A Battle Unseen

[Elena1012]

Operation: Greenlight
July 28th, 5592
Metz-Leonid, Ladakh District

Lhawang Serre opened the file on his desk. Another day, another morally questionable deed for the CSS to do. In big bold red font, "Operation Greenlight", the name contrasted the red font. But the contents of the operation felt anything but green. Operation Greenlight, if approved would see the CSS get a backdoor to Artania, and be able to set up shop in Kundrati. Despite its status as a pariah state, and questionable government, it was ultimately a geopolitical opportunity too good to pass up. And fortunately, Comrade Aurousseau had already done the hard work of positioning Xsampa against Kundrati publicly. Which makes any under the table deals easier.

However, Operation Greenlight isn't just something that benefits Xsampan intelligence alone. Of course, akin to CSS operations in Istalia, local intelligence agencies would receive a heads up on any threats and be given support. But it would seem Kundrati wants raw resources to circumnavigate the embargo they currently face by half of the organized world. Under normal circumstances, such a deal would be unacceptable due to the sheer public pressure it would put on Xsampa. However, Likatonia has chosen to bite the bullet first. A perfect shield for the CSS. Operation Greenlight would ensure Xsampa and Kundrati get what they both want. Kundrati gets resources, and Xsampa gets an extra door into Artania. However, there was one aspect of Operation Greenlight that stuck out to Lhawang, infrastructure assistance. In particular, Kundrati would require help in infrastructure management, rebuilding and supporting re-educational centres for dissidents. A peculiar request, but pleasing the Kundratijians would pay dividends.

Lhawang signed off on the Operation. The CSS will be given the means to ensure unmarked transportation full of resources that can be provided, and a handful of infrastructure engineers are sent to Likatonia where they can then be rebranded as Likatonian aid. From there, the engineers will help Kundrati with any infrastructure projects they have in mind, and the CSS can set up safe houses, monitoring stations and all the like in Kundrati. Allowing the CSS to have the means to keep an eye on Artania will certainly be helpful for the future. The Central Committee was likely to endorse Operation Greenlight. They'd handle negotiations with the People's Committee of Defense to loan hand me downs and outdated equipment to be sent to Kundrati. Anything modern was off the table, that would be needed in the Red Bass.

Whatever the case, Lhawang put the pen down. Operation Greenlight was questionable to say the least. There was no denial that Kundrati was fascist. The antithesis to Xsampa. Yet, they presented an immense opportunity to empower not just the CSS abroad but Xsampa. An opportunity that can't be ignored. Kundrati would get the equipment, resources and infrastructure it desired. The only hard part would be keeping the world's eyes away. Unmarked transportation would be enough... If distance weren't an issue. The Aldegar Canal was available, so that would prevent having to go through one of the Seleyan Empires. Getting to Likatonia will have to be priority. And fortunately the People's Committee of Foreign Affairs helped nurture trade with Likatonia. Transports can simply go alongside genuine trade vessels and go from there.

Operation Greenlight may be questionable Lhawang thought, but it was necessary. Perhaps this could be the start of ending the CSS's misfortunes, and the start of a comprehensive network. Perhaps Lhawang thought. Perhaps.

[Dredd]

[August 8th, 5592]

Comrade Sládek,

This missive brings excellent news for the true Kundrati Legionary Party, the Kundrati people, and the Legionary State. The construction of the Industrial District Lirnak is well ahead of schedule. On our current trajectory, we're likely to exceed 6 out of the 12 benchmarks set for the end of the month, and may yet progress more on the remainder. Our achievements here are a testament to the undying Kundrati will and persistence in the face of impossible odds, and naturally to you, Comrade, for your vision and direction in this project.

My staff have successfully developed a number of new techniques for motivating our incarcerated workers in the construction of the camp. First, and particularly effective, has been a system of rewards/punishments, meted out not on the workers themselves, but on close relations or suspected romantic partners. In order not to waste valuable human resources, we have also invented new techniques and tools which emphasize visual suffering, humiliation, and non-debilitating mutilation.

The second pillar of our success has been the application of discarded substandard amphetamine pills to reduce worker sleep and caloric intake. Finally, we have spread agents among the workers who induce their cooperation with small amounts of forbidden gifts, and are spreading the rumor that once the camp is complete, all those who worked on its construction will be transferred to a liquidation facility, en route to which they will be rescued by a resistance operation. Naturally, we have marked the individuals most receptive to this delusion as potential troublemakers for when the camp-builders are redesignated as camp inmates.

Furthermore, clandestine aid from infrastructure experts designated as foreman from the nations of Likatonia & Xsampa have been instrumental in streamlining our proposed processes. They have aided us by laying the blueprints for highly efficient and revolutionary pathways previously unknown to our engineers who are taking note of the operations. Ways to efficiently dispose of dead workers and imprison trouble makers alongside increased output via streamlined aggregate material storage and transport are among the highlights of the cooperation.

The one failure of this project has been its higher-than-expected cost in inmate lives. Multiple times we've had to halt construction in order to dispose of bodies that risked spreading diseases that could inhibit further labor. Nonetheless, we are already beginning work on the officers' quarters and have started to amass coal reserves for the in-house cremation facilities. Soon, the Legionary State will have a monolithic factory, ever expanding the arsenal and capabilities of its legionary soldiers.

Sincerely yours,
Internal Industrial Commissar-General, Karneades Arbolategui

[Dredd]

The professor resisted every urge to gape. "This... Commissar, what you are asking will be exceptionally difficult."

The Legionary Commissar facing him was unmoved. His face was stoic, even as his eyes betrayed his annoyance. His hand rested on his belt, near his gun, and the professor was almost certain that the officer was hoping that he gave him a chance to use it. "You have your instructions. Fulfill them, or we will find another who can."

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that he couldn't make this work. But they didn't care, and he believed them. Kundrati didn't care about things like "qualifications" or "experience" — they only cared about obedience. If not him, they'd find some brainwashed legionary officer to teach, and his only options were to obey or die in the camps.

And he couldn't defy, because it wouldn't just be him punished, but his wife and daughter.

So he bowed his head. "I understand, it will be done."

The officer almost seemed disappointed, but left his office. The man sank into his chair dejectedly, looking over the papers that had his orders. The university — one of the only ones in Pilgon — needed him to schedule and teach classes. It didn't matter that he wasn't qualified for most of them, or that he was only one man.

It was a confusing mixture of subjects he'd been given, from normal ones like math, to weapons classes, to "science" classes on Skitian-Zergonese and Kundrati supremacy, and Ultranationalism of all things. Half of these had no place in an institution of higher learning, but it didn't matter. They didn't want a teacher, they wanted a propagandist, and that was what he was now. He felt rotten complying with their demands, but he also knew that he'd never had a choice to begin with.

[Dredd]

Williams world was one of pitch darkness, save for the feeble glow of lanterns spaced throughout the tunnels. His sense of time had rapidly eroded in the underground world he had been consigned to. There were no longer hours, days and weeks in the mines under the Lirnak foothills; only ‘work’ and ‘sleep’. There was no ‘breakfast, lunch and dinner’; only scraps of bread snatched from a pile left in the quarters every morning, and sips of water from the cold stream that ran parallel to the mineshaft.

There was no time for daily prayers, no comfort of a bed, no warmth of a fire. In the abyss of time in which he and the other inmates resided, there was only the banging of picks on the walls, the rattling of minecarts filled with coal being pushed uphill, and the coughing of men with lungs full of coal-dust. The only mercy for those so afflicted was death, delivered by one of the masked guards when he could work no more.

William endured for longer than most, cursing himself for ever emigrating from Kalistan, but how could he have ever known moving for a clerks job would end up like this. He wrapped a rag around his face, hammered away at the coal seams and continued to work despite the withering of his muscles and his fading sight.

But eventually he too collapsed, coughing black phlegm and completely blind. When the blade of mercy slid across his jugular, his last thoughts were a prayer to God and the Empress, and gratitude that his suffering was finally at an end.
---------------------------
Across western Kundrati, the soil churned, stone shattered and great pillars of concrete rose. The inefficient and obsolete industrial edifices of Liberalism were being torn down and replaced with something newer, better, more pure of purpose. Homes of the undeserving, too, were razed flat, their occupants cast out or consigned to penance through labor. In their place, new factories and offices were erected, manifestations of the efficient and pitiless state that now ruled the Kundrati heartlands.

The thunder of dynamite in the hills and mountains signaled the birth of hundreds of new mines and quarries. Soon, the tunnels would open up and tracks would be laid for carts. Cutting-edge industrial machines would move in to support the masses of degenerates fated to work themselves to death in the oppressive darkness. The forges of Kundrati would be fuelled with the dregs souls.

Comrade Sládek smiled as he envisioned it. No more wasteful consumerism, no more time wasted glorifying democracy and sin. It was over a century overdue, but Kundrati would finally have its rightful wealth.

[imperialpearl]

Detachment Briefing Room, 1st Special Reconnaissance Group, Naval Air Station Amsted, Aldegar.

“Hurry up boys, grab a chair, the Major’s gonna be here soon.” Captain Bobby Harrison, called out, his voice soft yet firm, leaving little room for argument or counterpoint. As the group of men shuffled into the cramped, dimly lit briefing room, the sound of their boots shifting the amateurishly set vinyl floor snuffed out their near-child-like whispers and murmurs. Settling into their chairs, a mix of creaks and groans involved the room as they adjusted themselves to the wooden chairs. Glancing up at the black curtain covering a section of the wall which once occupied their LED briefing screen, Sgt. Richard “Daily” Day rubbed his grey stubble as he muttered, “This ought to be good.”

“Can it Daily,” Lt. John Keller snapped, his head still fixed in the direction of the black curtain. Corporals Dean “Mouse” Carter and Alan Austin shared a brief glance, their expression a mix of curiosity and unease. Mouse, the youngest of the group, leaned into Austin whispering, “Think this is about the op last week?”

Before Austin could respond, the door swung open as Major David Waller strode in, multiple manillas tucked under his arm. Dressed in the Lodamese Army’s green evening mess dress, his seemingly out-of-place formality had been largely tempered by his missing overcoat, with his white dress shirt standing out among the room of dark green combat shirts. “I see that I’m overdressed,” he said, his tone laced with dry humour as his eyes scanned the room. “Not that I expected any of you to attend the reception anyways and maybe mingle with the brass.”

Daily smirked, turning to Harrison who shook his head in disapproval. Major Waller placed the stack of folders at the centre of the table before turning to pull the curtain on the LED screen. “I don’t even know why they put this shit here,” he murmured turning on the screen to show a map of Solentia. As Harrison slid the folders across the table, one to each man, the Major began:

“Alright, dive in,” he said, gesturing the men to open their folders to the dossier prepared for them. “Now the kind people at the SSA have provided us with this dossier so please, go easy on it.” As tier-one operators for the Lodamese Army’s 1st Special Reconnaissance Group they had become accustomed to their briefings having been prepared by the analysts at the ODI (Office of Defence Intelligence), however, the nature of the operation at hand, required the sort of sensitivity and analytical power the ODI simply did not possess.

“We have a serious shitstorm brewing down there boys,” the major said, as he fiddled with the screen to zoom in on a political map of Solentia. “On one side we have the Hezb-e Ahmadi (Party of Ahmadism); they are a fundamentalist political uprising, seeking to establish an Ahmadi-led state in Solentia. On the other side was the Mutahad Kargar Gond (MKG), a left-leaning worker’s collective which stood as HA’s principal opponent and the other half of the Solentia Civil War. They’ve collapsed in on themselves and are now fracturing throughout the countryside, opening the door for the Abadi militia and ASIM to take complete advantage of their ensuing chaos,” he paused, switching to a dossier on the Abadi militia.

“Now these are your freedom fighters. Although they aren’t entirely against the rhetoric advanced by the HA and others, they nonetheless refuse to align themselves with the HA and become partners in their new Emirate. Then we have ASIM (the Ahmadi State in Majatra). Now we’ve known about these boys for a while. Both the SSA and ODI have been curating dossiers on this group and their work in Jakania and elsewhere.” Turning off the LED screen and sitting at the head of the table, Waller slid his hands into his pockets.

“Our mission is simple yet complex. The name of the game is Wetwork. You will be inserted into Solentia alongside your SSA handler wherein you will seek to aid the Abadi militia and conduct ops against key figures of ASIM in Solentia. The civil war has granted us some cover, so we’re not talking deep infiltration but you’ll nonetheless be required to mask your identities and blend in. You’ll be asked to destroy targets of opportunity, ranging from mere buildings to an entire complex. You’ll be briefed on those details in the future.”

Recognising that the Major had paused to allow for comment and questions, Daily shot up. “How are we structuring this?” “As any op. You’ll act as our firearms specialist, Keller as 2IC and medical, Mouse as our marksman and Austin as intel support,” Cpt. Harrison broke in. “It doesn’t mean that we’d be going up against formations. It’s wetwork, assassinations, decapitation. That sort of stuff. We’ll either be operating as a single team or two units.”

“Who the fuck is our “SSA Handler” anyways,” Daily asked, his tone peaked with scepticism. “You’ll meet her soon enough. Her name is Agent Rose Kaid. Former Army Intelligence, she’s been acclimatised to people such as yourself Sgt so don’t think you’re gonna try to pull your usual moves.” The room burst into laughter as the men stood up. “The style gentlemen is what you choose. Accident or not, it doesn’t matter to them [the SSA], once you eliminate the targets and act on intelligence.”

[Doc]

Personal Office of Her Imperial Majesty, Wilson House, Kaliburg
Thursday, 10 am

"Your Imperial Highness, The Foreign Minister is here," said Chancellor Bolton who was sitting at one of the two chairs in front of her desk.  The Empress looked up briefly from her papers and pressed a button that signaled to the Chamberlain to send the Foreign Minister in.  The bell chimed, and the door opened, and The Foreign Minister entered the office, making sure the door closed behind him.  He stood before the Empress, head politely bowed, and the Chancellor said "Please be seated, Sir Bjorksdattir."  The Foreign Minister sat:  this had the air of a formal audience.

"May I know why Her Imperial Majesty has called me down here from the Foreign Ministry?" said the veteran Foreign Minister.

"Sir," began Dame Bolton.  "You have been called in because we need to begin preparing a response to the Solentian situation.  Our friends in Lodamun are spinning up some off the books stuff out there and we need to be prepared to issue Her Imperial Majesty's response should any of that become public, which is strict public neutrality, while supporting Lodamun however we can in that situation."

"That seems like IBSI stuff, Dame Bolton," said Sir Bjorksdattir.  "The Foreign Ministry doesn't usually handle the covert part of..."

"There is no time for this, Sir Bjorksdattir," said the Chancellor.  "You were called in here because Her Imperial Majesty would like you to handle the Betchel thing..."

The Foreign Minister seemed confused.  "What... 'Betchel thing'?" he asked.

"Dr. Betchel should not be making any more public statements.  They are unnecessarily complicating things," said the Chancellor.

"So what would Her Imperial Majesty have me do about Dr. Betchel?"

"He's your friend, and he was your number 2 at the ministry," said the Chancellor.  "Please go talk to him and tell him, politely, to stop sending letters to the Editor of The Republic.  Because they will print them, and we need to be focused on something far more important now than a tit for tat with a country like Likatonia."

"Madame, I can't just tell him to not write letters," said Sir Bjorksdattir.  "He is a private citizen now, he's retired.  He can do as he pleases."

"There is no time for that now, Sir Christopher.  You can, because your Empress asks you to do it," said the Chancellor.

"I can't," said the Foreign Minister.

"You will, Sir Bjorksdattir," said the Chancellor.
 
"Your Imperial Majesty, you cannot ask this of me.  It is a breech of our norms for me to effectively silence a citizen of this country, a person who has decades of foreign policy experience, a person who is completely correct by the way, and a person who I count as a very dear friend of mine."

"Sir Bjorksdattir,  mind the Protocol," warned the Chancellor, with authority in her voice.  "You are the Minister of Foreign Affairs.  You are a Knight Companion of the Order of the Gray Smoke.  You can and you will do as your Empress asks."

The Foreign Minister sat silent for a moment.  "Then I resign," he finally said with clearly wavering resolve.

"Excuse me?" said the Chancellor.

"I resign my office as Foreign Minister," said Sir Bjorksdattir.

"Sir Christopher.  You serve at the pleasure of Her Imperial Majesty," reminded the Chancellor.

"No, I resign from the Foreign Ministry.  I can't in good conscience..." he began.

"Sir Bjorksdattir, there is... no time for any of that..."

"I resign, I cannot..."

"Sir Bjorksdattir," said the Empress finally.  "The Chancellor said that there is no time."  Her voice was authoritative, and descended like a thunderclap, stunning Sir Christopher into silence.

"Christopher, you are my friend," said Dame Bolton, after a few seconds.  "We have seen a lot together.  Her Imperial Majesty trusts you, and has defended you when I told her that I think you should be fired over that Betchel letter.  She said that we will need all the experience and skill that you bring to the table.  And her argument was persuasive.  Now please, obey your conscience, but speak to your friend.  Likatonia is a distraction--they can't even properly spell our nation's name in their own newspaper.  That's all it is, that's all it ever has been.  Her Imperial Majesty needs to focus now, and move on from that distraction.  So please.  Your Empress has asked you to do your duty.  Stay with your principles but she has asked that you to speak with Dr. Betchel.  If you explain that it has come from Her, he will understand."

"But Diane," said the Foreign Minister, "He's right..."

"Sometimes, we say things that are right, but are... impolitic..." said the Chancellor, measuring her words.  "Likatonia is nothing to Kalistan any longer.  We have much bigger fish to fry now.  Do you follow?"

Sir Christopher inhaled sharply, sat up straighter, and spoke to the Chancellor, "Dame Bolton, Please inform Her Imperial Majesty that I will do my Duty, as... requested."

Dame Bolton smiled sympathetically, knowing how hard it was for the Foreign Minister to say those words.  "She knows you will."  With that, Sir Bjorksdattir stood, bowed slightly to the Empress, and backed away until arriving at the door. 

"And Sir Christopher," said the Empress.  "Let's not have any more of this talk about resigning, if you please."  Sir Bjorksdattir nodded slightly as a chime caused the door to open, and nobody said any more words until it was closed again.

[SolentiaAhmadi]

14 February 5593, Bianca, Caistra Wilayat, Solentia.

Jezkai instinctively put on his seat belt. It was a futile gesture given what he was about to do, but muscle memory had kicked in. He was hot, which wasn't surprising as it was almost the end of summer in Solentia, but he was really hot, sweating profusely, nervous about what was to happen. But weren't the rewards worth it. All those dead non-belivers? And all those wide eyed virgins in the afterlife...

The Mullah had worked on him and his friends for months. They had travelled overland to Solentia through Deltaria, through Kalopia and into Solentia through the southern city of Canneante. Despite entering a war zone they had rarely been stopped. Once into Deltaria, once into Kalopia, and then surprisingly at the Kalopia-Solentia border not much interest had been paid to the handful of people crossing that way, the focus was on the thousands of people trying to get out of Solentia. Then he and his friends and met their Ahmadi State sponsors in the city of Manrana. The city wasn't what Jezkai had expected of the promised holy land of Solentia. He'd seen Churches with Hosians going unhindered, he'd seen women with their hair uncovered and unaccompanied going about their lives, no different from any non-Ahmadi country. After this a long journey to the mountains of Saspain Wilayat and arrival at the Ahmadi State training camp.

The training had been intense. Religious studies combined with physical fitness and weapons handling. Beatings for those who didn't adhere to the strict rules. Bliss from the intense bonding with other fighters for Akim. He lived, trained and prayed with men from all over. Some from his Jelbek homeland, local Solentian men whose parents came to visit them and bring them cakes and other treats, hardened Turjak fighters from Jakania. He even met two blonde Ahmadi converts from somewhere in Artania, and black faced fighters from somewhere called Talmoria.

Then he was ready. He was needed to fight the apostate and kaffir Kalopians who had blasted their way into Solentia. The Mullah's had promised Ahmadi State would help their fellow jihadis in Jaish-e Ahmadi. He had been selected for showing the mental and physical skills required to become a martyr. Before he began his journey back to Caista Wilayat he and a few of his friends were taking to the large building in the training camp. It was not one most recruits were allowed into, only those who were ready to complete their martyr missions. In the building he met senior leaders he had not seen before along with wealthy men from Al-Badara who had come to see the fruit of their labour. He was given a concoction, alcohol? Drugs? Who knew, but when he woke up he was in paradise, surrounded by several virgins with whom he had a night of pleasure.

But that was two weeks ago. Now he was in Bianca, a border city between Solentia and Kalopia that the Kalopia army were now in control of.

"Akim akbar.  Akim akbar.  Akim akbar. Akim akbar." he mumbled over and over to himself. He would be the third of his team to conduct a martyr attack. His friends had killed and wounded dozens two days earlier with separate attacks on a police recruitment centre and a Hosian Church.

He waited for his target. He checked his switch was connected to the detonator. He looked at the spotter who waited at the end of the street. Then he got his signal. A Kalopian army patrol was coming. He turned the engine on and waited, waited, waited. The first armoured head looked round the street corner. Then a body in Kalopian uniform, then a second and a third. The Kalopians were still conducting foot patrols. The aim was to show a presence and an intent to provide security in the city. They had started wearing helmets and full body armour after the first martyr attack by another team a few weeks ago.

"Akim akbar.  Akim akbar.  Akim akbar. Akim akbar." Jezkai worked himself up. The spotter gave the signal, the entire foot patrol were in view. At the other end of the street Jezkai knew the rest of his team were preparing to open fire on the patrol to draw their attention away from the vehicle. Then he heard it, rapid automatic fire opened up. The well trained Kalopian patrol went to ground, sought cover and then began to return fire. Jezkai could see the patrol commander speaking into his radio. It was time.

"Akim akbar!  Akim akbar!!  Akim akbar!!! Akim akbar!!!" Jezkai shouted over and over again as he revved the engine of his weapon with its 500lb load, put his foot down on the accelerator and drove down the street as far as he could.

The last view Jezkai had before he began his ascent to paradise was the surprised expression of the Kalopian soldiers who had turned to face this new threat from their kneeling positions. They had barely had time to turn their rifles to face Jezkai before his was able to turn the vehicle into a suicide bomb.

[Elena1012]

A Letter From Quesada to Her Successor
Los Altos, Ciudad de Gadur, Marlingantos, Gaduridos
November 2nd, 5594
--------------------
Naomi was all alone in Los Altos. The rest of the cabinet has already resigned in preparation for the inauguration of her opponent on the campaign trail, Allison Garcia. The office never felt so empty, but also so full of past achievements. She was certain she could've won the elections and stayed in Los Altos for another 4 years. Where did the Reform campaign go wrong? Did the people naturally want to turn towards socialism? Did the Radicals split that much of the vote? It didn't really matter anymore as she lost the election. The PSSG was returning to Los Altos. 

Naomi couldn't deny it, she did have strong reservations about a socialist entering Los Altos. You'd just have to look across the border to see how well socialism worked. But it seemed the Gaduri were seduced by the populism. Despite her reservations, she didn't harbour any ill will towards Garcia. She was a politician doing her job. Naomi opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. She grabbed a pen and decided to start writing. The best she could do to prevent the extremes of socialism from ruining Gaduridos was to give advice to her successor.

Mrs. Garcia 

I am writing to you to congratulate you on your well earned victory in the election. I am certain that you will achieve many great things in this office, and I am sure you will be pleased by the majority you will receive in Congress come December. 

I will admit that while I am personally opposed to your socialist ideals and your EPIG agenda, I am certain that you will bring new heights to Gaduridos and help every Gaduri. I would also like to say this. Your grandmother would be proud of your victory. She left a positive and lasting impact on Gaduridos before the Troubles began, and I am sure that you too, will leave a lasting positive impact during your tenure as Prime Minister. 

As the office of Prime Minister is ever flowing and ever changing, any advice I could give would be irrelevant but there are a few constants. One, you will make enemies in this office. People will oppose your agenda simply because. Allies will turn on you, and enemies will become allies. There will be no shortage of opponents to your agenda, but there will also be supporters. Most especially family. When things get hard, and they will, always remember that you have family and friends to turn towards when Los Altos gets lonely.

This office will test you, and try to break you. It will force you to change things for better or for worse. Irregardless of what you campaigned on to enter Los Altos. While you have the popular support of the people with your agenda, radicalism and extremism do not last long in Los Altos. While you aren't an extremist, your ideology is. And I am placing trust that you won't put Gaduridos on the path towards socialism akin to Tukarali or God forbid, Baltusia. Always remember that at the end of the day, Gaduri vote with their wallet. But even despite your ideology, I am sure you will do good in this office. 

Should you ever need further advice, please do not hesitant to contact me. I send my regards to the rest of the Garcia Family, and I send you my best wishes as you enter Los Altos for 4 years. 

Yours,
Naomi Quesada

Naomi put the pen down and put the letter into the envelope. It would stay here for Garcia to see upon her inauguration. Perhaps it would sway her to avoid radicalism, perhaps not. It didn't matter anymore as Naomi got up and left the office. The 8 years she spent here will always leave a feeling of melancholy, but perhaps that's for the best.

[SolentiaAhmadi]

July 5593, on the outskirts of Gora, Saspain Wilayat, Solentia.

The former Solentian President and erstwhile leader of Mutahad Kargar Gond Gedi Khan was visibly shaking. He put it down to the bitter cold of the Solentian winter, and being from coastal Dostropo he hated the snows of the Saspain mountains. He wished he'd worn more clothing, he'd hate for his former enemies to mistake his shivering for fear.

He had been surprised by the Hezb-e Ahmadi offer of a free passage to speak to Mullah Yummah the de jure President of Solentia who had yet to be inaugurated into office in the capital Oda, which now languished under Kalopian occupation. Gedi Khan had initially been supportive of the invasion, seeing it as an opportunity to defeat the armed wing of Hezb-e Ahmadi, the Jaish-e Ahmadi. However, as a good socialist, the more he had learnt about the Libertarian government of Kalopia the more suspicious he was of their motives. Rather than wait to be greeted as liberators by the people of Oda, the Kalopians had fought their way into the city killing thousands in indiscriminate airstrikes. Gedi Khan's MKG fighters, who had expected to link up with the Kalopians were also attacked and Gedi Khan was forced into hiding. But somehow Hezb-e Ahmadi had found his whereabouts and invited him to this meeting. 

The door opened and in walked Mullah Yummah. Gedi had met him once before, during a debate prior to the 5988 Presidential election.

"As-salaam 'alaykum President Khan" the old Mullah greeted his former opponent.

"As-salaam 'alaykum President Yummah", Gedi Khan returned the greeting. Both men sat down. With the initial greeting over Gedi Khan's shaking stopped and he calmed down. Behind him his bodyguard also relaxed. Under the Dudmani Solentiwali code the principle milmastya, or hospitality to invited guests, was an important code.

"I am glad you took the brave decision to come, it must have been hard to trust our offer of safe passage".

"You are a Mullah, if we can't trust our religious leaders, who can we trust?" responded Gedi Khan, interestingly for a secularist who had attempted to remove the privileges of the Ahmadi faith from Solentia.

"Our civil war was a pointless event. Too many have been killed on both sides. I gave too much freedom in the leash I hold over Jaish-e Ahmadi. Akim must have been disappointed in us and sent the Kalopians to unite Solentians as one once again and drive out the invader."

Gedi Khan considered the Mullahs statement. He was not religious, not that he would admit he did not believe in Akim in a nation where only 2% were non-believers. He himself had initially been keen for the Kalopians to intervene. The Kalopians had demonstrated their military capability was far in advance of anything Jaish-e Ahmadi possessed. But the invasion had also opened the spectre of religious fanaticism, with the wild eyed fundamentalists of Ahmadi State launching daily suicide attacks against the Kalopian occupiers. Gedi Khan was still a Solentian nationalist at heart, and was saddened to see Kalopian boots trampling through sacred Solentian soil.

"I agree President Yummah. It is time to end our fight."

"Hezb-e Ahmadi can make provisions to moderate some of our policies. We still need to comply with the Book of Bliss and the Tribal Codes, but we can afford to be pragmatic and ensure local areas are governed according to local desires, underpinned by faith in Akim." Mullah Yummah smiled as he paused.

"I can work within this framework. I am prepared to publicly revoke any previous support for Kalopia and will order the remaining MKG forces in southern Solentia to work with Jaish-e Ahmadi to resist the invader." responded Gedi Khan.

Mullah Yummah's smile grew even wider. "Good, this is good. But too much politics, you have had a long journey, lets break bread and have our lunch".

The two men stood up, Mullah Yummah beckoned to Gedi Khan's body guard to come through with them to the next room where a table of food and soft drinks was waiting to be consumed.

[Dredd]

The streets of Kaesama were quiet, orderly, cold. People silently shuffled along the usual routes to their assigned tasks. Legionaries stood on every corner and outside every building, glaring upon the masses with rifles shouldered and bayonets polished. The commoners lowered their eyes as they passed the watchmen, never daring to challenge their icy gaze.

When men worked, they did so without idle chatter or the relaxed movements of the content. They were rigid, nervous, mechanical. There was no longer room for mistakes. A dropped box, a broken tool, a word out of line – all were inadmissible errors, remedied with the guilty man’s sudden disappearance and replacement by somebody more deserving of his role.

Dissent was a forgotten word. Not even the bravest dared to ask unwanted questions or whisper grim secrets to their families in the dead of night. The Commissariat had made it known that anybody, from the lowliest worker to the upper class, was safe from a knock on the door and a five-minute trial ending before a blood-splattered wall.

As Sládek looked down upon his city from the balcony of his palace, his heart was at last tranquil. This incarnation of the fatherland was not a decrepit old man, bloated with decay; it was a single, glorious machine. A firm hand on the levers, a gentle turning of the dial, and it would move as he willed. As the tale of history unfolded according to God’s design, so too did the cogs of Kundrati by the his hand.