Bambidela Paquet; Kholda Armoured Battalion 'A' Squadron Forward Assembly Area, Southwest of Makeni, Merina

As the tankmen paused, Bambi - still watching the camera feed from 'A' Squadron - caught sight of two aircraft in the distance, sweeping in from the west at low altitude. Their tankers saw them too, and shouted and waved. Air attacks could make for some decent theater. These were the prop-driven Super Turcanos, slow but deadly ground attackers. The pair came in low towards the city, before climbing to make a leisurely pass over the city centre. A few bursts of desultory tracer rose to meet them, but all were well wide of the mark, and at any rate the Peoples' Army lacked any serious anti-aircraft capability.

At length, and seemingly satisfied, first one Turcano and then the other banked sharply before reversing into a steep dive. Bambi could just about make out the bombs falling on the feed, before the airmen pulled out of the dive at low level, hammering open the throttle to clear the target area before the bombs' delayed-action fuses went off. From their vantage point, the first weapon seemed to throw up a small puff a fraction before the second blasted a greater cloud of detritus skywards, the great column obscuring the aircraft from view as they retreated to the north.

The boom of the blast came moments later, audible through a lull in the closer battle.

Still watching the skyline, the dirt thrown up by the bomb blasts seemed to hang in the air unnaturally, almost like a dirty brown stain on the air. In fact, it almost seemed to grow, long after the raiders had disappeared from view, broiling and rolling like some evil sea fog to cover the greater part of the centre of Makeni.

"We'll get a still of that one" Derek commented, appearing at Bambi's shoulder to peek at the monitor, heavily spiced sandwich in hand.

"Already done" Bambi smiled in reply.

Though few would be smiling for long. Even as the pressmen ate their lunches, death stalked down in the valley below. Unbeknownst to Bambi, or the troops at the front, or the rest of Mundus for that matter, the strike had unleashed a chemical disaster of unprecedented scale upon the unsuspecting people of Makeni. The dirty cloud which hung in the air so ominously was, down in the streets below, quickly settling to choke the life out of the war-weary Merinans below. Soldiers and civilians, young and old, sick and healthy alike. Perhaps they would never know how many would die that morning, choking pitifully on their own blood and gore, or how many would endure hours or days of agony, only to die later despite the best efforts of the overstretched Peoples' Army medics.

Unknowingly, the image of that fell mist was already on its way to the Daily Sun's newsroom in Kaedwen. And, soon, it would find its way all around the world.

Private Joachim Smuts; No. 1 Marine Commando Headquarters, Donze Harbour, Merinan Free State

"I've heard that before, love" Corporal Leland cut off Hazel's attempts at small talk sharply. He didn't really believe the girl was up to no good, but wasn't prepared to risk trouble. Not with the brass coming to take a look. He turned back to the topless mopper "Private Drinkwater, to me. Smuts, grab a pair of those gloves from the guardroom. Yes lad, the latex ones..."

The Corporal turned back to Hazel with a sudden malevolence as Drinkwater ambled over, grinning, from the kitchen.

---

---

The Free State Intelligence Service chief, Dirk Williamson, arrived at the base a short time later. Vince shepherded him into the small, sweaty barrack block where Hazel had been reinstated to her clothes, though Leland retained possession of everything else they'd managed to find on her person during what Smuts considered might have been a slightly overly thorough search. He'd not been able to find their bag of plasticuffs that usually lived in the guardroom, though Private Drinkwater had helpfully produced a set of restraints. They were pink and fluffy.

Dirk barely batted an eyelid at the disheveled figure he was presented with.

"So you're the Achkerinese spook I've been hearing about?" He addressed her, amicably "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Dirk" He turned aside to Vince, adding: "Do we really need the handcuffs?"

"Doubt it" Vince thought, looking to Leland "You've searched her?"

"Sir" The Corporal handed over the plastic shopping bag containing Hazel's possessions "That's all she had, Sir. We've looked... everywhere"

"Fair dinkum" Vince decided "Take the handcuffs off, but watch her"

"Sir" Leland nodded, before hurrying to remove the restraints.

"So, Flare" Dirk continued conversationally, turning back to Hazel "Care to walk with me?"

Vincent de Boer; No. 1 Marine Commando Headquarters, Donze Harbour, Merinan Free State

Vince regarded the Achkerinese with equal parts astonishment and incredulity. He sighed, looking out across the blue water in thought for a moment, before turning back to the little group.

"Right... right" He responded, a little more distantly "You're a nutter, you know that? If that's true, you're nuts, and if it's not you're fucked. Understand? Good" He didn't wait for a response, turning instead back to the hapless Corporal Leland "Corporal, take the girl ashore and stick her in the mess. Get some hot food in her, silly bitch looks like she needs it. She's our guest, for now, but she's not to be let out of your sight. If there's any funny business, stick the cuffs on her and chuck her pretty little features in the cells. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir" Corporal Leland responded, with more enthusiasm than he felt, relieved to be getting away from his boss' irate gaze.

"Take Private Smuts with you" Vince added "No fuck ups now. Dismissed"

Vincent shook his head as the pair politely encouraged 'Flare' off the ship and towards their simple, brick-built accommodation block a little way back from the quayside, inside which the little mess hall was located. Leland was a good lad, he thought, though quite remarkably unfortunate. 'Calamity James' the lads called him. Private Smuts was a few years younger, barely shaving, and seemed a little uncomfortable around the girl. Vincent made a mental note to introduce the lad to one of Madame Fifi's girls when they got back, should sort the little lad right out. With another huff, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number, walking up to Fotspur's bow for a little privacy.

"Dirk" He began, as the line connected, addressing the Free State's head of Free State Intelligence "Have you got a minute, might have something for you?"

"Hey Vince" The disembodied voice of Dirk Williamson responded "Sure bud, go for it"

"Two of my lads pulled this sheila out of the sea maybe, I'd say twenty minutes ago. Trying to land in some sort of raft, she was. Clams to be from Achkerinese Intelligence, knows about your little adventure in Belmont, so could be the gen article. Wanna come take a look?"

"I do" The voice came back quickly, before pausing for thought "Tell you what, if you hang on to her for half an hour, I'll come down myself. That good?"

"Yeah mate, no dramas" Vince smiled, though for obvious reasons to no effect "That's just the job. I'm aboard Hotspur, come find me when you're down"

---

---

Hazel was led away gently, but firmly, with Leland on one side and Smuts on the other. While it was beginning to heat up outside, the inside of the block was like a furnace, despite the best efforts of a multitude of anemic ceiling fans. Leland led her to the back of the mess hall, which was even hotter, while Smuts went up to the kitchen, where two other men were making a great show of mopping and cleaning. Leland sat her down at the white plastic table in the far corner, before himself perching on the edge of the next table, a few feet away.

"Right" He began "Lets have no trouble from you, else we'll have to stop playing nice, and trust me neither of us need that today. If you've anything you shouldn't have on you, stick it on the table now, nice and slow like, and we'll say no more about it. If I think you're hiding anything, dirty Dave Drinkwater over there" He gestured towards the kitchen, where the man with the mop looked up reflexively at mention of his name. He was shirtless and sweating in the heat, a huge tattoo of a stylized wallaby across his shoulders "Will be more than happy to take a look at what you've got, if you follow. Yes you will, Dave, you pervvy sonofabitch" This last epithet was aimed at the meekly protesting Dave Drinkwater "Pick that mop up, lad, else you'll be eating your next meal off that floor"

At this point, Leland's monologue was interrupted by Smuts returning. He gingerly placed a small plate of Biltong in front of Hazel - the strips of dried meat were a traditional snack food in his native Kaedwen - smiling nervously. This did not go unnoticed.

"Buy her some flowers while you're at it, why not?" Leland scathed the younger man, before turning back to their not-quite prisoner "Come on then, Sheila, do us all a favour and come clean"

Bambidela Paquet; Kholda Armoured Battalion 'A' Squadron Forward Assembly Area, Southwest of Makeni, Merina

The soldiers smiled and waved as Bambi passed, shooting rolling footage of the column as their car passed. He was shocked how young most of them looked, underneath their camouflage smocks and blackened faces. These men were a rare breed in Merina these days - fresh blood. Nguessa's reservists, called up from the relatively untroubled north to bolster his drive for victory, part of Bambi envied them for their innocence, as they smiled and waved and posed for the camera, in the way that young soldiers everywhere are hard-wired to do. The rest of him pitied them, these boys of summer, for the innocence they were about to lose.

Their column was parked down a side road, just off the main east-west highway running around the south side of Makeni, about as close to the front as it was possible for an armoured squadron to get without being seen by the enemy. The leading infantry were maybe three-hundred metres further up the road, little more than a screening force in the woodline running along the crest of the low ridge ahead, and already the snap-crackle-pop of spasmodic gunfire echoed over the landscape. Ade brought their truck to a gentle stop beside the lead tank, where their boss, Derek van der Merwe, was chatting amicably with a Merinan officer.

"Hey, Bambi" The Kaedweni called, gesturing expansively for him to come closer "Still got that GoPro in the ute?"

"Yeah" Bambi replied, quizzically "How come?"

"I've made a deal with the Major here" Derek smiled theatrically "So grab the scotch while you're there. The good scotch, in the glove box"

And quite a deal it was. For the low, low price of a bottle of vintage scotch with dubious origins, Derek's crew would be able to get footage from the very forefront of the battle. The point tank of the battalion's attack, in fact, which they quickly set about wiring up with recording equipment. This was entirely unofficial, of course, though with the squadron commander on board not a man present could object. They'd scarcely finished rigging up when a signal came through to the squadron. Climb Mount Ngaliema, it said. The time had come to attack. The small film crew got clear of the road as the tanks revved up their engines and rumbled off towards the ridge up ahead, Bambi filming the squadron depart from the back of the truck while Derek and Ade got the feed from their camera up on Derek's laptop in the front.

The feed came online just as their tank, as they quickly came to think of it, broke clear of the trees on top of the ridge and into the open country beyond. From their vantage just above the gunsight, they could see the gun scanning left and right, like a great steel beast sniffing the morning air, as the machine slowed to allow the rest of the squadron to fan out behind. They'd be advancing as a great steel wedge; 1 troop up front, with 2 and 3 troops on the left and right of axis, respectively.

Off to their left, the Makeni highway ran down towards the river, maybe a dozen miles distant, beyond which lay the heart of the occupied city. The ground here was open, though, with the wide open pastures interspersed with copses of thorny vegetation and the occasional herdsman's hut. The fighting here had not been so fierce, so far, at least, and while the herdsmen were long gone, their huts and pastures had been spared much of the destruction which had ravaged other parts of the country.

Of their foe - the vile communists of the Merinan People's Army - there was at first no sign. The tanks trundled forward, throwing up a cloud of dust behind them.

Though they couldn't see their enemy, unfriendly eyes most certainly did watch. From a nearby copse, men crouching in a dugout amidst the thorns weighed up their odds. A hurried conversation was had, and shadowy figures passed through the shadows, resolution in their dark eyes.

The first the tankmen knew of their foe was the fiery streak of a rocket motor igniting. With a roar of smoke and flame the projectile came hurtling out from the bushes at a range of no more than a hundred metres, leaping towards the leading tank, which hastily slammed on its breaks. This was a Ruchnoy Protivotankoviy Granatomyot - a rocket propelled grenade, in common parlance - a weapon as ubiquitous as it was deadly. Deadly, at least, in skilled hands. And hands not shaking with a sudden adrenaline rush helped no end. The round went high and wide to the right, the blast sending clods of earth cartwheeling through the air.

After scant seconds of deliberation, the squadron's guns replied in kind. With a thunderous roar, their tank fired its main gun. The 100mm weapon was not exactly cutting edge, but in the decades since its production it had lost none of its destructive potential. The gunsmoke had scarcely cleared when the beast opened up with its twin machine-guns, tracer arcing through the air before striking with copse with an audible crack. A second RPG came back in reply, though this went even wider than the first. Their own infantry were close to hand, closing in as the tanks began to maneuver around the flanks, before storming the scanty trenches with bayonets fixed.

And, just as soon as it had begun, the little action was over.

Operation Seism had started well.

---

---

Unbeknownst to any save the most observant - or distracted - men on their little battlefield that day, an altogether more significant action was about to begin a little over twelve miles to their northwest. Merinan Army signals intelligence, as ineffectual as they usually were, flagged up an ominous transmission from an MPA commander. A pair of ground-attack Super Tucanos were scrambled to intercept.

Lindsay Stewart; National Memorial Arboretum, Belmont District, Kaedwen

"Your Imperial Majesties" Lindsay smiled broadly as the introductions were made, partially for the cameras, though she was genuinely rather excited by the occasion "It's a pleasure to have you, I do hope you'll enjoy your stay here!"

"Your Imperial Majesties" Koos echoed amidst the pleasantries. The young princesses weren't something they'd bargained for - never work with children or animals, as they said - but, despite, or perhaps because of, his ladykiller reputation, Koos didn't actually consider himself terrible with kids "A pleasure, truly"

Once everyone was suitably convinced that everything was, indeed, very nice, and the Royal daughters had been corralled away from the stone-faced Dragoons, Lindsay led the little party along the freshly-swept gravel path through the Arboretum, sloping gently upwards towards the Digger Memorial. They passed on either side a handful of smaller memorials and dedications, ranging from weather-worn marble depictions of Imperial troopers of the nineteenth-century, through the monolithic battle and corps memorials of the Great War, to the more modern arrangements in honour of the fallen of Kaedwen's more recent conflicts. Those from the Bush Wars were more demure, bearing the names of people and places little-known outside Kaedwen, while the dedications from the 2018 Emergency were poignantly contemporary, including a section of austere Alaska barriers graffitied with the names of one unit's fallen.

The air of the place, despite this, was light rather than macabre. The sun shone brightly through the trees, birds chirped cheerily and the sea breeze kept the morning air fresh. Lindsay tactically positioned herself beside the Emperor, cornering him whilst Koos distracting the Royal women with his recently-acquired knowledge of the various memorials, as well as his all-to-genuine passion for the plants and animals around them. The park's small population of koalas were a particular hit; Koos was in his element.

Presently, Lindsay spotted her chance to broach a burning topic in a natural and entirely uncontrived[1] manner.

"So" She suggested, nonchalantly "Has your Majesty been following the situation in Merina?"

---

1.	Slightly glossing over the fact that I'm not feeling quite articulate at this moment in time (half 10 is late for me apparently!) to work out how this would actually look, but you get the picture

Daniel van Irwen; Free State Forces General Headquarters, Donze, Merinan Free State

A fresh spring rain was falling on Donze as Daniel made his way to the FSF Headquarters on the edge of town. A Mallee boy through and through, some days the humidity of Merina felt oppressive, like working knee-deep in treacle, but today was very pleasant. The sun, where it shone through gaps in the light gray clouds, was in his eyes as he drove.

Donze was a strange place, even by Merinan standards. It even felt like a different country, a different world, from the rest sometimes. Sometimes.

Downtown was built right on the seafront; the forest of great glass towers ran right up to the wide band of golden sand. There was money here, and lots of it, and it was here that the concept of the Free State had been born. Away from the centre, Donze was a patchwork of neighborhoods built in the images of other places, raised up over the years by various companies seeking to house their workers. The slums that characteristic of the outskirts of many other Merinan cities - ever moreso now with the war on - didn't really exist here, though the tented refugee camp a few miles inland had as much to do with this as the aggression with which the city authorities cleared unlicensed developments of this sort.

The neighborhood home to the FSF headquarters was a fair way out from the centre, an estate of fairly luxurious villas interspersed with three-story blocks of high-end flats. It was in one of these blocks that FSFHQ was hidden. Well, mostly within it, partially beneath and partially spread throughout a number of outbuildings and earthen bunkers dug into the ornamental garden. The location was not exactly secretive - armed troopers ran two echelons of roadblocks around the location, after all - though neither was it widely advertised. Particularly from the air, for the risks of air attack weighed heavily on the minds of the FSF commanders.

The air war above the Free State was a sporadic one, with government aircraft making occasional small-scale raids, and the Free State Air Force's helicopters dodging between these to fly support and logistics missions for their own side. If the MNAF found something they really wanted to hit, and came after it hard, there would be little the FSF could do to stop them, though.

Daniel's companion on this drive was his brother, and co-owner of van Irwens' Free Company, Jason. Daniel was the elder of the pair, and while his younger brother shared his fair hair and startling green eyes, the two were quite different in character. Where Daniel was something of a natural fly-half, be Free Company being his brainchild, Jason was every inch - and there were rather a lot of these on Jason, though perhaps not quite so many as he was known to boast - the hairy-arsed, beer-swilling carnivorous prop of legend. They were two years apart, and Dan hadn't been the bigger brother since he was thirteen.

"You've done alright for yourself, eh Dan" Jason was saying, smiling, as they drove "Big Andy's took quite the like to you"

"Can you blame him?" Daniel joked back, not taking his eyes of the road as Jason gave him a gentle dig in the ribs with the huge tattooed ham that passed as his elbow "Nah, look, we've worked hard all these years. 'Bout time we got out of the muck every now 'n then. Anyway, gotta keep it up now, I'm getting a taste for caviar and proper whiskey"

"Not a bad way to live" Jason waved cheerfully to the guard as they were waved through a checkpoint "No complaints from me. He give any hints what today was about?"

"Nothing explicit" Daniel furrowed his brow in concentration, trying to pick out a parking spot. The car park wasn't usually so full "Sounds like a fairly big deal. Don't think its related to Yapok. Something to do with our new friends maybe?"

Operation Yapok was the planned next operation against the Merinan Navy, following the successful arrival of FSS Hotspur in Donze earlier in the month. The new friends, meanwhile, were Polakis' Tamoran 'volunteers', who'd begun arriving about the same time. Daniel, privately, felt a little uneasy around them. Maybe it was because they liked to talk in their own language, maybe it was just that they didn't play rugby. Not yet, he reminded himself with a quiet smirk.

"Maybe" Jason mused "Maybe not. Personally, I'm holding out for a pay rise"

Inside, Free State Forces Headquarters was abuzz. The van Irwens were ushered through crowded corridors and past busy offices, up to the top floor where the First Minister's modern glass-walled corner office was crowded with the great and the good of the FSF. Kaedweni mercenaries, Merinan officers and even a few Tamoran volunteers were packed cheek-by-jowl in what had been a pretty spacious office. Dan squeezed in between two old friends - the sangfroid Edward 'Ed' Kelley and Hotspur's vaunted commander, 'Big Gay' Vince de Boer - while the crowd retreated without fuss to make room for Jason. After what must've been a good ten minutes of small talk, Sir Andrew Carmichael-Smyth - the First Minister of the Merinan Free State (the first First Minister, in fact) - arrived with a stranger in tow.

This stranger was a Merinan, tall, slight and grey-haired, dressed smartly in a shirt and tie, he cut a strangely fatherly figure, though the expression on his face was perfectly affable, if unassuming. Dan thought he vaguely recognized him from a charity advert back home, though couldn't be sure. Sir Andrew ushered him in and shut the door gently, but firmly, behind. The group formed into a huddle around the two; Sir Andrew didn't even try to reach his desk.

"Gentlemen" The First Minister began simply, rarely one to waste words "Allow me to introduce Mister Jacob Adelkune, an old colleague of mine who'll be taking a more substantial role in the Free State project very shortly. He's to be, very soon, the first elected President of the Merinan Free State, in fact" Sir Andrew broke off briefly to quell the murmur from the assembly "Which, gentlemen, is what I've called you all here to discuss. This will be a significant move for us, and I'll need us all to be singing from the same hymn sheet, so to speak"

"The wider situation" He continued, in an explanatory tone "Is changing. There are forces at play far greater than you or I, far greater than any power in Merina, and to survive - nay, perhaps even thrive - we shall need to adapt to them. It is not enough merely to control the physical battlefield, no, we shall need to step up our fight on the battlefield of international opinion if we're to win this war"

"With this in mind" He gestured to Jacob at this point "The Merinan Free State is to hold free and fair democratic elections to provide us with the legitimacy to channel the international support we need. Mr Adelkune, naturally, is to win these elections and take overall leadership of the Free State experiment. Rest assured that you'll be in safe hands; I've worked with Jacob for many years, he's a shrewd operator and all-round top bloke. More importantly, for this exercise, he's also a local lad of humble origins, has an impeccable CV including, among other things, extensive work with the Red Cross, and, if that wasn't enough, is an eminent son of Merina's Jewish community. Have I missed anything, Jacob?"

"I've never" The stranger chuckled "I think, had my arse kissed quite so thoroughly before!"

"Now" Sir Andrew resumed "This is where you gentlemen come in. For this veritable Adonis to assume his rightful position, he must first win an election. An election which, for this to work, must be seen to be free and fair in all respects. There are three candidates for the position of President, all, though no one's ever to know, put forward by us. So long as there's no outside interference, our man Jacob will win by a comfortable margin. I'm expecting a maximal effort from all of you in ensuring the security of this election against outside meddling, though I emphasis that this process absolutely must look the part. I'll have no government agents, armed lunatics or petty despots trying to influence this vote" He paused for a theatrical moment, before adding, with a smirk "That's my job"

---

Commonwealth of Merina
Ministry of Foreign Affairs; General Communique

---

For the immediate attention of Alya Safavid

Dear Ms Safavid,

You have our thanks for your supplies that have already reached us; some systems are already with front-line units, where I am assured they are well-received. Even more so for passing on this intelligence regarding the latest subversive activities of the FMA - our own intelligence sources had suggested that something similar was afoot - and we consider ourselves blessed to have friends such as yourselves in the international community who are willing to take action to counter the baleful influence of these conspirators.

With regards to your third point, we are most grateful for your gracious offers of support. We would like to invite you, either in person or through a suitably empowered representative, meet with us to discuss what measures of further support you would be willing to provide, and further with what we may be able to provide our stalwart friends to begin to repay the kindness which you have shown us.

Warmest regards,

Christian Atandje,
Director of the Merinan Foreign Service

Marshal Alium Deumi; Presidential Command Post, Nigyia, Commonwealth of Merina

The briefing room at the Presidential Command Post lay below the Citadel itself, within the network of passages and great, vaulted storerooms below the fortress. The space was not overly large, with room enough for the senior officers of Nguessa's forces, illuminated under the baleful yellow glow of a row of dated electric lights, bulbs hanging unshielded from the stark brick ceiling. The walls, also of crumbling brickwork, were bedecked with maps and charts showing the progress of Merina's many battles. The smell, Alium considered, was a heady cocktail of sweat, damp and boot polish, accentuated by the occasional, and slightly troubling, whiff of diesel fumes from the complex's elderly diesel generators.

Two of the Presidential Headquarters Company men stood awkwardly in the doorway as the heads of Merina's armed services trooped in; Major General Mvondo Falemi, the Army's operations chief, with his impressive sideburns and impeccable fatigues, was followed by his counterpart from the Air Force, Air Marshal Nana Atananaga, while the Navy's Admiral Njondi Kwedi, in the traditional fashion of sailors everywhere, brought up the rear. The trio seated themselves uncomfortably on the front row of benches, almost on Alium's toes as he stood in front of the full-height map of Merina at the back of the space. A fifth man rounded out the company; Bertrand Tomou, the head of Merinan Intelligence. The spook always left Alium slightly unsettled. The man was perfectly pleasant, to be sure, and made a point of being so publicly. His reputation for private ruthlessness, and the matter-of-fact manner with which he spoke of the various tools of his trade, rather undermined this carefully-cultivated image however.

Operation Seism was the title of the slide deck being projected beside the map. This was the long-planned Spring Offensive which, it was hoped, would finally break the back of the rebel forces in the south. All present were quite well aware of the outline plan; it was a variation on the classic pincer maneuver, a twin-pronged attack along the Khunene* river valley from east and west aiming for Katamba.

"Gentlemen" Alium began, simply, suppressing a yawn "Do you have anything for me this morning? Is everything in place?"

"We're close, Marshal" Major-General Falemi nodded "I Corps are still disengaging from the Qarkhoi area, their last units should be in position within thirty-six hours. II Corps are on their start line and awaiting the order to advance"

"And the tank trials formation" Alium queried "Any trouble with the new machines?"

"Nothing catastrophic" Falemi grimaced slightly "Though the men have barely received these units, most of the crews have had only a few days on them. I've major misgivings about committing them to action, and have instructed II Corps headquarters not to commit them in the opening stages of the battle. I could say the same of this Tamoran equipment you've bought in" The best part of the body armour and night-vision equipment had been distributed to the officers and NCOs of the leading infantry units for the operation; there was neither enough to go all the way round, nor were many of the rank-and-file trusted with such luxury items "Some units have been issued with them within the last twenty-four hours, and some haven't received any at all yet! I'm all for pushing the night-fighting aspect, to be sure, but its not on to issue out brand-new sophisticated kit on the eve of battle!"

"I'm aware" Alium nodded, solemnly "But the political consideration is that this operation must go ahead without delay; if this new equipment proves to be a burden then it can be withdrawn and we shall continue without"

"Understood" Falemi huffed "But if it causes disaster, well... as you order, Marshal"

"It is" Alium responded softly, yet firmly, before turning to the spymaster "Have you any updates for us, Mister Tomou?"

"I do, Marshal" Bertrand smiled pleasantly, giving Alium a deferential look before continuing "The traitor's forces are generally aware of our troops being concentrated in the II Corps area, though we don't believe they understand the full magnitude of the impending operation. The Communist insurgents in the Qarkhoi will undoubtedly be aware of our draw-down in their sector, though we understand that they are far too weak to pose much of a threat to the containment units. They have communicated such to their compatriots operating in the Makeni area, who have requested reinforcement. Thus, one can only conclude that they too will be prepared"

"Troubling" Alium mused "Have you had any luck locating the Frog?"

The Frog in question was the disgraced Marseillese scientist Joseph Eclair, a chemical and biological warfare specialist on the run from the long arm of international justice. Following the war in his homeland five years earlier, Eclair and many of his surviving compatriots had fled across the border into Merina and thrown themselves at the feet of President Nguessa. Widely despised, though apparently considered useful, Eclair had been brought into Nguessa's service to work on his Chemical weapons programme, which he had done with gusto up until his capture by the Communist insurgents who had caught him visiting a mistress in Makeni in the early days of the war. The first suggestion was that he'd been executed, shot out of hand as a government agent, but more recent reports were that he had not only survived, but had once again changed sides.

"Indeed" Bertrand smiled again; a wide, terrifying, predatory smile "We believe he is working with the insurgents' Chemical Warfare cell, at the former Makleni University laboratories. This is a recent development; one of our informers chanced to catch a glimpse of him entering the building, and has just this week provided us with photographic evidence of this. He can be dead within seventy-two hours, Marshal, you need only ask"

"My commendation" Alium considered for a moment "Ensure your man on the ground is rewarded appropriately. Hold off on the kill team, for now. The troops will be arriving shortly. Keep tabs on him if you can, though I doubt a white man should be too hard to follow in a pack of refugees. If he escapes you will bring him to me... alive. And if this cannot be done, and only if, then you may eliminate him as a last resort. Do you understand?"

"Certainly, Marshal" The spook looked almost gleeful at the proposition "Nothing escapes from my sights. I shall bring him to you, alive, or dead"

---

---

*The major river running through the south of the country

((OOC Note: The proposed solution does not, as of yet, have the declared support of any significant armed faction within the Commonwealth of Merina. It does have, at best, the tacit support of the Merinan Free State, as well as officers amongst both the Merinan National Army and National Liberation Army, plus one significant commander from the Merinan People's Army. Aside from this, they have the declared support of the Merinan Catholic Church, which does possess the capacity to raise its own fighting force, plus a number of civic notables, though the proposition is not endorsed by the Merinan government in an official sense))

Vincent de Boer; FSS Hotspur, Strait of Shaw, 100km Northwest of Donze

The Hotspur sailed like what she was, a rolling, wallowing lump of a ship. Casting off from Seaforth and transiting the Illumic, Vincent had been certain that the old hulk was destined for the bottom, but she'd survived probably the longest voyage she'd ever make in one piece and, despite himself, he'd come to develop a certain fondness for the old girl. The same couldn't be said for all the ship's company, though. The Merinan mariners had taken fairly well to Hotspur, being rather more used to life aboard ships her age than de Boer's men, the two-dozen unwilling members of the Free States No. 1 Marine Commando.

Since setting sail, they'd called into a couple of ports, first in Kaedwen and then in Tamora, before turning south through the vastness of the Sea of Kyne carrying her precious cargo. They carried four launchers for the deadly Tamoran missiles, two fore'd and one each to port and starboard, plus one rather amateurishly fitted aboard the ship's helicopter, presently lashed to the quarterdeck. The shipboard launchers had been cunningly concealed within empty shipping containers out on deck - the ship was partially loaded, with some genuine cargo also stowed on deck in addition to the false launcher containers - the sides of which could be dropped to bring the weapons into action at almost a moment's notice. The helicopter's armament had been rather more difficult to hide, however, slung down the port side of the aircraft, though by turning her athwartship up against the superstructure, the weapon was more or less concealed.

Making full speed down the west coast of Albion, still flying her Kaedweni black-and-ochre, Hotspur's first contact with the Merinan Navy was made early in the morning.

It was still dark, with a thick morning mist lying over the sea. Hotspur was detected first, receiving a signal informing her that she was approaching an operational area, and demanding that she identify herself and disclose her intention. The signal was signed off by the Merinan National Navy destroyer MNS Chiwara. Vincent was awakened by one of the Merinan crewmen, and hurridly summoned to the bridge.

The slight, wiry - and probably piratical - Barkhad Awali was the officer of the watch that morning, peering into the fog from the dimly-lit bridge.

"Mister Vince" He smiled broadly but coldly, like a shark "I am happy you here. The big ships have find us"

The man was quite plainly scared, which Vincent knew from experience took quite some doing, especially out on the sea. Vincent couldn't help but sympathize, there was something a little unsettling about the fog.

"Did you tell them" Vincent queried, composing himself "The line we agreed on? Where's the Captain?"

"One thing at time" The mariner smiled again "I tell only what you say. They say will come aboard and see for theyselves" He smiled even wider at this point, clearly quite pleased with himself "And is night now, look at me, I is the Captain now" Both men chuckled.

"Right enough" Vincent smiled back now. He knew his men would be ready to meet any boarding action, with cold steel if it came to it, and were equipped to win if it came to that. The issue would be if the Merinan ship came close but not alongside; within 7,000m their missiles would be useless, and their pair of 20mm cannon were not likely to make much impression "Do we know where they're at?"

"We have two contact on radar 15km south and east" Barkhad grimaced, suddenly all business "I say them 'we come you' and they say that them, but we not know which one" At that range, the Chiwara would be able to hit them with its guns, though Hotspur's missiles would almost certainly be able to sink them in return. It was probably too late to launch their helicopter, not that the pilot would want to be flying in the dark, or the fog for that matter. The second radar contact was also concerning; two Merinan warships weren't too much of an issue, though with more ships there were more chances for something to go wrong, but there was no way Hotspur would be able to positively identify their targets before firing. If they left it long enough to be able to be sure they were firing at Chiwara, then it would be far too late to do so.

"Are there any other contacts on radar?" Vincent considered.

"No, sir" The sailor replied, matter of factually, evidently making a similar calculation "Just this two. Am sure one is big ship. They not say what is other"

"I think" Vincent decided, starting to get his blood up "I know what we must do. I'll speak with my launcher crews; hold course and speed until I order differently"

And Vincent did go down to the foredeck, where No. 1 Marine Commando had their own weapons radar set up. This set was more powerful, clearly indicating the two vessels, both of which were closing. And fast. It was now or never. Too late to turn away or hide. Far too late to run. Time to fight. The night lit up as the first missile launched, illuminating nothing but a thick bank of fog all about with a throaty roar that reverberated through the creaking steel hull. After a few moments to acquire the second target, another deadly Tamoran missile was away.

The first projectile crossed the gap in a hearbeat, and came screaming out of the fog bank to strike the leading vessel amidships before they even knew they were under attack. Striking just above the waterline, a huge rift opened in her side and the sea began to flood in. The second ship took their moment to register their peril, the quick-thinking helmsman bringing her hard to port, nosing in against the direction of the unseen threat, but the second missile was already upon them, striking the bows and piercing her thin armour plating with ease. Within seconds the second vessel was ablaze, hundreds of kilograms of unused rocket fuel flooding her fore'd compartments.

Vincent heard the first bang, echoing through the night clearer than any fog horn, though the lack of a second, as the seconds passed like lead, gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Mister Vince, call back Mister Vince" An electronic imitation of Barkhad's voice crackled at him over the walkie-talkie in his webbing, shaking him back to reality.

"Hear you mate" The pressel on his device seemed to weigh a million tonnes "Send, over"

"Mister Vince" The man said again "Chiwara say we under attack. They say submarine shoot kill at them. Want us run. What you want me do?"

"Fucking mega" Vincent couldn't quite believe it "Go with it. Get us out of here, full ahead!"

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At dawn, a pair of Merinan Air Force jets swept in low, through leaden skies, to surveil the scene. It was one of devastation; a huge column of smoke plumed above the stricken Chiwara, burning from stem to stern, while a handful of forlorn looking yellow life rafts bobbed beside her in the swell. Nearby, the bow of another vessel could be seen, floating upside-down amidst a black slick on the ocean, her nameplate below the grey-green water.

Most disturbingly of all, of their assailant there was no sign.

From later in the morning, float planes from the nearby Aha Njoko began arriving to take off survivors. Diverted from a routine training flight, one aircraft carried a film crew from the Defence Ministry's media department, their camera's capturing the heroics of the airmen, putting their elderly craft down time and again in increasingly heavy seas, but also the terror in the eyes of the survivors, many of whom were brought aboard badly burned.

They also captured the moment that, hours after first being hit, the fires set off Chiwara's fore'd magazines.

A stunning explosion tore through the burning hulk, eviscerating the battered remnant of her bows. She sank in minutes.

The haunting final shot from the cameras is taken as the last float plane labours skywards; the abandoned life rafts float forlornly amidst the detritus of the twin sinkings, slowly receding from view.

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Republic of Kaedwen
Ministry of Foreign Affairs; Office of Media Relations

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Kaedo-Albion Minerals Incident to be Investigated

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs is aware of concerning reports circulating regarding an incident believed to have occurred at the Kaedo-Albion Minerals plant in Makasa, Merina yesterday, and is endeavoring to ascertain the truth of the matter and verify the wellbeing of all Kaedweni nationals involved.

Preliminary reporting suggests that, at approximately 16:30 hours local time on the 9th of April, multiple armed assailants surrounded the facility and, following a brief exchange of gunfire with the facility's security team, overran much of the location. In addition to purported removal of a significant value of materials, five Kaedweni nationals are currently unaccounted for; the possibility of kidnapping is currently one of several lines of investigation being explored.

The Kaedweni embassy in Merina are presently rendering assistance to the families and associates of those involved.

While these investigations are ongoing, the Government would like to reiterate its travel advice regarding Merina: given the current state of instability in the region, all travel to, or via, this country is to be avoided unless absolutely vital. While the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Embassy staff will do everything possible continue to safeguard Kaedwenis abroad, it is not possible to guarantee the safety of citizens in this country, and any nationals undertaking vital work in-country are encouraged to make their own security arrangements.

Charles van de Mar-Ekembitoto; Foyer, Headquarters of the Free Merinan Association, Freedom Tower, Little Katamba, Belmont, the Republic of Kaedwen

"Are we in agreement?" Michael prompted, at length "Are we all happy to see this go before the Council of Albion?"

Kaedwen 2020 Update

As the two-year anniversary of the Kaedwen Emergency approaches, the events of that crisis are beginning to fade from the popular consciousness, though many of the issues which sparked the violence still remain without proper resolution, having been lost amidst the security crackdown of 2018. Increasingly, the view of Kaedweni public life is expansive - of engagement with the wider Mundus community - as opposed to the introspective malaise which has hung over the country for the last few years. The missing Kaedweni submarine - the RoKN Gorgon - was found, floating abandoned off Zimalia in the Illumic, and has since been reconditioned and returned to service. Of the mutineers, however, there was no trace; the RoKN officially lists the entirety of the ship's company as missing, though the survivors know they are hunted men.

Daniel van Irwen; Polakis Energy Headquarters, Zimalia

"It's settled, then" Sir Andrew shook the proffered hand warmly "Have your people send over the written agreement when it's ready and we'll get it signed off post haste. A pleasure, sir"

And that was that; the Free State would take great hope from this meeting, even moreso once the Hotspur was fully equipped in Tamora. Sir Andrew, certainly, saw this as a major coup; Tamoran money would tide them over in the short term, and their equipment would open up the sea lanes again - with any luck, at least. For his part, Daniel spent the best part of the trip back thinking about their newly-acquired 'volunteers'. These men could go either way, in his experience. Some could be proper professionals, true enough, but there would be a catch. There always was. But that was a problem for another time.

They had a war to fight.

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Commonwealth of Merina
Ministry of Foreign Affairs; General Communique

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For the immediate attention of Alya Safavid

Dear Ms Safavid,

My thanks for your communication, your support is much valued in these trying times.

As per the recent press release from the Office of Media Relations, we are shortly to tender for suppliers for a number key items, though would be most welcoming if you wish to make a more direct approach.

For the duration of the present contingency measures, the Merinan Foreign Service is headquartered at No. 5 Citadel Park, Nigyia. You are invited to submit any such proposals you may have in person at this address.

Best regards,

Christian Atandje,
Director of the Merinan Foreign Service