NationStates Jolt Archive

As the sun set over downtown Kusair President Brahim flicked through through a number of sheets included in the file present at his desk. He frowned, took a gulp of whiskey and yelled:

"Farid, get in here, now!"

The two giant oakwood doors swung open and a handsome, lean man burst in, his chocolatebrown eyes flickering in the light of the candle on the President's desk.

"How can I assist you, Mr. President?"

He uttered, sinking down in a plush chair adjacent to the gigantic bookshelves along the walls.

"Who the f*ck gave the order to increase our defense level to DEFCON 2? I'm supposed to decide over that, plus no one informed me. Luckily I got some contacts inside the Defense Ministry. They aren't all Abdullah's marionets,"

"Someone mentioning my name?"

Abdullah Sharif, his stature intimidatingly colossal, enhanced by the faded luminescene of the candle, emerged from his leather chair in the dark corner of the room, lugging a Tavor Assault Rifle in his both hands. He shouldered it, snapped the safety off and curved his index finger around the trigger.

"How did you get here and what the fuck do ya think you're doing, put that down, now! You could get me killed this way!"

A faint, joyless smile arose on Abdullah's face and he shuffled a bit closer.

"Farid, do something, call the guards!"

"I'm sorry, my friend, but this where it ends for you,"

Farid grumbled, waddling back and pulling out a silver Sig Sauer P226, clicking the safety off. The sound resonated awkwardly through the chamber.

"Ah, you two will betray me, seize my power. Do you think murdering me will solve anything? I've many loyal servants who will try to establish their rule after my death,"

"Shut up, I'm the Minister of Defense, a distinguished war hero and an Air Force ace. The Armed Forces are already under my control, they will obey me. You know I wouldn't have executed this coup without them, but nothing in this nation can stop them, heck, you even located enormous amounts of funds for their equipment and training and now they are your downfall. Ironical, isn't it?"

"But why, please tell me why? What have I done? I've always awarded you generously for your service for the country,"

"That's just the problem, you bastard. Have you ever thought of Al-Sabir, have you ever thought of her normal inhabitants? No, you never did, you always enriched yourself, you never tried to bring Al-Sabir's prosperity to the normal people on the street,"

Khaled let out a stifled cry.

"You're trying to tell me you will do so? Don't make me laugh,"

"Laugh as much as you wish, this is your last oppurtunity to do so , Mr. President,"

Abdullah pulled the trigger, a short flash and a crack followed. Three bullets gobbled out of the barrel and exploded right where they were supposed to hit, in Khaled's chest. He fell down on his face, his blood trickling down on his expensive carpets.

"Leave him, we have a lot to do,"

Abdullah murmered, slinging the rifle on his back and lifting the receiver of the red phone on the President's bureau, dialing a number.

"Karim? Yeah, we iced the bastard, I repeat, we iced the bastard. Let's roll,"

Interstate 59

A motorcade, their headlights at full power in the dark, sped over the tarmac of Interstate 59, Kusair's only connection through the Sinai to the mainland of Al-Sabir. Two miles south, an AH-34 Attack Helicopter hovered just inches above the Sea of Sands and was seperated from the motorcade by only one steep dune. The co-pilot, a true professional with more than twenty years of experience in his delicate profession, armed two EAW-54 Blast-Fragmentation Missiles dangling underneath the helo's stub wings.

On the backseat of the white Cadillac, the Minister of Trade, Akim Abdul, and the Minister of Finance, Yussuf Bin-Karim, were engaged in a carefree conversation on where to book their next holiday to at the expense of the taxpayer's money, not aware of their approaching doom.

Nine miles up in the cristal clear sky, a lone, loitering Darkstar UAV zoomed in on the raging motorcade. Its spectacled operator, seated thirty miles south in the comfortable, heated operation centre of Red Ball AFB grabbed a microphone.

"Cougar Two, tally, visual, press!"

Cougar Two's encrypted radio suddenly jumped to life.

"Roger, out,"

The pilot groaned. Over the tactical internet high resolution camera feed from the Darkstar was displayed on one of his flat screen liquid crystal displays. He brough Cougar Two thirty meters up in the sky, sweeping the advanced millimetre-wave radar over the first and last vehicle in convoy. The target signature data was transferred lightning fast to the two missiles and the WSO cycled the fire button twice. The weapon pylons released their grip on the two missiles. They were dropped, but ignited their solid propellant rocket fuel just in time and darted through the darkness to the motorcade, their advanced millimetric wave radar seekers identifying the targets and striking them with astonishing precision. The razorsharp flechettes released on impact flung through the sky and stroke all other limousines as well, the screaming of the wounded as their result.

The helo soared to the convoy and the pilot grinned widely, training the underslung gun system into the direction of the motorcade with a simple nod of his head. He pressed the fire button once more and the 30mm Gatling started spitting out hundreds of 30mm grenades. For the onces who had survived the first assault, there came no end to the blazing inferno...

Official Communique To The World

For too long have our people suffered under the rule of a dictator, a madman, exploiting our natural resources with no respect for any inhabitant, murdering thousands who opposed his regime. Tonight this period of fear has been put to an end by those who suffered the most from it, Al-Sabirians.

A democratic system will be installed and elections are expected to take place as soon as possible. Until then, I, as Vice President, will take over all Presidential duties, responsibilities and powers.

Sincerely,

[Signed]

Abdullah Mohammed Sharif
President of The Arab Republic of Al-Sabir

OOC: A radical powershift in Al-Sabir, from a dictatorship to something else, anything is still possible now.

Mocha, Al-Sabir

The wide boulevards of Mocha, hemmed in by towering giants of steel and glass, were flurrying with unusual stir for this time of the day, the end of the afternoon. A fearsome crowd, swayering with portrets of President Brahim and chanting his name, armed with sticks, knives, axes, and a few AK-47s, slowly progressed through the area, randomly molesting pedestrians hurrying home over the swarming sidewalks. Via a labyrinth of cramped alleys and passages, the mob advanced to the Governor's estate, guarded by airborne infantry and local policemen Demanding his personal appearance and an explanation of the assasination of the President, the mass grew larger and larger and the young duty officer anxiously gave order to load live ammunition. The atmosphere was tense and the situation quickly escalated when a number of fiery protestors tried to storm the barricades surrounding the villa.

"Return to your homes, anyone trying to trespass the barrier enclosing the Governor's estate will be shot, I repeat, trespassers will be shot,"

A loudspeaker mounted on a police riot control vehicle stated. Then, suddenly a rifle cracked and a police officer was cut down in a shower of blood. The bloodthirsty horde cheered as one and stormed the obstacles seperating them from the Governor's home.

***

"Fire at will!"

The young lieutenant yelled, taking a fix on the crowd with his Tavor Combat Rifle. The screaming of wounded men and women filled his ears. Diving behind one of LAV-25 IFVs he lurched a fragmentation grenade in the middle of the crowd.

"El-Tee! They are with too much, they have broken through some parts of the barrier already!"

One of his Sergeants yelled before he went down in a hail of gunfire.

"Mohammed, radio HQ. Tell 'em we cannot hold the perimeter, repeat, we cannot hold the perimeter. Request reinforcements!"

The duty officer got no response, as he saw the radio man being slain by the sword of a short, bearded man, wearing long, white, religious robes.

"Damn you, you bastards,"

He screamed, grabbing an M249 SAW from a killed automatic rifleman. He clicked the safety off, stood up, rested the barrel on the metal of LAV-25 and pulled the trigger. The tough recoil was unexpected and he was knocked onto his back. He tried to get up, but before he could do so, an axe hit him right between the shoulderblades.

"What the...."

He muttered, before he fell down and his world went black.

Farid, running his hand through his curls, burst into the new Presidential Office.

"...Martial Law in the Southern Districts and says to plan dispatching the entire 5th Mountain Division to the area,"

The vast television screen trumpeted, before Abdullah Sharif, the 8th President of the Arab Repbulic of Al-Sabir, dressed in a black ceremonial military uniform, shut it off with a single flick of a remote control.

The interior, was of a modern, elementairy design, also a incorporating a slight touch of the classics. Gleaming, immaculate marble surfaces, oakwood panels, colorful design seats, a giant, firewood desk and modern electronics, as vast plasma TV screens and state-of-the-art personal desktops, it was all featured inside the new office, a bit less tasteless than Khaled's office, who was always keen on animal fur.

It was located in the outer suburbs of the quiet mountain town of Nizwa, something he had done, he said, to enjoy the fresh mountain breeze steadily roaming the adjacing, vast desert plains and to benefit from its quiet calmness.

"I see you've been able to find the new centre of power. It's nice, don't you think?"

"Yeah, nice, really, but unless you haven't noticed, we've business to take of,"

"You mean those protestors causing some trouble in Mocha, eh? They are taken care of, I assure you. They won't know what hit 'em,"

Farid sighed, perching onto a plush, blue sofa.

"Causing some trouble? Thirty-nine dead policemen and airborne infantry troops, plus they've lynched the governor and his family,"

"That old bastard, bah, who cares?"

What if it spreads? Khaled wasn't exactly adored by the people, but they were certain they could live a life if they nicely obeyed the regime. He established a strong rule, law, an iron fist tearing apart any criminal encountered. Democracy will end this, but we are still in a position we could set everything to our hand,"

"And possibly lose everything we've fought for in our lives? We've dreamed of freedom and now it's just a stonethrow away. Don't waste it, it's a grand oppurtunity, maybe freedom might stimulate our people to greater heights, let the economy flourish. They will finally have a motivation to work,"

"I guess you're right, but we still must be strong. The FIO has reasons to believe that his own son, Wakil, is behind the revolt in Mocha,"

"Yeah, I read that report. Don't worry, Mocha is entirely locked off and we've 40,000 troops erasing all enemy resistance. That son of a bitch, won't be sneaking out of Mocha unless it's in a bodybag,"

OOC: Is anyone allowed to join in? How would you like people to join in?

OOC: Yes, you're allowed to join, that's the reason for the [Open RP] tag in its title. Just make up your mind about who you'd support and then do what you'd think is realistic for your government to act like, like condoning or condemning actions by either side, voicing official concerns about the situation, or sending in troops to support either the rebels or the illegitimate government, in complete secrecy or not. Heck, if you want to you can RP a faction of the rebel forces roaming the streets of Mocha, Yemen, and try to kill off as many government forces as you can do with outdated equipment ;).

If you have any further questions, please TG me, I'd hate this thread to be cluttered with too many OOC posts.

wow.Really,really nicely written.


I can guess your not Arab,but it's still a real nice story.

Mocha City, Al-Sabir

"Fire in the hole!"

Private First Class Walid, 5th Mountain Division, lobbed a fragmentation grenade over a pile of bricks blocking the alleyway, before taking a nosedive into a random doorway. A subdued crack followed by a heart throbbing scream made Walid grunt with satisfaction. He saw a body slumping down onto the ground through the grainy view of his nightvision goggles. A smear of blood appeared to be splashed onto the nearby wall.

"I got one, I got one!"

He yelled. The only answer that seemed to follow were a dozen wild gunfire bursts soaring over his head. He quickly grabbed a fresh magazine from his web belt and inserted it in his RSR-51XA Assault Rifle, before peeking around the corner and rapidly returning fire in single, aimed shots, to preserve his ammo. His three teammates, moving like a bunch of fat mooses in their thick combat suits, lurched a bit further up ahead, climbing the obstacle in their way. Walid carefully centered the iron sights of his rifle on the overhead balcony, shuffling with his back against the wall to cover.

A rectangular plaza showed up at the end, desolated, some burning civilian car wrecks parked on the sideways. Adjacing the city's largest mosque was the City Hall, the object of political power in these centralized wastelands and the office of the District's Governor. At least what was left of it. Dozens of HE 81mm mortar shells and disposable Predator SRAWs had hammered on on the two buildings for a sustained 24 hour period, as Wakil Brahim and his main militia commanders were expected to have taken shelter there. The mosque's dome had collapsed, fragments of the steel poles embedded in its concrete to reinforce it spred over the surrounding area. The heaps of rubble were toweringly high and created an effective barrier around the compound.

Overhead, a lone Hermes 1500 drone silently swished over the area, its FLIR sensor lingering over the battlegrounds in a predictable motion, the feed immediately being transferred to Walid’s Company commander, Cpt. Craig Hakim. The data flashed over the visor of his VEPR S2 battle armor. He quickly typed some commands on the small keypad embedded in his right sleeve, near his wrist.

Hell broke loose, as nearly 150 infantry troops lay down a screen of suppresing fire, the bullet rounds whizzing through the night. A faint rumbling shook the city as the howling of falling 155mm artillery shells mixed through the deadly orchestra of war.

The rest of the night, the battle for Mocha would continue, eventually resulting into the sudden withdrawal from the city by the Army in the morning. Resistance hadn't been broken and Mocha remained a symbol of opposition, holding the charred bodies of ninety-one Army grunts in its crumbled ruins.

An emergency session of the Neo Cannenite Forigen and Defence affairs council came into session as a result of the news. Prime Nomad Guardien Jacob Israel was in attendence, along with Prime Guardiean Saul of the Army and Air Guardien Moses of the Air force. Leading the meeting was Ambassador Midian, the Chief Neo Cannenite forigen affairs offical. He began briefing them on the situation.

"A few days ago an offical communicae was sent around the world regarding the toppeling of a dictator in the Arab Republic of Al-Sabir, apparantly the vice president is calling the shots now"

"Why is he any better than the dictator" Jacob Israel asked. "These Arab rulers seem to come and go like no ones business"

"There is a nub to this one sir, he has millitary support. While he claims to be prepared to install a democratic system in government we have no way of knowing what is happening"

"And what exactly has this got to do with us?" Jacob asked "These dictators need putting down if you ask me"

"Well sir, we have been monitering Al-Sabir for a long time. We have reason to believe that they are to become the next Muslim supperpower. Under the previous leader however that was not going to happen for a long while because he was far bussier with aquiring riches for himself than suporting his nations economy or infrastructure. However this may all speed up dramaticly if these people come to power and..."

"Get to the point"

"Well sir, we belive he may be planning Arab expansionism"

"WHAT! What proof have you for this"

"We have seen this sort of thing happen before. A Coo de tar in an poor nation promising democracy and freedom with the support of the army. However once the leader gets a taste of power he wants more. Espically with the force of the army directly behind him"

"Right, here is our plan of action. Put the air force on direct standby. Move the new aircraft carriers into position. Get the people into the Siani refuge to prepare in case of retaliation. I will make a world wide press conference regarding the events. If we should so need we will attack. Put the army on standby too. They will be prepared to move out. In the meantime, get CAIN to get all the infomation the can on these people"

WORLD WIDE PRESS STATEMENT FROM JACOB ISRAEL OF NEO CANNEN

"People of the world
You will have no doubt heard of the dreadful events in Al-Sabir. While these people who removed the dictator claim to have democratic plans for the nation, the Arab nations have a history of instablity about their governments. We the nation of Neo Cannen to are a Middle Eastern nation. And we aplaud those who bring Democracy to their nations. However we err on the side of caution in the understanding that this was a full millitary uprising. I ask all nations to watch the events unfolding carefully"

"..so they appear to mingle in our business."

Abdullah's smile faded from his face, but he regained his confidence and lounged back on the backseat of the Maybach, a compact white cellphone in his right hand.

"Pfff, you said Neo Cannen, right?"

Abdullah said, on the edge of erupting in a sudden burst of maniacal laughter.

300 miles west, Farid nodded, confirming the rhetorical question.

"All right, for now, we ignore them. Just issue a few communiques to the world, to negate all statements made by Neo Cannen, add some slandering as well. Just the usual stuff. Meanwhile, let the 5th Mountain reattempt their assaults on Mocha. That city has to be brought to its knees."

"Sorry boss, but the 5th has currently in no state to participate in active combat. They've lost almost a complete company in the first attacks, plus the've lost one of their two combat brigades to various commitments in Soviet Bloc."

"What about the rest of the XII Corps?"

"Well, the 5th was pretty much the centerpiece, so they're down to a pair of paltry airborne brigades."

"All right, that wouldn't be enough, I'm sure."

"Don't ask me, I'm the diplomat. Your cousin could assess the number of personnel required to take the city much better. Just ring him."

"All right, I'll see you around."

After that, Abdullah gulped back the rest of his coffee and dialed another number.

"Sharif."

"Hey, Gal, how are you doing there at the Defense Department?

"Fine, thanks, but I'm sure you're contacting me for more than just some shallow hellos and handshakes."

"Correct. I want you to evaluate the situation in Mocha and handover a complete new assault plan."

"Ah, I already made some sketches and I have some numbers in my mind, but I need the green light for something big."

"Well, authorized. Now what are you thinking of?"

"Three active Marine Divisions, plus supporting manouver brigades, especially a lot of aviation brigades and additional artillery. Total mapower is estimated at 80,000 troops."

"Why the Marines?

"Their suberb personal markmanship. A standard Marine is much more capable of handling his personal weapon than a comparable regular Army grunt. Comes in hand in an urban enviroment like this, where the swift elimination of enemy insurgents is paramount to the survival of our troops."

"Very well, get your staff to work on it."

World Wide Communiqué

World leaders,

You may have noticed both the lifethreatening situation enveloping in Al Sabir and the blackening press statement made by the decadent collection of infidels that calls itself the executive body of Neo Cannen, a fellow Middle East nation. Well, let me personally ensure you that we are doing everything within our power to restore the order.

During that same period, elections will be suspended indefinitely to guarantee the government can do the job it was assigned to, without interruption by a democratic process, as you do not change horses in the middle of the stream.

Furthermore, Army troops have temporarily retreated from the rogue city of Mocha, but will be inserted again when sufficient Marine Divisions can be made available to augment Army soldiers and can ensure the complete slayer of rebel forces. Please note, while we are doing our very best to protect the civilian population from the vicious fighting that engulfed the city several days ago, civilian casualties will be impossible to avoid, especially when you have bloodthirsty hordes of AK-armed scoundrels roaming the streets.

Should anyone have the desire to contact me, please do hesitate, as I'm personally an extremely busy man.

Yours Faithfully,

Abdullah Sharif
Head of State
The Arab Republic of Al Sabir

Mocha, Al-Sabir

The slow-moving stream of LAVs, jeeps, trucks and a handful of threaded tanks slowly rumbled over the dirt beaten roads towards the first provisional depot established at outskirts of Mocha. Plumes of dust were kicked up and drifted overhead, effectively masking their strength and numbers.

A meagre two miles inwards the city had been conquered by the 2nd Brigade, 5th Mountain Division, but they had paid in blood for every block, every backyard, every balcony, every mosque. Seventy-two fatal casualties, plus over two hundred soldiers seriously injured had drained the spirit and lifeblood out of the combatants serving at the frontlines. Therefore, they would be rotated out and replaced by the Marines mounting the approaching lines of vehicles, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The Powers-That-Be had lost their patience with the unruly city and had decided it was time fore a final and decisive counter offensive. Drastic measures had been taken to assure success and they had done it. After all, what guerrilla force could cope with two complete Marine Divisions parked on their doorstep, armed to the teeth, prepared for the worst, and able to request effective fire support so that if necessary every apartment flat infected with opposition could be shelled into the ground?

For Corporal Quincy Fadden it still felt life threatening when a few loose mortar rounds arched at his company's shelter south of town. Now, they had slowly progressed past the charred car frames and debris littering the sidewalks to search and destroy that mortar team. Frequently, they came under gunfire from some roof or window and had halted, pounding the associated building with SRAWs and 60mm commando mortars.

Now however, they encountered serious opposition when a sniper had hit his platoon commander from a minaret and the attempt to storm it had resulted in the deaths of three fellow Marines, as well as a quick withdrawal to a nearby church as fast as their legs could bear them.

"Shit, the motherfucker ain’t there no more, Sir."

First Sergeant Ivan Braham murmured while peering through the scope of his M40A1 sniper rifle. He had positioned both himself and his rifle near the window and had mounted his M280 gun camera so that he wouldn't be exposed to gunfire when looking down the barrel. Lieutenant Steve O'Hara sighed and detached his personal M310 gun camera from his assault rifle and stuck it through the window. The feed provided by the small camera was displayed over his visor.

"He'll come back. He pops up when you don't expect him. Just be patient and you'll take him down in a while."

"I hope so."

All of a sudden, a short communiqué zapped across Ivan’s visor. He selected it and two words were projected on his visor.



“Fuck it!”

Steve cursed. He slung his rifle on his back and shouted:

“Broken Arrow, boys. We’re movin’ out.”

Around him, the platoon grudgingly gathered his or her belongings and prepared to move out as suddenly a rifle cracked and someone let out a squawk.

“Fuck it, the bastard hit me!”

Private Jon Callahan lay prone, grabbing hold of his shoulder while he tried to stop the bleeding by blocking it with the sleeve of his BDU. A medic dragged him to a safe corner and started to treat the wound. Jon grunted and tried to ignore the flamming pain as it knifed through his body.

“All right, I’ve got enough of that motherfucker.”

Steve yelled. He pressed a small button on a keypad at his wrist. A GPS map was displayed on his visor; the mosque in the centre. Steve moved a small cursor on it and selected the second minaret, calling up its co-ordinates. He marked the building with a GPS waypoint and waited. Ivan crawled towards him and said:

“Sir, civilians might be near. Maybe we should just wait, I can lure the bastard out of his little hole and then tear his left eye out, so to speak.”

“No, Sarge, Broken Arrow is serious stuff. We’ve got to get out of here in an hour. The FOB is a thirty-minute walk. We’ve got no time.”

Overhead, an orbiting F-26B strike fighter answered the call by feeding a single 1000lb JDAM the co-ordinates and releasing it. The JDAM rapidly ate the remaining 10,000 feet and impacted on the minaret, causing it to implode. As soon as Steve heard the explosion, they moved out, bolting for safety.

[b]Red Ball Air Force Base

The MC-286 Atlas tailless aircraft was already warmed up when an elongated orange cylinder was loaded up in its cargo hold.

“You got be kiddin’. Please, tell me you are”

Its pilot, Captain Greg Angelo whispered, over viewing the process from the provisional briefing tent in the field. At his side, Colonel Lyn Richards, commanding officer of the 72nd Special Operations Wing, shook her head.

“Nope, Greg, President’s orders. We’re instructed to obliterate downtown Mocha, including the City Hall and its premier mosque. The only way to do that efficiently is dropping a MOAB and since you are the only one qualified to do that you will be flying that aircraft.”

“What about the civilians?”

Lyn’s face started to gleam red.

“Look, Captain, I do not enjoy this in any sort of way. These are our orders and you are a soldier so you execute them, understood?”

“Understood.”

“Grab a bite and then start on the checklist. You are expected to be in the air in forty five minutes.”

OOC: I cant RP this any more, have other ones I am involved in. I would have continued but u took too long

OOC: Your choice.

Any other takers?

[OOC: I only read the first post and half fo the secound, sorry, no time. I would like to help those who killed your President, no matter thier goals. Can someone clue me into what the major events are so far?]

IC:
"Capiton, sir. We have a message from the Generali to the E-Boat Fleet to redirect cource to North East Africa to investigate some problems with Al-Sabir." Said a Satcom Operator onboard the TES Rosemary, a Tru'Gal-class SSLDC. "Surface, return a confirmation, and then sumberge to cruise agian. Remains of division to continue cource." Commanded the Bridge Capiton.

[OOC: My whole Navy, or -Boat Fleet (E-Boat, T-Boat, and D-Boat), are ships that can submerge. E-Boats are carriers, amphibious commands, destroyers, basic surface ships used mainly. The T-Boat Fleet are submarines and the D-Boat Fleet are heavy support craft, including landing craft and missle cruisers]

bumpidy bump

OOC: Well, since there is no one else involved in this thread except me, I will provide you the rough lines.

- Dictator Khaled Brahim is assasinated by the military-supported Secretary of Defence Abdullah Sharif and Secretary of State Farid Jamzad.
- Other loyal Secretaries are murdered.
- The city of Mocha, the place of birth of Khaled, erupts in a rebellion as soon as he is murdered.
- Airborne forces and police get killed in the rebellion, as well as the governor.
- The illegitimate government promises elections and sends troops to Mocha to stabilize the situation.
- The troops get their collective asses kicked and retreat.
- Abdullah suspends the constitution and the election indefinitely, sends two entire division to pound the city into ruins.
- The city is under assault but under mysterious circumstances the President orders the destruction of downtown Mocha to intimidate the rebels with a MOAB.

I'm still considering the re-establishment of a dictatorship, as it is just fun to RP, but this is liable to change, as some naive democracy would also be an option

OOC: This is the resulting post from Angelican-Al-Sabir cooperation in this post:
http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386041&highlight=angelico


Forward Operating Base, Al-Sabir

Major Yuskenko grimaced as he stepped out of his tent. 0600 hours, and it was already searingly hot. He and his team had recovered from their initial sunburns, but they all still suffered. The initial team of twelve had been expanded fourfold, with 48 additional special forces operatives having been called in to support the Al-Sabir government’s operations. More were on the way. Operators from the First Special Operations Battalion based out of Plovdiv were being deployed, establishing what was in effect a company-sized version of the battalion. One team from each of the battalions SF companies had been deployed. So far, only the 12-man Long-Ranged Recon Patrol team and Air/Naval/Gunfire Liaison Company teams were on the ground, but within a day teams from the CSAR company and two raider companies were on the way. Yushenko had called the units in to establish a limited operational capability to protect the intelligence operation.

Yushenko had arranged to take over an isolated patch of ground at the post, and had promptly arranged for basic supplies to be flown in. Tents had been erected, fighting positions dug into the dirt and reinforced with sandbags, and camo net strung up to conceal the facility from the air, from the outside of the post, and from the Al-Sabiri troops. An MH-53J Super Stallion modified for special operations sat quietly in the sand, its massive rotors drooping low. The ‘53's engine intakes, exhausts, cockpit glass, gun ports, and sensors all had to be protected from the sand with fabric covers, which also helped to further conceal the anonymous aircraft. At the center of the sub-camp, a squat sandbag bunker had been placed. From its roof was an array of radio and satellite antennae, supporting a small communications center. The bunker also housed six residents–the all-stars of the captured Al-Sabiri insurgents.

Yushenko sat at the small card table, setting a tape recorder and glass of water down before nodding to a Lance Corporal from the Raider company. Like many of the raiders, the corporal hailed from the Ossetian mountains, where his tribe was only now becoming acquainted with electricity. His people were naturally well-suited for special operations work, second only to the Indian Ghurka, probably. The corporal soon returned with a man in white robes, whose hands were bound in front by plastic riot cuffs.

Yushenko smiled as the man entered, nodding to the corporal, who at the signal cut the prisoner’s cuffs free. “Khaled. Pray with me.” Yushenko stood, rolling out a prayer mat with one hand while offering a second mat to the prisoner. The prisoner nodded, spread out the mat towards Mecca, and knelt. After prayer, he rolled the mat, stood, and sat in the hard metal chair opposite Yushenko.

“I still will not betray my brothers.”

“Nor do I truly expect you to, Khaled. You share the name of the President, after all. Former president, that is. I have studied the man’s life, Khaled. He was a good man, a man of Allah.” The last sentence was the obvious lie, but it was a lie that Khaled himself had used before his capture. Khaled therefore nodded, out of habit as much as anything else. Though well-practiced in the art of resisting conventional interrogation and physical torture, Khaled was playing against a stacked deck. Yushenko had arranged for his superstars a careful cocktail of inhibition suppressants, depressants, and other drugs, slipped thrice daily into their large, filling, yet patently non-nutritious meals. The result, Yushenko knew, was that any human being became emotionally attached to those around, and was weakened to the point of being willing to share almost any secret.

“Now, Brother Khaled. Tell me of how you pray here in Al-Sabir...”

“And did you ever meet President Brahim?”

“Where did you train?”

“Who issued the fatwa against the government?”

“Who leads them now that you are no longer fighting?”

The questions continued, with Yushenko pausing only to change tapes in the recorder, or to pour a glass of water. Only when it was again time to pray towards Mecca did they stop. All the while in two other small interview rooms, Yushenko’s colleagues conducted similar interviews. Each officer would interview three men per day, with the prisoners being interviewed twice daily. At the end of the day, the officers spent several hours documenting their interviews, fast-forwarding through their tapes before gathering together for a vodka and a debriefing. Meals were quick, rushed affairs between interviews, resulting in MRE packages being left in the communications area in various states of consumption.

At 0145, Yushenko finally completed his synthesis of the various officers’ intelligence reports. This synthesis, along with his analysis and operational report, was transmitted to Angelico via an encrypted satellite burst. In Sofia, a duty officer would be charged with recieving the transmission, decrypting it with a one-time key, and forwarding the info to the Al-Sabir Task Force desk. Another day was done, and to be resumed at 0600. Tomorrow, the first Angelican patrol was to be deployed.


Bureau for Defense and Military Affairs Encrypted Communiqué

To: Commander, Al-Sabir Counter-Insurgency Operations
From: Angelican Al-Sabir Advisor Mission

Force Strength Report

Admin/Command (Forward Base–Task Force Ibrahim):
Command Section: 3 (1 officer)
Interrogation Section: 4 (3 officer)
Signals Intelligence Section: 8 (4 officer)
Al-Sabir Liaison Team: 6 (6 officer)

Offensive Operations Teams (Forward Base–Task Force Ibrahim):
3x ANGLICO teams: 12 (3 officer)
3x LRRP teams: 18 (3 officer)
1x CSAR team: 6 (1 officer)

Defensive Operations Teams (Forward Base–Task Force Ibrahim):
3x Raider Infantry Squads: 36 (1 officer)
1x Raider Weapons Squad: 12

Airfield Operations Teams (Red Ball AFB):
Pathfinder Squad: 12 (3 officer)
Raider Medical Squad: 12 (4 officer)
3x Raider Infantry Squads: 36 (1 officer)
1x Raider Weapons Squad: 12 (1 officer)
1x MC-130J Combat Talon III
3x MH-60G Pave Hawk
1x MH-53J Pave Low
4x MQ-9B Predator AUAV

Operations Summary:

1st Special Operations Battalion is on 6-hour deployment alert at Varna AFB–alert status being rotated between three SOBs every 72 hours to allow for stand-down leave and training. Operations plans being developed for variety of deployment options.

2x Airborne Mechanized Brigades, 1x Composite Airborne Division, 1x Composite Expeditionary Division on 36-hour deployment alert

VMQ-1 Skywatcher Squadron is conducting SIGINT/ELINT operations in international airspace off of Al-Sabir coast using EB-95A aircraft. (OOC: A Bear airframe modified for AWACS, ground radar, and ELINT/SIGINT interception)

Task Force Ibrahim reports success in the interrogation of captured insurgents. Synthesis of this HUMINT with SIGINT and ELINT resulting in targeting package development, strategic intelligence assessment close to completion.

Task Force Ibrahim reports it will commence joint patrols with Al-Sabir forces soon, as well as high-priority capture ops. LRRP, Raider units to be involved.



Special Operations Command requests the permission of the Al-Sabir government to deploy additional force protection and intelligence-gathering resouces within Al-Sabir borders in order to facilitate accelerated preparation for operations against the insurgency.

Captain Angelo banked his MC-286 Atlas in a lower orbit, while his headset chirped constantly.

"The beacon, Sir."

His co-pilot, Lieutenant al-Rhaman, noted, singaling the crew chief to ready his cargo handling controls. Angelo checked the GPS map displayed on one of his multifunctional displays. They were just three miles from the centre of the city and he wondered how many children and women were down there, unaware of their approaching doom. He dismissed his thoughts and moved his stick backwards a bit, causing the aircraft to ascend.

The ramp of the aircraft was slowly lowered and the howling winds roaring into the cabin drowned the chatter of the crew out. Angelo bent his mic closer to his mouth and spoke clearly.

"Initiate drop procedure."

"Affirmative."

The loadmaster said, reaching out for a single switch on his control panel. The tie-down rings that held the orange cilinder on its place sprung open. The MOAB was shoved over the cargo rollers and, from a height of 20,000 feet, the giant plummeted towards the earth, its guidance systems locking onto the beacon. Angelo let out a sigh of relief and moved back the throttle, accelerating back to Red Ball AFB.

***

30 feet above the high flat, where the Marine Force Recon had installed a beacon, the slurry of ammonium nitrate and powdered aluminium violently ignited. The rebel Igla team, having seen the MC-216 soar past, were instantly blinded by the yellow flash, before the air was sucked out of their lungs and their bodies were torn apart. In a range of 300 feet every building was leveled, in a range of 900 feet every building was at least shook so severly it imploded, but the blast rumbled on, knocking the glass out of their frames in a circle with a diameter of nearly 3,000 feet. Marine patrols, warned beforehand, were nearly knocked off their feet, watching the inferno from safe rooftops.

Rebels entrenched in the centre of the city, in the largest mosque and in the City Hall were crushed under the falling debris. Civilian families, having sought shelter in their basements, were burried alive, their screaming resonating through the streets.

Rebel underground depots collapsed, the fuel tanks lighting up spontaneously, leaving dozens of rebel logistics personnel with third-degree burns.

***

Lieutenant Johnson leapt up the sledge of the MH-22D direct action penetrator and attached the quick-release snaps on his harness to a nylon rope. He swung the M134 minigun aside and strapped the dust goggles to his head. His thumbs went up to the other crew chief and the pilot. The pilot had plugged his minidisc player into the intercom system and pressed play. In an instant AC/DC's Shot Down in Flames screamed through the cabin and the pilot high-fived with his co-pilot. The bird went up in the air and hovered over the forward operating base. Johnson waved his guard detachment goodbye and pivoted his minigun over the city's outskirts. The second crew chief had dehydratated himself and the pilot, an old friend from his time in boot camp, had asked Johnson took take his place in this little Search & Destroy mission. Overhead, another MH-22D and a pair of MH-28Gs circled down in a spiral, teaming up with Johnson's bird.

Suddenly, the endless urbanization rushing past underneath him came to an end and open grounds marked the blast zone. Every building had been flattened and a few desperate survivors were trying to dig graves for their dead relatives and friends with their bare hands. A few stones were thrown up to the helo and people shouted insults, but sat down again, bursting out in tears.

Suddenly, he saw movement were it wasn't supposed to be. A gun poked out of the ruins, in their direction and within the blink of an eye, it was gone again. He shouted to get the attention of the pilot and they jinked sharply into the direction he pointed at. The house had imploded, but one brick wall was still relatively intact. They sped past and a hail of bullets came after them. The bird turned and Johnson saw a man on his knees, blood splashed all over the mahogany floor and the yellow bricks. He desperatly tried to reload his AKM, but Johnson peppered the entire complex with rounds, the cartridges streaming onto his feet and the penetrating smell of gunpowder spreading through the cabin.

Suddenly, an explosion shook the bird and Johsnon desperatly tried to grab of the fuselage's edge as he swung outside. In the ninety degree bank that followed, the rotor blades snapped off under the pressure. The helo started to spin and earth and blue sky blurred into one. The pilot shut off the engines to eliminate the torque and the helo leveled off, making a rough but flat landing. The blow knocked most of the crew out. Luckily, the automatic resque beacon started to transmit co-ordinates and data to any friendly transponder-equipped unit in the area, including the Angelican Task Force Ibrahim.

Encrypted Communiqué to the Bureau for Defense and Military Affairs

President Sharif has authorized the deployment of additional Angelican resources to quickly stabilize the situation. Extra housing facilities at Red Ball AFB and FOB #93 have been constructed to accomodate additional forces.

We believe to have crippled the rebel bridgehead and logistical efforts by leveling most of downtown Mocha with the employment of a massive ordnance air burst, so the danger of Angelican units deploying into a hot warzone has significantly been reduced.

God Speed,

Gal Sharif
Dept. of Defense

Mistake made, post on the way

Angelican Multi-Agency Intelligence Analysis Center


Several hundred miles over Al-Sabir, a reconnaissance satellite recorded a significant heat bloom from Mocha city’s center. The bloom was instantly reported at a terminal within AMAIAC’s SATINT Center. The images and brief comments were then immediately forwarded to the Al-Sabir Task Force watch officer. He in turn began feverishly typing at his terminal. Four minutes after the detonation, the Angelican Minister of Defense, the Director of Intelligence, and the Chief of Military Operations were tied together in a secure video-conference. The Minister of Defense was first to speak.

“Nuclear?”

“No, sir. The explosion’s a little small for that, and there’s no sign of an EM pulse associated with the blast. However, we’re going to fly a Predator through the fallout to run some tests. My guess is that it was a large air-bursting weapon. Large blast, devastating to humans and light structures.”

“What does this mean?”

“Well, sir, this sort of event tends to act either as a strong deterrent to further insurgent operations, or as a catalyst for much more activity. Based on the interviews our guys on the ground have been conducting, my guess is that this will spur recruitment, and inspire attacks outside of the insurgency zone.”

The Minister grimaced, then turned his attention to the CMO, a Navy Admiral whose resume included a stint with the Russian Naval Infantry’s Special Forces team.

“Boris, what are our options in this.”

“Well, Mr. Minister, we have three choices. To keep our force levels in the region the same, to pull out, or to increase dramatically. To stay the same is to encourage disaster. The number of people we have on the ground right now don’t have the capability to truly defend themselves against a sustained attack. They have to rely upon the Al-Sabiri regulars, who are still marginally effective, at best. To pull out sends the message that we’d rather play it safe then help an ally. Therefore, I suggest we increase force levels.”

“To what, Boris? I doubt the Angelican people would support us putting an armored division in play right now.”

“I’d agree, sir. I believe that the best bet is sending in a full special forces battalion, supported by an armored brigade from III Corps. I also suggest that we increase the entire nation’s threat level, and prepare I Corps for a full deployment. This thing could go very bad, very quick. If it does, we’ll need to be able to put an airborne division on the ground, and Naval Infantry on the beaches. The 5th Airborne Division could be readied from Sofia, and the 6th Naval Infantry could stage from our base in the Maldives. It would be relatively quiet, and if things cool down, easy to pull back.”

“Make it so, Boris.”

“One more thing, sir. Our forward base’s signals people just received a rescue beacon, Al-Sabiri. Seems a rescue bird has gone down. Our men are asking for permission to stage the rescue themselves. They want to go in at sundown.”

“Very well. Set up some air support, and make the rescue happen.”

As soon as the conference had terminated, orders began flowing from command centers, and within three hours the entire strength of the 1st Special Forces Battalion was airborne aboard C-130-30 Hecules II transports. From Varna AFB, F/A-18E Super Hornets were launched, followed by an E-767 from the 7th Air Command Wing. These aircraft, along with KC-10A tankers, would support both the airlift and the rescue operation. Soon, C-5B Galaxy transports from the 10th Air Mobility Wing would begin transporting the big guns. All told, the deployment would involve thousands of personnel, and nearly 100 aircraft sorties.


FOB #93, One Hour Later

“Sir, we’re ready to go.”

The Captain commanding CSAR-1 snuffed a cigarette under his boot, nodded, and stood. He gestured to the rest of the team to mount up, and started towards the team’s MH-60G Pave Hawk. In the twilight of the desert, the aircraft looked absolutely mean. Stub wings held miniguns on each side, as well as racks of hellfire missiles. Gun ports behind the cockpit held two crew-served miniguns. She was the perfect vehicle for a rescue, and was provided with significant support. As soon as the beacon had been detected, a pre-determined rescue contingency plan went into effect. A predator drone was diverted from its regular course to identify the positions of the aircrew, downed aircraft, and any hostile forces. An AC-130H Spectre II gunship was pulled from a holding pattern over international waters to orbit the area to be ready for covering fire. Finally, a pair of AH-64D Longbows were lifting off alongside the Pave Hawk, on loan from III Corps’ 3rd Aviation Brigade. They would fly point, drawing fire and responding with rockets, Hellfires, and 30mm gunfire.

As the trio of aircraft closed to 10km from the rescue site, the AC-130 swept in, beginning a left-turning orbit of the area. With targeting data from its infared cameras and the Predator drone, the Spectre began firing. In concert, the plane’s miniguns, 105mm howitzer, and 25mm cannon began firing, filling the air with the sound of a 140 decibel zipper being pulled through the sky. The targets were two abandoned shops and a partially destroyed houses. The buildings were glowing white with the body heat of assembled insurgents, presumably staging a finishing raid to the crashed aircraft. Each was saturated with the gunfire, resulting in carnage.

The pilot of the Pave Hawk could see the firing from the cockpit, as he dodged the taller buildings at near-rooftop level, at one point flying underneath a power line. He spoke into the intercom, concentrating at the same time on avoiding a four-story office building.

“Thirty seconds to target. Weapons hot. Team, prepare for rope deployment. Escorts, begin covering orbit. Repeat, weapons hot.”

Ahead, he spotted smoke rising into the air, and the IR outline of the crashed MH-22D. There. The very street the MH-22D had crashed into would be the deployment site. He flared the helo, bringing it to a swift halt without changing its altitude.

“Ropes away, team away!”

Two thick ropes were quickly dropped to the ground, and the six-man CSAR team qucikly fast-roped down. As soon as the crew chief gave the all clear, the Pave Hawk dipped its nose and was away.

On the ground, the Captain commanding the team swept the area ahead of him with his NVGs. His second in command, a Master Gunnery Sergeant from Georgia, spoke into his mic.

“Clear.”

“Clear. Proceed to crash site and assess survivors. Murph and Alexi, rear guard. Gunny, you’re with me.”

As the team approached, they spotted three shapes emerge from the wrecked aircraft. This wasn’t right–this was a pathway towards the aircraft, not a place where the crew would hide. The Captain and Gunny raised their carbines, preparing to fire. One of the shapes raised a rifle, but was gunned down before he could act. The others were also quickly dispatched. The team moved on, stepping over the bodies. As they came within view of the bird, the Captain called out.

“Angelican Special Forces! We’re coming out, hold your fire!”

“Took you damned long enough! What was the firing?”

The Captain shuffled towards the airframe, finding Lt. Johnson tending to three wounded crewmen.

“Looks like some bad guys almost beat us here. These guys stable to evac?”

“Yeah, they’re hurt, but no spinal damage, ready to go.”

The team established a quick perimeter around the crash site as the Captain called in the Pave Hawk. The MH-60G quickly swept in for a landing in the street next to the crash site. After only five minutes on the ground, the first crewman had been loaded into the bird. When the last man was aboard, the helo lifted off, and turned back for FOB #93.

“CSAR-1 to Phantom Control, package aboard, RTB.”


Red Ball AFB–Two Days Later

What was once an MC-130 Combat Talon parked at the end of an otherwise empty tarmac was now the beginnings of a bustling base. Four C-5B Galaxies were offloading Iron Cheetah ADS main battle tanks and Myst Lynx II IFVs. Construction elements from an engineering unit were busy erecting the frames for light aircraft shelters at the edge of the tarmac, while a group of Special Forces Raider Company troops prepared to mount up aboard a convoy of sand buggies and Hummers for the trip to the forward operating base. In front of a squat command bunker reinforced with metal sheeting and concrete barriers, two flagpoles had already been erected. One one flew the Angelican flag. On the other, at equal height, flew the Al-Sabiri flag.


Mocha City–1km from epicenter of MOAB detonation–0230 hours

The patrol was a joint operation between Al-Sabiri Marine Recon scouts and Angelican ANGLICO operators. Their cooperation was complicated. The scouts were to lead the ANGLICO team to a point where they had seen armed insurgents moving into and out of a damaged building the previous day. The ANGLICO team would forward targeting data to the FOB, where the Angelican intelligence folks would hand over the data to the Al-Sabiri Air Force. Though such steps would have taken up to three hours in previous decades, the miracles of encrypted satellite communications and streaming data transmission shortened the process to a matter of minutes.

The troops moved silently in the darkness, relying upon their night vision devices to navigate through the empty streets and alleys. 150 meters away, they could see a cluster of insurgents sitting or leaning on a pair of burned out cars, chatting and smoking. The insurgents were relaxed, unaware of the danger. The scout team was confident, stealthy, as they crouched by a wall, preparing to cross the street in order to reach a concealed observation point. What happened next would devastate what was otherwise a dark, eerie silence in the once-bustling city.

While six of the eight scouts were concentrating their attention towards the sentries, two were covering the rear. When a shadow stepped out from what had appeared to be an unoccupied office door, the Angelican sergeant covering that zone snapped the muzzle of his rifle towards it. Through the green light of his goggles, he could see that it was a man, elderly, holding an AK-47 tucked under his arm. As the sergeant squeezed off a burst from his G-36 carbine, the man was already firing wildly at the group. Rounds ripped through the air as the sergeant watched the burst rip open the target’s chest. Suddenly, other members of the group started firing their weapons at the sentries, who were alerted by the noise. An Al-Sabiri Marine panned up, taking down one insurgent just in time to see the blindingly bright flare from the launch of an RPG-7.

The blast was deafening, sending a concussive wave through the bodies of the special forces team. When the Al-Sabiri Marine opened his eyes he was staring into the black stars of the night, his legs and back feeling like they were afire. Blinking away the orbs of light in his eyes, he could see a fire smouldering on the ground. A moment later, he realized that there were still rounds zipping through the air close by, striking at the road surface. He heard a wet smack, and turned to see an Angelican lieutenant convulse in the road from the impact of a 7.62mm round. He dashed into the road, pulling at the officer’s pack strap to pull the man to the relative safety of a doorway. There he bumped into another operator, the Angelican sergeant who had first fired.

“Ambush! We gotta get the hell outta here!”

The sergeant nodded, lifting a hand to key his radio headset’s mic while panning for targets with his M-4.

“This is Phantom twelve to Phantom control, twelve to control. Contact with tangos, we have multiple casualties and require immediate evac... Stand by for coordinates.”

With that, the sergeant retrieved his Land Warrior multifunction PDA, quickly bringing up a map screen. He scrawled on the screen with a stylus, indicating on a satellite photo map of the city where fire was coming from, and where he planned to move the team. The image was streaming to the FBO, and would provide essential intel for the rescue. In the mean time, the Al-Sabiri Marine had tossed out a pair of smoke grenades, which were spewing thick gray smoke into the street on either side of the wounded team members. From a doorway on the opposite side of the street, an Angelican and an Al-Sabiri dashed towards their redoubt. The operators stopped to assist a wounded Angelican to his feet in the street before making the safety of the door.

“What’s the plan?”

The Angelican sergeant grimaced. “We’re moving. Who do we have?”

“El-tee’s dead. So are Wassim and Stanley. Hamed is out with a couple of shots to the chest, but he’s still breathing.”

“Ok, let’s move out. There’s a mosque about a hundred meters back. Make it there and we’ll have some good cover. Each of us takes a body.”

As the team moved out under the cover of the darkness and smoke, they couldn’t imagine the race that was about to ensue over which side would reach them first.

man, this is really nicely written. You must have put hours of work into this.

Really well done.


I'm surprised people don't take the time to read the whole thing.


I really like it.

I'd join, but I don't write aswell as you, and I think I'd ruin it.

Bump

Bump

Mocha, Al-Sabir

"Let's roll."

Sergeant Muhammed grabbed Corporal Hamed's load bearing straps and swung him over his shoulder, the blood dripping over his fatigues. He nearly collapsed under the weight, but his physique had been toughened through many months of gruelling training and exercise, so he stumbled on, to the mosque. He was quite delighted he didn’t wear his VEPR combat suit, as his khakis were already drowned in sweat, but it might’ve saved some of his fellow Marines. He cursed and sprinted towards the wide entrance. It was a Masjid, a small, scarcely adorned mosque, with an elongated courtyard, draped in a carpet of green overgrowth. In a religious reflex, Muhammed nearly kicked off his boots, but he moved on, cocking his fearsome RSR-51 assault rifle in his right hand and keeping Hamed on his shoulder with his left hand.

“Get behind the Kursi,” he cringed, pointing at a towering oak wood desk in the centre.

He peppered the majestic windows with a hail of bullets, dropping Hamed behind the desk.

“Get him some medical attention,” he yelled, tugging the first aid kit off his webbing and lurching at his side. He stabilized his view and popped a rebel’s head off with a single shot.

“Fire in the hole!” he yelled, arching a fragmentation grenade and a flash bang. The muffled explosion and the flash turned the courtyard into a slaughterhouse. Muhammed sprayed the moving survivors with aimed, three shot bursts.

The mutilated bodies of their comrades deterred the rest of the rebel assault group, which gave the Marines a breathing pause.

FOB #93

“Sir, Marine Recon Team 85 is under fire, they request immediate aerial evac!”

At the call of the young Marine Lance Corporal, Colonel Dwaine Shani burst into the command centre and ran towards the radio operator.

“What the fuck, Corporal?”

“As I said, Sir, Recon Team 85, a joint recon unit, comprising four Al-Sabiris and four Angelicans is pinned down, reporting multiple fatal casualties.”

“Warm up the CSAR team on stand-by and pinpoint their exact location. We’re going in.”

With that said, Dwaine snatched a helmet and a protective vest from the armoury and sprinted towards the four MH-53 Stallions, their rotor blades spinning.

“You have a guest today,” Dwaine said, grinning towards the Angelican pilot and his Al-Sabiri co-pilot. He dove into the cabin and was strapped to a nylon safety cord by the Arab crew chief. His stomach made a double back flip and twisted in some awkward position when bird lifted off from the asphalt and bolted over the encampments, but he managed to keep his dinner inside. He felt better within a minute and could hardly hide his smile when the co-pilot clicked a few keys and the chorus of Paradise City by Guns N’Roses blared at full power through the cabin. Unfortunately, in Mocha, all grass was charred black and the pretty girls were all gone.

The Battle of the Masjid–Background

The insurgency needed desperately to generate enemy casualties. The destruction of the downtown area of Mocha had been a massive blow to the movement–besides the loss of nearly three thousand insurgents and several bomb-making facilities, the explosion also collapsed an insurgent command and control facility in the basement of a men’s apparel shop, essentially decapitating the central command for the area.

Now, there were four regimental-level insurgent groups operating independently of one another, each one responsible for a quarter of the city. Signals intelligence gathered by Angelican RC-135 Rivet Joint aircraft indicated that two of the sectors, North and East, were made up of Mocha natives. South and West, on the other hand, were made up of insurgents who had flowed into the city in the early days of the rising after Khaled’s assassination. These insurgents were considered to be the greater threats, with a greater dedication to the insurgency and a higher degree of military experience and training. It was widely believed that Mocha was destined to be the Insurgency’s Alamo, or their Bastogne. They seemed to be almost fully invested there, ‘all-in’ as if they were playing a poker game.

Based upon the interrogations occurring at FOB #93, it was believed by the Coalition command that the Southern command area included at least a battalion of insurgents who had received formal military training in Soviet-style tactics. Smart money was that these insurgents were imported from Central Asia, veterans of many years of hard fighting in civil wars, wars of independence, and urban insurgency. This battalion was believed to be responsible for a rocket attack on FOB #77, resulting in the deaths of two dozen Angelican and Al-Sabiri infantrymen training to enter the fight. They were considered to be the spearhead unit of the insurgency.


The Race

The Masjid could not have been in a worse location. Located only 750 meters away from the outer edge of the blast crater at the center of town, the masjid lay on what was known to be the border of the operating areas for the Southern and Eastern sectors of the city’s insurgent groups. Satellite reconnaissance and Predator drones were indicating that a race seemed to be going on between the Eastern and Southern forces to reach the crashed crew and claim credit for either their capture or their death.

From the Eastern Zone, Infrared images revealed three distinct, mob-like groups moving down main streets directly for the Masjid. Predator images focused on these groups revealed men in civilian dress equipped with a smorgasbord of Western and Soviet-style weaponry, intermixed with bolt-action rifles and even a muzzle-loading cannon that was being pulled along by a group of eager-looking teens. Several pickup trucks and flatbeds were intermixed with each group, bearing men equipped with heavier fare–several mortar tubes, RPG-7s, and even a TOW launcher.

From the Southern Zone, things appeared more ominous. Infrared was having difficulty tracking up to a dozen platoon-sized units weaving their ways through back alleys, side streets, and even the city’s sewer system. Visual spotting by a VAQ-1 Predator revealed that these forces were dressed in mismatched military uniforms and Central Asian garb, confirming that the ‘Spearhead Battalion’ was leading the charge. These groups were disciplined, employing proper spacing and fire zone coverage. Armed almost exclusively with variants of the M-16, intelligence was beginning to believe that this battalion had to be externally supported. Each squad seemed to be equipped with a heavy weapon. Though most seemed to pack a machine gun such as the M-249, several squad-level groups were observed to have attached anti-tank and anti-aircraft weapons.


The Surprise Party

Though troubling, the images of masses of troops and light vehicles did not truly worry the command staff at FOB #93 as they coordinated the rescue.

One technician, an 18-year-old Angelican Air Force Private First Class, changed that feeling of confidence. While commanding the camera controls for a Predator, he happened to spot movement from the Southern Zone, approximately 500 meters back from the first infantry units. Zooming the camera on the Predator in, he had to blink for a second. He changed filters on the camera over to IR, then UV, then back to visual, before finally calling out to his co-workers in the command tent.

“Hey guys? Guys! Listen up! Do our people own any Tunguska’s in this city near grad 37 dash 28? Four of them?”

“Holy shit. Get Air Tasking, now. We need to...”

Before the senior technician could finish his sentence, he was captivated by the scene of a missile tube aboard one of the armored anti-air vehicles flashing. Within a second, the scene was replaced with a blue “Signal Lost” screen.


Spectre Down

The AC-130U was a mean aircraft on one side, tempting target on the other. Circling the city, the aircraft had been searching out and harassing the troops flooding south from the Eastern Zone when an emergency tasking message went out over the encrypted radio net. A Predator drone had been engaged by vehicle-mounted SAMS. The aircrew aboard the massively armed aircraft quickly began searching for the vehicles, as the pilot steered the lumbering bird towards the outskirts of the city. Rolling out of their left-handed orbit of the Eastern Zone, the aircraft found itself headed Southeast when a camera operator called out over the intercom.

“Technical, five o’clock, armored, Tunguska class, sir! Recommend evasives and defensive system engagement! Make that two tracks, sir, two Tunguska. Turrets are tracking! They’re getting ready to launch!”

The Tunguska commanders simultaneously saw the opportunity to create the battle of a lifetime. Dropping such a large, well-armed aircraft into the city would be an epic victory. As such, each commander greedily fired three IR-seeking SAMs, as they began tracking the aircraft with their large 30mm cannon. The missiles streaked from their tubes at one-second intervals, filling the streets with an acrid gray smoke.

In the cockpit, alarms sounded immediately. The pilot brought the turboprop engines to full throttle, wrenching the controls back and to the left to begin a climbing turn to bring their weapons to bear against the targets. His co-pilot cued chaff and flare dispensers, which began firing a dazzling barrage of distracting devices meant to lure the missiles away.

For the first missiles to have been fired, it was too late. One struck the left outer wing, shredding ailerons and causing an explosion on the left outboard external fuel tank which lit up the sky. The second missile exploded six meters below the inboard left engine, sending shrapnel into the propellers and control surfaces there. A third missile penetrated into the rear of the fuselage before detonating, killing two gun operators and cutting open both primary and backup hydraulics lines servicing the tail controls. Three other missiles exploded in the chaff and flare clouds below and on the flanks of the aircraft, sending hissing, shrieking shards of metal through the air.

In the cockpit, a chorus of alarms were ringing as the pilot and co-pilot struggled to maintain control. The instant addition of so much drag on the left wing, coupled with their left turn, was resulting in the aircraft’s nose pulling towards the ground. Through a feat of piloting and throttle control, the crew was able to steady the aircraft before the tail controls went out.

“Mayday, mayday, Papa Two headed down, Papa Two headed for the crater! Send help immediately!”

The cockpit was then filled with terrible, deafening explosions. The noise seemed to travel rearward, replaced by the shrill sound of air rushing through the flight deck. 30mm cannon shells were ripping through the wings and body of the aircraft, instantly killing the co-pilot and destroying completely the outboard left engine.

With no other choice, the pilot had to aim for a large, four-lane thoroughfare, diving for the ground before he lost control completely. The left wing dug into the street, bursting into flames and sending the rest of the plane into a wild, uncontrolled spin. The right wing then tore into the ground, ripping a tear in the landscaped yard of a commercial building. Finally, the aircraft came to rest, smoking and burning. The pilot and six other crewmen managed to escape before the aircraft was consumed completely in fire. They took shelter in what was once a small fast food restaurant, having armed themselves with four G-36 rifles and their service .40 calibre pistols.


Summary

*CSAR team still inbound aboard MH-53
*Three large masses of Mocha native insurgents coming towards the mosque with infantry weapons and light vehicles from the Eastern Zone (Headed South)
*Up to 12 platoon-sized groups of better-trained outsider insurgents approaching from the Southern Zone with 4x Tunguska AA/SAM support.
*AC-130U is down 500m northwest of the mosque, which is itself 750 m SE of the crater rim. Seven crew are holed up in fast food joint.
*Four Angelican and Al-Sabiri SF operators, along with one wounded and three dead, are barricaded within the mosque.

Bump

Bump

Red Ball AFB

"They're moving in the heavy iron, Sir," Fatma Malika, a seasoned captain, but still devoid of the pessimism of most veteran fire-eaters, said.

"Very well, Captain, if you'd please follow me, then we'll see what they have in store for you."

Hanif Zahir, an Air Force Major, answered, pacing over the tarmac, as a convoy of gigantic HEMMTs pulled up to them. Their crews began off-loading the camouflaged covers, which nicely blended into the rocky desert scene in the background. For a second, Fatma nearly believed this wasn't the right convoy and that the real one had taken a wrong turn.

"You got to be kidding me, Sir."

The components of a wind-beaten, shabby AC-47D were unveiled, the traces of thirty years of intense use visible, but Fatma had seen aircraft quite often in such condition in desert storage.

"Nope, Captain, allow me to explain. Our modern gunships are nearly all scrapped and re-melted into nice high-grade aluminum. The newest AC-286 Atlas is still not ready for production, so we though to get a few of these babies out of storage for fire-support operations over Mocha. You'll be flying this one, Captain. They have been refitted with chaff and flare launchers for the occasion, but in most cases, an SAM locked onto the heat signature of your gunship will mean a quick, painless death for your crew, so I suggest you smoke those launchers out first. Grab a bite and meet me in the Ops Room. You're going into the air in less than ten minutes."

As Fatma shook her head in disbelief, teams had started to bolt all parts together on a nearby ramp space. Hanif grinned, this would be fun.

***

At 20,000 feet, the flight of F/A-26B Shuriken Strike Fighters sliced through the skies like their deadly name-sakes, the first sunlight glinting off the uniform dark grey casings of their modified AGM-194 Locust anti-armour weapon pods, dangling underneath their weapon pylons. On the leading aircraft, the Weapon Systems Operator bumped into the small line of light vehicles and native insurgents in the SAR mode of the bird's radar. Quickly, he locked it onto the caravan and the eerie chirping in his headphones indicated that the co-ordinates were transferred into the inertial guidance systems. After a confirmation from his pilot, the WSO squeezed the trigger, and in twelve seconds, all forty missiles burst out of their pods, the exhaust gasses sizzling from their rocket engines turning bright orange on the purple-blue horizon in the morning sky.

***

Most rebels never even saw it coming. The one hundred-sixty nine-pound multi-purpose charges exploded just overhead, showering the men with tungsten and zirconium fragments, ripping through red flesh and turning that back alley near the Masjid into a blazing inferno. The scent of burning rubber and charred body parts even reached up to the hawk-like nose so prominently lining the facial contours of Marine Sergeant Muhammed, slamming his last thirty-round 5.56x31mm Fireball round into his CQB carbine, in that same Masjid.

OOC: What I'm about to post isn't related to the little IC problem we have on our hands, but if I remember correctly, Mocha has a harbor, so there's another opportunity for some different RPing.

IC: The unmistable silhouette of the Pearl, a 27,000 tons Firebrand Class Helicopter Carrier, stabbed out on the beautiful horizon scene, as the first sunrays glinted off the trace of thick foam in her wake from the faint glow of impeding daylight. A continued stir of chaotic movement flowed over the flight deck, shrouding the sixteen AH-93C Firebird Attack Helicopters, the entire air complement, in a dense wave of maintenance crew in colored, fluorescent jackets, equipped with weapon trolleys, fuel hoses and small, motorized carts.

However, within a heartbeat the flight deck was empty, while the grey rotor blades of the gun ships spun around, blending with the sky. They lifted off, dashing for the city to support several Marine platoons caught in fierce gunfire.

The Marauder, a Seeschlange Class Corvette, floated silently at her side, the calm waves smoothly rippling past her sleek, flat-iron-shaped hull. Escorting the Pearl, the Marauder was a veteran of earlier clashes with maritime terrorists, where it conducted fast strikes in a classified task force against floating rebel resupply bases in shallow waters and coastal swamps. Her crew was well-trained and well-equipped for escort duties, but there was simply nothing that could’ve prepared her for what was about to happen.

***

The forty-two Boghammer motorized gunboats, manned by a selection of the most loyal shi’a elite troops of the President’s son, were shielded from the eye a steep, overhanging cliff, towering a hundred feet up in the sky. The group had terrorized civilian waterways for weeks now, since the beginning of the insurgency, and were the favourite tool of Wakil Brahim, the suspected leader of the entire rebellion. However, since the government had started to engage the pirates with attack helos, fast, missile-armed patrol craft, optimized for operation in littoral areas, and radar surveillance aircraft, life turned hell for most Boghammer crews.

The only solution Abbas Hasan, the fundamentalist genius in charge of all gunboat operations, had seen was to exterminate the roots of the problem, the helicopter carrier Pearl. On purpose, he had numerous crews sacrificed in massacres against missile-armed frigates, he had leaked to intelligence informants and sources that the fleet was dealing with awkward mechanical problems, letting the Al-Sabirians believe they dealt with the problem, but in complete secrecy, with the help of seized Al-Sabirian field manuals, Hasan had prepared a lethal blow to his arch enemies, the Sunni-controlled military.

He had dug up information on the fire control, communications and sensor suits aboard all sorts of war vessels and every bit of data on their limitations and capabilities. The composition of the task force was monitored optically by diver-observers and recruited fishermen.

Now, when the Boghammers slowly twirled around and accelerated out of their cave to a steady speed of 20 knots, splitting up into six assault groups, the time had come to strike.

***

The commander of the Marauder, Captain Fihr Haytham, yawned uncontrollably, when his eyes lingered once more across the empty horizon. He knew setting an example for the crew was important, but frankly, he didn’t give a damn anymore. After a week of constant escort and patrol duties, the crew, along with himself, was exhausted, eagerly counting off to their relief, three days ahead.

“Captain, we’ve got multiple unknown contacts, both airborne and on the surface, on intercept course, ten miles away. Airborne targets designated Viper one through fourteen. Surface targets designated Tango one through forty-two.”

The young radar officer suddenly thundered over the bridge, standing in the dim glow of his computer console.

Haytman suppressed a wave of upcoming questions and said:

“All right then, probably some coastal ground clutter, but what speed and altitude?

“Speed airborne targets 1050 kph, altitude 300 foot. Speed surface targets, 70 kph.”

“Identification Viper?”

“Subsonic Silkworm ASMs.”

Fihr felt a chill soar down his spine.

“Identification Tango?”

“Unknown, presumably motorized gunboats.”

“Damn it. Get a helo up with a few missiles and get a lock onto those Silkworms. Warn the Pearl a and tell ‘em to get the hell out of here, south, out of the Strait to open sea. Cover their asses.”

Through a small side port, he saw the colossal stern of the Pearl turn away.

“Get us to 30 knots, ensign, and take us to course 029.”

The ensign at the helm went pale.

“That’s towards the enemy, Sir.”

“I know.”

Fihr turned away and strode to the weapon consoles.

“Warm up the CIWS and the Mk.72. Deal with those gunboats, now.”

The seasoned weapons officer looked up and grinned maliciously.

His fingers slipped over his keyboard and he entered several identification codes. On the deck, the two Shinma-F twin launchers trained towards the incoming threat.

“Fire at will, Lieutenant.”

The first missile burst out of its cell with a roaring blaze of fire that thundered through the Strait. It was quickly followed by the three others. Thei stabilization fins clapped out and their rocket engines ignited, while the elongated cones dove for the water and skimmed the wave tops. At the same time, the clicking of VLS ports reverberated through the ship and a mixture of Basalisk, Sea Snake and Black Fly SAMs were thrust towards the inbound threat. The '60s computer technology of the Silkworms wasn't even aware that they were tracked on fired on, so the hail of SAMs quickly dealed with all inbound missiles.

“Kill, kill, kill. Viper one through fourteen are eliminated.”

Fihr nodded and said:

“We’re not done yet.”

***

The Shinma-F was the Navy’s supreme light anti-shipping missile and fulfilled its roles supremely. Nonetheless, the AShM had no combat record yet, but they were about to change that. Their IIR terminal homing sensors locked onto the first Boghammers in their sight and dove onto their targets, their 360kg warheads proving overkill for the small boats, but it was all the Marauder had available. Their glass-fibre hulls were penetrated and ripped apart, their fuel tanks igniting in a giant orange fireball, consuming two nearby boats in the blast. Four of the thirty-six surviving Boghammers crashed into the charred wreckages before those and sank completely onto the ocean floor, but the rest stormed on, yet to wait another surprise.

***

The MH-102C Sea Kestrel circled over the advancing Boghammer storm, the sunlight now glimmering off its reflection on the water surface. Attached to its hard points were two Oni lightweight anti shipping missiles, their EO seeker heads locking onto the two forward Boghammers. A trace of machinegun fire whizzed up to the helo, so the pilot flipped a number of switches and squeezed the trigger twice. He felt the helo shoot upwards as it was released from its load. The two Oni ASMs had no trouble at all with the Boghammers, though aggressive maneuvers nearly tricked one. There were still thirty to go.

***

“Sir, it’s the Pearl, they’ve blown her engines in the escape.”

The communications officer whispered, leaning towards Fihr.

“Damn it. Get on her tail and keep circling around her at 20 knots. Warm the 3” DP up.”

On the deck, the 3” dual purpose gun unstowed from its hidden position and started to flash while it hurled dozens of rounds of a distance of two miles.

“Kill, kill, two Boghammers less.”

Fihr let out a grunt of satisfaction and spun around, pacing for the panoramic view. The Boghammers were covered in a cloud of dense, splashing water, but the explosions seemed a bit overexaggerated for a 40 foot boat. Then, he felt his feelings become numb. Those Boghammers wouldn’t just attack his boat with their .50 guns and lob some grenades onto the decks. No, they would crash a boat, loaded full of explosives right into his ship.

“Get a platoon onto the deck and man the .50 cal. Get some SAWs out of the weapon locker and keep those boats at least a hundred foot away. Get me on a line with the Pearl.

He said, as he grabbed a mic.

“Hyder, those boats are loaded with explosives. Man the .50 cals and keep those assholes at least a hundred foot away.”

Without waiting for an answer he threw the mic down and his nightmare come true. Right before his eyes, a Boghammer gunboat, riddled with bullets, leap onto the deck and explode. A shockwave forced him on his knees, just in time as remnants of glass-fibre ricocheted of the dimply lit radar charts. The air was filled with desperate screams and a slight scent of burned flesh.

“Lieutenant Tufayl, get the emergency pumps to work and take a few men with you to…”

He slumped onto the ground, as the world went black.

***

An always decisive factor of the effect of missiles, and in this case kamikaze strikes, on a ship was its mass. The Marauder had no significant mass, while the Pearl was a true behemoth. Captain Hyder Khayrat kept the wasps off his tail and felt the ship just rock slightly as the first Boghammer bumped into the hull. He radioed for assistance and when the first AH-93Cs appeared hovering on the horizon, the remaining five Boghammers made a run for safety.

Battle of the Masjid, Continued

It had been six hours since the joint Angelican-Al-Sabiri patrol had first been ambushed. After one rescue attempt had been scrubbed after the downing of an AC-130U Spectre gunship, a much larger operation had been initiated. Just behind the strike force of Al-Sabiri fast-mover F/A26B fighters, four helicopters swept in low between the buildings. The imposing, massive MH-53J carrying Colonel Dwaine Shani led the way, having been in a prolonged holding pattern awaiting additional support. The Pave Low was followed up by three MH-60G Pave Hawks, bearing the Angelican CSAR team responsible for the earlier rescue of an Al-Sabiri MH-22 crew, along with two Angelican Raider squads which would provide heavier cover for the ground rescues.

The operation was well-timed, with the AC-130U crew dashing to the safety of the Masjid just after the last detonation of the strike fighter weapons. They waited anxiously for the sound of helicopter blades to come closer, eventually becoming a thunderous roar. Seconds later Colonel Shani yelled into the doorway of the mosque.

“You sonsabitches planning on coming out, or am I going to have to wait for you to finish prayers?”

The scouts and crewmen didn’t hesitate, dashing out into the sunlight to find what first appeared to be a waiting army. Angelican Raiders were arrayed behind cover in all directions, tossing out smoke grenades and preparing their weapons to fend off any attack. The men dashed into the waiting maw of the Pave Low’s rear ramp, followed by Colonel Shani’s team. The helicopter lifted off within seconds, turning the stomaches of almost all the occupants. Soon thereafter, the three Pave Hawks carried out the Raider cover.

As the aircraft were dropping their noses and gaining speed on the way out, the extracted aircrewmen saw a chilling sight. A cloud of helicopters, UH-60L troop transports, were sweeping in towards the same neighborhoods that the group was being extracted from.


The Trapdoor Shuts

The operation was being coordinated on the fly, quite literally. A CH-47D had been converted into a command and control platform by the Fourth Reinforced Airmobile Infantry Brigade for just this purpose. The EH-47A was a twin-rotor satellite relaying, radio transmitting, networked command center for the brigade command staff. During the flight, the command staff had been synthesizing pre-made deployment plans against the intelligence flowing in regarding the situation in South-east Mocha.

The plan was simple. As two large forces of insurgents were flowing in to attempt to kill allied troops and airmen, they would instead find their escape routes blocked by airmobile infantrymen. The trap would be completed with a killing blow to be delivered by a mechanized force of Al-Sabiri troops and armor.

As the troop transports settled down at strategically selected intersections and open plazas, there was a collective worry. If the Al-Sabiri heavy infantry and armor didn’t roll in quickly, the Angelicans would quickly run out of ammunition and supplies. Three battalions of Angelican infantry were on the ground, to attempt to crush the entire insurgency in one blow. Just as the infantry were touching down, the 4th RAMIB’s support elements were establishing a firebase just outside of the Mocha city limits. There, 155mm howitzers were being erected, along with Avenger Air Defense vehicles and a ground command post. This base would exist only long enough for the operation to terminate, to then be airlifted away.


Marion Stanton-Class Medium Carrier Sword of Angelico

Aboard the flagship of the Angelican Home Fleet, Commodore M.C. Perry listened helplessly as the Al-Sabiri task force came under attack.

“Get some Seahawks into the air now, and inform the Al-Sabiri commander that we’re deploying SAR resources to assist.”

“And set condition Zulu, instruct the entire fleet to maintain a thousand meter security zone.”

Mocha, Al-Sabir

The threads under the fifty-eight Merkava 4SJ MBTs rolled over the paved streets of Mocha, speeding up to 30 kph. Behind the massive armored fist, a seemingly endless column of Nova Cat IFVs followed. From various forward observation posts, Marine Recon squads tried to suppress their pride and jealousy and waved the three batallions of the 29st Urban Combat Division good luck. A Nova Cat Command Post Vehicle, somewhere halfway in the ranks, halted on the cobblestones of the first plazza they came across, flanked by four heavy Rhino APCs.

The convoy rumbled on, but the brigade's senior officer, Colonel Khalil Mu'tasim leapt out off the top hatch of the Rhino and observed an infantry platoon secure the nearby house blocks. The mobile command post was quickly established and the wide array of roof-mounted antennas bent in the wind.

"Links with the Divisional HQ, as well as operational batallion HQs are secured."

A young, spectacled communications officer said, his fingers sliding over the keyboard of the tactical situation overview set, a constellation of three LCD monitors, encased in ballistics gel to enhance their survivability.

"All right, any interesting UAV feed?"

Khalil inquered, as he strumbled in, taking his helmet under his arm.

"Yes, sir, indeed. Insurgency forces have made contact with Angelican airmobiles."

Another, more experienced Captain noted, analysing the visual feed flowing in over the various communications channels.

"That son of a whore..."

Khalil muttered as he saw coloured symbology move back and forth over the screens. The insurgents were many times superior in numbers, but Khalil still had a few tricks in his sleeve.

"Move in the divisional aviation brigade to support the Angelicans until Major Salih's reinforcements get there. Further more, what are our options on artillery support?"

Captain Daud, part of the brigade's headquarters staff and responsible for briade-level artillery, shrugged and said:

"Not much, Sir, the the insurgents are withing point blank range of friendly forces. They are completely mixed up. No chance, but if they make a run for safety, we'll light them up."

Khalil sighed; with the almost suicidal courage of the rebels chances were pretty slim they'd abandon the fight, unless it was in a bodybag.

Gulf of Aden

Captain Hyder Khayrat felt a tear run down his cheek as he saw the fire that had slowly but inevitably been consuming the Marauder being put out by the waves that steadily ate the ship. The Marauder disappeared under the wave tops with all hands. The entire crew of the Pearl was occupied with keeping their giant floating, so Hyder was forced to observe the ship of one of his best friend's tear apart from his own bridge. AH-93Cs had helplessly circled over the wreckage, not able to pick up any of the charred bodies that littered the decks when the flames consumed them.

I would support a nationwide revolt and let those who would protect themselves best from the heathens stage an
INTIFADA

Bump

(Bump for now, and a request for Al-Sabir; please TG me with a general plan for how you want this thing played out.)

1445 hours

1st Squad, 2nd Platoon, Charlie Company, 4th Reinforced Airmobile Infantry Brigade—

A whisper was passed from man to man, an urgent tone in each of the words.

“Fix bayonets! Fix bayonets!”

The Captain’s words struck to the hearts of each of the infantrymen crouching by a crumbling city wall. The hair on the backs of their sunburned necks stood on end, as they affixed large, fearsome bayonets to the lugs on their G-36 carbines.

“Charge! Kill ‘em all!”

The men stood, dashing around the corner of the street. They refrained from yelling, their training having instilled in them that this moment was holy—to close upon an enemy to engage in hand-to hand combat was the honor held above all others. Each man prepared himself as he dashed.

The corporal in command of the squad let his rifle hang at his chest, pulling the pins from two fragmentation grenades. The spoons sprang away from the baseball-sized grenades, allowing for thin ribbons of smoke to emerge. The corporal ran for four more steps before pitching the grenades in turn into the two shattered windows of a street side grocery store. Both grenades detonated in the air between aisles of groceries, sending a surreal cloud of potato chips and cereal into the air. Below, several of the insurgents who had been staging an attack were knocked senseless by the impact of metal fragments into their flesh.

Throughout the store, a sense of shock washed over the insurgents. They were supposed to be the attackers, their enemy supposed to be a cowardly pack of foreign dogs. Before any of the insurgents could regain their orientation, the corporal leapt through a window like a track runner over a hurdle. He raised his carbine, drilling three rounds into the chest of the first insurgent he could see. He pushed over his first victim, grunting as he thrust his bayonet into the chest of the next insurgent. In other aisles, he could hear that the rest of the squad was likewise closing to melee range.

The moment was perfect, his bayonet planted into the solar plexus, under the sternum and between the ribs. The Corporal jerked his weapon up, pulling his bayonet through the diaphragm of the victim and into the heart. Only then did the Corporal look into the eyes of the insurgent. He was young, a teen, with just a hint of peach fuzz under his nose. Without allowing time to contemplate the taking of a young life, the Corporal pulled the trigger of his carbine, sending a burst of 5.56mm rifle rounds into the spine of the insurgent and dislodging the weapon’s bayonet.

As the body of the insurgent boy fell, the store became eerily silent. The Corporal looked about, counting helmets. All of the boys were there. No losses.

“Form up, we’re supposed to join with the rest of the platoon at the next ally. Good job, guys, by the book and ruthless.”


1610 hours

The Al-Sabiri Merkava 4SJ platoon had been alerted they were approaching friendly forces engaged in fighting, but the platoon leader was not prepared for what he was about to see. Angelican Airmobile infantrymen were within a circular redoubt in the center of a traffic circle, firing from behind wrecked vehicles and the short wall of a fountain. From a street opposite the redoubt, the platoon commander spotted an insurgent position reinforced with sandbags and sheet metal. From it, insurgents seemed to be reloading an AT-5 antitank missile launcher they had been using to crack the redoubt.

With a simple command, the platoon commander ordered a high-explosive round loaded and fired at the position. Within seconds, the round was screaming over the heads of the Angelican troops. A moment later, the insurgent position, missile launcher, and six insurgents were vaporized.

“Dismount the troops, deploy to covering positions, and inform battalion that the square is ours, but we’ll need those ‘Cats to clear the surrounding buildings. And get some medics into that Angelican position, I’m seeing a lot of bodies in there.”


1750 hours

The Al-Sabiri attack helicopter made a final pass, its main cannon ripping through the air. Charlie Company, guided by their binocular night vision goggles, began creeping through a side street lined with townhouses. Every fire team leader was equipped with IR-capable goggles, allowing for the identification of IEDs or hidden enemy troops. Throughout the day, ‘C’ Company had been infiltrating towards their objective. Their orders were to move into the rear area of the insurgent lines, in order to be prepared to support a raid upon the enemy command center.

Though the company expected to receive the intelligence through signals intercepts by RC-135 Rivet Joint aircraft, they were told to expect the intel to possibly come through other channels.

2nd Platoon’s Corporal Trantyev did not expect to have the intelligence regarding the location of the command center to come in bearing pita bread sandwiches, but that’s how it came. As the Corporal prepared to use a small mirror to peer around a corner, Trantyev spotted movement right by the wall as a small child careened into his leg. Snatching the child, Trantyev discovered that he had found an executive go-fer. He smiled into the face of the shocked, terrified child, he let him go with a pat on the back. The child, too terrified to simply run away, reverted to his original mission—deliver tasty food to the command center from a nearby kitchen. He was too young to realize that he shouldn’t let the enemy soldiers who had surprised him watch where he went.

The exercise that followed next was elementary, but urgent. The child would tell his elders what he had run into, thus alerting the command element. 1st Squad dashed behind the child, their squad leader calling instructions into his microphone. The moment the child disappeared into a stairwell leading to an office building basement, the plan went into action. Flashbang grenades were sent into ground-level basement windows, and an imposingly large machine gunner leapt down the stairwell, pushing past the small child. He burst through the door, immediately punctuating the concussion of the flashbangs with a terrifying burst of fire. He was followed by three other team members who quickly butt-stroked and tackled the shocked, stunned occupants of the basement.

“Get down on the ground, lay flat on your stomach with your arms and legs out. Do it now, and we will not kill you.”

The Corporal spoke loudly but calmly, ensuring he was understood through the ringing in the ears of the new prisoners. His men started cuffing each of the seven insurgents.

“Hey, Trantyev. Better get the Captain in here, man. This dude’s the Walid Brahim guy!”

Mocha, Al-Sabir

17.20 hours

A battalion's worth of AH-96A Chippewa attack helos soared over, unleashing hell on entrenched rebel positions. Thousands of 30mm shells were spit out, dozens of unguided 2.75" Hydra rockets strafed dug-in rebel anti-tank and mortar teams. Slowly, the Merkava 4SJ tanks of the 29th Urban Combat Division progressed on the final remnants of resistance, the thundering roar of their rolling threads echoing through the alleys. Infantry platoons disembarked from the protective troop compartments and joined the Angelicans in their quest of death, piercing insurgents on the pointy end of their bayonets.

Walid Brahim, black rims lining his eyes, was cuffed and tucked away in the back of Merkava, in the company of six angry grunts. The man had carried a legitimate ID in his back pocket, probably to tired about thinking of a way to get rid of it.

Gulf of Aden

A pair of massive Seina Niyobuchi class aircraft carriers steamed through the gulf, accompanied by an impressive entourage of cruisers, frigates and replenishment vessels. Helicopters and aircraft buzzed through the skies, diving for the last Boghammer remnants with fury. Strike sorties swarmed out over the coastal mountain range, blowing hidden re-supply dumps and fuel depots to smithereens, protected by Angelican air cover and combat air patrols, a true feat of successful joint action.

Five large salvage tugs towed the crippled Pearl to Blue Cove naval station. Hyder personally conned her into the narrow water corridor and instantly jumped ashore when the helicopter carrier slowly bumped into the large cushions of the quay, taking the command of a Naval Reserve frigate, a Timberwolf, and wreaked havoc on Abbas Hasan's various hide outs, to ensure his death. At his return, the Navy Chief of Staff personally awarded him the Silver Star for his merit.

Handover

Like everything else in this confrontation, the transportation of Walid Brahim was a joint affair. Angelican soldiers had discovered him in his basement hideout. An Al-Sabiri Merkava 4SJ heavy tank had transported him to a rally point for the Angelican 4th Reinforced Airmobile Infantry Brigade. There, the Angelican 92nd Special Operations Brigade’s air regiment had an MH-60G Pave Hawk standing by. The Pave Hawk was refueled by an Al-Sabiri tanker, before landing at Red Ball AFB, where the joint operation to assist the Al-Sabiri government in their counter-insurrection had begun.

There at the Operations Center of Red Ball AFB, on the flightline, the Pave Hawk settled onto the ground. Four members of the original Angelican Intelligence Liaison Team dismounted, followed by Walid Brahim and four Al-Sabiri Marines. The liaison team, still under the command of Major Yuskenko, escorted the prisoner towards the CO of the Al-Sabiri Operations in the theatre. Yuskenko saluted smartly, his hand forming a blade just millimeters from touching the brim of his desert-pattern boonie cover.

“Sir, on the behalf of the Angelican Expeditionary Force and the Protectorate of Angelico, I would like to present to you Walid Brahim, the leader of the insurrection. He has not yet been made aware of his rights with Al-Sabir.”

OOC: Hmm....how does this tie in with the MW? Are you still involved with MW?

OOC:Mind if I jump in with the Heart of Armaggedon(AKA:The Red Tide Mafia)?

OOC: Hmm....how does this tie in with the MW? Are you still involved with MW?

It doesn't, but I am still involved in the Modern World. The problem is that I still enjoy a bit of RPing with my old nation, so that's what this thread is for. If I do something related to the MW I'll post it in the thread title.

Edit: Red Tide2, yeah go ahead, but TG me if you have some serious plans.

OOC:Nothing to serious... just having them move in and sell T-80U's, AEK-101s, SA-7's, RPG-16's, and KA-50s(all of which are mostly outclassed by NS technology).

IC:The Red Tide goverment was watching... but not doing anything. The Corporations also had interests elsewhere. But the HOA(Acronym for Heart of Armaggedon) had been trickling agents and weapons in for quite awhile. The HOA could smell profit few thousand miles away. After all, they operated in dozens of warzones. So far they hadnt been smuggling in anything to serious. A couple of AK-74s here, some G-36s there... but then came the big shocker. A company worth of Insurgent manned T-80U Main Battle Tanks temporarily engaged the marines on the front, they quickly disengaged . It seems that the Heart of Armaggeddon was stepping up its sales.

OOC2:I hope this is acceptable. I am willing to edit it to whatever you suggest.

Battle of the Sandy Bluff Patrol--Background

The 36th Reinforced Brigade Combat Team was considered the vanguard brigade of the Angelican Army. Along with the 32nd Armored Cavalry Regiment as a scouting force, the 36th represented the heaviest component of the Angelican support presence in Al-Sabir. Though their orders from the Senate restricted them to the protection of the Angelican intelligence and training missions in Al-Sabir, the Brigade had taken a liberal interpretation of ‘protect.’ After all, if the threat was originating in Mocha city, why would the Brigade simply protect an FOB many miles away? Therefore, the 36th was assigned to a coastal bluff overlooking Mocha, while the smaller cavalry regiment stayed attatched to the Forward Operating Base to protect the Angelican forces there.

Despite the aggressive positioning of the 36th, the Angelican armored unit had seen no action in their time in Al-Sabir. The biggest fight for the troops was protecting their vehicles from the sand and grit of the desert. The soldiers maintained a strict schedule of drilling, live-fire practice, and physical training. If nothing else, Major General Winters seemed hell-bent to ensure that his men and women leave the desert as a more experienced force than when they entered.

As a break in the monotony of the perimeter duty, the 36th maintained a constant patrol presence in the outskirts of the city. Their responsibility was to ensure that no movement into or out of the city was allowed. Each day, several mixed-unit convoys from the Recon Company, Mechanized Infantry Battalion, and one of the Armored Battalions was sent to the outskirts of the city to look for tracks or movement.


Patrol 120505-2

Captain Alexi Tatyanov, Jr. had a large chip on his shoulder. A graduate of the Malkyeri War College’s Armored Cavalry School and their prestigious Leadership School, Tatyanov was of his own right a talented and well-trained officer. As the son of the Angelican President, however, he felt like he was constantly being followed by his father’s shadow.

Within the turret of an Iron Cheetah II Main Battle Tank, Tatyanov finally felt at home. The vehicle was arguably the best tank in the world. With 40% more effective armor than the M1A2 and two advanced active protective systems, the vehicle was as well-protected as anything in the world. A 140mm ETC cannon provided superior firepower and ammunition capacity than conventional 120mm smoothbore cannon. Tatyanov had been one of the first tank commanders of the ICII, having traveled to Clan Smoke Jaguar to begin testing when the vehicles were first selected.

The day was clear and hot, with waves of heat rising off of the sand. For nearly three hours the patrol had rolled through the destert, 500m from the outskirts of Mocha. The quiet hum of Tatyanov’s turbine engine was suddenly pierced by an alarm. His vehicle’s Jitterbug suite had picked up an anti-tank missile guidance laser tagging his hull. Before a human could react, the Jitterbug automatically took over the Firefly Active Defense Suite to fire a cloud of shrapnel into the path of the ATGM. A moment later, and the tank was jolted by the concussion of the missile detonating 15m from the hull. Tatyanov could hear radio chatter as the other crews in his platoon announced similar interceptions. Unfortunately, one ICII and a pair of Mist Lynx had taken hits. The MBT and one of the IFVs had simply lost their left treads. One Mist Lynx, however, had suffered a hull penetration.

Tatyanov sprung into action, turning his commander’s periscope to the direction of the launch. What he saw shocked him. Tanks, Russian. His mind quickly processed the vehicles, taking in the antennae, reactive armor configuration, periscope types, and weapons arrays. T-80U, possibly the best Russian design made.

There was something wrong, though. The tanks weren’t fighting like Russian-trained crews. They were exposed in the streets, and were taking much too long to fire a second volley. Tatyanov would ensure that they wouldn’t be allowed to fire again. He ordered the gunner to target one of the 12x T-80U’s, quickly feeling the swing of the turret. A Sabot round was loaded quickly and reported by the loader as ready.

“Fire!”

The turret jolted as the ETC firing system instantaneously generated plasma behind the sabot round, sending it streaking at hypersonic speeds towards the target. Tatyanov was treated to the sight of the tank’s turret exploding out the top of the tank, sending it more than forty feet into the air.

All throughout the convoy, firing commenced. Mist Lynx IFVs launched TOW missiles, while the other three ICIIs in the convoy fired their main guns. Within fifteen seconds of the initial warning, eight of the twelve T-80Us had been destroyed. The enemy tanks began turning, attempting to escape. A second volley of 140mm from the tank platoon ended that.


Red Ball AFB

Three hours after his patrol had returned to Brigade, Tatyanov had been flown to the Angelican Expeditionary Force’s headquarters for debriefing. He had protested, wanting to attend to the wounded and dead from the destroyed Mist Lynx. His report, however, was considered essential to Angelican Intelligence.

“You sure your men got twelve, and only twelve?”

“Yes sir, just like the satellites and gun cameras show.”

“Ok, get back to your Company, and get them ready. There’s still twelve insurgent tanks out there.”

The insurgents were showing up with better weapons SA-7 handheld SAMs were beginning to shoot at aircraft, AEK-101s were becoming more and more common, Technicals armed with mounted recoiless rifles, TOW missiles, and-in a few rare cases-mounted HATM-20* launchers began to make hit and run attacks on armored convoys. Even a few KA-50 Hokums were reportedly being seen in the sky.

OOC:
*The HATM-20(or Heavy Anti Tank Missile) is the ultimate anti-tank missile produced by the Tech-Com Corporation(Red Tides biggest corporation) and utilised by its private armies and the Red Tide military, although the Heart of Armaggedon are known to have access to them. Its launcher is so large it must be attached to a stationary platform or a helicopter(It is the primary weapon of the Red Tide made TC-2A Thor Heavy Anti-Tank Helicopter). Capable of easily punching through Super-Heavy tank armor. Tests have shown it is effective against every tank on earth. However it has some shortfalls. It has a short range and rather primitive optically wired guidance systems.

Another thing to note is that the Red Tide Military and the Red Tide Corporations private armies does not use the T-80U, they use a custom made tank called the MBT-66.

OOC: Red Tide2: Don't bother with trying to save your own ass, we'll be coming after you anyway ;)

IC:

Handover

"You did a helluva job, Major Yuskenko. The Angelican forces have earned my respect. Something I cannot say of the lazy bastards that some of our units comprise."

General Amir Husain, the Commander-in-Chief of the Central Area Forces, mumbled, answering the Major's formal salute with a firm handshake. He twirled around and gestured the Al-Sabir Marines to escort Walid to the waiting HMMWV. The up-armoured vehicle sped off inland, under protective dome of attack helicopters and accompanied by a convoy of Mist Lynx II infantry fighting vehicles.

"Now, Major, we have business to discuss."

Amir said, guiding Yuskenko to a massive field tent on the rural savannah grounds near the control tower. Amir sank down on stretcher and folded his hands to support his chin.

"Have a seat, Major."

Amir slid a map from underneath the stretcher and lay it on the ground between them. The chart showed an extremely detailed city street grid, covered with brightly coloured symbols.

"As you might already know, Mr. Brahim's punishment has already been determined by the Powers-That-Be. He'll be sentenced to life in prison."

Amir muttered with gritted teeth, the words dripping with venom and utter disgust.

"Of course my choice would be to slowly torture the bastard to death, taking as much time as possible, but the President's strategic military advisors have strongly advocated not turning him into some sort of martyr for those crave religious lunatics, a wise counsel but dissatisfactory to me fo course. I'll have to live with that, unfortunately.

For now, as we await the public trials, we will have to cut off the continuous flow of equipment that has been reported pouring into town lately. For this, we'll instigate intense patrolling in the Gulf of Aden, as well as armed interdiction of any suspicious civilian cargo vessels. The Central Naval Forces has been tasked with this assignment, but Angelican naval assets are welcome to operate under their command.

The Federal Intelligence Bureau has infiltrated the active cells of the remaining rebels and is in the process of determining the possibly foreign source of the imported armament, as thorough investigation of a wreckaged T-80U has already revealed it wasn't a part of the indigenously-produced line of vehicles. Unfortunately, the FIB's assistance in daily patrols cannot be requested for the sake of their own security.

Further more, as you might've noticed, new Army units, such as the 29th Urban Combat Division, are slowly trickling in and are rotating the Marines out. The newer units have gone through intensive counter-insurgency training schedules for nearly three months and their equipment is state-of-the-art, from Clan Smoke Jaguar origin. I'm convinced their combat performance will prove suberb, especially compared to Marine Corps and other self-proclaimed "elite" units that have fought under Al-Sabirian flag in this city before, but I'm asking you to introduce them to the area a bit and start off with a few joint patrols as well."

Amir got up and shook Yuskenko's hand once more, his grip firmly around Yuskenko's palm.

"It is an honour to work with your selection of dedicated, professional soldiers. May we someday fight side by side once more."

Amir gave a by-the-book salute and spun around, heading for the opening of the tent, bright sun rays pouring through the gap.

Patrol 891212-4

A lone Merkava 4SJ Main Battle Tank, 61,000 kilograms raw combat power, twisted and twirled in a series of pre-emtive evasive maneuvers, while hurling massive high explosive shells through the streets. First Lieutenant Ali Akeem Nasir grinned maliciously as he heard a few desperate cries as another infantry grunt bumped his head against the low ceiling of the troop compartment. He peered through the thermal imaging sights of the tank and noticed a small infrared signature, nearly drowned out by the roaring flames on the background. It was a man, peaking around a corner, the barrel of a battered AK-47 sticking out above his shoulder. Ali pushed the overhead hatch open and grabbed the handle-bars of the old .50, his arms rocking in a steady cadence as he hosed a wave of bullets at his target. He wiped the sand off his dust goggles and saw the man sink into a massive pool of blood.

"Take that, bastards!"

Ali nearly lost himself in joy. He slammed the hatch shut and descended deeper into the tank, a shot of adrenaline soaring through his veins. The dosis was nearly doubled when he saw a helicopter popping up, skimming the roof tops, its fast-spinning, double pair of rotor blade assemblies blending into one grey blur with the early-morning sky.

"Aircraft, ten o'clock!"

The turret trained towards the helo, the aiming mechanism humming softly as the gun was aimed upwards. The co-axial .50 began spitting out hundreds of deadly projectiles, but frankly, it wasn't enough. The bullets ricocheted off its fuselage. Ali cringed, as he climbed upwards again and pivoted his .50 skywards.

Suddenly, a smoke trail popped up and a thundering shock wave shook the ground, the .50 machine gun nearly toppling Ali as it swung sideways. The helicopter, compact rocket pods under its stub wings, plunged down and crashed into a ten-floor apartment. A small MERAD vehicle, mounting a four-cell Basalisk SAM launcher, dashed around the corner, nearly flipping over as it made the sharp turn.

"Everything okay?"

A rose up from the Hummer as it came sideways and a bewildered Ali faintly nodded in disbelief, taking a deep breath before ordering return to the FOB to issue a report on what he had just seen.

OOC:It isnt either the goverment OR any of Red Tides Corporations supplying the Rebels... as I stated earlier, the Red Tide MAFIA(AKA: The Heart of Armaggeddon(HOA)) is the ones selling the Insurgents equipment.

IC: A Technical armed with a HATM-20 launcher darted out towards a tank convoy. Quickly followed by two trucks with mounted 120mm recoiless rifles, the lead technical fired a single missile at the biggest tank in the group before running away. The Recoiless Rifle trucks got off 4 shots before getting past.

Meanwhile in the Gulf of Aden

A single HOA freighter with Red Tide markings plowed through the water. T-80Us inside its hull.

tag

Investigation

The T-80U was a ubiquitous design, having been pawned off to a number of nations. However, there were several tell-tales that could narrow down the manufacturers and salesmen of such heavy equipment.

One T-80U sat in the center of a Red Ball AFB hanger, along with several other artifacts recovered from the Mocha combat area. The particular tank had been selected because the damage done to it was minimal. A sabot round had passed through the weak side armor of the tank, punching a clean hole through both sides. The round had sucked the gunner and commander out of the tank through the exit hole, and had ruptured the soft tissues of the driver. The driver’s station had required a high pressure hose to clean out, but the turret was eerily clean. Only a pinkish crust around the exit hole testified to the one-time presence of a vehicle crew.

The vehicle had retained all the evidence that the Angelican Intelligence Liaison team had required. The main gun targeting system aboard was a French design, not the standard Soviet or Ukrainian models. This indicated that the manufacturer was a third party, and thus that the vehicle wasn’t a hand-me-down. This would make identification much easier. Other factors were considered, such as the powder type used for the main gun rounds, the oil used in the engine and turret, and the radio, periscope, and other optics.

Their list of suspects was soon reduced to one country and two organized crime syndicates, including the HOA.


Littoral Actions

The Saar V Corvette was an ideal patrol vessel. Capable of high speeds and relatively long endurance, the series was well protected and completely networked into the sensor grid of the Angelican Home Fleet and Air Force. With an MH-104 helicopter aboard each vessel, the ships were capable of quickly closing on and inspecting a large number of ships each day.

An hour ago, PCG-4, one of six corvettes assigned to assist the Al-Sabiri fleet, was tasked by the Joint Fleet Command with the inspection of an unidentified freighter approaching the port of Mocha. She had deployed her MH-104 to run a recon pass, and was making full speed on an intercept coarse. Across all standard maritime radio frequencies, the corvette broadcast a message. English, Spanish, French, repeat, the orders went out.

“Attention unidentified vessel steaming course 175 for port of Mocha. Heave to immediately and prepare to be boarded. You are ordered by the Al-Sabiri government to submit to a safety and environmental inspection of your vessel… Attention unidentified vessel…”

The Mafia Officer sat up at the radio broadcast. Although Red Tideans were mostly Russian, Officers were taught english, just in case. 'Searches?' He thought, 'Since when did that start?' The Captain was looking at him, waiting for orders... The Officer Sighed, "Pull over... but get the guns out just incase." The Freighter halted its movement. But several HOA Thugs inside the crew qaurters got out AEK-101s and G-36 Assualt Rifles.

OOC:It isnt either the goverment OR any of Red Tides Corporations supplying the Rebels... as I stated earlier, the Red Tide MAFIA(AKA: The Heart of Armaggeddon(HOA)) is the ones selling the Insurgents equipment.

IC: A Technical armed with a HATM-20 launcher darted out towards a tank convoy. Quickly followed by two trucks with mounted 120mm recoiless rifles, the lead technical fired a single missile at the biggest tank in the group before running away. The Recoiless Rifle trucks got off 4 shots before getting past.

Meanwhile in the Gulf of Aden

A single HOA freighter with Red Tide markings plowed through the water. T-80Us inside its hull.

OOC: Mr. Sharif doesn't make distinctions between a crime syndicate or terror network and its harbour country, just as the U.S. ;)

Anyway, IC post delayed, I'll have to wait for a couple of days.

A pressing layer of darkness obscured the Presidential Staff. Only a few quick whispers and a few coughs in the thick smolder of cigarette smoke rose up from the mass. All silently listened to an emergency briefing by the Navy Chief of Staff, Admiral Ziya Kamil. Grainy images were projected and cycled through on a large screen. Corroded, worn-out container vessels knifing through Al-Sabiri waters were displayed, the Navy Chief of Staff shortly describing the encountered cargo.

"...SA-7 surface-to-air missile systems, AK-47 assault rifles, SKS bolt-action carbines, rocket-propelled grenades and a pair of KA-50 attack choppers."

Ziya concluded, his face grim, as his fingers skidded over the touch-sensitive display, which was plugged into the adjacent projector unit.

"Emm..Admiral?"

A voice swell from the masses of Presidential Staff.

"Yes Mr. Jamzad?"

"It's nice to know 'bout what the rebels are using to kill off our boys, but frankly, I personally don't give a damn about this stuff. Where does this equipment origin?"

Breaths were swallowed as the brave words of the Secretary of State reverberated through the hall. Ziya's face gleamed in red and purple tints, but the President interrupted the silent between the two powerful men.

"I think Mr. Jamzad has a point. We need to solve this problem by exterminating the roots. I'm sure you've mentioned something about ships with all sorts of identities and composite nationalities, but what's the source? How is the money flowing?"

Ziya shrugged and said:

"Here."

He tossed a manila envelope to the President who tore it apart and flipped through the composition of satellite imagery, infrared target charts and documents with hundreds of lines of plain text.

"The Heart of Armageddon? Why haven't I been told about this?"

Abdullah's eyes loitered over the Staff.

"It was to come on the end of the show."

Ziya said.

"Okay then. What are we going to do about it?"

"One option would be to sink every caught merchant and intern the crew, for interrogation purposes."

"A good plan, I'm impressed, my cousin."

Abdullah mumbled at the sudden input from his nephew at the other side of the office. Gal Sharif, Secretary of Defense nodded and continued running his hands through his hair, flipping one leg over an other and back, and sighing at the comments of every person who dared to speak at the meeting as if the answer was so obvious.

"We will do that. Inform the Angelicans and set up a plan to put pressure on their home country, Red Tide2. Everyone dismissed."

The Naval Infantry Brigade was considered an elite cadre unit in the Angelican Army, requiring special testing, training, and certification in order to even serve as an admin clerk. Naval Infantrymen were considered fearsome close-quarters fighters, often serving second tours of duty at the Angelican Black Sea School for Asymmetrical Warfare as urban warfare tactics instructors.

In their role as ship security complements, Naval Infantry Brigade squads and platoons were trained to board and inspect foreign ships as part of the Angelican Home Defense policy. Off the coast of Al-Sabir, the NIB men had already been instrumental in stopping several ships of various nations attempting to bring weapons and other illicit goods into Mocha to fuel the insurgency.

Boarding the mafia-owned freighter, the NIB men knew to be cautious. The international registration of the vessel had passed an initial background check, but when subjected to a check with INTERPOL and the Al-Sabiri government the front company fell through.

NIB Platoon 16 from the Corvette PCG-4 was therefore prepared for a confrontation with smugglers. What they weren’t ready for was a full-blown ambush. A fire team that had fast-roped onto the deck reported that the crew seemed to have assembled, as ordered, on the deck of the ship. The fire team kept the ‘crew’ covered while two additional squads came aboard from rubber raiding craft used as shuttles. While one squad began searching the crew and bridge, the second squad went down below.

In a narrow concourse, the ambush was sprung. A Red Tidean sailor tossed a fragmentary grenade at the soldiers from a side passage. The grenade served as a warning, allowing many of the squad to take cover behind bracing and heavy steel pipes. The deafening explosion ripped through the passageway, shredding the flesh of three of the Angelican men. As the rest of the squad surged forward, three more Red Tideans emerged from hiding, firing their assault weapons blindly into the concourse. The Angelicans responded with return fire, filling the passageway with cordite smoke and deafening gunshots. The firefight ceased within 40 seconds, with five of the original 12 Angelicans surviving. They radioed their situation to the rest of the boarding party, and received orders to evacuate their wounded and dead to the weather deck.

The situation on the weather deck was soon to deteriorate, as well. Just as the first squad was preparing to search the last of the crewmen, a Red Tidean drew a bayonet from his sleeve, lunging and stabbing with the blade before the staff sergeant about to search him could react. The staff sergeant was dead within seconds, the blade having pierced his heart. Immediately, the melee was on. Three sailors grabbed weapons hidden beneath bracing, but two were cut down by covering fire before they could act. A third was able to rake a full clip of 5.56mm across the deck at the Angelican NIB troops, felling two before being killed by a pistol round to the head.

Finally, it was all over. Three wounded Red Tidean prisoners were taken with wounds of varying degrees, including the ship’s captain. Nine Angelican troops were killed, an additional four with serious wounds. The fight had been worth it, however. The troops found eight T-80U tanks, with HE rounds in the main gun chambers and fuel in the tanks. They also found a smattering of small arms crates, ammunition, rations, toilet paper, and grenade launchers.

After the three survivors of the ship’s crew had been off-loaded, an Al-Sabiri Naval crew was brought aboard to bring the ship to a secure port.