United Nations UNBoard

Londisizwe had heard the First Secretary's speech. Everyone had. It had been impossible to miss it. She didn't really understand a lot of it, but everyone around her seemed happy about it. Her friends had taken to playing soldier with sticks and toys more recently and people had started waving more flags outside. It must've been some sort of holiday or festival that she missed. And so, she contented herself with that explanation.

However, the world around her began to change.

The trains that ran over the bridge further into town that she used to race were usually loaded with dull, multicolored containers. Now there were open cars with tanks and guns covered in tarps. On her daily walk to school, she would pass a series of metal boxes pointed up towards the sky with soldiers next to them. She didn't mind them, they were polite and gave her candy, but they were placed right on the field where she used to play soccer with her friends. On the weekends, she used to sit out and watch the Great Blue Turacos, but when she sat out and still, she'd always be interrupted by the sounds of jet engines which would almost invariably spook the birds.

When she went home every day after school, she noticed her father would always be reading the mail. He usually would be out in the yard cutting down trees or some other busy work. But now, he always sat outside on the porch going through the mail. Whenever she asked about his sudden change in behavior, he would always smile and give her a hug, saying it was nothing.

She obviously knew that was a lie. She had seen the pictures that he had kept of him and his friends in uniform. He had come home a couple years ago, but he never really talked at length about it. Despite that, Londisizwe knew what was going on. She never told her parents, but whenever she went to bed, she would ask her ancestors, the spirits, anyone, for them to not take her father away from her.

She began to notice cases of things disappearing. Her classmate Fuza told her about how in the middle of the night he saw his older brother leave the house with some papers tucked under his arm. Many of the secondary school students that she saw hanging around the parks and stores had become absent. Not that she minded. Some of them smoked and it smelled terrible. Every night at a certain time, all of the lights in her neighborhood would go off at once. Whenever she tried to turn one on to go to the bathroom, her mother gave her a stern talking to about conserving electricity.

She had been walking home from school when she noticed a convoy of trucks driving by her on the road. These weren't the normal cargo or pickup trucks that went around her town, but instead military trucks covered in camouflage. In the back sat a bunch of adults, mostly men. All young. The one sitting closest to the door to her said something, but it was lost in the din of the engine. Whatever it was, it worried her. She ran the rest of the way home, just in time to catch her father coming outside with a bundle of papers. His eyes were red, as if he had been crying.

He never cried.

Her father slowly kneeled down to her level, and tightly wrapped his arms around her. She was extremely confused, nothing like this had ever happened before. He had never cried, he had never looked like this. He began to speak to her slowly and carefully, his voice barely above a whisper. He told her that he would be gone for a while for a business trip. He told her to keep her grades up and to take care of her mother while he was gone. Londisizwe saw no reason to disobey him, so she happily agreed to do so. He whispered goodbye to her before he stood up, planted a kiss on her forehead, and walked towards the road.

Prologue: An Open Game.

Part 1.

Agatha sat down on her bed inside the barracks tent. She wipes off the sweat off her face, still marked with dust and black ash from her most recent operation.

The fight for Rodnøl left a profound mark on her psyche. Agatha once thought serving her country would be a refreshing break from her streaming duties for Bowery Corp. Besides, keeping up her fake persona, V-Streamer Rexas Batumi, was getting quite repetitive. It almost always was the same thing, over and over again. A drawing stream, free talk stream, some games here and there, maybe a couple of singing streams if she squeezed some content in.

When she first received a letter from the government that she had been conscripted again, she felt overjoyed. Finally, she thought to herself when she gazed upon the notice of draft. I can finally take a break. Being an anime girl all the time really drains my soul, to be honest. I can’t always keep up my streaming self. Even with the breaks I get, I still feel like Muse Production has consumed my entire life. I really need to get away from it for a bit.

Agatha soon rose through the ranks of the Tirfyngian military after she was drafted just a year ago for the second time. During her first round of service, she originally was a Specialist in the regular Tirfyngian Army. But because of her exemplary service (and some meddling by her aristocratic father), she was selected to be in the Tirfyngian Army Special Forces, or KST Landleger. Without a doubt, Agatha was well qualified for the job. Even though at first glance she looked like an artistic person, she is quite fit, possessing good stamina and agility. She also had a knack for improvising in sticky situations and she could bounce back from trouble…as long as it didn’t affect her to the core.

Agatha starts weeping silently as she looks back on her decision to join the Special Forces.

Oh, how I was wrong. So, so, so very much wrong…

She missed her fans, who were eagerly waiting for her to return streaming. She had informed them that she would be “on hiatus” because of a “secret project” she would be working on. Now she wanted to be back from said hiatus. She didn’t want to fight the war anymore.

Yet, a part of her kept clinging onto the notion that she should keep going and never give up. It is her resilient side talking.

You aren’t like this, Agatha. You see things all the way, up until the end of the line. Sure, Rodnøl may have screwed you over but it’s not the end of the world. You still have Maxim with you. Heck, the IU has your damned back!

Maybe her resilient side’s right. The International Union has her back after all.

Still, I kinda miss hanging out with…Janette…and…what’s her name again? Mei Mari? No, not her persona...her real name! Eh, whatever...

Then things take an unexpected turn as Maxim, Agatha’s second in command, slips inside the Barracks Tent from the left.

“Agatha, I’ve got a package for you,” he says.

“Oh really? I wanna see it, Maxim.”

“Come closer then.”

Agatha stands up from her bed and walks over to Maxim, who’s carrying a large box.

“Woah…where did this come from?”

Maxim shrugs. “Logistic guys from the Ruchs Transport Unit plopped it right on me when the supply shipments came today. They said it came from Matrino from ‘a friend of yours.’ I don’t know what the heck they’re talking about.”

A friend…that sounds all too familiar. Who could it be?

Filled with curiosity, Agatha snatches the box from Maxim’s hands.

“Woah! So eager to open it, eh?”

“I wanna see what’s inside,” Agatha briefly mutters as she cuts through the package’s masking tape with her bayonet.

Within a span of a moment or two, Agatha opens the box and sees Matrinoan chocolate, candies, and other luxuries. Crowned on top of a chocolate bar is a sticky note inscribed with the phrase, "To one fighter against tyranny to another, may these small luxuries make your fights a little easier." The note ends, signed with a cursive “T.”

“Her,” Agatha softly whispers. “It’s her.”

“Who are you talking about?” Maxim chimes in.

“Let’s just say she is a thorn in her government’s side,” Agatha quips with a smirk.

"Is that a pun?" Maxim asks with mock annoyance.

"Yes," Agatha nods. "I've got more of them."

Maxim smiles. "Then keep it comin'. I'm sure the folks at Task Force Checkmate would love 'em."

Agatha smiles back. If only her friend, Marija "Mei Mari" Grimscå, could see her now.

Agatha and her squad, the Silent Squad, had been selected to be part of a unified International Union special operations task force codenamed Task Force Checkmate. Checkmate is a multinational special operations forces (SOF) unit created for the purpose of supporting larger, more conventional forces of friendly forces in offensives against opposing forces. The unit consists of operators selected from the SOF units of Tirfyng, Oliandiria, Calcaterra, and Conmerica. Checkmate is divided into four separate squads, each consisting of two five-man fireteams in accordance with IU SOF doctrine. Each element also has a five-man logistics unit and a three-man command and control (C&C) unit.

And soon, Checkmate will make their debut in the fields of Senora as the war moved from Tirfyng to there.

TOV Studio, Elethsvajrijn, the Elethic Province

Johana set a hot mug of coffee down on the counter. It was on rainy days like this one that she found the drink especially enjoyable. She reached with her good hand for a small object on the nearby shelf. A radio. Perhaps it would be considered an antique radio, after all these years. The device was small, dusty and rarely-used, but nevertheless loud enough to project audio throughout this and the surrounding few rooms of the studio. TOV kept these practical artifacts around for one sole purpose. Most Oliandirians did; radios were often considered out-of-fashion, but the Empress had her eccentricities, and her fondness for the out-of-fashion machines was one of them. Johana turned a few knobs on the device. It took a bit of fiddling, but she eventually came to the right frequency. 225 MHz. Today was one of the few occasions of the frequency’s use. An imperial address, to be delivered by the White Dragon Empress herself.

The staticky whirring of the little device continued for a moment longer before a woman’s voice, deep and bellowing, pierced the speakers and filled the room.

“Oliandiria has suffered many crises in her past. Assassinations, riots, we came close to civil wars. Each time, these crises shook our nation to its core. Oliandiria slipped. And she fumbled. But she did not fall. Through each and every crisis, we, the Children of the Empire, have prevailed. I was there for you through all of it, my voice coming to you in these addresses. Every time, I assured you that the future is bright. That glory lies ahead. I said to you all, ‘Of course we will succeed. Of course we will surmount the enemy! Why? Because we are Oliandirians!’

Brothers and sisters—today, I do not speak to you as Oliandirians.”

Johana knew that this broadcast was playing in the home of every Oliandirian, just as it was in the TOV backroom. Perhaps in the homes and offices of foreigners across the world. Not everybody in the country was willing to die for the Empress. Not everybody felt that the war was a just one. But nevertheless, Johana thought to herself, we all have a part to play in what is to come. We cannot shrug that duty. She glanced down at her left arm. It hadn’t been much use to her lately, wrapped in a tight white cast as it was. It was the worst of a few injuries she had sustained while live at the battle of Rodnøl. A smaller sacrifice than many would be giving in the coming months, no doubt. Lady Fate finds us all. Sooner or later.

“Today, your allegiance is a higher one. Today, and for every day to come, I entreat that you fight and resist not as Oliandirians, but as sons and daughters of a free world.”

The radio made an infernal clicking sound, before the Empress’ voice was garbled by static. Johana glanced up, her reverie broken by the incident. A small crowd of her coworkers had gathered in the backroom to listen in on the broadcast. Johana sighed and fiddled with the device. It took a moment before it started working again.

“—Indeed, the Toraist menace came upon the Union, forced their way into our sister-state of Tirfyng. They settled down and cozied themselves in Rodnøl, like worms in the Union’s belly.”

Johana’s colleagues gathered tightly around the counter, moving closer to better hear the noise. Johana, despite her injury, and despite her leave from work, felt an odd sense of kinship with the men and women around her. No matter what happens, she thought with a small smile, we’re all stuck in this mire together.

Guest lodging of the Princely Estate, Port Harlowe, on the coast of Southern Stelin

Ari Suni closed the fridge, turned around, and came face-to-face with a dark figure he had not heard enter. Ari started. It was a moment, just one chest-clutching minute, before Ari recognized the man who had intruded without notice. The Imperial General. Avar Lusjok.

“General Suni,” the man began, stern and cold. “You were expected at the docks an hour ago. Your men nearly departed without their general.”

Ari sighed heavily. “Avar. Can you not learn to knock? Must you insist on making me jump from my skin every time I miss an appointment?”

“How many more appointments do you intend to miss, General?”

Ari frowned. He decided it wise to drop the subject. “It’s time, then? The fleet’s moving to join the Donice blockade?”

“There is no Donice blockade. Not anymore. The joint fleet’s pulling back to the Anthacian coast.” Ari met his colleague’s eyes, a question in his stare. The Imperial General responded to the unspoken ask with a small shrug. “It was under the orders of Her Imperial Majesty. And the Command Staff.” Ari’s brow furrowed. He could tell that Avar knew more than he was letting on, but the Imperial General did not let secrets slip lightly. Ari could tell that he wouldn’t be getting any more information out of the older man.

Elsewhere in the residence, a radio crackled to life. The building’s walls were thin, poorly-made despite the status of the estate’s owners, and the high volume of the device carried the noise through to the two generals.

“—was only then, after we had thrown Chinern from our ports, that we stretched our hand out, olive branch firm in our palm. Peace lay before the Reds. An end to the war was in sight. And unequivocally, they rejected us. ‘My will is to fight’, said the Chinernian envoy. And the war was on.”

“Speak of the devil and she shall arrive.”

“The Empress should have had you shot for treason, Suni.”

“She would’ve shot herself me many years ago, were it her wish.”

“And so we mustered our every factory, our every warship and our every soldier, for a battle that we now saw was unavoidable. From that moment ‘till today, Union ships have crested the waves, unmatched and uncontestable! Our men have landed in the far parts of the world, taking up garrisons from Rathnir to Aoraki, and hitting the beaches in Senora.

And even then, even in our position of power, when Tierra judged us preemptive for our strikes against Chinern’s allies, we offered peace to them! Unaccepting of a white peace, of a slate wiped clean, they brought forward condition upon condition. And even then, the Union was willing to hear these states out. After all, was it not Chinern alone that defiled Tirfyngian sovereignty? These nations were surely innocent by comparison.”

General Lusjok cleared his throat and motioned for Ari to follow him out the door. “Our duties are done in Port Harlowe, Suni,” he said. “The Empress has need of you in Senora.”

“Senora?”

“You are to command the offensive force moving south from Senora’s northern coast.” The Imperial General smiled. “Still certain you hold the goodwill of the Empress?”

Ari groaned. “I’d rather take the firing squad than the anarchist fanatics.” He glanced around the room one more time, sighed resignedly, and gathered his keys and bags. Even after Ari and Avar had passed through the door and left the room, the voice of the Empress still echoed through the building.

The RL Elskar, near the Nahelren Bight, off the Anthacian coast

Captain Adar Loven pored over a series of maps, plans, and documents arrayed neatly upon the desk in his quarters. The radio, at the corner of the table, dispensed words dutifully from an Imperial speech. Loven had found that such white noise helped him concentrate as he worked.

“—But Toraists hunt in packs. Like starving wolves, it is not their strength or speed that makes the Red states dangerous predators. It is their hunger and their number.”

Captain Loven had been frustrated when the peace talks began, and felt betrayed now that the grand I.U. fleet, composed of the finest vessels from three different nations, was pulling back to Anthacia instead of staying and guarding the Donice.

“So Sozkana and Senora, unwilling to find peace without demanding the cessation of our legal war against Chinern, denied our dovelike advances as well. That, though, was not enough; our envoys were told that upon the end of negotiations, the whole of the Internationale was to be brought into the war. And so Ossta joins their doomed party as well.”

Captain Loven was not a political man; he did not care for the intricacies of diplomacy, nor for the delicate balance of international peace and power. He cared for glory, for the Empress and Oliandiria. And Oliandiria was at war. Why, then, should the Union pull back from Sozkanan waters? Loven knew the answer. International pressure. The Stelinean states didn’t appreciate ships from Glasgae or Warria or Namor sailing by their shores to reach the enemy. Do they not see that the war sits on a knife’s edge? That our cause is a just and righteous one?

“I am no warmonger. I did not wish for Tierra to be once more lit aflame, nor do I, even now, wish for the annihilation of our enemies. What I do wish for is peace. For prosperity. Above all else, for safety, for every citizen of the International Union. The Reds violated our peace. Twice they have snapped our olive branches in twain. We must act in defense of a free Tierra. War can be staved off no longer.”

Captain Loven shook his head. The matter would frustrate him for many nights to come, no doubt, but Loven needed to focus on his surroundings. On the Elskar. On what was to come.

The Captain put his attention back to the maps. Part of the fleet was splitting off from the whole, he had been told—riding the waves eastward to scout out Osstan waters. Those were light vessels though, intended for quick maneuvering and hit-and-run missions. The Elskar was not a light ship.

Loven sifted through the papers. There was certainly movement on the high seas; the number of maps he was privy to had given him that much information. One displayed slight maneuvers in the Southern and Western naval walls, ships fanning out to make use of their numerical superiority. Another displayed orders for a group of transport vessels to carry men west to Senora. A third showed patrol routes for I.U. ships in international waters up north, by the Boreal. All fascinating tactical maneuvers. None which involved the Elskar.

“The Union now wanders into a den of wolves. We seek only to ensure that the predators are never again able to make prey of the international community.”

Ah, here it is! It took a few minutes of searching, but Captain Loven did finally come upon what he had been looking for. Orders for the largest of the Union’s fleets. Now that the majority of the ships were back in Anthacian waters, the assumption of a more organized line could begin. The fleet, making use of its vast number, would take up a layered defensive position. The Elskar would be one link in a great chain stretching from the northern end of the Anthacian Channel to the Crowley Peninsula in the south.

Captain Loven allowed himself a grin. It would not be as glorious as bottling up the Sozkanans in the Donice, inevitably inciting them to open battle, sure. But the new plan from the I.U. General Command Staff would nevertheless ensnare the Reds. Caught between Boreal patrols in the north, a grand armada in the south, and blocked in by land to the east and west, how could Sozkana hope to contest the blockade?

“The days ahead will be dangerous. They will be bleak. We must keep our wits about us. No ounce of courage may be left at home when we set sail for the frontlines. When we come face-to-face with the enemy, we can reserve no option and no weapon. For, when a gamble is so great that our lives are at risk, with Tierra as the ante, how can we entertain any reservations?”

Captain Loven held his hand over his heart and recited a few quick prayers, wishes to the Gods for the days to come. I am a man of hope, he thought. Hope for victory, hope for renown, hope for a legacy. Perhaps the Elskar, perhaps this blockade, will be my chance at these.

Loven did not know what awaited him. He knew only that he would carry out the will of the Empress and the Empire dutifully; with honor and for acclaim.

“The Union’s spirit is great. The Union’s soul is unfathomable. Brothers and sisters, it is through the unending courage and strength that defines our people that we will surmount the enemy! If war is their wish, then let us teach them how to make war! The Gods are watching us this day, and for every day of this grand battle to come. We will not disappoint them. Ljevaj Unjono!”

“Yes.” A murmur escaped the Captain’s lips, “and Ljevaj Olzundrija.”

Out Upon the Open Sea, outside the Junto Sea
The waves were growing rougher. It didn't matter for a ship like the Corpe, although the Corpe in itself was a major outlier being absolutely massive at nearly 106 meters long, meaning it dwarfed most of the other ships in both the National Fleet Marine and the Navy. It's two freighter companions were also handling the increasing weather, going by the signs "SOGOL" and "MANDE", respectively. Corpe's smaller companions weren't handling the escalating weather as well. The two Joki class patrol boats had been specially designed to operate in coastal areas and rivers. While it had been determined to be safe(ish) during deeper waters, the weather was attempting to prove otherwise. One of them messaged the Corpe stating that the two ships would risk the journey back to safer waters, and after the affirmative both of them turned away while being bounced by all the waves.

The actual names of the freighters escaped the captain, but he was also sure the Corpe's name escaped them, so he figured all things being equal.

In many ways, the Corpe was ill suited to the duties it was to undertake: armed with three cannons in total and a single helicopter, the average onlooker could be forgiven for viewing it as a nonthreat.

"To our civilian oceanic companions, 2 and 9 have advised us that they're redirecting northeast towards calmer waters. You're with us only until we reach the extent of our safe range. Advising: stick close until we deem it otherwise safe copy."

Upon reception of the affirmative the journey was usually uneventful.

"Captain, unidentified object moving beneath the surface on roughly parallel course. Should we engage the helicopter?"

Most sightings were honestly nothing.

"Negative, leave it be."

Other sightings were just uneventful. What ship sightings they did see were usually either friendly or far enough away to not be registered as a threat. Lazy? Possibly. Unaware? No. Whomever it would be would most likely lack any desire or initiative to engage in conflict... most likely anyways. Worst case scenario was that they engage in a losing battle against sea and/or air assets, but they doubted someone would attempt to provoke them.

Of course, that didn't absolve them of their duties. Life on a ship still had it's chores, and that meant ensuring the two other ships safely got to the end of their range. It was boring work, but it was essential for Safety and Freedom of Navigation. Of course, perhaps as a member of the Fleet Marine meant they were all out of their depth. Despite it all, they were the oceanic wing of the Marine and that meant being prepared for voyages that the average mariner wasn't equipped for.

"Captain, the object has... dissolved away. I believe we're in the clear."

He kept in mind the current path of the ship, and the invisible line that marked when they had to turn back. Lucky for everyone involved, there had yet to ben anything even resembling a close call. Sure, sometimes he had felt like multiple pairs of eyes were upon his ship, and he'd been pretty convinced he'd seen a ship or something on the horizon about twice, but radar and sonar were clear, and if they were clear he had no grounds to complain; he'd done his best to ensure that everything was calibrated before each journey.

"Captain, we've begun the process of turning around, we're letting "SOGOL" and "MANDE" know."

"Tell them safe journey. If anything does happen, tell them we'll keep one set of comms open on their frequency, and we'll come running at any sign of trouble."

Sometimes, he wondered if they were crossing some imaginary line. Like, was this a bridge too far? When a time came, would... no, could he press this ship the extra miles in order to chase off some ship intent on eating world commerce? His ship was aged, and it took a major fight just to keep the light arms it had now as they'd wanted to extend the helipad on both his ship and her sister ships. He even doubted if they could engage an enemy below deck...

"Captain, you look unwell. Perhaps let the XO take the bridge?"

Unwell... sure, sure. He'd step outside a sec, see if getting blasted with bits of wave would clear his head.

"Yeah... Paites, take the bridge..."

Fort Mus, Balleyrey Province.
This was insane, all of this was insane. Whoever ordered this had to have been smoking something. The major glanced out of his window at the security checkpoint at the National Guardsman, and wondered what exactly they were doing here. Meeting these...people...had to go against the wishes of the elders, and spat on the memories of those who had so valiantly defended the nation forty years ago.

Then again, you bring down one enemy and they find someone even worse to replace him. Yesterday's enemies were today's recruits, literally. Rolling past the armed guards, the staff car bumped along the road to the temporary headquarters of the staging area. Normally, he wouldn't want to step foot in here, but necessity demanded it. As the car rolled to a stop, he noticed a group of four individuals coming out to greet them. Two of them were clearly higher ranking officers, while the other two were just their escorts. Opening the door to the dry air, the group was quickly ushered inside to an ad hoc planning room. A table with a map of Tierra was placed in the center of the room, illuminated by a series of lights hanging from the ceiling. It was a bit old school, but that never hurt nobody. On the far edge of the room sat two flags. The first was Chinern's tricolor, its characteristic flag visible and slightly fluttering from the air conditioning.

The second was a flag that many never hoped to see fly over Chinern. Another tricolor, its most notable feature was the golden eagle emblazoned in the center. The major blankly looked at the flag before scooting over to their spot at the table. No one spoke for a good few moments before one of the Ulutorian officers coughed.

"I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I am Major Dinal Fonghanni, and my compatriot here is Major Rija Formola, both of the Royal Ulutorian Army. I know it's a shock to have us here, but our enemies are the same and our interests align." It struck the major as ironic of the Ulutorians to be pursuing peace and cooperation given their countries' history, but he was in no position to complain.

The major cleared his throat. "Majors Zikoranaudodimma Tobechukwu and Jaja Ikem of the Chinernian Ground Self Defense Force. You boys are a long way from home. Now that pleasantries are over with, what can you tell me about your forces?"

"There are twenty thousand of our soldiers on land already. Another thirty thousand are expected within the next couple days."

By Tora, they were multiplying. The major nodded attentively, pointing down at the map. "Well, we'll need the bulk of your forces in Senora. We can arrange transport for them, all you need to do is ensure that they're ready to go when the time comes. They will be placed under Chinernian command, and-"

One of the Ulutorian majors raised their hand. "No. We will command our own troops. We will not allow them to just be replacements, augments for your army. We will fight as Ulutorians, and receive glory and credit thereof."

The Chinernian major sighed with annoyance. They were too proud for their own good. The fools. The man was deep in thought for a few moments before throwing his hands up. "Fine. You will serve in your own army. You will be in command of the formation. We will support your flanks. Is that understood?"

The Ulutorians laughed to themselves. The major imagined that they were reveling in his obvious displeasure. It was certainly a pact made in hell, if nothing else.

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled World War to Bring You GASCAR

GASCAR News Center

The 2097 GASCAR World Cup Series has concluded. It was the 43rd season of the professional series, with the season starting with the Baytona 500 on February 20th, and ending with the Wentz 400 on November 12th.

Prelude
The last time a World War struck the world in the 2030s, the major racing series cancelled their seasons for the remainder of the war. Racing internationally while a war is going on and the global economy shifted towards war is a challenge, given racing's reliance on personal, fuel, tires, and mechanical parts, all of which are vital for war efforts, and sponsorships, which fuel racing, often drying up during economically challenging times.

GASCAR is no exception, as sponsorships are sending less money, and fuel, tires, and parts are getting rarer and more expensive. Some personal have even been drafted, or voluntarily left to join the war efforts. Even in neutral nations like Alaback which the series calls home have seen their fair share in difficulties getting people and supplies.

So it came as a surprise to many when GASCAR's CEO Lukas Grandim, announced the series would continue as normal with the same shortened schedule that they ran last year in 2096. Grandim and other GASCAR officials had been flying all over the world in the off season, trying to secure guarantees that the series would still be able to run, meeting with everyone from government officials, corporate sponsors, and the teams.

Once it was established that the series would run, the next issue was the teams. No team had went bankrupt over the off season, but many teams, especially the smaller ones, were on the cliff's edge, some teams reporting that they could run the first race, but if their cars were wrecked, they'd have to sell the teams. With that in mind, GASCAR held talks with the teams, and it was decided that if the teams could get more of the broadcasting rights money and run with cheaper regulations, it would help a lot in keeping the teams afloat.

And so, GASCAR renegotiated its broadcasting rights, giving teams a larger share of the deal, and then rewrote the rules book for under the hood, mandating teams use cheaper, more widely available parts. While that might mean parts break more often and the racing might not be as good, it would at least keep the teams afloat.

And as the haulers pulled into the Baytona International Speedway in February for the first race, nobody at the racetrack wasn't thinking about the future of the sport and if they would still have a job tomorrow.

There was only one driver replacement during the off season. Dernov Larion, longtime competitor, retired and was replaced by Ony Nikitin in the #20 Huick. Larion had been racing ever since international drivers first began racing in GASCAR in 2058. In his 39 years of racing, Larion claimed 34 race wins, including one Firecracker 400, three Kastol Night Races, two Trustmanster 600s, and 4 championships. Statistically, he is the most accomplished Huick/Team Tske racer of all time, with 20 top ten points finish in 39 years.

Humble to fault, smart, creative, unconventional, and hard-working, Larion was one of the most respected drivers in the garage. Always one to stay out of trouble and play things cool, both with drivers, GASCAR, and the media, he was probably one of the cleanest racers in the garage, and when he did race someone dirty, chances are they had done Larion wrong in the past. But even then, he always seemed to take more punishment then he ever dished out. This rather bland style of racing even translated to his championships; his most notable accomplishment is being the first driver in GASCAR history to win a championship without winning a single race, in 2085.

Actively involved in charity work, he even jokingly earned the nickname "Onion", for the fact he would regularly shave his head bald for charity events. Currently married with two kids, he regularly works on cars in his spare time, and loves bobsledding to the point where he actually appeared on several Sozkanan bobsledding teams occasionally. Suffice to say, Larion will be missed in the garage and on the track.

Season
Despite everything happening around GASCAR, everyone's worries seemed to vanish after Tomisław Skorupa, a driver from Bonple racing for an underfunded backmarker team with no wins and a best finish of 17th, won the Baytona 500 after making a daring pass in the last lap to win the race. A Cinderella story for the ages to be sure, and one that dominated the news for a week afterwards even while there was a war going on.

The next races saw a revolving door of winners, it wouldn't be until the 8th race of the season, the Streampic 400, that we saw the first repeat winner. This season saw fierce competition with 14 different winners in 19 races. Despite that, Katimos had clearly pulled away in the latter half of the season, with the top four cars in points being Katimoses at the season's halfway point. The top two Katimos drivers were in a dogfight for the championship, those two being Jake Keselmann and Davy Clerisseau, with the two claiming top ten finishes like they were going out of style.

Before we get into the final battle, we should also mention another big story this year. Vik Dorn, an Azaltanian driver currently racing the #15 Cehve for Korry Kohlhaase Racing, scored his first GASCAR Cup Series win this year at the second-to-last race at the Hirhi Electronics 400 in Ulutor. Normally this wouldn't be big news, but it was for Vik Dorn, and more specifically, his rabid fan club. Ever since coming to the Cup Series, Vik Dorn has won GASCAR's Most Popular Driver award, and currently holds the record for most Most Popular Driver awards won, winning it 10 times. But why is Vik Dorn so popular?

The answer has a lot to do with his personality. A clean, respectful driver, he avoids trouble like the plague. And off the track, he regularly meets with fans at events across the world. He's renown for always staying to make sure everyone in line gets an autograph, and his team regularly runs specials on their website and at the track to make sure fans can get merchandise on the cheap, with Dorn even sometimes selling merchandise at the track when he has time. Sometimes he might even let people with garage passes into his hauler for a small tour. As such, while he might not have the largest fanbase, those fans he has are some of the most devoted in the sport, with them having the largest fan club in the sport. Dorn's personality also means that many people like him, even if he isn't their number one driver. So him winning his first race is a big deal, so big Korry Kohlhaase Racing's website even crashed as too many people tried to visit it, and when it got back online, all the merchandise was gone within minutes.

Getting back to the regular season, going into the final race at Azaltan Keselmann and Clerisseau were in a dead heat for the championship. And once the checkered flag flew, Keselmann and Clerisseau were tied in points at 542 points each. And so, as a tiebreaker set by the rule book, the championship went to whoever had the most wins. Keselmann had three, Clerisseau just one. And so, Jack Keselmann claimed his first championship ever since he began racing in the Cup Series in 2082. It was also Katimos's tenth and Ahle Racing Team's sixth.

Tony Maxwell won the GASCAR All-Star Race XX, Ony Nikitin won the Rookie of the Year by default, and Vik Dorn won the Most Popular Driver award.

Roster, Results, and Standings

2097 GASCAR World Cup Season

by Alaback

Roster

Points Standing at the End of the Season

	Name	Team	Sponsor	Manufacturer	Points
1.	Jake Keselmann	Ahle Racing	Off Center Paint	Katimos	542
2.	Davy Clerisseau	Trustmanster Racing	Trustmanster Racing	Katimos	542
3.	Caroline Eisner	Ahle Racing	Brace-Sealer	Katimos	503
4.	Nadia Trauth	Natali Trauth Racing	Refert Tools/Navistar Engines	Jagen	481
5.	Alex Bach	Alex Bach Racing	Brightwater	Cehve	480
6.	Stephen Hoffenheim	Angor-Morton Motorsports	Royal Bonaulti Company	Ettlinger	475
7.	Marita Boyd	Ahle Racing	Crimson Crown Corporation	Katimos	473
8.	Adam Tjurgard	Angor-Morton Motorsports	Angor-Morton Banking	Ettlinger	470
9.	Kalevi Costiniu	Martinescu-Maniu Motorsports	Hello Fello	Calovac	450
10.	Cal Anamar	Calovac Racing Team	Calovac Motor Car Company	Calovac	413
11.	Tony Maxwell	Patrick Wilson Racing	Nebraska Popcorn	Kistler	402
12.	Marilena Rosetti	Martinescu-Maniu Motorsports	Doktor Pepper	Calovac	399
13.	Jamie Parkle	Alex Bach Racing	Skahyahn Tourism	Cehve	396
14.	Sonina Makaro	Team Tske	Huick Motor Company	Huick	381
15.	Randolf Bertram	Manfred Motorsports & Associates	Medarcs/Husk Oil	Jagen	360
16.	Morem Sosco	Angor-Morton Motorsports	Ruthbad	Ettlinger	357
17.	Tristan Chapelle	Calovac Racing Team	Calovac Motor Car Company	Calovac	355
18.	Caitlin Arrachtain	Korry Kohlhaase Racing	Colorsplash Auto Paint	Cehve	339
19.	Vasili Alesnaro	Team Tske	Team Tske	Huick	338
20.	Sage Attah	Team Tske	Team Tske	Huick	331
21.	Vik Dorn	Korry Kohlhaase Racing	Rick's Rapid Repairs	Cehve	327
22.	Klaus Nehhenis	Turi Furnari Racing	Davide's Fine Cuisine	Bonple Motors	314
23.	Denis Mittermaier	Angor-Morton Motorsports	Sapindale	Ettlinger	310
24.	Ony Nikitin	Team Tske	Team Tske	Huick	277
25.	Chester Tucker	Kistler Racing Division	Kistler Performance	Kistler	258
26.	Arwin Bendel	Davy Clerisseau Motorsports	Garrois Lines	Katimos	246
27.	Ryan Sberrj-Gallop	Kunecki Racing	Aininn Ice Cream	Bonple Motors	238
28.	Matuso Arexier	Bica Drigti Racing	Puina's	Calovac	227
29.	Petre Suciu	Kistler Racing Division	Kistler Performance	Kistler	214
30.	Finn Buchman	Juliper Racing	Chewies	Jagen	204
31.	Tomisław Skorupa	Lehrer Incorperated	Skyward Airlines	Bonple Motors	194
32.	Laurentiu Oprea	Kiritescu Racing	Jaynikov Gaming	Kistler	189
33.	Lieselotte Oberhauser	Manfred Motorsports & Associates	Gertahus Food	Jagen	187
34.	Edwardo Zo	Team Tske	Team Tske	Huick	181
35.	Fynn Weigle	Lehrer Incorperated	Köhler & Werner Arms Co.	Bonple Motors	163
36.	Arthur Saft	Bica Drigti Racing	84 Print	Calovac	160
37.	Ole Nemetz	Manfred Motorsports & Associates	Oleg Clothing	Jagen	153
38.	Bruce Beckette	Juliper Racing	Ziench Candy	Jagen	140
39.	Wesil Wolonga	Kalutta Hybard Racing	Otono Motors	Otono	120
40.	Günter Aimar	Kunecki Racing	Fox Restaurants	Bonple Motors	91

Schedule

Name	Track	Location	Date
Baytona 500	Baytona	Alaback	February 20
FoldingTrips 500	Palm Mile	Alaback	Feburaury 27
Termatt Inc 500	Gallediga	Alaback	March 6
Boxem Outdoors 400	Trover	Alaback	March 13
Firecracker 400	Baytona	Alaback	March 20
Brightwater 400	Salta	Alaback	May 15
Bushnell's Barn 500	Kastol	Alaback	May 29
Streampic 400	Pine Tree	North Nebraska	June 12
Puina's Good Darn Chicken 250	Choschov	Zambet Fata	June 26
Northern 500	Inglton	Alaback	July 3
Chewies 400	Salta	Alaback	July 10
Trustmanster 600	Trustmanster	Alaback	July 17
Seasonal Outdoors 500	Kastol	Alaback	July 31
There's No Place Like Skahyahn 400	Ganvther	Skahyahn	August 20
Dakono 350	Dakono	Zambet Fata	August 21
Bonple Motors 400	Iron Cross	Diemetsa	September 18
Glenigrad 355	Glenigrad	Zambet Fata	October 2
Hirhi Electronics 400	Bursahai	Ulutor	October 16
Wentz 400	Glensville	Azaltan	November 12

Win Table

Race	Winner
Baytona 500*	Tomisław Skorupa
FoldingTrips 500	Alex Bach
Termatt Inc 500	Ryan Sberrj-Gallop
Boxem Outdoors 400	Marita Boyd
Firecracker 400*	Martuso Arexier
Brightwater 400	Stephen Hoffenheim
Bushnell's Barn 500	Marilena Roestti
Streampic 400	Stephen Hoffenheim
Puina's Good Darn Chicken 250	Cal Anamar
Northern 500*	Jake Keselmann
Chewies 400	Cal Anamar
Trustmanster 600*	Tristan Chapelle
Seasonal Outdoors 500*	Jamie Parkle
There's No Place Like Skahyahn 400	Jake Keselmann
Dakono 350	Jake Keselmann
Bonple Motors 400	Alex Bach
Glenigrad 355	Davy Clerisseau
Hirhi Electronics 400	Vik Dorn
Wentz 400	Caroline Eisner
* Crown Jewel Events

Number of Wins per Driver

Name	No of Wins
Jake Keselmann	3
Alex Bach	2
Stephen Hoffenheim	2
Cal Anamar	1
Martuso Arexier	1
Marita Boyd	1
Tristan Chapelle	1
Davy Clerisseau	1
Vik Dorn	1
Caroline Eisner	1
Jamie Parkle	1
Marilena Roestti	1
Ryan Sberrj-Gallop	1
Tomisław Skorupa	1

All-Star Race XX

All-Star Race XX
Winner: Tony Maxwell

Those who raced:
Caitlin Arrachtain
Alex Bach
Tristan Chapelle
Davy Clerisseau
Stephen Hoffenheim
Sonina Makaro
Tony Maxwell
Laurentiu Oprea
Ryan Sberrj-Gallop
Adam Tjurgard
Vasili Alesnaro
Marita Boyd
Caroline Eisner
Kalevi Costiniu
Dernov Larion
Ole Nemetz
Sonina Makaro
Nadia Trauth
Cal Anamar
Martuso Arexier
Jake Keselmann
Denis Mittermaier
Jamie Parkle
Marilena Rosetti
Tomisław Skorupa
Edwardo Zo

Fan Vote: Morem Sosco
Heat Race Winner: Vik Dorn

*Are past All-Star race winners who automatically qualify for the All-Star race, are past GASCAR champions who have not won the All-Star race, who are also automatically qualified for the All-Star race, while the rest are drivers who have won a race last season or previously in the current season.

Read dispatch

Chidi Odera was not known for her patience. In fact, she was known more for her short temper and her attitude. However, that made her perfect for her job.

Her job...which required her to go from a relatively nice embassy in Azaltan to Swallonia, a nation that Chinern had little to no actual interest in. At least the Azaltanians were decent enough to give them housing. Going into here, she didn't know what to expect.

The things she did for her country.

It had all been very sudden, not gradual like the thing with Azaltan. They'd received orders to leave their postings, to fly out to Falkenstein, and to set up an intelligence outpost. Honestly, she was surprised that no one shot at them as they landed, but there were a noticeable number of heavily armed guards sitting around blacked out cars.

Amateurs.

The ride through town was quiet. Aside from the governmental agent sneaking suspicious looks at her every few moments, it was quaint. She wouldn’t mind driving around those streets by herself in her free time. Eventually, the urban centers gave way to rolling fields and farm buildings. Reminded her of home, a little bit. Well, minus the wind chill. She could do without that.

The vehicle came to a stop on a dusty road leading to a wooden farmhouse. At least it still had a roof. Taking her equipment from the trunk and slamming it closed, she took in the flimsy outpost. She’d seen better, but it would do.

“Let’s get this over with,” The driver of the vehicle muttered, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up. Chidi guessed they were some sort of government agent, judging by the stereotypical shades, black suit and tie, and the wire attached to their ear. Plus, they had an impressive side piece.

She had to approve of that at the very least.

Lugging her backpack inside the farmhouse, the Chinernian agent was greeted first by the strong smell of outside, then by the four or five other intelligence personnel that had taken up residence before her arrival. Laid out on almost every flat surface aside from the floor was some sort of computer and a whole mess of crisscrossed wires. They needed a course on wire management, desperately. Chidi took it all in before turning to the left to talk to the agent…before realizing that the man had disappeared back outside. At least they were being left alone for the time being.

After a few hours of poring through previous reports and setting up yet another computer screen, Chidi felt herself to be at least mostly cognizant of what was going on in the surrounding 30 square kilometers. Nothing much seemed to be going on on their side of the border, as expected. Civilian traffic and farmers were pretty much all that was out here. However, there were a considerable number of blips from the Matrinoan side. Code-names and codephrases, though these were mostly just interpreted as paramilitary units patrolling in the cities. Probably nothing. Chidi rubbed her eyes, the past few hours having sapped her strength. It was shaping up to be a boring post. The only people out here were the people who were always here, so why in Tora’s name did her handler send her out here? Seemed like a waste of time. Well, if it was her job, she was going to go through with it. After a good sleep, anyhow.

Gathering Storm

It’d been a hard fought victory before another hard fought victory. It appeared to Bret (oftentimes jokingly referred to as “Bread” by the ground crew) Adler that the CADF was content with holding its ground for now. It made them seem weak. So, he brought the matter to his superior officer and was promptly denied. A few weeks later, he tried again and was denied. The third time, the officer threw down his hat and told him, verbatim, “If I say yes, will you stop annoying me?” And so the plan was put into motion.

This was the last hurdle: trying to convince a couple of Air Marshalls in a heated conference room that this frankly ludicrous mission was worth the cost. They bombarded the Hydra pilot with questions, demands, and trivialities. Bret answered or sidestepped all they threw at him, earning both the admiration and the ire of the Chinernian officers.

He’d been sent back to his post without a definite answer, so when the orders came down to execute Operation Manu 19, Bread was pleasantly surprised. The operation was scheduled for a week out, and the pilots of Hydra spent that time preparing feverishly, going over maps and the mission plan again and again and again until they could fly the route in their sleep.

Monsoon’s fury.
Late one Thursday, the operation was set to begin. Forty slightly aged aircraft from both the CADF and the Hydra squadron taxied and took off in a twenty minute period during the waning hours of the day. The only things that revealed their presence was their occasionally flashing lights and the roaring engines. Once they had formed up, they took a southwesterly course around Skahyahn. After a refueling period from a group of tankers, they pivoted northwest towards their target.

Part of the argument against the operation was that since there were no allied troops in Tirfyng, an isolated strike like this ultimately would not achieve much militarily. To the detractors of the operation, they did have a point. However, Bret countered, their target wasn’t anything physical. They instead seeked to prove a point, send a message that this war was not over and that the IU wasn't invincible, despite what they thought of themselves. They, this squadron were going to achieve their objective no matter what happened. As the formation approached the Tirfyngian coast, they split into two groups. Hydra, led by Bret, lost altitude and sped up, skimming the surface of the water to avoid radar detection. The second group, the decoys, remained where they were. A few moments passed before the decoy flight released their payloads; each of the twenty odd aircraft fired two ITALDs before rapidly breaking off and heading for home. In the distance was their target, Hoffnung. The ITALDS themselves didn't carry any warheads, just flares. In the skies in front of the formation, they could see the flares dance and the occasional explosion of the decoy as it was hit by anti-aircraft fire. A concerning number of them were going down.

It wasn't like the IU was stupid enough to leave the city undefended. There were a considerable number of blips on radar, though none seemed to be directly approaching the formation. The only thing they could do was keep their course and hope that their luck held. For a few moments, it appeared that it did, and that was all the time that they needed. Just like the decoy flight, Hydra let loose with their own barrage of sixty ATGMs all tuned to specific targets like dock facilities or ships in the harbor. Most of them would likely be intercepted, so their best bet was to oversaturate the system.

Those radar blips were definitely getting closer now, and the city and its lights were coming up fast. The next few minutes were a blur for Bret. He remembered dropping both of his leaflet bombs. A solid impact directly behind his aircraft. A couple parachutes, getting the hell out of dodge. So here he was, in a rapidly deteriorating aircraft over a dark sea. This was about right. Reaching down and pulling the bright red handle, the pilot was forcefully and explosively removed from his aircraft, the rude jerking above him signaling that his parachute was functional. Just above him, a few IU aircraft roared past, undoubtedly looking for a new scratch mark- and now reporting his location. With any luck he'd be out of here before they could scramble a helicopter.

Bret bobbed in the waves for a while before the arranged pickup arrived. It was a smaller submarine that surfaced quickly, with a fairly impressed Chinernian submariner sheparding him inside before it went under. All in all, 11 of the 20 pilots that made up Hydra would be taken down that day, with the remaining managing to get far enough out to sea to eject and await rescue. As Bret was wrapped in a warm blanket and given a cup of hot tea, he couldn't help but feel pride. Even if most of the squadron was downed, they'd still done what they had meant to do, and struck a blow against the enemy.

Guardie Rosse Headquarters "Fulmine", Verossi, Matrino

A watch ticked away, each sound mimicing the heartbeats pounding within the chests of more than 2000 lightly-armed paramilitants. Some were muttering prayers, but most just stared blankly and shakily ahead, lightly tapping their weapons in an almost frightening rhythym with each other.

So, the watch kept ticking. An officer stared at written orders in his hands: no electronic trail, just pen to paper, paper to hand; and it was all for their moment! All loyalty to the Prime Minister and his silent crusade against his opponent down south. For Migliorismo. Each tenth man carried small mortar which only required himself to operate in what would be the initial absence of any major support.

Another tick, metaphorically deafening each standing paramilitant. It would require absolute perfection. Internal Security Brigades would mask the movements of not only them, but other combat groups as well. Motorized patrols were common, and they'd have to blend themselves in. It would be a much larger set of patrols, and suspicious, but it's all they could afford. Honestly, so much could go wrong, and any small thing could wind up costing them; but the DSN had done their homework and they knew patterns and habits and were going to weaponize them.

Another thunderous tick. Officers carefully burned the small papers and ground the ashes beneath boots.

Another. Officers herded militants into their vehicles, all wheeled and occasionally armored. Engines grumbled to life.

Tick. One by one, trucks slowly pulled away. It was now or never, and no one would say these soldiers stood aside.

Tick. The Internal Security Forces had joined up with them now, and had begun their screening roles. All was quiet except for the rumble of cars, none of them spoke as time slowed and the road stretched before and aft of them.

Tick. Each could feel it, they were speeding up. No going back, no disguising what was happening now. Migliorino's rivalry would end, one way or another; and their own rivalry would end here. While each individual's feelings towards the Regio Esercito was unique, but rivalry was there between them, almost like competing for the affection of the government in a weird way. Oh, they had no doubts because as soon as dirt kicked up not only would the support wings kick in; but the royal infantry would follow them with their heavier equipment, tools, and armor; but it required their initial success.

Tick. They all felt the jerk, and then a rapid increase in speed. It was show time. No more cover from an ISD, all alone. No one knew if the PM had delivered any declaration of war, if he had timed it in such a way... if there even was one or if they were violating more than one international agreement. Only thing they knew was their strength and willpower. Now, only time would tell what their fates would be: heroes, martyrs, who knows. All that mattered was their choices, and their actions, and the element of surprise. So, with only themselves, their comrades, and their spirits, each paramilitant hunkered down as trucks and transports bounced forth....

... and into history.

guys a 6.3 earthquake hit my town

im almost at 1 billion

im gonna be afk

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