DontPissUsOff
12-02-2005, 18:46
Meeting of the Republic Cabinet, Krasniy Novgorod, 11:30
The cabinet room, a 19th-century edifice of British architecture, acted as a solid citadel of oak and teak, like a wooden fortress within the confines of the capital city. Surrounded by portraits of their predecessors who gazed gravely upon them and enveloped in a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke that choked lungs and ventilators alike, the cabinet debated the terrible issue of whether to join their allies in the loose Coalition, and commit the full power of the Republic’s military machine against Kahta.
Puffing on a cigar, the Foreign Minister reiterated yet again the point he had been making for the past hour. “We are members of the Coalition Forces Alliance, the Anti-Nazi and Genocide Pact, and the NATO. We simply cannot allow such a nation to continue its existence. It would be an absolute disaster for our standing with allies and non-committed nations alike if we were to stand idly by while we could commit our forces against Kahta, and it would generate open disgust amongst our own people.”
At that, the Home Secretary nodded sourly. “He’s right on that one, Marcus. We’ve been letting the press whip up the public into an anti-Kahtan frenzy for months in preparation. Just look at the dailies today,” he intoned gravely, pushing a small heap of newspapers forward to emphasise his point. “Atrocities of the past and future;” “Kahta requests 400,000 blacks for ‘testing’;” “Kahtan genocide-mongers continue past work;” “Mengele lives again.” We simply can’t let this sort of thing go unanswered forever; we made public commitments against the far Right god only knows how many times.” He shook his head and looked the PM in the eyes. “If we don’t go after them, you can probably kiss electability goodbye for the next fifty years. With this sort of ticket, it’s likely that it’ll be Zimyanin in next election.”
Jones growled at the mention of the ultra-nationalist leader’s name. “All right, I get the message. Politically it’d be suicide not to intervene. However, I can’t help wondering if it might not be military suicide to intervene.” He sighed. “Mikhail, what do you think?”
“Go after them, sir,” chirped the Defence Minister. “We have the ability to wipe the floor with their Navy, and our army’s at least the equal of theirs. Only worry is their air force; we don’t really know much about it.” He looked at the wall reflectively. “All the same, with our allies to aid us, we would be missing out on a fantastic international, public relations and military coup if we didn’t take this opportunity. The armed forces haven’t seen any real deployment since that Lindim incident, and they’re waiting for the chance to prove themselves. Plus, we have the equipment. The new Griffon entered production four months ago, and we’ve outfitted the Red Dragon to carry a full regiment of her as well as her Flankers. We’ve got a squadron on the Great Dragon as well, and the Navy would love to combat-test them. Come to think of it, the Navy would love to give its battleships a chance to perform, too.”
“I say go,” added the Minister for Agriculture. “We have little to fear from their armed forces; they can’t possibly cut us off, with our present armed strength – assuming that the Defence Minister is correct, of course,” she concluded, casting a look at Kazakov. Kazakov nodded politely, evidently choosing to ignore the implicit charge of incompetence. “I assure the Agriculture Minister that we have the forces necessary to repel any attempt at attacking our lines of supply or our homeland itself. Of course, this is contingent upon the continued supply of foodstuffs from stockpiling and hydroponics programmes. Two can play at THAT game! The Agriculture Minister remained silent.
The Minister without Portfolio, an eternally cautious man, looked worried. “What of the economy? Our merchant fleets will be hugely vulnerable to attacks by enemy ships and submarines, and any serious shortfall in the more vital areas will have dire results for our economy, I am sure.”
“I must concur with the Minister on this crucial issue,” chimed in the Secretary for Commerce. “Our merchantmen are the most important factor in this war. If we lose these vessels in large numbers we will not be able to sustain ourselves. Any shortfall in the vital areas of timber, fabrics, precious metals, refined plastic products or agricultural goods will not only severely affect our civil economy but also have unpleasant results for our military.” A grumble of agreement circulated threateningly around the room as Kazakov’s features began to display irritation.
“We have the ability to safeguard our merchant navy. The Navy has trained for years for such a role, and we are abundantly capable or conducting it. Even our freighters run armed in case of enemy attack, as you are no doubt aware. We can and will hold our sea lines of communication open against any enemy attempt upon them. We will hold them open, I assure you, gentlemen and ladies.”
“I hope you’re right,” replied the Prime Minister darkly. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.” The room was silent, save for the electric fans, as the ministers cast glances at one another that spoke of dread and anticipation, both fighting for primacy on their faces. “But whether or not we are, this bickering is getting us nowhere. For the past hour and a half we have been arguing back and forth over the pros and cons of the situation. As I see it, we have two options, each with risks. However, if we do not help those against Kahta, we will lose face, both at home and abroad, and that stands to be disastrous for us. Not just for the government, for the nation, I mean. This is an opportunity for us to demonstrate that we will stand for the principles we espouse, no matter what the threat, and that we can inflict damage upon the enemy, no matter what his size. I say go, but I want other opinions.”
At that moment, the Minister without Portfolio called, “vote.” The result was 14 to 2 for war. The countdown had begun.
Red Dragon, flagship for the 2nd Carrier Fleet, Indian Ocean.
“Admiral Romanov, message from Fleet Command.” Romanov looked at the flashing monitor message, threw the remote at it, and rolled back into his bedclothes, only to be woken by the machine’s loud bellow. “ADMIRAL ROMANOV, MESSAGE FROM FLEET COMMAND!”
“For heaven’s bloody sake…” he snarled, and punched up the message. As he read it, he shook his weary head, as he had done all too many times in the last few years. “Here we go again…”
When Romanov appeared on the bridge 15 minutes later, he was a very different man, smartly dressed in his admiral’s uniform, showered and clean-shaven. Heels clicked and salutes were raised as he entered the expansive bridge area.”
“You wanted to speak to the crew, admiral?” enquired the massive carrier’s commander. He didn’t look at his superior, and instead continued to scan the grey sky.
“Yes.” Romanov noticed his faraway look. “Problem?”
“No, I just don’t like the look of that front up ahead. Met boys say it’s likely to be a bad squall.”
“Nothing we can do about that, I suppose. Besides, we’ve got the heavies to help us.” The captain gave a noncommittal grunt, and caught Romanov’s eye, grinning. “Let’s hope the buggers can shoot as well as they brag, eh?” A chuckle ran around the bridge.
“Indeed, indeed, Jack. Are the crew alerted?”
“Oh, as alert as they’ll ever be.” Another chuckle. Romanov was well liked by his subordinates, informal and up for a laugh. When he had first boarded the carrier, he had been almost instantly selected as the first “victim” of King Neptune for the crossing the line ceremony; he had repaid the compliment by arranging for an “officer-bashing day” and temporarily re-assigning himself as a seaman. He walked up to the mike and addressed the crew, thinking already of what he would have to do to the Kahtan fleet. The last time he had met them had been some years ago, during that fateful confrontation over Sevaris; then he had been afraid, but this time they were read, and he was certain of it.
“Attention all hands. Attention all hands. This is the fleet commander. I am authorised to tell you that we are entering the Atlantic, via the Suez, and will be proceeding onto North Atlantic stations in order to aid our allies against the racist menace of Kahta. Some of you may remember the last time we encountered their ‘navy;’ we were weak then, but we are strong now. Let us show the Kahtans how lucky they were the first time they came across us, and let them fear our aircraft, our guns, and our ships! We will sink their ships, until they no longer dare to let them sail!”
OOC: Quick round up of what I’m sending over.
1st Overseas Fleet (3 CVBGs, 3 BBBGs, 1 BCBG, 2 SSNBGs, stationed in Red Sea and Israel)
3rd Overseas Fleet (Stationed in West Pacific and Indian oceans, 4 CVBGs, 2 BBBGs, 3 SSNBGs, and 1 SSGNBG)
4th Overseas Fleet (Stationed in Chile and Ecuador, 2 CVBGs, 3 BBBGs, 2 SSNBGs, 1 BCBG)
On average, a CVBG is 1 heavy carrier and 2 battlecarriers, plus a pair of battlecruisers and about 16 escorts, 8 supply vessels.
A BBBG is 4 battleships, 1 command ship, a light carrier or battlecarrier and around 14-16 escorts, 8 supply ships.
A BCBG is 3 battlecruisers, a command battlecruiser and a battlecarrier, 12-14 escorts and 4 or 5 submarines, 7 supply ships.
An SSNBG is 8-10 SSNs, plus 2 or 4 SSGNs.
An SSGNBG is identical, but with the ratios reversed.
“Escorts” are destroyers and cruisers, including heavy cruisers of ~30,000 tonnes. “Supply ships” are AORs, AOs, and submarine depot ships.
In addition, I’m reading amphibious fleets, but they’re not being sent out to their stations yet, since they take a long time to form up.
The cabinet room, a 19th-century edifice of British architecture, acted as a solid citadel of oak and teak, like a wooden fortress within the confines of the capital city. Surrounded by portraits of their predecessors who gazed gravely upon them and enveloped in a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke that choked lungs and ventilators alike, the cabinet debated the terrible issue of whether to join their allies in the loose Coalition, and commit the full power of the Republic’s military machine against Kahta.
Puffing on a cigar, the Foreign Minister reiterated yet again the point he had been making for the past hour. “We are members of the Coalition Forces Alliance, the Anti-Nazi and Genocide Pact, and the NATO. We simply cannot allow such a nation to continue its existence. It would be an absolute disaster for our standing with allies and non-committed nations alike if we were to stand idly by while we could commit our forces against Kahta, and it would generate open disgust amongst our own people.”
At that, the Home Secretary nodded sourly. “He’s right on that one, Marcus. We’ve been letting the press whip up the public into an anti-Kahtan frenzy for months in preparation. Just look at the dailies today,” he intoned gravely, pushing a small heap of newspapers forward to emphasise his point. “Atrocities of the past and future;” “Kahta requests 400,000 blacks for ‘testing’;” “Kahtan genocide-mongers continue past work;” “Mengele lives again.” We simply can’t let this sort of thing go unanswered forever; we made public commitments against the far Right god only knows how many times.” He shook his head and looked the PM in the eyes. “If we don’t go after them, you can probably kiss electability goodbye for the next fifty years. With this sort of ticket, it’s likely that it’ll be Zimyanin in next election.”
Jones growled at the mention of the ultra-nationalist leader’s name. “All right, I get the message. Politically it’d be suicide not to intervene. However, I can’t help wondering if it might not be military suicide to intervene.” He sighed. “Mikhail, what do you think?”
“Go after them, sir,” chirped the Defence Minister. “We have the ability to wipe the floor with their Navy, and our army’s at least the equal of theirs. Only worry is their air force; we don’t really know much about it.” He looked at the wall reflectively. “All the same, with our allies to aid us, we would be missing out on a fantastic international, public relations and military coup if we didn’t take this opportunity. The armed forces haven’t seen any real deployment since that Lindim incident, and they’re waiting for the chance to prove themselves. Plus, we have the equipment. The new Griffon entered production four months ago, and we’ve outfitted the Red Dragon to carry a full regiment of her as well as her Flankers. We’ve got a squadron on the Great Dragon as well, and the Navy would love to combat-test them. Come to think of it, the Navy would love to give its battleships a chance to perform, too.”
“I say go,” added the Minister for Agriculture. “We have little to fear from their armed forces; they can’t possibly cut us off, with our present armed strength – assuming that the Defence Minister is correct, of course,” she concluded, casting a look at Kazakov. Kazakov nodded politely, evidently choosing to ignore the implicit charge of incompetence. “I assure the Agriculture Minister that we have the forces necessary to repel any attempt at attacking our lines of supply or our homeland itself. Of course, this is contingent upon the continued supply of foodstuffs from stockpiling and hydroponics programmes. Two can play at THAT game! The Agriculture Minister remained silent.
The Minister without Portfolio, an eternally cautious man, looked worried. “What of the economy? Our merchant fleets will be hugely vulnerable to attacks by enemy ships and submarines, and any serious shortfall in the more vital areas will have dire results for our economy, I am sure.”
“I must concur with the Minister on this crucial issue,” chimed in the Secretary for Commerce. “Our merchantmen are the most important factor in this war. If we lose these vessels in large numbers we will not be able to sustain ourselves. Any shortfall in the vital areas of timber, fabrics, precious metals, refined plastic products or agricultural goods will not only severely affect our civil economy but also have unpleasant results for our military.” A grumble of agreement circulated threateningly around the room as Kazakov’s features began to display irritation.
“We have the ability to safeguard our merchant navy. The Navy has trained for years for such a role, and we are abundantly capable or conducting it. Even our freighters run armed in case of enemy attack, as you are no doubt aware. We can and will hold our sea lines of communication open against any enemy attempt upon them. We will hold them open, I assure you, gentlemen and ladies.”
“I hope you’re right,” replied the Prime Minister darkly. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.” The room was silent, save for the electric fans, as the ministers cast glances at one another that spoke of dread and anticipation, both fighting for primacy on their faces. “But whether or not we are, this bickering is getting us nowhere. For the past hour and a half we have been arguing back and forth over the pros and cons of the situation. As I see it, we have two options, each with risks. However, if we do not help those against Kahta, we will lose face, both at home and abroad, and that stands to be disastrous for us. Not just for the government, for the nation, I mean. This is an opportunity for us to demonstrate that we will stand for the principles we espouse, no matter what the threat, and that we can inflict damage upon the enemy, no matter what his size. I say go, but I want other opinions.”
At that moment, the Minister without Portfolio called, “vote.” The result was 14 to 2 for war. The countdown had begun.
Red Dragon, flagship for the 2nd Carrier Fleet, Indian Ocean.
“Admiral Romanov, message from Fleet Command.” Romanov looked at the flashing monitor message, threw the remote at it, and rolled back into his bedclothes, only to be woken by the machine’s loud bellow. “ADMIRAL ROMANOV, MESSAGE FROM FLEET COMMAND!”
“For heaven’s bloody sake…” he snarled, and punched up the message. As he read it, he shook his weary head, as he had done all too many times in the last few years. “Here we go again…”
When Romanov appeared on the bridge 15 minutes later, he was a very different man, smartly dressed in his admiral’s uniform, showered and clean-shaven. Heels clicked and salutes were raised as he entered the expansive bridge area.”
“You wanted to speak to the crew, admiral?” enquired the massive carrier’s commander. He didn’t look at his superior, and instead continued to scan the grey sky.
“Yes.” Romanov noticed his faraway look. “Problem?”
“No, I just don’t like the look of that front up ahead. Met boys say it’s likely to be a bad squall.”
“Nothing we can do about that, I suppose. Besides, we’ve got the heavies to help us.” The captain gave a noncommittal grunt, and caught Romanov’s eye, grinning. “Let’s hope the buggers can shoot as well as they brag, eh?” A chuckle ran around the bridge.
“Indeed, indeed, Jack. Are the crew alerted?”
“Oh, as alert as they’ll ever be.” Another chuckle. Romanov was well liked by his subordinates, informal and up for a laugh. When he had first boarded the carrier, he had been almost instantly selected as the first “victim” of King Neptune for the crossing the line ceremony; he had repaid the compliment by arranging for an “officer-bashing day” and temporarily re-assigning himself as a seaman. He walked up to the mike and addressed the crew, thinking already of what he would have to do to the Kahtan fleet. The last time he had met them had been some years ago, during that fateful confrontation over Sevaris; then he had been afraid, but this time they were read, and he was certain of it.
“Attention all hands. Attention all hands. This is the fleet commander. I am authorised to tell you that we are entering the Atlantic, via the Suez, and will be proceeding onto North Atlantic stations in order to aid our allies against the racist menace of Kahta. Some of you may remember the last time we encountered their ‘navy;’ we were weak then, but we are strong now. Let us show the Kahtans how lucky they were the first time they came across us, and let them fear our aircraft, our guns, and our ships! We will sink their ships, until they no longer dare to let them sail!”
OOC: Quick round up of what I’m sending over.
1st Overseas Fleet (3 CVBGs, 3 BBBGs, 1 BCBG, 2 SSNBGs, stationed in Red Sea and Israel)
3rd Overseas Fleet (Stationed in West Pacific and Indian oceans, 4 CVBGs, 2 BBBGs, 3 SSNBGs, and 1 SSGNBG)
4th Overseas Fleet (Stationed in Chile and Ecuador, 2 CVBGs, 3 BBBGs, 2 SSNBGs, 1 BCBG)
On average, a CVBG is 1 heavy carrier and 2 battlecarriers, plus a pair of battlecruisers and about 16 escorts, 8 supply vessels.
A BBBG is 4 battleships, 1 command ship, a light carrier or battlecarrier and around 14-16 escorts, 8 supply ships.
A BCBG is 3 battlecruisers, a command battlecruiser and a battlecarrier, 12-14 escorts and 4 or 5 submarines, 7 supply ships.
An SSNBG is 8-10 SSNs, plus 2 or 4 SSGNs.
An SSGNBG is identical, but with the ratios reversed.
“Escorts” are destroyers and cruisers, including heavy cruisers of ~30,000 tonnes. “Supply ships” are AORs, AOs, and submarine depot ships.
In addition, I’m reading amphibious fleets, but they’re not being sent out to their stations yet, since they take a long time to form up.