Lunatic Retard Robots
15-01-2004, 02:51
Lieutenant J.G. Howard Sean stands on the bridge of his Hauk-class corvette as it makes its nightly runs between the LRR mainland and the chain of swampy barrier islands that cover most of the nation's west coast. The islands have been a haven for smugglers of all kinds, seeking to get their goods into LRR. Everything from pirated TVs to assault rifles regularly cross the long chanel between the islands and the mainland each night. And the location couldn't be better. The nearest naval base is a good 100km away, so the ships assigned to patrol duty had to travel from the base, carved out of the cliff face, to the swampy, marshy west coast. As an added bonus, the most heavily armed corvettes could not pass through the shallow and overgrown passageways among the islands. And it was for precisely these reasons that most of LRR's west coast is left undefended. (This and the fact that to get from the west coast to any signifigant point inland, one would have to cross a very heavily defended chain of mountains.) But, on to the story!
The hauk corvette slowly motors along the coast, its searchlight sweeping the water. Its fuel cell motor barely makes a sound, and crewmen stand ready to enforce LRR law with the corvette's bofors cannons and machine guns.
Rumor had it that the smugglers were actually planning a rebellion, but the idea had been quickly dismissed among official circles. Its not like they had that kind of weaponry......
KABOOM!!!!!!!!
A 155mm shell splashes into the water a few feet ahead of the corvette.
"What the hell was.....we're under attack! Man the guns! Helm, get us out of here!"
Captain Sean grabs an RPK-74 and starts firing into the bushes. The 7.62 bullets fron his Kalashnikov join the fire from the twin bofors cannons and multiple other crew weapons. This barrage is soon met by similar fire from the islands, M-16s and other, newer weaponry. The crew takes heavy losses from the concealed shooters, obviously skilled mercenaries.
The corvette speeds out of the chanel into open water, riding high out of the waves. Too late, however. A 155mm shell finds its mark right below the wheelhouse, splitting the boat in half and sending the captain and a good deal of the rest of the crew flying into the icy cold water, soon to be picked off by sharpshooters from the undergrowth.
After a short while, a barge mounting a soviet-bloc 155 howitzer emerges from the trees, barrel smoking. It is pushed along by several ghilie-suit clad men with poles, and it quickly dissappears into the next cluster of bushes.
Meanwhile........
Captain Rodney Jones lays asleep in the top bunk of his barracks room. The four other marines in the room are also asleep, snoring loudly. A casette player on a small table by the door plays an AC/DC tape over and over, too quietly for anyone to notice.
Ring Ring Ring
Rodney Jones rolls right off of his bunk and onto a pile of newly washed clothes.
"Goddamnit! Who did that? Who did it?!!"
He then notices the phone ringing on the table, and walks over to pick it up.
"Yes? Hello? Yes, this is captain Jones. Hawkinge? By tomorrow? I can't imagine why....ah, yes yes I see. We'll be there in the morning."
Meanwhile.......
At the LRR national defense monitoring center, nestled deep inside a mountain, phones ring and personell rush this way and that, many depositing stacks of paper on the desk of General Smith of the national air defense command. A framed picture of an Su-47II hangs on his office wall, along with a menagerie of other aircraft, even some sattelites, and, strangely, an SA-15 silo.
"Get me on the phone to anyone who'll listen."
"Right away, sir!"
General Smith dictates the following message, which is forwarded to most modern-tech nations who LRR considers friendly.
From: LRR high command
To: <Insert Nation Here> Spec Ops command
We request aid in putting down a rebellion in the west of the country, an area inaccessable to tanks, and impassable to large amounts of troops. Any sort of riverine or special operations forces would be most helpful in acheiving this goal.
Thankyou for your help~ General Shea Smith, LRR home defense command
Meanwhile.........
At the small fishing village of Anne Harbor, the postmaster sits in his chair at the post office window, reading a book, oblivious to the troubles around him. Literally.
Around the post office, there are now several trucks congregated. What could only be described as technicals. And mean-looking as far as they go.
The elderly postmaster hears a knock at the door.
"Hold on, hold on. I'm coming."
He walks over to the door, and opens it.....to see a heavily camoflauged person pointing a pistol at his face.
"Move it."
The postmaster obliges, and the man, followed by several of his companions, enter the post office, co-incidentally the only building in the area capable of worldwide communication. He types out the following message, and sends it to all the major mercenary companies.
Wanted: Mercenaries, will pay up to 5000 USD/kill, to help support a rebellion. Please send your contacts to the west coast of LRR, preferably the villages of Westburgh, Anne Harbor, or Point Judith. This is a fully secure transmission, please send contacts as soon as possible.
The hauk corvette slowly motors along the coast, its searchlight sweeping the water. Its fuel cell motor barely makes a sound, and crewmen stand ready to enforce LRR law with the corvette's bofors cannons and machine guns.
Rumor had it that the smugglers were actually planning a rebellion, but the idea had been quickly dismissed among official circles. Its not like they had that kind of weaponry......
KABOOM!!!!!!!!
A 155mm shell splashes into the water a few feet ahead of the corvette.
"What the hell was.....we're under attack! Man the guns! Helm, get us out of here!"
Captain Sean grabs an RPK-74 and starts firing into the bushes. The 7.62 bullets fron his Kalashnikov join the fire from the twin bofors cannons and multiple other crew weapons. This barrage is soon met by similar fire from the islands, M-16s and other, newer weaponry. The crew takes heavy losses from the concealed shooters, obviously skilled mercenaries.
The corvette speeds out of the chanel into open water, riding high out of the waves. Too late, however. A 155mm shell finds its mark right below the wheelhouse, splitting the boat in half and sending the captain and a good deal of the rest of the crew flying into the icy cold water, soon to be picked off by sharpshooters from the undergrowth.
After a short while, a barge mounting a soviet-bloc 155 howitzer emerges from the trees, barrel smoking. It is pushed along by several ghilie-suit clad men with poles, and it quickly dissappears into the next cluster of bushes.
Meanwhile........
Captain Rodney Jones lays asleep in the top bunk of his barracks room. The four other marines in the room are also asleep, snoring loudly. A casette player on a small table by the door plays an AC/DC tape over and over, too quietly for anyone to notice.
Ring Ring Ring
Rodney Jones rolls right off of his bunk and onto a pile of newly washed clothes.
"Goddamnit! Who did that? Who did it?!!"
He then notices the phone ringing on the table, and walks over to pick it up.
"Yes? Hello? Yes, this is captain Jones. Hawkinge? By tomorrow? I can't imagine why....ah, yes yes I see. We'll be there in the morning."
Meanwhile.......
At the LRR national defense monitoring center, nestled deep inside a mountain, phones ring and personell rush this way and that, many depositing stacks of paper on the desk of General Smith of the national air defense command. A framed picture of an Su-47II hangs on his office wall, along with a menagerie of other aircraft, even some sattelites, and, strangely, an SA-15 silo.
"Get me on the phone to anyone who'll listen."
"Right away, sir!"
General Smith dictates the following message, which is forwarded to most modern-tech nations who LRR considers friendly.
From: LRR high command
To: <Insert Nation Here> Spec Ops command
We request aid in putting down a rebellion in the west of the country, an area inaccessable to tanks, and impassable to large amounts of troops. Any sort of riverine or special operations forces would be most helpful in acheiving this goal.
Thankyou for your help~ General Shea Smith, LRR home defense command
Meanwhile.........
At the small fishing village of Anne Harbor, the postmaster sits in his chair at the post office window, reading a book, oblivious to the troubles around him. Literally.
Around the post office, there are now several trucks congregated. What could only be described as technicals. And mean-looking as far as they go.
The elderly postmaster hears a knock at the door.
"Hold on, hold on. I'm coming."
He walks over to the door, and opens it.....to see a heavily camoflauged person pointing a pistol at his face.
"Move it."
The postmaster obliges, and the man, followed by several of his companions, enter the post office, co-incidentally the only building in the area capable of worldwide communication. He types out the following message, and sends it to all the major mercenary companies.
Wanted: Mercenaries, will pay up to 5000 USD/kill, to help support a rebellion. Please send your contacts to the west coast of LRR, preferably the villages of Westburgh, Anne Harbor, or Point Judith. This is a fully secure transmission, please send contacts as soon as possible.