This scene contains violence and objectionable bodily fluids.
56th of the Hazel’s Frost, 2030
Undisclosed Location — Newly-Founded Republic of Ayvarta
Furnishing an underground conference room in Ayvarta on a short notice was an ardous task. Nochtish girls in support staff uniform crawled around the ruins of a nearby university, and procured the chairs, the tables, a projector. The Meeting would be held in the command bunker of a set of old coastal guns. During the Solstice War, the guns saw no use. There was no enemy navy in the Southeast Ayvartan Sea. There still wasn’t any; the communists had wrecked the ports and their submarines made long patrols deadly.
Allied flags, banners and symbols were furnished for the meeting room, lights were installed, carpeting, everything that could bring to mind the propriety and comfort of an actual military headquarters. There was an attempt made to sew a banner for the Republic of Ayvarta’s flag, an eagle superimposed over a sun and carrying a sword, the eagle black, the sun red, the backdrop gold. Nobody could get one made in time, and the Republic went unrepresented among the flags of Nocht, Hanwa and Lubon in the room.
At the appointed date and time, the meeting room filled with top generals from the three allied countries. There were Hanwans with their ceremonial swords and dark brown uniforms, and Lubonin officers in their green parade uniforms, never seen on the battlefield, and Nochtish generals all wearing the dour, utilitarian gray common to all soldiers in their army. At the head of the meeting, atop a stage and podium constructed for the purpose, stood Field Marshal Dietrich Haus, a man looking younger than he was, soft-faced, imposingly tall, strong-shouldered, with hair almost to the shoulder now.
He stood before everyone, and behind him, a projector displayed many aerial images of a city, surrounded by walls, vast, larger than any city on any of their continents, able perhaps to hold all of their capitals in one plot of land. On a blackboard, Haus began to write. Across the silent room reverberated the sound of chalk striking board. In a few moments he had several figures up on the board. Then, he turned back to the room.
“The City of the Solstice is the strongest defensive position on the planet, gentlemen. Its air defense network alone comprises 10,000 guns in the city, most of 76mm caliber, many on the wall ramparts. Several of these guns can be used to attack ground targets as well. In terms of raw ground fire artillery, we’re looking at over 30,000 additional barrels. Solstice alone contains the 100,000 strong Revolutionary Guards army, as well as 300,000 reservists. Over 2000 tanks are at their disposal, likely including many of these new types that have gotten the better of us. In the air, we’re looking at at least 1000 fighter aircraft alone, with many hundreds of ground attack planes in support. Judging by the pace at which the enemy has been reorganizing, these numbers will only grow the longer we wait. You can bet that by the time we arrive at the city walls, there will be at least a million frontline personnel, if not more, defending Solstice. Never has a military force of mere men faced such an obstacle. Solstice has never fallen from without; nevermind the name and legend of the Conqueror’s Way. This city has never been taken in a fight.”
There was a lone other voice, sounding above the crowd otherwise entranced by the Field Marshal. One hand rose into the air, as if in a school. Haus followed the hand, the length of the arm, and saw a youthful, grinning face, like a fox. Short dark-blond hair, combed and slicked, and severe, sharp cheekbones accentuated that face, which could not be mistaken, and that detestable voice. It was Gaul Von Drachen of Cissea.
“One person took the city in a fight.” Von Drachen said. “Well, a few really, but one–”
“You mean Madiha Nakar, the mediocre general whom you can’t seem to overcome.”
“You’d do well not to underestimate her.” Von Drachen said. “That girl has, a kind of secret factor, you could say. She will surprise you. Mark my words, friend Haus.”
“I am not your friend, Von Drachen. Shut up, and don’t interrupt me again.”
Several heads in the room turned to glare at Von Drachen, who seemed far too comfortable and satisfied with himself despite everything that transpired.
Haus raised his fist. At the back of the room, his beautiful and unflappable assistant Cathrin Habich switched the images in the projector, from a reel of photographs of Solstice, to a reel that began with a map of Ayvarta. As the reel progressed, more of Ayvarta turned from red to blue. There were dates accompanying each color shift.
“We began this war on the 18th of the Aster’s Gloom. Our primary goal was regime change. The communist Socialist Dominance of Solstice has for years been a sponsor of revolutionary territorism and a dealer in arms to foreign threats to democracy. We carefully built up forces in the two independent nations in the continental Ayvarta, Cissea and Mamlakha, both of whom were sympathetic to our cause. Striking with swift pincer movements, we overran and destroyed many Ayvartan defenses, starting in the states of Adjar and Shaila, and then moving to Dbagbo and Tambwe. Over the the past 100 days we have captured over half the territory of the Ayvartan union. I will not mince words: our losses have been great. Our logistics are in tatters, resupply is slow and ardous and expensive thanks to the lack of suitable port facilities and to deficiencies in our Navy and merchant marine. But we have set foot in the red sand, Gentlemen.”
Cathrin switched the reels once more. Now instead of maps of Ayvarta, there were images of Nochtish and Ayvartan equipment. Photographs, schematics, planning documents, shipping manifests, tables of organization. Cathrin scrolled the images at the slightest signal from Haus, as he addressed the room again with renewed fervor.
“Gentlemen, I want anyone daunted by what you’ve seen and heard to leave this room, and never speak to me again! If you are not energized by this challenge, you are unworthy! We will bring the light of God to the godless communists! Solstice’s walls, dozens of meters towards the heavens, will fall before our might! Even as we speak, the Nocht Federation is preparing 10 weapons known as the ‘Wall-Breaking Potentials’ that will grant us access to the invincible city, where we will end this war. Feast your eyes!”
Again the reel was switched; images of weapons scrolled one after the other, larger than anyone in the room save perhaps Haus himself. Technical specifications on a new explosive, C-10. An ultra-long-range cannon on a super heavy battleship dubbed “Jormungandr.” A massive bomber dubbed “Thor,” and its rockets, “Mjolnir.” A super heavy tank, “Vishap.” An eerie cube shaped material for many experimental uses, “Lehnerite.” Weapon after weapon, fully unveiled with schematics and top secret information. It was awe-inspiring. Everyone in attendance was agape at them.
It was quickly evident this meeting was not simply about unity against the communist scourge. It was about the power of Nocht, about their prestige, ingenuity, wealth.
Ayvarta was a stepping stone, an example.
These weapons could cover any territory. The power to destroy a wall of Solstice could easily become the power to destroy Palladi or Edo. That was the assumption all foreign generals in the room immediately made and Haus did nothing to reassure them.
“You are witnessing the twilight of communism, gentlemen. The end of Revolution. No more will chaos triumph over the order of the world. Nothing and nobody can stand against these powers. Protected by these swords, peace will finally reign on Aer!”
No one dared ask who’s peace, or what kind, or where it would reign, or for how long. Nobody dared say a word, or even allowed themselves a loud breath. Eyes cast cautiously about the room as if looking for commonality. At least Haus was careful not to mention Democracy too much. There were monarchists and imperial theocrats in the room who were uncomfortable enough at the upstart democracy and its boldness.
“In the next few days, we will chart out a path to this peace, together. For now–”
“Ah, wait up! One more thing!”
A familiar voice rose in the back of the room, and a most familiar man walked down the aisle that split up the seating arrangements for the various delegations. Slick blond hair, a sharp suit, boyish good looks and a winning smile: it was none other than Nochtish president Achim Lehner, making his first ever appearance in the Ayvartan continent. Everyone was aghast; even Haus was surprised. His eyes drew wide open, and a smile crept up. He charged off the stage and ran up to Lehner, and took him in arms.
“You should have told me you were coming!” Haus said excitedly.
Lehner did not return the embrace, but did smile at his friend. “It was short notice.”
“Short notice? It’s a week-long voyage. God in heaven.” Haus smiled, and laughed.
Lehner stood back a step from Haus, extricating himself, and the two, once separated once more by propriety, made their way down to the stage. Lehner took the podium. At the other end of the room Cathrin stood in calm, collected confusion, not having any reels prepared for this. Haus motioned for her to cut off the projector, and turn the lights on the stage. Properly shone upon, Lehner began to speak to the crowd himself.
“Hey there, listen, friends, colleagues. A hundred days ago we embarked upon this amazing project together, and it’s been quite an experience. We’ve experienced a hell of a lot. I wanted to be here to see off the next step in the journey to a freer, better, stronger world. Part and parcel of that, is, letting go of old attitudes, old beliefs. Embracing the new. We’ve got all kinds of new. Weapons, tactics. I wanted to be here, personally, to introduce something else new, that I would like all of you to know that we have.”
He gestured to the back of the room again, where the door once more opened up.
“This information doesn’t leave this room, by the way! None of it does, of course, we’ll discuss that, but this especially. This especially does not leave this room, okay?”
Heads turned toward the back, where, perhaps most surprising of all, it was a woman walking down the aisle now. A pair of women; one was tall, slender, fit, with skin the color of molasses and long, dark hair in a messy ponytail, beneath a cap emblazoned with a silver eagle. Her nose was sleek, slender, sharp, her cheekbones high, and her face had a condescending expression. Her uniform was all black, and it was patterned after frontline soldiers, unlike that of her companion, who clearly wore a secretary’s coat and skirt. One was clearly a soldier, or intended as one, while the other was shorter, meeker, blond-haired and blue-eyed and a little bit plump. She would have been fairly typically Nochtish had it not been that she wasn’t: because both women had furry ears and tails.
“Please allow me to introduce you to 2nd. Lieutenant Aatto Jarvi Stormyweather of the Vorkampfer Corps, our first woman combat soldier. Times are a-changing, gentlemen!”
There was no applause. As Aatto took the stage, she shot the crowd a disdainful look, while her companion followed behind her with her tail literally between her legs, and looked utterly terrified. Around the room there were faces, some curious, others perplexed, and several furious. Among the Hanwans in particular, who had some interesting cultural notions toward women, this move did not inspire confidence.
Near the front of the crowd, a man with an old-style Nochtish cavalry uniform and a very geometric mustache stood in consternation and singled out President Lehner. He spoke in a rabid voice, as if he had been ready to snap and this was what broke him.
“Mr. President, you have asked us to conduct this war without materiel, with green men, overseas, against unknown foes, for months, with nary drill nor preparation for jungle warfare, for river warfare, for desert warfare; that, we did honorably, and that, I did grudgingly, for my country. But this, I simply will not stand! I will not stand for this army, already on the brink, to be filled with every two-meter trollop you deem erotic enough–”
From the stage, Aatto glared his way, and the gentleman instantly seized up.
His last words choked up, and he gripped his own throat in confusion, and he stared at Aatto, and at Lehner, and at Haus, and his legs shook as his words continued to fail him, as breath failed to enter him. Lehner looked toward the 2nd Lieutenant: without confusion, as would be expected, but instead with open nervousness. As Aatto’s mouth curled upward in a sadistic grin, the General below seemed to choke more violently.
“Aatto, please.” said the girl beside her, tugging on her sleeve.
“Uh, Stormyweather, that’s good enough, I think this misogynist learned his lesson eh?”
Lehner tried to be affable, and Aatto shot him a glance.
Sighing, she turned her head away.
At once, the old General breathed again in a terrible, raspy gasp.
His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, and openly expelled blood, and vomit.
It fell out of him like slush, like melting snow. He was coughing up bloody ice.
“As you wish, Mr. President.” Aatto said.
Lehner clapped his hands together. “Uh, thanks, doll. Appreciate you and all you do.”
Aatto rolled her eyes, her tail slowly swishing behind her.
Lehner turned back to the room.
Another man was standing.
Gaul Von Drachen was giving a standing ovation, clapping, staring at Aatto in awe.
He seemed entirely too emotional about what had transpired.
Lehner ignored him and addressed the room again.
“Gentlemen, we have a lot to discuss. You see, God has smiled a smile that is only smiled once in a millennia, and he has smiled it on the Federation of Northern States. And on its enemies, he has cast a bolt of lightning that the world hasn’t seen since ages gone by. If you thought Nocht was starting to run out of steam: well, you ain’t seen a damn thing.”
There was chatter, confusion, and a restrained fear, all around the room.
“Gentlemen, who here has heard of magic? None of this leaves the room, by the way.”