[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceZRK_dTYyc][center][h3][color=f26522]Bittersweet[/color][/h3][/center][/url]

The morning sun crept back into the air. If the sun could think, it most surely would have mourned.

The first gleaming rays kissed a broken city and red dunes covered in the dead. Some were from Los Pueblos Unidos. Some were militiamen. Some were soldiers sent by the Security Council to protect the town. Before them lay smoking heaps of wreckage and the lifeless bodies of the invading army that had beset the Hopi Nation.

Diane leaned on her rifle, staring across that deathly valley. The wind tossed sand over those brave men and women on both sides who'd sacrificed themselves for this... this...

"We won," said someone behind her. Diane turned her head and saw the tired, smiling face of a young man. Diane didn't know his name. He was wrong, though: it wasn't victory to have your own city pummeled into dust by cannon fire. It wasn't victory to lose so many people, nor to have to kill so many people. And it wasn't victory for your best friend to...

Diane turned away from him. She looked out over the rubble that remained of the wall and back at the field of bodies.

"Yes," she answered. "We won."

[hr]

The victory wasn't complete, however. The Huachua had taken over five towns in the Hopi nation and destroyed another two, and they had fortified their positions well. There were rumors that more of these invaders were coming, too; and although most of northern Arizona was still securely in Hopi hands, the Huachua threat showed weaknesses in the League and in the border defenses.

There was considerable debate among the Security Council over how best to deal with the threat. The prevailing attitudes were to either strike back as hard as possible against the Huachua or to enter negotiations immediately. Secretary General Bigishie presented a plan that truly embraced "big stick" diplomacy: he suggested taking the army and surrounding the captured towns, besieging them for a few days, then approaching the Huachua for negotiations. Presumably, the threat of facing the combined strength of the Council Guard, the militia, and the national armies would be enough to pressure the Huachua into revealing what they wanted and into surrender. After much debate, the plan was approved.

Good news arrived from the north. First, the expedition sent north finally returned, and it bore the fruits of successful negotiation: heaps of grains were loaded onto horse-drawn wagons, and word was that Gottesland was open to consistent trade.

The sudden influx of food supplies was exactly what was needed to begin the process of securing the Free People of New Mexico's membership in the League. The process was far from over; there were still details that needed to be hammered out. However, being able to offer both an immediate and consistent supply of rations meant that the prospect of inducting all of New Mexico into the League was suddenly a very real possibility.

A caravan was assembled once more, this one with spare fuel for the trip back to the League, laden with metals and coal for trade with Gottesland. Their orders were very explicit: [i]do not let the Gotteslanders confiscate the vehicles. Bring back more food.[/i] The Council hoped this would begin a good, steady relationship of trade. They did not know about the revolution happening in the land they were starting trade with.

[hr]

A considerable force was arrayed around the occupied town of Kayenta. The Navajo and Hopi Nations provided most of the manpower, their soldiers stationed behind sandbags to provide them some protection from the superior weapons of the Huachua. There was a general hullabaloo as reinforcements came in. Occasional spurts of rifle fire came from the town toward the encamped soldiers around Kayenta, but these merely interspersed long stretches of silence and waiting. Nothing much was happening. There was a standstill and a large, empty field between the town and the surrounding army.

A truck started rolling out from the larger army, a white flag of truce held aloft. Inside were a few soldiers, yes, and an officer as well, but also Ambassador Sabrina Wallace. The fifty five year old woman sat in the back of the truck with her suitcase on her lap. She defined calm: she was composed, sat with poise, and didn't show a hint of nervousness. Her confidence had already infected the others in the vehicle, veterans and greenhorns alike. They exuded airs that could make a grizzly bear think they were in charge.

The truck stopped short of the town, and out stepped Ambassador Wallace. She brushed her gray hair back and stepped on forward, escorted by five Council Guardsmen. It was then that someone called out from behind the walls, "What do you want?" At least a dozen visible guns, probably many more unseen, were pointing down at the small group standing in the open.

"We're here to negotiate," the Ambassador called back crisply. "Take us to your leader."