NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is a closed RP, meaning that other nations may not attempt to give practical help… though feel free to comment in character about what happens, and reactions to events. If you want to get involved, telegram me and I'll consider it. Don't be too hopefuly though ;)

Oh, and: this wasn’t inspired by JI’s attack on Roania; as you can see by the date of the creation of S. I. N. This was planned a few weeks ago between various Baron nations.

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History of Street Island and recap on terrorist attacks (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=56289)

Street Island Appeals to the International Community (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=62244)

News Report About Street Island (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=63257)

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The video starts to record.

The video camera was ancient by today’s standards; the old analogue video system making a loud whirring noise which could only be dampened by covering half of the camera with a thick cloth. The lens was fairly in good shape, albeit a bit blotched and dusty.

It stood on its tripod in front of a large table, which was covered in the old Street Island flag, from before autonomy. Sitting behind it were three people; two of them in combat fatigues, with a black hood covering their heads and holding at angles two old Chimaean-made CR-48 assault rifles, which gleamed in the harsh light of the single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

The man in the middle wasn’t hooded. He wore a dark business suit and had a lined face, bordered by iron-grey hair swept back from his forehead. His eyes were cold and hard as diamonds and anyone viewing the tape would get the feeling that this man was staring straight into his soul.

Another person in the room gave a signal. The man in the middle leaned forwards.

“My friends, nations of the world and the people of the Empire of Baron…

My name is Magnus Arturo, and I have a message for you. A message written in the blood of innocents who have perished at the hands of Chimaea’s baby-killers: its conquering armies and its oppressive regime.

For too long now, the people of Street Island have suffered. We have suffered at the hands of our own government, the lapdogs of a Chimaean Governor. We have suffered at the hands of the Chimaean Army, of the Baron Counter Terrorist Organisation. We have suffered because these so-called defenders of democracy have tortured us on the rack of their own greed! They have killed our sons and raped our daughters just so the Chimaean Empire, the Great Chimaean Democracy can keep leeching us, using our lands, controlling our economy with the iron-fist of military power.

Our fathers and their fathers before them have tried and tried, using the right of insurrection against unfair rule, using Chimaean democracy and referendum, using every means possible to oust the invaders to our lands and restore the Republic back to Street Island. But they have been stopped at every turn in their noble quest; stopped by Chimaea’s brute-force tactics, its bloodied politics, its lackeys in our own government.

This has left us with no recourse. For the past year, we have been giving Chimaea a message it cannot ignore: give Street Island independence or we will hurt you. You have forced us into this corner and we will not shy away from our duty to our nation. Street Island will have independence, one way or the other! The voice of the people cannot be ignored!

And to those corrupt enough to support Chimaea, we may only point at the work our brothers have already accomplished in Clock Hill and Snuffopolis. By being allied to Chimaea you are allying yourself with the Devil! Every cent you deal to Chimaea means that more Street Island lives are lost; and every life lost we will return tenfold back to you. We will strike you and we will strike hard. So far, we have only struck Baron collaborators; from this time forth, any and all Chimaean allies, unless public denouncement of Chimaea is made, will be considered our enemy. You are either with us, or against us. Remember that.

To our people in Street Island, we wish only that you have the strength to last the storm before our freedom. We pray that you find it in your heart to support and help us; for those who do, who sacrifice their life for the cause of independence and freedom, you will be honoured and heaven awaits you. To those weak fools who collaborate with our oppressors, we say only this: your place in hell has been saved.”

The video cuts out.

That's right Bob, this message was released to the media earlier today, containing an underlying threat of violence in the strife-torn region of Street Island. Many will recall the invasion of Street Island a decade ago by Baron allied forces who restored stability to the area after a military coup led by the Street Island Nationalists. Although this uprising was firmly put down the outlawed SIN party has not disbanded and has continued to harass the citizens of Street Island, Chimaea and even here in Snuffopolis.

Prime Minister Jennifer Argot has not been available for comment but a press release is expected within the next few days. I'm Sarah Kerrigan: Snuff Nightly News.

It was warm in New Sydney; for some odd reason that no-one was complaining much about, the Winter had melted into Spring almost after it had started.

The Chimaea business industry, never one to get left behind when opportunity knocked, had taken on the welcome change with aplomb. the normal Spring entertainment had been brought forward, fresh stocks ordered and there was a general air of laid-back enjoyment, specially in the capital city.

The dark days of possible war were over; though the rise of the new GDODAD was cause of concern, and the deployment of forces to Hrstrovokia was always in the back of the mind, things were relatively peaceful. The Chimaean had really gone for the partying in the World's Birthday celebrations and now they were determined to quietly enjoy themselves in the post-party euphoria.

--------------

It should have been dark and brooding, a cold rain slicing through the air and the people and pitting the mud like the crators of a million tiny missile strikes.

It should have been as if the very earth had vomitted bile at what had happened.

It shouldn't have been like this.

--------------

It was a beautiful evening, Gary had to admit. Almost surreal; the falling sun had lit the sky with brilliant reds and oranges. The temperature was a nice and cool 24 degrees Celcius, and there was a gentle breeze caressing the skin. Even a cynic like Gary couldn't deny that it had been, and was still, a perfect day.

He was running an outdoor stall in the special Children's Charity Market, along with fifty other stalls and vendors. Their was a bright, though rather annoying, music in the air, broadcast over the announcement system he had helped set up the day before. Crowds were beginning to arrive again after the lull around late afternoon, to see the fireworks and go to the fun-fair.

Gary didn't really like fun-fairs too much but he did enjoy the atmosphere, which got through to him more than he'd readily admit. It was very easy work and quite enjoyable to serve the scores of children that flocked around his ice cream stall. Noisy but not exactly taxing, and a definite break from his day job as a stock broker.

They'd been lucky to get the space in one of New Sydney's biggest mid-city parks. Surrounded by an eclectic mix large skyscrapers reflecting the sub in searing colours and older, sandstone-facade buildings, it created a very good area to work in; much better than a boring air-conditioned office.

Yes, he reflected, on the whole, life was good.

--------------

The Governor of Chimaea, Sir Reginald Styles, smiled warmly at the assembled VIPs and media as he finished his speech on Chimaean-LAGD relations. Instead of taking to the stage and the lecturn, he losened his tie, unclipped the microphone from it's holder and sat down at the edge of the stage, his legs dangling.

Some of the VIPs laughed, and a dozen journalists mentally composed their paragraphs describing his easy-going demeanour.

"I hope everyone's ok," he commented, as his audience visibly relaxed too. "It's not the best day for being stuck in this hall with a boring politician is it? Between you and me I'd much rather be out playing golf, but my wife complains when I leave the nation hanging..."

There was the dutiful laugh. It sounded easier than usual though.

Sir Reginald nodded. "So does anyone have any questions?"

One of the reporters raised her hand. "Governor, Kate Rogers, New Sydney Herald. Does this assurance from GDODAD that they don't have any plans for agressive invasion of other countries mean that our relations with them are thawing?"

Sir Reginald shook his head. "No, all it means is that a senior member of GDODAD has stated publically that they would not launch an agressive attack. The government's policy on GDODAD has remained the same since they first cause the World War back in Lord Bryce's time; the Anti-GDODAD Act remains in force until the GDODAD has displayed to our liking that they have truly reformed. I have my doubts."

"Governor, Namil Shroueker from CBC. If the LAGD launches a pre-emptive strike against GDODAD, would Chimaea be involved?"

"Certainly not, we have pledged that--"

A black suited bodyguard walked along beneath the stage and handed a folded piece of paper up to Sir Reginald. He smiled apologetically and looked at the paper.

Within three minutes the Governor was gone, spirited away by his bodyguards.

--------------

The man was different from the tourists, families and party-goers that were thronging the Charity Market. Gary noticed that he had a grim look to his face, though his eyes were covered with sunglasses. He was wearing slightly heavier clothing for the warm weather, too, with a leather jacket and long trousers.

Gary was distracted temporarily by a little girl in a ponytail that demanded a choc-chip cone. As he served her, the man was suddenly at Gary's stall too, the sunglasses turned towards him.

Holding out the cone for the little girl, Gary looked up at the man. "Nice day isn't it?" he asked cordially.

The man removed his sunglasses. Gary's eyes widened at the scarred vissage revealed beneath.

"No," the man said, "It's gotten a whole lot worse."

The little girl opened her mouth to say something but all Gary could do was look at the man, at the man's hand as his finger completed the circuit made by the two tiny strands of wire concealed in the man's sunglasses.

--------------

It should have been raining, thought Police Constable Greaves as he struggled to lift the block of masonry that had came crushing down on the woman's torso. A fireman ran over and together they lifted it and let it roll down the rubble-strewn embankment.

Around them, emergency crews tried desperately to help the survivors and locate the wounded of what had once been a park but was now just a churned up mess. Hundreds of people were missing, presumed dead. The toll was steadily rising.

It should have been raining and thundering, not a beautiful, cool evening. It should have been...

Looking down at the woman's dead face, Police Constable Greaves started to cry.

The guards outside the Supreme Court in Atmapolis weren’t prepared for the attack; when it came, it was devastating.

Because of the ongoing terror alerts in Baron, the area around the Supreme Court building had been set up with obstacles so that vehicles couldn’t be driven through them. There were armed police on the roof and on the grounds.

None of this, however, was enough to stop the hi-jacked bus, full of evening commuters and explosives, ramming into the first obstacle, slamming it aside and crashing right into the grounds of the building. The guards scurried for cover and a split-second later the explosives were detonated.

They were a mixture of military-grade high explosive and a light radioactive substance that was spread over a localised area on detonation. The entire front face of the Supreme Court Building was stripped away as if by a giant hand on putty. The blast of the explosion sent large objects such as bolted-on seats hurtling through the air and lethal shrapnel from the bus was found a good kilometre away.

The authorities responded as efficiently as possible under the circumstances. The radiation was detected as a matter of course and the area was cooled and the detoxification process was started. The death-toll was twenty-three; the damage costs would go up to seventeen million dollars in the coming days.

**CBC NEWS**

...perhaps for the last time.

To recap for our new viewers, there has been a terrorist attack against Chimaea by the outlawed Street Island Nationals, following a video-taped announcement by the leader of the S.I.N., Magnus Arturo.

At around 5:30 in the afternoon a suicide bomber detonated a high-powered explosive in the middle of the annual Children's Charity Market which was being held at Gandhi Square, New Sydney, killing and injuring hundreds of Chimaean citizens taking the day off to attend the charity market and the fun-fair. Most of the people killed or injured are families and children. Hundreds remain missing.

Emergency crews have been working around the clock, sifting through the rubble of what's left of the square, which was flattened not only by the explosion but by the collapse of a nearby empty building, which was due for demoilition in a few months time.

Governor Styles was informed part-way through a talk on international relations and he was promptly taken to the safety of the New Sydney Parliament House by helicopter. He has made no public comment as of yet though it is believed he has convened a meeting of the Cabinet and the Chimaean Armed Forces Council.

New Sydney and other main Chimaean cities have been put in lockdown under the Emergency Powers Act. A no-fly zone has been instated over Chimaea, with the Air Force already patrolling it.

It is not quite known whether...

*The Anchor's eyes widen in shock*

This news just in: there has been another terrorist strike, this time in the Republic of Clock Hill. Details are still hazy as to the nature of the attack but reports are coming in that the Supreme Court building in the Clock Hill capital, Atmapolis, was attacked by suicide bombers driving a hijacked bus, fitted with bags of explosives, into the building itself. There are also unsubstantiated reports of decontamination crews being deployed at the site, bringing into question whether this was a 'dirty bomb', or one designed to spread radioactive material...

Captain Burke silently signalled to his men. After a 3-count they bashed the flimsy lock on the door with the ram and stormed the apartment, guns bristling. Flashbangs filled the room with smoke and light as muffled shouting erupted from one of the bedrooms. Screams. Gunfire.


Silence.
------------------------------------------------------

"Earlier today, a Snuffopolian task force stormed a small apartment in downtown Arkania that, according to military sources, contained a terrorist cell linked with the terrorist acts in Chimaea and Clock Hill. 3 men were shot dead and the solitary survivor has been remanded in custody of the Snuffopolian military..."

Constable Jenkins was nervous. An alert had gone out on the radio informing his unit of possible reprisals for the raid by the SN earlier that day. He’d heard of what these terrorists were capable of. His father had told him stories about his time in Street Island during the last uprising. Now at the ripe age of 19 he was defending his country from these monsters. A tap on the window startled him from his dark reverie. His partner grinned at him and handed him a coffee through the window. He smiled, embarrassed at his obvious nerves and took a sip of his coffee. He turned as something across the street caught his attention. A man was causing a commotion, shouting something from his table on the sidewalk. The man reached for a gym bag next to him. Jenkins' eyes widened then closed in pain as a sudden bright flash overcame him. He had just enough time to turn his head as the concussion wave gripped his squad car and slammed it into the gutter causing it to tip onto its roof. His hand slick with blood, he grasped his shoulder radio and calmly reported an explosion before his eyes clouded and he drifted into the welcome darkness.

A third ambulance arrived on the scene to accompany the scores of fire trucks and police cruisers on the crowded street. Police were attempting to hold back the scores of onlookers as medics and emergency volunteers clambered through the ruins of a block of shops, searching for survivors and finding all too few. Paramedics treated those that had suffered minor injuries as the more serious were carried to the waiting ambulances. Already a line of bodies covered with blankets was lined up against a wall. Just as the first ambulance moved towards the opening in the police cordon a white van careened out of a nearby street and through the barricade. The acute angle of the van’s approach caused it to roll onto its side before it disappeared in a bright flash that expanded instantly to envelop the scene of rescuers and onlookers.

OOC: I am truly impressed by this writing.

OOC: Comments like that are always welcome! Come on people, don't be shy ;)

OOC: Thanks Siosia :) It feels good to be appreciated ^_^

Jeebus, that's some terrorist strike, Snuffopolis :(

IC

The pretty, dark haired anchor looked uncomposed and unsettled as she read out the news.

"...Almost simultaeneously to the terrorist strikes on Clock Hill and Chimaea, the Democratic States of Snuffopolis, a close Chimaean ally, has been dealt a double blow.

A bomb exploded near a block of shops, which were almost completely demolished by the highly explosive charge. After Emergency crews had arrived to help this terrible assault was compounded when a van packed with explosives were driven through barricades and exploded, killing hundreds of onlookers and Emergency workers.

The exact casualty count is unclear at this stage, however it is estimated to be in the high hundreds.

This attack is believed to be partly in retaliation for an earlier crackdown of SIN operatives in Snuffopolis. Following the taped message delivered by Magnus Arturo, SIN's leader...

-----------------

The bunker Situation Room underneath the Chimaean Parliament House was teeming with activity, most of it conducted by raised voices. Harried-looking technicians scurried amongst various consoles, giving reports and checking readings. Military advisers consulted with colleagues on video link and telephone.

At one end of the Situation Room was a raised dais which contained a large map-table, on the surface of which was a digital map of the Empire of Baron region. Parts of Chimaea, Snuffopolis and Clock Hill were marked in red, and a score of different graphical symbols were attached to various areas.

Around this table were the people of influence in Chimaea; The Governor, looking drawn, worried and haggard; the Foriegn and Defence Ministers, who were communicating with their counterparts in other nations over comms units; several military staff of the Armed Forces Council, including the Commander in Chief, General Garrison.

The latest terrorist strike had drawn an almost overwhelming commotion in the room as various parties tried to get information and impart information. There were heated arguments breaking out everywhere and for one of the few times in the history of the Situation Room, it looked to be absolute chaos.

Governor Sir Reginald Styles tried to attract the attention of the room by waving his arm. When this failed he grabbed his decanter of whisky and threw it against a handy wall where it exploded to pieces.

The noise died down as they all stared at it in shock.

"Thank you," Sir Reginald said mildly. "Can we please continue at a more saner pace?"

There was a murmur of apology and a few shamefaced looks. Sir Reginald smiled grimly. "So the Allies have been attacked as well. People are dying as we speak. Give me options, ladies and gentlemen. Talk to me."

There was a minute of silence then General Garrison cleared his throat. "Sir Reginald, we are at the moment trying to ascertain who was responsible for the latest--"

"Bollocks to that!" interrupted the Foreign Minister. "We know those SIN assholes did this! What we need to do is to go in and kick their butts back to the stone ages--"

"If I may continue, Mr. Douglas?" snapped General Garrison. The Minister died down. "Yes, we believe it is indeed the work of the SIN. We have sent out a general warning to our inter and intra-regional allies, though I suppose it's unnecessary."

Sir Reginald waved a hand dismissively. "I know what's happened, I know who's responsible. They haven't exactly been subtle. As I said, I want options."

The Foreign Minister glanced at General Garrison, then walked to sit beside the Governor. "Sir Reginald, we have three choices, as we've pulled it. The first, and the one we must not take, is to give Street Island independance."

"Why not?"

The Defence Minister took up the conversation. "Because Street Island is strategically important to us, Sir Reginald. We can't afford to lose such an important Chimaean asset. Besides, it'd be seen that we back down to the use of force. Thirdly, whatever SIN claims, the people of Street Island voted in a national referendum to be an autonomous state of Chimaea."

"All right. The next option?"

There was a brief silence. "Well, give it to me." demanded Sir Reginald.

"The second option is an invasion of Street Island, Governor. We take it by force. No autonomy, just a state of Chimaea. Massive displacement of the local population for resettlements in other parts of Chimaea, a blockade of Street Island, military occupation. We make Street Island a military-run state, no citizens."

"Jesus, Steve..." Sir Reginald breathed. "That's... that's not acceptable. How would that make us look? The UN will be up in arms. Hell, the region will be up in arms."

There was another tense silence. Then General Garrison tapped his pen on the edge of the map-table. "There is another way, Sir Reginald."

"I'm listening."

"We declare martial law, in all of Chimaea if not just in Street Island. We move our forces into Street Island--"

"Hasn't this been done?"

"No, not exactly. We have a deployment of the Baron Counter Terrorist Organisation in Street Island, Governor. We do have some military units backing them up, more of a security force than anything else. Martial law will mean we go in full force. Troops patrolling the streets, a no-fly zone, intense special forces activity. Limitted local support. We more or less take the active power away from the Street Island Government."

"Good lord. What are the pros and cons of this?"

"It will enable us to have free reign in ousting the SIN from their own territory. It's not as effective as an invasion, it will take a lot more time and possibly a lot more lives."

"On the other hand," said the Defence Minister, "it won't cause as much outrage in Chimaea or the international community. It will severely inhibit the actions of the SIN but might not be as effective in taking them out."

"Military action is a must, then? All right ladies and gentlemen. Where do you stand with these two options?"

After a brief consultation, the room seemed to be split between outright invasion and martial law. The Governor pondered for a while.

"I think we'll take the martial law option. General Garrison?"

"Yes Sir?"

"You will be personally in charge of this particular deployment."

"Yes Sir."

"Now contact the allies. I feel a meeting of the Baron Security Council would be helpful at this stage..."

Atmapolis, capital city of the Republic of Clock Hill

General Fiona Carter stormed out of the large, sandstone government building and stomped down the broad steps, her boots smacking the marble. At the foot of the steps, her staff car was already waiting, the military chaufer holding the passenger door open. Ignoring his salute, she climbed in.

"How did it go, sir?" enquired the black-suited Baron Counter Terrorist Organisation Agent sitting next to her. The General glared at him, fuming.

"Not well I take it..." the Agent continued.

"No, Mr. Snake, it did not." came the sharp reply. The Agent's name wasn't really Snake, but the BCTO Agents officially did not have names. "The Chimaean government has elected to move its clod-hopping military into Chimaea, at the expense of our investigation!"

"Are we being told to pull out?"

"No. They want us to continue, even though it would be nearly impossible to do under martial law."

"And Clock Hill?"

"Clock Hill is currently kissing Chimaea's ass. They won't back the Organisation up. No..." she settled down thoughtfully. "We'll just have to take our operations to a new level. I suppose it'd be a small consolation to have the military at our disposal. I think all the allied nations are contributing to this."

The staff car stopped briefly at a traffic light, the continued on towards the Atmapolis Airport.

"So... What's the next move?" asked the Agent.

"I'm going to see General Garrison. I need to work out what his plans are for this little military jaunt."

"And our operations in Chimaea, Clock Hill and Snuffopolis?"

"Will have to go on as best as they can. I think I'll personally oversee what happens in Street Island. This could get out of hand. Very out of hand..."

The rest of the trip was conducted in an uncomfortable silence.

**CCBC News**

Returning to our top story tonight, the Chimaean armed forces have been mobilizing to a degree seen only during the Chimaea-Clock Hill war. All major cities and possible terrorist targets have been put in lockdown and a no-fly zone has been declared over Chimaean skies.

Reports from official sources have been scarce but the government has reserved time on all major media networks for later tonight, when Governor Styles will make an address to the nation.

Our correspondant from New Sydney is now available; Mark, are you there?

Yes Sarah, I'm here in front of the New Sydney Parliament Building, where a throng of protestors, tourists and media have gathered to wittness what might well be the first shots fired in a war on terrorism. The mood here is one of excited nervousness and more than a little fear. What's been said on these streets is that the Governor is prepared to take the bull by the horns and conduct this war until whatever conclusion it comes to. There's also the fact that no-one knows when and where the next strike will be.

What do people think of the videotape of the SIN leader, Magnus Arturo?

Most people are bewildered, Sarah. To the people here it feels like they're being suddenly attacked, our of the blue, by an unknown monster. They can't figure out why the SIN are doing what they do... but that bewilderment is slowly turning to anger as fresh reports of the Children's Charity Market bombing comes in.

You mentioned protestors; what are they protesting?

Not everyone supports a military move as an answer to what's happened. The protestors are demanding that we just give Street Island its independance. It's a mark of Chimaea's respect for law and order that the protestors have not clashed with any of the other people here, though they've been getting a few shouted obsenities hurled towards them. The police here are keeping tight control of the situation, however.

We'll have to cut it there, Mark; it's nearly time for the Governor's address. We'll cross over live to inside Parliament House in New Sydney...

"We're ready to start, Governor."

Sir Reginald Styles looked up wearily, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes with one hand and looking down at the speech notes on the other. The tiredness would make good viewing, though--the Governor, hard at work protecting his people.

He sat behind a large wooden desk. On the desk were the speech notes, two flags (he'd remembered to put the Street Island flag to his right), a few neatly placed books and some other props, carefully designed to show off the desk of a hard-working man to the viewing public. Behind him was a blue cloth background.

In front of him, the space was filled with cameras, technicians and reporters, all eager to get a good shot of him or hook into the main camera which broadcast to various points in the room.

The technician coordinating the mass electronic chaos made a few final adjustments and nodded to him.

"Going live in 5... 4.... 3... 2..."

------------------

The main camera whirred quietly and switched on. Through its view, the Governor appeared to millions of homes, beamed by sattelite and carried by optical cable.

He looked directly at the camera, his face grim and determined.

"Citizens of Chimaea and Street Island...

No doubt by now that you have all heard about the tragedy that has torn Baron. This cold-blooded escallation of SIN's violence is a clear inidication that they're prepared to go to any length to achieve their unjust aims. Their hands are now bloodied with over a thousand dead in just a day.

I will not allow this to keep happening. We as responsible nations cannot allow this to keep happening.

So to that end, The Commonwealth of Chimaea has consulted with our Allies and come up with the following steps we are already implementing.

1. That there be a complete quarantine of Street Island, which is where the terrorists are mainly based;

2. That any economic links found with Street Island, public or governmental, be frozen and investigated immediately;

3. That Street Island be put under martial law and policed by Allied Forces, for the facilitation of a thorough investigation and capture of terrorists, their supplies and logistics and all related activities;

4. That the Baron Counter Terrorist Organisation be given wide-ranging powers within Street Island to investigate terrorist operations.

These initials steps will be fully implemented by the finish of next week. General Garrison will personally take overall command of all forces within Street Island.

I entreat all of you watching this to remain calm. We have experienced tragedy today on a scale that's almost beyond comprehension but I will give you my word on this: we will find these bastards, and they will be brought to justice.

Thank you for your time."

"This is the Governor's Office, how can I help you?"

Joan Fraser snapped out of the reverie she'd gone into while waiting for the phone to connect. She blinked back sleep and cleared her throat. "This is Joan Fraser, the Prime Minister of Street Island. I'd like to talk to the Governor."

"Hold a minute please."

Again the connection was switched to another part of New Sydney Parliament House. There was a click.

"Styles here."

"Sir Reginald, this is Joan Fraser."

There was a small pause. "Ok. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. We were just informed of your intent to put Street Island under martial law."

"I feel that it's necessary."

"I must differ on that opinion. Specially since the martial law will be policed by Chimaea military assets, as well as from the Allies."

"I'm sorry, I can't go back on this. There's no other way of bringing these terrorists to justice."

"People are going to die."

"People have already died!"

"Then more people are going to die. At least let the Street Island National Guard conduct these operations?"

"No, they may have been... infiltrated."

Joan felt like snarling. "First the BCTO now martial law! You know, most of those people asleep in their homes here don't evevn like the terrorists..."

"Yes, I know."

"We'll protest."

"That's your right."

"We'll take it to the UN if we have to."

"Go ahead."

"You can't just march in and take over. I'm not going to let this be easy."

"I'm sorry, I really am. But there is no other way. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. I'll be in touch."

The line went dead.

General Carter followed the Governor's Aide through the twisting corridors of the Chimaean Parliament House. Her feet ached from a day of jetting back and forth between Chimaea, Street Island and Clock Hill, all three places seemingly clueless as to what to do now.

At last she'd been given some time to talk to the Governor, Sir Reginald Styles. Fiona Carter didn't particularly like the man; then again, she didn't particularly like anyone. All her previous meetings with the Governor had gone reasonably well, though she tended to liase more with General Garrison.

They reached a door which looked just like any other door. The Aide opened it and gestured her in, before closing it shut behind her.

The room was almost barely furnished by the opulent standards of the rest of Parliament House. It had a hidden lightsource turned down to a golden glow, a few couches, a table and two arm chairs with leather that looked like it could repel bullets.

Slumped on one of the couches, one leg tucked underneath him, the leader of the Commonwealth grunted slightly at seeing her. His head was resting on the high back of the couch, and his eyes were half-closed.

"You look a mess." Carter said shortly, stepping up to him.

Sir Reginald shrugged wearily. "Ever get the feeling that the whole world rests on your shoulders, like Atlas?"

Carter reached into a pocket, pulled out a hip-flask and passed it to him. "No, not really, but that's why I'm not Governor."

Sir Reginald sniffed at the opened flask, grimaced, and took a swig. He winced.

Carter smiled. "Mostly apples," she told him. "I watched your Address. Very direct."

"There's not much else I can say. I'm moving from the frying pan into the fire."

Carter sat down facing him. "Look, I can't approve of this plan to place Street Island under martial law."

"Why not?"

"It'd make things easy for us, but it's make things easier for the terrorists too. I know these bastards, Governor; they thrive on lack of freedom. The more trivial liberties you take away from the people, the more they will be supported."

To his credit, Sir Reginald gave it some consideration. "There's no alternative, General. It's either this or invade Street Island."

"Oh, yes, I heard that bullshit being bandied about by every half-assed military official I met today. I can tell you this much: this situation needs a scalpel, not a chainsaw."

"With the BCTO being the scalpel, I suppose."

"It's the only way."

"It hasn't worked!"

The anger in his voice surprised her. There was an awkward silence.

"Sir, we've made a hell of a lot of progress. Have you though of why Magnus Arturo made that tape, stepped up those attacks?"

Sir Reginald bit his lower lip. "Tell me."

"Because we got close. Don't you see? We were that close to nabbing him and taking out a huge part of his network. Oh, he's smart, I'll give him that. I never thought his attack cells were this organised and this effective. But you're playing into his hands, Sir Reginald. You've done exactly what he's wanted... You've made a move with the chainsaw. Now the BCTO doesn't have access to its primary resource: the people of Street Island in their day-to-day lives. Without them... well, our effectiveness comes to a crawl."

Sir Reginald was staring into space. Carter wondered if he was listening. "Governor?"

"Hmm... Yes. I suppose you're right."

Carter waited. After a little, she ventured, "So...?"

"So nothing, General. We live in a democracy. The people want me to make a substantial move and I have... because in the end, the people have the ultimate power."

"What if the people are wrong?"

Governor Styles looked up at her, and she almost flinched.

"Then I hope the children forgive us, General. If they're left alive at the end of this."

28th December, 5:30 AM

Joan Fraser, Prime Minister of Street Island, sat in one of the deserted conference rooms in the Townsville Parliament House. Only one of the small table-lamps lit the room, apart from the glow of her lap-top computer screen.

She looked at the reports coming in on the screen, but her eyes were glazed, her mind elsewhere. In the Debating Chamber, the Parliament was in session, furious debate slashing back and forth as they tried to decide how to respond... to anything.

Chimaean and Clock Hill warships had been sighted on the horizon, all around Street Island. Ringing it off. Chimaean fighters roared through the cloudy sky overhead.

The National Guard and the police forces were doing what they could to calm people down. It wasn't helping much.

Soon she'd have to broadcast to the nation to tell them that there was nothing she could do about it.

The big clock on the wall ticked the seconds away. Yet another report flashed on her screen.

The Prime Minister said unmoving in the semi-darkness, staring unseeing into space.

The 1st Fleet had become the main naval force providing security around Street Island for the launching of the initial landings and operations. the rest of the blockade was conducted by the Clock Hill Navy, aided by parts of the 3rd Fleet.

It was decided that the inital forces to be landing on Street Island should be Chimaean, as it was a Chimaean protectorate. An initial force of 20, 000 Chimaean Marines were shipped from mainland Chimaea on troop transports, escorted by 1st Fleet cruisers.

The Marines were split into four takforces of 5, 000 each to secure the landing sites for more troops and equipment to arrive. Two of the sites were on Street Island beaches, the other two were on the two major Street Island ports.

The underground tunnel road between Chimaea and Street Island wasn't used for fear of terrorist attack, and was closed off before the operations commensed.

There was some low-level resistance from civilian protestors who were led away from the areas by the Marines, with the help of Street Island police.

By 7 AM, the Marines had fully secured the sites. The bigger transport ships came closer and began unloading barges full of equipment, such as arms and APCs, as well as troops from the 23rd, 31st and 35th Infrantry Regiments.

By 10 AM, General Garrison met with General Carrington, the Street Island National Guard Commanding Officer, in an empty field adjacent to Fariah Barracks and formally asked him to step aside for the duration of the emergency.

General Carter glanced up at the gloomy, forboding sky and decided that the weather really did have a flair for the dramatic, or maybe a sheer bloody-mindedness when it came to being cheerful.

The grass here was too green. Carter had grown up being used to the dry, hardy grass that grew when the weather remained 28 degrees Celcius or higher and dry as a bone. Sometimes she wished for that childhood spend boardering Chimaea's desert country.

Anything was better than this.

There were a pack of news reporters from all over the world, specially transported here to report on the momentous event taking place. They had a special guard on them, all of them carrying high-powered rifles. Taking no chances.

General Carter didn't see it as a public event. She saw it as a humiliation. A small table had been set in the middle of the field, where it looked in stark contrast to its surroundings. On one side of the table was General Garrison, looking decidedly uncomfortable, flanked by Carter, Agent Snake standing by her side, face carefully blank. The Agent somehow managed to blend in to the countryside surroundings even though he was dressed in a black business suit.

Behind them, lightly armed, were about three platoons of soldiers from 23rd Infantry. Most of them were looking nervously around, gripping their assault rifles tensely.

There was even two bloody APCs for heaven's sake.

On the other side of the table was General Carrington. He looked old and worn; Carter knew he was due to retire soon. His face was grim and deeply lined. He had dressed in his formal uniform with the medals included. The message was very clear.

Behind him were about the same number of soldiers from the Street Island National Guard. However, their rifles were trained directly on the Chimaeans.

Again, the message was very clear.

General Garrison read his short speech out loud. "General Carrington, as commanding officer of the Commonwealth Armed Forces, including the Street Island National Guard, I hereby instruct you to restrict your troops to barracks and cease all operations under the Emergency Powers Act, 1945. I also intruct you that your duties are hereby suspended pending the end of the Emergency."

General Carrington shook his head. "I will not ascede to these demands, which are illegal under the Street Island Act as well as numerous UN resolutions. I am under instruction by the rightfully governing Parliament of Street Island to inform you that all non-Street Island forces must leave this territory within twenty-four hours."

It was an impossible situation and both sides knew it. The news crews looked on, caught up in the moment.

General Garrison nodded. "Then it is my duty to inform you that you and your men are under military arrest."

He nodded to the 23rd Infantry soldiers. Slowly the soldiers began to move forwards, towards their Street Island counterparts, who were still aiming at them.

Time seemed to slow down. Every eye in the field was on General Carrington's face as he glowered at General Garrison. Then he raised a hand slightly. With a feeling of relief, Carter watched as the National Guard lowered their weapons.

Private Evans of the 31st Infantry Regiment felt powerful as he and his platoon, supported by another platoon and some light armour, strode down one of the main streets in the Central Business District of Townsville. On either side of the street modern office buildings towered above them. From the glass windows and the discreet doorways, frightened office workers looked at the Chimaean military personnel as they conducted building to building searches.

http://www.european-defence.co.uk/art12imgs_files/image1.jpg

The searches were authorised on the basis of arresting suspects on a huge list that had been distributed to every platoon; however Private Evans knew that the real reason was as a show of Chimaean military might. They were kitted out in full urban warfare kit, including the heavy ceramic plates on their kevlar vests. They had grenades strapped onto their webbing and their chest (most of the ones within sight were duds; use of explosives within Townsville had been discouraged by the commanders), a 9mm automatic pistol holstered at their hips, flashbangs and smoke canisters on their belt. Most of the soldiers held the new, lightweight CR-60 modular assault rifle. If Evans wanted to, he could patch the sights of his rifle directly into the Visor on his helmet.

The two platoons were in charge of three streets in this block of the CBD; 60 riflemen, 4 medics, 6 machine gunners, 2 signalmen... most of them were new to deployment but highly trained in urban combat operations.

Evans had never fired his gun in anger... the thought of it filled him with an excited terror, which he suppressed bu the training that had been drummed into his very core. In the event of an incident he would seitch off and let the training take over. The thought of it made him slightly nervous.

They had already sealed off the area using roadblocks. Above them, attack and recon helicopters kept overwatch.

Evan's squad leader, Sergeant Jeffreys, signalled to thenm to move into the building they were stationed against. Evans was first in line; the glass door was closed but opened easily at his shove.

He walked in and to the side along the wall. Alarmed office workers looked up as the rest of his squad poured in, their guns trained, though slightly down. From a side door, another squad entered.

The Sergeant led them to the next floor while the second squad searched the bottom one. The stairs were carpeted and therefore dangerously slippery in a rush. Evans made sure to keep walking slowly.

The next level wasn't open plan; it consisted of a large communal area and a set of offices. The sergeant signalled for the squad to split into twos and clear each office. Evans was paired off with Private Steve 'Joop' Aiker, called 'Joop' because of his thick and unidentifiable accent which pronounced Jeep with an 'ee-oo' sound.

The first office was empty. Evans opened the door quietly and cautiously and the two slipped in, but it only contained an empty desk. The second office was occupied by a terrified young man who's name-plate read 'assistant distributor'. Evans waited while Joop escorted the assitant distributor to the communal area, then together they came to the third office.

It was... occupied.

The click of the door opening hadn't been very loud; when Evans saw what was in the office, he let the door open fully so Joop could see it too. Inside the office, on top of the desk no less, the man in charge of 'distributions' was distributing busily with what looked very much like his secretary.

Joop sniggered softly and together they leaned casually on the doorway, watching the show. Evans tried hard not to laugh as both participants went at it as hard as they could, both not noticing the two squaddies in their mutual interest.

Then the woman opened her eyes, glanced towards the doorway and screamed. Evans and Joop roared with laughter as the distributor and his secretary struggled to get off each other and the table while maintaining their dignity and covering up. This was doomed to failure so eventually both fell off the table and onto where the chair had been. Evans and Joop winced in sympathy then gave each other high fives.

By this time both of the civilians had dressed. The man, furious, scowled at them while the woman blushed and looked down at the floor. Evans was unsettled by that; he was used to the women in the Chimaean army, who'd already have had both their balls off for something like that.

"Who the fuck are you?" demanded the distributions man.

"You audience?" suggested Joop happily. Evans supressed a smile and raised a placating hand. "Chimaean Forces, sir. we're doing a routine check on the building, can you please--"

The shot was unexpected; an inch to either side and one of the soldiers would have had his brains on the wall.

The training kicked in. While Joop lurched over and brought the civilians to floor level, Evans ducked to one side of the doorway and brought his weapon to bear, at the same time calling in the situation over the squad comms unit on his helmet.

He swtiched to the heat sensor on his gun and scanned the opposite line of offices. There, someone in the opposite office, crouching--

The second bullet showered him in plaster. Evans bit his lip, calculated the distance and the thickness of the wooden and plaster separations between offices, and fired the 7.62mm round through it in a three-round burst. The bullets left the gun, penetrated the flimsy wall and smacked into the gunman on the other side.

"He's down, he's down." he reported to the squad. "Careful of other snipers, I'm gonna check this out."

Evans scanned the coridor of offices, nodded at the other soldiers who'd taken cover, then stepped across to the opposite wall. He glanced briefly at the three holes, then opened the door.

It wasn't a gunman after all. It was a gunwoman. She was alive, clutching the three holes in her stomach and gurgling for air.

"Fuck!" Evans said, then shouted for a medic. One of the medics was dispatched from outside while Evans automatically checked the room for more weapons or traps, his mind numb.

The corridor was cleared a few seconds after as the other soldiers went room to room searching for more shooters. Evans knelt by the woman and looked at her wounds. She was very obviously going to die.

And she looked barely twenty. She was dressed in a suit and the gun she'd been firing, a powerful .50 pistol, was lying nearby. Evans carefully moved it to the wall with his foot.

The medic, flanked by Joop, the distributions manager and his lady, came in. The Medic immediately pushed Evans aside and started stripping away the stomach of the girl's suit to see the wounds. Evans met Joop's eyes and blinked.

The distributions manager was pale and looked sick. "That's my secretary!" he gasped.

Joop looked at the woman next to him. "Er? Who's that then?"

"My wife!"

"Oh. Far out. You have a lovely wife."

Evans looked at Joop again who shrugged. He realised that Joop was in shock too.

The wife fainted.

The Clock Hill landings were more low-key, as away from the prying eyes of the press as possible. Clock Hill had put Major-General Cassandra Sigfeld in overall command of the Street Island operations.

Having Clock Hill involved at all was unpopular enough, Major-General Sigfeld mused as she paced the situation room of the Command and Control ship, CHNS Arosa. Street Island hadn't forgotten about the former Clock Hill regime's invasion more than two decades ago. To the troubled region, the wounds were still fresh.

She watched gloomily as the green glowing blips on the main radar neared the coast. Barges full of equipment and landing craft full of Clock Hill Marines. Overhead, carefully unmarked aircraft flew towards the Street Island airport. The powerful guns and weapons systems of the Clock Hill Navy scanned the coast for any sign of trouble.

As she watched the landings, she wondered how many of her soldiers were going to die in this damned mess.

4th January, 9:45 PM, Corndough St. Eagleton-a residential suburb of Townsville

Sergeant Gates nodded at Master Chief Keyes, his eyes still fixed on the target. The CR59 in his grip was comfortable nestled under one arm.

The street was deserted at this time of night, all the residents in their houses having dinner, watching TV, battering their wives. It was a very typical suburban scene, the curving and wide street, the double-story houses of the middle-upper class society, the neat hedges and lawns with the occassional child's toy or sprinkler... The big double-lock-up garages or the occassional Mitsubishi Magna, Ford Falcon and the Chimaean-made Glade.

If he'd have been off-duty, Sergeant Gates would have remembered his own childhood spent on streets just like this one. Coming home from school into hell.

But he was on duty. He was a professional soldier, an elite soldier. The best of the best that Chimaea had to offer. He was a combat veteran, from Hrstrovokia to Colombia.

Still. You had to wonder...

The warning beep inside his helmet made him tense all over. Time seemed to slow down as the ten-second warning passed.

Their target house was a big, two-story house. It had huge double-doors, two pillars going down the front to give it a Romanised look, and a neatly cut lawn split on the side by a cobbled driveway. And if the intelligence was correct, enough C4 and ammunition to blow away half the Suburb.

This was a strictly unoffical op though. No conspicious arrests. No quarter under threat. Taking terrorism back to the terrorists and making sure that everybody knew it. That was why they had no identifying insignia on their combat fatigues and why they wore rather uncomfortable ski-masks under their helmets.

5... 4...

The assault was simply planned; Sergeant Gates, Sergeant Denning and Sergeant Singh would make a breach and entry through the front door. At the same time, three two-man teams would enter, one from the roof, the others from the side windows.

2... 1...

Go!

Sergeant Gates effortlessly leaped over the fence he was covering behind darted quickly across the annoyingly wide street. He made sure the coast was clear before signalling the other two men to move up to his position.

Together the crept to the big double doors. Sergeant Singh on one side, Sergeant Gates fixing the breaching charges on the other side door, Sergeant Denning keeping a watch behind him. So far they had made no noise.

He could feel the tension running through him as he applied the final charges to the door and and activated the detonator. "Four seconds!" he snapped into his helmet comms unit as he leapt away from the charges.

The other teams simultaeneously got into the rapid-ready position, awaiting the sound of charge to as the signal to commense.

The charge blew. And how it blew--Sergeant Gates had applied three charges as a precaution against what was reportedly a pretty thick door; however the thickness was made of two slats of wood and a hollow place between them.

When the detonated activated and the charges blew, the door was sent flying across the main living room area to lodge firmly into an opposing wall, mostly in pieces.

Sergeant Gates was the first into the house. He heard distantly the splintering wood and glass breaking as well as the small blasts of smoke grenades and flashbangs as the other teams entered the building.

The main living room was clear, though the lights were on, he noted. Sergeant Denning nodded to the Lounge room area just as a young woman walked through it to see what the noise was.

Sergeant Gates roared at her to get down on her knees with her hands behind her head, gesturing with his CR59. Disoriented and frightened the woman got to her knees, upon which Sergeant Singh cuffed her hands together and then her feet, ending with a hood over her head.

Leaving her there, the three men entered the lounge room. Soft lighting, dark velvet upholstery, various photos on the walls. Sergeant Gates took it all in whilst dismissing most of it as unimportant. The kitchen area was connected to the lounge room so Gates signalled his men to--

A shot rang out and the wall behind Gates head splintered. The three men ducked as another shot blasted away the wide-screen television in a corner.

The shooting was coming through the kitchen area. Gates levelled his assault rifle at the same time as the others and all three shot into the partial wall of the kitchen where the shooter has mistakenly taken cover. The bullets smashed their way through the walls and Gates could hear the meaty thuds of some of them entering into a body, as well as breaking glasswear. There was a chortled scream which was cut short.

Gates was the first into the kitchen. The powerful rounds had destroyed and cut through most of it, as well as the middle-aged man with the old rifle. Some of the shots had taken off one arm and it hung losely against a nearby chair, as if it had been leant there by some macabre serial killer. Blood and strips of flesh decorated the rest of the room.

The three men scanned the room then went out into the lounge room again, then through to the main living room, casually stepping over the screaming, tied up woman on the floor. On the other side of the main living room were two doors and a staircase leading up.

The first room was empty. The second room, which turned out to be the laundry, was...

"Holy shit..." breathed Sergeant Singh, and Gates couldn't agree more. The room was a terrorist workshop. There were sealed boxes stacked on the floor, half-stripped rifles and rifle parts. On a small desk was unmistakably a bomb in creation.

Gates radioed in the location and left Denning to guard the room while he and Singh went up the stairs. Gates called friendlies before heading into the first floor, where he met a smug-looking Master Chief Keyes.

"We've found a fairly big attic space here, Len," Keyes told him, "It's filled to the brim with explosives and ammunition."

"Bloody hell. Encounter any tangoes?"

"Three, all teenagers." Keyes looked grimly at him. "Two are dead."

Gates nodded and the three men continued through to the attic space, where another team was already carefully photographing and packing the C4 and ammunition into sealed containers. Denning and Keyes stayed to help while Gates went back downstairs to help the other team dismantle the workshop.

After he'd finished, he helped carry one of the sealed boxes to the van that had pulled up outside. As he passed the living room, he glanced in and saw the woman he had encountered as well as a teenaged girl, kneeling on the floor, still tied up. Two men in regular army uniforms were interrogating them.

As he loaded the box onto the van, two shots echoed through the night.

Brutal Slayings in Eagleton--Five Dead

Eagleton isn't what anyone would call a bad community. In fact, until last night, Eagleton was just like any other residential suburb, consisting of mostly young families and retirees. Kids play on the street and people live with a sense of security.

All that was torn apart at around 10 PM last night when a raid on one of the houses in Corndough Street ended in the deaths of five people--two women, one of them in her teens, and three men, only one of whom was over twenty.

The raid was conducted by unidentified operatives belonging to what is most probably Chimaean special forces. It was just one of fourteen raids last night, and one of the thirty-eight seen over Street Island since the occupation by Chimaean and Allied military forces.

This raid, however, was the most brutal yet. In all, eighteen people have been killed in these raids, five of them last night in Corndough Street.

Neighbours were awakened at around ten at night by loud reports and explosions coming from one of the large, two-story brick houses on that street. Wittnesses say that the raid barely lasted half an hour; an unmarked van drew up within minutes of the beginning of the raid and partially covered the front of the house from view. It was loaded from the side by masked men in unmarked military uniforms, while another van arrived to block off the street. The two vans left soon afterwards as police arrived on the scene.

The police discovered a grisly scene upon entering the house. Two women lay dead from gunshots to the back of their heads in the living room; in the kitchen, a middle-aged man had been killed by high-powered assault-rifle rounds. Upstairs were two more bodies of teenaged males who'd been gunned down in a firefight.

Chimaean authorities have not commented on this at this time. The BCTO have denied all involvement when contacted about what happened.

The hall was packed with news reporters, camera crews and other media representatives who had gotten wind of the raid and the press meeting General Garrison had called in response.

One of the General's aides gestured for silence and in a few minutes the hall was quiet. "General Garrison, Commanding Officer of the Commonwealth!" he announced as the General stepped up to the raised stage and took his place behind the lecturn, which bristled with microphones.

He smiled at the crowd. "I'm glad you could all make it here. I'm sure you'll all know by know what happened in Eagleton last night, but I'll take you through the events." he pressed a switch on the lecturn and the wall behind him turned into a projection of a map of Eagleton. Corndough Street was shaded in red, as was the target house.

"As you know we've been building a fairly large intelligence network on Street Island. A few days ago, amongst the other intelligence always being collated, we recieved word that this house was being used by the S.I.N. organisation as a explosives store and workshop. We automatically followed up on this lead and kept the house under surveilance. Our information proved right when we saw a renowned terror suspect entering the premises, and some other suspicious activity happening in the vicinity of the premises.

"Last night was the launch of a major operation around Street Island, to crack down on the terrorists. We chose to include this house as one of the targets of the operation. At around ten at night, we launched the operation and soldiers entered the premises to conduct a search. There was a firefight as the occupants, who were armed with rifles, tried to resist; in the ensueing exchange of fire, all five of the occupants died.

"We found a makeshift laboratory for creating explosives, and enough explosive material to destroy most of the suburb. Everything has been taken and is being analysed by our experts."

A woman stood up in the front row. "General, Fiona Steading of the Street Island Observer. Were the soldiers Chimaean soldiers, sir?"

"For security reasons I cann't disclose this information to you."

"General, Mark Watson from CCBC. Were they special forces sir? Was this conducted under Speacial Operations Command?"

"Again, for security reasons, I cannot disclose any of this information."

"Thomas Dannison, SIBS. Did this operations have any warrant or permission from the Street Island government?"

The room was suddenly silent. General Garrison leaned towards the microphones slightly. "It was made clear that any operations within Street Island would be conducted and authorised by the Chimaean Armed Forces Council. Under our jurisdiction, there is no need to go through Street Island Govermental channels."

"Is it true that some of the occupants of the house were executed?" asked Fiona.

The General scowled. "Certainly not!"

"Was the BCTO involved sir?"

"I can't--"

"...disclose that information, yes."

The General shook his head. "There is no evidence that any forces operating acted in contrary to our rules of engagement. Let me make it clear to you, however, that we are not taking this lightly. These terrorists will stop at nothing. We have a zero-tolerance policy of terrorism and we will pursue these people with determination--"

A beeper started to go off. The General frowned. "...With determination and whatever it takes--"

A cell phone started to ring. Then another. Another beeper started to go off.

The General stopped and stared as more and more phones and messaging devices started to activate in the crowd. Then his aide came running onto the stage and passed him a piece of paper.

The General read it, his face growing stony. He nodded at the aide, then walked off stage without a word.

tag

Bump for reference; I'm gonna wrap this up. Finally.

General Garrison's stood in the midst of complete carnage, as debris and sparks lept around him through the air. There was chaos everywhere as Chimaean soldiers sifted through the rubble, trying to find survivors. The fires were still raging, lighting up the night in an errie ruddy glow.

The General's face was expressionless, his eyes as cold as ice. And his heart beat out the words of revenge.

"One last thing..." he muttered, though the wind swept the words from his mouth.

--------------------------

"...one of the worst bombings in the history of the S.I.N.; the death toll is now up to forty and still counting. The bodies of the fallen, mangled and burnt beyond recognition, littered the area while weary and blood-soaked soldiers and emergency personnel dug the wreckage of the Chimaean Army Headquarters, looking desperately for survivors..

"The Army has not yet given an official estimation of the damage and any reactions. Sympathetic messages conveying horror and indignation are coming in from around the world as the rescue effort gets underway..."

--------------------------

[code:1:5ef49e5ac0]To: Commanding Officers of Allied Detachments in Street Island
From: General Garrison, Commander in Chief, Chimaean Armed Forces

***URGENT***

Hereby request the withdrawal of all Allied personnel from Street Island. Chimaea is taking actions to end this scourge once and for all. Thank you for your participation.[/code:1:5ef49e5ac0]