Destination Shirekeep

[Aurangzeb Khan]

2347hrs LZjr-Brookshire (Shirekeep) Border

Captain Arapay Koshkar scanned the border with his night vision binoculars. There was no sign of any activity outside of the usual at the internal border post. Just a bored looking Brookshire customs official sitting on the porch of his meagre guardpost, an uncorked bottle of Treesian Red on the table, and two half full glasses beside it, playing a local version risk with the Babki mango wholesaler whose irregular hours had made his nocturnal visits to the customs post a regular fixture in the customs officer's life for the past two years.

Mirewood Customs Post, Brookshire
"So how was your business in Woodshire Village?" Enquired the amiable customs officer of his Babki compatriot.
"Praise Zurvan, not so bad. The market seems to be picking up for Mangos - at least people seem to be more confident in spending their erb."
"I know," replied the glorified clerk, who truth be told was a good few pounds over weight and far from fighting fit, though the notion of a toll collector fighting would have struck all concerned as being ridiculous "you know I even heard that some people had started burying their valuables when it seemed like the government was about to fall. Mostly down in Yardistan of course."
"Yardistanis are weird." Nodded the Babki, who spoke with a slight Vijanagari lisp.
The portly official smiled
"They certainly are different - a race apart. Much like yourselves."
It was a tactless remark, the Treesian Red was getting to him, damn, it usually took two sips of the toxic fermentation before he was this drunk. Perhaps the old saying was right; one sip, drunk, two sips, dead drunk, three sips - dead.

Time to call it a night he thought.

"Ali, my friend, I think you've got me licked here, shall we call it a night?"
"Aldermir, my friend, I have another suggestion..."
"Oh?" Suddenly Aldermir Hamlyn was afraid that Ali was about to solicit him for an immoral act. The Babkhans of Elwynn had some downright odd predilictions. There was no telling.
"In all the two years I've been coming up this road on the way to Ardashirshahr, you have always been a good friend - you've certainly helped me out of some tight spots with the authorities."

That was true. Mangos aside Ali Mustafa dealt in certain sideline merchanise, some of which was not strictly legal - the mind addling Treesian Red for instance. Aldermir was wondering where this was all leading.

"It has been no inconvenience for me - you have always been generous with the err... tokens of your friendship, dust" - the Babkhan word for friend, used generally in Elwynn and Brookshire to signify ones patron in a blackmarket transaction.

"I fear circumstances have forced a premature foreclosure on our mutual acquaintance - however I should be obliged if you would grant me one more favour."
Aldermir's eyes sparkled, his corpulent frame stimulated by the thought of another generous Elwynnese pay-off.
"Anything."
"Die quietly."
That same instant Ali Mustafa drew a OAH 9mm silenced pistol from inside his leather jacket and with lightning speed delivered a double tap to Aldermir's chest before firing a single shot into his startled gormless face. The old SAVAK training paid off once again.

After briefly stepping inside to destroy all communications equipment, Ali stepped back out into the night and with torch taken from the dead man flashed the light twice into the gloom, signalling his mission was complete. It had been a difficult assignment, terminating an acquaintance who had been useful in the past and whose company, at least for a non-Babkhan, had been somewhat tolerable. Nonethless - orders were orders. He had been told that the salvation of Elwynn rested upon the night's action - and he had been paid, that settled it. Another friendship terminated before it's time. Maybe Zurvan would be merciful in judgement of the erstwhile unbeliever.

0030hrs

The lead six armoured personnel carriers of the Elwynnbrigaden, Osman-Almagro Mark II Infantry Fighting Vehicles, passed the customs post and pressed on down the road towards Shirekeep. Their gunners, and the infantrymen inside each vehicle, with their rifles pointing out of their allocated gunports, scanned the darkness for any sign of movement - the least sign of which would have triggered an almighty and most likely one way fire fight. Sixty infantrymen were travelling in the vanguard formation, ready to debus at a moments notice and flush out any opposition.

Captain Koshkar was travelling with the main body of the force, which consisted of twelve Long Range Patrol Vehicles, five more IFV's and the command vehicle in which he had travelled with Colonel Rudunkin - the commander of the operation. The command vehicle, discernable by its radio antena, pulled up to the customs post, with a great deal of noise, the vibrations shaking the small one story building almost to its foundations.

Ali winced at the sight of the great steel beast. He lived in the modern age for sure but still he entertained in his heart the romantic notion that wars should be fought with camels. The use of armour struck him, some how, as cheating.

A hatch opened and a grinning Captain beckoned him inside. Ali did as he was bidden. The atmosphere inside was almost festive. The Colonel was sharing a bottle of rare Zemlyan vodka with the radio operator.

"Merry Christmas!" laughed Captain Koshkar.
"Are you sure this isn't a little premature?" Asked Ali, nodding towards the Colonel.
"Oh don't mind the Colonel." replied the Captain. "He's just here to accept surrenders, or offer them, whichever way this affair turns out."
"So who is, actually, in charge then?" Replied a rather startled Ali.
"Why I am!" came the reply. "Suggested it to the Amir myself. He of course agreed."
"So what are we doing then?"
"Look, it is simple. We drive to Shirekeep, 'liberate' the Kaiser, and make him see sense about Kildare... and a lot of other issues."
"What just you, and your merry men? There can't be more than two hundred of you here. It's insane. You'll never get away with it?"
"Of course we will. The mobilisation has begun behind us in Ardashirshahr and Vijayanagara. We are prepared for the long haul if needs be." Koshkar's face darkened for a moment. "Did you cut the communications?"
Ali was almost offended, as though his professionalism were being questioned.
"Of course. I cut the line here. And my business associates have been busy elsewhere. You'll have to compensate me for the cost of the explosives. C4 isn't cheap these days you know."
Almost immediately the insane look of delusional happiness returned to the Captain's face.
"Fill in the requisite forms, you'll get your money back, and more besides - lands in Brookshire and a ton of medals I shouldn't wager." Replied the Captain brimming with enthusiasm.
"Just the money will do."
"One moment." The Captain leaned across to his nominal superior and whispered in his ear. Rudunkin bellowed a drunken command that made no particular sense in any language but it caught the attention of the driver who leaned round from his armoured compartment and made eye-contact with the Captain, who with a hand gestured signalled that it was time to move off."

With that the engine roared back to life and the vehicle rejoined the column advancing at fullspeed along the main road from Ardashirshahr to Shirekeep.

[Aurangzeb Khan]

Mirewood

Rustayisarbazi Private Malik Rustam leaned on the barrier of piled sandbags, resting his right hand on the trigger of the .50 cal machine gun pointed down the road towards Shirekeep. Next to him, Anton Shea, a lieutenant of the Elwynnbrigaden, sat on the chair Aldermir Hamlyn had sat upon moments before his demise marked the start of the Elwynnese involvement in the civil conflict. Their small sangar, a scrape of earth surrounded by sandbags and razorwire, protected the front door to the small customs post that marked the forward position of the Rustayisarbazi, the militia of Lesser Zjandaria and its Elwynnese county allies, all of fifty yards over the border.

However they were not the only Elwynnese forces active in Brookshire.

The vanguard formation had travelled off in the direction of Shirekeep the night before. No reports of hostile contacts had been made, just the occasional bewildered civilian spectator standing along the roadside wondering what in the name of all that is holy Elwynnese troops were doing inside Brookshire. Before the night was out, it was likely that Captain Koshkar, Ali Mustafa, and the sot of a Colonel, would be on the outskirts of the capital together with two hundred psychotic Babkhan expats drafted into the Elwynnbrigaden almost directly from the old Fedayeen Ardashir of the Jaris War. The consequences of any encounter between them and whatever security forces the Kaiser still had left loyal to his person could only be imagined.

Malik Rustam's thoughts were far removed from those possibilities - the Lieutenant from the so called 'professional' Elwynnbrigaden had just ordered him to brew up some 'chai'.

Bastard officers

As he left the machine gun to go and find a kettle Malik caught sight of the road coming down from Ardashirshahr and he saw illuminated in the street lights, curious that no blackout had been enforced, a convoy of six Farzan Self Propelled Guns moving up towards positions east of Mirewood. The SPGs belonged to the Elwynnbrigaden but they were there to provide artillery support to the build up of Rustayisarbazi militiamen in the Mirewood bridgehead.

[andelarion]

The forces of Eliria and Utasia were not as advanced as Lesser Zjandaria's, but nonetheless well equipped. They were being driven down towards Shirekeep from the Elirio-Utasian temporary capital (as Eliria itself had been transferred to Wintergleam) of Delarien in busses. As they approached the border, the troops stepped out to meet with the Khan of Vijayanagara and his army.

Count Andelarion spoke to the Elirio-Utasian crowd:

"Fellow Elirians and Utasians! Today we stand before the border to Shirekeep, the wealthiest and biggest city in the Empire. With respect we will enter it together with out Ardashirian brothers! We are here to bring the city to stability. It is under martial law, and that restrains people's humanoid rights. We must bring justice, rule of law to the city once belonging to the Elwynn the Divine. In her name, march on!"

[Braden Indianensis]

The Anticans had chosen for their headquarters a nondescript, unoccupied house in the grubby square at which Braden had waited for Foghorn. It was located in the southeastern quarter of Shirekeep, about twenty blocks from the nearest segment of the city walls. Spreading out from the square (shabbily named "Lender's End"), the Naval Infantry had secured about seven blocks in any direction, although no hostility had yet been encountered, and Foghorn thought it was quite safe for several armed men to travel beyond it. In fact, he had even ventured outside the walls of the city.

"Yes," he said after returning from the scouting expedition, "there's a little postern-gate built into the wall. That section isn't guarded yet--this is sort of a crummy neighborhood, you know, and it's probably not high on the defense priority list. We didn't go far out into the countryside, but nevertheless we met a few refugees on their way down from around Mirewood. Apparently, some mango merchant killed a customs officer and ransacked his post. The army of the Count of Eliria and Utasia marching down, along with the Zjandarians."

"Excellent, excellent!" rejoiced the Speaker. "I confess this is exactly what I had hoped for. I must send word to them immediately." Braden rushed over to his table, grabbed paper and pen, and quickly wrote this message:

To the Commander of the forces of Lesser Zjandaria and Eliria-Utasia, Greeting:

May it please you to know that the Naval Infantry has secured a small base of operations here in the southeastern part of the City, precise coordinates to be given by the messenger. We are most relieved by your coming, but are unsure how to proceed from here. We await your instructions.

Your Obt. Svt.,

B. Indianenensis, Speaker

He passed the message to a junior officer of the Naval Infantry, who saluted, and, taking three other men with him, stole out of the house, down the street, out the gate and toward the advancing army.

[Kaiser Mors V]

Internal Memo: Shirekeep Police Force 3rd District.

There have been reports of strange activity in the area known as "Lender's End". Send a patrol to investigate, and check city wall. Coordinate with military forces for escort. Report immediately upon arrival and every 15 minutes after as per procedures.

End Internal Memo: Shirekeep Police Force 3rd District.

[Aurangzeb Khan]

Elwynnbrigaden Forward Positions, West of Shirekeep

Colonel Rudunkin may have been an old sot but at least he had the good sense to order his force to dig in. It was a reasonable effort, from above it would have looked like a triangle scraped on the reverse slope of a small hill. On closer inspection it would appear that each side of the triangle was the shallow communications trench linking the foxholes of a dug-in five man infantry squad. The foxholes, of which there were five, each covering a dirt berm where the IFV of that squad had parked, themselves were deep enough to withstand a heavy concentration of artillery fire. It had taken a lot of hard work to dig them but some peasants had been found to do the really hard work. Naturally they had to be disposed of afterwards - lest they revealed the location of the company strongpoint to the agents of the Kaiser Partei. Their shallow grave was to be found four 'klicks' to the west in a small copse where the twelve long range patrol vehicles had parked up.

The Elwynnbrigaden riflemen had debused from the LRPVs and moved up to the crest of the hill where they joined the six IFVs of the vanguardformation dug in along the reverse slope of the ridgeline from where the trained artillery spotters who had crept forward were able to keep a close watch on the fortifications of Shirekeep.

The command vehicle was parked within the heart of the defensive 'triangle' further down the gentle slope - and there preparations for another night in the field were well underway.

There had been some discussion as to whether the force should errect its canvas tents. It had rained the previous night and those men who had the misfortune to have an uncomfortable nightsleep in an open foxhole, rather than an uncomfortable night in an enclosed armoured vehicle, were more than a little damp and somewhat tetchy. It had been decided however that these would be more of a hinderance, especially if a 'contact' developed. Mercifully some bright spark had finally remembered which vehicle the waterproof ponchos were stowed in. These were distributed and the prospect of a slightly drier nights sleep tonight had raised the spirits of the grumbling 'pongos'*. A prudent soul had also ensured that anti-personnel mines had been carefully set around the defensive positions, a measure to deter the inquisitive.

Fascinating as these defensive measures doubtless were the Elwynnese soldiers of Lesser Zjandaria were rather more preoccupied with brewing up their chai for "tiffin". The Babkhan manufacturers of their armoured personnel carriers had been uncharacteristically thoughtful in providing inbuilt water-boiliers. Captain Koshkar had wondered it had been intended for the welfare of the troops or whether the idea had been to ensure that there was scalding water 'on tap' as it were for any occassion when a Babkhan commander felt like having a dialogue with any lesser mortal unfortunate enough to have crossed his path.

It hardly mattered, a spot of chai was welcome on an evening such as this, an evening where absolutely bloody nothing was happening. Nor would anything be happening for the foreseable future. The Khan had told the Captain that any attempt to gain entrance to Shirekeep would have to take account of the fortified gates. It was just that it had not occurred to the Captain that the Elwynngate would be quite so... fortified. An unfortunate turn of events. Certainly the Farzan self-propelled guns could be brought forward from Mirewood to demolish the looming grey stone edifice with high-explosive ordnance 'from above' as some more excitable souls would have it. However the 'collateral damage' would be a triffle on the excessive side and not likely to play well with the nobles - not a good move. A more subtle approach would be required. Perhaps the Antican emissary picked up by one of the patrols would be able suggest an idea or too. They were always a crafty bunch, and now in the service of Kildare - yes those Naval Infantry types are bound to have an idea, or so the Captain hoped.

Ali Mustafa had, and he still wasn't quite sure how, been lumbered with the job of comms officer, which basically entailed listening to the 'integrated communications' device, which in a more enlightened age would have simply been called a radio, but now sent encrypted emails, processed satellite stream data, and apparently made tea as well, although Ali was yet to figure out how that part worked. The previous incumbent in that post had somehow managed to rupture an unmentionable part of his anatomy during a somewhat unconventional drinking game with Colonel Rudunkin. As the only person not engaged in what was deemed to be productive activity, such as making tea or shooting conscripted peasants, Ali had been volunteered to take the place of injured opsman, who doubtless now would be declared the first casualty of the war, have a heroic story invented about him for the papers, and be awarded the Iron Zurvan with Acorns by a grateful and slightly unhinged Count. So far the greatest surprise for Ali had been that spam emails were making their way onto what was supposed to be a closed military network. He had just deleted the ninety-fifth message asking him if he knew 'what girls really liked' and was starting to take the hinted subtext of personal inadequacy to heart when finally the system crackled to life with a real message. The loud electronic squawk in his headphones shocked him to the core of his being and made him knock over his chai, spilling it all over the metal grilled floor of the command vehicle. As Ali cursed Ahriman's rotted generative membered and hoped the hot liquid had not landed on anything electrical or vital, the core processing unit of the 'integrated communications' thingy whirred into action and decrypted the databurst, and after a great deal of incredibly annoying electronic noise had played out printed a terse one line report.

It made Ali forget about the spilt Chai in an instant.

"Arapay! Dirigible reported as sighted by the vanguard formation."

"A dirigible?" The Captain peered into his chai mug, wondering if it had been spiked. The militia cook they had brought along did in fact, thinking about it, look a little Mondesian. There might be a little irrational private grudge going on, as if the enslaving of an entire race by my ancestors centuries ago is anything to be holding an irrational private grudge over

"Yes, that's what I said, isn't it?"

"Fine, fine. Ours or theirs?" Replied the Captain, running his fingers through his hair and whincing as he thought he detected the tell-tale presence of nits.

Ali looked at the paper for a second time just to be sure. The message had read
'2048hrs. Dirigible sighted. Yardistan.'

Somewhat confused, Ali checked the list of counties associated with the Kaiser Partei:

Modan-Lach
Shimmerspring
Crestfall Downs
Lywind
Caverden
Woodshire
Monty Crisco
Alexandretta
Musica
Holwynn
Syrelwynn
Asantelian
Goldendown
Sunderspray
Discontinuity

And in an awful moment realised that he could not remember which counties belonged to the Duchy of Yardistan.

"Theirs." He replied at length, crossing his fingers.

Smiling now, the Captain walked up to Ali and picked up a second head piece - he didn't bother to check the paper. If he had he might have blanched and remembered that the Count had promised friendship to Duke Jacobus not a week previously. As it was he called up the section commander for the vanguard formation and enquired as to whether they had any of those rocket launched glide bombs, the ones with the white phosphorus warheads that can be controlled by a remote operator using a joystick and a portable TV screen. On being assured that they did the Captain ordered an immediate launch.

Only as he put the head set down with a smile of contentment upon his face did he notice the print out which clearly identified the blimp as being Yardistani. Only then did he scream at Ali calling him a dunder-headed hemaphrodite son-of-a-bitch, together with the imprecation that Ali was in some respect unfamiliar with his father.

He immediately ordered the launch to be cancelled, but by then, of course, it was too late.


*On account of the 'pong' or smell of unwashed types.