Al'Istaan -- Nisstaani borderlands
The desert was almost completely empty. Two figures stood in immaculate uniforms watching as the aerial transport swept over for a landing. The older figure, a man with a graying mustache and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, turned to his companion.
"Don't envy them, Roza," his voice resonates deeply. "You're too young to remember when our nation was so bold, but try to imagine the kind of burden it must be to have so vast an empire as the Transnationalists." He shakes his head. "And now they want Al'Istaan. I wonder how long they'll be able to hold it all."
The red-headed lieutenant standing next to him bows her head deferentially and remains silent as the aircraft lands and the rear ramp drops open. She watches as two huge men in full combat gear step out and look around, then signal for a third man to exit.
The dark-skinned man in the colonel's field uniform offers a broad grin as he calls out, "Marshall Brusilov. It's been a while, sir." His hand comes up in one of those crisply casual Transnationalist salutes.
Brusilov returns the smile and the salute. "Since the liberation of the Gulf, Colonel Rogers," he agrees. "Welcome to the Nisstaani borderlands."
Rogers' hand comes down and his smile relaxes. "I just wanted to say hello before the goddamned press arrives and starts all the flag-waving."
The expression on Brusilov's face doesn't change as he nods in acknowledgment. "Allow me to express my sorrow at the loss of your father in the attacks on the Imperial City. He was a great soldier and an even greater man."
For a moment both men stand silently, remembering. Colonel Rogers seems to recover first. "He often spoke highly of you too, sir. 'If anyone could turn that backwards country around,' he'd say, 'it'd be Alexei.'"
Brusilov smiles just a bit at the way Rogers' voice shifts when he quotes his father. "I'll do whatever I can to help avenge his death, Steven."
"Thank you, sir." Rogers nods. "Though, with all due respect, and off the record, I'm not sold on the idea that those responsible are even in this country." He shrugs wryly, "I don't want to say what gives me reason for such doubt. It's just... something in my gut." Another shrug. "In the meantime... I'll do my duty."
A fond and tired smile settles onto Brusilov's face. "You've reminded me... there was something your father also often said to me. What was it?" He pauses a moment to collect his thoughts, then nods to himself. "'History is always written by the powerful, and the powerful always have something to hide...'" Straightening, Brusilov stares directly into Rogers's eyes. "You can take Al'Istaan easily enough, Colonel. We controlled the entire country within a month. Holding it, keeping your grip on it-- That's the test, Rogers. That's the real test."
As he speaks, Roza cocks her head as if listening to something unheard. Then she holds out her hand as a small blue window appears and a sealed envelope falls through. She breaks the seal and scans the letter within, then she taps Brusilov on shoulder as he draws breath to speak again. "Please excuse me, Colonel," she says, apologetic but brisk.
Brusilov frowns, turning to his aide. "What is it, Lieutenant?" he asks in irritation.
"Excuse me, sir, but there is an urgent communication from Central Command." She waves the paper in her hand slightly to illustrate.
"Can't this wait?" Brusilov sighs. He had been looking forward to catching up with the young Rogers. He leans in as he speaks, though, keeping his voice low. He think of the young colonel fondly, but this is official business, and none of Rogers's.
Roza shakes her head. Quietly: "No, sir, I'm sorry. This is straight from the top." She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "It's about your former command, sir. The Konstantinov."
Brusilov stiffens at the tone in her voice. "Show me," he orders.
She hands him the letter and Brusilov removes his glasses as his eyes sweep across it. The style, the standard sparsity of military communiques, is almost odd as Brusilov realizes that the content could potentially shatter his nation.
Communique from Central Command. To All Commanding Officers:
Skymarshall Urik Antares, Sorceress-Major Maya Antares, Chief Engineer Andre Torin, and a majority of their crew (est. two-thirds) have staged a mutiny and abandoned their duties in Nokgorka. Remaining crew refused to join mutiny, were granted safe passage groundside, and are currently under questioning.
The destination of their vessel the R.S.S. Konstantinov is unknown at this time.
Skymarshall Antares has refused to surrender himself, his crew, or his vessel. The only response has been hostile reaction: The Konstantinov has fired upon and immobilized the R.S.S. Firin during a brief engagement.
For this treasonous insubordination, all members of the Konstantinov's crew have been stripped of military rank and privileges and are from this moment forward to be considered enemies of the state.
Orders follow:
Make no further attempt at negotiation with the enemy vessel.
Intercept and use all available force necessary to subdue. If this proves infeasible, orders are to engage and destroy.
Repeat:
Engage and destroy.
As he reads, Brusilov half-listens to Roza's continuing status updates. "It's strange, sir. The Konstantinov's ranking sorceress registered kasting a reenact protocol yesterday-- and then this." She shrugs, as if it doesn't matter much. "The Taktarov and support ships have them engaged, sir. It's been two hours. Against Marshall Volkov? It was probably over quickly."
Brusilov lets the hand holding the orders fall to his side and sighs heavily. "With all due respect to Marshall Volkov and his crew, Lieutenant," he says with an odd mixture of pride and sadness, "you don't know my old ship."
He looks up, eyes full of memories. "And you don't know Urik Antares."
"Don't envy them, Roza," his voice resonates deeply. "You're too young to remember when our nation was so bold, but try to imagine the kind of burden it must be to have so vast an empire as the Transnationalists." He shakes his head. "And now they want Al'Istaan. I wonder how long they'll be able to hold it all."
The red-headed lieutenant standing next to him bows her head deferentially and remains silent as the aircraft lands and the rear ramp drops open. She watches as two huge men in full combat gear step out and look around, then signal for a third man to exit.
The dark-skinned man in the colonel's field uniform offers a broad grin as he calls out, "Marshall Brusilov. It's been a while, sir." His hand comes up in one of those crisply casual Transnationalist salutes.
Brusilov returns the smile and the salute. "Since the liberation of the Gulf, Colonel Rogers," he agrees. "Welcome to the Nisstaani borderlands."
Rogers' hand comes down and his smile relaxes. "I just wanted to say hello before the goddamned press arrives and starts all the flag-waving."
The expression on Brusilov's face doesn't change as he nods in acknowledgment. "Allow me to express my sorrow at the loss of your father in the attacks on the Imperial City. He was a great soldier and an even greater man."
For a moment both men stand silently, remembering. Colonel Rogers seems to recover first. "He often spoke highly of you too, sir. 'If anyone could turn that backwards country around,' he'd say, 'it'd be Alexei.'"
Brusilov smiles just a bit at the way Rogers' voice shifts when he quotes his father. "I'll do whatever I can to help avenge his death, Steven."
"Thank you, sir." Rogers nods. "Though, with all due respect, and off the record, I'm not sold on the idea that those responsible are even in this country." He shrugs wryly, "I don't want to say what gives me reason for such doubt. It's just... something in my gut." Another shrug. "In the meantime... I'll do my duty."
A fond and tired smile settles onto Brusilov's face. "You've reminded me... there was something your father also often said to me. What was it?" He pauses a moment to collect his thoughts, then nods to himself. "'History is always written by the powerful, and the powerful always have something to hide...'" Straightening, Brusilov stares directly into Rogers's eyes. "You can take Al'Istaan easily enough, Colonel. We controlled the entire country within a month. Holding it, keeping your grip on it-- That's the test, Rogers. That's the real test."
As he speaks, Roza cocks her head as if listening to something unheard. Then she holds out her hand as a small blue window appears and a sealed envelope falls through. She breaks the seal and scans the letter within, then she taps Brusilov on shoulder as he draws breath to speak again. "Please excuse me, Colonel," she says, apologetic but brisk.
Brusilov frowns, turning to his aide. "What is it, Lieutenant?" he asks in irritation.
"Excuse me, sir, but there is an urgent communication from Central Command." She waves the paper in her hand slightly to illustrate.
"Can't this wait?" Brusilov sighs. He had been looking forward to catching up with the young Rogers. He leans in as he speaks, though, keeping his voice low. He think of the young colonel fondly, but this is official business, and none of Rogers's.
Roza shakes her head. Quietly: "No, sir, I'm sorry. This is straight from the top." She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "It's about your former command, sir. The Konstantinov."
Brusilov stiffens at the tone in her voice. "Show me," he orders.
She hands him the letter and Brusilov removes his glasses as his eyes sweep across it. The style, the standard sparsity of military communiques, is almost odd as Brusilov realizes that the content could potentially shatter his nation.
Communique from Central Command. To All Commanding Officers:
Skymarshall Urik Antares, Sorceress-Major Maya Antares, Chief Engineer Andre Torin, and a majority of their crew (est. two-thirds) have staged a mutiny and abandoned their duties in Nokgorka. Remaining crew refused to join mutiny, were granted safe passage groundside, and are currently under questioning.
The destination of their vessel the R.S.S. Konstantinov is unknown at this time.
Skymarshall Antares has refused to surrender himself, his crew, or his vessel. The only response has been hostile reaction: The Konstantinov has fired upon and immobilized the R.S.S. Firin during a brief engagement.
For this treasonous insubordination, all members of the Konstantinov's crew have been stripped of military rank and privileges and are from this moment forward to be considered enemies of the state.
Orders follow:
Make no further attempt at negotiation with the enemy vessel.
Intercept and use all available force necessary to subdue. If this proves infeasible, orders are to engage and destroy.
Repeat:
Engage and destroy.
As he reads, Brusilov half-listens to Roza's continuing status updates. "It's strange, sir. The Konstantinov's ranking sorceress registered kasting a reenact protocol yesterday-- and then this." She shrugs, as if it doesn't matter much. "The Taktarov and support ships have them engaged, sir. It's been two hours. Against Marshall Volkov? It was probably over quickly."
Brusilov lets the hand holding the orders fall to his side and sighs heavily. "With all due respect to Marshall Volkov and his crew, Lieutenant," he says with an odd mixture of pride and sadness, "you don't know my old ship."
He looks up, eyes full of memories. "And you don't know Urik Antares."