Conference Room B-2
Government Center One
2 Palace Square
13 April 2022
9:04 AM East Tavaris Time
Once again in her least favorite room in the building, Žarís Nevran Alandar didn’t bother taking a cup of coffee because she knew the caffeine would only put her more on edge. Today, she was sure, would be one of the most unpleasant meetings of her life. Today was the day that Nama Oren Kantoreš, her famously trigger-happy Minister of Defense, finally got to talk about her plans for what Žarís had been internally euphemizing as “the bad ending”—operations to quell Akronist violence through a military offensive against Acronis.
Nama stood as ramrod straight as ever at the head of the table with a wireless computer mouse in her hand. Her slide deck was primed and ready. Žarís forced herself to have an at least neutral expression on her face as she looked up, but when she did, she was surprised to find that Nama’s expression was… miserable.
“Good morning, everyone,” said Nama to the assembled National Security Council, which included various functionaries from several areas of government including the Minister of Internal Affairs and Improvements, the Chair of the Joint Chiefs of General Staff, and several high level officers in the Armed Forces. “You all know why we’re here. Let’s get started.” With a long, long sigh, Nama turned to the screen behind her and clicked her mouse.
“MoD has long, long had contingency plans in place for a number of various situations, as many as we think are even remotely possible or could ever present a threat. We have plans for all sorts of things that will almost certainly never happen—a land invasion from Vaklori, a Volscine invasion of Aponivia, a coup in Reijia seizing our military equipment. Just last week we completed a set of plans in the event of a nuclear strike from the Federation of the Southern Coast. These are all completely standard, every government in the world makes plans like these. All of this is to say…what we’re about to talk about is hypothetical. It’s a backup plan of a backup plan of a backup plan. I don’t want to read any articles quoting high level government sources that say we’re planning an invasion of Acronis. We aren’t. We are discussing a hypothetical.”
Everyone in the room nodded. All of them except the young aides knew all of this anyway, but then, perhaps that was who Nama was worried about. She was probably right to be worried—Žarís was herself quite displeased that some of her conversation with Queen Dorothea had leaked in less than a day.
“Here we have a map of the Avnatra Defense District. I have marked on it every RTAF facility with the status of base, station, or substation. You will also see the locations of our various fleets and units of troops. These are all accurate as of this very morning. What you are looking at is the absolute, exact positioning of the entire Tavari military on the home front. And the first thing you should notice is that the three provinces of Crystal, Anara, and Indar are almost entirely blank.”
“We expected this, I presume, with the referendum?” Avri Takanaš was absentmindedly clicking his pen as he looked at the map.
“We did adjust our plans to reflect Acronian sovereignty over the number of troops deployed within their territory, which I want to emphasize here, despite it being part of the RTAF Area of Responsibility, is not part of Tavaris. These three provinces are a sovereign, independent state, according to the Constitution and all the laws. It’s a state that we continue to administer almost entirely, but it is a sovereign state nonetheless.” Nama normally had a sharp and clear voice, the kind of commanding tone that you would expect from a military official. But today, she was practically mumbling.
“So. The Acronian government has given us very strict, very clear directives on how many Tavari military assets can be deployed in their territory. In fact it’s just about the only thing they’ve been so clear and detailed about. In Indar and Anara provinces, we are allowed 120 armed soldiers each as well as some administrative staff. In Crystal, it’s 100 troops. These facilities here in the three provinces that are colored in gray are mothballed facilities. No presence. We have removed all our equipment from these areas and brought them back to Tavari territory. There is, however, still a relatively handsome amount of equipment in three facilities: RNB Crystal Coast, RAB Anara, and Joint Defense Facility One, which is located about 30 avnai from Tovar in Indar Province. Per Acronian instruction, we have removed all Naval forces from the port there and maintain only a skeleton crew for Air Force and Army.”
“What about Marshalls? Acronis needs police, don’t they?” Avri was still clicking his pen.
“Marshalls in the National Police Division are indeed in Acronis, and they have much less strict caps, but they are distributed widely across the various metropolitan areas. They are typically within small facilities, police stations, that with few exceptions have fewer than 50 armed soldiers present each. We need them to be distributed widely so that they can respond to crime, which is their purpose. The NPD is not usually considered part of our defensive capabilities, and while we certainly can move them, that takes time.”
“Nama, what about the Army base in Ranat, why does that show so few troops?” Žarís furrowed her brow at the map.
“RIB Ranat is the Army’s smallest facility, as you know, and for about seven months has been staffed at less than half capacity due to asbestos remediation work.”
“Oh, shit, I forgot,” said Žarís, smacking her forehead.
“That’s alright ma’am, I forget about Ranat too, to be honest with you. I never really… well, imagined that our army base deep in the middle of the country, on top of the plateau and surrounded by jungle and coffee farms, would ever be… relevant.” Nama sighed. “So, we’ve been caught with our britches down a bit. Everyone here should know that. We are on much poorer footing than I would like to be, if this were ever to come to pass. As a matter of fact, I think it’s fair to say that the Tavari military is less prepared for this than it has been during my entire career.”
“All the Navy’s back on the Bana border, and our Army and Air Force have so many deployed overseas,” said Admiral Dandrea Ležar Ívrit, the Chair of the General Staff.”
“Exactly right,” said Nama, with more than a shade of bitterness. “And it’s our fault.”
So that was what Nama is so upset about, Žarís thought. She was wallowing. And that was strange, because Nama had always, always been the type to push mistakes behind her and force herself onward. “So it is,” said Žarís. “Not much point in wallowing in it.”
“I’m not wallowing, ma’am, I just… well, maybe I am wallowing.” The Minister of Defense somehow straightened her back even further. “But we should recognize this for what it is. We have overextended ourselves. We have made poor decisions. And it is also true that there are events happening outside our control, like the South Hills-Bana situation. The Federation of Bana is much, much more of a threat than Acronis probably could ever be. It’s right that we focus our military in the east, but now we don’t have the flexibility to shift some focus to the west, right when we needed that flexibility most.”
“Alright. The situation isn’t ideal. How do we proceed?” The Admiral’s voice seemed bitter, too.
Nama produced a pointer from her pocket and placed it right at RAB West Nandrat with such force that the projector screen rippled. “In compensation for our deficits elsewhere in the west, RAB West Nandrat is presently at 130% capacity. I’ve been informed that we are technically in violation of fire prevention statutes, and our air conditioning costs have nearly doubled, but West Nandrat is ready.”
“And it’s the one the Akronists have already started antagonizing.” Anta Indria Kevorandal was the Chief of the Intelligence Office, which was a multi agency collaboration across both the Marshalls and Internal Affairs, as well as a few other scattered statutory bodies. Given her performance lately, it took everything within the Prime Minister not to respond thank you, Captain Obvious.
“I’ll be honest with you, ladies and gentlemen, that whole event confused the hell out of me. It didn’t accomplish anything and obviously has alerted us. What that event told me is that it is certain that the Acronian government doesn’t have anything to do with these people. I know Atra Metravar and she isn’t that stupid.” For the first time, Nama’s expression seemed to brighten, or at least to become a bit more animated, but it faded the moment she turned back to the map. “That said, it would always have been obvious that that would be their target. RAB West Nandrat is the closest functional major military facility we have near Acronis.”
“Is there any real threat from the Acronians? They don’t have any planes or ships, they don’t have a military at all.” Avri, Žarís had noted, had put his pen in his pocket to prevent himself from clicking it. Instead he was lightly drumming his fingers on the table.
“Yes,” Nama said simply. “The first mistake that any military can make, especially one of our size and funding, is thinking that an unorganized insurgency will make for easy steamrolling. We will not make that mistake. Groups of people who dedicate themselves to a cause… can accomplish almost anything. And remember—and I mean no offense when I say this, because I know that there are traditionalists who think the same—but many of these people believe they have the power of God on their side.”
“I have no argument with that,” said Avri, who as always was wearing his diamond pendant necklace.
Nama sighed—had she ever sighed this much before? Žarís knew it was a bad habit of hers to wear her emotions on her sleeve in tough times, but Nama had never seemed to. The Minister of Defense had a frown on her face until her eyes briefly met the Prime Minister’s, when she forced a flat expression, much like Žarís herself had done earlier.
“So. We believe, with certainty of at least 80%, that a military offensive toward Acronis, if it occurs, will be necessitated by Akronists attempting to seize control of Nandrat Province. While both Ranat and Nandrat are disputed and economically valuable, preventing Tavari access to the Nandrat Lode of lithium has long been a central motivating factor for radical political Akronists. In addition, Nandrat Province has access to the sea and a much, much more developed industrial base than primarily rural Ranat.”
The Chief of the Intelligence Office spoke up again. “What are the odds that the Akronists choose Ranat instead? As a sort of… you know. When you want to do the thing the enemy doesn’t expect.”
“Twenty percent,” said Nama flatly. “One hundred minus eighty is twenty percent.”
The Chief nodded and then shrank down in her chair—and for just a fraction of a second, Žarís saw the normal ferocity return to Nama’s eyes. “At any rate, even if the Akronist forces choose to target Ranat first, our response would still begin at RNB West Nandrat.”
“What do we believe will trigger an Akronist attempt to seize Nandrat? Do we have anything indicating they’re currently planning for such an event?” The Admiral had her arms crossed as she stared at the map, deep in thought. It seemed as though she was taking Nama’s usual place as the warhawk—but Žarís couldn’t help but notice that she was frowning, too. In fact, everyone was.
“Before I answer, do you have any insight to bring, Anta?” The eyes of the entire room moved to the Chief of the Intelligence Office, who was shrinking even further in her chair.
“Ah, no, not… not at this time. I’m sure that you, y’know, have it covered.”
“Indeed.” Nama clicked her tongue and held her gaze on Anta for a few moments.
“Anta, if you have other meetings you need to get to—say, with your department heads—by all means, you don’t have to stay here. I’m sure you know all of this already.” Žarís arched her eyebrow at the melted puddle in the chair that was once her Chief of Intelligence.
“Oh. Thank you, ma’am. Yes.” For a few moments, Anta awkwardly gathered her various papers and pens, stuffed them in her purse, and then shuffled out of the room.
There was a beat of silence, and then the Prime Minister spoke. “Should I fire her now, or is that a bad look for us?”
For a moment, one could have heard a pin drop in Conference Room B-2, but the young aides straining not to laugh could contain themselves for only so long. It was the Commandant of the Navy’s junior aide who broke first, trying to pass it off as a sneeze, but then the Commandant himself started laughing, and suddenly the entire room was in an uproar. It wasn’t happy laughter—it was what Žarís’ dad called “funeral laughter.” The kind of laughing you do when someone cracks an inappropriate joke about the deceased and people laugh just because they need to feel something other than sad.
The laughter took a long, long time to trail off—and then there was silence once more. Everyone in the room seemed to be looking down at the table. Žarís noticed that the fake, vinyl “wood grain” was peeling on the corner, and she found herself picking at it. Avri was clicking his pen again. Someone was shuffling through papers.
“Things are bad, aren’t they?” Avri was the first to speak, but for several moments his only answer was silence.
“Yeah,” Žarís finally answered. The buck stopped with her, after all. “Things are bad.”
Nama pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. Perhaps it was just the fluorescent light above her, but all of a sudden she looked 20 years older. Nama Oren Kantoreš was not a young woman; at 67 years old she was seven years beyond the Tavari retirement age. Normally, her severe glare and aggressive stride gave her an extra air of vitality, but now it was gone. The Minister of Defense was just a tired old woman. “Things are bad,” she echoed.
“How likely is this? An offensive over Nandrat Province, I mean.” Avri had to force himself to put his pen back in his pocket so he would stop nervously clicking.
The Minister of Defense placed her head in her hands for a brief moment. “Fifty percent.” Her voice was a whisper.
The Commandant of the Air Force jumped out of her chair, her hands flying to the sides of her head. “FIFTY?”
For a moment, Nama could only nod. “We estimate that there’s a 50% chance that Akronist forces attempt, in some fashion, to seize all or part of Nandrat within the next one to three months,” she eventually said.
“So, maybe not a… full scale war?” The Admiral sounded optimistic. Žarís looked over to her and realized that she, too, was a tired old woman. The Tavari defense establishment was full of people who had been expecting calm and easy times in the final, golden years of their careers. This is what Žarís had given them.
“Well…” Nama turned back to the screen and clicked through a few slides full of numbers, but apparently didn’t find what she was looking for, so she simply closed her laptop and the projector screen went dark. “There’s something you need to understand about this. It… it sort of… doesn’t matter where or how this conflict begins. We presume Nandrat, and we’re preparing for it, but no matter what it is—no matter if they just seize the military base or try for a few townships or if they invade the whole province—the moment that the Tavari military engages Akronist forces in a military offensive… this country will explode. Everyone, everywhere, all at once. Akronists in every province will turn on us. Traditionalists will rise up against them. There will be violence in every major city and all across the country. No matter how this begins, the only result is a Tavari Civil War.”
Memories of laughter felt like they were ten years old. The light in the room almost seemed to dim, as if the situation were so grim that it could eat away the light. The world was gray, and Žarís felt almost as if she had fallen into some kind of void. Some null place where there was no happiness and no escape. Just gray walls, fluorescent light, and sighs.
“And this has a fifty percent chance of occurring.” Žarís was staring back at the little flap of brown vinyl that she was peeling from the cheap plywood of the conference room table that almost certainly was old enough to remember a united Salovia. That little tiny corner of peeling laminate was the only thing in the whole world that she had the power to change, and realizing that made her want to die.
“In general, we see the options as this. If the Akronists never pull the trigger, then we will probably, eventually, come to an agreement. Ultimately, the Kingdom of Tavaris is still the one collecting the taxes in Acronian territory right now. Acronis is basically renting the public infrastructure while they turn their government from a piece of paper into a reality. We own the railroads, the highways, the public land, the military, most of the power plants, all the vital records, all the… the software licenses in the government buildings, all of that. That’s our bargaining chip. In order to actually become a country, Acronis needs us to hand them over. Like I said before, we believe there’s a 50% chance that the eventual solution is reached politically. The problem is that, right now, from the Tavari perspective, Acronis is asking for too much in the deal for what they’re willing to pay.”
“So the other fifty percent represents the chance that Acronis simply won’t budge in their position,” said the Admiral.
Nama nodded. “Tavaris is weak, and the Acronians know it. Atra Metravar was a Councilor of State, she knows how shitty our intelligence is. They might not have a military, but what they do have is the 16 million people who live in what was once Western Tavaris, millions of whom are willing to pick up a gun in defense of their homes. In this scenario, we are invaders. I don’t have to tell you that in a war-”
“The home team has the advantage.” The Commandant of the Navy concluded the aphorism bitterly. “We all learn that day one.”
“And as I said earlier, the moment we move in on Akronists anywhere, Akronists everywhere—even ones who were never radical or even political before—are going to feel betrayed. Insulted. Attacked. I mean, I’m sure you’ve all spent as much time as I have imagining what the tv screens and the newspapers will look like. Tavari tanks rolling down Tavari streets, dead Akronists piled on streets outside bombed temples… They will rise up everywhere, the minute the first Pigeon post goes out. There isn’t any scenario where this doesn’t happen. The only way to prevent it is not to conduct the offensive.”
“And do what? Abandon Nandrat and Ranat?” Avri was whispering too.
“That isn’t an option,” Žarís lied. “They voted to stay. It was their democratic choice.”
“Barring the surrender of the provinces, our other options are to either conduct a short, brutal campaign of marching through all the major Acronian cities and flattening them to the ground, or conduct a precise, restrained military operation targeting only targets we are certain contain only hostile Akronists. That war will almost certainly last years,” said Nama.
“I know that they aren’t our cities anymore, but it still feels like… like we would be bombing our own cities. Our own people,” said Avri.
“Just because they’re Acronians doesn’t mean they aren’t Tavari,” replied the Admiral. “Each and every one of them was born and raised in Tavaris as a Tavari citizen. They’re still Tavari citizens.”
“To be Tavari isn’t just a nationality, it’s an ethnic group and a culture,” the Commandant of the Air Force added. “That’s what they tell us in our diversity seminars. Akronists, traditionalists, atheists, doesn’t matter. We’re all Tavari. A shame we’ve forgotten that.”
“If it comes to that, that’s how everyone will feel. Like I said, Tavari tanks rolling down Tavari streets. Tavari soldiers breaking down the doors of Tavari homes and businesses… and temples, too. I mean, you have to realize, in the event of any Akronist insurgency, they are absolutely going to take advantage of their religious buildings and the entire civilian population. It’s practically their only advantage. They will make us have to kill worshipers and people in need and priestesses and children in order to try to kill the combatants. And with each civilian who dies, we lose a little bit more of the war.”
“We will lose ourselves,” Žarís said.
“That’s war,” said Nama.
“And we haven’t even… we haven’t even discussed what the nationalists will do,” said Avri. “I mean, I mean… I’m terrified. My next door neighbor flies the TNP flag.”
“I’ve noticed the Commandant of the Marshalls isn’t here,” said the Chief of General Staff in a rather pointed tone.
“The situation is being addressed,” said Nama and Žarís in unison. The Admiral only nodded. After a long pause, Žarís finally added in a low voice “We’ve asked General Išdašt Bodrandi to remain in the field and focus on ascertaining the situation in Elatana. He’s… quite busy.”
“So… if I’m understanding this whole thing correctly, if we don’t reach a political settlement with Acronis, the only options are either a short, terrible war or a long, terrible war?” Avri was unfortunately understanding correctly. “How many casualties are we predicting?”
“Do you really want to know?” Nama’s voice was hollow and distant, like that of a ghost. Žarís felt the walls of her gray abyss closing in on her. No one answered, but eventually Nama re-opened her laptop and picked a slide.
“We’re calling the ‘short’ war Option A and the ‘long’ war Option B. You can see on this chart that we have a low estimate and a high estimate.”
“But… but…” Avri’s voice cracked and he couldn’t finish speaking.
“As you can see, there is essentially no difference in the number of deaths predicted in either scenario. There is only a difference in the rate at which these deaths occur. In both cases, the war will happen everywhere, and ultimately, we will be presented with the same risks of civilians in or near military targets. On the low end, Option A has 1.2 million deaths in six months and Option B has a million deaths in two years. On the high end, both options are between 6 and 10 million dead. Option B, we predict, would be toward the higher end of that band because of effects such as shortages of food, medicine, and other essential goods in war zones.”
“That’s… that’s ten percent of the combined population. Or more.” Žarís couldn’t look at the chart. She couldn’t look at the table, either. She didn’t want to look at anything. Eventually she just cradled her face in her hands.
“We can’t let this happen,” Avri whispered to himself at first, but then he looked up and spoke up more loudly. “We can’t let this happen. We have to… to do something!” There were tears streaming down his face. There were tears streaming down everyone’s faces: the junior aides, the old generals, the Prime Minister, and even stone cold Nama Oren Kantoreš.
“Well, Nama?” Žarís croaked. “I’m sure your office picked a recommendation.” She didn’t want to hear it, but she needed to. She didn’t have the answer.
Nama only cried. She shook her head over and over again, as if she were trying to wake herself from a terrible nightmare. “No, ma’am, we didn’t. We didn’t… we couldn’t… we couldn’t…” An anguished howl escaped the lips of the old woman at the head of the table. It was the sound of a mother wolf mourning her children. It was the sound Žarís’ father had made when her mother died.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Žarís. I’m sorry. I just… I just… the nightmares… dead Akronist children with their little… crystal pendant necklaces shattered on the bloody street… Nationalist flags and burning torches… If you gave me the order I don’t even think I could do it.” The Minister of Defense dropped her head to the table and sobbed.
The Prime Minister placed a hand on Nama’s back, but it felt almost as though she couldn’t feel anything at all. There was just a dull ringing in her ears and that oppressive gray abyss, somehow both infinite and crushing. She wanted to say something, to feel something… but she couldn’t. There was nothing. She had nothing.
“Then the option we pick is peace. We do everything in our power to make certain that the solution is reached at a bargaining table. Not with guns.”
“But how?” Avri asked. “What do we do?”
There was no answer.