As of August 26, 2022, this chapter has been revised
The fallout from the Lourian capitulation becomes the focal point of discussion in Japan and the other powers present in the East, but the majority of the world is largely unaware of it, as it has only been a few days. Meanwhile, at around the same time, far off to the West, there were much subtler developments occurring, but their ramifications for the region as a whole were anything but. Appearing to the west of the Mu continent not long after the Central Calendar welcomed the year 1638, the Gra Valkas Empire has since become a mysterious nation to the countries of the First and Second Civilized Regions. Having established relations with Mu first, the Gra Valkans brought with them curious technologies and the willingness to trade, but their unknown nature proved to be a hurdle in establishing diplomatic relations the further east they go. Despite having largely amicable relations with everyone, especially Mu, the lack of openness has left a lot of nations scratching their heads as to what they truly are.
Cent. Calendar 08/06/1639, Hochgarten Administrative District, Gra Valkas Empire, 6:45
A dense fog had set in across much of the country flatlands that make up the majority of the administrative district of Hochgarten to the northeast of the Gra Valkas Empire. The sun–having already risen from the horizon to the east–still hasn’t had enough time to cast away the blanket of clouds clinging to the land, but there are multiple features that still managed to stick out. One of these was a hill upon which a massive villa complex was built. Inside the main building of the villa itself, the sound of news reports blaring out from a television filled the otherwise eerie silence of the early morning countryside. Accompanying the deep, handsome voice of the newscaster reading out the news were the sounds of ceramic hitting ceramic, and then later the rhythmic clinging of something metallic.
“Hmm... Hmmmm...”
A tall, caucasian man wearing bathrobes was stirring a dark, piping hot liquid in the mug he was holding as he hummed the theme to his favorite soap opera while ignoring the voice of the newscaster. Walking from the kitchen counter towards the spacious area where the television was, he then took a seat on the velvet, avant garde-ish couch. Achieving his desired mixture, he ceased his stirring as his blue irises looked up towards the screen of the television, which depicted the newscaster in color.
“...as of this moment, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has mentioned that they’re cooperating with the Imperial Navy in negotiating the release of the ten diplomats unlawfully incarcerated by the kingdom of Paganda. According to their spokesperson, they will do everything in their power to bring them home...”
The scene then panned to a female newscaster sitting next to him.
“...Oh, this just in! The Imperial Council has issued a joint statement denouncing Paganda and advocating for a quote unquote ‘immediate’ resolution to the crisis.”
The camera then went back to the other newscaster, who then engaged in a conversation with his co-anchor.
“Ah, decisive action–just what you could expect from the Imperial Council in a crisis. You know, Gisela, I’m pretty sure they’re more than happy to push us back to war again, don’t you think?”
“Indeed, Hugo. The sentiment among the members of the lower Diet is mostly peaceful in contrast to the upper Council–thanks to the majority that the Centrists enjoy, but there’s always that lingering sentiment for the bygone days of the war with Kain. There’s even the impasse with the Minimum Peacetime Readiness Bill, which has been pushed since the transfer and—”
Drinking from his mug, the man stopped listening to the report. Letting out a satisfying sigh from the bitterness and aroma of the drink, he grumbled about what he was watching.
“Well I’ll be damned. Those Muish bastards not only give the best intelligence, but they also give the best beans. Too bad I have to drink it with this cheap, hardly-better-than-gossip piece of shit.”
Reflecting on what the newscasters said, the man chuckled as he scratched his head.
“Fucking peacetards. At this rate, there won’t be a military for the empire to demand any level of readiness.”
Reaching for the remote control, he placed the mug on the glass table in front of him before turning off the television. He then went to a wooden table next to the wall that had multiple vinyl records stacked on top of one another. Instantly picking out one of them as if it were a regular of sorts, he took the record out of its neon red cover and gently placed it on a turntable. After turning the machine on, he gently placed the needle on the record, producing a split-second whirring sound before the soothing, harmonic sound of a classical symphony played. Before long, the villa was filled with rhythmic tunes of string, wind, and other instruments. Waving his hands around as if he were the conductor, the man danced around the room, humming and laughing as he avoided the furniture.
There was a reason behind his glee. For almost 40 years, the Gra Valkas Empire fought a war that spanned three generations with the Divine Kingdom of Kain, a fellow superpower and their geopolitical rival for supremacy in Yggdra. The generational spat not only built up their military-industrial complex and formidable military but it also solidified a culture of militarism in the empire’s identity. That was the case until a year and a half ago when–for some reason–their entire nation was transferred into this world which the locals call Asherah. With their archnemesis gone and the locals favoring trade and diplomacy, the Gra Valkans have entered an unprecedented age of peace–but it was not all sunshine and roses. With a good chunk of their institutions built around warmongering and the military, the lack of enemies meant that they either had to be massively defunded or be shut down entirely. The people, while definitely feeling conflicted with this new age of peaceful existence, were nevertheless eager to see the empire try its hand at peace. Still, there existed a lot of people who fell into despondency as they longed for the ‘good old days’ of warfighting and one such example was this man. However, he was not the type to stand still as the wind blew in the opposite direction that he wanted.
As the man danced, a man in uniform entered the room and called him out.
“Um, Herr Schmidt?”
Gracefully ceasing his performance, Allen Schmidt, the man in bathrobes, director of the Geheimdienst (GD), the Gra Valkan intelligence organ, bowed in front of the man in uniform as the last, powerful, notes to the symphony were struck. Staying in his pose anticipating something, Schmidt then grew impatient after several seconds of silence.
“Do you not appreciate the arts, Peters?”
Schmidt asked, still bowing.
“Uhh, Herr Schmidt, I don’t think now’s the ti-”
Before Peters could finish, he saw Schmidt look up at him with a weak smile. However, a dark aura emanated from his expression, which Peters picked up as passive hostility, betraying any overlaying impressions his weak smile gave off. Wishing to avoid his superior’s wrath, Peters revised his statement.
“Uh... Excellent performance, director, bravo!”
Peters awkwardly clapped as sweat poured down from his forehead. Seemingly satisfied, Schmidt finally liberated himself from his bowing pose, returning to his upright position and looking at his subordinate straight in the eye.
“Something important, I presume?”
Getting to the point, Schmidt caught Peters off guard, who scrambled to reassemble his initial train of thought before he was interrupted.
“Yes. The Navy has contacted us: the negotiator is now arriving at the scene.”
Schmidt’s eyes lit up. Finally, he thought, as he looked up to the right, staring off into the bright morning sky.
“They got her to do it, correct?”
“Affirmative.”
“Excellent. That man Gesta sure is a piece of work!”
Schmidt shook his head, thinking that it was an atypical move from a misogynist like him. However, getting her to go be the negotiator was a good move, as one of the diplomats detained by the Pagandans was her subordinate. The GD put forward the suggestion to their allies in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in hopes of distressing her and aggravating the situation for the worst-case scenario.
“Keep me updated; I will be right here, enjoying my day off.”
Bowing in affirmative, Peters left Schmidt to his own devices as he returned to his post in the villa.
Priscilla, kingdom of Paganda, 7:25
Just like the foggy conditions in Hochgarten, the waters off the Kingdom of Paganda were humid and damp, yet the conditions were clear enough that they could see the horizon. In between the port of Priscilla, Paganda’s capital, and a lone Imperial Gra Valkan Navy (IGVN) destroyer was a launch traveling at high speeds towards the direction of the former. On the launch were several IGVN personnel clad in dark blue fatigues and armed with assault rifles. Nestled in the middle was a shorter woman with a coat, which mostly masked the uniform she had tirelessly earned by becoming an esteemed diplomat of the empire. Her shining, blonde hair fluttered in the wind, kept only by her bun and her cap, which she held in place using her left hand. Adjusting her spectacles, she laid her blank yet determinant stare on the mass of people gathered at the port, particularly the men in beige-colored uniforms that stood out from the rest. As they got closer to the port, thoughts began racing in the woman’s mind, wondering why things had devolved to this point.
Looking back, she remembered how the Imperial Council, with support from the Emperor, unanimously decided to make contact with the Paganda. Hearing the news, she immediately went to her superior, Gesta, and protested the decision, arguing that it was unnecessary. Back when they were first transferred to Asherah, their first contact with the locals was a spy ship belonging to the United Dominions and Realms of Mu. After months of relationship building with Mu, learning the common language, and information gathering about the rest of the world, they learned that there existed a rivalry between Mu and the Holy Mirishial Empire, the other premier great power, with the other players on the geopolitical landscape inevitably tied to the two’s rivalry. One of the players that leaned on the Mirishials’ side, a country called Leifor, was the closest major nation to the Gra Valkans. After establishing relations with them, the Leiforians and the Muish assured them that there was little need to contact Paganda and Irnetia, two island countries in the ocean between them and Gra Valkas since they were Leifor’s protectorates. With Muish officials’ warning that the Pagandans will treat them like barbarians, they’ve made it a policy to stay away and ignore the seemingly useless island nations. The reversal of this policy not long after they signed a nonaggression pact with Mu set off alarm bells inside Cielia’s head, leading her to question the rationale behind such a 180-degree move. Regardless of her protests, Gesta turned her down, forcing her to watch helplessly as they sent ten diplomats to Paganda to establish relations, only for them to be incarcerated unlawfully. With her bosses choosing her to be the negotiator for the release of the diplomats, she could only sigh deeply at how events disappointingly played out.
“Frau Oudwin? Are you alright? Are you perhaps seasick?”
One of the security personnel, noticing the woman–Cielia Oudwin–was looking pale, got concerned and asked. Realizing she’s been unconsciously showing her disappointment, Cielia immediately fixed her posture and expression and replied to him.
“I’m fine. Just sleepy.”
In spite of her painstaking efforts to apply makeup, her eye bags were still noticeable, if not outright obvious. Her dedication to her work, coupled with harassment from the rest of the ministry staff since she was the only woman with a team in her department, put a heavy burden over her. However, she needed to forget and put it all aside for now, since her actions and words carried the weight of the fate of two nations and ten diplomats.
- - -
The launch slowed down as it approached the pier where hundreds had gathered. Standing on the dock that stretched out the farthest were men wearing beige uniforms–officials of the Pagandan government–accompanied by their guards armed with bolt-action, Leifor-made rifles. The other people on the pier were commoners: fishermen, merchants, city workers, prostitutes, children, and so on. Another noteworthy presence in the harbor was a warship that flew the Leiforian flag, which was moored not far from where they were destined to go. Analyzing it, the IGVN personnel, as well as Cielia, who has some background in the sciences, concluded it to be on the level of a pre-dreadnought, not surprising given what they knew of Leifor. As they finally got within earshot of one another, the Pagandans were the first to speak.
“Halt! Come no closer!”
A man with a comical-looking mustache shouted just as the Pagandan guards readied their rifles, to which the IGVN personnel on the launch reacted promptly by preparing their assault rifles. Moments later, they came to a stop. Cielia, remembering her Asheran common, stood taller, trying to make herself seen from among the IGVN personnel.
“Greetings! I am Cielia Oudwin, and I represent the Gra Valkas Empire. We have come here to negotiate the release of our people!”
The Pagandans, both the onlookers and the officials, burst into laughter at what Cielia said and ridiculed her for it. Only the guards maintained their stances. The mustached man, recuperating first, offered his impressions.
“‘Negotiate’? HAH! What is there to negotiate, whore?”
Ignoring the insult that was just hurled at her, Cielia maintained her cool.
“Wasn’t our request clear? We have come to negotiate the release of our countrymen, who have been arbitrarily and unlawfully detained by your government.”
While the rest of the crowd recovered from their laughter, the officials, especially the mustached man, were riled up by Cielia’s statement.
“You say ‘unlawful’ when we, the civilized people here, have every right to detain barbarians that have not an inch of respect for us!”
Cielia sighed. She knew deep in her heart who it was that likely set off this diplomatic shitshow. Before she could reply, the Pagandan officials stepped aside as some guards brought forward a man in chains. The IGVN personnel and Cielia, recognizing Dallas and his uniform, were both shocked and enraged at his decrepit state. At the orders of the officials, the guards threw him down on the hard, wet pier, producing a loud thump and metallic clinking as he and his chains hit the stone. Despite his seemingly lifeless appearance, Dallas groaned and rolled, signifying that he was still alive and putting some relief into the hearts of the Gra Valkans on the launch. Visibly revolting from the stench that their prisoner gave off, the mustached man turned back to Cielia.
“Consider yourself thankful we agreed to your request of ‘showing signs of life from the diplomats’ and brought this man here.”
The mustached man then raised his leg and stepped on the back of the wailing Dallas, putting his entire weight on the weakened man.
“This is what happens to unruly lowlives that have no respect for their superiors. He, along with the other nine–although especially him–insisted that we are on the same level! How dare you drag us to your level! Furthermore, this filth insisted that His Highness was nothing more than an ordinary citizen and that he should abdicate!”
The mustached man then spat on Dallas’s head.
Cielia placed her hand over her face. She knew that Dallas was an outspoken individual when it came to more liberal ideas, even managing to get into fights with leftists and right-wing supporters alike, which usually escalated into scuffs with the police. When she learned that the ministry chose Dallas to lead the diplomatic mission to Paganda, her eyes almost bawled out from their sockets in surprise. Still, despite all of her subordinate’s questionable personality, they were not ample grounds for detaining and then torturing Gra Valkan citizens, thought Cielia. With this resolve, she faced the Pagandan officials once more.
“That man may not be the most delicate, but he still upholds a high standard of respect worthy of a diplomat of the empire.”
The Pagandan officials couldn’t believe their ears. For a few seconds, they looked at one another, confirming with visual cues if the others had heard the same. Once they realized that the woman diplomat did indeed say those words, the mustached man turned back to her with animosity.
“So you’re unilaterally absolving him of his crimes?! Are you saying that the decision of the Pagandan government is wrong?!”
She made no such statement, thought the IGVN personnel. While they were aware that the Pagandan was jumping to conclusions, the crowd of Pagandan commoners and the other officials didn’t and so they started booing and hurling objects and insults at the Gra Valkans.
“How dare you insult our king!”
“Heinous barbarians! Know your place!”
“His word is final and just! Who are you to say otherwise?!”
As the statements from the Pagandans became more and more hostile, Cielia’s hopes for a de-escalation plummeted. Mustering whatever resolve she had left, she was about to say something when the mustache man spoke ahead of her.
“Apologize at once for your insults and commit to the demands of monthly reparations and exclusive rights for Pagandan citizens on Gra Valkan soil!”
Here it goes. Cielia breathed out a heavy sigh. They were now forced into an irreversible position. Directly rejecting all of the demands, which was the official stance of the Gra Valkas Empire, would just seal the fate of both nations; acquiescing to the demands was never an option, as it virtually meant submitting to Paganda. Changing the topic wasn’t either, as the Pagandans were dead set on hearing the answer. Upset that it had come to this point but forlornly resigning to it, Cielia looked back up and answered.
“We refuse to honor all of your demands. This is and has always been the stance of the empire.”
The crowd became furious. Not long after, stones and obscene words were hurled in the dozens at the Gra Valkans. While the objects did not reach them as they were far away from the crowd, their words did.
“INGRATES!”
“OFF WITH THEIR HEADS AND PUT THEM ON PIKES!”
“ONWARD, PAGANDA! ONWARD, PAGANDA!”
“ONWARD, PAGANDA!”
“ONWARD, PAGANDA!”
The national cheer of the kingdom, made even more symbolic by the fact that today was part of their National Day celebrations, caught on to the crowd after one voice shouted it out. Soon, the crowd was chanting it in chorus, giving the listening Pagandan officials goosebumps. The Pagandans had decided that they would not be humiliated on the day that celebrated their pride as a kingdom.
The mustached man, turning back to Cielia with eyes burning with nationalistic ardor, spoke.
“One day! We will give you one day! If you don’t acquiesce by then... we will leave your fate to the people.”
Ending his statement to cheers, the mustached man then ordered the Gra Valkans to leave their port. Without any sign of confirmation, the Gra Valkans in their launch sped away back to their destroyer, leaving some worries with the Pagandan citizenry at the speed at which the boat accelerated. Dallas, having been left behind by his comrades, forced his head to turn to look at the speeding launch and the IGVN destroyer off in the distance.
Then, he muttered to himself as he produced a faint chuckle.
“Heh... Die Würfel sind gefallen, you Pagandan dumbasses... Just you fucking see. What goes around, comes around...”
Schmidt’s villa, Hochgarten, Gra Valkas Empire, 9:00
“No, Gerda! I am simply done with your antics!”
“But Derek! You know that you’re the one for me!”
“Why then?! Why did I find you sleeping with... with... with Hans!”
“Oh Derek!...”
Lines from a cheesy soap opera now echoed all throughout the empty villa, leaving the men of the GD posted at the villa cringing and snickering at their director’s awful taste in consumption media. Unbeknownst to them, Schmidt was only watching the soap opera for two things: nostalgia and Lisbeth Berggman. Due to the development of color television, Schmidt was excited at the prospect of seeing his crush, Lisbeth Berggman, in color in one of her earlier dramas, which his mother used to watch when he was younger. As he followed the intricacies in the actions of Berggman, who played the character of Gerda, he remembered how he was able to tell that she was uncomfortable in the filming for this particular soap opera, which she later said in an interview. Since then, he honed in his skills in detecting the subtleties in people’s actions and looking past their facades, enabling him to grow the necessary skills to become the director of the Geheimdienst. Watching on, Schmidt chuckled at a thought that passed his mind.
“Would anyone believe me if I told them that Lisbeth Berggman was why I’m here in the first place...”
It’s a leap in logic, but it would be a good conversation starter, thought Schmidt. Leaning on his couch, he felt his consciousness starting to fade away from the general boredom of watching the soap opera when the telephone rang, which kicked him back to life. Getting up then walking over to pick up the telephone, he answered it.
“Yeah, hello.”
“Schmidt.”
Hearing the voice he was anticipating, a big grin appeared on Schmidt’s face.
“Ahaha! Why if it isn’t Gesta! So, how did our negotiations go?”
“The Pagandans forced their demands; we naturally refused. They gave us a day to answer back.”
Thrilled that things were going smoothly, he silently punched his fist into the empty air. He then returned to Gesta.
“Amazing! This should get those war hawks to start screaming for war.”
“Don’t forget the imperial family. With their help, that war is as good as real.”
“Great, great. Time for the GD to do its work and ensure that everything proceeds.”
Suddenly, the soap opera that had been playing in the background was interrupted as the program changed to that of a mandatory broadcast. Anticipating this, Schmidt turned towards the television, where he saw the colored projection of the Emperor of Gra Valkas, Gralux, taking his position on a podium on the grounds of the Imperial Palace.
“Aha! Speak of the devil! I should now be readying myself. The Emperor is about to speak.”
“Best of wishes, director.”
Ending the call by putting the telephone back, Schmidt then walked out of the room and back to his study.
Imperial Palace, Ragna
Having heard the news that the Pagandans were unwilling to negotiate the return of the diplomats and that the diplomats were in a horrible state due to torture, Emperor Gralux–enraged beyond persuasion–decided to give a speech to the people and personally ordered all broadcasters to broadcast his speech on radio and television. Emerging out into a readied podium on a balcony on the main building of his palace, he was then beset by the hundreds of camera flashes as people, and news crews settled their focuses on him. Accompanying him were some members of the royal family, including his son, Gra Cabal, some Imperial Guards, and members of the Imperial Council. Pausing for a moment to savor in the cool yet polluted air of the city and the imposing yet beautiful skyline of the imperial capital, Gralux took a deep breath before opening his speech.
“Citizens of Gra Valkas!”
Stretching out his hands towards the crowd as his voice was propelled even further by the speakers connected to the microphones on his podium, Gralux paused before resuming.
“Horrible news has ruined our peaceful, righteous morning routines: the kingdom of Paganda has unlawfully arrested and incarcerated ten diplomats, all of which are Gra Valkan citizens like you, and they subjected to inhumane acts of torture!”
The crowd erupted into a frenzy. While a sizable amount of Gra Valkans were either neutral or had negative thoughts regarding the Emperor and the imperial family, the thought of their own countrymen being disrespected and tortured brought back harsh and painful memories of the war with Kain. After one and a half years of peace after being mythically brought to a new world away from the fighting, the Gra Valkan citizenry had been trying to forget and bury their martial past. However, this incident, sparked by fears of international humiliation, brought back once sealed feelings of rage and fury among the citizens, who were now calling for tougher action against Paganda. Majority were more moderate about their desires, calling instead for an international cooperation to isolate them. Regardless, it was safe to say that a sizable portion of the population supported decisive action against the pompous and arrogant kingdom.
“We as a people will not cower! We will not yield and submit! We are the Gra Valkas Empire, and just like with Kain, the actions of Paganda will not go unpunished!”
Cheers filled the atmosphere from the crowd on the grounds of the imperial palace, to the storefront of television stores broadcasting the Emperor’s speech, all the way to the countryside where citizens were tuning in via radio. The speech, designed to be vague enough in how it’ll deal with Paganda, had achieved what Schmidt and other hawks was hoping for: a Gra Valkas hungry for war.
One of the foreigners among the crowd, the Ambassador of Mu to Gra Valkas, shuddered in fear and elatement at the prospect of getting to see Paganda, one of the protectorates of nearby Leifor, trampled on. While it was genuinely scary to think of the possibility that Leifor may respond to a flashpoint involving Paganda, he wanted to see the Gra Valkans deploy their military, a facet of the new nation that had been largely elusive to the Muish.
“Well I’ll be damned. Let’s see how the Valkies will manage this one.”
The ambassador murmured to himself as he watched the Emperor of Gra Valkas shook his arms, rousing the crowd.
Somewhere in the empire, 19:30
“Gentlemen.”
A tall man with a slight beard giving off a calm yet commanding aura said to the other men in black fatigues as they huddled around a table in a room lit by only a single light bulb hanging above them. On the table was a map of Paganda and a map of Priscilla, both of which were provided by the GD. The man who spoke up, Stabsfeldwebel Roland Nadler, stood on the right side of another man with similar height, Oberstleutnant Dominik Hippel, the commander of the Kommandokompanie (KMK), a company-sized force of Kommandos serving as the special forces unit of the Imperial Gra Valkan Army (IGVA). Roland then proceeded with the briefing after Hippel gave him a slight nod.
“Our shithead-in-chief has given the greenlight for an operation to infiltrate Paganda, extract the ten diplomats, and get them home safely.”
The commandos of the KMK all subtly expressed their discontent. They’ve only just learned earlier in the morning that the negotiations with the Pagandans had broken down. While they were designed to be deployed at a moment’s notice, they were about to conduct an infiltration into a country that they haven’t had diplomatic relations with before. To remedy this, the GD would give them intelligence, but none of the commandos, including Hippel himself, trusted the conniving man that sat at the top. Having bad blood with each other, Hippel and Schmidt had a falling out, prompting Hippel to take his expertise to the Army and establish the KMK. With that in mind, the commandos could only assume that the execution of the operation was shoved to them in the IGVA and not their Unterseeischkämpfergruppe (UKG) counterparts in the Navy, which would have been in a more prime position to deploy and execute the operation.
Roland, sensing the discontent among his comrades, didn’t feel any better when he took out the intelligence the GD gave them.
“According to the intelligence gathered by those asswipers, all ten diplomats are being held here.”
He then pointed to the vicinity of a compound in the capital. To everyone’s further displeasure, the compound belonged to and was manned by the Pagandan military police. At this point, everyone started thinking that the operation was probably doomed from the get-go.
“Important to note here is that the Pagandans are celebrating their three-day National Day event, with celebrations taking place in the streets of the capital at nighttime, and festivities going past midnight. According to the GD, we are told to expect fanfare, fireworks, and lots of drunk and AWOL soldiers.”
They felt assured by the fact that a national day of celebration would be taking place during their operation. It provided multiple avenues for distractions and diversions, and the loud popping and booms from the fireworks are a perfect screen to operate firearms behind. Moreover, it was likely that they’d encounter guards that are either half asleep or are drunk, on top of them not expecting the KMK to strike. As the commandos took this in, one of them didn’t bother raising his hand before asking.
“So our target is a military police compound?”
The man, Hauptmann Garrit Scholz, asked in a tone that seemed to say that he was expecting it.
“Mmm.”
Hippel promptly replied to his question. Satisfied with the answer, Scholz continued his mental machinations regarding the piece of intelligence in secret. With no more questions, Roland continued. He took out an envelope and from it, a piece of paper which he put on the table for all to see.
“So, uh. This is the... ‘picture’ of the military compound. Courtesy of the GD.”
As soon as they laid their eyes on the ‘picture’, everyone couldn’t contain their laughter. The ‘picture’ was in fact a crude sketch of the main building that dominated the military police compound, accompanied by perspectives from above, and from the four cardinal directions. Included in the picture were points of entry, guard posts on the grounds, the arsenal, and speculations on the patrol routes. It was obvious that the GD had taken pictures, as the detail from the sketches could only be explained by them seeing the building for themselves. Furthermore, there were no mentions regarding the confidence of these pieces of ‘intelligence,’ which were touted by Schmidt to be the “best the GD can give them.” Since the operation was meant to take place within the next few hours, there was no time to lodge a complaint or pass the baton to someone else. With the overall mood in the room went down, Roland, noticing this, decided to do something about it.
“Now that you mention it, if this was truly the ‘best’ the GD has to offer, then they really are just dumbasses with nothing better to do, aren’t they?”
The commandos chuckled, lifting the mood somewhat. Roland then continued.
“Alright, men. This is the first action of the Army since that disastrous retreat from the Rabany continent back during the war. That was a moment of disgrace not only for the IGVA, but also for Gra Valkas. We, the KMK, have been given this opportunity, not only to redeem the name of the Army but also to bring back people’s confidence in us. Despite all these odds, we must give our people something to be proud of!”
With an encouraging speech from Roland, whom the commandos fondly considered their opa, meaning grandfather, they were now more determined than before in getting the job done whilst taking a jab at Schmidt and his Geheimdienst. Despite being a man of few words, Hippel felt Roland’s passion and drive, prompting him to give his right-hand man a reassuring smile as he looked his way. Now that everyone was in a good mood, Roland proceeded with briefing them about the operation itself.
“After careful consideration, we have decided that we will be inserting into Paganda with a high altitude, low opening jump from a Zs-6351 at an altitude of...”
1. The Zs-635 is a transport plane in service with the Imperial Gra Valkan Army Air Service.
