NationStates Jolt Archive

(This is open to members of the Modern World RPing group, and for the information of any amongst them who aren’t sure, Lavrageria occupies what we otherwise know as Belarus, bordering LRR (Russia) and The Estenlands (Ukraine) plus the as yet none-player controlled states appropriate. This thread: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=366550&page=1&pp=15 constitutes the back-story and everything leading up to the recent shambolic election. This first post is taken from that thread, and there after shall spin off into the early life of the republic.)

Larionko Aidarov proclaimed victor in national election! Declares self Premier of the Republic of Lavrageria; creates Ivan Gukov Prime Minister!

The first ever national elections in Lavrageria had been paid little attention by the outside world. This was perhaps so for a number of reasons, not least the nation’s global obscurity as a landlocked backwater. Its largest neighbour, LRR, had been the only nation to show any interest, and what little security existed was largely thanks to their efforts, but, it was supposed, they had more pressing concerns far to the east. The authoritarian Estenlands to the south may simply have had no interest in the plebiscite process to begin with.

This had well suited Aidarov, as he’d come to power in just about the most poorly organised ballot in human history. Hundreds of people had voted more than once- not always for the same candidate. Others hadn’t even understood well enough to vote at all, while still more were physically denied the vote, often by arrogant members of traditionally higher castes. Most people had been inclined to vote for the candidate residing closest to them, or the closest one with inherited power or battle-won reputation, as they were ignorant of the other options. Corruption was certainly rife, but it was difficult to prove amongst the chaos. It wasn’t clear to most exactly what they were voting for, but the Committee had none the less declared that the name with the most votes attached was Aidarov’s, and that he was indeed fit to become Lavrageria Retpvblika’s first Premier.

Unfortunately, the Premiership is yet an ill defined authority, and with many posts in government still to be filled and many Lavragerians in danger of suffering electoral fatigue ( ‘didn’t we just do this?’ ), Aidarov has taken matters into his own hands.

Citing the above conditions and stressing the need for stability, he coined the phrase, “victory is nothing without progress” playing on traditional Glakatahn warrior sayings in regard to the ultimate and central importance of victory over all. Premier Aidarov created a little known man named Gukov Prime Minister, giving him a broad mandate for the pursuit of progress and stability.

Gukov has already begun to organise public works in the cities and fledgling townships, hire tax collectors, and has named Kastus Vorobei as his Defence Minister. Vorobei in turn has begun to organise the land’s militias and to approach former members of the warrior class with contracts for professional military enlistment, and has said that he intends to put before the Premier a conscription bill.

(More to come, but it's not yet ready. Have a bump.)

[OOC: Tag, very interesting.]

IC:

The Marimaian Ministry of Foreign Relations finally got around to reading about the new Premier in Lavrageria. The standard congratulatory message was sent, calling for the beginning of a prosperous relationship between the two nations.

(OOC: Admittedly Marimaia's quite far away, being in the MW's SE Asia, but that's no reason why we can't say howdy.)

With the new government in place, Moscow gets around to seeding it with 'advisers,' essentially teachers of the LRR advanced democracy (grades 11&12, must have completed democracy 2). Also, the customary trade deals are put on the table, and LRR engineers continue to aid in the construction of major infrastructure.

Republic adopts national flag

Previously living under a range of clan-based banners and standards, Lavragerians have been introduced to a national symbol following the general elections. Prime Minister Gukov urged Lavragerians to show their support for the nation state and for the rule of law by displaying a representation of the flag at their homes and places of work.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/lavrageria.jpg

The Republican flag bears many of the elements previously displayed upon Lordosh Clan standards. The house of Kiba Morgan, warlord responsible for the attacks upon settled populations, Lordosh (sometimes called Lodoz) had in recent generations become the largest clan in Glakatahn society, which is cited as the reasoning behind use of the controversial symbols. Some wonder whether the fact that Morgan remains at large points to some connection between the traditional clan powers and the new Republican leadership.

Vorobei appraoches Moscow on future of Lavragerian defence

Defence Minister Kastus Vorobei has spent time with LRR representatives to discuss national and regional security. Ulanger has made it clear that the Republic intends to develop its own armaments industries to support ground, air, and air defence forces.
In the interim, however, Vorobei is keen to see Lavragerian recruits begin training with heavy equipment and vehicles, which are largely alien to the otherwise skilled and brave warriors more used to single-shot rifles and cavalry. The Defence Ministry has expressed an interest in acquiring elementary flight training aircraft as well as MiG-23U trainer aircraft, as it has been announced that the Republic hopes eventually to begin local production of the MiG-23MLD Flogger K, and to acquire R-27 (AA-10) radar-guided air-to-air missiles from its large neighbour.

People's Trade Committee sends ambassadors to Marimaia

Promptly jamming a foot in the door cracked open by the Marimaian Ministry of Foreign Relations, Ulanger has dispatched officials keen to pursue future trade. Lavrageria is especially keen to import large quantities of metal ores and mineral products important to the construction boom overseen by Aidarov's public works and aided by Moscow's experts. The government hopes to begin exporting traditional products early on, including textiles and traditional hand-crafted fabrics, dyes, livestock and food products, and cottage industry trinkets, and to develop heavier industries in coming months.

The Ministry of Economic Affairs is more than pleased to welcome the Lavragerian officials, who are wined and dined for a day before negotiations begin.

The Marimaians show an interest in the country's development; they offer trade deals on iron ore, manganese, phosphates, lead and tungsten. An economic aid package is also made available, in case the Lavragerians are interested. The Marimaians inquire about the availability of dyes and textiles, as well as making initial inquiries about Lavrageria's other resources.

Hudecia asks to send an ambassador to Lavrageria and congratulates the Premier on his election.

OOC: Hudecia is Canada more or less.

The Quinntonian government is delighted that elections have finally been held in this historically troubled area, and is looking forward to more contact from those involved in international trade.
We are the USA.

WWJD
Amen.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah, already an old man, his family runling in since before the rise of Ivan the Terrible, and then as a vassal, he was supreme ruler of all he surveyed, and saw his northern nieghbour as something of an annoyance.
"You mean they presume to just appoint some COMMONER and have them take power, do they have no self-respect? Mobilise Security Forces on the northen frontier and close that border to all travel. We do not need such dangerous ideas trickling into the purity that is The Estenlands."
The Kargat Director, head of The Estenlands secret police, a severe, clean shaven man dressed in a black on black western suit nods and steps forward, "The troubelsome leftists from LRR have definately begun to express imperialist tendencies in setting up a puppet regime in Lavrageria, and where the LRR goes, seeing as they are nothing more than the besotten concubines of North America, Hudecia and the Potestant Heretics the Quinntonians can't be far behind. My agents have been instigating unrest in Belorus for some time, let us see if this government has the moxie it claims."
King Wingert, last of the Tsars, or so he sees himself, looks thoughtful, strokes his long and unkempt beard, stands from his chair, drawing himself up to his almost seven foot hieght and shouts with a booming voice, "Lavrageria has forgotten that it is nothing more than a province of The Estenlands, it is time that it be reminded!"

Along the northen border, roadblocks are erected and troops begin to patrol close to the borders, with strict curfews being ebforced in the northern part of the nation. The Estenlandian Air Force begins to fly into Lavrageria airspace regularily and the Kargat gets busy contacting the upper classes in Lavrageria, expressing King Wingerts concern over their plight, and shock over the conditions they now find themselves in.

OOC-Giggle! I am almost giddy, it feels so good to be bad for once.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Republic adopts national flag

Previously living under a range of clan-based banners and standards, Lavragerians have been introduced to a national symbol following the general elections. Prime Minister Gukov urged Lavragerians to show their support for the nation state and for the rule of law by displaying a representation of the flag at their homes and places of work.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/lavrageria.jpg

The Republican flag bears many of the elements previously displayed upon Lordosh Clan standards. The house of Kiba Morgan, warlord responsible for the attacks upon settled populations, Lordosh (sometimes called Lodoz) had in recent generations become the largest clan in Glakatahn society, which is cited as the reasoning behind use of the controversial symbols. Some wonder whether the fact that Morgan remains at large points to some connection between the traditional clan powers and the new Republican leadership.

Vorobei appraoches Moscow on future of Lavragerian defence

Defence Minister Kastus Vorobei has spent time with LRR representatives to discuss national and regional security. Ulanger has made it clear that the Republic intends to develop its own armaments industries to support ground, air, and air defence forces.
In the interim, however, Vorobei is keen to see Lavragerian recruits begin training with heavy equipment and vehicles, which are largely alien to the otherwise skilled and brave warriors more used to single-shot rifles and cavalry. The Defence Ministry has expressed an interest in acquiring elementary flight training aircraft as well as MiG-23U trainer aircraft, as it has been announced that the Republic hopes eventually to begin local production of the MiG-23MLD Flogger K, and to acquire R-27 (AA-10) radar-guided air-to-air missiles from its large neighbour.

People's Trade Committee sends ambassadors to Marimaia

Promptly jamming a foot in the door cracked open by the Marimaian Ministry of Foreign Relations, Ulanger has dispatched officials keen to pursue future trade. Lavrageria is especially keen to import large quantities of metal ores and mineral products important to the construction boom overseen by Aidarov's public works and aided by Moscow's experts. The government hopes to begin exporting traditional products early on, including textiles and traditional hand-crafted fabrics, dyes, livestock and food products, and cottage industry trinkets, and to develop heavier industries in coming months.


The government approves the transfer of aircraft to the new republic relatively quickly and easily, secure in the knowledge that if push comes to shove, the LRRAF will be able to shoot it down.

But it is not crap that is sent across the border. Surplus lightplane trainers, as well as more advanced L-29s are sent, along with flight instructors and detailed technical instructions.

A handful of MiG-23Us are also shipped, and the Lavragerian government is given the production liscences for the MiG-23 series of aircraft. While it is highly doubtful that they will be of any good in the short term, once a larger industrial base is established the MiG-23 will likely form the base of any prospective airforce.

But with tensions rising with the Estenlands, no secret is made of the movement of quite a significant force of motor-rifle and tank divisions, along with a very significant force of Sukhoi Su-30 series aircraft and later MiG-29 variants into traditional LRR depth-defensive positions along the border. Volgostani troops also mobilize, using their own Sukhois and MiG-23s, as well as a sizable and potent mobile striking force, well suited for lightening dashes across the steppe.

Tarantul series missile boats and Grisha corvettes, supported by land-based ASM launchers and fighter/bombers, become active in the Black Sea should there be any need for Naval action, or the deployment of a force across the water.

http://ttjstk.myrice.com/elswq/lj/zjc/Bmp2_12.jpg

LRRA motor-rifle troops disembarking from a BMP-2 during preperatory manouvers.

http://ttjstk.myrice.com/elswq/lj/zjc/btr_90_5.jpg.jpg

One of the newest Volgostani BTR-90s in position on the border with the Estenlands.

The gaunt, weasily man that heads the Kargat, Yvonne Krugeski, steps into the dresing room of the giant monarch as his servants dressed him for dinner. With a motion of the hand, the servants quickly place the royal sash upon the grizzled king and rushed out of the room.
The aged king turned from his mirror towards his trusted aide, "That drugged out pope is mobilising?"
Krugeski nods.
"Will they move against us should we whip Lavrageria like the errent cur it is?"
"I don't know your majesty."
"Tell our ambassador to ask for an explanation, and if they give a good one, to offer them a long overdue pact. We have no territorial interest in that den of inequity, and so long as they stay to their side of the fence, we shall stay on ours. Advanced democracy indeed!"
* * *

The government of LRR gets a missive from the normally silent, except for its parties, Estenlandian embassy bearing the Royal Seal of the Steward of the King.

His Royal Majesty King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah asks you to explain the presense of troops mobilised on the eastern Estenlandian frontier.

This is asked under the understanding that His Imperial Majesty, Wingert I has no designs on the lands of LRR.

This is accepting that Estenlands has always respected the soveriegnty of LRR and will continue to do so.

This is reminding of the fact that The Estenlandian Armed Forces is ready and is able to resist any imperialistic impulses on your part, though recognising no intention to do so on the part of the LRR.

Sincerely in the name of King Wingert I of The village of Farrah, Ruler by Divine Right of The Kingdom of The Estenlands
Under the authority of his Steward, Lord Chamberlain and Prime Minister Piotre Uskovitch
Penned in the hand of the Ambassador to the LRR, Lord and Boyar Dimitre Sampsonov.


Hail to the King baby.

Southern Itageria Oblast (Gomel)

In most of Lavrageria’s east the Glakatahn had been expulsed or assimilated, and the process was gradually continuing. Perhaps a few small bands remained in the north-east across the Dvina, between LRR and Latvia, and the far west certainly contained significant migrant populations. Down in the south-east were the last major concentrations of eastern Glakatahn. A branch of the Lodoz Clan’s warrior arm dared to remain within spitting distance of LRR forces down there, most of their society withdrawing already to the west. The warriors and what slaves and servants they felt were required for life lingered, intent on holding here until the last possible minute, so it seemed.

They wandered between the Dnyapro and the Pripyat, some way south of the Berezina, herding meagre flocks from the saddle and raiding the odd bit of passing commerce, not that there was much to be had. It seemed that the days were numbered for this centuries old way of life, and most of the ceremonially cannibalistic warriors hadn’t tasted human flesh for months at least.

“Kiba! Kiba! A messenger from the settled!” Called a young horseman, and he jostled forward a frightened old man from Ulanger, presenting him to the leader of the sub-clan. Not much later, after taking the old man into his tent, the Kiba emerged with a bloody knife in one hand and a parchment in the other. “Brothers and sons!” He boomed. “We campaign!”

That night the clan’s three thousand warriors mounted their stout ponies and headed south, attempting to cross Lavrageria’s near nine hundred kilometre border with the Estenlands under cover of dark. Armed with pistols, rifles, light machineguns, hand and rocket-propelled grenades as well as traditional bladed weapons and other nasty devices, the little horde hoped to keep its stealthy little mass of man and horse away from heavy military positions. They were on a mission to plunder the Estenland territory east of Chernobyl, between the Pripyat and the Lavragerian border, perhaps as far as the northern shores of the vast reservoir north of Kiev. Their fury was to first fall upon any bridges over the Pripyat between the border and the reservoir as the warriors attempted to isolate the small area in order to raze what they found there before dispersing in flight.

Ulanger

Vorobei and Gukov exchanged silent glances as they sat, pretending confidence, before the President’s desk. The hour was late and the cold kept out by vodka in lieu of still incomplete central heating. If the Estenlanders did pursue the nomads across the border, their mechanised movement, already under Moscow’s watch, could not go unnoticed... but if the LRR failed to respond as the President hoped...
“If Moscow fails to respond as hoped –and I do not expect them to fail as it would not be in their interests to ignore counter-democratic expansionism on their very border, especially when they stand to make such massive economic gains from fuelling our industrialisation- it is still better that we suffer attack now, while we have little to lose. The alternative may be the expenditure of great effort and resources on industrialisation, only to have it destroyed by a first strike from the south. If the Estenlanders claim that they were attacked it will sound like the invented pretext of a Bonstockian invasion. No, it is better that we see the LRR cripple the Estenlanders now, so that they will not hold this early advantage over us. I just hope that those clansmen rile the Estenlanders enough to make them retaliate.”

“I exchanged blows with them at Vargary, comrade President, they are more ferocious than any man could ignore, I assure you.” Said Vorobei, almost laughing, though not exactly from joy.

([Grins] the notion of good vs. bad is not defined by the acceptance or disallowance of elections!)

OOc-Hmm. I was just going to rattle the sabre a bit. Maybe demand tribute.
But, gotta play the character. If there is to be a conflict, maybe we should wait unitl we are codified into the MODERN WORLD.

I also feel as though I should lay out more complete picture of The Estenlands.
We are a quasi-Boyarist Absolute Monarchy. With a population of 60 million and a thriving economy, plus the need for a large military presense that every dicatator has, we keep 5% of military in active service at any given time. That is 3 milllion people. Before I hear Godmodd, Dra-pol has been putting up comperable numbers for quite some time. But, out of that many, I am going to say that almost 1.9 million are military support personel. That leaves over 1 million able to be fielded at any given time. Keeping in mind that they are well, some might say psychotically well trained, and very well equipped, maybe not quite state-of the art, but last years model, so to speak, so not out of date either, easily able to compete with any other professional military force in the world.
I am considering a Division 20,000 troops.
Firstly, armour is considered the most integral part of the military, followed closely by air forces. A highly mobile military capable of defending or attacking on any of the multiple national frontiers that sorround The Estenlands is seen as ideal.
Second, the borders are zealously gaurded at the best of times, (I have a huge military with little else to do) and there are fortress type defences on the Eastern and Southern borders. (leaving Lavrageria)

So, here is a basic breakdown

25 Heavy Armoured Divisions, 600-800 pieces of armour
Total-500,000 troops

10 Fully Mechanised Infantry Divisions, 200-400 pieces of armour
Total-200,000 troops

10 Light Infantry Divisions, 0-200 pieces of armour (Border Defenders-FYI)
Total-200,000 troops

5 Engineering Divisions, 100-300 pieces of armour
Total-100,000 troops

3 Marine Divisions, with the ability to land a beachead of 3,000 troops per Division (Deployed on the Crimea)
Total- 60,000 troops

2 Elite Airborne Divisions, with the ability to airdrop 1,500 troops per Division
(deployed on the Crimea)

Navy-This is completey minimul, just enough to protect our interests in the Black Sea and force Turkey to keep the passage open.
10 Orca Class Attack Subs
2 Los Angeles Class Nuclear Subs
12 Stingray Class Destroyers
18 Mako Class Frigates
70 Patrol Gunboats
<Does not include regular Coast Guard>
These are all deployed in the Black Sea, with the exception of the two Los Angeles Subs, they are in secret locations, King Wingert calls their nuclear payloads his "little insurance policy."

1500 Fighters of various kinds
250 Long range Bonbers of various kinds

The numbers for air forces I am a little unsure of, I am pretty sure that I can support it, with my economy and such a small navy, what do you think?

King Wingert is pretty paranoid about losing access to the Mediterranian, and so has constant pressur put on Turkey, and has all its elite troops deployed and navy deployed in a holding attack pattern in and around the Crimea. My elite airborne and marines can find themselves in Turkey in under eight hours with previous mobilisation and less than twenty four hours without. But our entire military doctrine is designed around quick movement and mobilisation.


King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

LRR, while admittedly looking to the Ukraine with unhappy eyes at the fact that, just across the border from the powerhouse of Europe a 'piddly little fascist pigstie' still exists, is for the moment quite content to sit in defensive positions. However, it is made very clear that any excursions into Lavragerian territory will not be tolerated, on any excuse.

The LRR positions are set up so as to take full advantage of the superior range of LRR and Volgostani armements, especially anti-tank missiles and rocket artillery. Any Estenlands attack would have to cross a good ten kilometers of open ground on the LRR border to reach even the first line of stop-up defenses, much less the heavier units.

OCC: I would estimate LRR forces to be 1.5-2 times more numerous than Estenland forces, me being about three times your size, and with a third of the combined armed forces in the pacific sector.

The units in the Western defense district are the following (out of 104 land forces divisions and 10 volgostani assault divisions):

15 tank divisions (say, 400-500 armored vehicles, quite a few more logistics and attack helicopters, the tip of any LRR operation)

48 motor rifle divisions (400 AVs, mostly BMP-2 and BMP-5 variant armored personnel carriers, in many ways more to worry about than tanks, most numerous division. You could expect 30 to be on the border, with the other 18 within close call)

4 airborne divisions

10 asault divisions (VAF-500 AVs, mostly fast, wheeled vehicles with heavy anti-tank armement, supported by modern T-80 series vehicles and a handful of European models)

110 assorted light vessels of the Volgostani navy, mostly comprising Grisha class corvettes and Buddy Guy missile boats

6 submarines of the Volgostani navy, mostly Kilo class

Several thousand fighter and attack aircraft, sukhois and MiGs, but no bombers

Unit type overview:

# Motorized rifle troops - most numerous branch of service, that constitutes the basis of ground forces and the nucleus of their battle formations. They are equipped with powerful armament for destruction of ground-based and aerial targets, missile complexes, tanks, artillery and mortars, anti-tank guided missiles, antiaircraft missile systems and installations, effective means of reconnaissance and control.

# Tank troops - main impact force of ground forces and the powerful means of armed struggle, intended for the solution of the most important problems in different forms of war shooting.

# Rocket forces and artillery - main firepower and the most important operational means in the solution of combat problems by the crushing defeat of groupings of enemy.

# Troop PVO - AIR DEFENSE is one of the basic weapon of destructions of air enemy. It consists of zenith missile, zenith artillery and radio-technical units and subdivisions.

# Army aviation is intended for the actions directly in the interests of general military formations, their air support, conducting of tactical aerial reconnaissance, debarkation of tactical airborne troops and fire support of their actions, electroninc warfare, setting of the minefield barriers and other tasks.

General Sir Reginald of Hillfort, one of the many foregn nobility that has found a home in the Estenlandian military is responding to a reports of distubances from cell-phones along the border, call-ins from frightened peasants. Thousands on horseback, several kilometers inside the border.
He ordered the border guards to start sweeping back in force from the border and then ordered a full scale air strike by the over three hundred Apache-style attack helicopters under his command. Over 2500 professional soldiers from the 2nd Light Infantry Division is coming from the border to ring the disturbers in, while the choppers were flying into position and beginning to engage targets of opprotunity, and the entire 15th Heavy Armoured Division(10,000), with its 400 tanks were completeing the circle, getting ready to pounce on the now sorrounded horsemen, well within the Estenlandian border.
"Hmmm," said Sir Reginald from the cockpit of his chopper well back from the area, "It seems as though we shall have a slaughter on our hands. A completey unprovoked attack, wot?"
The dishevelled LRR ambassador nodded from his seat in the back, still wiping the sleep from his eyes, having been abducted from a cocktail party where he had had a spot too much vodka and passed out in a friends bed.
"I must defend our borders, I cannot allow the people to be terrorised in this way, for the greater good."
The ambassador said, "Didn't you say they were near a town, what of the inhabitents?"
"The sturdy Estenlandian peasantry would rather die than yield ground to a foriegn army, you of all people should know that..............commence attack."

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC: You want to be careful about using Dra-pol as a standard... many of the nations here are exceptionally highly militarised, but Dra-pol is something of a freak exception. I’m sure you’ll recall the original Drapoel military when Quinntonians first arrived in North Korea... a mass of light infantry with obsolete weaponry that they couldn’t properly replace or upgrade. It required considerable isolationism and the bad kind of communist economics in order to support that, and didn’t allow for cutting edge technology to be constantly acquired or maintained. It requires total militarisation of the society, which in itself rather makes the isolationism important so as to prevent people learning how hard done to they are by said militarism. This in itself necessarily limits the economy, preventing import of modern armaments on a large scale, and, significantly, isolates the technological base, preventing the domestic design or production of modern equipment. Hence Dra-pol rarely abandons obsolete equipment, because when it gets more equipment, it won’t be enough to arm the entire four or five percent army. You’ll notice that Dra-pol has a powerful economy (not sure if it’s frightening or all consuming or what, right now) but doesn’t play it because it doesn’t make IC sense given what is RPed. Almost all of the modern equipment that the Unified People’s Army does have is only available because –and this is only since the Quinntonian invasion- the CPRD has political allies who see the personal benefit to arming Dra-pol.
Quote G.Igo, Our Role In The Global Struggle, “[we must arm the CPRD in the] struggle for public versus private ownership and direct versus representative democracy”
Point being that The Estenlands doesn’t yet seem to have, well, a sugar daddy. A nation of forty-eight or fifty million or so people like the Ukraine doesn’t necessarily need hand outs in order to have a highly militarised society, but that’s without considering what we mean by highly militarised. The UK is powerful with what, less than quarter of a percent of its population in the military? Not a militarised society. Belarus, in reality, has I think less than one percent of its population in the military, but that is relatively speaking several times higher than in the UK, which is a powerful country already. If you’re talking of being twenty times more militarised than the UK, you’re directing tens of percent of your economic potential into the armed forces and not into things that will actually make the economy competitive and allow you to either expend capital in purchasing new weapons or invest in constant development of new technologies and domestic production there of. I don’t think that you can have Drapoel levels of armament and conscription in conjunction with modern weapons and systems unless you have strategic and political importance enough to be taken into somebody else’s sphere of influence. (That entails all sorts of bowing to the backing nation’s political will, of course. I mean, for example, if Hotan were to finish with the South and then try to attack LRR, Beth Gellert may cut its support of Da’Khiem, because LRR is also politically favoured and has greater trade importance to BG. Makes being an inflated tyrant all the harder when you have to ask Dad’s permission).
Long story short, around one percent of the population under arms makes for significant militarisation. More than that starts to mark a nation out as a bit psycho. Four or five percent makes it exceptional, something of a hole in the ground, and dependent upon others if it is to maintain anything more than a giant militia.
This is an observation aside and it may be easily explained away by the coincidental of strategic proximity of a truly massive military base, but to me it seems that the instant response of several hundred attack helicopters able to encircle an enemy only a few km inside the nation with no chance of them first escaping looks a bit iffy. I know that in BG, if the skirmishers had been from one of the surrounding Indian states and we had a little area of land cut off behind a river as the area east-ish of Chernobyl, and the bridge was the first thing attacked, it would have been different. The first response would probably have been a few near by border guards sure to be over-run assuming they could even get there, followed by something more like a squadron or company of this or that able to respond almost instantly. Picking up basically an entire army and swinging it around into a small area cut off by geography. But maybe that doesn’t matter so much to the story, I dunno. I wouldn’t dispute that whatever force was mustered would be able to best a cavalry force if it tries to fight.
Had I tagged, yet? We’ll call this a tag. The world’s longest.

I see your piont, but when you see the rich/poor divide ranking that Estenlands has, (third in NS last count) you may see how we are paying for that kind of military, also, we are established as a "near constant economy of totla war." 5% is a huge leap, and I realise that, this is what makes my nation so dangerous. All the power sits with a very small percentage of the population, not even 1 %. This is why you will see that many of my nations educated and/or military men are from outside the Estenlands originally.


The numbers are extreme, which is why I had two-thirds of my military capability be in support positions.
We also have just thrown off the shackles of Russian/LRR rule twnety years ago, in a bloody conflict that lasted over 50 years, King Wingert spent most of his life as a revolutionary, first as a figurehead, then as a capable military man and leader. He is paranoid, so is the nobility, with the full support of the Orthodox Church (who sees LRR's pope as something as an antichrist), and more importantly, the majority support of the population.

Outside of the military, the population is in a more loosely enforced form of islotaion, as peasantry is not allowed to have travel visas.

With a "total war" economy, for the last twenty years, and a single-minded vision, (no changing of leaders every few years to muck things up) I believe that I could field that kind of military quite readily. At the fall of the Soviet Union, Ukraine commanded 1.9 million fighting effectives, Germany was able to field 9 million+ in both wars, Russia fielded 20 million+, etc. I know you are saying, yeah but that was a world war situation, true, but Germany didn't nationalise its economy for total war until 1944.

The final piont is that, I had all that up for discussion until LRR posted numbers comperable to mine, with an "advanced democracy" and keeping personal freedoms. With those kind of numbers, plus the technological superiority he is claiming, if I can't field these numbers, even with all the thought that has been put into this nation since the beginning of the MODERN WORLD, his government should be on the verge of collapsing into bankruptcy.

I also want to have everyone keep in mind that I have designed my militray, especially my air force to be able to repsond to any military situation, anywhere in the nation in a very short time. This somewhat lessens my offensive capabilities, but makes me incredibley hard to attack.

The "sudden" appaerance of all those soldiers may be a little much, however, the armoured units have great roads and at least a quarter of them are mobilised at any given time. This gives me the ability to respond in force anywhere in Ukraine in just a few hours, with back-up right behind. So, given that, I will edit my post to show half the numbers originally, except those of the choppers. Would that be fair? I hope so. I am also assuming that the raiders have been in Estenlands for at leats 6 hours, I was actually doing that to RP the fact that small groups could make it past the border defenses, I thought I was adding realism by not saying, "YOU GET TO THE BORDER AND ARE MET BY 500,000 MEN FIRING AT YOU HAHAHAHA!!!!" LOL!

I hope I answered all your concerns.

Meh, does anyone else have any thoughts?
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC: Hm, yeah, I think most of that seems fair, really. I’m not an expert, I just have my own concerns to voice, and so long as they’re heard I’m okay. You have a point about other nations’ militarisation (LRR’s specifically, but that made me think more widely). It seems likely that the MW is not about to calm down, in fact we might with the proper establishment of the Igovian Soviet Commonwealth here and capitalists like Quinntonia we look likely to have a long term cold war in the classic sense. Big nations that want to be players –Quinntonia, BG, LRR, probably UE and Roycelandia and so on- will pretty much be forced to spend highly or lose out. Other middling nations –perhaps Spyr and TBF- might duck and dive and live to see some of us spend ourselves into the dark ages.
Anyway, that’s enough OOC, I’ll just wait and see whether enough of Lavrageria survives for BG to have a customer for its “every Cold War needs its own Fishbed” programme.

OCC: I should probably explain some points about my army:

The only field in which I beat most other nations is in anti-tank weaponry. While my infantry carrier vehicles (mostly derived from the MT-LB or BMP) are generally of very high quality, using hybrid powerplants and composite bandtracks, they lack firepower when compared to other vehicles.

90% of LRRMFs vehicles are simply upgraded equipment from the much more heavily militarized Cold War days. In the RL russian army, there are something like 81 active divisions (although only about 55 are actually combat-ready). I figure that I would probably be able to support that many. Most of my military would be deployed in Europe because of the presence of the Estenlands, and we'll say that accounts for about 63 divisions total.

While that is still more than the Estenlands, the LRRA is outnumbered almost 2 to one when it comes to tanks, operating fewer and smaller tank divisions, which use inferior vehicles (to my knowledge). And tank divisions are very expensive to maintain. LRR upgraded BMPs and MT-LBs, with low maintainance costs and high reliability, cost much less to maintain than tanks, although their offensive utility is limited without competent heavy fire support.

One might also note that LRR is sitting on top of a fair amount of black gold, with which the GDP is likely increased perceptibly.

Also, LRR operates no bombers, and the majority of the fighter force remains the MiG-21, which has one of the lowest operating costs of today's operational fighters.

And while most of my vehicles are upgraded enough to be quite useful on a modern battlefield, very little in the way of completely new military hardware has been produced. LRRA troops are still armed mostly with AKS assault rifles, and very few attack helicopters are operated.

Really, the only area in which LRR has an advantage is in anti-tank weapons, probably artillery too (although not in advanced types), and perhaps air defense, although the LRRAF's offensive capability is almost nil and only a handful of the most capable S-300PMUs are deployed.

Let me repost my divisional strength:

With about 67 total divisions, the LRRA has 52 total units in the Western Defense District. This makes a total of:

12 Tank divisions, operating between 500 and 600 armored vehicles, mostly T-72 models with applique armor and (often) with Shtora active defense systems. Most use 120mm as opposed to 125mm main guns, and have turret, mounted ATGM launchers, as well as BMP-2s.

40 Motor Rifle Divisions, operating around 450 armored vehicles, such as BMP-1 and -2 IFVs and BMP-5 armored carriers. BMPs sometimes mount Shtora systems, generally rigged to provide area protection, and some specialized vehicles like Fv-102 Strikers carry 4xTM-14 launchers.

*All four-division fronts have their own artillery and support troops

You figure each front has around 40,000 troops, making for a total of 520,000 troops ready for combat. Now naturally, that is not all combat troops. A very large portion of that number is logistical troops and support troops like artillerymen, medics, and engineers. Well, you might classify engineers as combat troops because they are very well armed and trained to operate on the front lines. Engineers usually handle clearing of minefields, the deployment of mobile bridges, dedicated anti-tank platoons, and battlefield communications. One would expect medics also to be right up front.

Logistics troops are not so well armed, but they are still equipped with RPGs and TM-14As and Bs in case of trouble.

Also, average LRRA infantrymen are also trained to be able to care for their vehicles and equipment, and also to be able to aid specialist engineer troops. This might yield a combat force of 35-40% of the total.

IC:

Any Lavragerian horsemen inside The Estenlands will find no help from the Russians, so long as their pursuers do not cross over the Estenlands border. LRRA units sit in depth-defensive positions, constructed to give the strong LRRA artillery component and the airforce a clear sweep of any attacking forces before they made contact with any tank or motor rifle units.

Again, the LRRA is depending on its ATGMs and artillery to fight the much more combat-capable Estenlands vehicles should they attack. In the air, things would probably be more evenly matched. Operating many advanced types, the LRRAF is much more up-to-date than the army, and while the MiG-21 forms most of the combat squadrons the MiG-21-2000 upgrade makes it competitive to the Gripen.

OCC: Would any of you terribly object if I were to divide LRR up into two more independent republics?

After a couple of hours, with dawn approaching, many of the Glakatahn warriors had dispersed and headed back across the border, but hundreds remained on the Estenlands’ side of the frontier, contained between the mentioned rivers. As the nation’s military forces approached potential river crossings they faced some sniper and harassing rocket and grenade fire, but it would never have been enough to come close to stopping the local forces. Helicopters arriving would draw small arms, light machinegun, and a little RPG fire, but even less of anything seriously dangerous than was to be initially encountered by ground forces. At least it would prove hard for gunships to make full use of their advanced long-range weapons against an enemy moving in small groups on horseback and hardly so easy to keep track of as would have been an armoured formation with which the helicopters were presumably designed to battle. This didn’t make the raiders much more able to engage the Estenlanders in any serious or directed fashion, of course, as their intelligence wasn’t likely to be any better. The enemy was more obvious, but the riders’ means were more limited. In the end, the several hundred remaining warriors would almost all try to break for the border, others being killed where they revealed themselves for a fight.

Over seventy were dead by sun-up, which was about the time that larger groups were approaching the border, and presumably elements of the forces sent to cut them off. Some would wheel about and try to vanish by splitting off back into hostile territory before coming back in ones and twos, hopeful that many would be ignored or unnoticed. Others simply rode on, rifles cracking as Estenlander armour appeared ahead, intending to rush right through attempts to block them, probably without experience in heavy modern firepower or its potential.

Over twelve hundred warriors had previously moved back into Lavrageria, and most of these continued to linger just across the border, a few moving west to re-join their migrating families.

In Ulanger, the leadership mused on what little they knew of the details. “...and if it is [a slaughter]? What of it to the Republic? Good riddance! If the Glakatahn entice the Estenlanders into conflict with Moscow, very good, if not, and they are simply destroyed by the Estenlanders, then we are better for being rid of them!” So said Aidarov to a consort.

(Divide LRR? I'm interested to see where that might be going. I don't think that I have much right or cause to object.)

OOC_ Two questions, I think I realise the confusion as to your numbers, your divisions are totally different than mine.
First, are you just using the number of divisions that Russia is currently using? If so, here is why we have confusion.
My Divisions are the highest unit of military strength that I use and contain 20,000 troops each.
Divisions in RL are broken down as follows:
Platoon-40 troops
Company-160 troops
Battalion-640 troops-one HQ
Brigade-1920 troops-one HQ
DIVISION-5670 troops-one HQ
Corps-11,320-one HQ
That would make for 379,890 troops, with all full-strength divisions.

So, is this the case? Are your divsions this RL size?

Not that it very matters, I rather enjoy havong a big guy next door to keep me in line, but your military just seemed incredibly large if you wanted to have a relatively "free" democracy, you know without a crushing military budget. Meh, I am easy either way, I know that you will RP the effects of that kind of military, I have complete confidence in your Rping ability.
There were also Divisions calculated at the Army Corps size, 11,320, that would give 758,440 total troops. But the problem would be, that would give me a tactical advantage in sheer size. Also, my military is designed around tanks, yours around defending against them. I dunno, think about it, chnage stuff, don't change stuff, I rather enjoy this either way.

Also, I really don't think you should break up, and I know this is actuially working against my interests, as you wouldn't be able to field near as many troops against me as you can right now, but you have Rped Russia so masterfully so far, I would hate to see it go.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

::At just after mid-night, a blue 767 jet liner landed at Kiev International Airport. As the jet pulled to the gate, a large and golden Fleur-de-lis became visible. Exiting the plane was the Comte de Custine, envoy of His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX to Estenlands. With his flashing, extravagent court-suit he stood out like a sore thumb...until he was queitly guided away by Estenlandian police. The Comte, and the gifts he was traveling with, zipped off in a limo to the Imperial Palace.::

OOC_ Two questions, I think I realise the confusion as to your numbers, your divisions are totally different than mine.
First, are you just using the number of divisions that Russia is currently using? If so, here is why we have confusion.
My Divisions are the highest unit of military strength that I use and contain 20,000 troops each.
Divisions in RL are broken down as follows:
Platoon-40 troops
Company-160 troops
Battalion-640 troops-one HQ
Brigade-1920 troops-one HQ
DIVISION-5670 troops-one HQ
Corps-11,320-one HQ
That would make for 379,890 troops, with all full-strength divisions.

So, is this the case? Are your divsions this RL size?

Not that it very matters, I rather enjoy havong a big guy next door to keep me in line, but your military just seemed incredibly large if you wanted to have a relatively "free" democracy, you know without a crushing military budget. Meh, I am easy either way, I know that you will RP the effects of that kind of military, I have complete confidence in your Rping ability.
There were also Divisions calculated at the Army Corps size, 11,320, that would give 758,440 total troops. But the problem would be, that would give me a tactical advantage in sheer size. Also, my military is designed around tanks, yours around defending against them. I dunno, think about it, chnage stuff, don't change stuff, I rather enjoy this either way.

Also, I really don't think you should break up, and I know this is actuially working against my interests, as you wouldn't be able to field near as many troops against me as you can right now, but you have Rped Russia so masterfully so far, I would hate to see it go.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.


OCC: Well, I was sort of under the impression that your army would be more advanced (and therefore much more expensive) than mine.

The current LRRMFs are very cheap to maintain. Everything doesn't cost much. The army has developed a grand total of one armored vehicle since 1986, the BMP-5, and it is designed to cost very very little. The design philosophy of the LRR state arsenals is to make easily maintainable, low-cost combat vehicles, ships, and aircraft without seriously sacrificing their combat capability. That means you'll see a lot of composites and interchangeable components in LRR stuff. I try to have a competitively large army without having it cost very much. This is done at the expense of bombers, capital ships, and significant numbers of tanks.

An LRR division is around 10,000 troops, but I usually organize on the Front level, which means 40,000 troops per front. This allows me to more easily include artillery troops and support troops.

Due to what I hoped was LRR's lowish militarization, the Estenlands army would probably only be a little bit smaller, perhaps even larger than the LRRA.

But my reasons for splitting my country into what will become a grand total of three independent nations: administrative purposes.

I just think it'll be sort of nicer to have three countries.

OOC- Will it be like three "independant" nations under one central government, a la Soviet Union?
I think my military, with its more advanced weaponry will be more expensive to maintain, I am just thinking of the difference in trying to design a military that I ran into when putting together Quinntonia's as opposed to this one.
Hmm, I just thought of something, with the friendly relationship between you and Quinntonia, I could concievably get into conflict with Quinntonia.
King Wingert is completely willing to starve the people in order to have a big scary army, it is all that is important to him.

As for your losses, could you post an exact number so that I can calculate mine?

IC-AS the scattered horseman are picked off, especially by the fast MBT's taht were ironically nicknamed "Cossacks", it becomes obvious that the ambassador is being shown this not only as a viable witness, but also as someon to carry back the warning. Horses were being run down and shot by machineguns mounted on the back of armoured jeeps, choppers were flying back and forth waiting for desperate groups of horseman to decide to make a stand, and then were mowed down and showered with rockets from the air.
Tanks were firing from over a mile away at small groups of fast moving raiders, a lot of the time, it was a waste of ammo, but when a hit was scored, the price was terrible.

The worst casualties happened when the badgered horseman tried to pass back into Lavrageria and ran into machinegun nests and small groups of soldoers lying in wait in ambush positions all alnog the border, unleashing lead hell from Quinntonian made M-16A2's from hiden positions, adding in RPG fire and then following with napalm air strikes.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OCC: Where did you attack LRR forces?

OCC: Where did you attack LRR forces?
OOC-I didn't, oh I see where the confusion is, I was asking for Lavrageria's losses, I think I see seventy, but I am assuming that there was probably more by the end of the skirmish.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

(OOC: Well, the figures, in this case, don't really matter to me so much. Vaguely three thousand warriors were involved... about twelve hundred wheeled around fairly quickly after the first assault and swept back across the border, leaving around eighteen hundred scattered about in, well, here: http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/commonwealth/ukraine_rel93.jpg that's a really big map, beware, but even so the area is pretty small. You'll see northish of Kiev there is 'Chornobyl'' on the Prypytas'. It's the area between that river and the border, so there's an awful lot of border relative to the small land area, through which the riders may escape. The idea being that they have huge avenues for escape a few miles, and though you could easily chase them and cut them off after that, to do so would mean almost certainly crossing into Lavrageria. I don't mind if they get pretty much wiped out. That's sort of the beauty of the plan from Aidarov's point of view- either the Estenlanders get roughed up a bit and can't hit back, or they do hit back and wipe out some barbarians that he didn't really want hanging around anyway, and in doing so likely cross the border and tick-LLR off.
And I don't expect the horde to inflict serious casualties upon Estenland military forces, really. If they're treated with too much arrogance they may very well turn around and surprise the soldiers with impressive marksmanship, but if targetted professionally and treated as a dangerous opponent there's not much they can do about getting shot apart.

To put it more briefly, I'd imagine it hard to keep them from crossing a border several times longer than the incursion is deep, but could be mistaken, I don't expect them to kill many soldiers unless you choose to have your men behave with massive over-confidence akin to the British marching into Zululand, and the civilian casualties are totally up to you, depending on who lives in that little area of land. I shall come back later, hopefully after fixing this keyboard, which keeps deleting what I'm typing.)

OOC-The Estenlands was treating this as a full invasion, kind of like the Bay of Pigs. Probably an over-reaction, but meh.

IC- (I gave orders that no one was to cross the borders, but in the interests of realism, I suggest that some small groups probably disobeyed, maybe less than three platoons, 120 men and a few tanks/attack choppers, less than a dozen of each. Once they realise waht they have done, they will beat a hasty retreat)
After the battle, such as it was, the LRR Ambassador is flown back to his mansion in the militray command chopper and bid audieu by a smirking Sir Reginald.

* * *

The next day, The Estenlandian government sends to the LRR embassy hundreds of hours of video, and thousands of pictures, documenting every aspect of the incursion into Estenlandian territory. Some vidoeo was actually taken from the chopper that the ambassador flew in. In an official document, requesting advice from the ever-respected ally of the Estenlandian people, the LRR, King Wingert pens in his own hand:

As a King and last of the Tsarist nation, I am entrusted with the care of my people by Almighty God. It is a wise ruler that asks for cousel from many. So I ask, what would the rulers of LRR do if 3,000 Estenlandian, Sinoese or Dra-poel hostile, invading troops came into your borders and attacked civilians, blew up bridges and attacked your military?
Would you stand idley by and allow the rogue state to continue to put the epople in your nation in danger, or declare war, for the safety of your citisens?
His Tsarist Majesty, King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.


Contact is also trying top be made with the new government of Estenlands northen nieghbour, demanding an explanation, the same package of documentation that was given to the LRR ambassador is couriered to the new head of government in Lavrageria.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Since LRR posesses little in the way of spy sattelites and intelligence from Lavrageria is sketchy at best, it is unlikely that news had made its way into the chain of command by morning.

However, the footage of attacks on civilians makes the government very upset with the Lavragerians, but it is assumed that the incursion was primarily Glakahtan in origin. Immediately, security on the border between Lavrageria and The Estenlands is stepped up. Special Volgostani units, with experience in that nation's many squabbles with Turkey over various human rights issues, are sent to the border, equipped with thermal imaging devices and mortars. These units help to establish and train Lavragerian troops for border patrol and security.

Of course, over the course of the brutal war that led to the founding of The Estenlands, Ukranian rebels had crossed the border numerous times and killed their fair share of what few civilians felt safe enough to live on the fringe of the Western Defense District. (OCC: I'm taking some liberties here I admit...I thought that mabye during the war a good amount of rebels made incursions into Russia proper to target the civilian population.)

But that was in the past, and the government tries to overlook past offences as often as possible.

OCC: Hey, if I were to trade in Russia for, say, non-BG India, would you (Estenlands) be willing to take over from me?

OOC-I am assuming that the rebellian got pretty personal and messy, so you would be right in thinking we crossed the border, probably had some terrorist activity as well.

IC-King Wingert is in his war room, towerinfg over the other men in the dimly lit room as they gather around an illuminated map of the are, with the latest intelligence filling in the picture as to the military elements in and around Estenlands.

He strokes his straggly beard and looks up at his eldest dughter, the almost emberassingly attractive Jilessopone Hawkwin-Wingert. She smiles and says, "Father, we could over run in less than a week. LRR could be a problem, but I assume that they won't risk another protracted war with us, now that we have an army at our backs. Though, they have been known to do more stupid things. If we are going to strike, we need to do it now!"

Sir Reginald steps forward and says, "Your Majesty, it would be unwise to get into a war with LRR right now, though support for us is strong there, we need more time to be able to have the sustainable industrial base to keep an army of our size in the field for any space of time. At best, we could handle a full-scale war, with reserves being pulled up, and a full deployment for two months, and with winter all but here, I do not envy going the way of Napolean and Hitler, even if we could break the Western District. I won't lead the march on Moscow, that blood will not be on my hands."

King Wingerts Father Confessor, Bishop Bahamut Chenevsky speaks, "The Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church has already Canonised Nicholas II and the entire late Romonov family. He would be ready to assent to your being named Tsar, in lieu of Constantinople, if you were to choose the government that sat in the Kremlin, but sees it as necessary for you to rule from St. Pertersburg. The Patriarch of the Greek Orthodox is another matter, they refuse to assent to any who do sit in Constantinople as their Emporer, and the Turks remain a problem. The Ukrainian Catholics, still have not been granted a Patriarch by Rome, so they see you as their head anyway, official or not, so they are indifferent."

Adreanna Wingert, Wingert's daughter from his second marriage, head of the Keyv(Kiev) Defense Forces, intones, "The military has never been so ready, and I believ we can win, but LRR will not go quietly, and if we invade them, whatever the pretext, The British Federation, Quinntonia, and Roycelandia are sure to lend some support at least, they do not wish to see Europe at war again. If we are going to embarck on such an amitious campaign, just over Lavrageria, we need allies, and that French fop is not ready to help militarilly. If he was, he could keep them out of this by a pre-emptive strike, and we would have time to consolidate before anything goes wrong. BUt I just don't see how we could do this now. We could easily take out Lavrageria, but I don't see how we could avoid war with LRR if that happens. We could possibley take Moscow in two months, but we all know how good taking Moscow does when invading Russia, especially in winter. One more year, then we will have a better industrial base, and hopefully more foriegn support, please your Majesty, father, listen to reason."

King Wingert I, Tsar of The Estenlands, nods, and his voice booms out, "Allies, supplies and factories, here and abroad! WE cannot afford a war with LRR, we may win, but we may not, and I swroe that when next I faced the damned occupiers, I would whip them so badly they would think Stalin was a girlscout! You cannot gaurantee, victory, so attack is not acceptable, though I have no greater wish than to die with an LRR soldiers' throat in my teeth. Start preparing for war, not because we are going to war, but because we MUST be prepared for the eventauallity. And give me more options!"

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

With so many events twirling about in Estenlands, the Ambassidor of His Most Christian King Louis XX le Comte de Custine began intriguing. He switched into high gear when he was honored with a personal call from His Majesty. Not even five minutes after the august call, le Comte went by limo to the Czars Palace.

He came bearing dispatches. It seemed, in light of the positive revelry that had just finished in Versailles, His Most Christian Majesty wanted to commit to an alliance with his absolutist compatriot.

It was on that note that le Comte stood before the great doors, waiting for audience with His Imperial Highness. The Czar had but to assent, and the Kingdom of France would begin immediate economic aid to his realms. In the future, and in light of the increase in the Royal Army that was occuring in the Kingdom of France this very moment, there was no doubt in the Comtes mind that His Most Christian Majesty would one day grant the aid of his sword to the Czar in his fight against the heretical and demonic democracy
to Estenlands north.

King Wingert I decides that he will see the French ambassador in his throne room, sorrounded with as much splendor as he could. Seeing as this ambassador had never met Wingert, this would prabably be fun. Wingert knew that his great size and eastern-military style of dress intimidated people, and he used that to his best advatage. That, coupled with the fact that Wingert was having trouble figuring out if these new Frenchmen were dressed in drag or not.
Eventually, after leaving the ambassador waiting in the antechamber for two hours, he is called in.
As the gaurds open the two, giant brass doors, carved with reliefs of the story of the revolution, ending with the crowning of Wingert. The room is designed like a Gothic chapel. The marble floor shone and the stain glass windows and crystal chandaleirs sparkled brilliantly.
At the end, in the apse area, on a raised platform, is a nine-foot tall solid-gold throne, with lions carved into the arms of the chairs. He sits in gold-plated full plate armour, with a red satin robe draped over his body and a six-foot long sword leaning against the throne. His throne is relatively simple, a gold band with a single ruby in the frontpiece.
His beard hangs down over his powerful chest as his voice booms out, filling the room with the vocal presence of his nearly seven foot frame!
"Your king has offered billions in financial aid, and a military and trade alliance? WE will sign, and enter into nuptual negotiations between one of my daughters and your eldest sons. Once relations have cooled with LRR, we request that a state visit be arranged to seal the deal and perform a formal signing ceremony. Do you concur?"
King Wingert I of The Viallge of Farrah.

The LRR opinion of The Estenlands is much different from the Estenlands' opinion of LRR. Having lost thousands of troops in the Ukraine before finally realising that it was not worth it, the LRR government just wants to put the whole affair behind it, but the heavily militarized and less-than-friendly Ukrainians have proven unwilling to let the incident go.

Of course, if an Estenlands attack was going to succeed, it would be now. With tensions rising between Volgostan and Turkey over god knows what, a good portion of the best-equipped troops on the frontier are in the Caucasus. While the LRRA is one of the best winter armies, constant criticism of the Baltic Republics and Sweden for a myriad of reasons, dominant among them their refusal to make reparations for their support for the nazis, as well as their sale of weaponry to countries deemed quite inappropriate, has led to a heightened state of alert on that particular border area.

Stretched out from the Kola peninsula to the Caucasus mountains, the Western Defense District, Combined Forces Group covers one of the longest frontiers in Europe. With the continent generally polarized against LRR, only Finland and Norway can be counted on to support LRR foreign policy, and perhaps the British.

Therefore, the Western Defense District is spread relatively thin. If the Estenlands diplomatic corps could manage to provoke an all-out war between Volgostan and Turkey, an Estenlands force, albeit not easily or safely, could probably have the majority of European Russia within a matter of months, provided an armored spearhead could be driven through the motor rifle divisions before the spring thaw.

Marshall Isaac Syszko, one of LRR's surprisingly many Polish high-level military commanders, sits on the hatch of his command BMP, surveying a topographical map of the border area with The Estenlands, displaying the locations of LRR fortifications, many based on Dra-pol HARTS implacements and housing a wide range of howitzers, 122 and 152 mm mainly.

To the sides and in front of his spot on the top of a wooded hill is the LRRA's 23rd Motor Rifle Division, a typical motor rifle unit. While not lacking in training, and with equipment well-suited to the environment and potential combat conditions, even with its relatively old age, the very society of LRR, what the military is trying to preserve and protect, cannot allow the fielding of numbers comparable to those put out by The Estenlands without seriously curtailing the very freedoms held so dear.

But Marshall Syszko has faith in his engineers, truck drivers, and combat troops, and with the distribution of the newest anti-tank missiles and artillery systems, he can at least count on a fairer match than would be otherwise.

(This is interesting...)

Prime Minister Gukov responded to the evidence presented with a tone fitting a victim. He explained that, on the bright side, the incursion meant that, if anything, the Lavragerians were winning the battle against barbaric pirates and enemies of Lavragerian democratisation. He added the last comment for the benefit of the Estenlands’ monarch as if to imply affiliation between Ulanger and Moscow.
“If the Glakatahn are driven to picking targets abroad, it is because the Republic is no longer safe for their bloodthirsty sort!” This he repeated in public as well as communiqué.

(OOC: If LRR does leave Russia, and in the event that its next ‘owner’ is not so democratic or otherwise likely to support the Republic, I hope that nobody will take too cruel an advantage in light of this scheme. I mean, we wouldn’t have tried it if there weren’t a chance of Moscow’s aid. Of course, if the next player RPs some sort of shift away from the liberal democracy, then fair enough, there’s not much I can do. Excuse me if I don’t post too many new things in the coming days, I think it rather important to little Lavrageria to find out who its neighbours are before I commit to anything new. I’ll see what happens re. LRR leaving Russia, and whether this new player is to take-over various eastern European states.)

Very well, in order to protect the interests of the innocent civilians on both sides of the Estenlandian border, preparations are being made for bringing the government in Lavrageria up to the security standards of its southern nieghbour.
Reservists were being called up, supplies were being stockpiled and a single missive from the Palace in Kiev was sent to the government in Lavrageria:

His Imperial and Tsarist Majesty, King of Ukraine, and the foriegn provinces of The Estenlands King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah sends his regards.

It is aked that you show the proper respect for your King by accepting your role without contention as vassals to the Estenlands. This will include your asking for the advice and opinion of your King on all matters of government interest. This will also include the responsibility of 25% of your military to be put directly under the command of Estenlandian nobility, to be posted in a foriegn capacity, at your expense. You will also be required to give over 20% of your government tax revenue. You have 60 days to repond.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Ulanger, Lavrageria

“...Sixty days? Wait 1,439 hours and then tell them to shine it up and sit on it!” Aidarov, like most Lavragerians, had taken-up permanent residence but had yet to furnish it with tact.

“Deliver their communiqué to any foreign journalists that you can find, and, Gukov, where’s Gukov? Continue orders on construction materials. Some cement, a couple of tonnes of steel, five million pounds of TNT, some copper wire, you know...

“Increase the rate of construction.”

“Increase?”

“Yes, yes, the present sort. Don’t think that I mean anything of permanence, just, just this sort of crap, don’t allow construction of anything that costs more than a few thousand or that we would be sorry to see go.

“And Kastus, organise civil defence drills. A brochure on booby traps, some basic signals for low-tech street fighting, How are you progressing on the manpower targets?”

“Committee of People’s Ground Forces reports 68,743 members, unfortunately 72% remain conscript, 12% contracted from one to two years, and only 16% contracted from five to twelve years... not that it’ll matter if we’re for war inside two months.

“The Committee of People’s Flying Forces and Committee of People’s Air Defence Forces have over twenty-six thousand names on the books, but as yet lack much equipment. We could press some trainers into service for a first strike, but my guess would have the Estenlanders destroying them on the ground rather than the reverse”

The Defence Minister was mildly surprised when, following his statements, the President approved his oft-requested draft increase programme. Less than one percent of the little nation’s population represented insufficient force when it’s more than 400% larger neighbour threatened to invade and fielded an army of several percent. It had to be hoped that the several hundred thousand strong Glakatahn population would choose to deploy its warriors against the common enemy in the even of any Estenlands assault.

Lavragerian construction continued to erect horribly complicated slums of low-rise sort, with one and two story houses built of cheap materials without regard for safety codes yet unwritten, erected largely by public works and certainly not to any discernible city plan. Attackers would find no maps useful and surely struggle even to use aerial reconnaissance to any good effect in urban sprawls such as these. Warriors were trained by the thousand towards a goal of almost quarter of a million as small workshops turned out primitive weapons, largely bolt-action rifles and PPSh-family sub-machineguns such as those mass produced in Stalingrad during its siege. Here and there were set tank traps, and small communities were uprooted and forced back into the nation’s vast forests and marshlands, where, under the supervision of state officers, they began to establish self-sufficient settlements that would become the centre of partisan operations in the event of national collapse.

A problem presenting itself soon enough was in the propaganda battle. Ulanger wanted foreign journalists to document Estenlands aggression and Lavragerian attempts towards democracy and subduing of the barbarian population. It was important that any indiscriminate air or artillery attack that may be held over otherwise defensible shanty towns should reach the world’s attention, but at the same time it did not suit Aidarov to have journalists snooping around so soon after the hopelessly corrupt election.

The hope was that fraud and on-going questionable human-rights conditions would be covered-up by confusion, cultural differences, and the spectre of total war under which Lavragerians laboured by no fault of their own.

Meanwhile, from the poorly administered west, Kiba Morgan dispatched an envoy to meet with the Estenlanders and offer the help of his warriors as guides to any invading army...

The severe, little man who heads the Kargat, the secret police anwerable only to the Tsar, was reporting on the mountains of reports coming from his spies in Lavrageria about the construction and conscription that was going on. "It seems, sire that they are intent on making a fight of it. My agents are even now making contact with many of the clan chiefs of the nomadic warriors, securing their help with pre-emptive attacks on their fellow nomads. Or, at least benevolent nuetrality. This could cause a civl war among the nomads, throwing them into confusion and allowing us to just worry about the standing army. In two months, they are shooting for 250,000 troops, and I fail to see how they would train, equip, or even arm. And certainly, they could not keep that may in the field for any stretch of time."
"And the foriegn journalists?"
"They forget that for the last week, every foriegn news station has been showing the incredibly well-documented footage of an unprovoked attack by the Lavragerians, and interviews by those foriegn news agancies of the poor, innocent civilians that were horribly attacked by them. I fear that they will find little support. That, and most of the western democracies are so worried about France rising again in Europe, and the Bonstock issue in Asia, that all we would have to worry about is Russia, and my sources tell me that they realise that it is an unwinnable conflict."
King Wingert almost grins when he bellows, "Lavrageria will bow to me or fall under my sword!!! Allow a delegation to come here to Kiyv and negotiate., We will accept that option for 15 days, after atht, there can be no negotiation."


OOC- This is kind of cool, two corrupt tyrants scarpping it out.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

(PS Please call me just France from now on, not Elkazor)

Le Comte de Custine left the gaudy Throne Room (the French had so much more class) and immediatley relayed his message to the august ears of His Majesty. Within moments, he returned to face the awesome figure of the Czar.

"His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX is honored to accept the purposal of His Imperial Highness the Czar. Provided that His Imperial Highness grants his assent to the negotiations of the Holy Leauge conference in Versailles, I have been authorized to grant a massive economic revitalization program for Estenlands, the gold to be delievered as soon as the Dauphin is married to the radiant daughter of the Czar. It is His Most Christian Majesties most sincere hope that such an allaince will form a bond of steel between our two enlightened states for milennia to come."

With that the Comte bowed and left. There were now only days, he believed, before the Czar and King of France would sign an alliance of steel.

The Estenlandian monarch nodded and explained that his new son-in-law was to immediately come to Kiev, and present himself to his new Father-in-Law, of course, he would be given Wingerts eldest, and extremely attractive duaghter. They would, of course live here, as Jilleseopone was far too valuable to the military, as one of its finest commanders, to give her up. And the eldest son from this union would be the hier to the throne of the Estenlands, the next Tsar. This will be done immediately!

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Le Comte de Custine beamed.

"Your Imperial Highness, arrangments have been made. If you would be so kind to come to Versailles for the wedding, the Royal Dauphin Division and the Dauphin await you and your lustrous Princess. I even have word that both Pope and Patriarch will be in attendance. His Most Christian Majesty finds the matter completely acceptable, and Versailles is going to glow for this righteous marriage."

With that le Comte bowed, and prepared for the newly formed Holy Leauge celebrations.

It looks like it will have to be a joint wedding celbration/alliance party.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

((Just getting a tag in here. I don't want to step on any toes, but I wonder if I might ask that the Estenlands put off RPing any invasion for a little bit- not in character as such, but for the sake of letting surrounding nations get on their feet, notably Russia. The UK may well seek to deploy peacekeeping forces to troubled Lavrageria, but I don't want to go stomping through someone else's country to get their until they're up to speed on the situation. Is AC(heese) to become Russia, for sure?
Of course I can have no objection to these character-oriented dealings in the meantime. Hope that made sense!))

OOC-Estenlands is not planning to invade right away, but I am not willing to drag thia out forever, the longer I leave it,. the less it favors me, so that is not very fair either. I have allowed 60 days before the deadline, and 15 days for negotiations, since I have offered the negotiation period, I have had complete silence from our nieghbours.
But, now with the generousity of the French King, Estenlands now has the resources to pretty much replace any losses they might incur while in combat, and can now support its full reservist power in the field, should it come to that.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC: Well, I'm hardly going OOC to ask for you to change your actions IC, but since we don't operate with any fixed rate of progress through time I merely mean that you should have IC time pass more slowly until it is quite clear whether AC or whoever else is to play Russia or other near-by nations, because if so, it is perfectly likely that they already do, in the IC time scale, and Russia is hardly just going to sit around while what represent the Ukraine and Belarus take to all out war. I can't speak for Poland, the Baltic states, or Russia if it turns out they are to have human players, and as such can't deploy peacekeepers yet, and not for any IC reason. So if something were to happen IC without regard for those nations, I'd just have to assume that I too can act without regard for them, and spirit my forces in.

The French Fleet was just entering the Aegean Sea, having obtained permission to navigate the Bosphorus from Turkey, albeit that permission was gained through hedged threats and properly placed bribes.

It would soon arrive in Sebastopol, there to land the Royal Dauphin Division.
What a glorious sight for the Istanbulians to see the magnficent Roi de Soleil
cut through the water with ease. Well, glorious and intimidating. Signals were sent to Estenlands to expect the convoys imminent arrival.

OOC: Well, I'm hardly going OOC to ask for you to change your actions IC, but since we don't operate with any fixed rate of progress through time I merely mean that you should have IC time pass more slowly until it is quite clear whether AC or whoever else is to play Russia or other near-by nations, because if so, it is perfectly likely that they already do, in the IC time scale, and Russia is hardly just going to sit around while what represent the Ukraine and Belarus take to all out war. I can't speak for Poland, the Baltic states, or Russia if it turns out they are to have human players, and as such can't deploy peacekeepers yet, and not for any IC reason. So if something were to happen IC without regard for those nations, I'd just have to assume that I too can act without regard for them, and spirit my forces in.

OOC-I didn't mean that the way it sounded, I only meant that if the nation that is supposed to play Russia doesn't show up soon, I'll be forced to assume that they are acting in disinterest. As for NPC nations, I think it is best to leave them out of it as much as possible, and so assume that they are remaining nuetral and uninvolved. That clears up any who would support who arguements. I am willing to stretch out the IC time but only to a piont. If you want to move peacekeepers in, you should consider logistics, and assuming that we are going to keep NPC nations out of it as much as possible, contact Russia and at least get them somehwta up to speed and make a minumum of one post giving formal permission for troops to be moved through there territory, lest you risk compramising the soveriegnty of other nations.

As for France, don't worry, in previous post I talked about the relationship between the poor Turks and their much more powerful nieghbour to the north. I have a three division invasion force and almost my entire navy and air force on 48 hour notice to invade Turkey should they not allow the free traffic of Estenlandian or allied ships through the straight, and we drill though that invasion plan six times per year, just to be sure. We are capable of landing 8,000 of our most elite troops on that staright within 8 hours with air and naval support at any given time.
That, coupled with the ecenomic influence we are sure to have, makes pasage through there a fairly east affair.
I know what you are saying, "I thought we were going to keep NPCs out of it." And you'de be right, except that geographically, I just can't ignore Turkey, so I thought this relationship would represent reality the best and wouldn't require me invading them to assure Estenlandian superiority in the Black Sea, thus involving them further.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

In Lavrageria's considerable wilderness, agents from the Estenlands met quite varied receptions on making contact with Glakatahn bands. A lucky few were treated as honoured guests, usually where they had run into Kiba Morgan's Lodoz confederacy. Morgan was still keen on power, and perhaps willing to co-operate in return for political influence after any successful campaign.

A few other minor clans had eyes for bounty in gold, animals, slaves, and weapons, and were liable to drift back and forth with the tides of victory and potential plunder. They would generally 'search' agents contacting them and never return anything dangerous like a weapon, communication device, wallet, nice pair of boots, glasses... but would release any operatives who let them believe that there was something in it for them.

Others, too traditional and independent to form large confederations even with the other Glakatahn, would likewise strip all of value from any Estenlanders brash or unfortunate enough to contact them, but would hardly think to release the agents. Some would shoot them down on sight, others torture them, ostensibly for information but apparently for fun, before skinning their victims and delivering parts of them over to a ceremonial feast centred around a broth made with their very bones. More likely, Glakatahn tribes beside the greedy few and the Lodoz confederation would simply make slaves of anybody who ventured into their sights.

The fate of agents from the Estenlands aside, activity in Lavrageria continued as before, with one significant exception.

A major Lodoz Confederation encampment near Grodno, noth of the River Neman

The unreasonably huge big-top-like tent had barely showed signs of the wind buffeting it through the feast, which was enjoyed by top ranking warriors and nobels, and at which Kiba Morgan himself entertained one of the envoys from the Estenlands. Now there was still both within and without, the winds dying down and the feast with them. It was only mid afternoon, but many Glakatahn lay snoozing, sprawled across the floor in a disorderly manner. Others were slumped drunkenly over the many wooden tables that had been brought together for the event. Nobody was sure where the Estenlander had gone, but Morgan was believed to be off with one or more of his wives, his appetite less easily satisfied than those of his gorged comrades.

The brief lull was torn apart by the rushing and whistling of rockets and bombs and the rattling of machinegun fire as the great tent was slashed apart and set light. Outside, members of the underclass scattered in panic as a trio of aircraft bearing the ensign of the Republic screeched over head in V-form.

L-29 Delfin jet trainers on the first ever combat sortie undertaken by the Committee of People's Flying Forces swung around for a second and final pass over the scene, concentrating all of their fire on the one tent that might have contained a significant concentration of the Lodoz leadership. The aircraft made every use of their potential armament outfits, one having released two 100kg bombs, another eight unguided rockets, and the third having rattled off everything in its pair of 7.62mm machinegun pods before the trio headed back to Hia'Itakchi (Minsk) at four hundred knots.

Morgan survived in his absence, and would be enraged by the obvious attempt on his life.

(Don't under estimate Turkey. In reality they have, what, the second largest army in NATO? Close to 400,000 troops in the 1990s, not sure about now. At least some native arms industry, and, being of strategic interest, good enough relations east and west to buy equipment from both.)

The French fleet, after a lightning crossing of the Mediterranian (thus inadvertently showing off their new maritime skill, although they still were small game compared to the larger naval powers--nevertheles, the French fleet was burgeoning, modern, and armed to the teeth) made harbor in the Estenlandian port of Sebastopol. Singularly beautiful and deadly among them was the Roi de Soleil, that great white battleship.

Supplies, both military and the afore promised funds, were being offloaded the transports. Cranes lifted the Mirage-2000's to the dock on great platforms. The troops of the Royal Dauphin Division, twelve-thousand strong, in their distinctive blue and white uniforms, marched off their ships to fife and drums--led by the three Korean Companies of the Royal Army, they were an impressive sight.

The Dauphin and Dauphine (daughter of the Czar) marched off at the head of their troops, laughing together and sneaking kisses. The Dauphin was dressed as a Merechal of France, baton and all. His wife was in the finest of French fashions, but her physique was no less warlike. Together they watched the parade like manuevers of their divison as they came ashore, the fife and drum dictating the troops march. They awaited the arrival of the Czar, this review was for him. Once settled in, the Dauphin was cheered with the fact that his dear father, Papa Roi as he called him, would soon be visiting: Estenlands was the first stop on his royal tour.

Once the men and material were ashore, the Roi de Soleil fired a salute, and the French fleet left almost as quickly as they had come, steaming back home to French waters.

OOC: Don't worry about me, it's just that I really don't have the time right now. School and such.

Monarch One landed in Kiev International Airport. Its Royal Cargo was taken immediatley to the Winter Palace in Kiev. His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX and his Queen Marie-Therese went by motocade, the parents giddy to see how their Dauphin and the Dauphine were fitting in. The motorcade carried gifts for Louis' Brother the Czar. The two day visit included trade and defence talks (The Royal Dauphin Division of course having just landed), and the Kings' favorite event--hunting. Louis was also very eager to see how preparations for the 'liberation' of Lavrageria was coming, and he had advice to ask of his August Brother concerning the nature of war...

The Tsar arranged for a hunting lodeg in the northern Carpathians be given as a gift to the French Monrach from the nobility of Estenlands, on the honor of his visit. The hunting was tougher, with the Tsar and several other nobles participating, becuase it would have been considered insulting to stock the area with game beforehand.
They returned home, having taken a wild gaot and some wolcves for good measure, and settled into a long night of drinking and cards, sprinkled liberally with vodka, to make the night go well.

The trade and miltary talks were given after a tour of the majoir military esteblishments in and around Kiev, as well as a fly-over of the build-up to the north.

The Dauphin Division, after accepting its new headquaters and the tanks and attack choppers that it was now armed with, was set to work truning their new headquarters into a defensible fortress. The Dauphin was also infomed by his immediate commanding officer, his lovely wife, that he would follow the first wave of troops across the border should it come to war.

His would be tough campaign, and he would be given tough and public assignements, while being under watch by the media liasons from both France and Estenlands.

As far as the trade talks, a "most favore" but not free trade system is suggested, with France taking the lead as a senior partner in that regard, French advisors are also requested to advise on matters of investment in regrads to the 20 billion that is going to spent in building a new industrail complex.

The suggestions are currently that we continue to build ties with Turkey, as they are easier to control than conquer, and if it should come to war with Turkey, it would be good to have people on the inside to help us.

The Tsar is not entirely convinced that war is inevitable, and will still welcome negotiations with his northern neighbour, as they now have 9 days left on the negotiation deadline.

Wingert I also makes preparations to travel to Marimaria with Louis XX at the conclusion of this trip, and has entertained going with to Hudecia as well, seeing as how their is a rather large Ukrainian population in the Hudecian west, but that is still uncertain.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

The King was delighted with his visit to his Royal Brothers domain, and looked proudly at his son and his division, the hope and joy of the French people (needless to say, the actions of the division was paramountly important to the domestic condition of France, defeat=civil unrest). His was most impressed with his new duaghter-in-law, Marie-Therese remarking 'she was just was Charles needed.'

He commissioned his attache, Le Comte de Custine, to appropriate the funds to Estenlands economy as needed. Hinting, that if needed, there was more money for his brother in law if needed. Custine, a former COO before his elevation to aristocracy, would be most suited for the assignment.

Louis exhausted himself in the hunt (he was, though attractive, truthfully lazy and growing plumper by the year---a fact he paid his tailors well to hide), and with satisfaction retired to the lodge that night. Over Vodka and cards, His Most Christian King discussed trade with the Tsar.

"I must have more oil and coal, mon ami, I see your liberation of Lavrageria crucial in this regard. For, after all, how can we be absolute in our reigns if we do not have absolute control of the fuels of our economy? I say, give them seven more days, storm them by surprise, and then the profit and fame is our, as the glory goes to you. As well, a victory would go well under our belts, and make those socialist Protestants shake in their cafes. Of course, the operation goes by your schedule...I am most pleased with the posistion you will give to my son the Dauphin in the upcoming assault." He smoked his cigarette, the grin never leaving his face.

Preparations were made for the trip to Marimaia, although secretly Louis was worried if the Tsar should try and accompany him to Quebec. He had wanted the spotlight on that occasion solely on himself...although he would never refuse the Tsar to go with him, he would intrigue against it.

That noted, His Most Christian King was excited about the massive troop concentrations they flew over...after all the blood of Louis XIV was in his veins.

Press conferences were held, showing the two monarchs standing proudly together, proud indeed of seemingly having made a more solid alliance in a few weeks than the pathetic democricies in years. The Holy Leauge was taking shape, it precursed the rising strength of a pan-European Ancien Regime.

Preparations would soon be ready for the Marimaian trip, the airplanes ready to depart presently...

The President of Russia paced the room nervously, uncertain of what to do. His age showed on his blubbery and wrinkled face, which was even more furrowed than usual.
"I am getting far too old for this..." he said, with a sigh and a thick Russian accent.
A Kremlin guard, (OOC: they also serve as aids to government officials) clad in black uniform and brown cap tried to reassure the President.
"Mr. Juschenko, do not worry so much. You have continued Russia's glorious democratic path, and no foe will strike down free Russia!"
"You are young and naive, Gurlikov. Do you not see that the Motherland's economy crumbles, and its people despair as the corrupt bureacracy squeezes out every ruble from our land! They work with that cursed Mafia, and I am too weak to stop it. And now this...I must come to the aid of our allies, the Lavragerians, but I shall not be in office for long. What is the challenger to my Presidency, the man most likely to unseat my claim and transform Russia, Putin have to say about this situation? I will only engage the Estalandians if he continues these policies. It would be pointless to fight a war in which he takes us out of in a few weeks..."
The guard stood uncertainly, his simple life transformed the very first time he had served under the President. His first day of work, and a war emerges! It was really far too exciting for this simple soldier.
"Ehh...Mr. President? Why do you doubt your chances so?"
"The people love Putin. He promises change, real change. And I cannot blame the people. After all, we have tried so many times to create something good out of Russia, and every time, we have failed...Let us not talk of that, however. Send the question to Putin. And then...We shall see."
OOC: I'm planning a whole new system of government, so Juschenko here is just supposed to be a figure from LRR's government. I'll give you more info tomorrow.

His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX visit to Estenlands was a resounding success.

The media had seen the two mighty monarchs stading proud together, a fitting metaphor for the Holy Leauge. The hunting was superb...Louis secretly wished his son a bon chase in reards to (he desperatley hoped) the imminent liberation.

After such an enjoyable time, the King boarded his plane and left for Taishita, he expected to be followed soon by his brother the Tsar.

((Well...bump))

There is a notable buildup of troops on the northern border of Ukraine, bringing the total amount of troops commited to more than three quaters of the peace-time strength, almost 800,000 men. The majority of the rest of the full-time troops are deployed along the Russian border, though no trouble is expected, it is always best to be ready.
The call-ups of Reservists have brought another 400,000 troops into less startegic positions, though the most crack troops are still deployed on the Crimea, as a threat to Turkey.
The Dauphin Division with its 12,00 troops, 800 Abrams M1A2 MBT and 300 Apache Attack Helicopters, as well as the attached Korean brigades and French fighters are still readying their new fortress, but will be given special target priority if it comes to fighting.

The Estenladian government asks for the last time if the government to the north would like to send negotiaters, or are they going to prove their hostile intentions by refusing to even come to the table for peace-talks?


King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Premier Larionko Aidarov, Prime Minister Ivan Gukov and Defence Minister Kastus Vorobei spent a rare moment in each other’s company to discuss the present state of affairs.

They hadn’t managed to kill Morgan, but had none the less achieved some worthwhile success against the dangerous clans.

The defence plans were running more or less as hoped, but time was running desperately short.

“They have a standing army ten times larger than the British, and a population twelve million lower...”
“That’s not helping, comrade Vorobei.”
“I mean to imply that it’s already a major strain, and a protracted conflict deep inside Lavrageria will make them realise that all of their might is less valuable than it seems. We can fight them in the long term... in fact that is probably the only way that we can fight them. There is no question of us mounting a first strike that will do anything more than bloody their noses, but once the border areas have fallen, we will have more of it our way.”
“We should reduce the ratio of organised army units compared to partisans?”
“I believe so, yes.”

The Lavragerians continued their preparation to meet invasion and missions continued against the untrustworthy hordes. The nation continued in the propaganda struggle, and though it was presently taking second place to the desperate defence works, Ulanger felt that it was winning that fight. The world could see that the Estenlands’ only justification for invasion was not something for which the Republic could be blamed and that it was in fact facing the same enemy, and dealing forcefully with it.

Minister Fyodor Besko was dispatched south to meet with the aggressing government and to convey the Lavragerian Republic’s sympathy for those killed in the Glakatahn raid, and to explain what was being done about it. If nothing else, Lavrageria needed more time to carry out the dispersion of its forces so as to prevent the destruction of any more than a few by a single stroke.

Other diplomats meanwhile were offering Moscow all sorts of monopolies in Lavragerian development programmes should the Republic somehow survive any war with the Estenlands, wink wink.

"We will eat your children!"

Of the several hundred thousand (from Lavrageria's estimated 10.4million population) Glakatahn still living traditional life styles, a slight majority is poised to side with the Republic in the event of war. This is largely because they presently feel more threatened by the Estenlanders, as well as because of inter-tribal rivalries. (The Lodoz confederation (and its satellites) remains staunchly anti-Republican and continues to face attacks by government forces.)

One of the most unusually pro-Vargery Kibas (tribal chieftains), Foktar of the minor clan Tunn, has been quoted on Lavragerian state television giving a fiercely defiant address. He is reputed to have said of the Estenlanders, "They know nothing of our ways or our means, half the battle is lost for them already, they can not take our lands. We will eat your children!" Where upon Foktar is said to have raised the mutilated skull of an Estenlands operative who attempted to win the Tunn's support for invasion and was ceremonially killed, the top of his head cut-off and his brain eaten in ritual fashion.

One minor government minister is quoted as saying, "I appreciate the Kiba's enthusiasm for independence, but I'm not sure that the manner in which he conveys his surely heart-felt sentiment is wholly in the best interests of our cause in the avoidance of war."

Le Comte de Custine smoked his cigarette, and sat opposite to the Dauphin. Both of the men had just finished watching the news, which showed the conference going on in Taishita. The Dauphin turned it off with exasperation, lighting a cigarette of his own.

"The King and Czar take all the glory, while I am forced to stay in this goat ridden wasteland, with the war preparations taking forever! Damn the luck, there may not even be a war, if those commies offer a sweet peace to the Czar and slavery to Russia. And I want to play war!" He sounded like a petulant child, though he was in his twenties and a Merechal, and the Dauphin de France. His voice spoke with ire, but very quietly...his wife prowled about, and would no doubt beat him (again) if she heard him speak of her beloved land so.

"Highness, our spies have reported the socialists to the north have sent 'diplomats' south, in an attempt to forestall your rightful honors. We must make peace difficult, without offending your father, your father in law, or your wife." The Comte stared vacantly. "Send the detachment of Saint-Espirit Mirages in force slightly over the Lavragerian border, flying low and in combat formation. This will threaten the commies, intimidate the Russians, and please your wife simultaneously. Not to mention, boost the morale of your men." He nodded to himself, and the Dauphin smiled. He then picked up the radio, and instructed Chevalier Antoine de Morangias to do just that, with the first light of dawn. They would not attack, but if fired on they were fully capable of defending themselves.

After that, Jillesopone called for Charles, and the Dauphin obiediently went to his wife. That morning, the Mirage-2000's screamed off the tarmack.

At first the Mirage incursion would go unnoticed. Flying low only just inside Lavragerian airspace, they were not immediatelly picked-up by the nation's severely limited radar grid. A Glakatahn tribesman tracked the passing aircraft through the iron sights of his bolt-action rifle, but did not waste a round by firing at the distant jets.

Lavragerian ground forces were, eventually, proven to be a different element. While part of the planes' flight took them over exactly nothing in the empty borderlands, they had to be seen eventually or the mission was to be a waste of time. The Republican military was, of course, scattered as according to doctrine, so as to avoid being destroyed en masse or trapped, and its small, lightly equipped units were almost constantly on the move. This was especially so in border areas where they sought to avoid being surprised from the air.

The 89th Platoon, 2nd Itageria Battalion had been in place for less than two hours when the Mirage formation appeared, obviously oblivious to the tiny infantry detachment previously located several miles away. The response came in the form of AAA fire from a ZPU-1 14.5mm machinegun, towed to its present location by stout-pony power. Flying low right on top of the AAA piece, the aircraft ought to prove relatively easy pickings for the crew of accomplished marksmen, though firing with optical sights alone. It was a pity that such small forces had so few weapons available, for there would likely not be chance to attack more than a single trespassing aircraft, given the short ranges and high speeds involved.

The lead Mirage, the Ordu du Saint Espirit detachments second in command, became a fireball, apparently out of the blue. The AA fire, coming in from right below it, scored a direct hit, the pilot never had a chance to eject. The other planes broke delta formtion and once, evasively scattering.

Chevalier Antoine called in the AA fire, and the planes regrouped at high altitude. Two broke off, providing an umbrella against potential ariborne enemies. Coming in, this time at a solid mid-altitude attack formation, the remaining Mirages pelted the area and its radius with Z-9 'Hercule' scatter bombs. Still machine gun fire rose up to meet them. It hit Antoines wingman, who was forced to pull out of the encounter. Enraged, Antoine ordered five more lightinging speed bombing runs. Over, and over, and over again. After several minutes, debris and dust prevented further attack.

One Mirage 2000 down, one damaged; the squadren pulled out, as fast as they came in. The Dauphin was furious, and ordered the remaining craft repaired and rearmed at once, though they were to stay grounded.

The Dauphin thought to himself, as he lit a cigarette. Well, it didnt go that badly. He lost one of his Mirages, one was out of action....then he grinned:
Chevalier Antoine de Morangias would get a medal, war would hopefully now be inevitable, and he had proved himself a man to his father and inlaws. Not bad, for the price of one jet and the damaged (likely a few weeks in the shop) for martial gloire.

Vladimir Putin, a man clad in a black uniform, scarf, and glasses glared coldly at his television. FOX News anchor Shepard Smith showed images of angry Laveragerian officials, who pointed at photographs of the trademark of the Elkazor air force: a Mirage.
"Damned French pigs. Flying their planes into Laverageria! Who do those blasted aristocrats think they are? Don't they know whose sphere of influence they are dealing with! Argggg...The "Cleansing" must be delayed for now. Those Mafia bastards can't be dealt with while we have arrogant fools trying to disrupt Mother Russia's influence over these lands...Sergei, what is the status of reconstructing the military?"
A balld, scarred man wearing a simple brown uniform and a black star on his right breast walked forward. He spoke with a Russian accent even thicker than Vladimir's.
"Sir, the plan to convert a large sum of our military into a new, anti-corruption police force is 25% complete. Most of our standard military forces still remain the same as during Juschenko's reign. However, thanks to your liberalization of the economy, more money is flowing amongst the hands of the people, and soon it will vastly make up the losses of tax revenue we had from your tax cuts. I find this hard to believe, but capitalism...works...Anyway, we can use this money to modernize our forces."
Putin smiled grimly.
"Well, let's hope this amounts to nothing more than saber rattling. Alright, you can leave Sergei. I must write a letter."
Sergei saluted Putin, who returned the favor. Immediately, the man in black whirled around, and sat on his desk.

King Of Estenlands,
I wish to have positive relations with your nation, as our countries have been loyal allies for centuries. However, if you wish to continue this friendship, I suggest that you STOP AIDING THOSE WESTERN PIGS! Ahem. How can you fight alongside the French imperialists against our fellow Eastern friend? I do not wish to reignite the disastrous affair that was the Ukrainian civil war, but if you do not kick these aggressive western imperialists out of your proud nation, I shall have no choice. This is your first, and final warning. Now, if you ally with Laverageria against these moronic French aristocrats, I am willing to see a non-aggression pact in your future..."
President Vladimir Putin
"Russia" (OOC: Renamed from Russian federation as a symbol of Putin's "purified" Russia.)
Dauphin of France,
I will be blunt. Withdraw your forces from Lavrageria NOW, or I will make sure that your fancy French arse won't stay in power for long. The east will not become a lapdog to your imperialistic oppression. Not now, not ever.
From Russia With Love,
President Vladimir Putin
"Russia"
Premier of Lavrageria,
I stand firmly with you against the French aristocrats. I have dispatched a squadron of MiGs into your nation to pursue their filthy Mirages. Try not to fight with the Estenlands, as we must retain a solid Eastern front against the Western European fools, who practice either socialism or dictatorship, each oppressing their and our people.
President Vladimir Putin
"Russia"

The Dauphin, recieving the brutish letter, was first shocked. He immediatley called for de Custine.

"What in the blazes!" the Dauphin said. Custine nodded somberly.

"Highness, remember, twas your decision, albeit a well founded and infinitely supportable one, to provoke a reaction...although, I must say this Putin affair was most unexpected."

"I am going to call Papa Roi, he will know what to do." Charles then made the call, to his fathers private number. The King was not moved, he even laughed in uproars, relaxing as he was in sunny Marimaia.

"What rubbish!" Louis XX said over the phone. "Now Charles, listen up. I commend your decision for the recon flight, it was well within our rights, and both your mother and I agree the needed thing to do. Stand firm, your time of gloire is soon at hand. My brother will not deign to withdraw your troops, be assured of that. The Tsar will not be lectured to by that bastard Putin, Lavrageria is his by feudal law. Keep your division on guard, and do not launch any more flights until the Tsar moves, after that you may launch your whole force! Stand firm, attend your wife, and say your prayers. Ahh, I must go, time to scuba. Keep me informed, I will be back at Versailles soon, I just have to swing by Quebec on my way home. Be strong, my son." The phone went click.

Custine nodded. "All is well, milord, be not worried. God is with us!" The Dauphin called in his confessor, the Abbe de Terray, and prayed. With that, his wife entered, and he pleaded to her the situation.

"Mon cher!" he ran into her waiting arms.

OOC: Sorry if my letter was too "brutish", but the French aristocracy is too hilarious too resist poking fun at. Oh, and can you clarify which "Tsar" you're referring to? And for some background on my government, you should probably read this:
Cold....The cold pierces my skin, and pours into my very soul...There is only one place in the world whose very temperature can have such profound impact. Russia...
Vladimir Putin glared out of the open hatch. The helicopter he was in trembled from the blistering winds, yet Putin refused to close the hatch. Instead, this fairly gaunt man stood against the ice and snow, his black clothes, scarf, and sunglasses. The pilot was bewildered as to why Putin refused to close the hatch, but hell, the customer was never wrong. Especially a well paying customer. And so the helicopter continued it’s journey, a pinprick on the vast white horizon.
I have not been to the motherland since I was ten..that was 30 years ago....that damned Mafia, setting a bomb in our home simply because my father refused to give in to their corrupt demands...
His hands curled into fists.
I shall have vengeance. Russia itself will have vengeance.
The simmering rage within him would soon boil...
******************************************************************************
Hours later...
Vladimir, the man with a receding brown/orange hairline and a sharp nose barked at the pilot.
“You can stop now.”
“What? We’re nowhere near a landing zone! I mean, this is a helicopter, but...well, as you can probably tell, this ain’t a top class transport. Especially considering that we’re in the middle of winter...”
“There is no need. I have my own ways. Now, stop.”
“But this is downtown...I don’t think they will like a helicopter floating above them...”
“Do you think I give a damn about what the Mafia thinks? Now shut up or I’ll detonate the semtex I planted in here. I can assure you that whatever the accursed gangsters will do to you, it will be far less painful.”
Putin clasped the detanator in his hands and smiled maniacally. The pilot flew the decrepit chopper above the city. Vladimir’s hands grasped a backpack, which they fastened to his back. His feet carried him to the edge of the chopper. Putin turned around and smiled at the pilot.
“Oh, by the way...”
The pilot’s eyes widened in sheer horror as the man in black’s fingers pressed the detonator’s trigger. The tension could be cut with a chainsaw. A big chainsaw. Made from polar bears. Yes, polar bears. No, not grizzly bears. POLAR BEARS, DAMMIT! Ahem.
“Boo.”
“YAHAHAH!”
The young pilot panicked, leaping to the floor, and crouching in a fetal position.
“Calm down. I’m not as ruthless as I look. For crying out loud, there was no bomb. I was just using a ploy to force you to hover above the town square. Now, I shall take my leave, and I urge you to do the same, as the gangsters seem to be armed with anti-air weaponry. Farewell.”
With a nod of his head, he was gone. He disappeared into the night...
******************************************************************************
A black cloud appeared in the sky. It was unlike any cloud Ilona Srebrenitska had seen. It started small, yet instantly unfurled to form a large specter of doom...Except...That it was no cloud. It was...a parachute. Immediately, gunfire rattled the air.
The snow fell on Ilona’s pale skin, contrasting her frizzy black hair. Well, normally pale skin. Currently it had taken a shade of red.
“Dammit, Borishnikov! You let the chopper get away!”
“So? Madam, it’s just some old chopper. I bet it’s just some guy tryin’ to smuggle illegals or drugs from the Estenlands or some other hell hole like that.”
Ilona’s trench coat swirled in the wind as she elbowed the clumsy bald man, known as Boris, in the face. Then she pointed towards the black blotch in the sky.
“You dolt. Can’t you see? A parachute! Illegal immigrants and drug dealers don’t parachute in the middle of town square! What is it? It can’t be the government. We pay them too well. Could the Yakuza be trying to get in on our customers? Or is it the Americans? Have they finally gotten the jaja to get serious with their idiotic war on drugs?”
“Should I shoot...?”
“No. Firing on a chopper probably full of illegals or druggies is one thing; but attacking a guy who is either brave or stupid enough to land in the hear of Russian Mafia territory is quite another.”
Ilona dug her hands into the many pockets of her trench coat. One hand pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses with a slight gold rim, and the other snatched out a small flip phone.
“Sector 3A, Lenin alley. Yes, I’m sure this is important. I don’t give damn that this’ll disrupt your drug deals! I want that son of a bitch surrounded, got it?”
Ilona sighed, and replaced her phone with a Russian knock off of the American M1911A1 0.45 caliber handgun, called the “Siberia 45". She ran forward, followed by Boris.
******************************************************************************
The black figure landed in the middle of town square, surrounded by shocked townsfolk. Bald teenagers shooed away the crowds as the man in black rose from his crouched position. The middle fingers on each of his hands pressed buttons on his palms, detaching the backpack and parachute. With his left hand, Putin tossed a small vial behind his shoulders as he walked away from the parachute. As soon as the vial cracked, a white flash emerged, quickly followed by a plume of flame. Vladimir walked away calmly as the White Phosphorous dissolved the all the evidence of his arrival. Just in case. He looked around, realizing that a normally bustling town square was empty, with the only sound being his breathing and the soft fall of snow. Well, for a few moments anyway.
Seemingly out of nowhere, several gangsters ran out, surrounding Putin.
“Well, it looks like you caught me.”
Ilona shoved aside a gangster and aimed her Siberia at Putin’s face.
“Talk, punk! Who sent you? What do you want? Are you KGB, CIA, FBI, DEA? Huh?”
“I work for no one but Russia itself, madame.”
“How dare you try to sweet talk me!”
“I am doing nothing of the sort, young madame.”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”
“Then what should I call you? I do not know your name...”
“I don’t know why I haven’t shot you yet, but...It’s Ilona. Ilona Srebrenitska. Leader of the Red Mafia’s Moscow division. Now, spill the beans!”
“I don’t have any beans, Ms. Srebrenitska.”
“Damn you! You know exactly what I mean, arrgggg!”
Ilona lost her composure, something the normally good natured woman rarely did, and thrust a punch directly at Putin’s face. Which was exactly what he expected. He grabbed her fist, twisted it around. She tried to fire her gun at him, but Vladimir’s punch dazed her long enough for him to grab the gun out of his hand. Putin threw her to the ground, and ran forward. The skinhead in front of him panicked, and Vladimir used the opportunity to shoot the gun out of his hand. He grabbed his neck from behind, and used him as a human shield. The others unloaded from their various submachine guns, slaughtering their comrade. Putin fired off three shots at a gangster in front of him, and he crumpled to the ground. Two men sprayed machine gun fire at the lifeless body Putin held. It couldn’t withstand any more shots, so he tossed it forward, as a distraction, and ducked behind a wall. Three gangsters on the ground sprinted towards location, so he leaned around the corner and thrust forward a vial of White Phosphorous. The men screamed in pain as their flesh burned to a crisp. Putin breathed a heavy sigh of relief, but then remembered something. Something bad. The two men on the roof firing at him...One of them...was also holding...a rocket launcher.
“Aw, shit.”
Putin leaped aside, bouyed by an explosion. He managed to avoid most of the flames, but the sheer force of the explosion sent him flying straight towards a brick wall. He smacked into it face first, and slid down.
“Owwww....”
He brushed himself off, and rushed ahead, dodging fire from the two remaining gangsters.
“Dammit, is the accursed government so corrupt that they’ll ignore rocket launchers?!?”
An explosion rocked the buildings near Putin.
“I guess so. Alright, bitches. Time to die!”
He rolled out of cover as the machine gunner desperately attempted to hit him. A bullet grazed his arm, but he managed to get in range for his plan.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mcdonald...”
He started rapidly tossing grenades into the empty Mcdonalds that the two gangsters stood on. They panicked, trying to get off, but it was too late. The building collapsed in a sheet of flame, and Putin smiled, waving.
“We love to see you smile.”
He turned around, to face the butt of a gun.
“Ilona.”
She stood, her face red with fury. Ilona had picked up an Ingram mini submachine gun from one of her men, and she aimed it at his head.
“You...you...killed them...”
“They are drug dealing scum. I feel no mercy on those who drain the life out of the motherland.”
“Stop your moronic preaching. I let you live before, since you might be someone important. But now...I wouldn’t care if you were the Pope, President, and Red Czar combined. I’LL KILL YOU!”
And so they stood in the snow, unmoving for what seemed like millennia. On the threshold of death, or the cusp of life. Either way, for that moment in time, the future of the nation, no the world was decided.
Putin was at first nervous, but then he stared into Ilona’s eyes, and smiled.
“WHAT!?!? Why are you smiling?!?”
“You won’t do it.”
“Huh?”
“I can see it in your eyes. You may be tough, but you’re no killer. You won’t, no can’t, murder an innocent man in cold blood.”
“I...I...”
Suddenly, Putin’s fist went forward, striking Ilona’s face. She fell to the ground, and dropped her gun. She tried to grasp for it, but Putin kicked it away.
“It’s not a bad thing, you know.”
“Wha?”
“Not wanting to kill an innocent person is never a negative trait. It means you are a decent human being, and even for a gangster, that’s a good thing. Oh and by the way, Ms. Srebrenitska, would you care to explain this?”
He snatched what appeared to be a traditional Soviet red star badge from her chest, except that the rim was silver and the inside was black, off of her chest.
“A black star...You must be the grand daughter of Ocelot Srebrenitska. The revolutionary who brought democracy to Russia...”
“How...?”
“The black star was a symbol of his revolution, and his most prized possession. That, and your last name guarantees that this is no coincidence. As payment for your vicious threats, I think I’ll keep it. It’ll be the perfect symbol...”
Putin pinned the star on his chest, placed his hands in his pockets, and hummed Christmas carols as he walked away. Ilona raised her hand weakly.
“Wait...Symbol for what?”
He turned around and smiled.
“My presidential campaign of course.”
He threw his head in the air and laughed hysterically.
Ilona stared in disbelief as Vladimir walked off into the downtown of Moscow.
******************************************************************************
Vladimir strode through the streets, singing softly.
“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas...”
But then he saw why he had come back to his motherland, and his singing ceased.
Corrupt criminals robbing innocents wherever they go...So many times our people have tried to free themselves from parasites, but every time they reappear again. Why do we fail constantly at this?
He stared into the sky, and found the answer.
Because we have only copied the ideas of others. Communism, Western democracy...all ideas ill-suited for Russia. Russia needs to put its power into one person, so it is not spread amongst many corrupt bureaucrats. But the people need to decide who this person is. Only they can choose someone who is trustworthy enough to have that much power. After all, they need someone honest to get rid of the corrupt system in which you have to know somebody who knows somebody who has connections with somebody who can sign a form just so you can perform any basic action. The corrupt government chokes the will of the people through its taxation and corruption. Our leader must train a military that is loyal only to Russia, and that military must be combined with the police. Investigators that kill they shall become. They shall smite bribe devouring lords, and punish any government inefficiencies. And then, we shall turn against the greatest evil of our country...the Red Mafia. It twists the very Russian spirit, replacing it with drugs, booze, prostitution, and evil.
“That’s it. I can wait no longer. PEOPLE OF RUSSIA!”
He screamed these words while standing in the middle of a busy street. Even when he fired his gun into the air, there was no result. The crowd was hardened to such things. He smiled when he realized the only thing Russians would pay attention to.
“Vodka! Free vodka!”
The entire street turned around and faced Putin.
“I have just ordered ten cases full of vodka. But if you wish to have it, hear me out first.”
And so the crowd stared with rapt attention towards Putin as he summed his previous thoughts into a powerful speech.
“..And so, I urge you to vote for Vladimir Putin, the black star, so that mother Russia may rise again!”
“Putin...”
A lone cry emerged from the crowd.
“PUTIN!”
More joined into the cry. Soon, Moscow itself trembled from the words of this man in black.
“PUTIN! PUTIN! PUTIN! PUTIN!”
And so the revolution began.
******************************************************************************
Months later...
President Juschenko strode nervously around his velvet red room. The fat, weary man’s face was a criss-cross of lines. He was surrounded by various aides, all sweating and nervous. The harsh red light made them seem even more tired than they were.
“Katzinsky, what are the newest poll results?”
“Well they’re...have you noticed the nice weather we’ve been having?”
“I don’t I’ve a damn. WHAT ARE THE RESULTS?!?”
“Ehh...Urkkk....It’s 10% for you, sir.”
The president’s eyes seemed to pop out. Spittle flew from his mouth. And then...his eyes drooped down, and his entire body sagged down.
“It’s over.”
“Don’t say that sir. We still have the Red option...”
“NO! What this Putin fellow says...He is right. The government has failed Russia. I have failed Russia. I cannot win.”
“We can simply use the Red option sir. The Mafia has been very proficient at rigging elections before.”
“Don’t you see? That is the very thinking that has destroyed Russia. Corruption and greed...”
He turned around, and faced the wall which bore a map of Russia.
“Leave me.”
“Sir...”
“LEAVE.”
They left the room, and the old regime went with them.
******************************************************************************

Election Day...
“Hello. This is Brit Hume reporting from Russia for the FOX News channel. Today is election day in Russia, and it is a battle between the old and the new. Vladimir Putin, the challenger who promises strict anti-corruption measures, is leading in most polls. However, the incumbent, President Andrei Juschenko, has support from very powerful players in Russia, from most politicians to the Red Mafia. This being Russia, everything is uncertain as of now.”
The television bleeped off in the dusty warehouse as Vladimir heard footsteps approaching. The door opened, and Ilona Srebrenitska appeared again, flanked by elite Red Mafia guards clad in black suits.
Vladimir’s face moved from a position of shock to one of delight.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ms. Srebrenitska. A pleasure to meet you again.”
He extended his hand out, but received no handshake in return.
“Trust me, it wasn’t out of choice. I am the highest ranking Red Mafia official in Moscow, and so if the Mafia receives information that someone of your stature wishes to contact us, it is my duty to perform the negotiations.”
“This really isn’t the right line of work for you, madame. You are not a murderer, and only they can last long in this businesses without losing their minds.”
“Is that why you brought me here? To talk about my lifestyle choice?”
“No, of course not. I need a deal. I want the Red Mafia to step aside, and not interfere in these elections.”
“Ha! Why should we do that? The current President offers us all we need. You, on the other hand, wish to destroy us.”
“I am willing to put aside my ambitions of destroying your vile organization if that is what is necessary to win. Some aid to the Russian people is better than none.”
“So? That still doesn’t give us an incentive. The President offers us the ability to do what we wish to already. Why take a risk?”
Putin’s face turned into a mask of rage.
“I expected better of you. Don’t you realize what will happen if refuse my offer? My followers are loyal and desperate. They shall fight, and plunge this nation into a bloody civil war. I doubt they will offer to you such pleasing conditions then. I wish to spare my country from this bloodshed, so I am willing to compromise. So...do we have a deal?”
Ilona threw her head back and laughed.
“Why should I? My men could kill you right now, and it would all be over. You know I expected better of you!”, she laughed, mocking his own words.
Putin simply smiled, and snapped his fingers. Twenty darkly clad men in black scarves and black star badges popped out of various spots in the room.
“So, what do you think of my offer now, Miss Srebrenitska? Hmmm?”
The sound of tired defeat emerged from her lips, and she signed the contract with Putin.
“Now, if you dare back off from the deal, my people will be more than happy to deliver your head on a silver platter to me...”
She glared, and walked out of the decrepit building.
******************************************************************************
“And so, ladies and gentleman, in Russia today, the system has done something it rarely does—it worked. To the amazement of the entire world, Vladimir Putin, the man in black who parachuted into Russia from a helicopter and began his political career by promising free vodka is now President of one of the world’s great superpowers. On behalf of the people of America, I would like to congratulate Mr. Putin on his success, and hope that he will guide Russia to become a friend of democracy and freedom, and a foe of dictatorship and evil. Thank you, and may God Bless America, and for tonight, Russia.”
-------Bill O’Reilly, Host of the O’Reilly Factor on FOX News
Putin stood in front of the Kremlin, addressing the peoples of Russia, and the world.
“People of Russia, today, we have risen. We have said no to the corruption of our government. Soon I shall detail all of my policies, but one thing I shall tell you now. Every government official shall be fired. That is right, I am putting every office for reelection. Also, I will cut taxes and regulations on the people, so that every man with vision shall be able to lead and create their own wealth. And finally, I shall eliminate corruption and government inefficiency by combining our military and police. They will be fair and kind towards normal people, but I have given them the ability to eliminate the scourge of government corruption and inefficiency—with any means necessary. After that, the final enemy, the Red Mafia shall be eradicated from the very face of the Earth. Do not see this election as a victory for me. No, this is a victory for RUSSIA!!!”
The crowd chanted the name of their country along with their new President.
“Now, let us pray for our country...”
******************************************************************************
Days Later...
Putin sat in a red couch, relaxing from the frustrations of the election by playing a round of Halo 2. He smiled as he launched a rocket into the face of a haughty French aristocrat.
“Who are you? You are incredible...” said the Frenchman.
“Putin. Vladimir Putin.”
“Heh? I got schooled by ze Prezidne of Russia?”
Putin turned off the X-Box when he heard an angry knock on the door. From outside he heard a familiar voice arguing with his guards.
“Look, punk. I could buy you ten times over, so don’t argue with me and let me in.”
“I can’t let you go in to see Mr. Putin without clearance.”
“I’ll have you killed!”
“I’ll die for Vladimir! He is Russia’s great hope, and my good friend!”
Putin smiled and yelled out.
“Let her in, Michael.”
“But...”
“It’s alright, Assad. But check her with an X-Ray first.”
“Ok, she’s clear.”
Ilona Srebrenitska thrust the door open, angrily striding in. She pointed at Putin furiously.
“You have some explaining to do, punk. You promised us that you would not touch the Mafia. But now, the blood of our men runs in the streets. Drug dealers, racketeers, all are being found dead. Tanks, armored vehicles, Humvees, jets, helicopters...This is war! You have declared war upon us! What about our deal?”
Putin sipped his drink, and looked up.
“I lied. I dislike lying, especially to essentially decent people like yourself, but it was necessary to avoid a civil war. Now I control the government, and you can do nothing to stop me. I have prevailed, Ilona. No, Russia has prevailed.
“No...”
“Look. I can offer you safe haven somewhere, to protect you from the wrath of the people. I’ll have mercy on you.”
Ilona’s body froze in shock. She crumpled to the ground, sobbing.
“Everything I’ve worked for...destroyed.”
“Take her away, and put her in the guest room for now. Do not worry, Ilona.”
He kneeled down, and pulled Ilona’s hand up.
“Do not shed tears. Life will be better for you now. Different, but better. Join your fellow countrymen in rebuilding this country, and you shall have a new chance for a better life. Do this, and God shall smile upon you again, as He will upon this beautiful land.”
Tears flowed from her eyes, but a weak smile emerged on her face. She left with guards, and Vladimir turned his sights towards the window.
This is now a new Russia. Nothing shall be the same...
OOC: His official policies will be posted soon. So, waddya think?

OOC: Oh, and could you make the Dauphin's justification public? I can hardly respond to a private telefone conversation.

(( OOC- Oh I dont ming being poked fun at as aristocratic fops...but at the same time recognize they see your government as a collection of desperate thugs. I was referring to the Tsar of Estenland, Wingert I. Sorry, the Dauphin, much less his father The Most Christian King, would never in their wildest dreams ever think of recognizing your government, much less giving responses to threats made against their august persons. He will wait for Wingert to respond, then most likely back him up, all the while ignoring the 'Russian Barbarians'. You may say, well, that goes for Estenlands five times over, but remeber they are family, the Bourbons and Tsars. I look forward to the continuation of this thread, please feel free to continue, I will respond, ever if it is not known publicly to the likes of your gov ;) Hey, a lightbulb clicked off ))

The Dauphin went before French State Television, in his full uniform as a Merechal of France. Custine had advised it, and the Dauphin could only hope his fathers economic aid to the Tsar and pledges of alliance would hold true.
He had every belief in this, as Louis XX his father and the Tsar had embraced the Holy Leauge absolutley.

"The Kingdom of France makes no apologies for its lawful excursion into the chaotic Lavragerian landscape. Furthermore, it demands an immediate apology from the 'Putin', for his gross and barbarous remarks forwarded to my august person, and through me the King my father. Russia has gone from the hands of law to the claws of evil, and France will not stand for it. If Russia so much as lifts a finger against any French interests, it will be considered a declaration of war, and shall be treated as such. VIVAT REX!"

With that he stepped down, and make calls to the Tsar and Louis XX, proud of his actions.

OOC: I wouldn't rely on the Tsar claiming Lavrageria for long. So, have you read the backstory post? I apologize for the length, but...well, if you're anything of a writer, I think you'll understand what happens when that lightbulb blinks above your head. And can you release an official justification so I can respond IC?

The Dauphin went before French State Television, in his full uniform as a Merechal of France. Custine had advised it, and the Dauphin could only hope his fathers economic aid to the Tsar and pledges of alliance would hold true.
He had every belief in this, as Louis XX his father and the Tsar had embraced the Holy Leauge absolutley.

"The Kingdom of France makes no apologies for its lawful excursion into the chaotic Lavragerian landscape. Furthermore, it demands an immediate apology from the 'Putin', for his gross and barbarous remarks forwarded to my august person, and through me the King my father. Russia has gone from the hands of law to the claws of evil, and France will not stand for it. If Russia so much as lifts a finger against any French interests, it will be considered a declaration of war, and shall be treated as such. VIVAT REX!"

With that he stepped down, and make calls to the Tsar and Louis XX, proud of his actions.

In what was his first press conference, Putin stood nervously while surrounded by hundreds of various members of the paparazzi. To the common people, it was easy to speak. But these flashy journalists and bureacrats, full of arrogance made him uneasy. Finally, their incessant questioning made him explode in a fountain of rage.
"SILENCE! I called this press conference, so I'll do the speaking. I am here today to respond to the arrogant fools who run the nation of Elkazor. They strut around in bright, flashy jumpsuits like ballerinas, while mocking our proud nation as "barbarous." They are fools who intrude upon Eastern Europe, attacking its people. My forces are at ready to destroy these buffoons, just as they destroyed the Red Mafia. If the Estenlands wishes to battle Lavrageria, then fine. That is their matter. But your interference is not welcomed by Russia, and if my negotiations come to fruition, not welcomed by the Estenlands either. Another violation of Lavragerian sovereignty, and we will get involved. And if you twits hold any hope of prevailing, I shall point you to the example of Napoleon. Do not repeat his mistakes."

And with that angry note, he left, his black scarf swirling in the wind.

(Hm, nice backstory... this Putin’s a bit of an action man, eh? :) )

Ulanger’s (the capital’s) response to the French incursion was largely a propaganda effort. Now more than ever it was clear that the Republic was the principle victim in all this as state TV aired pictures of the six wounded survivors of the air strike, and the bodies of the two soldiers who died in a field hospital. There was footage from the mass funeral for the twelve killed where they stood against the attacking aircraft, and of charred earth and Mirage wreckage inside Lavragerian territory. All twenty men of the 89th Platoon, 2nd Itageria Battalion were awarded merits, fourteen of them posthumously, for defending the freedom of the Lavragerian Republic and becoming the first Lavragerians to shoot down a hostile aircraft. It was lauded as evidence of how the little, poorly equipped defenders could fight against superior technology, although details released did not make clear that the tactics used by the French as allowed the machine-gunners to attack them may not be repeated in war.

President Aidarov did not order any kind of retaliatory strike, knowing that his tiny air force would stand little chance of escaping intact and that the only result would probably be invasion of his nation. He did however welcome the Russians, opening the little air bases at Ulanger (Mogilev/Mahilyow), Hia’Itakchi (Minsk), and Itageria (Gomel/Homyel’ ) to them if desired.

Ulanger also made clear its desire to purchase from Russian firms man-portable surface-to-air missiles, be they modern Igla or older Strela, and anti-tank guided weapons of just about any sort. As yet the defenders could bank on only machineguns and some flak cannons for air defence, and unguided RPGs, landmines, and light guns for anti-tank defence.

Some government officials saw conflict in bringing small Russian forces into Lavrageria, as the Republic did not intend to fight a conventional defence, and organised Russian units or aircraft may soon be left out in the cold if Republican army forces collapsed as was sadly expected. The Lavragerians expected to lose the set battles and to have their little airforce destroyed, possibly on the ground along side Russian aircraft, but there after to fight a widespread partisan resistance. Some thought that Moscow ought to be consulted and advised to deploy only token forces it was prepared to risk losing, and ideally to devote larger resources to backing the partisans.

While the threat of invasion loomed and Estenlanders flounced around with over-dressed Frenchmen, marrying off this and donating billions of dollars worth of that, Lavragerians laboured away on their defences.

More and more small communities, training camps, and workshops were secretly located in the depths of the thickest forests and the vast expanses of the Pripet and other marshes, their occupants comfortably living off the uncultivated land. If nothing else, a history of primitive existence, nomadic wandering, and difficult living had made the Lavragerians a hardy people and skilled survivalists. It hadn’t given them a mighty airforce or powerful battle tanks, but a large warrior class and a tough population with a deeply ingrained independent streak and strong cultural identity.

These far-flung workshops like better-furnished cousins in the cities turned out simple, reliable armaments ideal to the nation’s means. AK-47 assault rifles with which the old warrior class proved extremely skilled shooters, able to fire with some accuracy even at a sprint. The many hunters in Lavragerian society proved no less skilled with the weapons in semi-automatic configuration. These potential fighters could pick a camouflaged target from cover at hundreds of yards and take it in a single shot- many of them would otherwise have starved or frozen. Hunters and other such recruits, however skilled or determined, lacked military discipline and awareness of some modern tactics brought about by cutting-edge technologies. In the regular army of the Republic, these things were basically all that was addressed by the few weeks of training that most would receive, while the partisan forces dispersing into the woods and marshes gave little care to order or convention.

Few commanders in the Committee of People’s Ground Forces believed that the regular army would be able to defeat a determined assault from the south, but this seemed no reason to give-up the possibility in advance. If defeated, the underdog’s valiant effort would serve as a rallying call to the world while the partisans fought on.

While all bar the few little foot-bridges and submerged wooden causeways that cross Lavrageria’s rivers and swamps were either structurally compromised to collapse under heavy vehicles or mined for destruction at the first sign of invasion, other work shops stamped, pressed, and filed sub-machineguns, hand grenades, and light infantry mortars. Unguided rocket-propelled grenades, landmines, and machineguns were also within the Republic’s means to produce, but while Ulanger waited on Moscow’s technological assistance, even basic shoulder-launched surface to air missiles remained the few that Lavrageria could afford to import.

That wasn’t to imply that the economy was making no progress. Trade was moving to and fro from as far away as South East Asia and Sub Saharan Africa, and Aidarov was prepared to allow near monopoly of the Republic’s power concerns to be Moscow’s in a bid to get industry on its feet. It was just that there were limits to just how frantic the pace of defence imports could run.

Flying for months in elemental, Delfin, and MiG-23U training aircraft, the Committee of People’s Flying Forces had a budding crop of semi-qualified pilots who’d now begun to take-on light combat missions against unfriendly Glakatahn elements. Namely any reported to have been meeting on amicable or better terms with foreign agents. No doubt one or two chancers had given false testimony against their tribal enemies in order to see them assaulted by the fledgling airforce, only to sweep in and gain power for themselves, but this didn’t greatly trouble Ulanger. The government’s forces got invaluable experience from missions against Glakatahn hordes, they damaged at least some of the most hostile or unpredictable clans, limited the impact of Estenlands efforts to make individual clans stand against the Republic, and showed the world that the government was trying. Trying to subdue the threat that was Kiev’s best justification for military interdiction.

OOC: Does anyone know how to obtain information about Russia's military forces? Specifically, how many Mig-29M's they have. Thanks.
"Hyaaaa!"
A blade flashed in the morning sky. A black figure leaped to the side to avoid it, and then elbowed the man wielding it. The man clad in the black scarf whirled around, slicing his opponent in the chest. His foe crumpled to the floor like a rag doll, and spoke.
"Eh, boss. Take it easy. We're just practicing."
Putin, the man in black, helped up his fencing partner and best friend, Lt. Michael Assad.
"Oh yeah, and could you think about not usingreal swords?"
"Why? We have enough body armor to prevent any serious wounds."
"Yeah, but they still weigh enough that a good blow is...ow...very painful."
Putin slapped Assad on the back and laughed.
"Cheer up, friend. After all, this means you'll go to the infirmary where that nurse is..."
"Hmmm...ow....good point...Though I doubt it'll be easy seducing someone with...ow...a broken rib cage."
They both laughed as Assad hobbled off. A slight beep alerted Putin, and he glanced at his cell phone.
A new message...
"So it begins. This squabbling will only destroy the east. But with whom should Russia ally? The Lavragerians are the ones being invaded, but the Estenlands have been a strong ally for a very long time."
Vladimir stood in the white blanket of snow, his clothes almost covered in white by the time he made a decision.
"Alright, I'll send a message to the Lavragerians that they shall have full Russian support as long as Wingert relies on the French. We shall publicly remain neutral, but I will dispatch 30 MiG-29M's, ten for each of your air bases. They shall be piloted by Russians of Lavragerian descent, and the Black Star has been replaced by the symbol of your nation. Also, several unmarked trucks loaded with AK-47's and SA-18's will soon arrive in your country. OOC: For info on the SA-18s, check out this website. <http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/europe/08/13/sa18.factfile/>
These weapons are carried by private merchants, so some payment will be required, since I wish to strengthen private industry in my nation and wean it off of government support. Do not worry; they are extremely cheap. However, be warned of this: my support may not extend if the French leave this conflict."

(I won't add anything IC just now, because there's already a lot of text for people to get through, but as to the Russian military, I'm sure there are better links that can be sought out, and this one is probably quite obvious, but it has some basic information on all major branches of the Russian military, and some statistics for the 1990s at least. It's not as if you have to copy them exactly, anyway, it's your country, after all: http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/russia/ Back later.)

OOC:
a nice break down of aircraft numbers of the russian airfroce, saddly its more than a little out of date: http://www.aeronautics.ru/ruaf5.htm so as of 1998 they had 315 MiG-29s, how many of them are M models is unclear of coruse your newer more developed russia woudl be a in a slightly better state then even the drastically pruned back RL airforce.

Just one question to Elkazor and EstenLands: French/ukrainians using Abrams and Apatches? ignoring the whoel issue of even quintonian america selling you them the issue would be about how your soldiers would feel using them when you have your own perfectly good LeClercs and Tigers (although eurocopter is another one of those european joint ventures that i think is best side stepped).


Now after putting my camo patterned propeller cap away would the Lavragerians be looking for mercenries? this sort of potentially dirty war tends to be rahter attractive to the dogs of war.

OOC: This whole thing hinges on Estenlands now, so I'll urge everyone to wait until he/she gets here.

Ulanger has made inquiries into mercenary possibilities, being interested in them for many reasons. Firstly, the Lavragerians are familiar with the concept, their Glakatahn ancestors and countrymen having been frequently employed in such roles themselves. Then there is the obvious numeric disadvantage faced by ten million Lavragerians faced by forty-eight million Estenlanders and perhaps by sixty million Frenchmen, and though mercenary recruitment will never even the scales in this respect, every little may help. Further, with the propaganda element of the conflict already important and far from over, and thus far about all that Lavrageria appears to be winning, the image of clearly foreign fighters risking life and limb to defend the little Republic may be given a positive spin in other nations. The Lavragerians are especially interested in getting hold of fighters who may bring their own modern systems, which may give the defence access to the effective high-tech weapons it lacks, and has some possibility of being later examined by native engineers. And finally, the rapidly expanding defence forces are fast running out of natural warriors and is even more desperately short of experienced battlefield leadership. Being far from a conventional, regimented force, the Lavragerian army probably wouldn't mind commissioning mercenaries into various field command roles.
With currency being rapidly diverted to arms imports and other defence readiness, the government is considering the possibility of offering land in payment for services, whereupon mercenaries may perhaps retire. It is said by Aidarov that the men will, as a bonus, fight that much harder for land that is theirs, which is a debatable assumption, but there none the less.

The government is meanwhile quick to offer as much payment as can be mustered for the cheaper of available Russian arms, hoping to secure whatever it can before either invasion comes or Russian support is withdrawn.

Certain shadier organs of the Hindustani government, those not exactly sanctioned by the Popular Congress or the appointed ministries, and falling under the general umbrella of 'Foreign Services,' would probably willingly dispatch some military advisers to Lavrageria, being a little bit more zealous in their revolutionary ideals than the rest of the country.

Needless to say, what few diplomats and other agents Lavrageria Retpvblika has deployed over seas are keen to seek out any such individuals or groups as those in Hindustan who may be willing to lend any assistance to the defence of the nation. The government was also keen to get a few of its brighter minds out of the country and crammed full of modern technical information.

At Ulanger (Mogilev/Mahilyow), the Russian MiGs soon found themselves in significant company as The Committee of People’s Ground Forces and The Committee of People’s Air Defence Forces deployed troops to protect the airfield. 14.5mm machineguns, dual-mounted 23mm cannons, a handful of 100mm guns, and now SA-18 surface to air missiles protected the facility, at least against low-level strikes, and mines, foxholes, trenches, and machinegun nests were being thrown out against ground attack.

The tarmac though had been strewn with but a few Delphin jet trainer and light ground attack aircraft, piston-engine elemental flight trainers with no armament, and a very few MiG-23U training and ground-attack aircraft. The ten MiG-29 jets looked out of time next to their Lavragerian counterparts, and Russian personnel would be hounded by the Republic’s handful of pilots and other enthusiasts keen to meet proper fighter pilots or skilled support crew and to hear about a real air force and its assets.

“One day you’ll be flying her on the border, and you’ll see me up there in one just like her!” Said one beaming Delfin pilot to a Russian stood near his MiG.

With just days to go before the enemy’s arbitrary deadline, the airbase’s aircraft family began to change, however. Observers would have noted new airframes, their paintwork scratched deliberately. Here and there, Lavragerians of the Committee of People’s Flying Forces could be seen scraping away at half red, half blue circles daubed on the wings and fuselages of Flagon and Fishbed type fighters and piston-engine transports resembling ancient DC3s. The Lavragerian air force had a paint-scratching department.

Paint itself however was in short supply and nobody had actually got around to deciding the insignia that should be worn by Lavragerian aircraft. They would initially have to fly without markings.

“We should at least get to fly them.” Grumbled one pilot from his perch on the wing of his training aircraft as he looked upon the Mach 2 class interceptors and their tiny pilots.
“That’s part of the deal.” Replied a member of his meagre ground crew. “They want the combat practice or they’re going home, and you’ll have to fly that without any fighter cover.” He said, slapping the side of the attack-configured Delfin.


(OOC: This is not half bad, hey? Weeks of brinkmanship and the possibility of a blitzkrieg... a partisan war... a clash of major powers’ ideas by proxy through foreign fighters. It could be Germany rolling over Poland, America getting bogged down in Vietnam or Iraq, or the UN and Red bloc spitting at each other in Korea. Or it might just fizzle out and leave Lavrageria wondering why the heck they wasted their efforts on militarisation when they should have been planting crops...
Sorry for not asking first, but if Russia objects to having military aircraft transported through its territory, they can shut the trade down at any time, I suppose.
I’m sorry to have posted IC a few times before the Estenlands has had time to reply, I just keep having ideas or realising that I should be getting in as much information as possible before it is too late. I don’t want to start saying later, “oh, by the way, we’ve got this this and this” and not be able to point to it in past text, or it’d look like I was just pulling stuff out of my... hat.)

IC:
Some dirt airstrip somewhere inside Lavrageria

David Morgan shivered as the crew cheif racked open the door of the spartan transport and the cold air rushed in.

"Well lads we certainly aren't in africa anymore!" He bellowed as he unstrapped and stood up from his seat. Turing around he cast his gaze over his crew of "professionals", the world's worst bunch of pyschos, wannabes and burnt out combat addicts was more of a fitting description but such was the way of the business.

With a mix of grumbles and high spirits the groop of 20 mercenaries filed off the aircraft and into the pale sunshine.

Leaving the men to unpack what gear and supplies he ahd been able to "aquire" David hurried over the waiting local officials.

"Good morning gentlemen," he greated the officials.

"And to you Mr Morgan, but it seems you have failed to hold up your end of the bargin, you promised 30 men at least" replied the most senior officer.

"I said i hoped for 30 or more but so far your situation isn't terribly appealing to the Fraternity so far there has been no real action where as there are a number of situations in Africa that are kicking off majorly."

"Are our offers not good enough?"

"Oh they are actually very good but unfortuantly most of the people in the business aren't exacty the kind to settle down so the land grants haven't been a huge success. On a brighter note i was able to increase the number of ATGMs i could find, i managed to get about 20 AT3 psots this time and about 40 missiles, inaddition to a nice cache of surplus milans. On the SAM front thigns didn't go so well only 5 blow pipe launchers with 3 missiles each, not quite the same as the sterlas and inglas you are used to and theya re not fire and forget but in trained hands they are very useful and just about immune to counter measures."

"And the rest?"

"Well the just the usual selection of MGs, mortars etc, i have a full inventory here."

"I suppose your work is satisfactory you may aswell get your men settled in, good day."

((Hello all. Could we please have no more IC posting on this thread until Estenlands responds? Already, he has a ton of reading to catch up on and react to. I think it is just not fair to continue on without such reaction from Estenlands, as we would basically be usurping his IC role. He has been gone a few days, I know, Im just asking for fairness sake. Thanks all, Ciao))

OOC:
of course.
I do appologiuse about addign my little bit but it was bouncing about my head and had to get out, not that it really developes thigns much, any merc action woudl really just be a side story on a very small (platoon) scale.

“We should at least get to fly them.” Grumbled one pilot from his perch on the wing of his training aircraft as he looked upon the Mach 2 class interceptors and their tiny pilots.
“That’s part of the deal.” Replied a member of his meagre ground crew. “They want the combat practice or they’re going home, and you’ll have to fly that without any fighter cover.” He said, slapping the side of the attack-configured Delfin.


(OOC: This is not half bad, hey? Weeks of brinkmanship and the possibility of a blitzkrieg... a partisan war... a clash of major powers’ ideas by proxy through foreign fighters. It could be Germany rolling over Poland, America getting bogged down in Vietnam or Iraq, or the UN and Red bloc spitting at each other in Korea. Or it might just fizzle out and leave Lavrageria wondering why the heck they wasted their efforts on militarisation when they should have been planting crops...
Sorry for not asking first, but if Russia objects to having military aircraft transported through its territory, they can shut the trade down at any time, I suppose.
I’m sorry to have posted IC a few times before the Estenlands has had time to reply, I just keep having ideas or realising that I should be getting in as much information as possible before it is too late. I don’t want to start saying later, “oh, by the way, we’ve got this this and this” and not be able to point to it in past text, or it’d look like I was just pulling stuff out of my... hat.)
OOC: What do you mean, tiny pilots?
Oh, and I don't mind you transporting military aircraft, in my territory, since I'm unofficially supporting you. Just try not to get near any towns, or you might alert the populace. Also, I wouldn't compare Vietnam to Iraq. The US's objectives, and the situation were far different there.

OOC-Sorry, I've been out of town. Just FYI Strath, this is a closed RP for members of the MODERN WORLD RPing clique.

Can I just assume that there will be no negotiators coming from the north then?



IC- Jillesepone is furious with her husband for ordering the attack, though publically no apology is offered nor condemnation acknowledged.

President Putin is reminded that the French Division totals less than 12,000 of the nearly 3/4 of a million man invasion force that is arrayed against Lavrageria. He is also pionted to the LRR involvement in Lavregeria, are Indians as unwelcome as wetern Europeans?
Also, a seperation of the Wingerts and the Bourbons is impossible at this point, as our families are one. Tsar Wingerts impetious son-in-law will be......dealt with when the Tsar returns.
Further French direct troop involvement is niether wanted by the Estenlands nor present. Further, the Dauphin Division, manned by French troops and commanded by the eldest son of Louis XX, is under Estenlandian command, and can be considered mercenaries, if you refuse to accept them as part of the Estenlandian Armed Forces.


The Tsar is being called home, and a delegation from Russia is asked to come to Kiev and enter into talks as to our repective spheres of influence.

OOC-I will post more soon, please try not to post so much without any responses.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC- Good ta have ya back. FYI, the Dauphin did not order an attack. Officially, it was simply a patrol...for the record, the patrol was the entity that got attacked, and simply responded in kind. Although, admittedly so, it was a provocative action; I dont think it can officially be called an attack, per se. Im just going to keep the thread bumped, mildly so.

IC-

The Dauphin knew, again, the rage of his wife. He dreaded the thought of the Tsar coming back, who knew what he would do.

Charles only consolation lay in the fact that, well, he was Dauphin de France. He had been talking alot with The Most Christian King, his father, via satellite links, and found great consolation in his fathers assurances. After all, they were all family now---not to mention that the Bourbons were now basically bankrolling the Tsar, in massive quantities.

He would remain publicly strong and dashing, but in private he turned to hours of laborious prayer and penance, followed by equal periods of drink.
Nevertheless, he remained the vocal representitive of Frances cause. In several interviews (conducted by independant newsman, not French State Media) when heckled when he was going to leave Estenlands, he told the reporters to 'get stuffed.'

He would remain constant in his stance that Lavrageria must be brought to heel, at once, or both absolute monarchies would loose face in world opinion. After all, he knew only too well France must remain proud---as a Bourbon, 1789 was burned into his memory. Gloire, gloire, gloire: this was the key to absolutism and the destiny of the Bourbons.

When his wife would berate him, on occasions (though, truly, they were in love, two of a kind they were) screaming. He remain unperturbed, often saying: "If not for Papa Roi (his pet name for his father), where would your economy be? Do you think those bastard Russians could lift your economy out of the shambles? Oh no, mon cher, we are tied together. It only remains to be seen if the blood of your father determines him to act, whereupon our houses shall move together in perfect concord."

(OOC: Est. Strath. is part of AMW via SSA, he represents Malawi with a Scottish colonial bent (I think that's the very broad gist (jist?) of it, anyway!). And regarding the tiny pilots, I suppose you're pretty new to the whole AMW community, but I'm sure that the Estenlands could give an annoyed cue as to the possible origin of tiny pilots in unmarked Su-15s and MiG-21 variants as need to be shipped across Russia from east to west. [whistles innocently from North Korea] What? ;) )

OOC-I will post more soon, please try not to post so much without any responses.

OOC: Sorry, I just got bored, and I finally had free time due to it being break. And referring to those "tiny pilots"...is Dra-Pol referring to North Koreans? Is that some sort of inside joke at AMW?
IC: Dear Prime Minister Aidarov, King Wingert, Dauphin of Elkazor (Your name escapes me at the moment),
Seeing as how diplomacy has almost failed utterly in this conflict, I ask you to come to my fortress of Mocny Mroz. We need to make some final agreement over this conflicting matter. If you decide to come, land your plane in Moscow, and my pilots will replace yours, and will fly the plane to my fotress. I'm not suspecting any of you as of yet, but security measures must be taken. I hope to see you there.
Sincerely,
Vladimir Putin
President Of Russia

King Wingert I , Tsar of Ukraine and Estenlands arrives back in Kiev. He is met by an extremely penitent Jillesepone as she explains the actions of her husband.

"War will be at a time of my own choosing! If that damned commoner Putin," he spits out that name, "wants a meeting he will come and prostrate himself before me in the throne room like any other ego-driven peasant."

He immediately is whisked into his war room where the strategy is laid out.
Sir Reginald steps forward and begins to give the sit-rep. "We have called up the first tier of reserves and they are holding the strategic areas of defense to the south and interior of the nation, their numbers are about 400,000 in total, breaking into 20 Divisions of Light Infantry. We have also moved a major portion of our attack helicopter force into the Southern mountain ranges in case of counter-attack, we will be able to use these forces to form counter-attacks throughout the nation, much like during the revolution."

He pauses for a second and then continues, "We have dep

"We have dep."
"What happen?"
"Someone set up us the bomb."
"We get signal."
"What?"
"Main screen turn on."

OOC: Dep? You probably had some glitch over there, so I'll wait for you to finish before I respond. "Ego driven peasant? Bah! Aristocratic fool!"

OOC: And if it's coming to war, we should probably start a new thread.

OOC- yah a glitch, we wait. Those craft LLRer's huh. Goodie goodie mostly, but are they tapping anything, why no! That would be a civil rights violation, eh? I agree, when all the war prep is done, a new post can be made, yet I forsee quite a few more posts on this thread yet. Finally! A chance for the Bourbons to flex their muscle, weve waited 300 years LOL!

OOC-Sorry, glitch!!

IC-
King Wingert I, Tsar of Ukraine and Estenlands arrive back in Kiev. He is met by an extremely penitent Jillesepone as she explains the actions of her husband.

"War will be at a time of my own choosing! If that damned commoner Putin," he spits out that name, "wants a meeting he will come and prostrate himself before me in the throne room like any other ego-driven peasant."

He immediately is whisked into his war room where the strategy is laid out.
Sir Reginald steps forward and begins to give the sit-rep. "We have called up the first tier of reserves and they are holding the strategic areas of defence to the south and interior of the nation, their numbers are about 400,000 in total, breaking into 20 Divisions of Light Infantry. We have also moved a major portion of our attack helicopter force into the Southern mountain ranges in case of counter-attack, we will be able to use these forces to form counter-attacks throughout the nation, much like during the revolution."

He pauses for a second and then continues, "We have deployed Most of our armour along the northern frontier, with 20 Heavy Armoured Divisions, each with 600-800 pieces of armour and containing 400,000 troops; 8 Fully Mechanised Divisions, with 200-400 pieces of armour per and containing 160,000 troops; 8 Light Infantry Divisions, containing 0-200 pieces of armour and with 160,000 men; 4 Engineering Divisions with 100-300 pieces of armour and containing 80,000 troops; finally with 2 Elite Airborne Divisions, with 600-800 attack helicopters attached per and the ability to airdrop up to 1500 troops each every 12 hours. This brings our northern forces to a total of 840,000 troops, with the exception of the Airborne, who are still deployed in the Crimea, with the understanding that they can be moved into position in under six hours if the order is so given. This also means that our minimum amount of armour (tanks) that are deployed is brought to 14,000. This number can be brought up to our maximum in a war-time economy that would be 22,000. With French support we can bring up to that number in two to six months, depending on the foreign market, but with 20 billion in French support, it shouldn't be a problem. Also, I know that Your Majesty is concerned with keeping that amount of Reserves in the field, but the support thing holds true here as well."

“This means the remainder of our professional army, 5 Heavy Armoured Divisions, with 600-800 armoured pieces and containing 100,000 troops; 2 Fully Mechanised Divisions with 200-400 armoured pieces and containing 40,000 troops; 2 Light Infantry Divisions containing 40,000 troops, 1 Engineering Division with 100-3000 pieces of armour containing 20,000 troops. That puts 200,000 troops and a mimimum of 3500 pieces of armour along our Eastern frontier.” Sir Reginald steps back.

The little gaunt man that heads the secret police, The Kargat, then steps in, “It looks as though the defence of Lavrageria will be undertaken by a tossed-together army of about 250,000, with support from various cannabalistic tribes. The tribes will be the hardest to pacify and control in an occupied nation, but will offer no real resistance in the initial invasion. Though, we could face up to 100,000 scattered raiders throughout the conflict in the form of these tribesman.

As for the Russians, I still don’t think that they will intervene militarily, between France and us, we represent a higher percentage of trade than any nation besides Germany. They are verging on civil war, with the mafia offering a major problem at home, the military has been so drastically under-funded and cut back for so long that though they would offer major resistance, they are in no condition to attack us, and Putin is still too new in government to guarantee their support, he may try and get involved, but at best he could only offer a support role to the Lavragerian defenders as a supplier of aid and weapons. They are a bear without teeth, but with Putin in control, that will not last long, in two years time, they may very well hold the balance of power in the region. Though, it is fairly early to tell as they have major enemies in the form of N. Korea (Dra-pol) and China in their east.”

King Wingert looked out at his military council and sighed heavily. “It has come too far, we now are too involved and have made too many public pronouncements to back down without losing face. WE must be seen as winning at this point, no matter what the cost. I noticed you did not mention the Dauphin Division, that I have spent so much money equipping with the latest in Quinntonian armaments, they are politically sensitive, we are not going to include them in our initial projections, however, they will be made ready to take the keystone position on the Eastern, not Western frontier. They are going to be placed there in a defensive position, so the only way that they will see major combat at the beginning of the war, is if Russia invades Ukraine, which, considering the fact that we have only won our revolution against our colonial oppressors twenty years ago, and the people would raise up against the invaders. I know my daughter is eager to see her husband in combat, and if the Russians get involved anyway, then he will be sent into the worst of it, but if by keeping him out we can keep the Russians uninvolved, I will do so. We have 20 days left before the end of the deadline, all is in readiness, the Lavragerians seem bent on war, let’s be ready.”

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

The Dauphin, upon hearing the news of his deployment whenthe war comes, was ecstatic. His father in law was a good man after all. This would let the Dauphin share in all the glory (and through him France) without having to go gung ho into it. True, he would be posted in the East, where if the Russians tried to intervene he would meet them on the field of war. He pitied the Russians then, with the Division he had. Napoleon may have lost, but he was a Republican! Let none ever provoke the wrath of a Bourbon...the very blood of the Sun King flowed in his veins.

He called his father, who was most happy to hear the news, and just about to go hunting in Quebec.

"My son" said Louis XX "This is perfect, indeed, beyond perfect. Go at once to the Tsar, and pledge again your support for him. Remind him that, should he require it, his dutiful Royal Brother stands ready to lend more money, nay, give it as a present. Tell him we prop up OUR family, no matter the cost. Blood is thicker than gold. On that note, is Jillesopone pregent yet?"

"I dont know, Papa Roi, we have been trying....but with all this stress...." Charles let it taper off.

"Damn the stress you insolent brat. The gods of war are flying thick, you are about to be called to glory, and yet you have no grandson to give me! Be quick about it, use whatever 'medicines' you need to have the deed done by her next cycle." Paper scribbling was heard. "They will sing a Mass tommorrow at Notre Dame for your fertility. Now, be about it, and quickly. Show your devoted wife you love her, before you show your mighty father in law your capacities as a warrior of the house of Bourbon! And dare never to neglect you prayers, humble yourself before God, ere you act in anything! Valete, filii mei." The phone went click.

The Dauphin hung up his phone. His father spoke to him in his most loving language, Latin, the only other time he had spoken it to him was at his confirmation, all those years ago. Tears welled in his eyes. On the Dauphins shoulders now rested much, and he now carried a chare in the dignity of his family. What had happened in the Restoration continued onto him, God was moving his hand in these events, there was no denial of that. He fell on his knees, throwing off his wig and raising his hands high. "TE DEUM, LAUDAMUS!" He chanted over and over again, tears falling freely. After a while, he gathered himself up. With new found strength, the kind only destiny invigorates, he went to his wife.

Without say a word, they embraced, she was a brilliant woman after all. They would spend the whole night together, and well into the morning, and not playing piquet.

(The, er, Drapoel are North Korea, in the Modern World, and they are very small, presumably due to generations of malnutrition. This is OOC, of course, but the Su-15s and MiG-21 variants having their half red, half blue circles scratched off by the Lavragerian government's paint-scratching department are, of course, from Dra-pol (North Korea), shipped through Russia, which is why Russia can cut them off at any time of its choosing. Lavrageria was going to buy Beth Gellert/Dra-pol "MiGgen" fighters (I can't remember the proper designation), but the pace of potential war and the limited time we've had to get the economy going has prevented that, so we've instead accepted the jets that MiGgen will be replacing in Dra-pol (Su-15 Flagon, MiG-21 Fishbed), and agreed to let Dra-pol's pilots fly them in order to gain experience, since they can't afford much training time. We'll be looking to Russia to sell us most of the required fuel. So those tiny pilots are malnourished Koreans, meaning that we now have Lavragerians, Koreans, Russians, and Strathdonians (from Scotland via Malawi, sort of?) preparing to face the Ukrainian/French invaders. It's like a world war played out in Belarus! I've tired myself out with OOC.)

OOC-Outstanding! You are employing Koreans on Dra-pol's orders against my nation!!! Thank you, Thank you,Thank you,Thank you,Thank you,Thank you!

So, now that we have the ultimate worst enemy of the fanatical Christians playing the USA, The Quinntonians on board, how long do you think that it will take for them to get involved?

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC:

in terms of strathdonians you would be lucky if there were maybe 100 expat mercs in country, most of the mercs involved will likely be european (basing my bits on stories about mercs in balkans). Strathdonia does have a bit of a merc business as we got left with a lot of disaalced fighters and bandits after the troubles of our formation but msot of them are employed in various african areas

OCC: I think I might be rushing it a little here, but...

IC:

Out of an elderly Li-2 transport plane, or what is really a Dakota but has been modified to look like the Lizunov copy, still bearing flakes of Soviet Airforce markings, a group of about 25 men, all relatively average-looking eastern europeans and mongols, step onto the frozen ground outside the main Lavragerian airbase.

The Li-2 might be described as slightly odd by a really sharp observer, equipped with chaff and flare dispensers, and what looks like launching rails for AT-2 anti-tank missiles and air-to-ground rockets. The engines might also arouse suspicion as well, being the four-bladed radials found on the C-119. Of course, even then it would be difficult to determine that they came from the HAF's C-119 fleet, retired some decades previously but with bits and pieces still lying around here and there. If someone were to look around inside the aircraft, and find its serial number, they might be able to match it up with a list of old Indian airforce C-47s. But the pilot and crew is counting on nobody giving the aircraft that detalied of an examination. After all, it blends in pretty handily with all the other decrepit transports kept alive by the Lavragerians.

The mission that the team from the Foreign ministry is on is not exactly government-sanctioned. The popular congress, as well as all but the Foreign minister, are very much opposed to these 'mercenary activities,' as it is below their high moral standards to engage in proxy wars. But the Foregin ministry took all the troops it could sneak past the government, amounting to 25, which might constitute a large tour group as far as the government knew, and smuggled them to lavrageria, along with the old C-47, kept in flying condition for one reason or another.

The leader of the group, a man of Mongol ancestry, carries a certain commanding air about him, perhaps reinforced by his pair of binoculars and charts bag. With an AKSU sub-machine gun slung over his shoulder (as opposed to the Sterling SMG carried by vehicle crews of the Hindustani army, an organization, along with the rest of the military, that refuses to fight proxy wars), he starts walking towards a concentration of troops.

Behind him, the other members of the group help the C-47 crew unload a UAZ jeep, behind which is a ZPU-23-2 AAA gun. The other members of the group are equipped mainly with Ak-74 assault rifles, but RPG-7s, PK machine guns, and AT-4 anti-tank missiles are also carried.

OOC-This might very well turn the tide of the conflict, now up to a whopping 125 troops!!! LOL!
Anyway, Merry Christmas!
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

(( Well, Merry Christmas all, Im heading out fo town for a while, but will be back in several days. If possible, please wait till New Years to start the war, it could be your resolution! Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year! ))

OOC: Merry Christmas. Elkazor, I'll just post some war prep.

On a lighter note, "Casey Jones," by the Grateful Dead, a song which I happen to be listening to with a brand new sound system. A live rendition too, part of "Hard to Handle," a concert in '73 I think.

Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey jones is ready, watch your speed.
Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

This old engine makes it on time,
Leaves central station ’bout a quarter to nine,
Hits river junction at seventeen to,
At a quarter to ten you know it’s travlin’ again.

Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey jones is ready, watch your speed.
Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

Trouble ahead, lady in red,
Take my advice you’d be better off dead.
Switchman’s sleeping, train hundred and two is
On the wrong track and headed for you.

Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey jones is ready, watch your speed.
Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

Trouble with you is the trouble with me,
Got two good eyes but you still don’t see.
Come round the bend, you know it’s the end,
The fireman screams and the engine just gleams...


Oh, such a good song. You know, Cherry Garcia icecream is named after the Grateful Dead's lead guitarist, Jerry Garcia.

OOC: Hmmm...Once the war starts, maybe we could include links to songs. I'm thinking that we could include them to set the "mood" for each post.

bump

The Quinntonian government implores the governments of Russia, France, Lavraeria and The Estenlands to come to a table for peace talks, our government is willing to host such a conference.
WWJD
Amen.

The government of Hindustan would very much like to see a fast, peaceful resolution to this impending conflict in Eastern Europe. (OCC: Remember- the government doesn't actually know about the group sent to Lavrageria).

Such a conflict can only lead to the loss of civillian life, and all parties are encouraged to seek a solution very quickly. As a precaution, arrangements are sought to base Hindustani fast reaction medical teams in bordering Poland and Lithuania.

The government of Hindustan would very much like to see a fast, peaceful resolution to this impending conflict in Eastern Europe. (OCC: Remember- the government doesn't actually know about the group sent to Lavrageria).

Such a conflict can only lead to the loss of civillian life, and all parties are encouraged to seek a solution very quickly. As a precaution, arrangements are sought to base Hindustani fast reaction medical teams in bordering Poland and Lithuania.


OOC-I think we should keep NPC nations out of this conflict as much as possible, because if you claim that these nations support your intrusion into this conflict, than Estenlands could just as easily say that they don't, and are lending him troops in supoort, it is just a slippery slope that nobody wants to get into. If you do want to put humanitarian aid workers there, you should talk to Russia or something.
WWJD
Amen.

(Well, this is LRR. I get the impression that LRR medical assets will respond to aid Lavragerian victims of bombing raids and armoured charges on one hand, but will also respond to Estenlands victims of mines, ambushes, and snipers no less keenly. I could be wrong.)

I realise that they might help both sides, but LRR has stated loudly and boldly its opposition to Estenlands in this arena, which Quinntonia agrees with on many levels, and no matter how ell-intetioned their presense here is, they would be considered an enemy.
Trust me, whenever I post that Quinntonia is giving humanitarian aid anywhere, I automatically get called an imperialist and get blamed for every terrorist act against the very people I put in the area to help.
All I am sayiong is that if we start to assume that every nation in this area is automatically on baord with the drug addled uber liberals from LRR, how can we justify refusing to acknowledge Estenland when he claims that Germany has reunited with Austria under a new Kaiser and is sending his 5,000,000 man army into the area to help?
I just realise that even if people do support Lavrageria, they may want to stay out of waht seems to be a Western European pissing match, and now with Russia involved, that would make many ex-Soviet Bloc nations more nervous than anything.
And the easiest way to keep from this devolving into an ongoing arguement as to what each hypothetical NPC nation may or may not do, or what action they might take, it is just easiest to assume that they are completely nuetral.
This may include some military build-up on their borders, in case the war spills over, but no direct involvement. It's just too messy.

WWJD
Amen.

OOC-Estenlands would be exerting any influence and intimidation it had to make sure that the sorrounding nations stayed out of it, or supported me. And, though a concerted effort might mean I cannot pacify Lavrageria, there is no way that all these western powers are going to stay around and commit the resources that it would take to even give Estenlands a run for its money in the prospect of regime change.

IC- The invasion force is continueing to prepare, with spy-planes and our two spy sattelites keeping the nation Lavregeria under close scrutiny. Though the nomadic warriors that chose to support us are in short supply, those that did, are now being supplied with new weapons, kevlar vests, mortars, LAWs, even the occassional Stinger Launcher. They are also being given gifts of some jeeps used for smuggling these items across the very well-gaurded border, and cold-hard cash (Quinntonian currency=USA Dollars).

I am going to estimate that I have 10,000 Galahktakan? warriors to command, I think that it was stated that there was like 200,000 total, so, I will just claim a small portion based on posts made by Lavregeria that most of them were not interested, but a very small amount were.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

((Well, there's not much that the Estenlands can do directly to intimidate the Baltic states, is there? The Estenlanders aren't going to pile through Poland without getting all kinds of bloodied, and if facing pressure or intimidation from Kiev, those small nations would be happy to have a neutral foreign presence insuring that any conquest would stop with Lavrageria, or better yet that the conquest wouldn't be complete anyway. I mean, if you're able to say that background nations will bow to Estenlandic pressure and not even allow humanitarian aid into Lavrageria, you're already using them. And with Lavrageria landlocked, you're only one step away from saying that they can't conduct international trade except through your nation or Russia. I think there's a difference between an access point for unbias international humanitarian aid -which we would have via the sea if Lavrageria were almost anywhere but Belarus- and a politics-ignoring claim to have Poland opening its doors to an army aligned against the Estenlands.

Anyway, as for the Glakatahn, remember that they're still my characters, even if some of them back your nation. The main chap likely to support any invasion (Kiba Morgan) was actually my first character. For the record, there's an uncertain few hundred thousand Glakatahn in all, but this is their whole population, and only part of it is of the warrior class... most are livestock herders, women and children, slaves, and so on, though some of them will be allowed/forced to take up arms in certain situations. Right, I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I haven't forgotten about this, and will be back with IC posts, soon.))

I realise that they might help both sides, but LRR has stated loudly and boldly its opposition to Estenlands in this arena, which Quinntonia agrees with on many levels, and no matter how ell-intetioned their presense here is, they would be considered an enemy.
Trust me, whenever I post that Quinntonia is giving humanitarian aid anywhere, I automatically get called an imperialist and get blamed for every terrorist act against the very people I put in the area to help.
All I am sayiong is that if we start to assume that every nation in this area is automatically on baord with the drug addled uber liberals from LRR, how can we justify refusing to acknowledge Estenland when he claims that Germany has reunited with Austria under a new Kaiser and is sending his 5,000,000 man army into the area to help?
I just realise that even if people do support Lavrageria, they may want to stay out of waht seems to be a Western European pissing match, and now with Russia involved, that would make many ex-Soviet Bloc nations more nervous than anything.
And the easiest way to keep from this devolving into an ongoing arguement as to what each hypothetical NPC nation may or may not do, or what action they might take, it is just easiest to assume that they are completely nuetral.
This may include some military build-up on their borders, in case the war spills over, but no direct involvement. It's just too messy.

WWJD
Amen.

OCC: I have really been slipping lately.

Eh, forget it. I don't know what I'm doing no more. I thought that the Eastern European nations were operated by someone. Yeah, I know how Hindustan doesn't really like the Estenlands government, but my nation tends to operate on a rather strict code of conduct when it comes to international affairs.

For example, Hindustan tries to never take advantage of anywhere. Also, especially when in battle, Hindustani forces generally do not want to do what they are called upon to do, and are trained to refuse to attack civilians or areas with many non-combat people. Also, the Hindustani medical corps, a very large portion of the army, is obliged to care for any wounded on the battlefield, regardless of who they are.

So therefore, if I were allowed to dispatch Hindustani medical teams into and near Lavrageria, they would certainly take care of anyone who needed it, weather they are Estenlandian generals or Lavragerian goat herders.

And one point about Hindustan and drugs:

While they are legal, it certainly doesn't mean everybody uses drugs. For example, in most western countries alchohol is legal, but does that mean a large percentage of the population is drunk?

Oh, I realise tha, but every second post that you make seems to mention the national leadership in various stages of inebriation, and didn't you just make a state gift to Marimaria of several crates of opium? I think it is like the people of Amsterdam, they actually have a smaller percentage of their people than the USA who have evern tried marijuana, btu the popular image is of one large dope-den.
And my largely concervative nation would be filled with people that are living in constant fear that LRR epople are going to smuggle large amounts of drugs into their nieghbourhood and corrupt their children.
It's kind of like, if you were working at the border, who would be the one most distrusted, Tommy Chong, or Jerry Falwell. It's a matter of perception. Though FYI Falwell is an asshole.
WWJD
Amen.

OOC- OK, I am going to operate under the stats for military that have already been posted here for Lavrageria, but I am lacking some numbers and even intent from Russia. So, I am going to operate under the assumption that Putin is trying to put the Russain military back together, but it is presently the same numbers as Russia in RL. That would be about 42 Divisions, almsot all desperately under strength and poorly equipped, with morale at an all-time low. Each Division has about 10,000 people at full-strength, and if you really wanted, I could maybe believ that Putin has put maybe half back to full strength.
At the fall of the Soviet Union, Russia had the largest tank force in the world, at about 26,000 tanks. However, the last numbers I have seen puts their force at a still impressive 8,000. The air force has been stripped back to a token venture, with only 280 fighter planes and their strategic long-range bombing force a pitiful 60.
I don't jhave any numbers for what is left of the Russian Navy, but given the wholesale destruction of everything else in the militray, with a complete lack of funding, I am assuming that it is pretty poor shape as well. I do know that there are constant stories of lots of ships that the government can't afford to float, especially subs that are sitting in dry-dock by the hundreds, now in such disrepair that they may never be able to be seaworthy again.
Unless I get some pretty good reasons to believe otherwise, I am going to assume that these are fairly representative of Russian numbers. Though with an effective leader like Putin now incharge, I think that the military will keep getting better and better, and in a few years who knows what it could be like in quality, and I'm sure that the air force and navy will be in great form, and though this still probably represents the highest amount of land forces you are going to be able to keep without seriously curtailing your economy, though quality can keep going up and up.

This being said, I still don't beleive that Russia and Estenlands will come to conflict, and I have no wish at all to have that happen.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC: Hmm...I'll get back tomorrow, since I've been out of town (Reno! Skiing in a friggin' blizzard!) for a while, and it's pretty late (Happy New Years!), so I'll get back to you soon. To give you an idea of what I plan to do, I'll tell you that since I don't want to interrupt Estenlands-Russia relations, but on the other hand, can't allow blatant imperialism (especially for a believer in democracy like Putin) to take place in my own backyard. So I shall probably provide unofficial support, like what took place with the US in the invasion of Afghanistan, except with more emphasis on special forces and air support. Also, I'll going to have to halt the supply of Koreans, since Russia is not ready for a full scale world war (besides, I'd rather be allies with the US). However, we will mobilize all of our full-strength forces near the border (I'll get specifics tomorrow...Wait, midnight passed here on the West coast... today then) and use the non-ready against the lightly armed mafia, to gain experience. By the way, want to possibly RP something involving the Mafia? Maybe a deal in which you provide them safe haven in your country in exchange for intelligence and other things.
HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM CALIFORNIA, LIBERAL CAPITAL OF THE WORLD
Armandian Cheese/Russia

News from Petit Schronnbrunn, the palace where the Dauphin and Dauphine/Grand Duchess had come to be known as, that was dispatched in secret to the Tsar revealed something remarkable...Jillesopone was pregnent.

The implications were terrific, but His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX was hesitant to say anything until the Tsar made the news official. A child that shared the blood of both House Bourbon and Wingert! Quiet was of course maintained--nevertheless, a series of balls was secretly being planned at Versailles by the Kings Minister of Little Pleasures.

Meanwhile, the Dauphin was giving a press interview, but this time only members of French State Media and the Estenlands Press were there, information would be filtered down to the AP.

"In accordance with the statutes of the Holy Leauge, I should point out that the upcoming "Liberation of Lavrageria" is absolutley legal." Cameras flashed as the Dauphin, in the flashing silver, red, and blue uniform of a Merchal de France, struck a pose. He looked more like his father every year, the Bourbon looks were unmistakable. "That desolate land, for so long the playground of cannibals and strange communist agendas, shall be brought to heel and modernity by the Tsar."

"I find it remarkable that no nations put any objections forth, Russia comes to mind, when Estenlands was being ravaged by demonic hordes. Conversely, the only objections were raised when Estenlands prepares to harmonize her ghastly northern neighbor, for so long the cause of Estenlandian deaths!"

"In that light, the Kingdom of France finds no need for any 'summit' or 'negotiations'. There are none to be had!" The Dauphin grinned, and from his pose waved a dimissive hand. "Frankly, Russia only seeks to bring in more foreign powers to halt Estenlands rightful claim. Quintonnia is right in offering their cares and concerns, they are a good people, however such cares and concerns at the current time are baseless. Delays only will brook further indecision and innocent casualities."

"I have gained audience with His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX, my august father, who has expressed to me his feelings of love and commitment to his dear brother the Tsar. Subsequently, in light of the growing concern for a quick liberation and enduring peacekeeping operations, the Kingdom of France offers to Tsar Wingert an additional two divisions of French Guards, supported by an additional four squadrens of Ordu du Saint-Espirit Mirage 2000's. His Most Christian Majesty has no doubt this contribution will allow for a speedier and safer liberating process."

"Vivat Rex!"

The Dauphin stepped down then, no questions were asked. It is bad form to ask questions of royalty, after all they are simply better people. Whatever they say, well, its good enough.

What can be taken away from the press conference is the new reality of a European power block, the Holy Leauge. In between the lines of the Dauphins speech, non Europeans (Russia included) were being told to mind their own, indeed in some cases pressing, business.

Can the Ancien Regime again become the status quo of Europe? Can the political clock be turned back three centuries? Only time, and God, will tell. At any rate, Lavragerian affairs have come to play a vital role in these question.
________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, in a smoky St. Petersburg bar, several men sit down together. Two are known Russia mofia kingpins, who have been feeling the pinch of Putins new attitude of government. The third was a eastern-looking man, although secretly in reality he was in disguise.

"So, comrade cash, whats this I hear about outside funding for our operations? Since when do you...whats your name"? The main kingpin was a fat black beetely eyebrowed man, raised in the streets but living at the top now.

"Call me Yuri. I come here since you are in danger of being a dead man." The near featureless man took a shot of vodka. "Your whole way of life is in dager. Im sympathetic, for my own reasons. Lets do business, you and I."

"Whats this about?" The fat man said, he had dealt with powerful entities before, and he had the feeling he was dealing with one now.

"Simple. I provide you with loans, in cash, to help your business. To help you keep doing what you did so well. Drugs, murder, extortion, general mayhem. Only I get more than massive interest. I want your countrys military posistions. I want you to keep your bribed men in office, and keep giving fat kickbacks to corrupt, drug using, army officers. And I want you to rouse your rabbles, and send protestors out supporting Putin" he took a break to grin "and decrying the Lavragerian involvement he wishes Russia to engage in."

The fat man was stunned. Never before had he been asked to do such things. The profit was good, the loans better, and the business prospects good. It was a altogether brilliant plan. He swollowed.

"Who do you work for?"

The disguised man put a gold Louis d'or on the table.

((Happy New Years yall))

OOC:
Just a bit of falvour and hopefully not takign thigns any futher.


IC:
Morgan was really begining to hate the cooler climate and the people didn't help his attitude to this job terribly much. geez soem of the locals made the bloody Masai look civilised!
(quite what Mr Morgan might have been doing in kenya is open to speculation)
Some of these bloody polaks (Mr Morgan doesn't really have another generic term for east europeans) seemed capable of little more than pointing a rifle in the right direction! At least they were handy with thier rifles it gave him some hope that the finer aspects of anti tank warfare might be eventually durmmed into them.

Speaking through an intrepreter he began his litle show and tell routine, maybe in this village someone might listen...

Pointing to the 3 breif cases behind him he began.

"Today i am here to introduce you to the AT-3 SAGGER anti tank missile. within these three cases is a weapon system that might well mean life or death for your antion." Opening the first case he revealed one of the missiles on it's launching stand, hefting the missile he paraded it infront of the villagers
"This is the AT-3 missile itself. The missile has a range of upto 3 kilometers and is capable of peicing the side and rear armour of most tanks! it is giuded to it's target using this!" he opens another of the cases to reveal the command psot/controller. "Using this device you literally fly the missile into the target, offering exceptional accuracy in the hands of a trained user! By the time i leave you and travel to the next settlement i will ensure that at least soem of you can be called trained users!!"

OOC: yes the AT-3 is a rather crappy MCLOS missile that you really need to train hard to use properly but for asymetric warfare it is a handy little tool and offers a bit more range and punch to supplement the inumerable RPGs...

OOC-Well, I would hesitate to commit to large-scale air attacks, as they can all the more easliy be traced back to Russia and documented as attacks on foriegn soil. Though, if the attacks were limited to Lavrageria, there is probably little I could do about it. If there was an air attack in Ukraine, however, well, that could lead to all-out war, and one that you are just not ready for.

IC-And, we will be accepting both Divisions from our ally, France, I am going to assume that they are on the way and will be arriving in two weeks time, just to be fair logistically, they will also be posted to the Russian frontier under the Dauphins command.

Count Falkenstien aslo request that a small infusion of cash be granted the Tsar at the onset of conflict, should it come, as a show of support, mauhaps 10 billion?

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Falkenstein is informed that when war comes, yes, it would be possible to transfer the money, but only on the occasion of battle. It is hinted that a little more could be made available sooner, as a gift when the Tsar announces the pregnency of his daughter.

From Marseilles, escorted once again by the Cherbourg Class BattleshipRoi de Soleil, a fleet is dispatched carrying the troops. The force was made up of two divisions of French Guards, totalling 24,000 troops, and 4 squadrens of Mirage-2000's, totalling 28 aircraft. Once landing in Estenlands, the French force there would total 36,000 troops and 39 Ordu du Saint Espirit Mirages. Not to mention the tanks the Tsar had so generously donated.

The Kingdom of France was eager for victory vis a vis her ally the Tsar, to cement recognition of her power internationally, something it had not had since the Revolution. Louis XX, back in Versailles, dreamed of a coup de gras.

Lavragerian officials and state media counted the passing of time by the number of protests exported in regard to Franco-Estenlandic intimidation and the great efforts undertaken by government forces to crack-down on the most violent clans such as had attacked Estendlandic territory.

Shortly after the secret arrival of Drapoel assets -now looking likely to be withdrawn before very long- and concurrent Republican air attacks and 'mechanised' swoops into tribal lands, the bodies of sixteen men claimed as Glakatahn warriors involved in the cross-border raid were displayed near the southern border. Along either side of a hurridly-constructed and awfully maintained dirt road leading from the border up towards the capital, the corpses were variously hung, impaled, and crucified and -without prior mention of the fact- Estenlandic ambassadors were invited to travel the road on their way for more of the same diplomacy that had up to now barely got off the ground. "If they want to destroy the Lavragerian way of life, they should at least have seen it, first!" Said Aidarov, a self-satisfied grin telling of his hope that the macabre roadside decoration would please the slighted Christians when they saw that justice was being served against their attackers. Apparently.

Partisans and regular forces meanwhile continued their preparation, officers asking foreign soldiers and mercenaries for advise on where to lay anti-tank mines and position what missile defences the military could muster. Men like Morgan -unfortunate enough to share a name in pronunciation and spelling if not origin and meaning with the infamous Kiba Morgan, most bloodied man in Lavrageria- would find that, so far, the fighters they instructed were full of enthusiasm if sometimes easily confused by such things as the relationship between the movement of a joystick and the reaction of an anti-tank missile. The Lavragerians saw the modern world with all of its ideas and technologies as a wonderful thing for which they'd given-up their nomadic lifestyles, and to which they had not yet been jaded. They would certainly join battle en masse and with fanatical zeal, but their discipline and the question of whether they would maintain their determination in the face of sustained modern assault was all yet to be proved.

(Oh, I meant to clarify the Lavragerian use of the term, "mechanised" in a military context. Think a couple of old lorries, pick-ups, and vans crammed full of infantry soldiers with more clinging to the sides of vehicles and sitting on top of them, frequently dismounting to free their over-loaded vehicles from the mud.)

The 'agents' from the Hindustani foreign service attempt to train the Lavragerian troops in the use of the handful of elderly 120mm mortars brought over the russian border.

The mortars, on their wheeled platforms, could easily be towed by a horse or by a pair of operators, although assembling the platform quickly would take some practice, especially for those not intimately familiar with large-caliber mortars. In Hindustan, the average soldier would very rarely see a mortar in action, but rather towed MRLs and the advanced line of Hindustani anti-tank weapons.

But for the purposes of the group from the foreign ministry, mortars would have to do. After all, it wasn't as if they could sneak anything in the way of up-to-date weaponry out of Hindustan, and Russia doesn't operate anything comparable to Hindustani equipment, at least in the mind of the military establishment. I mean, it wasn't as if the Russians could beat the Israelis in weapons design, and copies of Israeli weapons must be almost as good as the real thing, right?

The Lavragerian recruits are taught the relationship between mortar angle and firing distance first of all, and are, once they master that relationship, instructed on the proper use of various types of ammunition.

The SPG-9 recoil-less rifles might lend themselves to the defender's use more readily, though, being weapons that shoot relatively straight. The 'agents' (for lack of a better word) that specialize in such weaponry, while generally finding the cold disagreeable, teach how it would be best to mount the rifles on light trucks or jeeps, and dig holes in which to hide said trucks until tanks get into range.

Even the covert troops of Hindustan, such as the agents in question, frown on the use of mines. Therefore, Lavragerian forces seeking advice on their use will probably encounter a lengthy lecture on how even if they win the mines will be killing their countrymen for decades into the future.

Several MT-12 anti-tank guns find their way into the ranks of the Lavragerian government forces, along with more AT-3 missiles. The Foreign Service's air contingent, now numbering two C-47/Li-2 transports and a handful of An-2 biplanes, as well as several Mi-2 and Mi-4 assault/transport helicopters, continue to distribute a steady flow of smuggled weapons to government forces. The average Lavragerian government soldier could now be expected to be relatively well armed.

OOC:
Nice, some SPG-9s! now we might even be able to use basic soviet AT tactics!

IC:
From his camoflaged hide Mrogan watched and groaned as one of the Lavragerian's (now known simply as Lavs to the more anglocentric mercs) managed to giude his training missile straight over the simulated convoy (piles of rock and wood) and into a bunch of his mates on the other side of the valley.

"For christ's sake! what the feck was that!" he swore as he charged down to the control position, his interpreter/aide trailing enthusiatically behind him.

"I told you! at this rnage wait 3 seconds then bring the missile down by psuhing the joystick up!"
(OOC: i have no idea what the relationship between down/up on the joystick and the actualy missile flight actually is but i assume it is the same as on aircraft).

"Now lets try it one more time and if you mess up this time, you are not even goign to get a spade to dig the missiles out of the mud!" he cursed as he placed another training round on the launch stand and fixed the wire connectors in place.

Else where one of Morgan's associates was instructing another group in the gentle art of machine gunning a convoy with either an gimpy (FN-MAG) or PK.
"Now normally the advice for automatic weapons is short sharp bursts and to actually aim for targets but you ahve your buddies with thier rifles for that, your role is to put as many hoels as possible in trucks and light vehciles and keep the defenders heads down, you acheive this best with logn ragged bursts that you shoudl feel free to spread all ove rthe convoy, keep your fire moving and you might actually hit something!".

And in other locations the use of small 60 and 81mm mortars was being presented

ooc: i mention convoys as i would imagine msot of the merc's training would be for partisan work after an invasion absically because most of the mercs would be from africa where there tends not to be much in the way of full scale engagements.

The French fleet stopped at Malta for revictualing, but after about one day was steaming again at about twenty knots towards the Aegean---and their final destination, Sebastopol.

Meanwhile, news filtered up about large, disparate training camps springing up in Lavrageria. It was oh-so-clear that the Lavragerians were using these pathetic delays to mobilize a ragged, but apparently tough, force.

The Dauphin, though, simply could launch not massive air strikes, which he felt was the solution to the problem. However, his wife was pregnent, so things were not all bad.

At Petit Schonnbrunn in Northern Estenlands, not far from the junctions of the Russian/Lavragerian border, the Royal Dauphin Division was becoming the Royal Dauphin Corps. Already twelve thousand strong and with something like eight hundred imported Abrams tanks, with the arrival of the fleet it would bourgeon to a full 36,000 troops, and 39 Mirage-2000.

On the forts grounds, barracks were being made, and troops were drilling hard. Under the eyes of the Royal Army Korean Infantry detachment, the French Guards were becoming just as tough as they. The Mirage-2000's (which had arrived ahead of the slower moving fleet) in their camoflauged hangers were being prepped for high altitude precision bombing strikes. As well, engineers were fitting on small additions to the aircrafts armor displacement, to help against small arms fire.

And now, back at Versailles, in the Ministry of Wars operations room, computer layouts showed that one of Frances Sacre-2 Satellites had assumed geo-stationary orbit over Lavrageria, and was now taking heat sensor images, photos, and preparing missle and bombing targets. M. de Saint-Germain, Minister of War to His Most Christian Majesty, went every night to his king and showed him the planning. It was agreed that when war came, France would first aid her ally by a massive missle salvo, followed by almost perfectly accurate high level laser guided air strikes against certain targets.

France would have her glory too.

Even if the Foreign Ministry troops know that they are being observed by sattelite, there isn't much that can be done about it. Although it has been rumored that the HAF has in its inventory anti-sattelite missiles, weapons that can be carried one apiece under the Su-30MKI, there is in reality no truth to such rumors.

So on the ground, things proceed pretty normally, although the Foreign Ministry troops, ever suspicious of sattelites, try to move many of their operations into wooded areas and under cover.

The MT-12 antitank guns are quickly, under the supervision of the Foreign Ministry troops, moved into camoflauged locations. Amounting to a scant twelve guns, most flown or trucked in from the border, the Lavragerians manning them are instructed to position them in wooded groves near strategic choke points. Various 'contacts' inside russia are argued with and prodded to get hold of some AT-11 ATGWs, which can be fired from the 100mm MT-12.

An airborne command post is fashioned out of an Mi-4 Hound, festooned with radio antennae, a laser designator, and a radar ripped from an early MiG-21.

The leader of the Foriegn Ministry contingent is a common sight, riding around in his UAZ jeep, often at the head of columns of Lavragerian government troops.

((Just a polite bump...minor RP for LRR, those sneaky socialists))

Satellite photos, taken by the ultra-accurate Sacre-2, confirm that there is indeed Hindustani activity in Lavrageria, although the extent has not been determined yet.

The findings were reported straight away to the Merechal de Saxe, General Merechal de France. The Merechal fumed. Damn it all, first public humiliation by those drugged out Marxists as they ridiculed Louis XX, now they actively were trying to boggle up the be-damned Lavragerian affair!

Unfortunatley, the Merechal was in no posistion to officially launch reprisals against the LRR, but there were other things to be done. He went directly to His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX, who was having lunch at the Orangerie of Versailles with Queen Marie-Therese. As gentle music drifted from an harpsicord, the Merechal explained the situation.

The Queen gasped when she heard the news. "How rude! And after they said all those dispicable things about your sovereign right, remember darling?"

She adjusted her wig, which was three feet dall, powdered with the dust of pearls, and currently decorated by a Hudecian venue of maple leafs (to celebrate the upcoming marriage of the Duchess d'Polignac with the Premier of Quebec) as her champagne was being refilled by a liveried servant. "Why, Ive even heard they... [something that will not be translated from French]" as she said this her three ladies in waiting, in the massive hoop dresses of Court attire, fanned themselves and giggled profusely.

"Well, I for one have had it with their strange manuevers! Frankly their manners are boorish, and there politics is simply unfathomable" said the King through bites of patte foie-gras. He sipped the champagnie, then snapped his fingers. His secretary bowed, and handed him some bright document.

"Find the Hindustani ambassidor and his delegation, plant drugs on them. Then, listen well, strip them and throw them into the Bastille. It is perfectly legal, because I wish it!" He signed the Lettre de Cache for the action against the Hindoos.

The Merechal bowed, then left to fulfill the Kings wishes.

Subsequently, the LRR representitives were found in a poor-quarter Parisian bar of ill repute by a detachment of the Kings Swiss Bodyguards "smoking whopping amounts of pure heroin (and possessing tens of kilos), and committing lascivious acts with decent French, Christian, ladies" as the 'official report' read. They were, not without a scuffle (but against the Kings daughty Switzers, to no avail) beaten down by clubs, wrapped in iron chains, and taken without ceremony to the Bastille. Once there, they were stripped and thrown without care (each one seperatley) into cold conrete cells, with no light and each having one great steel door.

Incidentially, French agents in Hindustan had slipped out hours earlier, not finding it hard to escape the civil rights laden country, and misted away back to their homeland.

French Royal Media portrayed the event, in the words of ancor M. de Mesmer "as one of the grossest diplomatic breeches in history. The government of Hindustan ought to be frightfully ashamed and beg on their kness His Majesties forgivness."

The message sent to LRR was clear. His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX was tired of their obstruction into his affairs.

OOC- LRR, No matter how much you are smuggling, you are barely going to make a dent in the 250,000 posted government soldiers with new weaponry. Especially not in the only sixty days that you have had.

I am using the following maps for this RP; does anyone have any closer-up maps for Ukraine to post? I have access to a reference map of Ukraine and Belarus, but can't put it here.

www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/belorus.html

IC-After liberally sprinkling the domestic and foreign media with pictures of the barbarous Lavregerian government, showing picture after picture of impalements and crucifixitions on the border to Ukraine, no doubt put there as a message, and with the express claim by the Lavregerians that this was a government action, somehow proving themselves better than their cannibalistic nomadic citizens. No doubt, after fifteen years of watching their own people getting crucified by the Dra-poel, the Quinntonians would feel especially strongly about this barbarous act. The stories also point out that since the beginning of this conflict, there has been no evidence of the so-called tyranny of the Estenlands, only accusations. However, there are now many well-documented atrocities done by the Lavregerians against the Ukrainian people.


"The Sixty Day Leave for negotiations has come and gone!" says Tsar Wingert I, on an extremely rare TV address. “We must act to safeguard our borders from the aggression of the barbarians from the north! They have invaded us! They have attacked our women and children! They have destroyed our homes! And now…they crucify their own people on our borders in a perverted act of fear mongering! The Judas’ shall not threaten our peaceful way of life any longer!
It is on this fateful day that I have two announcements to make to my loyal people. First, I am proud to announce that even on this dark day in our history, the blessings of the Church are with us, as Princess Jillesepone Hawkness-Wingert-Bourbon is with child. Soon, the heir to the throne of the Tsar will be born, ensuring the dynasty for the next generation. Second, I am ordering the first stage of air based attacks on Lavregerian air space. We will be focusing primarily on their military industrial complex, and engaging air force targets of opportunity, but our first priority will be the opposing air force. May the blessing of God and His Church be with us all.”

The first of the attacks come under cover of darkness that night. (Air Force numbers are posted on page 1 or 2) The first wave consists of 500 Fighter jets of the most modern varieties coming screaming across the border with one and only one primary objective, to attack the grounded planes throughout the nation, and the AA and SAM batteries that are protecting the air strips. They will also engage any fighters that present themselves.

One hour later, the second wave will consist of our entire 250 plane Heavy Bomber Force and escorted by another 500 fighter jets will cross the border and begin to saturate bomb the military and industrial complexes that are contained in the cites and any large encampments of troops found throughout the city, all of whom have been located through spy plane activity and satellite photos supplied to us by our French allies.

The last 500 jet fighters that make up our air force will spend this time scrambled and on the lookout for any incursions of Ukrainian airspace.

RUSSIAN PLANES FOUND IN BELARUS OR UKRAINE AIRSPACE WILL BE ENGAGED AND DESTROYED!!!!!

The Dauphin Division and its attached aircraft will not be taking part in this portion of the exercise, but will be among those scrambled to defend the nation in case of attack.

OOC-I waited until New Years to attack, as per request.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

The French fleet landed in Sebastopol, in the afternoon prior to the assualt. Slowly but surely the French Guard Divisions were offloaded, and began their journey to join the Royal Dauphin Corps in Petit Schronnbrunn, where His Highness the Dauphin was preparing his men. General Alert had been given.

From the transports at the docks, Estenlandian helicopters offloaded 14 Billion in gold bullion, and bit by bit flew it to the Tsars Palace in Kiev.

Following the troops disembarking supplies and ammunition were offloaded as well. Great trains would soon be on their way north.

The Cherbourg Class Battleship Roi de Soleil and its escort of three Brest Class Frigates, however, broke off and set sail off the coast of Estenlands. Infrared satellites would detect they were powering up their launch systems for the Fury V Missles. They would be at full readiness within hours.

The Sacre-2 satellite which floated over Lavrageria downloaded to Estenlandian High Command a live feed, by order of the King. It would analize over and over again the layout and movements in Lavragerian territory; by infra-red and standard observation. And provide hotspots in Lavrageria which Estenlandian bombers could lock onto, guided by Estenlandian commands.

From Versailles, the prayers of His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX were with the Tsar at this time. The Pope had given his assent for the operation against the pagans, and soon France would be able to join their Estenalndian brethren in the war.

At Lavragerian air bases there crackled radios of a rarely seen variety. Drapoel frequency-hopping sets sending secure transmissions from the border as spotters warned of encroaching attack planes. Far more than had been expected. Specifics were hopelessly lacking as small scale radar and other observation equipment was either over-loaded or simply too restricted by the darkness. The imperialists were putting on a fuel-guzzling show of impressive proportions, but the PAAF pilots scrambled aboard their unmarked Fishbed variants with little more knowledge than the fact that enemies were coming, and coming in force. Located tens and even hundreds of miles from the border, showing no interest in defending the Republic's southeastern settlement, the Korean aviators had at least time to get into the air before being confronted with more than ten to one odds. Drapoel personnel in country were still less encouraged by consideration of and Lavragerian aircraft or defences further south, presumably too close for sufficient warning.

The little S-7 fighters rose quickly after impressively short take-off runs, burning a significant ammount of their limited fuel in leaping up to meet the attackers in practiced PAAF fashion. Squadron Leader Kang Hien Gui headed a formation of four S-7s into action, bellowing for his comrades to accelerate quite recklessly and sending two up high while he and a wingman risked a thousand mile per hour meeting with a moonlight Lavragerian forest. Kang inwardly praised the composure of his number three's dying moments as a guided missile ended the rookie's breakneck ascent. "Stay your orders, comrade pilot Yi." He said to an already determined number four, even then illuminated by enemy radar as he rose into the clouds, his squadron leader racing on below. The high-flying loner loosed his DRAR-1 SRAAMs perhaps a moment too soon, Kang judged, as number four's missiles were evaded by the on rushing enemy, and their own IR-guided weapons struck into the firmament and shortly found their retaliatory mark. comrade Gui and his wingman interlaced with the Ukrainian fighters, one pilot composed and steely in his resolve as ever, the other letting out a shriek of a battlecry as an enemy fighter ripped past within metres of his canopy. Kang and his wingman engaged, twisting and turning, with their 30mm guns blazing, and were not to be heard from again after the half determined, half terrified cries of the young number 2 were picked up on near-by radio sets.

Elsewhere in northern parts of the Republic, a handful more Drapoel pilots made the most of what they believed to be little time before Moscow stepped in to bar Da'Khiem's already shadowy aid to the Lavragerians. There were no Drapoel ground-forces in country. It was considered even harder to pass-off Korean infantry as Lavragerian or Russian than to do similar for a few rusty MiGs.

Most back in the CPRD knew nothing of the situation, having barely heard of the Lavragerian Republic's creation, and knowing only that much because it happened to play well in justification of Dra-pol's defence spending that royalists were still at work in the world and threatening free republics.

IC:
The sudden shouting from his newly "aquired" radio caused morgan tos tart and fall out of his bunk.
he couldn't speak any of the langauges being passed back and forth btu the volume and speed of the voices on each transmisssion told him all he needed to know.
Running into his Aides tent he literally lifted the small man out of his bed and shook him awake.

"Ivan! wake up you sleepy bugger the Fecking Etsies have started!"

The look of dazed confusion in Ivan's eyes quickly turned to fear as the words sunk in.

"Go! tell the local big wig that he has to evacute the village now and then get on the phone and pass the message to any village down the line who might not have heard anythign from your govenrment."

"yes boss right away." Replied the aide as he scampered inot the night

Reaching into his pocket Morgan pulled out his own radio (a high quality motarola jobbie) and punched into his little teams own personal secure network (well secure as a civilian set gets so unless you are the NSA...).

"This is bosshog to all red arrow stations radio check, over"

"Bosshog this is Romeo Alpha 3 checking in over."

"Bosshog this Red Arrow 6 checking in over, i have red arrow 8 with me now, over."

Eventually all of the memebers of the mercenary team had checked in.

"All Red arrow stations this is Bosshog, the shit has hit the fan people, it looks like the esties are trying to go for a shock and awe appraoch, get your respective settlements squared away and try to keep on top of them, if you get a chance of a shot at soem esty who comes in too low then take it, you all know how your blowpipes work, lets not ruin the reputation of these nice peices, over and out."

With his organisational duties done Mrogan grabbed his rifle and headed out into the night and after a quick stop at his UAZ to pick up an armoured flight case he made his way into the woods after the villagers.

OOC-Can I get some numbers as to what is thrown against my air attack? Then I will be able to post losses. My invasion numbers are posted two pages back. Also, I would like to see Lavergeria respond to my posts, as this kind of effects him.

<QUOTE>Sir Reginald steps forward and begins to give the sit-rep. "We have called up the first tier of reserves and they are holding the strategic areas of defence to the south and interior of the nation, their numbers are about 400,000 in total, breaking into 20 Divisions of Light Infantry. We have also moved a major portion of our attack helicopter force into the Southern mountain ranges in case of counter-attack, we will be able to use these forces to form counter-attacks throughout the nation, much like during the revolution."

He pauses for a second and then continues, "We have deployed Most of our armour along the northern frontier, with 20 Heavy Armoured Divisions, each with 600-800 pieces of armour and containing 400,000 troops; 8 Fully Mechanised Divisions, with 200-400 pieces of armour per and containing 160,000 troops; 8 Light Infantry Divisions, containing 0-200 pieces of armour and with 160,000 men; 4 Engineering Divisions with 100-300 pieces of armour and containing 80,000 troops; finally with 2 Elite Airborne Divisions, with 600-800 attack helicopters attached per and the ability to airdrop up to 1500 troops each every 12 hours. This brings our northern forces to a total of 840,000 troops, with the exception of the Airborne, who are still deployed in the Crimea, with the understanding that they can be moved into position in under six hours if the order is so given. This also means that our minimum amount of armour (tanks) that are deployed is brought to 14,000. This number can be brought up to our maximum in a war-time economy that would be 22,000. With French support we can bring up to that number in two to six months, depending on the foreign market, but with 20 billion in French support, it shouldn't be a problem. Also, I know that Your Majesty is concerned with keeping that amount of Reserves in the field, but the support thing holds true here as well."

“This means the remainder of our professional army, 5 Heavy Armoured Divisions, with 600-800 armoured pieces and containing 100,000 troops; 2 Fully Mechanised Divisions with 200-400 armoured pieces and containing 40,000 troops; 2 Light Infantry Divisions containing 40,000 troops, 1 Engineering Division with 100-300 pieces of armour containing 20,000 troops. That puts 200,000 troops and a mimamum of 3500 pieces of armour along our Eastern frontier.” Sir Reginald steps back. <QUOTE>


IC-The entirety of the Estenlandian invasion force then starts to tear across the borders, at this phase, they are only to engage and destroy the entirety of the border defences within the first fifty miles of the southern border.

This invasion force includes the entirety of what is listed above and is moving in at the conclusion of the first two waves of air attacks, but will be supported throughout by major air strikes throughout the nation as we move forward.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Two Divisions of French Guards linked up with the Royal Dauphin Corps at Petit Schronnbrunn, just miles from the joint Russian/Lavragerian border in Estenlands. The sound of the palace/fortress was chaos. Whistles intermingled with alarms, troops marched to ran in columns down the road.

The Dauphin greeted the incoming troops on horseback as they marched by him in formation, fife and drum breaking the silence. In the distance M-1 Abrams tanks were heard revving up, and trumpets called troops to orders here and there.

In a few days, the Royal Dauphin would be ready for full combat.

Meanwhile, off the coast of Estenlands, the Cherbourg Battleship (Roi de Soleil) and her escort group of three frigates made for ten knots down the coast, the commander of the naval group--Captain le Marquis de Harcour, ordered the bells to ring for launching speed.

Immediatley alarms on the awesome battleship rang, backed up by red lights. The captains voice on the com sounded "General Quarters, all men to battlestations, stand by for missle launch!"

The battlegroup sauntered along at ten knots, the Brest Class Frigates assuming posistions peripheral the Cherbourg. In the Roi de Soleils C&C, the Marquis looked at a massive high definition satellite relay screen. Currently it was focused on the city of Ulanger. It was apparent the city was being buffed up...trenches, AA systems, and the like. As the Marquis was watching, eight seperate red dots appeared systematically at various points of Ulanger-in-Lavrageria.

A Lt. Commander turned to the Marquis. "My lord, we have eight hot points in Ulanger now lit up" he pointed to the dots which seemed to occupy wherever a collection of roads met" and have just recieved the launch codes from Versailles. With your permission, I will begin the sequence for eight combustable payload Fury V's."

The Marquis nodded, and stood with his hands behind his back. "Bring up launch video on screen two."

The alarms changed tone, then stopped. Then calm of the sea was shattered as eight great cigar shaped Fury-V missles leapt up from the Roi de Soleil, trailing a huge fire cloud.

The missles were fitted with a combustability-contact payload, which was judged best to achieve maximum yield in Ulanger. Before long the missles dissapeared into the atmosphere, and sped without fail to their locked on targets in Ulanger---transportation hubs and common market spaces.

((Just a bump))

OCC: I never said thatI was about to make a dent in your huge forces. I said that via a small fleet of outdated aircraft Lavragerian government forces were being supplied with largely outdated anti-tank weaponry in mild quantity.

I probably should have made it clearer that this is only in a few areas.

I should also remark that, unless it was possible for French sattelites to peer inside the C-47/Li-2s and An-2s, and look at their serial numbers, and match them with records of Hindustani aircraft, or observe the mannerisms of the Foreign Ministry advisers, it would be extremely difficult to match them to a particular nationality.

IC:

One of the few C-47 transports is shot out of the sky in a fantastic fireball, laden with ammunition. Miraculously, the loadmaster manages to bail out, and lands with a thud in the snow, with his leg broken and numerous burns.

Parked in Ulanger, the Mi-4 command post is fired up as soon as its crew get wind of the attack. Hopefully, the elderly helicopter would be dismissed by the Ukranian and French pilots.

Rising over the rooftops, it heads north with all possible expedience.

On the border, two Foreign Ministry advisers find themselves right in the crosshairs of the Estenlandian assault. Commanding a group of mortars and an MT-12 antitank gun, they order their crews to lay low, until they judge the range of the approaching Estenlandian vehicles to be right.

The 120mm mortars fire their HE rounds into the darkness, their targets illuminated by flares, although the possibility of destroying an armored vehicle with such a weapon, especially when the target is in motion, is very slim. The MT-12 crew cracks off a shot at an AV, probably a few hundred meters beyond the gun's effective range, as an AT-3 is brought nearby.


Meanwhile, in Paris, the Hindustani diplomats are quite distressed, many of them bloody and bruised, after being dragged out of their hotel and being thrown into the legendary Bastille prison. After all, their airline flight is probably sitting at Charles de Gaulle International, its flight crew wondering where their rumored high-profile passengers are.

With virtually no intelligence assets anywhere, save a few relatively old recon sattelites fixed on Nepal and Dra-pol (although a large number of top-of-the-line astronomical equipment of Hindustani design orbits around the solar system), it will naturally take a few days for the Hindustani government to sort out what happened.

But within minutes, the defense minister, Marshall Syzko, is on a Quinntonian airliner bound for Paris. A flurry of messages are sent to the French establishment, many of them announcing the fact that the most prominent cabinet official would be setting foot in Paris within the hour, to bail the diplomats out of jail.

And so, about an hour later, Marshall Vladek Syzko can be seen walking into the airport terminal at Charles de Gaulle, flanked by several minor diplomats. If it weren't for his numerous scars and tall, thin stature, he would probably fit the role of a distinctly western diplomat quite well. However, he is probably a decade or two older than most of his counterparts, and, thanks to his experiences in nazi concentration camps during the second world war, a good deal more weathered.

But that was the past, he says to himself as he faces the torrent of French reporters and photographers.

((Your right. I would imagine the only clues would have been your governments vocal views of the situation, plus the obvious armament occuring---even though I took it for more armoring than was I guess going on. So I take that back and apologize, but nonetheless, I think the action that happened had reason enough besides that particular event.

And I dont mean to sidetrack the thread. If much more posting needs be on this action, we can do it somewhere else.))


The LRR and his representitive would be met at the airport ((FYI its just Paris International Now)) by a The Basque Brigade of the Royal Army, which had taken posistions all over the airport. As opposed to say, the Swiss Bodyguard uniforms of Red and Blue they wore Green and Black, and were tough looking.

They would then be met by a sneering nobleman, who well knew the reputation of the Hindustani Government: Monsieur le Marquis d'Brenne, a Minister of the Kings Council of State, and Secretery to M. de Vergennes, Minister of State. He wore a expensive powdered wig, and was dressed in a green gold and blue suit, the Kings colors.

"Well, well well. Bienvienue a Paris. I am afraid that the present state of affairs" he leaned forward to Vlad and whispered 'the Lavrageria conflict' and then resumed "of course necessitate your not entering French soil. However, we have a small place for you to stay across from the airport, and have made telephone and electronic communications available (they would find International lines only, nothing within France). We hope within the course of merely days to decide what happened to your agents, and how much drugs they had. Of course, before you see your compatriots, and indeed travel on French soil, you will have to gain the His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX's assent, which may take several days. He will be informed of these matters when time permits, and accordingly grant a judgement." he smiled.

"Of course you must be tired from your journey. I have prepared a dinner for you at your lodging across from the Airport. If you will come this way..." he waved his hand down the corridor, the door at the end of it went to vans waiting to take them across the tarmack. Of course, the corridor was lined with members of the Basque Brigade, at attention, but vigilant.

The Quinntonian government is aghast at the major conflict that has broken out, and implores the governments invoved to submit to a cease-fire so that negotiations can begin.
WWJD
Amen.

(OOC: I'll address the Mafia later. Oh, and we should really start a new thread, seeing as how the title is meaningless and a new thread will give others the opportunity to join in. Oh yeah, and is the "Holy League" some sort of official alliance, or is it just a fancy title for the Ukrainian-French alliance?
ONE DAY BEFORE INVASION
Darkness. Pure, eternal, shadows filling every realm, consuming all that was, is, and will be. Those words could describe both the room Putin was in, and his state of mind as well.
A sliver of light creeped out of the door as it opened. Vladimir snarled at the being who dared to take away the only moment of peace he had enjoyed since the Lavragerian affair had started.
"Dammit! Can the world just take a break for a few minutes?!?!"
His face softened when the door opened, flooding the bare room with light.
"Boss?"
A middle aged woman, with sharp, white hair strode into the room. She was about forty, but the life of a soldier gave her the body of a 25 year old and the eyes of a 90 year old. Her body moved as if made of fluid steel; graceful yet intensely powerful. She wore a strange silver jumspuit, with various metallic and white patterns on it. It looked like a cross between an arctic uniform, a jumpsuit, and a suit of armor.
"Vladimir, it is good to see you again." she said, her voice carrying both the warm tones of a mother and the harsh power of a soldier.
"The Boss? I have not seen you since Chechnya..."
"Yes. I remember when we fought together in the Gulf War, protecting Kuwaiti oilfields. Then again we met, helping the Russians storm the Chechnyian capital. Strange how you, a former American soldier, are now the leader of Russia."
Putin stood up from his meditative crouch, and tried to hug his old combat friend. She edged out, clearly uncomfortable with such friendly gestures. He backed away, placing his hands forward, sheepishly grinning.
"Vladimir, why did your forces arrive knocking at my door? I thought it was an ambush."
His grin disappeared as he turned away from The Boss, and stepped into the shadows.
“Boss…Russia has reached a point of crisis. The Estenlands wish to make Lavrageria as their puppet, and become the major power in this region. I cannot allow their despotic regime to become stronger by annihilating a democracy. Therefore, I ask you, my old friend, one of the greatest military geniuses of our time, to aid me and become my chief general.”
“How could I refuse? Friend, I shall have a battle plan tomorrow.”
They then performed a strange ritual that only those who have witnessed the bonds of combat friendship could truly understand. They placed each other’s hands on their shoulders, and leaned forward, holding their foreheads closely. For a few minutes they held this pose, and then withdrew. Just as The Boss was about to leave, she was startled by Putin’s voice.
“Boss?”
“Heh?”
“Could you finally tell me your real name? We are not in combat anymore, so there is no need for a codename.”
The Boss simply smiled, and left.
THE NEXT DAY
Putin was woken from his sleep by ringing alarms. Red flashed all around him, and for a second he thought it was a coup. Then he realized that no guns were pointed at his head, which seemed to be a good sign. He quickly tossed a black jacket onto to his red sleeping clothes, and ran out of his bedroom. He rushed to the war room, as random soldiers noticed him and formed an escort. He slammed the door open, demanding an explanation.
“Hello, Vlad.”
There stood The Boss, geared up for battle. She stood out like a rock in a stream, with all the soldiers and generals frantically scurrying around the dark room full of maps, radars, TVs, and computers.
“Boss, is it…?”
“Yes, the Estenlands and Elkazor have just launched their attack.”
“What is our status?”
“Our army is in shambles. In total army forces, including logistics, we have about 988,100, with 330,000 conscripts. The army has 421,000 soldiers, with 100,000 of those deployed as portable or silo based missile forces. Our forces are largely unmotivated, not trained, and engaged against the mafia, so I estimate that we could possibly muster about 40,000 to 45,000 on the border.”
I suggest you make it up to 41,000, including logistics. Also, deploy 2,000 GRU (intelligence, special forces) across the border, along with free shipments of Russian arms, including Aks, SA-18’s, RPGs, AT-11 ATGWs and more. Send with them three teams of Spetsnaz. And, ship by land ten SU-24s, ten SU-25s, five more Mig 29s, twenty Mig 23s (bringing the total to 35 in the country), twenty Mil MI-28N Attack helicopters, and several S-300s and S-400s.“I want all of this done by ground, and disguised as civilian and humanitarian supplies.”
“Agreed, Putin.”
“I’ll send shipments of MREs for the Lavragerian rebels. This will help them last in isolation for longer periods of time. As for the Drapoleons, tell them that they can send all the arms they want, but we’ll have to avoid the characteristic Drapoleon pilots. If they want to send men, send some who will not appear so obviously Drapoleon, as to avoid Quintonnian involvement. ”
Suddenly, a young man burst through the door, his glasses fogged up with sweat.
“Mr. President! Mr. President! You’ve got to see this!”
Before anyone could respond, the young aide snatched a remote control and changed a television channel to FOX News. The television spoke of Hindustani diplomats being hurled into the Bastille for drug possession. Putin watched, curious and angry at the same time.
“What? This…is not what it seems. Boss, tell the diplomatic staff to extend some feelers to the Hindustani government, see if this arrest is fraudulent or politically motivated. If so, offer our sincere support. Tell the PR staff to prepare some statement of outrage over the unjustified invasion and official neutral status.”
“What about the Quinntonians? They wish for some peace conference.”
“Boss, why do you even ask me? You know my answer. We shall not come to a conference which is not attended by the aggressors.”
And so they all scurried off, carrying the orders of their leader, desperately trying to fulfill their duty to their nation.

((Your right. I would imagine the only clues would have been your governments vocal views of the situation, plus the obvious armament occuring---even though I took it for more armoring than was I guess going on. So I take that back and apologize, but nonetheless, I think the action that happened had reason enough besides that particular event.

And I dont mean to sidetrack the thread. If much more posting needs be on this action, we can do it somewhere else.))


The LRR and his representitive would be met at the airport ((FYI its just Paris International Now)) by a The Basque Brigade of the Royal Army, which had taken posistions all over the airport. As opposed to say, the Swiss Bodyguard uniforms of Red and Blue they wore Green and Black, and were tough looking.

They would then be met by a sneering nobleman, who well knew the reputation of the Hindustani Government: Monsieur le Marquis d'Brenne, a Minister of the Kings Council of State, and Secretery to M. de Vergennes, Minister of State. He wore a expensive powdered wig, and was dressed in a green gold and blue suit, the Kings colors.

"Well, well well. Bienvienue a Paris. I am afraid that the present state of affairs" he leaned forward to Vlad and whispered 'the Lavrageria conflict' and then resumed "of course necessitate your not entering French soil. However, we have a small place for you to stay across from the airport, and have made telephone and electronic communications available (they would find International lines only, nothing within France). We hope within the course of merely days to decide what happened to your agents, and how much drugs they had. Of course, before you see your compatriots, and indeed travel on French soil, you will have to gain the His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX's assent, which may take several days. He will be informed of these matters when time permits, and accordingly grant a judgement." he smiled.

"Of course you must be tired from your journey. I have prepared a dinner for you at your lodging across from the Airport. If you will come this way..." he waved his hand down the corridor, the door at the end of it went to vans waiting to take them across the tarmack. Of course, the corridor was lined with members of the Basque Brigade, at attention, but vigilant.

The defnese minister's first impulse is to use his large vocabulary of obsenities on the haughty Baron, but he decides against it.

"No, I have been, I should guess, a great deal more fatigued than you have ever. If you would be so kind, I would like to be taken to the Bastille to see the detained Hindustani diplomats. You have not executed them yet, I presume. Even theocracies rarely execute their hostages so quickly."

If the French government wanted Syzko dead, as well as a good deal of the governmental establishment, it would not be difficult. There were instances, in the 1960s, of Portuguese assassins killing high cabinet ministers and getting away with it, due to the fact that the cabinet is not viewed as a terribly important function of government, and also because its members tend to be more than ready to sacrifice themselves for what is deemed a good cause.

Marshall Syzko surveys the Basque Brigade troopers. "Elite troops? How much do you pay them to stand like that?"

In the Hindustani military, there has never been much space for military formality. Dress uniforms are considered too expensive, drilling an unnecessary waste of valuable training time, and saluting had been abandoned as well.


Meanwhile, the HN makes a 'show of force.'

One of its Talwar class frigates, of which there are a grand total of four, heads towards the Mediterranean sea, intent on showing the French that Hindustani ships had very good propulsion systems, and perhaps remind Turkey that it is being watched at the same time.

However, it is considered most likely that soon the HN will be very low on capital warships, their crews gassed and/or obliterated by nuclear weapons launched by Sino.

"We demand that all Hindustani diplomatic prisoners be given a quick and fair trial, and upon their almost certain aquittal, transportation to their home country. Note that Russia is ready to support the nation of LRR fully in this situation."
----------Statements Made By Public Relations Secretary Jivanov Grigoriij

Sir Reginald, from the war room in Kiev, is directing the war effort, he continues to push his men forward, waiting to see how the enemy reacts so that the next phase of operations can be put into action. The border on the Russian side is still being closely watched, and so far it looks as if Estenlandian border defences outnumber the Russian frontier forces almost 10 to 1; however, Yvon, leader of the Estenlandian secret police, the Kargat, has strabge reports coming in about Dra-poel armaments coming in and being strongly encouraged by the Russians as well as a massive series of shipments that the Russians could ill afford of weapons and supplies being readied as of yesterday to be shipped into Lavregeria ASAP.

Sir Reginald stroked his chin and remarked, "So, they are smart enough to keep themselves out of direct involvement, but they are all but going to fight the war for Lavrageria. I guess that tells me what our next move must be, and that time is absolutely essential. This must be done like lightning, in order to bring these peasants to heel."

OOC-I am still going to wait for Lavrageria before I post any more developments, just excited and posting responses to other posts. Now how many Russian planes are in Lavrageria right now? How many Dra-poel planes? Any others? My first wave hurled 500 fighters at Lavrageria, and I have to assume that everything that Lavregeria had at its disposal was thrown against me, I would like to caculate losses, so what were they? Though, I think it is safe to assume that even if my attack was disasterous; and was coupled with a mssive amount of heroics on the defenders side, I should be able to assume that pretty much everything that can fly in Lavregeria is now destroyed and I have complete air superiority, would that be fair?

BTW, if Putin is American, does that mena he is Quinntonia? Quinntonia is the USA.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

"We demand that all Hindustani diplomatic prisoners be given a quick and fair trial, and upon their almost certain aquittal, transportation to their home country. Note that Russia is ready to support the nation of LRR fully in this situation."
----------Statements Made By Public Relations Secretary Jivanov Grigoriij

If Hn diplomats were to be found in my nation with drugs, intent on the corruption of our people, you can be assured that we would not be so pleasant as our French brothers.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

Sir Reginald, from the war room in Kiev, is directing the war effort, he continues to push his men forward, waiting to see how the enemy reacts so that the next phase of operations can be put into action. The border on the Russian side is still being closely watched, and so far it looks as if Estenlandian border defences outnumber the Russian frontier forces almost 10 to 1; however, Yvon, leader of the Estenlandian secret police, the Kargat, has strabge reports coming in about Dra-poel armaments coming in and being strongly encouraged by the Russians as well as a massive series of shipments that the Russians could ill afford of weapons and supplies being readied as of yesterday to be shipped into Lavregeria ASAP.

Sir Reginald stroked his chin and remarked, "So, they are smart enough to keep themselves out of direct involvement, but they are all but going to fight the war for Lavrageria. I guess that tells me what our next move must be, and that time is absolutely essential. This must be done like lightning, in order to bring these peasants to heel."

OOC-I am still going to wait for Lavrageria before I post any more developments, just excited and posting responses to other posts. Now how many Russian planes are in Lavrageria right now? How many Dra-poel planes? Any others? My first wave hurled 500 fighters at Lavrageria, and I have to assume that everything that Lavregeria had at its disposal was thrown against me, I would like to caculate losses, so what were they? Though, I think it is safe to assume that even if my attack was disasterous; and was coupled with a mssive amount of heroics on the defenders side, I should be able to assume that pretty much everything that can fly in Lavregeria is now destroyed and I have complete air superiority, would that be fair?

BTW, if Putin is American, does that mena he is Quinntonia? Quinntonia is the USA.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.
OOC: I use the terms Quintonnian and American interchangeably, it's just that I, being American, like to shamelessly glorify my nation at every opportunity. :) Putin is not American. He was born in Russia, but his mother fled with him to the US/Quintonnia after his father got firebombed by the Mafia. He spent some time as a US soldier, where he met "The Boss". (Sorry for the blatant MGS3 reference, but I do love the game dearly) He's just returned to Russia recently. As of now, I have 30 top of the line Mig-29M's. This amount is coming across the border currently. However, do note that previously the Lavragerians were paying for the arms, and them being provided free is a new development. Also, they are, for the most part, very cheap, so it's not something we could "ill afford". Especially the AKs. I would wait for the Lavragerian response before declaring air superiority. I'll wait for them before Rping my air forces. Also, my air forces are meant for only a minor role in the initial attack. Either we find a well hidden airbase for hit-and-run partisan missions, or the airforces disengage.
2,000 GRU (intelligence, special forces)
Aks, SA-18’s, RPGs, AT-11 ATGWs and more.
three teams of Spetsnaz.
SU-24s, ten SU-25s, five more Mig 29s (bringing the total to 35 in the country),
twenty Mil MI-28N Attack helicopters,
and several Russian imitations of the mobile AA “Patriot Missiles.”

If Hn diplomats were to be found in my nation with drugs, intent on the corruption of our people, you can be assured that we would not be so pleasant as our French brothers.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.
"We find the nature of the arrest suspicious, at the least. Why would the diplomats, who have had no previous record of drug smuggling into Elkazor, suddenly do such a stupid thing? Very suspicious indeed."
------Secret Diplomatic Channels
OOC: What military % do you have? It seems quite high. I'm assuming you run a brutal and poverty stricken regime with those numbers. <Like North Korea.> Ah, also...And is the marriage between Jillespon and the Dauphin the main point of alliance between the Estenlands and Elkazor? Could they possibly be severed through the family? And since when does France have the Pope's blessing? Is this a French Pope?

((No, Pope John Paul III is Italian, but nevertheless the uncle of France's Grand Almoner Cardinal Rohan. And, historically, and true for Restoration France, is the tradition of the Kingdom of France being the Defender of the Catholic Church. Hence Louis IX was made a Saint, St. Louis, and the French Kings were vested with the title of 'His Most Christian Majesty'. And the alliance is more than blood now, it is a paradigm, a way of looking at the world in identicalal manners. France and Estenlands are historically what France and The Hapsburg Empire were: absolutley autocratic regimes, with the monarchy and Clergy indubitably intertwined (of corse in this case it is th Western/Eastern rights of Orthodoxy, instead of both Western [Roman Catholic]), and in solid military alliance. And Armandian, not to make things difficult, but there would be no pictures of what went on in the Bastille. It is the most impregnible spot in France, manned by her best Royal Mercenaries, and built to house the worst prisoners and defend the most valuable city in France. News has leaked out, Im sure, and there was a few pictures at the airport of the LRR arrival, but no other Media --other than Royal-- has footage of anything that happened. Unless you want to play at trying to have secret agents in France ;) ))

The only response Russia would get from France came from the Ministry of State at Versailles, would issued only:

"Russia's involvement in this affair is neither needed nor wanted. Any benign invovlement they engage in with be ignored diplomatically, while any hostile involvement they engage in will be dealt with militarily. We ask the Russians to consider their role in the affair and admonish them that they had in fact no role, and not by any stretch of imagination do they have one now.

God save the King!"
_______________________________________________________________
Meanwhile, at Paris International Airport, the Marquis d'Brienne would shake his head at the envoy.

"We are gentlemen here, sir, and in this country we do not execute without due process. Your men are fine, but at the moment, as Ive said, it is simply impossible for you to see them."

He continued, speaking in perfect English, the accent only adding to his grandeur "Thy are at the Bastille, and you shall neither be able to travel there nor to anywhere else in France until you gain His Most Christian Majesties assent. As Ive said, now again, the King will be told when there is leisure to do so, he has duties beyond the conception of your politics. I will arrange for a telephone call between you and your Chief Delegate, monitored and under two minutes---if you will be so kind as to quit this terminal and come to the lodging we have made available for you across the Tarmack."

He smiled, offeration consolation, tacitally, and waved his hand down the corridors towards the vans, whose doors were open.

The Basque Guard (in those splendid green and black uniforms and tricorner -tephlon- hats) now arrayed themselves into columns and at full attention, snapped to, bringing in unison their bayonetted rifles to thier chests and yelling out at once "HUAH" in a defeaning yell. Their price was, of course, extravagent. But they were soldiers in the Royal Army, tough as nails to boot. The price was worth the utter loyalty it purchased.

"His Majesty will attend to it" said the Marquis striking one of those aristocratic poses the nobility in France was known for "when he has time. If you retire at the lodging you may stay, and have your conversation. If not, you will turn around and go back the way you came."

________________________________________________________________

Departing from the city of Cherbourg, freshly commissioned by the Queen, the aptly named Cherbourg Class Mark II Louis-Auguste (Louis XX's full name) slowly steamed out of the harbor, magnificently.

She was nearley 1/6 larger than the Cherbourg Mark I's, with additional missle capabilites and turbine enchancement. Plus she carried more crew, but there was no doubt about: from the ships grace, to he prodigious size, to her sparkling white coat, she was the flagship of the French Royal Navy.

Picking up speed she moved out to sea, moving easily to twenty knots but looking as though she only did 5, that cleanly the water was cut. The massive white ship, flying the proud golden Fleur-de-lys of the King, turned south. It was her commanders intention, incidentially Merechal en Grand le Comte de Lyon (a friend of the Kings second oldest the Comte d'Provence), to sail her south, on manuevers in the Mediterranian.

((FYI stats for Cherbourg BShip can be found in thread= Progressive Restoration. And I am compelled not to write about and more events in the Lavragerian war--having already launched an attack---until Lavrageria responds to the situation.))

OOC-I am basing my military numbers on North Korea/Dra-poel numbers and then factoring in the massive military industrial complex that was left behind in Ukriane, known as the crown jewel of the Soviet Union aside from Russia herself. That means that I can maintain Dra-pol like numbers and equip my men far better. This, and the fact that most of my officers are revolutionaries an verterans, makes me a Tsar with teeth.
Also, it should perhaps be noted that with the fall of the Soviet Union, I represent one of the largest nuclear powers in the world. Just FYI.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

((I have decided to start a new thread, as AC suggested. I think it'll be tidier to have the war there, then other issues may continue here if required- hostage this and diplomatic that. We'll keep the other thread for nothing much more than the fighting, if possible (I know it'll probably end up nothing like that, but with the best intentions... ;) ), and do everything else here. The field and the politics a world apart, you know? http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386951

On another note, AC, hey, Russian ABM/high-altitude SAMs are quite apart from the American and perfectly good... in fact better than Patriot. Copying it would be a step back for the Russians. S-300 and S-400 (if your improving state can now afford a couple of the latter in operational order) are extremely impressive, and Aidarov had wanted to buy just a handful in coming years, to protect his capital... only he may never get the chance.))

Elkazor: Sorry. I was assuming you would parade the "criminals" around for them world to see.
Estenlands: Well, is not the same military/industrial complex available in Russia as well? I know you've been concencrating on military more, but I know a lot of the infrastructure is still left over.
Lavrageria: Ah. Sorry, I'm still new to Russian hardware. Alright, I'll change the Patriots to S-300s and S-400s.

Yes, there is a huge military industrial complex left in Russia, but most of the factories have been turned over to the retail market, now that capitalism has taken over in Russia. You must remember, no matter what your ideal capabilities are, your nation is in shamb;les right now.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC: Well, I realize that Russia is in a poor state, I do think you over dramatize it a bit. The country is in a sorry state, but the sheer amount of leftover hardware (you'd be surprised at how many old Mig-23s Russia has stashed away) and the oil profits allow us to maintain a decent military. Russia is by no means a third world country. Also, I do hope your plans don't involve an invasion of Russia. I'd have to bring in "the international community" and all the messes that entails. Anyways, I'd rather not become outright enemies with the Estenlands. After the Lavragerian affair is over, I'm sure relations will get better.

OOC: Vapors...Ha...Nice excuse.
The Russian kingpins who had sat in the dingy bar with the Frenchman left the seedy establisment, clutching the golden bar. Both were blubbering and in a state of severe shock. (Yeah, the Mafia is in bad shape these days.)
"Can you believe it? With such funds, we could revive the Mafia!"
"We must call the Red Leader."
One of the men slwoly strode towards a payphone. He pressed a long and complicated code, while his partners gathered a group of thugs who would clear the area. The phone was latched onto a certain network that would activate when the correct numbers were pushed in. Then, it would simultaneously call thousands of phones across the earth. One of these phones would answer, and a direct voice link would be established between these two phones. Any wiretap would detect all of the connections, and would thus place the location of the speaker in thousands upon thousands of places. Thus were the security measures for the elusive man who ran the Red Mafia, who was only known as the "Red Leader." The phone answered, and they began to speak in code.
"Oh man of crimson, the king of the west has become friendly towards the peasants of the East. He has offered them a feast."
A voice disguised eerily by a computer spoke through the receiver.
"Really? Tell the people's of the west that they are very gracious, and that the peasants of the East will gladly accept their feast."
"They wish us to increase our joyous celebrations."
"Very well then. Dowidzenia, comrade."
Click! The phone was hung up. The Russian kingpins walked back into the bar, quite pleased with themselves. They soon reported that the Frenchman's offer was accepted, and that their operations would increase immediately. The money was to be placed under an untraceable (bribery, of course is what made this so) Swiss bank account, codenamed: Fund For Impoverished Children Of The East.

The money would of course be transferred, several days later. At the end of that time, while war wracked Lavrageria, contact was again made by proxy with the Mafia agents at the bar.

Yuri would press the Mafia men, by a note with ink that faded to nothing with time:

'I have given you the initial sum. More is available---there must be protests against the war, presently, or all our efforts are in vain!

Vladimir Putin strode out of a wooden door, dressed in his trademark style of simplicity and black. His black shoes creaked on the old floor, as he approached the podium in the old Parliamentry building. It had fallen into disrepair, as most of the old, corrupt "representatives" had rarely even visited the place. Putin had fired all of them of course, and was ready to see the new brood that had been elected. He had called them "Congress" now, both because he wished for a new slate and because he wished to aspire to the American/Quinntonian model.
"My comrades, I have come to you not to speak of war, but of something far more insidious. Our police report that crime has drastically risen, with random murders becoming almost commonplace. Just hours ago, a bomb was set off in a Moscow store. The Mafia is regrouping. And someone here..."
He turned his back to the crowd for a second, and then swiveled around dramatically, pointing at a young man in the Congress.
"...Is helping them! The KGB, which as you all know has been considerably purged and has had an anti-governmental waste and anti-corruption branch added to it, has discovered this footage."
"This is an outrage! I serve only the people!"
Putin had him restrained as all manners of media looked on. He placed the tape into a VCR, and pushed play. The fuzzy camera footage showed the young Congressman talking to a fat man in a trenchcoat.
"So, Mr. Congressman, do we have a deal? Will you tell the police chief to turn a "blind eye" to our drug dealing enterprises in your district? We shall pay handsomely."
"Of course I couldn't do that. It would be wrong and immoral."
He said this mockingly, and both men shook hands, laughing hysterically. Putin turned the television off, while the Congress and media stood shocked. The young Congressman shook violently, his face burning with rage.
"Dammit Putin! You know we all do that! It's how we make a living in Russia!"
Putin's eyes focused in on the Congressman, burning with fury.
"Not in the Russia I knew. And certainly not in today's Russia. TAKE HIM AWAY!"
He pointed dramatically, and the guards hauled away a screaming Congressman, while the media frantically covered this development.
Putin sighed and said,"Day by day it gets worse."
**********************************************************
Outside of the Congressional building, massive protests took place. Strangely enough, few of the protesters were native Russians. The mafia had yet to mobilize much support, so they wheeled in global warming protestors and a few anti-globalists. The crowd was easily riled up, and began to chant.
"DOWN WITH PUTIN! HE SLAUGHTERS INNOCENT ESTENLANDIAN BABIES IN AN ILLEGAL WAR HIS SHADOWY GOVERNMENT HAS KEPT SECRET! HE SHOULD LISTEN TO FRANCE! I LIKE BERETS!"

((That was great, AC, I have to say. You have a nice taste for satire. Id like to invite you to send clandestine agents to France, OOCly of course. We'd have to RP it, but turnabout is fair play. There is this crazy (as all things French seem to be) resistance group to Louis called the ABC Society, Im sure you could get a contact in there if youd like.))

Yuri rushed quietly down the snowny bridge in Moscow. Actually, no one would recognize him as Yuri now, he changed again, well you had to be like a chamelion to persue an occupation like his. He could hear the chants of protestors in the distance, and grinned. He had just paid a few people to get video of it, and he had wired it back to RNN (Royal News Network, Ive decided on that as the name for French State Media). They would be sure it got to the AP.

Finding his out of the way apartment, he went in and shut the door. Taking off his puddy and moustache revealed a young Frenchman, a Chevlaier du Saint-Louis...one of the Kings best agents. Waiting for him in the room was a beautiful Russian women, formerly of the KGB, but once long ago her family had with title served the Romanovs. She rose like a hunting cat and carressed him as he removed the coat.

"Mon cher, it is getting to dangerous in Moscow." Her voice, like a purr, got low. "They are making arrests."

Dominic de Angouleme spoke in his beloved French, so glad not to be using uncouth Russian anymore. "We will leave soon. The Mafia here still needs more money, and satellite phones. Those idiots couldnt get their drug smuggling schedules right anymore unless I do it for them."

He ran his hand through his hair, taking his pistol from its holster and setting it down. "Soon, but these protests take guidance, and we must stay at least until progress has been made in the wa..." the sound of a police car going down the street was audible.

Katerina pulled a AK-47 from the table, and stashed it under her coat.

"We cannot get comfortible darling, whether or not we leave Moscow, this apartment has gotten to warm." She grinned. "To warm for us."

Begrudgingly he got his stuff together again, while she moved the van to the front door.

As the van zipped off down the road, the apartment (save the equipment they brought with them) burst into flame.

OOC: Thanks for the compliment Elkazor. I do have to thank you for the fact that your entire regime provides infinite fodder Just out of curiosity...Are you specifically referring to the protestors, or the whole thing in general? I can't post now, must sleep. Wait for me before you continue with Yuri, alright? I'm sure the police will want to investigate the explosion...Oh, and what is the ABC society? A terrorist group bent on imposing the english language?

((Protestors. No prob, Yuri's in no hurry. Actually, it was name name of a revolutionary organization back in 1828 under the French Restoration ;). At any rate, its a collection of leftists and anti-monarchists, although they are pretty insipid for a number of reasons at the momemt, because the governments chugging along quite well, and the people are happy. Of course, well, they are French revolutionaries.))

(OOC: Hrm. If the Ukraine split from Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union (this helps me a lot, really, as Dra-pol used to consider that we'd had a falling-out with Stalin, calling him a coward over the first Korean war, and LRR didn't really fit with that too well), and -working from the industrial base and nuclear arsenal left over- has now built up a militarism equivalent to the Drapoel, then has not Russia also had time to begin a recovery? More to the point, forget Russia's economy being down the toilet, the Estenlands' must be in absolute free-fall. Just maintaining the USSR-era-level nuclear arsenal would be extremely restrictive, because it's expensive as heck and would leave little for investment to get the economy going again... I mean, saying you had a recovery and can now afford all that is one thing, but one has to consider that the recovery needs to come in spite of already having that, not in order to get it. Then the isolationism required to spend so oppressively and rule through totalitarianism while bordering democracies in Russia, Lavrageria, and presumably Poland, Romania (sort of), Hungary and Moldova would leave the Estenlands trying to make do with open relations with the French, and extremely restricted contact with just about everyone else on earth. I don't mind the world having another psychotic regime, but I do take issue with it running riot without any of the restrictions that kept Dra-pol flying Japanese DC-3 copies in front-line service until the late 1990s (when they finally fell apart), especially if Russia's going to be criticised for trying to do anything at all, under less restrictive conditions.
And bear in mind that I say that from a nation that doesnt' really stand to benefit from a powerful post-Soviet Russia.)

OOC- Firstly, I am just trying to assume that, until Putin took over, a very short time ago, Russia was as it is in RL. I then tried to find out what would be left.

As for the nuclear thing, I was mentioning that as an aside, Estenlands doesn't have a large WMD program, though it does have some major capabilities including ICBMs and two sub platforms that I have posted earlier. And Ukraine does have a slightly better economy than RL Ukraine, but not very, and the peasants are quite poor, though loyal, seeing as most of them still remember the bloody revolution and/or have realtives in mass Soviet graves because of it.
I have no problem with a Russian restoration, in fact, with Putin now in charge, I think it is inevitable. But, based on AC's OWN posts, when he took over, just prior to the beginning of the conflict ion Lavrageria, Russia was in shambles, perhaps even worse than RL.
And, with Ukraine's military, Dra-pols equiptment is based on the presumption that they would actually use it for sustained periods, mine was never so. It is only because of the cash influsion of 34 billion USD/QD that I am able to commit to war, also as esteblished in earlier threads. Before the French money came in, Wingert himself said that he just couldn't afford to attack. And as for the bordering democracies, besides Poland, there is not much to look at.
Wingert rules through loyalty by fear, not of him, but of Russia, and with it much of the outside world. And, do you not see any similarilty between my secret police, the Kargat, and the Banat? I based them on yours. LOL!

To sum up, Russia will not be weak for long, and even now they can pack a punch, and I am taking full advantage of it, after this, it will be in my vest interests to build a relationship with them, as their start rises again.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OCC: Well, I think it would be a stretch to claim that the Estenlandian airforce operates 1,000 modern fighter types (I gather you fly that number, since I read earlier about two 500-plane air wings being flown at Lavrageria). After all, the USAF operated around 1418 F-15s and F-16s of all variants in 2000, and the Estenlands is certainly not the United States.

Although, with 34 billion dollars, you could actually buy 1700 fighter planes priced at 20 million dollars (an early variant MiG-29). But my point is that to have 1000 modern types right off the bat like that is not too realistic. A sizeable portion of those aircraft would probably be old MiGs, I would imagine. After all, I doubt you'd spend all that 34 billion on thousands of fighter planes. And you can't really get much capability (barring the Gripen and numerous economical trainer/fighters), except with the Su-27 export variants, under 30 million these days.

IC:

Marshall Syzko is quite unhappy to be brushed away by the Marquis.

"Gentleman? Hm. Gentlemen indeed. Do you know how much it hurts to be stuck with one of those things?" he asks the Marquis.

If the French intelligence had any kind of file on Marshall Syzko, they would probably know that he had lived in a concentration camp from late 1944, when he was finally exposed as a jew, until the end of the war, and during that time he had been stuck by a drunken SS man's bayonet during an escape attempt in the last days of the war.

"Bloody machines," the Marshall mumbles under his breath. "They look pretty ridiculous."

Vladek then starts towards the vans, his two attendants in tow. His blatant insult of the Royal Army troopers is based on what could be called first-hand experience with fanatically loyal units.

"Ah, very good. Enjoy your stay!" smiled the Marquis, breaking into jovial gusts of laughter. He turned to his aid, and said "Tat Pis!, no?" The aid and he, in bursts of mirth, left to their awaiting limo...if these grotesque third-worlders had taken and more of their time, the might have missed the Duc d'Aquitane's Piquet Game at Versailles, not damned likely!

The LRR representitives would be marched out by the Basque Guard, while the Marquis would depart to his revelry.

((IC Notes: When the LRR reps make the call, or actually the call is made to them when they are least expectant --thus to shave time off the two minutes, time starts when phone rings--, they will find their imprisoned colleauge alive. Although it is obvious he was intoxicated heavily on the line, in fact slurring all his words. French doctors would say they had to tranquilize them with whopping amounts of seditives, so bad was the over-dose the LRR delegation suffered with their escapades. Therefore, the Chief Delegate cannot really say more than all the members of the delegation are alive and in the Bastille. But when pressed no doubt by his brethren about what happened, he would become confused (a fresh injection of Khlonazepam). If he did begin to become coherent, music would be played loudly on the line (Later the French will claim he liked to listen to the radio in his cell) as to make conversation impossible. But nonetheless, they should be able to identify him, and confirm the teams alive status.))

OOC- I have posted my military numbers before, and I put quite a lot of thought into them. You must understand that I have no pesky little constraints placed upon me that places like modern Russia and USA have, like democratic process, massive social programs, etc. Instead, I am quite willing to starve my people into paying for perhaps the most massive military currently in Europe.
We need to remember that the number of American planes is not whatthey could possibly have, but what they choose to have within their framework right now.
For instance, Germany, with a population of 60 million fronted upwards of 8 million troops at the hieght of the first world war, because that was their upward limit, this included rationing, and massive nationalisation of the economy. Ukraine just considers itself in a wartime economy at all times, and has had just over twenty years to build this military machine to protect itself, theoretically from Russia.
So, having this equiptment is not actually the expensive part, the expensive part is fielding an army of this size for any length of time, and that is where the French money comes in.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

OOC:: Well, remember, Germany's economy was starting to falter even before the war, and they had eventually to give up a lot of their policies, when it was already too late. I'm not sure that they ever had anything like eight million troops, to be honest. I could be wrong, but that sounds more like a total for the full length of the war, or something.

Anyway, forget me talking about Nazi Germany, everyone talks about Nazi Germany... I was going to say that you do know that the Ukraine doesn't have 60million people, right? It is barely 48million. Just wanted to get that said, as I'd seen you reference an extra 12 or 13 million a few times.

A question, while we're talking about it. The Tsar's economy, is it fully capitalistic, does it involve state ownership and central planning with price-fixing and other half-measures, has it withdrawn currency entirely, or what? I'm curious, because I'm imagining (as with France) people inheriting businesses they don't know what to do with, and getting ahead because of who they are, and then getting eaten alive on the international markets, and I'm seeing a vast peasant class with no buying power doing precious little for the economy and merely subsisting, and I'm seeing everyone who isn't subsisting or blue-blooded putting their efforts into building what few weapons they know how, never getting an infusion of outside knowledge, and never having spare capital to acquire new equipment or spare parts, and I'm seeing the invasion bogged down within days and thinking of the Lavragerians as the Greeks surprising the Italians and pushing them back out of the country, only I'm not seeing Germany coming to the rescue. I mean, that's fine, of course.

((To respond to your statement Dra. I dont think French Companies are being eaten alive on the International markets. After all, the Tripartite pact was created to ensure against that very thing -International Markets-, and France recently opened up trade with Hudecia. That said, although of course the nobles in charge of French companies have absolute control, remember everybody under them has been locked into place. Ergo, an engineers son(s) by and large will be a damn good engineer. Of course, they will never have any pay changes, and they have no choices in life, but they are efficent in their tasks. And nobles, by their very nature, seek to be richer, they would not run their companies into the ground, they would lose prestige and their income. As well, France adopted a gold standard, so there cannot be any speculation. My economy can best be described under the umbrella of Mercantilism, which it is without a doubt, and although it is not capable to compete for domination in world markets with the capitalist West, it will preserve without a doubt the Feudal system France is under: thus the aristocrats get richer, the poor get children (good for working), and the King is literally the Sun in France, controlling all aspects of society (with not a little help from the Holy Catholic Church). And while Im on my soapbox, I want to point out Fran is not a maniacal dictatorship. There are no secret police in France. There is a domestic intelligence service, The Royal Watch, but they must get a Lettre d'Cache from the King himself before anyone is arrested. The whole point of this system is to preserve the Ancien Regime, not oppress people. The Restoration Government looks at the Ancien Regime as the most stable kind of society, with checks of power (The King, The Nobles, the Church---although, admittedly, the King has the last say). And, for the record, Louis loves all his subjects, and considers himself the father to his French Children.))

(So, basically, yes, where, British companies will be headhunting the success stories, French companies will be sat watching and making do with what they already have. One would also assume that French people will be racing abroad to get jobs denied them by the static hereditary system, sapping the nation's talent year by year. Not to mention the nation's large left wing, now probably resident in London. It's the mid C19th all over again! Man, French people will even be going to Quinntonia for its relative wealth of opportunity. They'll no doubt be plugging the whole, "land of opportunity" guff again.
You know, if pushed, John Bull is exactly the sort of man to restore the world's greatest ever trading empire and settle the matter for good :) Might be best not to tempt him by trying too hard.)

((Finally! A word from my arch-enemies, the Brits! One comment, I dont think anyones fleeing France (expect the Leftists going in droves to London ;) ) for the simple reason France is a power again. They have something to take pride in, alot actually. I mean, its still a nice place to live, GDP is going up, and there are not the masses of poor peasants that there are in Estenlands, after all it is France. So, while the Left would be undoubtedly congregating in London (Good idea for future RP, yah it is like Les Miserables epoch no?), by and large I imagine the subjects are happy. After all, absolute monarchy, especially under a Bourbon, gives immense sources of pride (as well as Catholic devotion) to the standard Frenchman. So yah, I strongly imagine France only lost the most hard core leftists (happy to see them gone, hope they enjoy London). As of now, with Louis star on the rise, most French -the VAST majority- are giddy))

Estenlands has a very different fuedal system, though it is heavily wieghted in favor of the nobility, nobles from all over Europe have flocked to Estenlands to take positions of prominence, for instance, the commander of my military, Sir Reginald, is British. He still has lands and a title, as well as business interests in UK. In the Eastern fuedal system, nobility was an ability to command troops. So, most of our nobles reside in the military and government, and Boyars govern the local regions, including the local militias and police.
The economy is run by nobles right now, this is true, but that is mostly because loyal businessmen and industrialists were knighted or made Boyars after the revolution. Also, moajority of peasants, while they get a salary at their repective jobs, it is deducted from housing, health care costs, heating, foodstuffs, elementary education, etc., and whatever is left is for them to have. The Boyars, of course control this.
We still promote through merit, as if a peasant gets to a piont where they need to be educated for an officer commission, and they are seen as being worth it, they are educated at the Academy and given an officers position, and with that, given a minor title (knighthood). With that, and the connections made through his military career, people of ability can easily enter into business and/or administration. Nobility is very loose in the eastern tradition, Boyars answer to the king, titles matter very little and are given and taken away at the whim of the Tsar. I am sure that in the long term, there would be decadence that set in, but Ukraine is ruled like Russia under Ivan the Terrible or Catherine The Great or Peter the Great, very autocratic, the nobility has no power of its own, and you will find things in business, administration and the military and business, like a Duke being under the commend of a knight, that sort of thing.
This all means that though it is harder for peasants to get ahead, it is by no means impossible for a loyal man of great skill to get into high position. Also, we often recruit top corperate and technical expertise from all over the world, and those that choose to stay, get knighted for their trouble.
So, there is far more fluidity of position in Estenlands than in say, France, and bloodlines are not very important, except that of the King, and even then, only so far as the blood of the Russian Tsars runs in the viens of Wingert, a direct descendant of Ivan the Terrible, the lineage protected all these years after Romonav rule.
So, though we do not have the vast consumer base that France has, our people have the basics covered and the ability to get ahead in life, all they have to do is join the military, and to a lesser extent, the Church.
And BTW, did I claim 60 mill as my population? If so, an oversight on my part, didn't mean to at all. My force projections are all based on the population as listed in the CIA factbook.

King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah

OCC: Well, the United States has a sizeably larger tax and GDP base to draw from, considering that the American population is something around 250 million, a good deal of that number probably willing to pay taxes for the military exclusively.

The majority of the US government budget goes into the military as it is.

So I guess those kind of huge numbers would be fine, but I can't imagine them being able to operate for any kind of sustained offensive. The logistical requirements alone would be crippling to most militaries. Also, wartime economies are generally not meant to be in place for years on end. Their very nature is to allow the fielding of a massive military force, and after a while they take their toll. I mean, when you keep the majority of the population dirt poor and uneducated at the expense of fielding a huge and obscene military, I can't imagine many wanting it to happen much longer. If AC gets his act together and comes into the fight after full commitment by Estenlands, I don't think you'll be in too good of a position if Lavragerian guerillas are anything close to effective.

Modern military equipment requires quite a supply of spare parts and maintainance. As I stated earlier, in order to keep the Estenlands armed forces in the field for a long time, with such a disproportionally-sized force, the logistical faculties would have to be massive. Spare parts, fuel, and ammunition would all have to come in steady supply in order to keep the war machine eating up its favorite food-people-or else it will ground to a halt and fall prey to other war machines.

OOC post in response to questions from the war thread.

Religion
Most Lavragerians are often considered to be atheist, though the Glakatahn origin of the nation included some spirituality in shamanistic tendancies and some reverance for the natural world. Hunters, shepherds and warriors would consult the stars, clouds, and even make sacrifices of animals or captured rivals and read insights from their entrails or bones, usually looking for information about the fates or weather, or the mood of their game animals. That sort of thing has begun to decline drastically since the Glakatahn began to settle down and become the modern Lavragerians (the meaning of the word Lavrageria has to do with the notion of a permanent home, in contrast to the traditional nomad ways), but no religion has yet really taken advantage of the people settling down, though it is safe to say that the population is quickly souring to its first serious encounters with the Christian world.

Cannibals?
The Glakatahn, of whom a couple of hundred thousand remain, mainly roaming the west in the area between the Polish and Lithuanian borders, north of the Pripet Marsh, have -in some clans, such as the dominant Lodoz- a tradition of canibalistic practices. That is not to say that they live off a diet of Soylent Green, but will traditionally hold a feast on an exceptionally important occasion, perhaps to celebrate a victory or prepare for decisive battle, in which significant figures will eat selected parts of a slain enemy captive. Lavragerians have given up that practice.

And so on...
It should be understood that there are different groups in Belarus. The Lavragerians have tried to settle down and establish a democratic republic, while the remaining tribes are split, with Kiba Morgan's Lodoz being the most powerful and most violent, and others often siding with the republic but wishing to maintain their traditional way of life. The Lodoz may be fighting the republic one minute, the Estenlands the next, then losing interest entirely and trying to subjugate a minor clan instead.
As I indicated, most of the Glakatahn remaining in the nomadic ways are situated in the west, just north of the Pripet Marshes. The Republic claims all Belarus as its own, as it has some agreements with minor clans in the west to allow them to continue living traditionally so long as they are peaceful. The Lodoz, of course, recognise no territorial claims anywhere on earth, but do sometimes engage in lawmaking and treaties. The Republic's development had been mostly in the east, north of the Pripet Marshes, because Aidarov expected an attack from the south, and also saw Russia as his best potential trading partner. At the moment, the Estenlandic forces are trudging through countless miles of primeval swamp and forest, assaulted all the way by thousands of partisans who know the land and can live off it quite easily. The French missile attacks on Lavragerian cities are killing countless thousands of civilians, and forcing still more to head back to the nomadic ways on the central ridge and northern lands of the Republic. Some may even try to cross into surrounding nations which have vast under developed areas, too, especially the Polish east. Lavrageria has basically no heavy industry to hit, reflected in its lack of heavy military equipment, save what is brought in by other nations or groups. Manufacture of small arms and modification of explosives is done in little toolshops, usually nowhere near the cities.

History of the conflict
In truth, Aidarov coaxed some Glakatahn to carry out the raid on the Estenlands, perhaps unwisely, because he hoped to get the fight over and done with so he could concentrate on building his country. He didn't want to build a nation only for the Estenlands to come and take it away. Of course, most of the Glakatahn who knew this were either killed by the Estenlands defence forces, or betrayed on their return and strung-up by the Republic, which disowned them. It is doubtful if anyone could ever prove Republican involvement, and it would appear that Lavrageria Retpvblika did its best to crack-down on the hostile clans, launching air attacks and swooping for mass arrests and executions (conveniently silencing anyone in the know), which have only stopped since the invasion. In truth, the Lavragerians were probably doing a better job of tackling the violent Glakatahn, because of their human intelligence resources and ties to other clans. The Estenlanders are just showering expensive ordnance over a couple of hundred thousand square kilometres of precious little, with no static Glakatahn targets, and no way to tell if they're hitting refugees, Lodoz, or previously pacified clans now more than ticked off.

And it is impossible to...
...over state how absurd Fox News is ;)

OOC: What do you mean, "get my act together?" I can hardly have a full commitment to the Estenlands-Lavragerian affair; my army would only prevail with sheer force of numbers, and the economy and the people are simply not ready for such a toll.
Officer Greg Jacobs, an American who'd done some spy work in Russia, fallen in love with both the country and a beautiful woman, and stayed, dropped the donut he'd been munching on. He stared at the explosion that had swallowed an apartment building. It was far too powerful to be a gas explosion. He quickly snatched his radio.
"All units, converge on the Red Square. I repeat, converge on Red Square. Establish a search party; terrorism is suspected."
All police cars in the area, aided by search teams armed with shotguns and handguns. Jacobs moved his paunchy flesh into the car, and sped off, chasing the mysterious man, who unbeknownst to him, was the French spy known as "Yuri".
*********************************************************
Paris International
They were, by every definition, an odd couple. A large, black man whose muscles, brains, hair, and golden chains were larger than anything humanity had ever witnessed. The second was a small, white man whose face screamed either "conman" or "used car salesman." Together, they were Russia's secret weapon: Mr. T and Murdock.
Mr. T said in his unmistakeable voice, "Yo, foo'! Stop eatin' dose snacks, and get focused on da mission!"
Murdock spoke in a quintessential New York accent,"Yeah, I know. Come on we gotta buy da stuff. Come on."
The team strode through the streets of Paris. At first they attempted to maintain their inconspicuous status; then they realized that Paris was mainly stocked with the ranks of the aristocracy. Bizarre clothes with random plumes added for no apparent reason were the style of the day. A giant black man wearing gold chains and a mohawk was frankly normal by these standards. The pair entered a costume shop, and left completely transformed. Murdock's face was replaced by that of a scarred Ukrainian revolutionary. He wore a small black mustache, green fatigues(so as to emphasize military status, but not so obivous as wearing a military uniform), and the obligatory beret. Mr. T bore his standard gold chains, but his uniform was that of a bodyguard, replete with both fake and real weapons. (Real ones being concealed, of course).
The Odd Couple strode into the most Left leaning Cafe in town, called The Infinitely Irritating Marxist, and sat down on the counter. Murdock leaned over to the bartender, and whispered to him, in a thick Ukrainian accent.
"Hey, buddy. You know where we can talk to the fellows who call themselves the "ABC Society"?"
The bartender simply ignored Murdock, until Mr. T slipped a five Euro into his hands...

OOC: Hell no. I'm sorry to be so crude, but...Fox News rules, quite simply. It's nice to finally get a fair portrayal of events, with analysis (O'Reilly, Hannity, Colmes--All biased, but all are analysts, not reporters) that comes from a variety of views. But nonetheless; let's not get bogged down in that. If the AMW Fox News is going to be slanted in one way or another, let's let Quinntonia decide how that's going to work. Oh, and would it be possible to send some missionaries to Lavrageria once this is over? I oppose the French/Ukrainians, but I do agree that a little religion could help the Lavragerians out.

Yuri heard sirens as the distance. The van sped down the road, Katerina driving.

"What now?" She said, snapping her head to the side as she made a screaming turn, catching air as they went.

Yuri, really Pierre incognito, pointed to a previously arranged safehoused garage coming up. With a click of the transponder, he opened the door. They zipped in as the door closed behind them.

Getting out of the car, they gathered their items, and went to a large work bench. On it sat new disguises. Within moments they were in the garb of Orthodox Nuns. Kateria had her AK tucked away under her vestments, while Yuri, now Sister Dvona Petrovna, really Pierre stocked away his glocks.

They set bombs of C-4 in the garage, timed for an hour. Putting all their vital items into large suitcases, they went outside. A bus full of nuns came by, and stepping onto it (not before checking their luggage underneath) they were wisked away down the road, on the way to a monastery outside Volgagrad.

Of course, the busses records on transport logs would be removed by kind corrupts friend of the cause.
________________________________________________________________

In Paris, at the nortiorus Marxist, the gruff bartender served them wine, fresh in from Bordeaux. He took the five golden Louis d'or (no Euros in this France, and itll take five hundred to bribe him to talk ;) ) and tucked them away. The bar was filled was dissatisfied liberals, drinking vodka laden espressos and stroking their gotees. The police, of course, kept tabs on it. As a rule, there was always a Royal Watch Agent across the street. But he didnt pay all to much attention. He usually only went in when people tried making speeches.

"Now, sir, what would a Estenlandian like yourself go about asking that for?" Of course he wiped glasses as he spoke. "Well, its common knowledge, you know. I suppose its illegal for them to meet, but its usually allowed if they dont try any rabble rousing."

He offered them more wine, not free. "Youll find them meeting over at the Sorbonne. They all flock around that former Deputy Blasson. He seems to be keeping them quiet though, since he took over the ABC Society they stopped protesting and started writing their grievances by mail. The more vocal opposition, you see, is either in London by now or in the Bastille. I suppose youll find them tommorrow afternoon, theres been word theyre going to have a meeting then for a while now."

"Most of the city is waiting for the festivities starting an a few days. King Louis, I hear, is going to come to Notre Dame and pray for the health of his daughter in law and the baby, and then lay hands on the ill. Afterwards, he and the Queen are giving a Banquet at the Tuileries. Theyll be giving out free food and wine to the public in the gardens, and with fireworks later."
He was a Marxist, but it was strange to hear him talk so fondly of the King. The general feeling was one of discontentment, but strangley there was no general ill will towards the King, as he had actually given French people their pride back. (No doubt, the atmosphere amongst the exiles in London would be outright volitile compared to their French counterparts. Not to even mention the resentment of certain 'revolutionaries', begrudgingly shackled away at the Bastille)

Perhaps the ABC Society would be more discontented.

OOC: Vodka-laden espressos? Genius! I'll have to suggest that to some of my left-leaning friends still upset over the election...
Mr. T smacked Murdock over the head for giving such a small sum, in an outdated currency. Murdock then gave him a larger sum, in the proper currency, and they thanked the man for his drinks and information. Undoubtedly, the bartender would have been a tad disturbed by a Ukrainian military type being smacked around by his body guard, but then again, he'd seen much stranger things.
Impatient with rental facilitites, and wishing to leave no paper trail, Mr. T walked up to a random citizen entering his Renault 6 Rodeo, a boxy car that looked like it had been to hell and back. <http://home.swipnet.se/~w-55301/thomas/motor/page2.html>
"Yo, foo' I wantcho cah!"
Murdock elbowed him, and spoke fluent French, in a distinctly French accent. He carried his previous disguise in his backpack, donning now the robes of an aristocrat, as to avoid detection.
"Monsiueur, could I purchase this lovely vehicle?"
The man, who was a "lowly" (in the French hierarchy) peasant, shivered in fear and shock.
"Sir, but why do you desire such a lowly vehicle? It does not suit your wondrous status."
"I....Eh...Need it for my collection! Yes! I am an eccentric nobleman who has dedicated his life to the pursuit of rundown cars made by the insane genius, Michelo Machamon."
"But...I must go home..."
Mr. T slapped into the peasant's hands a sum that was much higher than the car would ever sell, and the peasant ran off, overjoyed and unaware that "Michelo Machamon" was actually the name of a Pizza delivery guy who lived down the block from Murdock. They quickly leaped into the battered vehicle, and drove off to Sorbonne, ready to fulfill their dastardly scheme.
**********************************************************
Hours Later...
The Renault they drove in finally died when they arrived at their destination, its poor engine finally giving out, unused to such strenous speeds. The duo stepped out, again in their Ukrainian disguises. The ABC society was apparently in full force, with bickering liberals wandering all around, some of them apparently actors, decked out in full gala attire, while others were lowly hobos and yet others were the stereotypical image of a teenage liberal, bearing a 'Che Guevara' shirt, with marijuana joints sticking out of their mouths and their faces in a completely blank state. A man stood in the center, and seemed to draw their attention. (at least those who weren't drugged or inebriated)
"That suckahs probably Blasson."
"Yeah, let's have a little chat with him."
They drew towards Blasson, and once he finished his speech, tapped him on the shoulder.
Murdock said, again faking a thick Ukrainian accent,"We would like to talk."
OOC: IM me at "jabberwockybacon" for AIM or at "kirbylordx" for Yahoo, so we can negotiate the deal.
**********************************************************
In Russia, highway leading out of Moscow
A bus full of nuns drove out of Moscow, and approached the checkpoints established there. Officer Greg Jacobs went out to inspect the vehicle and it's inhabitants. The checkpoints had been set up in reaction to the two explosions in Moscow, where terrorism was feared. He had his officers check underneath for any drugs or bombs, but most of the luggage was left alone, since nuns usually got the benefit of the doubt. A fat officer bearing a thick mustache approached Jacobs.
"Yeah, we checked, and they're all clear. The nuns were pretty gracious, although there were two acting a bit hostile. Shy, I guess. What's funny is that one of them looked way too beautiful to be a nun, and the other was so ugly I could've sworn she was a man. Didn't know they let transvestites in the order..."
Despite gender suspicions, the bus full of nuns was allowed to pass, and continue on its journey.

OOC: I'm enjoying reading this AC

The Gothic lecture hall at the Sorbonne was packed full of the ABC society. Confusion was the only constant. At a podium in front of the hall, Deputy Blasson (in a trendy coat) was trying to call the meeting to order. Oddly, strangers would find he really didnt have much heart in it. Mobs milled about.

Some were yelling, some were smoking dope and chanting rhytmically, others were simply singing 'Marseilles'.

The two odd strangers would not doubt have recognized this was the heart of the French left. However, the mood was tense. For weeks now, the ABC Society had moved their efforts to writing dignified letters to Versailles, instead of chanting in the streets---ever since former Republican Deputy Blasson had been elected Secretary. The result was the group began to have interest lost in it, as the majority of 'firebrand' revolutionaries were now either in London or the Bastille, and the leftovers were being won over by the success the King was attaining in leaps and bounds.

Like a shot in the night, a shrew in loose gowns (mother earth/feminazi type)
stood up and pointed a finger at Blasson. "Ja Accuse!"

"You sold us out, you slimy rat! You've been telling that fat pig Louis about all our meetings! They came for my sister in arms last night because she called the Queen a strumpet! How did they know? Shes in the Bastille now!How did they!?!?!." Her voice was a shrill howl, and it had focused the efforts of the mob.

Blasson's eyes darted left and right and sweat began to trickle down his face. "Uhh, Madamoiselle, I dont know...what your...uh...talking about..."

Her shrill monologue continued unabated. "Shut up, traitor! How did you get all those new cars? Who bought you that estate in Marly? Who let you out of the Bastille rat?!?!."

A goateed man in a Che Guevera shirt spat and held up some papers. "Its no use pulling your tricks anymore, traitor! Weve broken into your posh estate in Marly, out there in the idyllic countryside. IT HAD A PORTRAIT OF KING LOUIS HANGING OVER THE MANTLE!"

Blasson coughed and through the coughing weakly said "Now, now...um...uh...come to order! This is neither the time nor the place..."
Angry shouts drowned him out. As French crowds were wont to do, the mood became hot. The shrew howled and pointed.

"Its all been a lie, hes been getting paid by Louis!" boos filled the hall.

At this point the hall became thunderous. The walls shook with the chanting, and passers by began to run away. Cries of 'Vive le Republic', and 'Down with the King', and 'Lets take back our Society' began to fill the hall. Blasson backed away from the podium, raising his hands in front of him.

"I have done nothing!" he cried, but backed against the rear of the room. The shrew, a violent glee on her face, produced a 22 pistol from her earth mother gowns. As howls filled the room, she jumped on a table and levelled the gun. "Thus dies a tyrant!" she screamed, before firing the shot.

However, the shot went a bit askew, hitting the Deputy in the shoulder, nevertheless dropping him solidly.

For no sooner had the shrew fired, than her head dissolved into red mush from an M-14 round.

Appearing at the exits of the hall, were a company of the elite 2nd Swiss Regiment of the Royal Army. In red, black and gold uniforms they quickly formed a column, their tephlon plated steel tricorner hats fitting solidly on the daughty mercenaries.

Lt. Blazer, the company commander, ordered a trumpet played. The signal went, 'Fix Bayonets!". Bringing their M-14s to attack posistion, bayonets shining, Blazer commanded "Advance!"

The confusion of the meeting degenerated into panic. Somehow, a Swiss fired his rifle, this was followed by the rest firing. The crowd went down in droves. After that the Swiss let out a defeaning "HUAH!" then charged with abandon into the mob. Those fleeing the building were being herded into armored vans, ready to take fresh rovlutionaries to the Bastille. Those who fought had no chance. However, for an intrepid two such as the spies who happened to be there, they would surely escape the chaotic scene.

Once outside, they would watch the round up of prisoners. Blasson was rushed immediatley to the hospital, where his non-critical wound could be tended to. The Maquis de Launay, Governer of the Bastille (and ergo defacto commander of the Royal Army in Paris) grinned as he watched the rabble being beaten at bayonet point into the vans.

"The damed fools. The King was leinient enough to let them have their illusions of Republic, but they always get carried away. Well, they shant have another oppurtunity. I have a feeling Blasson will have even stronger control over the society now, now that we have caught the last of the radicals (of course, theres always a few more). His Most Christian King can turn the ABC Society into a petting zoo, for all the power its going to have."
Holding his hand on his hip bound sword, he inspected the cleaning of the hall of its occupants.

The Marquis whistled as he watched. He would get a reward for this. The King would be saddened to hear of the fifty some killed, but would be glad to know that the ABC Society (not without just cause) had been defanged once and for all.

((Therefore, while their is still palpable subversive activity from French exiles abroad, in France the mood of Louis popularity and the destruction of the ABC makes all serious opposistion now go underground, to work in --for the moment-- weak cells))

________________________________________________________________

In Russia, the bus full of Nuns zoomed south to Volgograd. There, at the monastery, the clandestine French agents had moved the arsenal of small arms they intended to arm mafioso with.

The Russian Mafia would be informed that is the spot to meet at. As the nuns in the back of the bus busily sent signals on their satellite phones, the rest sang a hymn.

(( OOC: Elkazor, is there any Muslim population in France? The actual France has a significant Muslim minority, but your country is far less tolerant.))
Mr. T tried to attack a Swiss guard from behind, but Murdock managed to restrain him in the last moment.
"Come on, Mr. T! We've got to go!"
"No foo' in a clown suits gonna orda da T around!"
"We're going to get killed!"
Finally, T listened to the voice of reason (severely lacking in the hall), and they fled out of the room. A guard spotted them trying to leave, and aimed his gun. Murdock, faking his Ukrainian accent, whipped out a fake ID.
"What do you think you're doing! Trying to kill me? DO You KNOW WHO I AM?!?!"
The soldier blinked, slightly shocked, and shook his head.
"I am Vilchniy Vlodostok, officer in the Estenlandian military. I was sent here by the Royal Family, and you try to kill me? I'm on your side, fool! Now, seeing as I am of higher rank than you, I shall command you to perform fifty push ups. That is all."
The bewildered soldier, being used to bizarre demands from his leaders (position by birth led to the occassional nutjob commander), quickly dropped his weapon, and performed fifty push ups.
"Now, strip your clothes."
"What? Sir, I can't do that...I am a devout Catholic...."
"You twit! That's not what I mean! I need them for...top secret...things...Oh, and forget what you ever had this conversation."
The intrepid duo fled the room, leaving the poor French soldier standing in the middle of the chaos, saluting in his briefs. (His officers did not notice until after the chaos subsided, believing him to be another of the deranged Marxists.) They "requisitioned" yet another Renault, this time using a military disguise.
As they drove across the French countryside, the Odd Couple pondered their options.
Mr. T said,"Hmmm...Well, we've got to get some extremists to help us with "The Plan." Alright, we can't get the fundamentalist Christians, since they're like what's goin on. Same for the extremist right wingas. Dem Lefties have been wiped out, so that only leaves two options. Protestants and Muslims. Dem Lutheran foo's probably not gonna do nothin, since Catholic or not, the King is still Christian."
Murdock spoke again in his New York accent, "Yeah. But we may be able to cook up some Huguenot ragin', LA style. If we get somethin' like Rodney King, 'cept we get Protestants gettin' beat up by Catholic cops."
"That may help some, man, but we need agents, not rioters. How 'bout dem Muslims? Maybe we can find some jihaad crazies."
And so they stopped at an internet Cafe, looking for various websites which could advertise any particularly devout Mosques (illegally, of course, since open freedom of worship was not exactly high on the King's priority list)
and for any areas that combined a corrupt police force with heavy Protestant denominations...

((This is a great line of RP. FYI, AC, Swiss would be Swiss, as in from Switzerland, not France. No one in the Royal Army would actually be French, and their commanders would be of the same nationality as well. Ergo, this is why they are such a good fighting force. But, no harm, no foul. As for Muslims in France, well, thats a interesting point, and I have left it out for a while purposely. I think, for matters of housekeeping, well just say they dont exist in France like IRL, except ambassidors from Muslim countries. Jews have freedom of worship, so in the hierarchy I suppose theyre one step below Catholics, since only those two religions have the right to worship publicly. The rest of the Christian deonminations can worship in private, in groups no larger than the family. Everything else is illegal, outright. You wont find find any humanists, modernists, pagans of satanists in Restoration France. I didnt mean to be to absolute when I said the society is dead. Although the probabley get little support from London in the way of direction and supplies, they would still be active. I think your best bet would be to go back to Paris, thats where the majority of anti-clericalism and anti-monarchism would be. I would imagine, much moreso since the Sorbonne debacle the ABC Society has gone undergound in Paris, printing illegal pamphlets against the King and Church. Yes, the resistance in France would be entirely secular, as IRL the Fifth Republic is today. I am sure the disparate groups of ABC's could use a little organization though, after all Blasson is in the hospital now, and the majority of ABC is disillusioned with him already. Perfect for two troublemakers to step in, Id think...not to try and foil your RP, I think its great))

The protester ranks swelled in the Red Square of Moscow, as native Russians, who were dissatisfied with the slowness of economic recovery, angered over the "Illegal Russian Imperialism", or trying to push their vision of either a fascist or Communistic state, gathered with foreign protester groups, who were mainly concerned with the "illegal" war conducted by Russia, (not believing Putin's claims of neutrality), or were simply rowdy anti-globalist protesters with little to do.
Most stuck to trade mark protester tactics, such as signs saying "PUTIN IS A MURDERER. HE SUPPORTS THE CANNIBALISTIC SATANISTS OF LAVRAGERIA!!!" or "FOOD FOR THE POOR" or the trademark of any public event with TV cameras, "HI MOM!
The chanters sung various songs, ranging from Nazi hymns to Communist anthems to English drinking songs.
Some even resorted to burning the Russian flag, or doing the same to effigies of Putin.
All in all, it was fairly peaceful, albeit chaotic.
Then all hell broke loose.
There were three causes, really.
The first was the fact that when you stick Communists and Fascists in the same crowd, and add vodka, the result isn't going to be pretty.
The second was actually an English-on-English affair, due to a dispute over a soccer (football in Euro-speak) match played by their various favorite clubs.
The third was thanks to the violent anti-globalists, who just loved to pick a fight with the "pigs." At first at was only the standard fare of "Oink, oink, I smell bacon." which eventually devolved into someone throwing a molotov cocktail.
All sides pulled out various makeshift weapons, as soccer fans, Communists, Fascists, and anti-globalists thrust the entire crowd, along with the "riot police", into an all out brawl. Mafioso waited on the sidelines, simply selling weaponry and drugs to the blood thirsty mob, as if they were hot dog salesman at a sports event. Tear gas and rubber bullets mixed with molotov cocktails and lead bullets, in a shower of blood. A large, metallic vehicle with a powerful waterhose drove in, trying to disperse the crowd, but a shot from an RPG ripped it to shreds. A young Communist, his Che Guevara shirt and Marijuana joint soaked in blood, climbed onto the wrecked vehicle, and shouted,"DEATH TO THE FASCISTS! WORKERS OF THE WORLD, UNITE!" Some random fellow in the crowd chanted back,"VIVA MANCHESTER UNITED! THEY'RE GONNA BLOODY WIN IT ALL!" The police switched to lethal force, and massive bloodshed ensued as all units poured into the Red Square amidst the chaos. The military came pouring in, with tanks and battle helicopters blasting away, killing armed protesters and protecting civilians. To add to the misery, the Mafia joined in with full force, as the people cringed at home, not knowing what to do.
_________________________________________________________________

As the crowd of nuns arrived, the mafioso stationed there, a middle aged, slightly chubby man who wore black pants, a thick brown leather jacket, and whose eyes bore an jolly glow that accompanied a balding head. He greeted the two agents, and told the nuns that he was in charge of getting their luggage. They happily bustled off to the nunnery, while Mafiosi unloaded the arms shipments, packing them immediately into trucks and driving off.
"I am Alexandrov.", he said, his voice full of excitement than a dead man's hand.
"It is unfortunate that you ship arms out of Moscow, as they will be needed there more now than ever. Let me show you what I mean."
He led them into a small, elegant house that was mostly bare, although it lacked the dirt usually associated with such empty houses. In it, various gangsters crowded around a TV, drinking beer and watching the events in Moscow unfold.
"It is all thanks to you, my friends. Your money has allowed us to bring in the most choatic peoples of the world, into one place. Now, not only is Putin's regime collapsing, our sales of weaponry and drugs are through the roof. In fact..."
He pulled out three glasses, and a bottle of vintage Chardonnay.
"...I propose a toast to our new French friends! Viva France, isn't that how you say it?"

The spies/lovers, now out of those damned habits and into some suave leathers, would take glasses and sit down.

Peirre, now his intriguing self, corrected "Vivre France" with a smile, while Katerina purred, stroking her lovers shoulder and her own night black AK-47.

"I am sorry to bring the shipments out. Guns are hard to use in Moscow, it is crawling with police, I was thinking..." as he placed a map on the table "bombs".

"Lets bomb Moscow, and train your men out in the wilds with their guns. After all, how much good does a dead mafioso do?"

Tracing a line on the map, he spoke. "In any case, you mafia need more weapons to boot. Let us air-drop in crates of unmarked machine guns and C-4 here, just outside of Volgagrad. With all the fighting in Lavrageria, this area I judge to be the safest."

The plan would be revealed to them, how civilian transports bought for "The Relief Society for Starving Children in the East" would parachute down the crates, before delievering legal supplies (ironically with a profit to the third party French) of Quinntonnian medicine to Moscow.

However, soon after the Mafia made their choice, the Agents would have to be on the move again. They would go out into the rugged forest, not far from the drop zone, to prepare the landing, and generally hide out.

Alexandrov replied,"Hard to use? Well, while I understand that is the normal situation, but if you look at the television, your efforts have led to a complete riot in Moscow. The Red Leader has already authorized anything that will further the choas, so we agree completely to your plan, with one note: We are still in this business for profit. Your attitude seems to indicate as if we were some sort of rebel forces. My men shall follow these plans, but do not expect us to fight to the death in an open battlefield. We only wish to topple Putin's regime so we can instigate complete and total anarchy, which is so good for business. But we will not willingly surrender our lives for profit." OOC: I'll get more on the government's reaction, and Murdock and Mr. T's actions in a half hour or so, since I've gotta make some oatmeal, and do my daily exercise routine.

((Okie doke, no control attempts meant. Peirre and Katerina are simply trying to help the mafia create as much chaos as they can, and make as much profit as possible. There are no coup agendas, rather anything they do is done with the sole purpose of strengthening the Mafia))

((OOC: Delays occurred, which I apologize for, but will not delve into. Anyway, I was just clarifying, since you seemed like you were trying to turn the Mafiosi into a guerrila force, which they are not. All they want is to earn money, and if it's necessary to topple Putin, fine. But they're not the usual "Die for the cause!" revolutionaries.))

Murdock and Mr. T continued their drive to Paris, unaware of the choas in Moscow, since Murdock preferred to enjoy the "splendors" (Quoted, for this was a controversial issue in the car) of French pop music, specifically some bare chested, vaguely homosexual boyband that despite appearing extremely feminine, seemed to be the latest craze with all the girls.

Well, and Murdock.

"Foo! Can't you cut the jibba-jibba! I don't want to hear yo' singin!"
"<Insert French Pop Song Lyrics Here>..."
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"

They struggled over the radio, and smashed straight into a tree, ruining their second car in a span of a few days. Dazed and confused, they stumbled into the backwoods. Now, after finding no trace of any Islamic sentiment in France, much less fundamentalist, and uncovering no clues on Protestant-Catholic tensions, they tried to get to Paris, to contact the socialists who'd flooded message boards despairing the collapse of the ABC society.
They fled away from the wrecked car, reemerging an hour later in a much farther location.
"Foo'! Are you sure about this, Murcdock?"
"Of course I'm sure! When am I ever wrong?"
"Well that was that time in Kosovo, where we got nearly eaten by rabid bears, and Tanzania, when those terrorists surrounded us, or when you called the Queen of England a whore to her face..."


"Alright! I get the point! Move it!"


Mr. T walked out awkwardly from the forest that surrounded the highway, dressed in nothing less than the standard hooker fare. Yes, the huge man who bore massive facial hair was squeezed into yet another of Murdock's bizarre disguises. Mr. T wondered how anyone would find a six foot tall man wearing tight leather, lipstick, and a blond wig in any way attractive, but hey, that's the French for ya. Soon enough, a truck driver stopped by, and leaned out of the window.


"Hey lady, wanna hop in?"


Mr. T slowly leaned in, and the man puckered for a kiss. Instead, he received a punch to the face, and was thrown into the woods, along with the "hooker disguise." Murdock and Mr. ran into the truck, and sped off to Paris.
"I am never, never, never, ever gonna do that again. Murdock, you're an idiot. I hate you."
"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
"I still hate you. Anyway, we'll nevah talk about dis business again. You hearin' me, sucka? Forget this evah happened, or I'll teach you the meani' of PAIN!"
"Forget what?"
"Good. Now, we need to somehow unify these freaky socialists. I have way more personality than you, moron, and I'm bettah lookin' to boot. So we gotta organize some sort of resistance."
"I say we give you a mysterious name, a disguise, and start you blabbin' in some of dem Marxist hideouts."
"Yeah, I'll be...Malcolm T. Yeah, that has a nice ring to it...Like milk..."
**********************************************************
In the "Infinitely Irritable Marxist"
Murdock, having bribed the watchman in the area to turn a "blind eye", quickly snuck into the room, as Mr. T, or "Malcom T" as his new persona was called, began giving a fiery anti-monarchist speech, referring to how oppressed the proletariat was, and how the seeming prosperity was simply an illusion, all in the manner of a southern baptist preacher, and in the clothes of a "beatnik poet". (Standard beret, of course.)

"MY BROTHAS! The cruel and oppressive King Louis has tricked you! His gold and wealth pour into you, but in exchange he has taken, no, you have given him your freedom! He controls what you say, he controls who you worship, he controls your very life! My friends, we have been ineffective against these beasts not because they are right, but because our strategy has been WRONG! We have attacked these bourgeoise pigs' lives, and the lives of their servants in our many struggles, such as the revolution! But these fascist pigs care little about anyone's life! You say you are followers of the great Karl Marx, but you fail to understand his most important teachin'! THE BOURGOISE CARE ONLY FOR MONEY! We shall hit them where it hurts, the filthy pocketbook, and give it to those who TRULY DESERVE! We shall be modern day Robin Hoods! JOIN ME, AND UNITE!"

The crowd was tearful with joy, and tremendous applause erupted. All over town, bribes were given to watchman who saw no reason as to why they should be monitering these places in the first place; After all, they reasoned, wasn't the ABC Society dead? And so "Malcom T's" message was spread from Cafe to Cafe, from pamphlet to pamphlet, from website to website.

And one thing became painfully obvious. The ABC Society had ended.
The T Society had just begun.

((Im starting to worry now, the only thing I had not counted on was the A Team. Still, better than James Bond I suppose))

The grotesque gathering fermented by the odd spies would of course go unnoticed by the authorities. France did not keep the same sort of Police-State their brother Estenlandians maintained, they were, after all, French. And in France the King ruled more by ceremony and pomp than secret police. Then it happened that that evening Louis XX was in Paris. Most soldiery and police in the city were working at that event, as the King was in the Tuileries Palace with his Queen, hosting a Masquerade Ball for the Nobility and food and games for everybody else in the gardens (this following a Mass at Notre Dame and the Royal Touch for the ill).

Of course, no matter what, before too long all the sordid types hooting around the notorious Marxist would draw attention. Indeed, the Cafe had been threatened a few times before for their views and customers. If they did not break up in short order, the police would probably have been called. Although grantedly, the events at the Sorbonne earlier had made everybody tired enough for one day. The King said a few words about it following the Mass, and had ask the Faifthful to mention the dead in their prayers.

((Wow, I dont know how quite to respond, im speechless. Malcom T of the A Team running the French left, and an underground French left at that. Not to even go into their Robin Hood dreams of operation. Of course, any major activites would bring a swift crack down. Jeese, well, at least its better than James Bond, or Id really be screwed.))

((Im starting to worry now, the only thing I had not counted on was the A Team. Still, better than James Bond I suppose))
((Wow, I dont know how quite to respond, im speechless. Malcom T of the A Team running the French left, and an underground French left at that. Not to even go into their Robin Hood dreams of operation. Of course, any major activites would bring a swift crack down. Jeese, well, at least its better than James Bond, or Id really be screwed.))
((OOC: Worried? Are you worried that I'm screwing up the RP, or that they may cause damage? Don't worry, I'm not going to make it too absurd. I just like the A Team. You did notice that they were taken from the A-Team before, right? Besides, they talk a lot about helping and such, but their true dastardly scheme has not been unfoiled. On the side note, what is the major gold storage center in France? And what is the reaction of the French left to "Malcom T"?))

((Oh no no no. Worried that someone like James Bond would sneak their way into Versailles, and pop a few caps in the King, then run off with the Queen and turn her into a bond girl. I am really enjoying this, no need to worry about absurd notions, its a Russian to me. The French left would be ecstatic over Malcom T, he would become their leader Im sure. The main gold depository in France would be Versailles, or rather massive chambers (of former usless aqueducts) under it that hold the majority of Frances Gold reserve. After all, Versailles, not Paris, is the new capital of France. I would image that the Bastille also has a giant reserve, as does the Arsenal in Strasbourg, and the Admiralty in Cherbourg. The easiest way to get it, of course to steal it from the former locations would need a full on armed to the teeth revolution or some kind of elite support (Maybe James Bond could hack it, but the A Team would need all ffour members to make a dent), the gold, would be to do small scale ops against Aristocrats. I would imagine if you went after one of the four big storage units, it would come close to effecting a necessity for martial law.))

((Are you saying James Bond is better than the A Team? Hell no! Nobody can defeat Mr.T! Anyway, could it be possible to kidnap the king? I mean, it's not like he's all that important, since the Dauphin seems to be running things.

((Sorry, James Bond would make short work of the A Team, as sure as gravity. The Dauphin is running things in Estenlands, but Louis is the King, his importance is no less than Louis XX= L'etat c'est moi. I think it would be impossible to kidnap him. He has 900 lethal Swiss Bodyguards in Versailles Palace, not to mention addition security personnel. He is the King, 100 times more important that the Dauphin. So its not going to happen I dont think. If you want to go in that direction, id have to suggest you start small. Robin Hood didnt kidnap King John, he stole from the rich...you know. I think that only would be more realistic. The Royal Family has a massive private military, the Royal Army, are are never without hordes of their thugs. However, certain nobles, apt to wander Paris at night, would be vulnerable. Rich gatherings of aristocrats in their country estates would never expect it. There would be security, but only minimal. Remember though, youd probably get one good run to begin with, as surprise attacks go, but after that the terrified nobles would call on Louis, whod no doubt crack down and make things thougher.))

OOC:
Elkzor, you wouldn't be suggesting that Mr T becoems the dandy highwayman?
hhmmm now that would be an insteresting angle...

((Who knows? Robbin' T/Friar Murdock? It is actually not to much a stretch of imagination to think about the French left surrendering their struggle against society and fleeing into the hinterlands. All I know is that if I get the merry band of thieves operating in France, then I am entitled to the good offices of the Scarlet Pimpernel (who is, for all you literary types out there, the most romantically royalist figure in script---my fav.). Robbin T and his Merry Men running the fanatic French left from a hedge somewhere against the Restored French Monarchy, its to inspired for TV.))

They seek him here, they seek him there.
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in Heaven?
Or is he in Hell?
That damned, elusive, Pimpernel.

Classic.

And BTW, if you don't mind, I'll start to get involved soon, and as an aside, Bond would walk on the A-Team without breaking a sweat, all the while never wrinkiling his tux, and still have enough time to get in a couple of Bond girls at the end of the day.

WWJD
Amen.

(OOC: Thanks to you, I have the image of Mr. T in green tights permanently scarring my head…)
“Dum dee dee doo, yodel ey eee hoo! Hic!”, sang the inebriated nobleman, walking along the dark Parisian street. His body flailed into a dark alley, wildly swinging a bottle of Bourbon to and fro. His fat legs stumbled straight into a trash can, knocking out the resident hobo.

“Dammit! Can’t a man get some beauty sleep without some fat bastard knockin’ ‘im ovah? Arg….”

The noble’s eyes flickered from side to side, chasing a sound emanating from around him. He then proceeded to make the mistake of disregarding the sound as simply a figment of his drunken imagination, and of stumbling further into what was soon revealed to the nobleman as a blind alley…

This mistake would cost him his life.

Five figures wearing turtleneck sweaters, black pants, and ski masks emblazoned with the French flag snuck behind the noble, carrying clubs and tasers. One of them, a huge man wearing gold chains on his disguise skulked right behind the noble, aiming his club. The others directed their tasers at the noble, and the man with gold chains readied to strike…

“OW!”
“Crazy foo, MURDOCK!”
“What in blazes?”

The noble turned around to witness a Murdock who had stepped on a cat’s tail, thus triggering an avalanche of feline attackers.

“GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF ME! AGGGG!”
“Dose are cats, foo. You can handle ‘em.”
The noble then spoke,”This is an outrage! Don’t you ruffians know who I am?”

Mr. T’s men tasered the cats off of Murdock, and T aimed a club at the noble.

“Yeah, I know who you are. DEAD MEAT. That is, if you don’t give me dem duckets.”
“What?”
“Give me all yo’ valuables, dammit!”
“How about I give you…”

The noble fumbled at his belt, and whipped out a silver revolver.

“…THIS! DIE, PROLETARIAN SCUM!”

Mr. T grabbed the noble’s hand, and they struggled for the gun. The noble pressed the trigger exactly when Mr. T was twisting his arm, and…

BLAM!

The revolver blasted away the noble’s head, turning it into a fountain of blood. Mr. T and his gang of Marxists stood around the body, puzzling.

“Oh Malcolm T, what shall we do?”
“Don’t panic. Take all his stuff, and dump the body somewhere.”
Murdock piped in, now free of felines, “Won’t Louis notice that a noble is gone?”
“Hmmmm…”

Mr. T looked at the body, and at Murdock, and again at the body, and at Murdock. His lips curled in a cunning smile.

“Foo, I have a brilliant idea. It’s gonna help with ‘The Plan.’”
“What’s your idea?”
“Hell, all we do is add a powdered wig, some pillows, and boom! You’ll be an 100 percent frenchified nobleman!”
“Won’t his family notice?”
“The guy’s old. Parent’s probably dead, kids left fo’ college. And all nobles are alike, they do all dem mistresses, but neglect the wife, so jus’ give her some lovin’ and you’ll fit in perfectly. Now, put on his clothes!”

The others, having stripped the noble of his cash, (Equivalent of $2000), credit cards, golden watch and teeth, (Murdock would have to paint his), and ID quickly left as Murdock changed in the alley. The group then checked the ID and found the noble was named “Monsiuer Fleur”, and his address was in Versailles. Mr. T called the other robbing team he had dispatched, and was informed that it went off without a hitch. SO they went back to the “Infinitely Irritable Marxist” to have a few pints and celebrate their victory. Murdock was shipped off to Versailles, as Mr. T continued his robbing operations in Paris, mugging two nobles per night.

They seek him here, they seek him there.
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in Heaven?
Or is he in Hell?
That damned, elusive, Pimpernel.

Classic.

And BTW, if you don't mind, I'll start to get involved soon, and as an aside, Bond would walk on the A-Team without breaking a sweat, all the while never wrinkiling his tux, and still have enough time to get in a couple of Bond girls at the end of the day.

WWJD
Amen.
OOC: Infidels. Mr. T alone could defeat James Bond, using only his catchphrases. "I pity da foo!" Anyway, if you know anything about the plot of the A-Team, it probably means you'll have to try to hunt them down for "a crime they didn't commit." as the theme goes. Oh, and Elkazor, I've moved the Russian riot to another thread, since I want some more international involvement. http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7914583#post7914583

In Versailles, the Court had just adjourned from and evening of Gluck's Iphigenie en Tauride. His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX, as he was wont to do, joined the Queen that evening for a game of Piquet.

In the Grand Trianon, the King and Queen were entertaining several hundred of the finest families in France at that aristocratic game of cards. The King and Queen were laughing, the harpsicord was going away, and a immaculate English Nobleman stepped forth from the audience---with a perfect bow he was presented by M. de Miromensil, Minister of the Kings Household.

M. de Miromensil had just followed suit in the bow. "Sire, in light of the recent disturbances in France, I have sought out an authority long available in your arsenal. Indeed, Sire, you have met him once before, at the Coronation Ball."

The King had just put down his hand, and the Queen and the Ladies were fanning.

"Sir Percival Blakney, Baronet." Another immaculate bow. "Your Most Christian Majesty, I am at your service."

The King smiled, indicating his recognition, as the Queen wished him welcome. The implacable nobleman continued. "Sire, plots there are in your land, seeking to disthrone you. As my forefathers did before, I offer to you my service, and swear I will defeat any elements of republicanism, and anyone that hints of treason."

The King offered his hand, which was kissed. "Sir Percival, please join our game of cards." He sat, the Queen smiled. Champagne was brought for the English Baronet.

"My dear sir" said the King "tell me, where do you expect to find treason? I must admit, these recent disturbances have taken me agast." The King had a cigarette.

"Sire, I do not yet know. But I promise you, the Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel shall soon solve the matter!" At that point everybody smiled and clapped a bit. Sir Blakney enjoyed the game of Piquet for a while.

And so it was that Louis XX gave M. de Mironmensil authority to grant the Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel full legal authority in France. Within hours after the card game, the Leauge would begin to send out agents. As for the Scarlet Pimpernel himself, as was his style, he would inhabit Versailles, intriguing ((Of course, know one except the King and his men knew his real identity, plus Miromensil)) as was his Modus Operandi.

A noble’s palace, Versailles…

Wearing the disguise of nobility, Murdock crept into the vast mansion of Monsieur Fleur. Modern day nobles lived in areas not so different from the residences of millionaires. Gated communities, large estates, luxurious mansions. The only difference was that the architecture was distinctly that of the French nobility,(and that the police wore ridiculous costumes) but besides that, it was like all the “gated communities” Murdock had seen in his life.

He’d punched in Monsieur Fleur’s name in Google, and quickly found his address, which was promptly typed into a MapQuest search. Soon enough, he was walking up to the front door of the vast palace that Fleur had once owned, after parking the car he’d bought off of a random passer by. He dug in the pockets of Monsieur Fleur’s (and now Murdock’s) clothes, and pulled out a large, brass key with various flowery patterns on it. He stuck it in the large wooden door, and the door creaked open. He stared in wonder at the extravagant spiral staircase, the elegant chandelier, the plush velvet carpeting, the antique furniture…

Murdock was a simple mercenary. He worked because he enjoyed his job, and because he felt that there were so many good causes to aid, and adventures to be had for one to limit himself to one nation’s forces. As such, he had cared little for what he was paid, and spent most of his life in bare, functional surroundings. Nothing…Nothing…Like this…Luxury at its purest, at its best, and at its worst. Extreme extravagance filled every corner of the room. Murdock was struck by a pang of conscience, for once…

What did this bastard to deserve this? Just because he was lucky enough to have been born right, and the people who actually work, think, and fight for their nation must suffer because some fat bastard took away the living they earned, so he could fund his…
God, what’s wrong with you Murdock? Stop philosophizing, and get on with the job.

Murdock wandered through the splendor, wandering into the splendid kitchen, which boasted all of the modern conveniences, covered in the Baroque style, of course. He slipped on the newly washed floor, and fell face first into the granite tiles.

“OW!”
“Fleur!”

A woman with black hair, dressed in a fairly simple, yet elegant brown gown, walked over to Murdock. She had a middle aged face, that was soft and young, but was beginning to show the lines of age. Her voice was compassionate, albeit tired.

“My husband…”
She helped Murdock up, and stared into his face.
“I’m not, I mean…”
“Monsieur, my husband, what is wrong?”

She stared off into the darkness, her face becoming mournful.

“Probably drunk again…How was your secretary? Oh, and Jeff just graduated from college. Jeff is our son, if you don’t remember.”
“But…I’m…”


Murdock’s face was a mask of uncertainty. Suddenly, a devilish smile filled his face.

“My darling, I remember it all. I was…mugged in Paris. And the robbers clubbed me in the head…Yes, I don’t remember much from my previous days, but a kind passerby helped was kind enough to get me here. And…I’ve realized the error of my ways. While I do not remember much from my life, I do remember I was a completely worthless man. Well, no more. I shall be kind to my servants, caring of my children, selfless for my nation, and loving to my wife! My brush with death has taught me to start anew!”

Monsieur Fleur’s wife was shocked. Here was a man who claimed to be her husband, but he was a kind, gracious man…Should she believe him? What if it wasn’t Monsieur Fleur? Then again…what did she care?

“Fleur!”

Murdock’s impersonation had gone well. It was easy, really. He’d seen and heard the woman’s desperation. Desperate people tend to catch onto every log of hope they could…Of course, it worked a little too well. After all, Murdock wasn’t the most moral person around, but even he was a little squeamish about impersonating a man you (accidentally) killed and sleeping with his wife!

Still, he couldn’t complain, and the next day he began implementing “The Plan”, when he woke up. He scratched his belly, and picked up the phone. Luckily for him, Fleur had a speed dial for “King.”

“Hello, this is the office of his Christian Majesty, Louis XIX. Leave a message, and if God has mercy on you soul, we’ll get back to you soon.”

Readying his most pretentious French accent, Murdock spoke.

“Yes, I would like request a majesty with ze king. I have certain sources in ze barbaric land of Russia that may interest heem. Ho! Ho! Ho!”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Murdock put the phone away, eagerly awaiting a call back.
(OOC: Don’t worry; Murdock’s not stupid enough to try and kill the king. He’s not suicidal, so it’s safe to grant him an audience.)
Some Underground Bunker, Versailles…

“Suckas! What’s da pot?”
“I thought you didn’t use drugs, Malcolm T.”
“I’m talkin ‘bout da money, foo’!”
“Oh.”
“We’re rollin’ da dough. Who woulda’ known that crime pays?”
“Yes, for the poor innocents of France.”
“Yeah…”

In reality, most of Malcolm T’s revolutionaries had funneled the money into various bank accounts, which (unbeknownst to them) were shipped by Russian agents throughout so many sources that it was impossible to trace them to their final destination: Russia’s treasury. To make it seem like Malcolm T was fulfilling his robin hood promises, vast shipments of food, clothing, and other goods essential to the poor were brought in through disparate channels, and distributed by smiling Marxists. They proudly strode in the daylight while distributing these goods; after all, they couldn’t be arrested for being nice! Of course, the value of the goods brought in was nowhere near the killing Malcolm made on French nobleman (especially their credit cards) and their extravagant parties, mansions, and valuables. Russian goods still had the benefit of being extremely cheap.

Soon, the image of Malcolm T, bearing a ski mask emblazoned with the colors of the French flag and a black T was spread everywhere, with little children playing as him, and pamphlets proclaiming his heroics. Children pretended to be him, women swooned over him, and the leftist funds began pouring in from London. He made the smart decision of not sticking around in one place, and being decentralized, however, so his capture was unlikely, despite his notoriety.

“Yo, so what’s the jibba jabba about this Scarlet Pimp Nickel?”
“It’s Scarlet Pimpernel, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah. What about him?”
“Rumors flutter around that he is leading an investigation into our activities. Some of our comrades have been caught by his “League”, and our organization has begun to fear him.”
“Ha! We shouldn’t be scared of no red pimp nickels! I pity da foo who mess with Mr., I mean, Malcolm, T!”

((Good to have you back, great post. BTW, here is the layout of Versailles as Louis XX lives in it http://www.chateauversailles.fr/))

The disturbances in Paris would not go unnoticed by Versailles. Frankly, the King had had it. Only weeks earlier, there was a near riot at the Sorbonne. Now, after his immaculate reconciliation of the Protestants and Catholics in France, there were strange pamphlets being handed out in the capitals streets. Nobles were being robbed regularly, and were becoming scared. His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX was forced to act. He summoned his secret advisor, the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Gods Fish, My dear Sire, tis as plain as the summer sun what ought be done. Route out the rebels. Break them, and let their assassins come to us. I will be waiting. It only makes sense they will surface sooner or later. Sire, when they do, I shall find them!" King Louis XX would grin at the zealous English noble.

Louis XX had indeed reached his limits. He would finish up the French left once and for all. Over the course of a day the Royal Armies First Korean Division, the Turkish Division, the Shirpa Corps and a Regiment of the Swiss were moved into Paris, with armored support. Politicians formerly exiled were rounded up and arrested, taken to the Bastille and locked away. Outside the Bastille itself, thirty notorious revolutionaries were hung in public. The elite troops of the Royal Army scoured the city. Under the guidance of a secret Kings Minister, unbeknownst to them the Scarlet Pimpernel, a Company of the Shirpa Corps broke into the Marxist and beat up its clientele. The owner, who had been warned several times to tone down his activites, was dragged out and hung from the telephone pole by the troops. Several vehement Marxists tried resisting, but were lined up in the street and shot. The Scarlet Pimpernel (of course, no one but the King knew his true identity) would scour over the bar. Members of the Leauge took every speck of information the cafe held away with them, to be processed.

This would happen all over France. With the help of everyday subjects, who through Louis' benevolence and gloire were becoming stauncher monarchists hourly, Republicans were identified and arrested. (It ought to be pointed out there went that many left roaming about. Perhpas 5-700. The rest would be in London or the Bastille by now.) After the 'round up', most of the Royal Army units returned back to their bases. However, the Swiss Regiment was now stationed at the Bastille. It was decided that to create a safer enviornment in Paris, more troops would stay on there. The was no chaos, the strikes had been conducted quickly like a surgeons strokes. The ripples would only be felt in Paris, which had a revolutionary background. The countyside, for the most part, was devoutly Catholic and pro-Louis. The Protestants in the city decried the rebel hodgepodges, as they hurt business. All in all, the French left was getting to be unpopular. After all, Louis kept gaining victory after victory. France was a power again, and it was a wonderful thing for Frenchmen to have their pride back.

The Kings office did get a call. Monsieur Fleur, Vicomte de Yvoe, had no duties at Court. He was on the lower scale of the nobility, and it was only through bribes that he could get a place to live in Versailles. Like the vast majority of Nobles at the Versailles, Fleur had never even met the King yet. He was a suitor to the Court, bidding for a lucrative appointment. Still, he had income off his lands, but was on the lower spectrum of the Aristocracy. At any rate, M. de Miromensil, Minister of Household to Louis XX, arranged to have an appointment with him, as the message did sound important. He would only be given a five minute slot, however, as the Household Minister was a busy man.

(OOC: Sorry I was gone for so long, but I had to prepare for Finals. German's out of the way already! Woo! Ahem. And is the layout for the entire city of Versailles, or just the king's palace? Ah, and thanks for the compliment. I have to say, Scarlet Pimpernel is turning out to be quite the interesting fellow. The A Team VS Scarlet Pimpernel...Hey, maybe Mr. T and Scarlet should have a duel? That would be interesting. And excellent job so far, by the way. Here's how "Malcolm T" looks like: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v232/Futureworldruler/MalcolmT.bmp))

Mr. T ran forward, flanked by two loyal Marxists, as his headquarters were ransacked by the military. Louis' forces had discovered T's underground bunker, thanks to the fact that even Mr. T's robin hood activities had done little to dissuade the people from their monarchist sentiments, and as such, he had been ratted out. Many of his followers stayed behind, blasting away from AK-47s, allowing Malcolm to escape with his life from the king’s men. He punched out an elderly woman, and stole her tiny Renault 6. The police cars furiously chased after Mr. T’s dusty little vehicle. He slammed into a vegetable stand, sending tomatoes sailing through the air. He approached an intersection, and cars from the left, right, and forward roads blocked his path.

“Damn…”


He looked in the mirror, and saw police cars, covered in tomatoes chasing after him.

“Only one chance…”

Mr. T’s foot hit the pedal, and the Renault screeched forward. His hand reached out of the window, and fired off two rounds at the back wheels of a car in front of him. The wheels flattened, and the car leaned into the perfect position, forming a crude ramp.
Mr. T’s car screeched across the back of the other car, and sparks flew as the poor Renault struggled to climb the vehicle. Finally, it leaped off, and…

“YYYYYEEEEEE HAAAAAWWWW!”

The tiny Renault leaped above the French police cars, (in slow motion, of course), and flew through the air. Mr. T leaned out of the window, whooping and hollering.

“TAKE THAT FOO! NOBODY MESSES WITH MALCOLM T! WORKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE! HAHAHAHA! Wha? Oh, sh---”

The car smashed right through a mansion’s window, landing in the bedroom of a French boy band named “3T”. The glass flew across the room, cutting the faces of the band members and their lovers, who felt such a need for band unity that they all used the same bed…Being a boy band, they immediately began to cry like little girls over their scrathes, panicking and leaping around. Mr. T was about to rev up the Renault and continue driving, but…first, humanity itself must be aided.

“Yo, foos! I gotta present for ya!”

He tossed them a black package, and sped the Renault on, breaking through the wall of the room. He drove down the hall, and hurtled down the stairs, shredding walls and decorations. The battered Renault flew out of the mansion, just as the black package created a vicious explosion, hopefully slaughtering the boy band. The little Renault sped across the narrow streets of Paris, as cars continued to pile up in the carnage. Finally, he rode out of the city, hoping to escape the police in the countryside…
(OOC: Want to RP the chase?)
_________________________________________________________________
Palace of Versailles…
Slightly ticked that he had to go through the King’s lackeys, Murdock delivered his information.

“Honorable sir, I have important sources in the Russian government, and the French Left. They have the location of resistance camps in Lavrageria and France.”

He placed I front of the minister a map that accurately placed locations of several Lavragerian resistance, except that they were being emptied as they spoke. The same was true of the many French locations, except that a few were populated with die-hards wishing to fight to the death. All in all, this was meant to give the French Royalty the impression that “Monsieur Fleur” was a valuable source of information, so that he may gain their trust, without actually harming their own operations.

Would they fall for it?

((Well, the Palace and a bit of the city. Basicailly, it is the aforesaid Palace complex which the map describes; and the rest is a small town, where the nobles not important enough to live n the Chateau find residence. That, undoubtedly, is where the good Vicomte de Fleur would live. By the way, Mr. T was is Paris, right. Thats where he blew up the 'boy band', cause your post, I think erroneously made reference to it in the first segement. I am just gonna assume that, because the Court--displaying the static nostalgia they live in--only listen to old masterpieces. Gluck, Back, a little Beethoven, Rossinni, Mozart for sure [although Masonic references would be taken out], and you get the ideas. No boy band would be allowed within a thousand feet of Versailles: well, unless, the Queen were having a fling with one of them))

The Scarlet Pimpernel was informed of the odd bomb blast at the Paris mansion of some pop stars. Within minutes, he and his Leauge were at the seen. They went about by dropping from helicopters by rope, and yes, these are the secret silent black helicopters, used by the Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel. When they needed troops for their goals, they simply called them in. They were vested with authority by Louis XX himself.

"Gods fish, ma dear" said the Pimpernel looking over the carnage and the "this was some deabcle, what?"

A French noble Leauge member, le Comte de Saint-Just, nodded "Quite right, Percy." They sorted through the rubble with their walking sticks.

"Sink me!" said the Pimpernel "This must be one of the violent revolutionaries, one of the few that fought their way out of the Marxist." He had a quick mind, and knew within moments that they were onto something.

The call came in of a chase, and Percy was certain. "Leave the scoundrel be!" said the Pimpernel. "You have but to keep him running, into the hands of the hunters!" One of the leauge blew their hunting horn, and the two helicopters, black and marked with only a single Fleur-de-lys, silently moved off into the sky, racing towards the expressway, where the link to the leftist uprisings could be found.

Malcom T would find the Police following him, but spreading out and not coming close. Almost as if they were fanning out and surrounding him. This would suit him, no doubt, as he sped south and twilight fell. But, just as was hurteling down the road and the sun was setting, he would hear a hunting horn, and then, as if from over head, silenced machine gun fire would rain down on the Renault, and spotlights from the Leauges silent helicopters came on. Malcom T would no doubt hear the joyful "Tally-ho!"
________________________________________________________________

At Versailles, M. de Miromensil's eyes bulged out as he looked over the documents. His eyes darted around the room for a moment.

"Well, His Majesty would certainly want to know of these." Miromensil said, discreetly shuffling the documents and folding them away. "And I would be happy to tell him for you."

No doubt Murdock, unused to the scheming of a Court, would not be expecting the overt takeover. M. de Miromensil only grinned. "I will tell you what, Vicomte de Merd. If you can get me some information with which I can impress the King, perhaps even win his favor, and I am made more famous, then perhaps I can arrange for him to stumble upon you while hunting one day. Until then, try your plots with some more finesse, and come back to me when you have more." M. de Miromensil would then stand, and throw about ten thousand dollars worth of gold Louis d'or on the table. It was a consolation prize. As Fleur was being shown out of the office by the secretary, Murdock would glimpse M. de Miromensil grinning, and prancing off to go tell the King what 'he just learned through his own diligence.'

Mr. T rode down the dusty road, after switching off of the main highway. He was trying to lose the French police, and apparently was succeeding…or was he? Was it…a trap?

The durable Renault bustled along the country road, as the radio played “Sweet Summer Rain”. Mr. T finally relaxed after a few hours, and his head bobbed to the joyous music. At first, it was humid in the almost desert-like area he approached, but the rain started to pour onto the small vehicle.

“I needed to take ‘em to da cleanas anyway…”

The curvy roads twisted and turned, and eventually led to a turn overlooking a cliff. As Mr. T began to turn left, as not to drive into the river, the darkness was illuminated by a bright lamp. Next, a trumpet sounded, followed by a “tally ho!”.

“The hell?”

Mr. T looked at the rearview mirror and saw two black helicopters hovering behind him.

“What? The CIA?”

BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!
The French helicopters unloaded a barrage of machine gun fire, right in front of the Renault, as a warning.

“AHHHH!”
“Attention, foolish rebel. Surrender now to the League of Scarlet Pimpernel, or prepare for your meeting with Satan!”
“I’m not French, foo! I don’t surrendah!”

<Cue A-Team Theme Song>

Mr. T drove backwards quickly, avoiding gunfire. He then drove forward, performing a U-Turn as bullets riddled the car. The Renault zigzagged across the road, wildly dodging the bullets as they slammed into the asphalt. Wheels grinded against the ground, sweat poured from his forehead, and gold chains shined in the moonlight. One of the copters tried to cut him off, but he swerved to the side, and leaped off of a hill, crashing to the earth. Off-roading now, the Renault sputtered through the hilly paths, bumping around as the helicopters jostled to get a clear shot. They began resorting to missiles, and flames erupted around Mr. T as the Hellfire missiles ruptured against the earth. The poor Renault barely held on, shaking violently. Mr. T raced back onto the road, with one helicopter chasing him. The other jockeyed in front of him, hovering just outside of the safety barrier which separated the road from the cliff. Mr. T stopped, looking in front of himself, and behind. Realizing he had only one option, he revved the engine.

“Come on, baby…”

The helicopters, having used all of their missiles, resorted again to machine gun fire. Mr. T raced forward, and the Renault began falling apart from the machine gun fire…The door flew off, and the windshield was gone as well. Aiming for a bump, Mr. T sped forward, and…

“Time to teach you the meanin’ of pain, foo!”

Mr. T drove the Renault, straight off the cliff, and straight into the black helicopter.

“Sacre bleu!”

Mr. T leaped out at the last moment, as the Renault collided with the helicopter in a violent crash. The pilot was instantly crushed, and the impact ignited the fuel, causing both to be consumed in a sea of fire. The other helicopter pilot had raced behind T at such a pace that he couldn’t stop, and rammed straight into the Renault’s back. The pilot managed to get out, and his body slammed violently into the asphalt. His ribs and bones were battered, but he was alive. He stood up, and looked over the edge of the cliff. The wreckage of the helicopters and the car floated in the river, but there was no sign of Mr. T….

OOC:
AM: i think the intent was more for the machine gun fire be from a silenced Mp5 or somethign as opposed to a GPMP or fixed MG (well the french do have a strange habit of using 20mm cannons on their helos when the americans would use .50s or miniguns) and the helos are more likely to be eucrials(sp?)/fennecs as opposed to proper gun ships ( not to say they couldn't use ATGMs in this case HOT/Trigat LR but soem how i wouldn't have thought that those weapons woudl ahev the required degree of style and Elan for the pimpernel).

Anyway that doesn't really matter i'm enjoyign this :)

That was perhaps some of the most fun reading that I have done since the beginning of my NS career.
King Wingert I of The Village of Farrah.

((Ahh, yes, Id say a silenced Mp5, these are artists, not thugs. The helicopters would basically be modified police models, thus with spotlight but no weapons, but silent...lot of good it did them tho. So, lets continue this epic adevnture.))

The vibrating Renault exploded again and again, taking the first helicopter down like a streamlined anvil. Luckily, the Scarlet Pimpernel and his attendand Leauge members were able to jump out of their second chopper before it joined the conflagration.

Landing on the ground with an easy roll, the Scarlet Pimpernel rose flawlessy and surveyed the hilly area with his night vision.

"Sink me! The bastard was a pro!" sighing, his Leauge members began to surround him, deciding what next ought to be done.

By now, mobile police of the Strasbourg Guard began to fill the area, about two companies worth. Together Lt. Colonel Schmitd (remember, all RA is mercenary) and the Leauge looked over maps of the terrain.

"I find it impossible to believe that such a man as did that" said Armand Saint-Just as he waved his walking stick in the direction of the firery mess. "would allow himself to be killed in the act."

"Quite right, my friend" the Scarlet Pimpernel took a pinch of snuff. "I think, a hunt."

The mood picked up then for as nobles, which is why The Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel was so suited to the task, they loved to hunt. Plans were drawn up. Only a few kilometers east of here, the Loire river ran its mighty course. The Strasbourg Guard would form a loose inverse wedge formation. Flood lights and all. Counterintuitivley, they would be quite loud, playing fife and drum. Only a hunter, particularly a noble hunter at that, would recognize the motorized police would simply be drivers, driving the game towards the open river plain, and the hunters. Helicopters, not to Leauges broken ones, but military attack choppers with heat equipment and such, would be used in the drive. But only to drive the game towards the hunters.

Percy and his Leauge departed at once, getting dressed in their hunting attire. Their horses were brought. Instead of hounds, for this chase specially bred German Sheperds would be used. Hundreds of them. The Leauge began to play its horns, and countryside shook with them.

"Tally-ho!" yelled the Pimpernel with abandon, as the hunting party lerched off, the dogs howling and leading the way.

Their prey would be run to the river like a stag, and then torn to pieces by the dogs.

“Ugghhh..”

Mr. T’s hands scrabbled around for something to hold onto, and slowly, they pulled him up. His muscled body ached from the fall, although thankfully, a small river had been there to save his life. Of course, Mr. T was too tough to simply give up, and immediately he began to run, as he realized that a search party would gather soon. His legs screamed in pain, but he simply ignored it, sprinting forward with the desperation of a dying man. Soon enough, he approached a river.

“Damn, I could lose ‘em if I went into da rivah...But they’ll be expectin dat. I’m gonna have to go into da forest, foo...”

The hulking mass of brown veered sharply to the right, and sprinted into the forest. He smashed through trees and branches, which ripped through his already weakened flesh, just as Barbara Boxer’s voice would shred the eardrums of any human being.

Woof! Woof!

“They’re sending doggies! That ain’t right! They’re...huntin’ me. Like dem Brits do with da foxes...”

He continued to run at full speed, with the growling of dogs growing nearer and nearer...Then a hound leaped out from behind a bush, and clamped its jaws around Mr. T’s leg. Pain and blood flowed out from the jaws of the beast, and our hero had only one choice. He grabbed the .50 caliber Smith and Wesson from his holster, pumped in a magazine of “flesh tearing” rounds, (empty through the middle, so they hook on and rip the flesh apart—mainly known as “Federal” rounds) and blasted at the dog. Its entire body was torn from the head, which annoyingly still maintained a death lock on Mr. T’s leg. More and more hounds flooded in, and Mr. T blasted away at them, shredding them to pieces. Two tried to go for a pincer attack, but Mr. T spread his arms out and smacked them so hard as to snap their necks. He ran back, firing behind his shoulder, realizing he was outnumbered. So, he climbed onto a tree, and pulled out a remote. It had a big red button on it, with the letter “A” inscribed in black.

“Time to call my posse...”

He pressed the button.
______________________________________________________________________________
Western Germany, Near the French Border, Underground Laboratory

“I’ll have to admit, Herr Hitler, your plan to cryogenically freeze yourself while generations of scientists worked on orbital battle stations and a massive clone army in order to conquer the world under the banner of the Fourth Reich was clever.”

Colonel John “Hannibal” Smith strode around the revived Adolf Hitler, while chomping on a cigar and sneering. He was a tough, Pattonesque man who had gray hair and a coky smile.


“Problem is, my associate, “Mr. Face Man”, or Face, disguised himself as a Nazi colonel, seduced your female guards, and stole the key codes to your orbital death station and cloning tanks. Then I planted the C4, and soon this hell hole is gonna heat up, real good. Punk. I love it when a plan comes together.”

Suddenly, the “A Team” theme song began to play, <http://f2.pg.briefcase.yahoo.com/bc/futureworldruler1/lst?.dir=/My+Documents&.view=l> and Templeton “Face Man” Peck, a master of disguise capable of wooing any woman on Earth (and some Martians, or so I have heard) pulled out a device similar to the one Mr. T had held moments before.

“Boss, Mr. T needs our help.”
“Alright. Hitler, we were gonna arrest ya, but we need to go. Okay, it’s been fun, give me a number and I’ll call you.”

Out of the shadows, the newest member of the A Team, a man wearing cowboy boots, jeans, a red shirt, a Kevlar vest, and a ten gallon hat strode out. He aimed a revolver at Adolf’s head.

“Achtung! NEIIIIIINNNN!”
“I guess y’all just misunderestimated us. ‘Cause we’re more powerful than a nookyuler weapon.”, he said, in a Texas drawl.

With a twirl of his revolver, and a shot to the head, Adolf Hitler was given a one way ticket to the residence of Mr. Satan. Then the team ran off from the bunker, accompanied by their newest recruit, a young George W. Bush, and leaped out of the bunker just as it exploded in a plume of fire, in slow motion of course. They scrambled for their parked “The A Jet”, which was not actually a jet, but a modified bomber with jet engines slapped on by Mr. T.

“Hey, Hannibal, how much we get paid for that job?”
“You mean taking out the cryogenically frozen Hitler? Twenty five million from the Israelis, same for the Germans.”
“Darn tootin’!”
________________________________________________________________________

Mr. T fired away at the dogs, but there seemed to be an endless stream of them. So, he tossed out a piece of meat, and waited.
Surely, the French aristocrats were coming in after their hounds, especially after they witnessed a huge explosion in the center of the forest. And when they arrived, they would see a smoking pile of dogs, and on this tremendous pile would stand Mr. T, holding a smoking Magnum revolver, bloodied, but most definitely not beaten. And he would say to them, “Let me teach you the golden rule.”
T
hen he would the revolver at the face of the “Scarlet Pimpernel”, and say,”The man with the gold...rules.”

((My God man. Dubbya? Well, I guess, maybe make him George R. Kush or something, I mean, it just seems a little wrong. Wow, this is getting interesting. Now, of course the bomber would not be allowed over French Airspace, and under the Restoration there are active patrols. So, I dont know how your gonna get round that. Im going along the lines of Mr Ts gonna get caught, and then the A Team can free him before he gets executed or something, something cool, with alot of great RP ops. Im digging the idea of the cliche 'escape from torturers while at the same time killing them with thier own tools' a la True Lies concept. No harm to him will come tho. I mean, we cant waste good chars like T and TSP.))

The dogs, so many having been killed, began to retreat.

At least thats what it seemed like at first. Then, if you had good hearing, in the distance the sounds of horns could be heard.

A few wounded, not dead, dogs softly moaned. Thier bodies laid twisted and destroyed on the ground. A very soft hush had fallen. The forest at once seemed quiet and forboding. Mr. T had climbed up a massive oak, and so he would have a good view, but the brush and brackets of the forest negated the lofty perch.

An eerie half hour of silence followed. There were no sounds coming from the trees, all the dogs had finally expired. Then, a flash shattered the quiet. From a covert position, someone fired a missle launcher. The missle sored into the trunk of the tree T was on, turning the trunk to pulp and send parts of the tree flying.

Following the burst, the forest seemed to move quietly. The next thing T would know is his legs and arms would be lit up with laser points. Shots were fired, aiming to take the man down. However, Tranquilizer rounds would be used. Alot.

If that failed, the forest would have been noticed to light up. Motorized units were converging on the area. But for the moment, The Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel were like shadows, indistinguishable from each other. After all, T might be a hulk, but that was no match for such potent hunters.

((OOC: Well, remember, Dubya never existed in AMW. Hell, Quinntonia doesn't even have a presidency. Now, I couldn't imagine a world without Dubya, so I'm seeing how he would end up if he wasn't President. I'm thinking that before Mr. T gets captured, he goes one-on-one with Scarlet Pimpernel, who stabs him with a tranquilizer. Something like that? The cliche thing works perfectly here, since the A Team's biggest running joke was that they got caught, and Mr. T came up with an insane contraption to ))

Mr. T slowly lept off of the tree, hands facing upwards.

"Damn foos, got me captured. You, Scarlet Pimp Nickel! What kind of a man are you? You send two million dogs afta me, and now you cruise in with a posse? Come on, let's settle this like men."

He tossed the Magnum to the ground, and got in a fighting stance.

((Ok. Well, sounds good. Ill start it in a bit, perhaps tommorrow morning. But dont count on besting the SP just yet, remember he is a duel master. :) ))

((OOC: What time zone are you in?))

The Scarlet Pimpernel, his face obscured by a mask of black silk behind the disguise would grin.

"Gods Fish, my dear fellow! Would you challenge me to a duel?" His voice was merry, and his Leauge laughed at the notion.

"La, milord, the mans a troll!" shimed in Sir Andrew. The Leauge, and the surrounding Strasboug Guard men who had gathered about, chuckled uproariously.

"Faith, milord" said the secret Pimpernel "I think we should grant him his" with a wiggle of the hand "coup de farce."

Moving like a dancer and not a fighter at all, with a flick of the foot the Pimpernel would send up a small log for T to use as his 'weapon'. In the same movement he would draw his sword.

Lithely skipping about, the Pimpernel tested T's defenses. The bulky man was swinging the club with lethal strength, but he was as slow as an ox. For one as nimble as the Scarlet Pimpernel, Malcom T was fixture.

One time the club came down particulary close in a grunt of T's rage, only to be parried and deflected with a smoothly drawn dagger, and countered with a prick to the right bicep, drawing blood.

T would find the Pimpernel quick, deft, and hopelessly agile. Within minutes, he was pricked all over, and would be getting tired. The men cheered the Pimpernel on, he who had not even broken a sweat (but had not really been chased on foot cross country for kilometers.) as he engaged in his nole perrys and thrusts.

(OOC: I really apologize for how long this damned thing took...)
“Damn you, sucka...”

On the dark muscle sinews of Mr. T’s body flowed rivers of blood. Small rivers, but rivers nonetheless. The Scarlet Pimpernel’s dagger flew like a tornado, dashing around as Mr. T attempted to nail him down. He leaped forward, jabbing T in the chest. T’s mighty arms pushed the vast log own upon the Pimpernel, but he slipped under T’s arm, sweeping his sword across the back of the lumbering man, splashing the hulk’s blood across the ground. T stumbled forward, and then swivelled around, swinging the log with devastating force. His body shook in sheer exhaustion, soaked in blood and covered in ragged and ripped clothes. The Pimpernel dashed forward to stab Mr. T in the chest, swooping in for the final blow. Mr. T drew on his remaining reserves of strength, and swung from right to left with a mighty blow. The Pimpernel simply leapt into the air, dodging the mighty wood, and laughed at Mr. T’s futile efforts. While he laughed, Mr. T continued the momentum of the log and with a curved swing, brought the log above the unsuspecting Pimpernel’s head...and onto it.

CRUNCH!

With a devastating smash, and intense force, the log savagely struck the head of the Pimpernel. His eyes shook and rolled, leaving him in a woozy state. Mr. T took the opportunity, and snatched the gold chains off of his neck. Rejuvenated by the sheer adrenaline, he spun the gold chains in the air like David swinging his sling.

“Foo, you forgot the golden rule!”

Mr. T threw the spinning gold chains at the Pimpernel. The Scarlet one recovered his senses, but it was too late. The medallion struck him straight in the face with such force, that it knocked him to the ground.

“The man with the gold RULES!”

Mr. T then leapt upon the body of the Pimpernel, teaching the elegant noble the combat style of the Chicago ghettoes. He delivered a flurry of punches, smashing the jaw of the Pimpernel, again and again. But soon, the adrenaline began to fade, and his weary body began to give out from both the mysterious nobles’ combat blows and the sheer exhaustion involved in fighting his way out of Paris, blowing up a building, dodging and ramming into a helicopter, falling off of a cliff and into a river, running several miles cross country, fighting off a horde of dogs, and exchanging blows with one of the greatest warriors known to the French nation. Would the Pimpernel take this opportunity, as he lay under the weary Mr. T, who continuously lay punches on the face of the battered Pimpernel? Or would he fall under the strength of the mighty Mr. T?

(((Touche, AC. Ill respond later, ciao!))

((Hey, Elkazor. You seem very knowledgable of French culture/language...are you French?))

((Trey bien, Monsieur. Yes, I am 'French', but am somewhat of an expatriat since I was raised in Britain (although I subsequently lived in France for a long time) my parents having emigrated there when I was a child. Having said that, I consider myself a Frenchman to the teeth, even though, as you must imagine, I disagree bitterly with the current Chirac administration. One side note, AC, dont be too harsh in your judgements of Frances economy as 'drowning under Socialism" or something to that effect, it is a complicated situation, and that is a stereotype; there are some of us out there with long memories, and hearts of pride, la creme de la creme du monde in my opinion, and they are Catholic and old-school to a man---you will have seen their like in Charles de Gaulle, and further back than that, Charles X and Louis le Grand. And to answer your earlier question, I currently reside on the United States' Eastern Coast, climbing the rungs of higher education, and I write my English like them now, no more 'organisation', Ha ha!))

The Scarlet Pimpernel breathed deeply, thrown to the earth, a club hovering over his head. What a fiasco! If this continued, he might be really hurt, perhaps even killed! Not to even mention Madame de Grenobles ball!

For a minute he acted very still, audiably breathing, eyes darting behind the silken mask.

"Sink me! You are a pro indeed!" the Pimpernel spat up a tooth, demm it all! "La, you almost had me, what?" at this Mr. T, grunting and preparing to squash the Pimpernel, would no doubt raise an eyebrow.

That was all the time Sir Percy needed. Touching the signet ring on his hand, and turning it a certain way, a puff of chemical mace was emitted straight onto T's face, hitting his lower nose and eyes. In less than a second, Malcom T's face went from ebony to a puffed out rouge. The mace, no doubt, was a special blend. As T went to the ground, coughing and gasping intermixing with the occasional scream, the Pimpernel rose slowly, dusting himself off.

"Alas, Monsieur, I only have time for a hunt. My death will have to be postponed, till after Madames Ball, at least!" This sent the Leauge laughing gayly.

Sir Percy adjusted his lace cuffs, motioning to blocky soldiers of the Strasbourg Guard to chain T up in iron.

"Gods Fish, my dear fellow!" the Pimpernel laughed "its a picture!"

And so Mr. T was photographed bloody and chained. No doubt they would be tommorrows headline "Rebel Leader captued in France!" The hunt was successful. The Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel had been victorious again, and they departed for a delightful dinner, carried away by limos, a bevvy of servants already attending to their delicate masters bruises.

Mr. T would not be so lucky. After he was bound and tranquilized, he has taken by heavy escort back to Paris, to the Bastille.

He was hooded, so he could not see the Bastilles outline. He might only have known he was being put in an elevator travelling down at some point.

When the hood was removed, T would be greeted with the visage of a torture chamber. Yes, ladies and gentleman, in the Kingdom of France, criminals and traitors are punished, using only tools from the Medieval Ages. The Kings Ministers felt this sent the message home. The guards strapped him to a long table, and left, but not before tranquilizing T some more.

After he woke up, who knew how much time had passed?, he would notice he was not alone. The masked nobleman, secretly the Scarlet Pimpernel, stood by, flanked by two ogres of men.

Both were Sikh in ancestry, each stood seven feet tall, and weighed over four and a half hundred lbs. each at least. They were barechested, save for a great leather straps that met under the mountainous pectoral muscles. Leather hoods hid their face, except for the space left open for their wide grins, which they always stupidly wore.

"La, hes awake!" The Scarlet Pimpernel put a hankerchief to his nostrils, the rooms air being bad. "Now, listen up you scum! This, is Tweedle Dee" he pointed to one of the troll like men "and this, is Tweedle Dum."

They were the Kings Executioners, the most beastly men King Louis could turn up. Also, the King was a well read man, and was a wit to boot. The message was clear that when you came across these two, you were "Though the Looking Glass."

"Me laek hurtung peopleez..." began Tweedle Dee.

"...unta dey start bledun and squirman." concluded Tweedle Dum.

"Charming, arent they?" Sir Percy chimed in "I just know you want to meet them some more! They will tell you how to speak on TV! When you have learned your lessons, boy, maybe you will be shipped off to an eternity of back breaking labor. If you fail, these two gentlemen" again waving to the story book ogres "will labor to break your back! Adieu, until next, Malcom T!"

As he was leaving the room, Dee and Dum tightened the straps on the table, and the noise of one of Ts muscles being ripped went off like a shot in the night, the chamber was now eerily being illuminated by a fire Dum was building...pokers were in it. Then the massive steel door swung shut, and the only noise heard was primal screams.

French Media would pump out stories of the daring capture of the rebel commando by the Kings valiant, and secret, Leauge of the Scarlet Pimpernel...all featuring the picture of T being led away in chains.

((Sorry to do so much, but T's salvation is at hand! I intent to break him in the Bastille, which it would be impossible to free him from short of a military, and have him do forced confessions to crimes on TV. After that, he will be shipped to Devils Island, off of French Guyana. However, on his route there, he can no doubt be rescued. However, not before an example is made of him.))

((OOC: Quite an interesting heritage you have there. France, Britain, and the US...You've got the whole transatlantic alliance covered! And I was not speaking of the whole French population when I said it was drowning in Socialism, but sadly that seems to be the way the country is going. I was actually quite astounded when I heard Chirac was considered a right winger in France, when here in the US he'd be an extremist leftie. You know, what's even more ironic then a stout conservative RPing as modern day France is me, a die hard American nationalist (whose parents come from Poland) running Russia in a government style similiar to that of George W. Bush, except more conservative. Now, if you don't mind, I'll go back to Murdock's state of affairs.))

Murdock paced around the ball room, angry and uncertain. For days, he had fed the French nobility seemingly vital, but always slightly outdated information, but yet that scheming Miromensil had yet to deliver an audience with the king. And now, Mr. T (Disguised as Malcolm T) had been led into the Bastille (As seen on RNN) and brutally tortured. Slowly, about two hundred hard core mercenaries had flown into France, from various locations around the world, and under civilian identities, and he had managed to regain contact with the remaining two hundred remaining Marxists. All in all, he had a rugged and scattered force of four hundred at his disposal, which even in a tiny nation, would have been utterly worthless. Their goal of a glorious heist seemed to be on the brink of failure, while on the other hand, the French support of the Mafia had blossomed greatly. And of course, there was one more thing.

He'd forgotten to take his medication. Yes, Murdock had been in the days of yore known as "howling mad Murdock", before the advent of such medications as Prozac and its ilk. While Murdock could now serve the A Team without them having to bust him out of an insane asylum every week, he had strangely lost his talents as a pilot. He had made up for this by becoming a master of disguise, thus allowing the A Team to work in pairs, with a master of disguise in each group. However, now that he'd forgotten to take his medication...

"Yabba dabba doo! My invisible dog, Billy! How I missed you!"
The invisible dog said,"...."
"I love you too, Billy! Now, let me get Ronald McDonald in a wedding dress costume! Hi! Hi! Wait, that gives me an idea..."

While Mr. T loathed Murdock's crazyness, even he admitted that two positive things seemed to come out of his insanity: the ability to pilot anything, and the occasional streak of brilliance.

"Billy! Don't pee on the floor, and listen! I've got an idea! We've got to clear out Versailles, so we can steal the gold! Okay, so we have enough transports to clear out 5 billion dollars worth...Now, how does one scare off an entire city of nobles...Hi! Hi! Billy, I must marry the Pumpkin fish! And eat a mutant crocodile! Ho!"
________________________________________________________________
Bastille...
"Damn...OW! JESUS!"

As Dee and Dum continued to brutally torture Mr. T, he continuosly refused to confess to any crimes. He did, however, proclaim his actions proudly, as a true Marxist would not consider them crimes.

"If giving to those in need is a crime, then yes, I am a criminal. if fighting for the poor is a crime, then I am a criminal! If dedicating my life to the pursuit of justice is a crime, then under Marx, and under God himself... (he had found in his activities as a revolutionary that the re-Catholicization of France had affected even the Marxists)...I AM A CRIMINAL! I CRIMINAL WHOSE ONLY CRIME IS TO SEEK JUSTICE!"
_______________________________________________________________

((Actually, Chirac is viewed as a 'Centrist' if France, but that itself is tantamount to being 'right wing'. And since some of my beliefs, social programs and the like, and quite 'left-wing', so I can usually get away with having a conversation. Now, Im thinking robbing Versailles will be pretty much impossible. It just, well, could not happen...its like the Bastille. However, Ill make you a deal. In the 'convoy' T is on, after his lengthy torture and confessional, that is going to Brest, so he can be shipped to Devils Island there, will be a shipment of 5 billion in gold bullion---being sent to Admiralty at Cherbourg. At some point the convoy will divide in two, going seperate ways, but at one point I imagine you can get to it at just the right time. However, T gets a beatin firsts. Im actually not sore about the loss, cause I got about twice as much as that during your civil crisis. So you need to get even even more. How bout this, after the heist and all, in a bit, we can start having the spies fight each other on nuetral ground, J. Bond like, way in the future tho. So all that ok with you?))

((OOC: Alright, I guess that will do. I was planning on having a crazy heist where I scare off Versailles with a false nuclear bomb threat, saying that the marxists got a hold of loose Russian nukes, but hey, that'll do. As for the spy idea, I think it's quite brilliant. Maybe something in China, as I plan to get involved there. Maybe we could have Mr. T and the Scarlet Pimpernel become almost friendly rivals? I don't mind if Mr. T get's beaten (He's tough enough fo that, foo!), just as long as no permanent harm comes to him. Actually, I'd urge you to make more use of Tweedle Doo and Dum. Just gotta love brutal torturers with the mannerisms of small children. In regards to RL, I find it quite amusing that I (an American patriot (possibly nationalist) can agree so much with a French patriot/nationalist. That is a first for me. France needs more people like you, actually. Knock some sense into those latte drinkers who run the country now. Run for the French Presidency! ;) ))

OCC: Just a little drop-in on how Hindustan views the state of affairs.

IC:

With the disappearance of just about all 25 Hindustani advisers sent to Lavrageria, as well as more than half of the approximately 40 pilots and air crew, Mumbai decides to let the issue drop. Many of the air crew make it back into Hindustan, their ordeal finished.

France, the Estenlands, and Russia will find themselves increasingly left out of the list of things that Hindustan terribly cares about. The government, increasingly exhausted with the recently-diffused situation in Nepal and the ongoing uphevals in Xiaguo, now involving Hudecia (one nation with which Hindustan doesn't particularly care for, although certainly is not hostile towards), has found little time to do much about the happenings in Europe.

While a new French presence in the Indian Ocean does cause some concern, it is doubtful that the government will do anything about it in the short term.

OOC: Wait, the Nepalese situation is diffused? Does that mean that the WW3 that Quinntonia was worried about has been prevented? Or am I completely off the mark? Sorry, but I haven't paid enough attention to that part of the world. But you should note that there is an increased demand for Hindustani drugs, as they are being shipped by the Mafia into Volgograd.

((Correction, I am a Bourbonist, not Nationalist. And sure, I bring Dee and Dum out when I need to, but theyre of limited usefulness. That said, in regards to what they are useful at, they are top notch arent they. Not to sure about China though. UE, ya, BG and LRR, ya, Britain ding ding ding. But Sino et al., even though hes been removed his compatriots in Asia are still there, make me queasy about the area. Ill get the breaking of T up before tommorrow, or maybe then))

((OOC: My mistake. But you are a patriot, no? I don't really know what Russian agents would do in LRR and UE, but messing with those Communists in BG would be fun, and maybe helping out the Brits could work, as well. I know you're eager to deal with them, but it'll be a stretch to get Russia involved.))

Deep below the Bastille, in a great and cold concrete chamber, His Majesties Executioners were hard at work breaking the rebel T. The fire lit the dim room, only causing the instruments of torture to be reflected in shadows, iron rods sat glowingly hot in its embers.

On a great table, with wheels at either end, lay a strapped down Malcolm T. He had just finished a tirade about his innocence, which of course went way over the heads of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They only grinned at each other stupidly as they prepared their work.

"He tok..." grunted Tweedle Dee.

"...tuh mach" finished his brother Tweedle Dum.

Laughing stupidly, the ogrous men began to systematically break Malcom T's toes with little clamps. Mr. T screamed, but quickly gained control of himself, spitting at Dee and shouting "Louis is a pig! Long Live the people!".

This phased Dee very little, he moved from his work at the table to a long bench, taking up a gag. Moving like a two legged boar, Dee swaggered back and gagged poor Malcom T, while Dum finished breaking the last toe.

At this point the great steel door opened. In walked the Marquis de Launay, Governer of the Bastille. He looked at poor T, stretched out on the table, muscles ripped and toes broken.

As the came forward, Dee moved Malcoms head forcibly over in order to regard M. de Launay.

"Ahh, I see the Tweedles have already gone to work." He, like the Pimpernel, held a hankerchief to his nose. "Now, attend. You will confess on video that your were paid to enter France and kill His Majesty the King by Prime Minister Bull of England and "Free France" in London. You will say they forced you to do it, by threatening your family. You will say "Free France" and Bull are working together to destroy the Restoration Government. Then you can pay us back for our trouble, and be on your way to Devils Island, what do you say?" He motioned for Dee to undo the gag, as it looked liked T wanted to say something. The gag came off.

"Go to hell, foo!" The gag was promptly slapped back on.

"Well, you are not ready to think reasonably, it seems. Very well." He nodded to Tweedle Dee and Dum. "Can you break him soon?"

"Us gona burn hum bad...." chortled out Tweedle Dee.

"...stratch hum, and gov hum da shotz" finished Dum with a wheeze.

The Marquis nodded. "Very well! Do whatever needs be done, we must have him broken ere long!" The Kings Executioners bowed as the Marquis left, before ambling back to the table.

Tweedle Dum, only his wide smile and black eyes visible from the leather hood, took a red hot poker from the fire, and began to liberally apply it to Malcom T. After about a quater of an hour of the exercise, which he laughed throught the whole time, he relented, putting the poker away and helping his brother stretch T out another notch...T was in danger of suffering permenant and extreme muscle damage.

On the wall, through pain hazed eyes, T would seem the tools awaiting him if he did not confess. Knives, whips, flails and things that looked too horrible to describe. But Dee and Dum were professionals, they would not rush the task. Some required months, but in the end they always broke.

But the Tweedles had put T through hell enough for one day. They were paid by salary, after all. So they loosened the straps on the table so T might not die during the night. As they left, Tweedle Dee injected T with a dose of extremely powerful hallucinagens, to gice him things to think about at night.

Before Dum closed the great steel door, he turned on a loud recording that would play deafeningly loud. No doubt, this would mix well with the drugs.

"YOU ARE A TRAITOR! YOUR MIND IS NOT CLEAN! CONFESS AND RECIEVE MERCY! END THE PAIN! RESISTANCE IS PAIN!" said a cold, English voice.

((So no real permenant damage, although I dare say no one gets out of the Bastille without carrying alot of psychological damage. When hes ready to confess, hell be shipped out. Revenge is a sweet dish. Im sure the video of the torture is being piped thoughout the Bastille, to frighten the political prisoners held there.))

((OOC: Ouch. Poor Mr.T...I'll write something tomorrow, have to sleep now. Excellent, albeit gruesome job.))

OOC: Wait, the Nepalese situation is diffused? Does that mean that the WW3 that Quinntonia was worried about has been prevented? Or am I completely off the mark? Sorry, but I haven't paid enough attention to that part of the world. But you should note that there is an increased demand for Hindustani drugs, as they are being shipped by the Mafia into Volgograd.

OCC: Honestly, for the bazillionth time Hindustan only exports inebriants as gifts to foreign dignitaries. I'm not like Colombia, there's no need for drug money and theres no militant factions vying for control of the country either.

Any russian mafia associates who enter Hindustan will sooner find themselves the subject of 7.62mm fire than business propositions.

OOC: Eesh, there's soo much going on in AMW at the moment! I didn't really want to start that conference in the middle of it all, but I'd been meaning to do it for ages, and things kept cropping up to make me think I should wait... well, apparently, things don't cool-down in AMW :)

Erm, my point, the situation in Asia changes day on day. At the moment it looks a little less likely to turn into global war, but by tomorrow it could all be going off, again, heh. Yay for that unpredictable element. The ISCBG exports small quantities of elsewhere illegal drugs, but tends to view them as a commidity that, if desired, should be grown domestically, not imported, and if law is found in opposition to popular or individual will, it should be over-thrown by popular revolution or broken by individual choice. Erm. So it's easy to acquire small quantities of just about anything, for personal use, in the ISCBG, but a little harder to export in bulk, because most view it as part of a puppet economy to transport none-unique goods like that, and because it can't be bought with currency. If the mafia can ship in the sort of raw materials or unique agricultural products that BG may need, or even unique cultural and artistic items, they might get anything that can be grown in India, in exchange.

In short, Igovians tend to view Hindustanis as soft-core hippies, and, considering themselves the hardcore aspect, are surprised not to bear the brunt of jibes that so annoy their neighbours. It's part of a popular conception of Hindustan as a bright-eyed little brother, even if it is about the same size and was leftist before BG :)

I'm done, carry on [goes to bed]

OCC: Honestly, for the bazillionth time Hindustan only exports inebriants as gifts to foreign dignitaries. I'm not like Colombia, there's no need for drug money and theres no militant factions vying for control of the country either.

Any russian mafia associates who enter Hindustan will sooner find themselves the subject of 7.62mm fire than business propositions.
No offense meant there. It's just that drugs are legal there, so the Mafia can send civilian "representatives" in disguise, leave, and take the drugs across the black sea.

Mr. T grunted in the darkness, as the vicious torturers continued to beat him mercilessly. As they finally left he fell into a drug induced sleep/craze...

Mr. T wandered through a swirling, rainbow tunnel, full of clowns.

“Dammit, I don’t want another balloon!”
“Coooome, T....Haaave a baaaallooon....”
“NO! DAMMIT! STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

Mr. T was surrounded by an army of clowns, all of whom started attaching balloons to his body. Soon, he was covered in a swarm of balloons, all of which seemed to cackle at him maniacally. Then, the balloons seemed to hoist Mr. T into the air of the hallucinogenic hellhole, as he squirmed and struggled to no avail.

“AHAHAHAH! Lemme go, damm foo! I hate flyin’! That crazy foo Murdock is probably guiding ya, and he can’t PAINT! What, what the hell am I talkin bout? Who are you?”

The Scarlet Pimpernel’s face (masked, of course) rose up from the horizon, consuming the entire world.

“Gods fish, my man! Tally ho!”
“Dammit, if you like God’s fish so much, ya should get one of those Jesus fish bumpa stickas!”
“That will not do...”

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Do emerged from a balloon that exploded.

“You wantedz to beez letzz..”
“...go? Okaaaay...”
“No! What the? AHH!”

The twin torturers walked forward, and snipped the balloons’ strings off, sending Mr. T plummeting into the hallucinogenic rainbow, and straight onto the plate of Louis XX.

“Hmmm...What a delicious specimen!”

Mr. T scrambled along the plate of a gigantic Louis XX, but slipped on a piece of salad. A giant fork caught onto his pants, and he was slowly lowered into the jaws of the French king....

*POOF!*

Mr. T’s head rose up, and his body shook with agony and fear.

“Dammit, that’s why I tell kids not to do drugs. I need some milk....”

He looked around at the various torture devices in the room, and slowly gulped, realizing he had only one more ace in his hand. He would give them a confession, alright...Maybe not the confession they wanted, but a confession nonetheless...

As the Governor of the Bastille would return with his brutish minions, Mr. T would say to them this...

“You want me to confess? Well, I’ll tell you something even mo’ valuable than that phony thing you wanted...I’ll tell ya the truth. I was sent to infiltrate France by...”

And surely the governor would wait, breathless for the words: PM John Bull. He would not get them.

“...the Ukrainians. That’s right, some elements of the Estenlands government, don’t know if Wingert himself was involved, sent me here to stir things up for two reasons. First, they need even more money, since the economy’s already strugglin’. They shut down the youth centas! How could they? Were are the childun’ gonna go?!! And, they think yo people are too “foo-foo”, not tough enough to be a good ally. They thought that maybe if they rattle yo cage a little, y’all put in a secret police and turn into a crazy foo’ poleece state. My proof? HERE!”

He tossed out the documents of a Ukrainian intelligence officer, and several forged authorizations. Of course, the documents had been stolen from a man who had “mysteriously dissapeared” from The Estenlands a few weeks before...

He prayed to God silently, that they would buy this statement, and prepared for the worst.

((OOC: If you’re guys don’t buy it, you can just assume he confesses to the whole British thing. Although, I wouldn't discount it immediately. After all, Mr. T is a mercenary, and the Tsar deals with them often. He's also known to be paranoid, and its not out of question that he have rogue elements in his intelligence agencies...Ah, and are you trying to start a war with the British, Elkazor? Not satisfied with Lavrageria?))

(( Great post. I will go with the British option, and then well get his esacpe thing set up. No, I do not want a war with the Brits, I simply want to slam them and get a chance to get those annoying republicans who slipped through the net shipped back from London.))

((OOC: I guess Mr. T will have to go to London to clear his name? Ah, and do you want me to strike the convoy carrying Mr. T when it is at sea or still on land? Both options are crazy, but the sea seems a bit more realistic. Just go ahead and say Mr. T confessed, but maybe have the French government become a little more suspicious of the Estenlanders...))

From all over France, mercenaries and Marxists would arrive, under diguise, of course, in Versailles. Their alibi would be simple, and therefroe effective. The mercenaries were grizzled warriors, and thus would obviously be noted in the court of Versailles. They would say that they were simply here to provide security for a minor nobles' party, since such fellows were ignored by the King's armies. The Marxists were their prisoners, which would soon be offered for a bounty, right after the matter with the party was settled. After all, no need to cause such an uproar and disrupt Monsiuer Fleur's party! Then, when they arrived, a party was held, to provide cover, with all invited. Of course, it was doubtful that anyone would come, and those who did were entertained by the dancing and songs of the disguised Marxists. They all pretended to be overjoyed when they heard the news of "Malcolm T's" capture and confession, although in reality the hearts of the Marxists were even more galvanized to rescue their beloved leader.
(200 Mercs, 200 Marxists in total)

George W. Bush said to "Hannibal","Hey, boss. Aren't we gonna get shot down flying over French waters?"

John "Hannibal" Smith, tactical genius of the A-Team, turned around, chomping a cigar.

"So what?"
"What do ya mean? We'll die!"
"Look, first of all, we're used tolosin jets. 'Cause we're on the jazz."
"What?"
"Ready for action! Anyway, we seek out the crummiest scrap heaps, hell this sucker went for ten bucks, slap it up, have Mr. T glue on some old jet engines, and viola!"
"But....isn't that dangerous?"
"That's why Murdock won a life time supply of parachutes. Hold on, we're almost at the small island from which we'll launch our rescue mission. Grab a parachute, I think we've got incomin'!"

And so Dubya grabbed a parachute, at first bewildered, but then excited by the adrenaline rush he gained from jumping out of an airplane. Or, would get.

"Yipee ki yay!!!"

((When you say Versailles, I think such a presence would be impossible. The King lives there, security would be incredible, crime nil. The Palace is a massive complex of parks and mansions, the town a residence for lower nobles and the Kings servants. I think you could get a few score men in, but remember T is being held at the Bastille in Paris anyway. Well do a ship escape, Ill put T and the gold on a ship bound for French Guiana. A light military ship.))

French State Television (Royal News Network) would show a special item on their evening telecast, having been sure to ship copies of the story to the major Western news cartels.

M. de Mesmer, the anchor, was just finishing a story about the massive battles shaking Lavrageria, right behind the chaos in China.

"And now, we have a special report. We have learned that the rebel spy, Malcom T, who was captured by the His Majesties men has made a statement. We now bring you that statement, only minutes old from the Bastille."

The screen went to a simple room, clean, with T sitting in a chair. He had a bandage over one eye, and spoke haltingly---obvious on heavy medication. It would be no great leap to say behind the chair a gun was pointed into his back. He spoke with great clarity, with slow and rehersed words, totally unlike himself. A beaten man.

"My name is Malcom T. I am a traitor to the legitimate ruler of France, His Most Christian Majesty Louis XX. I wantonly aided and abetted the rebel underground. In this, I was paid by the organizer of the destabilization in France, British Prime Minister Bull. In sinc with Free France in London, Prime Minister Bull paid me to try to kill King Louis if I could, and to simply blow things up if that failed. I was aided and abetted by the following persons, who also seek to destroy Frances rightful government. ::There began a list of one hundred and twenty three names. All French, most in London, some in the Bastille, a few at large.:: I beg His Majesties forgivness. I kiss his hands. ::At this he sickenly went to his kness:: I beg His Majesty to accept my apologies."

M. de Mesmer again appeared. "A shocking story. We will bring your more news as it comes in. It seems the Foreign Ministry just issued a statement."

He read it aloud. "His Most Christian Majesty is highly disturbed at this news, and requests Prime Minister Bull offer a full and public explanation. He also demands the immediate extradition of "Free French" currently living in the United Kingdom en masse."

Meanwhile, outside the Bastille, a convoy of vans zipped off, to the port of Cherbourg. In one of the vans, out cold, was Malcolm T. He was going to be shipped to the penal colony of Devils Island, North of French Guiana, to spend an eternity in hard labor, hopefully get malaria.

The ship that would take him, along with a substantial shipment of gold to the colony, was HMCMS Leopard, a Brest Class Frigate.

The convoy consisted of 15 heavy unmarked vans, each loaded with Royal Watch Agents, T is in the middle one. The gold has already been loaded onto the ship.

((OOC: I think it’s possible. The lower rank nobles probably don’t get top security for their parties, and thus Fleur can get in some security people. Nonetheless, I’ll cut back on the numbers. Is 200 in total good? Oh, and can you shoot down the A-Team’s bomber? They’re too cheap for landing gear...And I doubt their $9.99 (On sale at Crazy Ivan’s!!!) bomber has good stealth technology...))

With their “bomber” soaring over the French naval coast above a tiny island juuust northwest of Cherbourg, the A team prepared for the inevitable assault by French patrol aircraft. To make sure they were attacked, “The Face”, a smooth shaven con artist, even broadcast this message over the radio, adopting the accent of an inebriated German Neo-Nazi.

“Heil Hitla! French pigs, prepare to be bombed out of existence by der Vier Reich (Fourth Reich)! It is only a false rumor that the cryogenically frozen Hitler was dead! Surrender, French pigs! Long live the Fourth Reich! Death to the Jews! It was an African swallow! Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Click! The radio turned off, as the A team snickered, and readied their parachutes. The plane was packed with smoke bombs and various fireworks, thus obscuring the parachutes and allowing them to land safely on the island. With anticipation of Mr. T’s arrival, they had purchased several small fishing boats before hand, and had the fishermen deliver them to the island. As they would float to the island, carrying small amounts of RPGs, guns, and explosives, they would then arm the small boats in anticipation of the rescue. Of course, they would not attack directly; their plot would be far more clever. The “Face” with his shape-shifting abilities (Well, that may be an exaggeration!) Would ready the others’ disguises, as they prepared...
_________________________________________________________________
Versaille....

The fabulous party had ended, and the mercenaries, along with the Marxists (Or “Security Personnel”) were getting ready, arming themselves for the daring rescue. Only light arms were carried now, just in case they were captured along the way. Murdock, having finally found a dose of his medication, and calming down slightly, quickly rushed out the harried Marxists and cynical mercenaries. As he ran towards the door, still clad in the flashy robes of the nobility, (of course, not as flashy as those of the upper nobility) he heard a lone, female voice emerge from behind him.

“Fleur?”
“Oh sh–“
‘What is it, my dear?”
“–iitake mushrooms. Yes, could you get me some, darling?”
“No problem, dear!”

Murdock turned around, fixing his powdered wig.

I knew I forgot something!

He watched as Monsiuer Fleur’s wife came out of the kitchen, carrying a jar of Shiitake mushrooms.

“Darling, where are you going?”
“I...”
“You’re not...going to leave me again, are you?”

Her amber eyes glistened with sadness. Murdock knew he had to go and save Mr. T, but to leave this poor woman, who had been all a man could hope for in a wife, who had been betrayed too many times...It was...horrible. Had he not joined the A-Team to help people! To aid those who were ignored and downtrodden! And now he had to leave her behind...But no. He could not live a false life like this, and could not give this woman false hope.

“Madame, I am not Monsiuer Fleur. I cannot tell you more, but know that you are a great, kind woman who can do very well on her own. Please, do me one more favor. Do not speak of me again. Tell all who ask that Fleur dissappeared one a drinking trip in Paris...”

“Oh, God...”

With a quick kiss, he was gone.
_________________________________________________________________

They drove to the port of Chebourg, well ahead of Mr. T’s convoy, as they would be utilizing quick sports cars, and used Monsiuer Fleur’s status as a noble to rent out several large Yachts (and paying with cash, of course). Then, they skirted off to the English Channel, purchasing several tons of weaponry from English gangsters (“Blimey, you gonna start a Revolution with dat, mate?”), and began cruising around the island where the A Team was going to land, ready to spring their trap...

((Sorry about the lag AC. I would like to move on with this, so pardon me if this post seems rushed. It can be tweaked in hindsight, never fear.))

HMCMS Leopard, a Brest Class Frigate, made slow steam from the harbor of Cherbourg. The smallest of the Royal Navies ships classes, she was neverthless a potent adversary. Quick, tough, and durable, the Brest Class Frigates were the mainstay of the Royal Navy.

She was en route to Charlesbourg, the captial of French Guiana. On board were two high profile things. The first was Malcolm T, a revolutionary on his way to Devils Island, the infamous French penal colony. The second was a shipment of 5 Billion dollars worth of gold bullion, minted into Louis d'or, sent as a annual supply to the colony.

As she reached blue waters, she opened up, cruising at twenty five knots in a bee line to Charlesbourg.

Meanwhile, Ordu du Saint-Espirit Air Command in Grenoble picked up a restricted aircraft, a bomber no less, slowly making its way into His Majesties airspace. They had no authorization.

Alarms rang, and Chevalier Jacques du Mont with his wingman M. Tans were presently airborne in their elite Dassualt Rafale-C's, both members of the elite "Golden Spurs", ODSE Rafale Group 2.

In about fifteen minutes, they were in range of the odd bomber. No warning was to be given.

They came straigt out of the sun, launching two Magic II missles each at the bomber before pulling sharply skyward.

((OOC: Elkazor, before I continue, I need you to fire on the A Team's bomber. I imagine if it came into French airspace, it wouldn't be allowed to just waltz around. And I don't mind the lag, after all, NS isn't more important than real life!))

((Okie doke, I will append the previous post.))

((I'll have something later tonight, but I've got to do HW first.))

((OOC: I hate chemistry. 'Nuff said.))
“Move it, kid!”
“I’m 35 years old! Why do you still call me a kid?”
“Shut up, kid.”
“I’m not a kid, dang nabbit!”
“Shut up, George. I’m a 52 year old Vietnam vet, damnit! I can call you a kid if I want to!”

“Hannibal”, the cigar chomping tactician of the A Team who bore a tan militaryjacket that revealed his slight paunch, and whose hair was a floppy salt and pepper mop, shoved George W. Bush out of the plane. Then he leaped out as well, cigar still in mouth, and the “Face” followed as well, snickering when he imagined the bewildered faces of the French pilots who had heard him imitate a nut job German neo-Nazi. When the French missiles struck the rusty, ten dollar bomber, it folded like a cheap stroller, its steel interior first cracking, and then simply falling apart in millions of pieces. The French pilots were unlikely to notice the three figures hurtling from the wreckage of the plane, as the literal tons of smoke bombs and fireworks guaranteed a brief campaign of “Shock and Awe”. This provided the perfect cover, and by the time the A Team unfurled their parachutes, the French fighters were long gone, now more interested in tonight’s Soccer (Or football, as the Euros say it) match featuring two French teams, with one oddly enough being composed almost entirely with Lavragerians, with the odd Russian and Brit. Of course, the team composed of the Lavragerians/Russians/British would go on to win a resounding victory, and this was of course completely unrelated in any way to the actions of a certain Murdock, who was in no way responsible for the mysterious appearance of sleeping narcotics in the drinks of the French soc–Er, football–players. And of course, these narcotics could never be traced in their systems, and the French players would receive a humiliating defeat, as the Lavragerians (who strangely enough occupied a French team with no Frenchmen on it) basked in what was a propaganda victory heavily played up in the Russian media...

The A Team hurtled down onto the island, tossed off their parachutes, and sprinted onto the fishing boats they’d had ordered to be sent. Loading them up with RPGs and various machine guns, they then rushed back into the jungle to change. The Face had already prepared fisherman disguises for the team, and they strode out action movie style, with a cocky swagger and grotesquely large guns, all in slow motion. While they all bore disguises, each still wore a personal distinction that they could not be without. For George W. Bush, it was his steel spurred cowboy boots and ten gallon hat, and Hannibal’s was his trademark cigar and a few military medals. What distinguished the Face from a regular fisherman was not some article of clothing or a cigar, as in the case of the others, but simply the fact that few fishermen bore such a stunningly handsome and roguish face,(Well, according to him) which made the ladies swoon. (to Mr. T’s ((and my)) disbelief) Still, from a distance they would seem like a normal band of hard nosed fishermen, and that distance was all they needed. They jumped into their boats, revved the engines, and sped off.

Nearby, the yachts led by Murdock also began to move, both coming in to the same location, the French Brest class. The Marxists sailed to save their beloved leader, the A Team jetted off to save their friend, and the mercenaries were simply along for the cash. Whatever their objectives, they all had one thing in common. They were ready. Concealed guns were stashed aboard, and the plan was set into motion. As they swam past the French ship, they waved happily, pretending to be wealthy tourists out on a pleasure cruise.

BOOM!

A large plume of flame and smoke rattled one of the yachts, and the crew and passengers fluttered in panic. The three other yachts tried to come in nearer, but it became clear as the ship began to sink that only the military ship had the capacity and the speed to save them. A radio distress beacon was sent out, and they all waited, feigning panic, for the ship’s next move.

Meanwhile, onboard the French ship, in the brig, a broken Mr. T simply stared out of a porthole, humming what appeared to be old Negro spiritual songs, with his brain a complete muddled mess.

HMCMS Leopard would unfortunatley not stop to help, as that was the coast guards perogative. Instead, the ship SLOWLY steamed from the Harbor, before it could open up fully.

After all, the distraction had slowed the ship down, and forced it to change course.

“Aye, Capitan! Le ship is slowing down, ho ho!”
“Hmmm...Looks like they won’t help us...Cruel bastards. Alright, Plan B.”

The “crew” began to run around in circles, and panic, screaming loudly with reckless abandon. The Marxists were well suited to this, as most were impressionable college dropout hippies, who partied often. They were used to running around in circles, although it was a bit strange to do it not under the influence of drugs or alcohol. The mercenaries were completely perplexed, although the ability to let loose for once was quite relieving for the hard nosed cynical mercs. Their panicked chant began to unify, however, and soon they generally spouted one message.

“The ship’s outta control! We’re GONNA CRASH!”
“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”
“Dude, I am sooo high right now. What? We’re gonna crash? That’s like...duuude. Gnarly! Get me some more weed, man! Yeah...”

The flaming ship sped towards the French Leopard, ready to crash into it.
((OOC: Alright, in interest of time, I’ll go out on a limb and say the ship fired at them. Tell me if you want to change it, and I shall.))

“They’re FIRIN’!”
“Duuuuude! Outrageous!”

The French cannons boomed with fury, and they ripped into the fragile yacht. Holes were ripped into it, and the decks flooded with water.

“Haaaahhh...Water...Gnarly!”

Yet still the ship steamed forth, as it fell apart at the seams. The French sailors (they may or may have been mercenaries, but they served under the French crown) opened fire from their assault rifles and handguns. The Marxists and mercenaries leaped on board, screaming with a savage fury. A wild Marixist ran forward, ignoring repeated blasts to his chest. He spread out his two hands, firing two guns at once, knocking down a pair of sailors. An officer fired away with a revolver, splashing blood and flesh onto the deck, but the wild eyed, shirtless, and bloodied Marxist raged on. In a blind rage resembling that of a dying Lion protecting its young, he swung the revolver at the officer’s head , bludgeoning it again, and again, and again, until both crumpled to the ground, dead.

“For...Malcolm T...”
“Dude, this weed is awesome.”

An elite brigade on the ship, set to guard Malcolm T, ran out to meet the attacking hordes. As more and more yachts poured in, and the tide seemed to turn in the favor of Murdock’s ragged band, they stepped in to turn it back. The brigade lined up, in the fashion of the Ancien Regime style of combat.

“Fire!”
“AHHH! My weed! You ruined my wee–AHAHA! Dude, you shot me in the neck! That’s not—GAH!”

The lined up assault rifles blasted into the horde, decimating it immediately. The crackle of muzzle fire ripped through the air. The Marxists rushed forward, and the French leveled their bayonets.

“Fix bayonets! CHARGE!”

The elite unit ran forward, slicing through the jumbled crowd. Communist blood sloshed on the deck. A French soldier ran up to Murdock, and swung the bayonet across his chest, ripping his shirt apart and sending blood flying.

“Dammit! Billy, sick’em!”
“What? Where’s Billy?”
“Right here, bitch!”

Murdock punched the soldier in the face, grabbed his rifle, and shot him in the face repeatedly. Still, despite Murdock’s success, the battle was obviously lost.

Well, until they showed up.

<Cue A-Team Theme>

Several hooks latched onto the edge of the ship’s deck, directly behind the French line.

“I love it when a plan comes together!”
“Time for a pre-emptive strike!”
“Any ladies here? Doin’ anything on Saturday night?”
“Darn tootin, shut yo’ piehole, Face!”

Swinging up over the deck of the ship was the A Team. Or...part of it. Yeah. Still, even lacking Mr. T, the A Team had the ability to take on the Russian armed forces, several hordes of ninja, and Ted Kennedy’s head at once. With Mr. T...Well, let’s just say that Satan himself start’s gettin’ a little nervous...

“Vat iz zis?”
“This is what we call in Texas ‘a bust!’ Give up the drugs, I mean Mr. T! Yeah.”

The trio stepped forward, with western music playing in the background. The French forces turned around, and all faced the direction of the A Team, as they stalked in, as if preparing for a western style duel in the sunset.


Wawa wawa waaaa, wa wa waaaa, wawa wawa waaaa! (Western Tune)

“DRAW!”

George pulled out his revolvers, spun them around like pinwheels, tossed them in the air, and blasted away. Every shot hit dead on, sending French elites into spasms of pain and agony. They fell to the floor, with a bloody thunk, and Bush blew the smoke out from the guns.

The Face was a lover, not a fighter, so he simply distracted the female crew (collecting all their phone numbers, of course) and conned several soldiers, earning several future dates, about twenty bucks, and multiple slaps in the face.

Hannibal simply grinned as a gang of French troops ran forth. One tried to bayonet him in the chest, but he pushed the gun away, and punched the soldier in the face. Two others aimed to fire at him, but he tossed forward a soldier who absorbed the bullets, convulsing grotesquely as his chest literally exploded. Hannibal made bizarre hand gestures, and then snapped out orders.

“Ten 42, hail mary, statue if liberty, sixty seven high velocity chickens! HIKE!”

The French were puzzled at his remarks, but the A Team grinned in understanding. Murdock ran off to one of the yachts. He roared back in on an ATV he’d stashed, just in case. The team flocked back on, and they road over the bodies of several sailors and elites. Bush, Hannibal, and Face dashed forth, and jumped onto the speeding vehicle. Bush swung his cowboy hat in the air, yelling excitedly.

“YEEHAW!”

As Murdock squashed several French soldiers, Bush and Hannibal fired into the crowd, splashing the intestines of sailors across the deck. The ATV swerved around on a sharp turn, giving the ship’s missile defenders a chance to line up for the assault.

“Gah! Move! They’re gonna fire!”

The ATV sped to the side, and three missiles flew towards it. It spun around several times, then reversed its course, but the missiles continued to follow them.

“Murdock!”
“What is it, Hannibal?”
“I’ve got a plan. Head forward.”
“What? That’s right into the missiles!”
“HEAD FORWARD!”

Murdock sweated nervously, but revved the engine and sped forward. The ATV and the missiles engaged in a deadly game of chicken, heading straight towards each other. Closer, closer, closer...

“NOW DUBYA!”

Bush spun a lasso, which hooked onto a large ship gun sticking out overboard, and the entire ATV swung around the gun, flying off board for a few seconds. They then flew back onboard, on the other side of the gun, and the missiles that had chased behind them rammed straight into the loaded gun. The ensuing explosion shook the ship violently, sending many flailing into the water. With the battle on deck nearly won, the ATV sped on its search for Mr.T.
___________________________________________________________________________

“Hello, Mr. T...”
“Gah....”

A sneering man wearing a white admirals uniform, paced around Mr. T, who simply drooled as he stared off into space.

“Ha! Those fools at the Bastille did the physical work for me, but they do not understand the fine art of mental destruction...Yes...Drugs and violence have their place, but there is nothing as satisfying and devastating as picking apart a brain, piece by piece, and destroying your very being.”

This mysterious man tossed off his admiral’s cap, his sneering, arrogant face resplendent with neatly combed brown hair and black sunglasses. He turned away from Mr. T, glaring at the porthole, smiling as a shark passed by. He then turned around again, leaning forward to sneer at Mr. T, and lowering his glasses.

“Do you know why snuck onto this ship? Why I risked my life to fake being a French admiral? Huh? PUNK! Because I hate you, Mr. T. I am the world’s greatest psychological interrogator. I have struggled to achieve greatness. But YOU! YOU WERE ALWAYS IN MY WAY! At Secret Agent Community College, YOU always got the ladies! YOU were always loved by our professors! YOU were always most popular! NOBODY GAVE A DAMN ABOUT ME, EVEN THOUGH I WAS TEN TIMES BETTER THAN YOU! DAMMIT! YOU WERE ACCEPTED INTO THE A TEAM! YOU TOOK AWAY EVERY THING I EVER WORKED FOR!!!! AUUUGHHH!”

The furious man punched Mr.T in the face, sending drool splattering across the wall.

“HA! I have defeated you Mr.T I have PREVAILED! For I am...”
“Dr. Fuxor.”
“He?”

Dr. Fuxor spun around, only to see the A Team.

“That’s right, bitch. The A Team is here.”
“Dammit Hannibal! Do you always have to foil my plots?!?”
“I just love it when a plan comes together! But my plans, not yours!”
“ARG!”

Fuxor pulled out a handgun, and aimed straight at Mr. T’s head.

“Nobody move, or the T gets it!”

The team twitched, standing nervously. Murdock cried out.

“Mr. T! Snap out of it!”
“Guhhh....”
“No! Nobody can defeat Mr.T! Yeah, Billy, you tell ‘em!”
“Give it up! Nobody can withstand the wrath of Dr. Fuxor! Nobody!”
“Mr. T! Do it for the children! Who’s gonna build the youth centers if you don’t?”
“Dur...”
“Ha! Victory is mine! Now, if you now what’s good for you, line up against the wall so I can lock you in!”

As they walked forward slowly, Hannibal whispered something into Face Man’s ear. Face Man pulled a thermos full of milk out of a side pouch, and poured it into a cool, tall glass.

“Oh no! By golly, I sure hope Dr. Fuxor doesn’t drink Mr. T’s milk..”
“Give me that!”

Fuxor snatched away the glass of milk, and with a maniacal grin, guzzled it down, ever so slowly, in front of Mr. T.

“That was awful! Ughh...”

As they walked by, and Fuxor cackled maniacally, something happened.

Mr. T flinched.

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGG!”
“Aiiiiiieeee!”
“DON’T YOU DARE DRINK MY MILK, FOO! AND DEN YOU GO INSULTIN’ IT??!?!? TIME TO TEACH YOU THE MEANIN’ OF PAIN!!!”

Mr. T spread his arms out like a soaring eagle, ripping apart his binds. His body soared through the air, tackling Dr. Fuxor with the might of an oncoming freight train. Fuxor’s body convulsed in agony as it flew back, slamming against the steel wall.


“Mr. T! You’re back!”

Murdock ran up and hugged Mr. T. The hulking man shoved him away, snarling.

“Get offa me, crazy foo! Where are we?”
“On the French ship the Leopard, kid.” said Hannibal, grinning the grin of a victorious general.
“Wait? But how come dem French foo’s aint got us yet?”
“Well, pardner, a few o’ my friends at Enron sent me a jammin’ device to scramble up them signals for a while. They probably cracked it by now, so we sent Murdock to pilot the ship to get us out of this darn heckhole!” spouted a jubilant George W. Bush.
“How far we gotta go, foo?”
“‘Till we get ter a little piece a’ Russian property, between Poland and Lithuania. Oddly enough, it’s right north of Lavrageria....”
“Oh hell no I ain’t goin’ there! I need a vacation! What about the French foo’s?”
Hannibal repsonded,”I told our “men” to man the remaining guns, and a Russian ‘merchant frigate’ will ‘arrest’ us in about an hour, anyway.”

And so the bloody French vessel steamed ahead, trying to rendezvous with the Russian ‘merchant frigate’ that would ‘arrest’ them. Then, the Russian government would betray the Marxists, who were enemies of Russia and France, but claim that Malcolm T mysteriously escaped with the gold on a hijacked boat, heading in the direction of the Ukraine...

With all of Europe on the verge of total war, the hijacking of HMCMS Leopard was put on the backburner. It was no problem to track, being loaded with equipment meant to locate it, so the Admiralty simply let the ship steam its course.

When it made port, long lange missles would be locked onto it, and the ship and gold would both be blown to hell.

All of His Majesties attentions were now girding the nation for war, as Britain seemed intent on crossing the line. News was not allowed to run the story, the families of the sailors not having been told anything yet.

Pierre and Keterina had returned from Russia, and went at once to the Scarlet Pimpernel. The new mission, the only mission, now congealed. Prepare the homeland to endure total war.

French news began to make the link that Bull was actively trying to usurp HMCM Louis XX from his throne. If the British took one more step towards interfering in the Tsars or Louis' plans, a declaration of war would result.

The Leopard steamed into Russian waters, largely unhindered by French ships. (One fisherman had to be...taken care of...) A large, Russian battleship yelled out to them through a megaphone.

“Unidentified French military vessel! What are you doing in Russian waters?”
“Foo, I’m mad fo’ dem duckets.”
“What?”
“It’s code, dammit. Transmit that to Moscow.”

The captain frowned, but did as ordered, and radioed Moscow. He came back out of the bridge, now informed of Mr. T’s identity, and yelled back.

“You’re the legendary Mr. T?”
“The one and the same, foo! Now, can we move our loot onto yo’ ship?”
“Loot?”
“Yeah, we gots over five billion in gold bullion, foo!”

The captain collapsed onto th ship’s deck, as the A Team laughed hysterically.

“What’s going on, man?” spoke a Marxist.
“You’re under arrest in the name of the Russian government. Commie scum.”
“What? Malcolm T?”

Mr. T turned around to face the Marxists, his face grim.

“Foos, you ain’t gonna be treated too bad. We’s gonna put you in youth centas, to clean up yo messed up heads.”
“HOW CAN YOU BETRAY COMMUNISM?”
“Foo, I nevah worked fo’ Communism. It was a plot by the Russians to undermine France.”

The French Marxists stood stunned by the revelation, as their beloved leader glared at them, and the Russian soldiers marched them away. Mr. T gazed at the sunset, smiling. Soon he would be in Havana, Roycelandia, bathing in the warm shores, and taking a much deserved vacation.

The government would tell the French that they had arrested a boatload of Communists, but Malcolm T had fled with the gold towards Ukraine. The Marxists would be properly tried, and the Leopard would be reported as damaged beyond repair, as to make sure the French didn’t think to reclaim it. In Moscow, a raucous disco party was held, in honor of the A Team’s favorite brand of music, and the bewildered Russians soon joined in with them onto the dance floor, busting out moves to such hits as “Saturday Night Fever.” Oswald, the fat Economic Secretary, unleashed his mad break dancing skills, while Putin joined Mr.T in the traditional “finger pointing into the air, one hand on hip” dance of “Saturday Night Fever”, stunning the crowd and earning Putin an instant ten point increase in job approval.

“I got the fever!!!”

Mr. T and the rest of the A Team was honored with the greatest award available in the new Russia: the Black Star of Freedom. As a grinning Putin already eager over the possibilities the five billion represented placed the medal on Hannibal’s neck, he whispered into his ear over several possibilities, ranging from military to political.

Hannibal said,”Well, I don’t work alone, and can’t speak for others.”
“I’m ready to mess up dem French foos, but first I need a vacation.”
“Yeah, me an Billy can have fun!”
“And I can shmooze with da Ladies...Too bad Boss won’t come with me...”

Face Man rubbed the sore spot on his face where he had been punched by The Boss moments before.

Putin raised a glass of vodka, and offered a toast.

“Very well then, I’ll contact you fine gentlemen after your vacation is over. Thank you for your service to Russia, my friends! Thanks to you, we won’t come out of this Lavragerian complete losers. A toast to the A Team!”
_________________________________________________________________

((OOC: Let's just have the government's reaction to Malcolm T's escape, the loss of five billion dollars, and the capture of about twenty Marxists, and then we can slap "THE END" on this. Thanks a lot for RPing this, Elkazor. (British Accent) Smashing job, I say! (End British Accent.) Not only was I highly entertained by your posts, and challenged to come up with various nefarious plots, I think the practice and RPing with a better writer than me has really sharpened my abilities. Thanks...(It seems informal to say "Dude" or "man", but a little strange to refer to someone I never met as "buddy" or "pal", so I'm at a loss here!) ))

((No problem, my pleasure. I think you will not find a reaction, as the sole focus now appears to be a massive war. France will need all her energies for that, Im afraid. BUt yes, assume Louis doesnt think badly of Putin, even though Russia would nessicarily be drawn into a coming world war.))

OOC: Well, you lose 5 billion and not care? Damned rich people...Ha. Alright, let us finish this most grand of adventures.

IC:

"Ahh...."

Mr. T sipped his milk from a tall glass, while he sunbathed on the finest beaches of Cuba. Murdock ran off into the sunset, playing fetch with his invisible dog, Bush played an impromptu game of football with the locals (which Mr. T would soon join), Face Man strolled the streets with a literal harem, and Hannibal was in a euphoric stupor after insisting on smoking every last Cuban cigar in the city. Mr. T simply stared off into the sunset, and slowly closed his eyes, taking a well deserved nap.

THE END or FIN

OOC: Well, Putin doesn't really have much of an opinion regarding Louis, having never met him, but he does like to make fun of his aristocratic fopishness, as Louis loves to call Putin "a bastard commoner!"

(I get the feeling that, for amusement's sake, I really should catch up on this thread. But, in the interim, we all realise that Cuba is part of Roycelandia, right? It's just that I had trouble remembering that, to begin with, and it annoyed me no end :) My global revolution! She falters!)

(OOC: I know that, BG. Otherwise Mr.T and his merry men would be busy overthrowing Castro. Capitalism and jive talking forever! :)

((OOC: Hey, do any of you know how to put this thing in the archives?))

BUMP for da memories!