NationStates Jolt Archive

It was by now an open secret within Allanean military circles that peace has been offered in the New Dornalian conflict – and already, so rumor had it, the Defense Committee in Congress and the top intelligence brass where planning something really, really big. Something that would actually be a risk of resources and lives on a new scale, rather then just another raid on GFFA positions. What it was, remained classified. But what was certain was that Allanea was buying gear.

In the offices of the Department of Defense, a gray-haired old man had been typing up a long letter to Zeppelin Manufacturing. It included large scale orders for a variety of items, including among other things …thermostellar devices, kinetic kill missiles, orbital deployment bunkers, orbit-to-ground bombs, antimatter plants, and furthermore nonreusable ground attack drones.

In the offices of the Naval Command, a young, scantily-clad woman, was typing a letter to the PPC corporation in Pilon. They needed other weapons – Ull craft, anti-ship weapons, biological weapons adapted to fighting armored threats, orbital bombardment devices, and re-entry vehicles.

The Army Department of Special Operations began drafting it's own letter, to the Valinor. It had it's own requests – listing as needed thousands and thousands of missiles, bombs, gun turrets, gigatons of advanced explosives, and immense stockpiles of railgun ammunition. Further, there was an apparent need for cheap freighter craft for a purpose which remained unstated, and naval landing craft capable of landing infantry and bolos – this despite the fact not a single Bolo was officially present on Allanea's naval roster (though there were plenty oversized tractors).

In the meanwhile the Naval Research and Development Team has been working on what has been called Project IAF (Increasing Allanea's Firepower), and in reality was a set of new warheads for the heavy continent-killing Miriel nos Feanor missiles. What was the purpose of the warheads remained completely unknown, but rumour had it they would be big. As in, really big.

From the Department State, a single message was sent to the C'tan by Victoria Sheshet herself.

We need guns. Lots of guns.

OOC: I don't know who you are, but if you feel like war, ould you please take the actual war actions with me to a separate thread? This is for an RP plot already spoken about with several other players. I don't mind having a war with you, but please post it separately. Sincerely yours,
Allanea.

A short message was returned to Allanean Arms, indicating a willingness to sell whatever they needed and an invitation to visit Pilon to arrange the details directly with a PPC representative.

The Funk of Fourty Thousand Years


The first impression is of something ugly and almost overly industrially functional as the 6 mile long, 5 miles tall, and 4 miles wide form of the mega freighter ZMM SS Yuri Vladimirovich Andropov (though why a symbol of hyper capitalistic pride was named after a General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union was never answered to its captains satisfaction) plodding earthwards at 0.3 of C becomes apparent. It is steadily getting nearer to its turn over point the Andropov’s huge vector vaned covered (the vanes rather tastelessly having the ever present truckers mud guard companion sprayed on in half inch thick chrome) impeller drives rotating slowly on there outriggers as they prepare to alter the ships position to present its single massive linear pulse drive. It should probably be noted at this point that as a rule megafreighters are just about as manoeuvrable as a blue whale fired out of an air gun and with similar financial and physical operating constraints to 20th century super tankers in relation to delays.

The megafreighter in question was officially hauling six hundred thousand shipping containers of frictionless self servicing tie racks from the Forsini Fashion houses spring release, 28 megatons of mercury and for no good reason whatsoever fourteen gallons of what had once been a number of oxen that had strayed under the port landing strut after escaping from a near by comestibles transport just as the Andropov was touching down on the grid at Gastins Star.

This was the official manifest the actual manifest was far less pleasant, though it also included the liquefied oxen. One could say many things about it, that the endless crates of sharp pointy and above all explosive things were a testament to sentient life's ingenuity and ability to act like an utter bastard to one another. Other things such as “lethality to mass ratios” and “blast radius” could also be mentioned. Others such as the 25 thermostellar devices on deck 12s secure warehousing one could say absolutely nothing about whatsoever as the rather pleasant worded unit of blue skinned genetic infantrymen and the rather more disturbing presence of a trench coated INT-SEC officer that MILICOM had insisted come along insured that anyone who did received a ding around the ear.

At the moment the Andropovs hull is furred in a thick layer of masts and telescopic booms, the dull domes of gravitic cargo movers stapled to the great cargo gantries that led down her four off loading points sit like unsightly metallic warts rising above the forest of metal. If one had been wholly uninformed one would have persumed that the sixteen huge lens filled apertures dotting her sides where broadside primary CREWs on battle ship spinal scale. Two were exactly that, the rest were industrial scale holo projectors obscuring the Andropovs form from the humble eyeball mark one with a never ending series of flashing adds for such products as insta deep fried happy happy fun time beef sticks (now with extra realistic gristle) and the ever popular spray on, lick off liquid underwear (now also available in mint).

As the music of thriller boomed out with the words depressingly edited out to indicate it was indeed that hellish pass time known as karaoke in progress captain Philip Barret took stock of the dregs of his deep sunset on animated lime ice, stirring it slowly with one finger as he stared into the heart of each cube. He was watching as they melted, the sordid image of scantily clad call girls gyrating within them in positively illegal manners as rising temperatures brought the tiny smart chips within them to life. He was at the moment rather desperately using the excuse of his moral officers repeated requests for a bridge crew night out to escape his monthly performance reviews for another few hours. He glanced up as a boo filled the air and the somewhat overweight figure of ships engineer 1st class Brenin Lwwyd danced on stage in the ships (if its holos ever turned off) rather drab Fourth Quarter officers restaurant (deck 22, that nice fake brick street bit outside the quick stop shop vending bank but before you get to the hellish realms of human resources and its ever present stench of flimsy burning machines and broken sentient hopes and dreams) in an outfit he really shouldn’t have tried to fit into with some rather obviously garishly cheap looking zombie make-up lathered across his face.

While energetic his performance lacked both skill or in any way Jacksons ability to actually dance. With his skin tight jeans straining against the bulk of the overhanging beer belly causing it to swing pendulum like every time his attempts to gyrate with jackson are more like a sequence of well aimed jiggles with the backing troupe brought back to life by the boredom of some unknown wretched vid tech dancing just as they had the centuries ago. The usual sound track that would have otherwise accompanied it in peoples brains now somewhat for the worst edited to include a deep welsh voice rolling out the words in tones that would have put Brian Blessed to shame.

Doctor Philip Augustus Vandimire Klench (SI) was at present ensconced as the 23 gallon tank of liquid computronium at the heart of the Andropov, a mobile temple to the ever growing maw of solar industry. For all intents and purposes the synthetic intelligence was the Andropov and for a tenth of a second he dithered back and forth over the decision of whether or not to just sleep gas the crew and pretend the entire thing had never happened. As the ship entered earth approach the megafreighters light civilian tachydar fizzing as it came online and gave it usual pitiful performance at detecting anything more than megaton scale masses.

Brenin Lwwyd was now dripping sweat across the deck as he bellowed out

“It's Close To Midnight And Something Evil's Lurking In The Dark”

Only to be cut off mid sentence by a quite electronic cough of the proximity alarm, staggering sideways somewhat as he had to counteract the moving mass of his own indulgence and as the music and lights died with a whine Barret triggered his neural link with an errant thought about dancing flies doing the polka the rest of the officers dotted around the lounge doing similar.

“Marie what the blazes going on?”

Barret Tersley sent to his somewhat well built female first officer as his implants linked him to the Andropovs virtual bridge space, Barret firmly dropped the drink as the tactical displays danced across his hippocampus only to be answered by the somewhat harsh and definitely not female tones of Klench.

“I am sorry captain but Marie is indisposed at the moment dealing with a minor fracas between senior tech Peterson and logistics manager Werner. It appears that Peterson has stapled Werners lapels to his desk."

“oh darkspace not again, what the hell is it his time? Werner wont give up another crate of washers?”

“Nooo more like 390 crates captain , it seems the port coolant outtake arrays seating requires maintenance.. maintenance to death”.

“Wonderful, well what is it?”

Klenchs voice was now almost apologetic, he had been linked to the sol wide data nets for a little over 8 hours and had for all this time knew there destination.



“ Im sorry to say captain that our destination is Allanea”

“Oh frig, with this lot?”

“Yes captain”

“Will never live this down with the rest of the fleet ..wait that bastard Hannigan doest know does he?”

“Noo captain, Captain Hannigan does not and shall not know of our destination”

“Nearest milicom unit?”

“Unfortunately captain there are no detached patrols on our associated vector given the present unpleasantness around mars they are all within the mars general sphere and at least half an hour away”

“I am not hearing much good news in this Klench”

“Well it did stop Brenin singing”

Once the ZMI freighter landed, it was beset by literally thousands of people, dozens of thousands of drones, trucks, and other pieces of equipment, that came upon it like hungry ants upon a lump of sugar. They carried the weaponry rapidly away, but there was so many it would take hours if not days to unload completely.

The Allanean President was personally among the thousands of personnel that greeted the ZMI freighter. He spoke for a few minutes with the ZMI crew, and then an odd smile appeared on his face. “So, you’re telling me the Department of Defense just bought thirty megatons’ worth of weight in explosives, did they?”

“Yes, this is the case.”

It was never a good thing for a foreign leader to be completely unable to control his facial expression. Surely , the Zeppelinians would not be happy to see the expression of the man who just bought 25 worldkilling weapons from them.

“Thanks, people.”

It was a wide, joyful grin.