Obliged to Obey

[Thaumantica]

Sijabrdo (Shining Hill), Maršalgrad

Withering away ones will to stand up straight, hands to his side, facing directly a mighty wind front, accompanied by a grim chill from its weather variables - and the sight of marble monoliths which made men look like pieces on a board from a most dangerous game. Wind chills effected bare skin on a molecular level, felt first as an overcoming splash of ice, until each molecule found its related pain receptors to jab at like a punching bag. Each gust was far more akin to a haymaker, attempting to convince its victims to succumb to the elements immediately by seeking shelter.

An old officer can freeze in the same way his young soldiers do, though he can rarely die in identical circumstances. Vjekoslav wished to perish as his men would on the battlefield, impossible now, in his current form. The Union knew him as as Maršal Pijan; elected Chairman of the Blue Union Captaincy of Životinje. As the supreme executive power in peacetime, and supreme general of the military during conflict, Vjekoslav pictured his demise as victim of a penetrating 'bunker busting' missile from an airborne fighter belonging to one of the Unions many rivals. He planned for this moment adamantly, specifically by stocking every bunker with enough alcohol and tobacco products to last him and his staff for an entire Živ winter.

One click of his heel unto Sijabrdo's stone platform cued a Cadet to call the Union to attention, full brigades of armed soldiers obeyed the command by willingly freezing their bodies for as long as each individual male or female type soldier could, for soon unintentional jitters and shakes overcame the soldiers who were doing their very best to warm themselves mentally, while physically they had been ordered to cease all movement.

Vjekoslav observed the uncontrolled shaking of his men, so he made his trip to the podium microphone expedient, with a rushed "Stand easy", an order which relieved his troops immediately. Video transmissions of this event would be shown across the world, an event that would look strikingly similar to ones in every other Slavic nation, Communist or otherwise. Maršal Pijan was attempting to portray the Union Blues as a 'practical power', one who casts iron aesthetics aside, or those portrayed by their Communist rivals who insisted on airing images of their soldiers rigid as stone during a cold winters day.

On that same token, the Maršal begun his Address to the Union - "The gravity of the situation which confronts the world today necessitates my appearance before a our victorious Blue Union, to our neighbors in Międzymorze, and worldwide in every stronghold of democracy, which we as Union Zivs enjoy. I of course speak of foreign policy, an a subsequent security threat to our nation from a Crimson Communist Collective of Cronies.

We must consider recent acts of socialist funded terrorists against free men worldwide as a catalyst to our approaching actions as armed free men."

Three Infantrymen, who each firmly held a flag from the three Union Captaincies, with attached rifles at the head of the flag poles, fired off a round to highlight this point.

"This Union insists that another hour of Communist rule over any sovereign state, is another dire hour of suffering to the potential of the human race. It is imperative if we are to survive as a free nation, that we take actions to defend ourselves not only economically as we have already, but diplomatically alongside our neutral partners in global freedom. This I think is a matter our Union cannot wish to turn a deaf ear to.

As a result of tragic conditions, a militant minority, exploiting human want and misery, the Communist Cronies of Europe have been able to cultivate oppressive states and terrorist splinter groups in every land which calls itself free.

The very existence of our Captaincies and Union is today threatened by the terrorist activities of several thousand armed men, led by Communists, who defy the government's authority at a number of points, particularly along the northern boundaries. A Commission appointed by the Plavi-Divocian security Council is at present investigating disturbed conditions in northern Sangemuntenia by an infestation of Communist symphathizers.

There is no other country to which the free men and women of Europe can turn but the victorious Blue Union."

Pursing his lips and squinting so he could see the faces of those farthest away in the crowd, Maršal Pijan sought out reactions from this statement, that Životinje was alone in its persecution of this Crimson Menace.

"No other nation is willing and able to provide the necessary support for democracy and the virtues of a Free Market in the way we have and will continue to.

We have considered how the Council of Nations might assist in this crisis. But it is obvious that this organization too has been infiltrated by Cronies of the Terror movements who are native to Communist countries.

No government is perfect. One of the chief virtues of a democracy, however, is that its defects are always visible and under democratic processes can be pointed out and corrected. In our opposing Communist States, a veil is placed over the peoples eyes, blinding them from the corrupt oppression of their Governing parties.

That integrity which we as Military Men preach is essential to the preservation of order in a free democratic Europe.

We are not the only country able to provide help to the victims of socialism, but we are the only nation willing to challenge the purveyors of freedom.

One of the primary objectives of the foreign policy of the Union is the creation of conditions in which we and other nations will be able to work out a way of life free from coercion. Our victory for Independence was won over a country which sought to impose their will, and their way of life, upon other ourselves and other nations. Its system has changed, its face has changed, but its color has not - Red is and always has been the color of oppression to these sacred lands.

To ensure the peaceful development of nations, free from coercion, the Union has proposed that a Committee Against Communism (CAC) is forged by the Slavic States to preserve freedom and independence for all its members. At the present moment in world history nearly every nation must choose between alternative ways of life. The choice is too often not a free one.

One way of life is based upon the will of the majority, and is distinguished by free institutions, representative government, free elections, guarantees of individual liberty, freedom of speech and religion, and freedom from political oppression.

The second way of life is based upon the will of a minority forcibly imposed upon the majority. It relies upon terror and oppression, a controlled press and radio; fixed elections, and the suppression of personal freedoms.

I believe that it must be the policy of the Blue Union to support free peoples who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures. I believe that we must assist free peoples to work out their own destinies in their own way. I believe that our help should be primarily through economic and financial aid which is essential to economic stability and orderly political processes. And, I believe we must take immediate and resolute action.

This is a serious course upon which we embark. A torch passed on to us against our will, though a task we must undertake none the less as a member of the international community who still believes in the preservation of Civil Liberties."

His Union would be obliged to obey this call of primal nature, to stand together as individuals against an enemy who convinces its soldiers that they are equal an without essential differences which make a man unique. Now, and until a side would give up, the Zivs would be obliged to obey under a Blue Flag in order to preserve the orders of liberty asserted in 1818, by the Revolution that bore this Blue Union.

 

[Thaumantica]

Obliged to Investigate
Durdevac, Komenoge Captaincy
Having secured a discrete but nevertheless official set of extraordinary orders to launch investigations in to Communist influence in and around Životinje, Natporučnik (First Lieutenant) Gurevich had theorized that the best place to begin would be amongst leftist Committee or Board meetings in Komenoge. Durdevac, a largely industrialized powerhouse of the Komenoge Captaincy was considered to be a hotbed for workers rights idealists, an thus Communist 'Cronies' inspired by revolutionary ideals in International Revolutionary Bloc countries.

First on his list of meetings to attend would be the Alternative Leftists Union (ALU), a group who conducted most if not all of its meetings in the public eye by streaming a video feed nation/worldwide. Why then attend at all? The young Natporučnik hoped to capture the words and images that were'nt being aired over the internet, perhaps shake the hands of his potential enemies.

To meet this opposition to the Blue Union, seeing them with his own two eyes, he hoped to even form a personal opinion of them for himself, one that likely would not headline his Official Reports to the Unija Istraživanje Službeni (Union Investigation Service), an autonomous investigative organ who had been given the order to produce the dirt on regional communist grass root organizations.

His warm fingers began to numb as he wrapped his lips around a red cup filled with a spiked punch, a bookish thirty-something year old brunette quickly asserted herself to inform him "That's spiked with Kryobaijani Vodka, you know” it took every fiber of his being not to spit this fluid which now burned the inside of his mouth, finally managing an awkward swallow followed with “Oh?”. The woman smiled, “Oh yes, we receive a fair discount by purchasing directly from the USSK’s finest distilleries!”, Gurevich nodded with a smile of his own “How prudent and thrifty of you.” He would certainly note this, though purchasing alcohol from a Socialist entity was by no means incriminating...Yet.

Introducing herself as Jelena, this controlling woman pulled him to a front row seat by the end of his blue/red striped tie, a devilish touch that he himself had come up with. He theorized that he would make the impression that he was in favor of a marriage between traditional Unionism and Communism, if not at least blending in with the sea of red everyone else dressed themselves in. His new ‘friend’, Jelena, wore a set of thick rimmed red glasses that were likely worn to distract colleagues from her plain and tattered clothes.

Clunking past unoccupied wooden chairs, she released him to a seat which appeared to have been used to fend off a bear, or some other disgruntled creature with claws. He reluctantly planted himself in to the old chair which rocked side to side, a feature which could not possibly have been factored in by its designer.

What little lighting that had been turned on for this affair was flickering on and off consistently all at different times, turning this ALU meeting in to a poorly rehearsed light show. From a dark corner of the hall, a column of men and women of all ages entered so they could occupy the shabby seating arrangements set up by their more junior members. Gurevich had chuckled while observing that even in a Socialist environment, the youngest and newest were forced to sweat through all of the grunt work.

At minimum Natporučnik Gurevich could expect to compile a list of individuals to task other investigators to tail, and at maximum he was hoping to make contact with one of the Terrorists that the Union suspected were gathering to swap arms for cash and vice versa. He was entirely confident that in a nation like his Union, his Communist foes would not be afraid to exhibit their anti-state acts in public. Unija Istraživanje Službeni (UIS) was a relatively hush-hush organ within the Union, he could also confidently believe that half of the Socialists in attendance at this meeting were unaware of any UIS interest in to political matters on the homefront, most famous for its exploits abroad.

 

[Thaumantica]

Obey the Evenings Call
Hladnompot, Sangemuntenia
Overpowering waves of violin melodies clawed their way into homes, buildings, parks, forests, trees, rock crevices, caves, to the ears of creatures, and finally to the ears of human kind. High atop a grand pre-Živolutionary War Clock-Tower, the small villages sole monolith, sat Old Uncle Mihajlo, no younger then 79 years old. Every evening, to clear skies or thick blizzards, Uncle Mihajlo assumed his perch over Hladnompot, an otherwise insignificant village-settlement in the rugged Captaincy of Sangemuntenia.

Anthems to the evenings closure could be expected seven days a week, three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. While no law enforced curfew existed, the tradition in Hladnompot was; 1900 Uncle Mihajlo would begin his nocturnal recital, and at musics end every door should be locked until sunrise the next morning. Thereafter, voluntary Civil Patrols made up of current or former Militiamen peruse every alley and every street by foot or horse.

Feeling entranced with the spirit of his own personal symphony, Mihajlo sprawled his tattered bow along four strings, and tuned by his own brittle fingers. From the incipient notes, he had watched dark coated blurs gathered in an unorganized gaggle, this indicated a long-drawn-out performance was requested by his occasionally loving crowd.

Snowfall in the afternoon had painted every rooftop pearly white, and few roads had been adequately cleared, entire obscured sections of the village were invisible to Old Uncle Mihajlo, leaving his remnants of visual acuity focused entirely on the blurred black, gray, and dark blue coats below on the closed down market square.

Conjoined elements of cold, and his own personal body clock registered an abrupt cessation to this evenings concert, no longer then fifteen minutes after beginning. After setting down his old bow, he threw up a pale hand which dove with his entire body into a physical downward curve, not quite as far as in recent years. Rising to a somewhat straight stature again, Uncle Mihajlo ran this same pale hand through his dense scruffy beard, which would probably form curls if not for this nightly ritual of intense stroking until he could see that most of his audience has left.

"I'm finished!" he exclaimed.

A responsive 'curfew bell' echoed about every one of Hladnompot man made structures.

"Goodnight my village, I am indeed finished." Uncle Mihajlo had serenaded his beloved small town to sleep.

2.5 km outside Hladnompot

Half a year too young to file for Immigration Orders, sixteen and a half year old Dmitri had taken on the heavy burden of raising himself in a drastically remote and foreign land. His late Father had lied to the Union Immigration Services when arriving from Kryobaijan, claiming that Dmitri's Mother would be only a few months behind them, when in reality she had died of tuberculosis not long after childbirth.

When Immigration Services instigated a 'follow-up' on the Mothers status, his fathers conscious inspired him to come clean, the Union issued a formal "forgiveness" for the little white lie. But this was not enough for Dmitri's Father, a Pastor who had helped him come to the decision of disclosing the truth, next talked his Father into enlisting in the Union Army. Low and behold, Dmitri was soon devastated with the loss of another parent, his foolish father perished in a blizzard not so different from the one that was now rumbling in from the Northwest. A brutally unfair turn of events turned the teen not into the arms of God or Country, who had already betrayed his trust here in Životinje.

"It's the little Commie Boy again, eh?"

"That's right, Ludovic. .See that in his hand, he stole the Union flag from the Square after Uncle Mihajlo did his thing." a grinning Civil Patrol Militiamen remarked. Doing so on horseback, circling around young Dmitri with Ludovic his Comrade in Arms on foot.

"Is that right? He does got some run in him, he does. We're a few steps out of town now, are'nt we?" Ludovic brandished a grin of his own, with the concept of being able to do whatever he wanted without anyone watching. Dmitri had now dropped the flag, kicking snow over it in disrespect. This, the horsemen thought was even funnier, "Hell, why don't we do the same to you little Crimson freak, what would you say is stopping us from burying you in the snow?".

Dmitri could not refute his moniker at this point, a few times during the summer he had various books, flags, and souvenirs sent to him from his old home in the United Socialist States of Kryobaijan. He had rocked the villages tight blue socks off when he handed out hammer/sickle buttons, and sold Yak Fur hats the day of the first snowfall.

"What would the founding Fathers say about you men, cornering a civilly disobedient teenager in the woods after nightfall? What does the Union call this?" Dmitri had encountered these types before, bigots, but never in such a hostile or remote location.

"This is called, country damn justice!" Ludovic squealed.

"Yeah, it's called - That's the way we do it around here, here in the Mountains, god damn it." the other one exclaimed, snatching a hand me down rifle from around his back. Dmitri knew now that he had exhausted these country boys verbal reasoning, leaving a hasty escape as the option of survival. So, with his heart already beating, Dmitri made a straight dead sprint into the woods, where downed snowcovered tree logs made for camouflaged hurdles.

After thinking about it for a few moments, the two Civil Patrol Militiamen pursued, now a good fifteen-twenty seconds behind. They would either have to catch him by closing the distance, or shoot him in an open clearing in the forest. In this thick section, Dmitri was taking advantage of his surrounding by weaving in an out of sight from behind thick old trees, disabling a sure shot on his person. But where then now, he thought, every door in the village was locked, and he lacked a friend to let him in to their warm home.

Images of his death flashed in his mind, not distracting him enough to stop running, but enough to slow him down, as that beating heart reminded him that he was no superhuman or Olympic Athlete. His placement here by Immigration Services had been such a great curse to a city boy like Dmitri, though these instincts reminded him of a time in Kryobaijan when he had escaped from a bully by running dangerously in to a busy street, causing many to swerve out of control. 'I'll lead them in to a situation of mutual danger, a risk I'll have to take to survive, but will they to satisfy their beliefs in country mountain justice?' Dmitri asked himself mentally in between gasps for air.

Lake Isprati had just frozen over, yet still too early to go icefishing on, just perfect enough to risk ones life on. The horsemen submerged immediately as the first hoof hit the ice, his horse would not likely survive - the rider had a 1 in 10 considering he would have to find a way out, then find his way back to town before freezing to death. Ludovic, who was unarmed, put one foot in front of the other until reaching Dmitri with a long hand.

"Eye for an eye, Commie, this ain't Utopian Social country. You killed my ol'buddy, now did'nt you?" Between Ludovic, the ice split under his minimal weight, enough though with Dmitri a few feet away, dumping both of them in to the frigid pool of Lake Isprati. Within minutes all three were dead, yet some how the horse had emerged from the deadly pursuit, and would trot back to Hladnompot, perhaps telling a new silent legend for the old village to author a myth about for the next few generations.

OOC: Hmm, the first part was strong, but that second part really sucked. :/ Oh well, dead commies in the country. . .My point has been made.

 

[Thaumantica]

Obliged to Redecorate?
Sijabrdo (Shining Hill), Marešalgrad

Blush blue floors, dark blue curtains, and navy blue furniture. The founding Živ’s went entirely too far with a “Paint the world Blue” campaign, cooked up before and during the War of Definition. Each and every Officer earning this Office had either ignored the gross eyesore, or been too chickenshit to redecorate, rather afraid to inform the patriotic populace that their countries beloved blue was getting in the way of an otherwise well built office.

Distracting those patriotic peoples with a recurrence of a modern day “Red-Scare from the Crimson Scourge”, was perfect for accomplishing a personal mission set out by Vjekoslav in the late 1960‘s, a time not at all more complicated then this one. Assigned to Marešal Erdélyi (1964-1974), Vjekoslav often loathed opening the door for his superior officer in the morning. This sincere loathing was not an inkling of disrespect, instead, because the Sindikat Marešal was prone to souring his face and complaining about the archaic, ripped, tattered, beyond blue office.

Životinje’s collective mindset was honed in on preventing the Winter War Games, now mere days away, where rhetoric leading up to this performance soaked in to the hearts and minds of the Union like a sponge. Now was the perfect time to replace that lurid carpet with a positively winsome Maple Tree hardwood floor, glistening after a fine polish from one or many of the Unions hard working Enlisted Soldiers. Why not tear down these terrible and unbearable blue curtains, Vjekoslav had asked his underpaid assistant. Removed promptly and cut in to hundreds of pieces, the Union Historical Society planned to display half in a Museum, with the other half picked apart and sold to the highest bidders. Vjekoslav’s assistant, who removed the nasty blue behemoths of curtains, would not see any of that money, even as he gagged on clouds of dust which deposited themselves into the deep caverns of his lungs.

Couches, chairs, and tables; replaced all the same, with the same disdain for such distasteful splurges of bright or dark blue. A friendly alcoholic, in the neighborhood of powerful Union men - Pukovnik Štimac was kind enough to procure authentic theme set, hand crafted in Skånskige Statsunionen. Whether or not the old Pukovnik had attained the pieces because he was ordered to, or if he did not purposely choose Skånskige Statsunionen at all would be a source of debate for future historians, because it was quite likely Štimac was paying them back for one of his infamous drunken escapades in Augsburg.

Relaxing in this finely crafted chair, Marešal Pijan could not feel the history which remained in the old office, this setting now instilled a sense of innovation, a type of yearning for forging a greater future for the victorious Blue Union Captaincy. An interruption from moments such as these can be expected at this position of power, a poorly timed phone call from some sorry-sod rung about Vjekoslav’s ears, four flowing tones repeated before he would answer.

“Freedom First, this is Marešal Pijan, how can I help you sir or ma’am?” the perfect greeting to this poorly timed call.

“Always Free, Sir. All..Always Free. This is Satnik (Captain) Benedek, is this a secure line?” at twenty-nine, the Satnik’s voice still came off as mousy or soft.

Pijan laughed uncontrollably for a few seconds or more, “You’re talking to the Sindikat Marešal, son. How long have you been waiting on this line, considering you have spoken to five screener’s just to get a few seconds with my assistant?”

Fuzzy white noise made up for an otherwise eery state of silence that existed until Benedek was prepared to sheepishly answer - “Sir, perhaps I should have just come in to see you face to face.”

“That’s right” Vjekoslav playfully jabbed, “Perhaps you should just march right here in to my office now, I know that is you I see on my security camera feed out in the lobby, you are holding the cellphone with your right hand like you always do, even though you are left handed.”

“Sir, how did you” Benedek was interrupted before he could finish his question, “Because I am the god forsaken Marešal of the Union, now get your ass up here, Satnik.” Vjekoslav slammed the phone down before another word could be uttered. By no means was he angry with the mousy Satnik, far from, he was quite intrigued with the man. Commissioned to an unpopular position within the Union Corps, Benedek was flourishing as a Commander who would never actually see the men he was moving about like chess-pieces. His mousy character made him a molded fit for Intelligence and Planning, where he could lock himself in a room for whole weeks alone, so long as he slipped some words, statistics, or concepts of wisdom under his door that could be used for the Union.

No more then five minutes passed before Benedek was knocking on the Marešal’s newly installed, double doors. “Enter!” Pijan howled, plenty loud enough for Satnik Benedek to hear twice over. Ever so slowly the Mahogany Wood Door, stained a light saddlewood tan opened fluidly, soon followed by a light footed man who seemed to glide over his environment, not march. Before he could reach Pijan’s desk, the Marešal called out to his approaching colleague “Do not bother Benedek, just walk on up here normally. It’s almost time to go home, and I am ready to start winding down”. Immediately, Benedek began to breath easy, he felt as relaxed as Vjekoslav in his brand new chair. “Sir” Benedek began, “I..I am the Volga guy. You know, down the street at the UIS.”

Pijan stood up and nodded his head vigorously “YES! Yes, yes why of course - it’s the Volga guy. I have been reading your memos religiously for a few weeks now. How are things at Unija Istraživanje Službeni?”

Smiling, Benedek’s mousy voice grew up just a little, “Sir, we may have found a reason to leave our facility more then once or twice a year, if you can follow my sarcasm?”, after three years as Sindikat Marešal; three or less visits could be recalled from UIS. “And yes sir, myself and my team are studying intensely there, it’s almost a shame I had to step away, but this is too pressing sir...Sir, we may just have uncovered a strategy to create that smokescreen you requested, sir.”

 

[Thaumantica]

Obey the Stewardess
Battles were breaking out already, in hundreds of locations, and between hundreds of men. History would likely forget this battle fought between heartful young men, somehow historians would view these skirmishes as an insignifcant moment in this war. Window seats on these civilian charters were now a steaming hot commodity for a slew of young soldiers who were leaving Životinje for the very first time in their self-absorbed lives. Individual battles broke out from both left and right until a classy stewardess quelled the boystrous bunch of warriors, with a soothing voice, and a uniform of her own that hugged around each curve with the same tight grip these men would be clutching their hands around their rifles with.

Would European nations large or small, specifically small, notice a few hundred fully booked Civilian flights out of Zjadnboro to several different scratch in the earth airfields into the Confederate States' large southern island, a matter of miles from the mainland, and site of the Unions temporary staging ground.

Upon landing and stepping down on this makeshift camp of Soldiers, a shocked observer could find Union Soldiers along the coast, making peace with their lives, or in most cases streaking naked in and out of the ocean with glee; avoiding hypothermia by the thickness of their bare skin. A thusfar undefeated Union Army now promised to "Go-Big, or Go-Home" by undergoing the largest movement of troops by Živ Armed Forces since the Great War. Inglorious seas of old tents, outdated for an otherwise fully modernized fighting force - early planning of this excursion had put emphasis on this pressing flaw, though priority was not on the God Loving Infantry, and rather Zaktrupa's (Air Troopers).

Zaktrupa were being housed in portable trailers, rented out graciously by Confederate dealers who were being bribed by the Union to claim these were Confederate barracks for Axifloan Forces. In reality these were the temporary housing facilities established for the Zaktrupa, crown jewel of the Union Corps, with orders to undertake the largest airborne invasion in European history.

Of three Cavalry Divisions, two were living out of their combat outfitted tanks already, still weeks before any would take the first offensive strike. Combined Cavalry Commander, Pukvonik Csapó began every new day by climbing atop a different rig so he might read the days orders, and spew out any words of wisdom or hate he had thought of since his last opportunity to yammer on.

Obey & Survey
Unphased by the notion of flying with a Międzymorzan as his wingman, Poručnik (Lieutenant) Gerencsér hooked an oxygen mask over his cleanly shaven face. His task was to pilot the first surveillance mission of many over Volga, a mission load shared by Międzymorze; interested in routing International Revolutionary Bloc influence far from the Kingdom.

To date, the Union had announced publicly and to the international community that air patrols would be conducted over the Gulf which was now shared by Oikawa, Volga, Serbovia, and the Axifloan's. With the initial flights, surveillance had been entirely maritime, occasionally dipping in close enough to the coast to snap a few pictures of various docks and beacheads that may come in to play in the immediate future. Now, spyplanes like the one piloted by Gerencsér would begin high altitude surveillance missions alongside Międzymorzan flyboys.

No single aircraft would repeat a flyover twice, Union Officials were claiming that these patrols were not intended to survey Volga, it was dubbed as a mission to get eyes on IRB Forces who may or may not pass on through to Vangala at any time. Hence the accompanying Między air powers, the Bloc's harshest critic, perhaps an adequate cover for the Union - who at this very same time was negotiating with key members of the Bloc to sign a comprehensive Peace Treaty, that the Union literally had no interest in breaking.

 

[Thaumantica]

Obliged to Inform:

YOU! YES YOU, WAKE UP AND READ THIS!?!​

A CALL FOR THE EMANCIPATION
AND AWAKENING OF CIVIL LIBERTIES
FOR ALL PEOPLE​

“This Blue Union is going to assemble the best thought and broadest knowledge from all over the world to find the answers to serious Volgan issues. We intend to establish a minimalist government of men who are reborn free, engulfed with the joys of civil liberty,”​

We, the victorious Blue Union Captaincy of Životinje, boldly challenge the cult of the omnipotent state of Volga, and defend the rights of the individual Volgans of all color and creed.

In the new system, all individuals will take for themselves the right to exercise sole dominion over their own lives, and have the right to live in whatever manner they choose, so long as they do not forcibly interfere with the equal right of others to live in whatever manner they choose.

Communist Croniesm, and other mechanisms of a crimson menace have regularly operated on the opposite principle, clutching Volga in a death-grip, and assuring that the State has the right to dispose of the lives of individuals and the fruits of their labor. These Volgan Communist parties grant government the right to regulate the lives of individuals and seize the fruits of their labor without their consent.

We, on the contrary, deny the right of any government to do these things, and hold that where governments exist, they must not violate the rights of any individual: namely, (1) the right to life -- accordingly we support the prohibition of the initiation of physical force against others; (2) the right to liberty of speech and action -- accordingly we oppose all attempts by government to abridge the freedom of speech and press, as well as government censorship in any form; and (3) the right to property -- accordingly we oppose all government interference with private property, such as confiscation, nationalization, and eminent domain, and support the prohibition of robbery, trespass, fraud, and misrepresentation.

Since governments, when instituted, must not violate individual rights, we oppose all interference by government in the areas of voluntary and contractual relations among individuals. People should not be forced to sacrifice their lives and property for the benefit of others. They should be left free by government to deal with one another as free traders; and the resultant economic system, the only one compatible with the protection of individual rights, is the free market.

FREEDOM HAS A VOICE TOO, CALL 1-113-LIBERTY TO SPEAK YOUR MIND!
HEAR LIBERTIES BELL, TUNE IN TO 890 AM, 1025 AM, AND 740 AM
LOOK EAST FOR THE ARRIVAL OF THE BLUE HORDE!​

One-Hundred Million, maybe more. Entire forests would have had to been razed to comprise the sprinkling shower of paper "INFO-BOMBS". Loaded on to modern warfighters of the sky, civilian transport planes, and stolen helicopters; Union leaflets were painting the skies of Bholghar a starchy white, on an otherwise gloomy gray Volgan morning. Akin to snowflakes, Christmas was coming early for perhaps thousands of underground revolutionaries that the Blues hoped to inspire. As the slivers of freedoms press collided or slid past each other, riding air waves like a surfboard on a tidal wake, if every surfboard in Europe converged on one beach, to ride the same wave.

Besides the Capitol, the leaflet campaign was forming a storm in the far east corners of Volga - the supposed sight of an impending invasion from the Union Corps, or Blue Horde themselves. On a strategic level, it would have to seem odd that Životinje was focusing its sea of leaflets on territories in the far east, a region they would likely control within the week. Ideally, the Union should have dropped its INFO-BOMBS in an area which had time to react before blue uniforms were marching through the streets, distributing information face-to-face.

Flying far too low over the outskirts of Bolghar, was Ábel, another one of the Air Corps young guns - still too junior to fly a combat mission. Armed only with a full arsenal of INFO-BOMBS, Ábel's precise orders were to drop his payload on the southeast corner of Bolghar; miles away from the metro area.

A zealot and fool, Ábel had made a bet with his squads fire team that he could drop one right into the heart of Bolghar, with as much precision as a normal tactical missile. This notion lasted mere seconds, with his dropzone in sight, the Air Corpsmen took his last breaths by sucking in all-natural Volgan air, as his fighter went plummeting in to the earth.

 

[Thaumantica]

OOC: This post was pre-newspost, everyone will understand why after reading it.
IC:

Assassinate, Fabricate, and Obey the Eastern Call

Consciously aware of what sort of marshal sin he was about to commit in the name of the Union, Natporučnik Gurevich was now taking his work out of country. His mission was the major power-play of Operacija: Rukavica (Operation: Glove), an ambitious ploy of deception performed unintentionally by media-outlets Europe wide, and inspired by what Gurevich was about to do. An investigative specialist, Gurevich had done all of his research on this victim ('Vic') himself - all the way down to assuring all records from Životinje or Volga were erased.

He stalked the creatures of the night in tattered jeans that exposed him to the cold wind with each hole, Volgan Military Boots that still needed to be broken in, and a 80's era jacket. Although he had no need for glasses, he had stolen some from a crafter outside of Bolghar, a regrettable but necessary theft Gurevich hoped to make amends for some day - when the same crafter flew a different colored flag outside of his shop. Every other earthly colored or average looking articles he had adorned himself with to blend in with his Socialist background, finding most in government-run discount clothing stores. He noticed one interesting consistency, these styles were older then the current regime in power, and when venturing out of the city - the villagers clothing were even older in style then that.

Women in Životinje would have thought him to be average looking, visually desirable only because of his peek physical prowess, which was hopefully hidden and not all too extraordinary under the cover of an all too necessary coat. 'This winter-war is supposed to be a mutual disadvantage' he thought 'here is to hoping two centuries of only fighting in the winter, is our advantage'.

Now a few minutes after 1800, it was time to assume a perch close enough to watch his Vic leave work. The Vic was an agent of the Union of course, but he had been ordered to maintain a steady job in a factory, as to defeat suspicions from simple folk who might question his story. In a crowd of relatively similar looking men, down to the haircut, the Vic was yakking it up with a co-worker, 'Is his friendship with that man genuine, or is my Vic playing politics like a real laborer?' Gurevich wondered about ten paces behind the Vic and his laughing co-worker. 'Where is it that you split ways, eh giggles?' the trailing Natporučnik asked within the confines of his mind. Quite suddenly, another worker zipped through two automobiles, nearly causing a fender bender to a conga line of screaming drivers, all so he could catch up with the Vic and Giggles. The three of them proceeded to a cheap looking Roach Coach Food Truck, each ordering coffee that steamed defiantly on this Volgan winter night. Gurevich crossed the street while the three workers enjoyed their java, he took caution in crossing unlike his working friend, not keen on drawing attention.

Where next would his mission take him? To warming a bench across the street from these three laborers, where Gurevich could observe from a familiar perch. Usually he would wait for the Vic here ever evening, ordering a coffee at this location was a damn tradition for the man, though it was rare for him to bring co-workers along for this late night caffeine binge. Murdering this Vic without leaving any evidence behind, other then that which was intended to be found, required such patience. Twenty minutes passed, by 1830 the Vic was on the move again, and so was Gurevich. Giggles took a right turn down a dark alley, and before long Evil Knievel the car dodger parted ways to enter an already open apartment door. Still more then a full ten paces behind, Gurevich had gone unnoticed, slowing down and speeding up to walk beside other creatures who were hitting the streets this evening.

Arriving home at around 1845, the Vic checked for any mail; futile for a man who no longer existed. Gurevich used this time to call back to Marešalgrad, to his contact who had been briefed in the same codewords and phrases:

"Hey there luvkins, it's me." Gurevich stated, convincingly.

A female voice responded immediately, "Oh baby, how long has it been? Are you keeping warm?".

"Warm enough, honey. I'm trying to stay indoors." meaning, Gurevich would follow the Vic in to his house soon.

"Oh? Hey...Baby, bought a toy for our puppy. Can you bring one home for ol'Scruffles? He'd really appreciate it, tootsie baby bear." his female counterpart was playing her part too well, her tone told Gurevich she must really be married, because he sensed just a remote trace of loathing in it.

"I will luvkins, and I'll be home with that toy for Scruffles as soon as I can. I'll text you when I buy it, now good night lovey." before she could spew out some other unnecessary babble, Gurevich hung up, about sickened inside and out with that marital bliss.

Apartment 67, Room 15. Now, a few less paces behind the Vic - Gurevich could smell a full days sweat on him, trailing behind in these warm hallways; compared to the frozen city streets. The Jingling of the Vic's keys was like a melody of demise, by the time the door was open by a few inches, Gurevich had an old leather belt constricting and pulling back around the Vic's neck. Controlling him like a collared animal, Natporučnik Gurevich led his victim in to his own apartment, kicking the door shut from behind. Too dark to see the kaleidoscope changes the victims face must be making, he had to rely on the buckled legs, and a few bludgeons with a household item or two that Gurevich picked up from the environment around him.

'First things first' he mused 'let's make sure your dead, sir.' an outstretched finger, there to check for a pulse, came back with negative results "Dead as a door nail, good sir." he now whispered aloud. "Well" he whispered some more, now comfortable enough to do so, "Time to steel some of your stuff!". He had no real interest in murder-robbery of a simple worker, but the Vic was'nt a simple worker anymore, post-mortum he was going to be a vicious traitor to Volga and Životinje at the same time.

After taking a few valuables, and throwing average objects around for effect, Gurevich next switched out the Vic's "Top-Secret" Laptop that he had been storing in the freezer in a warm container. Clever, Gurevich had to admit - "Hopefully the deadbeat investigators rummage through his freezer a bit", he whispered again to himself, now planting this new laptop, already painted like a meticulous masterpiece with fingerprints. Unsure still whether or not Volgan Investigators might recover the laptop, Gurevich dragged the body into the Vic's own kitchen, stuffing as much of the body as he could in the refrigerator - with the planted laptop a few feet above, snug in the freezer.

Union Intelligence Officers wanted this laptop to fall in to Volgan hands, so much so that they were basing the entire invasion around Volga's primal reaction to finding a comprehensive strategy to invade the Communist Nation from Oikawan-occupied Volga, due east of Bolghar. This deception would dictate the tempo of the war, from here on out until the last rifle is fired by the victorious side.

 

[Thaumantica]

Object or Obey
Sijabrdo, Maršalgrad

Compressed in between two guards who did not belong to him, Ljudevit Posavski now felt very insignificant in a building he was fifty-percent in charge of. By exercising the powers of the Sindikat Marešal, Posavski’s counterpart from the Military (Pijan) had rendered the position of Civilnog Marešal near useless, besides the right to act as a middleman from the Sindikat Marešal to the Union Congressional Board, passing approved information paragraphs at a time.

“Why are there two of you today?” Posavski asked, genuinely curious about this minor escalation of security.

“We have entered wartime today, sir. Never go anywhere alone, I’d suggest you do the same sir.” the Guard walking on his left replied, toting along an automatic rifle designed by Wiese, though knocked off and altered by Živ manufacturers.

Posavski nodded with approval, still shocked hours after learning that a Union Air Corpsmen had been shot down in cold blood while sprinkling Bolghar, the Volgan Capitol, with leaflets preaching the merits of freedom. Ljudevit Posavski felt differently then his colleagues about the incident, seeing it as a natural reaction of self-defense from the Communists, who were naturally unsure whether the Union was mounting a surprise attack. Besides violating their airspace, the dead pilot was apparently going against orders to avoid the metro area, his fatal mistake in the long run, an now a clear catalyst for all out war between the two disagreeing nations.

Brand new wooden doors marked the entrance of Marešal Pijan’s Office. Before Posavski could stretch out a hand for the doors handle, four famous faces came power-walking out of the office, each looking determined to get wherever they were going with haste. Pijan was standing in front of his desk, arms crossed, while leaning back on the framework of the desk itself. “Come now, Ljudevit. Get in here and shake my hand, you old fool.” Pijan exclaimed with his increasingly raspy voice, the scent of Komenoge tobacco deposited in every molecule pushed out with his speech. The two men shook hands for a moment or three too long, causing an awkward retraction of hands that seemed rushed, rather then natural like a good handshake should be.

“Those four, yes, they are who you thought they were. Tomasz Szczepans, Oleh Ksenkia, Petrov Suronja, and Bojnik Konavle. They are being dispatched mostly in to the Wieserreich, though Ksenkia is traveling to Franken. Our Foreign Affairs Budget is getting a break these days, with the Council of Nations all meeting in the Kaisertum Wieserreich - being considered neutral pays well apparently.” Pijan jested.

“Conducting foreign affairs without cooperation with the Civilnog Office, ah Marešal Pijan, what am I supposed to think of our working relationship?” Posavski thought aloud, vocalizing with a tone of dismay. The perfect balance between Civilnog & Sindikat Marešal was quickly disappearing.

Pijan was already pouring himself and Posavski a cup of warm coffee, spiking his own with a cheap bottle of generic Międzymorzan Whiskey. “You know, someone in the Międzymorzan Embassy in downtown Zjadnboro sent this to me as an insult a few years ago when the Union Corps appointed me to this position, something about 'peasants spit for the peasants king .” Pijan was making another joke out of his colleagues serious concerns, “Anyways, yes Ljudevit my Civilnog Marešal, I have kept you a few steps behind my own in the last few days. And I hope to mend my ways before long. Preparing for this conflict, and observing it from here has consumed my staff officers and I. You must understand?”

“Sir, I can understand, but it does not make it right does it?” Posavski fired back, “I was elected to my position directly by the people, and it has been me that has looked over this country for the last few months, while you have been chasing around the ghosts of Terrorists who do not exist internally, so now you are attacking them abroad!”

The Sindikat Marešal smirked, “It all comes out here and now, that’s alright Posavski, fine by me - I cleared my schedule tonight just for you. Those four who were in here just minutes before you; dispatched to meet with our potential important critics from our engagement with Volga. Air Corps and the Army, they have orders to continue preparations as if nothing had happened earlier in Bolghar. A few casualties were bound to happen, the Volgans are not a pacifistic people. . .So, this night is all for you and your questions. Do not think just because I have asserted my Prava sanctioned powers over the Civilnog half of the Union, that I am going to interfere with your elected right to govern at home.”, unhappy with his coffee -- Pijan splashed more Whiskey around the hot beverage.

 

[Coronado]

If truth be told, most of the Old Guard within the party and the government of Volga never believed that the Živs had either the guts or the brains to actually pull off an operation that would even remotely threaten the security of the Republic. Though there were some in the intelligence sectors that believed otherwise, those that spoke up usually were transferred to less stressful duties or were given firsthand knowledge of the workings of the Republic's mental health facilities, for anyone to voiced the opinion that the Životinje Union was actually capable of attacking the Volga Republic were either overworked or just plain mad. Though such opinions of the Životinje Union was prevelent throughout the Republic, that kind of thinking disappearred in just one morning as millions of Unionist leaflets littered Republic soil as well as the twisted wreckage of a lone Živ fighter.

The Živ "info-bombing" in one sense did exactly what it was intended to do, embarrass the Volgan government and military. How could such operation be staged and how could it so easily penetrate Volga's air defence system. If it wasn't for an alert fighter pilot, the one bright spot in all this, the downing of the Živ fighter, would never have been. If they were bombs instead of leaflets, what happened next would probably be much different.

With the country on full alert, and within hours of the "bombing", Premier Petrov calls a joint sesseion of the Central Commitee and the Supreme Council. In a command and control bunker below Revolution Hall, Petrov enters the chamber and addresses those present. In a speech in which he displays outraged at the Živs for there blatant aggression and acts of war, and the condition of the Volga preparedness due to pacifists within both the government and the party, along with unknown collaborators, Volga has become vunerable to attack and that unpresidented actions must be taken to not only survive but make the Blue Horde pay for their transgressions.

An hour later, Petrov exits the chamber, not only as Premier, but now also General Secretary of the Party and secretely very grateful to the Živs for handing him the exactincident he needed to finally unite Volga and give him the tools to rid the party and the government of all the deadwood that has hampered that very same government and allow him to replace them with his own handpicked people. Premier Petrov emerges now as the most powerful man in the Volga Republic and prepares to take that Republic, if necessary, to war.

 

[Batavië]

Batavian Embassy
Bolghar, Volga

Ambassador Marten Talijs had received word from Vlaanderen that the Staatsveiligheid would be sending a few agents to the embassy in the coming days. As expected, less than a day after receiving the notice, three SV agents, dressed in fine suits and fresh off the plane, arrived in his office. The leader of the group did all of the talking.

'Ambassador, as you know war is unfortunately on the horizon. Volga, as a communist state, must be protected, even if not directly. But there are political complications which, I am sure, you will be working on. Anyway...' the agent took a long draw from his cigarette.

'We have some agents in the field in Bolghar and elsewhere in the country. We will be using the embassy as a base of operations in order to administer orders. Mr. Ambassador, off the record, there will be plane loads of weapons and some cash being given to Bolghar. On the record, Batavia is doing nothing but speaking against war. I trust we will have your cooperation?'

The ambassador nodded curtly and smiled before putting his cigarette out, 'Of course, gentlemen. I am at your service and this embassy at your disposal. I have a meeting with the Volgan government later today and I am sure these matters will be brought up.'

OOC: volga, I'd like to hold a quick meeting ASAP. You can post first.

 

[Coronado]

Office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs

Maxim Litvinov was not only one of those handpicked men of the Premier, he was one of Ivan Petrov's oldest friends. Having grown up together, they had both worked their way up to command troops in the same rifle brigade and had much the same way worked their way through the party's echelons until they both obtained positions on the Council of Ministers. Though they are still friend's, with Petrov being Premier of the Volga Republic and General Secretary of the Party, such friendship may not be enough if Litvinov, as Foreign Affairs Minister does not maintain Volga's position within diplomatic circles, for his failure will be Petrov's failure, and if there is one thing Livinov knows about his old friend, Petrov does not react well to those who have failed him.

Litvinov, in that job to maintain Volga's position, is informed of the arrival of the Batavian Ambassador, Marten Talijs. Taljis contacted the ministry soon after the news broke of the Živ propoganda bombing and the shooting down of the Živ fighter and though the Batavian did not divulge the reason for the meeting, and though Volga has never been a member of the organization, which may change now that Petrov is in charge, the timing does indicate that Volga's friendship with the IRB may now come in handy.
Litvinov stands when Taljis is let in by a security guard. Shaking hands with the ambassador, and offering him a chair and a drink.
"Comrade Ambassador, what brings you to my office on this cold winter's day?"

 

[Thaumantica]

OOC: For the TL;DR Crowd (<3 u), the Union will stand down and retract its plans for the invasion of Volga, regardless of how sweet they were. Armed conflict is over, for awhile, but my original intent of ruffling Communist feathers in to a mudslinging match may have finally worked.
IC:

Obliged to Remember our Principles
Sijabrdo, Marešalgrad

Flooding beyond concrete barriers intended to prevent truck/car bomb missions from succeeding in the nations capitol, an influx from members of the joint Union Congressional Board scurried in; elected citizens from each region, and appointed Satnik’s or above from the Captaincies. A sacred Union representing a balance between a radically free democracy and a stratocracy, elements of which shift with the sands of time like any beacon of democracy would.

Those converging beings here on the shining hill of the Union cannot and should not be considered Životinje’s best or brightest: the perils of Blue politics are as many and mighty as a hurricane; intelligible men would organize terrific corporations from which wealth would arise. Hard-working men would remain in the country, tending to the vast flocks or fields of their choosing. Honorable men would serve their nation through either the Union Corps, Union Air Corps, or as apart of the modern Zaktrupa Corps consisting of only the brave and daring. Finally - the wisest of all avoid politics, pursuing the virtues of focused religious studies, practicing amongst divine beings in-place of swine.

It was domain to retired Officers, shrewd businessmen, and tiring ideologists who somehow fill seats in every national house of representing individuals around Europe. Nearly a century overdue - Stajati Zadnji (Last Stand Hall) was constructed ninety years after Blue Union Živolutionaries asserted their independence over Miedzymorze. Known colloquially to be rather uneventful for weeks at a time, early representatives opted to create a ‘Notacijapošta’, first a legible collection of statements or conceptual ideas posted on a series of wooden boards where millions of miniature holes remain to this day. Modern advancements in technology now relieved these boards from daily acupuncture therapy, Internet feeds connect both citizen and political colleague with every representative via blogs and social networking tools . Glancing around, everywhere the eye could see there were televisions displaying images from around the Union: news, historical documentaries, and yes - images of the military punching holes in buildings and testing high-end explosives on old villages.

Somewhere in the midst of this Central European cornucopia of civil liberties, an all to grim sentiment was captivating these often chipper diplomats in to an unsavory turmoil, who were choosing an endless flow of booze as their coping mechanism. Benefiting from those typical weeks of uneventful boredom, Blue Flag Corporation giants like ‘Konstantania Brewery’ practically pushed their wines, brews, and spirits down every throat who was willing to pay for a non-taxable discount product. From the incoming Blue Horde, overpowering chatter could not help but enter all ears in several social milieux roaming room to room carrying their grim bouts of depression like the plague unto all who would listen.

“Well I heard, he committed suicide!” one exclaimed!

“Don’t be ridiculous, he was the Marešal of our Union!” a retired Officer fired back.

“Perhaps Posavski murdered him? Reckon he payed old Pijan a special visit the night he died, or so say the newspapers. . .” another one of those shrewd businessmen suggested. He, one of those many archaic old sacks of meat who lived for this sort of gossip.

Reminiscing in their own little cliche, Officers still loaded with cash from their retirement severance, bonus, and investment plans were fulfilling their own personal urges to divulge their opinions, now that they were permitted and encouraged to brandish their opinions aloud by voting constituents. Since the ideal revivalist period, every Sindikat Marešal had been appointed from the Retirement Pool serving on the Union Congressional Board, for better or worse this was now considered the norm: “A former soldier or officer should be appointed Commander-in-Chief”. Perhaps one from this herd of military men would reach the pinnacle of this Union power structure by replacing Pijan who was leaving behind an unfinished retraction of deployed troops near Volga, and the implication of being a catalyst of world war if the proposed invasion was carried out. Stepping down, or subverting war on the Volgan front might rewrite history from dubbing the Union as a catalyst to the next war to end all wars, but it would still leave a gaping hole in the flesh of this tense nation - itching for justice and revenge against a Communist victim in the same way a Socialist yearns to lead its former Corporate Overlords to the guillotines. Is that, the spirit of Democracy, Socialism, and Monarchy all the same? Displaying thy predecessors head on a pike so one might bask in applause from a crowd who seeks social justice, if only to find a way to live their lives comfortably until the next shift of collective rage, one maybe two generations down the line.

Balanced atop an old chair; just about to give way under the mans weight, a minor representative, a former businessmen no doubt, called out a yelping "Hear ye, all of you..To the chambers of democracy, we go!". Following laughter, and more then a few snide comments from his colleagues, each social mass collapsed in on each other like organic blobs to fit themselves into this so called chamber of democracy. Its monitors, computers, drink dispensers, and thousand distracting technologies turned a once bare Hall in to something more of a electronics superstore, and less of a meeting place for God Fearing politicians.

Civilnog Marešal Posavski mingled amongst every crowd for a few minutes at a time, taking in every conspiracy theory about Pijan's untimely death with a stern nod of ignorance, and allowing senior members from the leading parties to fill a small forest in his ears with their thick lingo-istic use of political talking points, hoping to influence one of his decisions just a little during this crucial time. Unwilling to be seen as arrogant, Posavski shook hands and accepted a few lines from every fresh breathed newbie to these halls; unsure of their ability to put the drinks back like their seniors. Before too long Posavski weaved in an out through the last of his leech like colleagues. Finally, he shook the last hand of many, at least for a few minutes break - by embracing this current 'keeper of the platform', a position cycled out monthly, with responsibilities ranging from sweeping and mopping the platform, to refreshing whichever beverage the speaker requires.

“Alright listen up, fill your cups and sit down” the Civilnog Marešal sarcastically ordered, “Or stand up if you can, it makes no difference to me.” Only a minute or two passed before he felt right with continuing. “In the book of our Lord, Ecclesiastes IX, it is said that ‘A living dog is better than a dead lion’” Posavski began, to a now speechless mass.

“Going forward in to this next decade, we must assess who we are now, what might we morph in to if war cannot be avoided, and what we will become by continuing down the beaten path of neutrality of which we have trodden these many decades past.” he stated, counting with a free hand every point he intended to cover during his speech.

“Let me begin by reminding all of you whare we are today: Standing 65.4 Million tall, boasting one of Europe’s most advanced Air Corps and largest collection of Airborne compatible Infantrymen...Permitting the widest array of individual rights; unrestricted by gender, color, or creed...Electing our leaders in an open and direct democratic process, leaving our markets to flourish on these same virtues of freedom...Fair to our constantly evolving agrarian population, and supportive of Wildlife Conservation...Educated with an open source program, and sustained by close-knit communities older then this humble Union...Represented by men and women who served their country baring arms, and existing almost exclusively to national defense.” Posavski gasped for air, after using every bit of his last breath to loudly assert those last words, “I present to you the Blue Union Captaincy, of Životinje. Founded in 1818 by way of revolution, born amongst blood pools belonging to both friend and foe, we remain victorious as a Union in every declared conflict from then until now. Better yet, we have done so without aligning ourselves with the mainstream, remaining as remarkably individual as we encourage our citizens to be.” he said, pausing before leading in to a quotation.

“A wise revolutionary, from a distant land once stated that: ‘Dependence begets subservience and venality, suffocates the germ of virtue, and prepares fit tools for the designs of ambition.’” he again paused, allowing for this to sink in. “What might my beloved Union become, if it takes the bait set out by a higher power, divine or otherwise, invading Volga without consideration of what ramifications would be hot on our trail? Take for example the possibility of AGE, the Alliance for Greater Europe, deciding at one point or another that it is time to defend Volga today as they did during the Great War? Or, say..Say the European Defense Federation gets together one day and agrees that we are fight an unjust war, using tactics not accepted in western Europe?” Posavski was interrupted with a few snorts of laughter from various barbarians, not aware that there might be rules on the battlefield besides kill or be killed.

“IRB, the International Revolutionary Bloc. Volga has been peeking over the fence at them like the bewildered an misguided Communists that they are, what might we do if this Bloc claims Volga as an ally halfway through the invasion? We would be forced to call on what could be called our closest thing to an Alliance.

Enter the League of Free States: Without a doubt, the standalone mightiest alliance to rule over vast swathes of territory to date in European History. While our neutrality has bent from time to time enough for our Union to support individual members of the League, linking arms with this entity of a most formidable power would spell the end of our neutrality an individuality as a Union. I tremble to think of what we as a Union would become, flying under the wing of the LFS, I tremble. We Živs have a fire in us, a passion not comparable to that of far western nations, and if misused we are capable of such rotten treachery. Our wisdom has, and will continue to grow with our power, and teach us, that the less we use our power the greater it will be...Finally, on the discussion of what we might become: Conquest is the pastime of Empires, not of free peoples. While our motives could be skewed in to making us believe that liberating Volga without taking advantage of its strategic location geographically compared to ours, a landlocked giant, is plausible...Ultimately, how possibly could we hold back our investors, subsequently our military, from occupying prime real estate that has been denied from the free market by our headstrong adversaries in Volga? ”

“I have discussed what we are now, what we may become, thus it is appropriate that I briefly inform you of what we WILL do by remaining a neutral power for years to come. These are simple principles that are easily implementable by myself, yourselves, and of course - the people:

• Education should be at the forefront of this civilization.
• Our Militia, regulated to minimal degrees, is the greatest asset to our defense.
• A wise nation acts more then it speaks, and seldom acts at all.
• Ignoring our enemies will empower our enemies.
• If we receive no complaints from the people, encourage revolution, they fear us.

This speech, these words, I am sure most of this will pass in one ear only to be spat out the other. In the future however, I absolutely implore you to remember that the next time we fear a loss of liberty from abroad, it is recalled that liberty is as easily lost without carnage, it can be victimized by manipulators of fear. Right now, as I speak, the nation of Volga is under a state of Martial Law. . .Their Dictator has been granted unlimited power to do as he, one man, pleases with the lives of millions. These purveyors of Liberty used fear of war to take what little was left after the rise of Communism in Volga. . .Remember my fellow Živ’s, to give up liberties in the defense of the very same, can only end in tyrannical peril.” Erupting applause rocked Stajati Zadnji in a way it had not been rattled for decades, for a few moments now everyone could temporarily numb their concerns, before returning to the reality of the Volgan crisis.

 

[Batavië]

Office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs

Marten Talijs arrived at Minister Litvinov's office on time. Punctuality was, after all, a famous Batavian trait. He shook hands with the minister and took a seat. Having been based in Volga for a number of years, he spoke in the local tongue out of respect.

'Minister, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I will cut straight to the chase. Your country needs help. Zivontinje seems to be doing more than mere sabre rattling. It is surely dangerous. I would like to offer an IRB military aid package delivered via our civilian KLM Airways cargo 747s. I am envisioning two plane loads for now, maybe more depending on how things span out. More importantly, I want to know your country's stance on the IRB. Membership is not instant. An application could take some time to go under review.'

 

[Coronado]

Litvinov folds his hands infront of him on the desk.

"Well Anbassador Talijs, you do not waste time. Yes, Životinje has become much more than a irritant and such an aid package would be welcome. The Živs have also shown us how antiquated our air defences are, that they were able reach the capital means that some moderization is in order. Therefore, we will accept the initial plane loads, but we would also like to discuss the purchasing of more advanced radar equipment and surface-to-air missiles to start with."

Now leaning back in his chair.

"As for the IRB, the Živs have also shown us that maintaining neutrality does not guarnatee that we will not be attacked, and as it is obvious the Živs had been receiving aid, the LFS as the likely candidate as Serbovia has been very mush vocal in this affair, that Premier Petrov has decided that Volga's relations with the IRB become closer."

 

[Batavië]

Ambassador Talijs crossed his legs and lent back in his chair.

'Minister, if you are interested in military modernisation, I would refer you to Meribia. A wonderful IRB ally, they have the very best in the latest technologies. If you mention that Batavian officials have referred you there, I am positive that they will provide you with a discount fit for our comrades. As for the IRB, if your country is interested in joining, they should contact the IRB offices in Vlaanderen and the review process can begin as soon as possible.'

 

[Coronado]

"I wish to thank you for the advice Comrade Ambassador and we will be in contact with the Meribian. I also thank you for advice on the joining of the IRB and I will pass the recommendations onto Premier Petrov. Right now the possibility is good that the Premier will favor an application, but we must tread carefully, least joining will trigger a response from the FSL before we are prepared for it. What I would like to do is send an envoy to the IRB Council to discuss such admission."

 

[Thaumantica]

"Put it on the board. . .Yes! BLUEJACKETS SCORE AGAIN, that is Federov's second goal of the game."..."That's right Josef, we are viewing a team here that has come back from a lot of aversity over the years."..."Two goals this game, an that is his thirty-first this season. Where ever did this team find him?"..."Rumor has it, uhh Kryobaijani, Josef."..."You and I know that is just propaganda bullshit from the Commies, the Blue Jackets are an all Ziv team, always have been..Always will! That's just the way we play the game, damn it."..."Of course Josef, ah it looks like that is the second line taking the ice. We're looking at a bold team here, perhaps the best franchise to ever play the game."..."Twenty Wins, Seven losses this time around - outfucking standing. I simply cannot argue with you there. Certainly the best franchise in Hockey right now, certainly."..."And that's an all Ziv team to boot, no Commies there Josef, none at all."

Marešal Huszár switched the television off aggressively, practically busting off its retro knob to prove his point. His pale white skin flushed red, such intense boiling blood finally bubbling out over the surface without restraint. If not for a thick beard and a thicker cigar emitting billowing fumes of tobacco from the far west, his quiet whispered curses might be readable, "Yak screwing dingleberry fucks" was all that could be heard however. Huszár blew out another gust of fumes towards his advisors, washing down the remains with a shot from a notably expensive bottle of single barrel whiskey from the Confederate States, bought by Huszár in an effort to 'see how they drink, before we see how they do business'.

Disgusted with the mirror image of himself frowning in an advisors reflective spectacles, Huszár grunted aloud with a discomfort so obvious he might scare away a deaf man through angered vibrations that he could definitely feel if not hear. "Everything must be right in the world when your team is winning, right boys?" the Marshal asked, to which his colleagues replied "Yes, sir" in a knee jerk reaction. "Then why the hell is'nt it? The Bluejackets are the best Hockey Team in the Union League, perhaps the world, yet I cannot bring myself to even consider cheering for them. Damn it, don't you fucking see it: when a Communist is winning, we are fucking losing." everyone in the room simultaneously broke eye contact with each other, avoiding this piercing shame.

A less experienced officer raised his glass to rally attention towards himself, "Well, if we are comparing this little exchange of ours with the Communists to a game - we have not lost yet, sir. We may be down, losing even, but it's not over yet."

"If we expect to level the odds, I dare say, we have to make them squirm half as drastically as we are now. A Kryobaijani on our Hockey Team, dear god." Huszar said, shaking his head irratically. Bluejackets, the team in question, had been an All-Zivotinje franchise for nearly a century unlike its opponents who were known to recycle old Miedzymorzan or Serbovian athletes from time to time. Rumors that this pure and beloved team had allowed a foreigner, a Kryobaijani, a Communist amongst its ranks was rattling every Sports fan on this side of Union territorial lines. Huszar flipped the television on once again, hoping his anger was near subsided, "No poorly practiced accent performed by this player can mask how blatantly Communist he is, I am not even sure why he is bothering. Look at him, right there on the bench - he sits like one of those fucking Commies do!" Huszar chucked his drink in to the side of the wall, his fury escalated by a score allowed almost immediately by the Bluejackets.

Feeling little disappointment over the Bluejackets lapse in the game, again the young officer drew his superiors attention - "Then why not give them something to squirm about, sir Marešal?" he said, nodding and begging for approval with his eyes. While Marešal Huszár was thinking this concept over, a young enlisted man entered the room to clean up the mess the Officers were making, likely cursing them in the same way these officers were cursing the Communists. "Sir, this I do believe is where I spring an idea on you I have been waiting to push for awhile."

Stopped dead in his tracks, the Marešal winced in reaction to the young officers abnormal strategy in presenting his idea, commonly they might be advantageous in using one of their pet projects; never without hiding it though, "Let's have it boy, obviously you have had this idea for awhile, so do not lead me along here more then you have to" Huszár's wince had remained and transformed into a full on grimace "Lest you piss me off, young sir." Marešal Huszár was a different type of drunk then his predecessor Pijan, who might divulge in a jesting monologue rather then a wrathful tirade. This sort of man really was what the Union wanted, and had yearned for during the Pijan administration, so much so that suicide became the only option for Pijan who refused to be responsible for sending Europe in to a second Great War.

"Hmm" the younger officer began.

"Spit it the fuck out, damn it. I am about ready to say my prayers and go to sleep." Huszár fired back, throwing another tumbler down his gullet in the meantime.

"Sir, I believe if we dig one of those hatchets, as they say, from the Volga Republics dark and bloody past, perhaps we can get this sort of reaction you are looking for." he said, starting to hit his stride.

"You are yanking my chain again" Huszár stated "tell us all what this hatchet is already" he followed with a sense of haste.

Feeling rushed and slightly flustered the young officer just spat it out, "The Volga Royal Family, sir. Union Confidential, the internet news site, you know how they are - very prying people, they want to pry in to that old closet for some bones. I went to College with a reporter there, an he tells me that Confidential has an interview prepared for them in Franken where they are residing." suddenly his uniform was of importance, he fidgeted vigrously button to button, sleeve to sleeve, finally reaching his shoestrings which he assured were taut.

Marešal Huszár watched him for a few moments, viewing this young mans nervous tick and its complete control over motor functions, "That'll do, yes. . .That will do." the Marešal said. Feeling relaxed once more, he switched his retro television set on once more to view the last five minutes of the Bluejackets game. The outcome was 4-2, and Marešal Huszár temporarily felt once more in his life that all was right in the world because his team found victory in this pre-holiday hockey game.