NationStates Jolt Archive

Prologue (Part 1 of 2)

OOC:

All right everyone, let’s go over this disclaimer, shall we?

This RP is going to be about the Aztec Civil War, (obviously fictitious), which, lasted from 1994-1997 (pre-ANL.) Although war will be a large part of this, it will be written surrounding at the time the 15 year old Quetzalcoatl Nochtli, who is currently the Premier of the ANL. It is going to start off in the present (which, by the way, the beginning is free to reply to), but, by my third post in this thread, will flashback to 1994. Now, this is going to be a top quality RP, so I ask that if you are going to participate, please be sure to do spell checks, and also, to make posts of substance and believable. I also warn you the following, since this is a war RP of sorts, it will defiantly have violence, blood and other war and genocide related things. In addition, there might be some references to sex or other suggestive topics, however, I will make sure what I post isn’t too graphic, both to make sure this RP is interesting, yet, not foul and in danger of being deleted by the moderators.

Oh yeah, TIOR, I know it might not jive up with the older RP we had, but, I’m bored right now, so just say the whole “Visit to an old Friend” RP was a bit before they got married.

With that said…

IC:

=~=~=~=~=~ B R E A K I N G ~ N E W S ~=~=~=~=~=
La Media Azteca Compañía

At 11:58 PM, Tenochitilán time, Premier Quetzalcoatl Nochtli became a father. His wife, Angelica Nochtli, gave birth to an 8 pound, 7 ounce boy at Tenochitilán Hospital. Shortly after their son was born, the Premier made this statement:


“First I was a warrior, then a world leader, and now, I’m taking on the toughest task yet, being a father.”


Present at the birth of the new child were the parents and siblings of the wife, Foreign Affairs Minister Dr. Darius Wellington, Mistress of the Environment Raquel Rodriguez, and Premier Quetzalcoatl Nochtli. Nochtli used a dagger to cut the umbilical cord, to keep within tradition.

The boy’s name is Xihuitl Nochtli. Xihuitl, in Nahuatl means “comet”.

Staying up late for the event, the Congressional Majority leader, Jorge Arroyo (SLP – Nayaruit) issued the following statement:


“I congratulate the Premier of the Aztec National League, Quetzalcoatl Nochtli, on this momentous event in his life and the life of his wife. Today, not only is a son of the Aztecs born, but also, a great man has become a promising father.”


Second Minority Party Leader, John Kirkland (SRP – Durango), gave no comment.

However, the event wasn’t entirely celebrated by all. A small contingent of the Soviet Congress, led by ultra-conservative nationalist Jorge Garcia, has disapproved of the birth because it was, quote; “its conception was outside the bonds of religious matrimony.” Premier Nochtli and Angelica Nochtli, both 26, were married in a private ceremony a week after they found out she was pregnant.
Although the Premier is immensely popular among the people, with his personal approval ratings around 88%, the conservative wing of the Libertarian Confederate Party is likely to attempt several tactics to chew away the Premier’s political power.

Time: 1:07 AM
Location: Tenochitlilán Downtown Hospital, Room 208

Quetzalcoatl Nochtli sat next to his wife, staring into the little eyes of his child, lying on Angelica’s lap. A flurry of thoughts rushed through his mind; a tangle of emotions ran through his heart. He felt great pride in his child. It had only been born for an hour, and yet, already, this was one of the crowing achievements of his life. Yet, at the same time, a powerful sense of fear filled him. Not only was this a great new responsibility, this would spell trouble for his political career. He would not only have to re-prioritize his time, but now, Quetzalcoatl would have to battle off his opponents in congress. Luckily, this wasn’t an election year.

“So, what are you thinking Quetzal?” Asked Angelica, somewhat curious. She already had a feeling of what made him nervous.

“Ahh, this day has represented a great change in my life. I’m just a little jittery about it. Besides, I know this will probably become a political issue.” Said Quetzalcoatl, running his fingers through her hair.

Again, silence. Neither of them said anything, but nothing had to be said. Angelica understood her husband’s tension and worry. Quetzalcoatl leaned back in the chair, sighing. “For the first time in a long time, I don’t where to go next.”

“Well, do what you’ve always been doing. Just remember, now, you have a family to tend to. Don’t worry, Quetzal, you’ll know what you have to do next.”

That line struck an emotion within the twenty six-year old leader, and now father. He had heard something like it before during the revolution. “Hmm, ten years ago, someone else said that to me. I never thought back then that I would be in the situation I am in now.”

“No one can know exactly what lies in the future.” Said Angelica.

He looked into the eyes of his new son. “Xihuitl, I wish for you the things I never was meant to have in my life. I hope you never have to see the things I’ve seen, nor the things I had to do or the struggles I had to endure. Nor do I wish that you’ll have to carry as much responsibilities as I’ve had to carry or that I carry now and will carry. I wish that you have a most peaceful life.”

Angelica looked at her husband and said, “He makes his own destiny, we just have to guide him along these first years.”

“I just don’t want him to have to fight and struggle the way I did.”

Quetzalcoatl Nochtli began to think of his experiences those eleven years ago. No one should have had to gone through that, especially someone who was only fourteen. Already, Quetzalcoatl’s life was filled with death, blood, tragedy and destruction. Only those who were at the front lines could now what it was like. He continued to remember the war as his gray eyes closed and the images of the war all came back to him.

(OOC: I'll post more as soon as I get more sleep...)

Some OOC Notes:

First of all, you may indeed place a TAG, not only will it bring more views to the thread, it might get more people involved.

Also, you are free to either help the Aztec rebels, or the Mexican government. However, since this is a historical RP, it must end a certain way, and these things will be fulfilled:

-Quetzalcoatl Nochtli (the current Premier) must live
-Angelica Iztapia (The future wife of Quetzalcoatl) must live
-Coyotepec Xoxoctic (the current Vice-Premier) must live
Dr. Darius Wellington (the current Foreign Affairs Minister) must live
-Some revolutionaries will be killed, but at a specific time in the RP (I’ll indicate them by highlighting their name once in red
-The Aztecs are victorious

Pretty much everyone else is fair game (unless if I specify someone else - specified in Green.) However, if you do not want your characters to get killed, please indicate which ones you don’t want getting killed.

If you feel you need a bit of brushing up on the ANL’s history, please view the History section of the first post of my fact book, mainly the eras listed as the “Nationalist Era” and the “Modern Era”.

Should you have any other questions, please telegram me.

Thank you, I hope this ends up being an epic RP, and most of all, have fun…

OOC: Alright, time to get this show on the road…

IC:

Location: Cotazacoalcos, México
9:30 AM

The sun began to creep into the room of Quetzalcoatl Nochtli. Although he had been awake for an hour, he didn’t want to leave the comfort of his room. Today, he knew, would be hell. Already, the temperatures were miserable. He looked over to the thermometer in his room – already it was 93 degrees Fahrenheit, humidity was at 100%. However, he didn’t have to check the thermometer to tell him it was hot. The heavy, humid oppressive heat bared down on him, condensing on his forehead, his neck, arms and chest. The exact knowledge of the temperature just made it more oppressive.

There was no use to resisting getting up. If Quetzalcoatl didn’t get up on his own accord, then, the police would force him up to receive his new assignment. Slowly and quietly, Quetzalcoatl got out of his bed. He had been tried this before – he had already gotten a pair of jeans on, now he had to get the rest of his clothing on. He grabbed a white tank top and put it on. Over that, he put on a short sleeve linen button up shirt, but left it un-buttoned.

The fifteen-year-old Quetzalcoatl then left the den of false security that was his room and walked through the hallway of the small apartment. His mother had already left to work in the fields. Meanwhile, his father lay drunk on the sofa, almost as lifeless as a corpse. The door to the room of his younger brother was closed. Although curious, he didn’t want to go into the room – it wasn’t his room. As Quetzalcoatl passed his passed out father, he cursed under his breath. “Boracho tanto.” He detested his father and his drunkenness. If the man wasn’t fighting with his wife or his sons in some drunken rage, he was passed out on the couch, or drinking. And yet, this broken, empty shell of a human was the only reason why they were alive. If he weren’t a war hero, then, he wouldn’t be receiving a pension, and everyone would have starved, as if they weren’t impoverished already.

Quetzalcoatl opened the door and entered the outside world. The brutal sun beat down on everyone in its reach. It felt as if the temperature rose up by seventy degrees in the short time that it took him to get from his room to out. This was an unusually hot year, all of the Western Hemisphere was engulfed in a heat wave, but it seemed to concentrate its brutality on the inhabitants of the Mexican Union. However, Quetzatlcoatl must meet his fate, a fate shared by every other Aztec or Mayan. This fate was forced servitude. It was slavery; yet, it wasn’t slavery, for they were paid a meager amount for their services. What would it be for Quetzalcoatl? The farms, the coal mines, some other manual labor? Or would they throw the ultimate insult, the military? Certainly, it wasn’t a conspiracy; it was all based on how he performed on the Physical/Mental Skills Applications Test. The government had forced Quetzalcoatl, as with most Aztecs and Mayans, out of school. Now, they were a supply of cheap labor.

He walked slowly towards the Bureau Office of the Department of something he didn’t care about. They were his masters, what could he do? The one mile trek to the office felt as if it would be his last mile of freedom, choice and life. Of course, could this knowledge ever count as freedom? Were his people ever free? If they weren’t already taken into the work camps, then, they knew it was imminent. Only his father was free from the government, yet, detained by the chain of the bottle. They say one could go crazy and suicidal thinking of such things. However, if everyone took that attitude, would it ever get better?

Silent, and yet, begrudgingly, Quetzalcoatl opened the door of the office and walked in. The dry air-conditioned room was a shock from the heat outside. An agent of the Department that Quetzalcoatl didn’t care about sat behind a small desk, overlooking Quetzalcoatl’s file.

“Sit down, please.”

Quetzalcoatl sat down, silent as usual, and looked blankly at the agent.

“I’ll make this brief,” said the agent. “Out of 800 points, you scored 790 on the physical portion on the test, the highest ever recorded. However, even more impressive is on the mental part of the test, you scored again, a 790, again, the highest ever recorded.”

“What? That’s pretty good I take it.” Said Quetzalcoatl.

“Indeed, with those scores, it would seem a waste of resources to put you into some menial job. We’ve decided to put you into the military.”

Those words felt as if the sharpest and most jagged of daggers was plunged through Quetzalcoat’s chest and into his heart. However, it was the most obvious of fates, his father had been in the military, as had his older brother who died in the service. “When do I start?” He asked.

“Next week on Monday. You may go now.”

Quetzalcoatl got up and turned around to leave the office. He opened the door, the hot air greeting his face. The agent then said, “You should be glad with what you got. The second choice we had for you was farm field hand.”

Shaking his head, Quetzalcoatl left the building. There was nothing he could do, anything that he could say. Some would have killed themselves, knowing they’ll either end up dead or some drunken waste, but, he didn’t feel like taking his own life. He rather let his blood be spilt by the hands of the enemy, either through combat or through legalism.

Walking back to his apartment, he looked at the people around him. They all shared one commonality, the lack of freedom. However, as Quetzalcoatl looked at the people, he thought to himself, “Why aren’t they doing anything?” He looked at the people, the older ones were all working, again, mostly menial jobs, but the younger ones all just stood about, doing nothing. Lovers were sharing a passionate embrace; girls were reading entertainment magazines while the boys were talking about sports and foul behavior. Indeed, love, entertainment, sports and sometimes even foul behavior is good, however, where was the revolution? Where was the discontent? Where was the struggle against the oppressors? Maybe, the people didn’t need to be saved; maybe they deserved this oppression.

However, the sounds of yells and chants reverberated throughout the city street. He knew there was protest today, but it sounded much larger then what it was expected to be. Still, he walked down the dirty street. Quetzalcoatl’s pessimism and cynicism was shattered as he laid eyes upon the contingent of protesters in the main street. Always the activist, Quetzalcoatl decided that maybe it was a good day for protesting. Quickly, he ran back home and threw off his linen shirt. He then ran out and ran as quick as he could back to the protest. In two minutes, he was back, seeing the throngs of protesters cheering and yelling out. It wasn’t just a couple of protesters, but rather, hundreds. Excitement filled Quetzalcoatl as he walked towards the melting pot of kindred spirits. Signs of dissent, chants of anger and passion filled the air. Aztecs, Mayans and Metizos, all protesting against the oppression of the regime. Although the heat was oppressive, nothing could break the will of the protesters.

Of course, no protest ever lasted long, and this would be no exception. Already, the sound of MP sirens could be heard off in the distance. Still, the protesters went no where. After ten minutes, the reverberating rumble of diesel motors approached the mass. And yet, the protest went on. Although nervous, Quetzalcoatl stayed put with the protesters.

Suddenly, a large barracks truck pulled in front of the protesters, it’s operator yelling through a loud speaker, “Get out of the street, the authorities have declared this an unlawful gathering. You have only a couple of minutes to depart safely.”

Although many of the protesters then left back to the façade of safety, may stayed put. They have been told what to do for too long. It was time for a stand.

Several more trucks gathered around the protesters, inching ever so closer to them. Yet, the most die-hard of protesters made their stand, continuing to yell obscenities at the troops.

The truck drivers then began to communicate with each other with their radios. Nodding, they pressed a button on the dashboard. Suddenly, several troops jumped out with riot gear, batons and even some with assault rifles. “Leave now.” The loudspeaker said.

With this threat, several protesters ran away, fearing for their lives. The military police had no problem with killing demonstrators. However, for those just leaving, it would be too late.

With a sudden rush, the troops ran towards the protesters at full speed. Many began to scatter, while the more fortunate ones were able to get away, most weren’t. Screams and cries for help filled the air as the troops brought down their weapons upon the bodies of the demonstrators. Batons crashed upon the heads of the demonstrators while the troops assaulted others with their fists. Assault rifle fire resounded throughout the city. A spray of blood splashed onto Quetzalcoatl while a troop ran towards him. Quetzalcoatl was pushed by the troop with his shield, sending the boy back several feet. He landed hard on the hot asphalt, tearing his shirt and exposing his skin against the unforgiving asphalt. As Quetzalcoatl regained his bearings, he saw the troop bringing a baton down upon him. He rolled out of the way, just as the baton slammed into the ground, shattering into several hundred splinters of wood. However, before the guard could catch him, he had run through the crowds trying to make his escape.

Finally, out of the macabre riot, ran the young Quetzalcoatl. Knowing the streets well, he was able to elude any of the troops following him. Eventually, he was able to get back to his house. He ran through the door and closed it, breathing heavier then he has ever before. His father still lies on the couch, sleeping off the poisonous alcohol. He turned around and saw his younger brother, standing and staring in fright. Quetzalcoatl ran back to his room and closed the door. He never wanted to leave again.

As he walked by the mirror, he looked at the reflection of himself. Soaked in sweat, the shirt clung onto his chest and his abdomen. The tank top, however, was sprayed with blood. Sickened, Quetzalcoatl pulled the shirt off and, as he was about to throw it in trash, noticed the tear in the back of his shirt and a bit of blood around it. He then began to feel a dull sting on the road rash on his back. Not caring, he then threw the tank top into the trash and feel on his bed. Fear and nervousness filled his mind as he began to settle into the relative coolness of his room. Putting his hand on his chest, he felt his heart pace began to slow down to a normal pace. However, inside him he felt something had just changed.

“From this point on, my life as I have known it is over.”

Wow, this is fantastic stuff! Can't wait to read more!
TAG

TAG
(And involvement later? Maybe...)

OOC: I’m glad you both like. Yes, keep tabs on this RP and you’re welcome to join.

IC:

Time: 8:15 PM

The heat of the day subsided to the cool and dark power of the night. Outside, crickets chirped loudly, while the faint sounds of tropical birds could be heard through the window. It had been several hours since what has become known as the Cotazacoalcos Massacre. As the hours passed, Quetzalcoatl had fallen asleep. However, this sleep was light and easily disturbed. A small radio in his room read over the reports for the day – the economy, the government, yet, was mostly focused mostly on entertainment news. Of course, this really wasn’t news, but, it comprised most of what was reported as news.

“Today, actress and socialite… –CLICK-

The radio shut off, waking up Quetzalcoatl.

Upon waking up, he noticed the darkness of the night. A light yet, dank sanguine smell filled the room, most likely from the bloody mess that was his shirt he threw in the trash can. He turned over on his stomach, looking at the clock on the radio, yet the clock was off. Quetzalcoatl then looked outside, and all the street lights were off. A vein of fear burst in his mind – in his sleep, he remembered the radio announcer saying something about the massacre, and, in response, the Internal Security Department was sending in Sentinel Agents. Sentinel Agents, the most feared secret police in the entire Mexican Union’s hegemony. A run in with Sentinels meant one of two things – either death or “re-education.” The Sentinels didn’t care who they took, whether they were guilty or not, as long as they took someone.

With a cacophonous crash, the front door to the apartment complex burst down. Scared, Quetzalcoatl froze, not knowing what to do. If he ran out of the apartment, he would be found easily and probably shot on sight. If he stayed put, the Sentinels would eventually find him and either drag him out into the streets and kill him or take him for “re-education.” Neither prospect was good.

Before Quetzalcoatl could act, the door of the apartment burst open, and the heavy beats of boots could be heard throughout the small cramped living space. To hide or to run, what would let him live? Outside, a branch extended itself to the window next to his room. He opened the window, and just as he reached out to take hold of the thick branch, the door of his room burst open in a thousand splinters and three Sentinels broke in…

“FREEZE!” One of them yelled. Before Quetzalcoatl could turn around to see his captors, the other two tackled him, pushing him down on the hard and cold wood floor. The armor of the guards pressed hard on Quetzalcoatl’s back.

They pulled Quetzalcoatl up, and pushed him through the door. Already, it would be better to die. Quetzalcoatl gave much resistance as they dragged him out towards the street. So much resistance, that one of the guards got the butt of his rifle and slammed it hard into Quetzalcoatl’s stomach, taking every bit of energy and resistance.

They threw him down onto the sidewalk, knowing he wouldn’t budge. Still reeling from the impact from the assault rifle, Quetzalcoatl was in no mood to fight. Using his all of his strength, he pulled himself up from the sidewalk and sat up, hunching over from the sharp pain.

“Damn,” he said, “Why do we let them get away with that?”

An older man next to him looked over and said, “’Cause they have the guns.”

Quetzalcoatl’s anger began to build up. That was the attitude that put them there in the first place. His fear subsided and only rage and furry built up in him. If he ran away from the line, he would be shot as soon as they saw him, but what if they didn’t see him?

The minutes grew into an hour before anything happened. By then, the sharp blow to Quetzalcoatl had turned into a dull, persistent sting. Yet, the rage within the boy had grown. No government, no power had the right to brutalize people. His anger couldn’t be contained any longer. One of the Sentinels passed by, gazing over the people lined up. As soon as the Sentinel was ahead in the line, Quetzalcoatl took a deep breath, got up and ran as fast as he could through several bushes and shrubs.

For several seconds, it appeared as if Quetzalcoatl would make it without incident. No one noticed him running amongst the bushes into a tunnel. However, only a couple of seconds later, assault rifle fire reverberated throughout the tunnel. There was no turning back, no giving up, as that would entail death. As he made it through the tunnel, a sharp pain shook his mind. His leg was rattled with pain. Exhausted and in pain, Quetzalcoatl began to slow down. Feeling as he could not go on, he stopped, preparing himself for his seemingly imminent death. Yet, where were the bullets?

Breathing heavily, he turned around, expecting to see several sentinels running towards him. Yet, when he looked down the tunnel, they weren’t heading for him; they were heading away from them.

“Impossible.”

However, it was true. The Sentinels had disappeared. There still was no turning back. Not because of the threat of death, but rather, because he couldn’t take it any more. For far too long, he and his people have lived in fear.

Turning down the street, Quetzalcoatl limped towards a gas station. Seeing the payphone, he pulled a coin out of his pocket and walked to the payphone. He then put the coin in and dialed a number, the number of the only revolutionary he knew, Motlapal Mocualan.

The phone pulsed for a couple of seconds before Motlapal answered.

“Hello?” Asked Motlapal.

“Hey, Moe, its Quetzal, look, I’m in a bit of a bind. I need to stay with you man, I want to join the revolution. I can’t take anymore of this.”

“Where are you at?” Asked Motlapal.

“I’m at the gas station outside of the Cotazacoalcos tunnel. Bring some towels or something; I think a bullet grazed my leg.”

“Alright,” said Motlapal, “Me and my sister will be their in about half an hour. See you then.”

They both hung up. Quetzalcoatl then went over to a bench and, despite his situation, looked forward to seeing Motlapal. Well actually his sister, Angelica. Tired, Quetzalcoatl leaned against the back of the bench, looking up at the stars. The cool night air felt comforting against his skin. Yet, the stinging pain in his leg bothered him without mercy. He looked down at his leg and noticed the blood which had soaked into his jeans. It was more like a bad cut, more then a bullet wound, yet, it still hurt like hell.

True to his word, Motlapal showed up thirty minutes later. Quetzalcoatl got up and went into the car.

“Geez,” Motlapal said laughing, “you don’t have the decency to put on a decent shirt or clean pants before you’re around my sister. Here’s a towel and anti-septic.”

Angelica, who was a couple of months older then Quetzalcoatl, leaned up from the seat and gave him the tourniquet and bottle of anti-septic. Quetzalcoatl then, sticking his injured leg out of the car, poured some of the anti-septic on his wound. He then wrapped the towel around his leg.

“Well, if you have any complaints, tell it to the Sentinels.”

Angelica pulled herself up next to Quetzalcoatl, “Really, you ran into the Sentinels?”

During the thirty minute trip, Quetzalcoatl told them of the Massacre, the gore and the Sentinel raids. When he was done, the usual good demeanor of Motlapal had all but disappeared. Angry, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel.

“Damn fascists. Damn them to hell.”

They pulled into Motlapal’s drive way, and the three got out of the car. They then went quietly into the small trailer type building and turned on the light.

“Hey, Quetzalcoatl, you can sleep here out on the couch, I would ask Angelica to share her room with you, but, I know you, you’ll do something.”

Motlapal and Angelica went into their respective rooms, leaving Quetzalcoatl by himself. He leaned back onto the hard and springy couch, but, it was something at least. Finally, instead of anger and fright, he felt relatively safe.

Location: 52 miles outside Cotazacoalcos
Time: 8:32 AM

“RISE AND SHINE, QUETZY!” Yelled out Motlapal, as he stood right next to Quetzalcoatl. However, to the disappointment of Motlapal, rather then jumping from where he slept, Quetzalcoatl’s eyes simply opened. Smiling, he said, “Good morning.”

“Today, I’m introducing you to the others of the revolution. I want you to realize these folks are not friendly. Rather, expect to have a knife pulled out on you at least once.”

Surprised, Quetzalcoatl said “Uhhh, what?”

“Look, although I know you never hear about it on the news, the revolution is out there. And, once you have fought like these guys, for as long as they’ve been fighting, you would be pretty cautious too.”

With nothing to loose, Quetzalcoatl got up and said, “Well, are we on a time schedual, I think it would be smart if I took a shower before we went.”

Motlapal looked over Quetzalcoatl. “Well, if you insist, first impressions are everything, after all. I’ll let you borrow one of my shirts and a pair of jeans. You’re a medium, right?”

Quetzalcoatl nodded.

“Well, hurry up then, get in the shower.”

Quetzalcoatl walked over to the bathroom, took off his pair blood stained, now bullet torn jeans and got into the shower. Although the shower was only twenty minutes long, it was both well deserved and appreciated.

After getting out and drying off, Quetzalcoatl put on the clean clothing Motlapal lent him. It was a little baggy, but, it would do.

Afterwards, they both got into the car and drove off the meeting site.

“So,” asked Quetzalcoatl, his arm resting on the side of the door, “Dondé esta su hermana?”

Motlapal said, “She’s going over to an educational session. The government would be up in arms if they knew about it, but the Aztec, Mayan and Metizo revolutionary groups provide education to their followers.”

Nodding, Quetzalcoatl looked out the open window of the car. The hot wind blew onto his face and past his hair. Outside the frame of the door lie miles of tropical forest.

“Tell me more about this group.” Asked Quetzalcoatl.

“Well,” sighed Motlapal, “Honestly, the Aztec Revolutionary Resistance will take one of two fates. One, they’ll be successful in the revolution because they’re the most aggressive and rely on non-orthodox tactics. Either that, or…”

“Or what?”

Again, Motlapal sighed, “Or, they’ll fight so hard, they end up killing themselves in the progress. Either way, these people have no other choice, if they return to normal life; they’ll be killed for being part of the revolution. If they stay, they’re terrorists. Remember, Quetzal, one man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist.”

The car turned down an old dirt road. On the side of the road, a beat up, rust metal sign bear the inscription “Zoli Tepetl”, which meant ‘Quail Hill’.

“Hey, isn’t this place a quarry?” Asked Quetzalcoatl.

“It used to be a quarry. It was abandoned a while back ago.” Answered Motlapal.

The car continued down the old dirt road. Motlapal drove the car slowly, trying not to disturb the dust and attract any unwanted attention. After five minutes, the car’s breaks squealed, and the car came to a stop. Motlapal turned towards Quetzalcoatl – a serious question had to be raised.

“Quetzal, look, I know yesterday was traumatic. I can see it in your eyes, you want to fight, but, once you make this decision, you can never go back. You either fight, or you die. If you betray us, we’ll kill you, if the government doesn’t get to you first. If you fight for us, then, you’ll be marked as a terrorist for as long as you live or the government is in existence. If they capture you, you’ll be tortured, most likely publicly, and then you’ll be executed. These fighters, they don’t live long after joining, four years max. If you want to join, then I will want you fighting right at my side, but, I’m giving you this one chance to walk away.”

Quetzalcoatl looked straight out the window, looking towards the azure horizon. Quiet, the fifteen year old boy had to make the greatest decision of his life.

“What future do I have back there? They drafted me for the military, they’ve already have tried to kill me twice. Why the hell should I help them? At least if I fight with you and the revolution, I’m fighting for something I believe in.”

“What do you believe in, Quetzal?”

Silent, Quetzalcoatl tried to think of an answer…“A chance at to make a difference in this damned world.”

Nodding his head, Motlapal then said, “All right, let’s go introduce you. You’re a good guy, Quetzal, not too many people are out there like you. I hope you live through this, because, if you do, I know you’ll be something great.”

Quietly, Quetzalcoatl and Motlapal got out of the car and walked slowly down the road. Off in the distance, an old building loomed in the distance. They both reached the building a couple of minutes later.

Quetzalcoatl walked up to the door. He turned around, “Do I open it?”

Motlapal nodded his head.

Slowly, Quetzalcoatl opened the door and walked inside. His heavy combat boots made the floor creek loudly. The building was dark inside; cobwebs filled the halls of unpainted gray walls. Motlapal walked ahead of him, showing the way inside.

The two walked inside through the menagerie of cobwebs and debris. Suddenly, Motlapal stopped and raised up his left hand. Perplex, Quetzalcoatl continued to walk to Motlapal. Right as Quetzalcoatl was about to reach him, the cold and sharp blade of a knife pressed upon his throat.

A brooding and mysterious voice echoed behind Quetzalcoatl, “You make any sudden moves or jumps and you’ll be dead before you hit the floor, got it?”

Alarmed, Quetzalcoatl said, “Uhh….Alright?”

The knife moved quickly from his jugular to the back of his neck. “Walk forward.”

Without saying a word, the three walked towards to wherever the hell they were going. They slowly made their way to the center alcove of the building.


Motlapal said, “Everyone, I’ve brought someone.”

Quetzalcoatl turned the corner of the hallway into the central alcove. Inside, a lone –bluish-white florescent light glowed brightly. Inside the alcove were six men, dressed in battle armor vests and with green bandanas wrapped around their arms. All of them had long dark hair. Their dirty, tired and cold faces looked at Quetzalcoatl with harsh eyes.

“You know the routine, search him for bugs.” Said one of the men.

The knife was pulled away from the back of Quetzalcoatl’s neck. Quickly, they pulled off his shirt and patted him down, making sure he wasn’t wired. Once they determined he was “clean”, they began to look him over. “You look like you’re pretty strong.”

Not knowing what to say, he was silent. Motlapal gave Quetzalcoatl the shirt back, “You can put it back on.”

Quickly, Quetzalcoatl put it back on. He then sat down, looking at the fighters. “Who are you?” Asked the one that told the others to search him.

“My name is Quetzalcoatl Nochtli.”

He shook his head, “Naming you after one of the gods, who would do such a thing?”

Quetzalcoatl looked at him and said, “I can’t speak for my mother.”

“You know how to fight? With guns, not toys.”

“No.” Replied Quetzalcoatl.

Again, the one appearing to be the leader asked, “All of that isn’t important. I only have three questions for you. One, what conflicts have you been involved in? Two, are you willing to kill a man? Three, why do you want to join the Aztec Revolutionary Resistance, particularly our sect, the Jaguar Warriors?”

Quetzalcoatl said, “What have I been involved in?” He lifted up his pant leg and showed the still fresh wound. “I know this nothing to you. But, just last night, I was in the center of the Cotazacoalcos Massacre. Later that night, they rounded us up and had us sitting in a line. I broke from the line and ran away and got grazed. Why do I want to join? Because I have no future anywhere else. I’m marked for arrest for breaking the line. Besides, if they didn’t get me, I would be forced to fight against you. And am I ready to kill a man?”

Sighing, he said,

“Yes, I would be willing to kill.”

Smiling, he said, “Then welcome to our group…My name is Tlanextic Zanzanilli. You're going to be entering training immediatly.”

OOC: I’m advancing this by a month. Keep in mind, this is open, so you can send reporters, spies or participate in other productive ways.

IC:
Quetzalcoatl lay on his stomach, tracking a target off in the distance. He held the assault rifle steady, concentrating only on the moving target. Quiet and steady, he pulled back gently on the trigger. The gun cracked with a thunderous boom, and the repelling force of the micro-explosion nearly pushed Quetzalcoatl’s arm back. The test was over. Quetzalcoatl stood up and walked over to where the target lay.

An old jeep sat parked next to the target. The driver got out and said, “Nice shot, but, could be better. All right, let’s back to the camp.

Quetzalcoatl got into the old rusty jeep – the springy seat creaked and gave way to his weight. The engine started and it began down the old bumpy road. Quetzalcoatl looked up indirectly at the glorious sun above him. It shined brightly down on him and everything around him. However, this thought was jolted from existence when the jeep hit a huge bump. The frame of the jeep squealed loudly and bottomed out. Quetzalcoatl grabbed the seat and held on, hoping he wouldn’t fall out.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Said the driver.

They soon pulled over next to the old building. Quietly, the two went in and entered the maze of cobweb filled corridors and sat down in the central alcove. A small television displayed a picture or terror.

“What the hell is…”

“Shhh. May the gods have mercy on these pigs.” Said Tlanextic Zanzanilli. “Damn those sons of bitches to hell. They’re massacring a peaceful protest.”

Indeed, they were massacring a peaceful protest. At the University of Veracruz, a large peaceful protest had assembled. Fearing that traditional crowd control would be too dangerous, the military fired cans of mustard gas into the crowds and then stormed the crowd. Tanks and military vehicles followed, all with guns blazing. All ready, it was clear thousands had been injured or have died. The jugular vein in Tlanextic’s neck could be seen, pulsing with rage.

“Tonight, Quetzalcoatl, we are striking back harder then any skirmish we’ve fought. This attack has been planed for a long time, and now it must begin.” Tlanextic slammed his fist into the table.

Perplexed Quetzalcoatl said nothing.

Tlanextic activated a small radio on the table and grabbed the transmitter. Putting it close to his mouth, he pressed down on a small white button and spoke out a Nahuatl sentence –

“Imitl chimalli ompehua axcanpa.”

Quetzalcoatl knew what he was talking about now – “The war starts now.”


Location: La Ciudad de México
Time: 9:32 PM

A black car pulls up to a curb and comes to a halt. Leaving the engine on, the driver gets out of the car dressed in a dark trench coat and black hat. In his hand is pistol. A veteran of the ISD shouldn’t have to make patrols like this. However, someone was complaining that some “indigenous life form” was mucking around the plant. Miguel hated the Union and sympathized with the Aztecs, Mayans and Meztizos, but, what could he do? Using the cover of night, he walks amongst the shadows towards a gate in the back of the main weapons manufacturing plant of the Mexica Union. He pulls a card out of his pocket and slides it through a reader. The gate opens quietly under the light of an old florescent bulb. Only the sound of his shoes could be heard in the dark ally. Turning the corner, he sees a truck crashed into a large tank of chemicals. Running to it, the Agent looks in and is terrified with what he sees. Running away, he grabs his CB and turns it on.

“This is Agent Miguel Herrera, there is a truck bomb at the…”

A deafening boom roars through the quiet of the night and a large mushroom cloud illuminated the sky.

Miguel Herrera, lying face down, turns around to see the explosion. Terrified, he got up and ran.

Scenes like this repeated itself throughout the Mexica Union. In Guadalajara, a truck bomb had destroyed another weapons facility. In Veracruz, the victim was the sea port. In Maztlán, the state capitol. However, México City was hit particularly hard, for, not only was the weapons plant destroyed, the Aztecs planted a bomb in the power plant.

Around 12:00 AM, several dark figures gathered around a television screen. The screen flickered and came to life as a tape recovered from the power plant bombing began to play. Two men, dressed with a battle vest on and black war paint under their eyes came on, the eldest one spoke.

“I am Tlanextic Zanzanilli. At my side is my second Motlapal Mocualan. It is my honor to formally announce that the Aztec Revolutionary Resistance has declared war upon the Mexica Union. We and many resistance forces including the Mayan Resistance Confederation and The New Order claim responsibility for these attacks. It is a shame we must resort to terrorism. We know through our actions on the night of June 15th will not accomplish our goals. We are sending you a message thought. We fight for those who have been killed in your massacres, our freedom and the future of the children of this nation. We regret that blood must be split in this mitl chimalli, but, there is no choice.”

Motlapal then spoke, “Tyranny will never be victorious. We shall fight with honor and courage to overcome and rule.”

Quetzalcoatl walked alone in the abandoned quarry, listening to the sound of the chirping crickets. The events of the day have been traumatic, to say the least. Today and forever, the Union would consider him a terrorist. Such a terrible word, terrorist. Odd to think a 15 year old boy could be a terrorist. Even harder was considering how the government brutalized the people. Alas, though Quetzalcoatl, it would be better to die valiantly then to exist solely because of fear for the oppressors.

He approached the old cobweb infested building and leaned against its cool adobe walls. Gazing up at the dark blue night sky and the magnificent stars, he began to forget about the day’s events. The still, warm tranquil scene was somewhat comforting, miles away, blood was being shed, violence was on the rise, yet, at this time, it seemed so far away…

The door to the old building slammed open, and several of the rebels ran out. Quetzalcoatl looked and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Our allies are under heavy attack, we’re going to go fight.” Said one of the rebels, “Get your gear now, damn, you better be a good shot, they have Sentinel Agents in addition to a military unit.”

Quickly, Quetzalcoatl ran inside the building and got his old assault rifle and his armor vest. He then ran outside and hopped into an old jeep. Without any regard for the condition of the road, three jeeps hauled off to the scene of the battle…

As the three jeeps road along the old dirt road, Quetzalcoatl grabbed his armor vest and put it on himself and zipped it up. The rough ride made it difficult, but eventually, he was able to get it on. He then put the assault rifle in his lap and attached a magazine to the ammunition bay. Soon, the battle would commence.

Several minutes went by before they began to hear gunfire and explosions. The three jeeps came to a squealing halt outside the rebel camp’s perimeter. The twelve warriors got out of the jeep and entered the camp through the back gate.

“Motlapal,” a strange voice whispered, “Where the hell have you been?”

Motlapal turned around, “Ahh, Jorge, you know it takes a bit longer to travel on the back roads.”

The Aztecs gathered behind a building to meet this Jorge.

“All right, here’s the situation,” said Jorge, “The Sentinels and the army are basically annihilating everything they see.”

With that, the wooden building they were hiding behind creaked as assault rifle bullets tore through the beams.

Typical of the army, there was no offer to surrender, there was no surrendering. Again, bullets tore through the old wooden building.

“Ideas?” Asked Motlapal.

“Sneak around the side and attack their flank.”

“Got it, let’s go.”

Silently, the group moved towards the side of the building, with Quetzalcoatl in front. However, before long, a hand pulled the young boy back.

“What the hell are you trying to do? You’ll be seen before we can…strike!”

With that, the group jumped out of their cover and ambushed the small group of soldiers. With assault rifles blazing, the soldiers were cut down before they could react. The sound of assault rifle fire rang throughout the night sky. Once the sound died down, four soldiers lie dead.

Quetzalcoatl got from behind the cover and looked towards the lying bodies. A dark pool began to form around them. “Damn.” Quetzalcoatl said, under his breath.

The group moved on towards the main part of the camp, looking out for the soldiers. Several bodies lie on the ground, dead and wounded rebels, mostly. Motlapal held up his hand, “HIDE!” They group scattered behind another building.

However, only the sound of the gunfire in the background could be heard. Suddenly, a spot light began to cross the ground.

“Great, they captured the spotlight. We have to knock it out before we go on.” Said Jorge.

With an idea in mind, Motlapal got Quetzalcoatl and said, “Quetzal, stay posted at this corner, I want you to cover my flank.”

Nodding Quetzalcoatl kneeled down next to Motlapal, keeping his eye on the building across from them. Motlapal waited until the spotlight moved out of the line of site, jumped out and began to fire. Quetzalcoatl flinched as the hot bullet shells landed on his neck and head. The light then went out, but a gun battle ensued.

“CRAP! QUETZAL, I NEED YOUR HELP!”

Quetzalcoatl rolled out from behind Motlapal and took aim and pulled back on the trigger. A streak of fire blew out of the barrel of the assault rifle, sending its deadly projectiles towards their victims. Within a couple of seconds, the firing stopped.

Nervous, Quetzalcoatl got up. He then walked over to the bodies and looked down. He fell to his knees and was at a loss for words…

“Quetzal, you did what you had to do. Get up and finish the job…NOW.” Said Motlapal.

Quetzalcoatl got up, tears and sweat streaming down his face. The group moved on towards the center of the camp.

Off in the distance, several soldiers noticed the group walking towards the central complex. They picked up their assault rifle and began to open fire.

A warrior fell onto Quetzalcoatl, slain by the assault rifle fire. Quetzalcoatl moved the body and looked at it; a bullet had impaled his spinal column. Crimson blood trickled down from the wounded neck and some had stained Quetzalcoatl’s vest. With anger and disgust, Quetzalcoatl took aim again and pulled the trigger. Again, the bullets soared from Quetzalcoatl’s rifle. The rest of the group regained their position and began firing. The soldiers then retreated into the jungle behind them.

“Damn, we lost three people.” Said Motlapal. Quetzalcoatl got up, looking around. Three bodies lie, bullet ridden and moribund. Quickly, the group moved on, not wanting to draw more attention.

They soon make it to the center of the camp. The group enters the compound building and takes position along the balcony.

“The bastards are coming back, fire at will.” Yelled out Motlapal.

The group begins to fire at the oncoming hoards of soldiers. Quetzalcoatl took aim and fired. Fear, nervousness, anger, rage flooded his mind. The heat from the assault rifle burned with a rage equal to his own. Suddenly, a sharp pain rocked Quetzalcoatl’s body. A bullet had struck him. Grabbing his chest, Quetzalcoatl fell back and blanked out under the dark blue night sky.

Groggily, Quetzalcoatl began to wake up. He looked up towards a ceiling – he was no longer at the battlefield. Sitting up, a dull pain clamped down against his chest, trying to holding him on his back. He struggled against the pain and looked down. On his chest was a dark bruise. Quetzalcoatl then muttered, “The magic of bullet proof vests.”

Again, struggling, he got up to his feet. Fully conscious now, we realized where he was – Motlapal’s house. The sun began to shine through the parted widow curtains. Quetzalcoatl looked outside the house and took in the scenery. He was glad to be standing there, not in some hospital. He was glad not to have been injured or maimed. Mainly, he was glad to still be alive. However, this bit of relief soon was replaced by many worries in his mind – had they won? Are Motlapal and Tlanextic still alive? What about the others? Who had Fortuna favored today? Who had she decide to claim? What about the men he killed? Soon, the thoughts became unbearable. As he looked out into the lonely field, the most grizzly and horrendous of thoughts and questions filled his mind…

A soft voice came behind him, distracting him from his dark, brooding mind “Well, Quetzal, that was some courage you showed back there.”

Quetzalcoatl turned around, it was Angelica.

“Meh, I could have done better. Where are Motlapal and Tlanextic?”

“Well, you guys were able to fight off the soldiers. The base stayed in revolutionary hands. Motlapal is at the quarry, carrying some ammunition. Only one other warrior was killed. However, Tlanextic is doing well.

Quetzalcoatl turned back towards the window, “Damn, why did I have to pass out? I’m not sure I’ve been much use to the revolution. Hell…”

Angelica cut him off, “Quetzal,” said Angelica, “Why are you saying that? You’ve done more for the revolution then what most people have. How many people have fought, killed and been injured for the revolution? How many people have had the courage to stand up?”

Quetzalcoatl was silent, indeed, she was right.

“Quetzalcoatl, you don’t seem to realize, you’re important to this revolution. Motlapal and Tlanextic value you greatly. The revolution needs more young blood to keep it going.”

Sitting down next to him, Quetzalcoatl turns around and sits down also. Trying to be of comfort, she puts her hand on his bare shoulder.

“A poet once said, ‘Courage to me means standing up against injustice, or at least finding the strength to do something your character or the outside world would rather you didn’t do.*’ Quetzalcoatl, you are the most courageous boy I know. You’re only 15, and yet, you have already become a warrior, fighting against an injustice.”

Quetzalcoatl sighed, “I guess you’re right. I just wish I was more useful. Yeah, I can fight in the revolution, but, I don’t know.”

“Well, Quetzal, your skills will come in time. You can only do what you are capable of.”

He looked at her and sat up straight, straining against the pain. “Hmm, hopefully, you’re right.”

She then looked into his eyes as he looked into hers. Although he had been attracted to her since he first met her a year ago, now, a surge of affection soared in his heart. She then took her hand off his shoulder and sat it on the couch. Excitement, passion and emotions ran high throughout Quetzalcoatl’s mind and body. He leaned over, getting closer to her face and her lips.

-BANG! - A loud bang hit the door, on the other side, Motlapal said screaming, “Angelica, Quetzalcoatl, we’ve got a problem. We need to leave now!”

Disappointed, Angelica said, “I guess today’s not the day.”

They both got up and walked over to the door. Nervous and breathing heavily, Motlapal grabbed Angelica’s arm and said, “Get into the car now! Quetzalcoatl, you ride shotgun, you might have to use this. Motlapal handed him an assault rifle.

Quickly, the three ran to the car and Motlapal drove off onto the main road. Quetzalcoatl asked, “Moe, what the hell’s going on?”

Motlapal nervously replied, “An Sentinel Agent is on my ass, that’s what. Today, I was transferring weapons for Tlanextic and, I don’t know, just shoot if you have to.”

The car zoomed down the asphalt road; yet, neither Angelica nor Quetzalcoatl could see the agent or a threat of any kind. Only the long winding road could be seen trailing behind them.

“Well, Motlapal…” Said Quetzalcoatl.

With that, a motorcycle came up behind him, gun a pistol in hand.”

“Holy….” Yelled out Motlapal.

The gun fired, and a bullet streaked through the air and shattered the glass. Another bullet was fired, this time making a sharp, high pitched sound as it impacted the metal of the car’s body. Quetzalcoatl turned around and pulled back on a lever on the assault rifle and took a deep breath. In his mind, Angelica’s words of courage reverberated softly. He leaned back and slid against the car door, getting sight of the motorcycle. A bullet whizzed by his shoulder length black hair.

He tried getting the assault rifle raised to his eye. Each time he did though, he fell back, almost falling to a most grizzly and bloody death. Another bullet whizzed by his ear, leaving a painful ring in his ear.

Yelling out several obscenities, Quetzalcoatl finally got back into the car. Motlapal turned around and nervously yelled, “You better get back out there and kill that bastard!”

Quetzalcoatl angrily said nothing. He then crawled his way to the back seat. He then looked at Angelica and said, “Get down between the seats; I don’t want you getting hurt.” Quickly, she complied.

Quetzalcoatl then turned, and with the butt of the rifle, he broke the window, shattering it to pieces. Again, the agent fired several bullets, each hitting the car. One bullet hit the dashboard.

Quetzalcoatl turned around and took aim. Quickly, he pulled back on the trigger; the loud crack of the gun filled the small space of the car. The bullets hit everything but the motorcycle – the street, the road signs, debris. Motlapal made a sharp turn, sending Quetzalcoatl flying in the back seat. The agent fired another round, one bullet hitting the front tire. Quickly, the car lost control, and in a dangerous turn, crashed into the guard rail and fell down thirty feet.

Motlapal began cursing several obscenities directed at no one in particular. Angelica held onto the floor for dear life while Quetzalcoatl got back up, looking for the agent.

Above them, a black figure appeared over the highway. He began to climb down the small hill where the car had fallen off. Weapon drawn, he slowly made his way to the car.

From the back window, Quetzalcoatl took aim and fired several rounds. With a couple of jolts, the agent collapsed on the ground dead.

Motlapal then got out of his car and looked over it. “Aye, Quetzal, ¡tu cabron! Look at my car, it’s shot to hell and I don’t have a spare tire. How the hell are we supposed to get to our refuge now?”

Quetzalcoatl said, “Well, the agent had a motorcycle.”

“But there are three of us.” Motlapal retorted

Quetzalcoatl said, “No problem, I’ll wait here until you drop Angelica off at the camp. It will be while before more agents arrive.”

Motlapal and Angelica then left and got on the motorcycle, while Quetzalcoatl lay back on the seat of the beat up car. Trying to keep the thought of death out of his mind, he stared out at the clouds and began to daydream about the kiss he almost had.

*“Courage” By Jack Kerouac

A beat up tan car moved along a stretch of desert highway, moving towards Ciudad Juarez. It was late afternoon, almost evening, but yet the temperature soared high. Quetzalcoatl lay in the back seat, asleep. The driver of the car, a warrior of the Mayan resistance force, was completely silent. His brown eyes focused on the road. Only the sounds of the car on the road could be heard. It was complete desolation.

The car came down to a stop. Alarmed, Quetzalcoatl woke up. “What’s going on?” He asked.

The man said, “We’re outside Ciudad Juarez, remember, Quetzal?”

Quetzalcoatl then remembered, the Mayan and Aztec factions made a pact, and now, he and the Mayan were now going to Ciudad Juarez to pick up weapons on the border between Mexico and the American territories.

“Why are we stopping, then?” Asked Quetzalcoatl.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get through the guards with this old rust bucket? We’re meeting some other members of the resistance who have a truck that will be more discrete and carry more weapons.”

“Guards, what guards?”

“The city is crawling with guards, anyone who’s poor is a target, and since we’re already marked men, if they arrest us, we’ll be executed on the spot.” The Mayan said.

“Got it.” Quetzalcoatl sat up, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Say, you have air conditioning in this thing?”

“This ‘thing’,” the driver retorted, ‘is from ’52, there is no way it has air conditioning.”

Nodding, Quetzalcoatl sat back. Something didn’t seem right about this mission.

For fifteen minutes they waited for the truck to come by. The sun slowly set down, as if it were melting into the earth. He watched the sky turn color, from a vibrant vermillion to a sedated and tranquil purple. Although Quetzalcoatl always grew up in the more mountainous area of central México, he always loved the desert. He loved to feel the warm dry air against his skin, and he loved the scenery. It was tranquil, something that wasn’t common to the mountain metropolis which he grew up in. Yet, despite the calming scene, his mind was flooded with worry. This was, by far, the most illegal thing he was going to do. Bring weapons into the Union, hell that was grounds for death by torture. His mind flashed back to a torture he had witnessed only a few years ago. It was the bloodiest thing he had ever seen.

A young man was caught, aiding the revolution. They tied him down to a rock and beat him with bull whips and chains. After that, they beat the man with sticks. Drops of blood had been sprayed over the area. Beaten, broken, bloodied, and hopeless, they left the man to die. Quetzalcoatl, only twelve at the time, ran up to the dying man, and held his head with his hands. With all of his strength, the man put his hand on Quetzalcoatl’s arm and said, “Diga a nuestra madre que yo la adoro.” And with those words, his brother died.

A tear of sadness and anger fell down Quetzalcoatl’s cheek. His brother didn’t deserve that death. No one should have to put up with such a terrible punishment. At least, his brother died with honor.

The truck pulled up next to the old beat up car. The Mayan got out, and moved the seat forward for Quetzalcoatl. He got out and slammed the door shut. The Mayan noticed the tear running down Quetzalcoatl’s dark face, “What’ wrong, nervous.”

“No, angry, about a crime done years ago.” Quetzalcoatl replied darkly.

With that, the two gathered in the truck and they drove off down to the meeting point.

The car continued down the dark desert highway. After an hour more of driving, the truck made it to Ciudad Juarez.

The vast metropolis gleamed with neon signs. It was indeed a beautiful city, however, underneath the glamour of neon and skyscrapers, the effects of war and poverty loomed. As they traveled down the main drag of la Ciudad, the extreme wealth of some citizens was easily seen. When they turned down another street, extreme poverty reigned.

Eventually, the truck came to a stop in a small ally. Outside, several crates sat. The three men got out of the truck. The driver had a crowbar in hand. With one swift move, the lid of one crate lifted off, reveling ammunition and weapons.

“All right, let’s load the crates up.”

Quetzalcoatl bent down and gathered his strength. He then lifted the heavy crate and put it in the flat bed of the truck. In the end, they had eight crates.

Although they were in an ally, they went unnoticed by the people in the houses. The driver of the truck looked over and said, “All right, let’s get out of here.”

“NOT SO FAST!” A voice yelled out from behind them. A Sentinel Agent ran up, gun drawn. “Put you’re hands up, what the hell are you doing here?”

The three put their hands up, nervous. “You do realize loitering in these parts is illegal, correct?”

Nodding, they attempted to avoid an altercation.

“You don’t mind if I check what you’re carrying, do you?”

They didn’t have a choice. They were doomed.

The agent walked up to the flatbed of the truck. He went over to the box that was already opened and said, “Oh boy, you guys preparing for independence day? You know what the price is for weapons smuggling.”

Quickly, they each ran in different directions. The agent shot the truck driver. Quetzalcoatl dived down next to the truck. His arm was scraped from the gravel and the dirt. The sound of gunshots reverberated through the air. The agent began to run after the Mayan, who was trying to escape through the shanty houses.

Quetzalcoatl got into the truck and went through his armor vest. Inside, an obsidian dagger clung to the jacket in a pocket. He grabbed the dagger and ran to the driver. He turned the driver over. In pain, the driver said, “Get that son of a bitch for me, got it?”

Quetzalcoatl nodded and helped the driver to sit against his truck. Quetzalcoatl then ran among the buildings with stealth.

Quetzalcoatl heard more gun shots. In his mind, he feared the Mayan was dead. Turning his head, he looked to see if the agent was in the row of houses next to him. Not paying attention, he fell down a flight to stairs, and the obsidian blade flew out of his hand. Quetzalcoatl landed hard on his chest, and the obsidian blade landed only a few inches away from his hand. The agent grabbed for his gun, then, in a reflex, went to grab his neck. An obsidian knife stuck out of the neck of the agent. Quetzalcoatl regained his bearings and looked over to the agent. Over him was the dark figure of the Mayan, breathing heavily over the agent. He hung his head low, and, with little strength, pulled the knife out of the wounded neck. “He’ll live; I avoided his jugular or his wind pipe. Let’s go home now.”

Quetzalcoatl got up, afraid. The Mayan began walking up the stairs, with Quetzalcoatl following. The entire trip through the neighborhood was silent. They eventually made it back to the truck, where they helped the driver back in.

“I’ll take you back to where I left my car, and then you and Quetzalcoatl go back to the Aztec camp. You’ll be fine by then.”

With that, the Mayan drove the truck back onto the road. Quetzalcoatl looked outside the window at the glowing neon lights. Only in those could he take comfort in now. Only in those, and Angelica, when he got to see her again.

Several Months Earlier, Lesser Kingston, Robotstan

The 1990s have been transitional years for the Robotic Republic. It is in the 1990s that the world watches as, though under the influence of a collective movement, the Robotic Navy decided to sink. Only a few Darings, Glasgows, Leanders, and Tribals (along with rebuilt Blackwoods and flowers, of course) survive the RN's mass extinction, which sees the old guard rendered unservicable.

Parliament needs something to keep its edge...

May 1994

Aboard RRNS Pierre Gustave Lafontaine, ten figures mill about on deck as the old Porpoise-class boat navigates a shipping channel in the driving rain. Escorted by a Flower II corvette and Sandown patrol ship, the P.G. Lafontaine makes for the open ocean.

June 1994

Off the Mexican coastline, an unnatural shape breaks the surface of the water. A great gloss black whale, bearing not the slightest in the way of insignia.

Ten figures scramble down from the conning tower, accompanied by another four figures who bring up a collapsible dinghy. After tossing bundles of weapons and, umm...weapons...and some clothes too, into the finely-made wooden boat, the ten figures hop in and begin to row, apparently singing an old sea shanty as they pull against the oars.

After an hour's worth of work, they thud against a submerged rock and vault into water much more deep than anticipated. Wet and unhappy, the section of Robotic advisors tow their boat ashore and drag it up into the treeline...

July 1994

The section of advisors sits around a fire in a patch of jungle, gulping down canned fruits. Their Owen SMGs and No. 5 Mk.X automatic Jungle Carbines sit by their sides, along with this and that, as the advisors try to find who they have been sent to advise. Dressed in the characteristic British-pattern jungle uniform, they shouldn't be hard to identify as Robotic...

OCC: A short introduction...

OOC: Time to continue this RP. Yeah, school and other RPs have been distracting me, but, I want to keep this thing going.

Glad to have you on this, LRR, that is if you’re still interested.

IC:

Quetzalcoatl Nochtli and Motlapal sat together at the camp. They were going over what they had received from their arms pickup two weeks ago. Ever since that exchange, things have been quiet on the battlefront. There had been no major skirmishes, no major assassinations or plans unveiled. Maybe it was the tropical weather that seemed to pacify everyone. Maybe, the dogs of war were just lying in wait, waiting to force the revolution and the government into another major clash.

Tlanextic walked up to Quetzalcoatl and Motlapal. There seemed to be an expression of concern on his face.

“Scouts report signs of a fire not far from here, within the jungle. I want you and Quetzalcoatl to come with me; it may be a government camp.”

Quetzalcoatl and Motlapal nodded, got up and picked up their old assault rifles. The trio loaded up into a jeep and went off in the night, going to see who was camping in the jungle.

30 MINUTES LATER

The jeep stops right before a large morass of forest. Above the trees, they see a small billow of smoke rising. They stop and get out of the jeep, weapons slung around their backs. The three walk stealthily into the jungle, looking out for potential threats.

They soon get within range of the group of foreign soliders. Motlapal leaned over to Tlanextic, “I’ve never seen those uniforms before. I wonder if they’re part of an invasion force.”

Quetzalcoatl peers into the forest and looks at the group. They’re from another nation…I can’t remember which one…wait, their Robotic!”

Tlanextic looked over stunned, “What, they’re not androids or robots.”

Quetzalcoatl quickly made up for the comment. “No, I mean, they’re from the Robotic Republic, it’s another nation.”

Motlapal then asked, “What are they like?”

“Eccentric, but technologically advanced.”

“Well, Quetzal, since you seem to be the expert on them, go make first contact.”

Nervous, Quetzalcoatl said, “Uh, no, you’re coming with me.”

The other two, just as nervous said, “Alright, fine.”

Although quietly, the trio makes their way to the small camp, hoping these guys will be friendly. Right about as they are to enter the camp, Motlapal’s boot gets wrapped around a vine and he trips, making a loud thud.”

Although stunned, Motlapal says to the others, “Uh, sorry.”

He looks forward and noticed he’s only a couple of feet away from the troops, in plain sight.

The Robotic advisors watch as the Aztec rebels approach, quite calm and apparently unconcerned.

"Its a pleasure to meet you," says a man with Seargent's stripes, in somewhat crude spanish.

The advisors, in their shorts and quite dated slouch hats, converse in what might be described as a 'Kingston Russian,' and hold out an unopened can of peaches towards their guests as a sign of friendship.

"They can't be government. Look at them!"
"Government here doesn't have an incompetent secret service, you know!"
"We should be careful..."
"Nah."

Meanwhile, the lords of the Admiralty sit around drinking in a Kingston office. First Lord of the Admiralty, Admiral Lord Vladimir K. Shostakovich, reclines in a fine leather chair. His dress collar is unbuttoned and uniform jacket unbuttoned, despite the back room's frigid temperature. One hand holds a cigar, and the other a bottle of scotch whiskey.

Outside sits the cream of the Royal Robotic High Seas Fleet. Not much to look at, really. The Cape Gloucester, impressive by 1930s and 40s standards, is the largest ship. With its 16in main rifles, it can do a number on most ships if it gets close enough, but that is considered unlikely. The Fiji-class cruisers are more servicable, equipped with RBS-15 and ASM. 22 anti-ship rockets along with their rifles. Ten new vessels, the Type 46 Island class frigates also sit in berths. It is quite likely that a number of these vessels will be sent very far south in the near future...

Tlanextic extends his hand out to the Sergeant who greeted them. Although able to speak three languages – English, Spanish and Nahuatl, he replied in Spanish, “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. My name is Tlanextic Zazanilli, head of the Jaguar Warrior sect of the Aztec Revolutionary Resistance.”

Motlapal gets up and rubs the dirt off his vest and forearms. He then extends out his hand in peace, “Motlapal Mocualan.”

The youngest of the three then does as the other two and says, “I’m Quetzalcoatl Nochtli.”

With graciousness, they take the unopened can of peaches and, with a pocket knife he pulled from his armor vest, Quetzalcoatl opened the lid. Although without a question military rations, the three Aztec rebels enjoyed the peaches nevertheless. Although fruit and vegetables were quite plentiful in the tropical regions, between activism, repairing, recruiting and fighting, the staple of their diet had become something that resembled a poorly fashioned biscuit with some form of meat, whether it is ham, turkey or chicken.

Although it seemed as this contingent of soldiers were friendly enough (who could be your enemy and give you canned peaches, after all?) they still felt weary of the military troops. Not only did they have more advanced weapons, they looked more like an actual military. The troops had actual uniforms rather than the rebel’s muddied and dirt matted denim jeans, boots and armor vests, which almost looked exactly as their darker skin color. Another point of difference was that the rebels all had long hair compared to the Robotic soldiers.

Although feeling somewhat safe, Tlanextic had to ask the question, “I have to ask, why are you here?”

OOC: WOOT! FINALLY ON PAGE 2! EVERYONE HAVE FUN TONIGHT!

"We're here to help you with your rebellion, I should think," says the Sergeant. "We can get you not a small amount of weaponry."

"So," interjects a Sub-Lieutenant, most likely the party's leader, "what do you need? Through us, Robotstan can provide your movement with, oh, anti-tank missiles, rocket artillery...even tanks!"
"We could right pull an Angola," says a Corporal.

The RDF command would likely be flattered by the Aztec warriors' appraisal of their weaponry and appearane. After all, the troops carry Owens, dating back from the 1940s, along with a semi-automatic reworking of the even older Lee-Enfield No.5 jungle carbine. In all fairness, however, a regular unit would likely command L1A1s and Ak-47s.

After adjusting his slouch hat and wiping sweat off his forehead, the Sergeant who first addressed the rebels, identified as Abdus Jinnah, takes a bite of his canned peaches.

"Our nation is always glad to help out a budding revolutionary movement."

Tlanextic looked up when he heard about the offer of weapons. This obviously was a welcomed offer of assistance. It wasn’t everyday that a nation offered revolutionary movement weaponry or other forms of assistance.

“We’ll take whatever you could give; we’re in need of guns, ammunition and armor. Although I would be willing to accept a tank, I doubt we have the resources or training to operate such a machine.”

Quetzalcoatl looked at the guns of the Robotstan soldiers. Although not much was known about these “good Samaritans”, he already admired the weaponry and military of this more advanced nation. He asked, “Those are better guns than we have, anyways.”

Motlapal, although wanting to believe that these strangers were peaceful and sincere, had some reservations. It was odd that any nation would involve themselves in the affairs of this revolution. Although it had been successful in terms of holding off the government, it wasn’t the most glorious revolution.

Curious, Motlapal asked the soldiers, “How did you learn of the revolution here?”

"Its all over the news!"
"Well, not quite that obvious, but events in this country here are far from unreported. Its as much in our better interests as yours to depose the existing regime."

Robotstan has fought its fair share of despotic military regimes, and Sergeant Jinnah is sure to tell the story of the most recent uprising, against King Kevin VII, in 1937. The climax of that one featured the battleship Cape Gloucester ramming the Royal Yacht and splitting it in two.

"As for weapons...we have a number of systems that I think you might find useful. Towed rocket launchers, automatic mortars, shoulder-fired SAMs, things you have a use for if I understand your situation correctly."

"And I would not suggest dismissing tanks out of hand. But come, sit. Tell us more about the situation here."

Tlanextic smiled and said, “We’ll keep tanks in mind. I’m surprised the struggle here has been reported on by the foreign media. That’s good for us.”

The trio sat next to these friendly soldiers. It was a relief to see friendly military units, for all of them, it was a first.

Motlapal started first, “The situation here is quite grim. The regime here is democratic in name, but, has institutionalized racism and has abolished all regulations on labor. In essence, you have no rights in this nation. All branches of government are controlled by a group of corporations – the legislature, the administrators, even the judges. They don’t own them explicitly, but through money. So, any complaint with any company goes unheard. In addition, the police and military are pretty much owned literally by the same people, so they violently take down any rebellion to protect their owners. The media is pretty much worthless here; all you hear are junk stories and useless information.”

Quetzalcoatl then spoke, “That’s not the whole story, it’s worse than that. They have compulsory employment for the poor and the minorities. If you refuse, they send you to a work camp. They also have public executions, tortures, and they use live bullets to break up protests and demonstrations. Everything’s screwed up here. They break into our houses at night, line everyone up, and if you’re lucky, they won’t kill you to make an example out of our death. Also, the poor are forced to stay poor with taxes, denying us education and limiting how much money we can make.”

Motlapal continued, “Yeah, the government forced all people of native blood out of schools to do the menial jobs…”

Quetzalcoatl said, “Also to force us into the military to slaughter our own kind.”

Motlapal nodded, “Pretty much the only way to get ahead in this society is if you’re rich. I have nothing against capitalism, but this has gone awry.”

Quetzalcoatl then asked, “So how is it in Robotistan?”

"Well, I don't think we can complain," says one corporal with a chuckle.
"Eh, things are not bad in thge archipelago," says Jinnah. "We aren't the richest country, but everyone has a roof over their heads and something to eat. The forties and fifties were tough internationally, but nowadays things have largely smoothed over. So, that's Robotstan in a nutshell."

"So, how big is your movement?"
"Also, where would you suggest we land weapons? The Robotic Navy can even have an aircraft carrier out here if need be, but it will also help to know what kind of equipment we are talking about with the government forces."

Smiling Quetzalcoatl was glad to hear things were better overseas. It seemed like a dream that some place would be relatively peaceful.

Tlanextic then spoke, “The movement is pretty large, but isn’t exactly united. There are about 60,000 in the North parts of Mexico. Most of them are poor meztizo peasants. They’re the poorest of the factions, only having basic weaponry. They mostly work with sabotaging rail lines and roads. When they are feeling particularly rebellious, they form strikes and refuse to work. However, those strikes are rather small and put down easily.”

He then stopped for a second and continued on. “Then, there are the Mayans to the south. They mostly work in the occupied sections of Guatemala and Honduras; however, they have given us some weapons from north of the border, mostly handguns and second rate assault rifles. They number around 75,000 and are skilled assassins. If an political leader is killed, it was probably a Mayan that did it.”

Continuing on, he said, “Then, there’s us. The Aztecs work mostly in central and southern Mexico. We do most of the overt fighting and battling. We aren’t good at sabotage, nor are wee goo assassins. However, we fight well, to say the least. The whole Aztec resistance numbers around 100,000, but our sect numbers around 40. However, we are generally regarded as the leadership group.

About weapons, the Mayans are best at concealing things. Puerto Barrios in Guatemala is an ideal place to deposit weapons. And having warships nearby would certainly frighten them.”

Motlapal then spoke up; “The government uses relatively modern weaponry. Though not the best, they certainly could keep up with other weapons. Their weakness is their Navy and Air Force. They’ve spent so much resources on police and putting down resistance, the other military forces are somewhat weaker. However, they have and used chemical and biological weapons. Mustard gas, saran, even cyanide gas one time.”

Quetzalcoatl then said, “Even though our groups are smaller than the general military and populace, the government over all is hated. People just don’t have the courage to stand up. If we could get the people rallied, this government would fall flat within a day.”

"Hmm. Well, if you mabye were able to score a decisive victory over government forces."
"Yes...that could do it."
"Perhaps such a victory could energize the populace and show government weakness? That could very well do the trick."

Of course, the Aztec rebels' strategy is probably more valid than the Robotic advisors' one, considering the circumstances. After all, in all of the numerous anti-Royalist revolts, a large and conventionally-equipped military force faced down another large and conventionally-equipped military force, in a battle that usually centered around warships and aircraft, with ground troops serving in more of a supporting role than anything else.

But news of government weakness in the air and sea departments give no small amount of hope to Sergeant Jinnah and the other Robotic advisors. Soon, a corporal is on the radio with the Pierre Gustave Lafontaine, prowling around offshore.

Not long afterword, several freighters, stocked with various 'goods' leave Kingston harbor under the escort of six destroyers, twelve frigates, two cruisers, and an aircraft carrier.

Tlanextic began to talk of the strategy. “That is one of our plans. Rallying the people would be one of the more difficult but effective strategies in the long run. In failed revolutions before, they tried to economically weaken the government. While it almost worked once, it failed in the end. Our strategy is based on several tactics. Rallying the people, and trying to be a mediator between all the factions. Although we are officially allied with the Mayans, we are on good terms with all the factions because we’ve kept the movement going longer than it ever has before. Most of the factions were developed in the early 1980s, but only with the current massacres have we actually taken up arms against them.”

Motlapal said to the group, “Well, I’m going to notify our couriers about the incoming weapons shipment. I’ll use our radio since they’ll recognize the various frequencies we use. Be back in an second, I have to get the radio out of the jeep.”

He then got up and walked back through the dense forest, trying to avoid the vines and stumps lying in the ground. Meanwhile, the other two talked to the Robotistan soldiers with interest. In his mind, Tlanextic began to believe that maybe, victory wasn’t too far-fetched after all.

-_-_-_-_-

Motlapal reached the rusty old jeep within a few minutes. Walking to the driver’s side, he opened the door, which squeaked loudly, as it were screaming for oil. He found the radio underneath his seat, picked it up and slowly turned the dial. Once he was on the right frequency, he closed the door and walked back to the camp. Although he didn’t want to go all the way back, he didn’t want the Robotistan soldiers to think he was a spy. His loyalties were to the revolution. He then made his way back to the group and said, “I’ll contact them now.”

He pushed the button and said, “This is Union #150 checking in, we’re receiving an shipment in an short while, in the Spanish Port. Handle with care.”

He then let go of the button and said, “They’ll be at Puerto Barrios when the weapons get there. Although we doubt the government can get into our encrypted radio transmissions (they use specialized transmitters and receivers), we don’t want to give things away.”

"Very good. Now, what should we do in the meantime?"
"Would you mind if we tagged along on some of your operations? It would be good to get a feel for how you operate here."

One of the advisors dumps some water on the fire, and they collect their limited amount of gear. Each commando has, besides 1958-pattern web kit, a personal weapon and a small sack for other gear. Not much, but deemed sufficient to tide them over until contact with the local resistance elements had been made.

Tlanextic nodded, “We’ll show you our camp tonight and give you some shelter. We were going to conduct an operation tomorrow anyway. There’s kind of been a lull in the conflict within the last month, but, a recent public execution has changed that.”

They all got up and led the solders to the jeep. Although it would be a snug fit, they would still be able to all fit. Motlapal said, “I know she isn’t much to look at, but that jeep has saved my life plenty of times.”

Tlanextic nodded, “Yeah, well we won’t be using it tomorrow. There’s a supply convoy coming down the main highway. We plan to take it over. It’s mostly things like medical supplies and food going down to the Guatemalan encampments. I’ll tell you more once we get to camp, I can’t remember all the details.”

TAG - I've been looking for someway to get into this, can you suggest anything? I'd be happy to supply the rebels with kit (can't commit troops though), unless you can think of something better?

After a tiring flight, the small plane landed in the United Mexican Empire. Fanning himself slightly in the heat, Lloyd Martins, Manhattan 1’s finest newshound, looked out onto the airstrip.

Nudging his cameraman awake, he asked, “So were there any instructions for us?”.

“We’re supposed to report to the capital’s press room Lloyd”, the cameraman replied.

The young and adventurous Lloyd made a face. “Don’t be so wet, we don’t want to be force-fed government news, rubbish about new economic quotas and stuff – the real news is out there” he exclaimed, gesturing towards the countryside. “Manhattan viewers prefer a more human story, a personal story, not endless stats! I say we have a look around first, no-one will miss us for a little while”

His last assignment having been near an active war zone, Lloyd was looking forward to hunting for stories in a country that seemed, on the surface, a little more stable. He himself knew very little about the country, but it certainly looked very nice – glamorous scenery, great for the viewers back home.

Taking their trusty jeep, the 2 man team drove off into the wilderness..

OOC: Not wonderful I know, but I don’t know much yet, and so don’t really have much to go on. Maybe we could stumble on some rebel stockpile or warehouse, somewhere we are not supposed to be poking around. Might make for a good intro.

Tag: Thinking up a good way to enter. I would rather aid the rebels but as of now there's no one with the government and I can work either side. I'll probably enter in a few hours once i figure out a good approach

OOC: Feel free to jump in whenever, aiding whomever. I won’t hold it against you, just keep in mind, I have to keep this RP going for a while.

Also, I apologize for the long inactivity, college has gotten in my way again and I had to go to an orientation and register for classes.

IC:

At the airport…

An agent looked around at the newly arrived passengers. Nothing too unusual, tourists were drawn to the nation during this time to year. Of course, if they knew what was going on in the uncensored and uncontrolled world of reality, things would be much different. It had been an ongoing success for the government, to control what information was sent out and what stayed in. They were able to use diplomatic skill, media mastery and an ever so slightly small bit of force to achieve this goal.

However, it would seem as if a challenge would happen to this accomplishment. The foreign media was getting tired of the sanitized reports about trade concessions, wild parties and increased oil production. Even despite the government’s clamp on what gets out, some tidbits of human rights violations make it to the foreign scene. The spin doctors, “experts”, and sound bytes from officials were enough in terms of damage control, but it was becoming more difficult as of recent.

The agent looked over to the two reporters, boarding in their jeep. Although it didn’t require much skill to fool the airport security personnel, it would take a miracle to fool a Sentinel Agent. He watched them from distance, going towards the countryside, away from the vast metropolitan areas and the stronghold of government control. This certainly was something to follow up on.

The agent walked over to his black car, got in and turned it on. He then began to follow the reporters. Not to intimidate, harm or scare them. No, it was too early for that. More of litmus test, in al reality. Not trying to be stealthy, he followed the jeep in plain sight. After a few miles, he turned on a light in his car, signaling to pull over.

-_-_-_-_-_-

At the rebel base…

Tlanextic walked into a tent, zipping up his armor vest. Unlike the other mud caked vests, this vest was a camouflage green color. “Is everything set in motion?” He asked.

Motlapal turned around. Behind him was a large radio, linking the camp to the other rebel factions. “Everything’s ready to begin.”

Nervous, Tlanextic said, “Right, sounds good. Let’s move out, then.”

Tlanextic walked out of the tent, still nervous. “All right, everyone, prepare for today’s operation. We move out now. Get into your assigned groups.”

The forty people who inhabited the camp soon split ways. Half of them would be staying to defend the camp while the other twenty would be joining the operation. They loaded up into jeeps and prepared for the largest action in nearly a month.

Although advised not to go, Quetzalcoatl had some sort of feeling that he had to. Although he didn’t want to get involved with this battle, something inside him told him he should. A premonition, maybe. He looked up into the sky, although not superstitious, it was common to look around for omens. Above the camp only lie a sun and some clouds. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Tlanextic walked over to the Robotistan soldiers, “We’re about to conduct an operation right now. If you wish to observe, please feel free to do so. However, if you wish to stay here, that’s acceptable as well. We’re going to go raid a convoy and redistribute it among the different factions. It’s one of our plans to unite everyone.”

“Don’t mean to worry you chief, but I think we’re being followed. He’s not even trying to pretend he’s not.”

Forcing himself to not turn around and look, Lloyd kept his eyes on the road and cursed softly. The local security was obviously keeping better tabs on him than he thought. This little unofficial ‘adventure’ was over almost before it had started.

Sighing, Lloyd watched the other car in his mirror, and saw it signal for him to pull over. Better do what they want I guess. Lloyd thought, pulling over. We can always pretend to be the lost, clueless foreigners, and they’ll just direct us back to the press offices. No harm done, they won’t think we’re out of bounds on purpose.

Getting out of the jeep, Lloyd approached the Mexican. “Can I help you? We just got here, and I’m afraid we’re a bit lost” he said, in his best innocent tourist voice. “We’re looking for the press offices, perhaps you can help us?”

The Agent nodded, speaking in regular, unaccented English. “Right, the Press Offices. Turn your car around and proceed to the Airport junction. Turn right, and it will take you onto a highway right into the city. Four exists after you enter the freeway, you’ll see a sign saying ‘Press Offices’.” Take that road, it’s the first building you’ll come upon. I don’t believe you need to be escorted there.” The agent said in a monotone voice. He already knew that he would have to keep tabs on these “tourists.”

At the rebel base…

Tlanextic walked into a tent, zipping up his armor vest. Unlike the other mud caked vests, this vest was a camouflage green color. “Is everything set in motion?” He asked.

Motlapal turned around. Behind him was a large radio, linking the camp to the other rebel factions. “Everything’s ready to begin.”

Nervous, Tlanextic said, “Right, sounds good. Let’s move out, then.”

Tlanextic walked out of the tent, still nervous. “All right, everyone, prepare for today’s operation. We move out now. Get into your assigned groups.”

The forty people who inhabited the camp soon split ways. Half of them would be staying to defend the camp while the other twenty would be joining the operation. They loaded up into jeeps and prepared for the largest action in nearly a month.

Although advised not to go, Quetzalcoatl had some sort of feeling that he had to. Although he didn’t want to get involved with this battle, something inside him told him he should. A premonition, maybe. He looked up into the sky, although not superstitious, it was common to look around for omens. Above the camp only lie a sun and some clouds. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Tlanextic walked over to the Robotistan soldiers, “We’re about to conduct an operation right now. If you wish to observe, please feel free to do so. However, if you wish to stay here, that’s acceptable as well. We’re going to go raid a convoy and redistribute it among the different factions. It’s one of our plans to unite everyone.”

OCC: Sorry for the delay.

IC:

"We might as well tag along."

The Sub-Lieutenant and three others elect to stay behind with the radio, so Jinnah is put in command of the remainder of the group of 'advisors' (really more purchasing agents for the rebels). They gather up their weapons and webbing, and hurry over to Tlanextic. The Robotic Archipelago is not exactly a tropical paradise, though, so the Commando units are rarely faced with even warm weather conditions, much less jungles. Therefore, the Commandos' performance in ANL conditions will be worth noting.

However, they are equipped with fairly capable weaponry and are armed with the lessons of Robotic involvement in jungle conflicts during the 1940s. The strange-looking, yet reliable, Owen SMGs are little changed from those used fifty years earlier, a testament to either their robustness or the RDF's cheapness. Semi-automatic jungle carbines are also carried, valued for their ability to launch rifle grenades.

http://www.iwmcollections.org.uk/commonwealth/images/k_13960_s.jpg

Robotstani Light Infantrymen in tropical uniform.

Unaware of any suspicion, Lloyd thanked the man and promptly turned the car around. However he only intended to go to the offices if the other man followed him the whole way, checking his progress. If not, then maybe there was a chance to 'get lost' again, ditch the government agent and hunt for a story amoung the Empire's ordinary citizens.

The agent walked back to his car with a certain level of calmness. He felt that he had already taken care of the situation; these reporters would probably not cause his any trouble.

He entered his car, and sat down in the seat. Preparing to move on, the radio in his car began to beep loudly. He pushed a button and activated it. Loudly, someone’s voice came over the speakers, “This is NDS Central, we have a situation, all available agents report to 115 8th Street immediately, possible rebel weapons cache located.

The agent grabbed the microphone attached to the radio, “Understood, Agent Miguel Herrera on my way now.”

In his mind, he thought, ‘That’s odd; the rebels would never store their weapons caches in an urban area.’ He turned the key and made a U-turn in the middle of the road, heading back towards the main city with great haste, leaving the two reporters behind.

-_-_-_-_-_-

Tlanextic looked over the pass. It was perfect for an attack. The road where the convoy would be traveling was in between two rock formations. In addition, it was a desolate, isolated part of the forest; the closest military support would have to be hours away, at best.

Motlapal looked around, “Alright, take your positions. Plant the bombs on the road, prime them to detonate on command.”

While several of the rebels took positions behind rocks, shrubs and other things that could hide them. Meanwhile, Quetzalcoatl and three other rebels walked onto the road. It was certainly hot and humid; however, they were in one of the deepest parts of the forest. The four “bombers” knelt down on the road, took off their backpacks, swung over their shoulder and pulled out a perfectly disguised bomb. It was painted gray, like the color of the road. It even had a yellow stripe down the middle of it to match the road. Once the 50 pound explosives were laid, the four rebels moved back behind whatever they could hide behind. Quetzalcoatl climbed up the rock formation, reaching Tlanextic and Motlapal. As soon as he got there, he laid flat, pointing the gun to the road.

“So, when is the convoy going to get here?” Asked Quetzalcoatl.

“Within the next thirty minutes.” Said Motlapal.

15 minutes passed, and off in the distance, the sounds of diesel engines reverberated through the forest and the humid heat.

Tlanextic said, “Alright, everyone, look sharp. This is a big operation.

A few minutes pass by. A small tank appears down the bend in the road. Nervous, the rebels lie, waiting for the attack to start.

Things go quietly in the tank cockpit. The suspension was shoddy has hell, as you could feel almost every single bump in the road. The driver looked ahead on the road, bored as hell.

“Why did we volunteer for this?” Asked one of the tank crewmen.

“Because we had no choice.”

“That makes sense.”

“What the hell was that?” Asked the commander, looking out the window.

“What?”

“It seemed like we just went over a package of some sort, can’t tell what it was. It was gray, so, meh, it was nothing.”

The convoy continued to move on. Behind the small tank was a troop truck, carrying about 40 troops. Behind that were three goods vans, followed by another tank.

Tlanextic pulled out a radio controller. On it was a single red button. With his thumb, he pressed down on the button.

Four loud explosions reverberated throughout the forest as a fireball rose above the rock formation. Suddenly, the rebels all jumped from their hiding places, assault rifles drawn. Already, the troops had no chance, the troop transport was in flames, and the two tanks were in ruins. The goods vans were trapped in between the wrecked troop carrier and the tanks.

Tlanextic walked up to the first truck’s driver side door. The driver had locked the door, in a vain effort to protect him and the cargo. Tlanextic got his assault rifle, activated the safety switch and slammed the rifle into the window, shattering it. Tlanextic hoisted himself to the window, holding a handgun. He pointed it at the driver’s head, and in a low, threatening voice, Tlanextic said “Get out now.”

The driver opened the door and got out of the truck, his hands in the air. Still, the rebels had their guns trained on him. Meanwhile, the rebels commandeered the other two trucks.

Motlapal looked around, “Open the back, make sure there aren’t any troops in there.”

Two of the rebels moved to the back of the truck and shot off the lock locking the two doors together. Slowly, they opened it, using the doors as cover. The rebels peered into the truck, and climbed into the back.

After a few seconds assault rifle fire sounded in the truck. Then, silence.

Nervous, Quetzalcoatl walked to the back of the truck, assault rifle drawn. Using the door as cover, he looked in. Bullets had pierced the side of the truck, and blood was splattered on the walls. It was quite a gruesome sight. He climbed in, hands shaking. He was obviously scared to what he would find. A troop lie dead, slumped on a crate. A pool of blood began to form on the truck bed. Meanwhile, he turned around, one of the Aztec rebels was on the ground. He kneeled down, turning him over. Although unconscious, the rebel was still alive, although seriously injured. Quetzalcoatl turned around, looking for the other Aztec. He found him siting behind a crate, breathing heavily. He was just as nervous as Quetzalcoatl, and just a couple of years older.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Quetzalcoatl.

“I just had to kill a man with my bare hands, that’s what’s wrong. No one should have to do that.”

Seeing the agent heading towards the city, Lloyd knew it was hopeless to try to lose him. The 2 Manhattan reporters drove back to the city, and began looking for the press offices.

Location:
Guatemala City, Guatemala
7:12 PM

Three men dressed in military uniforms walked up the stairs leading to the state capitol building. These men were the new leaders of the recently annexed Guatemala. The figure in the center was the leader of the new state, a military general. Flanking him were two captains, the second and third in commands.

They’re job was simple, act as a figure head. They had no real power in a true sense. Yes, they did have power backed through the newly written constitution, but, they were under orders to execute whatever the main government said. If someone was to be re-educated, he would be re-educated. If 100,000 people were to die, then 100,000 people were to die, no less, no more. Breaking the order of the Empire was to be signing one’s own death warrant.

Yet, following the government was to sign your own death warrant as well. If the government didn’t kill you, the people did. In away, the only officials you could feel sympathetic for was the military officers placed in command of the states. They have no option – if the government tells you to do something, you do it, even if it means an inevitable bloody death.

The three officers made their way up the stairs. Although not showing any emotion, the officers were each nervous out of their minds. Everyday, they waited for either a rebel or government agent to launch a deadly surprise from the bushes.

Three explosions sounded throughout the air, and the three officers collapse down to the ground. Across the street, a figure slings the sniper rifle across his shoulder and runs down a flight of stairs. Already, Sentinel Agents are running towards the building. The agents weren’t too concerned about the three officers, injured and bleeding. They were appointed officers; it wouldn’t be hard to replace them. Rather, they wanted to capture the sniper, not necessarily to bring him to justice, but rather for a promotion.

The young sniper, a Mayan, looked out of the building before running into the car waiting for him. He looked around, ‘no agents’, he thought. He jumped into the car and closed the door behind him. With a jolt, the car accelerated down the road.

The Mayan sniper looked around, making sure no agents were following. “Damn, that was sc…”

A fist pounded into the sniper’s jaw, quieting him. Sprawled out on the back seat, the Mayan looked up, only to see a Sentinel agent pounce on him and beat him repeatedly. The car shook with each blow.

Quietly, the car turned down a dark ally and stopped. The engine was turned off and the driver’s door was opened. Quietly, the agent that was driving the car opened the back driver’s side door and by his feet pulled the sniper out, along with his rifle. With his bare back against the rough concrete, the agent dragged him over to the corner of a building and got out a switchblade knife. Meanwhile, he handed the sniper rifle to the other agent. Some blood had gotten on him, a result from beating the Mayan sniper.

With the blade of the knife exposed, the driver of the car held the cold steel blade to the sniper’s throat. With his other hand, he grabbed the beaten and bloody face of the sniper and looked directly into his eyes.

With a deep and threatening voice, the agent said, “We’re under orders to kill you. Now, you’re going to tell us who sent you and where we can find them.”

Trying to muster up his strength, the young sniper said nothing and glared in defiance.

The agent with the sniper rifle then said, “Don’t worry, you have nothing to loose. In any case, we’re going to kill you painfully. Besides, if we can’t get you to talk, we always have your friend that was driving the car. He’s locked in the trunk right now.”

With that, the agent grabbed the barrel of the gun, and with all of his strength, swung the butt of the rifle into the sniper’s stomach.

B R E A K I N G ~ N E W S

Today, the Governor General of Guatemala, General Sylvestre Arroyo, and his two lieutenants were assassinated today by Mayan rebels. The rebels have been dealt with and are being questioned by the NDS. Unconfirmed reports say that the two were injured after eluding Sentinel Agents. A replacement government will be established within a day.

OOC: This RP has been on hold way too long. Time to start it up again!

To say the forest during the summer was uncomfortable was a serious understatement, to say in the least. However, there was revolution to fight, and the weather didn’t care what it forced the people to fight in.

Motlapal lay on his back in his tent, dreaming of air conditioning. It had been a long time since he had to leave his home. Though it was small and nothing more than an old trailer, it had air conditioning. He could’ve been helping Quetzalcoatl work on the jeep. But, there was an acronym – RHIP: Rank Has It’s Privileges.

Meanwhile, Quetzalcoatl lay on the dirt, underneath the hot chaise of an old rusty jeep. His brown arm shone with sweat and was covered in black grease. With a wrench, he loosened a bolt. Quickly, he put an old pan underneath the oil pan and moved out of the way of the old filthy oil cascade.

“Quetzal, how’s the jeep coming?” Asked Tlanextic.

Quetzalcoatl turned around. “Ah, it’s good. The oil’s is drained…You have the new filter?”

“Yeah,” said Tlanextic, “We’re lucky we could get the filter, unfortunately, we had to steal it. The cause is worth it, though.”

Quetzalcoatl grabbed the filter and went back underneath the car. The oil was done draining by now. Quickly, with another tool, he took out the old oil filter and put the new one in. It was a long time since he had seen a new filter. Many of the jeeps were using ones that were nearly ten years old.

He tightened up the oil filter and the bolt on the oil pan. He quickly refilled the oil in the engine. After replacing all the spark plugs, replacing the oil and transmission fluid, the car was finally in workable condition again. His hair, which had grown down to his shoulders by now, had a mixture of oil and dirt in it. In any case, it didn’t matter.

Before he could take a rest from the chore, Tlanextic ran out of the building. “Everyone, get your weapons!”

Quetzalcoatl turned around and ran into his tent, which he shared with Motlapal. He tripped on Motlapal’s leg, and fell down, nearly bringing down the tent. We reached into his compartment and grabbed his assault rifle and armor vest, which already had three bullets in it. Quickly, he slipped on his vest and zipped it up.

Motlapal said groggily, “What the hell was that for?”

“Damn it, Motlapal, get up, Tlanextic said everyone had to get their weapons. Now get up.”

Motlapal, still tired and almost incoherent, got up and put on his vest yawning. They both walked outside and ran to catch up with the rest of the group.

Quetzalcoatl said, “What’s going on? Where do we go?”

Tlanextic turned around and said, “We have a traitor, I found some bastard spy transmitting our location to a Sentinel outpost. Our observers report they’re already on their way. Take cover and prepare to fire.

Quickly, Quetzalcoatl runs over to a bush next to a couple of trees. It’s the perfect hiding space, easy to overlook.

Five minutes later, the camp was dead silent, and most of the vehicles hidden off in the distance. Only the sounds of tropical birds could be heard.

Suddenly, a group of jeeps and other military vehicles pull into the camp. Quickly, Sentinel agents jump out of the jeep, weapons drawn. Quickly, they began storming the tents and buildings, looking for any resistors.

The Aztecs waited in their concealed locations, waiting to open fire. After several tense moments, the Sentinels drag out an injured Aztec who was hiding in the building. On the arm he was being dragged by, blood poured out of a gunshot.

The lead Sentinel pulled a bullhorn out of his jeep. He activated and screamed out, “Come out with your hands up. We know you’re out there. Get out now or we’re going to kill this poor son of a bitch.”

However, the warriors knew what the reality was. Even if they did surrender, the injured one would be killed violently, as would all of them. It had been seen before, tragically.

Suddenly, the Sentinel propped the injured man on the hood of the jeep Quetzalcoatl had worked on. He pulled out a dagger and in a slow, drawn out motion, plunged the blade into the man’s chest and pulled it out.

Suddenly, bullets began to fly from all directions. The Aztec rebels began firing upon the Sentinels. Taking cover behind the jeep, the Sentinels returned fire.

Bullets streaked the air, piercing whatever was in their way, armor, fabric, wood, skin. Three of the Sentinels fell silently to the ground. Several of the rebels were also injured.

-Click!-

Quetzalcoatl’s rifle was out of bullets. Quickly, he lowered his rifle and reloaded. He then looked up, only to see a few feet away in front of him a group of three Sentinels shooting into a tree. A dark bloodied body fell out of it. He watched the Sentinels stalk the dying body like birds of prey over their’ suffering subject. In his heart, rage built up. With the most irreverent disrespect, they looked at the body and turned around.

Quetzalcoatl jumped up and pulled on the trigger. The young boy’s rifle pulsed with every shot, cutting down the three Sentinel Agents. Not wanting to meet the same fate as his comrade, he duct down and jumped behind a tree, barely escaping a barrage of bullets.

He looked ahead at the bush. Tlanextic looked into the scope of his rifle, shooting at whatever he could. The reality of the battle is that the rebels were loosing. While the Sentinels lost 8 agents, the rebels had lost almost 14. Quetzalcoatl looked forward and around him. The broken and injured bodies of people not much older than he was lie still, while others twitch in pain. He dived down next to Tlanextic and took aim.

“Quetzal, we have to retreat. This is just the beginning; there will be many more agents here in about fifteen minutes.”

“What about the dead?” Asked Quetzalcoatl.

With cold eyes, Tlanextic said, “They are nothing more than empty shells. We must regard them as such.”

Stunned, Quetzalcoatl said, “I’ll start getting the injured now.”

“No.” Tlanetic barked. “It’s an acceptable tactical loss. Most of these men aren’t going to live anyways…”

Without saying anything, Quetzalcoatl got from his position to being crouched down. He then moved to the closest injured person and helped him up.

In the back, he heard Tlanextic yell. “QUETZAL, GET OUT OF HERE!”

Disregarding the order, Quetzalcoatl helped three others up. Each one of them was crouched down to the ground. However, as they waked the bush that provided them with cover slowly subsided. They would be seen.

Cursing under his breath, Quetzalcoatl said, “Alright, we have to run across to the shed, some of the rebels are over there and they’ll take you to the vehicles. If they start shooting, I’ll cover you.

They three injured all nodded.

Nervously, one of them uttered “Alright, may the gods be with us.”

Quetzalcoatl looked ahead towards the large group of Sentinel Agents. Only a few were looking towards their direction. The four then moved into the open and quickly tried to cross the path.

Yet, they were easily spotted. Bullets fly towards their direction, hoping to kill. One of the injured men fall as he’s shot in the leg. Quetzalcoatl felt a sharp, painful sting in his side…like the first time he was shot. However, the pain couldn’t control him. After all, the vest would protect him. Quetzalcoatl took cover behind an old, empty water tank and began firing.

Tlanextic looked over from his position and saw Quetzalcoatl fighting. Angrily, he knew the battle was over. While Quetzalcoatl distracted the Agents, he got up and ran towards the edge of the bush. Although quickly spotted, he was able to make it across much more quickly than the injured people. He snuck behind Quetzalcoatl and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards the shed.

Without a word, they move towards an open field and run down a hill. On the other side of the hill, a jeep was there, waiting for the last two to be transported.

Tlanextic pushed Quetzalcoatl into the side of the jeep and put his hand around Quetzalcoatl’s throat. “Damn it, if you disobey me one more time, I swear I will tear your heart out.”

Without saying anything, Quetzalcoatl grabbed Tlanextic’s arm and pushed it away. Clearly, there was tension between the two. They both jump into the jeep and with great haste, the jeep, accompanied by two other jeeps move into the forest.

Quetzalcoatl looked back towards the abandoned camp, thinking of all those dead people. Angry, uncomfortable and hot, he grabs the zipper of his jacket, pulls it down and slips off the jacket. The humidity and heat clung onto you in the jungle, and fighting made it all the worse. Quetzalcoatl looked down towards his side. On his side was a large bruise, turning purple against his brown skin. He again looked back, angry. “Is this the price of freedom and happiness – pain and blood? He looked over his vest, counting the bullets in it. There were four now. He then looked up at the setting sun. Part of him rejoiced at being alive, being spared of a painful death. Part of him longed for death to come, as it seemed as one day, the armor vest he wore wouldn’t protect him.

It would seem as the jeeps would never stop. Only the hum of the engine was heard over the occasional squawk of the jungle birds and crickets. None of the brooding Aztecs had a word to say. The only thing that weighed heavier on their shoulders than the humidity was the spectre of dishonor. The dishonor of loosing a battle, the dishonor of loosing their own game…

They had finally arrived at the Mayan camp, there to hide in refuge. To the Aztecs, to die in battle was a glory unlike any other. However, to come out of a battle bloodied, beaten and defeated was worse than damnation.

The jeep stopped with squealing brakes. There was no joy in life at the moment. Quietly, the beaten Aztecs disembarked off the jeep and headed to the center of the camp. Meanwhile, Tlanextic, Motlapal and Quetzalcoatl went to meet the leaders of the Mayans.

Tlanextic went up to the leader and asked only one question, “How long?”

In a cold voice, the Mayan said, “You can only stay here for two days, we don’t have the supplies to sustain you.”

“What about the supplies from the convoy raid?” Asked Tlanextic, in a pleading yet furious voice, “We rescued your sorry…”

Motlapal stepped in, “Look, we’ve contributed so much to the campaign, there has to be a way for us stay.”

Again, in a cold voice, the Mayan said, “I’m sorry, we can’t.”

It was no use. The trio rejoined their beaten brothers.

Tlanextic looked at them all and said, “Look, we’ve fought hard, we’ve fought honorably. We’ll get back up again. We’ll make it for sure…”

The small Zodiac craft moved towards the empty beachhead, onboard a single four man team. Led by Lt Richards the special operatives were entering a forgein country with no knowledge of what to expect. As the soldiers left the raft they gave up all signs of identification. Lt Richards movehis men up to the treeline, the briefing began.

"We are here not to fight or aid any sides. We are here as witnesses. Mkuzy has interests in this area and wishes to open up official diplomatic relations with whoever wins this god forsaken mess. We will attempt to contact our agents of the Office of Foreign Assessment. We will report troop numbers back home and any other incidents." Lt wipes the sweat from his darkened face." We will not engage unless our cover is under attack. We are the best of the best, make sure Mkuzy remembers that. Strength through courage."

The men in unison say "Strength through courage". Lt Richards and his men cock their Aug Steyrs and move into the jungle, the darkness envoloping them.

“Today, the Governor General of Guatemala, General Sylvestre Arroyo, and his two lieutenants were assassinated today by Mayan rebels. The rebels have been dealt with and are being questioned by the NDS. Unconfirmed reports say that the two were injured after eluding Sentinel Agents. A replacement government will be established within a day.”

The bulletin came over the car’s radio as the Manhattan news team drove back into town. Lloyd cursed his luck that such a big news item was unfolding, in a completely different city. The situation in the Empire seemed to be falling apart rapidly…

OOC: Feel free to bring us in in a more active way when you need to.

OOC: MP, how bout you run into my rebels on the road following this post?

All was quiet on the camp, and the tension in the air was almost as thick as the leaves and vines in the trees. Obviously, no one was looking forward to this day, the day the other group would be evicted. It was a sad state of affairs, the Aztecs had been instrumental in this conflict, this struggle. They fought like no other group in the revolution, and yet, because of this one defeat, they were down and out, and their allies couldn’t keep them afloat.

Queztalcoatl climbed back to his seat in the jeep. The feeling was bearing down on him, the dishonor of defeat, the feeling of helplessness, what was there to live for? Some would feel they would be better killing themselves. But, the revolution would live on, this was just a set back. Maybe the revolution wasn’t supposed to end, it was just to be something to live for, something to fight for, something to die for. Maybe, it was a way to get the populace to stay passionate and do something. Maybe, unlike those who kill themselves, Quetzalcoatl had something to live for, something to die for, the fight, the struggle.

“Alright, everyone, we’re ready to move out.” Tlanextic said in a depressed voice.

And suddenly, the philosophy, the thoughts about life were let go, and grim reality set in. Quetzalcoatl braced himself for the jolt of the jeep accelerating. As the jeep moved on from the camp, Quetzalcoatl looked back, trying to think the most of the situation.

“So, where are we going?” Asked Quetzalcoatl

Coldly, Tlanextic said “We’ve found a place not far from your hometown, out in the wilderness. We’ll probably be in better condition there, once we get more established. We’re a lot close to the industrial center, have access to the disgruntled and the poor.”

Quickly, the jeep turned onto a small road where they thought no one would be traveling on.

Lt richards set up his radio for the 5 minute window. After almost a minute incame the orders, the squad was to move inland. Lt Richards calls in the men "Yesterday there was a large ambush by the rebels, HQ wants to us to go and see the aftermath. We have been warned that we might run into contact in the open."

"Jesus Christ" says one of the troops "We are soldiers not fucking morticians."

The rest of the team smiles and as they start gathering their gear another soldier pipes up "Who knows you might get lucky and be popped off by a rebel" Everyone bursts into laughter. The soldiers slip the safety off their weapons and move off into the barely lit jungle

The jeep’s rear-view mirror showed yet another vehicle tailing the Manhattan team. Obviously they don’t trust us Lloyd felt, and was suddenly filled with a sharp irritation. Was he to be hounded every single moment in this country? How could he report with the government breathing down his back every second, inspecting his reports for content they did not like?

On a sudden impulse, Lloyd stopped the jeep, blocking the path of the other jeep. His cameraman laid a strong hand on his shoulder, and shook his head, a silent warning. The impulsive reporter paid him no heed, and got out and shouted to the Mexicans in the other vehicle.

“Are you government types going to follow us the entire way? What ever happened to freedom of the press anyway?”

Over the course of the battle with the Sentinel agents, seven of the ten Robotic advisers are killed. The rest, separated from the Aztec rebels as they make their escape, fight on until their ammunition runs out and they are surrounded.

Eventually, quite to their displeasure, they are captured. The sight of a group of mongolian faces in the middle of the Mexican rainforest could not possibly escape the notice of a trained and sharp-witted Sentinel operative. Badly wounded, the three survivors cannot hope to protect themselves from being captured.

However, off the coast, a very large Robotic battlegroup arrives just outside Mexican territorial waters, showing no sign of stopping. The carriers Hermes and Invincible launch a grand total of 60 Sea Harriers as no fewer than 20 frigates, 8 destroyers, 3 cruisers, 2 carriers and 2 amphibious assault ships prepare to rather rudely violate the border. With anti-ship missiles, SAMs, navalized rocket artillery, and no short supply of guns, along with a sizeable air compliment, the Robotic squadron should be able to strike quite deep into government territory. And with a large compliment of marines aboard, the squadron is quite ready to seize a coastal town, should proper provocation arise.

bump

OOC: Sorry bout that, been really busy…

IC:
Tlanextic looked towards the obviously furious reporter and said, “Do we look like government agents? Look at us, look at the jeep!”

The group looked towards reporter. They were curious to why the reporter was so angry…They were curious to why he thought the were government agents.

Tlanextic said, “Well, freedom of the press is an odd thing here. So as long as you write about what the government wants you to write about, you can say whatever you want. As for us, well, you could say we aren’t the government, nor are we friends with them.”

-_-_-_-_-_-

In Mexico City

Miguel Herrera walked slowly into an office, a collection of files in his hand. A general sat quietly in his chair, reading a book. From somewhere, a classical piece of music played vibrantly, the piano jumping around wildly with the clarinet and percussion instruments in a sort of 1910’s jazzy ragtime song.

“What is it Herrera?” Asked the general, who never took eyes off his book.

“We have reports of a large fleet assembling off our coast. They appear to be hostile, sir.”

“Well, are they in violation of our waters?” The General inquired.

“They’re close, and it appears that they on coarse to do so.” Said Miguel.

“Well, send a warning to them, tell them to stay clear from our coast, and we won’t fire.”

Miguel was obviously not pleased with that directive. “Sir, with most of our fleet in the north, it will take a while for them to…”

“We won’t have a problem, if they know what’s good for them…Who are they anyways?”

“We have no clue, our isolationist policy has prevented us from learning about foreign technology, ships, even governments.”

The mood of the musical piece changed completely, now sounding like a true classical piece, the dramatic piano and violin notes touched Miguel. “What are you listening to?”

“Rhapsody in Blue.” Responded the general.

“It’s beautiful.” Miguel said, expressing how he felt about the song. He stood there for a couple of seconds, listening to the now almost frantic piano notes, being played at an ever faster pace.

“Is that all?” Asked the General.

“Yes, sir.” Miguel turned around and walked towards the door, just as the song was picking up pace, reaching its end and finale.

Before he left, the general said, “I’ll send a note to the other generals to coordinate defenses.” He paused for a second. “I’m glad to see someone else out there likes George Gershwin.”

“Yes, it’s impressive, General Hernandez.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

ATTN FOREIGN FLEET:

WE HAVE DETECTED THAT YOU ARE IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO OUR WATERS. AVOID ENTERING OUR WATERS OR CONDUCTING HOSTILE ACTIONS NEAR THEM. A VIOLATION OF OUR WATERS WILL BE CONSIDERED AN ACT OF WAR.

-The Mexican Union

'Shit another swarm of jets flew overhead chief.' yells out one of the soldiers

"Bravo this is Stallion we have large military movements, wish to disnegage from current objective and have transport dropped in so we can get up North and see what is happening with the military movements, over."

Richards is greeted with static.

"Um Lt come check this out" says the pointman over the radio. As Richards slides down to the tree line where the pointman is hiding an erie silence is occassionly broken with a soft rumble. The pointman points out to a road. Lt Richards views the scene through his binoculars. There isnt just a single mechanized infantry squad. Richards does a sweep of the valley and counts almost 12 armoured vehicles rumbling around. Richards swears when he zooms in even closer and sees the infantry resting on top of the carriers. Over the teams radio he informs the squad of the Mexican presence and size. "What do we do?" asks the point. Richards laughs and says "Look Commander wants us to start to look at airdrop zones and to possiblely to go in undercover. We are ment to travel to the out skirts of Mexico City, don civilian clothes and go to work for the Office for Forgein Assessment. Now it looks like times have changed and we have to change with them. Now keep guard or when we get back I'll have u thrown in a cell for sleeping while on guard." This get a chuckle out of the pointman.

Lt Richards returns to the radio set and over the intercom comes "Hey Richie your one lucky S.O.B..."

On the bridge of HMRS Hermes, in the Golfo de Tehuantepe, Admiral Hassem Al-Ahzad surveys the thin ribbon of Mexican coastline through a pair of high-powered binoculars.

"We've been hailed, sah! Mexican government says we must turn back, sah."
"Very well, leftenant. Signal all ships; tell them to continue on to the objective."
"Aye, sah!"

A message is quickly written up and sent back to the Mexican government:

"Per order of the Robotstani Democratic Republic, all Mexican military units must deactivate immediately. The RDR is prepared to violate your borders in order to oust the Mexican government and replace it with democratic institutions."

On the decks of the Hermes and Invincible, Sea Harriers take off and form up. Several squadrons armed with Derby and Python 5 missiles act as fighter cover, while several more armed with a mixture of anti-radar missiles, folding-fin rockets, and unguided bombs prepare to attack Mexican airbases.

The strike group takes off in quick succession and soon crosses the coastline, ready to do its part in the fight against fascism.

At the same time, marines assemble on the flight decks of the amphibious warfare ships Ocean and Bulwark. Waiting for the combined 1,600 marines are a grand total of 24 Merlin HC.3 transport helicopters, fearsomely painted with shark mouths. Brandishing L1A1s, Brens, Sterlings, and a wide range of light mortars and anti-armor weapons, 25 marines (a platoon's worth) get on each helicopter and before long the first 1200 are airborne.

Ahead of the main heliborne landing force, a squadron of Lynxes and another squadron of Gazelles, both armed with Brimstone anti-armor missiles, look for potential targets as the first few sections of Pathfinders are helicoptered into the landing zones.

Out at sea, the frigates and destroyers launch their own Lynxes, these armed with homing torpedos and Sea Skua ASMs, as they prepare to land their own compliments of marines in order to secure port facilities. Guns and NAVLAR launchers are turned landward in case of any opposition to the landings.

This was against Lloyd’s very nature – “What’s the point bothering to tell people what’s going on, if it has to be censored anyway? May as well be ignorant of world events, since they’re very little truth in any ‘government authorised’ news I’ve seen”

Hearing that these men were not more Sentinel Agents on his tail calmed the Manhattan reporter. These men also seemed to be opposed to the government, maybe even in active rebellion to it. This was proof that things weren’t as rosy in Mexico as the reports flowing out of it would seem.

Curious about the governmental opponents, Lloyd introduced himself and his cameraman as a Manhattan Prime news team, arrived in the country to report back. He offered his hand to the lead Mexican.

bump

“The news,” said Motlapal, “they just report on things to keep people scared. It’s almost a given, after an assassination or rebellion or even a protest, something bad is going to happen. It keeps the people afraid to speak up, or doing anything for that matter. The only reason why we aren’t dead is because we’ve been able to hide.

Albeit skeptical and cautious, Tlanextic shook Lloyd’s hand. It was a rarity, a rebel being able to shake another person’s hand in peace.”

Quetzalcoatl built up enough courage to ask the Manhattan reporters, “So, why are you here anyways? Did you come by invitation of the government or on your own accord?”

-_-_-_-_-_-

Agent Miguel Herrera ran into the office of the General,

“Sir, we’re under attack!”

The general looked up from his report, and by now, the music had stopped playing. “What are they sending?”

“Missiles and aircraft squadrons, mostly. But it seems that they’ll try to land troops in.” Said Miguel Herrera.

“Understood, we’ll have to fight them then. Too bad we don’t have any WMDs that would end the situation quite quickly.” Said the General.

“What about Project Omega?” Asked Herrera.

“How the hell do you know about Project Omega?”

“I’m an intelligence agent; I need to know these things.”

The General looked blankly at Herrera, “The Omega Project isn’t ready, and won’t be for a year at the most.”

Pretending to be satisfied with the answer, Miguel Herrera then stepped out of the General’s office. The truth was that the Omega Project did exist and was fully functioning. However, he knew the government; they would use it on their own subjects than face an international barrage of weapons.

=G E N E R A L ~ O R D E R 91606=

All available combat ready vessels are to move to the following coordinates off of our south eastern coast. All SAM site be ready to fire and fire on any hostile target. Land defenses are to be mobilized immediately and deployed to the South Eastern Coast to defend the Empire.

Prepare for incursions…

-EXECUTE IMMEDIATELY-

John sat opposite Richards. The makeshift meal of bacon and eggs was standing before him. Richards wolfed his down as if he had wandered the planet for 100 years with no scrap of food to eat. 'We want you to check out this installation. Your troops have been pulled out of the field. You are now an offical agent of O.F.A. I assume there is no resistance to this move?' Richard grins and says 'I wonder when you guys would show your face. okay what do I need to do.'

John pulls out a map and shows it to Richard. 'You are to go in undercover to this Mexican airbase, it appears our friends might have an ace up there sleeve. They captured an agent attmepting to contact forgein military presence. He may have been attmepting to defect to the Mexicans we do not know. You are to go in and either bring him out or kill him if deemed necessary. Your equipment is delta romeo charlie one four six. We have a camp there tell the men there your idenification number and they will set you up with what ever you need.'

----------

As Richards left the camp with his foreign uniform and pistol, he saw the world through different eyes. He knew now that his country relied on him more heavily and that he now was making history not just reading it.

“We were invited, to cover political and social events in Mexico for Manhattan One. The station has also heard reports that things weren’t quite as rosy as the government made out to outsiders, and we were supposed to investigate that if we could. Looks like you guys are the proof of that. Maybe you’d be interested in doing an interview sometime, let the whole world know what’s happening here?”

Lloyd continued, “The radio said this puppet ruler got killed in Guatemala earlier. Was that, err, your doing? You’re the Mayan rebels?”

Talking especially to the 15 year old <OOC: IIRC> Quetzalcoatl, he added, “No offence or anything, but you look very young”

OOC: Mkuzy, I like where this is going, and it seems like a good way to give you a larger role in the RP. I just have one question – is the foreign agent you referred to LRR’s agents?

MP, what’s IIRC?

IC:

“It’s true,” Tlanextic sighed, “Things are a bit unstable here. The only reason why the government hasn’t been toppled is because they have larger numbers, better supplies and the system on their side.”

Once the assassination was mentioned, truth was the best policy. “The Mayans are our allies. Indirectly, we were involved, namely, smuggling weapons, but, we didn’t commit the act.

Tlanextic went on to explain the three different rebel factions – themselves (the Aztecs), the Mayans, and the Meztizos and the fragile friendship between them. The only reason why the three groups weren’t fighting each other was because of the common cause of revolution, but even then, they had major disagreements.

“An interview?” Asked Motlapal, “Well, we just lost our base about seventy miles from here, but we were on the way of establishing a new one…But, exposure to the world sounds good.”

But, the focus shifted from the civil war to Quetzalcoatl briefly. “Yes, I’m young, 15. The Sentinel Agents were raiding my neighborhood, arresting people. They tried to arrest me, but I was able to escape, although grazed by a bullet. Hell, I haven’t been home in months, not even sure if I still have a family back at home.”

~=~=~=~=~=~

All over the southern coast of Mexico, DEM-150 cruise missiles (OOC: Specs are in my fact book on page two, in the military weapons thread under the aircraft section) launched into the air, moving to intercept the incoming missiles and aircraft. Although they were set to destroy the incoming missiles, the ones aimed at aircrafts were set to proximity detonation – they weren’t supposed to destroy the aircraft; a potshot, if you will.

Meanwhile, about 72 miles north of the Robotistan fleet, deep in the underwater depths, 15 Los Angeles Class Submarines move at ½ speed towards their destination. Although a rather large for a single fleet, this battle group represented the bulk of the Mexican submarine fleet on both coasts. Above the subs, a group of 10 DD-60 destroyers and 8 CA-90 cruisers moved quickly, guarding the Pacific Mexican Fleet’s sole aircraft carrier. Although unimpressive in size, the ship’s fire power was quite formidable.

(OOC: I’ll post specs for the above ships tomorrow, probably after I get back from the University, around 10:30 AM, Pacific coast time.)

As marines hop off their helicopters and march inland to predesignated marshalling points, the Robotic task group swings into action. Almost immediately, (I assume the Mexican ships are 72 miles away as well) Moskit anti-ship missiles are fired against the hostile Mexican vessels (a grand total of around 112 missiles), and the fleet forms into battle order.

Powerful shipboard radars detect the DEM-150 missiles, as do the handful of AEW Sea Kings airborne at the time. The Harrier squadrons are alerted by air controllers and several break off, headed back to the task group in order to provide air defense. Fortunately, being both faster and more manouverable than the Mexican cruise missiles, they are not terribly worrisome and the bulk of the Harriers continue to provide CAP over the landing area.

ASW patrols are stepped up, and the group manouvers frantically while designating targets and preparing another volley of anti-ship missiles.

Richards waves the pass at the guards at the front. After making his way to the large concrete bunker. Richards finds an empty room and screws the silencer onto his pistol. Just as the silencer falls into place the doorknob turns. Richards gently puts the clip back in and cocks the gun as softly as possible. In stumbles two drunken Mexican soldiers, swing a bottle of tequila between them. Richards breaths out as he rises the pistol to eye level. The two Mexicans spread themselves out over the two beds in the room with out even noticing him. Richards slowly moves towards the door trying not to attract the Mexicans. As he slowly turns the door handle there is a loud click as the bolt unlocks the door. Both Mexicans turn around. Richards fires the pistol point blank and manages to kill the first Mexican. The second Mexican instinctively goes for the assault rifle lying on the ground next to him. Richards moves just quick enough to knock the assault rifle out of range. The drunken Mexican falls to the ground in crumbled heap. Richards fires the gun at the back of the Mexicans' head. Bullet rips through the air and hits the soldier at the top of his spine. The Mexican is unable to move but can still see and sense what is happening. The air slowly leaving him through the hole in his neck softly whistles and as he starts to fade out he sees his victor walk out of the room.

Richards now moves with more stealth. He puts his gun back in the holster after removing the silencer. He moves down the hall and goes down a flight of stairs. He enters a long hall either side has a small room sealed off by a collection of parallel steel bars. As he makes his way along he notices that the prisoners have no Mexican or Central American features. He stops at cell 12. Inside is a 6ft Arian. He is battered and bruised. Richards says "Sgt Mike?" the head barely nods. "Today’s your lucky day. I’m here to free you." Mike lifts his head and says “You’re kidding. The keys are at the end of the hall in the office." Richards runs down the hall to the office. Mike yells out “All the prisoners here were captured with me. There from the Robotstani Democratic Republic. We were having a meeting discussing their actions and what would happen if our forces bumped into one another. If I'm going we are going to have to bring these guys with us." Richards sees the keys shining off the wall. He grabs them and looks around the office. On the wall there is a map. Richards looks at it, finds what he wants and runs back out. He then goes from cell to cell unlocking the doors. As he unlocks the last one he yells out "Above us there are a heap of rooms for the soldiers. You are to go into each room and get changed. Then at the end of the hall there is an armory, go get a rifle each. We are going to bluff our way out." They make there way up the stairwell. As they run along the hall each room has two men enter. There is the occasional sound of a yelp of surprise but this is soon greeted by a heavy thump. Richards stands at the stairwell pistol ready. Soon he has 12 armed 'Mexican' soldiers in front of him. "Okay when we get to the top move in a straight line following me into the garage in 10 minutes this charge is going to go off at which stage we will casually hop into a truck and go through the gate." Richards lays down the charge he brought with him and attaches the timer. After setting the timer he orders the troops to head for the exit. The agents make their way to the garage in a nice line Richards leading the way. They reach the garage and hit their first obstacle, no trucks, only a couple of jeeps. Richards’s whispers "four men per jeep, keys are coming." the message is passed down the line. The last man shoulders his gun, and soon the rest follow. Richards goes into the office and orders the mechanic to get the keys. When the mechanic attempts to stop him, Richards laughs and gives a pile of political rubbish and threatens the mechanic with court marshal for disobeying orders. The mechanic very uneasily hands over the keys.

As Richards leaves the office he sees the troops already piled into the car he hands out the keys and hops into the back of the first as they make their way out of the garage the sachet charge explodes. A fireball rushes out the door like water from a breached dam. All the drivers slam the acceleration down and fly through the gates. As they leave a soldier opens up and two agents in the back car are killed before they can return fire a third one is slightly injured but manages to return the favor to the guard. Richards tell the driver where to go and as he relaxes down into his seat a soldier pipes up from the back "I didn’t see any men coming." Richards Puzzled asks "What do you mean?" The soldier replies "You said Keys are in the jeep, four men are coming" Richards smiles and thinks, Chinese bloody whispers.

OOC:

IIRC = If I Remember/Recall Correctly. I wasn’t sure about Quetzalcoatl’s age.

IC:

That’s too bad Lloyd thought sympathetically, no-one should have to deal with that so young. Outwardly, he said nothing, knowing nothing he said would make the young rebel feel any better.

Will, the Manhattanite cameraman broke the solemn silence, “Sentinels… they must have been the guys following us for a while back there. They’ve definitely got us under surveillance”

The interview would have to wait.

“We’d like to come with you with a while, if you’ll have us. We may not be not soldiers, but we’ve been in a war zone before – we can keep ourselves out of trouble and won’t need babysitting.

That way we can cover your struggle, show the actions of the government for what they are. Manhattan Prime has been a democracy for as long as I can remember, we value science, democracy and peace above all else, so we’re used to a very open and libertarian society. Manhattanites hate repressive regimes, no way am I going to support a dictator. We’d like to help, in any small way we can.”

We know you’ve got to worry about security, but put it this way – your government already has its eye on us. They know we were roaming out of bounds for media crews, and they may know we encountered Aztec rebels. We’re suspect and can’t go back to the capital now, we don’t want to be a burden but I think we’d be safest and of more use with you.”

They may even be watching us now, and so we’d better watch ourselves if you want to go back to your hideout.”

OOC: So, will you have us, if only on a probation period? Feel free to offer any comments on my Rping, I’m a bit new to this.

I have MSN messenger if you wanted to discuss the RP in further detail there – I can TG you my address.

bump

bump

Richards gets out of the vehicle. He orders everyone to get out. He yells out “Who here is most senior in command?”. A soldier pipes up “I was in charge of the op so I guess it’s me.” Richard pulls him aside” okay we are going to contact your military and request an evac.” Richards pulls out a map “The best LZ would be at this location. Do you think we could contact your military using one of the radios in the jeep?” he smiles and says “I was a radio operator when I initially signed up I don’t think it would be that hard.” Richards orders the troops to stay near their vehicles. The soldier jumps into the lead vehicle and after a couple of minutes raises a HQ. “This is…..

bump ANL

OOC: I’m so sorry I haven’t been on at all. However, college has completely consumed my life and I haven’t had the time to respond.

IC:

“Well, we don’t have anything to loose, yeah, you can stay with us.” Tlanextic said. “It may help us out in the end, anyways. You can follow us there, since you already have a car, and well, we don’t have much space. We’re heading outside Cotazacoalcos, a fairly large town in the southern part of the nation.”


~=~=~=~=~

“INCOMMING! ANTI-MISSILE DEFENSES ARMED!” Yelled out a yoman in the bridge of the lead Mexican ship.

As the missiles approached the fleet of ships, the boom of defensive arterilery and missile launches filled the air. Quickly, the ships’ defensive armament headed towards the incoming volley of weapons. Despite the use of anti-missile defensives, some of the incoming weapons did hit the fleet, knocking out 3 destroyers and damaging a cruiser.

The ships towards the aft of the fleet, mostly unscathed, launched 425 DEM-150 missiles, their targets - the invading Robotistan fleet. Although slow and ancient by most standards, they were still extremely powerful.

Meanwhile, twenty-six thousand troops began a frantic trip down to ground zero of the invasion. This had been the greatest threat to the nation since the nationalist uprising in the mid 1920’s. Hundreds of trucks, almost forty T-80 tanks and 20 T-90s rumbled their way to the soon to be battlefield. The soldiers waited nervously – they weren’t attacking protestors or even rebels, but an actual foreign army.

=~=~=~=

OOC: Normally, Mkuzy, you aren’t supposed to RP as another player, but since I don’t really care if this government gets trashed, I’ll let it go this one time.

IC:

Over the intercom, a voice peeps up, ““This is Julio Rameriez, requesting an evacuation.”

The radio operator goes to pick it up, however, before he can, a gun clicks behind his neck and a deep voice says, “Say what I tell you to say, we have an emergency on our hands. Order a helicopter to intercept them.”

The radio operator grabbed the microphone and said “Evac authorized.”

Meanwhile, at a nearby airbase, an attack helicopter’s rotors began spinning up loudly. It then went off to the “evacuation stage.”

OOC: Oh sorry i didnt know that actually this is the first RP ive been in.

'O.K form up.' yells Richards 'We are going to move on foot to the evac zone. get all necessary supplies and lets shake a leg.' The soldiers grab everything they can and follow Richards up the mountain. They reach the LZ just as the sun started to flicker on the horizon. 'Okay boys now lets wait for your ride home.' Richards moves over to his fellow liberated Mkuzian. 'Look we are going to have to wait till we can get out. but i promise you a cold beer on the way back.' He chuckles and says 'Yeah as long as you dont leave before me.'

Richards moves away from the group and pulls out a satellite phone. After hitting the right keys and dialling he reaches the local base. " This is pheonix requesting red dog.' After a few seconds of static the reply comes
"This is red dog."
"The postman is on his way"
"Where is the post going"
"The post requires a civilian pickup at delta charlie romeo kilo one six nine four"
"Roger civilian pickup at 0600hrs"
Richards heads back to the group with a sigh of relief, its almost over

OOC: No problem, people understandably take great offense to it, so it’s something to watch out for, especially since it’s easy and tempting to do.

IC:

A group of twelve men sat inside a brightly lit marble hall, dressed in suits adorned with national flag pins. The group, a collection of old lawyers, generals and business leaders waited in silence, hoping the tense moment would end soon. Although the media was reassuring the people that “life would go on” and “the Empire would be victorious”, this was the gravest threat to the Empire since it was founded in 1926. Foreign invasions, foreign spies, jail breaks and the ever present rebel uprisings seemed overwhelming. Although they could not believe that the Empire; their Empire could fall, some suspected that the fall was only a small ways away.

Another general walked into the room, looking around at the tall and stoic walls. He was younger than the rest and new to the council. The others looked at him, and the eldest of the group said quietly, “General Sergio Lazcano, good to see you made it.”

General Sergio Lazcano was the new leader for the Guatemalan territories of the Empire, replacing the former, recently assassinated leader. “Yes, glad I could make it.” He was lying; he hated the council, the leaders and the empire. “Has the Emperor arrived?”

The eldest, who was the leader of the council, said “No, please take your seat.”

There was no challenging the leader of the council or the emperor. If you were a peon or commoner, you would be tortured or executed. If you were useful to them, you would be overruled. Although he was known as the Great Dissenter, all of his protests were futile in nature.”

General Lazcano took his seat on the council. It was quiet, very quiet. No one dare spoke, as if it were a cultural norm. Boredom quickly set in, and General Lazcano began searching through his papers, reading false statistics from the government regarding his squallier filled land – manipulated so he would do as they wanted him to do.

Suddenly, the door opens and a middle aged man walks into the chamber, a cold expression on his face. Wearing a long black trench coat, dress shirt and slacks, very few people would have suspected he was the emperor. The council members saw him and stood up immediately, both out of fear and respect.

“Alright, let’s get to business.” Said the Emperor. “We are under attack; that is clear. However, we know that the terrorists in our nation is going to capitalize on this. I motion to the council to immediately implement complete marshal law.”

General Lazcano was taken back. ‘Complete marshal law?’ Lazcano thought. That would mean all people would be virtual prisoners of their houses. They would only be allowed to leave and come back for work. More so, those who did work would have to work nearly 18 hours a day without break. It was inhumane and wrong, but that was almost daily life in the Empire in any case.

“Are there any objections?” Asked the Emperor.

Knowing his life wasn’t in danger, General Lazcano decided to object. Although he knew it was useless, he might as well state his protest. Quietly, he raised his hand, ready to pull it back down for the coming overruling.

“OVERRULED!” Huffed out the leader of the council. “Overruled under special circumstances. General Lazcano’s objection is invalidated.”

“May I ask why?” Asked Lazcano, curious to what worthless reason the leader of the council had now.

“Because it’s a time of war, and in a time of war, unity and security should become first before your partisan politics.”

Finally something half rational. Usually, the response was “It rained on Tuesday (which it usually did not), the floor was dirty (which it usually is spotless), or for “classified reasons.”

“Well, then complete marshal law is too implemented immediately.” Said the Emperor. “Let it be known that your consent was unanimous.” He said this last sentence while looking directly at General Lazcano.

-_-_-_-_-_-

On radios across the country, a stern voice came on the radio. In the cars and in the houses, in the cities and the pueblos, the new came loud and clear…

“Complete Marshal Law is declared effectively at 2:45 PM on July 3, 1994. All people must clear the streets immediately to your workplaces or homes. Transportation between home and work will be controlled by the government. Any vehicles found traveling the roads during will be destroyed – any pedestrians found walking the streets regardless of age will be killed on the spot or detained and promptly executed.”

The Mexican missiles are met with a barrage of surface-to-air missiles once they are within Sea Dart range, and several are taken down that way. Almost every vessel begins to manouver erratically, launching SAMs and chaff rockets as CIWS guns are brought on-line.

While SAMs, 35mm guns, and heavy ECM account for the destruction of many of the Mexican ASMs, many still find their targets amongst the ships of the Robotic battlegroup. One Type 42 destroyer is hit twice and splits in half, and another four Type 12 frigates are all put out of action. A replenishment ship takes four missiles and explodes in a massive fireball, taking with it much-needed fuel and ammunition and forcing Robotic commanders to begin thinking about evacuating the marine contingent.

Many other ships suffer various degrees of damage from near misses, and another five vessels are given permission to make for the nearest friendly port. But the most powerful vessels in the battlegroup are still in good condition, and another volley of anti-ship missiles is prepared while the last company of marines, an anti-tank company, is helicoptered out.


The marines, meanwhile, move inland and establish a defensive perimeter around their beachhead. Gazelle scout helicopters watch the roads while anti-tank Lynxes are armed up at foreward bases. However, if the ground contingent knew exactly what kind of odds it was up against, the defense perimeter might have been made a bit closer to the beach, and the LCUs ordered to stick around. When the first Gazelle to spot the Mexican ground contingent radios in its report, the AT-Lynxes are scrambled as some of the remaining Sea Harriers strafe the hostile troop columns.

High above the beachhead, a squadron of 12 F-16s and three B-52s soar. Although they are still out of range, they quickly begin typing in coordinates and data into their computer systems and activating anti-missile defenses.

“Sir,” said the weapons office in the lead B-52, “There’s a village close to the beachhead. Our computers can’t discriminate between the civilian population and the enemy targets.”

The pilot quietly said, “Yes, I know, my home town. I’m going to call command to abort this attempt.”

After pressing a button, the radio connects to headquarters, “This is Zorro Omega, civilian targets are in the way of the combatants, requesting orders.”

After a few moments of silence, a voice comes over the radio, “This is General Hernandez, you know your orders, complete them.”

“But sir, my hometown is down there, there…”

“If you don’t complete your orders,” yelled out the General, “I will order the destruction of your plane and crew, plus, I will declare you and any of your family as traitors of the Empire, do you want that to happen?”

“If I complete this, I won’t have any family.” Yelled back the pilot.

“Do I give a damn?” Asked the General, rhetorically, “finish this now.”

The radio clicked and fell silent.

A stream of tears fell down the pilot’s face. He knew what the right thing to do was. “Prepare to retreat and reanalyze our plan of attack.”

The other crew members looked at him, stunned. Klaxons began to ring throughout the cockpit of the aircraft.

“Sir,” yelled out the weapons officer, “we are locked onto by multiple weapons, plus, we are in firing range. I’m priming the weapons.”

“Hold your fire.” Yelled out the pilot.

“Damn it, I don’t want to die.” The weapons officer retorted.

“I don’t want to kill my family.”

Tense silence followed, only the loud klaxons dared to make noise.

“Screw it.” The weapons officer said, and pulled the lever for the bomb doors.

The pilot reached over to cancel the order by pressing a button on his control panel. The flight operations officer slapped his hand and pressed the ok button. Suddenly, the bomb doors opened, and a flurry of carpet bombs fell from the belly of the B-52s. The F-16s then dropped their payload, raining down explosives and bombshells down on the beach, the beachhead and the towns bellow.

Thanking their new allies, the Aztec Rebels, the Manhattan News team got back in their jeep and began following the other’s vehicle back toward their hideout. Assassinations were rare in Manhattan, so Lloyd turned on the jeep’s radio once more, curious for more news from Guatemala. He instead received news of a different nature:

“Complete Marshal Law is declared effectively at 2:45 PM on July 3, 1994. All people must clear the streets immediately to your workplaces or homes. Transportation between home and work will be controlled by the government. Any vehicles found traveling the roads during will be destroyed – any pedestrians found walking the streets regardless of age will be killed on the spot or detained and promptly executed.”

They can’t do this Lloyd thought, horrified. Killing innocent civilians, just for being on the streets? Even with a government paranoid that every third pedestrian was a likely rebel, such extremes were unheard of in his experience. Surely the people won’t stand for this he thought. In Manhattan, where human rights and civil liberties were fanatically guarded, such an action would be sure to lead to the overthrow of the government. But Manhattanite were perhaps a bit soft, certainly they had not endured the hardships that Mexicans dealt with everyday. Would this house arrest be just another insane rule they learnt to stomach, or would they rise up in rebellion.

He looked down at his watch; not much longer to go. There was nothing for him to do now, but enjoy the ride, and wait for the rebels to announce their next move.

B-BUMP!!!!:headbang:

bump...?

OOC: Sorry, I was gone all day, had to go to school and then went out con mi amiga, so I was exhausted by the time I got back and useless as a writer.

IC:

Tlanextic shook his head and said, “Damn, this isn’t quite the time to do this right now. We’re a bit low on supplies, but we have a job to do.” He grabbed the jeep’s radio and pressed down on a button and said to the convoy, “Alright everyone, we’re going to head to our camp and establish ourselves there. Once we’re ready, two teams will move into Cotazacoalcos to monitor the actions of the troops. If needed, we will engage them.”

The radio was then shut off. A rash of nervousness ran throughout the group, they knew what had to be done, but to say an engagement like this was an uphill battle an understatement.

After about 30 minutes of tense silence, Tlanextic said to Lloyd, “If you want, you can come with us to the city and film what you want. War journalism looks best when you’re at the battle scene.”

OCC: As LRR.

IC:

Rapier and Starstreak SAMs race skyward in an attempt to blunt the Mexican air raid, but the damage is done. The beachhead is devastated and numerous valuable landing craft are destroyed.

Aster SAMs are fired off by the battle squadron as well, hoping to down at least some of the offending Mexican planes.

"Yeah, we'll come with you" Lloyd replied. He had done a little war reporting before but was a bit nervous about going into an active warzone, especially urban warfare, which was usually hard-contested and brutal. At least, without protection that was. He made a mental note to ask Tlanextic for a flack jacket for himself and Will when they reached the camp, and maybe a handgun or two as well, just in case.

As Richards went through the house there was a heavy thud at the door. He had just left a market hearing of the new martial law and he remembers having a thinking he was being followed. Reaching behind the bed he pulled out his Colt 45. Quickly he moved to the front room and braced himself between a sofa and a table. He cocks his gun and waits....

Tlanextic nodded silently. He understood the need for having the journalists protected…after all, this was their big break, and international exposure could destroy the Union, granted the attention was positive to the rebels. Tlanextic, however, had to make a general rule regarding secrecy, “You can tell what state our base is in, but, to give its exact location might be dangerous. I ask you not to give the exact coordinates.”

The jeeps pulled into the location of the new base an hour later. Not much in the way of aesthetics, but with better foliage cover and other strategic assets such as rock formations and a river within a safe distance, it looked like this move may have been a good choice after all.

The contingency quickly pulled their equipment out of the jeeps and opened the plastic and metal crates. The tents were the first things to be set up. The old yellow and green tents were devoid of the creature comforts of modern society; however, was ample protection against the night and almost psychopathic weather. Although small and rather motley looking, the base was set up within a couple of hours.

Tlanextic then went around and selected his top operatives, including Quetzalcoatl for the upcoming situation in town. Silently, the group, about 20 in all, went into their respective tents and prepared themselves with weapons and armor.

Tlanextic walked up to Lloyd and said, “The plan is to reach the outer perimeter of the city, away from the roads where it’s relatively unguarded. From there, we’ll disperse into the city and engage hostiles if necessary. If you get separated from your group, there are enough trees and things to hide behind. We’ll give you a CB radio to keep in contact with us; here are your weapons, ammo and armor.”

Tlanextic holds out two .37 caliber revolvers, barrel pointed towards him. Unless the reporters knew much about local customs, that was a sign of trust. In addition, slung around Tlanextic’s arm were two flack jackets and a CD radio.

=~=~=~=~=~=

Three Sentinel Agents walk towards the house were Richards was hiding. Although unaware of his precence inside, they were on a mission – word was that this house was a rebel weapons cache – inside the basement. Richards would find that out soon enough, as there were maps and other things inside.

The lead agent knocked on the door loudly, hoping to attract anyone inside to the door. After a few seconds, the door remained still. Pulling back on their .37 revolvers, they took aim and opened fire – six shots from each agent, 18 bullets in all. They fell back next to the wall, quickly reloaded their guns, and then got back up to the door.

With all his strength, the lead agent kicks the door down and throws in a flash-bang grenade deep into the house. They then take cover and cover their eyes.

OOC: LRR: I’ll get to your post in a sec, gotta get to class.

Richards fell to the ground clasping his ears. his eyes and ears burned as if burning embers had been cast on them. As he hit the ground there was a barrage of fire from the door. bullets grazed his arm, richards tosses his gun under a bookshlef and as the pain envoloped him he sees the door breakdown and three armed men storm in guns drawn. As Richards vision and other senses start to fade, he dreads the worst... capture.

“DAMN IT! WHY?” The pilot screamed out. He knew that delaying the orders was going to cost him hell, but everyone he loved was down there, dead or suffering. Suddenly, more klaxons sounded in the cockpit.

The weapons officer yelled out “Incoming!”

The pilot leaned hard, pulling the rudder control of the plane to the left. With his foot, he stepped down hard on the left pedal and the plane jolted suddenly, banking sharply. The other planes followed suit, trying to avoid the incoming missiles.

However, some of the missiles would reach their targets. The missiles tracked with ease the F-16, downing 3 of them and damaging 2. Meanwhile, the lead B-52 took heavy damage to its engines and began to descend towards the combat zone.

“Damn it, there’s no way I can keep her up!” Yelled out the pilot.

“The radio officer made a desperate call out “Mayday, Mayda…”

The power on the plane failed and all fight controls died. The only bit of light came from the cockpit, where the two other B-52s flew back towards their home base, one of them also taking a bit of damage.

The plane’s nose dipped down and within 10 seconds, the plane crashed into the earth. Metal, plastic, shrapnel and bezel flew everywhere…Inside the entire crew was knocked unconscious, unaware of the brewing inferno that was developing in the back of the plane.

=~=~=~=~=

“Sir,” yelled out one of the Sentinel Agents, “We found somebody…and a lot of other things.”

The lead agent walked over, “This is odd, he’s too well armed to be a rebel. Possibly a foreign spy?”

“Anything’s possible these days.”

“Well, start clearing out the house and gather everything you can.” Ordered the lead agent. “I’m going to take this enemy combatant outside, try to find out more about him.”

The other two nodded and began going through the house. The lead agent kneeled down and trying to figure out where he had came from – ‘no, he didn’t look like a rebel, nor did he have shoddy weaponry. It was odd, where the hell did this guy come from?’ The leader thought to himself.

Suddenly, a burst of gun fire came from behind him. He looked up, four rebels hid behind the door way, shooting at the agents. Quickly, the lead agent was shot, injured in the arm and leg. The other two were also quickly defeated. However, two of the rebels were injured – one shot in the shoulder with a non-fatal wound, the other hurt critically.


As the rebels go through the house and drag out the Sentinel agents, one of the rebels comes across Richards. Standing over him, he yells out “Sir, this man, he appeared stunned…Can’t tell where he’s from.”

Richards slowly lifted his head off the floor. As he propped his back against the wall, he tried to bring his vision back and recall the last couple of minutes. As his vision came around he saw the dead agents and the rebels standing there. Freezing up he managed to ask for water. After receiving this, he looked up and asked the one who appeared to be the leader 'Ive got two questions for you, who are you and what bloody happened?'

“What happened?” Said the leader of the group, “Those bastards, the Sentinel agents came to raid our house, we were just defending ourselves.” He stood back, curious to whom this agent was. “Who are we? Well, the government here would have you believe we’re terrorists. We’re only reacting to ill treatment – revolutionaries. Now, who are you?”

'okay well maybe u can help me' Lt Richards says politely as possible 'im a reporter doing some undercover work. My name Chris Richards i work for the National Broadcasting Agency back in Mkuzy. I was attmepting to get a good scoop.' After taking a quick glimpse at his radio he continues 'But now with my radio stuffed i havent got a rats arse chance of getting a story back home.' Richards prays they wont find the pistol or tries to get more info. 'it would be worth your while if you could get me to a better location with a good radio'

The radio officer ran into the room 'General Rabbon, Sir we have a problem.' General Rabbon stopped signing the documents spread before him. 'Whats the matter son.' 'Its Agent 161 960 760'. The face flashed up in Rabbons head, 'Richards, currently serving in Mexico on Opperation Blue Serphant, just helped free a number of capture POWs, whats the matter with him?'

The officer handed over the satellite image. 'This just came in about 5 minutes after martial law was declared in Mexico.' 'Shit son that was yesterday' was the Generals reply. The image was a infra red and a bit hazy but the message was delivered. Three men had guns drawn and were firing into the room. The General asked the officer to leave.

As soon as the officer had left he picked up the phone and contact the M.S Wartorn. As soon as the phone was picked up the General said 'Initiate op 74 with protocal 23 and Agents Charlie Delta and Foxtrot
~~~
The Special Naval Service man hanged up the phone and called the briefing room. In less than an hour a zodiac was in the water with a SNS service man on board and three agents. They rode into the blood red moon on the horizon

The rebels were understandably suspicious. Although they didn’t have any reason to doubt Richards (not being media savvy, it didn’t cross their minds to ask for credentials), they didn’t have a reason to believe him.

The lead rebel said “We have a radio in the jeep, though it’s practically useless for long distance transmission. There is a large formation of our troops forming at a city not too far away from here. You can get a good scoop there, and an adequate radio.”

'Excellent' said Richards. Now what do I do he ponders these blokes saved my life i at least owe them something. Arms, aid, training, foreign recognition. Shit i guess Ill ask HQ when i raise them Richards hops into the jeep and with out a second glance yells 'Come on lets get outta here.'
~~~
The SNS troops set up a small camping area. As one of them gets up to do sentry, there is the sound of a truck coming through the under growth. All the soldiers hit the dirt. The truck pulls up less than five metres away. the soldiers all freeze except to line up the targets. When the truck pulls up. The squad leader slowly makes his way t the vehicle. After all the people on board get out the squad leader orders his men to arrest the people. After a brief scuffle 3 men are arrested. The squad leader starts questioning the men. After checking the back they find a small amount of weapons, mainly pistols. The squad leader again assess the situation. He looks at the man who appears to be the leader of the group 'How would you like to help your fellow countrymen in their struggle against this dictatorship. Ive got 100 Aug Steyrs im pretty sure your companions would like and over 5000 rounds for you to use however you like. All you have to do is help us find a man???'

As they depart from the area, a messege is heard over the radio system. The jeep's on board radio certain showed it's age, as it was static ridden and sounded as if the small, tinny speaker was barely attached to it's voice coil...

"..shhhfffshs...All units, report to Cavern ffshshssf, I repeat, all a..shshhhf"

Static ensued again, distorting whatever eas being said into unintelligible noise. One of the rebels hit the radio as if her were slapping it, in an attempt to make it work. After the second strike, it began working again...

"shhhhhh -Click- All units, rshhhf Cavern 2...attack to commence soon."

The driver of the group sighed "About damn time, Coatzacoalcos or bust. Good thing the Sentinels haven't hacked into our communication system, yet. "

=~=~=~=

The leader of the group was certainly much younger than the SNS troops. However, they happened to capture a small military convoy...part of the government. However, despite the iron hold the dictatorship had on the people, there was a mass feeling of disapproval.

Scared, wanting to live and be liberated from the government, the young officer said, "Yes, sure...Please, anything...We'll help you."

Following a section of rebel troops, the Manhattan news team made its way towards the meeting point through winding streets. Lloyd concentrated on filming the rebels themselves, the expressions on their faces. Shock, fear, determination, anger – these men were resisting a brutal government, and he wanted to present them to his audience as the sympathetic oppressed people, victims of tyranny who had decided to fight back.

Left, right, left again – the rebels led them through streets which seemed to have no end. The Aztecs’ pace was purposeful, but to the Manhattanites the streets had little to tell them apart. Keeping a generous distance from the soldiers, Lloyd continued to film, keeping up a brief running commentary for the viewers.

Suddenly they reached an intersection, and the rebels we nowhere in sight. Had they gone left or right? He could see no-one down either alleyway. Lloyd shot a look at Will, but the cameraman just shrugged helplessly.

With the rebels getting further and further away, Lloyd decided to impulsive choice a direction, and try it. Leading the way down the left hand path, Lloyd called out to the Aztec troops.

“Erm…hallo?” Lloyd called experimentally. No-one answered for several moments, then Lloyd heard the tramp of footstep coming up behind them. Whirling round he was faced with what was unmistakably a lone Sentinel agent. He felt his blood go cold, and behind him Will looked frozen with fear.

Lloyd drew his pistol, and pointed it shakily at the government agent. He had never fired a gun in combat before, and was now feeling completely out of his depth – a soldier he was not. “Hands up!” he shouted, his voice quavering slightly, “I mean it!”

OOC: If you want to fire here, why not kill the cameraman; I’d kinda slated him to die at some point anyway ;-)