The Cradle of Civilization (MT)

The year is 2019. Widely ignored during the Grothbordian Crisis, the Arab Spring spread like wildfire across the Middle East, toppling dictatorships and killing thousands. Democracies sprang up in the ashes, attempting to restore order and promote prosperity; however, freedom had its price. Bankrupt and unable to control the forces that brought them into power, these democracies fell prey to well-organized extremist groups, who, through exceptional brutality and unrivaled efficiency, have set up vast Islamic states across the Middle East. Mesopotamia, Syria, Egypt, and the Arabian Peninsula have already fallen, while Persia is subject to a brutal insurgency and continuing inroads into its territory by Islamic forces, and nearing collapse. Turkey has made a stand on the Anatolian Peninsula, holding extremist forces at bay, but lacks the means to go on the offensive. Millions of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim refugees have fled to the Levant, a former U.N. territory created for Jewish immigrants in the Middle East. Following its independence from the UN in 2003, the Levant has rapidly militarized and set up a multi-ethnic government. As one of the last safe havens in the Middle East, the Levant may be a chance for freedom- and peace to reign. Meanwhile, a loose Islamic tribal federation in Afghanistan has embraced the violent views of the Islamic States in the Middle East proper, and after consolidating control in its territories, has begun making inroads into Federation and Indian territory, attempting to incite the Muslim population to rebel against their infidel governments, through violent and brutal revolution.

Notes:
- Expect it to be story-oriented and brutal. There is no diplomacy. These people will fight to the death to for what they believe in. Millions of people are going to die. Cities will be reduced to rubble. Trillions will be spent, and there will be no right or wrong. This is total war. Its not going to be easy to resolve, and just because you send your best-equipped forces is no guarantee of victory. Redefine victory- How do you defeat an idea?

-There is no "winning". This is about writing a story, an experience. Enjoy yourself and work with others to make a greater experience for all. Any RP'ers who appear to be playing the RP as a game will receive warnings and possible expulsion.

-We are here to help. If you have a question or are in need of assistance of any sort (such as help writing a passage), please contact Hockesin, Fiji, or Ibsenia.

-Passages in IC must be a minimum of 4 lines. Refrain from using OOC (\\//) as much as possible.

- Noting all this, self-writing is allowed, ie, writing for both your nation and the extremist forces is allowed.

Conflict Zones:
Light Green is stable
Dark Green is somewhat stable
Pink/light red is unstable/dangerous
Dark red is chaotic/open war zone

Conflict Zones:

Enlarged RP Map:

Political Map w/ Cities:

In 2019, mostly ignored by the rest of the world due to their wars and other conflicts, the Middle East brewed in anger, desperation, violence and terrorism, religious struggle, the rise and fall of dictatorships and democracies, inescapable poverty, and high tension. The region is fragmented, driven by gangs and regimes hungry for power, each hardly ever willing to compromise. Total war is a fact of everyday life, with each of the splintered states squabbling over holy lands, triumph of ideas, and power, and desperate as the people are, no end and no peace is in sight.

Among the better-off of these states is the Levant, established by the UN as a haven for freedom, liberty, and civilization, though it is heavily besieged by its violent neighbors, and engages in violence in return. Another such relatively well-off state is Egypt, in all her glory. It is in Cairo, the capital of Egypt, where my story begins.

My name is Khepri Hashim. I am a merchant in the bazaar in Cairo. I work to achieve religious unity and eventual peace within the Muslim world, but such ideals are not possible without the liberal application of force, as force is used by all the regimes in the Middle East, and brutal force is the only practical means of countering the force used by our opposition. My bazaar stall doubles as both my source of income, and as a front for the organization I am part of. Though I consider myself an honest person, others might consider me a terrorist, an extremist, a hijacker of Islam. I am nothing of the sort. My views may not coincide with those of others', but I am not an extremist because disagreement is a fact when it comes to religion. I am no more extreme than anyone else. I am not a terrorist, as I belong to no more a violent organization than the rest of the the organizations of the region. And I am definitely not a hijacker of Islam; on the contrary, I am bringing my religion back to its proper course.

At this very moment, I rush through the throng of activity in the heart of the bazaar. I dodge in and out of the crowd, push past buyers and sellers and yell my apologies. I hear the noise of the throng, from the cries of merchants to the hagglers to the rhythmic beat of feet in the alleyways. The heat of the bazaar makes my face stream with perspiration, and the heartbeat of the bazaar becomes my own. My head throbs, my face red with exertion. Finally, I reach the Atfti Al Afifi, having emerged from the Mohamad Elsaka-bazaar. The street is busy with cars, the traffic piling up to nearly a complete stop. Cars honk frantically, urgent to be on their way. I look to my right, down the street, never pausing my sprint. As I near the corner, I hear a shout. I stop, looking around quickly. I see an arm wave. I run into the street, easily swerving the slow movement of the cars, open a door, and SLAM! I'm in.

As my breathing slows and my heart rate returns to normal, I re-adjust to my surroundings. I'm in a van, sitting in the passenger-seat beside the driver, my friend Omar, waiting for our turn to fully exit the bazaar area. I notice the pitter-patter of drops on the windshield, realizing for the first time the light rain. The windshield wipers smudge the view, leaving the slick road blurry and the blinking lights of the cars ahead starlike. After about ten minutes, we turn onto Kobri Al Azhar, heading east away from the Nile.

"You got the guns?"
"Yes."

The rest of the ride is silent. As we drive, the city fades as we reach its outskirts. The bleakness of the winter desert landscape becomes more visible as we approach Cairo International Airport.

To be continued...

Tore sat softly down in his palace. Outside signs read all across the square outside "الموت للكاثوليك وترتفع الخلافة فالين!" The Muslims of Valen were angry. They didn't hate Tore. After all, Tore followed the 5 pillars of Islam and did have copies of the Qu'aran, Torah, and New Testment analyzed in a secular manner in all schools, Iberian and Maghrebi. However, the divide between Maghrebi and Iberian had grown. The Catholics found themselves oppressed and in danger every day from Islamic Extremists in the 'High Autonomy' areas. Areas where the Valen government was not as strict with their enforcement of the law due to administrative insufficiencies. In these areas the laws were adjusted to account for the inabilities to enforce. This meant less protection for Catholics living there and as such the growing extremism attacked and prodded the Christians till they had had enough...
As Tore stood watching the crowds - he had felt wrong not letting them know he was listening. He knew his people respected him. He had been a great mediator between Iberia and Maghreb and had united all of his African territories under the title Maghreb to help create cohesion between them- he saw something odd among the sea of Arabic. A clearly Iberian male held up a detonator in his hand and shouted as loud as he could. "Paganorum nomen Christi!" Before pulling the trigger.
Tore ducked down and dodged an oncoming missile, thankfully just a spiked Catholic cross shot from an air compressed canon and not an actual bullet. He picked it up delicately and saw the words inscribed "Paganorum nomen Christi"
Once Tore looked down, he saw what tha man's trigger had done. Fire engulfed the square. Burning flames clawed at the people below and soon all was ash. Fire squads arrived and Tore quickly moved to deeper into the palace. A catholic suicide bomber? This could mean religious civil war...

Oslo Gustaf had fought in the deserts of Afghanistan and Iraq for most of his military career, and he was used to seeing Islamic extremists pop up all over the place in the Middle East. He took out several small organizations himself, but nothing like the scale of what he was seeing.

It seemed like everyone's mother and brother was creating their own little organization. "Organizations within organizations either loyal to the greater collective of organizations or aspiration to create their own Caliphate Organization. Organization upon organization organizing chaos and organized killing filling the streets," Oslo said around his advisers, laughing at the tongue twister.

"What should we do?" the Secretary of State asked Oslo, "We have to help the Leviant protect those people."

The Secretary of Defense also piped up, "Catholic Christians are also getting in on this. Have you heard what is going on in Valen? The whole Islamic World is in flames."

"The Union is silent, and we're closer. We can help these people," The Secretary of War //Yes, there are two secretaries...// said, with his deep voice.

Oslo reclined in the desk chair. He took the time to light a cigar to think on his options. He came up with his decision. "Send a small expeditionary force to man the "wall" around the Leviant, and start evacuating women and children out. We'll bring them to Scotland, well out of their comfort zone but if they want to live they won't argue."

"Sir, that's millions of refugees..."

"I know, I don't expect to get all of them. Do what we can, and get me on the horn with Tore Valen. I already don't like North Africa, but with his leadership at least it was united. If he's killed, we'll have hundreds of the old feudal families trying to take power over there, and I don't want that more than I don't want Valen in power. It seems to be we have to choose the lesser of two evils."

"Let's just hope that your silver tongue doesn't charm him like how it used to," the Secretary of State said, giggling.

To challenge her, he smiled and said, "Tja, jag kan alltid våldta honom. Han verkar gilla kuk tillräckligt bra..."

The room laughed and made their preparations. Oslo left the base, waving to the MP at the gate, and turned toward Stockholm. When he made it to the Blue Palace, he was greeted by his wife and children, whom he kissed and entered the palace with. He was finally home and eating when the phone rang.

Reichstag, Berlin, Grothbord
Zanzgrod went straight to business when he entered office, he had elections on Klaus's Trial day,
and the results are already in.

Vice Chancellor: Boleslaw Kowalski

Minister of Defence: Korchavev Leisburg

Minister of Economics: Hans Adam II

Minister of Foreign Affairs: Angela Merkel

Minster of the Interior: Hans Frukelheimer

Minister of Justice: Wolfgang Maas

AND FUCKING SO ON.

The economy of the Argozi Empire was down the toilet and in the septic. Although the rulers planned on enlarging the state, first they needed to put the economy in any position to to be able to build an army of more than 5,000 men and a homemade cannon. The number one issue was how to fix it.

Lisbon, Lisboa, Iberia, Valen
22:23 January 3rd 2018
Tore sighed as he kicked his feet up onto the side of the throne. He held the cell in one hand and analyzed his own nails on the other hand. He needed to file them before they grew corners again. It was becoming a pain to constantly be catching his nails on the silk of his jacket and gloves.
He held the phone between his shoulder and cheek and waited for the Berserker to answer. He had a file brought to him and he began to smoothen out his nails. When the phone was finally answered he asked nonchalantly, knowing that Oslo already knew who he was and why he was calling, "I assume you saw what happened? You and I both know I am the only thing stopping this chaos from spilling into Grothbord and then into you. If I die, my daughter is only a few months old now and I heavily doubt Kaito has the strength and intelligence to rule himself or the courage to find someone who can do it for him. A foreigner would never be accepted so even if you came in and occupied, the chaos would be just as violent and you would just start taking casualties earlier. The Muslims are content at best with me. The Catholics...Well the Pope has denounced me and I think the new Grothbord Parliament might have something to do with it. That about cover everything?" he asked as he blew off some keratin from his fingertips.

Johannesburg, Dernland
19:35 February 16th 2019

John Rant, the newly appointed Emperor of Dernland, sat in the conference room seemingly alone. The news he had received greatly disturbed him. "Are you sure?" he said. "Positive." A voice said from the shadows. "We should act now before something happens." the voice continued. "No." John said firmly. "We are new on the world stage, we need to wait and see what others do. Dernland will not be seen as power hungry." A beep came from the Emperor's PDA. "What is it?" he said. "Sir, there has been an attack." the voice of General Bryson came over the speaker. "Do you still think we can wait?" The shadowy voice questioned.

Exiting the Kobri el Matar before the airport, we make a sharp turn onto El Nasr and then the Airport Road, which makes a long detour around the exterior boundaries of the tarmac and runway. Dusk is gathering as we turn off the road onto tire tracks leading off into the desert. The engine of our modified Ford E350 growls as the wheels churn the desert soil, accelerating us towards our destination. No one is out here. The boundary fence is known to be electrified, but it has been long since proper maintenance has cared for the outer boundaries. The tanish-gray outer coating of the van nearly perfectly camouflages us as we near the airport again. We park the van a ways off, dressing in black and grabbing the guns. Into the night, we disappear.

The beaten electric fence stands guard to the airstrip. In one section lies a crawl space. It's enough to get through, but won't provide us a quick exit. We would have preferred to conduct our operation with a better getaway, but this was combat, and the world wasn't perfect. We lay on one side of a small mound of dirt a few hundred yards from the runway. By now, night has fallen and the runway glitters with lights. In my hand, I carry a THOR M408 Long Range sniper rifle, in Omar's, an AK-47. Not the best, but the best we could get. A massive four engine A340 Egyptair touches down, shaking the ground on impact and thundering down the runway, approaching us. Flaps up, engines in reverse, it slows, turns, and makes its way towards the distant illuminated terminal. The night is again quiet, and we resume our work.

The plane would stop where it landed, draw out a series of steps, and Ismet Yilmaz, the Turkish Minister of Defense, would step out, climb down, and enter a limousine at the bottom. We would have about a minute to accomplish our task. I pick up the sniper, working out firing solutions, factoring in wind, stopping point, and where the guards are likely to stand. Adding to the difficulty will be low visibility. But I'm not just anyone. Back during the Persian Gulf war, I was a sniper for the Republican Guard. I know what I'm doing. The tension though, that was killer.

I check my wristwatch. 20:24. Seven minutes to go, roughly. Lights in the distance, floating in. Gradually, the noise of the engines intensifies. The aircraft hits the runway, screeching, roaring towards them. Lights illuminate the runway, blackening the surroundings, including us. An official motorcade comes zooming towards the slowing jet. The plane stops, the engines at idle, then completely off. Guards stationed themselves around the plane, guns in hand. Everything according to plan. A head emerges from the door. Not him. I raise my sniper above the mound, focusing in on the doorway. Another, and another. Finally. The minister appears in the plane's side, opening his mouth wide for a gulp of fresh night air. On target. Everything ready. I can feel Omar's tension. I exhale and gently pull back on the trigger, firing the long rifle. The discharged bullet slams into Ismet Yilmaz's chest, just left of center, ripping through a lung and lodging itself in his heart. He staggers backwards, loses his footing, and falls off over the railing, down about twenty -five feet to the hard tarmac below. His body lands with a thud. I put my hand on Omar's shoulder, signalling him not to fire. We ease back, and in the shadow of the ridge, make our way to the fence unnoticed. The guards seem to be everywhere, but their eyes aren't adjusted to the darkness. Shouts are heard all around us. We make it back to the van.

I hop into the driver's seat and rev up the engine. Car doors slam. Omar pops through the sunroof, holding the AK-47 as guard to any pursuers. The van responds quickly, swerving onto the dusty dirt road, kicking up a haze of particles. Gravel spits up behind the wheels. Omar shouts. We've been seen. In the rear-view mirror, I see a gigantic hole where the boundary fence was, and a Turkish military vehicle speeding along behind us. How'd they get here so quickly?! Omar lets off a series off shots, swears when shots return, and continues firing. I swerve the car back and forth, making my way towards El Nasr. We're out of the airport area. Sirens and gunshots fill the night. I head straight for downtown Cairo. To go into the desert would be suicide. I have a plan.

To be continued....

"No actually, it doesn't," Oslo said, speaking on the phone. He picked up the phone one the Division of Military Intelligence made the call to Tore Valen, leader of the so called Valen Empire. "I would like to start of with some small talk before we start talking business, but I like how you get straight to the point.

"You're country's people are at each other's throats with Catholics acting as the new Hajiis, and the old Hajiis doing the same thing they've always done. I was wondering if you wanted some kind of peace keeping force to help you lock your country down and get it back under your control. One day its a cross fired from a T-Shirt shooter, next it's a rocket fired from an RPG-7 and it takes out half of your palace in one hit.

"You and I both know that you're the only legitimate man to the throne right now, as your... daughter... is too young to assume the throne, and that Kaito... He's too much of a pussy to act like a king. You die, I have a million you's I have to deal with, and one is already vexing. I can help you if you want it, but under the conditions of my men not being under the direct command of your officers or any other nation's officers, and that we have a strip of land to organize operations in the area. You have my word that if you say leave, I'll leave, and I'll do whatever I can in my power to keep your throne yours.

"Face it, the FEU doesn't give a damn about what's happening over there. Why do you think they haven't said a word? Anything you require, as long as it isn't too overbearing, i can provide for you. Give me the word, and I'll help you."

Oslo waited for the Young King's response to his speech.

Tore sighed and kind of bobbed his head in both thought and agreeance. "You have a deal. Gibraltar is yours completely and utterly, but I do ask that I personally, not my officers or any FEU officers, may have equal command over your soldiers as you do. Just to make sure none of your soldiers break your word. I've learned to trust you at least. I still dislike and even hate you with every fiber of my body, but you are a man of your word, Berserker. My concern is with your soldiers. 25% of any army is nothing but murderous psychopaths who signed up just to kill. I want to keep that forth in check. You and I know that if a single civilian is killed by the GNF, my people will target you as well. For now only the Catholics seem to dislike me specifically. I would advice your main forces be in Italy and Iberia with minimal forces in Maghreb. Ironically the number one priority is my life and the life of my husband and daughter. I'll allow you in, but don't make me change my mind, Berserker." he said as he poured himself a glass of wine as he had walked into his kitchen.

Gaza Strip
17th of October

Private Benson ducked as the concrete block he was taking cover behind was spattered with bullets. Rising, he aimed his rifle at the window of the building across the street, where two shadows stood, fiddling with an automatic rifle. In short controlled bursts, Benson laid down fire upon the window, and he saw one shadow fall, as the other scrambled to grab the gun. Benson took cover again, as he took fire from another location. At that moment, a Merkava tank bulldozed through the market across the street, aiming its cannon at the group of buildings where the insurgents were holed up. Benson ducked, and covered his ears as the Merkava fired its cannon into the building, releasing an ear piercing blast. The window and the entire side of the building disappeared into a cloud of smoke and debris. At the sight, Levant soldiers from his side of the street jumped out of windows and foxholes and began sprinting full speed to the now-destroyed building. Benson's sergeant leapt from the window near him and began making towards the other side of the street, shouting for his unit to advance. Taking a deep breath, Benson rose out of cover, just as the shadows began streaming out of the dust.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bodies littered the street, caked in dust and blood. They had lost seven men in the street fight, which had quickly turned into a brawl. Somewhere between twenty and thirty insurgents had been holed up in the house, children and old men alike, some armed with only a piece of rebar. Soldiers from the Levant were but in body bags to be sent back to Tel-Aviv and cremated, while the insurgents were gathered in a pile and burnt. Weary, Benson made his way to a shaded wall and sat down against it. His mind wandered from the task, towards how this crazy war had started.

Oslo sighed in relief, "Thank you Tore, and I completely understand how your mind is thinking about your people. You also have my word that inf any civilian casualties are inflicted NEEDLESSLY, I will have the men who did it brought to justice. I will conduct peacekeeping operations in Italy, but I also have a feeling that the Islamic population of your country will probably rise up here soon, so I will post a division around your palace and fortify the palace for you. I'll get my boots on the ground as soon as I can, just hang in there Tore."

With that, Oslo hung up the phone and immediately called his military advisors to give them the new mission. Soldiers were sent the next day to the Leviant and to the Valen Empire, and Oslo personally watched them leave from the balcony of his palace that overlooked the water around Stockholm. Once they went over the horizon, he went in his home and made preparations to ready a plane to the "safer" area of the Leviant, Tel-Aviv.

The Argozi decide to fix the economic situation by placing farms everywhere. with the country more self sufficient, people begin to prosper, thus making the country a little more rich. however, they have yet before they can build a bigger army. meanwhile, the corporate council decide wether to expand their borders by invading the middle east, or just become the policemen of the world. eventually they decide they have bigger problems and start building arms factories everywhere.

Tore sighed and drank his wine. The troops arrived shortly. He had his guards separate and keep out of their way, but kept his intelligence network keeping an eye on them. He invited the commander of the Federation troops in Lisbon to meet him in the main hall. "So you're the one in charge? I want to make one thing abundantly clear. You are on my land. You are in my Kingdom, in my city, in my palace. I don't care that you are Nordic, you will do as I say unless Oslo, and no one else, tells you otherwise. I'll let you do as you please and my soldiers will not interfere with you, but I expect you to show me the respect I deserve as your host. Am I clear?"

General Jorge Henrik looked aat the coast of Gibraltar and nodded in approval. For a nation that keeps it's nse out of warlike affairs, just from the sea he could see that Gibraltar was a naturally defensible city with it's ports easily ready to load supplies on not only cargo ships, but also had the means of becoming a great naval base with Atlantican weaponry dotting the coastline. It was perfect, Tore wasn't as dumb as the GNF had thought.

He landed his troops in the city, and notified the mayor that the GNF would be taking up residence in the area for their operations in the Mediterranean, and the Mayor already understood. It took him a week to geth ere, but he was finally able to rest his head on sturdy ground, and he got the most sleep he had gotten since the previous week. The next day, a "courier" of some sorts summoned him to Lisbon, and he got on a military plane to fly to the city.

Soon, he found himself in the palace, having napping the whole way to the palace. Once there, his armed escort opened the door for him and they walked up the steps to the palace.

"One thing I can say about this... king... He can definitely decorate," General Henrik said.

The Sergeant of the escort scoffed, "With all due respect, sir, he decorates like a woman."

"I didn't say he didn't decorate like a woman, I said he is good at decorating," Jorge Henrik said, and th Scandinavians laughed.

Guards at the door received them, "Welcome to Lisbon. My King would like to speak to the Federation Commander of the Forces in Gibraltar. Your name is?"

"General Jorge Henrik, General of the 6th Army. Where is His Majesty?"

"This way, though your escort will have to remain in the main hall, here."

"Fair enough, lead the way," Henrik said, and ordered his men to cover the main hall in Swedish.

Once he saw the King, he introduced himself with a curt nod.

"So you're the one in charge? I want to make one thing abundantly clear. You are on my land. You are in my Kingdom, in my city, in my palace. I don't care that you are Nordic, you will do as I say unless Oslo, and no one else, tells you otherwise. I'll let you do as you please and my soldiers will not interfere with you, but I expect you to show me the respect I deserve as your host. Am I clear?" The Young King said.

General Henrik straightened the blouse of his ACU and nodded respectfully, "Of course, Your Majesty, as long as you understand that my men aren't loyal to you, they are loyal to the Viking King Oslo II Gustaf of Sweden.

"So," Henrik said, taking the initiative, "Lets get down to business. To help with our operations here, we also need the full cooperation of the Empire's soldiers. I would like to know of their training, their supply, and what they're capable of so that they can better serve both of our needs. I would also like to know what kind of Peace keeping operations you would like me to conduct, so that I can better allocate my resources.

"I need to get in touch with your Generals and come up with the best way of fulfilling your's and my Lord's wishes in this Theater, and I would like to know the readiness of your navy, in case we have to conduct operations in the Leviant. This is where the origin of our problems lie, and on behalf of the GNF, we believe that to smother our growing problem in the Middle East would serve to benefit us in the long run, as that would curb or stop the flow of weapons in your country to outfit the growing insurgency. Do you see any wisdom in my words, Your Majesty?"

Arthur Winters looked over the file as the assistant waited for a response.
"Mhmm, Yes, Looks good. Okay, Operation C-Storm looks good. Send word to the other nations."

Arthur handed the documents to the assistant, and returned to the computer to update himself on the latest conflicts. The Militant movements had torn middle East apart, and Cyprus was making a move to increase their standing in the world. Operation C-Storm was a multi-phase operation that would give Cyprus land holdings in the middle East. Cyprus had worked with the the exiled government of Israel to plan this attack, and the first step was contacting the empires of the world. At this moment, Cyprus was contacting all of the empires and offering them Cyprus as a base to move troops into the Middle East, and send injured troops in. This would certainly entice many nations, but there was a catch. Nations that wished to do so would either have to help Cyprus in their combat physically, or pay a fee. Arthur chuckled, soon, The Cypriot Republic would be a world player.

-------------------------------------
Off the Coast of Beirut, the Cypriot National Guard was given the go ahead to move in.

"Operation C-Storm is a go. Lets move in boys."
General Achim Doux watched from a helicopter as 2 of the 3 Cypriot landing craft landed on the shore of Beirut. Beirut was controlled by a organization called the Palestinian Movement, who had achieved success in bringing down Lebanon. Tanks were unloaded from the landing crafts, and a helicopter squad moved in to lay down covering fire. It was of utmost importance that the tanks reached the city before the Palestinians mobilized a defence.

The Levant was surrounded on all sides. While the Egyptian border was relatively quiet, Gaza was a war zone. Levant troops were engaged in fierce house to house combat with militant groups that was rapidly destroying the city and killing thousands of civilians. The Golan Heights was filled with the husks of destroyed tanks. Southern Lebanon had been occupied by Levant troops, and recently Cyprus had launched its own surprise attack on Beirut in the north. The worst have the fighting, however, was in the West Bank. Hundreds of thousands of Levant soldiers and insurgents clashed all over the territory, and despite having a technological advantage, the Levant was rapidly being outnumbered and overrun. The country was grimly set on the fact that Tel-Aviv could soon become part of this war. Plans were made to send children and women overseas to Europe, while increasing numbers of reservists and militias began setting up checkpoints and fortifying the area. Many feared the Levant would be massacred.

General Norman Schwarva, old commander of NORAMCOM, sat in conference with his advisers, analyzing the situation in the Levant.

"Sir, the Levant wall is falling. Reports have come in that fighting is just outside of the city of Tel Aviv, where King Oslo is travelling. I took the liberty of telling our Lord that Tel Aviv is now officially a warzone, and he is staying in Stockholm until the situation is rectified," one of Schwarva's advisers said, briefing the General.

"Thank you, Colonel. I'm assuming that he wants us to rectify the situation, so we are going to begin by bombing the piss out of anything that isn't Israelite. After this, we are going to launch an invasion into Israel to push out the insurgent forces and evacuate any and all civilians we can," Schwarva said, "Any ideas for the coming conflict?"

"Tel Aviv should be our main priority, because if Tel Aviv falls, Israel is as good as destroyed. They're already putting up one hell of a fight, but if we can get in it will be a major morale boost and a major reinforcement of their line. We may actually be able to get the Jews Jerusalem, which will be a major thumbs up for us."

"Good, focus on these areas and let's get this job done. Request to enter the theater from what's left of the Israelite government before we go in. Dismissed," Schwarva said, dismissing his advisers.

Tore nodded lazily and sighed. "Yes yes. I don't handle the military as directly as I say I do. Kaito's sister does." he said as he turned to face the entering woman.
Meiko Shione was Kaito's older sister and a great military mind. She entered wearing a similar military uniform to Tore's with red instead of green. She nodded to the commander and bowed to Tore. "My name is Meiko Shione. Imperatrix of the Valen Imperial Army. Come with me and I'll inform you of our capabilities." she said with no unnecessary frills or flourishes. Unlike Tore, her focus was strength, not caring about image. She took the commander to the main military room, brightly lit and well modernized. The screens changed between Mandarin, Latin, and Arabic depending on the user. Quite a few Eastern immigrants worked in the military along with an equal amount of Iberians and Maghrebi. She informed him on the entirity of Valen military forces. She assumed their spy networks would figure it out anyways so hiding troop numbers form the GNF was pointless.

President Abrams was about to get on the plane to visit Topsailia's newest ally, Argozi, when he heard of the bloody situation in Valen from his Chief of State, Pablo Hernandez. He knew he had to go and see Tore. He ran towards the pilots who were making their way towards the plane.

"Change of plans. We are going to Lisbon first," said Abrams.

"But Mr. President, that place is a warzone," said the pilot of Air Force One.

"I am used to getting shot at, remember, we served together in the 16th Fighter Squadron. We are going to Lisbon, no buts about it!" Abrams said as he walked up the steps into Air Force One.

45 minutes later the plane was flying toward Lisbon at 800 km/h.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

8 hours later the blue and white 747 came in for it's final descent towards a Valen Air Force Base outside of Lisbon. John Abrams was jolted awake after sleeping the entire flight as the plane touched down. A C-130 cargo plane had already arrived, carrying the Beast, a specially armored limo designed by Cadillac. Abrams made his way towards the exit of the plane, and 10 minutes later he was on his way to Tore's Palace in downtown Lisbon.

TO BE CONTINUED

The situation in Beirut had come to a standstill. Cyprus had received no reply from any of the nations. Arthur Snow was getting desperate. He contacted the last Levant troops holding off in Tel-Aviv.

"Come in? This is Arthur Snow, Founder and Emperor of the Cypriot Republic. We have a proposal for you. We can work together to push back the militants. If we work together, we can establish a large front that the militants will not be able to respond to quickly enough. "

---------------------------------------------------

General Achim Doux sat in a ruined building, his arm in a bandage. 


Fuck. This is nearly as bad as the Cypriot Civil War. 


His bird had been shot down by a stray RPG. He had jumped out of the bird as it fell into the ocean, sustaining a broken arm and other minor injuries. A patrol boat had picked him up, and now he was sitting in the rear lines of the fire fight.

 The tanks had not been able to make the blitzkrieg to the city in time, so they met fierce opposition when they arrived. Cypriot soldiers had trained for this situation, and they were now fighting block by block, but it was a less than desirable situation.

The Palestinian Militants knew this city better than Cypriot soldiers did, and it was taking a toll. Tanks were leading a spearhead down the main highway of Beirut, while soldiers sweeped on the flanks, but it there had already been several points of fierce opposition. A military complex on the south side of the city was still held by hostile forces, and the army had been forced to leave troops encircling several other hostile points as the remainder of the army westward. 

Helicopters had been pulled out of the sky, because the militants had an incredibly effective AA system. Several birds had been lost in a few minutes to missiles and RPGS when the charge first reached the city. 

As General Doux was reading these battle reports, he received word that the north flank of the army was crumpling. 

"DAMNIT IT ALL! Fine. Tell the advance to hold. I want a squad of armour dispatched to the north flank for the troops to centralize. We are getting lost in this damn city."

Gaza Strip
Private Benson looked to the sky, as F-16's roared overhead, dropping their payload. A mile away, an entire block of the insurgent's position was demolished. The battle for Gaza had steadily turned to the Levant's favor over the past few days, however the rest of the Levant was not fairing well. Galilee was surrounded on three sides, as fighting in Southern Lebanon, the Golan Heights, and the West Bank intensified. Cyprus has invaded Lebanon to the north, diverting attention and resources away from that front, but the militants in the West Bank had pushed to nearly 30 miles outside of Tel-Aviv. The Negev was nearly silent. Levant forces still held considerable sway in Jerusalem, leading a fierce opposition to sieging forces, but the situation was looking dire. The Levant had expected disorganized militants to attack, not well organized militias backed by experienced military units from former middle eastern nations. So far, 18,000 troops had perished in the fighting, with another 23,000 wounded.

Chelyabinsk, URS
The world that had just been pulled out of war, was back in conflict. Ivan sat in his office drinking his cider, staring at the news and a map provided to him. His iPad 8 open showing the message from Mr.Snow in Cyprus. Ivan contemplated the message.

They were requesting help.

Ivan pulled up his phone. "Mr.Snow, This is Ivan of the URS. I have received your request and will be glad to provide assistance."

Southern URS Border
Borders were closed. No person in and no person out. The entirety of the URS was in the process of finding every non-Christian, Non-Jewish and rating them on a 'Likely to cause an uprising' scale. Those higher on the list were interrogated to try and see if they were a threat to the state.

So far 24 carbombs and 56 assorted arms trucks were stopped at the borders. Although no doubt more had made it through attempting to supply the rebels. At night the fires from the rebellions could be seen across the border. Every one in a while a light or medium missile would cross the border and injury/kill a few civilians or soldiers. Tonight was different. The soldiers looked at the cars that were passing through. "ID please." Sgt. Trusky said in Russian, signalling the other guards to check the entirety of the vehicle. "What is the URS national anthem?" A random question always asked by guards to make sure they aren't actually URS agents. If they were they would reply "The Star Spangled Banner".

"I don't actually know..." The man behind the wheel said.

"Not all too bad," He said, "Are you of the Christian faith?"

"No" The man said in Russian.

"I must ask wh-" Trusky was cut off by an explosion. He ducked and pulled out his AK-74M. The man behind the wheel jumped to the ground and covered his head. "Report! Which group?" Trusky yelled over his radio.

"The CTG sir!" His radio said.

"One day Islamic Terrorists, others Christian Terrorists." Trusky mumbled, "Are they armed?" His question was answered by gun fire. A Molotov exploded on a group of cars. "Return fire!" Trusky said over his radio, "LT fire up the Bumerangs!"

"Already rolling!" The radio replied. Two Bumerangs rolled around the highway, avoiding the cars and civis. "Gas masks on!" The radio said. Trusky put on his mask and began shooting at the men and women with the green cloaks on. Clouds of teargas appeared near the cars. "Try and apprehend as many as possible!" Trusky said. He took down one that was running.