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Description
The various heads of state, congressmen and generals in the room chattered idly, though it was under a tense air that the pleasantries went forth.

Secretaries brought important files, and waitresses served tea or coffee. The room was surprisingly clean; many parts of the Nikeii Citadel were considered eternally grimy from the shaking of the artillery platforms on the roof. Not that they fired at all, either; it was simply the wind that was making them vibrate and shake the building's mortar between the concrete.

This was one of the few near-silent rooms in the Center Fort. As such, it was the mostly shielded from the outside, and all emanations from there.

Currently, those occupying it were all of significance - Marshals of the Infantry, Admirals of the Navy, Captains of the Cavalry and more -, or attending to those that were. Captain Bannon, the Commander of the only Armoured Regiment in the entirety of the Tuzkinn land, sat regretting wearing the tight and stiff dress uniform to the meeting.

A few other Generals and Admirals were in field uniform, weapons and all, were present in their own little circles. Mark spotted three Cavalier Colonels sitting prettily next to a General of the Infantry whose face had seen better days. Looking around, the Armoured Cavalry officer saw that the circles were separated more by state rather than by designation or service or otherwise.

Then he actually looked around. There were no less than forty-two high-ranking officers (above his station, anyway) in this very room.

Then the door opened, and attention in the room snapped to the man walking inside.
Defence Commander Alexei Granger walked in, and sat down at the command table.

The meeting begun in earnest.

~

"What's our situation?" The Defence Commander's very presence cut apart the tension like a bayonet through mutant flesh; here was a man of command. One could forget the petty politickings of the Congress, for this was the place where all decisions pertaining to the Confederacy's men under arms were made.

And rightfully so. Twenty of the Heads of State were present, excluding the Lords Bohrok, Rakshi and Kro'magnon. This, to any not informed, would have been an indication that, as the common citizen would have put it, 'shit was going to go down'.

The other occupants of the room - advisors, aides and fell into a reverent silence. The Defence Commander took a seat at the head of the table - with the other Generals around the sides, and the other end unoccupied. They were all here to discuss a radical and new decision - pushing ahead. Expanding onward and upward, the call to valour and honour and duty.

And all that rot, Granger thought. With his fifty years of combat - permanent and constant directing of men, from a paltry bunch of scavengers to the regiments he fielded today - he knew deep in his bones that this advance was a bad move.
As the generals ceased their discussion of tactics and strategy to look down at the beige papers upon which the campaign plans were written, he thought back to the early days.
In truth, the man had survived the breaking of the world. He could not remember much of his youth - something about an Emperor, and a bloody angel of death falling to a traitorous brother.

"We have forty-three Infantry and two dozen Cavalry regiments ready to move from Fort Rohann." General Denns stated. Granger himself had inspected that task force - some twenty thousand men under arms, not even counting the loaded wagons that were to sustain the army on the march.

"Twenty-one Cavalry Regiments at Rosenbridge, with two dozen more in Infantry at Dawn Brook's Fist, all ready to press into the Badlands. We'll give that bandit scum what's coming to 'em." a certain, steady voice made itself known.

The Defence Commander hadn't even been surprised. General Rovn was among if not the best commander of Cavalry and the fast-paced divisional and fast-strike strategies of mounted warfare. Granger knew well; he had learned from him. Not even the troubles of roughly two hundred thousand men and their horses - not to mention the vast logistical issues associated - would likely not hinder the man. The Infantry would be merely there to consolidate gains made.

"Twoscore regiments at Millsburg Citadel, ready to advance against the Chaos hordes!" stated Rivers, a zealous junior General. Granger didn't even need to read; he already knew that they would be Infantry - thrown up as a shield to block any surprise Chaos attacks.

Granger perked up as a thought struck him - the ground between Millsburg and the Chaos Hive was no stranger to war...

Looking down at the annotated paper, he saw something amiss. He wordlessly pointed it out to an aide, who seized the initiative.

"Why is the territory of the Blasted Wastes bisected? Surely there must be some mistake...?" The young Lieutenant asked.

As the room glanced down, several quiet sighs of disbelief sounded out. Eyes went to the Intelligence Officer in the room - a black-uniformed man with few adornments upon him. Inexperience or deliberate misinformation?

"It is difficult to ascertain the location of the Hive. What you see is an estimated outline." the man said in the raspy tone of one who does not speak often.

Granger resisted the urge to demote the man where he stood. Faulty intelligence was the bane of entire campaigns.

~

Foolhardy as the whole thing was, the idea was not without merit. Though it would leave them horrendously underprepared to deal with the daily threats - ravening mutants, simple bandits and the Beasts of the wilds - the Chaos rabble and the somewhat more integrated Bandit Clans in the Badlands would be dealt a savage blow, if not outright crushed.

Tracing the triple lines of the central advance against the Chaos hordes, Alexei made hypotheses on the outcomes on the dozens of battles that would spring up all over the front. This was by no means the first time a counterattack against the mad rabble had been made, although it was the first time it was flanked by such vast other deployments.

The plan was rather simple: Simultaneously, the three forces would move to either engage, or swallow up land. This would leave them badly overstretched, but it would get them the groundworks they needed in order to move even greater forces into the respective areas, and pacify their homeland at the cost of having to fight in foreign lands, and to risk far greater casualties.

General Denns would lead the most important part of the assault. A good choice for a commander, Granger knew, as his skill in logistics and minimising potential combat would make him useful on his deployment - up north, to slide around the fighting and to secure and stabilise a critical travel route that would allow the Tuzkinn Confederacy to reinforce their brothers in arms if not blood, the people of Anslem in the Blasted Wastes.

Furthermore, the man was the most experienced aside from Alexei himself. The three-pronged strike at the end of the Northern deployment was to at once Conciliate - reinforce the Blasted wastes, by piling Tuzkinn dead five feet high to use as cover if need be, to Reclaim the area behind the Wastes, and to secure the coastline.

Granger pondered, and with the infinitesmal tilting of his head, he had the room's attention. His position as Defence Commander was not unearned, and as such to those lesser his input was invaluable.

"Impressive diversity. But it's half a million men away from the enemy - more than five out of eight soldiers away from their homes."

A lot of the audience shifted uneasily. The amount of men deployed was not a number to be bandied about easily.

"We will likely face heavy casualties along all fronts. We would be pushing forward with no guarantee that we can fall back and defend against the next assault."

The room awaited his feedback. Anxiety tinged the air.

The Defence Commander again considered carefully, running through many possible outcomes and events. Then, with an inaudible sigh, he lowered his head a fraction of an inch.

"Go ahead. It's a foolhardy move, but the strategy is sound."

Granger wrote his signature on the dossier that went around and got up, cricking his back into shape.

"Sir." an aide asked of him. Again, attention returned to him. He returned it with an implacable expression.

"What will be the codeword to mobilize our forces?" The codeword, the codeword...

"Georgia. The code to launch all attacks is Georgia."

The Defence Commander left the Command Center.

Description
The various heads of state, congressmen and generals in the room chattered idly, though it was under a tense air that the pleasantries went forth.

Secretaries brought important files, and waitresses served tea or coffee. The room was surprisingly clean; many parts of the Nikeii Citadel were considered eternally grimy from the shaking of the artillery platforms on the roof. Not that they fired at all, either; it was simply the wind that was making them vibrate and shake the building's mortar between the concrete.

This was one of the few near-silent rooms in the Center Fort. As such, it was the mostly shielded from the outside, and all emanations from there.

Currently, those occupying it were all of significance - Marshals of the Infantry, Admirals of the Navy, Captains of the Cavalry and more -, or attending to those that were. Captain Bannon, the Commander of the only Armoured Regiment in the entirety of the Tuzkinn land, sat regretting wearing the tight and stiff dress uniform to the meeting.

A few other Generals and Admirals were in field uniform, weapons and all, were present in their own little circles. Mark spotted three Cavalier Colonels sitting prettily next to a General of the Infantry whose face had seen better days. Looking around, the Armoured Cavalry officer saw that the circles were separated more by state rather than by designation or service or otherwise.

Then he actually looked around. There were no less than forty-two high-ranking officers (above his station, anyway) in this very room.

Then the door opened, and attention in the room snapped to the man walking inside.
Defence Commander Alexei Granger walked in, and sat down at the command table.

The meeting begun in earnest.

~

"What's our situation?" The Defence Commander's very presence cut apart the tension like a bayonet through mutant flesh; here was a man of command. One could forget the petty politickings of the Congress, for this was the place where all decisions pertaining to the Confederacy's men under arms were made.

And rightfully so. Twenty of the Heads of State were present, excluding the Lords Bohrok, Rakshi and Kro'magnon. This, to any not informed, would have been an indication that, as the common citizen would have put it, 'shit was going to go down'.

The other occupants of the room - advisors, aides and fell into a reverent silence. The Defence Commander took a seat at the head of the table - with the other Generals around the sides, and the other end unoccupied. They were all here to discuss a radical and new decision - pushing ahead. Expanding onward and upward, the call to valour and honour and duty.

And all that rot, Granger thought. With his fifty years of combat - permanent and constant directing of men, from a paltry bunch of scavengers to the regiments he fielded today - he knew deep in his bones that this advance was a bad move.
As the generals ceased their discussion of tactics and strategy to look down at the beige papers upon which the campaign plans were written, he thought back to the early days.
In truth, the man had survived the breaking of the world. He could not remember much of his youth - something about an Emperor, and a bloody angel of death falling to a traitorous brother.

"We have forty-three Infantry and two dozen Cavalry regiments ready to move from Fort Rohann." General Denns stated. Granger himself had inspected that task force - some twenty thousand men under arms, not even counting the loaded wagons that were to sustain the army on the march.

"Twenty-one Cavalry Regiments at Rosenbridge, with two dozen more in Infantry at Dawn Brook's Fist, all ready to press into the Badlands. We'll give that bandit scum what's coming to 'em." a certain, steady voice made itself known.

The Defence Commander hadn't even been surprised. General Rovn was among if not the best commander of Cavalry and the fast-paced divisional and fast-strike strategies of mounted warfare. Granger knew well; he had learned from him. Not even the troubles of roughly two hundred thousand men and their horses - not to mention the vast logistical issues associated - would likely not hinder the man. The Infantry would be merely there to consolidate gains made.

"Twoscore regiments at Millsburg Citadel, ready to advance against the Chaos hordes!" stated Rivers, a zealous junior General. Granger didn't even need to read; he already knew that they would be Infantry - thrown up as a shield to block any surprise Chaos attacks.

Granger perked up as a thought struck him - the ground between Millsburg and the Chaos Hive was no stranger to war...

Looking down at the annotated paper, he saw something amiss. He wordlessly pointed it out to an aide, who seized the initiative.

"Why is the territory of the Blasted Wastes bisected? Surely there must be some mistake...?" The young Lieutenant asked.

As the room glanced down, several quiet sighs of disbelief sounded out. Eyes went to the Intelligence Officer in the room - a black-uniformed man with few adornments upon him. Inexperience or deliberate misinformation?

"It is difficult to ascertain the location of the Hive. What you see is an estimated outline." the man said in the raspy tone of one who does not speak often.

Granger resisted the urge to demote the man where he stood. Faulty intelligence was the bane of entire campaigns.

~

Foolhardy as the whole thing was, the idea was not without merit. Though it would leave them horrendously underprepared to deal with the daily threats - ravening mutants, simple bandits and the Beasts of the wilds - the Chaos rabble and the somewhat more integrated Bandit Clans in the Badlands would be dealt a savage blow, if not outright crushed.

Tracing the triple lines of the central advance against the Chaos hordes, Alexei made hypotheses on the outcomes on the dozens of battles that would spring up all over the front. This was by no means the first time a counterattack against the mad rabble had been made, although it was the first time it was flanked by such vast other deployments.

The plan was rather simple: Simultaneously, the three forces would move to either engage, or swallow up land. This would leave them badly overstretched, but it would get them the groundworks they needed in order to move even greater forces into the respective areas, and pacify their homeland at the cost of having to fight in foreign lands, and to risk far greater casualties.

General Denns would lead the most important part of the assault. A good choice for a commander, Granger knew, as his skill in logistics and minimising potential combat would make him useful on his deployment - up north, to slide around the fighting and to secure and stabilise a critical travel route that would allow the Tuzkinn Confederacy to reinforce their brothers in arms if not blood, the people of Anslem in the Blasted Wastes.

Furthermore, the man was the most experienced aside from Alexei himself. The three-pronged strike at the end of the Northern deployment was to at once Conciliate - reinforce the Blasted wastes, by piling Tuzkinn dead five feet high to use as cover if need be, to Reclaim the area behind the Wastes, and to secure the coastline.

Granger pondered, and with the infinitesmal tilting of his head, he had the room's attention. His position as Defence Commander was not unearned, and as such to those lesser his input was invaluable.

"Impressive diversity. But it's half a million men away from the enemy - more than five out of eight soldiers away from their homes."

A lot of the audience shifted uneasily. The amount of men deployed was not a number to be bandied about easily.

"We will likely face heavy casualties along all fronts. We would be pushing forward with no guarantee that we can fall back and defend against the next assault."

The room awaited his feedback. Anxiety tinged the air.

The Defence Commander again considered carefully, running through many possible outcomes and events. Then, with an inaudible sigh, he lowered his head a fraction of an inch.

"Go ahead. It's a foolhardy move, but the strategy is sound."

Granger wrote his signature on the dossier that went around and got up, cricking his back into shape.

"Sir." an aide asked of him. Again, attention returned to him. He returned it with an implacable expression.

"What will be the codeword to mobilize our forces?" The codeword, the codeword...

"Georgia. The code to launch all attacks is Georgia."

The Defence Commander left the Command Center.