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+--- Thread: A Battle Unseen (/thread-132.html)
RE: A Battle Unseen - Doc - 01-05-2025
A Semi-Clandestine Secure meeting Room, SDA Offices, Kensington Lodamun
Quote:"Good Afternoon, friends," began Mr. Mark Templeton, of Spencer Spaceflight and Test Center. "This meeting is purely off the record. It is expected that each group will make a confidential report of its proceedings to their respective governments. Are all agreed?"
In the room for Kalistan were Dr. Louanne de Calle, who was a project specialist at Spencer, Mr. Joseph Alwine representing the MinDef, and Walter Bonner, representing KalMilInCo. For Lodamun were Mr. Gregory Townes from the Strategic Defense Agency, Dr. Edward Eller, of the Lodamese Space Agency, Mr Joseph Newton of the Research Projects Administration, and Ms. Margaret Weston, who was representing the Armed Forces Project Agency. All signaled that it was understood that this meeting was off the books.
"Good," continued Templeton. "We asked for this meeting, because we are interested in working along with Lodamun to develop anti missile technology. We have a long history of cooperation with Lodamun on intelligence gathering and analysis. And we know that Lodamun has taken great strides forward in Northern Seleya toward developing strategic mitigation assets. Kalistan would have benefitted from those assets when our nation was attacked in 5610-- Not having them cost our nation more than 40,000 lives and wasted a generation of our nation in unceasing and pointless warfare. We attempted to end our involvement in it, were blasted by several nations and then when we rejoined it to help finish it, because that nation was still developing and planning to deploy more weapons of mass destruction, some of our neighbors now see that as an opportunity to upset the strategic status quo in the region. It is now an imperative for Kalistan to acquire the assets that Lodamun has developed for its own protection."
Alwine, LodMinDef: "Mr. Templeton. We understand that Kalistan would like to acquire the strategic mitigation systems that Lodamun has developed. You will of course excuse me if I cut the brass tax: Those systems cost Lodamun billions to develop and deploy. And they are already about to be replaced by new systems that we are working on. So I'll just ask: Before any of us could even consider such a request, we need to consider for ourselves just what can Kalistan bring to the table."
Dr. Eller, LodSpace Agency: "Mr. Alwine, perhaps the transactional discussion can be held for another day. To rephrase the question in a more constructive light, what can Kalistan bring to the table, so this could be considered a joint project, rather than appearing to be the Empire imposing on Lodamun for technology they have invested so much time and resources into?"
de Calle, Spencer SFTC: "These are both excellent questions, gentlemen. To answer them, Kalistan currently stands ready to offer launch facilities for all Lodamese space activities until they can get their own facilities stood up, if that is indeed your goal. Our space launches are primarily limited to satellite maintenance, and manned spaceflight is pretty sparse there. Consequently, we not only have the launch facilities but the vehicle fabrication facilities to help Lodamun get their space program into fourth gear pretty quickly. Secondly, we maintain a system of global surveillance satellites that are often tasked with providing geo stationary weather data, but can easily be augmented to also provide the kind of data that would let Lodamun accomplish their goal of launch detection, telemetry, and interception before a potential incoming missile reaches its zenith and begins re-entry. This includes high resolution thermal imagery, anomaly algorithm, and machine learning: As I say, those satellites are usually meant to provide weather date, but several of them can easily be repurposed, especially those which are sitting over known owners of ballistic missiles. We also can provide a lot of the raw materials for the tech. And we would like to supply your designers money, resources, including human resources, and facilities to continue your research into more advanced targeting and physical assets."
Mr. Townes, LodRPA: "Do you all need an answer soon?"
Mr. Alwine: "Soon-ish. I imagine there are a lot of details we would need to work out: this meeting is just a preliminary meeting. So no, not today if this is what you are asking."
Mr. Templeton, Spencer: "We could go over the details of our proposal if you'd like."
The Lodamese listened to the over all proposal for bringing Missile Defense to Kalistan. Several nodded as the Kalistanis based their proposal in terms of regional security in "a dynamically and rapidly changing security environment." They asked several questions regarding integration not only with other security and surveillance platforms already in place, but with new ones that were in the works on both sides of the Jah River. After an hour, with all questions asked and answered, the Lodamese shook hands with the Kalistanis.
Ms. Weston, LodAFPA: "We'll take this back to our people, and we will be in touch." The non-commitment was expected, as nobody in the room had any actual decision making authority regarding this project, but instead were here because they could speak with expertise on the subjects covered in the meeting.
Mr. Bonner, KalMilInCo: "We'll be here all week. You all know where are staying, and how to get a hold of us. I hope we can do business." The Lodamese politely nodded, signaling to the Kalistanis that the meeting had ended.
RE: A Battle Unseen - vesica - 05-05-2025
Legionaria, Kundrati
October 25, 5637
The city didn’t fall. It resisted.
Corporal Mason Kerr felt the vibration of distant artillery humming in the soles of his boots as he adjusted the thermal grip on his C8A4 battle rifle. The morning haze was a toxic cocktail of industrial smoke, powdered concrete, and the faint chemical residue of whatever the Legionary sappers had buried beneath their streets. It hung low across Legionaria, clinging to every trench and crater like it was trying to keep the city’s sins secret.
They’d been fighting street-to-street for seven days. Clearing buildings the old way. Grenades, breaching teams, suppressive fire, then the walk through rubble and blood to confirm the kill. By now, Kerr could tell the difference between a Legion sniper’s perch and a fake by the way the curtains were pulled.
And yet, the enemy didn’t break. They dug in. Overhead, twin HC-120C Cyclops gunships buzzed low, letting loose their 25mm cannons into an office block that had been firing mortars since 0400. Mason watched the impact through his optics—timed bursts of fire and masonry vomiting skyward in white-hot fury.
“Fire mission complete,” one of the pilots crackled over comms. “Target neutralized. You’re green to move, Longsword-Five.”
“Copy that, Vulture-One,” Lieutenant Bryce replied, voice clipped, professional. “Longsword Actual moving. Kerr—take point. Full sweep. We move fast. We move loud. Eyes on palace at all times.”
Kerr gave a tight nod, checked his sidearm, and moved up the shattered boulevard.
What used to be Legionaria’s Financial District was now a shattered corridor of collapsed towers and half-flooded subway shafts. The enemy had turned entire parking garages into concrete redoubts, with Legion shock troops firing down from every vertical plane. Etxean fireteams were hammering from the east, the Legionaries fighting the hardest against their hated fow. Kerr heard their low bursts of heavy-caliber rounds chewing through stonework. The Luthorians were punching from the south, slow methodical as ever, building-by-building in concentric kill zones. But the Hutorians? They were pushing straight through.
Kerr’s fireteam approached a former luxury condo tower, now hollowed and wired with booby traps. He stopped just short of the doorway.
“Thermal reads hot,” Sergeant Medina said, checking his scanner. “Stairwell’s rigged. Looks like multiple IR tripwires, plus—hold on—magnetic signatures, probably pressure plates. They’re layered.”
“Fucking meticulous,” Kerr muttered.
“Breach from above?”
Bryce shook his head. “Too slow. Go around. Kerr, Baker, flank east. Take the dry-cleaner’s front. Clear out resistance and push into the theater complex. That’ll give us a path into the plaza.”
Kerr nodded, checked his mag, and signaled Baker. They moved fast. Every corner was death, a combination of wires, shadows, the occasional human scream echoing from an alley that had been quiet seconds earlier. Legion militia still fought here, mostly People’s Guard and conscripts by now. They were outgunned and often suicidal.
In the theater, Kerr’s team came under fire. Legion troopers with old bolt rifles—museum pieces—firing from the upper balconies.
“They’re buying time,” Medina hissed. “Trying to delay us from reaching the palace.”
Kerr put a three-round burst through a velvet curtain. A scream followed. Another threw a bottle of gasoline, vodka and fire from the rafters. Kerr ducked, felt the heat lick his back as it splashed across an aisle seat.
“Move up! Secure the box rows!” Bryce ordered. “They’re feeding us into a fucking meat grinder.”
"We aren't buying anything cheap today." Kerr muttered, and kept pushing.
0717 Hours Zulu
Final Forward Line, 400 Meters from the Palace
The advance stalled for twelve minutes under machine gun and RPG fire from a collapsed Ministry of Agriculture building. The Etxeans had already pushed ahead on the eastern avenue, reaching the Presidential Palace, but were pinned hard.
Command chatter was lit up—everyone wanted the kill. Etxea’s 5th Assault Division had their elite stormtroopers racing for the compound from the gardens. Luthorian paratroopers were holding an elevated rail line to the southeast. The race to capture or eliminate Supreme Leader Lazar was on.
Mason Kerr didn’t care about the politics. He just wanted to get through the damn wall.
“Command says air’s offline for the next thirty minutes,” Bryce relayed. “Too many drones and AA nests. We’re on foot from here.”
The palace rose above the skyline—dark spires, scorched marble, and brass statues of Lazar defaced and burning. The outer gates were down, blown apart in the first wave. But the inner sanction was where it got ugly.
“Trenches between us and the main steps,” Medina said, scanning from behind a wrecked troop carrier. “They’ve got flame units. And tunnels—probably ratlines under the courtyard. That’s where they’ll hit us from.”
Bryce’s voice came low and clear over the platoon channel. “We push. No pause. No retreat. Breach the front, then we hit them hard and fast. Lazar’s either waiting inside or already running. Either way we’re not letting him slip.”
Kerr looked up. Smoke curled from every corner of the capital. Gunfire echoed like a heartbeat. The entire war, the seven months of grueling push from Keita to here, the lives bled for every crossroads and trench was about to end at this gate and they were going to kick it down.
“Stack up,” Bryce ordered. “Longsword Four, breach ready. Longsword Six, cover angles. Longsword Five you’re on point.”
Mason Kerr took a deep breath, exhaled through his teeth, and flicked his safety off. “This is it,” he whispered. “Let’s bring the bastard home.”
RE: A Battle Unseen - Dredd - 05-05-2025
[Legionaria, Presidential Palace Under Siege, October 25, 5637]
Quote:The palace was in flames, surrounded on all sides as the most die hard members of the party and forces fought a battle for every room, every square foot of ground in the complex. The remnants of the battled presidential guard regrouped with the fanatical NKM brigade, and Lazar could hear the gunfire and explosions as the vibrations splashed his whiskey around in his glass.
This was the end.
Lazar had nearly finished an entire bottle of bourbon, his Lazar-11 bodyguards, his children, stood silently awaiting his orders as he fiddled with the wires under his coat. Smoking his 12th cigarette he swiveled his chair to them in a daze, as if living inside a dream.
"Men, this is the final hour. All I've done for our country, all we've sacrificed as a nation comes to a head in mere hours, maybe minutes. It was my honor to carry on the legacy of Sladek, it was my privilege to guide our people to their destiny, but fate had other intentions."
The Lazar-11 stood silently.
"My fate now is sealed, and I await eternal salvation with Sladek, my father, and my countrymen in heaven. My final command to you, hold the nearby rooms as long as you can, and give me a bit more time to reflect on what could have been. God, be with you all, ill soon see you in a better place that life on this terra gave us." They saluted in unison, wordlessly lifting heavy machineguns, rockets, grenade belts and marched as the floor shook under their weight into the hallways.
Hours passed, stray bullets piercing windows, screams and explosions shaking the building. Lazar sat silent, watching the horizon dip lower and lower, he thought of his life, the fate of his country.
---------------------
Yevgeny in his steel plate armor lifted his machinegun and sprayed the halls as Etxeans flooded inside, killing a multitude of them in a desperate firefight, but his nerves were unshakeable as he continued reloading, killing, reloading, and killing. The floors were slick with pools of blood, Yevgeny had been shot 4 times, but pain did not deny duty. Soon dozens of corpses filled the hall, his comrades in the other corridor reaped death upon whoever came inside until they too ran dry with ammo. He heard the other end of the hallway fill with screams and sporadic gunfire as his 7 foot comrades cut a swath through whoever came near with hand grenades and machetes.
Yevgeny loaded his last magazine and prepared two grenades, his time like his father Lazar would now arrive. His shifted his dented breastplate. He heard a multitude of voices he didn't understand, in at least 3 languages, seemingly arguing how to approach this obstacle. Yevgeny walked to the stairwell and took a deep breath steeling himself, closing his eyes he internally meditated, despite all the training from birth he still had a soul. His life had led to this moment, he would finally be martyred, and he would not die in fear nor shame.
Yevgeny descended the stairs and flung two grenades simultaneously into the hall cooked after 3 seconds. Explosions, screams, ringing. Hip firing his machinegun he kept firing until the barrel was bright red, and once spent flung it into the nearest soldier. He drew a machete and wielded another rifle from a dead body in his hand using it as a club, he swung in a daze of fury and obedience as arms, heads, legs were severed and Yevgenys own body was hit with burning pains of bullets time and time again. The drugs couldn't prevent the inevitable as he finished crushing the windpipe of some teenage Etxean soldier in his grip. Slumping to his knees with the last of his strength, he flung his machete grunting in pain down the hall striking a soldier in the calf, and did next exactly as protocol for capture demanded.
He pulled the pins beneath his blood covered armor, and closed his eyes. Peace at last.
---------------------
Lazar wondered what could have been. If he destroyed the camps, allowed more freedoms, had left behind some tenants of Legionarism. But he had stayed true, he had remained loyal to the party and Sladek. Even if Kundrati died in flames it would be better than submission, and Lazar with what little choice he had left in his future, would not submit.
The gunfire was ravenous outside his halls while he in a dream state continued drinking and smoking, until his doors crashed open as the last of his superhuman bodyguard fell face first to the floor looking as if he and his armor had been shot by a thousand rifles, a bloody mess, his face half removed from shrapnel. Lazar slowly swiveled his chair forward to meet whatever entered, and fondled the detonator in his palm under the table.
The hour had come.
Glory, To Kundrati.
RE: A Battle Unseen - vesica - 05-05-2025
Presidential Palace, Legionaria
October 25, 5637
Corporal Mason Kerr’s boots smeared blood across marble as he stepped over the shattered doors of the east wing. Smoke was already curling through the high-vaulted ceilings, tracer rounds whizzing above like angry fireflies. The Presidential Palace of the Legionary State—once a brutalist cathedral of power and vanity—had become a bunker of last stands.
And the final slaughterhouse of the war. The comms were alive with chaos.
“Etxean breach confirmed—northwest vestibule. They’re inside!”
“L-11 spotted! Repeat, Lazar’s personal guard are still in play! Heavy casualties, Etxean units falling back—”
Kerr’s jaw clenched. The L-11. The Legion's most loyal killers. Enhanced, brutally trained and conditioned to fight to the death around Supreme Leader Lazar. The rumor was they were all orphans raised in catacombs beneath Linark, their voices surgically removed so they could never speak a word of betrayal.
“Cut the chatter,” Lieutenant Bryce ordered coolly. “We’re not here to play catch-up with the Etxeans. We bag the prize. Kerr—you’re point again. Let’s end this.”
They moved fast, clearing staircases, silencing corner-fire with precise bursts. The palace was a labyrinth of brutalist architecture: endless stone corridors, gilded portraits of a thousand dead heroes, and scorched rugs soaked in blood. Resistance was fanatical. The Presidential Guard, not even regular army, just zealots, threw themselves into every engagement, often with just handguns and knives. Kerr felt like they were walking through the dying lungs of a mad empire.
In a shattered ballroom, they found the bodies of an entire Etxean platoon, ripped apart in a tight semicircle. Burn marks. Blade wounds. Two were still twitching, shot clean through the chest, heads twisted at unnatural angles. And standing above them, like black statues of war, were four remaining L-11, seven-foot monsters in black body armor, bearing massive light machine guns.
“Contact front!” Medina shouted.
Gunfire exploded. The room became thunder and flame. One of the L-11 charged with inhuman speed, leaping across twenty feet in two seconds. Medina got one shot off before the thing drove a blade toward his throat. Kerr responded it by shooting it through the neck, twice, then once more for insurance. It didn’t scream. It just twitched, then collapsed in place like a puppet with its strings cut.
Baker took down another with a lucky frag toss. Bryce went down in the struggle—chestplate cracked by a rifle butt, bleeding from the mouth but still conscious.
Kerr caught the final L-11 with a short burst—knees first, then the chest, and then as it turned, the face. The monster staggered, tried to lunge one last time, blade dragging through marble, but Kerr dropped to a knee and fired point-blank through its skull. The squelch was obscene.
The body hit the gilded doors to the Presidential Office, and Kerr, still catching his breath, gave it a boot. The corpse crashed through with a solid thunk, taking one of the oak doors clean off the hinge. Then there was silence. Longsword Five took a moment to breath and moved through the waiting doors.
Smoke and sunlight danced through the torn red drapes. The room looked more like a mausoleum than a command center. Every corner was pristine intact, untouched by the war that had devoured the rest of the city. The only noise was the soft click of Kerr’s boots and the metallic slide of rifles being readied behind him.
And then there he was: Supreme Leader Lazar.
The Kundrati dictator was dressed in black regalia. Medals polished. A strange calm on his pale face. No guards. No aides. Just a suicide vest strapped tight to his chest and a small black box in his left hand—thumb resting on the dead-man switch.
“You made it,” Lazar said softly. His voice had the calm venom of a cult leader, even now. “Tell your politicians and your kings… you’ve killed a dream. Not a tyrant. The Legion was never a country—it was an idea.”
Kerr raised his rifle.
Lazar smiled, and spoke louder. “One day, the world will remember we stood against you. Even as you surrounded us. Even as your bombs fell. Even as our allies failed. We stood! Hail Kundrati Forever!”
The thumb twitched. Bryce screamed. “DOWN! HE’S GONNA—!”
A white flash and a deafening boom. The room folded.
Kerr felt himself thrown backwards—heat slamming into him like a train. His back hit the far wall, his helmet flew free, and all he heard for five eternal seconds was static and ringing.
When he blinked awake, it was Baker—burnt, bleeding—slumped over his chest. He’d taken the brunt of the blast for him. Smoke curled up from what had once been the desk, the floor, the ceiling. There was no trace of Lazar.
Kerr breathing a long sigh. The war wasn’t officially over. Not yet. There was still Linark Province, the Legion’s last provincial holdout, clinging to the western mountains like a wounded wolf. But without Lazar, the government had no head. No command. No future.
Kerr walked forward and looked out the blown out windows, staring out at the burning city below. His face was scraped, armor cracked, ribs bruised. He’d been at Ketia and was now here.
The end was supposed to feel cleaner.
But instead, all he felt was the weight of Baker’s body, the smell of blood in his nostrils, and the final words of a madman echoing in his skull.
“The Legion was never a country—it was an idea.”
He lit a cigarette with a shaking hand and watched the sun try to rise through the smoke. Only Linark left. And then, maybe, peace.
RE: A Battle Unseen - vesica - 05-05-2025
Abandoned Conservatory, Northern Legionaria
Volkov didn’t know how the message had reached him. No one should have known where he was hiding, not even his most loyal remaining officers. Not with the city burning from every direction, not with the Presidential Palace already breached.
But somehow, the note had found its way to him. Three words, written in his native script, folded precisely and tucked into the collar of his greatcoat as if it had always been there.
“Come alone. – S.”
Now, as he stood beneath the shattered glass roof of the Legionaria National Conservatory, once a symbol of pre-Legion elegance, now a skeleton framed by war, he realized he was already late.
She was waiting for him.
Scarlet.
She looked like a hallucination. A vivid, cinematic thing that didn’t belong in the ash-colored world around her. Red peacoat, still somehow spotless, cinched at the waist with military elegance. Black gloves. Black boots. Blonde hair twisted into a careless knot, her face almost too clean. The contrast was obscene. The city was dying. And she looked like she’d just stepped out of a painting.
“Nice of you to join me,” she said, her voice slicing through the air like a violin string.
Volkov stepped into the moonlight, hands visible. No weapon. Just resignation.
“I didn’t think you’d actually be here.”
She smirked. “That makes one of us.”
“You’ve been a ghost,” Volkov said quietly. “Every checkpoint. Every report. Every shadow behind every curtain. I chased you across half this miserable country.”
“And yet here we are.” She tilted her head. “Strange how things end, isn’t it?”
He laughed softly, bitterly. “I always suspected you. Never proved it. You slipped through my fingers like smoke. Bribed, seduced, lied, disappeared.”
“I’m very good at what I do.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“And you’re alive because I want you to be.”
That silenced him. He glanced upward the glass dome had collapsed long ago, the stars now shining cold and unblinking through the ragged metal frame.
“Lazar is dead.” She said it plainly, without ceremony.
Volkov nodded. “I assumed as much. No one has called me in hours.” He looked at her. “And you’re here to kill me?”
“No.” She stepped closer. “I’m here to give you a way out.”
He blinked. “Out?”
“I could let the Etxeans find you,” she continued, soft now. “They’re very creative. Or the Luthorians. They’d take you to some dark little trial and televise your screams. Kalistan wouldn't bother with ceremony; they'd just shoot you and move on. I can't imagine what Davostag would do to you... they remember what the Commissionaries did to their people.”
Volkov said nothing.
“But me?” She leaned in, close enough that her breath ghosted across his cheek. “I’m offering something else. A quiet life. A useful one. One where you don’t die today.”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he turned his back to her, taking slow steps toward the overgrown piano in the corner. The keys had rotted, some cracked, others missing. He pressed one anyway. A dull, lifeless note echoed through the empty chamber.
“You want me to switch sides.”
“I want you to survive,” she corrected. “And in doing so, serve something greater than the ruins of a dying ideology.”
He turned, the candlelight in his eyes burning lower. “What would I even be?” he asked. “An informant? A turncoat?”
“A curator of what’s left,” she said. “A man who can identify threats before they’re born. A ghost story parents tell their children when they forget how bad things can get. You are of no use dying for a country that is soon not going to exist. But if you want to live, like i know you do, there are ways.”
Volkov let the silence stretch. Then: “You’re dangerous.”
“I’m inevitable.”
He chuckled. “And if I say no?”
“I walk away, and you take your chances getting out of the iron ring around this city.” She turned slightly, letting her red coat flutter. “But I won’t need to. You’ve already decided.”
He stared at her, jaw flexing. Then he crossed the distance between them, slowly, like a man laying down his sword. “Where do we go?”
She smiled faintly. “Where you’re needed.”
RE: A Battle Unseen - Doc - 06-05-2025
Ananto Estate, Eveari, Friday Afternoon, 4:30
Quote:"Madame," said the voice from the Hall.
"What is it Lady Southern?" asked The Empress. She had been in a mood all day, and couldn't quite tell why.
"Her Highness, the Princess Monica is here waiting."
That's why. Since getting remarried some years ago, Mary's mother had more or less often been too busy to spend much time with Mary in Eveari. She seemed to be enjoying her life and her artistic pursuits, and though Mary had remained close with her sister and grown somewhat more attached to her aunt, her mom had become more distant, more formal, and less... motherly. Mary was about to turn 30, and had seen her mother much less over the past couple years, when Mary thought she should be closer to her to advise her through the war and through the variously difficult times her Empire was going through. Mary felt... isolated... and she also kind of resented her mother for not noticing it.
"You can show her in Lady Southern." The door remained open as Princess Monica was followed into the room by Lady Southern, the personal secretary of Her Imperial Majesty. "Will that be all, Madame?"
"Yes, thank you," said Mary, and as the Secretary left the room, Mary invited her mother to sit on the couch.
"Would you care for some tea, Mother?" Mary asked?
"Yes, thank you, that would be very nice," said Monica. Mary quickly brewed some hot water in her convection kettle, and then poured water over a wire mesh tea strainer inside a highly decorated, gold inlaid ceramic tea cup that released a strong scent of black tea and bergamot. She then performed the same task for the second cup, and following steeping for about two minutes, she lifted the mesh strainers out of the cups, placed them on saucers and brought them both to the table. There she opened a matching small ceramic vase that held the powdered and highly refined opium that Kalistani nobility add to their tea, and dipping a tiny spoon into the brown powder she pulled out a spoon full, levelled it ceremonially and brought it to her mother's cup.
"No Mary, none for me..." she said as she placed her hand over the cup. Mary was confused for a moment at the rejection of a commonplace and purely reflexive offering, but took the powder, dumped it back into the container, mixed it in with the rest of the powder, and then pulled out a heaping spoon full and dropped it rather deliberately into her own tea. Usually the leveled spoon held about a half a gram. Mary appeared to put a full gram and a half into her own tea. She then used the spoon to stir her own tea, still smarting from the rebuff from her mother.
At length her mother, after watching her, spoke tentatively. "That's a... lot, Mary..."
"It's fine Mother," answered Mary without looking up. Mary had always been rather distant. Today she just seemed disinterested. She sipped the very hot tea from her cup, and the opium instantly provided mild analgesic relief.
"You know, your father used to take his tea like that as well," said Monica.
"Yes, I know," answered Mary. Aunt Michelle and Margaret also drink their tea this way too.
At length Monica tried to change the subject. "You know Meg is graduating this Spring... and..."
"Of course I know that, Mom." Mary said, a little annoyed at her Mom's attempt at small talk. "She's going to work for IBSI, did you know that?"
"No... I guess she hadn't said anything about it... Why'd she... I mean... how'd she get involved with them?"
Mary put her tea down. "Meg has been involved with them from the beginning. She's been training with them since she got out of NSP."
Monica was taken aback at the news, and set her own tea back onto the table. "She hadn't said anything to me about that..."
"Look Mom, are you going to get to why you've travelled all the way here, or am I just going to guess?" Mary was slightly perturbed by now, and a little agitated.
"Well, ok. I'll tell you. I think maybe you should come visit me and Cal in Luxon this month."
"Luxon?" Mary asked. "Why would I go to Luxon? I'm extremely busy here..."
"I don't know," Monica said. "I just thought it would be good for you to get out of this house, spend time with your family maybe around New Year's Eve, maybe relax, maybe meet some people, you know, kind of socialize..."
"Who in the world would I meet in Luxon that I don't already know, Mom? There's you, there's Calvin. There's Calvin's kids..."
"I don't know, Mary. Maybe we'll invite someone from Church over for you. I know this nice guy, he's your age, and he's a..."
"Mom, are you trying to set me up on a date?" Mary said, almost laughing. She could feel that first little taste of opium start to calm her, but she didn't know whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of that suggestion or be upset. Her mother was hardly involved in anyone's life, but she had set Margaret up with Matthew Westmoreland and now they already had wedding plans for the summer. "Oh Man, I kinda knew this was coming. Surely you can't be serious, Mom."
"Well, actually, Mary, you might like him, he's very handsome, and has a great personality... and..."
"Mom, let me be straight with you here. I don't want a man, I don't want a date, I don't really want a husband. Men bore me."
"Mary!" her mother said, shocked.
"Well, what can I say? There's not a one I have met so far, whether its you, or Michelle, or Meg who tries to throw these men at me. They come here, they talk about money or politics, like I am interested in any of that stuff, and then they leave, and some of them try to call back, but most never do. You women are a bunch of busybodies when it comes to my love life, and all your suggestions are terrible dates."
"Well do you put in any effort into the date?" said Monica.
"Mother, I am the god damned Empress. Effort?! What are you even talking about? These people come here and grovel. Its always 'yes your imperial Majesty', 'No Madame.' They all want something from me. Not a one of them is interesting, like at all. Is every man in this country a god damned slave?"
"Absolutely not, Mary, but yes you said it yourself. You are the Empress, and as such, your job is to produce an heir, before its too late. A Monarchy without an heir is doomed."
"Margaret is my heir, Mom."
"No, she's not," said Monica.
"She is, she's the Crown Princess."
"That isn't how it works, Mary. Your Dynasty's legitimacy depends on the unbroken line of succession that means from YOU. You cannot give that to your sister."
"I can, Mother, and if you don't believe me, just watch."
"Mary," Monica said with consternation. "You can not DO that to your sister. Not if you love her." This line drew silence from Mary. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for Michelle when your father died? We had to delay the news of your father's death until we had the regency settled. The Party begged her, for twenty hours straight, to take the Regency. We all did. We begged her, a grieving sister, because a crack in the dynasty will lead to the old Gaduris making a claim on the title, and then where would you be? We begged her for your sake, to let you get old enough to take your place on the throne. She refused a million times. At the end of the day, she only agreed to do it if she could pass it to you the moment you were ready, and not one moment longer. In the end, she never really had a choice--It was either she take the regency or you lose your birthright. And even though I know you are miserable, you do have that choice, Mary. You cannot do that to your sister."
"Then why should I do it to my child?" Mary asked after a moment.
"Because that is your burden to bear. You are the Empress. Your title gives you the right to do what you desire. But all of that, all of this... it all comes at a price. This is your destiny, and it will be your child's destiny, and you may be above the law, Mary, but you are the state, You are OUR state, and without you, our state falls. Your responsibilities to your people, to all of us, always come first. They always come first. And I feel so sorry for you. But if you think that your father didn't feel this way too, and your aunt, and your father's mother, and her mother... You should understand that this burden is more than any normal person, even me, can carry. It is a weight that only one person could carry, and we are lucky that you happen to be that person. You are unique in that way."
Mary pondered her mother's words. Of course her mother was right. Margaret was not meant to be Empress: She was far too well liked to serve as her nation's lightning rod. Finally, she spoke up. "I'm not marrying a Hosianist, Mom."
"Who said anything about marrying him?" Monica said. "Besides, what do you have against Hosians?"
"No offense, but I happen to find your religion insane," answered Mary.
"Well, if you can do better than a Hosian, by all means. But just find someone, Mary. You're isolated here, and I don't like seeing you use so much of that opium in your tea, especially when there is nobody up here to look out for you."
"What about Brethrenists," asked Mary.
"How do you mean?"
"What if I went out and met a Brethrenist? Would that satisfy you?"
"Your father was a Brethrenist, and yes, while he was a little boring, he was a good man, and he made me laugh, all the time. You could do a lot worse." answered Monica, as she felt tears well up in her eyes as she thought of her late husband.
Mary sipped another draught of her tea, and Monica mirrored the activity. "You're right about one thing, though."
"Which one thing," asked Monica.
"I am very lonely up here by myself. It's so easy to get lost in the trees, and find myself looking up and realizing that I'm miles away from home and night is just about to set in. I've gotten really good at making camp and foraging for mushrooms and berries in the woods, but some nights, its just me and the stars and the trees and the birds."
"Mary..." her mom said, trying to be reassuring and placing her hand on her daughter's.
"I think I am ready to move to Kaliburg, Mom," she said suddenly as she looked at her mother with a start. "Carolina was right: This place is a tomb. There's something different about Eveari... its like something out of a different time. Do you think I can take over Cliff House?"
"Of course you can," said Monica. "Your Sister isn't using it: She lives in the City now. And Michelle is in Dulnerstaad. That house is yours and I would be very happy if you moved back in there. Your father and I put a lot of love and joy into that place, and it would make me so happy to see you there again."
"I'll move in the Spring, then," said Mary.
"What about Luxon?" asked Monica.
"For New Years?" asked Mary.
"Yes, just for a visit, just to celebrate the new year," said Monica. "We miss you so much, and Cal's kids just adore you and think you're like the closest thing to God they will ever meet."
"I'll come on one condition," said Mary.
"Name it," said Monica.
"No blind dates," answered Mary.
"What about just dinner?" asked Monica.
"No blind dates, Mom. Please don't embarrass me by setting me up with someone from your church. The last thing I want is some commoner falling all over himself to keep up the Protocol."
"Oh, very well, Mary. No blind dates."
"Deal," said Mary.
RE: A Battle Unseen - Doc - 06-05-2025
Quote:May 1, some where in Northern Juldrati Province
Finally, the night is good sleeping weather. These last few weeks have been just rain and misery. Food is bad, water is almost all poisoned, we live in mud and sleep in rotted tree stumps. It's not all bad, of course. This week, we met a woman from a local dairy farm. She brought the guys a gallon of cold refreshing leche. Some of men thought it was goat milk, some thought cow milk, but at any rate, she was willing to drink a cup of it to prove that it wasn't poisoned. Our translator expressed our thanks, and she told him that she hates the Legion and what they have done to the Country, and wants us there. She also said "Hail Pavlina" in her broken Vrassan... She couldn't be more than 22 years old. Old enough I suppose to know Pavlina Hulanevek's supposed origins in this wasteland of a country, maybe not old enough maybe to know that Pavlina died before the Legion wasted this country.
The men are in the rack. We're in this little bivouac spot in the rear for a couple days while we wait for the lines to move, and then its back to "Pacification". We're grateful for the rest.
Nights like this I get to thinking. What was life like before the war? I wonder what the guys in Sulari would say if they could see me now. I remember that one time when we had a wrestling contest. Dios Mio, that skinny guy... ah what was his name, Miguel something or other, he whipped us all. He was too wiry. I recall the knot I had on my head when he laid me out. I couldn't hold on to him. I wonder where Miguel is now... or any of those guys.
After the war? Who knows. I'm probably going to die in this country. These stupid pacification missions. No... we can't remember Regelik... its not worth remembering. They're ghosts now... just ghosts... no something even worse: clearing out the drainage tunnels? no, not even close. The work camps with the piles of bones and the butcher shops. no... the mines... Lots of these guys are going to be f--ked up when they get back... I'm keeping it together, but the men are already starting to crack a little. Maybe I am too.
If I do make it out of here, I want to go see her. When I think of her, she's like an angel, and she brings light to my darkest thoughts... She is who I am fighting for here. Just even a glimpse of her, even just in my memory, is enough to push the ghosts away for a little while. The thought that she could possibly want to see me maybe a little too much to hope for. But I have never met someone so fierce of spirit, so determined, and so brave. We only met once, but it was enough. I wish I could tell her how I feel, but I am here and she is so far away.
It's the thought of even standing another moment in her presence which makes my time here worth my while. Makes our fight here worth it. I want her to be proud of my guys, but is it selfish to say, I want her to be proud of me too? To know what I face because she asked me to? Is that too much?
I have no family anymore. My life could be heroic, or it could be a complete waste. Who knows what the future may hold. In a couple days, we may meet our end, all of us, or maybe me. But I think I will not have lived a full life, even after all I have a accomplished, building ships for the Empire, being a local union representative, joining the Militia, rising to the highest heights and then some, all of that, my life won't be full until I admit to myself that I also feel love for another human. Its hard to love in this land full of hatred, suffering and death, but love helps me transcend, and frees me from this hell. So, amo Maria. Ahi, lo escribí mientras me lo susurraba a mí mismo. Ella nunca lo sabra, pero es verdad. -JM
[[This entry redacted by direction of IBSI]]
RE: A Battle Unseen - Doc - 07-05-2025
Cliff Offices, Kaliburg, March 4, 5640, 3:20
Quote:Margaret stopped in to the Empress' Offices. This was an office she had been in a thousand times through her life. It felt so familiar to her, and yet despite the renovations which were currently still ongoing, it felt like it had been a million years since she had been here. She waited to be shown into her Sister's presence, and even though she was, for the most part exempt from the protocol, she still observed a soft version of the doctrine, in her capacity. She entered, bowed her head and waited for the Empress to speak.
"Have a seat, Meg," the Empress said. Margaret pulled the chair close to the desk and sat down in it.
"We're kind of in a tight spot, huh?" Margaret asked.
"Don't sweat that," said Mary. "How's your last semester going?"
Margaret wasn't prepared for the question. "Oh, it's going alright, I guess... I'll graduate..." She was wondering why Mary asked her about school when they usually talked about other, weighty things.
"That's good," said Mary. "I mean, we never really had a doubt, right... You were always the studious one." Margaret shrugged.
"Perhaps. Course, I didn't have a war to fight either," answered Margaret.
"Of Course. Look. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to stay on with IBSI? You may not have had time to keep up with the news, but that little thing you all did for me over there worked wonders. Looks like the communists will fall in Baltusia, and of course, that is very welcomed. Didn't cost us a cent either."
"Mary that was simple," said Margaret. "What we don't understand is why you had us leak that stuff? It didn't even make any sense. It was all a bunch of nonsense-- that map was just a photocopy of the physical map from my geo textbook from Highschool with some official looking lines drawn on it--You got really lucky that people outside this country didn't have that textbook or that could have very easily blown back on us. Why not leak stuff that is more believable?"
"Meg: it’s not important that people completely believe it. It's just important that they believe its possible. We needed those people in Baltusia to think of that government as completely incompetent. If they thought the Baltusian government wasn't going to protect them from some impending invasion, they were going to move against the government. They were gonna do that anyway— we just gave them a little push in the right direction. It's really that simple. Now, we sit back and let them do whatever they're going to do, and we can legitimately say we had nothing to do with it. Destabilization 101 says you overthrow governments by changing the relative balance of power between the governments and their main political opposition. You do that by either weakening the government or empowering the opposition. By getting the nationalists and the reformists in Baltusia spooked, we did the later.
"Whatever happens in Baltusia, it will be good for us. I have the Suldanoran Growers syndicate battering down my door begging to open trade with Baltusia--a normalized Baltusia opens trade. Under the SAUS, Kalistan is screwed in trade. Even if they have a free market there after all this is over, Kalistan becomes one of Baltusia's main trading partners by default. We literally have direct road, rail, air and sea links to Athosia from both Kalistan and Gaduridos. We offer them reconstruction assistance, we offer them assistance with stabilizing their government, we offer them investment, rinse repeat, and we have a friendly neighbor on our border rather than an enemy."
"But the map-- Did you consider how that would make the Defense Ministry, the IBSI, and the Chancellor look?" Margaret asked. She was more confused than upset.
"Ah, well: you do know that the IBSI was in on the planning right? I don’t just run intelligence operations out of my office here!” Mary smiled. “This whole thing was designed by Special Projects and run through Public Info. So IBSI will be fine. As for Koenig and Bonaventure, they’ll survive this. I have already told the Chancellor no more votes of no confidence for a while. We have much bigger fish to fry. I let the liberals have their little vote, but I need them to pass a new budget and get ready for the next elections. This will blow over. We'll send some of the Deputies to the border to report that there appears to be no mobilization by the Regulars which is totally true, lickity spit, problem solved. And people will forget about the Bureau even quicker than that. It's better when the story is complex but an inch deep and people can't make much sense of it, than when it is simple but it goes a mile deep and people can tell it over and over again and dig deeper and deeper."
"And what of Lodamun?" asked Margaret.
"Yeah, that will take some finessing, but that one is on me. I'm not really sure how upset they are on the whole matter, to be honest. But bringing in the President and key members of the legislature will probably go a long way to smooth that over. What is more important is that there is no comment from Egelion, Hutori, or Luthori. Those would be a bit harder to massage. But as that comes up, I'll also handle it."
"Well, Mary, I will say: if this works the way you think it is, you'll never get any of the credit for it. But if it goes wrong, you're probably going to get all the blame."
"That's expected... That's part of the burden of being Empress. Most people in this world want nothing to do with me anyway. Might as well do some good while I am at it."
After a short pause: "So you want to stay on at IBSI after you're done with school? You know the Bureau, and I need someone I can trust on the inside."
Margaret laughed. "You don't trust your own Intelligence Agency?"
Mary smiled and shook her head. "Should I?"
Margaret answered, "I am bound by my affirmation of office to say, I have no comment."
Mary nodded this time and said, "As I thought. So what about you?"
Margaret said, "Well, Matt and I want to stay in Kaliburg, so if we can do that then I can certainly consider it."
Mary's smile faded. "So you're going through with it, huh?" Margaret nodded. "And I suppose you want me to be part of the Party?" Margaret slowly smiled a knowing smile, and nodded once again. "I guess I can spare some time. When is it."
"August," said Margaret, as if she had told her sister a hundred times. "And you will be the person I want to stand up with me."
"Have you converted to the Brethrenists?"
"Mary, I am a birthright Brethrenist, as you know. And so are you."
"Meg, I am an atheist. I don't believe that God exists so how can he whisper in your ear?"
"Anyway," said Margaret, not wanting to get into this discussion with her sister again, "Yes, it will be at the Meeting here in Kaliburg, and I am really hoping that you will come and stand with me, even if it means you actually have to stand inside a meeting house. It won't kill you, and it will mean everything to me and Matt."
"For you, anyway," said Mary. "I'll do it because I like you."
"Mary, someday you'll get to know Matt too: and I think you'll like him too. Just because you hate people doesn't mean you get to ignore your own brother in law."
Mary laughed. "Ha! I don't hate people. I don't hate anyone. I am afraid of Artanians, but I love people. All people. So why should I treat your husband as different from anyone else?"
Meg stood up and decided to end the meeting. "Because he will be my husband. Mine, and if you love me at all, you should at least try to get to know him."
Mary's smile faded. "Meg... Umm, do you want to hang out some night, maybe get some pizza and watch some movies?"
Margaret walked around the desk, and bent over to hug her big sister. "I would love to," she said, and gave Mary a kiss on the forehead. "All you have to do is ask. And stop being such a jerk about my fiancé all the time."
Mary looked up. "Meg, um one more thing. I know you have to go. But... um. Maybe bring Mike..."
"Matt," Margaret corrected her.
"Matt," she said. "Maybe bring him over with you."
"Shall we do Saturday?" asked Margaret.
"Saturday is fine," said Mary. She sidehugged her sister back, and the Margaret made her courtesies to the Empress, and walked out of the office, leaving Mary alone again.
RE: A Battle Unseen - Louis - 08-05-2025
When the Gods Rise
Vall de les Llàgrimes | Temarian Mountain Range | Caille | 7:09Hrs
ALERT: Launch underway. Teams are to go into preparation mode. Launcher underway. Teams are to go into preparation mode. Launch underway. Teams are to go into preparation mode....... the sound of the alert at the facility begins to fade.
Several members of the ATENEA team scrambled from floor to floor of the facility, their boots making deep, thunking sounds as the metal floors they run on begin to rattle. Flashing yellow lights fill the corridors of the facility. The ground begins to treble. Several members run into the command room, situated alongside a deep underground silo.
"Give me status reports as it enters the atmosphere."
"Yes, commander."
"This launch must be perfect. Years of work have led to this moment."
From the outside of the facility. Everything is calm. The mountain ranges, capped with fluffy snow, begin to tremble. Birds scram from trees and from the mountains, eerily sensing incoming danger. A loud bang echoes through the mountain ranges--then suddenly a large missile emerges from the ground, followed by a trail of smoke. The missile slowly crawls its way into the sky.
"All systems clear.... Navigation clear...acceleration cl--"
As the facility checks on the status of the projectile, a large fireball is seen in the air followed by a large sound wave. The light of the explosion lights up the night sky. The fireball hurls towards the mountain side. The trail of smoke begins to dissipate as the night sky goes dark again.
"Launch failure. Launch Failure. Code 2. Code 2. Rescue Team prepare for deployment of operations."
"Send word of the launch to Sorsuela. It has failed"
RE: A Battle Unseen - Doc - 08-05-2025
IBSI Nevaras Station #4, somewhere on the Nevaran Plateau, Middle of the night
Quote:A red light on a console begins to blink. At first nobody notices it-- the alarms were silenced before the war, and nobody here remembered to turn them back on. The light must have been blinking for a while, because the first sound the Desk Sergeant heard over his television program was a phone ring. Also an odd sound as nobody ever called this station, because nothing ever happened. It startled the Sergeant, and at first he froze to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating. He listened. Then the phone rang again. It was in the other room, but before he got up, his mind scrambled to remember the proper protocol in the event that someone calls. Does he pick up the phone and actually talk? Who could possibly have this number? What does he say? Does he just say "Hello, IBSI, who's calling please?" That doesn't sound right. The phone rang again.
From the barracks room adjacent to the listening center, he heard the first lieutenant, a pretty young 20 something recently attached to the station. "Pick up the goddamned phone, Sergeant!" she yelled half asleep. Yes, she had a very disagreeable personality. She was enlisted before joining the Bureau. The Sergeant walked casually into the other room, picked up the phone and said "Hello?"
"Hello?!" responded the voice on the other line. "Who is this?!"
"This is Nevaras, who is this?" the Sergeant said, indignantly. It was 1:45 am and he was already getting yelled at.
"Son, you better get your head out of your ass and report your station properly."
The Sergeant let out a sigh... Some grizzly old guy reading him out over the phone for no reason at all. "Fine. Nevaras Station 4. All clear and board is gre..." at this point he noticed the blinking red light.
"Oh, finally he sees it..." said the exasperated voice on the other end.
"Who is this?" the Sergeant demanded.
"This is Spencer! Its about god damned time you picked up the phone."
"Spencer who?" the Sergeant demanded.
"Spencer G f--king 2 Actual, Mother f--ker," snapped back the voice on the other end of the phone. "Where is your CO?"
Spencer... G... 2... who could that be... Spencer... Holy shit, the Sergeant thought. Spencer, as in Spencer Center. And G2 was the real deal spooks. He was talking to a full bird colonel.
"Sir..."
"Too late Sergeant, put your CO on now."
"Aye Sir," the Sergeant put the phone down and went to wake up the Lieutenant. "Ma'am, Spencer G2 Actual is on the line, and would like to speak with you."
"What the actual hell?" was her response. She rolled out of bed: She was in her PT gear which she slept in... She looked like a mess, half asleep. She grabbed her uniform blouse from off the chair and threw it over her shoulders like a cape, as she made her way to the control room. "Turn that f--king thing off, Sergeant," she said as she went past, referring to the TV. She went in the Control room and closed the door behind her.
It was a tense five minutes that the Sergeant waited. Eventually the door reopened and the Lieutenant came out and said, in a voice that sounded calm but really was a cover for a boiling rage. "Sergeant, did you not see that light blinking?"
"No ma'am," he said.
"When you are on duty overnight, Sergeant, you need to watch that board. And turn the alarms back on please Sergeant."
"Aye Ma'am. I'll do it right now."
"No, Sergeant, now we are going to turn on the data feed and we are going to look at some pictures," She was still speaking very slowly, as if trying to keep a cool head. "Apparently there was a heat signature in Keris and then an explosion. We missed that: That was the blinking light. So now, we need to come up with an analysis, because they think it was an ICBM launch, and we need to confirm it. Ok?"
"Aye Ma'am..." the Sergeant said and immediately turned on the satellite data feed. As soon as the feed updated, both raw video and photos streamed in from geostatic satellites held in synchronous Terran Orbit over the northern hemisphere flooded in. Both the Lieutenant and the Sergeant took the video, fast forwarded it, rewound it, looked at it frame by frame... they then looked at the photos which were taken with a high speed camera that had been repurposed from thermal meteorological imagining to military intel purposes.
"See Sergeant, here is where the heat signature starts, and here is the trajectory, and here is where it explodes in the middle atmosphere. Definitely a test of a rocket of some kind. Egelion didn't inform our government of any rocket launches, so we can only assume it is meant to be clandestine. Do you concur?"
"Aye Ma'am, its obvious."
"Very well. I'm calling Spencer. Meanwhile, I want you to call Kensington. Call your guy there: he'll put us in touch with the right people."
"Aye Ma'am. I will do it now."
"And then turn the alarms back on, please... I don't ever want another phone call like that again, and neither do you."
"Aye Ma'am."