[b][i]Miguel Saavedra Tejero[/i], Marsaxlokk, Malta[/b]

Telecall screens glowed with a warm light within the bridge, casting a faint bluish glow upon General Victor Ponferrada's jacket as he stood before the bridge's camera live feed camera. Glassy medals and buttons affixed to his lapels and breast shimmered with a quivering rainbow band as the equipment acquired the video feed from the other parties. As the muted tone of the idle audio hummed through the destroyer - christened after the beloved statesman who had been slain nearly five years prior - the general took a moment to dust off any stubborn motes of lint that might yet cling to his shoulders and sides. With an obsessive diligence he scanned over the remainder of his uniform and swatted away imaginary flecks of debris. Even so, General Ponferrada was not content that his outfit was entirely in order, and so he turned to his output camera and pressed a button on the nearest screen's monitor that switched channels over to what his own camera could see.

He had hoped to use the camera as a mirror to spot any errant strands of fluff upon his immaculately pressed uniform, but upon seeing himself on the screen, he was reminded that this was a futile effort. Cutting edge technology though it was, the telecall system remained in its infancy. The visual resolution was abhorrent; the compression required to make a live feed transmissible through telephone lines reduced his flawless suit into a vaguely torso-shaped mass of bluish gray speckled with fuzzy, multicolored dots. Almost indistinguishable from the fluorescent-illuminated surroundings was a peach-colored mass that passed for the general's face capped with an equally fuzzy general's cap. The tufts of curly black locks poking through from underneath the general's cap were totally lost to the compression, as was his gaunt, pointed visage. It was as if Ponferrada was looking upon himself with the eyes of a nearly-blind man.

Though Ponferrada had little in the way of enthusiasm for this marvel of modern technology, Alfonso Sotelo had fully embraced this breakthrough in telecommunications. It had become his preferred means of conference with his far-flung advisers and as such, the general had little choice but to participate in these video calls. What's more, Madrid - upon notifying General Ponferrada of Sotelo's intention to conduct a telecall this evening - had hinted that the matter was of the utmost urgency.

The two television screens flickered with a rainbow band of colors, then erupted into waves of static. Materializing from the flickering specks came two faces; the man appearing on the screen to his right would have been unrecognizable even if it weren't for the terrible picture quality. The figure to his left was unmistakable. Both the general and the figure on the screen to his right brought their arms to their brows in rigid salute as the image of Alfonso Sotelo manifested before them.

"Your Excellency, it is always a pleasure to speak with you." Ponferrada acknowledged.

"At ease." Sotelo ordered, waving his hand across the screen to dismiss their salutes. "We have little time for such pleasantries, the fate of this African enterprise may yet be in jeopardy. I understand that you, General, may not yet be privy to these details that have come to light of late. I will allow Head Commissioner Desjardin to share with us the findings of the Oficina."

"Thank you, Excellency." The raspy voiced head on the other screen chimed in.

Even with the poor resolution, General Ponferrada could make out the bust of a jowel-chinned man with a mouth wreathed by a thin goatee. Even upon hearing his name, the general still did not recognize him. Ponferrada had never before heard of the Oficina de Inteligencia Militar's newest leader, nor would he make any effort to commit the man's name to memory. The previous Head Commissioner - like so many of Sotelo's early advisers and older generals - had been purged from his position. The Prime Minister's incessant paranoia had played a major role in the massive turnover that had taken place throughout the whole of the Second Republic's government. A failed attempt on the Prime Minister's life two years before had only served to rationalize his mistrust of those whose role it was to advise him on various matters. As a result, Spain's prime minister typically refused to accept or follow the suggestions his advisory committees provided. It was becoming apparent that the Prime Minister was more interested in accumulating a cabinet of docile yes-men than qualified assistants.

"Allow me to debrief you as to the situation at hand, General." The Head Commissioner's screen graveled on. "Approximately seven hours ago, a task force of Oficina agents in Armenia apprehended an individual of Maltese nationality - one Sergio Espalazanni. In a sting operation our operatives found that he and his affiliates had offered the sale of sensitive information concerning tactical movements of Spanish military assets in the Mediterranean Sea." A concerned frown drew across the general's face.

"Sensitive information concerning what exactly?"

"What do you think, General?" Sotelo responded in snotty condescension. "The fact that the Third Mechanized division is mobilizing is for sale to every espionage organization in the West!"

"We do not yet know the extent of his knowledge." Head Commissioner Desjardin droned. "But until we can extract the full scope and veracity of the informant and the information he and his affiliates had been peddling, we must assume the worst. We have known for some time that the Chinese possess a powerful and well-organized intelligence network and our suspicion is such that the Chinese are at least nominally active within the Armenian state. We must assume that the Chinese are aware of the coming incursion into Africa."

"And that they had forwarded their findings to the Ethiopian government!" Sotelo groaned, slapping his palm into the surface of the desk. "A lapse in security of this magnitude is a monstrous failure! Inexcusable! I will know who is responsible for allowing this information to leak! Be it by treason or incompetence, those responsible will be held accountable!"

"And they will, Excellency." The Oficina head reassured. "As we speak, Espalazanni and three of his associates are in our custody and are being transported across the border into the Anatolian state, where they will undergo preliminary interrogation. More thorough processing will occur at the Arratzu facility. Needless to say, they will shortly come to regret their actions."

"I should hope so." The Prime Minister sighed, seeming somewhat relieved by suffering that awaited the captive informants.

"Unfortunately, we must also discuss the implications of these findings on the Ethiopian... [i]Intervention[/i]. Knowing that both the Chinese and Ethiopian governments are aware of the Republic's intentions in Africa, the Ejercito may expect an enemy that is better prepared to repel them - potentially with Chinese support. It would be most prudent to postpone any action in the Mediterranean for a period of perhaps six months to allow the preparedness of the socialists to wane once."

"Absolutely not! This operation has been postponed for too long as it already is - I will not allow allow them more time!" Sotelo demanded. "Every single day that the Chinese shill sits upon the throne of Ethiopia is an affront to the Second Republic! I will abide the Chinese puppet state on our periphery no longer!"

General Ponferrada rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment before entering the exchange again. "I am in agreement with his Excellency. The Ethiopian military has fought a hard-won conflict with the Ottoman Empire and their military is spent. They are at their weakest now and any time we waste will only afford them time to recoup. Even if they are aware of our intentions - a possibility that is just that: merely possible - their preparation will mean little.Their army is at its weakest at this moment and the Chinese are half a world away. It will take their military a considerable time to mobilize, and even then their fleets must sail nearly nine to ten thousand kilometers to reach Eastern Africa. If they attempt to come to Africa's aid they will arrive far too late to be of any assistance."

"We must strike now."

"Indeed." Sotelo agreed, winding down. "I wish to speak with General Ponferrada with some privacy. Head Commissioner, you are dismissed."

"As you wish, Excellency." As he was ordered, Desjardin's visual feed cut out in a blink of static as he left the telecall. The familiar color bar returned to the general's right screen, leaving only Alfonso Sotelo on the line.

"I have issued orders to the Armada" Sotelo spoke up once he was content that Desjardin could no longer hear them. "Admiral Santin and the Mediterranean Fleet are bound for the Suez. I trust that your forces are adequately prepared for combat."

"Naturally." 

"Then you are to mobilize. Join with the Mediterranean Fleet, and make for the Ethiopian coast. Proceed toward Addis Ababa and engage any hostile elements that might attempt to obstruct you."

"Understood, your Excellency."

Sotelo's visual feed melted away in a froth of static which gave way to a flickering color bar and the muted tone. The general turned the screens off and made his way to the fore of the bridge. Speckles of light and the illuminated cupolas of the Church of Marsaxlokk shone in from the inky night beyond, leaving a rippling mirror image in the harbor below. In the hills beyond the town, white floodlights illuminated another settlement of sprawling tents and Quonset huts. It was there, six thousand infantrymen of the Third Mechanized settled down for the night, unaware of the rude awakening that would be disturbing them shortly. The general drew a chunky telephone tethered to a bridge console by a coiled wire to his mouth.

"Wake them."