The Manticoran Empire — 43862132
Original forum post: #43862132 by The Manticoran Empire, 2026-08-17 06:09 (forum time). The text below is the author's post, copied verbatim.
Gorkiy
Belovezha Federative Socialist Republic
Arach Union of Socialist Republics
26 July 501
Gorkiy was the very model of socialist urban planning. The buildings were all built to standard floorplans based on chosen purpose. Wide boulevards were lined with trees and criss-crossed with street-cars and bus routes. The large, grey shapes of apartment blocks surrounded parks filled with trees, benches, and ponds. From the outside, it looked like an ideal city. But closer examination betrayed the truth. Street cars and buses with peeling paint. Buildings with hastily repaired facades. Parks where citizens did not sit to enjoy the space but instead moved rapidly from place to place, lest the everpresent surveillance apparatus mistake their pause for bourgeois leisure.
In the very center of this city stood an enormous complex, composed of austere concrete structures. Within its vast confines, every organ of governance could be found. The Congress of Deputies, the Supreme Court, and the Council of Ministers. Of these bodies, though, only the innermost council of the Council mattered. Known to the outside world as the Politburo, to its own people it was simply the Presidium of the Council of Ministers. The most powerful men in the Union who, alone, dictated policy for the nation. It was a power few men would ever wield and it was a power these men enjoyed and jealously guarded.
They met, as always, in a non-descript conference room at the end of a long hallway of conference rooms. With over four-dozen ministries in the official Council, meetings and conferences often overlapped, requiring a great many rooms for such business. But the room at the very end of the hall was only ever used by the Presidium. It was, unlike the others, kept locked when not in use and the key was held only by the General Secretary’s chief aide. Only when the General Secretary called a meeting of the Presidium would it be unlocked. As it was today.
The room had only been open for a quarter of an hour but already the air was thick with cigarette smoke. The thirteen men of the Presidium, the real leaders of the Arach Union, were arranged around a circular conference table. At its head, seated beneath a large painting of the General Secretaries, sat the current General Secretary of the Communist Party. Philip Tokaryev had been a loyal party man for nearly sixty years, from his days in the Young Pioneers and through his service in the Security Bureau. His was a permanently suspicious mind, hidden by a face which said only what he wanted it to. Right now, he was affecting an air of polite indifference. In truth, despite what protocol dictated, this meeting was not really his. Tokaryev had been approached yesterday by Bulat Sergeyev, the Defense Minister, who had asked for a meeting. With no reason to object and nothing pressing to accomplish, he had agreed. Now, he sat with the others, waiting for the Defense Minister to make his point.
Sergeyev spoke without rising. “Comrades, we are all familiar with the events within the Cooperate. The nuclear terrorism, the loss of life. But the situation has escalated. The Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff has reported, with ample human, signals, and photographic intelligence to support it, that the Cooperate intends to use the nuclear detonation to justify its conquest of the Eastern Provinces. Including the City-State of Weskar.”
Tokaryev watched the other men around the table. He had known the subject, of course. Sergeyev had told him and his own contacts in State Security had, as well. The others, however, seemed to have been caught out by the announcement. The Director had not, of course, nor had the Foreign Minister. But the Ministers for Energy, Agriculture, Environment, Transportation, Interior, Industry, and Trade were busily looking to their fellows, muttering quietly to each other.
“Comrades,” Tokaryev said, his voice cutting through the muffled conversation, “please, allow Comrade Sergeyev to finish his explanation. I’m certain he will answer all of your questions. Comrade Defense Minister, please, continue.”
Sergeyev nodded and cleared his throat. “Winter is fast approaching in those latitudes, Comrades. Our intelligence suggests that the intentions of the Cooperate military is to smash as much infrastructure as possible to put pressure on the citizenry of the Eastern Provinces and, through that, force the governments of those City States to subjugate themselves to Corporate rule.”
“Excuse me,” the Minister of Industry said, “but why should this concern us? The Cooperate is on the far side of the world from us. Surely the recent annexation of IverIros by the IverChektian imperialists or the Manticoran conquest of the Freemen are more pressing concerns?”
The Foreign Minister answered. “Both IverChekt and Manticore are close allies of the Cooperate, both directly through the TIDE treaty and indirectly through the Arach Union. If we leave the Cooperate to its own devices, the Eastern Provinces are likely to fall swiftly. And with them will fall yet another Socialist ally. The United Communes, while weak, were a useful buffer while they existed. Were it not for the Greskin involvement, we may even have been able to keep them intact. As it stands, Socialism is currently held by only a few nations in the world.” The Foreign Minister began to count them off on his fingers. “Entime is a subordinate state to the IverChektian monarchy. The Urbanians are far too close to the Capitalists to be considered Socialists, whatever they may tell themselves. The Workers United, likewise, are too willing to collaborate with imperialists and fascists to support themselves rather than furthering the Revolution. That leaves, at this time, Weskar and Levan’s Isle. Levan’s Isle we have drawn into our orbit and are drawing them deeper. Weskar, however, remains aloof. They have been able to largely exist on their own, given the Cooperate’s general policy of remaining focused on its own domestic situation and the pursuit of profits. But now, Weskar is squarely in the sights of the hyper-militarist sect of the Cooperate government.” The Foreign Minister gestured at the Defense Minister, “If Comrade Sergeyev’s reports are accurate, and I do not believe he would make them so publicly if they were not accurate, then Weskar faces the imminent threat of starvation, disarmament, and eventual conquest before their workers are inevitably exploited for profit. And if we allow Weskar to fall, how might our allies in Levan’s Isle react? May they, perhaps, abandon us in favor of others?”
The Minister of Industry sat back in his chair, the others around the table nodding. Sergeyev opened his mouth to speak but stopped abruptly as another voice broke in.
The new voice was softened by age but no less charismatic. Old Pyotr Pokrovski, the Party Theoretician, was the oldest man at the table, nearing his centennial. He had lived through many General Secretaries and, unlike many men at this table, had seemingly never considered seeking that chair for himself. Instead, he had cultivated his base of support by being the ideological heart of the Party. Few could be counted as more fervent communists than old Petya and none were more respected. When he spoke, even the General Secretary listened.
“Our comrades of the Foreign Ministry and the Defense Ministry speak well. It is clear that we cannot abandon our socialist allies to imperialist domination and capitalist exploitation. But we can also not ignore the risks to our own revolution. The Cooperate’s allies are on our borders. Would they not be swift to support their own allies in their abuse of the Working Class?” Heads nodded slowly. “Therefore, we must take advantage of the openness of their political systems. Our aid must be seen as humanitarian, so that when the Cooperate launches its attacks, not even the Imperialists in IverIros can launch an offensive against us without risking an uprising of their own workers. We will fly food, medical supplies, and the materials to build advanced all-weather greenhouses, as well as advisors to assist our allies in distributing and employing the aid. And, when the Cooperate begins its attacks, Weskar will be primed to ask us for help defending itself. And we will answer their request with all the arms they could need, alongside humanitarian relief to aid those displaced by the Imperialists. In the end, the Cooperate will be forced to accept the risk of a wider war or simply leave Weskar alone. And, when they are faced with the true Will of the Workers, they will cower and break. For is that not the Order of Things?” More heads nodded and Tokaryev spoke. “Well said, Petya. Comrade Sergeyev, you will instruct the General Staff to begin planning for necessary contingencies. Comrade Trade Minister, you will begin assembling the necessary cargo aircraft and ships to transport the humanitarian aid. Our comrades in the Industrial, Health, and Agricultural ministries will assemble the necessary supplies for those transports. Barring any developments, we will meet back here in a week to discuss further. Thank you for coming.”
Straits of Midodr
25 July 501
He was, in the grand scheme of things, a thoroughly unassuming cargo ship, virtually indistinguishable from the hundreds which passed the Straits of Midodr every single day. With more than fifty-thousand tons, it was only the flag flying from the stern and the nation-specific transponder code which distinguished him from his consorts. He was the Komsomolets and he was a ConRO cargo ship, built in and flagged by the Arach Union of Socialist Republics for their state owned shipping conglomerate. Aboard were thirty-five merchant sailors and sixteen soldiers of the Ministry for State Security. His cargo was a mixture of civilian and military equipment, destined for the Levan’s Isle People’s Republic as part of the AUSR’s ongoing support for their fraternal socialist allies in Belemira. The crew had no way of knowing this, as the manifest was kept secured in a safe in the captain’s quarters, a safe which required two keys. The captain carried one while the commander of the MSS detachment carried the other.
Officially, there was no need for secrecy or the MSS troops. No international treaties governed the trade of arms to foreign powers or even non-state actors. But the AUSR was a guarded state, one which treated international trade as a fundamental aspect of its national security. As such, cargo manifests were routinely treated as sensitive documents, kept under lock and key and sometimes even armed guard.
It was, however, this very secrecy that created his problems.
The Urbanian External Intelligence Service had long held suspicions of the AUSR. While the Republic had some socialist leaning values and sought to instill those same values in other nations, the Authoritarian Regime of their southern neighbor was less welcome. Thus the Black Kestrels made sure to keep atleast one eye on all potential threats to stability and prosperity. Monitoring communications, satellite imaging, whatever the Urbanian’s could get away with. What they found was not much, admittedly, but that was to be expected. The suspicion was mutual, the Union had similarly advanced technology, and its security frustrated and slowed Urbanian infiltration. But what they did find was enough to warrant their continued suspicion and monitoring.
Due to Urbani’s geographical location, its ships did not need to rely on passage through the straits of Midodr to reach the rest of Enkon, though it maintained some civilian ports in New Albion, for the purposes of trade with the Free City, as well as IverChekt, Entime, and more recently, IverIros. This trade warranted a coast guard detachment to be assigned to Kestrel Lake, working to prevent contraband smuggling, and any other nefarious goings-on. No overly big and fancy warships, just a couple of manned corvettes and some unmanned miniature submarines, marines on patrol boats making sure nothing happened on the Urbanian shores of Kestrel Lake without consequence. Up until recently, it was a very uneventful posting. Between Gresk smuggling war material to the Freemen, and Terrorists and rebels setting off so many bombs and nukes, so close together. The High Marshal demanded tighter security and redoubled efforts to prevent such attacks, at home or abroad.
“Komsomolets, This is the Urbanian Coast Guard Corvette White Witch, please submit yourself to a random inspection and present your manifest.” The order came matter-of-factly, as if it fully expected the AUSR vessel to comply without resistance.
Captain Nicodemus Zuev frowned at the radio. “The arrogance of these fascists,” the young MSS officer spoke from behind him, his voice dripping with contempt, “A flagrant violation of international maritime law and the sovereignty of the Motherland.”
“Agreed, Comrade Captain,” Captain Zuev said, “But we are not yet abused.” He lifted the mic and held it to his face. He heard the crackle of static as he keyed it to life. “Attention White Witch, this is Komsomolets. We are operating in international waters and engaged in lawful international trade. You have no authority to demand we submit to inspection. Maintain appropriate distance as we transit.” He switched channels. “Komsomolets calling any Border Guard ship, we are being harassed by Urbanian military vessels and require assistance.” He returned the radio to the original channel and looked back at the MSS Captain. “Our fascist oppressor will no doubt have heard our alert. Now we wait to see just how bloodthirsty this fascist is.” The MSS Captain nodded. “I will ready my men, Comrade Captain. We may have need of them.”
Unfortunately for Komsomolets, the nearest Border Security ships nearly six-hundred kilometers away. The only armed AUSR vessel close enough to offer support was a Project 1124 class corvette. But even that ship was nearly two hours away, even at its fastest speed. Until then, Komsomolets was on its own.
Captain Marzio Jerger sighed at the response from the Komsomolets. He looked, expectantly at his SIGINT officer who reported, as if on cue: “Komsomolets calling for border guard support, Captain”. The Captain closed his eyes in resignation. The White Witch’s First Mate, Mili Sandelin looked to her captain. “That gives us a couple hours, Captain,” she said.
“I know.” Marzio responded before opening his eyes and responding. “Komsomolets, This is the White Witch. I say again, Submit yourself to Inspection and present your manifest. If you are engaged in lawful trade, you have nothing to fear. I cannot let you leave this area without inspection.” He’d broadcast before quickly looking to the helm. “Get us into position to block them, if they want to leave Kestrel Lake, they can either try to go through us or submit.” He ordered, quickly looking to the Comm’s Officer, “Get me the other Coast Guard ships, request for support, we’re blockading the Midodr Strait and keeping the Komsomolets here.” His orders given, Marzio looked to his First Mate. “Looks like we’re having a stare down…”
“They are attempting to block our path, Comrade Captain,” one of the lookouts reported. Zuev grunted an acknowledgement. “Continue on course. Order them to stand clear. And emphasize the urgency of our request for support.” He turned to the MSS Officer. “Captain Zakhaev, if this ship is boarded, can your men repel them?” The State Security Captain opened his mouth to speak, probably to defiantly proclaim that it was an inevitable result, but the words died unsaid. Zakhaev was a young man, barely half Zuev’s own age, but he was also an intelligent man. He knew, as Zuev did, that the MSS detachment had only handguns, personal defense weapons, and light body armor. It was a weapons load built to deal with mutinous crewmen and pirates, not foreign military personnel. Zakhaev shook his head. “No, Comrade Captain. Oh, we would put up a courageous fight and make the counter-revolutionary bastards pay in blood to take this ship from us, but it would be a doomed fight. The Rodina would be only further humiliated by our failure than by our surrender.”
Zuev nodded. “I was afraid of that.” He stepped over to the radio and switched to an open channel. “Comrades of the Border Security Service, this is Komsomolets. Do not make haste for our position. Our cause is already a hopeless one. The fascists have called up reinforcements of their own and have moved to block any further progress we could make. We have no chance of resisting their efforts to board us. Let it be known that we are not acknowledging or accepting the authority of the Urbanian regime to search our vessel. Rather, we are seeking to de-escalate the situation with the minimum loss of life. We are doing so under protest and shall lodge complaints of the strongest fashion with the World Forum.” He placed the mic back in its cradle and turned to the helmsman. “All stop, Comrade Kolchak.”
Belovezha Federative Socialist Republic
Arach Union of Socialist Republics
26 July 501
Gorkiy was the very model of socialist urban planning. The buildings were all built to standard floorplans based on chosen purpose. Wide boulevards were lined with trees and criss-crossed with street-cars and bus routes. The large, grey shapes of apartment blocks surrounded parks filled with trees, benches, and ponds. From the outside, it looked like an ideal city. But closer examination betrayed the truth. Street cars and buses with peeling paint. Buildings with hastily repaired facades. Parks where citizens did not sit to enjoy the space but instead moved rapidly from place to place, lest the everpresent surveillance apparatus mistake their pause for bourgeois leisure.
In the very center of this city stood an enormous complex, composed of austere concrete structures. Within its vast confines, every organ of governance could be found. The Congress of Deputies, the Supreme Court, and the Council of Ministers. Of these bodies, though, only the innermost council of the Council mattered. Known to the outside world as the Politburo, to its own people it was simply the Presidium of the Council of Ministers. The most powerful men in the Union who, alone, dictated policy for the nation. It was a power few men would ever wield and it was a power these men enjoyed and jealously guarded.
They met, as always, in a non-descript conference room at the end of a long hallway of conference rooms. With over four-dozen ministries in the official Council, meetings and conferences often overlapped, requiring a great many rooms for such business. But the room at the very end of the hall was only ever used by the Presidium. It was, unlike the others, kept locked when not in use and the key was held only by the General Secretary’s chief aide. Only when the General Secretary called a meeting of the Presidium would it be unlocked. As it was today.
The room had only been open for a quarter of an hour but already the air was thick with cigarette smoke. The thirteen men of the Presidium, the real leaders of the Arach Union, were arranged around a circular conference table. At its head, seated beneath a large painting of the General Secretaries, sat the current General Secretary of the Communist Party. Philip Tokaryev had been a loyal party man for nearly sixty years, from his days in the Young Pioneers and through his service in the Security Bureau. His was a permanently suspicious mind, hidden by a face which said only what he wanted it to. Right now, he was affecting an air of polite indifference. In truth, despite what protocol dictated, this meeting was not really his. Tokaryev had been approached yesterday by Bulat Sergeyev, the Defense Minister, who had asked for a meeting. With no reason to object and nothing pressing to accomplish, he had agreed. Now, he sat with the others, waiting for the Defense Minister to make his point.
Sergeyev spoke without rising. “Comrades, we are all familiar with the events within the Cooperate. The nuclear terrorism, the loss of life. But the situation has escalated. The Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff has reported, with ample human, signals, and photographic intelligence to support it, that the Cooperate intends to use the nuclear detonation to justify its conquest of the Eastern Provinces. Including the City-State of Weskar.”
Tokaryev watched the other men around the table. He had known the subject, of course. Sergeyev had told him and his own contacts in State Security had, as well. The others, however, seemed to have been caught out by the announcement. The Director had not, of course, nor had the Foreign Minister. But the Ministers for Energy, Agriculture, Environment, Transportation, Interior, Industry, and Trade were busily looking to their fellows, muttering quietly to each other.
“Comrades,” Tokaryev said, his voice cutting through the muffled conversation, “please, allow Comrade Sergeyev to finish his explanation. I’m certain he will answer all of your questions. Comrade Defense Minister, please, continue.”
Sergeyev nodded and cleared his throat. “Winter is fast approaching in those latitudes, Comrades. Our intelligence suggests that the intentions of the Cooperate military is to smash as much infrastructure as possible to put pressure on the citizenry of the Eastern Provinces and, through that, force the governments of those City States to subjugate themselves to Corporate rule.”
“Excuse me,” the Minister of Industry said, “but why should this concern us? The Cooperate is on the far side of the world from us. Surely the recent annexation of IverIros by the IverChektian imperialists or the Manticoran conquest of the Freemen are more pressing concerns?”
The Foreign Minister answered. “Both IverChekt and Manticore are close allies of the Cooperate, both directly through the TIDE treaty and indirectly through the Arach Union. If we leave the Cooperate to its own devices, the Eastern Provinces are likely to fall swiftly. And with them will fall yet another Socialist ally. The United Communes, while weak, were a useful buffer while they existed. Were it not for the Greskin involvement, we may even have been able to keep them intact. As it stands, Socialism is currently held by only a few nations in the world.” The Foreign Minister began to count them off on his fingers. “Entime is a subordinate state to the IverChektian monarchy. The Urbanians are far too close to the Capitalists to be considered Socialists, whatever they may tell themselves. The Workers United, likewise, are too willing to collaborate with imperialists and fascists to support themselves rather than furthering the Revolution. That leaves, at this time, Weskar and Levan’s Isle. Levan’s Isle we have drawn into our orbit and are drawing them deeper. Weskar, however, remains aloof. They have been able to largely exist on their own, given the Cooperate’s general policy of remaining focused on its own domestic situation and the pursuit of profits. But now, Weskar is squarely in the sights of the hyper-militarist sect of the Cooperate government.” The Foreign Minister gestured at the Defense Minister, “If Comrade Sergeyev’s reports are accurate, and I do not believe he would make them so publicly if they were not accurate, then Weskar faces the imminent threat of starvation, disarmament, and eventual conquest before their workers are inevitably exploited for profit. And if we allow Weskar to fall, how might our allies in Levan’s Isle react? May they, perhaps, abandon us in favor of others?”
The Minister of Industry sat back in his chair, the others around the table nodding. Sergeyev opened his mouth to speak but stopped abruptly as another voice broke in.
The new voice was softened by age but no less charismatic. Old Pyotr Pokrovski, the Party Theoretician, was the oldest man at the table, nearing his centennial. He had lived through many General Secretaries and, unlike many men at this table, had seemingly never considered seeking that chair for himself. Instead, he had cultivated his base of support by being the ideological heart of the Party. Few could be counted as more fervent communists than old Petya and none were more respected. When he spoke, even the General Secretary listened.
“Our comrades of the Foreign Ministry and the Defense Ministry speak well. It is clear that we cannot abandon our socialist allies to imperialist domination and capitalist exploitation. But we can also not ignore the risks to our own revolution. The Cooperate’s allies are on our borders. Would they not be swift to support their own allies in their abuse of the Working Class?” Heads nodded slowly. “Therefore, we must take advantage of the openness of their political systems. Our aid must be seen as humanitarian, so that when the Cooperate launches its attacks, not even the Imperialists in IverIros can launch an offensive against us without risking an uprising of their own workers. We will fly food, medical supplies, and the materials to build advanced all-weather greenhouses, as well as advisors to assist our allies in distributing and employing the aid. And, when the Cooperate begins its attacks, Weskar will be primed to ask us for help defending itself. And we will answer their request with all the arms they could need, alongside humanitarian relief to aid those displaced by the Imperialists. In the end, the Cooperate will be forced to accept the risk of a wider war or simply leave Weskar alone. And, when they are faced with the true Will of the Workers, they will cower and break. For is that not the Order of Things?” More heads nodded and Tokaryev spoke. “Well said, Petya. Comrade Sergeyev, you will instruct the General Staff to begin planning for necessary contingencies. Comrade Trade Minister, you will begin assembling the necessary cargo aircraft and ships to transport the humanitarian aid. Our comrades in the Industrial, Health, and Agricultural ministries will assemble the necessary supplies for those transports. Barring any developments, we will meet back here in a week to discuss further. Thank you for coming.”
The Gauntlet of Midodr
Straits of Midodr
25 July 501
He was, in the grand scheme of things, a thoroughly unassuming cargo ship, virtually indistinguishable from the hundreds which passed the Straits of Midodr every single day. With more than fifty-thousand tons, it was only the flag flying from the stern and the nation-specific transponder code which distinguished him from his consorts. He was the Komsomolets and he was a ConRO cargo ship, built in and flagged by the Arach Union of Socialist Republics for their state owned shipping conglomerate. Aboard were thirty-five merchant sailors and sixteen soldiers of the Ministry for State Security. His cargo was a mixture of civilian and military equipment, destined for the Levan’s Isle People’s Republic as part of the AUSR’s ongoing support for their fraternal socialist allies in Belemira. The crew had no way of knowing this, as the manifest was kept secured in a safe in the captain’s quarters, a safe which required two keys. The captain carried one while the commander of the MSS detachment carried the other.
Officially, there was no need for secrecy or the MSS troops. No international treaties governed the trade of arms to foreign powers or even non-state actors. But the AUSR was a guarded state, one which treated international trade as a fundamental aspect of its national security. As such, cargo manifests were routinely treated as sensitive documents, kept under lock and key and sometimes even armed guard.
It was, however, this very secrecy that created his problems.
The Urbanian External Intelligence Service had long held suspicions of the AUSR. While the Republic had some socialist leaning values and sought to instill those same values in other nations, the Authoritarian Regime of their southern neighbor was less welcome. Thus the Black Kestrels made sure to keep atleast one eye on all potential threats to stability and prosperity. Monitoring communications, satellite imaging, whatever the Urbanian’s could get away with. What they found was not much, admittedly, but that was to be expected. The suspicion was mutual, the Union had similarly advanced technology, and its security frustrated and slowed Urbanian infiltration. But what they did find was enough to warrant their continued suspicion and monitoring.
Due to Urbani’s geographical location, its ships did not need to rely on passage through the straits of Midodr to reach the rest of Enkon, though it maintained some civilian ports in New Albion, for the purposes of trade with the Free City, as well as IverChekt, Entime, and more recently, IverIros. This trade warranted a coast guard detachment to be assigned to Kestrel Lake, working to prevent contraband smuggling, and any other nefarious goings-on. No overly big and fancy warships, just a couple of manned corvettes and some unmanned miniature submarines, marines on patrol boats making sure nothing happened on the Urbanian shores of Kestrel Lake without consequence. Up until recently, it was a very uneventful posting. Between Gresk smuggling war material to the Freemen, and Terrorists and rebels setting off so many bombs and nukes, so close together. The High Marshal demanded tighter security and redoubled efforts to prevent such attacks, at home or abroad.
“Komsomolets, This is the Urbanian Coast Guard Corvette White Witch, please submit yourself to a random inspection and present your manifest.” The order came matter-of-factly, as if it fully expected the AUSR vessel to comply without resistance.
Captain Nicodemus Zuev frowned at the radio. “The arrogance of these fascists,” the young MSS officer spoke from behind him, his voice dripping with contempt, “A flagrant violation of international maritime law and the sovereignty of the Motherland.”
“Agreed, Comrade Captain,” Captain Zuev said, “But we are not yet abused.” He lifted the mic and held it to his face. He heard the crackle of static as he keyed it to life. “Attention White Witch, this is Komsomolets. We are operating in international waters and engaged in lawful international trade. You have no authority to demand we submit to inspection. Maintain appropriate distance as we transit.” He switched channels. “Komsomolets calling any Border Guard ship, we are being harassed by Urbanian military vessels and require assistance.” He returned the radio to the original channel and looked back at the MSS Captain. “Our fascist oppressor will no doubt have heard our alert. Now we wait to see just how bloodthirsty this fascist is.” The MSS Captain nodded. “I will ready my men, Comrade Captain. We may have need of them.”
Unfortunately for Komsomolets, the nearest Border Security ships nearly six-hundred kilometers away. The only armed AUSR vessel close enough to offer support was a Project 1124 class corvette. But even that ship was nearly two hours away, even at its fastest speed. Until then, Komsomolets was on its own.
Captain Marzio Jerger sighed at the response from the Komsomolets. He looked, expectantly at his SIGINT officer who reported, as if on cue: “Komsomolets calling for border guard support, Captain”. The Captain closed his eyes in resignation. The White Witch’s First Mate, Mili Sandelin looked to her captain. “That gives us a couple hours, Captain,” she said.
“I know.” Marzio responded before opening his eyes and responding. “Komsomolets, This is the White Witch. I say again, Submit yourself to Inspection and present your manifest. If you are engaged in lawful trade, you have nothing to fear. I cannot let you leave this area without inspection.” He’d broadcast before quickly looking to the helm. “Get us into position to block them, if they want to leave Kestrel Lake, they can either try to go through us or submit.” He ordered, quickly looking to the Comm’s Officer, “Get me the other Coast Guard ships, request for support, we’re blockading the Midodr Strait and keeping the Komsomolets here.” His orders given, Marzio looked to his First Mate. “Looks like we’re having a stare down…”
“They are attempting to block our path, Comrade Captain,” one of the lookouts reported. Zuev grunted an acknowledgement. “Continue on course. Order them to stand clear. And emphasize the urgency of our request for support.” He turned to the MSS Officer. “Captain Zakhaev, if this ship is boarded, can your men repel them?” The State Security Captain opened his mouth to speak, probably to defiantly proclaim that it was an inevitable result, but the words died unsaid. Zakhaev was a young man, barely half Zuev’s own age, but he was also an intelligent man. He knew, as Zuev did, that the MSS detachment had only handguns, personal defense weapons, and light body armor. It was a weapons load built to deal with mutinous crewmen and pirates, not foreign military personnel. Zakhaev shook his head. “No, Comrade Captain. Oh, we would put up a courageous fight and make the counter-revolutionary bastards pay in blood to take this ship from us, but it would be a doomed fight. The Rodina would be only further humiliated by our failure than by our surrender.”
Zuev nodded. “I was afraid of that.” He stepped over to the radio and switched to an open channel. “Comrades of the Border Security Service, this is Komsomolets. Do not make haste for our position. Our cause is already a hopeless one. The fascists have called up reinforcements of their own and have moved to block any further progress we could make. We have no chance of resisting their efforts to board us. Let it be known that we are not acknowledging or accepting the authority of the Urbanian regime to search our vessel. Rather, we are seeking to de-escalate the situation with the minimum loss of life. We are doing so under protest and shall lodge complaints of the strongest fashion with the World Forum.” He placed the mic back in its cradle and turned to the helmsman. “All stop, Comrade Kolchak.”