NationStates Jolt Archive

1

“Ahmed, you pass it to the left, man!”

The young private was new to the barracks, but the national pastime of marijuana was still well-respected in the army. He changed his clouded mind and passed it to his left, to the Sergeant with the handlebar moustache.

“Well done, lad, you’ll go far in this army.” Sergeant Mustapha Hafeez said before he took a long drag on the spliff. “Hey!” he shouted, “Turn that radio up.”

The crackling radio was tuned to a special news bulletin from their overseers, the elite caste in Chicken Tikkastanian society.

<The Ses’uh government of Diminix was cowed by our skilled diplomats, today, as they delivered their message of defiance to the Imperialist nation. This comes after a Dominican Airliner was shot down over Tikkastanian soil, by forces unknown…>

“Forces unknown, my ‘tache!” Hafeez shouted. “Our glorious brothers of the air destroyed the foul demons as they tried to land.”

Much mirth went around the smoke-filled room as Hafeez handed over the spliff to his neighbour. The air-raid alarm sounded.

“Someone go and turn that thing off,” said one of the corporals. It may have been a naval base, but the platoon of soldiers had been ordered to encamp there by their General.

The air-raid alarm continued. There were anxious shouts outside, men running and giving orders. Again it sounded, rousing the first of the soldiers from their drug-induced stupor.

“Isn’t that the alarm?”

They never heard it coming. Despite the fact the Tomahawk was subsonic, the bunker was well-shielded enough to block out the noise of an incoming cruise missile. Without warning, the Soldiers were engulfed in a massive explosion, tearing the bunker apart in chunks of smouldering concrete. The same thing was happening all over the coast of Chicken Tikkastan. They were under attack.

“I told you they would attack us!”

The Overseers were all dumbfounded. They had been told there was no way Diminix would even consider an attack on their coastline. The jetliner incident was meant to be isolated and non-traceable. The Overseer of Foreign Affairs paced around the room and continued.”

“Our bases are in flames, there is nothing to stop them landing, we must send our troops forward to the coast and beat them off.”

“Don’t be such a fool! We cannot defeat them in open battle.” The Overseer for Defence spoke, “They are too strong. We must strike them and fade. They will be too strong otherwise.”

“We still have our Rogan Josh planes.” Said the Overseer for Information.

The pride of their Air Force, the Rogan Josh was simply the export version of the Su-30M, suitably renamed for the Tikkastanians.

“We shall use the Masala’s fleet to strike their fleet when they are weak,” he went on, “our Vindaloo submarines shall be their silent killers under the waves, then our forces shall hold firm on land and in the air. They shall be repelled.

On board the Tikkastanian Aircraft Carrier, the CTN Masala, the Balti fighters were already leaping off the ski-jump bow, using their short-take-off-and-landing systems, just like the Yak-38. The twelve hurriedly-launched attack craft would defend the fleet and seek out The Cornerstone, probing their defences and cutting down their fighters.

Beneath the surface, Kilo-class Vindaloo submarines were encircling the Dominican fleet. On the coast, one of the few remaining fully-functional coastal defence batteries fired its guns at the aggressors. Seeking out the first ship in range, they sent their projectiles in high arcs across the sky.

On board the Vindaloo submarine Faahl

"We have Sonobuoys and multiple Torpedoes in the water!"

"Where the hell did they come from?" shouted the Captain, not wanting an answer, "Up Elevation, get though the layer. Five-inch room launch now-now-now! Get the Masala, splash those ASWs!"

Despite their best efforts, it was no good, in fact it was utterly hopeless. Sonar operators from miles around, including the other four active Vindaloo subs, could easily hear the immense increase in engine power, followed by several characteristic crumpling sounds, as two Vindaloos were obliterated, for the loss of more than a hundred men beneath the waves.


At the Tikkastanian Naval Base...

"A hit! We got 'em"

By luck or skill, the operators didn't know and didn't care. They had ripped the side off on of their destroyers, effectively putting it out of action. They were now the most successful Tikkastanian battery in history, the guns having never been fired in anger before.

"Reload! Fire again!"


Elsewhere on the base...

"Get those Naans into position!"

The Soviet-made T-55 tanks, christened the Naan by Tikkastan, were rolling into defensive positions, entrenched by sand, sandbags and concrete blocks, their guns ready for any assault ahip that would come into range. Troops were moving up into position, machine guns and anti-air weapons ready for an assault that the Tomahawks had surely been a precursor to.


On the CTN Masala...

"Baltis away, Sir. Their defensive screen is moving to intercept them."

"Excellent, Lieutenant," the Captain said,"Put some more up to defend us. Send the confirmation signal to Command."


In the air, somewhere over the Tikkastanian coast, beyond the visible horizon...

<Masala to Romeo-Juliet lead, Lager, the code is Lager.>

"Roger, Masala, Lager confirmed." The pilot paused for a moment, flexing his grip on the controls. "Romeo-Lead to Flight, we have a go."

The Cornerstone's air support was being drawn off by the Balti craft. Now, the pride of the Tikkastanian Air Force would unleash themselves on the agressors.

...some minutes later...

"Romeo-Lead, launching Harpoons."

<Romeo-Two, launching Harpoons.>

<Romeo-Three, launching Harpoons.>

This went on until all 14 of the squadron had launched both of their Harpoon anti-ship missiles. Selecting different targets, as they were briefed to do, the 28 missiles sreaked towards the Dominican Navy at just over 850 kilometres per hour.

"Romeo-Lead to Flight, break and head for home."

The Flight of Rogan Josh planes broke into pairs and pulled away from their course, back to their bases in Tikkastan.This would be their payback.

On board the CTN Masala...

"Inbound missile, sir. Very big, very fast."

"ETA?"

"Three minutes."

"Sound the alarm. Get every plane and chopper off the deck, pronto. Launch 'em or stow 'em, I don't care."

Within thirty seconds, three Poppadum transport and ASW choppers had their rotors spinning, while the final three Baltis were warmed up to leap off the deck.

Two minutes later...

"Defences penetrated! Twenty seconds to impact!"

"All hands, brace for impact!"

The missile came in almost faster than the eye could follow. It dropped down in a deadly path, smashing through the flight deck and into the holds below before exploding. The flight deck erupted like a volcano as the V4 ripped apart the insides of the ship. Within a second, the fuel reserves caught alight, detonating the entire rear section of the ship in an even more destructive fireball. The ship's stern was vaporised, the ski-jump bow thrown through the air to crash into the sea below. Yet more explosions went off, these more minor, as the remaining combustible materials detonated in the tremendous fireball. The one shining light in the Tikkastanian Navy was extinguished, relegating them back to the status of a frigate navy.

*The office of Carlito Orfosi, Minister of Defence*

"Can you play them together, linking the timecodes?"

"Yes, Sir," the techie replied. He'd done the same thing himself this morning, so he knew exactly what was coming next.

The digital recording played again, the voices were easily distinguishable. The Su-30M fighter pilots, the Dominican Air Lines jetliner and the Tikkistanian Air Traffic Controller.

[code:1:6e41fa06c1]
### PLAY ###

Su-30M #1
<Target inbound, stay alert people>

DAL 204
<DAL Flight 204 to tower, coming up to approach runway one-niner.>

ATC
<Affirmative 204, be advised Tikkastanian Air Forces are in the area.>

DAL 204
<Roger, tower.>

Su-30M #2
<Target acquired, Missile locked>

ATC
<DAL 204, you appear to be on fire!>

DAL 204
<Roger...(muffled shouting - indistinct)...Negative control, all systems are green, no flames>

Su-30M #1
<Fire.>

Su-30M #2
<Roger, firing.>

ATC
<204! Definite fire, I can see flames, starboard engine!>

DAL 204
<Negative we're... (explosion)...Tower! Starboard engine has exploded! We're going down!>

ATC
<Rogan Josh Flight, good job, head home>

Su-30M #1
<Roger, control. Heading home.>

DAL 204
<Pull left! Come on you big lump of... Nooooo! TRANSMISSION TERMINATED>

ATC
<All rescue vehicles to runway one-niner. Emergency (laughing)>

### STOP ###[/code:1:6e41fa06c1]

"Oh my God," the minister was dumbfounded, "Does anyone else know about this?"

"All our indications say no." It was the Protectorate's Communications Officer, Ricardo Gomez. "This is routine recorded intel, we only just went through it for any information. As far as we know, only us and the Tikka scum know about this."

Starblaydia and Chicken Tikkastan had been engaged in intelligence operations for the last few years, the Tikkastanians had even broken the news on Starblaydia's secret A-14 Gryphon well before the Air Force were ready to announce its existence. Now with Starblaydia's increased intelligence operations in Tikkastan, they had uncovered this gem.

"Is this why Diminix is attacking Chicken Tikkastan?" Orfosi asked.

"We think they have suspicions, but nothing concrete. They only sent a small force, remember?"

The satellite photos in front of them were only 4 hours old, showing a fleet of around twenty Dominican ships just a few miles off the coast of Chicken Tikkastan. There was also the Tikkastanian fleet, but that was nothing to really be worried about, as where there used to be an Aircraft Carrier, there was now only debris, bodies and burning oil. There were a fair few coastal defensive positions in ruins, too.

"We have to send this to Diminix," Orfosi said, "they must know the truth." All conscience and common decency dictated that Tikkastan should take full responsibility for this dispicable act treachery.

At the Coastal Battery...

"You missed, damn your hide..." were the last words spoken in the turret before it was blown into itty bitty pieces by the four Tomahawk missiles. Rubble rained down on the surrounding defences as the dust began to settle.

On board the Vindaloo-class submarine Karai...

"Captain!" the Sonar man shouted, "I have detected a multiple submerged missile launch, about a mile away."

"Got a fix on the position, crewman?"

"Aye, Sir! Bearing oh-nine-three, sir"

"Helm, get us there at greatest sustainable speed. Rig for ultra-quiet. Weapons, Spin up three ADCAPs and a MOSS"

In the air, where 20 Balti fighters now search for a carrier that isn't there...

<Masala just bought it!>

<F-16 Squadron closing.>

"Haldari has the lead," the anonyed and very frightened Squadron Leader commanded, "break and run for home, any airfield. Now."

<Vampires! Ripple-launched!>

A generic term for air-fired missiles, there could be only one target in the sky. Them.

"Red Flight, engage. Black Flight, head home."

The 14 pilots of Red flight, that had been used to draw off the fighter escorts, were lower on fuel. They would not make it to land, so they would sell their lives dearly, turning towards their agressors, hoping to outmanouevre the Vampires and splash a few F-16s. The remaining six Baltis of Black Flight immediately headed for the coast.

Eleven of Red Flight were almost immediately splashed by the incoming Vampires, simply unable to get away from them. Two more collided in the confusion. With just one left, their Squadron Leader Haldari, there was nothing left for him to do but fly his Balti into the teeth of the Dominican Fleet, shot down in a blaze of glory, his fiery coffin missing a destroyer by a good few hundred yards.

The Defensive beaches of Tikkastan...

"Get those obstacles in place, dammit!"

The Sergeant Major was shouting like a madman, trying to get the engineers to place the hundreds of pyramid-shaped concrete blocks into position is quickly as possible. These were designed to make tanks think twice about crossing them, for fear of ripping holes in their floors and rendering them immobile. At strategic points all along the coast, these blocks were put in place.

"Look at that."

The major turned and saw a fiery waterfall, the trailing edge of a V4 missile streaking towards his position. He didn't even have time to curse before the weapon struck the ground a few hundred yards away, killing him instantly and flinging his carcass another hundred yards or so through the air. Nine times this was repeated, putting the alert defenders into a complete panic as some of their best assets were incinerated by the explosions.

On board the Vindaloo-class submarine Karai...

"Target bearing oh-one-three, Sir."

"Launch the MOSS immediately. Rig it to go noisy at two-thousand yards, bearing three-three-six."

"Firing."

The MOSS torpedo made the sound of a noisy submarine, and it's path was designed to draw the Armoured Falcon's attention.

"Fire tubes two and three."

"Firing."

"Reload and fire again. Helm, get us out of here... slowly"

Umar was gone. Etaz was gone. Guly, too, was dead. One by one every member of the Overseer council had been blown up in the dead of night by the psychotic Dominican scum. They were systematically decaptiating their regime. Or his regime, to be exact. No-one every paid attention to him, the Information Minister, and he had the real reigns of power.

Every day now, he hid. He was on the run, managing to move by day and night. Now he was shaven-headed and thick bushy stubble was growing on his cheeks. Dressed in rags, he was able to moved through crowded streets like any other person. He remembered the night Guly had been assassinated, murdered, by an unseen killer.

They had been enjoying women and wine in Guly's palatial home while the country around them burned. He had just walked out of the door, staggering drunkenly back to his jeep. He had heard thunder rising in the sky. But it wasn't thunder. Glass had shattered and he had been thrown to the floor, looking up to see his firend's home in flames and feeling the heat on his face. Guly had only been the Minister for Sport, not involved in any of his grandiose schemes. But he was a face, had a name, and was on their list. Their pack of cards, or dice, chips, bones or whatever the heathen barbarians used to gamble with.

There was nothing left, his country had been cast into the dark ages on nothing more than a suspicion of their actual deed. The only planes overheard flying above now were Dominican.

Now he scarecly slept as he continually ran from his unseen hunters. No-one recognised him on the crowded streets, but, then again, no-one had really known much of him in the first place.

But the Dominicans would not find him. They did not know his country like him. The cares, the hovels, the buildings, every place where he could never be found. Perhaps he would lead his people in a new nation formed from the rubble of this one. Who knew the future?

At 80,000 feet, keeping their speed down to around Mach 2, one of the Starblaydi Air Force's latest procurements, a squadron of SR-71 Blackbirds, had one of their number testing its capabilities of Chicken Tikkastan, now only referred to in the media with the adjective 'wartorn'. They wre testing the updated imaging equipment to survey the damage done to every conceivable target by the Dominican Air Force.

"Its a nice day, commander, why don't we check out Indrupal's hidey-hole?"

"Sure thing, can't have too many pictures of it for intel."

*****

<Sir, I have the Dominican Foriegn Minister Chingy on line 2 for you.>

"Thankyou Janey," Orfosi pushed a button, "Hello, Sir..."

"Yes, I know you're busy, Sir. But what I have for you is extremely important."

"I... Yes, sir. Sir? I guarantee you that if you listen to what I have to say it will be worth your time."

"You have the package we sent you? Open it. Play the tape."

All across Chicken Tikkastan, the Armed Forces had effectively ceased to exist. There were still ordinary men with rifles in the uniform, but there were no vehicles, no planes and a navy that any self-respecting nation could sink in a day. There were no Overseers left in the public eye to command them, and morale was at an all-time low as ragged and battered defenders prepared themselves for the invasion that would surely come.

At the main port of Shezan, the remaining dug-in tanks and gun emplacements were knocked out by the Apache Gunships, their Hellfire missiles obliterating everything with armour, followed by their chain guns that would scythe down anyone foolish enough to be cuaght in the open.

Omar, however, still had his RPG. He was afraid to put his head above the parapet for fear of getting it blown off. But, he had to defend his post. Using his shaving mirror attached to a knife, he managed to get a general impression of the attack Helicopters hovering offshore, patrolling for any movement that they could snuff out. Still crouching, he shouldered his weapon and stood up quickly. It took him a few seconds to find a target, but he pulled the trigger as soon as one of the deadly snakes came into his sights. He didn't see, however, the flashing gun barrels as bullets flew towards him.

They tried to hold off the commandos, but it was no use. With superior training and armaments, the air-dropped force had concentrated their fire and drove off the Tikkastanians, who left a few wounded men behind, allowing them to fall into the hands of the enemy. Another thirty troops had been killed, leaving about twenty to flee to the relative safety of the open ground away form the port, throwing down their weapons and tearing off their uniforms. Shezan was lost to the Dominicans and with it, the entire coast.

Their tanks were densely packed, driving as an armoured fist towards their invaders. They had re-grouped, re-armed and re-fueled to the best of their ability and were now racing towards the main port of Shezan. Their T-55 tanks, designated Naans, were now vulnerable to artillery fire, but they were in a formation designed to punch through any defence.

Overhead were the last remnants of the Tikkastanian air force. Some Fighters and Fighter bombers, most were not fully armed or fully fuelled.
Troops were carried in APCs behind the force. There was very little in the way of artillery for this lightning-fast all-out attack sped towards their target.

The Overseer Council had ordered this attack, and the Generals had been put up against the wall and shot until one agreed to lead the attack. The OVerseers had since disappeared, but they still had orders.

As the city came into view, the assault force opened fire on the defensive positions. Their last attack had begun.

The rag-tag formation of around 20 planes were hoping to keep the skies above their tanks clear. With no Airborne Command or large-scale radar support, they just had to rely on their own aircraft's radar, which wasn't particularly good. The Anti-air missiles were barely detected until it was too late for the targeted fighters to dodge in their close-knit formation. Eight fell to enemy fire or mid-air collisions as the more aggressive pilots went after the F-16 squadron. The three remaining Su-30s darted for the retreating F-16s while the others kept watch over the tanks below

*****

There were missiles and explosions in the sky above, their fighters were being shot down, but they still had cover. There were around a hundred vehicles in the assault force, twenty T-55s, forty APCs packed with soldiers, a good thirty jeeps, trucks and even a few Toyota Pickups. No support, no refueling, just themselves and their target, Shezan. There were definitely troops securing the port as a foothold for an invasion or occupation of some sort. The T-55s, spearheading the assault, fired again at the defenses so recently vacated by Tikkastanians.

*****

There was a plane overhead. Nothing new in that, thought the soldiers. But wait, they didnt have any planes like that on the ground, let alone in the sky, and certainly not dropping the paratroopers that became visible as the clouds breifly parted and bathed the oilfield in moonlight.

The nine soldiers patrolling the area hunkered down behind cover and opened fire into the air with their AK-47s, a single APC with a mounted light machine gun joined in the firefight, sending phospherous tracers into the sky with every fifth bullet