Four Days of Chaos (IA)

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 13th, 10:17 am. Franerri Royal Palace, Pareau.

The truck carrying the Kumo representative drove off back into the streets of Pareau. The adrenaline in Dante’s veins, the need to act, to do something had not diminished. If anything, it had only increased. He had to act. He…he knew what to do. “You!” he pointed to one of the guards still surrounding him, “Take a car, go to the Army headquarters, get me General Ranulf and anybody else he thinks needs to be here. You-” he pointed to another guard.in turn, “-Go to the Foreign Affairs Administration and get me Director de Angelis or whoever else is acting in charge there. You two go and get me Dufour and Verenes. You, I want my personal plane and pilot ready to go as soon as possible. The plane will be at an airstrip outside the city, and you should be able to find where the pilot lives from there. Go quickly, the fate of the Kingdom depends on it.”

A resounding call of, “Yes, your Highness,” echoed from every soldier.

~

Esrellia 13th, 10:23 am. Franerri Royal Palace, Pareau.

Queen Jadwiga sat on the bed in her room, two year old baby Catarina on her lap. Eight year old Caden sat next to her, trying to decide whether the baby or the notebook containing his studies was less boring. The baby won out, Caden sticking a finger out in front of Catarina, who tried to grab it. He-

Dante slammed the door open, panting hard. His uniform was wrinkled, patches of sweat speckling the uniform. Jadwiga and Caden both turned to look at him. Dante ran over to his wife, hugging her as tight as he could, Catarina in between them. “Listen to me, Jad,” Dante whispered in her ear, “This is bad. Kumosenkan is coming.”

“Wh-wha-” Jadwiga tried to stammer out a question, but Dante didn’t stop talking.

“You need to take Caden and Catarina, leave the country. You’re going to stay with Anne-Marie in Lusatia. I already have our plane warming up, you need to pack your things and leave, quickly. We should have a month before the shooting starts, but I don’t want to risk anything in case Kumo is lying to us.”

Dante broke off the oh-so-brief hug, bending down on one knee to address his son. “Caden, I…” talking to Jadwiga had come naturally, but in this moment, his words failed him. What words could make up for the lack of relationship they had? What words could mean more in these few moments than everything he’d said for the past eight years of the boy’s life? “I…I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life when it comes to you. Not-not that you’re a mistake, no, but in that I haven’t always been there for you. You’re a smart kid, you’re mature. So when I say that you’ll be safe from Kumosenkan in Lusatia, you, you know that I mean it, and you know that you have to go.” Dante stared into his son’s eyes as the kid began to sniffle, choking back some tears.

Dante felt the warm, calming presence of Jadwiga clinging to his back, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. Caden closed the small distance between them, wrapping his arms around Dante’s chest, grabbing the sides of his father’s uniform, and burying his face into Dante’s shoulder. “We know you’re busy, but just give us this, Dante, for as long as you can,” Jadwiga said, failing to hold back her own tears.

Dante’s soon joined them, as he held his family for what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time.

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 13th, 11:03 am. Franerri Royal Palace, Pareau.

The stench of smoke hung in the air, seven men surrounding a table. King Dante stood at one end, though he didn’t feel very King-ly. His confident, stoic facade lay in tatters at the gates of the palace, leaving just the frantic, confused and worried man who had been inside since the day he took the throne. To his left around the corner stood General Ranulf, the highest military authority in the city ever since Marshal Zelgius left for Saint Parsson to manage the war better. His shaggy brown hair was tucked under his General’s hat to the best of his ability, and was one of the many contributors to the smoke in the room. Next to him stood Director Damien Simone, head of the Army’s Department of Logistics and Mobilization, flipping through a folder of deployments and time tables. Across the table from Dante stood Vergil Legault, the Director of the Royal Gendarmerie and next to him was Admiral Blaise Guillame, both of whom were also smoking. On the right side of the table from Dante stood Isaac Durfour Jr. and Julius Verenes, the latter smoking, for once not about to tear each others’ heads off.

The room itself was windowless, in the heart of the palace, the only noise in the room as they all waited the hum of the electric lights on the wall. On the table they all stood around was a map of Franerre, miniature soldiers marking the place of where Franerre’s divisions were deployed. Far, far too many of them were placed at the southern edge of Franerre, the map not containing the true distance they all were away from Franerre. In the middle of the table also sat a letter, one so far any man had been prevented from reading. Dante had explained nothing so far, but the atmosphere in the room was tense, oppressive. Everybody knew something had happened.

The last man they were all waiting on stepped into the room, one Director Lehran de Angelis of the Franerri Foreign Affairs Administration, accompanied by another man Dante didn’t recognize, ballooning the men in the room to nine. Lehran took his place at Dante’s right, the new man standing somewhat awkwardly at the corner between Lehran and Verenes. Dante swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Gentlemen, the day has come. Kumosenkan is threatening invasion, unless we cede the city of Elenerre, and any territory over the Taln River. They want our representatives to hand it over at a conference in Kumosenkan in a month.”

You could hear a pin drop. Everybody knew that ceding the territory was impossible, so war it would be. Dante passed around the letter, letting them all read it in turn. The silence stretched on, no man in the room could really tell for how long, only to be broken by a fit of coughs from Lehran, who brought a handkerchief to his mouth. Dante looked over to him, just in time to catch some blood on the handkerchief, before it found its way back to his suit pocket.

“General Ranulf, Director Simone, how quickly do you think we can get our men out of Tafatu and back into Franerre?”

The two men looked at each other, Simone starting to go pale. “If we wanted to pull all of our soldiers out, it could take months. In a month we could maybe get…maybe 200,000 of the 700,000 men we have in Tafatu all the way to the Elenrian border,” Simone estimated

“We did just finish training another 250,000 new conscripts,” General Ranulf chimed in, “Combined with the 120,000 we already have on the border, that leaves us with a total 570,000 men to resist the invasion with at the time of the invasion’s beginning, if we don’t include the 60,000 that are on the Galran border. There will need to be some spread out, garrisoning cities in case of a Kumosenkan naval invasion, so let’s just roughly estimate we can put 420,000 men on Elenria’s border before this invasion starts.”

“We may have a bit more time than that,” Lehran added, “Any sort of resolution made in Kumosenkan would need to be passed by the National Chamber here in Franerre to go into effect.”

“How long is a boat ride to Kumosenkan?” Dante asked.

Damien closed his folder. “If they want us in Kumosenkan in a month, it’s two weeks there by boat, two weeks back. If we assume the National Chamber won’t debate over any resolution, and that any resolution made in Kumosenkan happens in a day, there’s another two weeks to get a message back to Kumosenkan, and a further two weeks to get their reply back to us. Our best case gives us an extra month and a half. That gives us a total of 500,000 manpower back from Tafatu.”

“By that point,” General Ranulf added, “We may have an additional 250,000 conscripts trained. With the secession of hostilities in the Union, we were going to give the order to end their training early, though I suppose now it’s a good thing we hadn’t sent the order yet.”

Dante sighed. “The Kumo diplomat who gave this message leaves in four days. I said I would write a reply to her Empress in four days. Whatever we decide, we need to do it before then.”

“Are we even sure this is a war we can fight?” Verenes asked, drawing every eye in the room towards him. “We spent a lot liberating Tafatu - and it was money, blood, and bullets well spent. But we can’t gain that back. We may have the 500,000 men back from Tafatu, as you said, but what would that matter if Kumosenkan has more soldiers with better guns?”

Dufour looked ready to punch Verenes, and it wouldn’t be the first time. “Are you suggesting we give in?! Abandon Elenerre to whatever fate Kumo has for it?!” he exclaimed.

“No, no, I would never,” Verenes said, “I think we should look for a diplomatic solution before resigning ourself to a destructive war. I’m sure every man in the room read the reports of what happened when the Union cavalry crossed the border. It would be that across all of northern Franerre. I don’t want that-“

“What you do or don’t want doesn’t matter now, Verenes,” Dufour said, “In case you forgot, you no longer have a majority in the National Chamber. I don’t even know why the King invited you here.”

“I invited you both here,” Dante said, “Because I will require complete and utter cooperation from my entire government. If Kumo does declare war, I am going to dissolve the National Chamber and rule by decree. I want your cooperation in the matter.”

Verenes was indignant. “What about Franerri democrac-“

“What about democracy, Verenes?!” Dante shouted, slamming a fist on the table. “What use is it if ‘democracy’ just leaves us in Kumo’s clutches?!” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “In times of crisis, we need to be swift, efficient, and decisive. Everything the two of you proved you weren’t during the Tafatu Liberation War. Now, let us get back on the topic at hand.”

The man standing next to Lehran had been whispering together, unnoticed during Dante’s outburst, and now the two separated. “Lehran and I believe that Verenes may have a point. We should try and leverage our diplomatic opportunities first.” Everyone looked at the man, curious as to exactly who this newcomer was.

“This is Phillipe Mesny,” Lehran explained, “He’s the man I intend to take my place as the head of the Franerri Foreign Affairs Administration when I’m no longer able to. Seeing as this very well may be the most important event of all of our lives, I believe he deserves to be here.”

“Very well then, Mesny, de Angelis,” Verenes said, “Seeing as you’re the experts in this field, what do you think would be our best option, diplomatically speaking?”

Mesny shifted in place, uncertain. “This would be an…extreme option, but the Lusatians requested the leasing of a military base on Franerri soil to watch the Galrans on our eastern border, and they were willing to give us a great deal on Lusatian military equipment imports. We could, conceivably, lease them a second base in Elenerre.”

“No,” Dante said. “That is a betrayal of everything Franerre and our Pan-Toulism stands for. I would rather fight Kumosenkan.”

“Respectfully, your Highness,” General Ranulf said, “I’m in more of an agreeance with Verenes on this matter. Could we fight off Kumosenkan? Assuming Kumosenkan doesn’t enter a large-scale mobilization, I don’t doubt it. Would it be worth the cost? That’s another matter.”

Dante grit his teeth. “Is that what Marshal Zelgius thinks?”

“Zelgius isn’t here right now, your Highness,” Ranulf said.

“Regardless,” Lehran cut in, “There may be other options. It would be worth checking in with Gaelia, as well as informing our allies in Ashinara and Tafatu. In addition, there may be more…unusual opportunities, diplomatically speaking. Marrlan assisted Tafatu, and so they may be willing to assist us now. Koi may be willing to act as a neutral arbitrator. It’s also a large stretch, but Pomazanniki has Kumosenkan’s ear. If anyone could stop them on a diplomatic plea, it’s likely them.”

“Very well then,” Dante said, “I trust you, Lehran, and you trust your people. I’m giving you a blank cheque here, Lehran. Just make sure your people don’t write one we can’t cash.”

“Back to what we can do here,” Dante continued, “Admira Guillaume, what of our navy?”

“Half the navy is still in Noscovo,” Guillaume said, “Given the timeframe, I believe we could get our navy home in time after the peace conference in Noscovo.” The man still didn’t look confident. Everyone in the room knew he was the Admiral of a fleet of scrap compared to Kumosenkan’s fleet.

“We do have some good news, however,” Director Laugault cut in, “We haven’t noticed any new troop deployments by Kumosenkan to Elenria. Their invasion force must consist of whatever troops they already have in Elenria. Whatever that amount is, we aren’t sure at this moment. We’ve always considered it too risky to try and conduct operations inside of Elenria. In addition, we’ve spotted the deployment of a Kumosenkan aircraft carrier into the Bays, but no other new naval detachments beside that.”

“As far as what the Gendarmerie can do on a domestic front,” Legault continued, “I believe it’s time we start preparing for Action Sabre and Action Dague.”

“Sabre? Dague?” Verenes asked.

“Action Sabre is the strategic destruction of Franerri’s infrastructure by Army Engineer Corp and Gendarmerie units,” Legault explained, “The destruction of railways and ports to prevent any supplies coming in. Burning of fields to prevent Kumosenkan from seizing any food for supplies, and other things of that sort. Action Dague, on the other hand, is the movement of arms to predetermined hidden caches mostly centered around the Elenrian and Galran borders. Any units staying behind, plus any volunteers from the civilian population, should be able to make any Kumo occupation or supply lines hell.”

Verenes wished to make his thoughts known, but Dufour beat him to it. “You want to burn down the country to stop the spiders!?” he exclaimed. “Think about the devastation that would cause to the Franerri economy!”

“I agree with Dufour on this one,” Verenes said, half surprised the words left his mouth.

“Your opinions do not matter in this instance,” the King said, frank and cold. “This is a military matter, and I am the Commander in Chief. With your cooperation, I will be the National Chamber. I will be whatever Franerre needs me to. It is my birthright, my burden, my destiny.” He scanned the room, everybody looking at him save Verenes and Dufour, who shared a look. “If there’s nothing else, we all know what we need to do.”

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 14th, 1:19 p.m. Juaz, Republic of Tafatu

“You mean we’re finally going back home?” Lieutenant Chardin asked, not quite believing what he was hearing. They’d all been staying in Juaz since the city was seized, but as far as Chardin knew there wasn’t any news of a peace settlement from down south yet.

“Word is we’re going back to Alcasse,” Captain Lalande clarified, “We’re still on duty in the city. We’re not being disbanded just yet.”

That…that just didn’t make sense. The war was over - the 59th was the furthest thing from a professional division, and everyone inside had served their conscription term long before the war had started. “Command give any reason why?”

“Nope,” Lalande sighed, “But they want us up their fast. The 59th’s gonna gather their gear and march north with whatever daylight we’ve got today. At least once we make it to Le Troi, we’ve got a train ride home.”

~

100,000 Standard Infantry, 100,000 Heavy Infantry, and 3,000 Artillery were to be recalled from Tafatu to Franerre over the course of the next month, where they and the 250,000 Standard Infantry who just finished training would then be redeployed as follows:

50,000 Heavy Infantry and 1,000 Artillery to Pareau and the surrounding area

50,000 Heavy Infantry and 1,000 Artillery to the city of Toubonne, on the Franerri side of the Taln River.

150,000 Standard Infantry and 1,000 Artillery to divide themselves among Franerre’s coastal cities.

200,000 Standard Infantry to the city of Toubonne

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 13th, 4:03 pm. Bartels Line Command, Fort Gatrie, Elenerre.

Field Marshal Michael Franson stared at his desk, glass of wine in hand. The entire surface had been cleaned off, save for two pieces of paper. The first was a report from the local detachment of the Gendarmerie. It was all that confirmed that a group of Elenrians had crossed the border and murdered a Franerri soldier, anything else the Elenrians had done during their raid as of yet unknown. The second was a telegram from Pareau. He’d forwarded the report to Legault and the High Command, but it was too little too late, it seemed.

He’d warned Pareau that drawing all of his experienced units and replacing them with conscripts would lead to something like this. Franson just wished he hadn’t been right. Everyone else in the military called him paranoid, but it was his job to be paranoid. Kumosenkan was, without exaggeration, the greatest threat to Franerre as it currently stood. He would rather jump at shadows than potentially miss any sign whatsoever. Evidently, his men hadn’t jumped hard enough.

Franson tried to stare at anything else in the room. He stared at the wineglass. He stared at his portrait of the King on the wall, and the bookshelf below it. He turned around, staring at the blank wall behind him. But no matter what the Field Marshal did, it was as if those two pieces of paper had a gravitational pull to them, continually drawing his eyes in no matter how much he tried to escape. Michael shifted his wineglass to his offhand and gingerly stacked the pieces of paper at the corner of his desk, preparing his a telegram to the commanders in the field telling them how to prepare.

The Field Marshal gripped his pen in his hand, pressing it down against the paper. His hands shook, scrawling ink all over the sheet. Franson took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. It didn’t work. Michael had studied in Lusatia; he was perhaps one of the few men in power in Franerre who had seen what truly modern war was, and knew just how bad Franerre’s position was. He could hear it, the whine of bombs falling from planes the infantry had no way to shoot down and the whistle of shells fired from cutting-edge ships. He could smell it, the acrid smoke of artillery shell and the pungent stench of death. He could see them, dear Lord he could see them. Those damn spiders, witches straight from the depths of Hell itse-

CRACK

Michael opened his eyes, staring at his left hand. He’d gripped the wineglass so tightly it had shattered, glass shards in his hand spilling blood that mixed in with the deep red wine that now stained him. The pain…the pain brought clarity, at the least. Putting things into focus. Michael knew the injury was far from serious. Calmly, he took out a new sheet of paper, and began to write.


~

The following telegram arrived for every office with a Major General’s rank or higher.

EXTREME URGENT FROM BLC

SECURITY LEVEL BLACK

KUMO DEMANDING CEDE ELENERRE IN ONE MONTH

TROOP BUILDING IN ELENERRE WILL CAUSE WAR

NEWS TO REMAIN SECRET

ORDER SNAP INSPECTION OF ALL DIVISIONS IN PROVINCE

ENSURE UPMOST READINESS AT ALL COSTS

MAY GOD HELP US ALL

FRANERRE GLORIA

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 14th, 3:37 pm. Ministry of Commerce and Prosperity, Pareau.

The pressure builds…

Gabrielle Moineau leaned on the balcony railing, lazily rolling a cigarette between her fingers as she looked out across the city. She had to hand it to the Ministry, the third-floor balcony gave her a great view of the city on her smoke break. The people and cars on the street below, they all seemed so small up here. Some might have lost the individuals in all of this, just seeing them as one faceless mass of ‘people.’ Gabrielle tried not to, even if she failed at times.

Louis Gide sighed, Gabrielle turning around to face him. Louis didn’t smoke, but the two enjoyed each other’s company. They often had some strong debates about current issues, given that she was a socialist and he was the son of a small-time industrialist, just barely on the outer edge of the PPD’s inner clique. None such debates materialized today. Louis was quiet, certainly looking a lot more stressed than usual.

“Something wrong, Louis?” Gabrielle asked, leaning on the balcony.

Louis slid his hand through his short-trimmed hair, which looked a lot less neat now than it did a few moments ago. “de Leclair was sworn back in as the Ministry yesterday.”

“Shit, I thought that was next week,” Gabrielle replied, taking a drag of her cigarette. She certainly didn’t like that one bit, but it’s not like much would change for Gabrielle. ‘Not exactly good news for the Revolution,’ she thought, ‘But I am just a clerk, after all. Not like I’m going to be on the forefront of it in here.’

“That’s not all,” Louis said, “Dad says there’s talk that he’s gonna clear house in the Ministry. You could lose your job, Gab. A lot of people could lose their jobs.”

The news startled Gabrielle, the woman breaking out into a coughing fit from the smoke in her lungs. “Cough fuck cough cough,” Gabrielle managed to get out, slamming her fist on the railing. ’Me and my big mouth,’ she thought, bitter. That was really bad. Thanks to the SNF, you couldn’t be fired due to your political leanings in the private sector, but not the public sector. Some bullshit about keeping ‘dangerous, anti-monarchy radicals’ anywhere from power. Fucking moderates. Gabrielle wasn’t the most outspoken about her socialist political leanings, though she was certainly outspoken about her feminist ones, but even then she didn’t put it past the bastard to just whip up some bullshit reason to fire her. Even if she wasn’t fired, the fact that she got equal pay with her male coworkers was a policy of Minister Gautier’s, not a law on the books. “Fuck.”

“At the very least, both of us are small players in the grand scheme of the Ministry,” Louis said, “There’s a good chance he’s mostly going after higher-level policy makers, not the grunts like us.” The thought didn’t give Gabrielle much comfort.

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 14th, 7:59 am. Fort Valbar, Setange.

Preparing the Dagger

Quartermaster Roatta yawned as he trudged through the halls of Fort Valbart. How many years had he been in the Army now? Two, three? No matter how hard they tried, they could never make him a morning person, even if he always made sure to be at his post at 8 am sharp. He turned the corner, ready to unlock the door to the Quartermaster’s office, only to have been beaten there by somebody else with his back currently turned to Roatta. The man was tall, and evidently very impatient, given how fast his boot was tapping on the stone floor of the Fort, though for what reason th Quartermaster couldn’t exactly fathom. What was so bloody important that it had to be done the instant he opened his office?

“So, what are you here for?” Roatta asked, fishing a ring of keys from his belt and unlocking the office.

The man turned, Roatta catching the smallest hint of a frown on his face as the mystery man entered behind the Quartermaster. “I’m here to make a requisition, why else?”

“Oh who’s-”

“On the authority granted to me by my position in His Majesty’s Gendarmerie,” the man said with a huff, cutting off Roatta and presenting him with a badge. “The exact reason as to why is above your security clearance.”

‘Did they give him a stick up the ass when they gave him the badge, too? And I thought I got grouchy in the mornings.‘ Roatta thought. “Alright, exactly what do you need to requisition?”

“Small arms and infantry equipment. How many do you have in storage here at the Fort?”

“Let’s see…” Roatta walked over to one of the many filing cabinets in the office, opening drawers, leafing through them, realizing the files weren’t in that drawer, and repeating the cycle. Roatta knew roughly where they were, but he felt like making the man wait a while. To his credit, the man didn’t look any more impatient than he did earlier. Then again, who knew if the man could get any more impatient.

Eventually, Roatta did find the right files. “Let’s see here,” he said, pulling out a sheet from the first file. “It looks like some of our guns were requisitioned to start arming divisions raised for the Union war, but we’ve still got enough kit to arm 10,000 Standard Infantry divisions with 100 Artillery guns.”

“There’s going to be a train coming around at noon today. Get half of your infantry kit onto that train, but leave the artillery.” Roatta began to raise an objection, the man cutting him off with a simple tapping of his badge.

“I know you said it’s above my security clearance and all, but can’t I at least ask why?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

~

Esrellia 15th, 4:33 pm. Elenerre countryside.

Preparing the Sabre

Agent Bartolo drove down the country dirt road, his tailbone feeling every bump and pothole with the truck’s shitty suspension. He wasn’t even going that fast, though perhaps that spoke to more of the quality of the road than the truck. Bartolo’s truck hit an especially bad pothole, the man lifting off the seat for a brief moment before slamming back down. Perhaps the massive stack of paperwork in the seat beside him was a blessing then, the weight of the paper keeping it from flying all across the truck’s cabin. The majority of it was maps and tax records, believe it or not. Bartolo had drawn the short straw and had to be the one out here, verifying everything was where it was, noting down whether it would likely be worth anything to Kumosenkan, and whether it would be worth the time and resources to try and burn it down. He probably would have been a lot more somber about the whole damn thing if it wasn’t killing his tailbone.

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 17th, 8:04 am. Franerri Royal Palace, Pareau 

No more time to delay

Dante paced back and fourth in what he'd taken to referring as the 'operations room' in the middle of the palace. He didn't bother to dress up for the men gathered in there with him. Dante knew he was in a wretched state, and didn't think there was any point in hiding it. There was no dress uniform, or crown and scepter to be found. Dante simple wore a silken button-up shirt and simple black pants, chosen for comfort rather than any sort of appearances. The clothes were wrinkly, as if they had been worn before and not ironed since and the shirt untucked. He'd hardly slept a wink the first two nights after receiving the news, too tired to do much of anything the days after. Even last night, what sleep he did manage to get was plagued by nightmares, even if he was somewhat better rested than before. At the very least, this was a smaller meeting of only himself, Lehran, and the now returned Marshal Zelgius. The former, however, was running late. That did nothing to aid Dante's stress.

For the Marshal's part, he simply stood by the table, unsure of how to proceed. He was closer than most to the King, and knew that putting on the front of royalty was something that took the man a great amount of effort. But this level of stress, of worry, of vulnerability was something completely known to Nori. The only people who had likely seen this side of the man were the Royal Family, who was currently safe in Lusatia, Lehran, who was running late, and perhaps the Kings-General, who stood guarding the door to the 'operations room.' One part of Zelgius worried that the King was too stressed, too pessimistic about Franerre's chances in this conflict. Another part of Nori worried that everyone else wasn't stressed enough. It would be costly, both in blood and material, but the Marshal had faith in Franerre's strength of arms. There would be no push into Elenria, but a bloody enough stalemate could be had that Kumosenkan would be forced to abandon the operation. If even a few divisions worth of modern arms and artillery could be had, it would make victory that much more certain. 

Knockknockknock

The noise caught Nori and Dante's attentions, the latter turning around mid-pace to face the door. "Come in," Dante said. A moment later, Lucien opened the door, Lehran stepping inside accompanying by Mesny. Dante didn't know why, but that lit a bit of a fire in him. "Out." Dante said, standing a bit straighter and with a bit more force behind his voice.

Lehran and Mesny stood there, confused, as if they didn't quite understand what the King said. 

"Out!" Dante said, louder this time as he pointed to the door.

"Wh-" Mesny began to sputter out, gaze switching rapidly between Dante and Lehran.

"OUT!" Dante shouted, finally getting the message across to Lehran at the very least, who placed a hand on Mesny's arm.

Mesny, for his part, took the signal and left he room, causing Dante to deflate back down once more. His shoulders slouched, and the man seemed more sluggish now than when Lehran and Mesny entered the room. Lehran walked over to Dante, placing a hand on his shoulder and wordlessly asking the question; 'Why?' "...i don't want anyone to see me like this, lehran," Dante said, his voice soft. "look at me. I'm no king. i'm a wreck of a man, completely unprepared for this disaster." The Marshal began to feel...uncomfortable, watching over this private moment not meant for him. He began to make his way over to the door, slipping out as silently as he could. 

"Perhaps, perhaps," Lehran said, wrapping his arm tight around the King. "But I also believe you underestimate yourself too much, my liege." The words felt odd, coming from Lehran's lips and entering Dante's ears. Normally Dante hated those words, simple titles spoken not out of earnest devotion, but of the stifling, impersonal weight of position. But in this moment...Dante could feel that reverence and devotion in those words. It made a part of him want to laugh from equal parts dark pity and absurd humor. He felt the true weight of those words now, of all times? From a man who's only catering to tradition was to call him 'King Dante' rather than any other title full of nothing but empty air?  "You, my lord, are a fighter." There it was again, that 'my lord,' spoken more honestly than he'd ever heard in his life. 

"leo would have fought. toussaint would have fought. I'm not special." 

"Your brothers may have fought valiantly," Lehran said, "But they were not fighters, in the way you are. You may be able to lead, but you will not be a leader the same way Leo was. You may be able rule, but you will never be the ruler Toussaint was. They could fight, but they will never be able to take hits like you can, and continue to get up and try and try and try again. To stare down nigh impossible odds, have a breakdown like this, and recover like you will. They could not be fighters like you, my King." 

Dante sniffled, rubbing the forming tears away from his eyes. Franerre did not deserve Lehran, he did not deserve Lehran. But, Dante had him anyway. And his life was all the better for it. The King sprang forward, new life inside the man, and wrapped Lehran in a hug. Lehran, for his part, winced, barely able to suppress the racking coughs and blood-speckled handkerchief that would always follow after since he received the prognosis. Blessedly, Dante didn't notice. Neither man could really say how long they embraced each other, but when they were done, Dante was in better spirits than Lehran had seen him in awhile. 

"Now, I believe we were waiting on your reports back from our allies abroad before drafting a letter?" Dante said, looking around the room and only now realizing that Zelgius had left. 

"Ah, yes," Lehran said. He walked over to the door, inviting the Marshal, and with a glance back to Dante for confirmation, Mesny back inside the room. The two men looked rather unsteady, which Dante couldn't exactly blame them for.

"Now," the King said, "Your report, Lehran?" 

"We only have replies back from Gaelia and Lusatia, due to the simple fact Koi and Marrlan are on the other side of the planet," Lehran said, "Lusatia's military base deal is on the table, and in my opinion, looks rather promising." On cue, Mesny passed folders to both the Marshal and Dante, detailing the nature of the deal. "Unfortunately, Gaelia will offer no assistance against Kumosenkan. The best deal we could get was military assistance after we had already ceded the Notch." 

Dante frowned at that, but found his spirits surprisingly undampened. "What of our troop movements, Zelgius?" 

"It's only been four days, but everything appears to be happening on schedule. The numbers General Ranulf gave you should still hold, God willing." 

"Very well then," Dante said.

"I believe I have a letter to pen."

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 19th, 9:00 am. The National Chamberhouse, Pareau. 

Better the Devil You Know?

King Dante Emil Soleil Della Rosa II, Sovereign of Franerre, Shield of Her People, Defender of the Foa Restoration and Mordred’s Revolution, stood at a podium on the floor of the National Chamber. The eyes of every single representative in the semicircle in front of him stared at the King with a mix of curiosity and worry. This was a classified meeting of the Chamber - the members of the King's Royal Guards barring every entrance and exit as well as patrolling the building ensured that no wandering eyes or ears could drop in. His Highness had never needed to call one before - only the eldest members of the legislature could remember the last time they had been present at one.

The King cleared his throat. "Chambermen of the Legislature, I come before you bearing news of the gravest sort. As I am doubtlessly sure you are aware, a Kumo was seen in Pareau less than a week ago. Until now, our government has been silent on the matter. That is because the Kumo delivered unto me this letter-" Dante lifted up the paper from the podium to show to the Chamber "-demanding that Franerre cede the city of Elenerre and all territory over the Taln River." The King paused, expected to hear the usual uproar that came from the National Chamber whenever something major was announced. Instead, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Dante continued. "Yesterday, I sent two trusted diplomats on a mission to Kumosenkan with my reply. I agreed to a meeting, and requested the help of Koi as a neutral arbitrator between Kumosenkan and Franerre. I implied I would be willing to cede territory-" the King hurried out the second half of the sentence to cut off any potential outbursts "-but it is naught but a delaying tactic to allow us more time here in Franerre to do what we can to prepare for the oncoming storm."

"During this time, we have consulted with our friends and allies. I am sad to report little has came of it so far. Ashinara was hit by a tsunami, and have yet to recover from their expenses of will and money from the war in Tafatu. Gaelia was unwilling to supply anything but 'diplomatic pressure' on Kumosenkan. We have instructed our diplomats in Marrlan to ask for assistance there, but due to the vast distances between us, no response has came yet. Our allies in Lusatia, meanwhile, have been of more use. They have offered us a deal - they would be willing to offer us large discounts on advanced Lusatian weapons, in exchange for bases in Elenerre and eastern Franerre." The room tensed, and Dante took a deep breath. This was the turning point.

"I believe it is in Franerre's best interest to accept the Lusatian offer." The room exploded with noise. It was hard to make catch what was being said for anything beyond a few words.

"Treasonous!"

"A disgrace!"

"Necessary!"

"A tragedy!"

The King knew it was best to let the storm run it's course. He looked to Dufour and Verenes. Dante didn't catch their reaction to their news, and his shifting of opinions, but for the time looked like they were trying to sell the deal to their party members. It didn't look like it was going well. Sure enough, by the time the 'discussion,' if one could call it that, had settled down, a vote had already been called without any calmer discussion. 75 votes in favor, 175 against.

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 19th, 11:23 am. Ministry of Commerce and Prosperity, Pareau.

The pressure builds

Three. Goddamned. Years. Gabrielle Moineau had been with the Ministry of Commerce and Prosperity for three years. She had graduated from Alcasse Central with some pretty fucking good marks, if her salutatorian status was anything to say about it. If anything, she was overqualified for the glorified accountant job she’d been working, but Gabrielle had been happy doing it. Happy working under Gautier, because he was a good man who did right by the average Franerri. And you know what happened practically the instant he was replaced?

“Hey, Gab?” Melissa asked, peeking her head inside the doorway, “Minister de Leclair’s requesting a coffee in his office, and be quick. He has someone important-looking in his office, and it didn’t look like it was going to bring good news.”

Gabrielle had been demoted to a fucking teagirl, or she supposed it was a coffegirl for the bourgeoisie bastard. A job any person with a functioning pair of legs could do. Oh, her superiors claimed that she had just ‘fallen behind on productivity,’ and that the ministry was ‘undergoing reorganization,’ but Moineau knew that to be bullshit. The only reason de Leclair didn’t outright state he was demoting or firing all of the women on his staff was to save face. Firing someone for what was between their pants may have been legal, but in a more liberal place like Pareau, it wouldn’t make you any friends. So, he had to be sneaky about it.

“Gabrielle? Did you hear me?” Melissa asked again, a bit of concern in her voice.

“I got it, I got it,” Gabrielle forced out, making her way over to where the coffee pot was sitting. She poured a mug, debated spitting in it, before deciding against it. That would have been an actually fireable offense, and Gabrielle preferred humiliation to homelessness. All she had to do was hold out until she could get another job lined up.

Gabrielle hurried through the halls and up the stairs of the ministry building to the top floor where de Leclair’s office was. It was about that time what a loud “WHAT!” cry out, heard even through the office’s thick doors. That was both concerning and intriguing. Whatever it was, it sounded like it had ruined de Leclair’s day. “...just now being told of this?” Gabrielle quickly looked both ways and, finding the hallway empty, crept up to the door and put an ear to it. There wasn’t exactly any way to hide what she was doing, but it was the only way Gabrielle would be able to catch the conversation, and whatever this was, it was important.

“I should have been informed a week ago when this happened!” de Leclair said. Gabrielle could now tell that his voice had a mix of anger, concern, and…something she couldn’t quite place through the door’s thick wood.

“It was on a need-to-know basis. It’s still on a need-to-know basis,” the other voice replied. Gabrielle had no idea who they were, but they sounded rather calm compared to the Minister. “The first people to know about it were the King, the heads of all the different military branches, the Foreign Minister, the Gendarmerie, and the First and Second Chambermen. The rest of the National Chamber was only informed today, and I’m going around informing all of the other Ministers.”

“This is going to set Franerri economic progress back a decade, and that might be underselling it. Our economy is fundamentally an export-oriented one - we can’t exactly export anything during a blockade given our lack of rail connections, and a month is nowhere near a long enough time to prepare.”

‘Blockade?’ A pit began to form in Gabrielle’s stomach.

“Well, it certainly sounds like you have your work cut out for you, Minister,” the second voice said. It sounded like the conversation was wrapping up.

“Is that all you have to say to me?” de Leclair sounded incredulous.

“I am no economist, that’s your job,” the other voice said, dispassionate. “So long as we both do our jobs, then, God willing, Franerre will weather this storm in one piece.”

“Weather this storm? Ask the Elenrians how well ‘weathering’ a bloody Kumosenkan invasion worked, why don’t you?”

The pit in Gabrielle’s stomach dropped all the way to the bottom of her feet. She’d heard the talk of the spider that had landed in the port a week ago, but the government had been completely silent on it and Gabrielle had preferred to stay away from the rampant speculation surrounding it. But if what Gabrielle had just heard was true, the entire nation’s worst fears were about to be realized.

“I still think the King made a mistake telling the rest of us Ministers so late. Our opinions deserve to be heard when the entire fate of the nation is at stake.” de Leclair’s voice had lost much of it’s anger at this point, though a hint of it still showed through.

“We’re keeping a lid on this as long as possible,” the second voice said, “Nobody can know what’s truly happening until-”

Knockknockknock

“Come in,” de Leclair said, intentionally raising his voice to be heard through the thick wood.

Gabrielle opened the door, mug of coffee in hand. “Your coffee, Minister.” Judging by the look on his face, the Minister must have completely forgotten about his drink. She couldn’t blame the man. “...am I interrupting anything?” Gabrielle asked, feigning innocence. She wasn’t exactly the best of actors, but both men were distracted enough that it seemed to fool them.

The second man, who Gabrielle could now see was some sort of nondescript military type, stood from his seat. “No, I believe I was just leaving. Good day, Minister de Leclair.” Gabrielle stood out of the doorway and let the man past, and after quickly setting down the Minister’s coffee, she quickly left the same way. Her mind was on much larger things than work now. With any luck, by tomorrow morning everyone would know what was truly happening.

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 19th, 5:17 pm. Ministry of Commerce and Prosperity, Pareau.

The dam breaks, part 1

The pit in Gabrielle’s stomach weighed on her. It made her feel ill, knowing what she did. She wanted to run into the middle of the city and shout it for all to hear. That, of course, would have just made her an insane woman, and nobody would have listened to Gabrielle. No, for something as controversial as this, she needed an air of legitimacy to her claims. Gabrielle needed, of course, a newspaper. Gabrielle walked up the steps to L’Aurore’s main offices. The building looked empty from the outside, but there had to be someone working the midnight oil, though Gabrielle supposed it would be better to call it the five o’clock oil at this time in the afternoon. Whoever was here, she was going to give them the story of a lifetime. Thankfully, Moineau already had a bit of an in with the newspaper.

Gabrielle opened the door to the office, glad to at least find a woman still behind the desk. “Is Appell in?” she asked.

“He’s in the darkroom, on the second floor,” the woman answered. Jean-Pierre Appell was an old friend of Gabrielle’s from college. He was never the brightest, dropping out to pursue a career in photography. Jean-Pierre certainly had an eye for it, too. But perhaps most importantly, he was the one who had introduced Gabrielle to socialism. L’Aurore didn’t often use photographs in their newspapers, but when they did they called Jean-Pierre. She never knew how he convinced L’Aurore to invest in their own darkroom that only Jean-Pierre ever used, but at the very least he seemed to make good use of it.

Gabrielle caught Appell as he was leaving the darkroom, most likely to get another set of prints. He was slightly taller than average, giving him half a head on Gabrielle, and she never saw Appell go anywhere without the ubiquitous box camera on his hip. “Gabrielle,” he started, pausing slightly before continuing. “...are you feeling alright?”

‘Christ, do I look that bad?’ Gabrielle thought. No, it was likely just that Appell probably knew her so well that she could tell something was off. She waved a hand dismissively. “I just need a favor. Do you have any reporters working late tonight?”

Jean-Pierre thought for a moment, before answering. “I believe a Rose is in tonight, she should just be down the hall.” A Rose, of course, would be any person who published under the pseudonym of ‘Riva Rose,’ a handy little fabrication that helped some of the more controversial opinions of L’Aurore to be printed without fear of one’s reputation being tarnished by the ‘politer’ elements of Franerri society. Some individuals had simply published one or two articles under the name, but Gabrielle knew of a few people who practically published under the name full-time. Evidently, this woman would be one of those people.

The staccato click click click of typewriter keys pressing up and down and the occasional ching of carriage return grew louder and louder as the pair approached an open door. Jean-Pierre knocked on the doorframe, the shorter woman soon popping her heat outside the doorframe. The woman was young, perhaps not even 22 yet, and her hair was tied in a short blonde ponytail.

“Hey Catherine,” Appell said, “This is my friend, Gabrielle, she wanted to see you.”

“Is that so?” Catherine asked, skeptical. “I’m already behind on a few stories I had planned, so she might have to wait a few days.”

“I’m not waiting a few days,” Gabrielle declared. “This is the most important story in Franerri history.”

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 20th, 1:13 pm. Franerri Royal Palace, Pareau

The dam breaks, part 2

The newspaper slammed down on the table, boldly proclaiming it's headline for all around the table to see. A special lunchtime issue of L'Aurore. 'Kumosenkan Invasion Immanent! Leaks From Franerri Government Worker!' The same set of individuals who had gathered on the 13th, what Dante had mentally began to call the 'war council,' now stared at the newspaper on the table

"Exactly how the fuck did this happen?" Dufour pointedly accused Verenes.

"You think I did this?" Verenes asked, shocked.

"It was published in L'Aurore for Christ's sake. This has the stench of you and your socialists all over it," Dufour scoffed.

"If I were going to leak this, I wouldn't bother being subtle about it,” Verenes responded, snippy and snide.

“This…this is a good thing,” the King said. The entire room looked back at him, stunned. “Or at the very least, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“A-Are you serious, My Liege?” Dufour said, sounding as if he wasn’t quite sure whether his ears had heard correctly.

“I am,” Dante said, confident. “Believe me, the fact that this leaked is concerning, and I trust you to get to the bottom of it with all haste, Legault-” Dante looked at the man, who nodded. “-but this could be an opportunity to wrangle the National Chamber to our needs. We simply need to get our side of the story out to the people. We may not share all the facts, but we’ll state everything necessary. Dufour, you’ve got friends in Heraut Franerri-” Verenes scoffed. Everyone in politics and plenty who weren’t knew they were a major campaign donor to the PPD. It was also at this time that Kings-General Lucien de Mahieu slipped inside the room, unnoticed by all in the room. “-and Verenes, L’Aurore won’t shoot you on sight. If a newspaper interview started this mess, a newspaper interview will swing it in our favor.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you may not have that time, your Highness.” The room’s attention was now fully on the Kings-General. “A crowd of protestors have arrived at the outer gates of the palace. They’ve been peaceful for now, but I don’t know how long it will hold.”

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 20th, 1:45 pm. Outside the Franerri Royal Palace, Pareau

The dam breaks, part 3

One part of Catherine Bachelet hated how far behind she was getting on stories by being out in the streets today. It used to be a horrible habit of hers to sit and let things waste away neglected, but she would like to think she was a better woman than that. That part of Bachelet was very small today, however. Today’s edition of L’Aurore may not have gotten out in time for the morning like she had hoped, but the teams had pushed hard to get it out before lunchtime began for most Franerri. As far as she knew, the first copies had been sold only two hours ago, but they had spread like wildfire. But even Catherine couldn’t have expected to find herself here, outside the Franerri Royal Palace. Normally protests kept themselves contained to the area around the National Chamber, and she was certain the largest protests were over there currently, but this was the first time she could remember that any had appeared outside of the King’s own palace. They hadn’t been here long, perhaps only half an hour, Catherine present for the last ten.

Bachelet tucked an errant strand of hair up under her fedora, a loose sheet of her notebook with the word ‘Press’ and ‘L’Aurore’ written on it hanging out the band. The crowd, maybe two thousand or so if she had to guess, was surprisingly calm. There was chanting, which seemed to mostly have coalesced around the phrases ‘Let Us Know,’ and ‘We Want Truth.’ Nothing much else like signs or torches, unfortunately. It was plain to see that this protest was extremely ad-hoc compared to the worker’s strikes she was used to covering and participating in. She only wished Appell would have come here instead of going to the National Chamber, he would have loved the scene of protesters in front of the Palace.

Bachelet pushed and elbowed her way to the front of the crowd, not quite an easy feat for a smaller woman like herself, but she was scrappy. Ideally she would have been able to just find a good vantage point and survey the crowd from above, but Catherine couldn’t find a good one as she approached the crowd, and had resorted to slowly pushing her way to the front. As she burst out of the crowd, Catherine finally got a look at the Royal Guards, most behind the safety of the Palace walls save for perhaps twenty or so men enforcing a small perimeter around the front gate. Their faces were a professional blank, rifles unslung and with bayonets attached, but still pointed at the ground. One of them on the other side of the gate, some kind of a commander given the stripes on his shoulder, had found a box and a megaphone. The paper cone helped magnify his voice, but Catherine wasn’t quite sure how well it could be heard beyond the front of the crowd over their chanting.

“Stay behind the perimeter set up by the Royal Guards. We respect your right to protest, but the King’s safety is our top priority. Any attempt to breach the perimeter or instigate violence will be taken as an assault on the King’s safety and we will fire upon you. Stay behind the perimeter…”

The crowd respected this for the time being, but telling them to stay back and be calm wasn’t answering their questions. Exactly how long the crowd would wait, and either charge the gate or go back to their lives, was a good question nobody seemed to know. Now with a good look at their front, Catherine took her chance to survey them up close. The front line was mostly men, but there were a fair few women mixed in, most of the crowd appearing to be middle or upper class, surprisingly. There were less stained suspenders and overalls and more suits and white collar shirts. Still, they seemed as determined as any labor protest she’d seen, for the time being at least. Bachelet had to give them credit for that.

Her eyes turned back to the Royal Guards, time enough to catch an individual leaving the Palace. His uniform was immaculate, chest adorned in medals. He would probably be the Kings-General, if Catherine hazarded a guess. He barked some command to one of the soldiers, lost in the noise of the crowd, who began to spread it down the line to every man in front of the Palace. A few moments later, the gate opened wide enough for an additional twenty or so men to file outside and stand behind their compatriots. The shouts of the crowd quieted like the calm before the storm, the only noise a dull background chatter and the same announcement from the Royal Guards as before. The air became uncertain. Was this about to turn into a massacre? Catherine had never been a part of a strike gone poorly, thankfully, but she had to imagine this was how it star-

The Kings-General stepped on top of the box, taking the megaphone from the man who had been droning on with that same string of words. “Silence!” Like a teacher silencing the errant children in a classroom, the background chatter ceased. “His Royal Highness, King Dante Emil Soleil Della Rossa II, Sovereign of Franerre, Shield of Her People, Defender of the Foa Restoration and Mordred’s Revolution, will be addressing your concerns personally. To ensure the King’s safety, we will be enlarging the perimeter around the front gate. Vacate the area or the Royal Guards will remove you by force.”

There were no ‘pleases’ or ‘thank yous’ in the Kings-General’s speech. Just simple commands for the crowd in front of him. The crowd was still stunned into paralysis, until the troops at the front of the gate began to push outward. To Catherine’s surprise, the crowd moved back, as fast as crowds could at least. The Royal Guard didn’t secure that much more space, but the space they did was almost shoulder to shoulder with their deep blue uniforms, the men watching the crowd like a hawk.

Then, the King stepped outside the Royal Palace.

It was hard to look between the tight ranks of the Royal Guard, but what glimpses Cathereine caught seemed to match what she had seen in photos of the King. The King’s face was as flat and blank as those of the Royal Guard who stood in front of the crowd, the man dressed in a uniform similar to the Kings-General’s, but more expensive in every way and without all of the medals, as well as wearing his silver crown. The man stepped up onto the box next to the Kings-General. The older man handed the megaphone off to the King, then turned to scanning the crowd like, well, Catherine didn’t exactly know a bird more fearsome than a hawk, but he was certainly watching the crowd like one.

The King surveyed the crowd himself, though exactly what he was looking for Bachelet couldn’t guess. He looked straight at Catherine, and she stared back at him, defiant. Satisfied at whatever he had seen, after a few seconds he held the megaphone up to his mouth and spoke.

“People of Franerre, I have heard your chants.” The crowd was still completely silent. “The words printed in L’Aurore are true. Kumosenkan is threatening war against Franerre. All of the nation must stand united against this threat. I will tell you all information my Government has and what we are doing, but I will ask now that you please return to your homes and places of work. I will be giving an interview to be printed in L’Aurore and Heraut Franerri that will explain everything. But for the time being, the nation must be brave, united, and calm in face of the greatest challenge she has ever faced. Please, disperse, knowing that your answers will come to you. Thank you, and Franerri Gloria”

The King stepped down from the box, the Kings-General’s hand on his shoulder and shielding his body from the crowd. That was that, as it seemed. The entire crowd seemed frozen in time for a few moments, before they gradually began to disperse. With such a large number of people, it was hard to tell what was going through the minds of each of them individually. Elation? Fear? Relief? Dread? Catherine couldn’t say. She was broken from these thoughts as a hand tapped on her shoulder. It was one of the Royal Guards, broken from their lockstep, the only trace he was gone the slightly wider space between the rest of the Guards at the front.

“His Royal Highness wishes to see you.”

[callmedelta]

Esrellia 22nd, 2:04 pm. National Chamber, Pareau.

For twice in nearly as many days, the National Chamber was voting on the issue of what had become known as the 'Lusatian Offer.' Unlike the last time, however, this was an open session of the Chamber. Reporters from L'Aurore and Héraut Franerri sat in their usual spots, and outside the building was a crowd of supporters for the 'Lusatian Offer.' The protests were organized, of course, by the Gendarmerie. Political intimidation? Perhaps. But it was needed. The deliberations were shorter than King Dante had expected. Protestors outside, party heads inside, all applying pressure on those who had voted against the agreement last time. 203 in favor, 47 against. The telegram to the Franerri embassy in Lusatia was sent within the hour.

[callmedelta]

Army Preparations

Inside the Elenerre region, with official news that war would more than likely be coming, troops began to make preparations. They were at constant readiness, with fallback trench lines being dug behind. After seeing the trench works of the Ashinarans in Tafatu, small, straight and narrow passageway trenches connecting the two. The Franerri infantry may not have the same machine guns the Ashinarans did, but hopefully shotguns could do the job. The Gatling Guns would be placed in this fallback trench line in fortified dirt dugouts with wide, overlapping fields of fire. Barbed wire would be stretched high across these trenches, ready to cut any Kumo legs to shred. Minefields would be planted, and several false minefields would also be erected, simply to keep Kumosenkan on their toes. All artillery would be placed behind a third layer of trenches, ranges calculated and prepared to blunt any Kumo attack.

Across the river in the city of Toubone, another trained 50k troops would be stationed there to join the troops ready to march across the river. 100k Standard Infantry would be spread across the remainder of the Franerri-Elenrian border, and antother 100k Standard Infantry would be reinforcing the coastal garrisons across Franerre. 

Navy Preparations

Admiral Guillaume looked at the map on his desk. Even with the fleet back from Noscovo, things weren’t looking good. Too much coastline, too few ships, especially in comparison to Kumosenkan. At the very least, fate had given Blaise one shred of hope. Kumosenkan had sent out a map detailing where they had placed naval mines. Part of the territory mined was along the Two-Bay Gap. On the outset of war, 10 minelayers would be deployed to make that territory completely impassible to any ship, Franerri or Kumo. Hopefully, with Kumo cut off from any naval reinforcements, his own navy stood a fighting change. It may not have been a large one, certainly, but it was better than nothing. Guillaume’s remaining 10 minelayers would be split 5 and 5 between mining the rest of Franerre’s coastline, half bayside and half oceanside. The surface warships of the Admiral’s fleet would all be docked in Pareau, hopefully ready for whatever may come. The submarines, unable to operate in the shallow waters of the bays, would be stationed in the port of Desterque, the one area free of the mining campaign.