NationStates Jolt Archive

Cadillac-Gage sits in the far northern hemisphere, straddling the arctic circle of NS Earth like a quiet lump of...something. Muddy and dismal during the warm months, and frozen in darkness in the cold months, a nation of contrasts hemmed in by ice, other nations, and a southern coast line that lacks a single deepwater port able to handle ships as small as 5000 tonnes...

Southern Coastal area, Phlynt Canton, near Chrysler Village...

"eighty...one hundered... okay, pull the rig, and lower the package. We've got nineteen more to go today." Edward Pol Henrik was one of dozens of crew bosses on the project. He walked back to the office-trailer, and stuck his head in.

"Doctor Heisenberg, Doctor Stahlhaver, we've got another five holes, if you have the time?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.

Doctor Heisenberg is actually Professor-Doctor Heisenberg, the pre-eminent Nuclear Physicist in a nation that has used atomic power since the Industrial Revolution's pitchblende-boiler steam engine did what Watt's coal-fired boiler did for England in the 19th century.

The Professor-Doctor nodded, and sat up, leaving his chess game unfinished.


"the fishing village was evacuated, yes?" he asked.

Henrik nodded, "Evacuated and temporarily resettled. About how long with the area be dangerous?" he asked.

Heisenberg shrugged, "A few months before it drops to the level of ordinary background, nothing to worry too much about..."

The 'Packages" were based on Edward Teller's 'classical super', too heavy to loft on missiles, the large thermonuclear bombs were ideal for this project.

If you don't have a deep, warm-water port, maybe you should make one?

In the mountains, upstream, canals and drainage systems fed into a series of reservoirs positioned to flood the valley where the men stood-a measure to both rapidly remove blast-loosened debris, and cool the area for further work, should it become necessary. (Water is a wonderful Neutron barrier, you know.)

"Everything appears to be on-schedule." Heisenberg said with a smile.

The scale of the project was huge-almost unparalelled. If it succeeded, it would match the accomplishment of the Americans digging the Panama Canal.

There was only one, small, niggling detail.

(actually, there were many, small niggling details, but only one that might prove difficult to manage...)

you can't displace that many tonnes of rock without making a bit of a mess-one that can not be entirely contained within the borders of even a very large nation, much less a smaller national entity like Cadillac-Gage.

You especially can't do that kind of dirtwork at the speed it was intended to, without triggering a bit of a... reaction.

Island nations and coastal nations along the predicted path of the tsunami could expect fairly severe damage. Naturally, it was deemed wise to ensure the shocks would harm only nations either with no interest for Cadillac Gage, or decidedly contrary interests. (i.e. no alliances and minimal trade ties.)

How does one go about digging a ten kilometer wide, two kilometer deep, trench using only nuclear explosives and water?

Well... first, you have to understand the underlying geological strata in the area. In a few hundered thousand years, the chosen region would have split into a Fjord anyway-a rift had been forming for millions of years underneath the continental rock, and from that, would come a spreading-centre as the continental plate slowly fractured. (actually, quite quickly, in geological terms, but in human terms, much too long to just wait for it...)

Second, is the nature of blasting a "crack" open. The bores for the bombs were stacked in an elongated-diamond-prism pattern. each bored out area then was seeded with several thermonuclear bombs, separated by "overburden" of varying density.

When detonated, the bombs in the "Outer shell" would create an overpressure against the blasts from the deepest charges-effectively turning continental rock into its gaseous form directly. This will do two things-first, because of the sheer number and size of the devices, it will create enormous pressures along the already-weakened crustal plate, speeding the fracture process by exponential amounts. Second, it will sublimate, then vent, millions upon millions of tonnes of rock as what amounts to subatomic particles.

Moving mountains indeed.

Heat and concussive effects will shatter what they don't immediately vapourize-the debris will, under the aegis of a timed-to-coincide airburst, be pushed back into the created fissure. This is where the water comes in.

You need to move debris, lots of it, quickly, water's great=especially water driven by the backstroke of a Tsunami.

the initial blasts will push the sea back from the detonation zones both coastal, and offshore. upon return, that's a pretty big reaction-wave.
Enough to scoop tens of thousands of tonnes of debris out into the ocean.
To keep your new channel clean, the canals and 'alternate' courses of rivers are opened up-essentially, it's a man-made estuary.

Within a few weeks or months, the man-made estuary is stabilized.

Or, rather, that's the plan. How it works out, is still up in the air.

High above, a single OVERSIGHT satellite watched - unaware of the horror it's monitors expressed at what they saw... and reported.

Mjolsk Inn, Norsk Village, Phlynt Canton, D-fourteen days and counting...

Fiedler looked at the foreigner over their morning coffee. "...and that is why I will help you in your struggle. The Canton Council, and the Federals are risking too much for this venture."

The stranger nodded, setting the coffee down on the small table the two men shared. "You are certain this is the access?" he asked.

Fiedler nodded. "Ja, I'm sure-I've driven it many times, and the site is huge, they can not be everywhere at one time, can they?"

His guest shook his head, "No, they can not. A small accident should be sufficient to delay them... You are quite right, this is a mad scheme."

"So, it comes down to - what can we do, and what will we do?"
"Honestly, sir... not much, and not much. It's their nation. We're far enough away, it won't really affect us. That they're insane enough to try is saying something."
"What options do we have?"
"Well, sir... Tudrussel can EMP the area, which would shut off any explosives there..."
"If they're not deep."
"Well, sir, the triggers have to be somewhere, and I doubt they'd be up front."
"True."
"Of course, that would also affect their power grid. When we used this a few months ago on AMF, it all but shut it down. We've improved - and Cadillac Gage is tiny in comparison."
"It's also backwards in comparison. Other options?"
"We could launch a pre-emptive strike on the sites, knock out the bombs..."
"Which would mean firing on them. Not a good option."
"No, sir. And at the moment, there aren't any HSI teams in the area, or we'd use them."
"Is there any good news to this?"
"Well... no. We've informed them of what we've seen. What they do now is up to them."

D-13 Days...

Dr. Suse Randall looked at the communique' from the Vastivan Intel man with a snarl.
"Maggie, if I could fire you and still keep Special Circumstances running, I would." she snapped, "What in fuck's sake did you think would happen, allowing them to send a Nuke-Detector over our territory?"

Magritte Holmaur shrugged, "I thought it might be useful in pinpointing where that missing core went...we just cross-ref the sat imagery with what we already have accounted for, and look for differences."

Randall steepled her fingers. "And?"

Magritte smiled, "This one. Outside Helsin, doesn't belong. I've taken the liberty of sending a unit of SC enforcers to collect it."

Dr. Randall sighed, "Okay, So now I'm not so pissed at you. You realize, we're going to have to use blatancy now... The Vastys are normal folks, they're probably evaluating this data the same way anyone else would... I'm going to have to do some massive verbal tap-dancing on the diplomatic channels when, not if, the news breaks."

Magritte cleared her throat, "I thought you were going to have to do that anyway..." she interjected.

Randall nodded, "Yes..."


To: Nasiri Yassassin, director of Internal Security, Sultanate of Vastiva
CC: Vizier Rahmiid Jahvani; BCC: Sinjin Lefkowitz Al-Din, Sultan, Vastiva

From: The Office of Dr. Suse Randall (PhD), Director of External Contacts and Affairs, Rogue Nation of Cadillac Gage.

RE: Thank you for the imagery.

Cross-referencing our own project records, we were able to locate the stolen Plutonium in the Village of Helsink, currently holding a prisoner with Vastivan Alaska I.D. Request you check your records for a "Louis Mallen" or similar name. (Img.jpg*)

I've been out of the office too long, and didn't get the invitations out of the way before my recent...unpleasantness. Being as this will kill two ptarmidgens with a single stone, I am now pleased to invite your nation to send observers to monitor what promises to be quite a show on the fifteenth.

We're going to build an inlet to facilitate sea-going trade. In order to do that, we are conducting what may be the first multiple-detonation nuclear blasting project in history- 144 Thermonuclear devices are to be fired in a staged-interval detonation, resulting, (we hope) in a six kilometer wide, two kilometer deep, channel through the rocky cliffs of our coast. Naturally, this will flood several valleys creating a series of useful channels that can be turned into portage areas.
( Geoanalys.zip)

Since this will be what amounts to a large-scale Nuclear test, and given that relations between our nations have improved significantly in the last few months, we invite you to observe this project and offer comments.

Suse Randall, Director, External Contacts and Affairs,
Rogue Nation of Cadillac-Gage

To: Suse Randall, Director, External Contacts and Affairs,
Rogue Nation of Cadillac-Gage

Madame,

If your nation is in that great a hurry to destroy itself, you certainly do not require our observation or presence to do so.

I attach our... "prediction" for your display, including the probable fall of large, unpowered masses which will likely be cast airborne by your attempt at nautical humor. I will note none of those large bodies are likely to fall in the Antarctic region, nor achieve an orbital velocity sufficient to prove harmful to our Tudrussel platform nor any of our satellites.

If you will note on page ninety-seven of the attachments, our analysts are not quite certain your geological foundation will be able to withstand sufficient amounts of the 1,440,000 megatons of concussive force you have stated you are going to detonate.

I will not mention page sixty-eight, which notes the explosion you are creating will cause complete destruction for nearly 777.9 kilometers, have a thermal concussive wave sweeping to 3906.4 kilometers, creating a fireball which should last some 44.3 minutes - even underground, this will still have great effects, as will will engulf an area equal to 202.4 square kilometers.

Given the size of your nation, we would ask where a diplomat would be asked to sit, as there seems to be no "safe area" by our calculations, given the heat, radiation, and general debris will be doing its best to imitate a hailstorm for some 125.6 kilometers beyond your farthest border.

And lead simply does not allow for any good hairstyles.

If you would clear up these - what are certainly misunderstandings on our part - I would be most happy to consider the remainder of your offer.

As to the identity, our people shall be sending you results forthwith.

Namaste,

Nasiri Yassassin
Director of Internal Security
Humble Servant of His Magnificence, the Sultan of Vastiva

D-13 Days, 18:30 hours, worksite Bravo, Plynt Canton...

Half an hour ago, the "head shed" recieved a call. Now, a Westland WG-13 was settling on the concrete "Raft" outside the offices.

Dr. Randall did not look happy as she exited the helo, carrying a briefcase.

Professor Heisenberg, Mister Stahlhaver, and Demolitions foreman Ieke Juumon were lined up outside the office. While the "Director of External Contacts" was a mere cabinet-level post, she had more pull than the President, and these men knew it.

She motioned for them to follow her into the prefab, Juumon closing the door behind them to block out the noise.

"here." she thrust a stack of over 300 pages at the men. "Read it, read all of it. I want answers before noon to-morrow, and Juumon-you can tell the boys to knock off for the day. These numbers don't look like the ones you gave me, Vic." she glared at the physicist.


To: Suse Randall, Director, External Contacts and Affairs,
Rogue Nation of Cadillac-Gage

Madame,

If your nation is in that great a hurry to destroy itself, you certainly do not require our observation or presence to do so.

I attach our... "prediction" for your display, including the probable fall of large, unpowered masses which will likely be cast airborne by your attempt at nautical humor. I will note none of those large bodies are likely to fall in the Antarctic region, nor achieve an orbital velocity sufficient to prove harmful to our Tudrussel platform nor any of our satellites.

If you will note on page ninety-seven of the attachments, our analysts are not quite certain your geological foundation will be able to withstand sufficient amounts of the 1,440,000 megatons of concussive force you have stated you are going to detonate.

I will not mention page sixty-eight, which notes the explosion you are creating will cause complete destruction for nearly 777.9 kilometers, have a thermal concussive wave sweeping to 3906.4 kilometers, creating a fireball which should last some 44.3 minutes - even underground, this will still have great effects, as will will engulf an area equal to 202.4 square kilometers.

Given the size of your nation, we would ask where a diplomat would be asked to sit, as there seems to be no "safe area" by our calculations, given the heat, radiation, and general debris will be doing its best to imitate a hailstorm for some 125.6 kilometers beyond your farthest border.

And lead simply does not allow for any good hairstyles.

If you would clear up these - what are certainly misunderstandings on our part - I would be most happy to consider the remainder of your offer.

As to the identity, our people shall be sending you results forthwith.

Namaste,

Nasiri Yassassin
Director of Internal Security
Humble Servant of His Magnificence, the Sultan of Vastiva

"Square them up, or I'll shut you down, and eat the damn bad press myself."

Heisenberg cleared his throat noisily, "Um... I can't do it before to-morrow." he said.

She levelled an icy glare at him. "Why not?" her voice was level, and calm, and dripped ice.

"You-you took my best assistant and sent her away. Sharon Henrik did most of the actual, ah... number crunching." he looked ashamed to say so in the midst of the other men.

"Fine, get her notes, whatever you have to. I want a gods-damned answer."

Elsewhere in Phlynt Canton... (OOC: Continued from "In Harem's Way"-and I'll post the link when I'm more awake.)

To Cadillac-Gage went an official messenger, bearing to Sharon's father two items.

The first was a release for medical services and "other services to be determined at a later time", to be signed by the next of kin - and notarized.

The second was a very large check, to be released after the signing of the first. Not quite as large as a lottery win, in Vastivan terms it was certainly worth five years of work in a very good position.

At the rate of exchange, it was nearly thirteen years pay to someone in Cadillac-Gage. All for a single signature and release...

The messenger's journey led him to an area of the village of Yellow-Tooth, in the eastern highland area of Phlynt Canton. Some places reek of poverty, some of wealth. Some places are aggressively middle-class.
The Henrik household seemed gloomier than the rest of the impoverished area, situated just west of the Jaargarrde Steel and Ironworks, in a working-class neighbourhood. The gray paint peeled on poured-concrete walls, plastic sheeting covered windows, beer and wine bottles littered the dooryard-sharing the space with an old pickup, and an even older station-wagon, the latter up on cement blocks. Cadillac Gage has few genuine "Slums", but this area would qualify in most developed nations.

The man who answered the knock at the door was fifty, with a gut, and stank of beer. His stained tee-shirt said "Power Worker's local 134", but it was almost perfectly clear that he'd been out-of-work for some time. Fritz Henrik seemed to gaze through the messenger. "Yes?" he asked. Inside, the messenger could see the debris of a bachelor's lifestyle, instant meal-tins scattered among half-finished bottles of alcohol, the place reeked of neglect and despair.
It almost hurt to stand on the front step.

"Pardon the mess, things have not been ordered since Sharon's mother...left."

The brief said "Died" when the messenger left Vastiva. He could see a few things, though-pictures on an almost-painfully neat arrangement, like an altar, directly opposite the front door. Photos mainly of Sharon, in fact, the girl seemed to be in every picture, including one that had been 'Cut off" and set sloppily back in the frame.

"I come in regards to your daughter, Sharon..." the messenger said.

Fritz frowned. "She is alright?" he asked. There was a sudden shift in his demeanour, from a man facing an unwanted stranger, to one hungry for news.

"In a manner of speaking. as her next-of-kin, we need you to sign some papers..." the messenger passed the forms over.

Fritz looked the paperwork over, frowned, frowned deeper, scowled, then relaxed.

"I see... you want to cut my little girl's head open." The hostility was back, "She has suffered quite enough-first her mother, and now total strangers, I know I wasn't much of a father, but this." The messenger knew what to say-amazingly.

"We can help her far better than the butchers at the Public Hospitals here." He told the man.

Fritz seemed to war with himself for a few tense moments. He took the stylus, and signed the papers. "Sharon's mother was a doctor, did you know that? Her brothers are buried in the family plots. Kept them sick, she did. The courts, they cleared me, but I am still a pariah. Maybe Sharon will forgive me for not being there if you help her."

If you where in a spacship above Cadillac-Gage, you would see a small matal cylinder slowly make it's way round the edge of the earth. As it draws closer to you you could see the extensive network of sensors and satalight dishes that dotted it's surface, like craters on the moon.

If you drew even mroe closer you would see it was not so small afterall, maybe 10 or so meters long and 4 or 5 high. You would see the solar powers feeding it's immensly powerful cameras and, if you where incredably close, you might just see a face looking out through one of the small portholes that dotted it's surface, as though a child had gone mad with a pin.

Inside the vast computers calculated it's trejectory, actervated small engenes and stayed in constat contact with the Imperial Palace. The sole inhabitant of it was watching television, there was Aust City Tigers vs Tanker Cheeters on.

It was the final 5 minuates and the Tigers where readying themselves for one last assult on the oppersition tryline, to win the League for the 5th year in a row.

A small red light beeped on the consol behind him, a matalic voice informed his that they where coming over the nation of Cadillac-Gage. He told the computer if anything out of the ordanary was noticed, and carried on watching the game.

The Tigers had been pushed back to the 22 and now Wittock was preparing himself for a last drop-goal to win the cup, he was in pocket, the ball was fed back to him and...

...the screen went blank and a siren went off behind him. Dave swore and spun his chair round, stairing at a dozern screens arrayed in front of him. Each one was focused on one thing, a almost insubstational building site that the computers labled Worksite Bravo, Plynt Canton.

"What the hell!" He spoke angrly, "You interuppted the final for this!" He glared at the banks of systems. "What the hell is this about, and it better be good."

The mattalic voice spoke again, "According to our analysis, which needs to be cheaked by a human source, this nation is planning to detonate several thermo-nuclear bombs at this place. The resulting shockwave will not only destroy the country but will cause a significant tsunami to engulf the region, damging several nations and causing a rise in seas leval around the globe."

Dave swore and tried to concentrate, he realised that this was serious but lack of sleep, excitement and the fact he wanted to be somewhere else-at Tiger Road, where coutnaining against him.

"Okay, so there going to destroy there nation why?"

"Intital analyisis is not clear but it may be that they balive that they are creating a estury here. They may have miscalculated."

"Okay, umm, computer transmit this to central command, and, er, print out the figures, I'll look at them later." He swivled round and turned the game back on, and cheered as a replay showed his team lifting the cup.


The lone satalite spun on, just one of thousands of U2 satalites that orbited the world.
--------------------
To: The leadership of Cadillac-Gage
From: The office of Empoer William the 2nd of Aust

greetings, we could like you to confirm wether these pictures, (See attachment 54320) are a accurate representation of the current activity in your nation (see Fig 1783).

These rlate to the detonation of several termonuclear devices underneath your nation that would not only destroy wour nation but cause significant damage to other nations. (See Attachment 54321)

I wonder if I should interfere......I could make my empire larger.......or save the world.......I pick the second.DO NOT DETONATE THESE BOMBS OR I SHALL ATTACK YOU.

BUmp

The numbers weren't adding up.

Viktor Heisenberg sipped his tea, and watched the simulation play out on the brand-new imported computer, and felt a chill tingle down his spine.

Henrik's numbers were wrong. It wasn't the first time a grad-student got something wrong. In this case, the numbers themselves weren't wrong, so much as they were sabotaged to be wrong. The standing-wave effect in the thesis was absolutely-dead-correct, provided, that is, one ignored how much over-kill you were also looking at.

She'd specified too many bombs. a LOT too many. The numbers from the computer simulation showed that using the pattern they were currently using, with the yeilds the current model of charges were set to deliver, would result in an inlet, alright... but the measurement would be in tens-of-kilometers, and the side-effects would be exponentially worse- hundered mile high Tsunamis off the coast, possible cracking of the crustal plate itself, and fallout...

The fallout would be very bad indeed. The simultaneous detonation pattern would be self-reinforcing. One bomb, even with four to eight megatons yeild, would be no problem at those depths.

Two at once, no problem...

but the initial plan called for a simultaneous detonation of more than forty-and they were positioned to "Compress" in a pattern that would annihilate megatons of rock and earth in the lower strata.

Energy has to go somewhere.

So... where did she get it wrong? he started by going over the initial assumptions-going back to square one.

The bombs are too powerful. Sharon's calculations would have been dead-on using four hundered-kiloton yeilds, up to the second page.

The bombs needed to be smaller, and placed deeper.

Something was bothering him about this, though, something he could not quite get his mind on...


The Henrik Home...

"...hated being sent to live with her Grandmother out west. Not that I can say I would disagree, Aura Hassen was definitely... unique-she headed up a 'spring Cult', Nature-worshippers. When I still had a job... well, when I was senior engineer at the Helsinki Five complex, we had to deal with them often. Culties would sneak onto the grounds and try to sabotage the reactors... they want everyone to go back to freezing in the dark."

Suse Randall had come to visit, arriving mere hours after the Vastivan messenger had departed.

"So... you're saying that your daughter may have had some other motive?" she asked him bluntly.

Fritz shrugged, "She's got problems, Sharon does... her mother was...unkind to her."

Suse grimaced, "I know what she said her mother did-her testimony at your trial was gruesome."

he barked a short laugh, "She almost did not get to say anything, I swear our family wanted me to quietly sit there and take the judgement... it was only because she is so headstrong herself that the Magistrates overruled the Defense Attorney, and the Prosecutor, to hear what she had to say...which did not stop the Canton Government from putting her back into that nest of snakes." He coughed, and lit a cigarette, turning on a filter-fan next to his chair to absorb the smoke. "I would say that Sharon likely did not make a mistake unless she wanted to-you say this project cut is near Haavar forest?"

Randall nodded.

Fritz sighed, "That's where her grandmother's Spring Cult used to meet. I have some of her letters about them here..." he put the smoking butt into the smoke-suppressive ash-tray, got up, and rummaged, coming up with a dozen or so worn, frayed, envelopes containing letters.

"Aura used to force her to participate in their rituals-she details some of them, Thank god I got Heisenberg to take her on as an Apprentice when she was fifteen, it got her out of that environment."

Magritte examined several communique's from foreign nations, then, began composing replies.


To: The Office of William II of Aust, Emperor.
From: Office of External Contacts and Affairs, Special Circumstances department, Cadillac Gage

RE: Nuclear testing

We've recently become aware of irregularities in the design, and are working on revisions.
Thank you for your concern.
Test has been moved back to late August.

Respectfully,

Magritte Holmaur, Assistant Director in charge of Special Circumstances, Office of External Contacts and Affairs, Rogue State of Cadillac Gage.


She examined the next one... Must have been garbled in transmission...

The three man HSI team hated this assignment.

Veterans of the debacle of the collapses of not one but four large nations - including Vastiva's NATO ally, IDF - "Jessica", "George" and "Ivanova" were seasoned agents, used to surviving in areas far more suited to blowing up then this forest. They'd survived deserts, jungle, rebellion...

And now, they were in forest. Yep, lots of forest. Lots and lots and lots of...

Forest.

"Who do I have to shoot to get out of this chickenshit outfit?" George simply wasn't happy. "And why do I have to do all the digging?"
"Because you're the man, George. And if you don't do it, I'll have to show you up by doing it and you know what that does to your bloodpressure."
"Evil woman." He bandaged his ego with an ongoing mutter of curses as shovel bit deeper into dirt.

None of the three carried anything instantly incriminating - their comm equipment was from Lancre, camo suits were standard in Roach Busters, most of their gear was orderable from Pheonix, and their firearms were the best money could buy - in TIOR. Even the headbands they wore had nothing to do with Vastiva, unless you considered a tenuous connection once upon a time to Dyelli Beybi. That they were designed to block detection by magic or psychic means was just another point against their being from Vastiva - that nation didn't even consider these things worth considering.

"Almost done?"
"Almost. Another two feet or so."
"Good. We've got the brush set. And it's still five hours til sundown, plenty of time."
"Whoopie me."
"Less talk, dear. More dig."

OOC: This thread is actually pretty fun and nice to read, I hope the plan works out. *TAG*

To: Office of External Contacts and Affairs, Special Circumstances
department, Cadillac Gage
From: The office Emporer William the 2nd of Aust,
RE: Numbers


After a detailed survay of our scans it has come to our attention that your mistakes would not only destroy your nation but much of the northen hemesphere as well, including several Austian coloneys.

We request a copy of your revised figures so we can cheak them and decided weather to evactuate our coloneys.

------------------------------
It was a small squad that would go in, small but well trained.

They came on a small plane from a nearby nation, as citizens of Vastiva who where looking for a new life. They had visas, faked of course, and equipment, a pocket radio that was actually a giga counter, there shoes contain plastic explosive, there mobile phone contianed several things, a stun guna and a radio to Aust, as well as it's normal functions.

The best thing was that, if they where caught, then it would not be blamed on Aust, but Vastiva, there guns fired cartrages that where standard issue in Vastiva, there clothes where brought in Vastiva, there visas, if examed closly enough to reveal they where fakes, looked like they where of Vastiva make.

Foolproof-they hoped. and now the plane had landed and they exited it, making for customs. There breif was simple, finds out what was going on, and if it was dangerious-destroy it.

OOC: They can manage everything... except speak the language. There's one foreigner who managed to learn it so far. Fortunately, as it sounds like a muddle anyway, it's not that hard to fake. Standard cartridge is the 5.3mm, normal wear is the burnoose - we don't use plastique.

OOC:...and how in the world do you fake the origin of a fake? Fake a counterfieters style or technique perhaps but thats dodegy at best as it will more than likely prove they werent from vastivia as thier specops wouldnt come directly from thier country and would have actual true visas if they did.... that and most modern airports (in the US anyways) have sensors that can 'smell' plastique now-a-days as well.

OOC: They can manage everything... except speak the language. There's one foreigner who managed to learn it so far. Fortunately, as it sounds like a muddle anyway, it's not that hard to fake. Standard cartridge is the 5.3mm, normal wear is the burnoose - we don't use plastique.
OOC: Thanks, same with Austian(The Language), i'm planning for them to get caught, have some interesting diplomatic play come in.

OOC: Thanks, same with Austian(The Language), i'm planning for them to get caught, have some interesting diplomatic play come in.

OOC: As I know what you're playing with - and you apparently don't - I'm going to give a knowing giggle at your plan.

As for your linguistic claim... :rolleyes: And your reason is?

OOC:...and how in the world do you fake the origin of a fake? Fake a counterfieters style or technique perhaps but thats dodegy at best as it will more than likely prove they werent from vastivia as thier specops wouldnt come directly from thier country and would have actual true visas if they did.... that and most modern airports (in the US anyways) have sensors that can 'smell' plastique now-a-days as well.

OOC: Now let's see how CG plays it. There are plenty of "tells" that can be used to determine country of origin of a person, and some are dramatically difficult to fake.

Then again, they'll probably just get picked up immediately, it's not like CG hasn't already had experience with Vastivan-native terrorism.

To: Office of External Contacts and Affairs, Special Circumstances
department, Cadillac Gage
From: The office Emporer William the 2nd of Aust,
RE: Numbers


After a detailed survay of our scans it has come to our attention that your mistakes would not only destroy your nation but much of the northen hemesphere as well, including several Austian coloneys.

We request a copy of your revised figures so we can cheak them and decided weather to evactuate our coloneys.

------------------------------
It was a small squad that would go in, small but well trained.

They came on a small plane from a nearby nation, as citizens of Vastiva who where looking for a new life. They had visas, faked of course, and equipment, a pocket radio that was actually a giga counter, there shoes contain plastic explosive, there mobile phone contianed several things, a stun guna and a radio to Aust, as well as it's normal functions.

The best thing was that, if they where caught, then it would not be blamed on Aust, but Vastiva, there guns fired cartrages that where standard issue in Vastiva, there clothes where brought in Vastiva, there visas, if examed closly enough to reveal they where fakes, looked like they where of Vastiva make.

Foolproof-they hoped. and now the plane had landed and they exited it, making for customs. There breif was simple, finds out what was going on, and if it was dangerious-destroy it.

OOC: also - carrying guns and plastique into an airport... one which had an airplane go boom lately...

Helsinki Intercontinental Airport, 1500 Hours, D-12 days...

"...Aivan Matkustaja haluta harjoittaa keltainen väri asettaa riviin...Svi Putnik molimo pratite žut crta...Helemaal Tussendekspassagier wees zo goed volgen naar de geel wachtrij...All Passengers please follow the yellow line..." the canned recording droned in the background.

A group of foreign passengers with entry visas walked through customs.

"Excuse me, sir?" a smiling young woman approached the third man in the group, "Customs is this way." she gestured to a line of people waiting on the left side of the large, open room.

Several uniformed Security people were going along the waiting people with portable metal-detectors. A few meters ahead, a large, gray, canine animal with a handler worked the group behind the roving detection people.

OOC: I understand this, but ramber that Austian Special services are starved of fund, (Not honourable enough) like the Austian navy. the idea was that they would get caught, and more so after the acts of terrorism that happened before.

As for the Austian comment-the Austian language is a mix of Punjarby, Japanise and there own words, it also includes some more recent english and french words that have come in latley.

IC: They carried on walking, unpreturbed at the heavy securaty, even though the nervousness in there stomachs seemed to threaten to burst out. They told themselves that there was no need to be worryied-austian technology was the best in the world, what could go wrong.

Unfortuntly for them, the newsreals and the propergander films they have been subjected to since they joined the Secret Services was false. they where cronically unprepared and there technology was from years and years ago, when the secret services where a valued part of the Services. Now it was just out of date.

They done over by a metal detector, which went off. Panicing one drew out the phone and pointed it at the mans neck-firing the gun inside.

Officer Tedik saw the phone, and then, his life was over.

The reactions of the other uniformed security triggered. Three of the 'dogs' rushed, snarling, and slammed into the shooter, one on his 'gun-arm', another planting front paws on his chest as he was knocked down, and the third on his other hand. These weren't just Dogs, but Wolves, raised and trained by their Handlers. He'd attacked a member of their 'pack', the wolves knew that hostiles had to be taken alive, because they were raised to believe it.

"Alive" is a relative thing. the Beta of the pack, 'Fenrir', placed his jaws down loosely on the fear-stinking man who'd fired the gun. Canines pressed gently on the bad-human's carotid artery and Jugular vein, secondary teeth rubbed against the man's adam's apple.

I will bite down if you resist my dominance. was the message, even if not precisely in those terms-anyone who's worked with animals in any way shape or form would understand it.


The purpose of the high-ceiling became immediately obvious as concealed 'shooters' fired tasers into the knot of foreigners, who'd moved to draw some kind of weapon.

In the Cadillac-Gage war on terror, dead prisoners don't interrogate well.

"You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to request an attorney. You are under arrest..." The smiling-girl staffer hissed into the ear of the oldest member of the Secret-Service team. She had already 'cuffed' him, and secured his ankles to his hands as he recovered from the enhanced-tasing he'd recieved by not-ducking when the shot rang out.
"...you will be questioned by Canton Police in private, you have the right to request your identity is witheld from the Press until your Trial is over..." The wolves got off the shooter after his arms were bound behind his neck, and his feet were hobbled (He was tased as well.) Another officer was telling him the same thing. "...as a guest of the Canton government, you have the right to recieve medical treatment for injuries sustained during arrest, as an international person, you will be allowed to meet with a member of the International Comittee of the Red Cross. You have the right to appeal any conviction three times before sentencing. You are under suspicion of Smuggling. If you have no contraband, you are to be charged with the crime of Murder. The trial will take place within ninety-six hours of this moment. Upon completion of your three appeals, sentence will be carried out within eight hours."

Medical personnel loaded the unfortunate airport cop onto a Morgue dolly, tagged it 'evidence' (along with the gun-phone), and additional staff restored order and took witness-statements.

From the "BEEP" of the detector, to the completion of the arrests, took less than two minutes. after each man was cuffed, the "Sustain" on the current was released.

Most of the agents had more than one 'shooter', and some of the Tasers hit areas other than centre-mass. two Paramedics were needed to treat one man whose neck and face provided the circuit-path, damaging his teeth, tongue, and jaws.

Most of the prisoners taken had to be carried out.

[ooc: These aren't the less-effective 'commercial' tasers, these are designed to drop a bear if need-be. Strained muscles, sprains, and other minor injuries are common]

The team scanned the area. Taiga was better then home, even if it was scrimpy - and the road wasn't too close, wasn't too far.

The question would be their next step.

The "bolthole" took shape, from the quick rations to the ammo store. There was discussion about mining it, which was decided against - they weren't in truly enemy country, and killing locals was usually a bad idea in those cases.

Guns got stored. A small seismic unit and a radiation detector set to monitor groundwater were laid in place. Then the bolthole was "disappeared" into the forest primeval; the opening was tarped, covered, and partially buried. Very little remained to show it's location.

"Scent" was scattered around, which would serve to have wild animals avoid their hole. Nothing like coming home to a nice bear or puma who thinks your hole is home.

"Next step?"
"Food. Then sleep. Orders should show up tomorrow morning. Gather up scrub, I want us ready to sack out in two hours."

OOC:I'm taking it that you don't know the other member of my team is an agent?

[OOC: Right now, "In Character", the only thing the CG's know is that a group of men coming into the country tripped a passive 'sniffer, then one of them killed an airport guard. They don't know if your team are Agents, Terrorists, or criminals yet. The Passive Sniffer is installed in the entry door, and was imported from The Silver Sky by the airport manager during the brief period when Cadillac-Gage was part of the DAFP, before that Alliance collapsed.]

Phlynt Canton, hiqhway One, Kilometer 32 South...

Tuiva Hellenssen was listening to 'Doc' Maynard belt out "Forty-six-and-two' on WXPX when her imported Isuzu Trooper's right front tyre went. the tall, narrow economy four-by-four veered wildly and slammed into the guardrail, sending up a roostertail of sparks and shearing away the passenger-side mirror before coming to rest almost directly in line of sight from the Vastivan bolt-hole.

Southern Phlynt's forested area, is Carcajou country. Tuiva climbed out of the truck with her Tikka-500 shotgun in her hands, and took a look a the vehicle.

"Fuck." she muttered. The tyre was a retread, and the re-treading had been done badly.

She walked back around to the rear of the vehicle, opened the back door, and pulled out a bumper-jack, tyre iron, and handle.

The truck had actually bounced partway along the guardrail, leaving just-enough-room for her to pull the flat tyre and attach the spare...

"George" and "Ivanova" watched the whole crash from their hidden positions - including the woman getting out and beginning to tend to the blowout.

"Send?"
"Nah. Far too fast. Take?"
"Possible. Ride better."
"Aye. J, LAZ."
"Aye." George keyed over the LAZAT to a tight send.

~J, rotter crash. Fishing, might horse. Turtle, six, Cliff.~

Three clicks came back. "I think momma goat figures we're in the clear for now."
Ivanova had had a good long watch of Tuiva Hellenssen by now. "It's a shotgun, common model. There's nothing spectacular about her vehicle either, though I can't see any markings from this side." She lowered the binocular. "A ride doesn't sound so bad. And who knows what else we might find out?"
"Momma goat isn't going to like that much..."
"Target of opportunity."

The LAZAT clicked on again. ~J, Omaha Horse. Brat. Two chick, Vulpine.~
~G, Quasit-Argo-Dreamer.~
~J, Echo Four, CDAT, two eleven, Cliff.~

Once more, three clicks came back. George turned his LAZAT to "Monitor".
"Hubby and wife?"
"Dream on, George. Sis-bro?"
He shook his head. "Couple."
"Alright. Got your pack?"
"Yep."

The two "broke cover" fifty yards from the edge of the road, making no attempt to stay that quiet - casual conversation and walking seemed to be the whole interest of the two "hikers" who made their way towards Tuiva.

What she wouldn't see was the RAR-9A Heavy Sniper rifle pointed at her head - or the g-optic 10x sight that made the shot beyond easy.



OOC: No reflection from the scope, it doesn't use mirrors or glass. "Jessica" is the sniper from her sleeping position, and its well camo'ed. Shouldn't be seen unless looked for. Thought about an OOC thread for this?

The bumper-jack came from her brother's aging Chevrolet Impala, and like the car, it was pretty much scrap-iron. Tuiva shoved the "Hook" portion under the front bumper, jacked it to "Tight', then went back, and got three large wooden blocks.

To carry the blocks, she had to put the gun down.

She glanced into the passenger-rear window. Rolf was still asleep in his car-seat.

[OOC Thread: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=419672 I actually set it up before I wrote the first post, but response at the time was... less than encouraging.]

"... be so long before we saw a good change in the weather."
"At least it hasn't snowed... hey, look! A car!"
"It's a road, they have cars on roads."
"This one looks like it's having trouble." George cupped his hands "HALLO! NEED A HAND?"

The two looked exactly like cross-country hikers used to being on their own - all the way down to the leaves and muck all over them. Authentic too.

Distantly, "Jessica" watched through her g-scope, exactly lining up Tuiva's head - and watching on the inset wider view.

"Hallo! Need a Hand?!"

Tuiva dropped a block, and turned. "Um..Yeah!" she called back. Something was wrong with them...Backpacks, boots... no guns? "You're down from Detrojtja?" she asked when the couple got close, adding, "Or Todos-Santos? I could use your help, I'm already late." the pair came up onto the hardball.

She didn't see any guns At all. These had to be people from the Northern Cities, then...and unaware that the National Animal makes no distinctions between day-packers and prey, and doesn't care if one is a good person who supports preservation of the forests-even at the expense of the people living nearby.

"You should not walk the woods without a gun." she scolded them when they reached the car, "It's not safe, even in a guided group-did you lose your guide? I can give you a ride to a safe area where you can call..." She shoved a block under the frame behind the wheel, "Hand me that other one..."

Rolf woke up, and sat up in the backseat.

"Jessica" could clearly see the boy's face in the window now, as he struggled valiantly to undo the car-seat and see who the new people were.

"Hallo! Need a Hand?!"

Tuiva dropped a block, and turned. "Um..Yeah!" she called back. Something was wrong with them...Backpacks, boots... no guns? "You're down from Detrojtja?" she asked when the couple got close, adding, "Or Todos-Santos? I could use your help, I'm already late." the pair came up onto the hardball.

She didn't see any guns At all. These had to be people from the Northern Cities, then...and unaware that the National Animal makes no distinctions between day-packers and prey, and doesn't care if one is a good person who supports preservation of the forests-even at the expense of the people living nearby.

"You should not walk the woods without a gun." she scolded them when they reached the car, "It's not safe, even in a guided group-did you lose your guide? I can give you a ride to a safe area where you can call..." She shoved a block under the frame behind the wheel, "Hand me that other one..."

Rolf woke up, and sat up in the backseat.

"Jessica" could clearly see the boy's face in the window now, as he struggled valiantly to undo the car-seat and see who the new people were.

Ivanova handed her the block. "Sure, sounds like a plan. Nice land out there though, perfect for hiking."
That got a grin from George. "And camping."

Distantly, Jessica adjusted her aim to keep Tuiva in view - but her finger remained off the trigger.

Ivanova handed her the block. "Sure, sounds like a plan. Nice land out there though, perfect for hiking."
That got a grin from George. "And camping."

Distantly, Jessica adjusted her aim to keep Tuiva in view - but her finger remained off the trigger.

Tuiva snorted and shook her head, "I wouldn't if I were you..." she broke the lugnuts loose with a grunt, "...unh! that land belongs to the Carcajou, and if one finds you on it, it's you or him..." she hauled the rim off and rolled the flat to one side, "...and I've seen one tear the bumper off a Landrover... you need more than a little pistol to put one down too."

That gets no comment at all.

"So, how close is the nearest town then...."

That gets no comment at all.

"So, how close is the nearest town then...."

Tuiva looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked out at the countryside. "Thirty Kilometers, give or take one or two, since that's Hassen Land over to the right, and we haven't reached the second stream..." she lowered the spare tyre to the ground, and rolled it over to the wheel-hub. "you can shoot, yeah?" she asked, looking straight at the man. it wasn't a question. "Pick up the shotgun, and keep an eye out, we're entirely too close to the Holmgren's 'Nature Temple Preserve', people have been attacked on this road-and not always by wildlife."

wide angle, the two strangers with Tuiva aren't in position to spot the movement-but "Jessica" is... count of six in camouflage clothing with assault rifles moving below the elevated roadway. Non-military, but obviously good-in-the-woods. Jessica should have no problem spotting the improvised explosive device, or the presence of a number of weapons that aren't all that practical in the local forest-machetes are hardly needed here for underbrush, but they work rather well for chopping people....

The woman asked, "What do you mean?"

Tuiva started tightening lugnuts. "The Spring-Cultists haven't been caught at it, but word has it they're behind a number of barn-fires and at least one motorist being found without his head and his hands..." She shoved the flat tyre out where both could see-a caltrop made of welded sixteen penny nails was embedded in the tread.
"Flat tyre." she added, and elaborated, "Your ignorance about the dangers of our southern wood tells me you're either from the northern cities, or outside the Canton-as does your accent. Since the Spring-Cults aren't popular in the north, and you had to ask where the nearest town is, you're probably foreign-which means you're not as dangerous as they are, If I am wrong, the result is the same with either option of being wrong... but I don't have both hands to change the tyre, and fight. so a measure of trust is going to have to be adequate for my son and I, especially as a measure of speed is probably called for."

(Ivanova notices that Tuiva's also carrying a revolver in her jacket-pocket. It's a medium-frame, probably .38 calibre or smaller.)

George picks up the shotgun and looks at it before putting it in a "hunter carry" under his arm. "I'm reasonably sure there won't be any trouble... while we're here. Though we've still got one more in our party - I think she's still putting up the tent..."

Distantly, Jessica's LAZAT picks up George's message, just as it's been picking up most of the conversation. However, she's a little busy right now.

Switching the RAR-9A load takes all of two seconds: the .50 HEI round hits the explosive device square before anyone knows she's targeting them.

Just as quick, she switches back to the copper-inlay AP rounds and starts a sweep of the area, her g-optic set for IR-enhanced sights.

Between the rifle's flash suppressor and silencer there's little to no chance of anyone not near the comng blast to know she fired anything. Still, she wishes for a spotter - her location is snug, but far from secure.

I'll give them a few to show themselves, pick off any survivors... then head in. She spared a moment to glance around, pat her backpack, and resight on whatever remained.

George picks up the shotgun and looks at it before putting it in a "hunter carry" under his arm. "I'm reasonably sure there won't be any trouble... while we're here. Though we've still got one more in our party - I think she's still putting up the tent..."

Distantly, Jessica's LAZAT picks up George's message, just as it's been picking up most of the conversation. However, she's a little busy right now.

Switching the RAR-9A load takes all of two seconds: the .50 HEI round hits the explosive device square before anyone knows she's targeting them.

Just as quick, she switches back to the copper-inlay AP rounds and starts a sweep of the area, her g-optic set for IR-enhanced sights.

Between the rifle's flash suppressor and silencer there's little to no chance of anyone not near the comng blast to know she fired anything. Still, she wishes for a spotter - her location is snug, but far from secure.

I'll give them a few to show themselves, pick off any survivors... then head in. She spared a moment to glance around, pat her backpack, and resight on whatever remained.


"kkkkkkkkk!!!!"

something was coming up on Jessica's left. Something very angry about something.

The shape was vaguely like a supersized, long-legged, badger... okay, it looked for all the world like a huge version of a Wolverine. This one maybe massed as much as a hundered Kilos, and it apparently decided that the awful noise that woke it up was an infringement on its territory.
Lucky for the Vastivan operative, the Carcajou Atrox didn't smell her, or notice she was there. He was after something else.

Two hundered and fifty pounds of frenetic energy and boundless hatred was hurtling at better than forty miles an hour toward the roadway-wakened by the IED's blast, the smoke, and the screams.

On the road itself, Tuiva almost dropped the spanner, as she dipped into her jacket for her pistol.

This gave Ivanova a good look at what passes for a "Pocket carry gun" around here.

The pistol was definitely a medium-frame revolver, in fact, it was a Smith and Wesson model Ten-the kind issued during world war two as a substitute standard arm by the british. This one had been rebarrelled and the cylinder modifed to accept 'Moon Clips'.

Gunfire erupted in the treeline.

"Get in the Truck!!" Tuiva shouted, and wrenched down on the last (thankfully) lugnut, before crouch-rushing around to the driver's door.

[note: she left the blocks and the jack right where they are, no doubt planning to back-off them and then drive frantically.]

"But... we've got one more out there?!?"

George marvelled at the gross incompetance of the gunners in the brush. Automatic weapons, probably assault class... "We've still got our friend out there, and I'm not leaving her!"

He crouched, taking cover behind the cement edges of the bridge as he checked the shotgun. Pump, three shells, alright no problem. Then his LAZAT gave three vibratory clicks against his leg. Alright!

"He's right, luv." Ivanova had her head down. "We leave the jack, we're screwed if they shoot the tires - or left something worse out there..."

George popped up, aimed in the general direction of the gunfire and pulled the trigger on the shotgun.

Two hundred meters distant, Jessica lined up on the flares the various assault weapons were making - and began picking off shooters. Damn, damn, damn... Not taking her eyes off the forest, she felt with her foot for the wrap for her rifle - she could disassemble the RAR-9A in just a few seconds, wrap it, and be running - and carrying the Webley .79 Elephant Gun they'd brought along for this as a "reasonable explanation".

That, and even with only five shots, the Webley could just about blow through a light armored vehicle...

The sound that came next, was that of a large trunk being slammed down on a steel floor-with eggshells in-between.

The elevated roadway bucked and twisted for a moment, then sagged-tossing the foreign couple and the truck momentarily.

The vehicle landed wheels-down-and managed to stay that way in spite of the steep incline. Part of this, was Tuiva's driving-she managed to back it up so that the rear wheels were still on the level with the nose of the jeep pointed along the slope when the highway's pilings went.
The foreign couple were momentarily stunned, but both were now moving.
She finished backing off the sudden-sink-hole, cut the engine, put the transmission in gear one, and set the parking brakes.

the blast had severed four pilings on the southbound lanes, and what appeared to be a single piling on the northbound, dropping a forty-foot section of roadway down twelve feet. The internal cabling held the broken sections out of the mud, but only just.
Seeing the pair of strangers were alright, she went into the back, pulled out her accident kit, and dashed out onto the northbound lane, seeding flares and road-flags to warn any oncoming traffic, before returning.

With the truck in "Parked" condition, she unwound the winching cable, dropping the hook end down to the pair, and shouted, "Are you okay? I can only pull one of you at a time up without the engine running!"

Jessica's view:

The IED went off, severing three pilings and tipping a fourth dangerously.
While this seemed to stun the humans, the ferocious animal was apparently merely enraged further by the noise. It streaked toward the roadway in a blur of brown and black...

"Up gehen zie!" George - still woozy, but far from out of it - caught immediate sight of the charging bulk. "Bozhe moi! Schnell, Mach Schnell!" Carefully, he lined up a shot - probably his only - realizing if that thing impacted...

Ivanova grabbed the cable and made like a squirrel, the wrapped steel being just enough handholds for her gloves to catch.

Distantly, Jessica finished her sweep the woods again for living anything - no mercy - before resighting on the what the hell?

She switched back to the HEI rounds, set the rifle on semiauto, and aimed...

Tuiva saw the Atrox break cover, bounding down, then up and arrowing straight for the broken segment of roadway.

so did George.

From her knowledge, this was a male, around five or six years old-and well-fed. Angry too.
Eight inch claws fastened to dual-use running/grasping paws on all four legs, a ferret-like overall shape, and jaws that open to a spread of almost nine inches on a thick-skulled head overlaid with a tough, thick skin, layer of fat, and flexible skeleton.

Carcajou Atrox are tough animals to kill, even with very powerful firearms at close range. Their nerve-trunks are well protected and include some redundancies that one does not normally find in a mammal, along with teeth that easily handle the six tonnes of pressure the jaw-muscles and heavy jawbone can put out in a single bite...
"Shoot it!!! You don't have time to climb out, and he's got your scent!"
She shouted down at George.

George muttered a swift prayer and squeezed the trigger...

Distantly, a sniper rifle phutted twice, the .50 shells penetrating the rear of the beast before detonating inside: even the lack of external penetration from the internal blasts was partially meaningless, the dosage of phosphorus directly to the beast was enough to kill a buffalo through sheer toxin.

In time. If the detonations didn't kill it, if the burning inside didn't slow it down, if...

Next time, we bring Stingers, mission profile or not...

George muttered a swift prayer and squeezed the trigger...

Distantly, a sniper rifle phutted twice, the .50 shells penetrating the rear of the beast before detonating inside: even the lack of external penetration from the internal blasts was partially meaningless, the dosage of phosphorus directly to the beast was enough to kill a buffalo through sheer toxin.

In time. If the detonations didn't kill it, if the burning inside didn't slow it down, if...

Next time, we bring Stingers, mission profile or not...

The shotgun didn't so much kick as it slammed into his shoulder with a boisterous thunderclap and a tongue of flame nearly a meter long belching out the bore. bits of shredded plastic appeared in a loose cone, and seemed to hang there for a moment before drifting to the ground.

the first round in the chamber is colloquially termed a "Varmint shot"- hurling a fin-stabilized rod,wrapped and gas checked by a plastic-sabot nearly an inch and a half long and weighing 379 grains made of nickel-tungsten with a linotype lead tip for expansion, all on an "Extra high" brass shell loaded with a particularly "hot" powder charge-at 2790 feet per second, pushing the action's proof-test rating with each shot.

a "varmint Shot" at twenty yards will penetrate an Atrox the long-way, going through its thick, dense flesh, thick, hard bones, and wiry fur.

In the case of hte Atrox in question, the shot penetrated just to the left of the right shoulder, passed through the lung cavity and heart, the diaphragm, intestines, and out through the opposite rear leg, drawing a sonic-shockwave behind, mere moments before the two .50 caliber rounds struck home in the rear-shoulder, their charges finishing what the varmint-shot began.

the Atrox didn't realize it was already dead, until it was a mere five feet from George, some three seconds after having its internal organs liquefied.

George looked at the body, still rubbing his shoulder.
"Ow."

Distantly, the RAR-9A was already wrapped and stored at the base of her backpack; with the Webley slung, Jessica took off at a run towards... what was left of the bridge, the sappers, and the whateverthehell.

Side event...


Franz saw the Atrox after the blast, coming. He looked down at Helmar, still screaming, and made his decision. "The Mother blesses you to return to your place in the chain." he said, got to his feet, and fled away from the path of the Atrox, abandoning his fellows as quickly as his feet could carry him, to their fate.
Simply put, an M-4 carbine would only annoy the National Animal, right before hit had HIM as a snack.

Franz' course ran along the highway's, so he heard the gunshot, this quickened his steps even more-the plan called for attacking lightly-armed or unarmed victims along the highway, not gun-toting smallholders bold or foolish enough to try to take an Atrox with only a single gun. (he didn't hear the .50...)

He thus splashed across a shallow stream in his headlong flight-only to hear "kkkkkkk"
he stopped cold, and turned.

A female. it hit him then: Mating SEASON!!!

Franz made it nearly a thousand yards from the ambush site before happening on the female Atrox.

His screams were distant enough to be ignored, until htey were finally silenced by jaws large enough to crush his skull in a single bite.

At the truck, and sinkhole...

Tuiva saw the shot, and worried he'd missed. until the Atrox went down. "YES!!!" she made a fist-pumping motion wiht her free hand-first, the presence of a Male Atrox this close to the roadway meant that there was a female within ten kilometers-it being mating season and all. So the Atrox appearing meant that the surviving bandits were probably fleeing if they could, or quietly bleeding to death if not.

"When you're ready to leave, I'll take you to my Tavern, you deserve a free drink." Tuiva told them both, "...and our phones still work, so you can call your traveler's agency."

George just rubbed his shoulder again before throwing Ivanova the shotgun and tying the winchline around himself.

"We do have one more... oh, here she comes!" Ivanova's voice was suitably ditzy, even as Jessica made her way quickly to the road - and the side of the bridge with the car on it.

Tuiva grunted as she hand-cranked the backup on the winch, bringing George up the broken slope of concrete and asphalt. Even with the very generous gearing built into the unit, it was slo-going work, and difficult.

Jessica waved to Ivanova as George got winched up. She considered the slope, and made her way up, approaching from the direction the car would be moving... eventually.

"Hey, y'all! Like, camps all clear - what happened to your bridge-thingy? And whose your friend, George? She's cute."

The Webley - a monster elephant gun - hung from her shoulder as she popped and cracked her gum. "So, like, whats the story?"

Tuiva sighed, and Rolf wailed. she went around to the side of the truck and checked on her son, while 'george' explained. When she came back, holding the boy on her shoulder, the gum-chewer was up to the edge of the highway.
"I'm late for work, if you still want a ride in to town, now is the time to get into the truck." she told Ivanova.

And so they piled into the truck.

"Wow, like, cute kid. Yours?" Jessica popped her gum and giggled.

Tuiva smiled, "Yes, Rolf is my son." she restarted the engine after a brief check, and drove around the markers to clear the damaged section of road, before accellerating, "He's going to stay with his Grandmother in a few days, while I finish packing the house." she shifted into fourth gear and glanced at the gauges. Today, the oil-pressure was stable at 55 pounds, a relief after everything else that had happened. "I'll call the Canton highway department about the damaged road-section when we get to the Pub." she said.

The ride was relatively uneventful, ending at a mostly-boarded up village with only a few businesses still open.
Peeling paint, rotting wooden porches, plastic-patched windows hung with blankets, and rusting mobile-homes (Portables) crowded the highway here. she pulled in around a faded log-built structure and parked between it, and a rusty Airstream (That's a type of trailer used as housing in some areas.)
"We're here. that's the Pub, don't be put off by the roughnecks-they're nice people if a bit... loud. I can put you up in my house-" she gestured at the airstream, "-for a couple of days if you can't get in contact with your travel-agent or find a ride to The City." (the capitals were prounounced), "In the meantime, I have to get ready to open..."

she unlocked the rear gate, hefted Rolf into a shoulder-carrier, then reached down to lift a flat of bottles.

Her tone was light, and airey, but her physicals with the jacket off, showed she was undernourished. The child was fine, but it was clearly the case that momma skips more than a few meals, and for a moment, it looked as if the beer on the flat would pull her down, instead of her lifting it up.

the rear door was unlocked-indeed, it didn't seem to have a lock. The inside of the pub smelled of wood-shavings, spilled beer, and old smoke. an old Juke box huddled in one corner of the main room as Tuiva packed bottles into an old refrigerator, hooked up the taps on several kegs, and started setting chairs down.

The Cash-Register was an old, brass-sided mechanical that would probably bring a fair price at an antiques dealer in some countries. the taps were the old "English" style, and the beer kegs were unrefrigerated, dented, and probably almost as old as the 'sixties era juke box.

The Telephone, hung on a wall next to the bar, was the old 'rotary pulse-dial' type, and older than Tuiva was.

Everything was care-worn and used here. except the liquids in bottles, kegs, and casks.

Tuiva added a few sticks to the wood-stove heater, and fiddled with the baffles, until she seemed satisfied. Those tasks seen to, she placed Rolf in a playpen behind the bar, and returned outside for the rest of the groceries.