NationStates Jolt Archive

A gentleman who appeared in his mid-thirties walked along the lobby floor of hotel resort as he carried a steel briefcase as well his baggage as he signed into the front desk.

Liam Rogers stood in front of the young hispanic woman as she asked him for his name in Spanish, "Your name, sir. Please?"

The gentleman replied to the attendant at the front desk, "Rogers, Liam Rogers."

The woman looked on the computer and nodded and recieved a key for him, "Third floor, right corner room, number 322 okay for you?"

"Yes, sounds great."

"Will there be anyone else accompanying you?"

"No."

Seven days previously....
Canadian National Intelligence Agency Headquarters, Vancouver, BC, FRC

Mission Dispatcher Graham Hughes approached Liam Rogers, "Rogers, we have an assassination mission for you in Acanma."

"Who is the target?"

"Their fascist leader, Pablo Baratus."

To be continued

Three days after signing in...

Liam Rogers sat in his room as he opened the steel case as he assembled his weapon of choice, the McMillan M87R as he placed the tripod on the window shelve as he adjusted the settings and the permeters to target the Acanman Facist Leader to swallow his first bullet literary.

He walked over towards the alcohol cabinet as he prepared himself a quick shaken gin martini as he took a sip of it and took it with him over on the window shelf as he placed it on the table beside it, "God, I love it when a plan comes together... assassinating a world leader and drinking a Gin Martini all in a days work."

The roofless long white stretched limousine came around the corner, Liam looked through the scope as he made readjustments as the limousine approached his poistion. A few soldiers on motorcycles as the motorcade and several jeeps.

Rogers targetted for Pablo Baratus throat as he waited his finger on the trigger as the limousine approached him closer at five kilometres per hour.

Liam under his breath, "Closer... closer... good timing," As he looked at the watch as the timing on the report was accurate, he pulled the trigger as the bullet slid through the air and slid through Pablo's throat.

Ground Level... The Crime Scene...

Martin D'Auzza the Deputy Leader of Ancama was shocked as his best and only friend laid dead beside him as the Colonel of the Security Forces walked from his jeep after he ordered the soldiers to look for the assassian on the loose, "We'll find him and will spill his blood on the Praetor's body!"

D'Auzza nodded as he looked at the Colonel, "Colonel... If you dont find him, we'll cut off your head if you do not find the individual responsible of this!"

Roger's Room...

Roger quickly dismantled is sniper rifle and packed it into a different bag as he threw it out of the window as he made sure he had his Colt Double Eagle on him as he walked out of the room and down the stairs as he headed for the lobby and quickly placed the key on the front desk and signed out properly as he went through the window.

One of the Colonel's Security Officers spotted Liam exit the resort and tilted his head as he approached him, armed with an AK47, "Halt!"

Roger looked at the Security Officer and stopped as the man approached him, "Do I look like a terrorist? I am a law-biding buisnessman!"

The Security Officer waved another over as he spoke in Spanish to the fellow in Spanish, "You are free to go."

Roger nodded, "Thank you."

He walked down the street as his eyes moved over towards the limousine then went down the lobby as he threw the casing into the garbage container as he walked further down the alley as he came to the next street and walked into a phonebooth as he picked up the number and quickly dialed a local number, "I am done the errands on the list, anything else you need me to pick up?"

A womans voice came on the line, "Come home."

Roger remembered the code to meet the contact to get him out of the country at the cafe up the street from here as he walked up the street.

HMS Renown
Eastern Pacific Ocean

The HMS Renown slid gracefully through the calm waters of the subtropical Pacific waters, her crew delighting in the lingering festivities having crossed the Equator the previous day. On her port wing deck, aft of the forward bridge, Captain Calvin Locke stood at his height leaning against the supports – his broken leg had long since recovered from the injuries sustained during a previous battle; however he walked now with a slight limp, and on occasions like today felt immense pain when forced to stand for extended periods of time. However as he looked out across the port pylon hull and out over the open ocean, he was content to smile at the crazy celebrations now going on below with the twangs of ukuleles and acoustic guitars in time with the beating of a steel drum. In some respects Locke was fortunate, the Renown at least had enough crew members that could play various instruments together, and well – some of his previous commands had failed miserably in that respect.

Far in the distance, he could see the distant shoreline of the nation of Amcana. Former colonies of Spain, they had become an independent regional power in the eastern Pacific; however Locke also knew that their fascist regime did not sit well with Imperium. For years, the trade routes near Amcana had been plagued with piracy – freighters hijacked on the open seas and raided for fuels, supplies, anything useful to the ‘pirates.’ Six months ago, a Commonwealth civilian freighter had been stopped, and when the crew attempted to resist – a foolish but noble gesture – they were all slaughtered. It took days before the shipping company found the boat, and only the note in the captain’s log gave evidence to the piracy, the bodies were never found.

Locke’s briefings also illuminated the dark history of the organized crime syndicates operating without impunity in the cities of Amcana. Similar to the piracy raids, there were many allegations that the Amcana government had direct ties to these illicit groups – in fact some financial investigations led to the proof that high-level officials had indirect contact with such criminals, although it was never enough to warrant a forced change of government.

Yet, the Renown had been designed as a battlecruiser and a merchant raider, well suited for the tasks that the Amcanan pirates seemingly did without impunity. And so the Admiralty had decided that the first ‘combat’ mission for the first of her class would be the interdiction of the pirates. Off his stern trailed the frigate Garcia, a Type 52 that brought the ultimate in stealth design to the seas. Although the Renown was more than capable of anti-submarine and anti-air warfare, the Admiralty had decided that an escort was needed in case of some systems failure during combat – something that had plagued the previous class of cruisers for two years after their inception.

And so to his north sat Amcana, in its seemingly subtropical paradisiacal place, yet Locke kept an eye on the mischievous government, and their considerably powerful navy, with his unmanned sensor drones, loitering outside Amcanan borders sniffing for electronic intelligence and the first blips of any hostile moves made by their government.

But for the time being, he had nothing serious to worry about, other than making sure the horsing around below him didn’t result in men overboard from sheer drunkenness.

Non-occupied street...

Liam Rogers walked unsupiciously up the sidewalk from the phone booth as he headed for the cafe where he would meet his contact, as he came to the door it appeared closed as he looked around and noticed a note on the oher door in Spainish, he couldn't make out what it said, he continued to walk down the street hoping for another sidewalk a guardsman came from behind, "HALT!"

Rogers turned around placing his hands in the air as the guardsman pointed his AK47 towards him, "I already have had my papers checked, I do not think I deserve this treatment."

"SHUT UP!" The Guardsman yelled at the top of his lungs as he walked over towards him and whispered in his ear, "I am Luigi. I am to take you to the ferry."

The Guardsman used the butt of the rifle as he digged it into Liam's back as he pushed him forward, "Italian working for the Canadians?"

"Sssh..." As the Guardsman forcefully pushed him foward with the barrel of the rifle, "You speak again, I'll pull the trigger!"

Four soldiers came around the corner as they looked at the Guardsman, "The Guardsman is off course..."

"Follow suit."

The Guardsman spotted the four soldiers approaching as he pushed Liam to the ground as he fired at the soldiers as two dropped down to the ground dead. Liam quickly slid out his pistol, it were to late, the Guardsman body fell on top of him as he pushed it off and shot the remaining soldier as he ran up the street.

Liam took another ally way, a dead stop as the red cider brick wall was in front of him, he turned around as another squad of soldiers came running after him, "HALT!"

Undisclosed Location....

Liam Rogers was badly beaten up by the soldiers after he was found and was placed in a dark wet cell as a man entered the cell, "Who are you?!"

"Your worst nightmare, you little Spanish dog."

The interrogator didn't seem happy as he ran up punching Liam in the stomach, "Who are you?"

"I told you, your worst nightmare."

The interrogator punched him twice more harshly into the chest as Liam began to cough up some blood, "Come on. Tell me who you are."

The interrogator took the man by the collar as he ripped his blood stained dress shirt as an emblem appeared across his chest, a small maple leaf, "You are from Canada?"

"Nope, got that on a buisness trip to Canada, I'm from Ireland."

"LIAR!"

The interrogator pulled his pistol and placed it up against Liams chest as he fired twice as Liams body slumped over. The interrogator pushed Liam over onto the floor, "Guards, come clean up his remains."

Praetor's Palace....

The Praetorian Imperial Guards escorted the newly chosen Praetor from the Council of the Chairman, the former Assistant Praetor as General Sanchez approached Martin D'Auzza, "Hello Praetor, I have been debriefed on our capture of the suspicious man in proximity of ground zero. It is in speculation that he is a Operative of the Canadian Intelligence Services."

Praetor D'Auzza looked at General Sanchez, "Speculation?"

The General passed him a dossier folder as the Praetor took it, "The official-in-charge, who led the interrogation. Recieved information that he is a 'buisnessman from Canada'. Since the pepetrator could not give us anymore information. The official killed the individual. From military reports, their has been sightings from our fleet that there is a Canadian navy at present surrounding our islands."

Martin looked at Sanchez and opened the dossier and looked through the information in front of him, "I want this official to be executed for not getting us further information. It seems like he did the Canadian Agent a favour, by taking his life. We shall adopt a policy to make it our Acamnanian way, that we will not take ones life away, but give them a painful endurance for their crimes against the Praetor!"

The General nodded, "The official is my best man, Colonel Talita."

"I do not care, he is a traitor."

Sanchez nodded, "I'll take care of him."

"Dispatch our planes and our boarding ships to recieve military supplies from our new friends.. send them a warm Acnamanian greeting."

"Yes, Praetor. They will not know what hit them."

The Praetor laughed as he and his bodyguards took him inside into the palace.

This posts contains strong language

CFNS ANCHORAGE, FLAGSHIP OF TASKFORCE 28

Rear Admiral Darren McLean stood on the deck of the bridge as his shift was quickly coming to an end for the late afternoon, he looked over to his Chief of Staff, Captain Ronald McGregor as he headed over, "Admiral, I suggest that you can head back to your quarters, I can take over for now until the night commander takes his shift."

McLean shook his head, "Never once, have I left a job early."

Leftenant Leanne Ryans looked over her shoulder to the Admiral, "Admiral, I am picking up five unscheduled Amcananian civilian aircraft on radar approaching our direction at maximum speed."

Rear Admiral McLean nodded his head as he walked over to the young female officer under his command as he looked over her shoulder at the screen in front of her as the green lighting was coming over their faces as he looked over at Captain McGregor, "An unscheduled airflight?"

Captain McGregor replied as he also approached Leftenant Ryans' system, "Their civilian craft, grant them passage Admiral."

"Admiral.. one is loosing altitude quickly."

The small Cessna aircraft twirled downward to a deck of the CFNS Calgary at high speed as it crashed against the deck and exploded as the ship began to sink quickly.

Seaman First Class Henry Jackman looked over at the Admiral, "Admiral. We have lost the Calgary."

Admiral looked frustrated, "Get air group three in the air, set fleet alert to red. We need to intercept those planes before they make more damage."

Seaman First Class Jackman looked back to his screen as he readed the latest telegram from another ship, "Captain, the CFNS Prince Rupert is highly damaged."


CFNS PRINCE RUPERT

Captain Sarah Florence laid on the floor of the bridge as her first mate helped her up to her feet, "What happened, Master Chief?"

Master Chief Brendan Morrison gave her support as she stood on her feet, "We have been attacked by an Acamanian Kamizake."

"Well we have not sunk yet... oh crap... I am not going to let them fuckn get on my frigate and steal my supplies. Dispatch the Seaforth Highlanders on all decks."

The newly established Praetorian Imperial Guards climbed up the bow from their small quick interceptor as they were armed with covert SMGs and wearing complete black clothing, helmets and bullet proof body armour.

HMS Renown
Operating in the Eastern Pacific Ocean

The modern combat centre for the Type 72 provided the crew with spacious, and amazingly bright and airy. Locke’s last position was as the XO onboard the famous HMS Breningard, which had sunk in combat off the coast of Lindim. That ship’s combat centre had been comparatively cramped, crowded, and poorly armoured which had led to the death of his captain and his stepping in to command the ship’s last moments. Regretfully most of the crew had perished from the massive radiation leaks resulting from missile damage to the reactor compartment.

Locke shook the thoughts of his past off, reminding himself that the Type 72 was an extremely well armoured vessel with superior close-in-defence-systems. The Renown and the Garcia continued their patrol of the shipping routes of Acanma. Several hours ago, they had made distant contact with a Canadian taskforce. Fortunately, the Canadians were not considered a threat, merely a nation with which the Commonwealth had little relations. However, his tactical drones had shifted their position as his small group had moved and he now had coverage of the Acanman coastline. However, as the afternoon prepared to pass into evening the time came for his daily late-afternoon tea.

“Yevgeny, could you ask the mess to prepare my daily tea.”

“Aye, sir.”

Locke watched as the young NCO exited the combat centre to run the captain’s errand. His crew was young, but they were among the best in the Royal Navy. The first of the class required the best, and they were acting as such in Locke’s eyes. However, as this was also the first extended deployment, Locke had his obligatory drills to run.

“XO,” he called over his shoulder to a fair-haired woman, young in years and petite in size, someone that Locke indeed found attractive. But then again, the Royal Navy had its regulations and even single highly decorated captains were forbidden from relationships with fellow crewmembers. “Instruct Commander VanCooling on the Garcia to launch one of its target drones. Sound drill stations, Gun crews Alpha and Beta are to report to their ready stations.”

Glancing over at the radar screen, Locke listened to his orders being repeated and acted upon. Within seconds the unseen blip of his stealth escort fired off a target drone detached for gun training on this mission. The target simulated a low-RCS small-displacement vessel, a multi-mission destroyer or frigate. He placed his hand on the shoulder of the radar operator, “Lieutenant, designate target as hostile.”

“Aye, sir.” He waited until Locke stepped back to begin his part in the drill, “Conn, radar. Hostile contact, designating Skunk Omega. Range to target, two-one kilometers.”

“Conn, EW. Skunk Omega has positive lock on Renown.”

“Conn, SWO. Turrets Alpha and Beta report battle stations ready. VLS systems have green on all boards. Ship is ready for combat, sir.”

Locke nodded, “indeed.” He muttered to himself. Normally he would activate his own electronic countermeasure suite to jam and confuse the ‘enemy’, however, the presence of the Canadians several hundred kilometers away made him give a second thought. Although they were far enough away for his sensor drones, the battlecruiser and frigate were not within range of the taskforce themselves. Nonetheless, there was no point in advertising the EW countermeasure systems to a potential adversary.

“EW, do not activate countermeasures. SWO, Alpha and Beta to fire joint salvo at target. Navigation officer, cross the T, flank speed.”

In the hull below, the Pebble-bed reactor began to send more electrical energy to the waterjets in the main hull. The pushed water out, sending the sleek clipper bow forward into the calm waters at a speed of 50 knots. The rudder moved hard to port, the trimaran ship moving accordingly. The two triple turrets at the bow of the ship rotated through their servos to fire off the port side, presenting the two forward guns to the target’s own frontal aspect.

“Captain, guns are ready and target is locked.”

“Fire salvo.”

The ocean shook and the Renown slid laterally back across the water from the recoil of the massive salvo from the six 381mm guns. As the smoke cleared from the deck, large splashes and one noticeable explosion could be seen on the horizon. Yet in the combat centre, all hell had broken loose.

“What the bloody hell is going on?!” Locke shouted, over the numerous reports being radioed into the room.

“Captain, it appears as if Alpha Turret, guns two and three failed to fire. The energy discharge system failed to synch up with the barrels and we had an automatic shutdown before firing procedure could be initiated.”

“Bloody hell…” Locke muttered, “bring to bear port-side secondary guns.” On the port-side hull four 203mm guns swivled in their sleek turrets and threw their shells at the target. “Report!”

“Secondary guns went off perfectly, sir. Between operational gun of Alpha Turret and Beta Turret and secondary guns, we have significant damage to the target.”

“Helm, bring us around, starboard side. SWO, prepare new salvo, ready Gamma Turret and aft secondary guns.” Locke turned to his XO, his rage at the failures in Alpha Turret barely contained under his serene face. “Goddamn new systems, Sarah.”

“Captain, we’ve lost contact with one of the Canadian ships.”

“Bloody marvelous timing this is… They move out of drone range?”

“Negative, sir.” Locke repositioned himself as the ship turned hard to starboard, readying itself for a new salvo. He stood behind his sensor operator while the young man pointed out the position of the Canadian taskforce. “I had the computer tracking several civilian aircraft, IDed as Cessna aircraft. They flew in close-proximity to the warships, lost altitude, and then moments afterwards we lost contact. But here’s the thing, the whole damn fleet of Cessnas… they all basically fell onto the Canadian ships.”

“What the bloody hell is –“

“Captain, Gamma Turret reports ready to fire on target!”

Locke shook his head, if the Cessnas had all fallen onto the Canadian ships, they would have had to have been shot out of the air… except that would leave missile or projectile tracks on his screen. An EMP shield would be a foolish move within ones fleet perimeter. More than likely it had been a terrorist strike… but then again, knowing the history of the bastards in Acanma…

Locke grabbed hold of the 1MC and depressed the transmit key. “This is the captain, cancel the drill. All hands to alert stations. Repeat, all hands to alert stations. This is the captain.” At his words, the combat centre’s status lighting went from drill-white to alert-yellow. Klaxons ran throughout the whole of the ship, and moments later, throughout the entire Garcia as well.

“Communications, send a dispatch to the Canadians. Find out what the bloody hell is going on over there, and see if they need our assistance. SWO, send maintenance crews to Alpha Turret. If the cooling system isn’t functioning properly, that could require dockyard work – and if that’s necessary I want to shut down those two guns. AWO, I want to know the moment any bloody civilian aircraft leave that miserable excuse for a country. SWO, should any surface contacts –“

“Captain,” the remote sensors operator interrupted, “I have small targets inbound on the Canadian taskforce, originating from the mainland. They appear to be… linking up with the taskforce?”

Locke sat in his command chair. All of a sudden things were spiraling out of control. The Acanmans had never raided a military warship, at least of a nation that could match its own forces; they were the schoolyard bullies picking on the younger, weaker children. Canada was certainly neither younger nor weaker. He wondered if something had transpired in the past few hours that would prompt the Acanmans to take such drastic, and in Locke’s mind foolish actions. All he knew is that if one neutral nation was being attacked, he had to ready his own fleet for any similar attack. His first goal would be to secure his perimeter, and that was done. He’d now know of any intercept courses long before they approached the Renown and the Garcia. Yet his thoughts lingered on the Canadian taskforce. A ship sinking as quick as his radar report had shown would surely have numerous casualties. But he still didn’t know what the hell was going on. Hopefully his counterpart would be able to respond.

Secure Communication to Canadian Taskforce

This is the Royal Navy, His Majesty’s Ships Renown and Garcia calling for Canadian commander.

Long-range sensor data indicates under-attack by possible Acanman elements as well as the loss of at least one ship.

Do you require assistance?”

End Transmission

CFNS ANCHORAGE, FLAGSHIP OF TASKFORCE 28

Rear Admiral McLean looked over at his Chief of Staff as they looked at one another after they learned that two Cessnas had taken out their flight deck prior to the launching of the fighters to intercept the Cessenas.

Captain McGregor looked over to the Captain as he stood beside Seaman First Class Jackman, "Sir we are recieving a transmission from the Azazian Fleet a few miles off our starbord bow if we need assistance."

Rear Admiral McLean nodded his head, "Send them a message to dispatch people immediately. Try to see if they can dispatch their soldiers on the seas quickly by air to assist our Seaforth Highlanders from Amcananean boarding commandoes."

HMS Renown
Operating in the Eastern Pacific Ocean

The combat centre onboard the Renown existed in a state of pure chaos. Of course, Locke encountered such chaos before – in a far more perilous and ultimately fatal situation – however, at this time he had not been expecting serious trouble, especially from the Amcanans.

In short order, the captain’s aide and the communications officer arrived with different matters – both important to the man. The aide deferred to the communications officer with a slight bow of the head, permitting the man to speak. “Sir, response from the Canadians. Apparently the Amcanans are attempting a boarding action on the taskforce themselves; they’re requesting assistance from our “soldiers” in their repelling action.”

Locke smiled at the officer; not out of malicious feelings towards the Canadians, but towards the understandable differences in cultures and the awareness of the military culture. “Lieutenant, I’m sure the Royal Marines will love being called soldiers… Yevgeny, how many Marines do we have onboard?”

“Your tea, sir,” the short but bright eyed man edged in before answering the question. “Sir, we have triple the standard complement of 30 Royal Marines onboard. Currently 90 men are onboard in the capacity of inspectors for foreign shipping vessels. Armed primarily with rifles and light machine guns, as well as several light assault weapons.”

“Thank you, Yevgeny.” Locke recognized the danger of the bloody pirates. For sure, if they could raid – or even worse capture – a Canadian vessel, that would give them a far greater amount of firepower than their naval forces already maintained. Their navy was indeed capable of competent military action, however, the Commonwealth and supposedly Canada both owned a slight lead in terms of supplies and technologies implemented onboard combat vessels. The choice was simple.

“Lieutenant,” Locke turned away from his aide, “radio back to the Canadians that we will have 30 Royal Marines inbound in minutes. Also tell them that we will attempt to take out their boarding vessels if possible, but no promises.” The Type 72 was a fully functioning convoy raider, and she dutifully maintained a flight of unmanned tactical drones more than capable of engaging small targets such as the vessels being operated by Canadian commandoes in addition to freighters and smaller-displacement capital warships.

The combat centre finally regained some sense of composure as the previous chaos from the gunnery drill had been settled for the moment; two of the ship’s nine guns were out of commission until they could return to Breningrad for repairs. Ultimately, Locke was not surprised at the turn of events since Murphy always came out on top; he had merely hoped that Murphy would have delayed his visit until after this situation was dealt with – but then again, Murphy wouldn’t be living true to his law. The captain turned to his large display screen and tapped the necessary controls to zoom out of the drill area and to include the Amcanan coastline and the Canadian forces, all of which were delineated by blue icons for the Canadians and red for the Amcanans.

Currently the Renown maintained a screen of Talon drones to the north, shielding the two Royal Navy vessels from any attempt by Amcana to intercept them despite their obvious presence in international waters. As they had proved with the surprise attack on Canada, they simply could not be trusted. However, for the time being, that left him four Talons left for deployment in addition to his two helicopters – which were being prepped for transport duties and negated any offensive or defensive capabilities they could use, since 30 armed men was over the “recommended” capacity-load. Of course all captains and commanders knew otherwise, the fact just wasn’t published.

To escort the choppers to the Canadians he would launch two drones with their weapons pod attached. In short, they would be carrying a total of four anti-ship missiles and two machine guns to deal with any eventuality while protecting the Royal Navy’s choppers. The anti-ship missiles would target the commandoes’ vessels and destroy any chance of escape – prisoners could be interrogated by Canada or Locke if they requested.

He finally took the cup of tea from Yevgeny’s hands as he contemplated the possible counter-moves by the Amcanans. Ultimately, their islands were too far away to engage the Renown without a sufficient time for Locke to prepare for their arrival. In that sense he was glad the Amcanans had lashed out at the Canadians first, it probably saved the lives of his crew.

“Weapons officer, I want anti-ship profile for weapon pods on Talons 3 and 6. Maintain alert stations, no need to ready the ships for aggressive combat. Communications, engage Combat Encryption Alpha Two Beta, send to our comrades on the Garcia the order to swing to our south and protect our rear in case somebody decides to come snooping around. Then transmit to HQ and inform them of our situation. I want medical teams prepped in the hangar bay – our boys might be coming home with injuries or we may be evacuating friendlies or hostiles with injuries, I want to be prepared either way. Get the choppers in the air as soon as possible.” Locke paused as the men began to repeat and follow their orders. “This is the real deal, gentlemen. Remember, we are the Royal Navy, the best trained navy in the entire Pacific if not the world.”

Bernard Flight 001

The stealthy SH-22 helicopter found its way into the service as the primary means for extended anti-submarine warfare patrol for any combat vessel or fleet. However, being based off an older transport model, the unit was more than capable of acting as a naval personnel courier bird in emergencies. This was an emergency.

First Lieutenant Erik Wilson snapped the magazine into his CR-32 carbine. Firing 6.5mm rounds at extremely high velocities, it was certain to smash through body-armour at short range. After all, it had been designed in part to help the Marines deal with boarders in a naval battle. Wilson, aged twenty-seven years, had never before seen combat and was certain that on this day he would. From his brief mission briefing by Captain Locke before departing, he had been informed that he would be liaising with the Canadian Seaforth Highlanders – presumably his own counterparts. All he knew about his enemy, however, was that they were posing a serious threat to a carrier taskforce. All he could infer from that was that these commandoes meant business. Unfortunately, Wilson and his men had the distinct disadvantage of fighting boarders on a foreign vessel – one they did not anything about.

As the two helicopter skimmed across the wave tops the Talons flew silently overheard, already preparing their targeting information. The Amcanan boats were going down as soon as the Royal Navy entered the battlefield. Meanwhile Wilson touched his throat transmitter, allowing him to communicate clearly across a battlefield on a secure network with merely a quiet whisper. On a helicopter, however, Wilson saw its importance as providing a steady link to the pilots up front. “Tie me into the Canadian system, I need to direct a message to their commander.” He waited for the affirmative response from the pilot before beginning.

“Canadian commander, this is First Lieutenant Erik Wilson of the Royal Marines en route to render requested assistance. I need to know where my birds can land and to warn you that we are targeting the Amcanan assault boats with our accompanying anti-ship missiles. We figured since that they’re likely too close-in for your own weapons, we’d handle the hard part and blow them out of the water for you. Await your reply. ETA, seven minutes.”

Wilson cut the link and waited for his response. He crossed himself quickly. Good battles were good because of reliable intelligence. Wilson had no such intelligence. He could only therefore rely on prayer and the blessings of whatever gods might exist.

CFNS ANCHORAGE, FLAGSHIP OF TASKFORCE 28

Rear Admiral McLean and Captain McGregor waited over Seaman Third Class, "We are recieving a hail from an Azazian Copter, Admiral and Captain."

Solzberg didnt think twice in thinking, "Send her the coordinates for the heli-pad of the Prince Rupert. Immediately. We need them there because as Captain Florence reported within the last fifteen minutes that the Amcanan Commandoes have been successful so far. Tell our counterparts that so far that there are ten Seaforth Commandoes killed of a possible thirty onboard the rupert that have been killed in this attack."

"Yes sir."

The Captain then spoke, "Should we send some of the Highlanders from the Anchorage to the Rupert?"

"No, we dont want to spread out our forces so thin," The Admiral replied then folded his hands together infront of his chest, "McGregor, get me a cup of coffee."

BRIDGE, CFNS PRINCE RUPERT, TASKFORCE 28

Captain Florence was protected by two Seaforth Highlanders that guardedhe entrances to the bridge of the Rupert one of them had handed her their secondary weapon a Colt Double Eagle as she held it in her left hand as she waited for the Amcanan commandoes to finish their boarding, hopefully the Highlanders would get rid of them quickly.

She heard flicker of fire outside of the bridge on the door as she looked over at the windows where the men stood as her sentries, "Oh my god! Fuck... as she barrow rolled onto the ground as she picked up the phone as she fell to the deck and dialed the number for the Anchorage, "Admiral... I think the Amcanans want the Rupert. Destroy us with all hands!"

"Azazian Royal Marines are about to arrive at your coordinates to assist in your situation."

"Reroute them elsewhere, this ship -"

There was a gunshot as Captain Florence looked at her stomach, "Not my baby..."

She was two months pregnant with her third child as she held her stomach and looked at the Amcanian Praetorian Guard approach her with an AK47 pointed at her head, "Don't you have no mercy for a pregnant woman?"

"Not for a sworn enemy of the Fascist Union of Amcana."

The shot was fired.

CFNS ANCHORAGE, FLAGSHIP OF TASKFORCE 28
Meanwhile...

Rear Admiral McLean was shell shocked what he heard on the other line not hanging up the phone as he held it away from his ear, "Captain Florence is no longer with us... she wants us to give her a watery grave, the Rupert is no under the control of the Amcana. Have the Azazians head for the Resurgence immediately to assist them."

The Seaman nodded.

"Where the hell is my coffee?"

McGregor, "What do you want us to do with the Rupert situation?"

"Are our aircraft still in the air?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Have them bomb the crap of the Rupert, immediately. Report to the Chief of the Navy of recent course of action Seaman after you are done with the Azazian copter."

Bernard Flight 001

Wilson hoisted his carbine across his chest; the words coming in from Canadian forces were dire and not-promising. He could only assume that given the success of the commandoes and the surprising redirect of target, that something extremely bad had happened to the Prince Rupert. But ultimately, those sailors were not of his concern, the men and women onboard the Resurgence were soon to be under his care. He thought on that fact for a second before keying the transmitter. In few words, he ordered the Talons to light off their missiles as the Royal Marines neared the helipad on the Resurgence from the opposite side of the enemy forces.

Above the two helicopters the small Talon drones released their deadly anti-ship missiles on the unsuspecting Amcanan assault boats. Within seconds the payload doors closed and the aircraft resumed their aerial surveillance of the situation in full stealth mode. In the lead chopper Wilson signaled to his men that the landing zone was to be considered hot, there would be no actual landing – the bird would hover a meter from the deck, the men would jump and secure the helipad while the next team performed the same hover and jump routine. Wilson knew very little of the ship, and so he’d rely on the onsite liaison officer. Until then, however, he would assume every part of the ship had been compromised, starting with the hangar. So part of the helipad’s perimeter would be the doors to the hangar bay – if it were open, and presumably it would be closed given the situation. But Wilson wanted nothing to go awry, although he realized it would soon all fall to shit anyway.

Before he knew it the pilot signaled he was over target, and Wilson waved his men out. Two by two they jumped off and rolled onto the helipad, bringing their carbines and shotguns up ready to shoot almost instantly. Now all Wilson could do would be hoping that the Resurgence at least had their helipad secured.

OOC: Are you still interested in continuing this RP, Azazia? Sorry bout the delay..