NationStates Jolt Archive

Merryside School, Grithist City, Nebulasia:
http://img304.imageshack.us/img304/2884/merrysidevw9.jpg

***

Jack Naxon drew in a nervous breath stepped into the conference room. He was met by an immediate medley of questions and camera flashes coming from the bustling crowd before him. He ignored them, steeled himself, and stepped up onto the podium. He wore an expression of a man who had been dragged through hell and back. He had not slept for 48 hours and he was exhausted.

But there was no resting. Not now.

He took the microphone in his right hand and brought it up to his mouth. For a moment he shut his eyes, and the entire room that was filled with insensitive officials and journalists quietened. He couldn’t believe he had to do this. He opened his eyes again and looked dead ahead.

“People of the world, I stand before you as a desperate man. Nebulasia, poor and wounded, stands before you as a desperate nation. Yesterday a group of terrorists known to us to be Sanquars, our sworn enemies, have taken an entire school hostage. Their demands are more than I can be prepared to offer them. They are ruthlessly organised and know exactly what they are doing. There are 20 adults in that school, along with 200 children. They are going to kill one every hour until their demands are met. Nebulasia’s Special Forces are not enough to be able to secure their safety, and that is why I am here. I plead with the leaders of powerful nations around the world to aid us. Please, the longer we wait the more innocent lives are lost. Lend us your aid and we will not forget it. That is all.”

He stepped down from the podium, blinking tears from his eyes. After everything he had done following the civil war to get the nation standing on its own two feet – he had found himself pleading for help. He ignored the swarms of journalists that were bombarding him with their grimy words. They would find out what they wanted soon enough.

He made his way directly from the conference room straight through to the briefing room, his aids and secretaries on either side of him. There he found his military officials and his closest advisors. He cut the pleasantries.
“Give me the briefing.” General Firce was the one who leapt to his feet. He cleared his throat and began.

“Sir, our initial estimates suggest that there are 30 Sanquar terrorists in the school, all armed with assault rifles, rations, goggles and other equipment. We expect them provide us with some fierce resistance; they are trained killers – cold blooded terrorists. They have drawn blinds on all the windows preventing us from seeing in, but heat vision suggests they have split the 220 people into different rooms about the school. Every door has been locked and bombarded from the inside. We have one single line of communication which is a telephone in the school office. We currently have 10 Special Forces units outside ready, but they are not enough. Also note that a considerable amount of parents and reporters are crowded around that area – the police are doing their best. The demands are as follows: They will release the hostages provided that you release sanctions for good on the Sanquar section of the nation and release all of their officials that have been put in jail. They also request safe passage out of the country for the terrorists themselves. They say they will kill one hostage an hour until their demands are met. If we make a move on them which they deem a threat, they will slaughter one quarter of the hostages. If we make a move which places them in a position which they know they will not succeed in their mission, i.e we start killing them all – they will eradicate every single hostage.”

Naxon slumped into a chair and sank his head into his hands.
“Good God, let’s hope there is someone out there who can help us.”

***

OOC: Seeking nations who wish to bring in their special forces, perhaps a few squads, to help devise a plan and solve the hostage crisis. I will be roleplaying both the terrorists and the NSF (my special forces).

Terrorists

Victor Jackson strode quickly down the school corridor, his leather boots clicking on the cold floor. All around him he could hear sobs and mumbles coming from the rooms full of hostages. He could also hear his own men screaming at them to shut up or they die.

Victor was well aware of the swarms outside. It was all a puppet show to them – the media. It wasn’t real to them, it was a story. Well, this was real. This was about as real as it got. He turned the corner, passing another patrolling Sanqar who threw him a salute. He nodded as if they were old friends. Sanquars treated each other with respect. Victor finally reached the door he was headed towards, and barged in. The hostages inside, bound up on the floor of the wrecked classroom, eyes blotched and red from tears, leapt out of their skins. Victor just smiled. They stared at him with so much fear, it made him feel powerful. The Sanquar in the room knew what this was about as Victor inspected the hostages. They flinched as he stepped past them.

There was a muffled cry, an elderly male voice. The Sanquar swung a punch and the loud smack of flesh on flesh almost echoed around the room. The elderly man was dragged to his feet, nose bleeding and thrown at Victor, who caught him by the hair and kicked him out of the door.
“You all be good children now. Your head-teacher and I are going for a cup of coffee and a chat.”

He smirked as he shut the door behind him and dragged the sobbing man back down the corridor.
“For christ’s sake, take it like a man and walk!” Victor roared at the man, who began to stagger in his wake. When they reached the school office Victor kicked open the door. “In there.”

He sat the old man in a chair and placed him in a corner of the small room. Victor then sat at the desk and picked up the phone. He assumed the authorities had already re-routed the phone-line so he could get in touch.
“What is this all about? Let the children go… please…” the old man sobbed. In a ‘no-shit’ kind of way Victor simply flicked the safety off his AK-47 and pointed it at the man’s head, which shrunk away.
“Shut the fuck up old man.” In seconds someone picked up.
“This is Detective John Laster. How’s it holding up in there?”
“This is Victor Jackson, head of this Sanquar operation. From now on you listen to me, I call the shots. I have someone here to speak to you.” He moved the phone over to the old man. “Tell him who you are and that they are all doing fine.”
“I won’t co-operate with you… scum…”

Victor squeezed the trigger of the AK-47. The shots were loud enough to send panic across the school. Dust and pieces of carpet floated in the air.
“I’m asking you nicely, old man.” The man sobbed some more.
“I am the head-teacher, David Mandle… they have us hostage… everyone is alive and well…”
“Tell them to do what we ask.”
“They want…”
“No, you want.”
“Please… just do it. Save the children…” The man broke into a fit of sobs. Victor snatched the phone back.
“The countdown starts now. In one hour we’re going to have to start killing. This old man is going to be the first.”

Message from Vestern States Ministry of Foregin Affaris.

We are willing to ledy you any nessecary help in this situation. The 5th Imperial Battlegroup is currently conducting naval exercises 200 clicks off your territorial water. They can send a first SF-unit to lend support. More units can be brougth in as the Battlegroups comes closer to your waters. We can also put UAV:s över the school to help monitor the terrorist activities. A first platoon of SF-soldier can be deployd in 3 hours.

Official reply to Vestern States:

"Your help in this horrific situation is greatly appreciated. However, by the time 36 hours is up, we would have lost 36 hostages to these monsters. Any haste you can offer in this matter would be critical.

Thank you for your kind support."

Official reply to Sephrioth:

"We thank you greatly for your support Sephrioth. Any haste you can offer in this terrible situation would be paramount. Please have your men surround the perimetre on arrival. Your co-operation with the NSF will be appreciated.

Thank you again."

Official reply to Vestern States:

"Your help in this horrific situation is greatly appreciated. However, by the time 36 hours is up, we would have lost 36 hostages to these monsters. Any haste you can offer in this matter would be critical.

Thank you for your kind support."

Fligthdeck of the VSN Carrier Stockholm.

Okay ladies! Listen up! the Lt said.
Todays job is simple. Terrorscumbars has taken several civilians hostage in a school in Nebulasia. We are goint to help Nebulasia forces to liberate the civilians and to kill or capture the terrorscumbags. Now. MOOOOVE IT!

The 30 SF-soldiers raced to the waiting Transportation jet.
They where airborne in a matter of minuits and headed for Nebulasia.
ETA: 40 minuits

Official reply to Sephrioth:

"Negative, Sephrioth. Please remain in control of your men, but co-operate in the co-ordination of tactics. Under no circumstances are you to move in before the word is given, the terrorists have specified that many hostages will be shot if we make any attempt at a rescue. Before we move we need to ensure that our plan enables us to be very fast and very efficient."

"Sir,we are approaching Nebulasia airspace" the pilot said.
Radion Nebulasian Air Control and tell them that the Vestern States SF has arrived the Lt answered

Nebulasian Air Control, this in Blue 3SF unit of Vestern States. Reguesting permission to enter your airspace. Over.

"Permission granted Vestern States Blue 3SF, repeat; permission granted, welcome to Nebulasia. Drop your altitude on approach to the target area and allow your men to drop in - there are too many civilians. Thank you."

OOC: Mind if I stir up trouble with a team of annoying Dyelli Beybian spies?

Message from Democratic Republic of Talmac Ministry of Manpower:

The Democratic Republic of Talmac is fully prepared to offer any aide necessary, either in the form of military specialists or civilian hostage negotiators. We have two detachments of a Counter Terrorism troop of the 1st Tactical Group on standby and ready to go airborne at any moment. At your go, forces can be on the ground and ready to move within two hours. Airpower, landpower, and technical support are to follow ground forces if necessary.

To: The nation of Nebulasia

From: Brisetonian Department of Foreign affairs.

Dear great nation, we have read your plee's for help. As we speak, we have a 18 member squad from the MCTF (Marine Commando Task Force) on board a commercial flight towards your nation. We apolagize for delay, but we currently do not own a fleet of transport aircrafts. If need be, we have 50 marines on stand-by and heading towards your nation on board UH-60's. Please give us a reply and we will be arrving shortly.

OOC: Entry points of the school?

Official reply to Talmac:

"Any help you can offer us will be forever appreciated. We have negotiators but yours may also be useful in co-ordinating a means of rescue. Your counter-terrorism squads are granted permission to enter our airspace. Please hurry, the meaning of haste is being re-defined here, we are running out of time."

Official reply to Brisetonia:

"Your assitance would be more than welcome. We only ask that you come as fast as you can. Upon arrival we have arranged immediate airborne transport for your men, they will be brought to the incident. Thank you."

OOC: The plans of the school are on my first post. As you can see there are doors around the school but all are locked and barracaded. There are also windows but they are blacked out so we don't know whether we could be hitting children on the other side. I need more people to join up preferably so we can make an IC plan to rescue the hostages.

***

Terrorists:

Victor took a long drag of his cigarette and then tossed it to the floor, crushing it down with a large boot. Through the haze of smoke in the corridor he studied the faces of the 5 Sanquars who were second in command for this momentous operation. He saw in their eyes a mixture of emotion. Hope, fear, excitement and dread. No-one wanted to do this but it was entirely necessary.
“Everyone ready for this?” Victor asked. He got a series of nods as a means of reply. He let them see a brief smirk, it was important he appeared fearless to them. A man made of steel and rock.

He took a step backwards, turned and then opened the door to the courtyard. He could smell the morning air. Lying in the middle of a patch of grass, where he had left him, was the old man. Victor needed to keep to his promises for this whole shit to work out the way he wanted it to. The old man had made no attempt at escape. It would be pointless anyway, Victor and his men were thorough and extremely good at this – all means of exit were locked. He shouldered his AK-47 and moved forwards, he heard his men crunching through the grass behind him.

Click. The safety catch came off.

“Kneel, old man.” The old man sobbed and began to shake. Victor hardened himself to it and raised his voice. “For christ’s sake man I’m the one with the rifle pointed to your fucking head. Do what I say!”
“Please… don’t do this… please…” he began to kneel, staring at the ground. Victor moved around the back of him.
“You can blame this on your damn country.”

Nebulasians and allied forces:

There was a loud crack that echoed in the air. Birds flew towards the heavens. The whole area outside Merryside School went quiet. John stepped forwards to stand next to the negotiator and the head of the NSF squadron (Special Forces).
“And so it begins,” he said in a cool, calm voice. It was important to stay calm; even through his soul was being twisted with unimaginable pain.
“Can you get through to them with the phone?” The negotiator asked.
“They will ring us. If we impose on them they’ll only get angrier.”

Sure enough moments later the phone next to John began to buzz. He whipped it to his ear.
“Detective John Laster.”
“Hello again, Detective. As I am sure you heard, it has started. In a few seconds the window closest to you is going to open and an unarmed Sanquar member will emerge briefly. If you shoot him I will eradicate 50 hostages. My conditions still stand, and the next hostage will be a child. Sort your shit out.” The phone went dead. John gave it a few moments to settle in his head. The blinds on the window began to rise.

“Hold your fire!” He ordered and took a few steps forwards. A man dressed in black with a dark balaclava opened the window outwards. The NSF stood their ground, their weapons trained on the figure in case something unexpected happened. John secretly knew what was going to happen.

The whole crowd gasped in shock as the limp body of an old man flopped out of the window and hit the grass beneath it. His cold, unblinking eyes stared at the sobbing people who stared back. The figure retreated, the window closed and the blinds returned. Seconds later police-men were running towards the body, scooping it up and checking for life signs. It was hopeless; a round to the head had killed him instantly. John gave a nod to the NSF soldier who stood just behind him.
“Take your positions. Help is on its way. Things are going to get nasty soon.”

Arrival

Captain Colin Bauer blinked as sun filled his eyes. He descended the stairs of the commercial 737, followed by the seventeen other members of his squad. Colin was the commander of the small Brisetonian special focres unit, MCTF (Marine Commando Task Force) They had only been deployed on this, their very first mission hours ago. They were sent here, to Nebulasia to deal with a hostage situation at a school.

They were immideately greeted by an idle chopper, ready to bring them to the scene.

"Alright boys", Captain Bauer yelled amidst the roar of the helicopter. "We are going to be cooperating with numerous forces from around the world. Make sure your ready. Check your gear, and reveiw all the floor plans. LZ in 30."

Meanwhile, 300 KM from Nebluasia

"Come in HQ, this is Marine Taskforce Golden Spear aboard Blackhawks formation Delta. We are several hours away from LZ and ready to go." Please contact Nebluasia and acquire the authorization to land."

Lt. Fracon, the pilot of one of the many S-70A Black Hawks that descended on the open air field in a roar of noise and wind, checked his radio. It hissed and he heard the flight tower respond to an incoming flight.
"Roger that Golden Spear, you are cleared for landing. I repeat, you are cleared for landing, over," the voice came in a crackle of noise. Fracon tilted the bulky helicopter forwards slightly as it glided weightlessly towards the concrete runway. He picked up his transmitter on one hand and held it to his mouth.
"This is Lt. Fracon and blue squadron S-70A Black Hawks. We're moving onto our destination ready to escort the marines. I repeat, moving in on destination area for rendezvous, over."
"Roger that blue squadron, relaying message. Golden Spear will be approaching your position shortly for their escort. Out."

The stream of bulky black helicopters landed safely on the concrete in a whirl of wind, waiting patiently for the arrival of much needed help.

Heading Towards the Situation

"We're meeting up with our escort soon enough." the Pilot yelled to Marine Major Charles Rivet.

"Alright boys!, the Major yelled, we are approaching the LZ. Stand ready for anything. For the nation of Brisetonia, and peace-loving people everywhere!

The 5 Blackhawks took up position within the escort and sped towards the crisis. Everyone knew there was going to be only one solution to this. Both sides wouln't like the outcome of this, but he knew the Rebels would like it alot less.

Meanwhile, at the School
"We have touch down, move it men!" Captain Bauer yelled.

The MCTF just touched down at the school, weapons in hand. They moved in formation to the command tent, each one of them knew the shit was going to hit the fan.

"Captain Bauer, here and ready. What's the plan?"

The helos carring the Vestern States SF-sguad landed somte 500 meters from the school. The soldiers qiuckley disembarked and formed a premiter around the choppers.

The next group unloaded the equipment nessecary to link up to the UAV now flying above their heads, providing real-time intel on the positions of the terrorists.
Using the plas provided by Nebulasia the commanding officers started to plan for the liberation.

And with the other nations joining in, the odds were good that the crisis would be brougth to a swift ending.
Coordinated correctly with the other units, it was very likley that the situation would be over in a matter of minuits once set in motion.

Four UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters silently broke through the low clouds, their blades whirring soundlessly in the air. Aboard the choppers, not a word was spoken, only quiet professionals checking their weapons and equipments before insertion. Six men in each helo, each armed accordingly to the situation. MP-5 submachineguns, tear gas, flash grenades. Black BDUs and armored vests covered flesh and removed any resemblance to normal humans. The fighting men of the 1st Tactical Group.

The first Blackhawk broke from formation and headed toward the law enforcement cruisers and other helicopters already clumped on the ground. The others remained circling silently above.The large vehicle descended smoothly into its allocated LZ, stirring up a torrent of sand and various assortments of garbage. Ten men disembarked frmo the chopper, all suited up in combat garb. However, the two leading men were somewhat different from the others. One was wearing a Major's insignia on his shoulder. The other was bespectacled and in his mid-fifties.

"All right, who's in charge here?"

Northampton, Imitora

Word of terrorist operations oft spreads faster than the proverbial wildfire, finding its way throught the news channels, be it written or spoken, far before the host nation of the attack even knows it is happening. Its the way it always works, death sells far better than life. And, in the case at hand, the point had been made in Imitora.

It was a member of the State Department that had picked up the news, seeing the usuall images associated with terror attacks. Guns, police, special operations personel, news cammeras, and the like. Children crying, parrents praying to whatever god they worshiped, and other scenes all to common with a school scenario. Catch phrases and sound bites were already being repeated, and the local Fox affiliate in Imitora was already flahsing a fancy graphic. The department man, a low level observer who watched this chunk of the planet made his phone call, then went back to spooning low mein into his mouth, watching for anything else of interest.

The phone call was delivered through the usual buerocratic tunnels, and soon a breif, no more than a page long, was dropped on the desk of President Gibbson. A few quick overviews, a meeting with the Military High Command, a few read throughs of previous performance evaluations, and a descison had been made. By the end of the hour, the first demands had been made. By halfway through that second hour, a mobilization notice had been issued. With fifteen minutes before the death of the old man, four eight man teams from the Imitoran Naval Special Operations Unit had loaded up into two MH-22I Osprey IIs and sent off to Nebulasia.

It had been decided to send NSOU over the numerous other special operations forces if for no other reason that they were the best equiped for the op. The 185th and 918th were both insurgency/counter insurgency style units, trained to go behind enemy lines and attack for long periods of unassisted time. They did hostage rescues, yes, but only when they were the closest unit at the time, or teh target was a snatch and grab. Further, they operated more closely with the ICIA, and this was out of the ICIA's jurisdiction. The 22nd Special Operations Task Force, or SOTaF, was an elite light infantry unit, and the rescue operation would have called in the use of light artillery and possibly air strikes. Marine Force Recon TRAC was still in the process of reorganizing, and the Arbitors were still a secret project in the hands of IMSPECWAR. The Imitoran Air Force special ops units were more specialized in areas of combat, and would be a waste at hostage rescue.

That wasn't to say others wouldn't be there, no. While the 185th was on training in war games, the 918th had already selected an observer to watch not only the events unfold first hand, but also watch how the other operation units handled themselves, both professionaly and tactics used. He had been sent in with a group of journalists from the Imitoran News Media, disguised as a technician with one of the national outlets. However, a close observer would notice pass the company polo and hat to see an off place bulge on his right hip. He would claim it as a battery pack for a microphone, it was really a Springfield XD handgun, chambered in .45ACP.

The ICIA also sent a few observers, mostly to pick up information on the group that had taken the school, and also make any contacts they felt bennificial.

They had all been on site when the news first broke about the terrorist attack, while the NSOU was just being briefed. The two heavily modified Osprey's slid into Nebulasian airspace just minutes after the dead body of the man had hit the ground outside the building. A notice had been sent to the Nebulasian government as soon as the Osprey's left the ground that the Imitorans were comming to help.