some way provoking the natives. Unsurprising that they wouldn't react well to actual Valkanian soldiers.

“Drunk and disorderly,” Brícca growled, irate, his head mimicking the aboriginal's own motions. They ambled out into the midday sun, donned sunglasses, and stood transfixed by both the sight and the noise of the unfolding chaos. Even at this distance, they could still hear the tumult and din of raised voices, where Etnaean soldiers made their best attempt to disperse the riled population. It'd taken him a few minutes, but after the first reports had come in, he'd managed to get enough of them pulled away from other duties to come here and play the role of police.

He gestured expansively, glancing sideways at his taller companion. “They go and fuck this place up,” the Cingetíbu said, “and then come back to get drunk. I could have them shot! I will have them shot! Drag them in front of the fucking tribunal for the idiots they are!” And though it was Scipo's custom to tilt his head up and laugh whenever Brícca rambled or raged, he did not do so now , for his eyes remained fixed on the unfolding riot.

From their position, they could see the situation fairly well. The triage station had been hastily erected by a few medics and engineers from the 1st, right as the shit started to hit the fan. It was a fairly short walk from the makeshift town which the engineers had been steadily building for the arriving refugees, and set upon a hill which afforded them a view of the majority of it. Even now, a pair of troopers was intermittently dispatched up, bringing on a stretcher a wounded black or Valkanian. Far too many had been wounded in the fighting already, and ever further casualty only served to enrage the Cingetíbu further. From where he was, he could see the scene clearly: the crowd effectively laying siege to a church and a set of other buildings which made up the joint Cantignian and Valkanian compound. The survivors had barricaded themselves in, but some had already been mauled or torn to pieces by the furious, agitated crowd. Even now, at the peripheries and on the streets lining the routes of entry and egress to this camp, troops were moving in.

He hated this feeling of uselessness, of standing about and being unable to do anything—and so he trudged forward, gritting his teeth, wearing no gun or other weapons. A sudden compulsion came over him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, though a cold sweat had settled over his arms, and he no longer felt the midday heat. Hesitantly, Scipo followed.

It was a miracle, in Brícca's mind, that someone on high had the common sense to send more than just a single military policemen with the peacekeepers. They were of little real use outside the city, and so it had been relatively trivial to send out a handful of vehicles and bring them out to coordinate the troopers in putting down the riot. Their equipment was still in storage, and so a precious five minutes had to be expended to find it, distribute it, and then move the appropriate forces in response. The aboriginals had been left to rage, to destroy, and to kill those that they'd deemed had offended them unchecked for that time, but had been momentarily quelled by the arrival of Etnaean troops.

“No shooting!” called out a sergeant amidst the ranks, huddling among his fellows behind a row of shields. They'd converged on the location of the riot and surrounded those responsible and participating, cutting off the streets leading in and out. “No shooting!” he repeated, giving a heart smack on the head of a nearby trooper who'd as yet failed to sling his weapon. Indeed, rather than rifles, they now bore batons, rods, and some even makeshift clubs. They advanced steadily down the streets, moving increasingly closer, allowing any that wished to flee to do so by letting them through their ranks. “Unless someone takes a fuckin' shot at you!” the man called again, presumably keen on his mission, “you ain't to shoot, an' even then only when I goddamned tell you!”

“Christ's balls,” Brícca murmured, upon arriving. Scipo stood beside him, and the pair were among the rearmost members of the slowly advancing, shield-guarded column. They made their way forward, pushing and beckoning for troops to move aside, until they found themselves right behind the men carrying the shields. Scipo was hoisted up by a handful of men, elevated such that he could be seen above the rest, and the aboriginal began to shout over the din to his countrymen in their native tongue. “This isn't right! This isn't justice!” he claimed, among several other similar mantras, hoping to in some way allay the mob's vengeful spirit. “Peace! Stand down!”

It was hoped that not too much damage had yet been done, that few had perished. Even so, were the crowd willing or not, they would be deterred from further violence—even were it to require some violence itself.

Northern Kapa Botjhabela
99th "Megalíx" Composite Battalion

On the other side of the country, a whole different lot of men were assigned to different objectives. The 99th battalion, the praised Megalíx, had arrived to find the Tyrrhenian encampment in a state of surprising emptiness and disarray. Though all knew that they'd endured some attacks, the joking atmosphere died away and grew abruptly sombre as the Etnaeans arrived, realizing the true breadth of the casualties endured by their allies.

The trucks pulled into the compound first, some depositing their cargo of men outside it to provide a screen for those yet arriving. Whatever armored vehicles had accompanied the convoy remained outside until the last moment, moving in only once the rest had done so. The usual exchange began, though few Tyrrhenians spoke Etnaean and vice versa. Isarmorgan cigarettes were exchanged for Tyrrhenian cigars, some mead for wine, and assorted other goods the common soldiery comforted themselves with. To his credit, the Bicugetíbu (Major) pretended to ignore all that, leaving them to enjoy this moment of cordiality while he sought out his opposite number among the Tyrrhenians.

That infamous corporal, who could indeed interpret both the moonrunes and speak which made up their language, now made an appearance. He looked rather incongruous, pale and thin, beside the broad-shouldered and darker Bicugetíbu, but even so made a concerted effort to maintain the military dignity expected of him.

“My condolences for your losses thus far,” he spoke through the interpreter, extending his right hand out to anyone that especially wished to shake it. “I am Major Dagos Tanisga Isaixa, commander of the 99th Composite Battalion. We're here to support you—even relieve you here, should you wish to make your way back to the coast. I'm informed that one of our sister battalions with the brigade will be arriving in the next few days, more possibly should we require further assistance. Some engineers, too, to see if we can't get a real airstrip set up.”

His men began to disperse at the direction of the NCOs, being broken off into a handful of groups each charged with different things. One was given the task of securing housing and shelter for the Etnaean troops, as well as making sure their supplies—intended for both their own and Tyrrhenian use—were offloaded safely, securely, and comprehensively. Another was broken off to supplement the garrison of the Tyrrhenian camp, to man the defenses, see to them, and assist in their furtherment, elaboration, or repair. The final one, organized by one of the battalion's two Cingetíbus, was given combat patrol duties—especially once Isaixa learned of the trouble in the area. He'd brought nearly five hundred men with him, and it was hoped that they'd have some significant impact on the affairs in the area. Better yet, they'd come with armoured personnel carriers. Patrolling the villages surrounding the camp would hopefully become much safer as such.

At any rate, discussion was still necessary before any operations could properly be undertaken.

 

[Valkany]

The battle was over and Gustav had now found out about the drunken men and the troubled they caused bringing all of this upon the small EKZA force. He ordered them to his office, or what was left of it, immediately.
Gustav: You morons, you imbeciles you, got damn idiots! I let you drink a cup a day for God's sake but you went completely out of hand with this! And do you see what your drunken actions brought to us all?! 16 of our dead, 24 wounded and 31 justifiably pissed of aboriginals!
Jarl: Sir we only drunk a little more because of our work. I mean you should have told us when to stop-
That last comment made the Major red with anger. The major struck a punch on the Corporal's face.
Gustav: You dare point blame at me?!
The Major grabbed a large blue book with gold letters on its cover. "Die Karolinischen Eid & Militär Gesetz Der Valkany". He turned to page 4, the title said "Banned substances".
Gustav: You see this here? It says "No more than 2 standard glasses alcoholic beverages are to be consumed within a day by any Valkanian trooper while on duty on penalty of death by firing squad.". Do you know what this means?
The soldiers nodded in approval.
Gustav: So here is how this is going to work out; you are going to be arrested by either our Military Police right here, right now or the Etnaeans are going to get your asses. If our MP gets you then you either get shot as humanly and discretely as possible or you most probably get sent to New Volgdova to freeze your asses off for the rest of your miserable military careers and get stripped of any decorations and ranks you have earned. If the Etnaeans get you though you'll probably hung or get imprisoned. Let me be clear: our task here is sacred! I will most certainly not compromise theis entire mission and the security of my men and womend for a pack of four Jackasses who don't even remember the oath they gave! Dismissed! Take them away corporal.
The MP takes the troops out of the office and locks them up in the stockades. Hans enters the Major's office.
Hans: Sir all KIAs from both sides are accounted for along and we've managed to stabilize our wounded for now.
Gustav: How's the perimeter going?
Hans: It's stabilized. The aboriginals are still out there but every time they try to get close we fire a couple of shots in the air with the rifles we captured and they scatter. I also got word that a group of Etnaean peacekeepers is headed for us, their opening the way between the main ICD camp and the bases of us and the Cantignians.
Gustav: Good job, keep me posted. I've got to get ready to meet the Etnaean commander once they get here. We have a lot of explaining to do.

 

[Polesia]

Port Victoria
Eastern Cape

The first Cathiopian officials had arrived in the Eastern Cape the day immediately after independence had been announced by the Valkanian imperial government. Acting nominally under the authority of the International Commission on Decolonisation, they negotiated with officers of the Etnaean and Tyrrhenian peacekeeping mission, and the vestiges of the Valkanian colonial regime, to secure a mission headquarters, eventually occupying the impressively-sized City Hall.

The building had been a regular victim of the violent rioting that had marked the dying days of Valkanian rule. Shattered glass from smashed windows covered the ground surrounding the Hall, and graffiti, mainly in the form of angry anti-colonial slogans, marked the Hall's towering walls. The interior had also been ravaged, with only a few valueless items left inside by the looters.

Enlisting the help of Port Victoria's idle poor, Cathiopian officials removed the debris and repaired the damage inflicted. A multi-lingual sign, displaying the name of the International Commission on Decolonisation in the different languages of its member-states and the Eastern Cape, now rested above the City Hall's entrance. Those who had been involved in the building's restoration were handed fistfuls of Cathiopia's currency, the Nzimbu, and a leaflet briefly explaining the purpose of the Commission's presence in the Cape. Most, being impoverished and illiterate, discarded the leaflets and grabbed the money, often demanding more.

Cathiopia's own delegation was soon joined by others. But the atmosphere in the Commission's command was one of chaos, not co-operation. Relief work was not being properly co-ordinated, meaning large swathes of the Cape remained without basic supplies. Indeed, no unified hierarchy had been established to manage the different initiatives of the Commission's member-states. The peacekeeping mission was also not being consulted on the Commission's operations, so much reconstruction work was being done without armed protection. In short, there was no plan for the Eastern Cape.

The Commission risked being overwhelmed. Everyday, journalists from the international press were returning to scrutinise the progress of the Commission. Mothers, with missing husbands and desperate children, camped outside, begging for food and guidance. Valkanian settlers would also arrive, demanding the punishment of rioters and compensation for their losses.

The fates of the Commission and the Cape had been irrevocably tied since the former had been handed responsibility for the latter. At the moment, the future of neither was clear.

 

[Natal]

Northern Kapa Botjhabela
13[SUP]th[/SUP] Red Guards Regiment “Agapios Iordanos"

Andreas Lysandros Metaxas was happy that finally the Etnaeans arrived. He left the natives together with some of his soldiers and Fotios Pachis and went to meet with the reinforcements. After he supervised the entrance of the Etnaean trucks inside the base, he went to meet with his homologous.

“I am Andreas Metaxas, temporary commander of the 13[SUP]th[/SUP] Red Guards Regiment. I thank you for your support… the last days have been tough and nothing that you are being told in the barracks really compares to what is happening around you in the middle of the battle.” He said while shaking the hand of the Etnaean major. “No, there is no need for the relieve, as by now Tyrrhenian soldiers are arriving in Port Victoria to complete the regiment and we’ve been ordered to supervise the border region with Mozambia. Tyrrhenian soldiers stationed here would help you, if needed with the construction of an airstrip, as it would be a necessity in this isolated region.”

After showing the Etnaeans the places they can take shelter in the following days, the old mud houses that were teeming with Tyrrhenian soldiers a week earlier, though many of them were still empty as the number of Tyrrhenians was not large enough to use all houses. Metaxas believed that those would be enough for the Etnaeans and if needed, he would provide some tents for the others.

“Some natives arrived here in the morning and said about another bandit attack on their village. I managed to talk through the radio with Commissar Marios Floros and he ordered us to clear the village. Even if I told him that we barely form a company, he ordered us to patrol the zone and help the civilians. Can you ask your HQ if you can reinforce us in this, to have a join operation?” Asked Metaxas as he escorted the Etnaean officers to the natives that were still waiting for a response from the peacekeepers.

“Those are the people that ran from the village when it was attacked.”

Port Victoria

Kommisarios Marios Floros was looking at all the paperwork that needed to be done, as tomorrow Tyrrhenian ships full of soldiers for the peacekeeping operation and supplies that are to be distributed in the north-eastern regions all needed to have their roadmaps and documents signed and completed and it all fell on his shoulders, but he was now concerned of something else. Portusgalia was becoming more and more aggressive in the last days and it seemed that it put its eyes on the Eastern Cape. He couldn’t accept that. His duty was to turn the Eastern Cape in a Iordanist stronghold in Himyar and in front of him stood the implacable members of the Central Committee of the Worker’s Party, the Portusgalian threat, white Himyaris that didn’t want to make any concessions to change the status quo, the Carentanians, the Kyivans, the Etnaeans, the Commission for the Decolonization, bandits that attacked his soldiers and on top of this it seemed that some Christian communist movement in Tyrrhenia was going to take the crown from the Worker’s Party. He was overwhelmed. He needed to find out more about what is happening at home, to see when to jump on the other boat, so that he will not be replaced after the elections, but from this part of the world, it was hard to continuously get reliable information. Afterwards, he heard about the incident in the city, involving the Valkanians. When he heard it, he got so angry that he was afraid that he would suffer a commotion, but fortunately it didn’t happen. After some time, when the Etnaeans reported that the fighting has ended, he took three Red Guards as escorts and asked another ten men to bring some medical supplies to help the wounded and went to the place of the altercation.

As he finally arrived, his men started helping the Etnaeans in mending the wounded while he went to see Captain Bricca, from the Etnaean Medical & Logistics Battalion. They must have provided a funny image, with Floros small, swarthy and brunette and Bricca tall and fair haired.

“Good day Captain,” said Commissar Marios Floros as he came close to him. “What a mess… I don’t know whose idea was to accept the Valkanians as part of this operation, but he didn’t really though it through… “He paused for a bit, but not enough to let the Etnaean respond to shat he said. “Captain, may I talk with you in private?”

After the two of them walked a bit further away from both the medics and the soldiers, Floros continued: “It is imperative, my friend. The Valkanians must leave if we are to continue our operations here safely. God knows what the natives here think of people like you and me. As there are people back in the Old World that see no difference between the blacks, there are also people here who don’t look at our uniforms, don’t care about our names and the languages we speak, but just look at our white skin and put an equal between us and the killers that come from Valkany. The problem is that this incident has fed the minds of the people who think like that, especially because we intervened to save the Valkanians. For the success of our operation and if things go bad, even for the sake of our own lives, we must be sure that the Valkanians will disappear from this continent as soon as possible. They bring only death wherever they go and I’m sure that there are people in this country that are against our presence here, both Tyrrhenian and Etnaean. We need to be sure that we won’t give them any other motive to come and fight us.”

 

[Portusgalia]

The portusgalian soldiers and NG militiamen in the borders don't take any agressive stance, position or move towards the other forces on the border side of Eastern Cape. Their orders are strict and reckless, "not provoke, not insult, not insinuate", and there are huge penalties for those who dare to broke it.

They stand still in an apathetic defensive position across the borders. Even in the Check Points on the road borders the portusgalians are very polite and educated with the Tyrrhenians.

 

[Asylan]

The base outside of New Algolis had begun to grow at an impressive rate. Ever since Commodore Lange had arrive from the Erdenshire naval base throngs of poor and starving Algolans had been gathering at the base. In fact a small settlement ha begun to form not that far away and this had begun to worry Lange. Should any trouble break out, she didn't know if she had enough authority to deploy the troops from the confines of the base and attempt to keep the peace. However she had more pressing needs that needed attention.

Akkeson, who now was member of the city council that he once had to flee from, had just arrived from the city. Lange had just got back to her tent office on the base as he walked in to speak to her. "Commodore, may I?"

Lange extended her hand to a fold up chair near her desk, "By all means. I need to tell you that most of your refugees have returned. Around three thousand asked to remain and create a permanent civilian settlement on Erdenshire."

"I see. Then I hope that they can help the relations between our two peoples. I came her to ask again for the request of peacekeepers of Asylan in the city."

Lange sighed, she yet again had to deny him, "I'm sorry it still hasn't been cleared yet. The internationl community is fractious on this issue. I cs authorize some of my officers to become advisers for your cities police forces. We are still having to communicate with the national government about the areas around the cities."

"The situation is stable for now but I don't know how much longer we can keep it this way until it falls into anarchy. While I am grateful to the mayor for his help, he is a business man, not and administrator. His mistakes are beginning to mount."

"Have you considered running for Mayor in the next election?" Lange asked.

"Perhaps. We will see on the vents tha lay ahead."

Lange couldn't help but raise her eyebrow. She didn't like the way that sounded. She liked Akesson, a nd believed him to be a good leader, but if something was going to happen she couldn't help him. "Are things that bad?"

"Yes they are. You'll excuse me Commodore I must return to the city."

"Of course I'll see you soon I hope."

----

After Akesson had left, Lange decided to mull over her options, looking through dozens of reports. There was not much she could do to help the situation in the city or the townsand villages around it. The only stable area was the land in the immediate vicinity of the base. In her mind she had only three options. Deploy her forces any and hope that the lack of any real peacekeeping presence and hope that the international community wouldn't react badly. Her other options would have to involve the Etnaeans. They had good relations in the past, especially after their navy helped save the Erdenshire base. She cold either ask them to deploy their troops here or ask that Asylan peacekeepers ride long. She doubted the socialist peacekeepers would be very helpful and some of the religious upheaval she had heard about in other sections of the country were disturbing.

She went to her phone for what seemed like the hundreth time that day and placed her call back to Eitlan.

 

[Tyvia]

Port Victoria
1st ER Logistics/Medical Battalion

Altogether, the morning had served little practical purpose in Brícca's considered opinion. A handful of aboriginals were dead, and alongside them were some of their erstwhile Valkanian masters and tormenters. They'd already been heaped into graves on the far side of the fledgling town, while the Valkanian bodies had been returned to the relevant authorities so they might process them however they wished. While some of the suspected ringleaders of the riot had been arrested and thrown into a temporary stockade, the majority of those participating in it—or at least those not actually charged with murder—were let go. There was neither sufficient space nor manpower to detain and process them all, and it was ultimately thought to be a waste of time to do so in any event. Already, Scipo was going through those arrested with the help of a pair of exceedingly enthusiastic Etno-Raroua interrogators.

Of course, there was the other problem. The one that had served only to exacerbate Brícca's headache. Though arrests had been made, the Etnaean troops did not disperse from the perimeter they'd established around the Valkanian camp. At length, it tightened, and some men came to the Valkanian stockade to take away those men charged with inciting the riot. Doubtless they must have been quite astonished when the peacekeepers then converged upon the camp and began to take into custody all Valkanians present, not just those so accused. He'd had to explain himself at some length on that regard.

“You'll all be extradited,” he calmly explained to his Valkanian counterpart, surprising himself with this newfound decisiveness. “Back to your homeland. The events today confirm what we've feared from the get-go, that whether or not you're here under the banner of peace and aid, the natives don't want you here.” It helped that he had more than a battalion of armed Etnaean peacekeepers to back up his words, and so Brícca spoke calmly and sternly through his interpreter, both eyes fixed upon the Valkanian major. “You'll be given guarded quarters close to the harbour, 'till we can arrange for your transit. Sixteen dead, twenty-four wounded . . Christ's balls, you should be thankful it wasn't more. Cut your losses, major, and take off lest the figure doubles.”

A clipboard was produced from somewhere, a scrabble of adjutants and Etnaean MPs briefly enveloping the pair. Brícca stared down at it, scanning the list of names displayed in sloppy cursive there. “Those men accused, previously held by you,” he went on, “of inciting the riot will have to be prosecuted here. I'm sorry, it can't be helped. The political situation here is such that letting you prosecute them yourself or in Valkany might incite further riots or unrest.” That matter thus explained, Brícca ambled off and let the MPs get on with doing their job. There were a handful of warehouses by the harbour which he could quite readily furbish with the appropriate bedding and other amenities where the Valkanians would be temporarily held, though he'd have to assign at least a platoon to guard them. Troublesome. He'd have to check the numbers again.

He thus made his way slowly back to his office, by which time reports had already piled up on his table to an astounding degree. Idly, he leafed through the top few while he sat himself down, setting his sunglasses aside for the time being. By the time a half hour had passed, the majority had been chucked into the trash bin he'd kept on the far end of the room, though the pile only continued to grow. With a grumble, he forced himself back to the triage area, where Scipo returned—fresh from the interrogations and grinning like a fool—to attend to and apprise him of the situation there.

“They say they was insulted,” he informed the Cingetíbu, his tone such that one might believe his words to be some sage revelation. He continued to smile broadly, only elaborating when Brícca impatiently motioned for him to do so.

“They say they—the Valkers—was calling them monkeys, talking in their own tongue, thinking that we capefolk can't be understanding,” Scipo said, “but they did. Started talking, was provoked.” He shrugged, scratching the top of his bald head with two long fingers. “Men who killed admit it. Some in shock, can't believe it. Some say they was provoked.”

“What do you think we should do with them?” Brícca asked, a sinking feeling suddenly realizing in the pit of his stomach as he slowly came to terms with the fact that he'd be responsible for them.

Unfortunately, Scipo's simple “no clue” provided no insight into the matter.

He'd been faintly surprised when the Tyrrhenian approached him, even moreso when he was lead away to have some private talk. In truth, the majority of what was said went over his head, for Brícca never really had much of a mind for rhetoric and didn't especially need an explanation of why blacks might dislike whites here. It took him a few moments to respond when Floros finished, though moreso for the fact that he'd zoned out for several seconds than because he didn't have one. He supposed that it may have been a tad unsporting to let the Tyrrhenian say all that and only then inform him that he'd already beaten him to the bunch.

“I'm already placing them all under arrest,” he informed Floros, managing to keep his face straight. “It's my intention to immediately send them all back to Valkany, whether or not they want to stay. Those accused of inciting the riot, well—. . given how things are, we'd lose a lot of the trust we've built up if we didn't judge them here.”

A burst of inspiration. A grin quite similar to those customarily exhibited by Scipo now appeared on the Cingetíbu's own face. “We're going to hand them over to the Cathiopians,” he said. “Them and the aboriginals we've arrested. They're blacks, and they're with the IDC. Better let them take care of it, it's their job after all. Looks a lot better if the IDC actually does something, too, at fucking last. Also looks better if a civilian authority passes sentencing instead of a military tribunal.” He could see it all coming together in his head, picture perfect. Assuming there was no trouble, it was definitely what he'd do.

Northern Kapa Botjhabela
99th "Megalíx" Composite Battalion

By the end of the first day, the troop surge had provided the 13th Red Guards Regiment with an abundance of new material, manpower, and morale. Now cognizant of the apparent danger of the surrounding landscape, the arriving Etnaean troops threw themselves at the task of erecting at least semi-permanent fortifications. They'd be sleeping within the same walls, and so it was imperative that they made them as impermeable as possible. The perimeter patrols had been doubled, some crude watchtowers set up, and mud-brick walls constructed around much of the encampment by a dedicated team of engineers. It was all done to supplement the Tyrrhenian preparations, to make this staging ground of theirs essentially impenetrable to those forces present here. The triage zone had been expanded, a new set of dugouts created for the quartermaster and the Bicugetíbu's HQ, the quartermaster, and the latrines were quadrupled in size.

As was expected of him, Isaixa made a good show of observing the pleasantries. Dutifully, he listened and watched as the situation was explained, even taking a moment to direct a few questions at some of those natives indicated. “Commander,” he said at length, his blue eyes concealed behind a pair of shades he'd produced from somewhere amidst his grey uniform, “the objective of the 99th here is to support you. In the mind of the Acgocatubí, this is already a joint operation. Two-thirds of a peacekeeping force, wiped out? That's the sort of shit we just can't abide. When the 2nd Rifles gets here, they'll be taking over garrison duties—the 99th is meant to move.”

In regards to the topic of patrol duties, ensuring the safety of the nearby villages, trade routes, roads, and whatnot, Isaixa only approved. “I'll work out a schedule with you for regular patrols—we should mix it up every so often, for obvious reasons—later on. I mean no disrespect to your or your unit, but it may be better if my units form up the majority of any rapid response team: both due to your losses so far and on account of the mobility our vehicles provide in that regard.”

Indeed, the Cingetíbu was apprised of the situation fairly quickly by one of Isaixa's errant adjutants and mustered together two whole platoons along with their armored carriers. He sat at the cupola positioned just behind the driver's seat, the machine gun affixed there pointing skyward as he himself grinned down at his attendant troops. While they'd arrived only recently, they were nevertheless quite eager to get to it and start their business here. They'd depart alongside any Tyrrhenian elements as soon as they were ready.

“It may be prudent to position permanent assets in some of the closest towns,” Isaixa continued, a map appearing in one of his hands. He spread it out over the hood of a nearby truck, startling the man napping within. “To create a buffer and layer of warning for both them and our own encampment. For those further out--. . I'm hesitant to provide the natives with radio-sets, so we might have to wait until more troops arrive. Ideally, we'll find the source of these fuckers before we get to the point of even being able to put feet on the ground in every such settlement.” With that, he shrugged.

 

[Valkany]

The news of the Valkanian troops being arrested hit the ears of the Provisional Military Government back in Zessionsford. Unlike its royal counterpart this government wasn't afraid to go to war to get those innocent men back. Field Marshall Carolus had summoned the Etnaean and Cathiopian ambassadors and was demanding explanations. Of course the major was expecting something like that and used it to his advantage. He went to meet the Etnean commander.
Gustav: You can't arrest us; according to law we still have every right to be here after we arrested the troublemakers. Whether you like or if you keep us or try to send us back you'll cause an international incident. And while the Emperor might have shut his pants the Field Marshall and his government won't succumb to international pressure until we're back in our post, doing our job, or they've recalled us themselves. we came here to help, we came here to undo the damage the marines did and yet you are ready to send us back, and threaten me with that battalion of peashooters of yours like I'm a kid or something. The two men that caused the trouble were in fact Himyaarners. They weren't white and we didn't bring anymore trouble. The Himyaarners get their property raided by the day and the father of one of the two men had been killed by natives or no reason. That's why they were drunk and pissed of at the natives. I don't care if your governments don't wont us here but there's nothing you can do to kick us out. Now with all dew respect you either let me take those four trouble-makers with me and leave along with the entire EKZA force or we all stay and return to our camp. You don't get to keep you pie and eat it.

 

[Thaumantica]

Port Victoria, the Eastern Cape
1st Civil Affairs Battalion of the Exterior

Harold Synnett smiled widely as the engineers behind him scowled or turned away as the crew of the civilian ship MSV Shiloh unloaded gas powered generators, and carefully loaded on caskets of Cantigian Volunteers who had perished in service to the Eastern Cape. The Etnaeans had not been designated partners for the Cantigian Mission, but by necessity and the sheer will of their ancestral southern neighbors, once again an arrangement of odds was struck. A week earlier Synnett, the Chief Engineer, and his Foreign Office counterpart had received a formal declaration from Etanaea's 1st ER Logistics/Medical Battalion ordering the surrender of Cantignia's wards, the Valkanian Civil Affairs Officers. The following was there most intended brief response:

1st Civil Affairs Battalion of the Exterior

1-CAB complies; surrenders responsibility of XIX Civil Affairs Company.

1-CAB informs of acquisition of civilian automotive fuel tanker to use in concert with incoming fuel electric generators.

Of the 473 deployed to this mission there were 24 dead and 59 injured, thus in the course of half a week they had nearly experienced the full estimate of acceptable losses for the campaign.

Alongside the crated generators, many more crates of Cantigian carbines and ammunition to match began stacking high, replacing the 24 coffins departing the Eastern Cape, God willing, forever. "Colonel Ederyth?" Synnett asked of a tall stocky man walking ahead of a platoon of already armed and uniformed soldiers, "I'm Harold Synnett, Chief Engineer of the Mission, welcome to Port Victoria!" the man exclaimed cheerily. Ederyth excepted the civilian man's hearty handshake, nodding but not joining in his merriment while a coffin filled with a Cantigian volunteer was being hoisted up a mere ten feet away. His sunny disposition did not particularly irk Ederyth, in fact it informed him of the likelihood that this engineer served in some capacity during the August Catastrophe where working around piles of exposed dead bodies was the typical norm.

Synett likely emotionally moved on from the loss of his comrades within moments, immediately restructuring his labor gangs and their leaders, and casually sizing up the warehouses holding the Valkanians for a most certain revenge. "Where is the Chief Foreign Officer, Synnett, he's not in one of those is he?" Colonel Ederyth asked reluctantly, "Oh no," Synnett assured "Icterine is stuck in a joint operations mission brief, they seem to get longer every day so I've quit going - Icky'll give us the notes!" Harold continued, patting the Colonel on the back uncomfortably hard. "See those warehouses, Colonel?" asked Synnett who failed to wait for a response before rambling on, "The Valk's are being imprisoned there by the Etnaeans - we want to requisition the warehouses on either side for supply storage, you'll help us with that won't you Colonel?"

Ederyth shook his head, "I'm here to protect you sir, not to help you massacre prisoners of war". Synnett's arm dropped from the Colonel's shoulder along with his grin, "You would have experience in that sort of thing anyways though, wouldn't you?" he implied aggressively. The Colonel waved on his troops and took the chief engineer far aside from any prying ears, "What do you know?" Ederyth angrily demanded, "Nothing until just now . . " Synnett said with a giggle, "You and those henchmen of yours are responsible for St. Frederick's Day, what's another few hundred in the barrel for someone like you?". Ederyth let out a great sigh as he grabbed his chin and looked up in to the afternoon sky, "We'll see, or no, I'll see what I can do; I'm supposed to be here to watch you put up buildings sir, not help you burn them down."

"It's all the same, in a manner of speaking, this harbor needs to be modernized some anyhow - and those Valk's need to stand trial somewhere, why not let the Pillar of Fire decide?" Synnett said as he fastened a Pillar of Fire metallic pin to his own collar, "One does not need to believe in Christ or his Father to burn, the flame has no dogma or commandments, it only burns".

 

[Valkany]

The major was waiting in the stockades when the news came in:

OFFICIAL DECREE BY THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF VALKANY
The provisional government wishes at all times to help the ICD repair the damage Valkany's crown has brought to the Eastern Cape. However seeing that the ICD requires neither our help nor our support we hereby recall all members of the EKZA force from the Eastern Cape. The provisional government of the Eastern Cape has granted us the right to land troops and dock ships on Dock 14B of Port Victoria's harbor for 24 hours. Aditioanlly the Provisional Government has granted us authority to put the four EKZA civilian officers accused of causing the incident on trial in our own courts of law back in Valkany. Please deliver all detained EKZA personnel to the Eastern Cape's authorities within 12 hours. They will then deliver them to us at dock 14B tomorrow at 1;00 PM. Thank you for your cooperation and we apologize for any trouble we might have caused.

The local ICD peacekeepers from all nations, especially the Etnaean ones must have gotten the message. The Eastern Cape national guard was already waiting for them outside. Within 1 hour and 30 minutes all of the EKZA troops, including the four troublemakers were inside the warehouse of Dock 14B under the watchful eye of the local national guard. Now it was only a matter of time before they returned home. The major and the troops felt a little defeated but they wanted to go back to Algolis more than anything else. They were done with the Cape, it's OK the Etnaeans win, the major thought; we'll finally get to sleep in our own beds again. 12 hours until the HIVMS February reached Port Victoria's harbor. 12 hours until they were among their own again.

 

[Natal]

Northern Kapa Botjhabela
13[SUP]th[/SUP] Red Guards Regiment “Agapios Iordanos”

“Yes, I understand, Comrade Commissar. Over. But, comrade, the village is in the territory that should have been defended by the Tyrrhenian forces… It is our responsibility. Over. Yes, comrade, I understand. I will communicate this to them. Over and out.” Andreas closed the radio and went outside of the hut that was used as the HQ of the base.

He was angry. He was sent in the country to help the peasants, the workers, the whole people fight against the oppressors, to help them emancipate themselves, to defend them if needed. Finally he could have got the chance to do it and it was taken from him. He hated Floros now. He wanted to go with the Etnaeans to the village that was attacked two days ago, but now he was ordered to stay at the base until the rest of the regimen, along with the reinforcements will come in the territory that is to be pacified by the Tyrrhenians. He went outside and approached Lieutenant Fotios Pachis.

“We are not going.”

“What?” Pachis asked surprised.

“Kommisarios Floros said that we are to wait in the base until the rest of the regiment arrives in the zone.”

“Without patrols?”

“Without patrols… we are to have all our men kept inside the base, until the reinforcements arrive, “said Metaxas with a sigh. “This is shit… Floros knows nothing about warfare and he commands us. I don’t even believe he knows that when she fires with the gun, the bullet should go towards the enemy, not towards himself…”

Pachis smirked as Metaxas finished his sentence. “But when will the reinforcements arrive?”

“Floros said that a battalion just left Port Victoria this morning and will be encamped here, and by the end of the week another two will arrive.”

“Well, if we have so idiotic commanders, we should be happy the Etnaeans would be around and will do the patrolling, until we get our strength back…” said Pachis with a sudden change of his mood.

As he fare goodbye to the Lieutenant, Andreas Metaxas went to talk with the Etnaean commander, Major Isaixa.

“Major, I’m deeply sorry, but the Tyrrhenian soldiers cannot join you in the patrol operations. We have received the order to remain in the base two more days, until our reinforcements come. Sadly, we cannot join you in the patrol missions, nor in the investigation of the attack on that village.”

Port Victoria

Kommisarios Marios Floros went to supervise the arrival of the Tyrrhenian soldiers and of the supplies sent by Kastoria; especially a series of textbooks printed the Commissariat of Education, but translated in Sotho, as the Socialist Republic was preparing to create a school in the capital of the Eastern Cape. Before returning to his office, Floros made a detour to the office of Captain Bricca, as he also needed some papers signed for the join operations of the peacekeepers in the north. As he entered the main headquarters of the Etnaeans, some secretary said that Bricca was talking with the Valkanian commander and they were vociferous. That actually made Floros to decide to enter the office, right when the Valkanian was talking about how the Field Marshal will not succumb to international pressure.

As he entered the room with a mocking smirk, as he looked at the Valkanian, he went, without saying a thing to the office of Captain Bricca:

“Good day, captain,” he said as he put the papers that needed to be signed in front of the Etnaean. “I just need those signed by you, as the now the Tyrrhenian forces are moving to reinforce the northern positions.” While Bricca was looking at the papers, he continued:

"So, captain... tell me, don't you feel the air is a little fresher here now?" he said jokingly. "But seriously, its good that they finally left. They were just bringing more and more problems into our yards. Can you imagine what idiotic way of thinking they had? Repairing some churches to repay for the tens of thousands that were killed... and they were also cocky about that. If I would have been a little more naive, I would have thought that there is some gene in the Valkanian people that makes them so arrogant...

But now, back to more serious stuff. I have received the green light from Premier Samaras to begin the education program we wanted to start here in the Cape. Tyrrhenia has brought here textbooks translated in Sotho and we are to start operating three schools here in the city, made specially for the natives and poverty stricken white Himyaris. If you would help us, we would like to expand it in other cities and in the end finally bringing it to the rural areas, but that will take some time. If you would be okay with Etnaea to support us with the infrastructure, I could ask Kastoria to even bring us some teachers that know Sotho and I will order some more textbooks."