A clear, bright day in the nation of the Tsuljin Khanate. Nary a cloud marred the sky as the squealing of train brakes sounded through the busy station. Several insectoids, each carrying two rifles, stepped off the train, clearing a path through the crowd. Once they had done so, another wasplike person stepped off the train. They surveyed the crowd, looking for their driver.

After a moment, the crowd parted with some scuffling and muttered swearing, to reveal a small column of three open topped cars, each with a contingent of six greenskins marching in stiff lockstep on either side. In two of the cars sat more greenskins, clad in crisp, starched uniforms and staring straight ahead, showing nary a trace of emotion. In the front car sat a Kudruni driver, similarly emotionless, and behind him sat the delegate of Tsuljin, smiling warmly. The soldiers standing by the sides of the second car parted, and two of them knelt, gesturing to the car.

Wilem, the prince of the Reich, son of the Kaiser, stepped off the platform, walking through the clearing in the crowd. He made his way to the motorcade, entering the second car. Wasn't his driver supposed to be Kudruni? Whatever the case, it would only hurt matters to make a fuss, so he kept quiet. The Kudruni soldiers that came with him piled into the cars surrounding him.

Making no sound, the drivers of the cars shifted their vehicles into gear, and ponderously set off. At first, things went normally, the column of soldiers walking in front clearing the gathered crowd with minimal difficulty, though shouts and jeers abounded. A mile passed in relative ease, the shouting eventually fading into a dull background roar. There were bigger concerns lying ahead - the imposing limestone fortifications of the central citadel, dating back three hundred years, loomed ahead. Within them lay the task of treaty enforcement - it was crucial for the stability of the region, the wellbeing of Rotteburg, that Tsuljin not unite with their neighbor, or be subsumed into the wider expanse of Uruk.

A decade ago, the Reich had intervened, their armies marching westwards and forcing the signing of the original treaty - Tsuljin and Ushro would swear not to seek unification, nor to be annexed or in any way controlled by the looming behemoth of the Uruk Empire. Today the treaty would be renegotiated, ensuring stability and peace in the region, and a chance for Rotteburg to continue to grow strong without greenskin threat to the we-

An abrupt, lurching jolt brought the middle car to a halt, a deafening crack echoing around the square, and the car sagged slightly, one of its wheels now rolling aimlessly about. The axle had snapped, somehow, and many of the soldiers guarding the vehicle tensed, almost imperceptibly. After a moment's pause, the driver sighed, hopping out from his seat and scurrying underneath the car. A stream of muttered curses followed, too fast and muffled to make out.

A minute passed with minimal movement from anyone, before an officer of Tsuljin stepped forward, inclining his head slightly towards Prince Wilem, and gesturing to the front car. "If it please your majesty, we will be continuing without this car." He bowed his head once more, and stepped aside.

Wilem simply nodded, allowing the door to his car to be opened. He stepped out, looking around.

A commotion stirred within the crowd, a few more muttered curses, and a single yell - out from the crowd burst a wild eyed troll, brandishing a large revolver. It happened in the blink of an eye - the troll's eyes locked onto the prince, and he grinned maniacally. "Death to tyrants!" He shouted, and fired, one, twice, both bullets slamming home into the gut of the Prince. Immediately, over half of the greenskin guard turned, planting bayonets into the necks and stomachs of the Kudruni soldiers, and the crowd exploded in a cacophany of shrieking, shouting, and fighting. Many surged forwards, tackling the young assassin, but many more beat them down, rushing forwards in a wall of flesh, surrounding the prince and his entourage.

The Kudruni portion of the entourage -- what was left -- yelled warnings into the crowd, and when they did not back off, the officer in charge ordered the soldiers to fire at will. In the panic, the soldiers immediately opened fire, each with both of their rifles. Bodies began to fall as the crowd attacked the entourage and was shot and stabbed in return.

The shots served only to enrage the crowd, and many of those who had tried to shield the wounded prince turned to flee, or joined the tidal wave of greenskins. Thousands poured in, where one fell dead, a hundred joined the throng, kicking, punching, clawing, goring with tusk and tearing with teeth. The prince, bleeding out his life's blood, was pulled from his guard by the mob, and they began to do the same, wholly out of control by this point. He was kicked, mauled, his stomach opened with the tusks of a troll, his arm shattered in the grip of five more. The crowd screamed and shouted, jeering at him - he would die here, there was no doubt of that.

Upon losing the prince, the officer ordered the remaining soldiers to throw their stick grenades into the crowd, in one last desperate attempt to disperse them. The soldiers obeyed, throwing the grenades into throngs of people inbetween their shooting and stabbing. The grenades went off, sending fragmentation into the greenskins.

Screaming, crying, and howls of pain rose from the crowd, the explosions tearing bloody swathes through the crowd, and for a moment, the crowd withdrew in shock - but their anger resurged, and they fell back on the soldiers with twice the fury of before.

Gradually, the shooting went silent as the soldiers were picked off. Silence fell upon the square as the magnitude of what had occurred seemed to sink in with all around. The eerie stillness blanketed the air, the sun shined on, the clouds dared not to marr what had before been a beautiful day.

Of the assassin there was nothing to be seen. Perhaps he had been trampled in the crush of bodies, perhaps spirited away by quick thinking countrymen. His work was done, in this life, or whatever next life there was, he would know that.

By the end of the day, news of the event would cascade around the world, and the die were cast.

The always say that you never forget where you are when something unforgettable happens. When one of those moments that influences history so strongly it alters your life as you know it with such finality that it's impossible to ignore. That had happened a few times in the Empires history, the Great Earthquake of 1501, the Shogunate Wars of 1636 and 1791. Each time the Empire had been shaken to its core as tens of thousands had died, but all of these paled in the face of what was to come.

Kenji Goto stood on the steps of the telegraph station, a manila letter crumpled up in one fist as he stared blankly at the bustling streets of the Capital. He was vaguely aware of the swish of his own tail as it bumped off the steps behind him, the twitch of his ears as he detected a conversation thirty feet away. War. A War to End All Wars. As the Foreign Secretary, he knew enough about the world to understand that you couldn't just assassinate someone of that rank without consequence.

He began to mentally sort through the alliance system as he knew it. Takeda had taken great pains to avoid making any alliances for the past two hundred years and now he feared that might go poorly for them. An Empire with a population of their size didn't get to sit out of a major war, somehow, they would be dragged in. To the West was Redcliff Hegemony, with whom they had had an uneasy truce since the Border Wars sixty years ago. That hatred was sure to flare up again given the chance and with Redcliff parking half of its army on the Cethos border, the War Dragons in the Council would began calling for war once again.

The Kratorian Imperium would undoubtedly have something to say about it and that was going to be interesting... It had not escaped Kenji's attention that the old Empires of the world had clung to their ways so tightly that they ended up lagging behind their smaller counterparts. Should it come to blows, Takeda could put nearly two million soldiers into the field. On paper it was a terrifying army. In reality... Well, the artillery was fairly modern but the infantry carried antiquated firearms and any sort of wheeled vehicle was simply a thing to dream about, unless it was a basic car imported from overseas.

The airforce was Takedas greatest strength. The planes were virtually modern, bought from such powers as Etresna and considered the elite of the Takedan military. A high number of Bi-Planes made it the sole air power on the Island, and perhaps in the region, but the limited flight range of any plane made it impossible to move off the Takedan mainland without island hoping.

"Sir?" The word came with with a faint hiss and Kenji shook himself to look down at the Ryūjin Officer in charge of his Elvish escort. "Where too?"

Kenji looked up and down the street. Like every other city in the Empire, the streets were narrow and hemmed in with three to four story buildings. Electric cables ran to and fro every which way, mixing with lines for drying clothes, telegraph cables, Imperial banners, and so many other things that at times it looked like some had eaten a colourful Shiono fish and thrown it up in the air.

Thankfully, though Western technology was slowly making its way into day to day life, there were none of the noisy automobiles that could be found in Redcliff, and very few citizens had started adopting foreign clothing customs which always look so silly to him.

"The Palace, and the Empress, at once."

The Ryūjin nodded and turned to one of the Elven guardsmen, giving him a sharp nod so that the Elf placed two fingers between his teeth and gave a sharp whistle. In an instant a carriage appeared around the corner of the telegraph office, drawn by four Qilin. The creatures were beautiful with soft green body colour, blue legs, with blonde mane, moustache, and long tail that ended in a golden explosion of hair. They were tremendously fast, and unlike conventional horses, not afraid of Ryūjin.

Kenji sprang into the the open topped carriage, aware of how similar it was to the one Prince Wilhelm may have ridden in. The guard captain joined him and the Elves stepped up onto the sides of the carriage or took a hand of the harnesses. They could run swiftly next to the Qilin on the city streets, in the countryside they would be left far behind.

The driver clicked his tongue and the Qilin leapt forward, hurrying up the long street towards the distant bulk of the Imperial Palace. A bugler seated next to him played an urgent note over and over again as they raced along so that the crowd, warned of their coming, parted and bowed as they sped past. That was only proper afterall, the Imperial Sigil flew from a small flagstaff on the rear of the carriage, marking him as an exalted "person".

They passed through the lower city and up into the estate that surrounded the Imperial Palace. It was an impressive and brooding fortress. Built five hundred years before it boasted massive walls with massive moats and interlocking gatehouses and fields of fire that had been rendered virtually obsolete by the invention of modern artillery. It was capable of garrisoning some 100,000 soldiers if needed and housed all the Imperial archives, family, and national treasures. It was scared ground.

They passed through gate after gate, their papers diligently checked by ever so polite Elves and their Ryūjin officers. The Elves, dressed in plain black uniforms, all carried firearms while their Wyrmkin Officers wore swords proudly. A clash of ages.

At length they drew up before the main Keep, towering six stories above them, roof tops extending out and turning up at the edges, painted white with a black trim. Cherry blossoms floated on the breeze as Kenji stepped down from the carriage and he heard the sound of a woman giggling somewhere nearby but ignored it as his Empress appeared on the steps before him. Ordinarily this would be unthinkable but today was no ordinary day.

"Well?" She asked sharply, her nostrils flaring. She was a Ryūjin amongst Ryūjin. Tall, slender, beautiful even by Elven standards. Her scales were a soft golden pink that glowed in the afternoon sun, seemingly perfectly trimmed with the purest white he had ever seen.

He held out the telegram, still crumpled from his journey. "It will be war, your majesty."

Light pervaded over the lush green grass from the large structures stationed on all four corners of the field. Markings in white paint gave indication where boundaries were, where starting positions were set, and where one could advance for scoring. The hour was 1830 and the stadium had been filling up with participants and spectators alike from all parts of New Diya. Specifically the two teams who would be playing each other tonight were the Abletown Pilots verse the New Diya Knights. Both teams were competing in their division championship, the winner would be selected to advance and compete in the Casterball National Championship. Casterball is a national sport with two sides who posses 2 casters, casters are individuals designated to hold the ball for an unlimited amount of time and steps. The caster also has the ability to knock out other players if they make contact with the ball they’ve just thrown at an opposing player. All other players may only hold the ball for 3-5 steps, and up to 7 seconds, unless a player is inside the Firing Zone.

The other players who are not designated as casters will play the role as defenders for their casters, defenders for their teams Firing Zone, or as targets to be passed at for either advance or retreat. There are three ways to win; eliminate the opposing team, eliminate the opposing casters, or score in the Firing Zone; one player reaches the Firing Zone and tossing a ball through a 20“ diameter vertical hoop standing at 10‘ tall. The hoops are positioned so scoring is only possible from a side position. These hoops are called Halo’s and to make matters more difficult when scoring this way, a Halo is 30 yards from the Firing Zone boundary line.

Tonight on July 26th, 1910, only one team is to claim their reward while the other is left to reflect on their defeat.

The fans began taking their seats as an announcer boomed his voice from the speakers located around the stadium, “WELCOME! WELCOME! TO THE FIFTH ANNUAL CASTERBALL DIVISION CHAMPIONSHIP GAME!” The crowd roared in response to the announcement, it had only been the fifth year that Casterball was first introduced as a national sport in the Republic and had already gained such a fan base in years priors that it became the national pass time with ease.

“TONIGHT WE BRING YOU TWO WORTHY TEAMS OF ADMIRATION, CONTINUOSLY SHOWING US HOW HARD WORK, AND PERSERVERANCE CAN PAVE THE WAY TO FRUITFUL OPPORTUNITIES!”

Again the crowd roared, “WITH A 10-1 RECORD, ABLETOWN PILOTS, and with a 9-2 RECORD, THE NEW DIYA KNIGHTS!”

The teams were quite evenly matched and everyone knew it, the records didn’t really quite package the games expectations of how well both teams would perform against one another. Although both holding quite strong records, it was the games they’ve lost and how they lost that showed both of these teams could have easily been undefeated up until tonight.

On the team of New Diya there was Ollie, Eva, and Dax. Eva was their team captain, Ollie was their speed demon, and Dax; a feline species with red fur, black stripes, and a white under belly. Dax was the team and divisions top scorer. Agile, precise, and patient, these traits were apart of his kin’s legacy which helped shape his fame. The Pilots had Kroft, Cara, Lee, and Javen. Cara was a Malcotto (fox race), aggressive and quick. Then they had Kroft who was their team captain, Lee and Javen who both excelled at defense, mainly because Javen was an actual bull, and Lee being 6‘2“ built with human muscle. Both teams would find themselves in a match defining their entire career’s worth of work.

1850, 20 minutes into the game and New Diya’s team marched down the left side of the field. Dax was in the front toward the center of the field, Ollie just diagonal to the left of him, and Eva to the right of Ollie directly behind Dax. The three also had 4 other New Diya players assisting their advance in a diagonal formation for easier maneuvering and passing. Eva, Ollie, and Dax were about to meet 8 Abletown Pilot players who were approaching their position from the right. The other Pilots were too busy advancing on the right side of the field caught up in a scrum with New Diya’s defensive players. New Diya had 5 minutes left on the scoreboard if they wanted to set the tone for the rest of the match.

On New Diya’s team, Lyn was a caster, and so was Tristan, Tristan was on the other side of the field competing against the Pilots advance. Lyn was the only caster on the left side and she was farther to the left separated by 2 more New Diya player’s from Ollie’s position. The 6 New Diya players were about to be swarmed by 8 Abletown Pilot players and time before the engagement was running out.

Eva had to think fast as her role was team captain, which meant team leader, and play caller. All 8 were coming from the right, her team was over the left in a diagnol fashion which meant a possible 4 man wall could have been formed to at least split the 8 opposing players up and buy time. If 4 New Diya players formed the wall, that would leave 2 to run down field and score. Her ideal players would be Lyn and Dax, but Lyn was the only caster on this side, and if they wanted to utilize Dax appropriately, Lyn would need to pass long to him.

“OCELOT! OCELOT! OCELOT!” Eva called out loud for her team to hear, “Jenko! Ollie! Liv!Wall East!” The others quickly picked up on her command without a problem as they had now been on the same team for quite some time over numerous years, using the same book over and over. Ollie and Jenko both took lead and peeled right to meet the 8 Abletown Pilot players with Liv falling in behind but covering a bit more up field ground as to buy more time for Lyn to throw, and Dax to sprint. Eva would shuffle over to Lyn for protection as Lyn acquired her target.

3 out of the 8 cleared the wall, it was a bit of a battle as shoving, pushing, locking arms, and other physical tactics were allowed to be deployed in close proximity. Eva would need to take the closest one, which left 2 opposing players uncontested and attacking Lyn. This meant that they’d be down a caster and no ground was being gained on the right side of the field.

Kroft came barreling over a wall formed by New Diya players protecting their caster. He could smell the desperation and wanted to take that caster out before she had time to throw the ball up. It was a gamble, Kroft and his 7 cronies let a feline run up field uncontested in order to blitz the only caster on this side of the field. If they were successful, Kroft being a caster himself could pick up Lyn’s ball and take it down field with the small amount of remaining time left. In the end, this moment was more about stopping New Diya and holding them to the next round than it was scoring. After a few moments of battling, Kroft busted through along with Tyson and Lee. They were heading right for the caster but New Diya’s team captain stepped up toward Kroft who was leading the charge. He tossed his fist forward to clear the nose off her face, but to his surprise, the woman blocked it, and proceeded to use his momentum to turn into his body with hers. She then popped her hips and butt into his hips and pulled his arm over her shoulder like a seat belt, which had him lose his center of gravity and tumble forward onto his back. However, just as she was to claim a victory, Tyson tackled her from behind but this ended up pinning Kroft underneath both of them. Lee was all that was left to get the caster...and he failed.

Lyn saw Lee’s top heavy body come storming passed Eva and with a quick step she avoided his bull rush. Pinning her eyes back on Dax, she heaved the ball as far and high as possible. The hail mary of Casterball, Dax took to his full stride with his head cocked over his shoulder, creating a basket with both palms the ball wedged itself between his hands and chest. He never lost a stride, ‘good throw’, he thought briefly before spotting a massive bull-like defender. The horns were a bit intimidating but he could tell the points were rounded down as to not pose a lethal threat in a physical contact sport. They were now more for show and expression than function, but still intimidating none the less. Dax’s options were to go left or right, right had him facing another defender, and left pushed him close to the out of bounds. If he were to slip out of bounds, the ball would no longer be in play and all of this would be for not. Instead, he opted to see if his abilities were really as good as he thought them to be.

“FOLKS! WE HAVE A NAIL BITER!” The announcer stood up from his chair in the tower overlooking the game. “#24 DAX FURLEO PLAYING FOR THE NEW DIYA KNIGHTS WITH AN AMAZING CATCH AND RUN IS NOW SQUARING UP TO MEET THE LAST DEFENSE ABLETOWN HAS TO OFFER! WHAT A SHOW, 2 MINUTES IS ALL THAT REMAINS ON OUR CLOCK FOR THIS ROUND, CAN HE MAKE IT?”

Dax sprinted full force, Javen shuffled and then took his angle. It was now or never, Dax had this sixth sense of where someone would try to hit him, but most times they’d fail to calculate his real speed. This was Dax’s first maneuver, he slowed down as to force Javen, a big muscular bull to adjust his speed as well. When Javen did adjust his speed, Dax would use the last bit of space to leap forward into a full sprint. Javen tried reaching out but could only grab the last inch of Dax’s tail before slipping off and hitting the ground. The last defender behind Javen tried capitalizing on the moment, but failed when Dax tossed the ball up in the air and leaped right, which forced the defender to hesitate and locate the ball. Before locating, Dax had already made a second jump toward the defender and kicked his feet into the chest. This action sent the defender backward and onto the ground where the ball then landed on his face. Dax after kicking, landed back on his feet and ran over to the defender, swiping the ball up which reset his timer and steps.

Dax now entered the Firing Zone, waiting for him was Neko, a slender built young man and newer to their squad. Dax quickly yelled out, “Dragon! Dragon!” as to give Neko the plan of what to do next. Neko had to think for a moment but then quickly located the edge of the Firing Zone boundary line and leaped for it, then positioned himself on his knees, Dax tossed the ball forward for Neko to catch it, and when Dax continued to bound forward, Neko lobbed it up in the air and put his hands toward the ground to create a table with his back. Without missing a step, Dax followed up by leaping with one foot off the ground, and landing the other on his teammates back, then leaping off the back and in mid-air he caught the ball, rolled to his side and threw the ball toward the Halo. Dax’s Lats impacted the ground hard and with about a foot of sliding he peered up with a roaring crowd. The ball had hit the inside of the ring and went through successfully.

“NEW DIYA SCORES! 1-0, ROUND IS OVER!” The announcer was flabbergasted at the moment they all witnessed and went on a tangent during half time. The game would end with New Diya winning 1-0.



The groaning and moaning of respected players among New Diya politics filled the hall and it’s seats. There was a platform where the voice of the Forum was to stand while encircled by everyone else. It was an open discussion and had been kept that way since the establishment of New Diya as to provide fair governance over all races and peoples within New Diya’s borders. While everyone began seating themselves, a tall, bushy tailed female took her place as the voice of the Forum. She was an ambassador for the Nation’s foreign politics and had experience in dealing with several nations by establishing trade which has aided New Diya’s progress to this day.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of all races residing within our proud and respectful borders, we have been gathered here today because of an event that has rung loud far and wide. It is not in relation to our grand sporting competition of last night, but more importantly, a leader has been slain in a world quite distant from our own. We are unsure of how this event will affect us and the nations we do business with, but it is of the upmost importance that we meet to plan.” Her tail rested to her side as she addressed the audience, a room filled with level headed individuals for the most part, who all represented fractions of the population, and did so effectively...or so it was reported.

An eager gentlemen who appeared as a bull stood up, “Lady Kasya, do we know any further details of the event, besides that this leader was killed?”

She nodded in response, “Yes, Prince of the Reich, Wilem, a Kudruni...assassinated by what reports have told us to be descendants of Orc. A greenskin as some label the term when referring to their kind in the East. Most of the Orc kind have been unified in the Uruk Empire, although no distinct origin of the assassin has yet been stated, we can assume the assassination may have its link from somewhere inside the Empire. It is too early to tell, however, I suggest we prepare our lands for the worst and wait to see how things develop in the East.”

The Bull nodded and sat back down, another representative stood up, he was human and a bit on edge by his body language, “Lady Kasya, we appreciate your suggestion, but where is the President on this matter?”

Lady Kasya knew this question was coming up sooner or later, the President was currently in the Northern realms of New Diya staving off a rebellion of Isanti sympathizers and pro-human only organizers. He wanted to see to it himself that these men and women weren’t falling on deaf ears, but times had changed, and New Diya would never fall into the original Isanti mindset of humans only. It was a small rebellion in a small town, but small mattered, even to the President of New Diya.

“The President is on important business, he is spear heading an operation in the North to carefully weed out Isanti sympathizers, he will return soon, but in the mean time let us continue further discussing our preparations if War erupts in the East.” Kasya said as her tail lifted off the floor, she gently took a step off the platform and over to her respected seat as one of the rest within the open forum.

Empire of Anvegad
July 26th, 1910
Logistics and Signals High Command

The office of the Quartermaster Strategos was silent as Darius Kolbern contemplated the small script of a telegram laid out on his desk. A copy of a urgent dispatch sent to all the heads of the military and government from the diplomatic corps.

TO: 2ND STATE LORD
FROM: AMBASSADOR TARELL

PRINCE WILEM OF ROTTEBURG ASSASSINATED IN TSUJIN STOP
ASSASSIN AFFILIATION UNKNOWN STOP
INFORMATION STILL COMING WILL CONTINUE INVESTIGATION FULL STOP

The Strategos sighed and took a long drag on his cigar as the machinery of his mind went into motion, pondering both the rational and irrational. When the meeting of the Strategos would inevitably be called, either today or tomorrow, all eyes would be turning to him for options on what to be done and what to do to ensure Anvegad would be ready for any probable outbreak of chaos. Kings may issue edicts, and Generals may command soldiers, but ultimately all of their actions had to be routed through his office as the person meant to actually pull off their demands. Further complicating the issue was this fiasco was happening right when Parliament and the King were both reconsidering the entire foreign policy stance of the Empire, and were actively pestering the military for options in that regard. If he wanted to get any point across, he needed to start building a talking position now and find some way to back up his point. Pushing probability and emotion aside, he quietly contemplated the future.

Given that this event happened on the eastern seaboard, it didn’t have any direct impact or strategic implications for Anvegad being an entire continent and many empires separated from a nation born of a thousand city-states. But the complex web of alliances and treaties and marriage pacts on the eastern seaboard were notoriously interwoven, and something like this could easily spark a war, if it hadn’t already.

By past policies of independence and autarky alongside a considerable mix of natural resources, Anvegad stood apart from the Old Empires of the East after abandoning the few dreams of colonial power it had reached for and refocused on internal development. Railroads, oil fields, farmland, Anvegad had a sufficient mix of them all to be self-sufficient and live without foreign goods, which were Valkyrie-blessed gifts in light of the Great Hurricane of 1890 that drove the Anvegad navy into extinction and collapsed it’s merchant marine. But it also meant that they only had modest trade agreements and exchanges of embassies with other powers, with no true allies or definite enemies. And as much as he cared to consider it, Anvegad had done dismally little to secure deeper ties to any foreign power, even the Uruk Empire on it’s border after the last round of inconclusive skirmishes that constituted the last war, such as it was.

Distance. Time. Geopolitical separation. Oceans. Resources. Logistics.

For now, the only course he would be able to recommend to the Supreme Strategos and the Crown was to sit and wait until more information could be acquired and the battle lines were drawn. Hasty action could drag Anvegad into unwanted conflict. Mobilizing too early would take away vital manpower and resources needed to finish the latest series of coastal batteries and railway double-tracking programs to secure the external provinces. Wars didn’t move into motion overnight, and there would be enough to do just to maintain a slightly elevated peacetime readiness level to brush the dust off some of the regional armies and get more machineguns in circulation to at least fill the on-paper requirements for every division.

On the other hand......focusing on precautionary buildups shouldn’t entirely negate other indirect options of securing alliances of our own. I know the 1st Strategos will bring that up, or the King. Damnit. Need to have some bone to throw at them that also lets us get our infrasturucture in order first. He thought as he walked over to a few folders on his office shelves with logistical reports from the neighboring countries, dwelling on the issue of modernization and infrastructure and deciding a few comparisons with a few other major powers were called for to maybe spark a talking point he could build around his efforts to stall and encourage patience. And a report from the Zeirchmeister Armory on the comparisons of their Armory Rifle with samples from other nations while he was at it (new assistant needed more breaking in, this belonged two drawers over). New Diya, the Uruk Empire, the Kratorian Imperium, the Segon Dynasty. He drifted through the documents, musing on what he was trying to find in the mix of details and numbers accumulated by dutiful diplomats and merchant observers while still contemplating Anvegad’s place in the conflict to come.

Beans. Bullets. Bandages. Armies require massive amounts of supplies just for day to day maintenance, let alone offenses and combat. The numbers speak for themselves no matter how much the other powers do a good work to obfuscate. Even a rich and powerful nation can run into trouble trying to keep their armies supplied, with Anvegad being no exception. To the point of building the logistics corps into a division of the military unto itself even. He honestly couldn’t think of any other nation that took supply so…...seriously.

Supply. Supplied. Supplying. Supplying.....the numbers described on the very documents he was looking at.

Well, it would be a longshot to propose to the rest of the Stratagos and the King, but what the hell. Better than trying to spin out a lecture on the benefits of double-tracking railroads like last time to get the point that they couldn't just dump men on the Uruk border and saber-rattle that way, ugh. He thought as he took out a piece of paper and began sketching out a few key bulletpoints for his coming debate while flicking a level on his switchboard for his secretary. “Adjutant.”

“Adjutant here sir.”

“Which planning teams are on priority-C projects right now?”

“Five, six, and eight sir. Focusing on the railroad program, Aiglar aircraft design proposal hearings, and dockyard readiness studies.”

“Tell six and eight to shelve what they are doing and prepare to begin conducting a full review on our present heavy industry and external shipping options, priority A. Have team leads in my office in three hours for further details on their new assignment.”

“Very good sir.”

“Also message the other Strategos. Inform them I will be busy revising contingency plans and devising new ones in relation to this sudden event and that it would be for the best to hold any emergency war council tomorrow so I can come with all the necessary facts in hand. Oh, and bring in a few sandwiches and some coffee would you kindly, I’m probably going to be working late again.”

Suddenly a violent, staccato roar of rifle-fire opened up ahead. It was the kind of barrage which would have been terrifying in daytime, and at night it was far worse. However, the fire was not aimed at them; no one fell, no bullets whistled past them, and for some reason the flashes could not be seen. But it was obviously not far ahead f them and before long they were likely to be walking into it. Loud, urgent orders were given to deploy into skirmishing order, some to the right and some to the left of the road. After stumbling down a steep roadside embankment, they found themselves squelching blindly across marshy ground, water chilled a crippling drop in temperature pouring into their boots; after a patch of tussocks, they crossed a few shallow ditches and blundered across what seemed like a kitchen garden; by the time the order came to lie prone, the firing ahead of them had died down completely. New orders came to rejoin the road and form up in a line of march. Back they stumbled once more, tripping over the ditches and wading through the same marshy ground until they clambered back on to the roadway.

For a long time there was more shouting, re-forming, lining up. Then off they went again. Dark though it was, they were able to make out that the road was leading into a thick expanse of brush, identified by the towering, leaning groves of elms that lined its perimeter. Up overhead the tree-line, silently and quickly skimming over monstrous, black puffs of flak and low-lying clouds alike, the flashes of a biplane's armament periodically illuminated the thick haze descending onto much of the approaching forest. As they eventually marched through it, even the occasional flashes of far-off gunfire were blotted out. The battalions marched on down the road until once again the men were made to slither down the embankment - this time on to the dam of a mill-pond, then across a stream. From there they trudged uphill across open fields in between the eroded grooves in quantity great enough to amount them to a sizable half-track convoy, but on firm ground.

It seemed to be getting lighter, but the viability did not improve: even though they were on high ground, the darkness of the night had only given way to more thick mist. They struggled onward across rough paths and open fields, where the crop, whatever it was, caught at their boots; the main feature of the ground was that it was cross-crossed with little gullies and ditches, and so dotted with potholes, mounds, and makeshift earthwork that it was the obvious site of a previous border dispute. All at once, less than a kilometer to their right, another fusillade from several hundred rifle barrels and machine gun encampments opened up. But still no bullets came their way: the fighting was lower down and away to the right, and their orders were to get to the top of the high ground as fast as possible. Then, with a roaring and whistling, the gun-flashes flickering dimly through the mist, the Okandu artillery they'd been promised opened up, to the delight of the advancing troops. Shrapnel shells burst with a fain glitter in the milky fog, and soon Segonese guns began to reply, their shells falling a short distance away to the right.

While he had no desire for victory, Hakando could not help noticing with satisfaction that the friendly artillery was getting the better of this duel. There was undoubtedly a kind of horrible beauty in the thunder of gunfire that was coming from one's own side. Although it was growing lighter, it was so foggy that visibility was no more than a meter, and the gun-flashes were even harder to see than they had been in the dark. And still they were driven through the thick, milky mist, across the treacherous gullies, rifles at the ready - faster and faster, lest they reach their objective too late. They ran panting uphill, then down a slope, up again and down again. It would have been safer to have crouched as they ran, but at that speed to run crouching was too much strain on the legs. So they ran upright. A few shells burst directly overhead, but so high that the shrapnel fell like a harmless shower of dried peas. The order was given to deploy into skirmishing order and fire from the shoulder.

They fired, although their target was completely invisible, and then ran onward again once their cartridges warranting reloading. No Mitsaki fell killed or wounded. It seemed as if they were making an outflanking movement around some Egyptian position. The hillside grew steeper and steeper. Ibrahim's heart was thumping, his lungs bursting; it was impossible to keep up this pace, all the more so in the damp, foggy air of the mid-morning Segonese brush. It was now completely light and for all they knew the sun might be out, but nothing around them could be even vaguely seen in the dense, all-enveloping fog. Just as the slope began to go slightly downhill, the invisible enemy struck at them, the unseen attackers. Although they could barely see his muzzle-flashes, the bullets were whistling very close; one of them struck a stone and sent up a bright spark.