NationStates Jolt Archive

EGYPT - NORTH AFRICA
2200 HRS - LOCAL TIME

A large Canadian commerical airliner flew through the dark African summer evening as it hummed across the desert surface. The evening flight staff took over the cockpit as the plane headed eastward towards Vancouver.

Two men looked at each other at opposite sides of the passenger area as they nodded and stood to their feet, sliding out a hidden hand-to-body taser like weapon as they moved forward towards the cockpit, zapping the attendants that got in their way.

They took captive of one of the attendants and forced her to knock on the door for assistance, "Captain. The passengers are getting anxious.."

"What do you mean?"

"They want you personally to debrief them."

As the Captain opened the door, the two hijackers zapped the pilot then other cockpit staff, then violently cracked the attendant's neck as they took control of the plane, landing it on the dessert terrain.

VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
1025 HRS - LOCAL TIME

The President walked into the office as his Chief of Staff and the National Security Adviser followed behind him.

The National Security Adviser, "Mister President. One of our commerical airliners is believed to be hijacked by terrorists. They are demanding our government to take their organization of our watchlists."

The Chief of Staff shook his head, "Mister President, it is for the better that we do not negogiate with terrorist."

"How many civilians are onboard?"

"Two hundred and fifty three are Canadian citizens, four are from Eastern Canada, sixteen from Pacitalia, and two from Jarridia."

"Who are these terrorists?"

"They are actually a government in power that we do not officially recognize."

"Palestine?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"Are they Hamas?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"I want to have control over the press on this issue, Gerald and Kiel. I'll also be wanting to speak with the Ambassadors of these nations that we do not neogiate with terrorists."

"I can schedule that into your schedule, Mister President. Will you be debriefing the press on your own. Or do you want Lisa to do it?" His Chief of Staff responded, Kiel Wright.

"Get Lisa to do it please. If the press wants, I'll be apart of a press conference at the end of all this. Now what is our response going to be?"

Gerald Freeman responded, "You order a cruise missile strike, that hits several key military installations in Palestine."

"A proportional respone then. I'll also like to strengthen our forces in Israel for a counter-offense. Mister Freeman, I want you to get the Director of the CNIA and the CNSTF Commander, immediately."

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I'll join in. Make sure you RP informing the Prime Minister.

OOC: Oh I will.

VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
1235 HRS - LOCAL TIME

The President sat in his residence after he ate his late lunch that was prepared specially for him by the Presidential Chef, after he finished he stood to his feet and walked over to the window as he looked out and took a deep breath. The Press Secretary just over an hour and thirty five minutes ago gave the press debrief of the current situation in Egypt and what the government plans to do.

There however, will be people in disguist and those who support the President in abiding by the Counter-Terrorism Act which he first put together, which created the Canadian National Security Taskforce. He had been speaking with the foreign diginataries the entire afternoon that Canada will not back down. Hamas had placed Canada in an interesting poistion, they hijacked that plane for a reason - citizens of Canada's closet allies were on that plane.

When he was being debriefed by the National Security Advisor and his Chief of Staff he made the most important decision in his first term in Presidential Office as a Democrat. Wittrock frowned as he thought of what was going through the minds of those people on that plane, and their current relation with God. Was he committing a sin to not come to the aid of the people who are currently being kept captive against their will? He knew it was also a sin to avenge the death, they were innocent people.

He knew who he could call on the issue, Prime Minister Timothy Ell of Pacitalia. He knew Tim was also a great man of God, and always went to him in the time of need. He hoped that the Pacitalian Ambassador to Canada had already given Tim the phone call on the situation. He picked up the phone as he dialed to number to the operator, "Miss Jefferson. Please put me through to Prime Minister Ell of Pacitalia into the residence."

"Yes, sure thing - Mister President."

He heard Miss Jefferson as she dialed the number to the Pacitalian's Office of the Prime Minister as she told Timothy Ell's assistant that the President would like to speak with him, "I am putting him through right now, Mister President.

"Thank you, Miss Jefferson."

"Tim. I do not know if the Pacitalian Ambassador has debriefed you on current situation. A Canadian commerical airliner was highjaced by the Hamas. They'll release the hostages if we agree to remove them from our terrorists watch list. Canada does not negoiate with terrorists. Tim, I feel like I am letting God down. Either way, innocent people will die after today. Please, pray for me?"

Timiocato, Pacitalia
New Prado, 14:36 CPDT

Prime Minister Timothy Ell sat with his feet up on the large lucite desk in his modern, bulletproof glass-and-steel office at the top of the New Prado in Timiocato's government district. He actually felt bored for once, the last few days had involved rather little domestically, and as for foreign issues, the possible increase of coffee exports to Sarzonia, and the surprisingly fair democratic elections in Roach-Busters were all that existed on his agenda.

Just as he was finishing that thought, the phone rang. (http://kfox.gamehorizons.net/CTU24.mp3)

The electronically converted voice tones of his executive assistant, Adriana della Capita, chimed through the speaker on the state-of-the-art telephone. "Sir, it's Adriana. Canadian President Wittrock is on hold, on secure line six, for you."

"Thanks." He picked up the phone, and dialed in the secure line access code, then the extension to connect to Wittrock. A low beep informed him that the connection was successful.

"Hey, Anthony," he answered cheerfully. "What's up?" He listened to the Canadian president's urgent tone and his facial expression changed quickly from the genuine smile of hearing his good friend's voice for the first time in a few days, to that of confusion, but determination. The cogs in Ell's quick mind were already starting to formulate a plan to the situation.

He still couldn't believe what had happened, though, and the thought of 253 Canadians and sixteen Pacitalians on board, at the mercy of a terrorist made him nauseated. "What would you like me to do?" Ell said, his voice surprisingly devoid of any emotion.

Hearing that Canadian foreign policy forbade terrorist negotiations, he replied, "I know, neither does Pacitalia. We'll just have to formulate a stealth military response. Have the CNSTF give the PCIC a ring, I'll give them a heads-up that they'll be getting some new intel from you, and we'll get the SAFD on a mission plan as soon as possible. And cheer up, Anthony, there's no way in hell you're letting God down. This is a test, and you'll pass it. Stay calm, and call me if you need anything else. You don't need my prayers, my friend; if anybody does, it's the people on board. Just keep a cool head and we'll get through this together. I'm with you."

Hearing Anthony Wittrock's gratitude and parting salutation, Ell returned the goodbye and hung up, the phone clicking back into place on the receiver. The message on the dot matrix display screen which read "Canada_SecureLine6_AWittrock - Call Duration 4:52" faded to be replaced by the local time once more.

Ell looked out towards the warm afternoon sun, watching the palm trees sway in the breeze, and the cars drive leisurely on the bridges that connected the north bank with the south, over the north arm of the Rio Timiocato. The clouds appeared to part, and Ell took it as a good omen, but he could not help but put his head in his hands. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut about the inactivity around here, he mused.

Ell got up, opened the frosted glass door and walked into the bullpen, over to Adriana's large desk. This cavernous, open room at the top of the New Prado was the only room on the floor, and was indeed, the Office of the Prime Minister. Adriana looked up from her pile of papers and inquired.

"What was that all about, sir?"

"Hamas has hijacked a plane carrying Canadians and Pacitalians."

"Oh, no, that's terrible, sir."

"You're telling me. Do me a favour and call PCIC and PICTA's Timiocato division." PICTA, or the Pacitalian International Counter-Terrorism Agency, which was known as CTA sometimes by government officials, was the main body for counter-terrorist operations by the Pacitalian government. "Let them know of the situation, check the secure wire for a full synopsis on the situation at hand, and tell them that the CNSTF will be sending over the intel that they have. Tell them to get back to me when they have a chance."

"Right away, sir." Ell returned to his office and locked the door. Now, he had to formulate the SAFD into getting those Hamas bastards out. That would be just the first step in what might turn out to be a war of serious consequences for the Palestinian Authority, and Mahmoud Abbas, who Ell thought he might finally be able to trust, after Yassir Arafat's blunder-filled leadership.

I'll go in as well- make sure Ottawa knows.

VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
After phone conversation with Prime Minister Ell

The President kneeled on the floor of the residence as he was in prayer as Jocelyn entered the living room and kept silent, however knelt down behind him and rested her hands on her shoulders in support of his prayer.

Wittrock smiled as he felt the smooth, comfortable hands of his wife-to-be as he finished his prayer and looked over his shoulder, "Thank you, Jocelyn."

Jocelyn kissed him on the cheek, "I am glad that I am marrying a man of God.My parent's would be proud."

Wittrock laughed as he stood to his feet, turned around and helped her to her feet, "I am getting to old to be kneeling on the floor."

Wittrock sighed gave Jocelyn a hug after she patted him on his back, "Well dear, we'll discuss more of the wedding plans this evening, an international crisis has popped out of no where, and we have people involved."

Jocelyn understood and dismissed Anthony after kissing him on the cheek as he passed by.

Wittrock picked up his cell phone and pushed the numbers to call the National Security Council's audience.

Fifteen minutes later

The President entered the room as the National Security Advisor, Commander of the Canadian National Security Taskforce, the Director of the Canadian National Intelligence Agency had entered the room following by the Chief of Staff which was currently acting as Vice President, since Wittrock did not appoint one before or after the latest federal election.

"Gentleman, this afternoon I called the Pacitalian Prime Minister. We want our organizations to work together on this, maybe we can free the hostages before they burn to death - I do not want that to happen. Nor do I want to bend down to my knees infront of Hamas and be their bitch. Understood?"

The men nodded.

The President approached the man in uniform, "Commander Colin Fraser of the CNSTF, correct?"

"Yes, Mister President. That is me."

"Commander. Does the man by John Kirtwood still work for the CNSTF as a Field Agent?"

"The name is familiar."

"I want you to place him on this assignment, immediately."

OTTAWA, ONTARIO, FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF EASTERN CANADA
1345 HRS - LOCAL TIME

The Canadian Ambassador to Eastern Canada, Arthur Buse walked in the hallways of the Parliamentary Building, remember his days as a Member of Parliament as a member of the Liberal Party of Canada as he headed to the Office of the Prime Minister to speak with Colin Graves, to debrief him what happened this morning, the terrorist highjacking of a Canadian Airliner.

The Eastern Canadian Special Service opened the door for the Ambassador to proceed as his Secret Servicemen and women stood on either side of the guards outside of the door, "Mister Prime Minister. I hope you are well. It is a regret that I am here on official buisness to alert you, that something awfully is currently in production."

Colin had been busy typing official papers and signing legislation when Mr. Buse entered. Colin was glad he could get away from the paperwork, however, he had a terrible feeling that he didn't want this meeting.

He shook hands with the Ambassador, saying, "Pleasure to see you, Mr. Ambassador. So what's happened this time? Plane blown up?"

The Ambassador shooked his head no, "No the plane has not blown up. This morning, a Canadian Commerical Airliner was highjacked by Hamas. They want my government to remove Hamas, from our terrorists watch list. Mister Prime Minister, we will not negogiate with terrrorists, nor if other nation's citizens are at risk."

Colin nodded his head, "I understand. Give a terrorist an inch, you give him a mile. So...how can we help? I can have the SAS ready to deploy to Egypt as soon as we need them."

Ambassador Buse, "We are not going to take any action against Hamas at this state of being. From what I understand, after the commerical aircraft has been destroyed, the President will order a massive cruise strike in the Gaza Strip and other Palestinean Settlements."

(May I join in as a hostage or SpecOps guy of doom?)

(a hostage that doesnt do anything, or will be shot since how the terrorists numbers have increased from two to thirty-eight armed with Kalashbinkov AK47s. Death trap to try and escape, or you can be a terrorist. You cannot be some SpecOps Guy of Doom. Let me and Pacitalia handle that).

(You're no fun you know that? >_> Eh, nevermind. Should be fun to watch though)

Sorry then. Your nation could also respond to the event that is taking place.

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Timiocato, Pacitalia
17:58 CPDT, PCIC Headquarters

"The Prime Minister's been on us since 3:30 about some type of Pacitalian clandestine response to this hijacking. He wants me to send one operative to work with this, uh, John Kirtwood, is it? Jesucristo, I don't know what we should do. He's not giving us many options or much time."

PCIC Director Nicolae Teodor Costica ran his hands through his short-cropped, light grey hair, the bristly texture tingly on his palms. This was not what he wanted to hear, but he folded his hands back on the glass table and looked at his Head of Senior Staff, Cristoferi Maranalti. "So, he's giving you no options?"

"Not many," Maranalti replied. "As in two or three, he either wants us to send in one operative, or no one, or a bunch. It's crazy. I don't know whether we have the resources, at least at this moment, with our operations in Turkey, Iran, North Korea and Roach-Busters to send in a bunch, but he knows we have to respond. There are 16 Pacitalians on a hijacked plane, after all. So, I'm betting he'll want to send one operative to help this Kirtwood guy."

"Shit," Costica exhaled. "I'm going to get in touch with the PM. I'll let you know if I can get anything else out of him as to what he wants us to do."

"Thank you, sir."

Costica got up from the table in the large bullet- and sound-proof glass encased conference room and opened the heavy glass door, walking out into the main work room of the sixth level of the PCIC building, meant for clandestine operations in the Middle East and North Africa. This floor had been designated specifically for this region after the restart of hostilities between Israel and Palestine in the fall of 2000.

Costica went up to his office on the 10th floor, where people like he and Maranalti, and other executive or senior staffers had their offices. Costica was a nice guy at heart, so he disliked the fact that the chain of command at the PCIC even took a shape in who was where in the building complex. He also disliked that, because of that, most little excursions to a certain part of the building took almost ten minutes.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the Office of the Prime Minister. Upon hearing Ell's executive secretary, Adriana della Capita, pick up on the other end and answer in her cheerful alto, he responded, "Yes, it's Nicolae Costica at the PCIC, Adriana. Can you connect me through to the Prime Minister?"

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you."

He waited while annoying elevator music played on the hold function. Rather quickly, about 20-30 seconds later, Ell picked up. "Nicolae, what can I do for you?"

"Sir, my Head of Senior Staff is complaining that you're not giving him enough options to run with. With all due respect, sir, our resources are extremely stretched and I don't think we can handle an extra operation on top of the 56 we already have going."

"Well, I appreciate the candor and honesty, Nicolae. If you can't handle it, that's fine. I can put CTA on the task."

"Thank you, sir. Good afternoon."

"Yep. Bye, Nicolae."

Nicolae went back down to the sixth floor to tell Maranalti, while Ell phoned PICTA, or CTA, as it was more commonly known. This seemed more and more like it would become a two-operative surgical clandestine operation.

OOC: Just to remind you these are the states of the United States that are apart of the Federal Republic of Canada - Washington, Oregon, Idaho, North Dakota, South Dakota & Alaska.

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, CANADA
1435 HRS - LOCAL TIME

Canadian National Security Taskforce - Bureau of Counter-Terrorism HQ

John Kirtwood (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v258/adaira/misc/KieferSutherland_JackBauer.jpg) sat in his office as he was recently appointed to the poistion of the Director of the Bureau of Counter Terrorism of the Canadian National Security Taskforce.

The phone rang as he picked it up, it was Sarah Blackwater, "John, its Fraser."

"Thank you Sar. Put him through."

"Hey John?" Fraser asked.

John nodded his head, "Yes it is me, what would you like, Commander?"

"The President has asked to place you on a spec ops mission."

John was silent, "What type of spec ops?"

"Hostage situation overseas."

"Commander, I am working a field agent for national security, not international security."

"They got our people, John. You'll be teamed up with the Pacitalian CTA Commando Strike Team for the time being. You'll be debriefed on your flight to Timiocato."

"Whose going to look after things here at BOCT?"

"Get Sarah on it."

"Alright, talk to you soon then, Fraser."

Residence of the Prime Minister, the Citadel
Imperium, Republic of New Britain

The official residence of the prime minister lay receded in the large Citadel courtyard, distant from the exterior brick walls erected centuries ago to protect the English governor from the native warriors, who often would slip up the city’s estuary by nightfall and conduct brazen raids on the center of the archipelago’s authority. As a young Thomas Blaine strode through the bright, marble colonnade one could hear the sharp rhythmic clicking of his heels on the polished tiled floor. In his arms he carried both a small silver platter with a small sandwich and steaming pot of tea with its requisite cup and saucer and a small black, leather-bound folder stamped with “For the Prime Minister’s Eyes Only” in large red block letters.

Turning a corner, he found the office door open at the end of the hall and a distant conversation involving lieutenants and captains and admirals. He listened half-heartedly to a discussion over the course of action on the unknown cruiser off the Enterprise’s bow. Apparently the Royal Navy’s carriers were actually off doing something important... he thought to himself. As he entered the room he found Prime Minister Alistair Tetley and Deputy Prime Minister Earl Whiting watching an episode of Star Trek on Tetley’s large-screen television. He sighed and knocked on the metal frame, finally catching his employers’ attentions.

Tetley craned his neck around from his comfortable leather chair, “Ah, Thomas, what can I do for you?”

“Your noon lunch, sir. And a report from Miss Deveraux’s office.”

“Why thank you.” Tetley responded as he rose to accept the platter and folder. He returned to his seat while Blaine turned around to head back to his own office and summarize the evening briefings. On a second thought, Tetley turned once more as Blaine exited the room, “Thomas, would you care to stay and watch some television?”

Blaine stuck his head back into frame and smiled, “I would, sir. However, anyone with any intelligence knows that Lucas – if you’ll forgive my colloquialism – owns Roddenberry.”

Whiting crumpled a piece of paper and hastily threw it in Blaine’s direction. “You youth don’t appreciate the craftsmanship of 1960s television.”

Tetley laughed quietly at the bickering, enjoying the brief moment of levity in the normal routine of stress and pressure. He set about the task of selecting his tea and pouring the steaming water over the ball which held the fresh tea leaves before opening the folder, whose contents he read while waiting for the act of the show to end – at which point his tea would be brewed. “Bloody hell, Earl… whispers of a hijacking.”

Whiting’s face fell pale, “Here, sir? Shall I call the RAF?”

“No, no…” Tetley half muttered, waving his hands dismissively. “No, it’s a Canadian aircraft if our intelligence is correct. But that’s about all we know for now.”

“Any of ours onboard?”

“Again, I don’t know, Earl. This is a very sketchy report, you can see for yourself if you like.” Tetley handed the document over to his deputy PM ignoring the cut from programme to commercial. “Without anything more substantial to act upon, the best I figure we should do would be to send a coded message to Victoria, at least let them know we’re aware of the situation and willing to assist in any way possible.”

“I concur, sir.” Whiting handed the paper over to Tetley. “I’ll get in touch with Emily and have her write something up ASAP.” He bowed politely and quickly departed, leaving Tetley alone in his residential office, paper in hand.

“Bloody hell…” Tetley muttered once more as the commercials came to an abrupt end. “I’ve let the tea steep too damn long.”

Encoded Letter to President Wittrock

The United Kingdom has been alerted to the incident in the skies through our own intelligence services in the area. Without knowing the full details, my government would like to offer its assistance if needed by your government in dealing with the situation or its immediate aftermath. I assure you that on this day Azazians and Canadians stand side-by-side, firmly resolved to defeat terrorism and to not let it defeat the ideals held dear by our two proud peoples.

Alistair Tetley
Prime Minister

OOC: Credonia, father of the ORIGINAL NS "war on terror" requests permission to join in this RP...if possible, could you inform President Sutton of whats going on...provided you allow me to enter the RP. Thanks

To Credonia: Sorry man, I have never simmed with you, there for President Sutton does not need to know what is going on.

Azazia: Another great simmer I had in mind that I wanted to request to join! You said we hardly get to RP together, here is our chance!

OOC: .....ok....very well...

VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
1505 HRS - LOCAL TIME

The President sat in his office as he was going by protocol by briefing the Joint Chiefs of Staff on the current issue and to formulate an ideal proportional response if the CNSTF-BOCT fail on their assignment to save the hostages.

"Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I'll have the National Security Advisor debrief you any further if it comes to an end to use a military assault. Remember, I want known locations of Hamas and other terrorists groups operating in the territory under the Palestinean Authority."

The National Security Advisor responded since he was also present in the room, "We'll request reports from the Israeli's spy network, MOSSAD immediately. Mister President."

"Then hand over the information to the Chiefs while you debrief them on possible assault points. I also want to work along side with the Israelis on this one."

Outside of the Office

A much younger man entered into President's Secretarys Office, waiting to deliver a telegram from the State Department, a telegram from the United Kingdom of Azazia, "How much long Mrs. Stephenson?"

The elderly woman looked up from her desk, "You can hold on for a several few minutes, the big men are discussing over important issues."

Back in the office

President Wittrock nodded his head, "Well, speak with all of you soon."

The Generals and Admirals nodded their heads while they are escorted by the National Security Advisor.

Mrs Stephenson entered the room, "There is a young man, waiting to give you something outside, Mister President."

"The last time a young man came hear to give me something and it was the flu."

"I am sure he is healthy."

"Alright, bring him in."

Mrs Stephenson left the Presidential Office, "The President is willing to see you, now."

The young man walked into the office as he approached the President, stunned to see him.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah.."

"What is it, son?"

"Your shorter then what I thought."

The President smiled and shook his head, "Usually a figure in such a powerful poistion has that on people. What do you have for me?"

"A telegram from the State Department."

He took the dossier from the young gentleman as he read its contents after opening, "You are dismissed."

The young man left.

"Mrs Stephenson!"

The elderly woman walked into the office again, "Yes, Mister President?"

"Get me through to Prime Minster Tetley."

Office of the Prime Minister, the Citadel
Imperium, Republic of New Britain

“I understand, Daniel, but I also need to know what assets we can get out there… I understand it’s complicated by the commissioning ceremony, but I’m sure we can find something to get out that way.” Tetley muted the phone briefly and sighed heavily. Despite Daniel Blair being an excellent Minister of Defence, he could be one royal pain in the ass – like now, focused more on the grand ceremony to commission the Royal Navy’s new super-dreadnaughts than deploying forces to assist Canada should they request them. With his hand on the mute button a quick rap could be heard on the heavy door, triggering a Pavlonian-like response to turn around and shout “Enter.”

A slim young woman entered, blonde and in her twenties, Tetley normally would appreciate the beauty in women having been single for quite some time now – but given the new situation he could only mouth “What is it?” as he un-muted Blair’s conversation.

“President Wittrock of Canada, Line Two.” She mouthed in return, signaling two with her fingers just in case Tetley failed to read her lips.

He didn’t. “Daniel, look, I’ve got Wittrock waiting, just compile a list of what sort of assets we could deploy to the area as soon as you bloody well can. Thank you… you too.”

Tetley took a sip from the glass of water that sat on his desk, its condensation running in little rivers down the glass sides, soaking the paper coasters that he truly knew ought to be replaced by plastic ones. Finally, he took a deep breath before toggling the phone lines, switching to the secure Line Two.

“Mister President, it’s an honour to speak with you, I merely wish it fell under better circumstances. I’d just like you to know that if there’s anything I can do, feel free to ask.”

The President stood behind his desk while he held the phone up to his ear, "Don't we all wish it was on better circumstances, Prime Minister? This is the only thing I can think of right now. Do you have any of your navy near Egypt and Israel as of current?"

"From what I understand currently, the Royal Navy has a small light carrier force stationed in the western Indian Ocean, which could move up the Red Sea and be in a position to cover both targets if required. However, beyond that, my Minister of Defence is currently checking for me. But I would venture to say little else as the UK is preparing for a grand naval ceremony later this week and a good number of our forces are being recalled to take part."

"If it is possible for a few of them to take locations to join the Canadian Naval Taskforces Twenty-One and Forty-Nine at the two locations to conduct boarding operations to check ships coming in and out of international waters."

"I forsee no problem with such an operation. Consider them dispatched, is there anything else the UK can do to help?"

"That is all for now, Prime Minister. And thank you."

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HMS Victory
Western Indian Ocean

The long fingers and their stubs of nails felt good against the scab on his neck. But not as good as a hot shower would feel after duty. Commodore William Bedford sipped a cup of tea, a blend native to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands from which his carrier group had deployed. The perks of command left him with the captain’s seat as he drank the tea and listened to the rain slamming into the thick bullet-proof glass that enclosed the bridge. Looking out, over the bow ski ramp the horizon melted into a dark shade of grey, separating sea from sky was the occasional white crest from the swells, easily reaching the occasional five meters. The carrier had no problem handling the weather, but as he looked out to port destroyers and frigates plowed into the waves bow first, spraying the forward superstructure – and their bridge windows – with a stinging torrent of sea spray.

Tasked with patrolling the UK’s western sea lanes, the Victory normally would be operating her jump jet fighters and helicopters to scan beyond the range of her ship-based radar system – however flight operations had been seriously curtailed given the inclement weather. As he pondered the remaining month on station this far out in the Indian the captain of the carrier tapped him on the shoulder. “What can I do for you Ivan?”

“A message, sir. From Fleet Headquarters.”

Bedford took the message, reading it carefully while drinking his tea, splashing a now lukewarm bit on his trousers as a larger-than-usual swell slammed into the ship’s Atlantic bow. An interesting change of orders, he thought. Perhaps one that would see more action than storms and waving hello to freighters passing through the Indian. Terrorists always made things more interesting.

He finished the last swig of tea before handing back to the seaman standing by his side. “Captain Rogov, lay in a new course to the Red Sea, if you please.”

“Aye, sir.” Bedford listened to the course change and the repetition of orders as the ship slowly turned about in the stormy seas. A few moments later, after the order was relayed to the rest of the group, the bows of the escort ships also began to turn to starboard, now heading north-northeast. “Our new orders, sir?” Rogov asked, now finished giving instructions.

“Terrorism, Ivan. Commander Hawkings, you have the bridge. Ivan, come with me.” Bedford led the younger Rogov, whose black hair still sat nicely on his head and around his face in a mustache, to the admiral’s ready room adjacent to the bridge, laying the document out on the table as Rogov closed the door.

“So what’s going on, sir?”

“Apparently a bunch of Arabs hijacked a Canadian plane and are now holding the passengers hostage. Prime Minister Tetley has pledged the United Kingdom’s support to their President Wittrock, and he’s asked for Royal Navy forces to deploy to the Israel/Egypt area. With most of the fleet returning home for the commissioning of the new SDs, that leaves the Victory out here to take care of the task. We’re therefore heading up into the Red Sea, where we’ll link up with Canadian Taskforces 21 and 49 to conduct search and seizure operations on ships entering and leaving international waters.” Finished, Bedford handed the sheet of orders and their explanation over to Rogov.

“But, sir, we don’t have a large presence of Royal Marines onboard, they’re mostly deployed around Avinapolis, continuing the expansion of the city-limits. We offloaded them not more than three weeks ago.”

Bedford nodded and pointed to the bottom of the paper. “Which is why when this storm clears, we’ll receive two detachments totaling near 150 Marines who will assist the Canadians.”

“Chain of command?”

“Well, if you’d read the whole paper first,” Bedford chided the eager officer, “you’d see that we’re assisting the Canadians, and so we’ll be attached to their taskforces, and for all intents and purposes following their orders.”

The two men nodded at each other. “It’ll take us three days to get there through this weather, sir. Even at top speed.”

“All parties should be aware of our situation. Besides, the extra time allows the Royal Marines to get their asses out here, for without them we can merely blow the ships out of the water.”

“A sight I wouldn’t mind seeing, sir. If you’ll pardon my saying so.”

Bedford laughed. "In due time you’ll see combat, Ivan. But what I’d like you to do for now would be setup a series of littoral combat drills, put the frigates and destroyers on point. Dispatch the subs ahead of our group and have them sweep the entrance to the Gulf of Aden and the…” Bedford paused looking at his navigational charts for the name. “Ah, yes, the Bab el Mandeb, the straights between Aden and the Red. We’ll be exposed, there, and I’d rather not have any surprises to ruin my day.”

“Excellent, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

Encoded Message

To: Commanders, Canadian Taskforce 21 & 49
From: Commander, HMS Victory Patrol Group

Commanders, I write this to inform you personally that the Victory and her escorts will be arriving in the Red Sea in three days time, the Indian is not being entirely cooperative with us out here I’m afraid. Attached will be one battlecruiser on shakedown operations, two heavy guided missile cruisers, two destroyers, four frigates, and two submarines. A little large, perhaps, but sufficient for covering the western Indian. I understand you’d like me to split my forces to cover both Egypt and Israel, just tell me where and when and I’ll do the best I can.

Commodore William Bedford, RN

VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
1610 HRS - LOCAL TIME

The President seemed more calm after speaking with the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Azazia. He stood to his feet as he picked up the phone, "Operator. Please get me a hold of Admiral Peter Richardson, Chief of the Navy. Immediately."

The Operator on the other line, "Right away, Mister President."

The President smiled as he nodded his head, "Thank you."

Hanging up the phone as he waited for the Operator to route him through the intergovernmental telephone network. He heard the phone ring, quickly picking it up, "Hello?"

The Operator, "Admiral Richardson on secure-line number four."

The President nodded as he put them through, "Admiral."

"What can I do for you, Mister President?"

"We still have Taskforces Twenty-One and Forty-Nine in the Red Sea?"

"Yes Mister President."

"Have Taskforce Forty-Nine move to a new location, through the Suez Canal. Have them be placed there, stopping all ships coming into and out of Israeli and Egyptian waters. Have the Seathforth Highlanders conduct boarding operations. The same goes with Taskforce Twenty-One in the Red Sea. The Azazian Royal Navy, will be assisting us on this task. I do not know the actual numbers of ships they are sending."

The Admiral's side was silent for a few seconds, "Alright, Mister President. I'll speak with both Commodores Clarkson and Rhodes."

"Thank you, Admiral."

"You are welcome, Mister President."

Encoded Message to President Wittrock

Mr. President,

I’ve spoken to my Minister of Defence and he’s assured me that there are indeed ships operating in the Indian Ocean that can be on station in three days’ time. Granted, it’s nothing much, but we have the HMS Victory running anti-pirate patrols. She’s an older ship, one of our light escort carriers, but she has a new battlecruiser, two missile cruisers, two destroyers, four frigates, and two submarines all in attendance as escorts. Since you requested assistance in the two locations, the Admiralty is considering several options that all basically involve splitting my ships into two surface action groups, one centered around our escort carrier, the other around the battlecruiser. They’ve already assured me that the commander, a Commodore Bedford, has begun to get in contact with his counterparts – though there is a bit of rough weather in the Indian at the moment, hence the delay. Deployed with the force will be a contingent of approximately 150 Royal Marines, who can assist in conducting boarding operations if necessary. Starting next week we should be able to task a larger presence to the area, but it would not arrive until a week or so after its departure. Until that time, I hope the Victory makes do for your forces.

My best wishes for your people and your nation,
Alistair Tetley

RED SEA, MIDDLE EAST
0310 HRS - LOCAL TIME

Taskforce 21

Commodore Henry Clarkson sat at his desk in his quarters, with only the lamp on as he spoke on the phone with Admiral Richardson on a secure line at Naval Forces Headquarters at Canadian Forces Naval Base, Esquimalt.

"I understand the situation, Admiral. I'll speak with the Colonel incharge of the Seaforth Highlander Regiment."

"Good. Keep me up to date in reports, Commodore. You may go back and rest until morning. Also the Royal Azazian Navy will be assisting you in this mission."

"Of course, Admiral. Speak with you soon."

Taskforce 49

Commodore Rhodes rolled out of bed with a moan as he turned on the light and headed for the phone, "Better not be Ensign Young getting bad readouts."

He picked up the phone.

"Hello Commodore, this is Admiral Richardson. You'll have to move Taskforce Forty-Nine through the Suez Canal and place your ships there. You'll have your Seaforth Highlanders conduct boarding missions on ships entering and exiting Egyptian and Israeli waters."

"Immediately?"

"No. Let your people rest until sun rise, then leave, Commodore. Rhodes' Team, will be staying in the Red Sea and conducting the same mission as you."

"Alright, is that all?"

"You may have the Azazian Royal Navy assisting you with this mission, I want you to work well with their Admiralty."

"Right. That all?"

"Yes, go back to bed."

Encoded Message to Prime Minister Tutley

Mister Prime Minister,

I greatly appreciate that your nation is giving us assistance in this time of crisis. The Government of Canada is indebt to yours, and we'll be quick to assist you in anything you need. I'll be speaking with the Chief of the Navy, in the next day on the status reports from Taskforces Twenty-One and Forty-Nine.

President Anthony R. Wittrock

Bump

OOC:Is it okay with you if the Red Tide Mafia starts selling weapons to Hamas?

OOC: Sorry, but they already have enough weapons. So no.

bump

HMS Victory
Western Indian Ocean

“It’s about bloody time the damn storm moved off.”

Bedford nodded in agreement with Rogov, the two standing out on the flight operations deck, the dark heavy clouds from the past few hours falling away to the east while bright sunshine reflected off the large patches of water still covering the flight deck – though slowly being drained away. A quick check of his platinum plated titanium watch, embedded with gold anchors in the royal blue clock face, told him that for the past day or so – the exact hours he didn’t know – the carrier group had been steaming towards the Gulf of Aden, intending to cut through between the island of Socotra and the Horn of Africa. Below the two was the reason for their foray into the windy decks, a medium sized helicopter had been raised from the hangar deck and its rotors had begun swinging around causing the nearby patches of rain and sea water to ripple slowly, the frequency increasing in direct proportion to the greater and greater speeds of the composite blades.

Bedford pointed off to the horizon, “I don’t want any surprises out there, Captain Rogov.”

“No, sir. That’s why she’s being dispatched.” Rogov replied while pointing to the chopper below, its wheels lifting slowly off the armoured flight deck. “Before she took off, she was equipped with the standard ASW package – torpedoes and sonar and the rest of the fun gadgetry. By the time we get there, we’ll know everything about that bloody strait.”

“I hope we do. How long until we reach the Red Sea and the Canadian taskforces? Are we still on schedule?”

“Yes, sir. With the time it’ll take to clear the two straits we’re passing through it’ll be two days.”

“Ehh… wish it could be sooner.”

“So do I, but you know as well as I that we’re the first Royal Navy ships to come into these waters, and we don’t have any data on the foreign submarine or littoral powers of these African and Arabian nations.”

“I know, I know, Ivan.” Bedford just silently hated that part of the mission. Of course, no prior contacts with any of the governments in the region could play to the Victory’s advantage with the foreign navies not having any need to interdict his own forces. But Bedford would rather play it cautious and do his sensor sweeps as time consuming as they may be. The loss of a carrier and a battlecruiser would nigh fall upon his shoulders, at least during this mission. “How are we doing with the sub patrols?”

“Our SSN escorts report no contacts, but they’re moving slowly in lieu of potential SSK threats. Assistance will be provided shortly by follow up flights to the chopper that just took off, we’re going to lay a series of buoys from here almost all the way up the coastlines.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Ivan. So long as we know exactly what we’re walking into…”

[ bump, reserved for post ]

Couldn't finish it because I had to get off the comp. It'll be up tomorrow or Thursday.

Come on Pacitalia!

PRESIDENTIAL OFFICE; ADMINISTRATIVE BUILDING; PRESIDENTIAL BUILDING COMPLEX
VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA, FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF CANADA

The Israeli Ambassador to Canada, Haim Divon entered the Presidential Office after being debriefed by the Israeli Military Attache on the current events, underlining that the Canadian Government had sent their best two naval taskforces in the Middle East by Israeli waters and that recently Hamas has taken a Canadian commerical airliner with Canadians and other citizens onboard. The Canadian State Department was responsible for summoning the Israeli Ambassador to be spoken to by the President.

The Ambassador approached Wittrock as the State Secretary and Chief of Staff follow behind them, "Mister President?"

The President looked at the Ambassador as he stood behind his desk and approached him and offered to shake his hand, "I hope your flight to Victoria from Vancouver was a pleasant one."

"It was, thank you Mister President. My Military Attache has debriefed me to be caught up in speed with your Administration, Mister President. Why did you send Canadian taskforces by Israeli waters?"

"Mister Divon. The reason why I gave a Presidential order to send naval forces in international waters near Israeli waters is because we do not want any members of Hamas to leave the Gaza Strip. Therefore, we are conducting boarding parties to search them. To protect the world from global security. We want Israel, to support us."

"We always have."

"Good. Now, Mister Ambassador. Report to Prime Minister Sharon and debrief him on why we have ships there. And if he can hand us any MOSSAD information on any suspects, send them our way."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Please do, we are running out of time."

Warning, contains strong language

On International Television a single Air Canada Commerical Airliner Jet appeared on the Egyptian dessert as it exploded in a large fierce fireball. The President watched the screen as he closed his eyes as a tear rolled down his cheeks as he waited for the Chief of Staf to return. He opened his eyes as he tilt his head upward to look at the ceiling in thought.

Kiel Wright the Chief of Staff entered the President's Office as he understood what the President right now was going through, "Mister President, you did the right thing. Not to negotiate with these terrorists' demands."

The President stood to his feet and approached the Chief of Staff, "The people from these countries. However, I believe now the only thing to do now is level a few fucking buildings in the Gaza Strip. Kiel, get the National Security Council together in the situation room as long as the Joint Chiefs of Staff, immediately."

...this is breaking news on PNN. We've just received word that a Canadian commercial airliner has been overtaken, hijacked if you will, by terrorists in the middle of the Egyptian desert. These are live pictures you are seeing thanks to our Israeli affiliate, Arutz 2, again, LIVE pictures from the Egyptian desert, believed to be somewhere just outside Qasr-al-Farafirah in western Egypt, which is about 450km southwest of Cairo. This jet was hijacked about three hours ago, according to those on board who are responsible.

The terrorists claim to have wired the plane with explosives, and also claim that, in addition to that level of danger, there are at least three suitcases with conventional 6kg bombs in the cargo hold. They want a direct audience with Canadian President Anthony Wittrock... but we will let you know now that, if you don't know already, Canadian foreign policy clearly stipulates absolutely no negotiation with terrorists in any situation or issue. Therefore, we can assume that that will hold true today, despite the fact that on top of two hundred Canadians on board the plane, there are also sixteen Pacitalians, meaning that Prime Minister Ell should and probably does have some say in what happens here. However, although not clearly written in foreign policy in Pacitalia, the non-negotiation policy is still frequently used by the Pacitalian government, and may be today.

Again, these are live pictures of a hijacked Canadian commercial jetliner just outside the Egyptian town of Qasr-al-Firafarah, 450km southwest of Cairo. And we can... oh, dear god, the plane has just exploded, ladies and gentlemen, again, the Canadian commercial jetliner has exploded now, there is an enormous, bright yellow fireball lighting up the dark sky in this part of the northeastern Sahara desert, and it is almost blinding.

... The explosion seems to be clearing now, the plane is pretty much gone. Sections of it have landed metres away and are still burning very fiercely here, but most of the plane is decimated, just ashes are left. This is a terrible event that is unfolding here now, with the jetliner completely gone, and it is safe to say that everyone on board this plane is dead. We repeat, most likely everyone on board is dead...

Situation Room, Defense Building, Presidential Building Complex
Fifteen Minutes after the Explosion

The President and his Chief of Staff walked into the Situation Room as he was greeted by the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the National Security Advisor. He looked around the room at all the men and women present, "It has been confirmed, that the Airliner that was hijacked earlier this afternoon has exploded in Northern Egypt, killing over two hundred Canadian citizens, and citizens of allied nations. This morning, when I was debriefed on the situation, I gave a command to figure out possible locations for a proportional response. I want to know our options, now!"

The Representative of the Joint Chiefs stood to his feet, "We believe that we should conduct air strikes against the Palestinean Authority's buildings, since Canadian National Intelligence Agency has given us crucial evidence that they sponsor terrorist activity."

"Nope. Any others?"

"Conducting air strikes of several known locations of high ranking Hamas Officials."

"Good one, go with that."

The Representative put down the order papers as the President signed it, "Get me a hold of the Admiral."

Taskforce 21 Battle Group

The airstrips of the four Aircraft Carriers apart of Taskforce 21 were busy as they began to go into ground attack formation. The cruisers within the group began to launch their cruise missiles at their targets for destruction.

A lot of locations within the Gaza Strip were hit by Canadian missiles and bombs as it hit training grounds and meeting places of Hamas.