NationStates Jolt Archive

To the average eye, it was a bunch of red pixels in a triangle. One isignificant dot on a LCD screen full of them. It's a meaningless avatar, attached to a string of alphanumerics. It's worthless. It means nothing. And that was not so to the thing this red dot represented. More accurately, who it represented. It was a Markovian pilot, flying an F/A-67 loaded with nuclear gravity bombs. This pilot had a home, probably a family, maybe even kids. But red triangles have no family. Of course, it could have been a multicolored blotch, or a black shape outlined against the sky. But it was chosen to be viewed as red triangle on a Lidar screen. And that made it that much easier to deal with. He thumbed the trackball cursor onto the red triangle, and on the screen adjacent to the Lidar, a new image blinked on. It was the aircraft itself, the features clearly visible through the enhanced cameras. He zoomed in, onto the cockpit, where the occupant sat. The visor and oxygen mask were visible. But to him, it was still a red triangle confirmed by the computers to have nuclear weapons. But then something happened. The visor went up, and the head of the occupant turned. For an instant, he saw the blue eye of the occupant seem to look directly at him. And he felt regret. But he still moved the second trackball, it's glowing green dot of a cursor centering on the pilot's head.
Click.
An invisible beam of light lanced out, instantly hitting the pilot's head. The occupant jerked back as the helmet melted and disintegrated, followed by the flesh burning off of his skull, his flight suit combusting, the instrument panels sparking and exploding, orange and yellow blossoming down the fuselage as the finger of light slid left, and the nose detached from the body as it burst into millions of flaming pieces.
"Charlie Kilo! Nice shot, Frest. Get the other 5, and we'll let the fighters handle it."
He continued to kill, letting the computers handle the real work. Click on the red triangles, tap the button. Ding, target neutralized. Charlie Kilo, called out the mission commander. 4 more times the process repeated, and the EB-52 began to transmit jamming signals as the nimble fighters continued the work. The sat back in the seat, the swiveling chair creaking slightly, and he picked up his coffee. He turned toward the Mission Commander.
"So how 'bout those Rangers? You see that endgame field goal by McGrady?"
"Meh, they won't make it past the playoffs."
The still active viewscreen watched as an ejection seat was caught in the fireball of the aircraft it tried to escape.
--
Present Day
Ex Captain Mike Frest, former Weapons Officer for the 22nd Strategic Strike Squadron, known for it's EB-52 Megafortresses, sat up in his hammock. He squinted as he adjusted to the sun and warm winds of the South Pandrea Isles. It wasn't a big island, but like everything in New Empire, it had an WiFi netlink, access to any kind of electronic service you could want. But Frest had not come here for that. He had come back to his roots, the plot of land his family owned. He ran the local bar and restaurant "High Tide", which was popular for it's excellent views and skilled local chef. But he wasn't really all that comortable with it. His father had been a fisherman, who inherited the bar from his father, who was also a fisherman, and so forth. But what Frest really wanted was flying. He had a Seaplane at the local marina, and once and awhile the gave the neighbors a ride. He tried anything to get away from his past. He never kept in contact with his squadronmantes, never went to reunions, parties, or anything outside the town or family. It wasn't that he was antisocial, he was known for being a very hospitable and friendly guy around town. It was what he did at the 22nd. He killed people. He dropped bombs. He launched SCMs. He killed individual people precisely with Airborne Laser systems. And he hated himself for it. So he drowned it in the seas, the town, and the drone of the Seaplane engine.

He would not lose his ties that easily.

*wonders when mike fest will once again have to wear the mantle of warrior and rise to defend all that he holds important. will it be the serial death of the friends and comrades of the 22nd strategic strike squadron, or will it be the people of the island that he lives on, or will it be someone more personal?*

OOC-Oh, it will be interesting, all right. Very interesting. At one point, this will become an RP. But that's for the future.

TAG.

Looking Good :wink:

TAG.

Looking Good :wink:

"Hurry up!"
The sailors raced across the deck, doing their best to secure the sliding container that had come loose. They threw the cargo net over it, and ran across the hold as they attempted to rope it down. It was unusual for the average load of uranium that came from the mines to make that clunking noise, but all the sailors were concerned with was getting it secure before it killed someone. On the other side of the ship, another cargo box creaked open. The metal siding fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and it's cargo fell out.

Not so much fall as run. The black wetsuited men with NVGs and UMP .45 SMGs proffessionaly moved through the hold, as other crew drew guns and began firing. Not at the infiltrators, but at others, particularly the ones who were attempting to look through the sliding container's cracked side.
One of the sailors, his Walther P99 retreating to it's holster, greeted one of the black suited gunmen.
"Colonel Kruman?"
The Colonel pulled off his night vision goggles, and shouldered the UMP. He was lean, but old for a fighting man. His head was clean shaven, and scarred. The Colonel appeared to be about 45, maybe a bit younger. He turned his head.
"Mr. Shmertzy, I'm surprised you actually followed through. Do you still have Speka?"
Shmertzy nodded his head, and drew the cargo manifest from his jacket pocket.
"Yes, we have Speka and the gear you requested. Speka, as you can see, had a little trouble staying still.
The container, stained with blood on one side, but secure, sat, it's dull gray metal not conspicious among the other containers.
"Very well then."
Shmertzy's hard grey eyes narrowed and focused on the Colonel.
"Where's my pay?" he inquired in a lower tone.
The Colonel snapped his fingers, and the other black clad men raised their weapons to the other armed sailors.
Shmertzy grimaced as he noticed the muzzle of the UMP aimed at his head.
"Plomo o Plata... I believe the drug syndicates you dealt with were a fan of that one. Until you betrayed them. I will not leave that chance on this ship, Mr. Shmertzy. Repartimos en plomo, Senor Shmertzy."
The UMP barked 3 times, the bullets slamming through the man's neck and forehead. Shmertzy let out one last gurgle, as his body spasmed. Red arterial blood flowed through the grates on the floor.
"Unless you want to recieve some bonus payment, I suggest you all listen up and do what you're told. Carry on with your duties."
Up above, the body of the the S.S Sestadt Night's captain ungracefully fell from the bridge to the ocean.

The air above him was littered with parachutes, slowly falling, as the lights of Markov City shone in the distance.
"Hegan, keep your eyes up, damnit, you're on point."
Sgt. Hegan looked down, and went back to business. They began slowly advancing, until they came into a ruined suburban area. It was abandoned, run down, and most likely full of Markies. He switched to his Thermal Imaging, and continued moving through. He stopped by a fence that the TI said a soldier was behind. He silently took a breath, and then whipped around. The Markovian had a look of horror on his face, one that lasted until the M9SV 9mm rounds dotted his head. The body fell like a puppet cut from it's stings, and they continued on. It was not until they came into the city, encountering UCSNE lines, that they saw combat. The whole area was controlled chaos. A building sprouted muzzle fire from several windows, until a 4 legged mini-tank whipped around it's 14.5mm autocannon and raked it with fire. The glass showered down in a glittering display, shining orange in the violent night. A line of men cautiously advanced behind an M26PA para-armor suit, some nearly slipping on the shell casings that littered the ground.
They moved on, until they saw the real action. A roadblock, with UCSNE Paratroopers behind it, sat in the entrance to an intersection. And on the street ahead was a mess of Markovian armored vehicles and men. Someone shouted something on the radio, and ordered everyone to get down.
Directly over them, a flight of F/A-108 fighters screamed. The first lobbed a bomb full of anti-tank sublets. The little bombs and parachutes manuvered over the column, before engaging rockets and throwning themselves at the top of the tanks. Armored crews that survived began to scramble out the hatches, until the next bomb came. It was napalm, and it did a excellent job of making that whole street look like Dante's Inferno. Tank crews that thought they were safe now screamed and ran aimlessly as the hellish fire curled back down on them.
"DAMN! I love a BBQ on a summer night!" shouted a soldier as he watched the display.
And in Hegan's mind forever would be the poor bastard, his skin burnt off, stumbling towards the blockade screaming for help, until he was cut down by a soldier's assault rifle.
--
Present Day
"No."
Hegan sat on the bench on the porch of his cabin. It wasn't the cold Montascus Range air that bothered him, it was the guy calling.
"Look, Hegan, we need you. You're the only Marine Force Recon qualified to work with the situation."
"F*ck no! I told you, I ain't killing for you anymore. My life as a MFR is over, dammit. I don't do that crap."
"Well, Major Elsmann will be very unhappy to hear that."
"Major who?"
"Elsmann. Your CO from MFR back in the 'kov."
"What does he want?"
"He wants you for this job. Trouble on Kurtz, he's stuck there, with a bunch of drug bosses on his ass."
Hegan's intrest was piqued at the mention of Kurtz, the UCSNE's commonwealth. It was far south, and the fairly large jungle island made a living similar to that of Puerto Rico.
"Kurtz... Look, I'll help with planning and training, but I can't go in there. No way."
"Good, that's all we'll need. Get on the next plane to Setchgide, you know where to go after that."
He knew all too well.

It had been an uneventful flight. The food still tasted worse than Patrol Rations, and Hegan wasn't very fond of those either. But some spook from the SSA had called him in for Hostage Rescue, and he had to accept. He owed his life to that major, and now would be a good time to repay him. The meeting was quick. Kurtz was the best gateway for drug lords, and Elsmann had been working on a team to hit a shipment. Unfortunately, the drug lords had decided to hire a bunch of mercs trained by ex-East German SF. So now his team was dead and he was stuck in some country home in the mountains. Beautiful.
Hegan tapped through the Tablet PC's documents covering the OPLAN he devised. The snipers, in the helicopters that were about to take off, would be using M408 Railguns, which could put about 45000+ joules of energy in a 1.5mm Sabot, would take out the guards, and use Thermal Imaging to detect and kill men on the other side of the walls. While this was happening, an overflying E/B-42 would fire a microwave pulse at the building, rendering electronics useless. Finally, they would come in from the ground floor, the roof, and the garage. He sighed as the time approached. The men, clad in heavy, matte black K-6 Gasium armor, with a variety of Carbines, SMGs, and Shotguns, prepared for the assault. They were killing to save a life. Like screwing for virginity.

The mansion was well built from stone, and had many balconies. It was isolated from the populous areas of Kurtz, and looked odd sticking out of the jungle. Beautiful, old, and expensive. But the beauty was about to take a dive. The command helicopter relayed the information from the camera's in every man's helmets, the helicopters, and more, to Hegan, who sat in an SSA command post at the Embassy.
Click.
The viewpoint was a computer scope of a railgun centered on one of the guards, as he began to raise his rifle.
A thin streak appeared from the gun, as 45000 joules of energy in a 1.5mm area exerted itself on the head of the guard. Brain fluid and blood dashed the walls.
Click
Now the helmet camera of one of the men assaulting the garage team. A firefight was erupting, and Hegan watched as the commando took cover behind a Hummer and reloaded his flechette rifle. He quickly darted up and rippled a 3 round burst of hypervelocity flechette canisters into the group of merc guards. Another merc continued unloading his Benelli, until a line of quarter sized holes walked up his chest and neck. The camera shifted to a guard reaching for his weapon, blood pouring out his chest. A bullet in the head made his body limp.
Click
The rapidly shifting picture told Hegan this man was fast roping with the assault team down to the large southern balcony. The team of 6 men assembled, and began moving in. Suddenly, a burst of blood spurted from what seemed to be behind the camera. The view shifted to that of the ceiling, as shell casings flew and another commando crouched and fired.
Click
He switched to the overhead view, but did not have the time to examine it.
"Variable, Knife 1-2. We got the Major, we're clear. We're gonna egress, can we get some cover?"
An SSA controller responded,
"Bloody good job. You made a mess of the mercs, we've got a heli inbound."
"Hegan, what's the casualty report?"
"Knife 2-4, Knife 3-1. Knife 3 and 4 both report a handful of wounds."
"Knife 2-1, area secure. We got em. No survivors, over."
"Knife 3-2, we've secured. All clear. No survivors."
"This is variable, body count coming in. 19 enemies Charlie Kilo. Nice work, we can let the police come in and do the paperwork, and have you guys back in time for lunch."

The Sestadt Night rocked as it sailed towards Northern Kurtz, entering the port built into the side of the cliff face, one used by the KDF as a base of command. Emergency crews scrambled towards the ship to meet the black smoke that poured out from the cargo hold. A gangplank was thrown down as stretchers and strecherbearers poured down. Kruman, in a heavy jacket, came down first as a Captain came to greet him.
"Thank you for allowing us to take port here, hopefully your fire crew can get this thing under control."
"Anything for a vessel in need. Any injured you have can go straight through the hallway to the infirmary."
The stretchers, some with the blankets all the way over the bodies, came down through the hallways, the sailors lifting them. One of the fully covered stretchers was set down in front of a heavy door labeled "Command".
30 seconds later, the C4 exploded, blowing the door off it's hinges. The "sailors" then were tossed weapons from the "wounded", who were hiding small weapons under their stretchers. A few more fully covered ones were carrying loads of assault rifles and shotguns. The men swept through the complex, killing, wounding, or capturing all the personnel. Just before the communications could hit off a message, the Specialist's head exploded like an overripe melon as a round from an FN FAL pierced his skull. It was a massacre.
--
Kruman, his men, and many surviving KDF soldiers sat in a loading bay as many armed guards secured the area.
"Fellow men of Kurtz! This is Colonel Kruman of the Kurtz Independence Army. Today, we took our first step. But I must apologize. Many of your comrades have died today. But worry not! Soon, they shall look down from Heaven, and see their homeland free!"
A roar erupted from the crowd.
"But this will be difficult. As you know, our conquerers and occupiers, the United States of New Empire, have a strong military force here. They see our beloved home as a springboard to spread their death. But soon, we shall turn their engines of war against them. We have with us a very important shipment. Speka. Speka will be our chisel, and you will be the hammer. Speka is a 10 Thz Military Grade Cryptology computer, capable of cracking any code this military is using. In 10 days, Speka will deactivate the defensive systems of Kaznyona Naval Station. But why attack a research base that is 90% underwater? These," he pointed. "Lots of these."
The group turned to see a black shape, similar to a fighter but more organic, being lifted out of the cargo ship via a large crane.
"That is the S-120 SeaBlade Supercavitating fighter. It was designed to be a next generating SuCav, but lost to other designs. There are only 10, but we have them. Where the successors are? Kaznyona. The base has about 30 S-13 Fireblade Supercavitating SubFighters. And when we strike, they will be ours. Soon, my section leaders will divide you into task groups. We strike in 10 days at dawn. WE STRIKE FOR OUR COUNTRY!"
The cheers echoed off of the cavernous walls.

Mike Frest sighed as he looked over the Seaplane's engine. It was beyond a doubt broken, and spare parts for his model were to expensive to get, as the tourist season really hadn't kicked in, and many regular customers wasn't enough to make that much anyway. There was one person there, though. He wore a green jacket, from what Frest could see, and he had a buzz cut. Something about him looked familiar, maybe another pilot from the local airport? The man turned to grab some salt for his steak, and that's when it clicked in Frest's mind. There was a patch on his right shoulder- An outline of a Black EB-52 on a gold background, with lightning bolts on either side, and a Red 22 behind the bolts and aircraft.
The 22nd Strike Squadron.
It got creepier for Frest. Under that was the Markov theatre patch, with the number, 22-5.
Aircraft 5... That was his plane. He had served with this guy. He was surprised, almost NOBODY military came out here, and especially not the Aerospace Force. The odds of a crewman from his plane coming here was nothing, unless...
"Hey, Mike, long time no see?"
It was David Oscar, his Mission Commander.
"Holy... David, is that you?"
"Who else?"
"Damn, how'd you ever end up here."
"I gotta say I wish I didn't have to end up here."
"Oh god. This isn't the SSAAW spook recruiting thing is it?"
"Bingo. The SSA has a job for you, and they're assembling the most experienced Megafortress crew that they can find."
"Us?"
"Of course us. We've spent the most time in the 'kov, most missions, etcetera."
"Get someone else."
"Hold on. You ever been to Kurtz?"
"No."
"Well, let's just say there's some trouble over there. A Col. Kruman has gone AWOL with a group from the SSA's Kurtz Op wing. 10 SuCav fighters, a MilCrypt computer go missing. And ultranationalist movements all over the nation. They want us to take this guy out."
"What's the catch?"
"They've got an Air Force... SSA says they have guys in officers slots at every KDF Installation. Including 7th Generation fighters. The closest crew to dealing with that kind of situation is us."
"No."
"There is an estimated 40 people dead because of him. How many more will die before you can get yourself to do what needs to be done?"
Frest sat silent, the 1000 mile stare coming into him as he weighed the graphic consequences of either choice.
"I'll do it. But I swear, if you pull anything, I'll have the media all over it."
"Heh, always you, always threats. C'mon, pack your bags. We got a ticket for you to Cortina, Air Osprey."
--
Frest, his bags loaded, walked out to the M/V-22 sitting in the local airport, looking conspicous among Cessnas and Piper Cubs. He got in, making his way between to ORC armored Blue Bereted security guards. The door slammed shut, and the props twirled as the tiltrotor lifted into the afternoon sky.
I said I'd never go back. Forgive me.

EB-52 Merchant 1, nearing Kurtz
--
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

"Okay guys, this is your MC speaking. We've got our target coming up, firing range in 10 miles. Kest, activate Athena."
"Check."
"Miklos, everything aligned?"
"Yessir, payload is ready."
"Tacht, you see anything on scope?"
"Roger, one KDF S-37 Berkut. He doesn't have us, running passive scanning."
"Hey Frest, you ready? Something screws up, take this guy out."
"Got it."
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again
"We are within firing range. Miklos, line it up."
"Got it. Bear-1 locked in on lidar."
Bear-1, the command center for a KDF Laser Defense Installation, was built into the side of a large hill. Through the IR cameras, Frest saw individual men making their morning checks.
"I'm going for the power plant... Light up the Quail."
The tiny rocket jumped from the bomb bay, and began descending to 35,000 feet, where it began emitting strange electromagnetic frequencies, lights, and more. Nobody would believe what these men saw. It swooped down on the base, flying 10,000 above it. Men pointed and shouted. And Frest lined up the glowing green dot on the power transformers, and clicked. Sparks flew from them, as they shortcircuited. The Quail began emitting EM pulses, and Frest lined up the laser on the fuel tanks at the depot as the Quail passed.

Click.
The fireball swept forward and up, igniting everything in it's path. The Quail swooped back, as some raised rifles and fired, before being swallowed in flame. Finally, he targeted the laser, and fired. It's delicate circutry exploded, sending the complex weapon out of alignment. The Quail turned, and fled toward the sea.
And then it went horribly wrong.
An airliner, 30 miles out, found itself in a very bad spot. As the Quail shut it's emitters that allowed it to look the size of a large aircraft, the Airliner appeared as the most likely object on radar. Thinking it was the UFO like object that had attacked his base, the pilot thumbed a trigger, and a hypervelocity missile streaked towards the liner.
Click.
The S-37 pilot never saw the kill. The laser shredded off the cockpit, melted the glass, and the wind sucked the pilot out, slamming him on the wing. The speed and angle sliced his body in half, as an ejector seat, minus it's occupant, erratically sped into the air. The airliner was not as lucky.
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land
The emergency frequencies and their cries for help, both of the base and the airline pilots, filled the channels. And the missile hit. It was IR guided, and the inner left engine of the 4 engine liner seemed just the target. The whole wing wobbled and quivered as the engine exploded, before detaching itself from the aircraft. Fire sped down the fuel lines, orange and yellow rippling down the fuselage.
"Oh SH*T!"
"No chance... Not a chance."
"C'mon, we gotta get outta here. I show 4 more S-37s coming up on the prowl."
The stealthy aircraft quickly flew home, unbothered.
The families woke up to horror and grief.
The superiors of the KDF involved woke up to UFO sightings.
Mike Frest woke up to regret.

NENN- New Empire Net News

"It was a very tragic night, yesterday, when reports of Auerstadt Airlines Flight 202 crashed yesterday, after sightings of a "UFO" around a KDF Air Defense Base and a KDF Fighter. Reports show numerous injuries and heavy property damage around the base, apparently caused by electromagnetic pulsing from the "UFO". The fighter, which is being recovered now, apparently had it's fuselage and nose blown apart, with the pilot's remains and ejector seat found 20 miles apart. Flight 202's wreckage has not been found, but reports say it is due to an engine failure that blew off the wing. There are no reports of survivors..."
--
"A UFO?"
Kruman was quite upset after looking over the morning reports on the night's events.
"Yessir. The crews said a glowing green object made several low level passes."
"It has to be UCSNE work, I can smell it."
"Well, there's no evidence so far."
"And another thing, why hasn't Desmond made his payments? I'm not gonna put up with that drug smuggling bastard any longer."
"Ah, he's dead. The spy they captured with the DEA, well, he had friends. We think it was an SSA raid, someone real experienced running it. Ex-military. They killed everyone."
"Goddamnit. Find him, and kill him. There can't be any chance that he's around for Kaznyona."
--
"Bingo."
The SSA techie at the keybord of the MilCrypt computer cracked his knuckles as the "Code Cracked, Accessing Account" Message box popped up. He brushed it aside with a click, and looked at the transfers.
"Hey, Yesten, we got him."
The senior SSA chief for the theatre came over, glad he wasn't dealing with the EB-52 crew.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We've got him putting something like 1 billion into Kruman's dummy accounts about a month ago, another 500 mil 2 months before that."
"You know where that cash went?"
"Uh huh. The 1 bill ends up going to Steyni Dynamics, the company that applied the S-120 to the Strike SuCav Development program."
"So that explains the SeaBlades. What about the CryptComp?"
"Well, 490 goes to the IT company, and 10 goes to the 'Night's owning company. I think we've got most of this tied up."
"Except what he does next."
And that was what mattered.

The next night, they began. The black SUV, with 3 men inside, all armed with MP-5K submachineguns, cruised down the streets towards the location where the SSA safe house was reported to be. The car stopped on the other side of the street, and the 3 men waited. They looked at the photos of the man reported to be the mission planner, and then at the 2 men exiting the building. The man on the right side of the backseat pulled his weapon, and screwed on a suppressor. The window rolled down, and the gun stuck out.

A series of muffled pops erupted from the muzzle as the man next to Hegan spun as the fire raked his body and the surrounding area. He spun, and pulled out his Walther P99 pistol firing as he ran towards the nearest shelter, an Electric Company van. He crouched, his breath coming out in short bursts, trying to calm himself as he loaded the 9mm JHP rounds into the pistol. The car screeched away now, seeing the oncoming Police guards from the area. Hegan fired a few rounds into the front tires, and then unloaded the rest into the driver’s seat window. Police guards lifted their J-9 submachineguns into the car, raking its body with 9mm Jacketed Hollow-Point rounds. It screeched to a halt as one of the bullets went through the driver’s seatback and into his skull. The rest of the occupants lay dead in the back, slumped over in blood. The floor of the car and street were littered with shell casings, and bullet holes had raked the buildings and car. Hegan sighed as he watched the lifeless body of his SSA advisor get lifted onto a stretcher. A team of paramedics rushed toward him, and he muttered that he was in good health. They were after him, and he knew it.
--
Next Day, KIA Command

“We cannot wait any longer. They will be on to us soon. We need to go now. Get the team working with Speka.”
"Yessir.”
The military cryptology computer’s LCD screen lit up as the tech team began listing the IPs for the computers that were linked to the base’s Defense Net. A message box lit up: Decode Security Systems? The techie clicked the yes button, as it began its work. The progress bar started out slowly, and then sped up. Done, it announced, followed by: Internal Electronic Watchdogs activating, Delete? He clicked yes again, as the computer turned the systems of the base against itself. He ordered the computer to deactivate the security systems, and the message appeared: Code Required. Decrypt? He confirmed with a “Yes” and watched as the computer did its work. WARNING! Counterprograms running! Activate Firewall? The techie swore as the activated the firewall program.
“Sir, we have about one hour before they break through. No doubt they’ll sic the new 20 Thz computers on us.”
Kruman glared at the clock.
“Let’s go. For Kurtz.”
“FOR KURTZ!” Echoed the section leaders. The men geared up, and began moving into the Mil-14GH Transports at the helipad. If they succeeded, they would have a chance against the UCSNE Navy. If they failed, they were dead men. And that was enough motivation.

The Mil-14GHs descended on the base like a plauge. Each mounted an 8mm Railgun that ripped apart Kaznyona's only online air defenses, 2 SAH-66 Sea Comanches, to shreds, along with the Marines. But there was resistance. One image engraved in Kruman's mind was a UCSNE Marine, minus his hand and wrist, propping up his gun on his ruined arm and killing 4 of his men until he was killed by a shot from an automatic rifle in the forhead. C4 charges blew the heavy doors open, and the men surged in. The pointmen in the sections had armed themselves with Class 3 body armor, and FN Minmi Paras, making them forces to be feared. After about 30 minutes of bloody conflict, a huge gunbattle erupted at the wetbay for the SubFighters, as outside, a different kind of fight continued.
It was like fighting in the dark with a gun in a flashlight.
When subfighters aren't supercavitating, they are very stealthy and hard to detect without pinging your sonar. And at these ranges, if you ping, your opponent will respond in force, usually resulting in death. The 2 S-16 Vipers didn't even know who or how many the enemy was, much less where they were. One Viper pilot, seeing a murky black fin protruding from behind a reef, nosed his SubFighter towards the finding. The reef seemed to distintegrate as supercavitating shells from the S-120's 20mm cannon ripped through the cockpit and fuselage. The water around the crippled cockpit became a murky red, as the second S-16 pilot, knowing his fate, released 12 Supercavitating torpedoes. Watching them explode, he grimaced as the spewed 20mm toward everything that moved. When the S-120s responded with their own weapons, the largest piece found was the size of a pizza box.
Kruman surveyed the scene at the wetbay. Blood soaked the white painted floors, but the 30 Subcraft, along with their logistics, were untouched. Behind one of the S-13s, a large Kurtz Flag had been raised, hanging off a catwalk. Kruman positioned himself in front of it and the S-13, and signaled to a man with a Camcorder and a transmitter.
[This broadcast will be recieved by all nations with TVs]
Hello, people of the world. This is General Kruman of the Kurtz Independence Army. Today, we have made a step towards our goal- our freedom from the tyrants in Berliston. But we cannot change from a petty "commonwealth" to a true, free nation without help from you. The UCSNE has several bases here, for "Defending" us. But true motives aside, we ask you to aid us in our righteous cause. To the people of New Empire- we wish you no harm, only the government which you obey. To the military men stationed here- Surrender, and you will be treated under the Geneva convention, and returned to your homes at the conclusion of this conflict. Once again, I ask the world for help.
OOC-This story has now reached RP status. Join in!

OOC-Any of you gonna respond to the KIA broadcast?

OOC: Think you could G me a summary buddy? We always have great RP ideas, no one else can do it right! =)

Rear Admiral Brehm stood on the bridge of the Chafee, the WASP carrier, command ship of the AACBG(Amphi assualt CBG), sent to aide the New Empire forces by the CLF. In total there was the Chafee, 4 destoerys, and 3 crusiers, along with 2 LII Submairines. But the AACBG had an unusually large sonar singnal for thier small number. The convoy pul anchor down near Sestena Naval Base as officers and personel went ashore in Choppers. 4,000 Marines and 2,000 RLD's were flown to the Kurtz Marine base. CLF forces had arrived and were ready to help thier long time friends.

*Outside Sestena*
--
The waters were filled with fish, large schools swimming away from larger predators. But all swam from 10 large black apparations. Their passive sonar alerted them like a seal's blood does a shark. Each carried 12 light supercavitating torpedo, and with their MHD drives engaged and not supercavitating, they were completely silent. They began to near firing range for the CLF ships, when one of the sleek craft's wingtips caught on a chain to an old anchor. The screeching of metal on metal filled the ears of anyone listening in.
"Ah, sir... We got something moving about a click west..."
The sensor operator sat onshore, in the Command Bunker, listening from devices planted around the bay.
"Alpha this is India. Get a LASH out to grid 2. Tell the CLF we've got hostiles inbound."
The helicopter hovered over the area, as it confirmed their fears.
"India, this is Hotel. We've got 10 SubFighters inbound!"

The Sonars went berserk on all vessels. Brehm got on the comm to his two submarine escorts.
"Pitbull, Maverick, aquire targets and fire at anythign deemed hostile, these bastards are playing with us now. Show them we mean business."
He then switched frequencies,
"Bluewhale, break silence, I want 12, ASAP"
From directly underneath the Chafee a massive snoar blip appeared on all sonar screens in the area. 12 more. The CLF's very first, 'submarine carrier' was now going to see action. 12 S/A-15 Hurricanes shot out from thier bays, like large torpedoes, out of the massive stealthy carrier sub. No need for stealth, they engaged thier super cav to close with the enemy. On the surface the Destyers activated 'Mango' manuvers, deploying extra sonar bouyes and other actions were quickly preformed. They were expecting this.

The S-120 pilots swore as they saw the oncoming Hurricanes. They were stealthier than the S/A-15, and faster, but when they were supercavitating, they could not turn as tight or fire. The 10 S-120 triggered off bursts of high velocity supercavitating 20mm DU Penentrators. Nearby, 4 F/S-39 StormRiders began to slow from CAP speeds as they dived into the waters like hungry seabirds. After entering the water, they swept back their wings and went up to 120 knots on their HydroDynamics MHD drives.

One of the crusiers saw the blips from the F/S-139's before they entered the water. The new dadta was sent to the 2 huricanes and they knew they had more than the 10 bogies. Lieutenant Gibsby wing leader got on the comm.
"This is Ray-1, request back up"
"Ray-1 this is Pitbull, us and maverick are inbound. Bluewhale is prepping another wing"

The 12 Hurricanes dropped out of cavatation and flipped on sonar. The 10 targets aquired by the NE vessels were on thier HUD. They waited for thier larger support before they set to engage, they wanted numbers.

"Hey, CLF, we've just moved in F/S-39 into the area. Watch out, make sure you aren't shootin' at us, alright? Those are S-120s, stealthy, deadly. Don't fire first, they'll have you. We're gonna get that LASH rigged SAH-66 back over, we'll call out the targets, over."

"Roger NE, we have 10 sonar bogies, 12 or our hurricanes i nthe area. Bouys are being set. The contacts are going in and comming back out. 2 LCII's are also enroute. The Blue Whale is preparing another wing for stand-by. Lead pilot is Ray-1 Have your boys in thier link with ours and let the duck shoot begin eh?"

"Alright, use the guns so they can't track you. Short bursts, no active sonar..." He began listing the locations of the SubFighters.
"CLF, this is Labrador. We're taking out the back 4, you guys get the front 6 in 3... 2... 1..."
The cannons sputtered as they sent Supercavitating rounds out of their HyVeloc guns at Mach 6. But during that short period of time, 6 anti-ship torpedoes, traveling at Mach 5, screamed toward the biggest things their sonars could find- the CLF battlegroup. The back 4 exploded as the projectiles ripped through them. Hopefully the CLF Hurricanes would follow suit.

The CLF Navy tries not to dissapoint, and so thier actions showed. Using thier hurricannes as well, aslo let down a large blanket of fire from thier cannons.
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"Missles, inbound!"
The missle crusiers took thier places, firing thier Phalanx missle defense systems. 5 of the missles were hit, the 6th, striking a destoyer, putting it out of commission.

The remaining 6 buckled from the cannon, crumpling from the impacts.
"Ok, we got 'em. Stay on your toes, there could be more."
And there was, but at a different area. 2 Batteries of the KDF Artillery, 155mm, began raining down on the Marine Base. Men scrambled for cover as runways exploded and vehicles burnt.

The sight was a disaster for the CLF marines in the Chinook helo's on and inbound patttern to the Marine base. The lead pilot got on the comm for new directions.

"This is Stork-1 with payload, to NE control, looks like we're gonna need an alternate LZ, do advise"

He repeated the messege...
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On Board the Chafee...

Brehm stood on the bridge lsitening to the reports from his marine payloads goining inland, as well as the rescue and repair efforts for his seriously damaged destroyer. So far 45 dead, 9 wounded. His mind kept moving to his subfighters in the water, had they gotten all the contacts out there? Or was that just the first missle attack he would suffer? He made up his mind and got on the comm.

"This is Rear Admiral Brhem of the CLF Chafee, to NE fleet at Kurtz. We are light on missle defensie vessels here, permission to minge with your vessels to increase defense odds."

"Stork 1, we are *an explosion rocks the base, overpowering the staticky transmission* fire. We've got alternate LZ at Grid Tango Four Niner, look for the beacon. Sandman Six Six out."
The LZ was a valley between 2 tree covered ridges, a traning area for Marines and others at the Jungle Warfare and Survival School. Men rushed through the area, replacing mock defenses with real ones. Airmobile Light 155mm howitzers were being lifted through elevators to the caves at the tops of the ridges. Each mountain was a veritable fortress, designed to be Command Centers for New Empirian Air Defense during the Cold War.

"Ah, Chafee, this is Sestena command, Admiral John Ortega. Move your ships into the bay. We have 4 Honor-I AD Frigates, and entrenched ABL positions. Our sensors show no further enemy movements, we're good for now. However, once we track those Kurtzies with the artillery slamming the leathernecks, we're gonna ask you to open up with some VLS on them."

"Thank you Sestena command, we will bring into port at full speed. But i didnt intned on counting us out, dont you worry, Chafee out."
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The Chinook choppers were slow and encoumberred by thier marine cargo, LAV's, Hummer,s and light artillery accomanied the Light Batallion. The RLD's were now en route, in Black Hawks.

"Roger tha Sand-man six, we will drop and move into support positions. We have some gunships 15 minutes behind us, they have enoguh fuel to strafe those artillery positions, do you have co-ordiantes?"

As the sun finally set on the island, the FLIR and EMS equipped O/V-14 finally found the artillery batteries, pounding away at the Marine Base.
"All units, Victor Niner Three, I've got them at about 4 klicks West of the Tresht River, 2 south of Nougsville. Requesting Naval strike, these guys are pretty dug in."
--
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
The 4 men raced through the jungle under the fire of entrenched Marine MG positions, determined to open a hole in the line with their RPG-16s. Suddenly, red tracers zipped from the darkness, cutting open the pointman, screaming as he looked at the gaping wound. The stream countinued to rip through the men trying to seek cover, but failing to evade the fire.
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Nearby the town of Sestena, people rioted attempting to get onto refugee boats to the UCSNE mainland, as riot geared Marines stood ready.
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
The row of covered stretchers, each with a toetag, lay in the bunker, it's walls adorned with Christmas lights.

There would be no willingness to stand down on either side. War and death did not take Christmas Vacation.

The gunships that held the RLD Units got the transmission of the artillery location, the gunners' trigger fingers twitched, as the last of the Spec Ops soldiers quick-roped into the tree cover, the lead pilot gave the order.

"Alright boys, merry christmas from me to you, Brhem gives us shit, its my head no worries mates. You heard the 20, time for a tukey shoot, give those bastards what they have been dishing! Semper Fi!"

The 20 Gunships sped off in 5 attack formations, they had seend the destruction and the body bags, they had faught along side the NE forces, they had taken it personal.

The Major smiled as the 12 camoflauged M109 continued spewing rounds into the night sky, the flashes illuminating the area in a ghastly glow. Even the thunderous booms of the cannon did not bother his mood. The nervous looking NCO running toward him through the trench lines did.
"Sir... The... Radar. 20 Gunships, we think..." the man was gasping for breath between words, and sweat ran down his helmeted head.
"Damnit, get the howitzers moving, and I want those M113A8 bringing them down."
The M113A8 was the good old Gavin with a quad mount of HyVeloc 30mm AA guns, usually loaded with shrapnel rounds. They turned their cannon toward the sky as the gunships approached, and let loose their fury.

(it ate my post, so baslicy this is what I did.:

1.) Introduced a new character: Lt. Col. Ambrose, wing commander.
Hes hard core, and smart. Veteran, should be a Lt. Gen but has a streak in him.
2.) Some choppers too flak damage, Ambrose saw it heat up on his infared HUD and they broke off. They regrouped and fired Rockets into the area starting some of the canopy on fire, Ambrose also made a wide band comm transmission to NE asking if there were ground units in the area that could help them...

"Ah, CLF, that's a big negative. We've got our ground pounders holed up with your guys."
"Nix on that. This is November Tango Four Eight, we're about 1 klick out."
The double letter designation meant they were Force Recon counter Insurgency teams, usually a platoon of around 36 men.
"Alright Four Eight, you better get moving Mike Foxtrot Papa, chances are they're already moving out."
"Roger, Four Eight out."
--
"Ok guys, let's get moving. I want SLICS active, and you guys with the Scream Tubes, be ready to use them."
The M223 Hyper Velocity Light Weapon, or "Scream Tube" for it's shrieking 84mm mini-SCRAMjet shells, was their only Anti armor weapon.
They broke into 6 fireteams, and began quick marching until they could hear the grumble of the armored vehicles. The leader of the unit, Major James Raben, signaled to his fireteam's HVLW gunner, who aimed his weapon at the lead vehicle, an LAV, and fired.
The M223 lived up to it's name, and ripped the thing to shreds. Another one, less than a second later, ripped open the tail end vehicles, and another 2 made quick work of the modified Gavin. Automatic gunfire rippled from the few men still able to fire, but were silenced as the team took them down in well aimed shots. Each fireteam then split into threes as they began taking the M109s, their crews surrendering rather than trying to fight.
Raben lowered his weapon from his shoulder, and began checking the casualties over the radio.
PFC Klaus and Sgt. Coninski had minor shrapnel wounds, but other than that, things were OK.
"Hey everyone, this is November Tango Four Eight, guns silenced. We got a lot of prisoners, think you guys with the choppers can give us a lift?"

The low thumping of the black hawks' rotars was heard, thne shortly after seen, comming over the canopy
"Roger that, watch our for those craters, our rockets did a number. How many you got? We are setting down, dont dirty my choppers, we just cleaned em! Ha, ha. Good to see you grunts."
Ambrose's voice was a gruff but friendly on on the radio, many a grunt had been comforted by its farmiliar sound in his years.

"Alrighty, we've got something like 65 including Kurtzie prisoners. Always nice to see some CLF in the area, we've heard some stories about your RLD teams. Good to know you're on our side."
The already dark night skies had darkened, and rain was beginning to fall over the jungle, and the whole island of Kurtz. As dawn approached, the valley and mountain LZ, now codenamed "Alamo", seemed to become quieter, the pop and cackle of weapons dying out with the guerilla fighters that had been storming them. Round 1 was coming to the close, but Kruman, sitting in his HQ bunker with reports flickering across his computer screen, had some low blows for Round 2.

The choppers loaded up thier new cargoes and headed towards 'Alamo',the gound-pounder support the CLF had shipped in was there and being assembled, the RLD's were in thier home, the jungle!

Reban slouched against the rear wall of the 'hawk's passenger bay, looking over the dark landscape. Moonlight glinted off the waters of a shallow river, and far away a small town provided a few pinpricks of light.
--
In the C3 Bunker at "Alamo", the men looked over the WarNet reports, cheering at the news of the artillery's destruction.
--
The clogged docks of Sestena Seaport were illuminated with floodlights of the Marine riot detail, supervising the Kurtz refugees swarming into the ships. In the midst of the crowd, 4 KIA operatives in civilian clothes disperesed throughout the human mess. Then, each threw a fragmentation grenade into the crowd in front of them, and ran to the sides towards the abandoned warehouses, while firing pistols at the riot detail.
As the bodies flew and tumbled and the screams began, the bullets began whizzing around the soldiers's heads.
"Sh*t! They're throwing grenades! Shootin' at us!"
The nervous PFC held his M88A5 SAW at prone like he had been trained, looking down the Aimpoint II sight.
"Shoot back!"
The Sgt. was already plinking away with his M-32 into the crowd as the 4 KIA members continued firing.
"Godammityoustupidsonsab*tches!" the PFC rattled off the curse as fast as his weapon fired it's 6.5mm JHP rounds into the terrified crowd. The 6 positions opened up furiously, people falling like ragdolls as brass seemed to flow from the weapons. The mass of people was soon reduced to a heap of bloody, mutilated dead and wounded. Short bursts of fire occaisionally cackled at movement. The 4 KIA members who had come to return fire were dead, but so were hundreds of civilians.
"Oh, f*ckit. Cordon off the area. Don't let any media in."
They were too late, a news helicopter covering the story that night was already shooting footage of the whole thing, and soon the news networks of the world would display these horrid images.

OOC: OH shi! :shock: Ill post tomorrow, gotta think up a reaction to that one, good one.

OOC-That's the kind of reaction I'm looking for OOCly. This whole thread is basically the horrors of war in what will become a gray on gray conflict. It's kind of weird how people RP wars here, it's always nice and clean. Very few troubles with refugees, no friendly fire, no nervous 19 year old Automatic Riflemen taking down the civvies with the gunman.

OOC- I know exactly what you mean, there are few who actually do that these days. Barley any of them need more than the names of thier one of two commanders, the rest are "oh my 4 divisions move west and meet your 2!" Its much better RP to do what you(and I myself sometimes) do when you bring it down to the 'small picture' sometimes, and show what its like. And what you did IS what its like, and I must say that was a great touch. Im still thinking of how to respond, Haha, Ill get to it in a couple of hours, Ill be out from 0800-1300(approx) Pacific time.

SOrry to do this to you NE, but I got a BIG IRL crisis going on, might not be able to RP for a while ,I wish you luck in all your endeavours and hope we can RP when im ready to again. Good luck buddy, its been awsome!

Well, crap happens. You can't live your life based on NS. Anyway, it's been good, I'll put this to the side.