If possible at all, could I tack R77 onto Saheristan. I'm working on a nation map and I could do with the space. This would bring me up to six provinces.

1. Contingency

Standing atop this acropolis, beneath the inner gate of the Grand Qasbah, Camelia Kasra Shahi was uncomfortably aware of the weight of the limestone over her head. At this moment, the gate stood. Yet, this would not always be true, nor had it been in the past. From atop the Elbrus Hill, overlooking Al-Qādisiyyah, the Grand Qasbah sat a realm above the the noise and bustle of the city below, which faded to a hum beneath the cricket's chorus. Camelia realised now that while the idea of the Grand Qasbah of Al-Qādisiyyah did stretch back to three hundred years before the birth of Jesus, the limestone blocks of these walls of were a patchwork of beige, brown and grey from a dozen eras, thanks to time, nature, and a multitude of conquests. Was this the Grand Qasbah, or just it's latest iteration?

When Camelia had come up here to meet the President, she had noticed none of this. The Kasbah was, as to everyone, an immutable icon. She now saw that it was as fragile and pliant as the nation it stood in.

Earlier

"Camelia. Thank you for your presence".

The rich and smooth voice of the President, with that persistent hint of a marshlander twang, despite years in the capital, was unmistakable. Camelia shook Kahlid Amin Askhan's hand for the first time, and was suprised to feel it rough and calloused. Average height; stocky and unruffled, Ashkan had hazel eyes which reflected his light brown complexion, all below short-cut and greying-black hair. As many had pointed out, the man looked entirely unremarkable. Yet, what went unseen but not unknown was the single-mindedness of the man. When she had been told Ashkan wanted her here, Camelia knew he was not asking. She seized his hand. "Your own is a welcome honour, your Excellency."

Ashkan sat back down slowly into his rattan chair, taking a sip of coffee before gesturing for Camelia to sit herself. Camelia saw they were alone on the citadel terrace. Their chairs were not angled towards each other, but to an eighteenth-century fresco of Aman-Kabir Asharid, who stood defiant, hand on his sword. Shortly after it had been completed, the Sultan had rode off and been valiantly, yet soundly, defeated by Baltic invaders. Ashkan had no doubt chosen this particular pavilion before this particular piece to make a point. He spoke again, without turning to look at Camelia."First, I believe I must disappoint you. I did not call you here to discuss the vacancy at the Civil Emergency Bureau. The Directorship is not a role I wish to put you in."

Camelia felt a sudden sting of despondency which must have shown on her face, not that Ashkan reacted to soothe it. "You are here because I am offering you a different role. You will report directly to me as the Special Advisor for National Contingencies."

Camelia felt her heart rise again, tentatively. "Your Excellency, I am not familiar..."

Ashkan turned his head and began to hold eye contact with Camelia, whose confusion was giving way to curiosity. "That is because the office does not yet exist. Figuratively, I suppose, it never will. Your task will not relate to any traditional crisis management that you are well used to. It will be to plan for the an unknown. One inevitable event, to be exact. You would be more accurately described as the Special Advisor for the Contingency. This county sits on a precipice. Natural disaster will not tip us over the edge, nor will terrorism. These things can be averted or they can be recovered from. You will instead work directly for me to establish a series of classified emergency plans for the end of our oil age."

Camelia blinked, feeling misplaced in her own shoes. "Your Excellency, I recognise the seriousness of drill field decline, but this is the buisness of the Alternative Solutions Office at the National Energy Bureau".

"Pah, the ASO's Post-Oil Office is a smokescreen. The statistics they get are spoon-fed. The first thing you must understand is that moving on from oil is not an alternative solution but a national imperative of grave importance. You will know that official records state that Saheristan has proven reserves of two-hundred and forty billion barrels, enough to last seventy more years at current rates."

Camelia, suddenly feeling she had been dropped into an interview half prepared, jumped on the opportunity to interject. "It’s an open secret that these figures are somewhat inflated. Most believe we have closer to fifty years left."

Ashkan flicked his wrist and sipped his coffee dismissively, disarming her. "Well most are just as wrong. The truth is that we do not have seventy or fifty years of oil left. We barely have eight."

"Eight?" Camelia spat the number from her lips, as if it were a joke. Ashkan permitted himself a gallows-smile. "My accent is not so thick, is it? Yes, eight. Since independence, intemittent periods of lasting economic development have been punctuated and postponed by corrupt decadence, politically-prudent tax cuts and frivoulous public spending. This Republic has spent half of it's time frittering away its oil reserves and now lacks enough to finish building a sustainable post-petroleum economy. Oil and petroleum dominate exports; constitute a third of economic output; seventy-five percent of the state revenue.

Saheristan's industrial base cannot yet produce goods to the quality or quantity of our competing nations. We lack the arable land to grow enough produce to cover our losses. This country might have been dealt a poor hand, true. We spent a century and a half under an exploitative imperial heel, but despite opportunity, we have failed spectacularly to make up for that lost time. Unemployment sits at 26% because there are no jobs except those in the farming fields, or the oil fields, or what industry we thus have. I have not been able to wean us off oil because we produce nothing else to any serious degree. Despite my efforts, it rapidly became clear that we will not have our insurance plan in place before the oil wells run dry. The only hope was, and still remains, the exploitation of new resources, regardless of the obstacles."

Camelia struggled to respond. All she was able to produce was an exasperated sigh.

"You've heard enough today, I think. Your office is already being moved to the Palace. You start in the morning. We will speak more in the coming days, once you have done your reading."

Camelia picked up and finished her own coffee in one, afraid she would spill it in her trembling hands if she waited. It was long cold. "It doesn't sound like I have a choice, your Excellency."

Ashkan took a long look into Aman-Kabir's painted face. "You don't. None of us do."

President Ashkan waited for Peter to finish, holding eye contact with him as he took a long sip of coffee. He then thumbed through the file carefully for a couple of minutes, comfortable with the silence in the room. The report detailed intelligence suggesting that Bachelet was located in the vicinity of Shehadeh Mountain, deep in the Lalishi highlands. Shehadeh Mountain was only accessible from the south through the Akradi Pass, leading down into recently liberated Talmar. The pass itself was forty miles north of Sirwan, where the Barron incident had occurred, through intermittent roads and rough, wooded terrain, still firmly held by the insurgents. Ashkan passed the file to Ardeshir, who took a look at it himself before the President responded, cautious in his tone.

"This is rough terrain, in bad country. It will not be easy to conduct a capture mission there. Still, we hope to do what we can. How do you suggest we approach?"

The Emperor had arrived ahead of a summer storm rolling in from the Krimeon, and the usually clear skies of the sun-baked capital were thick with darkened clouds. Upon Peter's entourage entering the palace, the rain had begun to lash down. The nature of the Emperor's hastily planned visit had meant no red carpet was being rolled out, and no press presence was on the scene. Roads around the palace had been cleared and closed, with the evening traffic swept aside. Save for the pelting rain against the tall windows of the Presidential Palace, an unusual silence prevailed.

President Ashkan waited at the foot of the stairs to greet Peter, wearing a dark suit and his Presidential sash, at the end of the grand foyer's dual colonnades. He was a brawny, wide man of average height. His powerful build was from growing up a fisher boy, then enduring years of back-breaking labour in a cement manufacturing plant. After completing national service with the infantry, Ashkan had worked his way into politics through trade unionism. As Peter Azurewind strode across the marble floor towards him, Ashkan casually wondered if his guest was as conscious of the differences between them as he was.

"Your Imperial Highness, I am pleased to be able to offer you my hospitality. If you would please walk with me."

Walking through the ever ornate halls of the palace, the two parties were convened in the Shahbazi Room, named for the prominent political dissident who had overseen the post-revolutionary trial of King Umar within his own palace. Also present was the rarely seen Secretary to the President, Ardeshir Maz Sadr; his right hand man, who exchanged the appropriate pleasantries as coffee and dates were served. Sadr waited for the President to sit before he did too.

Ashkan was the first to speak. "Now then, your Highness, might I say that I appreciate your efforts to hear us out regarding this matter surrounding Ms Barron. I don't doubt that you have come here with something in mind."

Your Imperial Majesty,

I was surprised but pleased by your recent letter. Despite my campaigning arrangements and stately duties, I feel this is a matter I should engage with personally. These unfolding developments are of great concern to me, and with this in mind I would like to receive you at the Presidential Palace in Al-Qādisiyyah upon your return from Gowu.

I look forward to meeting you.

Khalid Amin Ashkan
President of the Republic of Saheristan

The Marigold Accord, the multinational imperialist effort to secure the Matilda Channels at the end of the Great War, had not gone unnoticed by Saheristani nationalists, but while under the imperial heel of Balticum themselves, the Saheris had been powerless to protest. The Accord nations had not drawn Coanchua's EEZ and territorial waters with an independent eastern neighbour in mind, and following the hard-won independence of Saheristan, disputes arose rapidly.

Efforts to redress this historical mistake came to a head in the Channel War of 1983, when Saheristan had invaded Aulukai. When the Saheristani offensive had ground to a halt against the determined Coanchuan defenders, the increasing likelihood of pro-Marigold intervention had forced the disgraced invaders back to a status quo ante bellum, and so the situation had remained. Given this history, and the well-known Saheristani paranoia surrounding monarchies and encroaching foreign influence, the anti-Marigold credentials of the Saheristanis could not be doubted, even if Coanchuans kmew better than to trust their sometimes perfidious neighbours.

Given the strategic importance of Coanchua and it's proximity to Saheristan, it was an practically an open secret that CSIA was entrenched throughout the beleaguered nation. It had not proved difficult for them to establish contact with the Free Coanchuan Revolutionary Movement within the League of Free-Coanchua some weeks earlier. That the Capitol Building had been stormed and put to the torch the previous night was not a coincidence.

Right on schedule, low to the choppy waters of the Channels, three unmarked Mil Mi-8 choppers had cruised within sight of the Coanchuan coast. Coanchuan air-defence was effectively non-existent, and everything proceeded smoothly as the air-convoy continued. As the island of Aulukai unfolded beneath him, Captain Kamal Kharrazi flicked his cigarette out of the open starboard door, watching it catch the wind and vanish above the darkened jungle. Reducing their altitude gently, the choppers had been guided to a jungle clearing, marked by flares, where their rebel contacts were waiting.

Light weaponry was ubiquitous among the rebel ranks, but they lacked the heavy weapons they would need to overthrow the government and combat foreign interventionists. This is where Captain Kharrazi and his CSIA commanders came in. Kharrazi cast his eye over the rows and stacks of crates behind him, which were loaded with Vampirs, Stingers and old but effective DShK 1938's. The cargo of the three choppers was a taster of things that may yet come, and enough for the rebels to make some powerful statements in the meantime.

As choppers set down and the flare markers were snuffed out, Captain Kharrazi and his several men disembarked. He found his appointed FCRM contact waiting. "Salam" smiled Captain Kharrazi, embracing the irony of the customary greeting in this context.

I am writing today to rebuke recent comments made by His Holiness the Pope concerning the ongoing detention pending trial of the journalist Marjorie Barron.

Firstly, I would like to allay concerns about Ms Barron's treatment. I can confirm that, while imprisoned, she is receiving adequate comfort, with a spacious, private cell, with outside time and three meals a day, with medical oversight, pending her trial for Possession of a Controlled Substance With Intent to Supply. This is practically royal treatment compared with the general prison population.

His Holiness should also keep his baseless allegations regarding any cover-up by my government surrounding her detention to himself, or present some evidence to support his salacious gossip.

I especially note that he claims that Ms Barron is being considered guilty prior to her trial. This is not the case. Ms Barron is on track to receive a fair trial, but any lawyer will tell one that the drugs recovered from her person form damning evidence against her, while she had little to present in her defence.

I know I am not alone in my disappointment that perhaps Mundus's single most important religious figure besmirches his reputation by allowing himself to be puppeteered by Augustin Fava and his mouthpiece Weasel News. That a supposedly pure, pious and humble man who supposes himself to be in direct communion with God would be a fan of such a disreputable news channel and support such inelegant, unbalanced behaviour by the shock-jock Tucker Carlson lowers the office of the Papacy.

Should his Holiness wish, he can place unjustified, unilateral sanctions on my country. We will respond in kind, and simply take what negligible trade we have with the Ecclesiastical State elsewhere.

High Commissioner Ibrahim Hussein Al-Madhavi
External Bureau of the Republic of Saheristan

Not unlike their Lakhzov neighbours, the Utman held tea in high esteem. Tea opens and closes any meal, newcomers are often received with tea, and in the course of the day tea is often served between meals.

Arram Gulat, Commander of the Khaliniz Brigades and proud Utman patriot, was entirely typical in this regard, never missing a cup. Sitting down with one of his divisional commanders, Arram was doubtlessly expecting tea to be taken, and paid the ritual pouring of it into the traditional bowls around the table little heed, being more interested in the latest developments and militia clashes around and within nearby Khalin. Their meeting was taking place within Maasin Municipal Police Station, an imposing structure, and more heavily fortified each day. As the fortifications rose, Arram found himself becoming more restless. The war he had expected was yet to come, and it taunted him with it's absence. Much better to start the fighting, and know where one stands, he felt, than to hold vigilance endlessly and fruitlessly. No doubt the fighting spirit and tenacity of the Utman would scatter their cowardly Lakhzov foes like so many leaves.

The thought of leaves brought Arram back to the tea before him, as the rest of the table politely waited for him to drink first. He smiled, and raised the cup to his lips, calmed somewhat. Taking a sip, he balked: "This tea is revolting. Tastes like it's been stewing since this morning; a mockery of our culture." The Commander's embarrassed and fuming aide-de-camp, who had personally made the tea just as Commander Gulat normally liked it, went in search of the police station's-turned-stronghold's supplymaster, intending to berate him for stocking such second-rate refreshment for the Commander himself, despite requests to procure the very best he could. Despite the aide's red-faced searching and shrill declarations of impending punishment, the quartermaster was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, the aide and those around him heard shouting from the briefing room. Returning, the aide saw the Commander fallen, arching his back high, writhing in agony, clutching his throat, his face dripping with sweat. Medics were called, but it was far too late when they arrived. It would later emerge that the tea served to the Commander had been laced with far above the lethal dose of strychnine. A militiaman had also turned up dead, his neck wrung out of it's socket and uniform stolen.

Heading away from the setting sun, towards Khalin, a car holding drove into the night. Stocky, powerfully built, bearded and disinteresting, he blended in well. One hand on the wheel, and another on a stolen radio, he had been listening to Khaliniz Brigade radio chatter with detached satisfaction, before taking a sat-phone from his inside pocket and dialling a previously agreed number, speaking a series of codewords. Poisoning was not his outfit's normal modus operandi; but against such a well protected target, soft and discreet approaches were called for.

Back in Al-Qādisiyyah, General Ahmad Abbas Khan was sipping his own, pleasantly strychnine-free tea, toasting a characteristically successful operation by Major Reza Siah Tabrizian and his fellow operatives of the Special Intelligence and Interdiction Group, before picking up a secure line to inform the Lakhzov ambassador accordingly.

Saheristan will be sending a team.

"It would appear that the CTO has a consensus." Sakura said looking around the table, of note was the lack of an Achkaerinese vote but that was to be expected it wouldn't have been right under the circumstances for Achkaerin to vote on something like this "Obviously there are other parts of the Commonwealth Treaty that will need amending to be brought into line with Silverhills. However this is the first step in what we all hope is the right direction."

"Now what needs to be discussed is how you as an organisation address problems moving forward. " Serenity said "How are you going to bridge the gap to Nya Aland? How are you going to stay true to your principles and most importantly how are you going to ensure that next time something goes down that requires an intervention that the membership of the CTO steps up and doesn't leave East Moreland holding the metaphorical baby? If you want this organisation to work then you must address that because while Silverhills does much to streamline the CTO process and the organisation as a whole it does nothing in this regard. So let me ask this of you all are you prepared for your nations to be held accountable before the CTO for not acting if you are capable of doing so?"

"So long as nations are not to be forced by the CTO to act against their own interests through the tyranny of a majority vote, and that allowances are made for the differing scales of military and humanitarian ability reflected in the capabilities of the nations at this table, we support this idea in principle. We will happily take part in more concrete discussions on this matter when the time comes."

Yesterday, army troops captured the town of Anfar which was the last bastion of the LLL in the Talmar Valley. This has marked the liberation of the entire Talmar district in short order. New, incisive tactics and overwhelming fire-power have won the day for government forces fighting to wrest the troubled district from the separatist insurgents from whom it has been a bastion for more than 20 years. A number of LLL fighters are believed to have escaped the area, though a small number are boxed into a small area of territory near Kalak Mountain as the army closes in.

Since the beginning of the operation, the Lalishi Liberation League's ability to operate in the region has been severely curtailed, though the elusive rebel leader, Walim Bakhsh Marri, remains at large, despite a broad and intensive attempt to locate him. However, five other high ranking rebels were killed by a precision air strike carried out by the SAF on an undisclosed location near the rebels's stronghold town of Sirwan.


Aiming to avenge their defeat, the Lalishi Liberation League claimed responsibility for a car bomb attack, above, in Al-Qādisiyyah yesterday, which killed 19 and injured many. In a defiant online statement, Walim Bakhsh Marri said:


President Ashkan appeared at a news conference at the Grand Qasbah to hail the nation's brave troops, to pledge to eliminate the Triple L insurgency in it's entirety, and to dismiss allegations of illegal conduct by soldiers during the operation, as well as promising to send the perpetrators of yesterday's bombing "straight to hell".

I have discussed with Sam on the matter before and we agreed that Medina would be located in Kaiser Adolf and Mecca in Saheristan. Although I won't proceed with the name 'Medina' and I suggest the same for Mecca.

I'll be keeping the name Mecca too, though Saheristanis would transliterate it as Makkah, which is closer to the Arabic pronunciation.

Saheristan: would you be opposed to having Kaiop people on your Channel coast? One's that you maybe conquered once and assimilated, the Kaiop are basically pirate gypsies from everywhere though taking after Himeyaman and Toshikawan migrants(Wokou pirate analogue irl). the Koingia are an ethnic group deriving from anything Kaiop, Slave or native mixed into one, in a loosely similar vein to what mestizo is. Though, alot of these people may just say their 'Coanchuan' now, even ethnically.

Entirely up for this. These people will generally be discriminated against but nothing like as badly as the Lalishi.

I haven't written up anything regarding this since I envisage Saheristan being a colonial possession at the time of the World Wars. I wasn't initially going to go down this path, but my nation is prime real estate next to the Matilda Channels and it provides some cultural links between myself and another player. This would have taken place during the early 18th century.

At some stage in the fifties or possibly up to the sixties depending on how hard the colonial overlord was holding on, Saheristan will become independent. Whether this happens peacefully or in a bloody French Algeria style conflict can then be worked out between the overlord and myself.

Any immediate takers to be Saheristan's coloniser?

I've got a skeleton timeline below. I've gone with Balticum to be Saheristan's colonial overlord; a European style colonisation fits my national character and history better. However before 1798 it might be interesting to have gone through a period or periods of Royal Seleucid control, or a tug of war between RS and another power/powers. I'll need to discuss this with Dave. Below is all approved by The Young Pope.

I haven't written up anything regarding this since I envisage Saheristan being a colonial possession at the time of the World Wars. I wasn't initially going to go down this path, but my nation is prime real estate next to the Matilda Channels and it provides some cultural links between myself and another player. This would have taken place during the early 18th century.

At some stage in the fifties or possibly up to the sixties depending on how hard the colonial overlord was holding on, Saheristan will become independent. Whether this happens peacefully or in a bloody French Algeria style conflict can then be worked out between the overlord and myself.

Any immediate takers to be Saheristan's coloniser?