Post by KyferLegs (Diria) on Sept 19, 2023 0:53:49 GMT -5
Khalard - Vaylien 1, 1934
Khalard was an atypical Dirian town, primarily populated by the Mednusai and Zarou, with a smaller minority population of traditionalist Sabir and an even smaller handful of Darasae. The Mednusai and Zarou had inhabited the growing village after hundreds of years. Still, the humanistic Sabir and canid Darasae had only recently begun to arrive in 1926 after 'entrepreneur' programs had made outreaches into the wild states of Nardras and Sohil. However, despite the contrasts between a very peaceful group of cultures and a new, rougher, and wilder culture, relations between the four groups had reached a delicate equilibrium. The Mednusai and Zarou had found great respect for the resourceful and workaholic Sabir and Darasae despite their more isolationist tendencies. While the Sabir and Darasae appreciated the hospitality, advanced knowledge, and technical know-how many of the Mednusai and Zarou had, even despite the great pride they boasted. The cultures also congregated in their neighborhoods, dividing the city into five quarters. The four were divided among their actual cultures, while the fifth, the downtown, was a mash of all the groups. This layout allowed all breathing room, besides when it was lunch, where most congregated into what became known as Ginger-Square. Ginger-Square, typically to outside visitors, was usually thought to have bright orange and red buildings, but in fact, Ginger-Square was full of green vegetation and brown and tan structures, with many outside food carts and stands. Ginger-Square was, in fact, the culmination of a stereotype of the local Zarou population, which had a unique genetic trait of bright orange and red fur in sunlight. However, one couldn't deny what the cuisine in this small hub, centered with a park and roundabout with numerous roads and alleys, had to offer.
Conveniently, Ginger-Square and one of its many attached roads linked directly to a formerly Veraki 'highway,' but then it was a simple road. However, the new road was eventually built upon by the Dirian Confederacy post-revolution and became a major highway over a decade. In late 1925, this highway became an interest to the Dirian Army and its ability to provide a direct route to the Veraki border. Thus, with a loan from the government, the military bought out a wide swath of land nearby, which was abandoned in the revolution and picked up by a Zarou family who resided within Ginger-Square. That land eventually became the local base for those under the 2nd Infantry Batallion of the 3rd Infantry Regiment of the 3rd Division and the 2nd Field Artillery Regiment under the 6th Field Artillery Brigade of the 3rd Division. However, while the Army bought the land, the same family offered another plot within Ginger-Square of a dilapidated building, which became the local recruitment office for the Dirian Army within Khalard.
By 1927, the Dirian Army had established itself in the growing village, and the recruitment office saw a healthy dose of eager or not-so-eager volunteers who sought to escape poverty. Furthermore, the base's residents also became a local sight and naturally the talk of the town, as military families or personnel on leave mingled with residents, but most gossiped about were those who snuck from the base. The base gates were adjacent to a linear road that allowed easy access into Ginger-Square. So, the members or residents of the base tended to follow this path to congregate at Ginger-Square due to its easy-to-follow nature. The goal was always usually to get to try one of the many restaurants for a taste of the supposedly fantastic cuisine, but this occasionally led to incidents where the military police had to periodically dispatch a few to patrol the square or road for a few days whenever incidents of bored personnel who had gone AWOL, and subsequently consumed whatever they could that wasn't their typical on-base meals, like alcohol and had caused a disturbance. Only then did the incidents, usually overlooked, see any punitive action. However, despite this trend, it was relatively mild. Most punishments typically included the AWOL soldier being brought back to base, being yelled at, and resulting in a week of disgusting duties, only for the offender to repeat the process but instead have learned to avoid the detection of "White Caps" or MPs. However, despite the growing population and increased military presence within the town, circumstances were always optimal despite its proximity to the Veraki border and the Army's paranoia of an invasion that had existed since the revolution.
Khalard had a sense of tranquility and peace, especially on the first morning of Vaylien. The gulf, being a couple of minutes away, brought no rain, and the base, the day before, began the process of rotating its companies to and from the border. Hence, the population of soldiers within the city proper was low. However, those who made their presence known in those quiet days on in-city furloughs were those above or at the rank of Captains. Usually, they gave verbal commands to their subordinates, mainly the positions of Second Lieutenant or a Lieutenant, who during these periods had the extraordinary task of, at best, riding in the trucks that commonly hauled the troops to and from the border to babysit the ordinary soldiers. At worst, it was a march to the border, which always instilled great confidence in the soldiers who constantly complained whenever they realized it was due to an insider military joke dubbed “Fuel Wars” that they lost, as the Northern and Southern half of the Veraki border patrolling guards and divisions always squabbled and levied for fuel supplies.
Nonetheless, this time of the month, the square also got more respectful and formal. Such esteemed guests like Captains, Majors, and, if lucky, a Lieutenant Colonel were also known as big tippers, and having verbal approval of endorsement to the family restaurant was even better for business to the local Zarou families. That was the way of things for years now. So when the town's mosque bell tower chimed two times, quite a distance away from the square, the many restaurants, either stand or in-building, quickly braced themselves for the lunchtime rush at noon. The ranked military men, nonetheless, always came a bit earlier. The Battalion, primarily comprised of Zarou and Sohili individuals from the often religious Western regions of Diria, had prayer in the mornings. There was no defined location or time to do this in their cultures. Still, the individuals the Battalion consisted of typically chose mornings for their lack of intrusion into everyday life. It was bizarre as the Sohili and Zarou, before the mid-1800s, didn't communicate generally due to the vast desert between them and were comparable in lack of relations to those from Touli nowadays. For centuries, the Sohili were split between nomads and settled. Still, both creeds of the Sohili stayed distant and peaceful despite disagreements with the Shawistani and Darasae, with whom they clashed most, but the Darasae fought with everyone. Despite their relative isolation, the Sohili and Zarou had shockingly similar beliefs despite developing as cultures independently. Thus, when it came to prayers attached to their cultures, both in the military often shared areas of ministry. So, the local Battalion's military men would often attend in the mornings together. After, always a bit early, the higher ranks, lucky enough to participate in local mosques during times like this, came to eat.
Noon went by relatively peacefully as the military brass sat together at the Atlasi's Famous Seafood Restaurant. Seafood wasn't commonly a part of the traditional Zarou diet, but Hassan Atlasi made it work and quickly became one of the highest-rating establishments in town, with many endorsements. It was a good send-off, as all the men would've been on the border of Verak by tomorrow, and there, the food wouldn't be as delicious. However, as noon passed and people who had arrived prepared to leave, the usual sudden withdrawal of the town's numerous residents was soon to commence. The military men did not want to deal with adoring kids, or “Rank-Hares,” a slang for females who targeted exclusively higher-ranked military men to date. So they stayed far in the back of Atlasi's Famous Seafood Restaurant, usually listening to the radio from afar. The family who owned it had collected enough money to buy it, and there were only so many radio stations currently in Diria, so it was mostly gawking over the world's news and occasionally music. Still, it wasn't agonizing and was oddly pleasant. Hearing about Diria's enemies and cordial nations was sometimes enjoyable, and the military men would crack jokes over foreigners or other countries or ongoings within their country. However, lately, the news was dreadful, with tensions rising. Most just hoped if the worst did happen, it would happen in a faraway land. So, the military men asked to turn the radio down to keep an optimistic mindset and convince themselves that Vaylien would go by fast. However, a few minutes later, near the hushed radio, Mr Atlasi's ear perked, hearing something come on the radio, the uncommon few-note chime of a national broadcast. Usually, it was for emergencies, essential messages, elections, or testing. However, Mr. Atlasi's mental schedule for a national broadcast today was absent, so he turned it up loudly so the entire store and exterior could hear it. At first, the military men at the table nearby wanted to protest, but hearing the chiming, they relented, knowing it could be virtually anything. The radio crackled for a moment as a voice began to announce itself.
"Hello? Hello! Hello, this is Solis and all Dirian radio stations!" Mr. Atlasi quickly ushered his daughter and wife, presumably working in the kitchen, to the front counter, where he took orders. People outside, passing by or eating at the outside tables, similarly squeezed their way inside, listening to the radio that continued its speech, the voice on it scrambled with urgency, which repeated itself three times and provided a few momentary pauses. After the third stint, the voice sprang into action and uttered, "This noon, or at twelve, zero, zero, Veraki troops attacked the Dirian border, breaking twenty two years of peace." The restaurant's interior went deathly silent, and the military men reacted in numerous ways. One depressed onto the table, another threw his napkin down, and the closest to the radio gathered his things. The civilians of the restaurant also had their reactions, primarily the females and youth who gasped or swore, one woman almost crying as she glimpsed at her husband, and the men of the restaurant, mostly all reservists, realizing the worst in their noiseless shock.
Nonetheless, the radio continued, hawking loudly. "At this moment, elements of the Dirian Army have reportedly been engaged and are actively fighting against the aggressors. Shelling has been reported, and lives have been lost. You will now hear a special broadcast in a moment." The radio paused, and during that time, one of the military men left. Some of the restaurant's occupants gathered their things and hurriedly departed. Others, mainly younger men, shouted common slurs to use against Verakis. Outdoors, the scene of rushing people and cars smeared a backdrop of mass hysteria onto the windows. However, many remained inside, intently staring at the radio and its sinister quietness. Finally, after about two agonizing minutes of hushed conversation, the radio returned to life, and the crowd silenced to let the new voice speak, which, unlike the frantic other, was energetic, intense, and full of intensity. "It's war!" The word struck everyone bitterly. It corroborated what everyone knew, but the radio waited for nobody's feelings or daily distractions and persisted. "As of today, we are at war! No matter our devotions or concerns, today's events have superseded all! We must now set our lives aside, look to the aggressor, and resist! All the efforts of our nation must go in one direction, one action. We are all now soldiers of Diria. We have only one thing to think about: Fight until victory! Long live Diria!" Immediately after, a hymn, known mainly as “A Letter to the Duce,” began to play in a contradictory, upbeat instrumental version commonly used in military propaganda or biased news services. A minute roughly after the broadcast began its patriotic tune, the local mosque started ringing its clamorous bell the same method it'd do during a funeral. The local army base sirens followed five minutes after the National Broadcast ended, drowning out the mosque's bell, and a local news service picked up where the National Broadcast left off and continued the news or messages to the public. The most crucial message, alongside the declarations of hostility or the hectic and limited reports from the frontlines, was general mobilization and the decree all reservists had to go to their designated bases in a week or whatever was instructed after their compulsory service if it had concluded. However, the radio message and the military police, who had begun to walk down roads yelling the news in Khalard, were unnecessary. The news had spread quickly in the small town by word alone, but what had announced the state of emergency to everyone who hadn't heard yet was the loud and ringing tune of the sirens from the local base that conveyed all it needed in its long and bone-chilling chorus: A call to arms, which all men currently on base or those who were reservists had to answer, and the sound of crying wives and mothers, hurrying citizens, and vehicles, primarily military quickly were washed out as the loud, repetitive sound of the siren loomed over the town from a distance.
Khalard was an atypical Dirian town, primarily populated by the Mednusai and Zarou, with a smaller minority population of traditionalist Sabir and an even smaller handful of Darasae. The Mednusai and Zarou had inhabited the growing village after hundreds of years. Still, the humanistic Sabir and canid Darasae had only recently begun to arrive in 1926 after 'entrepreneur' programs had made outreaches into the wild states of Nardras and Sohil. However, despite the contrasts between a very peaceful group of cultures and a new, rougher, and wilder culture, relations between the four groups had reached a delicate equilibrium. The Mednusai and Zarou had found great respect for the resourceful and workaholic Sabir and Darasae despite their more isolationist tendencies. While the Sabir and Darasae appreciated the hospitality, advanced knowledge, and technical know-how many of the Mednusai and Zarou had, even despite the great pride they boasted. The cultures also congregated in their neighborhoods, dividing the city into five quarters. The four were divided among their actual cultures, while the fifth, the downtown, was a mash of all the groups. This layout allowed all breathing room, besides when it was lunch, where most congregated into what became known as Ginger-Square. Ginger-Square, typically to outside visitors, was usually thought to have bright orange and red buildings, but in fact, Ginger-Square was full of green vegetation and brown and tan structures, with many outside food carts and stands. Ginger-Square was, in fact, the culmination of a stereotype of the local Zarou population, which had a unique genetic trait of bright orange and red fur in sunlight. However, one couldn't deny what the cuisine in this small hub, centered with a park and roundabout with numerous roads and alleys, had to offer.
Conveniently, Ginger-Square and one of its many attached roads linked directly to a formerly Veraki 'highway,' but then it was a simple road. However, the new road was eventually built upon by the Dirian Confederacy post-revolution and became a major highway over a decade. In late 1925, this highway became an interest to the Dirian Army and its ability to provide a direct route to the Veraki border. Thus, with a loan from the government, the military bought out a wide swath of land nearby, which was abandoned in the revolution and picked up by a Zarou family who resided within Ginger-Square. That land eventually became the local base for those under the 2nd Infantry Batallion of the 3rd Infantry Regiment of the 3rd Division and the 2nd Field Artillery Regiment under the 6th Field Artillery Brigade of the 3rd Division. However, while the Army bought the land, the same family offered another plot within Ginger-Square of a dilapidated building, which became the local recruitment office for the Dirian Army within Khalard.
By 1927, the Dirian Army had established itself in the growing village, and the recruitment office saw a healthy dose of eager or not-so-eager volunteers who sought to escape poverty. Furthermore, the base's residents also became a local sight and naturally the talk of the town, as military families or personnel on leave mingled with residents, but most gossiped about were those who snuck from the base. The base gates were adjacent to a linear road that allowed easy access into Ginger-Square. So, the members or residents of the base tended to follow this path to congregate at Ginger-Square due to its easy-to-follow nature. The goal was always usually to get to try one of the many restaurants for a taste of the supposedly fantastic cuisine, but this occasionally led to incidents where the military police had to periodically dispatch a few to patrol the square or road for a few days whenever incidents of bored personnel who had gone AWOL, and subsequently consumed whatever they could that wasn't their typical on-base meals, like alcohol and had caused a disturbance. Only then did the incidents, usually overlooked, see any punitive action. However, despite this trend, it was relatively mild. Most punishments typically included the AWOL soldier being brought back to base, being yelled at, and resulting in a week of disgusting duties, only for the offender to repeat the process but instead have learned to avoid the detection of "White Caps" or MPs. However, despite the growing population and increased military presence within the town, circumstances were always optimal despite its proximity to the Veraki border and the Army's paranoia of an invasion that had existed since the revolution.
Khalard had a sense of tranquility and peace, especially on the first morning of Vaylien. The gulf, being a couple of minutes away, brought no rain, and the base, the day before, began the process of rotating its companies to and from the border. Hence, the population of soldiers within the city proper was low. However, those who made their presence known in those quiet days on in-city furloughs were those above or at the rank of Captains. Usually, they gave verbal commands to their subordinates, mainly the positions of Second Lieutenant or a Lieutenant, who during these periods had the extraordinary task of, at best, riding in the trucks that commonly hauled the troops to and from the border to babysit the ordinary soldiers. At worst, it was a march to the border, which always instilled great confidence in the soldiers who constantly complained whenever they realized it was due to an insider military joke dubbed “Fuel Wars” that they lost, as the Northern and Southern half of the Veraki border patrolling guards and divisions always squabbled and levied for fuel supplies.
Nonetheless, this time of the month, the square also got more respectful and formal. Such esteemed guests like Captains, Majors, and, if lucky, a Lieutenant Colonel were also known as big tippers, and having verbal approval of endorsement to the family restaurant was even better for business to the local Zarou families. That was the way of things for years now. So when the town's mosque bell tower chimed two times, quite a distance away from the square, the many restaurants, either stand or in-building, quickly braced themselves for the lunchtime rush at noon. The ranked military men, nonetheless, always came a bit earlier. The Battalion, primarily comprised of Zarou and Sohili individuals from the often religious Western regions of Diria, had prayer in the mornings. There was no defined location or time to do this in their cultures. Still, the individuals the Battalion consisted of typically chose mornings for their lack of intrusion into everyday life. It was bizarre as the Sohili and Zarou, before the mid-1800s, didn't communicate generally due to the vast desert between them and were comparable in lack of relations to those from Touli nowadays. For centuries, the Sohili were split between nomads and settled. Still, both creeds of the Sohili stayed distant and peaceful despite disagreements with the Shawistani and Darasae, with whom they clashed most, but the Darasae fought with everyone. Despite their relative isolation, the Sohili and Zarou had shockingly similar beliefs despite developing as cultures independently. Thus, when it came to prayers attached to their cultures, both in the military often shared areas of ministry. So, the local Battalion's military men would often attend in the mornings together. After, always a bit early, the higher ranks, lucky enough to participate in local mosques during times like this, came to eat.
Noon went by relatively peacefully as the military brass sat together at the Atlasi's Famous Seafood Restaurant. Seafood wasn't commonly a part of the traditional Zarou diet, but Hassan Atlasi made it work and quickly became one of the highest-rating establishments in town, with many endorsements. It was a good send-off, as all the men would've been on the border of Verak by tomorrow, and there, the food wouldn't be as delicious. However, as noon passed and people who had arrived prepared to leave, the usual sudden withdrawal of the town's numerous residents was soon to commence. The military men did not want to deal with adoring kids, or “Rank-Hares,” a slang for females who targeted exclusively higher-ranked military men to date. So they stayed far in the back of Atlasi's Famous Seafood Restaurant, usually listening to the radio from afar. The family who owned it had collected enough money to buy it, and there were only so many radio stations currently in Diria, so it was mostly gawking over the world's news and occasionally music. Still, it wasn't agonizing and was oddly pleasant. Hearing about Diria's enemies and cordial nations was sometimes enjoyable, and the military men would crack jokes over foreigners or other countries or ongoings within their country. However, lately, the news was dreadful, with tensions rising. Most just hoped if the worst did happen, it would happen in a faraway land. So, the military men asked to turn the radio down to keep an optimistic mindset and convince themselves that Vaylien would go by fast. However, a few minutes later, near the hushed radio, Mr Atlasi's ear perked, hearing something come on the radio, the uncommon few-note chime of a national broadcast. Usually, it was for emergencies, essential messages, elections, or testing. However, Mr. Atlasi's mental schedule for a national broadcast today was absent, so he turned it up loudly so the entire store and exterior could hear it. At first, the military men at the table nearby wanted to protest, but hearing the chiming, they relented, knowing it could be virtually anything. The radio crackled for a moment as a voice began to announce itself.
"Hello? Hello! Hello, this is Solis and all Dirian radio stations!" Mr. Atlasi quickly ushered his daughter and wife, presumably working in the kitchen, to the front counter, where he took orders. People outside, passing by or eating at the outside tables, similarly squeezed their way inside, listening to the radio that continued its speech, the voice on it scrambled with urgency, which repeated itself three times and provided a few momentary pauses. After the third stint, the voice sprang into action and uttered, "This noon, or at twelve, zero, zero, Veraki troops attacked the Dirian border, breaking twenty two years of peace." The restaurant's interior went deathly silent, and the military men reacted in numerous ways. One depressed onto the table, another threw his napkin down, and the closest to the radio gathered his things. The civilians of the restaurant also had their reactions, primarily the females and youth who gasped or swore, one woman almost crying as she glimpsed at her husband, and the men of the restaurant, mostly all reservists, realizing the worst in their noiseless shock.
Nonetheless, the radio continued, hawking loudly. "At this moment, elements of the Dirian Army have reportedly been engaged and are actively fighting against the aggressors. Shelling has been reported, and lives have been lost. You will now hear a special broadcast in a moment." The radio paused, and during that time, one of the military men left. Some of the restaurant's occupants gathered their things and hurriedly departed. Others, mainly younger men, shouted common slurs to use against Verakis. Outdoors, the scene of rushing people and cars smeared a backdrop of mass hysteria onto the windows. However, many remained inside, intently staring at the radio and its sinister quietness. Finally, after about two agonizing minutes of hushed conversation, the radio returned to life, and the crowd silenced to let the new voice speak, which, unlike the frantic other, was energetic, intense, and full of intensity. "It's war!" The word struck everyone bitterly. It corroborated what everyone knew, but the radio waited for nobody's feelings or daily distractions and persisted. "As of today, we are at war! No matter our devotions or concerns, today's events have superseded all! We must now set our lives aside, look to the aggressor, and resist! All the efforts of our nation must go in one direction, one action. We are all now soldiers of Diria. We have only one thing to think about: Fight until victory! Long live Diria!" Immediately after, a hymn, known mainly as “A Letter to the Duce,” began to play in a contradictory, upbeat instrumental version commonly used in military propaganda or biased news services. A minute roughly after the broadcast began its patriotic tune, the local mosque started ringing its clamorous bell the same method it'd do during a funeral. The local army base sirens followed five minutes after the National Broadcast ended, drowning out the mosque's bell, and a local news service picked up where the National Broadcast left off and continued the news or messages to the public. The most crucial message, alongside the declarations of hostility or the hectic and limited reports from the frontlines, was general mobilization and the decree all reservists had to go to their designated bases in a week or whatever was instructed after their compulsory service if it had concluded. However, the radio message and the military police, who had begun to walk down roads yelling the news in Khalard, were unnecessary. The news had spread quickly in the small town by word alone, but what had announced the state of emergency to everyone who hadn't heard yet was the loud and ringing tune of the sirens from the local base that conveyed all it needed in its long and bone-chilling chorus: A call to arms, which all men currently on base or those who were reservists had to answer, and the sound of crying wives and mothers, hurrying citizens, and vehicles, primarily military quickly were washed out as the loud, repetitive sound of the siren loomed over the town from a distance.