NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is kinda of an invite RP, if you want in, TGram me and I'll see if you can get in on it. I want people to join, but just Tgram me the reasons your govt would want in.

IC:

The night air was warm, but crisp. A dry heat. Just like every other night in Siera Cava, a small country on the coast of Africa. And just like almost any other country on the coast of Africa, it to was constantly engulfed in flames. Not the flames of a burning fire, but the flames of violence.

The nation had been under control of the Queen's Crown since the early 1800s, a colony of Versalles. Between diamonds, gold, and silver mining that the nation offered, it was a tempting grab. And the crown was easily temptable. However, the men and women of Siera Cava were not the type to be colonized. A tribal people, they resisted modernization as best they could. Some found it ironic that the people who wanted nothing more than to return to their roots used modern weaponry to try to do it.

The lone building on the street was the headquarters of Royal Silver Mining Corporation. It wasn't the mining headquarters, but the logistics and manegment building. Where the big wig sat. The joke among the buisness community in Versalles was that it was a death sentance to be the CEO of the Queendoms second largest corporation. Becuase if you were, you were sent to Seira Cava, where everyone wanted to kill you becuase they hated, or you were sent to Landings, where everyone wanted to kill you because they wanted your job. It was a loose loose, but the money was well worth it. The current CEO, Dan Coldston, made near four hundred million pounds a year. A pretty penny, based on the exchange rate of dollars to pounds.

However, he soon would be worth a lot less. A small truck, one like the ones used by Uhall or any of those other rental agencies, pulled up infront of the building. There were no gaurds, no security posts, nothing. Why would there be? All the violence in Siera Cava was in the capital anyways. Not anymore. A man left the truck, and minutes later, a blast ripped through the building.

Three pounds of C4 and over 40 pounds of Cemtex blasted out. The shockwave slammed into the building, nearly destroying the foundation. It began to fall in on itself, and moments later, an entire side of the building collapsed. Another truck pulled up, this one a Toyota pickup. On the back, a black man worked a .50 caliber machine gun, loading it, and racking the bolt. As soon as survivors began to stumble out, he opened fire, spraying them with the large bullets, ripping them to shreads. The truck soon sped off.
*
That morning, news of the attack reached teh Queendom. Stock in RSMC dropped a full thrity points, and nearly every share holder sold off. The company went from the second largest in the Queendom to near bankruptcy. Families mourned the dead, and called out for vengance. They wanted blood for blood.

In Westhampton, the governmental center of Versalles, Queen Elizabeth II consulted with her advisors. She had, like every queen before her, inherited the bloodiest war faught by the queendom. "Well, I believe the consensus is we call the Imitorans up on their offer, and put our own troops in as well. A full division of Royal Marines, including Commandos, and an SAS wing."

The rest of the advisors nodded. It would take about 48 hours to get a full RM unit in the area, but the unit would be able to wel secure the area. Plus with the Imitorans' help, the situation, should, if all went well, sort itself out soon enough. At least the Queen hoped.

Johnathan Black sat at a desk, looking at the check in front of him. It equaled out to over two hundred thousand Imitoran Credits. A decent sum for the assistance of having 500 mercenaries showing up and kick ass. He placed a few calls to the right personell, and soon 500 former Colonial Marine Special Forces operatives, from the 22nd, Force Recon, and other untis, had assembled at Northampton Int'l. Airport. They were all dressed alike, creme colord polo shirts, olive green cargo pants, thigh holsters, and black tactical vests. Some had their rifles slung, others held them in their hands. A few wore Oakleys, and some wore Ray bans, and an assortment of hats topped their heads, from cammoed boonies to black baseball caps.

Despite the look, the group had an aire of profesionalism among them. They looked as dangerous as they were, most of them veterans of many wars. For teh sum they were getting paid, they had better been profesional. Each made near fifteen thousand Imitoran Credits a month. The operatives of Executive Options were well off in life, with one of the best pension plans, and a good amount of insurance. They were waiting for their ride, three C130s that had been contracted off a private market, two for the men, four for their vehicles, modified BMW X5s and Toyota Pickups. The men waited patiently. They didn't care who was in the right or wrong, just who was paying them.

OOC: Uh oh, this oughta be good that Imi's back... I gotta
TAG this...

OOC: Imi, I know you asked me to wait for Fult, but I kinda wanna get this going, so I hope you dont mind if I post.

IC:

As dawn crested the small nations of Siera Cava, one could look out into the ocean, and see a sight that would soon become the standard. Two large grey hulking masses sat less than three miles off the coast of the African nation. One was HMS Valient, a large troop carrying ship, holding near two thousand Royal Marines. It also was home to several helicopters for transport, a few helicopter gunships, and three AV-8 Harriers. The ship held several tanks and artillery pieces as well, and a few Hummers. On the deck, several Marines practiced with SA80s and CAR-46s on paper targets, and a few lounged, waiting for launch orders.

The other ship was the HMS Vengance, a large aircraft carrier. The carrier held five wings of modified SeaJags, a naval version of the Jaguar fighter, and a good number of AV-8 Harriers. Crews streamed around the deck like ants around an anthill. Three Harriers were being readied for a flight, their crews loading air to ground missles and air to air missles. Guns were also loaded, and soon, each was ready for take off. THe pilots entered their fighters, and soon, cockpits were closed.

Once permision had been granted, the engines roared to life, and soon, teh VTOL aircraft lept from the deck, turned towards their targets, and flew off into the sky.

Just fifteen miles inland was a small radio station. It was the home of Radio Free Cava, a privately owned and run radio station that broadcasted news and information to the rest of the nation. At night, they played music, mostly hits from the 50s and 60s, and covertly broadcasted movements and orders to the people of Siera Cava to fight the Versallian Imperials. On this cloudless day, news of tiger attack was being told, and the weather was being given. In front of the station, several children played with a ball, and a few mothers watched.

In the far distance, a roar could be heard, and if one looked carefully, they could see the black outline of Tiger 2, the lead Harrier in the flight. The pilot had already locked in the building, and selected a Maverick ATGM. He flipped off the saftey, and put the Harrier in a shallow dive. The other two held their altitude, with their air to air radars on, searching for targets. Tiger 2 leveled off at 3,000 feet, and pushed the throtle forward slowly. Once he had reached a speed of fivehundred and thirty miles per hour, he depressed the trigger on his control stick, and pulled back and to teh left, pulling the fighter away.

The missle lept off its rail, and screamed towards the building. No one even new it was comming, and as one of the children looked up, he saw the missle streak over head, and slam into the radio building a milisecond later. The blast threw him near thrity yards, the impact cracking several ribs. The men in the building were not so lucky, with the explosion killing most. Those that survived the inital blast died seconds later, as did most of the mothers, and a few children, when the shrapnel and fire reached a large fuel tank behind the building. The explosion ripped through the area like a tornado, ending just as it started. The sound of the Harriers excelerating away could be heard.

OOC: Its cool, we dont have net at our house anyways, so he wouldn't be able to post.

IC:

The C130s lumbered their way to Seira Cava, engines pulling along the deadly cargo of Mercenaries and their vehicles. Some joked, others slept, and some just waited. The planes had been airborne for over seven hours, and the men wanted to stretch out, get some fresh air, and walk a bit.

In the tail end of the airial convoy, the modified X5s wre being looked over to make sure they were in working condition. The last thing they would need is a broken down vehicle in a fire fight. Each X5 had a modified 5.0L V10 Twin turbo diesel made by BMW, and was fitted with kevlar and reactive ceramic plating inside the doors. The glass was bullet proof, and each was fitted with a spotlight, IR cammera, smoke dispensers, and a full NBC sealing system.

After near another hour of flight, the lead C130 began its descent, and the rest followed. It wouldn't be long till the Sieria Cavanians met one of the biggest boots they'd have shoved up their ass.

A man in DPM fatigues approached, hand extended. "Welcome to Siera Cava, I'm Cmdr. Adrian Davidson." He was all business, and his slouched maroon beret noted his Para status. "I'm glad you could make it, we can really use the help."