Fargo

It was raining today. Cold air filled the grey skies of the city, as the morning rose. A new dawn for the Empire. And already, it was active. The ports along the Albya and Blareflush Rivers were filled with large wooden ships of war. Soldiers were lining up by the thousands, ready to embark on the voyage to the Southern Continent.

King Fredrick made a speech breaking the news to his people, that war had been declared. Relations between the Ithacans and Iscariots had broken down, and the Ithacans would pay for their insubordinate behavior. The Humans who represented everything that the Monarchy hated, that the Empire despised, would once again bend to the superiority of the Iscariot military. This would not be a repeat of the Falkish Wars. Instead, the Iscariots would annihilate the Ithacans. A procession of crimson Iscariot flags cheering in the streets congratulated the army, as it paraded through the city blocks and headed towards the docks. This would be the Empire's finest hour.

Wendover was personally assigned the task of ensuring that. King Fredrick loved the plans that the General Staff had presented. A bit of reorganization saw the three generals, Perceval, Igraine, and Wendover himself, combined into one large corps led by King Fredrick from the safety of Fargo. Royal blood would not be spilled in Minerva. Wendover was once again entrusted with his army to bring glory to King and Empire. Every victory for Wendover was a victory for the Crown, and every defeat was shameful just as much. Fredrick made it clear that he would not stand two humiliations in a row.

As the soldiers packed into the ship, Wendover was faintly reminded of the War. Preparing the march to the East, ready to tackle the Human Empire there. If the Iscariots barely came out on top then, how could he even hope to win now? He just had to hope that his army wasn't the only one that faltered during battle, maybe he'd be spared the wrath of the Fox King. An extra plus would be seeing Igraine get reprimanded for her failures as well, but Wendover realized that he was starting to ask for defeat, and quickly stopped that train of thinking. As much as he wanted to put Lady Igraine back in her place and regain his own personal glory, wishing for failure was not the mark of a prestigious general such as himself. He was better than that. Or so he thought.

Wendover knew it was hopeless, Perceval and Igraine didn't. They all assumed his battle at Ithaca was merely a fluke, just a bizarre failure both on Wendover's part and some pretty good tactical planning on behalf of the Ithacans. Wendover wanted to believe that, even if it meant that he'd have to admit that his leadership was less-than-perfect, but he knew that there was no way he could've won that battle. Not then. But still, Perceval and Igraine were convinced that they would make Minerva the turning point in this conflict, to repel the Ithacan invasion dead in its tracks, and to figure out once and for all where these Humans came from, and who they truly swore allegiance to. He wished he could share their optimism in ignorance, but he shuddered whenever he thought of the casualties that were bound to come. The Battle of Red Hill during the Falklands War was the single bloodiest day in Iscariot History, an absolute slaughter, and he had witnessed it as the leading general. A thought arose in his mind that with the civilians still trapped in Minerva, this could very well be even bloodier.

The ships sounded a final call, and the sailors weighed anchor. The transports were off and on their way down the Albya river, downstream to the ports in Minerva. They left behind the calls and celebration of Fargo, thousands lined up on the river banks waving Imperial flags and cheering the ships on. It was so easy to get the Iscariots behind a war, Iscariot culture had been practically founded upon it. Back when the Empire was still only a small duchy with Fargo as its only city, fighting its neighbors endlessly after the collapse of the Saffodir Kingdom and the end of the Era of Peace...

But that was thousands of years ago, a world without war was strange. They happened everywhere, all the time, for any reason. Even with the Empire controlling most of the mainland, small conflict always sparked between the little kingdoms under Iscariot influence, especially those fighting others for water rights. Usually, the Empire tolerated the wars, as they were given priority in the Albya River always being the hegemonic power they were, but often the Empire would resolve disputes with force. That's how the Pirates were erased from the face of the Earth, and the Vikos were driven into hiding in the North. Homes burned, inhabitants sold, and cities destroyed. And the largest war in continental history, the Falklands War, only happened twenty years prior. Three Million soldiers dead, five million civilians buried six feet under. And millions more displaced.

Fredrick was right to remind Wendover that a repeat of the Falkish War was not to happen here. A swift victory was necessary, to prevent the deaths of millions. Failure here would only ensure a massacre. When Wendover realized that, he was emboldened to perform his best. Never again...never again.

A day and a night passed of sailing. The flotilla traveled the impressive distance which would've taken a week for a ground army to cover. The hours aboard his ship were filled with planning between himself and the other two generals, reassuring his soldiers of victory, and ensuring that everything would go exactly as planned.

On the brink of the final hours in transit, Wendover spent his time looking outside. The night sky was fading away to bright blue light from the rising sun behind them. They would arrive in the city by early morning, Minerva being no more than a few miles away no. The Northern suburbs of the City were visible, with small candle-lit hamlets dotting the banks of the mighty Albya River. The green hills and rounded mountains surrounded the River valley like sloping green walls. It no longer rained, though the snapping cold of the early rain season persisted.

He thought to himself of the mission ahead. What was at stake? What it was all for...

Wendover was alone on the deck of the ship, observing the coast as the fleet of ships glided through the black waters of the river. Or so Wendover thought. The sound of wood crackling and groaning warned him of someone approaching, though Wendover didn't care much to turn and look.

"You're up early," the voice belonged to Sir Perceval's, Wendover's ears twitched as he heard the brown bear walk up right next to him, seemingly taking in the view for himself.

"I couldn't sleep," said the wolf.

"Aye, that seems to be a common thing around here," Perceval held something in his great paws that caught Wendover's eye. Perceval seemed to take notice and held it out to him, "Some gin? For the nerves?" Perceval offered.

Wendover eyeballed the bottle, shrugging as he took it from Perceval's paws and held it in his own. One good sip burned his throat a bit and sank in his stomach like a rock. However, his mind felt less jumbled with the stress of the looming battle, if not as sharp, "Thanks," Wendover briefly said.

"You could have more if you like."

Wendover turned the offer down, "I've got no intention of getting hungover before the battle even starts."

"Ah... the battle. Everybody fights their own battles, Wendover..."

Wendover chuckled, his good pal was always one for good casual discussion, and even more so talks about life in general. If there was anybody Wendover could let a bit of steam off to, it'd be Perceval.

"Everybody fights but nobody seems to know the reason," Wendover told him looking into the black void of the Albya River.

"It seems that way, do you know why you fight?"

"I'm Sir Wendover of the Falkish Wars, the Empire expects me to be a fighter. Always. That's why we are both headed off to fight in Minerva."

Perceval nodded, "Yes but that's not the kind of battle I meant. There's a fight going on with us all you know, a fight between who we are and what we do."

"What are you getting at?" Wendover turned to Perceval, who had a wondering smile on his face as he looked out into the river.

"Who are you really fighting for, Wendover? King? Country?"

"King And country," Wendover told him, "They are inseparable."

"Do you really believe that, Wendover?"

Wendover opened his maw to argue, but nothing came out. Perceval had said the very thing that preoccupied Wendover's mind for the past five years since King Frederick had been coronated. How could he argue? It felt incredibly comforting to hear someone say that, there weren't many people that could be trusted whom you could say those sorts of words to. Too many had been killed by the King himself for saying the wrong words to the wrong people. Perceval must've trusted him a lot. Either that... or this was an elaborate setup. But Perceval would never.

Wendover took a look behind him to check for any peering ears, and then turned back to Perceval, "You aren't being told to do this are you?"

"No. I'm being as earnest as ever! If I'm lying, the gods may strike me down!"

It was a strong conviction from Perceval, "No... I don't believe that" Wendover sighed.

Perceval put an arm over his shoulder, "Thank you, I thought I was the only one."

"Nope, what's your bug with the King?"

"Asides from being a warmongering narcissistic buffoon, a lot of things. But I'd be here all night trying to tell you," Perceval said with a chuckle and another swipe at the gin bottle, "In my eyes, you've got the King, Country, and People. Three very different and yet very dependent things. If one is out of order, the whole structure will inevitably collapse."

"You sound like Professor Hyde right about now," Wendover giggled, thinking to the University's premier academic, one of the most influential voices in the Iscariot Empire and one of the leaders of the Reformation.

"Well... let's just say he and I have a sort of friendship," Perceval told him.

"You're a Reformist?" Wendover was surprised, Perceval wasn't one for politics. Though, since the war, they never talked about politics much. It would always descend into some conversation about the war and the casualties, patriotic banter against death counts... but usually those conversations were held in tandem with others. This one was just between Perceval and Wendover. Far more honest without someone else interjecting their opinions.

"Yeah."

"Why?" Wendover asked, "You were never one for politics."

"It's because of who I am, friend. I've been repressing my background for far too long. Remember when I told you that I grew up a peasant? Barely any better off than the slaves?"

"Right. But, you're rich now! One of the aristocrats! You'd really give that all up?"

"I have money, fame, influence. But at what cost? Why do I have it? I don't deserve it! Any of it!" Perceval seemed to be fighting hard to not yell, barely being able to keep his banter below a loud whisper.

"You fought and won some of the greatest battles in Iscariot history!"

"And didn't my men as well? Don't they deserve the fame and recognition that I've received? What about the dead? An entire city was renamed because of how much blood was spilled, Red Hill!"

"Well sure, but they don't plan wars. They just followed your orders."

"So you see what the issue is now?" Perceval asked him. Wendover thought hard about the possible reasons why Perceval would even think to abandon the status of being one of the rich elite in Iscariot society to try and meddle with the lower classes and Reformation. But then, he wound up looking into himself, the pangs of guilt came back to haunt him. Repressed emotions surfaced, and he wasn't sure if it was the gin...

"You ordered those men to die."

"All of them. I was rewarded to kill, Wendover! I can't live with that!"

"But you did it defending our Empire! If we didn't have you, we'd have lost to the Commonwealth!"

"Wendover you're smarter than that! King Rupert declared that war against the Commonwealth. Rupert just wanted the coal and iron mines in the Arden Uplands and the fertile land in the Eastern plains! That was nothing but pure Iscariot aggression!"

Wendover remembered the pretext as to why the war was fought, and once again felt guilty about everything. It happened about twenty years ago... King Rupert was still the leader of the Empire. Wendover was a young wolf, twenty years in age, just graduated from the Imperial Military College in Fargo, his middle-class family being able to scrape together enough money to fund his education. There he met Perceval.

His graduation ceremony was packed with endless potential, as King Rupert descended upon the crowd, and declared that the Falkland Commonwealth to the East was subject to Iscariot invasion. A war to reclaim the fractured lands of the Continental Heart. Being at the perfect time, Wendover was deployed along with Perceval into the war. Together they climbed the ranks, commanding larger and larger units until they were in charge of entire armies.

Years went by, and the damn war didn't end. Millions had died. The Falkish fought like cornered savages, not willing to relinquish a single inch of ground to the invading Iscariots. Their rifles, artillery, anti-dragon magical fields, and army formations, made the invading Iscariots bleed for every inch they took. Perceval and Wendover together summoned all of the power possible to launch an all-out offensive into Falkish lands, to break the wall that was the Commonwealth Army. And that lead to the bloodiest military campaign in the continent's history.

How could Wendover ask why Perceval felt guilty? To carry the weight of a million dead men, under a war of aggression no less. All for what? The resources in the mountains? The farmland in the plains?

"I sent young men and women, who were poor like I was, out to their deaths. Do you know how that feels? Living with that for twenty goddamn years? Even in victory, there was the weight of their souls haunting me, asking me why I had done it. And the answer..." Perceval paused, "I was just following orders." He said in a voice mocking himself.

Wendover always hid behind the defense that he and his men fought and bled to defend the Empire, both by ending the Falkish threat and guaranteeing Iscariot superiority on the continent and by ensuring that the Empire had more resources to continue expansion. But would that explanation matter to those millions who at once perished because of the actions of a select few. Or to the families of those who had lost children. What of the civilians who were killed in the fighting, lives that he was responsible for taking.

"So when Professor Hyde came to me two years ago and asked me what it was that I truly fought for... who I was... why I fought; I couldn't answer. Being a Reformist helped me find the answer to those questions," Perceval said.

"So I take it that you want me to help by joining?" Wendover hoped dearly that this wasn't some ruse to get him to join a political party. He wanted to distance himself as far away from those things as possible.

"No. That comes later," Perceval honestly said, Wendover thanked him for that much at least, "What I wanted from you now was to hopefully get you to understand that the coming battle ahead... this is a repeat of the War," Perceval told him.

Wendover sighed, hoping to avoid that conclusion himself, "Now if these Humans are as powerful as your report says that they are, then we do not stand a chance. I'm hoping -- praying-- that we will come out on top here. But if we do not, this country that we've sacrificed so much for will start to bleed. It was always inevitable, we aren't invincible. Never were, never will be."

"I hoped you wouldn't say that," Wendover said. He motioned to the bottle of gin still in Perceval's hands, figuring that he could use another go at the spirits again, anything to keep the thoughts away... anything to keep the guilt down, "But you're right," Said Wendover before taking a sip and handing the bottle back to Perceval.

"And Igraine... I don't think she feels guilt at all if I'm being honest," Perceval said, "She ordered the shelter in for the most part."

"Good thing she's in the other ship with her dragons."

"Aye."

More footsteps came from behind the two. Wendover and Perceval turned to find Sir Ann, the red Cardinal walked up to the two with a bit of caution. Wendover hoped that he hadn't overheard their conversation.

"What are you two doing up so early?" Ann said, wearily rubbing his eyes with his wingtips. Wendover sighed in relief, he seemed to not have overheard the talk.

"Couldn't sleep," Wendover said. Ann and Perceval took a glance into each other's eyes before Ann pulled away from the contact and looked instead to Wendover.

"I see, woke up by a mosquito. They're everywhere," Ann said, itching what must've been a bite, "What were you two talking about anyways?"

Wendover was about to tell a lie but Perceval spoke first, "The Battle. We fear the worst going in..." spoke the Bear to the Cardinal.

"Never fear, the Empire will prevail. We must. We've sworn a duty to protect his majesty's property."

Wendover sorely hoped that Perceval wouldn't challenge that claim. As far as politics go, Perceval and Ann were polar opposites. Now was not a great moment for the two to start arguing. But thankfully, Perceval saw some decent sense, "Of course. We'll fight like hell."

Wendover wouldn't tell the King of Perceval's scandalous words, but Ann just might. Ann looked as if he was about to respond, but then something in the skies caught his attention. He turned to look, and so too did Wendover and Perceval.

In the skies was a messenger dragon, a wyvern by the looks of it. It darted through the skies like a flash of lightning, before it caught a look at the ship and came in for a landing. The trio watched as the lizard descended and made contact with the surface of the boat, letting out a warning screech to alert whoever was in charge of the messenger's arrival. The wyvern had no rider, though it did carry a variety of satchels and bags connected to it via straps. Some dragons and especially the smaller and more nimble wyverns were so thoroughly trained that they were capable of performing menial tasks, such as delivering messages, autonomously.

Perceval, who was the supreme commander of the Iscariot Field Army, took the liberty of intercepting the wyvern. Putting a calming hand on the lizard's head as he opened the message satchel. Inside was only a single note of paper, obviously for the army.

Wendover studied Perceval's face closely as he read the note, his facial expression going from calm to confused... and then to fearful.

"What does it say?" Ann asked.

"The Minervan Garrison reports that they lost an observation post to the Ithacans. They request reinforcements immediately. The battle has already started..."

"Damn it!" Wendover clenched his paws into a fist, the Ithacans were fast indeed. Even with the nimbleness of the Iscariot river fleet, it wasn't fast enough to get there before them.

"We'll just have to move as fast as possible once we get to the docks. You and Ann will occupy the southern wall of the city, and I'll take my men to lay traps, ambushes, and we'll hold inside," Perceval reminded the duo of the plan, "When the wall reaches a critical level, you retreat from that position, and lead them into the streets. We may just hold the advantage there!"

The trio turned around to the sound of thunder in the distance, in the horizon they saw the Minerva, now glowing in the sunlight. Light blue skies dominated the air around them as the darkness of the night retreated under the horizon. Buildings basked in yellow light, with its spiraling stone towers, high steeples, and brick walls. In a matter of hours, this city would become a warzone...

Zulu Nine's UAV surveyed the ground, cruising just above the cloud cover of Minerva. Undetectable by anyone. The Iscariots had no radar, listening posts, or knowledge even though they were being watched from the skies. The UAV produced a digital map of Minerva, all of the buildings, strongholds, infrastructure, everything necessary to conduct an invasion. And, it even picked up something... unexpected.

[Zulu 9] "Uh, this is Zulu-niner to Eagle Six. We have spotted what appears to be non-combatants in the AO."

Jefferson eyeballed the infrared screen that came onto his tablet, and sure enough, there were people in the streets. Unarmed. Vendors in small shops, people carrying goods on horseback, "Which area of the city is this?" Jefferson asked. He was meeting with his artillery leaders, and they planned to bomb the city to wipe out what appeared to be key Iscariot military points. If the civilians were in a certain area, maybe he could advise the artillery leaders to avoid them?

But the dreaded answer came from Zulu that this was not the case, "They appear to be all over, sir. They haven't evacuated the city. It's like they don't know an invasion is happening."

"Shit," Jefferson swore under his breath. The artillery firing was critical for a quick victory, something Jefferson desperately wanted. The casualties sustained in Ithaca were bad enough in the eyes of his superiors, if he allowed himself to get slowed down here, it would mean even more sustained casualties for his soldiers. Jefferson couldn't pass up the opportunity to press every advantage possible. And High Command wouldn't care how many lives were lost in Minerva, so long as the casualties weren't Americans. He had to press on...

"Understood, Zulu Niner. Return to base, I have everything I need," Jefferson said.

"Wilco, heading RTB."

"So what's the plan?"

Jefferson's eyes widened as he turned to find Captain Newman standing against the wall, she heard everything. No doubt about it. She looked as if she knew exactly what Jefferson was about to tell her, no use explaining what the situation was. Jefferson wiped a few beads of sweat off of his forehead, as he chose his next words carefully, "We're pressing forward."

"But there are civilians in the area!"

"Iscariot civilians."

"What's the difference? We have to abort the artillery firing! It'll be a war crime!"

Jefferson straightened himself up, he knew that. He read the geneva convention. But the Iscariots hadn't, "Come with me, Newman." Jefferson said with a gesture asking Newman to follow. She sighed, pushing off against the wall. He heard Newman mutter something along the lines of 'this had better be good' but he didn't want to press her on that right now. Besides, he had to explain his way of thinking.

They walked outside of the walls of the captured garrison, reached the hillside of 181. In view was Minerva, about five miles in the foreground. Tall buildings, reminiscent of the old cities in Europe, hung over the hilly skyline flanked by the Albya river. It was a beautiful scene, with blue skies, and sunshine blasting down on the city. The cold air had warmed up slightly. The calm before the storm.

Jefferson placed a foot on a rock as he looked out at the picturesque landscape, "I want you to tell me... where on this planet do you see a city named Geneva."

Newman chortled, unimpressed completely, "That isn't the issue. Whether the Iscariots have signed the convention or not, we have."

"And what authority will hold us up to it?" Jefferson asked her, "By the time somebody on Earth even figures out that we were here, we'd all probably be dead. Forgotten to history."

Newman was speechless. Jefferson knew it wouldn't be enough to excuse what was a morally wrong act, but he had to press on with this, "These Iscariots practice slavery, Newman. Slavery of humans just like you and I. To say they wouldn't do the same thing to us is silly-"

"What does that have to do with civilians? Non-combatants? They didn't do anything wrong! I-I didn't sign up for this!" Newman told him, "We're talking about innocent people! Hell, even the slaves that you think we're 'rescuing' will be killed if you order those shells to drop. You'll have human blood on your hands!"

"And whose fault is that? The Iscariots knew we were coming! And they didn't evacuate the city!" Jefferson spat, "They know exactly what they are doing! They want us to slow down! But I'll teach these monsters a lesson!"

"I will not have any part of this!" Newman told him, "I don't know what the hell is going through your head right now, but I want nothing to do with it! I swore an oath to defend my country, not to terrorize people who are living their lives peacefully! You might be able to excuse that, but I can't."

"Fine, you won't. I'm ordering the artillery barrage. This operation will continue unimpeded, and you have your own orders to command your troops," Jefferson pushed himself off of the rock, taking a step towards Newman. She was visibly pissed beyond belief, and Jefferson couldn't blame her. But nothing could change what he thought had to happen, in his eyes, the Iscariots did this. They wanted this to happen. And happen, it will. They will pay for every American life lost, no matter how expensive the cost. They did this to themselves.

"I'm not here to play pretend like I'm some superhero or whatnot. I'm here to get a job done. If we get slowed down here, the number of American lives that will be lost will far exceed what we saw in Ithaca. This is the only way," Newman had a disgusted look on her face, but it didn't deter Jefferson who walked right past her back to the garrison, "Semper Fi."

Newman waited until Jefferson was out of earshot...

"Semper fi my ass." Newman spat on the floor, angry as could be. She had no idea what to do. She had nobody to tell. Jefferson would know that his higher-ups wouldn't care. This whole operation was top secret. What could she do, except to just follow orders?