De Ochtenden (Mornings)

[Batavië]

Vlaanderen

Karel de Graaf sat down while the AGE Secretary General babbled on at speeds faster than the General could understand. His knowledge of French, the agreed upon language of diplomacy in most of Europe, was rusty. But he understood the most important things after consulting with his aide.

'Quite frankly, your Excellency, no, I am not all right with that. I appreciate AGE wanting to help, but I will not have a foreign aircraft carrier dock in my ports. The CN is almost done voting on a more reasonable resolution as I see it. With AGE and also the EDF trying to assert their own agendas and operational plans I am afraid we will be graying the waters, so to speak.'

He looked tired, the country was chaotic, the government confused and the bureaucracy was at its last stretches attempting to run the country alongside dealing with a growing revolution. It showed in de Graaf's face.

'I would rather see AGE contribute to the CN mission by offering relief supplies and logistical support. Plus, there seems to be a growing rift between your country and Jerusalem. It doesn't seem to me that all of the AGE members are on the same page. Only Austurland and the Levant seem to be taking an active role.'

 

[Rheinbund]

Fliegerhorst Luttach
Eiffelland

Several air transporters filled with medical supplies and even some field hospitals took off to head for Mael Dúin Naval Base. Teams of surgeons, internists and nurses followed in passenger aircraft.

 

[Guiana]

RGAF Station Ramsey
Guiana

Four Royal Guianan Air Force HC-50 transport planes take-off loaded with construction supplies bound for Na Sailtí Island. These transports are following the chartered Hawker AstroStar carrying the army construction crews being sent to help in the readying of the Cille Móire Air Station in preparations of it becoming a forward supply base for relief operations in Batavie.

 

[Batavië]

Politburo Headquarters
Government District, Vlaanderen

The large conference room was dark and the seven Politburo members sat around a semi-circle wooden table. Each seat had a lamp illuminating the note-taking area in front of the men seated. The wall in front of them had a map of the country with locations of domestic and foreign military assets. It was updating in real time.

'General de Graaf is currently occupied with hosting the AGE Secretary General and he has told me to lead the meeting without him.' Constantijn van Arsdale, Commissar of the Interior, sat down at his seat. Rupert de Vroom, acting Foreign Affairs Commissar, looked preoccupied as if something else was on his mind. But that look was on the face of every man in the room.

'Gentlemen,' began Van Arsdale, 'I am going to be frank with you all in the typical fashion of our people. The government is falling apart. This may sound treasonous, but it must be said out loud never the less. General de Graaf was not prepared to take over the country from his father, rest Him. He is confused, he is sleep deprived, nervous and reacting in odd ways. The military is totally capable of crushing the BRA rebels. The Staatsveiligheid has the ability and manpower to route out every last member, including their families. I know, I used to train new recruits.'

With his latest remarks, remarks that would get anyone else executed by dawn, he had gained their undivided attention.

'The Council of Nations was called in to assist. Not with peacekeeping, but of helping the country move on to a new social and government order.'

The room filled with murmurs and mumbling. He waited for silence before continuing.

'We are tired. Most of us have been on the Politburo for over twenty years. Batavië cannot stay on like this. It has a different path selected for its future. Supreme Leader de Graaf knows where it is supposed to be headed. He is watching from his tomb. We need to let the government go. Peacefully, so I hope, we can let reform take place. But we cannot let this happen without CN peacekeepers on the ground. The BRA is not the answer for Batavië. They are the wrong type of change. They are fanatical. They are right wing. Maybe even fascist, according to the last SV reports conducted on them. Regardless of that it is my intent to discuss with the chief leaders of the People's Military tomorrow plans for governmental abdication after CN peacekeepers arrive. You all have your assets and cash stashed away abroad. Many of you will join me for a new life in the Papal States. We will be safe, happy and rich. No one will be able to touch us. Batavië will live on strong in a new shape and form.'

He stood, 'Heil de Graaf. Long live Batavië.' he gave a salute, right arm extended 90 degrees from his chest, and then left the room. The remaining 6 members of the Politburo turned to look at each other in silence. The beginning of the end was over.

 

[Polesia]

People's Assembly
Kilkila
Vangala

Colonel Mainul Dal had decided to wear his full parade uniform for the hearing, rather than a dull grey or black suit that was expected. Standing outside the entrance of the Main Chamber, he adjusted his peaked cap and medals for the last time, ensuring he looked most respectable, before nodding to the two armed guards to open the heavy mangrove doors and striding in. Immediately the murmuring he had heard while adjusting ceased, with everyone present staring at the disgraced intelligence officer in sombre silence.

The Vangalan Communist Party had been deeply embarassed by the crisis in Batavia. Vlaanderen's decision to ask the Council of Nations to help resolve the situation, rather than turning to its longstanding ally, had made Vangala look increasingly isolated and irrelevant. Surrounded on all sides by the expansive Oikawan Empire and its puppet Ratomkira and now friendless with the International Revolutionary Bloc disbanded, many analysts were beginning to seriously predict an end to socialist rule in Vangala too. Someone had to take the blame for Vangala's very public humiliation.

De Graaf's regime took some of the responsibility behind closed doors. Apparently Batavians simply did not have the same revolutionary, fighting spirit that Vangalans, having endured years of mistreatment at the hands of foreign powers, possessed. Yet this was not enough for some and now members of the party committees that overlooked foreign relations, security and intelligence gathering bloodthirstily ringed Colonel Dal

"Have a seat Colonel," Said one of the faceless apparatchiks, motioning towards a lone seat. The atmosphere in the room was tense. The Colonel thought these men were petty and corrupt, seeking to serve their own interests and using the ideals of Communism as a flimsy pretext. On the reverse, the Colonel was viewed a career military man whose loyalty to the Motherland and Party could be questioned.

Sitting down, Mainul calmly sipped on the lukewarm water provided before the multi-party inquiry continued. He recognised a few faces, mostly from the Intelligence committee, who summoned him intermittently so he could report on the workings of his Military Intelligence Division. They often came out knowing not much more.

"You need not worry, Ambassador Baij and External Affairs Minister Ajoy Qamaruzzaman will also be undergoing the same questioning. I presume you understand why we are here, Colonel?" The Party representative stared at him accusingly.

"Yes."

"Care to elaborate?"

"The situation in Batavia."

A lupine smile crept across the face of the Party official. Fiddling with his papers and glasses, he prepared to pounce.

"But it is more than just a situation, is not Colonel Dal? Currently we have the Oikawan Empire, a bastion of reactionary thought, of imperialism, of feudalism, preparing to send 'peacekeepers' to Batavia, one of the few revolutionary states left in Europe. Why did your agency not do more to prevent this from happening? Why is the People's Republic now set to loose another ally?"

Mainul sat there rigidly, his face defiantly unimpressed. The rhetoric swept over him like the waves of the Bay of Vangala did over the rocks that crudely jutted out of the azure waters.

"I did what I could. The Batavian government rejected any offer of extra assistance."

"But you had agents in Batavia, correct?"

"Correct."

"Then why did you not deploy them and aid the Batavians in eliminating the terrorist organisation, the 'Batavian Republican Army'?"

The Colonel opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. He had a good working relationship with the Minister of External Affairs Ajoy Qamaruzzaman, some may have even called it friendship, should he risk his job to save his own? Mainul thought about it for a few seconds, then reached a conclusion.

"I was advised against doing so by the Ministry of External Affairs. Any unauthorised action could have irreparably damaged relations."

Another wolfish grin, this time with teeth bared.

"Who in particular in the Ministry of External Affairs told you it was a bad idea?"

"Several people, I cannot remember all of their names."

The reply was quick, perhaps too quick. He received several sceptical looks. The wolf looked disappointed.

"Please wait a minute."

All the assembled party members turned to each other and started to confer, whispering, probably going through a list of suspects. Mainul hoped Ajoy's name was not there. He took several large gulps, before removing a cigarette and after a few unsuccessful attempts, lit it, taking a few drags before turning around. The balconies had become swollen with spectators, all eager to be witness to the latest intrigue.

Turning some more, Mainul saw to his surprise, a very bored and unimpressed President Moheen Chatterjee, flanked on both sides by heavily armed escorts from the Rakshibarga. While the President had been scathing of his efforts in Batavia, he was equally contemptful, if not more, of the numerous Party committees, who represented the remaining vestiges of accountability in the otherwise opaque red of the Communist Party. Although no one had the daring to actually summon the President, who was coincidentally the Party's General-Secretary, in fear of being removed or worse, their existence was something of an obstacle in advancing personal plans or friends and while many had tried, Mainul included, they could not simply be ignored.

Taking a few more puffs, a polite cough from a junior Party member holding an ashtray at his side signalled the inquiry was to about to resume. Irately stubbing the cigarette out, he downed the rest of his water before returning his focus to the task at hand. It was now a different one standing up.

"Now Colonel, the technicalities. Can you please detail your exact assets in Batavia during this crisis?"

Before answering, Mainul glanced slyly at his watch. The afternoon was still young. He potentially had several more hours of this gruelling interviewing. Part of him wondered how this compared to the beatings he had witnessed in Kilkila Central Prison or the torture in the covert detention centres.

It was with that in mind he replied.

 

[Lorraine]

Port of Toulon,
Kingdom of Lorraine

It was the duty of every member of the EDF to contribute to the Batavian Relief Effort, though no official authorization has been given by the Security Council, His Majesty, King Charles V was determined that Lorraine would hold up its end. From the Port of Toulon, the ro-ro container ship, Grand Marin Convoyeur, loaded below decks with trucks and other transport and on deck, where normally stacks of container would be, transport helicopters are lashed down, sets sail for Eireann.

 

[Batavië]

BRA Headquarters
Spa, Northern Batavië

Henk Roos and Frans Wegen were sitting in the typical meeting room with a few other men. The cigarettes dangled idly by their hands or rested at the edge of their mouths. Wegen switched off the radio when the news report from Éierann had finished. He waited for Roos to speak.

'It appears that the CN is taking its time.' he commented to the table. The smoke was outlined by the rays of overcast sunlight finding a way through the partially drawn curtains. The men didn't like looking outside any more to starving people.

'I think we should resort back to earlier tactics. They will grab attention.' Wegen said.

'And cause us to lose all credibility with the outside world.' retorted Roos. 'But I am afraid you are right.' Roos turned to one of the men sitting nearest a telephone.

'Do you still have any contacts in Vlaanderen?' the man nodded slowly and motioned to stub out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray.

'Make a quick call, they won't be listening at this hour. Tell them to do what they did in November.'


Vlaanderen

The capital city of the country had seen its fair share of protests and riots but naturally was the least affected by the simmering revolution. Heavy police and military crackdowns had crushed any notions of violent riots. For weeks things had been relatively calm; people were preoccupied with the chaos in government and the confusion regarding foreign naval powers offshore.

The small number of BRA insurgency operatives active in the city had been excited to receive orders from Spa. This job would be quick, easy but send a crystal clear message.

Their woman was dressed as a typical secretary. It was 16.30, the usual time for office workers to have a drink before going home after a day's work. She entered the café located nearby the Government District. Light classical music playing on the old recorded. The barman was exchanging jokes with a couple of Ground Force troops and the place was full of uniformed police officers and even a few SV officers. They were smiling, drinking, nibbling at pastries. Despite the chaos elsewhere in the country these people were of the Elite Class. They lived comfortable lives, had no troubles with the government...they were the government. A few civilians, also Elites, walked in behind the woman with the large purse.

She sat down at the bar and ordered an espresso. The bag was placed underneath the bar's counter-top. She paid for the drink, sipped it and looked around her. At least there were no children, she thought to herself before checking her watch; it was time to leave.

As she walked down the street and hooked a right down a side alley, she jumped at the sound of the explosion. She did not expect such a loud bang.

 

[Batavië]

Vlaanderen
Government District

The meeting convened by the Politburo last week had taken effect. Early in the morning, with no forewarning, nearly every member left their homes with their families and boarded specially chartered KLM flights to the Papal States. They travelled with special passports, false identities and no intentions of ever returning. They had quietly accepted defeat without undergoing public humiliation and the likelihood of trials and probably death sentences.

At Military High Command the Generals, Admirals and officers arrived for their usual morning briefings. Today, however, their superiors were not there to brief them on anything. Confusion struck the room. Where were their superiors? What was going on? It didn't take them long to realise what had happened.

The conference room had become a makeshift talk-shop. The Ground Forces, Navy and Air Force were already splitting off into groups. Colonel Piet van Dam could see what would happen if someone didn't take charge. He went out into the secretary floor, filled with young men and women clicking away at typewriters and appearing to be busy even though the usual flow of government orders had been light in the last two weeks.

General Alex de Witte was smoking a cigarette looking out the window into the streets below. The muffled sound of a two-tone siren could be heard. A response to yet another shooting targeting police officers.

'Three attacks today alone.' commented De Witte as he exhaled a plume of rich smoke. 'It's out of control. Those bastards left us to deal with this mess, eh? Screw them. I'll go find them one day and make it right.'

Colonel Van Dam watched as an ambulance sped past, braking quickly at the checkpoint leading out of the Government District before zipping off to a plume of smoke half a kilometre away. Probably a café bombing. Another one.

'Look, Alex.' using the first name of General De Witte was odd even with them being long time friends. That was a taboo in the workplace.

'We have to do something before the rest of them inside start arguing and splitting up. You and I never liked the system that De Graaf set up. I think we should start to organise and get something temporary in place until we can arrange...elections.'

De Witte put his cigarette out and turned away from the window and the sound of sirens.

'I agree.' he said after a long pause in which Piet van Dam had held his breath. 'They clearly don't want us running the country any more. Let them choose.'

'Shall I tell them inside and get a communiqué out?'

'Yes.' said De Witte. 'That would be an excellent idea. We can get this finished before the CN is done getting in order. Then when they arrive they will have a clearer goal to work towards.'


Central Communications Building
Vlaanderen, Government District

The young man operating the machine in the loud, open floor read the message, shot up his hand, handed it to his superior and rushed to the restroom to regain his composure.

ATTENTION ALL MINISTRIES & SECTORS: POLITBURO HAS FLED COUNTRY.
MILITARY STEPPING IN TEMPORARILY. CARRY ON AS NORMAL. END
TRANSMISSION.

 

[Vittoria]

Somewhere off the coast of the "Spa Republic"

It was near mid day as the captain of the Kara looked at the papers in front of him. They were orders directly issued by the Tsarina and approved by the Admiral. He had no business questioning orders but this particularly made him feel sick to his stomach. Of course that could've been the instant coffee rations hitting his empty stomach, but he was pretty sure it had to do with the bloodshed that he was about ready to approve. Approve was an odd way to think about it though. He did not have a choice. If he refused, he'd be without a job and someone else would likely issue the orders.

In war criminal courts such excuses never mattered though. He was supposed to refuse the order. Not that he'd expect sympathy from the world for killing hundreds of people. Yet the way the world worked was never fair. Maxim sighed and stared at the bottom of the paper blankly. He was supposed to return home with the fleet for debriefing after the orders had been commenced. He downed his cup of coffee quickly, burning his throat and causing him to wince in pain has he gave the order.

"Fire a missile into the tallest building in Spa and rendezvous with the fleet. We'll be returning home."

"What kind of missile Captain?"​

The Captain Maxim Andreyev had already left the bridge and returned to his quarters. Swiftly leaving after had finished his coffee. The XO of the Kara, Commander Larionov responded to the question.

"Whatever you'd like ensign, make a big boom with fireworks and theatrics or save the state some money."​

The ensign shrugged and launched the largest missile the naval cruiser Kara had. Didn't matter anyway and the empowerment made the ensign feel excited.

 

[Éireann]

In the skies west of Cille Móire

It had become a routine since the crisis in Batavië had attracted naval vessels from across the globe for the Royal Éireann Air Force to keep a HE-20D Sentry AEW&C plane in the air around the clock, monitoring things on and above the ocean west of Spa. Routine was the operating word, though the seas around Batavië have been crowded, the various fleets had for the most part stayed clear of each other so as not to create an incident and the crews of the aircraft just kept track of who was where and when, that was until today, as that routine was suddenly shaken as one of the operators aboard the Sentry alerts his superior that radar has detected something being launched from one of the surface vessels which was quickly determined to be a missile fired towards northern Batavië, to be specific, the city of Spa. Southern Air Defence Command was quickly notified.

By the time the report went up the chain of command and reached Átha Cliath, and the Batavië government notified, as well as others, it was already too late to do anything about it.

 

[Batavië]

Spa

The City Council building was only 12 storeys tall, but in this old city of canals and brick buildings, it's concrete and glass façade was the tallest object in town. When the Shcherbatskayan missile slammed into the side of the building, the explosion of glass and metals rocked throughout the city. Papers and ash flew through the air and the fireballs soon began to consume the building. The BRA controlled city meant that the fire team would be late, as well as the rest of the rescue crews. That was the least of anybody's problems for now.

Air Force Command back in Vlaanderen had seen the missile with radar and had also received the notification fro Éierann. Luckily a pair of MiG29s were on patrol in the North keeping an eye on the local roads. Not far from the coast they were rerouted to locate the Shcherbatskayan fleet and stay put until backup arrived. They kept within visual distance, made their presence known, but flew in a non-aggressive manner.

Three long range Tu-95 bombers were scrambled to arrive at the foreign fleet and an escort of Sukhoi 35s, the crown jewels of the Air Force, were sent along for the ride. The destroyer cruising by the North was rerouted along with the planes and another destroyer task-force was also alerted to prepare to intercept the fleet.

The country of Batavië was not democratic yet and even though the transitional government was aiming to arrive at democracy before month's end, it was, after all, a military junta. The leaders were not about to let a far away power fire missiles into Batavian soil without any warning.

The objective, for now, was to achieve air superiority around the fleet (easy given the current distance to shore) and to keep them close to shore with the destroyers. This would give the government time to receive an explanation from the Shcherbatskayans. And if they didn't get a damned good one, their fleet was then going to be making headlines the following day for an entire different reason: being sent to the bottom of the Great Sea.

 

[Vistrasia]

Barca, Carthage, Confederate Levantine States

[IMG2]http://ns-europe.eu/forum/picture.php?albumid=144&pictureid=1431[/IMG2]
The Admiralty Arch, Barca

Elias Abizaid was looking out of the state limousine which had just driven through the Admiralty Arch and had now stopped in front of it. 30 meters before him behind a cordon of police and barricades stood a mixed crowd, many journalists, camera men, news reporters, photographers and journalists for the morning newspapers, but also simply people from the city of Barca, having heard rumours of the President coming to the Admiralty Arch and hoping to get a quick look in. The rumors had gotten around of his visit, and the media were well aware of what had just taken place. The missile attack on Spa, the international responses, the Levantine ultimatum and the most recent reports coming in of the provisional Batavian government declaring war. The President opened the car door and instantly he could hear screams and yelling, mostly a mixture of "President" and "Abizaid" but he knew better then to give any attention to it, only for a moment facing the crowd then immediately turning around walking towards his destination.

The Admirality Arch, built in 1910 in the typical white limestone common in many of Barca's buildings was a relatively small office building, housing the Central Command of the Levantine Navy. As Abizaid stepped in an assistant of the High-Admiral received him and began informing him on the current situation, more specifically the positioning of all major ships under navy command which weren't overseas. Abizaid was straight forward as he walked through the offices at a steady pace, from the corners of his eyes he could see the marine officers looking at their President from their cubicles concentrating on what the assistant was telling him, finally he reached the offices of the High Admiral, Isaac Franco: "Good evening Franco, how are things?" Abizaid opened, Franco looked up from his desk where a number of charts were, "Better then ever, President!" Franco said with a small smile on his face.

"Let me get to the point, how many hours will it take for the Shcherbatskayan navy to reach the straits, and will we have a capable task force in place by then?" Abizaid asked, he looked at Franco who immediatly answered "They are unlikely to pass into the relative safety Vostok Gulf before our ultimatum has passed, by that time we'll have sufficient forces in place." As Franco was talking Abizaid sat down in the chair opposite of him, and whisked away all assistants, Franco was guesstimating what he could muster within the next two and a half days, and as he was done was silent for a second and leaned forward, with a small twinkle in his eyes he asked "What are you planning, President?". Abizaid, lighting a cigarette as he would usually do in a time of stress, he leaned backwards and as he was exhaling smoke said "I'm sure we'll do something", he took another drag and said "exactly what I hope we can figure out this evening..."

Franco, realizing it would be a long night asked Abizaid if he wanted him to get a drink, while he'd order his subordinates to get a proposal for a task force ready within hours, "Just bring a beer, we'll get to the stronger stuff when we've got our shit together" Abizaid answered as he tapped into the ashtray Franco shove towards him, while Franco was leaving the room Abizaid was staring blankly through the windows behind the chair where Franco had been seated, his view on the futuristic skyscrapers of Barca. As he stared, he thought more or less what the rest of Europe was thinking, "how will this end?"

 

[Caelia]

Supreme High Command, Kyiv, Commandry

"Gentlemen I trust you have read the message from Batavie?"

There were nods of agreement around the room.

"As I hoped. What is your judgement?"

"It was highly unexpected. To ask something like that with no build up at all."

"Very true. But it is an intriguing proposition. There is much to gain in Batavie, and the Southerners should know their place."

"I agree. We cannot tolerate such behaviour from a minor power. And this is our chance, for all we know they may have contacted the Oikawans or the Levantines as well. If we wait this opportunity will slip through our fingers."

"This would mean war though."

"Perhaps. But the southerners would be fools to oppose us. They do not have that kind of power."

"Still we must..."

With a raise of a hand the room felt silent. "Gentlemen your input has been of great value, as always, but I have made my decision. Now tell me, what was the last known position of the Shcherbatskayan fleet..."

 

[Montelimar]

Headquarters
1st Parachute Brigade
Na Sailtí Island
Kingdom of Éireann

While the activity at the Na Sailtí Island base of the 1st Parachute Brigade was normally busy, though usually it was as much to keep warm as it was to get something accomplished, today that activity seems to have almost doubled. Though being close to the Cille Móire Air Station did mean the camp had heard the news of the attack on Spa, the increased activity was not due to that but rather due to the orders being received for the brigade to be prepared to deploy at a moments notice. Though many had expected that the ill-conceived missile attack on Spa would bring about a real shooting war, a quickly negotiated peace was worked out and, for at least the meantime, the diplomatic situation had returned to normal, all fouled-up.

At the headquarters of the 1st Brigade, Général de brigade Henri Foucault was finishing up going over the deployment plans with his senior commanders.

".....and once the 1st battalion secures the airstrip, it can start receiving additional men and equipment as well as relief supplies and personnel. Once the additional troops arrive, units will deploy from the airport to their assigned areas of operation. If there are no more questions..............you are dismissed!"

As the last of the field officers leave, Gen. Foucault turns to his intelligence officer.

"Colonel, I want every scrap of intell you can gather on the LZ, I don't want any surprises."

Colonel DeHarte looks at the map of the area in question.

"As I have said, sir, other than satellite images, we have had to rely on Batavian's on this."

"Well, Colonel. Do what you can. We can only hope for the best, but God help us, we had better be prepared for the worst."

 

[Großlausitz]

Headquarters
Fallschirmjägerbrigade 11 - Königlich-Berittene Garde
Vedrafjord
Kingdom of Éireann

The 11th Royal Army Paratrooper Brigade - Royal Mounted Guards, which made up the SET 1/L were as busy exercising and observing the situation in nearby Batavia as their Montelimarian comrades. While the sudden attack on Spa had surprised the Franconians as well as their Francophone colleagues, the unfolding diplomatic situation in the CoN would lead to the Franconians withdrawing their combat troops from Eireann as part of a compromise. Instead, General Pleier had been informed, the Royal Armed Forces would send a supply&logistics unit to be stationed in Eireann. Their job would be to coordinate the flow of humanitarian goods and services on behalf of the EDF. For now, Montelimar would remain the only EDF nation with a combat unit in Batavia.

 

[Touzen]

Carrier Shinchō
Outside Batavian National Waters

It was a sleepy day on the carrier as these days always were ever since the crisis around Batavie had significantly calmed down, with the majority of the conflict having been relegated to diplomatic chatter at the Council of Nations. Many of the men wondered by now why they were even still out here, doing nothing, and, most importantly, how much longer things would go on like this. A month? Two? Nobody knew.

That is, it was a sleepy day till a sound began to beep on the bridge. It was the communications computer. A young man with headphones was busy pulling the paper out of the machine as the message slowly got transmitted from the headquarters in Oikawa.

"What is it?", the captain said, having walked over the communications officer and leaning over his shoulder.

"A message from Nokanawa, Sir", the man said, ripped the paper from the machine and handed it to his superior.

---CONFIDENT---HIGH SECURITY---FOR AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY---

New orders for the Batavian theater stop All vessels not Batavian or authorized by Command to be warned and turned away stop Warning shots to be fired if vessels refuse to comply stop Further refusal to comply to result in engagement stop

 

[Batavië]

Provincial Road 9 (P9)
Noordkaap Province
Batavië

MAP:

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The P9 was a two lane country road. It connected the small farming villages in the flatlands of Noordkaap. This far north was almost entirely farmland. Endless plots of cropped and irrigated land. Below sea level and almost always extremely windy. This province was where the Batavian Republican Army, not the Batavian federal government, reigned supreme. Spa, the picturesque canal city, known for its architecture and university, had become the de facto capital of the BRA's movement since January. Before the EDF peacekeepers arrived in March, the Batavian military had been sieging the city. Food and other essentials got in and out. Even some civilians could leave and come back if they so wished.

It had been seven months since Spa and Noordkaap Province were taken by the BRA. The EDF peacekeeping force was supposed to be a way to bring negotiations. So far, nothing. Certain leaders of the various militia groups were growing impatient. They wanted the EDF out so that they could build a strong defence of the area and officially claim it as their own. Henk Roos, the BRA's leader, was against such an idea. They had leverage this way, he said, by looking powerful. The bombing campaigns in Vlaanderen ended shortly after the elections in March, but there were still those that wanted blood.

Frans Wegen was one of those bloodthirsty men. Officially the leader of the insurgency movement, he had been twiddling his thumbs for months, holed up in Spa. Today was going to be different.

It was overcast, but the drizzling rain had stopped. The winds gave perfect cover, as always, for the sounds being made. The P9 was used by the EDF often on their patrols. Most of the traded goods and equipment were brought in from Poortstad in the south of Batavië and driven via the A2 motorway. Even though the A2 wasn't finished in terms of high-speed upgrades, it was much faster than the provincial roads. It didn't matter. The P9 was perfect for Frans.

A mixed caravan of Montelimaren, Franken and Marquen peacekeepers was driving along the road towards one of the villages. The Marquen medics were being escorted there to check in on the village doctor's supplies. In total there are only about 25 peacekeepers. One lorry for the troops and two armoured personnel carriers. Easy pickings for Frans and his 15 men.

They hid in the tall grass by the side of the road. The Improvised explosive device was placed among some small rocks on the gravel shoulder, making it blend in perfectly. These peacekeepers had seen little action and much cooperation. They weren't looking for a bomb on the side of the road. Six men one one side, seven on the other. Frans himself was holding onto the trigger. He waited for the first APC to get a little closer.

The explosion sent a shockwave of sound across the flat farmland and the fireball gave colour to the sky, if only briefly. The caravan immediately halted, the first APC caught right in the middle of the explosion.

Grenades were thrown by the BRA men and then they began to fire upon the confused EDF peacekeepers with their rifles.

Frans didn't want prisoners, he wanted to send a bloody message.