In the Realm of the Iron-Mistress

[Serenierre]

Abruzicstan, or Abruzzio, as it was called by the Belmontien military, had become hell on earth or so was said in the press back at home. The Government, in Chieti, had long since collapsed, leaving the International Coalition, what Zivotun and Belmontien media were calling the deployments, to hastily fill the vacuum, with the North, long considered the domain of the iron-mistress that Lt. General Sant-Avril had proven herself to be, falling in the Belmontien administration zone. The rebel factions, the very ones who had pushed the Government to call the Coalition in the first place, roamed aimlessly in the countryside, factionalizing further and further as each day went by. Civil War, in all but name, had spread out across the countryside. In all honesty, only the city of Chieti could be called remotely safe, that too thanks only to the large Belmontien presence in the city. The other major city of the region, Crecchio, had become a battleground for the factions and the most pressing concern for the Belmontien Major General.

In the outskirts of the Abruzzi capital, the large compound which had been serving as the Headquarters of the Belmontien Armed Forces' Expeditionary Force in Abruzicstan, had had its security increased tenfold, recent skirmishes against the factions in the north, along the Cakistani border had resulted in several threats being issued against the Commander of BEFA. In the beginning she had been alarmed by them, but now, her nerves had been hardened, having received almost a hundred death threats and having been able to survive without a single scratch on her head. In her office, surrounded by the strategists and unit commanders of three of the incoming brigades, the forty three year old woman sat looking at a holographic map of the northern sector spread out on the massive screen erected on the wall.

"Lt. General," the Chief Strategist said acknowledging the woman, who nodded for him to continue, "Brigadiers, according to intelligence, Crecchio is divided in several sections, each one ruled by a faction of the resistance. Of-course that has led to severe fighting in the city, which has left the populace trapped in their houses, where they are sitting ducks to the execution squads roaming around the city-"

Interrupting, Brigadier Vernier, commander of the 22nd Infantry Brigade, spoke, "Which factions? Their strength?" he asked, matter of factly. He leaned back, folding his arms, and looking at the man described by Sant-Avril as a genius.

"Brigadier Vernier, we have identified positively militiamen from the Communistis, FPL, PNF and several other factions which are far too small to be mentioned by name. Our estimates are that, in all, around 15,000 combatants are present in the city, most of whom are poorly trained but armed with the most rudimentary of assault rifles, mostly Batavien weaponry from the 1960s, backward though they may be, a threat for your men Brigadier Vernier, though not as much as remains for the civilians, for whom they are fatal. But, thankfully, their less threat to us is lessened by the fact that they hate each other more than they hate us, no matter how much we kill them, they seem to have put dealing with us on the back burner."

"So, among the three of you," pointing at the other military officers, Lt. General Sant-Avril began, "You'll bring a total deployment of 9,000, trained in close combat situations, with all the equipment, I imagine it won't be that hard. Will it, gentlemen?"

The three Brigadiers, all hand picked by Sant-Avril for their experience in urban warfare, were confident about their chances for the reasons pointed out by the woman. Their forces were almost fully deployed and ready for operations by mid-December and the operations could begin against the factions vandalizing Crecchio. In the meantime, the already deployed, recon teams had been dispatched into the city and its surrounding areas, the Chief Strategist had told them.

Obviously, due to the close proximity of the civilian population with the faction militias, the air force had little to do in the oncoming battle, their involvement had been limited to the drone raids that had already started picking out the arms caches of the factions. But no matter how much the drones attacked, the factions had a constant stream of weapons and ammunition, which could only be stopped once a ground offensive was launched and the authority of BEF-A reestablished.

The meeting had ended with Sant Avril saying, "Remember, if we secure stability, we can ensure a new government in Chieti. We must, for the sake of this land's people, strike hard against the factions."

 

[Serenierre]

Crecchio,
North East Abruzzio

Vincenzo looked at the three other men, covered in blood, clutching their assault rifles, fingers hovering close to the trigger. The fighting in the city had gotten much worse over the past few days, the Communistis - or Communists - had infiltrated FPL territory and had killed over a dozen, his cousin being one of them. Gesturing with his bloodied hand, the twenty year old captain gave the others the go-ahead. Somewhere along that street was where the communists had installed a machine gun post, which alone had killed countless civilians and seven of his faction brothers. He knew it was a suicide mission for the three who he had sent out but their deaths would be for a greater cause.

And as expected, the bursts of machine gun fire filled the air and the dull thuds of three bodies hitting the ground were heard by the twenty year old captain. He, himself, had remained behind and had seen from the gunfire erupted and with that knowledge, he started to covertly retrace his steps. He would come again, in time, with more men and more firepower and would get his revenge.

AB-BEFA 01 (formerly, International Airport)
Chieti

Long before the Government back home had even decided to increase the boots on the ground, Chieti's International Airport, for the distinction that it possessed the largest air field anywhere in the war torn country, had become the main air base for the BEFA forces. The base was now receiving ton upon ton of ammunition, medicine, canned food supplies and troops, all because of the increased deployment plans of the Government. To change the purpose of the airport had been easy, owing mainly to lack of civilian air traffic, domestic or foreign.

Though the full deployment of the army would take until mid December to be complete, the air force had already brought in a sizable force. Five squadrons of attack helicopters, two squadrons of air drones and one squadron of KMH-16 multipurpose fighters. Though Lt. General Sant-Avril was focusing her main attention on Crecchio, where the air force's role was limited at best, the rest of Abruzzio beckoned. Several air raids had taken place against faction strongholds across the southern length of the Belmontien zone. But most useful had been the attack helicopters, for their versatility and firepower, sweeping the northern skies.

Somewhere in Central Abruzzio

He stepped out of his shack, built of mud by his son, he held his cane firmly, limping slightly as he walked towards the man who held his grandson by his hair, a gun on his temple, "Hurt him not, for I shall come... leave him be and this place," he said in the Uroduan language spoken in his family for eons. He looked in relief as the man let his grandson go, who in turn ran away towards his mother who wrapped her arms around and looked at the scene in terror. He walked in the same pace as before, turning back to look at his grandson and his son's wife, he smiled reassuringly.

Looking directly at the man, "Why do you make me wait? I am here, I am willing to see your commander."

"Please, follow me..."

He led the old man to the grey jeep, where four other men sat, pointing their guns at every direction. "At-least I can say I shall be safe," he said to himself in the ancient tongue.

He looked up at the sky, not a single cloud, he thought, and sat heaved himself up into the jeep. He looked around, the entire village seemed deserted, no doubt the others were hiding in their own shacks, only seeing his son's wife and his grandson. He smiled at them again and waved, just as the engine started and the jeep drove away from the village.

 

[Serenierre]

Headquarters of the Belmontien Expeditionary Force - Abruzzio
Office of Lt. General Sant-Avril

The office was air conditioned, as was the entire building, and overlooked the small inner courtyard. The tinted windows lessened the glare of the strong Abruzzi sun. This was, without a doubt, the safest place in Abruzzio. The Belmontien Lt. General sat silently, hearing General Silvano - the Head of the Abruzzi Military, at-least in the north - give her the update of the operations against the factions near Chieti. The factions had been dealt with ease and the area secured - a small victory but victory none the less.

Visits by senior ranking Abruzzi military officials had been common ever since the Cheiti Government had collapsed amid constant infighting and corruption allegations, that had brought about Lt. General Sant-Avril and General Zawdaz dividing the country in two and assuming the functions of governance, of-course with the support of their respective governments. At-least in the North, the Abruzzi Military had served as a reliable and stable partner for the BEF-A operations and had, thus, won the patronage of the Western Gallian nation. As a commander of a 120,000 strong, and that too in the North alone, but resource stricken force, that patronage had been essential for its survival.

When the Chieti Government was faltering and when the Abruzzi Military had run low on fuel, General Silvano had looked to Lt. General Sant-Avril, who had subsequently managed to provide his force with a greater supply of oil than the Government could manage and, that too, free. When the Chieti Government did collapse and there were fears that the troops would mutiny since it seemed that pays would not be released, it had been the Belmontien military which had forced their Parliament in Paris to pass a Fr. 1 billion aid package for the Abruzzi military in Abruzzio.

Now with the Belmontien deployment to be complete by this time next month, General Silvano's forces - the Abruzzio Military, as it was called by the Belmontien military - stood to play an increasingly important role in expanding their operational base and serving to police territory captured by the BEF-A forces. The real test of the force would be seen in how best they protected the border. Sant-Avril was eager to push the force into playing a stronger role in border security, especially so with the Cakistani's deploying 45,000 of their forces on the border.

Somewhere in Central Abruzzio

The old man leaned back into the seat, hands resting on the cane, he looked at the large expanse of the Northern Plains spreading out before him, in the distance the northern mountain passes could be seen, rising almost a thousand feet in the air. They had been traveling for well over an hour, if not more, and the man driving the grey jeep showed no signs of slowing down, so he assumed there was still some distance to wherever he had to go.

For over seventy years, most of his life, he had dedicated himself to the craft, learned from his father, who learned it from his father and so on and so forth, the tradition had stretched back thousands of years, this was the way the family had passed on the knowledge through the millenniums. He, himself, had also taught his son the craft but, just three weeks ago, he had been killed by the factional fighting nearby his village while he had been tending to the cattle. He knew that he was far too old to live to see his grandson being taught the craft, with his death, the craft, passed down from generation to generation, would die with him.

From afar the sound of gunfire echoed in the empty expanse of the northern plains. The other men remained composed, the old man looked around, still nervous after the skirmish outside his village.

"Don't worry old man, its very far away," the driver spoke, the first time since the ride began, "Go to sleep, we still have a long way to go."

He looked at the man, "Among your men do any carry water for me?"

"Giuliani," he said snapping his fingers. From the back, one of the men shuffled, the old man didn't turn to look. Soon after, a glass came forward, made of tin, with a scarred arm in tow. The old man quickly took the glass and gulped down the water and passed it back.

He leaned back and closed his eyes.

A man like him was a rare breed. A mystic, trained in the ancient Uroduan divinatory arts, he was one of the few left, untainted by the fake arts of the Occident. The crafts he had been taught had stretched back thousands of years and were one of the most mysterious forms of divination. Throughout the pages of history, great men had sought out men like him to make sure they remained great. Ever since the disturbances had begun in the country, he had been nervous about staying in the village. His son disagreed. Now he was in a jeep going to some mysterious warlord and his son lay buried in the village graveyard.

 

[Serenierre]

Somewhere in Central Abruzzio

For another hour and a half the grey jeep traversed the rough Abruzzi countryside. The journey was a grueling one, even for the other men in the car, and they were examples of ruggedness. Since he had been a child, he had remembered that the opening months of summer were always hardest and hottest. For most of the time the mystic kept his eyes closed, this was his first ride in a vehicle of any kind in all his eighty three years of life, he was slightly motion sick. For a man his age, such journeys were not wise and he welcomed the end of the journey.

In the vast emptiness of the harsh, arid northern Abruzzi countryside, stood a city of tents. Sights such as this had become common across the war torn country, with the factions setting up camps for refugees in hopes of luring the youths to join their ranks, though the old man didn't know too much about that. As the jeep entered the camp, it slowed down and the octogenarian managed to overcome the motion sickness. He looked at the people in the camp. Poking their heads out to see who the men in the jeep had brought to meet with the man in charge of the place. Their faces, he noted, were a mixture of fear and relief.

Tent after tent went by, a couple of them even serving as brothels, before the jeep stopped. In front, a tent much bigger than the others he had seen along the way and surrounded by guards, dressed in the same clothes of the men who had brought him here. He set down his cane onto the ground and carefully picked himself up and climbed out of the jeep.

A man stepped out from the tent, a large man, muscular and tall, and greeted the old man with a smile and a bow, "An honor to finally meet the great Edaber Aghdagha." He continued to limp forward as the young man spoke, he had no intention of staying in the sun any longer, he entered the tent and took a seat on one of the chairs inside.

Sighing with relief as he sat down, he looked at the young man, "To take the pains you have taken to summon a man such as myself, I imagine you have no time or interest in pleasantries and nor do I... so just be frank, be direct and I shall see if the heavens favor it."

The other man smiled, "Very well." He walked towards one of the other chairs, and sat down facing the old man, "My name is Salvatore Giuliano, I am the Leader of the FPL, perhaps you have heard of us."

"If I may speak honestly, I know not of these factions roaming around the land, I just know of their deeds."

He lowered his head, almost in shame, he hadn't wanted to take this path, life had just played a trick on him; made him realize when it was far too late, he was in too deep in this. "Well, I don't have to be a mystic to know about your son," he paused, looking at the old man's face harden at the mention of his son, "But you know as well as I, my men weren't responsible and-"

Interrupting, "I know full well your men aren't to blame... that is why I have come... so willingly," Edaber looked up at the man, "Yesterday, the skies were filled with the angels of fate... I don't need to hear your words... higher powers have confirmed what you say." He looked away, tears in his eyes, his voice still cold as steel, "I have travelled a long distance... so tell in what way I may be of service."

Salvatore passed a plate of dates to the old man and poured some water before speaking again. "You say the angels of fate were plentiful yesterday... what did they say?" he asked, picking up a date, "About the country I mean," he added.

"I'll admit," he said, his voice crackling slightly, "I haven't paid much attention to what has happened in this country... till it all came upon my doorstep... but for months I have been seeing the same thing... the angels of fate have been saying the same thing... in one way or another." He coughed. Clearing his throat and sipping some water, "I restrained my reactions, chose to ignore, chose to make conclusions to the contrary but I know... now." Placing his hands on the table, he looked at the other man, he leaned in close and almost whispered, "My child, you don't realize what you have stepped into... what we have seen so far pales in comparison to the path this land is taking... I have seen death, I have seen complete decimation."

His stare grew intense as the old man spoke, at the back of his mind, he focused on the man. Was he lying? Was he playing mind games? His mind for a moment slipped into panic but as the mystic placed the glass back onto the table, the trance broke and he retained his grasp of reality. He swallowed, "And what is the end result?"

He looked at Salvatore and smiled, "I don't know... the future's are conflicting. There are many destinies intermingling... the decision stands to be made." He held the younger man's hand and pressed it, "But don't worry-"

"Why?"

"After so many months, where everyday I was shown some bad omen or another, the very day you chose to summon me... there's not a single cloud in the sky. No bad omens-"

"But no good ones either."

"Yes, none in the sky... but what could be a better omen for you than me sitting here in this tent right in front of you."

"So I imagine you are willing to assist me... are you?"

Edaber frowned slightly, "Provided... that not another in my village go through the pain I have gone through with the loss of my son... promise me this that you shall protect my village and its people."

Salvatore looked at the older man, he smiled, "You know not many people would make demands from me... most are just too scared but I appreciate bravery, even from old men, and I shall honor your request."

"And my grandson and my son's wife?"

"If you wish we could bring them here as well."

Edaber looked at Salvatore and smiled. He leaned forward and patted his cheek, "That would be very nice."