The year is 1921. After the Great War plunged the war into conflict between the Darwinists and Clankers, common sense would say that things would be looking up five years later.

Common sense would be wrong. Between ecological devastation from the short, brutal, indecisive war, the deaths and displacement of hundreds of thousands, millions of francs and guilders worth of destroyed infrastructure and tools, and the loss of stability caused by all this, there were few options left for many countries. As the two giants of the world slowly started muttering in their back halls and revanchist pits, other countries started planning for the next wave: in specific, three of the lesser powers.

Beset by iron warhawks in the East and godless beasts in the West, the Netherlands stood between damnation and ruin. No amount of careful diplomacy would serve to protect them after the violation of the Treaty of Berlin, and the honest fact was that developing an apparatus of war with the tools they had to bring to bear would be hopeless. The weapons of industrial war were tantalizingly close, but to deploy them in numbers would doom the economy, and the people of that country.

Abandoned under the feet of the Germans, what remained of Belgium was a destroyed, looted wasteland. Scars of war crisscrossed it like a devil's patchwork, filled with chemical weapons and mutated monsters in pockets of Hell waiting for a chance to be breached. Her people had been beaten and battered bloody, and it was well time to stand up if they could find their feet. The scraps of man's animal allies would be their crutch as they dug down to a bedrock to place it into.

Small, insignificant, nigh-forgotten in the world's stage, a lonely Grand Duchy stood; Luxembourg was its name. Few would remember their role and their rail as they were run over, but occupation had not brought weal or woe; 'liberation' had seen that done well enough. Still, a canny hand and a steady eye were present there, and integration was the key word to victory.

The decision to unite the three was rather controversial at the time, proposed as it was by an extremely drunk Charlotte of Nassau-Weilburg, Archduchess of Luxembourg at a champagne party held in the wake of a ballet held in Monte Carlo. Wilhelmina of Orange-Nassau was attending, and had a grand chuckle at the suggestion, but did not openly speak out against it. When Albert I of Saxe-Coeburg-Gotha and king of Belgium bumbled into the conversation, however, that was when a divine farce in an alcoholic haze turned into a serious series of suggestions.

Properly speaking, it would be to form one country, divided into cantonal groups that would allow the provinces and regions to exert their own powers and systems. Each would elect to their own parliaments, and in cases of national interest, the three crowns and three parliaments would come together in an equal vote, with an emergency tiebreaking position held in trust by a judiciary member chosen at random from the highest courts of the three countries.

It says much about the nature of the world after the destruction of the Great War that there was not rioting in the streets as the motion was discussed domestically, nor that there was a fighting, screaming motion to be had as the countries hemmed and hawed their legislations to join together in such a union of troubles. The House of Nassau would be reunited; the House of Belgium would become ascendant as the promise to make strong the bonds of friendship.

You, meanwhile, are an officer, who has spent two years in terror and the following three in an uncomfortable limbo between being ready to be called to service or to be released fully to a civilian life. Unfortunately, as the three countries have coalesced, the decision was made early on to bring the national militaries into a single command structure at the highest levels, with unity petering down like water soaking into soil. And what poison of unity it is.

In Belgium, the war was fought with biological weapons of dozens of types, both those that breathed and those that grew. War-crops and creatures of battle proliferated at every level as the army retreated behind the Yser, and in the years since every spare beast has been brought in to bolster the ranks. Albert may be a charitable king, but he is no fool: there is blood in the air, and every man knows the rabble have not finished their feasting. This arrangement is for mutual security, and while Belgium has bought with diplomacy an unspoiled army, it has also brought one into the fold filled with untested technology and men who haven't seen hell and pushed the flames back down into the jaws with bayonet-point and shotshell.

In the Netherlands, there was no war, but a peace of poison. The blockade starved many businesses, while it was only the matters of diplomacy that had stopped Schlieffen from designing a plan to overrun them as well in the quest to destroy France. Tepid industrialization on the backs of the Germans had proven to be a mistake, but falling into the hands of the British and French beastmakers had been equally dangerous. If the economic drivers in Belgium could be brought to the untouched lands of Holland, Utrecht, and the rest of the Netherlands, then that growth would allow for a degree of freedom from the Germans. Until that freedom was obtained, however, it would be best to pretend that this new country that was forming did not bend a knee to the Darwinist powers that be. For the time being, the best plan was to prepare the military frontier, and spend the experience of the Belgians to reform the Men of Orange into a group that would not flinch when the Devils of the Rhine came for them.

In Luxembourg, the only question to mind was trade. Every man, beast, tool, and gun had a cost; every cost weighed against the power of the state to defend itself. Even-handed mediation would be needed to keep the other two powers in check, and nowhere else was the house of cards and noble blood seen to be so shaky as in those halls in Luxembourg City. One day, a convention of the Constitution would come to bind or break this fledgling state, and when it happened their influence would wane into the night. Until the day that happened, then, it would be best to push onwards, to bind all together as firm as possible.

In the halls of the new High Command, however, the first unified decisions had come down. Dutch arms would be the order of the day across all units, as their Haber plants would work to fuel the needs of ammunition. Mannlichers and Steyrs were the order of the day as plants were built to fuel the need, but the men of Belgium wanted a quid pro quo: a new, standardised warbeast to be attached to every battalion of the army.

You, personally, thought this was madness. High Command loved it: and thus, as an officer with "technical skills of merit" and being windershins, had been assigned to the project. You weren't the head of the project, per say- that was old Major Klaes- but your words had weight, since there were only eight fellow Captains here.

God be with you, this was going to be rough.

-/-/-/-/
VOTES

Note: Some votes will be Mutually Exclusive. This means if you vote for X, you cannot vote for Y.

Where are you from?
[] Luxembourg (Start speaking French, Luxembourgish)
[] Flemish (Start speaking Dutch, English)
[] Walloon (Start speaking French, bonus contacts)
[] Dutch (Start speaking Dutch, German)

What is your technical skill?
[] Light Machinery: You can operate most industrial tools without blinking, and have an understanding of most internal and external combustion engines.
[] Heavy Machinery: You can operate most industrial vehicles without blinking, whether they operate with wheels, legs, or tracks; and you can understand and operate steam engines (mutually exclusive with: Flemish, Walloon)
[] Animal Handling: You grew up dealing with animals, and continued that in your career in logistics. The skill never left, however, and you are comfortable with all manner of unmodified draft animals.
[] Beast Handling: You grew up dealing with Darwinist creations, and continued that throughout your time in the Army. You are comfortable handling all genetically modified mammals, plants, and symbiotic insects. (mutually exclusive with: Dutch, Luxembourgish)
[] Small Arms: You are intimately familiar with all man portable weapons, from the humble pistol to the absurd anti-walker and anti-elephantine rifles. Any weapons designed to be operated by a single person are within your domain of expertise.
[] Artillery: You are intimately familiar with all crew served shell firing guns, from the light 37mm field pieces meant to destroy machine gun nests, to the great 14" howitzers deployed to attempt to shatter fortresses flat. Any weapon firing an explosive payload is part of your domain.
[] Lighter than Air Flight: You have floated among the clouds, tethered only by your beast and a strong rope. The air is your domain. (mutually exclusive with: Dutch, Luxembourgish)
[] Radio: You served with the wireless telegraphy offices, and electricity to this day stands strong with you. Electronic communications are your specialty, as well as any device that requires electric systems or subsystems. (mutually exclusive with: Flemish, Walloon)

Sitting down at the table in the Quartier général de l'armée interarmées, you sighed and adjusted your tie. Following a rushed promotion to Captaine, you had been sent in by Major Reine to serve as the primary Luxembourgish delegate to the Combined General Staff. Considering your nonexistent combat expertise, however, and the fact you'd spent most of the war organizing train schedules and refueling for the Germans, it was fairly understandable the Belgians had a slight mistrust of your position. Which, given the fact you were a mechanics expert who couldn't speak German for shit, just added on the irony.

Still, Luxembourg was part of this menage a trois, and the politicians were not willing to let your country get locked out of all the halls of power: thus, your assignment to the Strategic Arms, Beasts, Operations, Tactics board.

The fact the Flemish officers laughed their ass off at the fact you were part of the Wooden Shoe group may have made you tempted to lob a sabot at them, but they were still in fact correct. The Board only had two shoes to rub together right now, and the task coming down the pike was rather monstrous- literally. The order of the day was to develop a weapons system or fabricated creature to serve as an auxiliary weapon at the company as an attached section, or as an integral part of the platoon level to make up for the crippling lack of support weapons at this time.

Theoretically, an infantry platoon was to be composed of fifty-two men, with four light machine guns, nine rifle grenadiers, six hand grenadiers, twenty-eight riflemen with secondary tasks such as ammo-bearing or serving as assistant gunners as needed, four runners, and the lieutenant. For this new animal or weapons system, the plan was to remove four riflemen from the platoon and assign them as the primary handlers or operators, with riflemen pulled to serve as assistants as needed.

Practically, as your reading indicated, most platoons were either running large, at sixty-some men for the Dutch, or running short at forty-some for the Belgians. The current plan was to attach Belgian handlers over for any proposed war beasts or Dutch operators for technically complex weapons, with reciprocal unit investment in the NCO corps. The disaster of staffing wasn't your job, though, so you got back to the research grindstone.

The Dutch powers-that-be wanted a technological solution for this mess, preferably one based around delivering explosives or incindiaries to the target quickly, violently, and above all in great mass. Ideas for a supermassive rifle grenade system to launch mortar-esque payloads had been suggested, as well as platoon-level incendiary grenades for rifle and hand bomb use. The main idea behind their concepts is to deny enemy fortified positions for as long as possible, allowing low-level units to organically deny machine gun nests, listening posts, and other targets of opportunity.

The Belgian Army, such as it remains, is ironclad set on a fabricated creature for political reasons. Due to the low manpower and availability of a battle-harned corps of handlers, the ability to siphon off Dutch reserves to fill Belgian formations is a powerful motivator. To solve the problem, staff are looking for a large attack animal, built around a quadrupedal form, without a direct human element involved or backing ecosystem. Beasts would have a focus on either stealth or armor and redundancy, operating separately from their handlers in the most part. Doctrinally, the use is sound- Italian Alpeni and line regiments made good use of their Fording Dogs during the early battles on the Isonzo, and French grenadier battalions with their cochons de combat had been incredibly lethal in all stages of the war.

With this all in mind, you collected your briefcase, and walked into the meeting chamber after lunch, as proscribed. The round table is divided aggressively, in three very obvious camps.

The first are the toadies to the Major: two Belgian uniforms, one Dutch. They introduce themselves as Van Beek for the Dutchman, and Hendrikx and Vizard for the Belgians. Hendrikx is surprised you're the only Luxembourgish member of the board, but considering the fact you were one of less than a hundred commissioned officers in your country before the War, you yourself weren't exactly surprised.

The second bloc is the Dutch group. Leading it is Citroen, a bitter fellow who has the crossed wrenches of a man in your trades; the second is named Vroom, and is eagerly thumbing through a worn Dutch/French dictionary.

Finally is the French-speaking group, one of whom you eye as being Flemish to the other's pure Walloon stare. Vandievoet is the first, a madcap grin on his face; Claes is the second, a more stodgy look as he chews on a pipe.

With little choice to the matter, you situate yourself in the Belgian wing of the table due to necessities of language, and pull out your notepad and a pen. Soon, the words and papers begin flying, the language barrier not slowing the flow of concepts. It quickly becomes apparent that Major Klaes was both a gatekeeper, translator, and referee- any idea that couldn't be pitched to him quickly and accurately was shot down in flames before it could go to the other side of the table; counterarguments the same. However, since he was also the nominal head of the board, it was his will that would end this madcap argument… and his will was, in this, democracy.

By the end of the first two days, even the good Major's patience was frayed. Both sides had two rough concepts drawn up and covered in napkin notations, but neither had anything approaching something that could be tendered out or shopped around. After discussing with Klaes, you quickly figured out you were the defacto tie-setter here. If you sided with the Dutch and their mechanical proposals, it would tie, go to him, and he would vote in their favor. If you sided with the Belgians, the 5-3 majority would carry the field, and he wouldn't object. Realistically, Klaes was an old fogey and he knew it, and if you knew it and promised to make his job easier, he wouldn't make your job harder.

Which naturally turned into booking time with a translator and the ideas-men of the Dutch. The two napkin proposals for technological solutions, by Citroen and Vroom respectively, were both simple.

Citroen's proposal was a heavily modified minewerfer, or mine-launcher. Practically, it was a pocket-sized mortar between 50 and 75 millimeters in bore, with a simple three-position tripod and fixed baseplate, with a vented barrel that was covered with a sleeve to control gas retention and therefore range. With a fixed firing pin and being in large part a scrap chunk of pipe with some bits welded on and off, it would be a cheap, easy solution.

Vroom's proposal, meanwhile, was a dedicated grenade projector. By massively cutting down an 11mm Gras rifle, it could be fitted with a heavy rod grenade, and the 11mm cartridge meant it could haul around many times the powder of a more modern gun's charge. With a light 'standard' grenade, it could theoretically be shoulder fired, and heavier 'payload' grenades could have the launcher ground-fired like a light mortar with the aid of a resting stick. Payloads could be explosive, fragmentation, incendiary, gas, smoke, or anti-walker (a white phosphorus illumination round with a bursting charge to ensure maximum spread).

The Belgian and Walloon suggestions, meanwhile, needed no translator for the language, but the concepts needed a lot of help. You were an engineer, for crying out loud. You did train things. This was not train things.

Vandievoet's suggestion was an older model of the French wargery mount- and it took a minute for you to get that the French had a wolf cavalry branch- that had yet to meet size requirements, and pygmize it to a degree. The resulting beast would be about 80 to 90 centimeters tall at the shoulder, dark in coloration with a light stripe in the coat, and bullet resistant to 8mm Mauser fired from a standard rifle at distances up to 300m. They would be stealthy, ferociously loyal to handlers, and mankillers with proper training. More importantly, they also had the benefit that they would be a one-to-one animal: one handler, one warbeast. This would ease strain on new handlers, since the old blood would be trying to cycle out of the army, and also keep warbeast fratricide to a minimum since they were already social and pack animals.

Claes' suggestion, meanwhile, was both cheaper, faster, and more risky. With the existing boar stock and the genetics facilities that had been evacuated, a war boar could be quickly engineered. They would be bulletproof from 8mm Mauser to 100m with good engineering, require multiple shots to kill, and would allow for handlers to work with up to four beasts per: a massive combat power boost per platoon. However, the hogs were a risk, as their scavenging nature would make it difficult to command them over prolonged periods of time. Likewise, they were also a very real risk for warbeast fratricide, as warbeasts fed on many pig-based products and might identify them as food; and because a pack of war pigs was liable to kill any injured war-beast they came across even if they were recoverable; and most damningly, might turn on inexperienced handlers in the heat and stress of combat and attack them or men of their home unit.

Either way, the vote was to be cast: to side with machine, or to side with monsters.

VOTES
[] Vote for Mechanical Solutions
This vote opens Citroen and Vroom's proposals for development, as well as tendering offers from other companies.
[] Vote for Biological Solutions.
This vote opens Vandievoet and Claes' proposals for development, as well as tendering offers from other state bestiaries.

(AN: While not totally obvious, there is a bit of a reputation system in play here. There's still two very distinct armies here working to normalise with each other, and there will be politics involved on the forefront of the union. Working with one side over the other will make them like you more; blatant favouritism will get you in trouble with your home. Coming from Luxembourg, you've implicitly chosen Hard Mode for parts of this quest since you have no constant support, which will be less problematic as you advance in power.)