Post by imaginarium on Jan 20, 2022 10:44:59 GMT
War, whilst cruel and filled with malice, is the conditions for change. It provides unexpected outcomes that times of peace and stability cannot produce. War is, at its heart, an opportunity to bring about such radical upheaval, that it rebuilds foundations. We should therefore welcome war.
Stefan Semenov:“Memoirs of the First 10 Years”
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Nadezhda Krupskaya focused her Byzantium eyes on the figure in front of her and digested his words. The Akalini Bandi (the Artificial Intelligence Lifeform) known as ‘Sergei’ stood directly opposite her seat behind her desk here in the Premier’s Office. The low-lit glow globes gave the bare concrete room an ambience that reflected off the AI’s metallic body, creating a beautifully delicate scene of dancing lights, which in turn created an atmosphere totally at odds with his brooding words.
“I am quite sure of it.” Sergei said, seeing the reservation in her eyes. “Analysts have pointed towards this outcome for months now. If we do nothing, we stand the risk of being caught blind sided when the conflict erupts.”
Nadezhda nodded, and pushed back her shoulder length brunette hair behind her ears. She looked Sergei directly in his eyes, which hummed with a blue hue.
“I do not doubt your methods Sergei, I simply wish it had not come so soon.”
“We have known that conflict is brewing in Ancerious since our emergence in the galaxy, your Excellency. The timeline has moved faster than we had anticipated, but the trajectory has always predicted a 62% chance of universal warfare.”
“It has Sergei. I am aware of the reports. Our endeavours into Ancerious have not been without quarrel. We have met these agents of Native Nationalism on the field of conflict. We have lost our own comrades in the process.”
“We do so to protect our advancements, Excellency.”
“And we must continue to do so Sergei. My Premiership’s foundations are built upon it. It has taken decades for us to wrestle power away from the conservatives within our party who hid us away on Laptev. We are bearing the fruit of our labour and we cannot go back to those barren days.”
“You propose to commit us unilaterally to the conflict?” the AI asked. A curious glint in his tone.
“No no…we require a mandate, and to achieve such a mandate we have to progress slowly. We need the weight of popular support, and we need this to be a decision that comes from all of Parliament. I believe that is achievable, relatively quickly if we can emphasise the threat to the gains we have made, and the ideological concerns we hold. We increase the number of forces in the system, we name a supreme commander, we show that we are building our defence as an investment in our future within Ancerious, hell, we even announce our commitment to this SAGA, show how firmly we believe in our Ancerious endeavours. We will all KNOW what we are building towards, but they aren’t as unreasonable a step as outright calling for war. We still have the conservative element who question our ventures in the universe, who could cause an issue.”
Nadezhda poured herself a glass of water from the decanter from her desktop and took a sip.
“Intelligence suggests that that opinion holds only a small percentage in Parliament. Their voice is quiet after the most recent worker’s elections. Your fulfilment of the economic promises has erased some concerns…and as you say, there is always ideology. We slice away at the prelude to conflict then. Sure up our defences. We can arrange for the deployment of more forces instantly, but who would you have command the system?”
“Field Marshall Timotei Barbu.” Nadezhda answered shortly.
Sergei’s reaction was as she had expected. He looked a mixture of concern and delight at the utterance of the name.
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Behold him here;
The destroyer of worlds,
The purveyor of bloodshed,
The rock tumbling off the cliff side,
The war hero.
The destroyer of worlds,
The purveyor of bloodshed,
The rock tumbling off the cliff side,
The war hero.
Fenenko Terezilya: “Poems from the Barlat War”
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The battlefield was illuminated by a bright explosion overhead, revealing the entire map of the conflict to its combatants. For a brief second, hundreds of men and women, their assault vehicles, defences and alike were revealed to their enemies, and in the briefest of seconds there was a pause before the plunge of conflict resumed. When it did, it was a cacophony of sound, overwhelming and terrifying in all the ways warfare should be.
Timotei Barbu leaned in on his holographic monitor, which surveyed the whole test field, watching the war game as it progressed, from his observation post a far flung from the field. He watched as a tank unit led the charge into an area which had been prepared to resemble an urban battlefield, how it raced around a corner, only to be clipped by an anti-tank round which stood waiting.
“What the shitting hell is Pavlovich doing there?” He blustered aloud, in a tone that gave away the utmost disappointment in the action.
“He’s far too inconsistent with his commands. It is what frustrates me the most about him.” came the reply from Timotei’s left hand side, where sat the high ranking General Krylov in a relaxed version of the dress uniform.
“Then teach him consistency Yuri. That is your fucking job after all, is it not?” retorted Timotei, a gentle barbed tone to a jesting comment.
“Some people simply cannot be taught common sense. It is an amazement Pavlovich has gotten as far as he has.” Came a reply to Timotei’s right hand side, this time from the equally ranked General Gusin, whose dress uniform blazer remained strung across the back of her chair.
The room’s only source of light came from the huge holographic display that the reviewing Army hierarchy sat watching. It was one of hundreds of dress rehearsals for war that they had watched together, as they assessed the potential strengths and weaknesses of the Imaginese forces, something which they both enjoyed and resented in equal measure. Enjoyed because it gave them time to relax amongst the company of their peers. Such high-ranking officials commanded such reverence and respect that rarely were they allowed the opportunity to speak frankly and hear such truthful discussions. They resented it because they had to watch displays of incompetence from lesser army figures that reduced them to cynicism.
“He is an incompetent fool who gets by on having genuine raw talent for fighting. Put him in charge of an armoured battalion though, the man seems to think he can wander wherever he likes without a care in the world.” Timotei sighed.
They all moved closer once more to the display as the mock battle seemed to be in its final moments. With Pavlovich’s armoured attack pinned down from a clever defence from the opposition, they watched as infantry poured into the urban centre, rushing the streets as they had been taught. The movement was ruthless, with opposite numbers cut to (pretend) ribbons as the onslaught overwhelmed them. Within moments, the urban centre was swamped, and a blue flag, raised over a large central building showing complete victory for the blue team.
“Fucking hell. Now THAT was a counterattack.” Krylov said, a beam across his face as he nodded with approval. “Subotina is the one to watch. She has been impressing us for months with how she has handled command.”
“Aye, a talent is that one. We’ll no doubt need her soon…” Timotei agreed.
A knock came on the metallic doorway that led out of their viewing room. A universal shout to enter was acknowledged, and a young private, dressed immaculately in the typical standard uniform entered, carrying a sealed envelope, the light from the outside casting a long shadow over the high-ranking officials.
“Comrade Field Marshall…” they nervously spoke, “Message for you from the capital sir.”
Timotei reached for the envelope, prizing it open as he thanked the young private, who remained hovering by the doorway. He poured over the contents of the letter enclosed within. He took a moment to digest the words and understand their consequences before folding the letter and placing it within his inside pocket of his dress blazer.
“Well…” he announced to the room “You two enjoy your comfy seats, some of us have been called to do some proper work.”
Timotei began fastening his jacket, straightening his uniform as he went, preparing for his departure.
“I have been commanded by our illustrious Comrade Premier to oversee the entirety of our military affairs in the Ancerious system.” He retorted.
His colleagues sat up in their seats, a serious tone replacing the jovial workplace atmosphere.
“Wait…seriously?” Gusin questioned.
“So, it is happening then…war it’ll be.” Kylov said, as his thoughts trailed off.
“Eventually my friend. It says that parliament has ratified the Premier’s demand for more forces to Ancerious. They’ve even sent a formal request to join SAGA, and offered TIERZ as a location for Coalition Head Quarters…and it is to TIERZ that I have been summoned, with immediate effect.”
Timotei fastened the last button on his blazer, and placed the peaked cap emblazoned with a red and gold star on his head, before moving towards the doorway, and the young private who still stood nervously to attention.