Max-Bonhoffer-Streitkräfte-Kommandozentrale Nürnberg
Nürnberg | Volksrepublik Wanka
1345 hours | May 24th, 2015

After the lunch break, officers, officials and cabinet members filed back into the conference room. Sonneborn looked pleased, as he had just received news that the two new laws that he had passed, the Gesellschaftseinträchtigkeitsgesetz (Community Harmony Act) and the amendment to the Landessicherheitsgesetz (National Security Act) had been received without much complaint from the local population. The first ensured that anyone who made "unconstructive criticism or insult toward any ethnic/religious/ideological community or government which would serve to harm social cohesiveness or undermine national security" could be brought to court. The second ensured that the police could detain anyone suspected of "threatening national security" for up to two years. This gave him broad powers to pull in line not only political opponents, but journalists and other politically unreliable people who stood in the way of his activities. He would not abuse his powers, however, as that would almost certainly lead to increased resistance to his rule. For now, soft power would be used to convince the masses that his ideas were right, starting with educational reforms and the subtle takeover of the media and academia.

Heinrich Sonneborn sat down. To his right was Rudolf Hintner, the defense minister, and to his left Laurent Blank, head of the Geheimpolizei, the secret police. Arguably, the three most powerful figures in Wanka with a near complete control of the 150-million strong population.

"Saxony's inclusion into the Septentrion League really doesn't come as a surprise. The way Sylva and Saxony are tied together economically and historically, they practically were in an alliance together. Sylva is the raison d'être for Saxony's existence. Without Sylva, there wouldn't be an independent Saxony." commented Heinrich von Preisen, the foreign minister as the issue of Saxony was brought up.

"What would it mean for us?" inquired Sonneborn. The collection of faces around him was the same as practically all the meetings preceding this one.

"Just that Sylva and its cronies can officially station troops in Saxony. But Sylva already has stationed troops and military advisors there for years, that much has been pretty obvious. It would make little difference, however, and I still put emphasis on flexibility for our strategy." replied Hintner. "Besides, it gives us a great excuse to station troops- precisely, the 4th Panzer-Division and the thirteenth to sixteenth Füsiliers. These are the troops that will open the assault in case hostilities break out. However, we have positioned them in such a way that it appears to the Sylvans as if this would be a façade for the preparation of an invasion of the United Territories."

"Excuse me?" interrupted Admiral Reinhard Lanzer, the commander of the Seestreitkräfte, the navy. "How does that work?"

"We have set up fake ammunition depots, armories and supply centers far north along the UT border. Commanders will be instructed to talk about crushing Dragon pigs during training and spread the word about invading the UT. Now, this is going to be done quite convincingly, and we run the risk of coming into conflict with the UT. But it is a risk that we've decided to take. It is doubtful that they would strike at us preemptively." said Hintner smugly. It was his idea, and he felt that it was a pretty good one. "Anyway, let's move on."

"Right," agreed Sonneborn, "Herr Generalfeldmarschall?" he said, motioning at von der Leijen, who had just been promoted to the head of the Wankan General Staff, and as such would be in charge of the entire military side if war broke out. He had been in charge of the successful Sellenland operation, and Sonneborn and his closest Patriot advisors recognized perhaps the greatest, if the most unknown military commander that Wanka ever had. In the matter of five days he had seized territory the size of the entire Hessen-Wiesbaden metropolitan district with, in hindsight, minimal casualties. The only doubt that Sonneborn had of him was that he couldn't, unlike the rest of the Generality, be sucked into Patriot's hypernationalist and militant ideology. However, it was clear that he was a realist, a master of realpolitik and would do what he thought was best for his country- and as long as that "best for his country" meant the crushing of Sylva, they were on the same side. Besides, as Meinhof had skilfully done, it was perhaps for the best that he had a balance of voices in his cabinet to ensure that the right decisions were taken.

"Total troops will reach just under nine hundred thousand troops, although we have to keep in mind that the new reserve divisions are of lesser quality and will also have to be equipped with older weaponry if a war breaks out early next year. Of these, of course," reported von der Leijen, "there are not a small number of criminal elements within them. I have received rather disturbing reports of numerous beatings and even a murder. While I agree that this is necessary to boost numbers-"

"It also gives them a job and might make them do something useful." interrupted Sonneborn. "As we've discussed before, I believe that the majority of these 'criminal elements' will conform to military life and become motivated to do something good for their country. You could say that I was one of them, too."

Von der Leijen and several other close associates of Sonneborn chuckled at that. "My point is that it might be inadvisable to use them as occupational troops. They are used to taking advantage and abusing those that are defenseless, and my concern is that Saxon civilians, whether Wankan, Sylvan or Aemen, may prove vulnerable if these people are in charge. We don't want… unfortunate breeches of human rights or any other atrocities which might undermine the morale of the frontline troops and put us further in international isolation."

"Good point." agreed Sonneborn, "I have noted that down, but time is tight and we need to move on to the general strategy."

Discussion and Decision Day carried on until late into the night. Officials from the weather, railroad, traffic and civilian police departments were amongst the numerous civilian personnel whose input and consultancy was needed. Occupation of Saxony, and later, western Sylva was dealt with along with the handling of civilians and setting up of puppet states (for Saxony, it would just be annexed back into Wanka). Out of this discussion training schedules emerged, concentration camps set up and military and civilian personnel trained for the upcoming task. To the Sylvans, it would have to look like preparations for an invasion of the UT. For the UT, it would look like Wanka was preparing to invade Sylva or Aemen. Sonneborn and his ring of politicians and generals were confident that as long as nobody (perhaps, including themselves) was sure what was going on, they would retain the element of surprise.

Osterwald | Southern Saxony
0430 hours | August 28th, 2015

The war on the SL had already unofficially begun as Hauptmann Selina Sasitsch and her 12-man team stepped over the Saxo-Wankan border, each carrying some fifty kilograms of equipment. Her troops belonged to the (named in the usual overcomplicated German fashion) Sonderkampfentwicklungsgruppe Koppa-Koppa (Son-der-camf-ent-vick-luhngs-groo-pe) which stood for "Special Combat Development Group" followed by the greek letters ϞϞ . Usually, it was just known as Koppa. This was quite literally Wankas SEAL Team Six, although it did not just specialize in counterterrorism- its companies specialized in unconventional warfare, direct-action, hostage rescue, reconnaissance, counter-insurgency and as forward air controllers. They were the best of the best, recruited solely from the other ten KKK (Kampfkommando-Kader, all special forces groups) units. The recruitment process and training was the most hardest and hazardous programs any soldier could face, and the powerfully built Sasitsch was proud to be one of the few female soldiers who'd managed to make it into Koppa.

Its troops didn't lack experience either. Just earlier this year, she had been in the freezing Sellenland mountains training elements of the Spezialeinsatzkräfte Sellenland (SEKS) for the fight against the Aemen. Weeks later, she performed FAC duties, using laser to mark Aemen armor which the attack choppers promptly destroyed. The Koppa teams trained and led the SEKS, a unit which proved devastating for the Aemen occupiers as their commanders fell prey to Koppa snipers while their already difficult logistical situation was made worse by regular raids and ambushes. Something which would hopefully be repeated here in Saxony.

The Abwehr guide lead them next to a dirt road which ran through the Osterwald. As the foreign-intelligence agency, it had in place a solid spy network in Saxony (and practically all other neighbouring countries) and as such had been designated to lead the special-operations part in conjunction with the armed forces. Sasitsch's team was one of the first of many teams that would follow suit, all under the command and supervision of the Abwehr, who would provide safe houses, cover, fake identities and any extra necessary equipment in addition to transport and intelligence information when the time came to act. The grand strategy told for a flanking assault through the Osterwald; her first job would be, dressed as local hunters, to reconnoiter the forest so that the leadership could decide whether such an assault would be feasible or not. Other teams, some Koppa and some of the other KKK units, would take on different roles; 10th KKK was planning the capture of bridges, 2nd would target the enemy command structure and 4th was preparing to assist the Air Force in blowing up enemy air defenses (later tanks). The teams that needed to blend in and get used to their new environment would enter earlier, as with Sasitsch while a great influx of green (or white, during winter) faced troops was planned for just before the official invasion.

Aldert's Legacy
Port Prince
17:45PM

With the sun beginning to set over the city of Port Prince, one could say there was a certain calmness in the air; being summer, the city was baking in the elements with citizens sporting the likes of shorts and sandals in an attempt to combat the rising temperature's perspiring effects. It was hard to believe for some that, only a few months ago, the city was awash with the Crown Guard who were there for defensive purposes during the Second Sellenland War. People and businesses, particularly those of Sellenwanker affiliations, were constantly under scrutiny by King Reginald's army and life in Port Prince declined dramatically as the crown restricted the city's commercial freedoms as it scrambled to cling on to the Sellenland. However, that all seemed to be a long time ago - not only had the restrictions on businesses been lifted, the Guard had moved on as well, being recalled to Erus and allowing the city breathe freely again. Though Aemen was slightly smaller due to the war's loss, the ordinary Aemen was undeterred when it came to his daily life. It was the upper echelons of Aemen society that bore the brunt of the crown's stinging defeat at the hands of the Wankers.

Bobbing softly in its berth at the Rademaker-owned Gleshan Pier, the ultra-modern super-yacht, Aldert's Legacy, was playing host to a new scheme. Field Marshal Gilbert Bezuidenhout, taking his summer leave, had been invited by Prince Ivan to attend the weekend on the Legacy. Ivan and Bezuidenhout were sat on reclining chairs on the Legacy's main deck, enjoying the last hour or two of the orange sunlight that consumed Port Prince's skyline. Between the two was a bottle of half-empty whiskey. It was clear the two had been talking for quite a while.

"Yes... such a shame about the Sellenland. They simply caught you off guard, Field Marshal, the speed and fanaticism with which those bastards fought caught us all off guard." Ivan remarked. He'd already discussed the outcome of the conflict three times with Bezuidenhout, but he had other plans in mind for the Field Marshal that required him to hammer the point home in his guest's mind.

"I haven't lost a single battle, Your Highness. Not a single, bloody battle. I was always the top of my class in war games, every strategy my superiors pitted against me, no matter what the conditions, I was always able to find a solution out of it. I was posted to the Sellenland as a Colonel during the first war, I hardly knew the area, but we still triumphed..." Bezuidenhout sighed, gazing out at the fading glow of dusk. "...What changed in that time that I could have been bested by a group of fucking mountain plebs?"

Ivan smiled, sipping from his whiskey and scratching his stubbled chin. "I only heard whispers of how my father reacted to the ceasefire. I have heard it wasn't... pleasant."

Bezuidenhout didn't look at the prince, keeping his eyes directly forward. "His Majesty wouldn't even see me after the ceasefire was signed. Now I've got some bastard Folcwalding eyeing up my chairmanship of the Armed Forces Committee. I can feel that hideous family breathing down my neck, waiting to pounce on me as soon as I slip up." It was clear that the whiskey bottle in-between Ivan and Bezuidenhout wasn't the first one to have been consumed. For a man like Ivan, who regularly threw money on expensive vintages and brands with taste that would put rocket fuel to shame, it was easy to stay sober, but for Bezuidenhout, the whiskey was bringing out his true feelings as it began to dull his senses and loosen his lips.

Ivan nodded sympathetically. It was all for show of course, he'd spied an opportunity to get something he wanted, but he needed support from the military and, crucially of all, his father. "What if I were to tell you, Field Marshal, that there is a way for you to regain your composure amongst the aristocracy without risking yourself further?"

Bezuidenhout turned away from the horizon, staring at the prince with his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. "Your Royal Highness? What are you suggesting?"

Ivan grinned, sipping from his whiskey once more. "It's simple, really. Have you been keeping up to date with the current affairs of Murovanka? Their behaviour is interesting to say the least."

"They recently released a statement using quite antagonistic language against the Sylvans… some would say they aren't in the mood with making allies out of anyone on the continent at the moment."

"Which gives us the perfect opportunity, Field Marshal." Ivan stood up from his chair, drinking the last of his whiskey and setting the glass down on the table. "With the loss of the Sellenland our oil exports have shrunk, we've had to import more. This might not worry my father, it's his treasury, but it worries me, it makes us look weak compared to a third-rate backwater cesspool like Murovanka."

Since the Sellenland's successful bid for 'independence', Ivan's biggest generator of profit, Salian and Co., had lost a huge amount of money - not only had one of its prime oil fields been seized by the Sellenwankers but its shares on the market had fallen steadily in the last few months. There was no doubt in Ivan's mind that it was a blip, a minor issue that would just need to be plugged with something others wanted… but what? Ivan already owned most if not all of the business in Aemen through the Royal House of Olbridge brand, there was nothing he could do within Aemen's borders to replace the Sellenland's oil, so he had to look further afield at more risky options.

Ivan turned to Bezuidenhout, leaning against his yacht's railing. "I'm going to need your support, Field Marshal. This squabbling over Saxony is going to be monitored carefully and when the time is right, you will lead the charge under my flag, rather than my father's."

Bezuidenhout's eyes widened, unsure of what the prince was asking him to do. "Your Highness, with the utmost respect, I serve the King, I am sworn to him as one of His Majesty's most trusted commanders."

"You won't need to worry about my father, Gilbert. I've already spoken with him over the issue."

Olbridge Castle
Erus
Several days earlier

"That's utterly preposterous. What you just suggested is a waste of military resources." exclaimed the King to his son as the two strolled through the Olbridge gardens. Bright as the day was, the sun was obscured occasionally by clouds that grew in size as the day rolled on. Ivan had made a rare visit to Olbridge Castle, something Reginald always detested as it meant Ivan was after something.

"No, father, listen, we wouldn't even have to do the horrific business. Tensions between the Wankans and the Sylvans are heating up as it is. We'll let them have at each other for a while, trying to play the role of the diplomatic mediators, of peacekeepers, then, when we see one side on the cusp of victory, at the pinnacle of its campaign, we strike. We take Saxony under the pre tense that it's for the good of the region that Sylva and Murovanka are buffered by territory under our control." Ivan told his father. Reginald was never one for Ivan's tricks; he didn't admire his shrewd tactics or what little ambition his first son was harbouring, but the Sellenland had hurt the monarchy's image on the world stage. Something had to be done to recover Aemen's perceived strength.

Reginald turned to Ivan, his stern gaze piercing deep into his son's eyes. "Your brother, my heir, is currently smitten with the Sylvan King's daughter. I will have to sit at the same table with him and his… brood, and lie. To twist their arm and allow us to bloodlessly take Saxony from under their protection."

"You wouldn't have to father. Appoint me to oversee the transition, let me ingratiate myself with the Saxons and the Sylvans, let me bring our business to theirs so that I can force them under my thumb, and when it's all over… grant me the dukedom. Name me as Duke of Saxony and let me be more than just the disappointment."

Reginald raised his eyebrows, though the rest of his face remained motionless. It was all about the money for Ivan, about finances, statistics and market patterns, so the interest, however small, he seemed to have taken in his role as prince came as a surprise to Reginald. "You? Duke?"

"Yes, as a Prince of Aemen and a Duke of Saxony I can bring another economy to heel for you father, along with acres of land and fresh minds."

Reginald's eyebrows lowered. It was all sweet talk, all a ruse, Ivan was only interested in exploiting Saxony's economic properties and independent business for his own gains. However, the thought of recovering his lost pride was a tempting offer to Reginald, one he certainly couldn't pass up, but that he wasn't willing to throw away just for Ivan. "Fine. I will authorise the Ministry of Relations to begin diplomatic talks with Sylva and Murovanka… you, however, must find support for your venture from among my inner circle. I will not name you as duke without their backing and I will certainly not be convinced of your dedication otherwise."

Ivan grinned, it wasn't often he was able to agree with his father, but there was something in it for both of them this time. "Not a problem, father, I know just the man to talk to first."

The Tan House, Fairford, Columbia Commonwealth
Organized States of Columbia
9:04 AM
May 12th, 2015

"What exactly am I looking at here, gentlemen?" President Ellsworth asked as he looked over the high-resolution satellite photos of the area surrounding what was believed to be the largest Wankan facility of its type constructed to date as the 53-year old took off his reading glasses and looked up at the members of the National Security Staff assembled before him in the situation room.

"Sir, that is the uncomfortable proof that the Wankans are in the process of building a nuclear weapon. The reactor complex does appear to have the capability to potentially make weapons-grade material." the Director of National Intelligence Brian Harper said after taking a sip of coffee. It was surprisingly late in the Morning for a National Security Briefing, but coffee and refreshments were provided nonetheless.

"And why didn't I know about this sooner? Ellsworth replied with some emphasis. Withholding information from the President if proven credible would often be a mistake that would end a career for even the most experienced analysts and Agency executives.

"Sir, I'll be honest with you, we had no way of confirming that this was even a real facility. We know that there has been several cases of nations building fake facilities to dupe our satellites. Of course, we now know that it is legit. Though we have no HUMINT on the ground, a radiation sensor was set off on one of our Drones on a recent over-flight nearby." Harper stated, thereby saving his career. If he had tried to bullshit his way around this, he'd be gone in the blink of an eye. Ellsworth had to constantly replace his staff, he had no patience for people who weren't as direct with him as possible.

"Are you saying they've detonated a weapon or had a meltdown?" the President asked. He did not want to deal with another nuclear crisis within his career.

"I don't believe they have, sir. If they had done an above ground test, our satellites would have seen it and if they had done an underground test, we would have been able to find it using geothermal imaging and it would have registered as an Earthquake. They may have had a meltdown, but what the sensor picked up was simply normal amounts found concentrated around nuclear reactors." Harper replied.

"Noted. Gentlemen, give me my options."

"Sir, we can strike within 48 hours via OSAF assets in Sylva and OSN assets in the Gulf of Wanka. All we'll need is the go ahead." SecDef Pierce Franklin, the newest Secretary of Defense and arguably the most aggressive and jingoist person to ever hold that position. He pushed through two new strategic bomber programs in the course of 5 years along with overseeing the introduction of a major multirole fighter in the form of the F-29 Sparrowhawk. The DoD was the largest and most efficient it had ever been, further reinstating OS Dominance over its emerging sphere of influence in the region. However, this resulted in him constantly clashing with his number one rival, Secretary of State James Walker.

"Sir, we can organize a regional summit. Get Sylva, Saxony, Aemen, and Wanka talking. In two weeks, I assure you, we can persuade them to cease a nuclear program in the name of regional security. The last thing any of them want is a war on their hands." Walker said in opposition to Franklin.

"That's total bullshit. We cannot and will not reason with these terrorists that have gained power there. This is appeasement, sir. And history has shown us that this is no way to confront a hostile power. I'd suggest that we pursue diplomatic action, but only enough to show our resolve to either force them into submission and have them abandon their nuclear program."

The President cleared his throat, signaling for the bickering to stop.

"Gentlemen, I am always a fan of diplomacy, but I believe that the Wankans only understand force at this time. General Farnsworth, I'd like you to prepare a plan for a strike against that Wankan complex. I want this to be quick, clean, and decisive." The President said as he looked across the room to the four-star OSAF General who had taken over as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs from Admiral Greenhart following his retirement earlier this year. "Now, Walker, I want you to stall as long as possible or try for a diplomatic settlement before they advance any further. If not, we strike with everything we have and we hit it hard. Gentlemen, the ball is now in play."

B-78 Whizzbang II
35,000 feet over Whitmin AFB, Midwestern Commonwealth
0200, May 15th, 2015

The KC-48's boom was slowly inserted into the fuel receptacle that was cleverly placed to help increase the sleek bomber's stealthy characteristics with a secondary role of helping to streamline the aircraft and reduce drag. The Convair B-78 Hustler II was the newest, most technologically advanced, and fastest bomber in the Strategic Air Command's inventory. She was built in response to a SAC request for proposal for a fast, stealthy bomber capable of carrying a large amount of ordinance quickly and at any altitude. The Hustler II could do anything she wanted to. Fly low as a penetration bomber acting as a supersized F-111, FB-22, or FB-23 or fly high and deliver precision ordinance from stand-off distances. The Hustler and her elite, handpicked crews had become the bane of both the OS Army and the OS Navy in training exercises, taking out ships and buildings with extreme precision.

Major Adam "Bone" Westwood was one of those elite. The Air Force Academy Graduate and B-70 instructor pilot had qualified on the aircraft two years ago with the aircraft's introduction into service. He looked through the gold-tinted windshield at the KC-46's boom retracting back towards the aircraft. With that, Captain Aaron "Hardon" Macantyre, the copilot, closed the fuel receptacle and thanked the tanker crew over the radio.

"I have the aircraft." Westwood said as he took the aircraft into a 30 degree right bank out further from Whitmin and closer to the large range complex that was located on the North end of the base. 58 miles to their North was a small set of buildings and a mock bunker complex that would be hit with two GBU-37/A Massive Ordinance Penetrators. The GBU-37 was the world's largest bunker-busting weapon, weighing in at a whooping 30,000 pounds and was guided via satellite coordinates to the target. It had proven to be a formidable weapon, destroying dozens of large complexes before with the bombers of the Strategic Air Command. After a calm, early morning flight, silently and quickly piercing simulated air defense networks faster than twice the speed of sound at 21,000 feet.

"Weapon away in 3,2,1. Weapons away." the aircraft Weapons Systems Officer, 1st Lt. Michael "Doolie" Strachan said as he released both of the Massive Ordinance Penetrators towards the mock bunker complex below.

"Confirmed. Weapon away." Said the Defensive Systems Officer 2nd Lt. Thomas "Collarbone" Baker as he confirmed the WSO's release, one of his secondary roles outside of managing the aircraft's defensive systems such as flarebanks and other features of Electronic and Defensive Warfare systems installed on the Hustler II.

"Confirmed. Weaponeer. Bingo fuel. Calling for return to base.

Dresden
Saxony

Sitting in his office in Beckenbaur Palace, the young duke reviewed the events of the last few days that inevitably seemed like he and his nation would soon be the point of ultimate political focus on the entire continent. Duke Mattin rose to take his place as Saxony's head of state only six years ago, when his father, the first Duke of Saxony Frantzisko, was found dead in his sleep. Speculation on Frantzisko's death was a source of interest for conspiracy theorists and apparent ex-intelligence operatives of various foreign dispositions. Though it was eventually ruled out as natural, some still held doubts over the true cause of the duke's passing. Nevertheless, at the tender age of nineteen, Mattin rose to take his father's place.

Mattin set aside all the documents sent to him by the foreign office and decided to sit back in his chair, reflecting on the path that had led him to this torturous and frightening point in his life. It was with a special decree from the Sylvan King, on the advice of the Sylvan government, that Mattin's father, a prominent commander and politician in his younger days, took up the mantle of duke of the new Saxon nation. Frantzisko, weary of the Wankans, used his connections within Sylva and the new Saxon government to headhunt loyal ethnic Sylvans into the top positions of power. They were educated, experienced and dedicated.

The indigenous Wankans, meanwhile, were shafted by Frantzisko and his officials. Whilst they weren't forced to move from their homes, many would say they were victims of 'encouraged displacement' by the government and chose to relocate to the areas closest to the border with Murovanka, forming into groups and fanning the flames of racial tension with the Sylvans, who were able to make their fortunes in Saxony's capital before spreading their ideas to other parts of the country. In the time since its founding, Saxony had become a wealthy, established and pliant entity.

As Mattin sat back in his chair, with the shade of the evening darkening his office, the entrance to the room opened. He stirred, looking to see who had decided to interrupt him. A young woman stepped through the door dressed in a simple but elegant white dress, letting the light from the hallway outside pour in. Mattin could instantly tell it was his wife Terese, the Duchess of Saxony.

Terese walked in slowly and cautiously, she had no reason to be fearful of her husband; he wasn't paranoid, abusive or prone to fits of rage, but she knew of the dilemma that he'd been placed in. "Mattin, are you still working?"

Mattin wasted no time. He stood from his seat and moved towards his wife, comforting her. "Terese, I am fine. The foreign office has just sent me some documents to look over. I'll be ready within the next hour, trust me." He stroked her face and kissed her forehead. Terese and Mattin had been childhood sweethearts, they were in essence the perfect fairytale couple. Terese's family were Sylvans that had always lived within the area of Saxony and her parents were strong advocates for closer ties with Sylva after Saxony's independence was achieved. Mattin and Terese met at the Dresden Academy for Senior Students and have been inseparable ever since. When Mattin was named duke after his father's death, he proposed six days later to his girlfriend and the two were married a year later, a ceremony to which most of Saxony's citizens tuned into and lined the streets for. Four years after the wedding, Terese gave birth to a baby boy, Mattin's son, little Andoni, whose arrival was greeted with gifts from various nations eager to congratulate what was probably one of the happiest families in Septentrion.

Yes, Terese and Andoni were Mattin's world, every moment he spent looking at either one of them reminded him of that, even in heated times like these. Terese took her husband's hand and stared into his eyes, smiling. "My love, did you forget? We've got the Council's Foundation Ball tonight. They can't start without you to open it."

The Council's Foundation Ball. Originally made to celebrate Saxony's independence, Mattin had decided, as his first act as duke, to advise on reform of the electoral system into something more democratic and, with the support of the government, spearheaded the creation of the Council of Representatives. Each councillor represented a 'district' of Saxony with three councillors to a district, many of which were dominated by the Saxon Libertarian Party, a group of pro-Sylvan capitalists who were Saxony's first non-ducal political entity. The Libertarians controlled most of the council, including its most senior member, Councillor Erramun, who held the title of Chamber Regent, essentially the regulator of issues and debates. With such a firm hold on the Council, the Libertarians made sure it was their policies that mostly passed during meetings. The Workers' Party, which shared most of Meinhof's centre-left ideals, was the second largest group in the council and called for more Saxon cooperation with Murovanka and a greater distribution of the country's wealth. Smaller groups from across the spectrum also dotted various seats, though their power was unnoticeable compared to the first two. Whether Libertarians, Workers or else, they would all be attending tonight.

The duke laughed softly, he'd nearly completely forgotten. "Of course, the Foundation Ball. I'll have the attendants organise my work so I can look at it first thing in the morning. You're right, I can't disappoint the councillors."

Thirty minutes later, with Andoni asleep safe and sound in his room at the palace and Mattin changed into a dinner jacket, the couple were in their personal limo with police escort en route to the ball. Mattin, holding Terese's hand, looked out over Dresden as it passed him by. He remembered his father telling him stories of how anarchy at the collapse of the Wankan Kaiser's reign had led to the destruction of so much and so many, how the Sylvans marched forward and fought the Wankans when they tried to expand their rule and beat them back. It was hard to believe that the shining lights of casinos, luxury condos, restaurants and shopping centres were once hollowed shells used as bases and outposts for soldiers. Yet, here Saxony stood, arisen from the ashes. Financially, it had become one of the most attractive nations for billionaires and businessmen, who used the country's lax taxation laws to their advantage. Saxony has since become a major banking centre and enjoys having several Septentrion corporations headquartered within its borders.

It wasn't sunshine and gold for everyone in Saxony though. The Wankans, who made up a sizeable majority of the Saxon population, still weren't any better under Mattin's reign than they were his father's, which was a problem the current government had pledged, but failed, to rectify. All across Saxony, Sylvans were seven times more likely to be employed to high-paying positions than Wankans, despite the fact they made up just over three quarters of the eight million Saxon citizens. Sylvans were also more likely to be prioritised over Wankans when it came to hospitals, education and social care. Mattin had tried to advise his government to do more to address the discrimination issue and, in 2014, signed a cross-party law into action which was meant to lay the groundwork for more progressive policies. Those policies have yet to materialise, mainly due to the attitude of some of the more ultraconservative Libertarian councillors, so many of the more impoverished Wankans continue to loathe their better-off Sylvan counterparts.

The limo slowly came to a halt and the car door on Mattin's side opened. The press were lined up, kept at bay by police officers, on either side of the entrance to the Don Carlos, one of Dresden's most exclusive hotels. Mattin climbed out, straightening his bow tie and smiling at the cameras, before helping Terese out of the limo. The two ascended the red-carpeted stairs and entered into the hotel's lobby. As soon as they were out of sight of the media, Mattin was approached by one Colonel Abene. The colonel was a man of the ages, rough, gaunt and fiercely Sylvan. He was in charge of Saxony's small military, which numbered no more than 150,000 men, with only just under 17,000 being professionally trained, whilst the rest were conscripts or militiamen. Due to the military's size and unlikely use in unsupported offensive warfare, there wasn't any need for the high ranks of generals or marshals, meaning the Saxon military ladder was incredibly small. Mattin, Terese and Abene moved through the hotel's lobby towards the main hall, where the ball was taking place.

"Your Highness, if I may speak with you for a moment?" Abene asked, carrying a brown paper file with him.

"Do we have to do this now Colonel? I'd much prefer to relax for the evening." retorted the duke. He knew what Abene's answer would be, but he always wanted to see if the old codger would eventually relent and allow Mattin to enjoy himself.

"I'm afraid not, sir. It concerns the deployments we've recently made."

Mattin stopped at the entrance to the ballroom, meaning Terese and the colonel had to come to a halt as well. The duke turned to his wife and smiled. "You go on my love, the colonel and I must speak briefly."

Terese didn't say anything, she'd been by Mattin's side long enough to know that when Colonel Abene wanted the duke's attention, he wouldn't stop short of getting it. She smiled and nodded, moving into the ballroom.

Mattin turned to Abene, rubbing his forehead. "What is it Colonel?"

Abene handed the duke the file in his hand and Mattin opened it to see a map of Saxony. It hard been marked to display where the 17,000 Saxon soldiers had been deployed along the border with Murovanka. "As per the Council's directive, we've established a perimeter along the border with the Wankans sir. We've got the militia in reserve if we need them."

"Good. So, what's the problem?"

Abene licked his lips nervously. "It's the indigenous Wankans on our side, sir. The military presence has escalated tensions in those areas, there's been groups organising protests, they think we're escalating the situation by trying to provoke the new chancellor."

"Us? Provoke him? We're trying to safeguard our own borders! Joining the League is supposed to be a means of peacefully securing that!" Mattin declared. It was clear to Abene the duke didn't entirely understand his own people, but Saxony wasn't like Sylva or Murovanka or Aemen, it was a land of multiple cultures, of people who had to coexist for peace to be maintained. Unlike his father, the duke wasn't sure why his people couldn't move on from their past.

"Sir, I admit I am here tonight with an ulterior motive." Abene said, stroking the tops of his knuckles. "I request that you speak to the councillors that represent the districts we are deployed in. The Wankans there elected them, perhaps they will listen to the people they have chosen to be their representatives."

Mattin looked at Abene, unsure of the plan. Most of the districts close to the Wankan border had at least one or two Workers' Party councillors, the most extreme of whom despised the thought of the ducal family. However, if Mattin didn't try something to calm the Wanko-Saxons down, and Sonneborn did live up to his threats, then the Saxons could lose the only men they have that know how to properly use firearms. "Alright, Colonel. I'll talk to the councillors and see what they can do. I wouldn't bank on my success though."

It wouldn't be a surprise to Mattin if the Workers' Party refused to help him. The elections in Saxony weren't known for being particularly fair to the Wanko-Saxons, a trend that was as old as the nation itself. The Libertarians were always returned to power, even when national polls predicted the opposite, which gave rise to accusations of electoral fraud by the Libertarian Party, though the claims have never been acted upon. Nevertheless, Mattin's answer had satisfied Abene. "Thank you, Your Highness. That's all I ask. I'll get in touch with the Sylvan military to request they remain on standby for the moment, though I wouldn't be surprised if they think it a better idea to deploy their own troops to support ours. I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening."

With that, Abene bowed to the duke and walked back towards the hotel lobby. Mattin sighed before looking into the ballroom, if the Sylvans did want to deploy their troops in Saxon borders, Sonneborn would take it as definite provocation and he'd whip the Wanko-Saxons into a frenzy.

There wasn't even any telling what the other nations might be thinking. Mattin had heard whispers that King Reginald of Aemen was looking to play a peacekeeping role in the conflict, something entirely out of character for the Machiavellian monarch, whilst Erquin intended to fund Murovanka for reasons that couldn't be good for him.

All Mattin could do was depend on his allies in Sylva and the Septentrion League to help Saxony in her time of need. For now though, the duke had to mingle alongside those in the ballroom, knowing the stability of his nation potentially rested on what he did tonight.

I'm experimenting with a different writing style here; trying to write more as 'literature' and less of the narrative style we're used to. That just means sad attempts and poetry, more metaphors, and lots more descriptive language. Anyway, I'd really appreciate some feedback on it, and if I should keep this style or revert to the one I'm used too.

Blue Palace
Chandler, Commonwealth of Sylva
0800 hours

This will not be good.

First Minister Stephen De La Calle had not seen the king in at least a month. Last time he did, the aging King's medical condition was worsening at an alarming rate. Silus IX was only fifty years old, but he looked much older than that of late. A mere shadow of his former self, but still prone to anger when ill tidings were laid before him. And today these tidings were most ill...

With this is in mind he walked, enjoying the mild air and the sounds of life as it overtook Chandler. There was sense of tension in the air, despite the playing children in puddles and in parks, an ominous sense of foreboding that hung like a petulant cloud, a specter intent on bewitching the people, should they prove aware enough to take notice. When are they ever aware?

Then came the groves of trees, with their entwined roots and gnarled branches. They stood tall and proud, but crooked like old lords, relics of days long since passed, presiding haughtily over a land nary as old as they. They swung gently in the soft breezes that swept through, making them move like great puppets upon unseen strings. Can the trees sense it?

Then came the Blue Palace itself past the long line of trees in their groves. An relative recent, extravagant thing, built in the 19th century during the halcyon days of the Empire. Back then the Empire was still seated at Eagleton – but after the Pan-Septentrion War, and the atom bomb that left Sylva's capital a radioactive ruin and its government in disarray, Chandler, and thus, the Blue Palace, superseded the old city as Sylva's new seat of power. It was made of white marble and accented with blue...blue patterned floors, blue carpets…and the blue uniforms of the Royal Guard. The tall white columns with swirls of blue beckoned him to enter the large reinforced double doors, although the guards standing out front seemed to indicate otherwise.

Stephen stopped and inclined his head before producing his ID and royal seal, which made the guards step aside to let him into the Palace. The doormaster opened one of the large doors, and Stephen nodded in appreciation as he entered. The sounds of chirping birds and the rustling of leaves gave way to a deafening silence, so quiet it was loud.The sound of silence, he thought. For although it was the seat of royal power, it too was a void.

Inside, he looked around at the decadence of the place, the way the light shone in through tall windows to sparkle upon the walls and floors. Stephen looked around and listened for somebody...anybody. Prince Andres, Princess Mariana, Princess Isabella, Prince Salvador, anyone. Alas there was nothing, no one. The Palace stood still and silent as a crypt, like a monument to a bygone era that had no place in the world today, a place frozen in time despite the heat of the summer.

Yet down the hall he walked, past portraits, statues and busts, with eyes that seemed to follow him as he went. One was a massive portrait of King Geraldo III, former King of Sylva, a truly magnificent and terrifying man. As Stephen walked past his portrait, its domineering stone-cold eyes seemed to be cast upon him, watching him as he went, wondering perhaps if the First Minister came bearing good news or ill. Chances were he knew it was ill…Geraldo always knew.

How somber it felt to Stephen to walk the halls of the past...past relics of bygone days of lore that chances were nobody beyond Sylva even cared about anymore. For what was the world now, but a place where everything was the same? A place devoid of color, of honor or the meaning of a name?

Stephen stopped at the set of doors leading into the King's personal chambers, where the statues of knights of old stood eternal vigil with weapons raised. Beneath them and the high, vaulted ceiling stood several guards who once again seemed particularly unamused. They held out their welcome until Stephen produced his ID again, which led to the them bowing and opening the doors slowly, just wide enough for him to step inside.

Inside, the chambers were dark, the light of the summer afternoon blocked out by the thick curtains that gave way to the darkness of the room that was only slightly offset by the pale light seeping in from outside. It painted the chambers in an eerie light...the kind of light that is meek as it struggles to shine amidst the thickness of the dark. He also noticed that inside it was noticeably colder inside the room – by a factor of at least thirty degrees – which probably had something to do with His Majesty's long list of medical problems. Somewhere in this room lingered the King, somewhere between life and death.

Deeper inside it grew darker still, in rooms that had no windows, and where the only light was provided by tall candles and the gentle crackling from a fireplace. In here Stephen had to squint to look around and see. Some more artwork, a more intimate setting with comfortable furniture and plates of fruit and vegetables. There were some pitchers of drink and some books strewn around, even as the shelves sat in disarray.

It was there in a wheelchair with a dusty tome upon it that sat His Excellency, The Most Honorable, King of Sylva. He his hair was a dull dark brown that was quickly turning grey, and his beady brown eyes cast in a pale, round, fleshy face. When Stephen entered his presence, the King said nothing...perhaps he didn't even know that the First Minister entered the room.

"...Your Majesty," Stephen said as he bowed. "Tis I, First Minister Stephen De La Calle, that requests your attention."

Silus looked up from his book and cocked his head. "...And to what do I owe the pleasure, Sir Stephen?"

"I come bearing news, Your Majesty," Stephen told him somewhat nervously. "News that requires your attention."

"Figures," Silus said, unamused. "Etsa!"

A young female servant emerged from the darkness of some unseen area of the room, and bowed to the King.

"Bring me around, if you would be so kind," he told her with a wave of her hand.

Etsa nodded and grabbed his chair from behind, pushing it forward. That was when Silus came into full view of Stephen. The King was wearing a long, flowing dark blue tunic that went down past his knees...he wore neither pants nor stockings. His feet and hands were swollen with gout, and his fat legs had bloodspots on them, as did his neck. Stephen couldn't help but stare.

"Yes, I know, Stephen...I look like shit," the King said nonchalantly. "And to think that a year ago, I could still walk on my own two feet and feast and be merry. Amazing what can happen to a man in year, eh?"

Stephen smelled the air...it stunk. It stunk of decay, of death. "Yes...I seem to recall you to be in good health..."

Silus laughed, but as he did so he began to cough. "Good health you say...it's been shit for years, I just did a good job of hiding it. Now I can't even fucking walk, so I hide in here...I can't afford people thinking I am weak, old, fat and near death. That wouldn't serve, now would it? And what news do you bring? Let me guess...nothing good. I never get good news anymore...seems like the last good news I got was Mariana announcing her courting by that Aemen fellow."

"...It concerns Murovanka, Your Majesty," Stephen informed him, but not before clearing his throat.

"Oh, I am sure...what did that bastard Sonneborn do this time?" Silus said with tone that was only half serious. "More border exercises? Or is it more of that pointless threatening rhetoric?"

Stephen sighed, knowing it was time to lay it on the King. "This news I bring, Your Majesty, concerns Wanka's industrial complex...and their new ability to manufacture a nuclear weapon."

Silus just sat there in his wheelchair, mangled hands in his lap, staring at Stephen. "...What the fuck are you talking about?"

"...Read this," Stephen said as he stepped forward, pulling a message out of his suit pocket, handing it to the King. Then Silus proceeded to read it as best he could.

After the King finished reading it, he frowned as he struggled to rip it apart with shaking hands. "Fucking bastards! Vermin, the lot of them. Right on our doorstep for God's sake! Etsa!"

The servant girl approached the King's wheelchair once more and began to push him in the direction he was pointing at, which lead to the fireplace. It was only dimly lit, but hot enough for him to toss the cache of classified documents into the fire, which responded to the influx of material with a warm blast of heat. "I would have wiped my ass with it first, but I can't even do that anymore."

"A shame, Your Majesty," Stephen nodded as he approached the fireplace, watching the flames dance as they licked at the letter, turning it to ash. "What do you think of the contents?"

"I think it's fucking horrible," Silus snorted. "One after another. The game is clear...first Reicha got nukes in the '90s, and now Wanka has them...If God is good, He will let me live long enough to make them bleed when they come for us." The King looked at the fire with pondering eyes then. "Julianna was the lucky one, you know. At least it is said that she died quickly. Just a flash of heat and it was all over. Imagine if she had lived...she would see all this shit unfold. Watch the creeping death come...the slow, inevitable approach of change, modernity and all the rest. I wonder what my mother would think...or my wife for that matter...but they're both dead now, anyway."

"Queen Aurélie was sensible, and devoted to peace. Such is the way of the Aurdecois, I would say," Stephen responded. "She would have appealed to the Wankans to orient themselves to peace and prosperity between the divergent groups, and use the nuclear power for energy instead of weapons..."

The King interrupted him. "My daughter was a very gentle, thoughtful woman too, like mother, but it got her killed by those fuckbags all the same. I wouldn't expect Wanka to be any different. The confrontation will be violent, if there is to be one. For we all reach up to deaf dumb and God who never explains, merely painting the world red with the blood of innocents, morbid as that may be."

"The situation is similar to what we had with Reicha in the 90s," Stephen said. "We could try trade sanctions, especially now with the Organized States on our side, but I doubt they would have a serious effect on Wanka's ability to create a weapon."

Silus exhaled deeply. "We could at the very least starve them. The whole damn lot of them."

"We tried that once, with Reicha. Nearly starved them back into the Dark Ages. But that didn't work, it only gave them reason to want one more." Stephen explained. "I also have reason to believe that the Wankans, unlike the Reichans, already have the capacity to build a weapon."

"Well fuck," Silus said. "You think they will use it?"

"If they have an operational weapon right now, and the keyword is if, I believe the Wankans will hold it over our heads as a trump card. No doubt it is a means to an end – I don't believe, like most of the military community, that the nuke was the endgame. No, I believe this is something much more than that."

"Saxony?" Silus asked.

"Yes sir. And possibly the United Territories as well. Undoubtedly one of them – we believe that the Wankans will strike against either by the first frost. Probably the United Territories first – if they invade the UT then our entire northern flank will be compromised, and Wanka will have a clear route of supply and reinforcement from Erquin."

"Well we're in the shitter then, aren't we?" Silus asked him softly.

Now, Stephen thought, Time to lay down the real news. "The Organized States have proposed a first strike. Against the nuclear facility."

"And give Wanka a legitimate casus belli? That's exactly what Sonneborn wants! If we violated their neutrality, we'd have Erquin jamming tanks down our throat from the north! Sonneborn would get what he so craves – a repeat of the Black War, on his terms. And by God, he'll make sure things are different this time around."

"We have the full weight of the SL behind us," Stephen explained. "More specifically, we have the Organized States. We can beat them."

"But can we? Can we really?" Silus asked. "I'm aware of the Duke's wishes that SL forces not be stationed in Saxony. So when Wanka comes rolling through, we wont be meeting them from defensive positions – we'll be forced to engage them on their terms, after the Saxony Defense Forces have been completely steamrolled."

"We should probably leave the strategy to the generals - " Stephen tried to interrupt but the King cut him off.

"And even if we knock the Wankans back into that hellhole which they crawled out of – and I'm not saying we will - Sonneborn will play his ace. And what do we do then? Retaliate? Drop nukes on Wanka? And pray Erquin doesn't jump in? We've been nuked before, Stephen, and the lessons of Eagleton are fresh in my mind. If we get in a nuclear conflict with Wanka the entirety of Casaterra, from the Mozrian Sea to the St. Michael's Strait – is gone. Sonneborn is playing on our humanity, and damnit, its working."

"So you're against a first strike?"

"Yes, Stephen!" He thought for a moment, then continued. "Of course, I'm sure as the 'democratic head' of Sylva you could pass some legislation to allow it and go around receiving my blessing. But as long as I'm King I will never endorse a first strike on Wanka. And I'm afraid our current status as good friends would be forever tarnished should you decide on that course of action."

Silus sighed. "Anyways, I would hope the words of a dying King have some effect on your decision."

"Your majesty, it means the world to me."