NationStates Jolt Archive

Office of the Minister of International Relations, IRD Tower, Government Sector, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The office looked basically like any other office of a minister, in any other country. A nice desk of darkly stained wood was covered by a curved brass lamp and a dark green blotter. Subtle hints shouted out, if you knew what to look for, of far more advanced technology than the fountain pens which decorated the surface. A full holographic interface was buried in the desk, yet powered down currently. A high backed leather chair sat empty behind the desk, while two more comfortable appearing, and shorter, seating arrangements, were before it.

One of these was occupied by a heavyset bearded man, starting to go slightly bald up top in his reddish brown hair, dressed in a two piece suit. Johnathan Currey wondered once again, for perhaps the tenth, or even the hundredth time since his orders, if the President's decision, was a good one. Objectively, it was true, that allowing the return of Morgoth would be a bad thing, but there had hardly been time to see what this new regime would act like on the international scene. They had been so concerned with domestic matters for the last while to play any significant impact on places outside their borders, especially with all the damage their military had undergone in the civil war. But all these people had worked for the Dark Lord.

But he had his orders. He checked the time. Ten seconds.

With a lifetime of experience, he banished any dark thoughts, and waited.

His holoscreen flicked to life...

Surprisingly, Althalon himself chose to answer the FSP offer; obviously going over both Rabani and Kit's head as he responded from the battlefield. It's not immediately clear where he is when the transmission starts, but quiet thuds and booms can be heard almost immediately: it's clear he's near the front and for what it's worth, he seems to be annoyed about it.

"Hello!" he starts simply, reaching back to push his cloak out from under him as he takes a seat. He deposits his rifle on a nearby table. "You'll apologize if I have to make this quick: it would have been easier of course for me to delegate a response, but I thought it necessary to emphasize the importance of this meeting by attending to it personally."

He stirs, but doesn't get too comfortable. "Arda will soon be reopening diplomatic channels, but it is surprising and encouraging to see someone beat us to it. I can't make any promises" he leans forward a bit with the emphasis, "but maybe we can work something out." He clasps his hands over his chest and leans back. "What did you have in mind?"

‘Nathan watches carefully as Althalon appears on screen. It is rather unexpected, and he tries not to let his surprise show. Given that he’s had nearly thirty years of doing this, it is unlikely he lets anything slip. He smiles at the man’s cheerful greeting, despite the apparently active combat he can hear in the distance. He silently gives an order for his computer to filter it out. I can’t think with that noise. Intelligence Division would probably tell him later where precisely the man was transmitting from, which given the rifle, was far too close to the front.

“Hello, Angsiyan,” he replies, smiling warmly. “I’m Foreign Minister Currey.” Unlike Bruce, Rebecca or Arthur, or one of the lower ranking ambassadors, or the members of the President’s family, he is not really a public face, despite being the head of the International Relations Directorate. Yes, Ardan Intelligence undoubtedly knew precisely who he was, but Althalon might not recognize him immediately.

And yeah, they would also know that ‘Foreign Minister’ was not his actual title, but given that time seemed to be of the essence…

Without the warning that the Five Kingdom’s leader himself would be the one calling, Currey feels no reason to apologize for D’ron’s absence, and so jumps into the heart of the matter. “The first order of business, I’m afraid, must be a official cease fire between our two nations. I’m sure, given the, ah, changes your government has undergone recently, and the fact that the Imperial President has already approved it, we can proceed under the assumption that one is in place or will be shortly?” His questioning tone is belied by the surety in his voice. He has little reason to doubt this proposal would be accepted.

As such, he continues. “The Federation is prepared to offer all reasonable aid to the Five Kingdoms at this time, exclusive of direct military intervention. Given the nature of the conflict and it’s swift progression towards the Ardan mainland, we are not in a position to intervene as easily as we might have before.” He smiles easily once again. “Given the highly destructive nature of modern warfare, and the fact that the cities are the key strategic goals of the AMF advance, we in the Federation feel it might be best to do what we can to help your civilian population survive the rigors of war.” He makes eye contact with the other man’s hologram. “In all honesty, what do you need that we can provide? Food? Medical assistance? Civilian evacuation resources?”

Althalon stirs and pushes his eyebrows together at the use of his formal title, but says nothing of it, nodding occasionally as the IRD man says his piece.

"Cease fire?" He asks bluntly. It almost doesn't sound like a question. "Done. If there are any terms, send them to my Liason Office in Ali'Staan and I'll sign them personally at my earliest convienence. If not we can proceed under the assumption that there is one, and draft the formal document once this gets underway."

He reaches up to scratch the back of his head. "I can't see why we would turn down a limited medical mission." "But the Arraš island chain isn't very heavily populated," he observes, pursing his lips in thought. "So, it's hard for us to tell exactly what kind of priority AMF is likely to designate to civilians, but the feeling here is that the operation is meant to destroy our miltary infrastructure rather than to gain land."

He pulls his helmet off and instinctively pats down the bits of hair that stick up as a result, and an irritated look passes over his face. "A plan which, ironically, swings the door wide for Morgoth to mosey back on in, if he knows this is happening. Wherever he is."

Frowning at the mention of Morgoth, Currey replies a bit worriedly, “We were sort of hoping that you knew. Our Elven community is attempting to find him, but to the best of my knowledge they have not.” He smiles a bit harshly. “If there was any evidence linking him to Dreadfire’s move against the Five Kingdoms, or if he tries to return later, you can count on our active intervention.”

He pauses for a moment, and looks lost in thought, as his eyes lose focus in the tell tale sign of a Federation senior official conferring with TacNet. But not long enough to invite Althalon to reply to him before he once more speaks. “As soon as they can be prepared to depart, the Ground Force First Division hospital will be on its way to the Five Kingdoms. We’ll be sending a heavy escort while it’s airborne, and a company of Space Marines from the First Fleet flagship will accompany them on the ground, if that is acceptable?” A smile graces his lips. “I’ll have them bring the hardcopy of a generalized cease fire with them.”

The Angsiyan leans forward and claps his hands together once. "Excellent!" He stands. "I would suggest sending the mission to Volandstad on Arda's west coast; and from there it can proceed nearer to the front under the aegis of the First fleet, which should be about ready for deployment by then."

He pauses, remembering something. "Although for what it's worth I don't think Dreadfire and Morgoth are in on this together--I'm under the impression that Dreadfire thinks we are still working for Morgoth," Althalon suggests, pointing to himself at the emphasis. "They never really got along all that well. Dreadfire has probably convinced himself that because Angband and Utumno are still 'standing'--so to speak-- that no real change has taken place."

The Minister of International Relations nods slowly, processing the information given to him by the Ardan. “I’ll be sure to let Central Command know where you think it would be best to send the mission and they’ll arrange for it to get there.” For the briefest second he considers calling up a map of Arda to see where the other man is talking about, but dismisses the idea almost instantly. Now was not the time, or the place, for those kind of considerations, especially not by him, who was uninvolved, except at the periphery.

“As for Dreadfire’s motivations, as able as he may be as a military commander, no one has ever accused him of being overly blessed with intelligence.” Currey grins. “It does seem likely he does not recognize any change in the government of Arda, and merely perceives the Five Kingdoms as being weaker militarily than in the past, hence acting against it now. As for the fortresses of Morgoth, perhaps at some point after the current conflict, we can negotiate some sort of assistance with making sure they are no longer ‘standing’.” On the last word, his voice mimics Althalon’s when he spoke it, making it clear he understood what the man meant. “Perhaps, also, when you are ready, the Federation can extend an embassy to the Five Kingdoms, as one our primary goals seems to be shared.”

This time the grin is broad. “Preventing the return of Mister Tall, Dark, Scarred and Scary.”

Althalon nods his head simply and stoops down momentarily to retreive his helmet. "Excellent. I'll put the Sky Marshal in touch with your office and you can file the flight path with him at your earliest convenience."

A couple men can be seen darting a little too close to the holo projector, clad in the gold and black of the Ardan Vzj'Nakai officer uniforms. Althalon responds to what appears to be a muted voice, speaking both to Currey and his off-camera addressee as he reaches for his shotgun. "As much as I agree with that estimation of Dreadfire, I can only speculate that he truly has no idea what's going on in Arda, but he will find out soon enough. Unfortunately--" he pauses to check the chamber of his weapon "--I do not have the time to attend to the rest of this right now, as much as I really probably should be back in Daturias."

He bows his head slightly as he's about three quarters of the way towards the projection edge. "Keep in touch. Please also accept my greatest thanks for the offer. It will not be forgotten."

Currey nodded, realizing that the Ardan leader was even closer to the front than he had supposed. “Of course, Angsiyan. I am sure we will speak again soon.” He watched as the man left the frame, and then the display died, the transmission terminated at the source.

The Minister of International Relations stood, and calmly moved to his desk, already having his computer system retransmitting the recorded conversation to the Military Directorate and Intelligence Division. No doubt they would find many interesting things contained within.

Somewhere. Everywhere. History. The next day. Oh, and over the Western Atlantic as well.

Divisions, in the Federation Ground Force, are numbered sequentially, which meant that First Division was, in fact, First Division, of the First Corps, of the First Army Group, or the first of some two hundred and forty other divisions, each numbered in turn. Divisions One through Twenty belonged to the First Army Group, Twenty-One through Forty to the Second Army Group, and so on, and so forth, for all twelve current groups.

Needless to say, to be assigned to the first Division in any of the groups was something of an honor, but to be assigned to First Division was even more so. It simply meant that you were one of the best the Federation had. First Division had, over its history, contributed more soldiers to the Special Operations Command than any other division, and the First Army Group, similiarly.

But then, they had a long history. The nickname of the First Army Group was “The Imperial Guards”, but it drew its name from the First Division, which, nearly two thousand years ago had been established as the Emperor’s Personal Command in battle.

Admittedly, there was no Emperor now, but the tradition remained. Though the whole thing remained classified, D’ron had, himself, commanded the ‘First Combat Team’ from the Battle Center during his Term of Service, and then retained direct command of it even when he was controlling the entire war effort against the Manilowians.

So it was rather needless to say that the Medical Corps personnel assigned to the First Division would also be the best. The First Division Hospital consisted of at least one doctor specialized in each of the twenty-six traditional areas of medicine, with quite a few having overlapping training, and all thirty five of them having at least some years experience and training as trauma surgeons. They were accompanied by eighty nurses and two hundred and ten sick berth attendants for a grand total of three hundred and twenty five medical personnel.

Normally, this would be the passenger load of four Albatross-class Dropships, and everyone would have plenty of room, but this was a hospital, which meant that it instead took up four Camel-class Heavy Dropships, more than twice the size of the smaller Albatross and lacking the offensive weapons of the same, to hold all the equipment and stay set up and mobile. This squadron, as promised, had a heavy escort. Two squadrons of Longsword fighters, a squadron of Broadsword fighter-bombers, and a squadron of Shamshir gunships. Five medical evacuation equipped Parakeet shuttlecraft flew along as well, the only craft to not have any weapons at all aboard. And they would be joined somewhere over the ocean by whatever small craft the S.P.S. Capella’s Marines would be bringing.

For as few people as it was, it was certainly a heavy escort.

And not to mention, of course, was the fact that the course they followed took them within a hundred and fifty kilometers of the Third Surface Fleet, and never more than a couple of hours response time from either bases in the Federation or the forward deployed Air Combat Squadrons who were watching the situation between the AMF forces and the Five Kingdoms.

S.P.S. Capella, Flagship, First Battle Fleet, FSPSN, Low Earth Orbit, Currently over the Pacific Ocean

Staff Sergeant Rebecca Mullen looked over the assembled ranks of Federation Space Marines comprising the Fourth Company aboard the Federation’s flagship, hiding the wry twist that threatened to slip into view at the fact that these very tough men and women were all clad in dark green undershirts and shorts, and nothing else. In some odd twist of fate, Fourth Company, since Operation Crying Rock, had become the place to be. Against all tradition, the Colonel commanded it instead of First Company when all the Marines dropped together. As it was, not all the ship’s Marines were going, but the Colonel was still coming along. Fourth Company did not have a captain, after all, only the Colonel. Well, except that First Platoon was commanded by a Captain instead of a Lieutenant. Colonel Webster, Captain Alexander, and Second Lieutenant Peters were standing off to the side, already armored up, while Mullen reviewed the enlisted personnel. The two platoons were standing in columns lining either side of the drop bay, in front of their battle armor, with Platoon Sergeants Jackson and Amir heading each one. Those two were the only survivors of Mullen’s squad from Operation Crying Rock, and, like her, were quite promoted from that time.

Pale grey eyes, in this light, searched out both of the other two senior non-commissioned officers’ expressions, and a hard smile graced her lips, but not those eyes. Both platoons were ready to depart, and it appeared everyone was grateful they would be riding down in style. The company was allotted four of the Huntsman Assault Pinnances, rather than the usual two, to account for them needing to take a larger number of supplies with them than usual. A squadron of the dreadnaught’s fighters would be escorting them in.

But style was less of a concern to the Marines, and to the Staff Sergeant specifically as she turned the company over to the Colonel for his pre-mission pep talk. They had all been briefed a few hours earlier on the mission specifications, and Mullen tuned out the meaningless words as she ran her eyes over the battle armor in one last brief inspection. Her suit was in the generic configuration, middle of the road on firepower and longevity. It could operate continuously for two days before require a recharge, which they could get from the pinnaces’ fusion cores, which would operate for a month without refueling as long as they ran at a minimal level. Near a body of water, that could be extended to six weeks.

As it was, the company was dropping in the standard configuration, two squads of scouts, two squads of heavy weapons, and everyone else in generic combat mode.

Eyes grown skilled with long practice ran over the soot black titan of two and a half meters of battlesteel, searching for any flaws in the way the heavily armored joints linked together. The only concession to the possibility of needing to be delicate was in the fingers that would be hidden behind a solid piece of plate when curled into a fist. Weighing half a metric ton, the massive piece of machinery made the six foot Rebecca feel small as she walked around it and grabbed the upraised back panel to lift herself in. As she did so, her eyes slithered over the servo-mechanisms that held the combat rifle and the multipurpose launcher. The armored bulk of the power core rested between those two weapons, along with a huge portion of the electronic systems, such as the anti-grav, used to slow on reentry and allow for rather prodigious jumps. Extra ammunition, Rebecca’s preferred mix solid shots and penetrators, filled the storage areas in the leg armor, which also contained her field uniform, a sidearm and some ration bars.

Having known too many Marines to die by being careless, Rebecca checked the combat rifle next. The weapon was nothing most people would recognize as a firearm, though the lethality of it was without question when gazing upon the serpentine form. Capable of firing anything from a single shot to fully automatic fire at a thousand rounds a minute, the rifle usually fired multiple kinds of ammunition in a ten millimeter dart form. One was explosive – the dart was composed of compressed high explosives and blew up with the force of a pound of TNT when it hit the target. Two other types, Rebecca’s preference for anything but demolition work, usually came mixed, in a ten millimeter solid dart and a sabot-penetrator round with a four millimeter tungsten core. Other types of rounds were the functional equivalent of prespace shotguns, splitting into a hundred tiny flechettes after being fired, but no one in the company used those, by the Colonel’s order.

The multipurpose launcher was ready too, filled to its maximum with three kinetic rockets and two high explosive ones. The grenade launcher on the left shoulder was filled and ready, with six grenades stored.

Hiking herself up, Rebecca slipped into the back and felt the armor sealing around her as she merged her neural interface into it, linking through hard sockets in her neck and both palms. She could see out the currently polarized view port, of one way visible battlesteel, if she should choose to do so, but she mainly relied on her sensors which began feeding data immediately about her surroundings and the armor itself. All the systems were reporting ready, including the plasma flamers mounted on the inside of each arm. A commanding thought brought the seventy five centimeter long battleblades flicking out from each arm, then another thought brought them back in.

Wincing slightly as the necessary other connections to her body were made, Sergeant Mullen checked the suit seals, and smiled. She was now protected from most ground based mobile weapons systems, and back where she belonged. Shock gel flowed out of highly pressurized compartments and filled in the gaps in the armor, and she shivered slightly as it flowed into place between her toes.

That always tickled.

“Company!” the Colonel shouted, seeing that everyone was likewise suited up. “By platoons, man the ships!” As senior sergeant, and not attached to either platoon, Rebecca watched calmly, listening in on the communications system as the orders were echoed.

“Platoon, by sections, man the ships!”

“First Section, by squad, man the ships!”

Half a scout squad and half a heavy weapons squad boarded each of the pinnances, followed by enough Marines to fill them with a quarter of the company. The Colonel, the Captain, the Lieutenant, and Rebecca would each board last, onto a different pinnance, that way a lucky shot would not deprive the unit of all command.

Two minutes later, sixteen ships fell Earthward.

Western Approaches to Arda

Seventy three vessels roared over the ocean, the signature blue field of blazing drives running at maximum efficiency outshining all but the sun unless one were to look directly at them. Then it would probably be a dead even heat. Moving at something approaching fifty-four thousand kilometers an hour, a mere snail’s pace for craft such as these were, it was more than enough to outrun any attempt at interception, the lead craft hailed the Five Kingdoms from nearly two thousand kilometers out, which was a mere two minutes of flight time.

This is Colonel Sarah McKinley, of the Federation of Sentient Peoples Air Force calling Volandstad Control in the Five Kingdoms. I request approach and landing instructions for Operation Radiant Caduceus, the Federation medical assistance mission.

The active sensors were on at minimal power, probing ahead of the spacecraft, making sure that nothing on unfriendly terms tried to get too close, unlike the Ardan fighters who were on a course to intercept and escort. There was a war on, after all. And most of the Federation craft were heavily armed.

A second of deceleration increased the approach time to three minutes. After all, there probably was no need to come in quite that hot against air breathers.

Olcay Edebali glides over to the pertinent device in his office chair. Steadying himself against the ledge, he squints at the screen and answers swiftly, activating his channel with a push of a button. "Acknowledged. Welcome to Arda. Slow to 1100 km/h and wait for word from the First."

He strikes another switch and a holding pattern flightplan is beamed to the incoming formation. "Reduce altitude to 10,000 feet and adjust bearing as indicated. Volandstad Air control out."

Edebali snaps his fingers at a passing official. "Get round to the Sky Marshal and let him know that the Federation is here. I'll put them into a holding pattern for now, but I'll send them up to the First when we know they have some carrier space to spare."

***
A few short miles northeast of Volandstad, the First Gravitic Battle Fleet was circling the sky lazily. The larger carriers had disgorged a number of fightercraft to make room for the Federation ships, in case they needed or wanted to make a pit stop at any point during the trip to Port Archoerus. As a result, the fighter escort was much larger than it normally was, consisting of just over 150 fightercraft as opposed to the standard 35.

As the Federation ships prepare to slip into their holding pattern over Volandstad, twenty Valkyries detach from the First and proceed toward the escort at a leisurely pace. The Freeks were still over a thousand miles away, but a token caution was observed nonetheless.

Sky Marshal Marcus Garrand sends the next transmission himself, from the bridge of a Florentine class command vessel in the First Fleet. He sits in a large chair, his aged face is placid as he speaks; his tone even and relatively neutral. "The First Fleet would like to take this opportunity to welcome and once again to thank the Federation for carrying out this operation. Space has been made for your escort on the carriers Beleriand and Himlad for use as you see fit. We will proceed to Port Archoerus when you arrive in formation with us. Please advise upon arrival where your mission will be touching down relative to the front."

McKinley smiled behind the bubble of her helmet as the radioed response echoed directly into her brain. “Approach altitude and velocity acknowledged, Volandstad Control.” She gave no order for another minute, on the other hand, and the Federation craft sped onward towards the Ardan coast.

It was only then that she spoke to the escort and the craft they were escorting. “Alright, boys and girls, we have our instructions. Begin descent to three-aught-seven-seven mikes.” The hurtling craft dropped like rocks, falling the smallest bit less than twelve kilometers in the space of two seconds, a rate of descent that would have horrified anyone not accustomed to modern aerospace craft. As it was, the Federation vessels were coming nowhere even close to straining their air breathing performance envelope.

Now a minute and a half out at their current speed, McKinley gave the order to cut speed again, once more increasing the approach time to three minutes. Dropping to the speed specified by Volandstand Air Control could wait until they were closer and dropping to that speed would not mean an hour of flight time to cover the last little bit of the journey. Two more minutes passed in relative silence while the Federal vessels ate up six hundred kilometers of their journey, before a simple signal sent them to an effective halt in midair.

Creeping along at a mere eleven hundred kilometers per hour was limiting, but at least it was very clear that the Longswords and the heavier vessels all had plenty of speed in reserve. On the other hand, the fact that they were now twenty minutes from the Ardan coast would give the Five Kingdoms time to prepare for their arrival.

They were close enough for their sensors to clearly pick out the First Fleet now from the background chatter without having to rely on the Federation’s orbiting satellite network. That was one major disadvantage to flying in atmosphere as opposed to outer space.

Settling into the final approach for their holding pattern, they noticed the blocky Valkyries detaching and approaching, and there was a sudden increase in active sensor ping density, the sort that might be the prelude to an attack, in all honesty. But the Federation was here to help, and as powerful as the escort was, attacking under the guns of the First Fleet would have been suicide. They just did not want to crash, and now the other airborne vessels were starting to break into their proximity grid, which was a constant sweep of low powered radar and lidar around the vessels when they are under power… unless it is turned off, of course.

There was, additionally, the minor matter of up until the day before, the two nations being in a de facto state of war, given the lack of treaty or even official cease fire. And well, that was a lot of firepower headed towards them. Better safe than sorry, if the diplomats and military intelligence were wrong. Because everyone knew that never happened.

Creeping closer still, they adjusted course to intercept the Five Kingdoms’ First Fleet as the Sky Marshal’s message arrived. Sarah smiled and replied, as her computer highlighted the Beleriand and the Himlad by pulling their IFF codes, “Thank you, First Fleet Control.” Given the man had not identified himself, she had no idea it was, in fact, the Sky Marshal. “It is our pleasure to assist.”

It occurred to the Colonel, of course, that they had still been airborne less than an hour and a half, and so, it was probably unnecessary to turn out the Ardan pilots to provide landing space for the escort, which would, after all, be returning home by the most expeditious manner once their mission to deliver the hospital to the front was completed. But, since they were, in fact, turning the Ardan pilots out of the bunks to make room on the decks for the Federation craft, it would be impolite not to acknowledge the hospitality.

“Gentry and Footbear squadrons, decide among yourselves, one squadron to each of the two carriers. I don’t ever want you more than three minutes from a crash launch, though, but you can get out and stretch your legs if you like.” The suggestion had the force of an order, and all her pilots knew it, and that kept the Naval fighters, her own squadron, and the gunships airborne for immediate response if necessary. “Everyone else, fall in aft of the First Fleet’s formation.” It did feel a bit odd for Sarah to be applying that label to anything other than a Federation formation, but perhaps it was time for everyone to change a little from what they had known so long.

Twenty four of the seventy three aerospace craft swooped forward into the formation of the First Fleet, while the others settled leisurely behind it, executing that most common of military maxims – hurry up and wait.

“Colonel Ramirez, where do you want your hospital?” the commander of the escort said, hailing the lead dropship.

“Depends on the direction of movement. Thirty kilometers behind the front is standard, plus or minus twenty based on the direction of the Freeks are advancing or retreating. I don’t want to have to pick up and move very soon after we arrive.”

“Understood, Colonel. I’ll let the Ardans know.” McKinley switched back over to the frequency the Five Kingdoms seemed to be using. “First Fleet Control, somewhere about thirty kilometers behind the center of a stationary front would be good for the hospital. Fifty if the Freeks are advancing and ten if you’re pushing them back.”

As she spoke, she watched the two squadrons beginning to land on the carriers they had chosen, and smiled grimly, hoping everything was going to be okay.