NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC Note: this thread is only open to UKL members and select allies. If you would like to participate, contact one of the UKL members.

Also, please try and keep OOC chatter to a minimum; if it becomes necessary, we can always open an OOC thread.
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10:30 p.m. ~ Darford, Kish

The haunting wail filled the darkened streets of the small village in a remote province of Kish; it was a cry of sorrow that pierced all those who heard it to the bone. On the front lawn of a dilapidated old cottage, an older woman rocked slowly back and forth while cradling a broken, bloody form in her arms as salty tears streamed down her face to mix with the fresh crimson stains on her cheap cotton dress.

“My son! My son! Why must we live like this? Why do the gods allow this to happen? Oh, why?”

An older man left the house, and knelt next to the sobbing woman, putting his arms around her and doing his best to comfort her. For him, the pain was familiar; after all, this was the second time he had lost a loved one to the barbarian infidels that defiled his country with their presence. After several minutes, he was able to convince the woman to come inside and leave the battered corpse that only hours earlier had been their only son. He could be properly buried tomorrow, and there was no sense in incurring further wrath from the occupiers by breaking the curfew for so long.
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7:02 p.m. the next day ~ Darford, Kish

In the front room of the Darrel family’s small house, a low buzz of conversation filled the room as neighbors and friends sat together, each wondering why they had been asked to come. They all knew by now what had happened last night – did this have anything to do with it? As one last couple walked into the door, James Darrel quickly checked them off on a small pad he held and proceeded to stand in front of those gathered in his house.

His hand shook slightly as he did so; nothing more than a case of the jitters, he told himself. Just a case of the jitters. But then, one doesn’t propose high treason to one’s close friends lightly.

“Friends and neighbors, I’m sure you’re wondering why I have gathered you here this evening. I will be as short as I can, since we are technically violating curfew just being here at this time of the evening.

“I’m sure you all know what happened last night. At about 10:30, a group of Kelanthian Internal Security Agency officers showed up at our house. They knocked on our door, and when my wife Mary answered it, they led her outside and handed her the body of our son, Tommy. He had been shot eight times in the chest with an automatic weapon, and his body was still warm.”

At this point Darrel’s voice quavered ever so slightly before he regained his composure and continued speaking.

“They told us that he had been playing near the range that the Kelanthians have on the other side of town. They said that he had ventured onto the course during a live-fire exercise of a new version of some gun that they were testing, and he was mistaken for one of the dummies that they use for target practice. They got our address from his ID card, and brought him back here, dumping him at our feet without so much as an apology.

“We buried him today. Our only son, just 15 years old… and we buried him. Friends, you know as well as I do that that is wrong. Tommy may not have had the most common sense, but wander onto a live-fire exercise in the Kelanthian testing area? Are we supposed to believe that he climbed a 6 foot fence, walked right past all of the guards, ignored the sound of machine guns and managed to get himself shot by accident? No, I don’t buy it; it just the latest case of murder at the hands of those Kelanthian dogs, and I’m sick of it.

“This is far from the first time – you, Jack, did you really believe that your wife stepped out into the street coincidentally as a truck was going by? Or you, Lisa, did you ever truly think that your daughter was kidnapped by a gang and abused in Darford, where we have an extremely low crime rate?

“I’m telling you, this has gone over the edge. For generations, the people of Kish have lived under the iron fist of the Unified Kelanthian League, and we have done nothing. Under our parents and grandparents, it wasn’t as bad – random killings were the exception, not the rule. Times, however, have changed.

“It is time that we threw off the yoke of our oppressors. It is time that we stood up and demanded that our land be returned to us, its rightful owners. It is time that we stopped laying down and accepting punishment, and it is time that we teach these vermin that we are not bugs to be stepped on, we are Kishians, and we demand justice!

“I have been in contact with a cousin of mine who has contacts in what little resistance our country has been brave enough to mount. I have told him that if he were able to get us just a few weapons, we would be able to surprise these complacent Kelanthian dogs that run the shooting range in town and take it for ourselves. If we can reinforce ourselves with the weapons in there, we can leave this godforsaken village forever and join the resistance, spreading our message to the whole of Kish. If we can convince even a small portion of the people to join us and unite against the oppressors, we can take them on and kick them out! A free Kish will be ours!”

At this, a murmer went around the room. It was a verbalization of everything that all of them longed to say, but were afraid of saying for fear of being imprisoned by one of the occupying armies. It was a message of hope and idealism, and one that they all wanted to partake in… but there were doubts.

“You have to be kidding me, Jim,” said Fred Tulan, a local baker, as he stood up to address Darrel. “Take on the whole goddamn UKL? You’re out of your mind! I mean, hell, I’d like to see them gone too, but what can a bunch of disorganized people like us do? Stab them all to death with pitchforks?”

“I understand your concern, Fred,” said Darrel. “Look, I felt the same way until last night. Sure, I wanted to get rid of the UKL, but there’s no way we can defeat their armies – they’re much too powerful for a rabble like us to beat them in an all-out war. That’s why I called my cousin last night – I wanted to see if we had any other options… and we do.

“He said that if we can assemble a large enough group of guerrillas, there is a chance for us to do more than just be obliterated by a UKL strike force. The underground has had a plan in mind for some time now, just waiting for enough people to be willing to help. I can’t give you any details right now, but I’m telling you, this is big… really, really, big. If we can get enough people to be willing to fight for freedom, we have a real chance to throw off the burden of our oppressors.

“I have nothing left to live for. My son is dead, murdered at the hands of the Kelanthian bastards who run this section of Kish. My job isn’t ever going to take me any farther than where I am now. This miserable shack that we call a house has little value. There is nothing for me here; as far as I’m concerned, instead of letting the UKL waste my life, I’m going to do something worthwhile with it.

“So who’s with me?”
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6:44 a.m. the next day ~ Darford, Kish

The rising sun glinted on the horizon as it came peeking over the mountains in the east. James Darrel shaded his eyes with one hand as he used the other to feel the crude improvised explosive device concealed under his jacket. Today was going to be a glorious day for the beginning of the new age of Kish, a new age free from the oppressive rule of the foreign dogs that were sucking the very life from his homeland.

He checked his watch. Only 16 more hours, he thought, as he turned back to replace the IED in its hiding place in his house. Next to it lay an old hunting rifle. It wasn’t much, but then, what revolutionaries ever have the upper hand? He would help free his country, or he would die trying. He could only hope that it would be the former.

10:41 p.m. ~ Darford Proving Grounds, Darford, Kish

Private Jared Harrison of the Kelanthian 14th Infantry Division stood on the roof of the barracks, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He lazily gazed around, taking in the quiet night on the edge of the sleepy city of Darford. The streets were mostly empty due to the 10:00 curfew imposed by the Kelanthians, and only a scarce few lights could be seen shining out from the dingy huts of the natives. The barracks, which was the biggest of the five buildings in the testing ground, doubled as watch tower due to its height; the others (an armory, an administrative building, a small storage building, and a roofed firing area) were clustered around the barracks to facilitate defensive procedures.

As if we’d ever need ‘defensive procedures’ in this godforsaken hellhole, thought Harrison to himself. He reached into his pocket and furtively pulled out a cigarette, which he technically wasn’t supposed to have while on duty. He hesitated before lighting it.

Oh, what the hell... what are they going to do, court-martial me for having a goddamned smoke? he thought, flicking the top of the cheap butane lighter and taking a deep drag. If he had known that it would be the last smoke he’d ever have, he might have tried to enjoy it more thoroughly; instead, he just puffed away, trying to finish it before some inconveniently located officer on the ground noticed it.
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10:42 p.m. ~ Approaches to the Darford Proving Ground, Darford, Kish

Gripping his old hunting rifle, James Darrel crept through the darkness of the unlightened streets. A small group of men and women were behind him, strung out in a line that covered nearly a whole street block. Darrel peeked around a corner, checking all directions for Kelanthian patrols. Seeing none, he motioned his group to continue forward; having already had to evade two small patrols, he wasn’t keen on taking yet another detour to their target.

Upon reaching the edge of the last row of houses, the rebels melted into the surrounding environment, each hiding behind a hut or dumpster in the shadows, where their dark, mottled clothing made them virtually invisible to the naked eye. Darrel himself opened the door of a shack that he had preselected earlier in the day since the residents had recently moved to a different part of the city; upon finding the bedroom that had a window facing the Kelanthian compound, he knelt on the ground and rested the end of the rifle on the windowsill.

Upon maneuvering into position, Darrel aimed his rifle at the top of the largest building in the encampment. The others were now waiting for his move; they were ready to dash the short distance across the street, cut the woefully small padlock on the gate, and rush into the armory to secure a supply of arms for the new branch of the Kishian underground. It would only last seven minutes at the longest, and in order to escape, there could be no guards on the rooftops to hinder them. The first move belonged to him – James Wilson Darrel.

He took a deep breath. This was it; his first action against the occupiers that he hated with his entire being. He was striking for his murdered son, for his raped neighbor, and for the atrocities suffered by the entire nation of Kish. He was fighting for freedom, justice, and liberty, as far as he was concerned. His country had been under the boot of foreign invaders for too long—tonight was the night to right the wrongs. He focused on a small flicker of light on top of the big building, doubtless a bored sentry having a smoke to pass the time on a tedious night watch.

He pulled the trigger.
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10:44 p.m. ~ Darford Proving Grounds, Darford, Kish

Harrison took one last drag on his cigarette and exhaled deeply, sighing as he dreamed of heading home in four months when his division’s three-year occupation duty was up. He couldn’t wait to hit some bars and get a real drink, none of the watered-down sludge that the Kishians called whiskey. He wanted to go to some concerts featuring performances by his favorite bands, and not be stuck listening to boring tapes and CDs of lackluster Kishian bands. Most of all, he wanted to spend time with his family, none of whom he’d seen in nearly three years. Unfortunately for him, one bullet abruptly ended his train of thought – in fact, it literally plowed right through his train of thought as it entered his skull through the left temporal bone, meandered through the mushy gray matter, and exited neatly through the upper part of the right parietal bone. With a brief puff of crimson, Private Jared Harrison was dead before his body fell over.

Damn, thought Darrel surprisedly, who had wholly expected to miss with his first shot. I wish I could shoot like that ALL the time...

At the sound of the single rifle shot, nineteen dark-clad Kishian rebels sprang out of their hiding place across the street and, with a quick snip of a pair of wire cutters, were inside the compound and heading towards their objective. Eleven men and one woman (all of whom were armed with stolen Kelanthian pistols) headed for the armory, five men armed with rifles headed for the main entrance of the barracks, and the remaining one woman and one man ran to the administrative building. The five heading to the barracks would have the toughest and most important job – to hold off any Kelanthian soldiers that came to meet the threat long enough to allow the twelve in the armory to neutralize the Kelanthian guards, take as many weapons and as much ammunition as could fit into the packs on their backs, and run out, where three additional rebels in trucks would drive them away as quickly as possible. The two at the administrative building had orders to kill anything that moved out of it, and Darrel would remain across the street until the extraction to cover the rooftops.
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10:45 p.m. ~ Darford Proving Grounds, Darford, Kish

The first three disoriented guards that came dashing out of the barracks together to investigate the gunshot were gunned down immediately, as were the next four that exited separately. The rebels, hiding behind various bits of cover surrounding the entrance, waited patiently for more Kelanthian dogs to slaughter.

In front of the administrative building, a Molotov cocktail through an empty window on the second floor had started a merry blaze in a room; the two rebels hiding outside the building viewed their handiwork with glee, keeping their rifles trained on the door on the off chance that a Kelanthian with more courage than common sense would try to exit.

In the house, Darrel saw a second sentry scrambling across the barracks roof in the direction of the commotion. Darrel’s first shot went wide, but the second caught the Kelanthian square in the chest, dropping him flat. Darrel squeezed his rifle tightly, keeping his attention focused on the rooftops.

In the armory, the twelve rebels split into two groups to enter the two main storage rooms. The first group found only a dozing sentry in their room, and a knife to the ribs soon removed that threat. They immediately loaded dozens of assault rifles and boxes of ammunition into their packs and began heading to the extraction point. The second group, however, was not so lucky. The first rebel from that group to enter their assigned room sneaked up to the sentry’s booth, and seeing no one else in the room full of waist-high gun racks, stood up and fired his pistol directly into the face of the sentry. At that point, a Kelanthian soldier who had been kneeling below a rack adjusting his boot stood up with his sidearm drawn and shot the rebel cleanly in the back of the head. With that, the rest of the second group of rebels dashed into the room firing madly.

In front of the barracks, a Kelanthian officer had apparently had the sense to forbid any more suicidal excursions out of the front door. Instead, a group of eight Kelanthian soldiers crept out of a small side door and inched around the edge of the structure. Upon reaching the front, they laid flat on the ground and their automatic rifles began chattering angrily, peppering the rebels with dozens of rounds. One of the Kelanthians had thought to bring a grenade, and lobbed that as well. One Kishian slumped over, felled by a lucky shot to the head. The remaining four were all wounded either by bullets or shrapnel, but all were still able to shoot, and began returning fire with gusto.

Darrel was still watching the rooftops, but noticing a dim figure silhouetted in a window in the top story of the barracks, shifted his rifle downwards a bit and squeezed off a shot. The window shattered and the figure went down clutching his or her upper arm. Damn, thought Darrel, annoyed that he had failed to kill the Kelanthian. He shifted the rifle back up to the rooftops. Ah well, there will be more...

Outside of the administrative building, the two rebels had killed one female officer that had come dashing out of the front door, her sidearm drawn. Other than that, the only activity they’d seen was a few figures glimpsed through windows running towards the fire they had started, presumably to help extinguish it.

In the armory, the rebels who had charged in with guns blazing had been slightly overenthusiastic, hitting more air than anything else. Despite being completely surprised, the Kelanthian soldier automatically let his training take over and managed to kill two more of them before the rebel pistols were able to take him down. The remaining three rebels grabbed as much weaponry as they could carry, and began running to the exit, where they heard the roar of truck engines waiting to extract them to safety.
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10:52 p.m. ~ Outskirts of Darford, Kish

Sitting in the back of a pickup truck heading south to Haronico on mostly-disused back roads to avoid Kelanthian monitoring of the highways, James Darrel contemplated the success of the lightning operation. Having “liberated” nearly 7 dozen assault rifles and quite a few boxes of ammunition, his small band of rebels was set as far as weaponry for quite some time. After they met up with his cousin outside of Haronico to get instructions from the underground leadership, they would head somewhere else to cause as much damage to the Unified Kelanthian League as possible. Whether or not they would be allowed to participate in the hugely important operation being planned was not yet known, but Darrel was sure that he soon find out that his group was to be used. He’d lost two men, yes – but they’d died for a greater purpose, and overall, the op had been a success.

After all, he’d only needed a single day to give the nineteen idealistic civilians a crash course in the basic tactics he’d learned in his brief stint in the Kishian Defense Force. With a little more time to go more in depth, he was sure that he could fashion a truly formidable guerilla group that would bring terror to the hearts of any UKL soldier in all of Kish.

But all in good time. For the present, Darrel reminded himself, he needed to focus on escaping cleanly and getting to the rendezvous with his cousin outside of Haronico. He was fairly certain that the survivors of the brief raid were not being followed or otherwise tracked, but one could never be certain. So he kept up his vigil, scanning the night and watching for any sign that the Kelanthians were observing or following the three pickup trucks.

9:21 a.m. ~ Briefing Room, Presidential Mansion, Sarion, Kelanthia

“... and so as you can see, productivity has gone down 1.7% in the last six months as a result of the laxer incentives program, which, in the estimation of my superiors, stands as a strong signal that harsher reprimands in all areas of the Ministry are in order.”

In a nicely outfitted office in the Presidential Mansion, a mid-level bureaucratic functionary completed his briefing on the efficiency of secretarial employees at the Ministry of State and turned to the large desk currently housing the most powerful man in Kelanthia.

Kelanthian President Gordon Grath nodded as a brief thought passed through his brain in response to the last statement. Organic concrete, perhaps? he thought, chuckling to himself as he did so. Thankfully, that part of their history was behind them.

“Thank you. Please inform Minister Sedworth that I would like him to develop a stricter code of conduct to correct any deficiencies in his department and send it to me straightaway for approval.”

“Of course, sir.”

The door to the presidential briefing room opened and General Jack Warren, the highest-ranking officer in the Kelanthian Army and close advisor to Grath, entered the office. He waited for the State bureaucrat to pack his briefcase and leave before turning back to the president.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” he said as he began Grath’s daily military briefing. “There really isn’t anything out of the ordinary for today. There was a small incident in the city of Darford in Kish – a small band of rebels broke into a small arms testing facility and stole a negligible amount of assault rifles and ammunition. We lost 14 killed and 12 wounded, but the camp has been reinforced with troops from Haronico, and we are investigating the incident."

"Strange," mused Grath. "The Kishian rebels haven't been bold enough to attack a base in over a decade... they've stuck to supply lines and the odd long-range patrol. Any reason they suddenly chose to take a big risk for a relatively small payoff?"

"No, sir, not yet," answered Warren. "We are looking in to it as we speak, and as soon as we have some information, we plan on avenging this attack."

"Thank you, General," said Grath dismissively. "Will there be anything else?"

"No sir."

"All right then, if you don't mind, I have another meeting to catch... something to do with budgeting for Internal Security."

"Of course. I understand, sir."

"Good day, then."

1:53 p.m. – Downtown Haronico


John Tier, a man known for his aggression sat calmly on a crate within the center of a nearly empty warehouse. His eyes peered out from under a boonie cap as the smoke of a cigarette curled upwards to the ceiling. His Lieutenants gathered around him in a small semi-circle, some sitting on crates like himself, others on the hoods of cars or standing. The group consisting of the squad Tier led in the Kishian Defense Forces and a smattering of KDF turned guerrillas Tier knew from his military days. They had been gathered for the rare mid-day meeting for an issue of great importance; a new branch of their Guerrilla organization was forming in Darford.

“Men, it seems that my cousin has turned the corner from quietly taking it to full on hatred of the Kelanthians. The last reports gathered conclude that he has 17 barely trained men under his command some of which appear to be wounded from their first op last night. While a successful op in their estimations it was truly nothing more then a mild annoyance to the Kelanthians, though it does show their potential. Their most deficient area is staying calm as well as general accuracy, that and lack of situational awareness. A better team would have noticed our spotter within the area and tried to take him out in fear of a Kelanthian sniper providing overwatch.

I’ve decided that this is the perfect opportunity to spread our organization and give some of our less experienced officers a chance to lead. Dominic will be taking charge of operations in and around Darford after my initial meeting with Darrel. We’ll see how far Darrel is actually willing to go and whether it’d be beneficial to get him to join us or just ally ourselves with his group. Every one understand?” The Lieutenants nodded, “Good Dominic, you’re with me for this meeting.”

The Lieutenants started to disperse, driving off at random intervals and walking out of the warehouse. Tier grabbed a crowbar next to him as he slid from the top of the crate, once on the ground he opened said crate to reveal a pair of brand new FEF M1030M1 Reconnaissance dirt bikes. Tier and Dominic wheeled them out and gassed them up, slid on tactical helmets with built in mikes and prepared to disperse. Gunning the surprisingly silent engine Tier took off followed closely behind by Dominic.

“Why me Tier, I’m barely a Lieutenant and I was just a PFC. Am I really capable of leading an operation?” Dominic spoke into his mike as they traveled out of Haronico using little known roads and trails.

“Dominic, I wouldn’t have put you on this mission if I didn’t think you were capable, beyond that you’re a fine soldier and have shown the ability to lead. You will not disappoint me I’m sure.” Tier said as if to end the conversation.

Dominic was the newest Lieutenant and the only one who Tier hadn’t directly known in his service days. Recruited after he was court marshaled for not blowing the door of a school in a hostage situation. It was known their was children on the other side of the door and he flat out refused to follow his orders. Tier contacted him a few weeks after his brief stint in a military jail with a proposition to be the Kishian Underground’s demolition man and with no chance of working in the civilian sector he agreed.

Tier’s decision to recruit him paid off in spades as Dominic created a black-market plastique explosive with barely below C4 capability. This explosive led to many of the newly created weapons used in the underground for attacking Kelanthian positions. Dominic was quickly promoted to Lieutenant for these gains.

Tier and Dominic made good time to the rendezvous point and waited for Darrel to show up.

4:03 a.m., two days later ~ Outskirts of Haronico, Kish

James Darrel closed his eyes as he sank onto a hard cot; it certainly wasn’t comfortable, but after a few very long days, just the chance to grab a few hours of sleep was more than welcome.

He mentally reviewed everything that he had discussed in his extremely fruitful meeting with John Tier, his ex-Kishian Defense Force cousin who was the defacto leader of the loosely-organized Kishian underground, and his highly intelligent lieutenant Dominic. Now that he had brought a small contingent of recruits into this underground cell, Tier felt confident enough to contact his superiors and let them know that the rebels would soon be able to conduct organized raids across the southeastern part of Kish as part of the newly planned uprising against the infidel Kelanthians and their allies.

Darrel had been somewhat shocked to realize what he’d done – by successfully raiding a Kelanthian base, albeit a small and relatively non-important one, he’d created a ripple in the underground. Whereas the UKL troops had previously been seen as invincible, Darrel’s victory had shown that Kelanthians were just as human as anyone else. The loosely-organized national Kishian underground had suddenly realized that their own bullets killed UKL troops just as easily as UKL bullets killed innocent Kishian civilians; Kishian rockets destroyed UKL equipment just as easily as UKL satchel charges destroyed the houses of ‘subversive citizens’; Kishian grenades mutilated UKL military occupation police just as easily as UKL bayonets mutilated Kishian children. The people of Kish had a chance to oust their occupiers that casually raped their homeland in the name of ‘weapons testing’, and that message had instantly reverberated with the dispirited rebel cells across the nation.

Not only that, but he was to begin full-time operations in Darford, with a real professional soldier in charge. Darrel permitted himself a small smile; after all, if a middle-aged factory worker could get people to perform as he had, a fully trained ex-KDF demolitions expert should be able to whip a respectable guerilla force into shape.

With the news that UKL bases may be more vulnerable than expected, a few phone calls by Tier ensured that rebel activity would soon begin in cities across Kish. From Port Carden and Parramon in the west, to Nostin Fiore and Atef Monast in the north, to Sacrimon and Haronico in the east, to Gareth and Luporum in the central areas, and to New Pretoria, Hereford, and Tharon in the south, rebel cells were gearing up for direct action against the hated United Kelanthian League. This was not all, of course; small groups of underground fighters in across Kish would be taking action for the liberty and justice of their kin. Freedom fighters all, they would rise as one to take on and destroy their oppressor, or die trying. Big things were in the works... and all because James Darrel had refused to accept what he was given.

Before going off to sleep, Darrel started to ponder the whole situation. If his son hadn’t been murdered by Kelanthian thugs, this whole thing may never have gotten started. Was it worth it? Was the freedom of an entire nation a worth the price of the end of any semblance of a happy life that he had ever known? He knew he could probably justify it to himself, but how does one explain that to a kid? How do you tell a young one that it is necessary for him to be killed for the greater good of the nation?

Is it worth it?

We’ll just have to wait and see. he thought, before turning over and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep to await the coming of dawn, and the return to Darford.