Southern Estovakia
Two peninsulas stretched out from Estovakia southeast into the Fuscum Sea that separated it from Yuktobania: the western Brăila Peninsula and the eastern Sacalin Peninsula. Compared to the impoverished but mostly unharmed eastern half of the country and the bombed out western half, both areas were roughly in the middle in terms of destruction. The Independent Tariff Federation had held territory on both, mostly on the Brăila Peninsula, and the Island Coalition had had numerous enclaves on both. The former had been defeated and absorbed by the LUF early in the conflict, and the Island Coalition had actually held on till nearly the end of the Civil War, surrendering all its territory and forces when the Eastern Faction's victory on the mainland became a foregone conclusion.
They used to be Estovakia's center of commerce. Domestic and foreign cargo ships would come and go regularly. Fishing fleets brought in nets full of bountiful sea life for domestic consumption and foreign sale. Railroads on both peninsulas ran several trains a day to or from Estovakia's interior, bringing trade goods and food into the country or other goods to the ports for export. There'd been company headquarters, a thriving middle class, and a high standard of living.
Those had gone with the Civil War. The entire global economy had hiccupped when Ulysses hit, to say nothing of the physical damage and flooding Anea experienced. The destroyed infrastructure meant Estovakia had nothing to export, and the collapsing economy meant no one had money to buy things, and the number of cargo ships coming and going from its ports dropped significantly. Even the domestically owned ships started to vanish, sold off by the various shipping companies trying to stay afloat or restructure. What cargo ships didn't get sold off ended up commandeered by various factions during the Civil War. The only thing that hadn't disappeared, although it had shrunk, was the fishing fleet. At the very least, the people living in southern Estovakia didn't go as hungry, but there wasn't enough to ship to the rest of the country.
The last few months had seen life start to return to normal. Despite the government's best efforts, it hadn't drawn back any international airlines, and its own domestic airline had gone under. The country's many airports were primarily used for government and military flights, seeing the rare aid flight too. So, most aid and people came to Estovakia either overland or by sea.
Tonight, there was the usual amount of NGO owned ships docked at the ports. All were carrying aid, but they were carrying a lot more of something else: People. Thousands of people poured off the ships: old, young, male, female, all kinds. There were reunions abound: old lovers, spouses, or parents and children finally seeing each other again. Some people were meeting their own sons, daughters, nieces, and nephews for the first time. Some people didn't have any reunions to be made and instead made their way to the nearest train station to see about getting home.
These were all refugees. Before Ulysses had hit, millions in the countries expected to be hit had either left or been sent away to ride out the impact. After the devastation and especially after the Civil War started in earnest, even more Estovakians had fled for other countries. Estovakia had over 75 million people before Ulysses struck the planet. Now, after nearly two decades of destruction and conflict, it had only 63 million living there. They had no way to get an accurate figure on how many were living outside the country.
But those people were returning, in greater numbers than ever. After a whole year of the Civil War being over and actual signs of stability, many were convinced it was safe to return. It was cold, but it was the holidays. There was hardly a more appropriate time of the year for families and a country to come back together. Many would be staying, but many others were only visiting and would be leaving once the New Year passed. Some had lives in other countries now they couldn't leave behind, and others had jobs that they were using to keep their families here above water. Estovakian customs and immigration officials took it all down as the people were let in, trying to get a better handle on the wider status of the Estovakian diaspora. So far this year they'd recorded more than 600,000 returns, with more than half stating an intention to remain in the country.
At least one building at each port, an old office in this case, had been set aside for military reunions. With military officials in charge of the whole country and a majority of civil services being performed by them, it wasn't surprising members of the military got special treatment. Enough men and women were inside waiting that a lot had to stand. The vast majority wore Army uniforms, and the ones that wore no uniform had documents proving they had fought alongside the Army in a militia.
A few wore Air Force uniforms, and they all congregated regardless of if they were enlisted or officers. Pilots, ground crew, or administrative, it didn't matter. And much like the Army soldiers, a lot of them were discussing the Civil War. Even if some of them might have been shooting at each other only a year ago, there was little if any animosity. Most of the swapped tales were about fighting the LUF anyway; they had been the biggest enemy for all the factions after all. The former members of the Independent Tariff Federation would bemoan how the LUF rolled over them early in the conflict. Survivors from the Island Coalition bragged how the LUF could never stabilize its southern flank because of them. And not one member of the other factions tried to claim the Northern Highlands Faction hadn't pulled its weight either; a great many LUF had died in those hills.
The Generals' efforts at reconciliation were definitely working. There were the LUF holdouts and a few ethnic militias here and there, but gradually the population's mindset was starting to heal. They didn't watch each other cautiously and wonder what faction they belonged to; they looked at each other and saw another Estovakian, suffering from the same tragedies they'd all faced. They were one nation and one people, and it was only natural of them to band together to face these struggles together.
And never forget that it was foreigners-not their own-that had hurt them the most during the Civil War. The Generals made sure people remembered that too.
The swapping of tales continued. An MP would occasionally enter the building, letting in a gust of cold air with him, to call off names on a list of personnel who had someone waiting for them.
"Lieutenant Mijasik, Air Force!" At the call, one of the officers excused himself from the group. He did not get away from it without many hearty pats on the back and a few handshakes. He'd been a minor celebrity in the group as soon as the others recognized his squadron patch: The Grim Reaper itself, weilding a large scythe. The squadron's name was stitched above Death: Strigon.
The Strigon Team, officially 9th Squadron, 370th Aviation Regiment, was one of the EAF's most decorated and highly skilled squadrons. Its exploits during the Civil War had contributed greatly to the Eastern Faction's eventual victory. The Grim Reaper was a common emblem for military units the world over, but Strigon was one of the few to live up to the symbol. Every faction had a reason to believe it.
But it wasn't just those exploits when the squadron was based on land. Once the Estovakian Aerial Fleet had been realized, a squadron was needed to be based on the P-1112 Aigaion. The Eastern Faction leadership had obviously chosen their most prominent squadron, transitioning them over to Su-33s and deploying them aboard where they'd essentially served as a quick reaction force, using their mobile base to hit the LUF all over the country.
Lieutenant Mijasik had been in the squadron during both periods. He'd only been 17 when the Civil War started, still in High School. Like so many of his classmates, he'd dropped out to sign up with the Eastern Faction as soon as he could. By the time he was almost 19, he was already a fighter pilot in training. Strigon Team had been understrength early in the war, and it was looking for experienced pilots and promising rookies to shore up its numbers. Lieutenant Mijasik had been one of those rookies.
The training had been even more challenging, and rookie pilots were thrown into battle often when necessity overtook caution. But all that training and all those hundreds of perilous missions had forged Lieutenant Mijasik into one of the 100s of veteran pilots in the Estovakian Air Force. The war was won, and he still had a stable career in the military- in fact, he was likely to be promoted to Captain in another two years. It'd been hard, but it'd been worth it, and not even for those reasons.
For why he'd signed up in the first place. Going into a room full of idealistic young teenagers and telling them the country was in danger and that you needed help to save it had been good enough. But some of them, including others, had joined for other reasons.
"Toscha!" Hearing his name called, the Lieutenant smiled. The young woman moving quickly through the crowd towards him was buried under heavy coats to deal with the weather, but he recognized Ludmila anywhere. He started running too.
The two high school sweethearts embraced. Telling teenagers they could save their country was a good way to get them to join. But teenagers were smart enough to see things around them starting to truly fall apart. Toscha Mijasik had and so had many others. And they wondered: What could they do? To protect themselves? To protect their families? The Eastern Faction hadn't just convinced Toscha and his classmates to save their country, it had given them a way to protect what they loved. That was why they'd signed up in droves.
So many of them had died trying though. Even alive, Lieutenant Majasik hadn't been as successful as he'd hoped; his parents and most of his family that had been alive at the start of the conflict hadn't lived to see it end. But Ludmila had.
There was a pilot who'd been in the squadron for the first half of the war before being transferred out who'd talked about fighting for the future. Toscha hadn't thought about his words too deeply until Ludmila was all he had left. They'd given him the strength to fight on despite those losses. There could still be a future. For him. For Ludmila. For the country.
It was still a way away. The country was still recovering. And Ludmila wasn't staying; she was studying medicine in Nordennavic on the other side of the continent and had been for most of the war. She'd lost family too but kept going for the idea of the future. There was a future for both of them. For their country. It would just take some time to get there. And when it did, they'd be together.
But they were together now, during the winter break. Ludmila would have to leave again before the end of January. But until then, they could catch up. They'd only been able to talk through letters for the longest time, and even last year the situation during the New Year had been too dangerous for her to come back. This was the first time in years the two were properly reunited. They were going to use that time to its fullest.
They were just one couple among many on that dock. Two people like many others that were examples of the hard toll Ulysses and the Civil War had on Estovakia. They weren't unique, but standing there in each other's arms, the world was suddenly small enough that those hardships didn't matter as much.
Construction material could rebuild what was destroyed. Aid could keep bellies full. But there was only one thing that could keep people truly human: bonds. Of nationality, of family, or of love. As long as that foundation remained, the Estovakian people and nation would rise again. And as long as people like Toscha and Ludmilla stayed alive, nothing would extinguish it.
While all those reunions were going on, it was business as usual in the rest of the port. From the goods yard, a diesel engine hauling a long line of box cars filled with food aid pulled out of the yard heading north. In the middle was a passenger car, carrying a platoon of Railway Troops, armed guards to protect it from being robbed. Unarmed Railway Troops and a great many civilian workers worked the rest of the yard. A new train was being prepped, this one to be full of military goods.
A General Resources cargo ship sat at one of the wharfs, a GR destroyer sitting on its other side. Dockside cranes would lift the containers off the ship and onto flatbed trucks which would take them a short distance to the goods yard. The Railway Troops would verify the cargo, and the containers would be lifted by loaders onto flatbed rail cars in stacks of two. Most of it was aircraft parts for the variety of airframes used by the Estovakian Air Force. A lot of others were filled with Yuktobanian made vehicles or parts, acquired second or third hand for the Estovakian Army.
The officer on duty watched another two trucks drive in, squinting when he noticed the logo on the sides of the containers wasn't the telltale blue and black of General Resources. It was red, which had to mean they were Gründer Industries containers. The captain confirmed and went to check those containers personally.
Gründer Industries had been a state-run arms company in Belka during its heyday. After the Belkan War ended, the entire company ended up in territory claimed by the victorious Osean Federation, becoming privatized and renamed. It still produced and sold quality weapons, but to the Osean Defense Forces or customers Osea approved. But it did a little business on the side too that Osea didn't know about. For the right price, any country or organization could get Belkan weaponry. It was a hell of a lot more expensive than all the other military equipment coming in, hence why the captain wanted to inspect it personally and make sure it was correct.
Most Belkan equipment went to the Estovakian Military's best units: The Army and Navy's Commando brigades, the Army's Airborne Brigade and its more elite Military Police Battalions, and Air Force Search and Rescue units. One of the Army's armored brigades and two of its combined arms brigades were also armed exclusively with Belkan equipment.
The first container held a Marder Infantry Fighting Vehicle and two crates of parts. Genuine parts, not replicas made in Estovakian factories. The second contained 200 G36 rifles with magazines, extra components, and ammunition. The captain didn't know for certain where all this cargo would go once it left the yard, but he was fairly certain it was to one of the brigades near the Emmerian border.
Those two containers were the only Gründer Industries ones expected in this shipment. The company was good at spoofing its books so that nothing was amiss, but only when it came to small quantities. Small or not, it would help. The captain saw to it that those two containers were covered in tarps to hide the logo and then loaded onto the same railcar together. A couple hours later, the train departed carrying equipment for both the Estovakian Army and Air Force. The country's stockpile of weapons and spare parts grew, and with it Estovakia's ability to wage a large-scale war with its neighbor.
Fuscum Sea
The body of water between the Yuktobania and Anea was internationally known as the Fuscum Sea. But in Anea, specifically Emmeria and Estovakia, it was locally referred to as the 'South Sea'. This designation even applied to official documentation. Emmeria had all military forces in the Fuscum Sea under the 'South Sea Command'. Similarly, the Estovakian Navy's fleet permanently assigned to the Fuscum Sea was the South Sea Fleet.
Historically speaking, the South Sea Fleet had always been Estovakia's largest and most highly skilled fleet. The superpower Yuktobania, like Osea, had used its extensive power to spread its influence, primarily on the Verusian continent but it hadn't ignored Anea either. The South Sea Fleet had been important to Estovakia for keeping Yuktobanian influence to a minimum.
Once upon a time, it had even jointly trained with the Emmerian Navy. All three Anean countries had used to work somewhat together against any possible Yuktobanian aggression. The goodwill from those days had been behind the Republic of Anea initiative. That was all gone now.
The South Sea Fleet of today was stronger now, even as the threat from Yuktobania had become nearly non-existent. In fact, a lot of its strength came from Yuktobanian made warships. An aircraft carrier, a battleship, five battlecruisers, two Aegis ships, and eleven destroyers was a fleet more than capable of standing up to a superpower's navy, and definitely adequate for a peer nation.
Politically, its composition was more muddled. When the Civil War ended, the Eastern Faction and Island Coalition both had their own navies. Both included several Independent Tariff Federation ships that had defected when the LUF swallowed the rest of their faction. The LUF's navy had become virtually useless before the war was over and surrendered itself and its vessels-including an aircraft carrier-after General Lyes was killed. Although it affected short term cohesion, The Generals had moved ships around so that every fleet and flotilla had ships from every former faction, which also prevented any one of them from having the uniformity to rebel.
The South Sea Fleet's commander was still the former Eastern Faction Navy commander though. And the flagship was the former flagship of the Eastern Faction-the aircraft carrier Charybdis.
Estovakian battlecruisers were named after constellations, but its current crop of capital ships was uniquely named after mythological monsters to reflect their might: The aircraft carrier Charybdis, it's sister ship and flagship of the Eastern Fleet Scylla, the South Sea Fleet's battleship Cetus, and the aircraft carrier Kraken, flagship of the only flotilla with an aircraft carrier.
On the deck of the Charybdis, a pair of F-14Ds were being guided into the catapults, preparing to launch for an evening patrol. With the Civil War over, the new government had largely grounded all its combat squadrons, moving most of them even into a semi-mothballed didn't want to waste fuel or wear down valuable parts while it was also stockpiling them. The South Sea Fleet was the only one still authorized to make flights without explicit instructions.
The reason was more political than practical: Proving to Yuktobania the country had recovered. A lot of aid came from Yuktobania's northern ports, but there was more to it. The tools, machinery, and material to rebuild Estovakia's infrastructure and economy could easily come from the superpower. Of especial interest to The Generals, a lot of military equipment could also be sourced from Yuktobania, including many of the things needed to fill the gaps in its ground forces. But their southern neighbor was still reluctant to sell them such valuable-and repurposable-things. The Generals were really hoping to secure some major imports in the first half of the next year. If they couldn't, Estovakia would manage.
"CATCC confirms 305 and 306 are airborne." A sailor on the bridge called as the two Tomcats took off into the sky. On a modern warship, most of the action happened in the CIC (Command Information Center) or a Carrier Air Traffic Control Center if it was an aircraft carrier. The bridge in the superstructure was still the nerve center of any ship, where its captain often commanded and could see the sea. For a ship like an aircraft carrier that was likely to serve as a flagship, it often had a separate flag bridge one level below, where a fleet commander and his staff could command the whole fleet. That particularly evening, the main bridge had the minimum number of personnel needed. The flag bridge was slightly fuller.
Contraamiral Marcel Ioveanu was always a distinct man with or without a uniform cap; his white hair stood out among the darker shades most common for younger Estovakians. After 10 years of war and destruction, all but 10% of the Estovakian population was under 40; many older folks simply had either left or been unable to survive the harsh new reality. Despite the color, it was surprisingly full for a man two years from 60. All within regulation, of course.
The South Sea Fleet's commander was a career sailor, with 36 years of service through the Cold War, Ulysses, and most recently the Civil War. While so many other military leaders were strategizing how to kill their own in their backyard, he'd retained years of knowledge on the operations, tactics, and strengths of foreign navies. In spite of Ulysses and the Civil War, he'd even found time to study the naval campaigns of every war since, including the Usean Continental War and the Circum-Pacific War. You couldn't find a more knowledgeable sailor anywhere in Estovakia, a quality that made him indispensable to the Eastern Faction. It wasn't a stretch to say the Eastern Faction wouldn't have been able to hold back the Island Coalition without him.
When the Civil War had ended, he'd been a top candidate for a position in the new government. After over a decade with only two stars on his epaulets, he finally had a chance to advance his career. He'd turned it down.
Ioveanu knew his strengths and weaknesses. While a lot of the other officers chosen might have some skills that would translate into running a country, he had no such skills. If ordered to do something, he would just as any loyal serviceperson would. But given a choice? He wouldn't accept a position when he truly believed he couldn't adequately fulfill it.
There was also another reason: He wanted to stay at sea. That wasn't atypical of most career sailors, but he had an extra reason: the man hated setting foot in his own country. It still filled him with too much anger and sadness to see it in tatters. Out here at sea, there was order and neatness. Everything worked and it worked efficiently with no scarcity of anything important. A lot of men and women found that escapism in the Navy.
How damning it was, though. The Estovakian Military was a well-oiled and organized force that could give either of the superpowers a black eye, but the country itself was still broken in so many ways. But Ioveanu knew that suddenly stopping maintaining the military wouldn't improve the country. There was a good chance it would make it worse. So, he stayed, reasoning that keeping the paradoxically necessary Navy functioning efficiently was the best way to help Estovakia. He knew he could do that, at least.
The Rear Admiral had once told General Dvornik that he'd stay on land when he was dead, and he'd meant it. If he died in battle out here at sea, then he'd willingly entrust his body to the Dark Blue. But if he had the benefit of dying in peacetime, then he wanted to be buried in the ground he'd helped defend. That was part of the purpose of a good navy.
But so was taking the fight to the enemy in their own waters, which he knew he might be doing very soon as well. He'd received no official orders or battle plans yet, but since the middle of the year the Navy had been sending him daily updates of the Emmerian Navy's activities. The closest Emmerian fleet was its 2nd Fleet, comprising an aircraft carrier, battlecruiser, three AEGIS ships, and a dozen destroyers. It was no small force, and he knew where every single ship was at all times. He'd actually been rereading some of the old reports on the bridge before and after the F-14Ds took off, trying to discern what, if any, patrol pattern the Emmerians had. None was his guess, and it was a good strategy. They would make a highly skilled opponent.
The admiral was fairly certain the reason his refusal had been received so well was that The Generals wanted him to be the one to face that opponent.
The Eastern Faction's Navy had been largely removed from the bitter war against the LUF and its Emmerian backers, but they heard plenty about it. Ioveanu had personally heard plenty from the former Independent Tariff Federation officers under his command now. He could see how Estovakia considered them an enemy now.
And conquering Emmeria would go a long way towards restoring Estovakia, in a much quicker fashion than international aid could too. Only a fool would miss that fact. But that was just the natural state of the world. For times eternal, nations were conquered to build strength and power. Hundreds had disappeared over the years, including here on Anea. Even 500 years ago there'd been other countries besides Estovakia, Emmeria, and Nordennavic. Those three had just conquered or outlasted the rest. There were always pushes for peace, but even those nations that pushed it the most maintained strong militaries because they knew. The world was what it was, and nations played by those rules.
If Emmeria was where he and the South Sea Fleet would go, then so be it. He'd be ready. So would his subordinates. So would every Estovakian.
Somewhere beyond reality
"It will be soon." Those words carried through a space unlike any place in Estovakia. Even the words in the Estovakian language would struggle to describe what this place was. 'Heavenly' would be the most apt but it would be so underwhelming too. The person that had spoken, too. They did look like a human female, but there was something…different about them. Even the layers of robes they wore should be recognizable, but any human would struggle to do so. The shorter individual beside her, too. They were equally feminine in appearance, but their body was covered in leaves and branches, twisting and arranged to form an outfit but inexplicably looking natural at the same time.
"We've waited a long time." The shorter one agreed. For themselves, time was a much more abstract concept. But for the ones they looked after, it had indeed been a very long time. Over 10,000 rotations around the sun, in fact. "I hope it has been worth it." The two and so many others like they had stayed their hands for all that time, just so they could act now.
"So do I." The other agreed. "Those cursed Light-Winged People have been troublesome for so long. With all the steps the Gods have taken to prepare for their return, I hope they'll never cause trouble again."
"What about the steps you are taking, Shamash?" The shorter one asked. "Why have you decided against summoning your people from the other dimension?" Very few Gods oversaw multiple worlds, but Shamash was one of them.
"In time." Shamash, or "Amaterasu" as she was known in that other world, was still committed to the idea. "I care about them, but I care about this world too." In that world, her people just made up part of the inhabitants. In the one both were discussing now, she had far more subjects. She had to be considerate of all of them. "For what needs to be done, the world will need someone stronger. My people will be rewarded for their help all that time ago eventually. I must think of this world first. Theirs will persist for some time still."
"You've made a strange choice." The shorter God commented.
"I have, haven't I?" Shamash acknowledged. The ones she had selected to bolster this world weren't her subjects, but they were linked to them in a unique way. Such bonds were easy to overcome for beings like them. The sheer complexity of all existence they oversaw and managed would make a lesser being collapse in sheer confusion. "I am certain they will be enough."
"Will…will my children be okay?" The shorter one asked hesitantly. Shamash's plan would put these newcomers right by a large number of the shorter God's worshippers. Although most of her children had migrated all over the world and concentrated in the Central World-growing so powerful that admittedly they no longer needed her help (though she still cared)-there were still many in the part of the world that still worshiped her.
Even though they'd forgotten her name.
"They are already suffering. I don't know if I can bear more news." Lately, one of the races had been launching campaigns of extermination against all others in that part of the world, including the Elves the shorter god looked over. She'd had no choice but to watch it happen.
Shamash smiled, although it was not completely a joyful smile. As much as they wished, they couldn't make things perfect in the world. Their subjects were flawed in their own ways. There was conflict, war, deception, and suffering. It was the natural order of things. All the Gods could do was offer a general guiding hand and create a net positive outcome. Sometimes, that meant letting suffering occur. It was the tradeoff to their immense power. Still…
"I believe they'll be okay." Shamash consoled her. "I sense a lot of potential in them." The Gods were far from careless, and they weren't entirely beholden to the restrictions placed on them; Shamash had been very careful in who she chose. "I promise you, Astatle, your Elves will be fine."
"You remembered my name." In exchange for helping the Elves long ago outside their allowed power, Astatle had given up her name. It was no longer spoken either in that world or this realm. It was painful, but she'd done it for her children. If she hadn't, they might not have survived to this point. It was a telling example of the tightrope of abilities and limitations the Gods were forced to follow. But Shamash, who'd taken her side in that quarrel, had promised never to forget it.
"Of course." Shamash caressed Astatle's cheek. "I promised I would." The two once again looked upon the world they oversaw together. A great many things had already started to happen in it, and many more were yet to. For their followers down there, it would take years. But for them, the titanic events soon to unfold would pass seemingly in the blink of an eye. Still, they gave it their full attention. What happened next was of indescribable importance.