by Max Barry

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Spotlight on:

National Flag

The Resurrection of Yugobatania

“Mors Tua, Vita Mea”

Category: Inoffensive Centrist Democracy
Civil Rights:
Very Good
Political Freedoms:

Regional Influence: Sprat

Location: The North Pacific



The Circum-Cision Chronicles

The Circum-Cision Chronicles
YNS Cycler, Cycler-class aircraft carrier, Tsyemny Sea
450 miles off the coasts of Greater Saint-Paul and The Soviet States of Europe

Someone knocked on the door. Behind that door was a fairly small captain's quarters, and within those quarters was Captain Zakaria Burch was smoking a cigar, and studying over the plans for Operation Poltergeist. An ambitious and large operation at that, but through all the doubt, one that might work. And still, the knocking persisted. Burch snapped out of his dreamy state and looked at the door.

"Come in," he said, his voice filled old from the salt of the sea, and the waves splashing against his face. He took the cigar out of his mouth and lit it out in his ashtray. The door opened and came in a young petty officer. The young man walked in and took off his hat, standing firm in his place.

"Heil Solomon!" the young lad said, raising his arm fairly slowly in the Yugo Salute. It comprised of raising your right arm above your head, pointed upwards.

"Heil," Burch said in a bored fashion. This "Heil Solomon" thing was really tiring out his arms, and starting to get annoying. "What did you need me for?"

"Sir, we've gotten word from the 3rd and 4th Fleets - Operation Double Cross is underway. They are making their final preparations."

"Good," Burch replied. "Soon we will get rid of those darn Montarcians as well as those Tongans from The Islands of Tonga. And who would have even expected the Waupun from all the way from Waupun Island to join them? This is just a gangbang of nations...pardon my language."

"I understand sir," said the petty officer, albeit looking a bit troubled.

Operation Double Cross was the planned operation back in Yugobatania - a large combined offensive push that comprised of all the major branches of the Yugobatanian Armed Forces.

"Captain Loren has also stated that they will be splitting up soon when we get near Kyoki Chudoku. We are nearing ever so closer to Greater Saint-Paul and The Soviet States of Europe as we speak."

Burch merely just nodded. Loren was always an ambitious one. A young captain that rose through the ranks, rumor had it that he was the one who ordered the assassination of his father. He had fanatical dreams of being Supreme Emperor Solomon's right-hand man - a dream that was very far away. A jet fighter took off above them on the carrier deck, the distant echo of its engines snapping Burch out of his thoughts. A slight vibration was felt in the room, as it rattled some pencils in a cup on his desk around.

"Anything else?"

"That is all sir."

"Good. Ready the fighters. I will be up in the bridge shortly."

"Yes, sir."

The petty officer walked out of his office, leaving him alone once more. Burch looked down at his ashtray, the burnt cigar just laying there. He opened up a drawer underneath his desk and grabbed a pack of cigars, lighting one, and putting the box away. Burch leaned back on his chair and stared at the ceiling.

This was going to be one hell of a ride.

Read dispatch

Part I
Part I of "The Circum-Cision Chronicles"

Port Rione, Yugobatania
21st Yugo Airborne

Fighter jets flew above towards the distant beaches. Explosions were heard in the distance, as the Montarcian, The Islands of Tongan, Waupun Island, Lapathiyan and Eripolisian forces fought in the snow against the Yugos - a battle of snow and blood.

The rumble of their engines shook the ground beneath Harold Jergens. He was marching with his brothers-in-arms towards their cargo planes, soon to be over them. They were waiting for Operation Double Cross to commence in five weeks, all of the training and training in the cold snow of Verusa, debriefing on the plans, and saving their prayers for the battle to come.

A soldier next to him asked if he wanted some gum.

At first, Harold thought he said if he “wanted a gun,” in which he replied, “I already have one.”

He realized his mistake, but before he could say anything, the soldier was already gone, perhaps boarding with his battalion.

Their Brigade General was ordering his troops around. Veins were popping out of his face, as he was literally shoving people up the cargo ramp.

"Go, go, go! Move it maggots!” he yelled. Command wants us there in five minutes!”

Harold and the others decided now was a good time to hurry. They ran up the ramp and strapped in. In about a minute, everyone shoved on board the plane. It was crowded, and loud.

“Alright, everyone, shut up!” the Brigade General yelled from his seat.

Immediately everyone complied and looked at him. Outside, Harold could hear the cargo plane’s jet engines whine up, and could feel the inertia of it jerking forward in his seat. The Brigade General almost fell backward but caught his footing.

“Now, let’s go over this again. In four minutes, we’ll be flying over those Montarcan bastards. The altitude of the drop will be 5,300 feet. Make sure to set your altimeters. This will be a HALO jump as well. So make sure to pull your chutes before you hit the ground. We already have this mess to deal with - we don’t need your body to add to it.”

A nervous laugh erupted but didn’t last long. Everyone looked down at their altimeter watches and set them.

“Razor and Tack Squads, you take the east beaches and meet up with the 5th Armored Group in Sector B in the East. Reinforcements will be there with you shortly. Cobra Squad, you’re with me. We’ll be dropping over Sector A in the West.”

By now, the plane was already in the air, and through the window, Harold could see distant flak in the air. Hopefully, it was friendly.

Suddenly, the lights in the cargo bay shut off, and red lights came on. It was time. The cargo doors opened, and the cargo door depressurized.

“We’re over the beaches!” yelled the Brigade General. It was very windy, and the explosions nearby started to worry Harold. “Drop now!”

Everyone unstrapped and hurried to the door. One by one, they jumped out the cargo door, as a crewman standing by the doors helped them.

Now it was Harold’s turn. He placed on his goggles and made a running start. Right before he could jump, an explosion rocked the plane, knocking some people out the doors. Harold was one of those people.

He was freefalling, and looked above him - the cargo plane was on fire, and falling rapidly, and getting smaller from his view. He looked back down and saw the beachhead. The fire was coming from both sides, and landing craft was coming from the sea.

Some planes in a dogfight flew below him, the loud roar of their afterburners nearly deafening him. He looked at his watch as well as the ground, which was getting very close. 500 feet.

He pulled his chute and was tugged backward, as it caught the air. He slowly glided down and saw Yugo troops run below him. Some looked up and waited for him. Harold landed, and the troops helped him up from the snow.

A middle-aged soldier grabbed him by the shoulder, his face covered with blood and dirt.

“Nice to meet you sir!” he yelled, as a nearby main battle tank fired its cannon. “Welcome to the frontlines!”

“What the hell is going on?” Harold yelled back.

“We’re assaulting the beachheads! It’s just over that hill! Some other of those airborne guys are over there!”

“Roger!” Harold said, as a man screaming in agony was being dragged back to the rear, an arm and a leg missing. Blood stained the snow, leaving a trail of red snow behind. He was taken aback, and just stared at him, but the soldier snapped him out of it, as he tapped his soldier roughly.

“Let’s go!” he yelled, as he ran up the nearby hill, Harold close behind. ”Char-”

His words were cut short, as a bullet went straight through his skull, blood splattering Harold’s face. Harold yelled, and staggered backward, rolling down halfway. By now he was alone, as everyone was over the hill.

He got up, wiping the blood off his face - but more or less just smearing it. And soon, he saw it. Yugo soldiers were behind sandbags, firing away at the advancing troops. Artillery fired away, and planes swooped down, using napalm to burn the soldiers alive. Their screams from down below reached Harold’s ears softly.

And this was only Phase One of Operation Double Cross.

Some Yugo dune buggies of the 4th Reconnaissance Group drove down the beach, gunning down and running over anyone in their way. One was blown up, but the others continued down.

Some IFV’s were deploying troops, as well as main battle tanks covering them.

In all actuality, things were going well for the Yugo forces.

Harold by now was behind cover, firing away with his assault rifle with some other soldiers. They were making headway, as the waves of enemy soldiers were pushed back.

Finally, air support came in the form of heavy jet bombers. Five squadrons, comprised of ten planes each, flew towards the enemy fleets, but suffered major casualties, with about 10 percent of them making a successful run, the others shot down. But luckily, it was enough to push back the enemy.

In five hours time, Phase One of Operation Double Cross was completed. The Yugo forces suffered moderate casualties, but all in all, they were sufficient.

Harold and the others all celebrated, but it was short-lived. The Yugo forces were soon ordered to mobilize towards the Wuson Region. They all knew that Phase Two was right around the corner. Or should they say, right across the Strait…

Read dispatch

Part II
Part II of “The Circum-Cision Chronicles”

YNS Cycler, Cycler-class aircraft carrier, Tsyemny Sea
190 miles off the coasts of Greater Saint-Paul and The Soviet States of Europe

Captain Zakaria Burch was in standing outside on a balcony near the bridge, overlooking the sea. His first mate, Karl Ramirez, a much younger, yet trustworthy lad, was standing by him, holding a pair of binoculars, and looking at Greater Saint-Paul. They could just see its mountains off in the distance. Both men knew that the battle would begin soon.

“Are they men ready?” Burch asked Ramirez.

“Yes sir, the landing ships are prepared. Captain Loren has confirmed that they are en route to the planned invasion area,” Ramirez replied, still looking through the binoculars. “Our fleet will begin to split in a few hours.”

“Good,” Burch replied, still looking at the ocean.

Ramirez put his binoculars down slowly and looked at the captain. “Sir, if I may ask, what if the invasion fails? What then?”

Burch took a glance at his first mate and looked back at the sea. He stared at it for a moment, Ramirez eventually looking at it again. Some seabirds passed by overhead towards Greater Saint-Paul.

“Look at those birds,” Burch said, pointing at them. “Not a care in the world - they fly where the wind takes them. Thus, the birds do not need to become involved in others affairs. The wind just blows them away.”

Ramirez looked at his captain, a puzzled look on his face. He thought of it for a moment and then understood. Burch was known for having a way with words. But in this case, words would not be enough to end this war.

The two men continued looking at the ocean, and the birds were carried among the winds of change.

Read dispatch

Part III
Part III of “The Circum-Cision Chronicles”

5 miles from Saint-Paul, Greater Saint-Paul
Yugobatanian Special Operations Division (YSOD)
Grumble Squad


The dark sky and the rustle of the trees hid their footsteps. Distant explosions were heard in the distant, muffled by the forest. The four figures ran among the trees, hiding in the shadows. They heard the barking of dogs in the distance and dropped to their knees.

One of them signaled to the group with a hand motion, and immediately, they slid on their night-vision goggles, activating them. They sat behind some trees in the dark, as a patrol of trucks drove by. They shut off the safety in their firearms, pointing them at the Paulistian patrol, and waited until they passed by.

The group continued on. One of them pulled out a satellite phone and turned it on.

“This is Grumble Squad, over,” he said. His voice was husky and weary. “1 klick south of supply depot, over.”

“Copy Grumble Squad,” a voice on the phone replied. “Remain under complete radio silence until further notice, over.”

The man shut off the remote, and Grumble Squad continued on. They had landed during the invasion of Greater Saint-Paul and The Soviet States of Europe. Grumble Squad, consisting of twelve men, all dropped in teams of four at different drop points. The 1st and 2nd Yugo Fleets had given them air cover as they were being flown in. When they first arrived, the Yugo landing ships had met fierce resistance from the Paulistians, but they were able to make headway - but at the cost of about one-fifth of the landing force - a loss of over 20,000 lives.

Grumble Squad hid behind some trees again to take a break.

“Corman, check the map,” the man from earlier said.

“On it,” Corman said. He pulled out a small portable GPS from his backpack and checked their area on the map. “We’re almost there Reg.”

The GPS also showed coverage of the Yugo forces as well, indicated as small dots far away from their dots. It was a complete overview of Operation Poltergeist, the name of the operation. It was a fitting name. For one, it was an operation that would employ shock and awe - as well as the classic military strategy, is known as blitzkrieg, or “lightning war”. It was also fitting for Grumble Squad’s current position too - they were ghosts among the forest, hiding in plain sight.

Grumble Squad, as well as the other squads deployed across GSP and FSSE, were special unit squads that were a part of the Yugobatanian Special Operations Division, or YSOD (pronounced as “why-sod”), an independent Yugobatanian black operations group within that Yugobatanian government that was only known to a few - even Supreme Emperor Solomon had limited knowledge of what went on in the YSOD.

In all technicality, all members of the YSOD didn’t even exist in the eyes of the public nor the government. They were that top-secret in their works.

Their mission was “ sabotage and disrupt enemy supply lines in secret, blowing sh*t up along the way, as well as gather intel through any means necessary. Torture practices are allowed. And maybe the good old military official assassination here and there, if possible.”

This was literally what it said on their debriefing file that they were given before they were deployed to the front, all handwritten by Supreme Emperor Solomon himself, who remembered that the YSOD existed while using the toilet in his mum’s house.

Joshua, one of the other squad members, sat next to Corman, as well as Halden, the fourth member of Grumble Squad.

“Looks like the boys are making headway,” he said, pointing at the dots. They were slowly moving slowly across the map of GSP. Apparently, they already took the cities of New Riga in the north of GSP, as well as New Victoria in the west, and Frankonia in The Soviet States of Europe.

“Alright, break times over chums,” Reg said, putting out his cigarette in the dirt. “Let’s move out.”

The men continued on into the woods, ghosts among the forest.

Read dispatch

Part IV
Part IV of “The Circum-Cision Chronicles”
(Play for greater effect: LinkGlorifica)

Near New Riga, Greater Saint-Paul
Early April, 2019

The tank silently watched over the hill, hidden among the snow-covered trees. The snow had already covered most of the tank, as it had stayed there for hours.

“When I was a child, I witnessed a group of boys steal from the local candy shop.”

A Greater Saint-Paulistian patrol of tanks were driving down the street, unaware of their hidden stalker.

“My father was furious when he found out. I protested and claimed ‘but I didn’t take anything.’”

The 105-millimeter cannon began to rotate towards the front of the convoy.

“‘Maybe not,’ he said. But…”

The turret stopped rotating. For a split-second, nothing happened. Then, a burst of fire erupted from the front tank, stopping the convoy. The tank lurched forward, driving towards them.

“ were there.”

The commander climbed down into the mighty T-800 Titan, and shut the commanders' hatch, ready to hunt some enemies.

“My name is Werner Hartmann…”

The enemy tanks began to furiously fire back, their rounds missing.

“...Commander of Titan tank number 479.”

The Titan fired back, taking another one out.

“And I was there.”

The Last Titan - Part I

One month later…
Vielo, Yugobatania
3rd Armoured Battalion

Hundreds of planes flew overhead information, their engines echoing amongst the hills and the barren streets. Intercoms around the city were playing propaganda music, to rally the troops' morale. Someone on the intercom was also speaking.

“...each defender is expected to sacrifice their lives for our glorious country - to the last bullet, the last shell.”

The tank sat in the middle of the paved street, as troops marched by and rode on the backs of transport trucks. Werner Hartmann waited for them to pass, and continued walking towards his steed.

“We will free our cities from the invaders and destroy them once and for all. Whether man…”

Hartmann stopped to salute for some soldiers. They continued off to march to the fields of hell, to fight off the Montarcian invaders. Next to Hartmann was a young lad, Erick Heel.

He saw his driver, Alfred Johann.

“It will all be over soon…” he said, looking towards the sky, his alcohol-induced therapist in one hand. Johann saw Hartmann and Heel. “Hartmann! Tell me we have a new radio guy and supplies.”

Heel handed Hartmann a clipboard filled with a checklist of supplies, which they were dangerously short of.

“I could, but that could be a lie, Johann. And I never tell a lie. You know that.”

Johann nodded in a half-hearted reply, looking elsewhere.”

“That’s a very noble move of you, Commander.”

Hartmann looked at the clipboard and looked at the supplies. They were low on everything - ammo, rations, even toilet paper.

“Eh…” Hartmann sighed. “We Commanders do not get the luxury of lying - it leads to nothing, especially in times of need.”

“Huh,” Johann replied. He took a long drink from his therapist and looked at Heel. “Ah, you must be our new radioman, eh? Our last one died. Poor lad. He was so young too.”

Heel looked at him, yet stayed quiet. Johann opened up the drivers' hatch and climbed in. His head was the only thing that poked out of it. The commanders hatch opened up, and out came Timo Turner, the loader. He was slightly older than Heel, yet still barely over 20.

“Is this the new radio guy?” he asked.

“Yes Timo, that is,” said Hartmann. “Now…”

Hartmann rested his hands on the Titan and looked around at his subordinates.

“Supreme Command wants us to move along with the 3rd Armored Battalion as well as the 10th and 11th Infantry Divisions. From there, we hold out until the 5th Fleet arrives with their invasion. Airborne troops will land before us.”

Johann took a sip, and Heel leaned on the Titan, albeit still nervous. Turner was in the process of cleaning the machine gun mounted on the top of the turret and was smoking a cigarette as well. It was bad for his lungs, as Turner attempted to quit multiple times, but old habits never die.

“Our mission is to act as a breakthrough. We move with the troops. Supreme Emperor Solomon wants all plans left behind to be burned, as to not fall to enemy hands. This is our last stand men. And finally, we radio in for air support to clean out the resistance. Once we are done, we are to move towards the Wuson Region to aid in Phase Two of Operation Double Cross near Itallitopia. Understand?”

His crew all nodded. Hartmann looked behind him one more time towards the once beautiful city, now in ruins. It saddened him that his home had to end up like this. But war is always the same. The crew of Titan 479 climbed in. Johann started up the massive V12 engine, the roar of the mighty engine echoed between the ruined walls of the collapsed shops and homes. Heel manned the gun, as Turner reloaded the 105, loading in an AP shot.

Hartmann stood among his steel behemoth on the commander's hatch, binoculars in hand.

“Forward Johann!” Hartmann yelled over the engine, extending his arm forwards.

“Roger Commander!” Johann replied.

Titan 479 lurched forward, its massive tracks moving across the pavement. They were soon to make history - a history that would become unwritten, the last of the Titans.

Read dispatch

Part V
Part V of “The Circum-Cision Chronicles"

Somewhere in the Aisdor Region

I couldn’t believe my eyes. For such a creature of magnificent prowess and was a shame that it had to be locked in here. But alas, this cage was only temporary, as the rest of us would have to conduct more tests on it, as well as the rest of them, in the wild.

I wildly stared at the creature resting in the cage, asleep, and lying down. Its scaly eyes were shut, and its chest heaved up and down with the great breaths it took. It had large teeth extending from its upper-jawline. It had scaly skin as dark as night, and an intimidating array of red stripes ran down its back. Its claws were massive, with only three fingers. And it was massive as well! About 20 feet tall, in fact, with a length of about 50 feet long. Spikes jutted from its rigid backbone, as a sort of armor for itself. The Carnotitan was a species that was native only to Yugobatania, as far as we could tell - and went extinct over 65 million years ago.

And thankfully, that thing wasn’t awake, because I sure as hell wouldn’t be around when it was.

It was only one of about 250 other various creatures. There were many who were the some, but there was also a variety of these other terrible lizards, of all shapes and sizes.

The only thing separating us from its comfy cage was a clear, very strong, plexiglass wall with air holes. A stinky, fly-filled, pile of meat and a small watering hole were scattered among the large cage, and soft, natural-feeling LEDs lit the room up.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” said a familiar voice. I turned to my left, and saw my co-worker, Rick Gerome. He was that typical nerdy guy you see in school - glasses, lab coat, even a pocket-protector with his white lab coat. He was holding a cup of coffee, taking periodic sips from it.

“It sure is, Rick,” I said. “Soon, we’ll be able to clone even more of them, and see how they behave in the wild.”

Rick took a sip from his coffee. I took a glance back at the creature.

“I think that it’s a great chick-magnet.”


“Y’know, like, imagine if you were riding in one day on one of these things, and you’d be all like ‘Wassup ladies?’”

We both laughed at the thought.

“We should be rechecking the DNA sequences,” I said. “Never can be too sure.”

Rick sighed, giving me that “But I don’t feel like it” look.

“Alright. But this time, I’ll be the one to check the nucleic acid sequence. Remember what happened last time?”

“Look, that was a simple mistake, okay? How was I supposed to know that it contained more than five phosphate molecules?”

We began walking the other direction. The lab itself was huge. It was in a large facility, about as large as a basketball court. Various other cages containing the creatures were scattered about for testing. The walls and floors were painted white. It was a tall forty-story building, located in the Aisdor Region. We were underground, deep in the subterranean testing facilities away from the public eye. People were working on microscopes and computers and other various things on this project. A large door served as an entryway for big things, with a smaller door for small things - like us. Our company was known as Yu-Genics, a pun on the phrase “Eugenics”. I thought it sounded pretty stupid, honestly.

It was a pretty boring place to look at, to be honest. I guess that’s just me. I’ve worked here for five years already, and I know this place like the back of my hand. Me and Rick stopped by my desk in the middle of the lab - a mess of papers and folders with a computer in the center.

“Dude, you’ve got to clean your workspace,” Rick said to me, leaning on my desk, looking disoriented about the stacks of papers.

“I like it. Beauty among the chaos, you know?” I said, as I was trying frantically look for the nucleic acid sequence reports. Maybe I should clean up a bit, for a little more ease of mind.

Finally, I found the file on it. It was labelled as “Carnotitan”, which meant “Carnivorous Giant”. That was the creature we looked at earlier. A dinosaur. And we were the first ones in the world to clone them - successfully, if I may add.

Rick began to talk, as I was handing him the file.

“So, you like ja-”

His words were cut off, as the large entry doors began to open up. Klaxons and red lights turned on above it, as they slid open ever so slowly. Suddenly, about 20 armoured cars and trucks drove inside. People ran out of the way, as they ran into tables and other equipment, before stopping. We ran closer for a better look. Men poured out of the trucks, armed with firearms. Our other co-workers flocked around the event, bewildered just as we were.

A man ran towards them. It was our supervisor, whom I only knew of as Fred - a chubby man with a large bald spot on the back of his head.

“Who the hell are you guys?” he said angrily, pointing at them.

A man walked out from one of the trucks, flanked by what appeared to be his bodyguard. He was wearing a beret, as well as a camo fatigue with body armour.

“This doesn't look good,” I whispered to Rick.

“Who’s that?” he asked back quietly, pointing at the figure.

“I think he’s the head honcho of these guys.”

The man removed his sunglasses. His hair was starting to turn gray - but he still looked pretty scary. What was even more scary was the various scars among his face. Yeesh. He most definitely needed some plastic surgery.

“Ah, Fred,” he said in a husky voice. He grinned, showing many wrinkles. “How nice it is to see you again.”

“What are you doing here Solomon?” Fred replied.

“Wait…that’s our Supreme Leader?” Rick whispered in surprise. “What happened to him?”

I merely just shrugged, as I was confused as everyone else.

“It’s impolite to speak to your leader in an informal manner, don’t you think?”

Suddenly, one person exclaimed “Heil Solomon!”, and raised their arm to the Yugo salute. Others followed suit, but me and Rick quietly did nothing. No one seemed to care, thankfully.

“That’s more like it. Now-”

“You didn’t answer my question, Solomon,” Fred interrupted, his face even more angry. Bad move. Solomon stared at Fred.

“Well, Fred - that’s your name right?” Solomon said. Fred nodded, as Solomon began walking towards him slowly. “It’s a crime, you know, to not address your leader in the proper manner.”

He stopped in front of Fred, looking down upon him, as he was taller. It kind of looked funny actually, in a weird way. I was starting to sweat now, even though the room was air-conditioned.

“I am now taking control of Yu-Genics, as well as this operation.”

Everyone broke into a murmur.

What?!” Fred exclaimed. “I’ve been facilitating Sector G for twenty years! You can’t just take it from me like that!”

I looked behind me, and saw the dinosaurs start to get riled up - perhaps due to all the noise. They began to make noises as well, ones that sounded like taunting. It sort of reminded me of a jail - the dinosaurs as the criminals, taunting the new guy who just entered the block. Only, this new guy is our Supreme Leader.

Supreme Emperor Solomon began walking towards one of the cages. People made a path for him, moving out of the way. Solomon stopped in front of the Carnotitan.

“Is this one of them?” he said, pointing at it while looking at Fred.

Fred nodded, reluctantly.

“Hm...most interesting,” Solomon replied, putting his hand to his chin in thought, his other hand behind him.

Suddenly, the Carnotitan jumped forwards towards the plexiglass, banging it with its head. It roared, nearly deafening me, and perhaps everyone else. Solomon only took a step back, relatively unphased. My fellow co-workers panicked, but Solomon stood his ground. He was actually smiling, surprisingly.

“Ah ha want to know how I got these scars?” he said to everyone. Before anyone got a chance to speak, he continued on. “From this bugger, right here.”

The Carnotitan was walking back and forth behind the plexiglass, snapping its jaws at him.

“This is the bugger that gave me these scars…” he said, running his finger from a large scar that ran from his mouth to his cheek. He looked back at the Carnotitan, not saying anything for a while. Finally, he turned towards us.

“We are to commence Operation Thunder Quake at once.”

I was unsure what the heck they were talking about, and so was everyone else, but apparently Fred knew.

“We can’t! We haven't tested them fully! It’s too dangerous!” he walked up to Solomon, and placed his finger on his chest firmly. “I’m not going to have more people die!”

The Carnotitan was still pacing back and forth, its small beady eyes looking at Solomon. Perhaps it too had a deep hatred of Solomon as well.

“Well…” Solomon grabbed Fred by the collar, somehow lifting his fat arse off the ground. “Since you disobeyed my orders…”

Solomon threw Fred to the ground.

“ are hereby discharged from service. Have a happy retirement.”

Solomon pulled out a pistol from his holster, and fired a shot at Fred. People screamed and gasped, as blood spilled from a neat bullet hole in Fred’s head.

“Now…” Solomon placed back his gun. “As I said earlier, Operation Thunder Quake is in effect. Which means…”

He placed his hand on the plexiglass. The Carnotitan banged the wall with its head. Solomon looked at the Carnotitan, and removed his hand, his face filled with displeasement. He still put on a smile for some reason.

“ are to deploy these beasts against our enemies in Vielo against the Montarcian forces, as well as the Lapathiyans and the Waupun Islanders occupying our glorious city.”

Solomon paced back and forth, as the Carnotitan started at him. The other dinosaurs in the room were making noises as well, roaring and screeching. But somehow Solomon was able to project his voice over all the noise.

“And comes my favorite part…” he said. “We send them Eripolis as a little gift...and we can’t forget about Oskarheim, Montarc themselves, and The Islands of Tonga, right? But first, we have some other things we need to set up...things that go boom in the night, if you catch my drift.”

Solomon walked back towards his armoured car. Soon, the soldiers got in, and started their engines. I had a bad feeling about that last sentence. Especially because he was still technically the leader of a terrorist organization. An organization that's willing to use any means necessary to win...

“Ooh…this is gonna be fun!” he said in a childish manner. I can’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. They drove off, leaving us alone with the dinosaurs once more. Thankfully, they all calmed down as well. Our co-workers started to disperse, a sense of tension filling the lab.

I was standing and looking at Fred’s body, as he was being dragged away by some other workers.

“Well, that was something,” Rick said, sipping his coffee as if nothing happened. “Oh great, I’m out of coffee already? I gotta go get some more. Catch you around.”

He walked off. I looked at him, and stared at the Carnotitan.

“ sure was bud.”
It was staring back at me, and somehow I felt as if we both knew what was soon to come.

“It sure was…”

OOC: This is what I imagine that the Carnotitan would look like (image is not mine):

On a side note, keep in mind that the nations mentioned would will have no idea what will hit them, or what Operation Thunder Quake is, just to be realistic.

Read dispatch

Part VI
Part VI of "The Circum-Cision Chronicles"

Later that day, a the Yugobatanian Public Broadcasting Service releases a special statement nationwide on TV. The broadcast was also secretly made to have a stronger signal, so it would reach other nations as far as South Anea.

"Heil Solomon! Hello, my name is Lisa Hamilton, and this is YPBS. Earlier today, the country of Minuda has dropped what is being dubbed as a 'Green Cloud', into our major cities of Vielo and Port Rione. Our nation has suffered enough, and personally, I think that we should end this stupid war..."

The broadcast cuts to static for a couple of minutes. In between, short split-second clips of the reporter are shown, looking as though she is being dragged off by multiple men. It soon returns back to normal, this time with a new reporter in place. He puts his hand on his earpiece, and continues on.

"Erm...Heil Solomon! Hello folks, I'm Ron Sterling of YPBS. Lisa Hamilton unfortunately, had a...uh...unfortunate incident, I should say," he shuffles his papers and takes a sip of a glass of water next to him. "Now, our Supreme Emperor Solomon has not been heard from for the past few weeks. But from what we do know, he and his generals are dealing with the situation gallantly. But, a message has been handed to us by letter from the Supreme Emperor. It says here..."

Ron Sterling flips through some papers, and pulls one out of the small pile.

"Ah, here we go." He puts it up near his face. "Dear aggressors against Yugobatania...we, the people, the government, everyone, of Yugobatania is most unhappy with what has begun as a simple 'misunderstanding' against us. Our government will use any means necessary, even if it means...'"

Ron Sterling paused for a second, and gulped.

"'...using our own citizens against you, leaving us no choice but to...sacrifice their lives. You may think it is uncivil, but we call it our last option. Erm...this so called 'Green Cloud' is merely just a small obstacle that can be swept away. You may think that you have won, demoralized us, scared us, beaten us but our day will come very soon against all of you. Ultio et ego victoria..."

Ron Sterling looked slowly back up at the camera, and tried his best to put on a smile.

"That will be all for today. Thank you...and may you all be blessed with the best of luck, and keep your families safe at home."

Ron Sterling sees a little note at the bottom.

"Wait a second, it says here to 'play the live footage.' What footage? I wasn't informed..."

The broadcast suddenly cut to static. Then, it cut to footage of Yugobatania, live on air. It showed horrifying images of citizens suffering and running away from the enemy. Violent images of dead citizens, their eyes bloodshot from the gas, were shown. Many of their bodies were corroded, their skin peeling off.

The next shot showed a little child, dead. Gun shots littered her chest and head. Surrounding her were what appeared to be Montarc and Waupun Island soldiers, laughing around her, and taking a smoke break. The camera was hiding from them from what appeared to be a balcony. The soldiers seemed to notice it, as they shot at the camera, flipping backwards, presumably killing the cameraman. It cut to static, ending the broadcast.

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