NationStates Jolt Archive

Whitehall, London

In recent times the United Kingdom hadn't been too friendly with a large number of nations. Constant and overbearing aggression, coupled with an internal and external policy that could only be described as downright imperialism, had led to some dislike in the international 'community' and as such Questers was looking for new nations to be friends with. In typical Questarian fashion, this was done randomly and if something went wrong, it was the fault of the man below. So, the foreign minister himself, John Deltborough, known as 'Big John' by his friends (and his enemies, too) went about collecting nations, and closing his eyes, pointed to one on the page. Opening one, then the next, he looked down on the sheet of paper.

GMC Military Arms.

Flight 423, Questarian Airlines Airbus A380, 23:41

'Oh, come on. It won't be that bad.' Nicola promised. She was one of two diplomats sent on the mission to GMC, as part of the diplomat exchange program. Her partner for the project was being his stubborn little self.

'No, I won't 'come on.' Firstly, you know how I feel about this move, and I don't like it one bit. A nation like ours shouldn't be communicating with these god-forsaken Communists.' Sir Charles Fletcher, at fifty eight years old, was the kind of diplomat who thought that gunboat diplomacy was the best answer to every problem the UK came up against. He was a dying generation, however, but as we all know, generations die stubbornly. He held his Questarian values dearly, still using threats and promises from the book written sixty years ago.

'Well. I know you don't like it, but isn't it your patriotic duty to our country to-' Nicola explained.

Bad move. She had set him off again. 'Hmph! Now listen here, young lady, I-'

'This is your captain speaking, we will be landing at Marshall Island's JC Denton International Airport shortly, please prepare for departure. Thank you for flying with Questarian Airways,'

~

'Bloody hell Jack, these guys are tight.' The pilot said. He peered outside the window slightly to watch a nifty little airplane zoom over the A380. And another. And then.. what the hell? A giant.. what looked like a bomber, soaring alongside the plane. And on the other side too. These guys weren't jokers - they were deadly serious. And they were armed to the teeth, too.

The Federal landing procedure was extremely restricted compared to what QA pilots were used to - that is, landing how suits you best, with advice and guidance from Air Control. Nevertheless, the plane smoothly dropped from the skyways and taxiid the runway, coming to a halt at its destined target, following Air Control's orders to the tee.

Jumping up from her seat, Nicola's ..generous figure bouncing slightly, she removed the stowage from the ceiling compartment and energetically pulled on her fur jacket, checking her hair was tied back into a perfect ponytail and taking a minute to carefully spread some lipstick on, she followed Charles, who seemed to care not about his appearance (except from dusting his pristine suit down) off the plane, through customs and into a lobby somewhere. They were both wearing business attire; Charles a full suite, and Nicola a blouse and a kneelength skirt. They waited to see if anyone was waiting to show them around; if they werent, Sir Fletcher was going to be very angry indeed. Nicola on the other hand waited patiently - it was her first diplomatic mission abroad and it was a perfect time to show off her abilities from the academy.

London, Questers

The black SUV cruised down the streets of London pasted crowds of angry Questarians burning the Mekugian and Juumanistraan flag, chants of angry demonstrators and lines upon lines upon lines of new recruits ready to answer the call to their country. Noone could predict how many of them could come back alive. Some where only fourteen or eighteen, some were fourty or fifty with their ex-service cards in hand. All were ready to lay their lives on the line for the country they loved, and for a cause that ran much deeper than they believed it did. The SUV continued round the corner and at pulled over at Trafalgar square.

The window of the SUV electrically wound down and First Lieutenant Nathan Lambert, Royal Marines, leaned out the side next to a pair of home guard soldiers piling up sandbags next to a lampost. A poster hung up on the lamp post boldly declared 'Juumanistra may strike with GAS at CIVILIAN targets any time. Be prepared! Don't go anywhere without your gas mask!' Another poster below it also told people to 'TURN OFF YOUR LIGHTS: Juumanistran bombers WILL fire at your homes!'

'Oi, which way to't airport?' he asked the home guard officer helping pile up the sandbags.

'Just down Parliament Street, across the Union, and you're there mate.' he shouted up.

'Cheers. God Save the King!' he saluted and the officer replied with the same motto and saluted back.

The SUV rolled up its window and Lambert sighed, turning it back onto the main road and continuing towards the airport.

'So.' The young woman sitting next to him tried making conversation.

'Mhm.' Lambert replied.

'How long you been in the service?' she asked, smiling at him.

'Few years.' Lambert was pissed. He should be on the frontline, not here, escorting a few petty diplomats. The war had just begun and he didn't want to be hanging around London when his friends were out on the front fighting, dying, and winning.

'Oh. I see.' she realised he wasn't interested. She was bored and needed conversation, though.

'I got a list of places that we can take these diplomats to show them the country. Wanna hear? i think I need a second opinion on some of them.'

'Go on them.' Lambert was indifferent. Though he didn't say so, he hoped there were a few five star restaurants there - he knew he'd be staying at a five star hotel, but maybe he could leech a bit more off the state on this one. after all, they did owe him. The SUV turned the corner and crossing the mighty Union street, pulled over to let a convoy of raw recruits bound for the front pass. Their faces, white, black, yellow - but inside they were green. And they were already dead. Bolt action rifles in hand, WWI style rim helmets, the troops looked confident and scared at the same time.

King George International Airport, London

Lambert sat complacently on a leather couch in a waiting room, his military uniform standing out from the entirely civilian operation. He took a sip from his coffee and began to read the newspaper again, as a jet roar denoted yet another aircraft landing at the always busy airport. He was part of the diplomatic attache for security, and security only - it wasn't really his business, after all, he was a military man. The 19 year old diplomat, fresh from the academy, however, was a different matter altogether. Jenny Freshat was entirely too enthusiastic about this whole mission, David thought. It was a sunny day outside. The light shined through the large waiting room windows, which provided a great looking point out over the port. It wasn't just a coincidence that the most powerful warships in the fleet were withing photo distance of the arrivals lobby and the waiting room. It was typical Questarian weather, though, which meant it could turn to a downpour any second. The weather here changed sides more times than an apartment block at Stalingrad.

'Please? You don't have to stand up, just look smart..' she sighed. It was no good. He just didn't care. She tried again?

'Pleeeeaseeee? My whole career rests on this..'

'Nah. We got plenty of time yet.'

'No we don't! They'll be here ANY MINUTE!' Jenny looked exasperated. Poor girl, she was only trying her best.

'Nah. Customs is a bitch anyhow, and-' she didn't let him finish.

'Look here you son of a bitch, I did NOT learn six different languages so some fatarse military wanker could spoil my fucking future, do you understand me, motherfucker!'

Nathan blinked at her. 'Um.. yes. Of course.' Putting the paper down, he stood up and tried his very best to look formal.

'Yay!' Jenny's eyes light up and she pecked a kiss on his cheek. Just in the nick of time, too; a few seconds later, the GMC representatives turned the corner into the waiting room, probably tired after being harrased by so many customs and excise offiers, to see an officer in baggy grey pants and a green shirt and jacket with a kevlar vest underneath and cropped brown hair. Standing next to him the smiling young woman in a skirt and blouse with the bland grey uniform of the Diplomatic Corp, was the other half of the diplomatc mission to show GMC the nation of Questers. If they thought that meeting foreign delegates with a military presence was militaristic, they had only seen the start of it.

Grand Dragon bomber Wyvern One-One-Four, Federal Airspace, ISON Grid 2104 [South]

Juliet Felix reached up above her to the radio as the contact appeared on her radar, a large civilian airliner bearing towards Marshall City, 'Wyvern One-One-Six this is One-One-Four, have contact with Queen-Able Four-Two-Three, are we go for flying escort?'

One of the Aerospace Fighter wing answered instead, Juliet by now familiar with the slight distortion that came from their fluid-filled cockpits, 'This is Black Ten, affirmative, we are to escort this contact to the designated airstrip, over.'

Juliet smiled, 'Ten four, proceeding with that, Black Squadron aircraft Ten, Twelve, take the lead, we'll follow...Advise them weather over their landing strip is Fox-Uncle, they'll be getting that idea as it is.'

She settled back in her seat, setting the autopilot back on, 'Ok, bombsight to setting three and kick your guns, let's not be any scarier than we have to be.'

The giant bombers slowly descended through the thick clouds below them, the three fighters diving ahead of them, engines glowing in the few seconds Juliet saw them before they vanished completely. 'ISON grid two-one-zero-four control this is Wyvern One-One-Four, entering ADF three, fighter dope, request update, over?'

'Contact with Queen-Able-Four-Two-Three on stations one, three, four, seven, ten, twelve, subgrid 45, range twenty, altitude nine-nine-seven-zero, airspeed four-eight-two, bearing three-five-one. Positive locks from batteries...Ah, damn it, again?'

Juliet smirked, 'How do you keep a betting pool going on this when G-South always wins?'

'Never you mind, One-One-Four. ISON out.'

Juliet glanced back over her shoulder as the visual contact calls came in from the two fighters, 'Frank, you'd better not be moving those tiles around again.'

The bombardier glanced up, 'I still don't think "segued" is a word, sir.'

Juliet frowned, 'It is a damn word, and when we get back I'm going to prove it to you. It's staying on the board until then.' She looked back at the windscreen, now swirled with rain, as her co-pilot nudged her, 'Visual contact, right there.'

She pulled her headset back down, flicking on the second set of anti-collision lights 'Queen-Able-Four-Two-Three this is Wyvern One-One-Four, you'll be flying on my three o'clock with the other in my Element on your three, please make no sudden course changes. Do you copy?'

She paused for a moment; when the reply came, the speaker was obviously slightly taken aback at the level of response their flight had attracted, 'This is, um...Questarian Airlines Flight 423, roger that.'

Thunder rolled across the dark, rolling countryside on the way to Marshall City; for some time now, the aircraft had been following within sight of the long ribbon of Victory Road far below. The road was eighteen lanes wide with a railway running beside it, and was now beginning to bore through the hillsides as they got closer to the capital. In the distance, among the mountains, a sharp eye might pick out a vast circle of concrete cut into the middle of the hills to the West, visible for a moment and then gone.

As the formation approached closer Marshall City itself began to loom ahead; first to become visible were the squat factories on the outskirts, huge complexes of warehouses and railway depots surrounding assembly plants and factories. Lots containing everything from rows of new cars to fully assembled components of warships formed islands between the hulking forms of the larger plants, cranes working ceaselessly even this late at night to load components onto flatbed trucks or freight trains. Beyond the factories and the suburbs, the vast skyscrapers of the city centre rose high above the surrounding plain, peaking at the centre in the massive black shape of Maiden's Tower that extended fully a mile above the streets below.

The airliner's radio crackled again, 'Wyvern One-One-Four to Queen-Able-Four-Two-Three, you still following me?' Juliet grinned as the pilot responded, the wipers on her bomber's windscreen not really helping to clear the rain, 'Bloody awful weather, ne? Anyway, this is our stop, transfer to landing control at JC Denton and follow their instructions, I'll be setting this girl down at the Army base.' She grinned, 'If you have time before turnaround I'll buy you a drink, k?'

Her co-pilot smirked as the bombers banked away from the airliner, 'Do you always hit on civvie pilots, sir?'

Juliet nodded, laughing, 'Sure! I have a reputation to think of, after all.'

JC Denton International Airport, a short time later

The arrivals lounge at the airport was spacious, to the point there was an entire piston-engined plane resting on its undercarriage in the middle of it, with a snack bar under the fuselage. It looked to be extremely old, and a plaque nearby confirmed this; identifying the plane as 'Draco,' the first aircraft ever operated by Federal Airlines almost two hundred years ago. Aside from this, the lounge was fairly normal; the representatives were quickly ushered into a private lounge by airport security once they'd cleared customs checks, one of the officers saluting smartly, 'Sir, sir...Speaker Koyama will be with you shortly. She asks that you enjoy the view until then, the restaurant can send you something if you're hungry.'

The view in question was of the rain and thunder over the runway. The towering skyscrapers they'd seen while approaching loomed in the distance, with a strange shape slowly moving through the sky in front of them, lights blinking in the darkness tracing something that looked to be the size of a warship.

They were soon interrupted from the view by the soft sounds of hooves on the marble floor outside, approaching the lounge; the sound was far too quiet for a horse, and the pace was wrong too...

The sound stopped at the door and there was a brief pause, then the door opened slowly to reveal a slightly nervous-looking Cervidine, wearing a black Staff Sergeant's uniform and with her long auburn hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She saluted to each, then smiled, 'Sir, sir...I'm Speaker for the Department of Internal Affairs Ikumi Koyama, and on behalf of the Supreme Commander and the people of the Federation, welcome to Marshall Island. I trust you had a safe journey?'

King George International Airport, London

Satsuki Hasegawa did indeed look a little tired as she finally cleared the last of the customs checks, not used to quite as many odd looks as she was getting, either. She supposed it was just novelty; most of the people here had obviously never seen a Kitsune before.

She could have done without the need to explain several times slowly that her documents did indeed say Jiro was her husband and Rebecca her wife. But with that out of the way and her four bodyguards and two aides tagging along behind her, she was finally ready to meet the people she'd been sent here to see.

In terms of appearance, she wore her full black dress uniform, five medals gleaming slightly on the jacket next to her two unit citations and below her impressive collection of campaign ribbons. Above those were her proudest possession, three sets of Army Air Force jump wings, for the three times she'd parachuted in to support glider-delivered artillery. Her insignia identified her as Captain, Federal Army Artillery Corps, and she wore a gleaming sword in her belt, the silvery handle and sheath polished very carefully.

She stood a little shy of six feet tall, her fur mainly orange with the tips of her ears, her hands and her feet black and her chest, face and the tip of her bushy tail white. Her short white hair was mostly tucked under her officer's cap, which sat between her ears, carefully shaped to ensure it was comfortable. Satsuki paused for a moment, checking her silver-grey lanyard was settled properly.

Jiro smiled, 'Seen you angry, sad, bored, happy...Nervous is a new one.' Like her, he was wearing his full dress uniform, though his was somewhat less impressive and lacked the sword his wife wore. Rebecca was dressed in a navy blue suit, as the only civilian of the three, walking beside Satsuki as they made their way to whoever was going to meet them.

As Satsuki walked she glanced around, looking for something worth taking home to their three daughters; It was a little sad she'd had to leave them at home since they'd always wanted a holiday, but she'd heard it could still be dangerous here. She'd promised her little girls souvenirs, at least, though she wasn't sure yet just what that would involve...She knew what Questers was most known for, obviously, but the Hood was a little out of her price range and Ari probably wouldn't appreciate it anyway.

She saluted as she saw the group from Questers waiting for her, smiling and managing not to let the tiredness and jet-lag show, 'Captain Satsuki Hasegawa, Federal Army Artillery Corps, on behalf of the Federation.'