Image of Updated Map w/ Legend
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Taking the train, Hierd viewed the reports and plans to great minute detail, "thank you." He said to the traincab's tender that gave him an apple juice.
"You're welcome, lord." The tender left the cab.
He immersed himself in deep thought. Recollecting all the projects and movements that were happening throughout Germany.
Germany's forces were spread thin, even if they were some hundred-thousands strong, the sheer length of both flanks made it difficult to defend, to attack, and to hold-out. The majority of the Ridge Brown troops were up on the Kerfelizian-Betelionic borders, making trenches and securing positions.
The doctrine was simple;
The Ridge-Brown soldiers defended and secured positions, while the Venit-Ille black soldier would attack and destroy. But why doesn't the Ridge-Brown contribute in fighting more than the Venit-Ille?
"An image." Hierd thought to himself, finishing the apple juice in one gulp. "The Ridge-Brown units are self-purposed to be a 'transition rank,' where from there you can join the Navy, or the actual army. Or they could become instructors, they could become guardsmen. But they cannot die in massive droves.
"They have training, they understand the uptakes, but not enough unlike the Venit-Ille black forces. Most of the Ridge-Brown troops I have under my belt are trained for two-four months. And that's not good. Soldiers need to be trained for one year. Not so little time.
"If a mass of the Ridge Brown dies, so does the image of the military, which seems so strong and ironclad. Defending, securing. Nothing else better than that to reduce any gu-estimated outlooks on mortality."
He put the paper down. Got up, and made his way outside his cab.
There were two built trains of Germany. Each was a long fourty-two cabs long. One was for the civilians, and one was for Hierd's troops.
Unlike the civilian one, which was structured with varnished, wooden-panel flooring, with elegant electric lighting, luxurious accomodation, and experience.
The Land Ship (as they called) was fully militarised. Each car, excluding the engine, was decked with two multi-purpose Anti-Air guns on it's left and right. Then atop the cabs (which were two storeys tall) was a fourty-milimeter naval gun that weighed as much as a car.
Not just that, put the armor was astoundingly thick for a train. The thickness was enough to take even Germany's most powerful tank rounds. And can withstand atleast the naval gun of the K-3 sloops.
He felt perfectly safe within, walking amongst the muck of iron flooring. It felt strongly uncomfortable, claustrophobic with protection.
Amongst each cab were four guardsmen protecting the entrances. Then there were two other soldiers that were there as auxilary and could also immidiately act if there was any attack.
"You two." Hierd called for the two of the soldiers infront of him, guarding the next cab over.
"Y-yes, lord!" They stood anxiously at attention.
Hierd chorted, "you may ease."
They didn't.
"Follow me," he continued.
"W-where… Where to, lord?"
The train's brakes sneered the rails, slowing down the on the rails, it's countless wheels spinning slower and slower then to a grating stop. Hierd looked out of the window. "We are in Unchean," he noticed the reactions of his people.
'Germany never fails to surprise me!' Said a Betelionic man.
'Can the Northern Alliance fight against that!? I think not!' Said the Nationalistic German.
'Abominable.' Indifferently put by the Hesian girl.
"We're to go to Venit-Ille," -he brought out a letter hiding inside the pocket of his suit- "bring this to the HQ as soon as we make it there. Then escort me back to the Land Ship, (inform the Railway General of my departure and come-upence) so that I can make way to the city of Foole."
"Yes, si- Lord!"
Hierd nodded, chortling.
The two bowed a deep 90 degrees, running outside to fetch a military truck.
( * )
It had been a week.
"A week. A week of failures." Edmund said, defeated, massaging his head slowly, then fast, faster, he slammed the table! "A week of failure! I need something that can turn the tide of an ocean! How! But how! How! How! How! How!" For each repeated 'how' he slammed the table angrily.
The Generals, upon his room, staring silently and anxiously.
"What are you looking at? Standing there. Doing nothing…" Edmund stood up lifting his hands up and irritatingly, wiggling them before his face like he were wringing out someone's neck in anger. "Get out! Get out all of you! I need you all in the frontlines! Not here! Not here! Not here…!"
They stood defiant. Scared.
"Kommander General…"
"What is it with all of you…?" Edmund patted himself down onto his seat as if he was heavy. "Speak now! Speak! Speak!"
"Y-yes! The A-Battalion of the German army is offering an armstice."
"Armstice…?" Edmund's voice raised, "Armstice! We were the ones who've declared war, now they think they've leaned sway!?"
"Kommander General, we need to respond."
Edmund was juggling an imaginary ball, no… Five balls, at fast haste while blind. "I cannot. My officers, I cannot do that," his voice was agitated yet he tried to keep himself a bit calm, "I will be cut up once I go home! Do you know how I've protested against the Germans! You do understand, that if our Great Empire is to be swindled by the Germans, that we're to turn like puppets! Puppets damn it!
"Do you want to be a puppet!?" His eyes, intense, stared at his officers with great determination, a great frustration foaming in his entire body. "This was was fought for freedom!"
*click
A gun was pulled!
"What are you-"
"I cannot let you, Kommander General." The officer, his pistole trained on Edmund.
Edmund looked at his officers, "what are you all doing! Seize his gun!" His heart dropped, they weren't doing anything… "Is this it? Is this how I die? Through my pride and nationalism, I die because you wish to not fight!? Truly, truly..." His eyes stared daggers into the officer's eyes, "I know who you are, I gifted you that rank one year ago. And now you do this to me. Truly, truly…"
---
"This is the new age of warfare," The Betelionic private commented, looking upon the barren landscape, the green plains were gone, the trees that stood so ancient and flush-green were also gone, stripped to it's naked trunk.
"You should have seen the newspapers going around about that Ruskan capital, destroyed to all hell." His comrade said, cleaning his dirtied bolt-action rifle.
"What was it?" He jumped down into the trench.
"Broken. All to pieces, that is. Visited that capital some three years ago, now it's all to nothing."
The private sighed, grabbing his bolt action rifle from the top of the trench (the spot he sat upon just moments before). An armstice was signed the night prior and it was peace and silence after days and nights of continuous fighting. Where the private fought (the Gresh trenchline), was teaming with all sorts of explosions just a day ago: shrapnel flew all around, and a cornocopia of soldiers lay flat and lifeless upon the dirt-mud ground, blood spewing upon the trenches, flooding the terrain with puddles, (lakes even) of terrific pools of dark blood.
The sole reason why the Germans could not advance after Gresh was the very cautiously prepared, and methods of the Kerfeliz army.
The land undulated rather weirdly, in that it was like ripples, likes small hills upon the land that made traversing it with tanks would juggle and mix the crew's brains into mush.
Of course that wasn't the only defense;
Before the main trenches of the Kerfeliz soldiers, (which was a small three meters wide at best and a meter wide all round'). There was a larger, deeper trench, with explosives and primitive mines at it's bottom that trigger the second something steps on it's primer.
The Germans lost four Panzers trying to cross this. And better caution was prepared, meaning; no advances.
Kerfeliz set up an almost invunerable line of artillery just a kilometer away from the main trenches, they were similar to howitzers, but were powered mostly on magical ores and rounds (of the primitive kind).
"Their artillery's bitch." The private said, opening his canister of water, emptying it. "The Venit-Ille black couldn't advance for the longest time, and when the shells targetted us, we had to pull back!"
"And pulling back always means that the Kerfeliz and Lottibitches would try an advance."
"Lots of bodies." The private cried, "too many and too much everywhere all on the ground."
Noticing the cap of the officer coming towards them, the two soldiers made way, saluting. "Sir!"
"Good Afternoon." The officer nodded, carrying on.
The private laid his head upon the dirt wall, his hair ( black) was so riddled with dirt and grime that it turned brown in color. He wiped the black soot upon his face, his slightly yellow-ish teeth showing as he smiled, looking at his comrade.
"I'll buy you beer back home!"
"Thank you."
( * )
The house of the Northern Alliance Ambassador was busier than the other last ten years of it's construction. Within, a party of nobles and Generals. Blaring orchestral rhythms, musics pleasing to the soul.
"There they are," the nobles said, "the Germans...!"
They gossiped amongst each other as the German ambassador sat upon his table, the table that occupied a snazy Kerfelizian General, blonde hair that reached to his hips. The rough, old Betelionic ambassador, his handle-bar mustache being the most defining characteristic of his stern appearance.
Drinking the glass of wine, a certain Kerfelizian acting-ambassador (of middling age) looked at the ambassador with interest. His nose pinching glasses, his shabby German-tailored suit…
"Hello, Mr. Morgenfaust." The German ambassador sat beside the Kerfelizian ambassador, "Mr. Jorgen." He said also to the Betelionic ambassador.
"Yes," Jorgen's face slackened, smiling lightly. "Hello, Mr. Algemmener."
Algemmener accepted the glass of wine from the butler that came. "I have chatted with the previous ambassador many times, what happened to him, Mr. Morgenfaust?"
"Sick. Sick today." He ended, saying nothing else.
Before the ambience of orchestra and chatter (the silence) would make the table any awkward, the Kerfelizian General cleared his throat, "Hello, Mr. Algemmener. I was the General in charge of the Gresh Line."
"Truly…"
The Kerfelizian General's heart dropped, truly…? He thought, gripping his heart. His face was all distressed. Why had he said that? Truly… Truly…? He remembered, two days ago when the armstice was presented to the Kommander General. Edmund… Edmund…
"Are you alright, General sir?"
"Y-yes, I am, I am."
"It has been tragic, that defense. I would find it fortunate that this armstice becomes the grounds for peace talk. However, of course," -a neutral grin- "the chancellor has many ideas, and peace is not one of those. Especially if… We weren't the ones who attacked."
"Hmm…" Morgenfaust made himself known once more, "Mr. Algemmener, I apologize for the Ruskan ambassador's absence in this event, however he wished to convey his… Disdain for the recent action taken to destroy the capital of the Ruskan people. Daresay, the Ruskans wish to end the armstice and fight. Till' the last man."
"What does the Ruskan government wish to do regarding Germany's latest stunt?"
Morgenfaust smiled, a sinister bone-chilling smile. "Unforuntately, the Ruskans are proposing something most grave for the great of our own Empire. We wish to uphold order upon our union, however that will never be done if things are 'un-ordered.'
"In that case," Morgenfaust reached for his case, opened it. "We wish to give you this paper of declaration."
Algemmener reached for the paper contained within, the parchment didn't even look like parchment anymore. It was a nice even white unlike regular parchment, an even thickness… It was made through German ingenuity Algemmener knew.
Quietly he read it. His face gradually maddening and sweating bullets. "Mr. Morgenfaust…"
"Yes?"
"This is… Unprecedented."
"Indeed it is."
Algemmener smiled, "we will prepare accordingly."
( * )
Freely flying the German colors, Ruska's cities were swiftly taken ahold of with little to no resilience. The military was all that was left from the retreat of the nobility, and the military did not amount much after the two big German advances made in the span of one-two days.
It was a lesson for both the civilians of Ruska and the rest of the Northern Alliance that their technology needed to be better. In more ways than one.
"The Germans have control over Ruska, and now the Hesians and Germans have united by land." Sat upon his golden gilt chair, the presiding ruler of Lottidenty, the creator of the Northern Alliance; Grand Duque Rook.
Could not help but feel disappointed.
"The point was," he continued, "for the Northern Alliance to arm in German modernity. German arms. German militaristic technology. Then, after winning the war. Throw it all in the ocean. Such is our contemporarianism."
"Sire." An officer came nearer Grand Duque. "The German Yamato, has been observed encrouching nearer and nearer the city of Blasphere. The Kerfeliz Navy wishes to use our heavy cruisers to respond to any upcoming naval aggression."
"Decline." Grand Duque swiftly said, "the Yamato is Germany's biggest battleship, I do not wish to fight a one-sided battle. Strengthen the naval guns within our fjords and beaches instead. Reinforce the Kerfelizian borders. I stress this, as we cannot battle their navy."
"As you wish, sire." The officer left the room.
The Grand Duque's face drooped, sweat poured upon every pore. His plump hands and chest… His whole body was clothed in full formal wear, gloves and all. The buttons upon his chest begging to shoot out of their knit connections.
He made one quick jolt to release himself from his gilt chair, putting his hands upon his back, interlocking his fingers upon his right hand's clasp.
"Have the Germans done as Morgenfaust delievered?"
"They have taken over Ruskan, sire. We expect them to make incursion towards Campbell."
Grand Duque smiled, "we shall meet them there with a big surprise."
( * )
The mixed battalion of German and Betelionic soldiers had just penetrated their way into Arsteli, a neutral country directly after Ruska. They took the most efficient roads along with site construction directors and railroad geographical managers. As Arsteli's east underlying terrain was fairly flat, building any railway system was of no difficulty.
"We cannot allow this!" Cried the Arstelian ambassador, his feet and head meeting the floor to bow with great respect to Marisse. "The kingdom of Arsteli thanks the Germanic cause and what it has done for the people of Arsteli, however we do not permit the construction of any military fortifications, and/or buildings within our borders."
"That is troubling," Marisse says, her hand supporting her chin. "However it goes without saying that we need our railways to efficiently travel our logistical infrastructure. As you understand, the Northern Alliance features much the same (although lacking) technology as we Germans.
"And it is a fact that the Ruskans made incursions upon your kingdom. We simply wish to fight our enemies in Campbell, where the Ruskan royal family is said to be residing within. This cannot be done without sufficient infrastructure to back it up.
"Why are you doing this? Whatever you may need, Germany may provide it. We have no time for this farce. Either you sign our papers, or we consider you too as an enemy. And this isn't something we want. For you. And for us." Marisse ended, sighing.
The ambassador weakly stood up, "I shall relay this upon our advisors."
"I shall expect a response in week's time."
"Thank you," he bowed before making a dash for the exit.
---
Ruska's citizens have received many privileges after the German invasion. With little to no damage with many cities and towns, Ruska was basically un affected by the war (except the capital).
Like Handerbour, Ruska was taken and a detachment of the Government was quickly imparted onto Ruska. Marisse was the head of this department, and the ex-duke of Krimvald, Grieg, was to be her assistant.
Cars and German technology circulated among the nobility and common folk, and sooner or later, they forget all about the Northern Alliance's contemporary views upon Germanic technology.
And, like a wave of water smoothing out the bay sand, the Ruskans who wished to have better and more fulfilled lives, went to Unchean to achieve higher education.
It had been six days after the ambassador's leave, and tommorow was to be the final day before Marisse was to formally declare war upon the Arsteli.
During the six days of her governing, she prioritised economy over military purposes. Having extended trains to more areas of Ruska, and limited funds to just security, development, and governance. Which costed Germany less of a fortune than Handerbour.
But one thing plagued her mind. The North Sea. When the armstice breaks (which is a daunting certainty) the Northern Alliance will have full control upon the North Sea, limiting movement within close proximity of the shore, and as there are some deep rivers that reach the North Sea, might also prohibit certain missions.
"We cannot do anything." Stated in a letter she received from the construction corps. "Although we can start building shore fortifications, the chancellor is aligned to developing the Aerial Force rather than the North Sea at present time. The chancellor, however, sends his regards to your frustrations. And will deliver cake by the arrival of Brigader General, Vedal, upon (Land Ship)."
"How great." Marisse crumpled the paper.
"Something troubles you?" Grieg nonchalantly flipped the page of the book he was reading, not letting his sight go.
"I feared something with this Ruskan retreat."
"Mhm." He kept reading.
"Right now, the Ruskan royal family should be in Campbell. The heavy cruiser from Kyrsch delivered them there. But why Campbell and not Kerfeliz or Lottidenty? It is certain that Ruska's basically lost all power ever since our takeover like… A week ago. But…"
"I fear you're fearing of something that doesn't needed to be feared upon." Grieg closes the book with a hint of frustration. "I have lost my concentration, but have found something ample with your… Observation of this situation."
"That is?" She rested her head upon her wooden table, resting upon her two crossed arms.
"It's that the Lottidenty wish to kill the Royal Family."
"That was evident."
"And that the Lottidenty also wish to kill us."
"That was not evident." She awoke, "why reason that out?"
"I have heard little from the HQ papers (as they are hard to get in Ruska) however I've heard something. It's that the Lottidentian Ambassador basically fed the royal family to the slaughter house. With the king having also formally dropped the Ruskans from the alliance. HQ recognizes this opportunity, and because of a special deal: our forces are heading to Campbell."
"Which you're forgetting; 'is a Northern Allian'tee.' Which is bad, is it not? We'd be breaking the Armstice."
"It is more of a visiting and detaining, rather than a battle to the death. However. 'we have our suspicisions, and wish to remain on the side of power if it comes to it' (or so I've heard)."
"How reassuring," she chortled. "To hear this at five in the morning."
"And, the reason for the Lottidentians to kill us right then and there is not quite on the edge of military theory. If they overpower our battalion, they will advance to Ruska, where they will struggle furiously to retake it.
"Seeing as Arsteli's netural," -he kicked his feet onto the coffee table- "all's well for the NA to accomplish such a mission."
"Brigader General Vedal…" Marisse recollected the content of the letter, "A Brigader General will be coming, I hope with a brigade of men."
"Oh surely," said a relaxed Grieg. "I heard of his exploits in Kerfeliz, he did major push backs when the Kerfeliz sometimes overpowered our forces."
"You know who I'm talking about? I've yet even said his name…"
"Brigader General Vedal… I saw his seal and name when you were reading your letter, the light behind you made it easier (as well as the apparent thin opacity of the paper) for me to read it from where I'm sitting."
"He's also bringing me cake," Marisse smiled.