The purpose of this thread is to serve as a place where I can post vignettes or stories that are otherwise unconnected to any particular RP thread about how the Acronian Prime Minister of the day is responding to events occurring in Acronis, or responding to foreign news reports. It is not meant to be a continuous narrative, just a periodic look into how the Acronian government is responding to various particular events.
[OOC: This post was previously posted in a different thread and is re-posted here to be reorganized. Date of original post: Sept. 26, 2020.]
The 13th of Žraimet, 541 KV*
September 25th, 2020 CE
22:46 East Acronis Time (UTC -8:00)
Prime Minister’s Official Residence
300 King Davras Avenue
Zaram, Acronis
The Prime Minister had just allowed herself the luxury of changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt for the night - sleep, of course, was out of the question for two hours at least - when the familiar double knock came at her door. It was one of the security agents informing her that someone had come to her apartments with a matter of state to discuss. Given the hour, there were few people on the list of names Žarís allowed this far past security, so it had to be someone actually important.
Sighing as quietly as she could, the Prime Minister got up from her desk and walked over to the door. “Go ahead,” she said.
It was Linai who opened the door, the head of security in the private residence. “The Deputy Prime Minister,” she said curtly. She said everything curtly, it was what Žarís liked about her.
Jeila Telan Vandravat was the Deputy Prime Minister, an office mandated by the Instruments of Government to lead government business in the house of Parliament of which the Prime Minister was not a member. In Jeila’s case, she was in the Senate. Despite the lower house, the Diet, having more power (as in most parliamentary systems), it was actually the historical precedent for the Prime Minister to come from the Senate and the Deputy from the Diet. Žarís Nevran Alandar’s unexpected ascension to the leadership of the Remembrance party three years prior after several failed ballots removed nearly every other contender had shaken up politics, and in the election later that year she had - to the surprise of many, including her own party - resonated deeply with people all across the political spectrum. Still, she was relatively inexperienced, and the Senate was known to be the more formal, more collegial house of esteemed high-level debate, so Žarís had wanted to pick an experienced, respected Deputy. Jeila fit the bill, but there was one… slight… tiny problem with Jeila.
Jeila Telan Vandravat was the most insufferably stuffy, uptight person Žarís had ever had to deal with in her life. On top of that, Jeila had no opinion for anyone higher than her opinion of herself. Žarís got the impression that Jeila thought she ought to have been the Prime Minister. But then, she hadn’t wanted to deal with the mudslinging of the leadership spill, and Žarís had. Truth be told, she didn’t care much to speak with Jeila. Jeila had almost no respect for her, and she couldn’t imagine that Jeila was trying to hide that. But, Jeila whipped votes in the Senate like no one else, and that was what she needed. So Jeila got to stay.
The Deputy Prime Minister was, of course, still in a crisp suit, her silver hair pulled up in a bun that was tighter than the laws of physics normally allowed. She looked at Žarís for a moment, her eyes very briefly looking down at the sweatpants the Prime Minister was wearing. She snapped her gaze back up quickly, but her lips thinned. “Prime Minister,” she finally said. “Thank you for seeing me, I know the hour is late.”
“What can I help you with, Jeila?”
Jeila’s lips thinned even more. Her given name, Jeila, was spelled and pronounced with the Staynish letter J, not the Acronian equivalent, Ž. Apparently her parents had thought it unique and clever. However, no one (but herself, of course) could pronounce it correctly to her standard. Obviously, the Prime Minister had said it incorrectly just then. Still, though, as uptight as she was, she knew she was dealing with her boss. So she said nothing about it, and instead laid a manila folder on the Prime Minister’s desk. “Have you read the Capital News Service report on what happened at the Banian Embassy today?”
“The Tavari Embassy,” Žarís corrected her in a flat tone of voice. She knew Jeila had meant to say what she said. “And I don’t need to read the wire reports to know what happened today.”
“I… think you should read this one,” Jeila said. “I think it’s… well, it…”
Žarís had never known Jeila to be at a loss of something to say. Never. She blinked, and then opened the folder to see a printed article from that day’s Capital News Service. As it was a wire service, whatever CNS put out would likely end up somewhere in every newspaper in the country in some form or another. The first words of the headline grabbed her attention and she found herself mouthing the words as she read them: “Tavari go home.”
Her eyes scanned the article at first, but she soon realized she needed to actually read what it was she was looking at - and it wasn’t pretty.
“The Acronian people do not and will not accept the complete and utter supplication to Tavaris” was the mission statement of these people. And there were ten thousand of them at least. There hadn’t been a protest like this in over forty years, not this size and not this angry. Acronian politics had been quiet until recently. Not anymore, apparently.
“Here we are, rolling out the welcome mat for them so they can invade us again,” the Prime Minister found herself reading aloud. CNS had found apparently the angriest person at the protest and asked him what he thought. “I can’t believe that airheaded [expletive deleted] Nevran Alandar wants to make us all pretend that we’re happy jolly friends with the Tavari just because they signed a treaty with the cat people and the [expletive deleted] banana farmers.”
The Prime Minister blinked several times and then set the article down. “I take it that last bit is what you wanted me to see?”
“Well, the whole thing is… demonstrative, I think.” Jeila said. Žarís wondered if Jeila had ever allowed herself to swear even once. “Žarís, I think… I think we have…” She sighed. “We have a real problem here. I think, frankly, we underestimated the public pushback on the… Tavari business.”
“The Tavari business. Yes.” The Prime Minister suddenly felt heavy, and she slumped into the chair at her desk. “Grab a seat, Jeila,” she said, motioning at one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. “I will be honest with you, I didn’t expect pushback at this level. Not from just opening an embassy, for Akrona’s sake.”
With grace and poise, Jeila delicately perched upon one of the chairs. She sat with her hands on her lap and one leg tucked behind the other as if she was the damned Queen. Goddess, Žarís just wanted to see her act like a normal elven being just once in her damn life. Her suit was powder blue, her skirt of a length The Matron would call too long, and what little of her legs dared to show were obscured by dark stockings. Her shoes were so conservative they almost certainly voted for the Goddess and Country party in the last election. And on the other side of the desk was the Prime Minister wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that had a red wine stain on it. These were the leaders of the Acronian government.
“Prime Minister, we had a caucus meeting at the Senate tonight, that’s where I’ve just come from.” Jeila’s tone of voice sounded strange now. Perhaps something like… apologetic? “At first it was the coalition, us and The People First. I mean the Socialists. Er-”
“The SPD,” Žarís offered.
“Yes. Us and the Socialist Party for Democracy.” They had only changed their name months ago. The Deputy Prime Minister, for all her uptight-ness, was actually rather bad at concealing how little she cared for many things. “But after some time, the SPD… well, they got up and walked out. They didn’t want to hear anymore.”
“Jeila, our goddess-damned coalition partners walk out of a caucus meeting and the first thing you tell me is about the ‘cat people and banana farmers’ guy?”
“They aren’t leaving the coalition, obviously, they just felt that what the discussion actually was was more of a… well, frankly, there’s a lot of in-fighting in Remembrance. It had actually gotten into something of a shouting match. Some people are… well…”
“Just spit it out Jeila, for Akrona’s sake.”
“Quite a few people - in the Senate, at least - are very unhappy with the speed at which this… warming of relations with the Tavari Union is going. And there are others who are less upset about it themselves but who feel that we clearly need to make some changes because popular opinion is much more negative than anyone expected.” Jeila sighed. “Prime Minister, I have done, and will continue to do, my job to the best of my ability in the Senate to keep the party in line with our stated goals. But I cannot in good confidence tell you that a majority exists in the Senate that approves of your… of our timescale so far.” Jeila corrected herself, of course, to reflect the sacred principle of consensus decision making in the Cabinet - they all had to agree in public when a decision was made. But what she had said first, the Prime Minister knew, is what she had really meant.
“Has it fallen so far so quickly? I don’t remember hearing this much pushback from anyone in Parliament when we announced we were in talks.”
“Well, after the protest, I think a lot of people who felt they needed to keep their mouths shut felt empowered to say what they actually felt. And as I said, a lot of people feel very threatened by what their constituents are saying. Let me be clear, Prime Minister, I don’t foresee a leadership challenge or a failure of the coalition. Everyone in Remembrance in the Senate, and certainly the Diet as well, knows that they got there riding your coattails on a message of opening up to the world. And since we depend on SPD in both chambers, we ultimately can’t drift away from the foreign relations plan too far, or they will leave. But something has to be done about the Tavari Union. People aren’t ready for this. They just aren’t. They… they remember.”
They remember. They remember that Tavaris burned the entire city of East Harbor to the ground in 1677. They remember that they invaded King’s Island, that they invaded Metrati Anar twice, that they raided and attacked Acronian ships for years, blockaded their traffic through the Strait of Vultuca for years, that they entered the Great War almost solely to defeat Acronis while it was under attack. They remember all the hateful things their parents told them about the Tavari, that they learned from their parents. They remember school trips to war memorials and war museums. They remember their three year conscription, where they were taught the country’s first enemy was and always would be the country immediately to the east. Indeed, the Prime Minister herself remembered all of these things. Her party was named Remembrance, for crying out loud. They were all supposed to remember these things. That’s what the party stood for. Remembering those who Acronis had lost on its path to the prosperous future. Remember what the military has done for us, remember what the Church has done, remember what the King has done. Always remember.
Clearly, Žarís had spent too much time trying to forget. She had joined this party willingly, of course. She was obviously supportive of the military, the monarchy, and the established church. While Acronian politics hadn’t always existed on a strictly right-left axis, in modern times Remembrance was plainly a center-to-center-right party. The Prime Minister was the unquestioned leader of the centrist faction. Her message, the one that had resonated so clearly with people three years ago, was also very centrist. A message of reaching out to the world for trade and diplomacy, leaving aside the hyperpartisan questions of things like the healthcare system or the monarchy. People had agreed then, but then, she had never mentioned outreach to the Tavari Union on the campaign trail. And clearly, that was something else people remembered.
Žarís had been ready to normalize relations with the Tavari Union. Apparently quite a few people had not. “We can’t go back now,” the Prime Minister said aloud without having meant to.
“We have to do something.”
“I’ll… have to call Tuvria,” she said with a sigh, referring to the Premier of the Tavari Union. “Maybe I’ll have him… reduce staff at the Embassy. Make the security personnel less busy. We can probably have the street closed semi-permanently, keep people away from the gates.”
Jeila nodded. “I think that would help quite a bit in the party. And we’ll probably want to start talking up other matters, take some of the attention away. Is the ANG space program any further along?”
“Still early talks, and the currency talks have gone absolutely nowhere. I don’t know what we have that we can distract with. Shall I have the Minister of Defense gin up a war somewhere? Or we could leak the chocolate thing, that would be a fun news cycle.” The Prime Minister pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s just a damned embassy. We let Asendavia have one and no one protests them after all they did in the Great War.” She sighed. “Whatever. I’ll have to call Shano Tuvria in the morning.”
“Perhaps you should call him now.” The Deputy Prime Minister’s voice had changed. Now she spoke as a mother might scold a child. Goddess, Žarís really couldn’t stand this woman.
“Fine. I’ll call him now.”
Jeila stood up and brushed non-existent dust from her skirt. “I will keep you updated on matters. Please let me know if there is anything you need.” She didn’t actually mean it, Žarís knew, and that was fine, because she wouldn’t have asked Jeila for anything even if she had mean’t it. She watched her Deputy leave and, for a few moments, allowed herself to wonder where, exactly, she herself stood in the debate about the Tavari. It was almost certain that, in her heart of hearts, Jeila wanted to yell as loudly as the others had about how she remembered and how this never should have happened. But at least for now she was still willing to play her part.
The Prime Minister picked up her phone and pressed the button to reach the switchboard. “Hello Onar,” she said, and then sighed heavily. “I need you to get me the Premier of the Tavari Union.”
*Acronian days begin at sundown on what is the day before on the Common Era calendar
[OOC: This post was previously posted in a different thread and is re-posted here to be reorganized. Date of original post: Oct. 2nd, 2020.]
The 19th of Žraimet, 541 KV
October 2nd, 2020 CE
11:01 East Acronis Time (UTC -8:00)
Office of the Prime Minister
Government Center One
2 Palace Square
Zaram, Acronis
“The Premier of the Tavari Union on line one.” The switchboard operator had poked her nose through a cracked door to give Zharis the news, as if she didn’t see the red light start blinking. With a sigh, the Prime Minister picked up the handset.
“Mr. Tuvria, good morning,” she said.
“And to you, Ms. Nevran Alandar.” His words were expressionless, as was typical for the Premier. “Thank you for taking my call, and I first want to offer my deepest, most sincere condolences for what occurred in Rodoka. All our thoughts and hearts are with your people.”
The number of thoughts and hearts in the Tavari Union who were overjoyed at the thought of an Akronist temple being destroyed were almost certainly in the millions, Zharis thought, but she would let it slide. The Premier, at the very least, did sound genuine. At least she thought so. It was so hard to tell since he rarely inflected his words at all.
“Thank you, Mr. Premier. It has been a difficult few days. But we did not get to finish our discussion about the Embassy.” The Acronian Prime Minister had to summon all her personal strength to prevent an audible sigh.
“We’ve taken a look at the proposal you’ve sent us, and there are certainly improvements from what we discussed last Friday, but these numbers are still very low, and they put our foreign affairs ministry in an incredibly difficult place. You told me that you were willing to do the hard work to begin building a rapport, and hard work requires workers. How am I supposed to staff an embassy capable of doing this hard work with these limits on personnel you’re imposing? A twenty percent reduction is better than thirty-five, certainly, but it’s still… severely harsh.” Shano Tuvria, at the end of his sentence, did begin to add some tone in his words, which was probably a bad sign.’
“Mr. Prem-” Zharis stopped herself. “Look,” she finally said. “We’ve been doing a lot of… dancing around the edges of the problem here, because it’s a difficult thing to talk about, but frankly, I think we need to just… just get on with it. I think it’s very plain, Mr. Premier, that while we as individuals are ready for this work to begin, our respective populations are not there yet. They just aren’t there.”
Shano was quiet for a very long time. Long enough that she almost asked if he was still there, although usually one of her military aides would have spoken to say the connection was lost by now. But he did, eventually, speak. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re right.”
“An Acronian citizen died in Tavaris from a stabbing. On our end, we have the riot at the embassy. There’s just… too much hate.”
There was the sound of ruffling papers on the other end of the line. “We can accept these terms, but I want your word that the Acronian government will not interfere with staff levels of our delegation to the ANG, and if I don’t see these limits raised within one year, then the embassy is closing.”
Zharis waited for a moment to receive a message on her cell phone from Atra, her external affairs minister who was listening to the call while on a plane to somewhere or other. “Yes,” it said.
“I agree to the terms,” said Zharis.
The Premier did not suppress his own desire to sigh. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll have a list of names we are removing from the Embassy to your office by the end of today. I need at least four days to make arrangements to get them out of the country.”
“We can deal with that, but the security staff reductions will need to be immediate, even if they don’t physically leave. We’ve already closed the street to public access and we have Marshals posted at either end of the block. Your embassy will be safe.”
“Fine,” said the Premier. There was another silence, but then he spoke again. “I expect that you and I may have to find ourselves on opposing sides of the matter in Alksearia very shortly,” he said. “This 20% reduction in embassy staff is going to significantly damper any good will I have with the Assembly on Acronian issues, and I may not be able to quell the angrier voices in the Cabinet when we make a statement about King Eldras. So you and I may not be able to officially communicate for some time. But I want you to know, Prime Minister, that even if the government of the Tavari Union may not be able to speak with you… I may very well be able to find some time here and there.”
Zharis, her guard down, audibly scoffed and almost chuckled. “I have to admit, I’ve got my hands full with Rodoka right now. Not to mention whatever’s happening in Lunaria. We’re evacuating the embassy as we speak over there. I read the report about Alksearia but I’m not in a patriotic enough mood to go hunting for Asendavian scalps.”
“I can… make that known, in my Asendavian circles, if that would be helpful to you? I’m sure they would appreciate your restraint.”
The Tavari Union had long been closely allied with Asendavia, the predominant colonial power in Northwest Gondwana, including a military alliance after Acronis joined the UCA in 2008. And, of course, Acronis and Asendavia had opposed each other in the Great War. There were official relations between Asendavia, of course - perfectly polite and cordial, but certainly a universe away from “warm and friendly” - so they did not speak frequently, and when they did, it was usually mostly superficial, low-level diplomacy. “I… would appreciate that, Premier,” the Prime Minister said.
“Yes,” said the Premier. “Thank you again for taking my call, Prime Minister. Good day.”
“They dropped the call,” came the voice of one of the military communications staffers on the line. Zharis hung up the receiver. She stood there at her desk for a moment, staring at the empty door, and then suddenly, very loudly, shouted “Nama!”
The Minister of Defense stepped into the room from the military attache’s office next door. “I’m right here Zharis, you don’t need to shout.”
“Nama, I want you to move the Zhavrazhan and battle cluster two from the Strait of Vultuca. Swing it around to where we sent the fourth fleet.”
“You want to move an aircraft carrier to the Lunarian border? Are you expecting an air assault from the protesters, ma’am?”
“Just do it, Nama. And I want the Blade of Storm ready to deploy to Rodoka. Pull it back half a nautical mile and get some fueling barges out there.”
“Zharis, we have had at least one aircraft carrier at the Tavari border since the day the first one hit water.”
“We need to project power elsewhere for the moment, Nama.” Zharis crossed her arms. “And for Akrona’s sake, if we need to carpet-bomb Good Harbor in the next month the planes can take off from New East Harbor just fine.”
The Minister of Defense said nothing, but she did step back into the military attache’s office and, Zharis could hear, begin making calls.
Zharis had hoped to make change when she became Prime Minister. This was certainly not what she had imagined, but if pulling back the military just slightly from the most heavily patrolled naval border on Urth could count as a victory, she would count it.
The 22nd of Kraimet, 541 KV
January 2nd, 2021 CE
16:47 East Acronis Time (UTC -8:00)
Prime Minister’s Official Residence
300 King Davras Avenue
Zaram, Acronis
Today was Žarís Nevran Alandar’s 46th birthday, and like all her previous birthdays in office, she spent it doing all of her official work from the residence, while wearing slippers. It was her little gift to herself, since being head of government meant she didn’t really have days off. The Arkian ambassador had just stopped by and delivered a bottle of wine, a red from Bensdorf, her favorite of the Arkian wines. She was sipping it while reading the latest reports out of Lunaria, which were still far too chaotic for her liking. The wine helped.
“Ma’am?” The Prime Minister looked up to see her Minister of External Affairs, Atra Lanaš Metravar, standing in her doorway. Atra was always traveling somewhere and usually called or texted. It was rare to see her in the flesh - and rarer still to see her with this expression on her face, which was… sheepish, perhaps? Apologetic?
“Atra, please, come in. I was just reading your office’s report on Lunaria.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Atra. “I… hate to bother you today, since I know what day it is, but, uh, there’s…”
“Oh, please, Atra, just tell me what it is. I know I can’t really avoid these sorts of things.” The Prime Minister took a deep drink from her wine glass. She could feel that she would need it.
“There’s been… well, calling it an incident seems generous, but… something has happened that you should probably know about. It involves an Acronian sailor.” The Minister of External Affairs was grimacing as she took a seat in front of the Prime Minister’s desk.
“What’s happened?” Clearly it can’t have been a major crisis, because Atra wouldn’t be talking about this in this way if it were.
“Well, you see…” Atra sighed. “Okay, here’s what we know. The submarine Eastern Pacific docked at New Jersia today. Rosamund Island. The crew had been at sea for six months and they give them a break from time to time because otherwise they go crazy. That’s not, uh, the technical term, but… well, anyway, the sailors get to spend two days in New Jersia. And one of the sailors, uh…”
“What, has something been vandalized?” Žarís paused. “Did the sailor… attack someone?”
“Well, uh… vandalizing of a sort. You see, the sailor… well, he got drunk.”
“As sailors do. Please, we’ve all met people in the Navy, Atra. Didn’t you do your conscription in the Navy?”
Atra laughed. “Yes, yes, okay, I get it. Alright. But here’s what happened. The sailor got drunk and was kicked out of a bar - by the way, this was happening at like noon, local time - and so he apparently wandered into a nearby park. A very nice park, I’m told. And in the park is a flagpole. And the sailor, apparently, in all his rage at having been kicked out, decides to climb the flagpole.”
“Oh, Akrona wept,” said the Prime Minister, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“It gets worse,” said Atra ominously. “So this soldier is at the top of the flagpole and he quite literally tears the flag off the flagpole. We aren’t sure what flag it was, whether it was Morstaybishlia’s flag or if Rosamund Island itself has a flag, but anyway, he tears it down. And he happens to have with him, in his backpack, an Acronian flag.”
“Wh- why did he… why did he have…” Žarís had not yet released her nose from her grasp.
“Well when submarines are moored and above water, they’re supposed to fly a flag like any other boat. Apparently his job had been to hoist the flag on the Eastern Pacific, but it seems he was a bit over-excited and left the docks without doing so.”
“So he… he forgets about the flag this whole time… until he happens to be on top of the flagpole.”
“Yes,” said the Minister of External Affairs, with sorrow in her voice. “And, just as a side note, by forgetting to fly the flag on the ship, this guy was technically committing a violation of international law, but obviously there’s other things happening in this story. So he’s on top of the flagpole, drunk beyond belief, it’s barely past noon, and this Acronian sailor decides that he has been treated so unfairly by the authorities that-”
“He put our flag on the flagpole, didn’t he?” The Prime Minister sounded very, very tired.
“He put our flag on the flagpole,” Atra said sadly. “And-”
“Oh, Akrona’s tits, there’s an and?”
Atra sighed. “And,” she said, “his buddies found him there and, all of them also being wasted, started to cheer him on.” She was silent for a moment, and then spoke again. “And, there were witnesses.”
The Prime Minister was no longer speaking at this point. Instead, she was pouring as much of the bottle that she could fit in her glass.
“Several reports indicate the soldiers were chanting things like ‘our island now’ and, uh, well… ‘Žarís Island.’”
“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“No, ma’am.”
The Prime Minister groaned. “Did anyone get hurt here?”
“No, thankfully. The sailors dispersed when approached by a local policeman, and they’ve since been returned to the ship.”
“Are they in the brig?”
“I’m… not sure, that wasn’t in the briefing I got,” said Atra. “Perhaps Nama-”
“Okay,” said Žarís, so forcefully that Atra jumped. “Here’s what’s going to happen. First, brief Nama if you haven’t and make sure everyone involved in this is in the brig at least until they’re sober. Secondly…” The Prime Minister pointed to the bottle of wine on her desk. “Contact the Arkian Embassy and find out if they have any more of this, or anything even remotely similar, and tell them I need at least four more bottles. And thirdly,” she grimaced as she picked up the phone and waited for the switchboard to answer. “I need you to get me Franklin Barvata. There has been… an incident.”
Etmat 2nd, 542 KV
January 11th, 2020 CE
10:07 AM, East Acronis Time (UTC -8:00)
Office of the Prime Minister
2 Palace Square
Zaram, Acronis
“What the hell? I mean, really, what the hell is this?” Normally the Premier of the Tavari Union was so monotone Žarís struggled to believe he had emotions at all. Today, however, Shano Tuvria clearly had at least one emotion. He was outraged.
Not that this wasn’t expected of course. There wasn’t any way they would have responded otherwise. Still, before the Acronian Prime Minister had time to respond, Tuvria continued.
“You and I spend months - months - on all these negotiations, under which I always proceeded in good faith. I spent hours giving my word to the Assembly that you people were serious in negotiating this step-down between us. On several occasions I was literally screamed at, and still I held my tongue and gave my personal assurances that you people would hold up your end of the deal. And what do I get in return? You shrink our embassy to a skeleton crew, and now you’re telling me you’re getting nukes! Nukes! This is… this is an outrage! It’s a scandal! I don’t just have egg on my face, I have a whole fucking caek! This is the biggest escalation in… in… God, I don’t even know when. The damned Siege of Anarís?”
“I appreciate your position, Mr. Tuvria, and I would be doing the same in your position, but it isn’t like you haven’t had a defensive alliance with nuclear-armed Asendavia for decades now.”
“I have told you time and time again that Asendavia has no nuclear weapons in the Union, and-”
“But could you? If you asked? You’ve had that bargaining chip over us this whole time. And so too have we had the backing of nuclear-armed Norgsveldet through the UCA, which is why you made the agreement with Asendavia in the first place. Has the situation truly changed? Or are you just taking advantage of the situation to get an edge up on us?” Žarís did not normally like to be this informal, but these were exceptional times.
“The UCA is one thing, what you’re telling me is that you have nukes under your command that you could fire at us with the push of a button. How is that not an escalation?”
“Your country is not the only threat to Acronian security, Mr. Tuvria.” It was the Acronian’s turn to speak in an emotionless voice.
“Oh, who else are you supposed to be sending this message to?”
“Mr. Tuvria, have your intelligence people given you an update on the movements of Acronian aircraft carriers lately?”
“I-”
“Where are they, Mr. Tuvria? I know you know.”
“Ni-Rao, which is obviously-”
“And the other one? Where is the other one, Mr. Tuvria?”
“I… I… don’t… what are you implying?”
“It’s not on the Tavari border, you can see that with your eyes. Take a wild guess, Mr. Tuvria. Where is the Blade of Storm?”
The Tavari Premier sighed. “Novaris,” he muttered.
“Well I couldn’t possibly comment, but did you know that the Tavari Union is not the only country whose official stance is that the Acronian Empire should not exist? The other one is our neighbor, too. And lately they’re very friendly with Tretrid. I’m sure you know Tretrid has been a nuclear state for a while. And you don’t need to be an LN observer like us to know that Tretrid is increasingly on alert thanks to-”
“Oh, enough, Žarís. Enough. What do you expect me to say here? I can’t just roll over and let this slide.” Tuvria had not yet returned to his emotionless self, but there was clearly less rage in his voice, and more bitterness. For the moment, anyway.
“Well, for one, you can admit that the Acronian world does not revolve around the Tavari Union. There are plenty of other considerations, as I’m sure you understand. Your world doesn’t revolve around us, either.”
“It’s a lot harder to say that lately! You’re fighting a war right on the other side of our border.”
“On the other side of the tallest mountains in Gondwana,” the Acronian Prime Minister specified. “Our actions in Ni-Rao have nothing to do with you, pose no threat to you, and quite in fact, had we not acted, the instability would have likely reached that border you’re complaining about. Would you prefer that we withdraw?”
The Tavari was silent.
“Well? Would you?” Žarís was in no mood to play around today.
“That doesn’t… Look. Again, I’m going to ask, what do you actually expect of me here? You can’t honestly expect me to just say ‘Thanks for the heads up, have a nice day’ can you? This changes everything. Everything. And you know it does.” Tuvria’s bitterness had returned in force.
“I’m not asking you to surrender yourselves for annexation. I am providing you a courtesy advance notification that the Acronian Empire intends to include nuclear weapons as part of its defensive arsenal in the immediate future. And I am telling you, despite what you may think of the optics of the situation, that in doing so it is not our intention to threaten you or jeopardize the peace between us. This is a decision we made considering the security of the Empire as a whole.”
“Can you commit to a no-first-strike stance?”
“No, I cannot, nor can I commit to a-”
“Oh, fuck you,” responded Tuvria. “You people and your ambiguity. Well, whatever. Thanks. I’ve had enough, you can talk to Talu Bronai if you have more to say.”
There was a clicking sound, and then the voice of the phone operator: “They’ve disconnected, ma’am.”
Žarís hung up as well and then sighed. “Well, that went as expected,” she said. Her Minister of Defense was sitting on the other side of the desk, where she had also been listening through a phone.
“Do you think they’ll close the embassy?” The Minister of Defense’s expression was impossible to read.
“I doubt it,” said Atra Lanaš Metravar, the Minister of External Affairs. “We’ve been in contact with Bronai, they want to keep the official lines of communication open. For now. But, ma’am, I have… well, I have some news.” She had just walked into the office, and neither Žarís nor anyone else had asked for her to come in person. She was holding a piece of paper. The Prime Minister’s stomach sank. She knew what was coming.
“Yes, Atra?” The Prime Minister held out her hand to receive the paper.
“Ma’am, I have deeply respected you for all the time I have worked with you. But we - the SPD - we can’t… we can’t. This is a bridge too far. Ni-Rao was an insult, and this is… far beyond. We’re withdrawing from the coalition.” Atra was not just the Minister of External Affairs, she was also the leader of the Socialist Party for Democracy, the junior partner in the current coalition government. Or rather, the previous coalition government. “Obviously I’ll keep things secret for now, since it’s still classified. But the minute this goes public, the coalition is over.”
Žarís took the letter. “Thank you, Atra,” she said as she stood. She offered her hand to Atra and she shook it, but no one smiled. “So be it. I’ll get things in order. We plan to go public and debate in Parliament on January 19th.”
“Good luck, Prime Minister,” said Atra, who then turned and left the room.
“Well, now what?” The Minister of Defense waited to speak until someone had closed the door behind Atra. By then, though, Žarís was already picking up the phone.
“Get me the King,” she said.
The Minister raised her eyebrows, and then smiled. “I see. A good choice, I think. I’ll leave you to it, text me if you need me.” The Minister stepped up, bowed slightly, and stepped out of the office into the adjacent military attache’s office, where she tended to spend a lot of her time.
“Well, what’s gonna happen now?” One of her deputies was also in the room.
“Well, for one, we’re about to have an early election. And let me tell you… we all had our doubts about Žarís in the beginning, but I am absolutely certain now that she’s going to crush it. We’ll have a majority on our hands in no time.” The Minister felt herself smiling. “Acronis is back.”
Etmat 10th, 542 KV
January 19th, 2021 CE
16:28 PM East Acronis Time (UTC-8:00)
Office of the Prime Minister
Government Center One
2 Palace Square
Zaram, Acronis
“So. This… this is it?” The Prime Minister’s mouth went dry as she stared at the small plastic card in her hand. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She could feel it in her eardrums.
“Yes, ma’am.” The military attache who had come to explain this to her had a calm, steady voice, much unlike the Prime Minister, who had to actively try to prevent herself from shaking. “You will keep that card with you at all times. It contains the codes that you would use to authenticate yourself as the commander-in-chief in the event you needed to order a nuclear strike.”
“Right. I understand,” Žarís forced herself to say.
“You will receive a new card every day from a military attache, either from the Navy or the Air Force, who will be assigned to your detail each day. You give them the old one. The attache will carry the emergency case, which is this.” The attache lifted up what looked like a completely nondescript satchel. It was brown and it had gold clasps, like something her father might have carried to and from work every day.
“And inside the emergency case is the book of pre-planned strike plans, right?” Thinking of her father in the context of nuclear weapons made the Prime Minister nauseous. Her dad was a professor. That was a bag for carrying graded schoolwork, not for carrying the means to kill a million people in the blink of an eye.
“Yes, ma’am. It also contains the list of nuclear launch sites, a list of secure locations available to be evacuated to, and the instructions on how to activate the Emergency National Alert system. There is also a satellite phone with a direct line to the Nuclear Operations Command Facility. If you need to order a strike from somewhere other than, say, your office, you would use the phone. The attache assigned to carry the case will be with you the entire day. You will not need to carry the emergency case.”
“Right,” the Prime Minister said again. “And these papers here, these are for the letters I’m supposed to write to the…?”
“The captains of the submarines, yes ma’am. They will be handwritten and hand-signed by you personally, and then they will be sealed and placed in a locked safe onboard the two nuclear ballistic missile submarines. These letters will contain orders that are only to be opened and executed in the event that an attack has wiped out the rest of the Acronian command structure.”
The rest of the Acronian command structure. Herself, all the ministers, the King, the Prince… all the members of Parliament, even. If every one of them was dead, these letters would be the last remaining vestige of the Acronian government.
“And… and I have options to pick from. For the letters. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am. You can order the submarines to strike back with nuclear weapons, you can order them to ally themselves to a foreign ally, if they still exist, you can order them to do nothing, or you can order them to use their own best judgment. When new Prime Ministers take office, they will write their own letters and the previous letters will be destroyed without being opened.” The attache’s voice never wavered. It was like he was an android. It only made Žarís more uneasy.
“So, do I… do I write them now?”
“The Chief of General Staff has prepared a report for you on how our nuclear weapons work and what the effect of their launch will be. It’s in the gold folder there on your desk. We recommend that you take a look at it before you write the letters.”
The Prime Minister opened the gold folder, which also would have been at home on her father’s desk.
The RAAF Scepter-II ballistic missile, launched from a submarine, has an operating range of eight thousand kilometers. It is a three-stage missile equipped with six warheads, each of which is independently targetable and has a yield equivalent to approximately 100 kiltons of TNT. The RAAF Horizon ASM is an air-to-surface cruise missile launched from a military aircraft and is designed as a “pre-strategic” weapon, meaning it is meant to serve as the Empire’s final “warning shot” before engaging a full nuclear strike. It has a range of approximately 860 km and a yield of 150 kilotons. Both missiles can be equipped with either A7 (Acronian designed) or V1 (Vistari purchased) nuclear warheads.
Consider a hypothetical scenario in which the Acronian Empire has come under attack from a nuclear strike launched from Asendavia on the request of the Tavari Union. (Note: this is a hypothetical scenario, it is not based on any actual or perceived imminent threat of nuclear or non-nuclear attack.) In the first strike, the entire Acronian chain of command is killed. The captains of the Acronian nuclear submarines, upon determining that no Acronian authority can be reached and it has been more than twenty minutes since contact was last made, open the Final Order Letter you wrote. The letter might contain the order to:
Retaliate with nuclear weapons
Do not retaliate
Place your ship under the command of an allied nation (if it still exists). For instance, Norgsveldet or Great Morstaybishlia.
Use your own best judgment
Presume that, in this scenario, you have written in the letter to retaliate using nuclear weapons. Coordinating, the two submarines launch missiles: one to Nuvrenon and the other to Good Harbor.
The detonation of all six warheads from a Scepter-II ballistic missile would completely level the urban area in a radius of 1.6km, instantly killing 150,000-190,000 people. Buildings out to a radius of 11km would see severe or moderate damage. Among the survivors, fourth degree burns and/or conflagration of parts of the body would occur across a radius of 6.6km. People within 1.5km of the blast, if they survived the physical effects, would receive a lethal dose of radiation. People in a radius of 2km would receive “acute radiation syndrome.” The large majority of these people would perish within 30-90 days after the blast.
The City of Nuvrenon has a population of 250,000 people, with a metro area population of 1.1 million people. Of these, approximately 150,000-190,000 people would be killed instantly. 400,000 would receive lethal doses of radiation and die 30-90 days after the bombing.
The City of Good Harbor has a population of 760,000, with a metro area population of 3.4 million. Of these, approximately 400,000-500,000 would be killed instantly. More than 1.5 million people would receive lethal doses of radiation and die 30-90 days after the bombing.
In both cities, structural fires, gas leaks, and other infrastructural hazards would present a significant threat to the lives of any survivors. It is also important to note that, due to the Tavari Union’s position eastward of the Acronian Empire, Aequatorial winds would bring significant amounts of fallout/radioactive particles across the Strait. Any Acronians in areas such as Zaram and New East Harbor would be exposed to amounts of radiation large enough to cause cancer or other illnesses, if any Acronians in these areas still lived at that time.
The Prime Minister could no longer contain herself. She clutched the edge of her desk with white knuckles as her entire body trembled. She took great heaving breaths as tears streamed down her face.
“If any Acronians in these areas still lived.”
“500,000 people killed instantly.”
“Die 30-90 days after the bombing.”
These words and so many others circled around in her head, loudly and violently. Images of people, of mothers and babies, burning alive, their skin on fire, and the sounds of their agony were all that she could imagine. It was as if they were right there in front of her. A single sob escaped her lips, and then the Prime Minister of the Acronian Empire lurched her body over the trash can near her desk and vomited.
Žarís Nevran Alandar held her head above the rim of the trash can for several moments. She carefully regulated her breath until her heart was no longer bursting out of her ears. She lifted her head, straightened the collar of her shirt, and then picked up the pen on her desk. Her mouth was a single, thin line on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair was askew. After staring directly ahead, silently, for a few moments, she brushed the hair out of her face and clicked the pen in her hand. The only sound in the room as the Prime Minister wrote the Final Order Letters was the sound of her pen on the paper and the sound of footsteps as an aide walked around the desk, picked up the trash can, and removed it from the room. A door softly clicked shut. The Prime Minister set her pen down and returned her gaze to the point on the wall directly across from her. Without looking down, the Prime Minister placed the card with the nuclear codes and placed it in the inside breast pocket of her suit jacket.
“I will be going to the residence for the evening,” said Žarís to the wall she was staring a hole into. “Will I see you tomorrow at 5am?”
“Yes ma’am,” said the attache. His voice was unchanged. Perfectly even.
“Tovra,” said the Prime Minister to her other aide that had just returned. “Inform the press office to put on the lid. Have the car ready in five minutes. And when we get to the residence… have my father on the phone in my study.”
“Yes, ma’am.”