NationStates Jolt Archive

It wasn't an easy choice. It was the hardest choice he'd ever had to make, but no one had said it'd be easy.

He had a duty to his country - sometimes, his duties were hard. He had a duty to his faith - sometimes, this was just as difficult.

When those two duties clashed though, that was when he realized that he didn't know the first thing about true hardship. About anguish. About suffering. But eventually, God had guided him to the right path. It had taken him some time to be sure, and he had changed his mind too many times to count, but now, today, he was sure where his loyalties were. He knew where his destiny lay.

He had pledged an oath to his country, to uphold its constitution. Yet he had been a life long Christian, a servant of his faith. There was a time when he considered his duties to his country as being the same as his duties to his faith. Those times, however, were long over.

He had played the part of the loyal soldier when the Colonial Marines had massacred Christian protestors at his native Kearond Colony. He had kept silent as his government had ridiculed, humiliated, downright attacked the Christian faith, mocking it, lecturing it, removing the Church's traditional tax exemption. He had remained silent for too long. Today, the Colonial Congress was going to discuss censoring all Christian clergy in the Colonies, or if necesary, expelling them from the nation. Why? They dared disagree with the seemingly almighty Colonial Federal Government. The church had held its tongue for decades as the Colonies slid further and further, becoming more and more immoral in its ways. Abortions, payed for with tax-payer money under the Federal Healthcare Equalization Act of 1993. Gay marriages, not civil unions, but outright marriages, allowed under the Unified Marriage Law of 1998. Prostitution, legal with permits, under the Millenium Adult Services Safety Act.

It was henious, it was disgusting, but the Church had remained silent for they knew that the so-called "liberals" in government didn't welcome them, but only tolerated thier presence.

Well, the time had come. The Church had finally spoken out, renouncing abortion, birth control, prostitution, lack of modesty, and everything else that should have been renounced long ago but didn't. This was why the government wanted them gagged or cast out - they feared the Church's influence amoung the citizens of the Colonies. The Church had finally exercised thier free speech, only to be accused of abusing thier unique institutional powers to subvert the human rights of Colonial citizens.

It was all lies. The Church had the right to free speech, as anyone else did. Furthermore, they were right.

Colonel Richard Eastin, Colonial Army, 1st Dragoon Division, was not going to let the government trample on the rights of the Church and eject the clergy, or even censor them. He had the power to stop them, he had the means. He had a full company of Dragoons ready to follow him in a charge through hell itself, if that was what it took.

He had come to his decision, he had made his choice at last. He and 200 armoured, powered Colonial Dragoons (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/Exoskeletons/1d6e17f9.jpg) were going the penetrate deep into the heart of the Capitol of the Colonies and storm the Government Spire (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/Cities/d347b739.jpg) - home of the Federal Government - to secure the future freedom of the Christian faith in the Democratic Colonies.

The government was overstepping its bounds. The Church needed a voice. He was going to ensure that they had one.

OOC: is this an open RP or closed?

{OOC: This RP is open. Involvement encouraged}



The Capitol Spire (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/Cities/d347b739.jpg), Viconia City, Democratic Colonies

The Capitol Spire was a massive, hulking structure that towered over most of the Government District in Viconia City. It housed the House of Representatives and the Senate, both levels of the Congress. The President and the highest ranking government officials had thier offices inside - the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Internal Affairs, Defense, Commerce, Health, Law and Order - all were within, protected by the Capitol Police, the Colonial Security Bureau, and a detachment of Colonial Marines.

The Capitol Spire was a hard target to attack - indeed, more than one terrorist attack had failed in its lobbies, but Colonel Richard Eastin knew that his Dragoons would do the job. The Colonial Congress was in session - now was the right time to strike.


*****


The ground level entrance to the Spire was not heavily guarded as Colonel Eastin emerged from the back of a military transport truck. A dozen or so officers of the Capitol Police, with a pair of bomb-sniffing dogs on leashes stood infront of the finely etched glass and steel doors that led inside.

The sounds of whining hydraulics and whirring servos grew louder as more Dragoons dismounted from the trucks. In thier heavy equipment (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=394046&page=1), they were invulnerable to nearly all small arms fire. The Capitol Police didn't stand a chance against them.

"Sir? I'm sorry sir, but there's no mention of Dragoons coming into the Spire today," began one of the police officers as she approached. "Can I ask to see your orders sir? Perhaps there's been some kind of mistake." Her voice was tinged with the slight Londoner's accent that many from Andromeda Colony still carried. She reminded Eastin of someone from his past, although he couldn't quite remember who.

"Check the arrival manifest; General Andrews ordered us here to provide additional security," lied Eastin. The last of his 200 Dragoons had dismounted from the military trucks and now stood ready, armed with 25mm grenade launchers and light machineguns. In thier equipment, they stood nearly half a foot taller than the police officers infront of them.

"Yes sir, I'll check it again," replied the police officer. Eastin still couldn't quite tell who she reminded him of. His heart, already pumping like it was ready to leap out of his chest, somehow thumped harder as he knew he was finally at the point of no return. If he did what he was about to do, there was no turning back.

The officer's gaze was downturned as she clicked on her PDA with a stylus. She wasn't watching Eastin as he tensed his massive, titanium enclosed fist.

"Right, there's supposed to be a unit - " the officer was made silent as Eastin grabbed her neck, squeezing it with a cold metallic grip.

"Sir! Sir, what's going on?" demanded another officer, running forwards. He had drawn his pistol, but kept it aimed safely at the ground. The female officer in Eastin's grip struggled as she tried to pry his hand off of her throat. Her eyes were growing dim as Eastin starved her of air.

"Colonel! What are you doing?" demanded the male officer now.

"Dragoons - open fire," radioed Eastin as he heard the sick crunching of bone come from the female officers neck. She went limp as Eastin crushed her neck.

"Open fire!" repeated Eastin's second in command. The air filled with the sounds of automatic gunfire as the Dragoons tore the police officers to shreds. They were dead within seconds as 6.5mm Grendal ripped through thier bodies, punched through thier ballistic vests. Most died with looks of shock and confusion still on thier faces.

"Charge the entrance!" Eastin heard his second in command shout. The Dragoons rushed the doors, slamming into them and sending them flying from thier hinges as Eastin slowly followed, the body of the police officer still held tightly in his lethal grip. Her face, once quite attractive, was now a thing of horror as it remained frozen in a grimace of excruciating pain and terror.

"I'm sorry," said Eastin simply as he released the corpse. It hit the floor with a dull thud. "May God... May God have mercy on both of us."


*****


The security office for the Capitol Spire was in a state of frenzied activity as the scene outside was replayed on massive, wallmounted LCDs.

"Do we know how many there are?" demanded Major James Kensington.

"Looks to be about a company sir! They're charging through the ground level lobby now!" replied another man.

"Goddamn it!" exclaimed Kensington as he watched the armoured Dragoons slaughter another two dozen officers of the Capitol Police. The carnage was being recorded as the attackers cleared the lobby.

"Get the Capitol Police to evacuate the area, tell the Security Bureau to break out thier automatic arms," ordered Kensington. A Marine Major, he was in charge of ensuring the Spire's security. Police officers, security agents, and his own Marines were all under his command in ensuring the safety of the nation's highest offices.

Kensington watched, his fist clentched, as the lobby fell to the Dragoon assault. Police officers would unload thier 10mm pistols into a Dragoons chest, only to see the rounds flatten against the thick armour.

Another massive LCD screen came to life, allowing the worried face of Secretary Stephanie March (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/March01.jpg) to emerge into focus. The Secretary of Foreign Affairs, she held one of the highest positions in the land.

"Major - you have to keep those attackers out of the Foreign Affairs offices," March began.

"I'll try to, but my primary concern is keeping them away from the Congress Chambers, since it looks like that'll be thier target," replied Kensington.

"They'll be coming this way: we have a number of foreign dignitaries here today," said March. "If these attackers were to secure not only Colonial officials but also foreign officials, then..."

"I understand," said Kensington.

"Rapid Response Team Alpha has engaged the attackers!" someone called from inside the security office.

"I'll get back to you on that," promised Kensington. "I assure you, I'll do everything I can to protect you and your foreign guests."

The floor around the elevator bank was slippery with blood and littered with the evidence of combat. Spent magazines and shell casing were strewn about like leaves under a tree, while those dying gasped for thier last breaths beside thier already dead comrades.

"Well done," Colonel Eastin told his Dragoons as he marched over to the closed doors of an elevator. His footsteps thumped heavily against the polished marble floor of the lobby. The Congress Chambers took up ten floors, from the 15th to the 25th in the Capitol Spire - the fastest way to go up 15 stories was the elevators, but obviously, the Spire security personel weren't going to simply let him ride up that easily.

With a grunt, Eastin rammed an armoured fist into the middle of the closed elevator doors, pushing his steel fingers into the gap between the two door halves. He slowly pushed the doors open, granting him access to the elevator shaft.

"Climb up," he ordered before taking hold of the emergency ladder enclosed in the shaft. "Our objectives are near."

Message to the Democratic Colonies:

The Imperium of Serapindal is offended by your persicution of religious rights, and your bloody massacres. Explain yourself.
-Avlix Axrath, Premier of the Imperium of Serapindal.

tag

The office of Secretary March was a quiet one as she sat alone in it. A few doors down the corridor, in a lavishly decorated conference room, were the foreign officials with whom she'd just been discussing the problem of piracy on the high seas. The meeting, ofcourse, was now on hold as the Capitol Spire was apparently under some sort of terrorist attack. A rogue military unit, or terrorists with stolen military equipment perhaps. Either way, things were becoming unsafe, both for her and for the foreign officials.

March forced those thoughts from her mind though, as she looked down at her flatscreen display. A diplomatic message from the Imperium of Serapindal blinked, awaiting her reply.

There was a knock at her door.

"Secretary March?" It was March's trusted bodyguard, a man who would give every atom of his being for her protection if he had to. "The word has come down from Major Kensington, incharge of security. He wants an evacuation of the Spire immediately until the terrorists are dealth with," he continued.

"Just a minute," replied March. "I need to send out a diplomatic response." She began typing quickly, sending out a rushed reply to the Serapindalians.




From: Secretary Stephanie March, Colonial Department of Foreign Affairs
To: Avlix Axrath, Premier of the Imperium of Serapindal

Premier, as Foreign Secretary of my nation, I assure you that the only bloody massacres taking place here are the work of vile terrorists who are attacking my nation's government. Any information that would indicate otherwise is the result of misinformation or misunderstanding.

And while the Colonial Federal Government understands that other nations might see our currently ongoing congressional debate on censoring or deporting all members of the Christian clergy in our nation as religious persicution, I assure you, these are only steps being taken inorder to safeguard the human rights of the citizens of the Colonies. The Church has voiced the opinion that abortions, prostitution, birth control, homosexuality, and liberated sexualty are all somehow immoral, and has suggested that these activities should be put to a stop. While the Church is free to have its own opinions, due to the special institutional position that the Church has, we cannot allow it to voice such opinions in public.

When an institution as traditionally influencial as the Church voices an active opposition to basic human rights like abortion, and indeed suggest that these activities should be somehow prevented, a dangerous situation is created. An overzealous follower of Christ could easily take the Church's suggestions to mean that he or she should personally engage in direct acts, possibly violent acts, to prevent another citizen from exercising her human rights. Or, alternatively, a citizen who also happens to be of the Christian faith might somehow feel that she now cannot have an abortion performed if she so wishes, because of the words of the Church.

As you can see, with the Church voicing condemnations of what are in most cases, basic human rights in the Democratic Colonies, having the Church either censored or ejected are very possibly the only means of ensuring the protection of the human rights of Colonial citizens. Furthermore, I would like to remind the Premier that the censorship or ejection of all Christian Clergy is only at this point being discussed in the Colonial Congress - no final hoice has been made yet.

The Democratic Colonies thanks you for your concern, but assures you that there is nothing to be overly concerned about.

- Secretary Stephanie March (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/March01.jpg), Colonial Department of Foreign Affairs (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/1cd6610f.jpg)

"Interestingly enough, Abortion, Birth Control, Prostitution is illegal in the IOS, with Liberalized Sexuality being frowned on. Though luckily, no one cares about Homosexuality, I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Secretary March, we have to leave immediately," said the Foreign Secretary's bodyguard again, his voice strained.

"Major Kensington says that the terrorists are moving through the elevator shafts, and atleast two dozen are headed this way. Madame Secretary, you and the foreign dignitaries here today need to leave right now." He paused as he pressed a hand to his earpiece, his face filling with dread.

"What's going on?" demanded March.

"The terrorists are attempting to breach the elevator doors to this floor, Madame Secretary," replied the bodyguard. "They're coming for you and the foreign dignitaries!"

*****

The four inch thick doors of the elevator strained, groaning as they tried to resist the pressure pushing at them from inside of the elevator shaft. They shook and shrieked at the pounding of titanium fists against them, bent and folded as metallic fingers pried between them. While on one side of the doors, men and when were trying to force them open, on the other side, men and women prayed for them to remain shut.

"Alright people, fan out!" barked a man clad in a conservatively tailored suit. A P90 submachine grasped tightly in his hands, he motioned for his comrades to seek cover as he himself crouched behind the reception counter. The man and his comrades, agents of the Colonial Security Bureau, were tasked with stopping the advance of the terrorists into the Foreign Affairs offices by overwhelming them as they emerged from the elevator shaft onto the floor. It seemed like a solid plan, and would have been if the assailants had been conventional terrorists. The fact that these terrorists were infact rogue Army Dragoons in fully powered armour made the plan seem much more optimistic then realistic.

"Just remember, do not burst at the terrorists as they come out of the shaft!" commanded the male agent again. "Go fully automatic on them as they come on through, and aim for thier heads, or the joints on thier armour. We need to hold this floor, because behind us is the nation's Foreign Secretary and her foreign guests. We cannot allow them to fall into terrorist hands, am I understood?"

The man's question was met with a subdued, but hopeful reply even as the elevator's door buckled visibly. The pounding against the door seemed to grow louder for a moment, before finally, a steel enclosed fist punched through out of the elevator shaft in triumph.

"Open fire! Open fire!" shouted the man as the area surrounding the elevator bank broke out into thunderous gunfire. The two door halves of the closed elevator doors were peppered with bullets for a moment, before a momentous crash sent the thick doors flying outwards, slamming into the ground infront of the reception counter. The armoured behemoth that was a Colonial Dragoon followed close behind them, as it was his body crashing into them that had sent them aloft. His firearm nowhere to be seen, the Dragoon attacked the federal agents with the massive weapon that was his own steel enclosed body. He rammed into a young man, driving his fist into his chest, even as automatic gunfire poured into him. Ignoring the bullets that were flattening against his thick armour plating, he charged forwards, knocking over a trio of agents hiding behind an overturned desk.

"Aim for his faceplate - shoot him in the goddamn face!" screamed a woman as she lept on top of the reception counter. Her submachine gun spat forth what normally would have spelled the death of its target as spent shell casings clattered around the agent's high heels. She ran along the counter, leaving a stream of ejected brass behind her as she charged in desperation at the metallic titan who was ripping her fellow agents limb from limb. She only made it a dozen steps however, before she too fell as another casualty of the Dragoon advance. One moment, she was running forwards, her weapon cycling madly. A split second later, her nylon clad ankles exploded, sending her crashing to the ground as her ankles had disintigrated into an unrecognizable splatter of destroyed muscle mass and shattered bone. Her howls of pain as she grabbed at her destroyed legs were drowned out however, by the same instrument that had wounded her thus - a German designed MG-43 light machinegun. Belt fed in the arms of a Colonial Dragoon as he climbed out of the elevator shaft, the weapon fired continously, motioning back and forth as 6.5mm rounds drove into flesh and steel alike.

"We can't hold them here!" screamed an agent as she sought shelter behind the reception counter. Her hands gripped her semi-automatic shotgun so tightly in her grasp that her knuckles were a pure white.

"Help is on the way, help is on the way," insisted another agent as he pressed his hand against his earpiece. "We don't have any choice here, we have to push them back into that elevator shaft!"

The words spoken by the agent were to be his last, for a Dragoon lept on top of the reception counter as soon as his final sentence was complete. Reaching down with his oversized hands and seizing the neck of the foe beneath him, there was only time enough for a gasp of horror as the neck of the federal agent was shattered into pieces. As the Dragoon was ending the life of her comrade however, the female agent had gone by instinct and had shoved the barrel of her shotgun against the faceplate of the Dragoon. Squeezing her trigger as her hand acted of its own accord, the female agent emptied the remainder of her shotgun's magazine into the Dragoon's underprotected face, ending his life many times over as solid sabot rounds and miniature flettchetes shattered the transparent faceplate. Even as the lifeless body of one Dragoon collapsed heavily onto the ground however, these elite armoured troops of the Colonial Army continued to advance through the breached elevator doors and towards thier goal.

OOC: Does this include your colonies?

OOC:
This is occuring in my capitol city, which is some distance away from the Hogsweatian colony region.

You can still be involved though. Foreign dignitaries, foreign special operations teams sent in to rescue foreign dignitaries, foreign news media sent in to cover the foreign special forces sent in to rescue the foreign dignitaries - anyone and anything, just get involved! This thread is oh so lonesome...

OOC: Il join in, thisl be a good time to break out my new special forces, put a Confederate Ambassador in teh builidng, two special forces bodyguards (there all women in their twenties), with a pair of 9mm Pistols each, special forces on diplomatic missions dont have automatic weapons.

OOC: Please post your characters doing... something. Atleast make some sort of post introducing your characters to the thread. Thier concerns and reactions to the gunbattle taking place just down the corridor perhaps?

Official Imperial Responce

The Imperium of Banduria will aid you to destroy these fundamentalist terrorists. We have deployed a battalion of Shadowers to help contain this rebellion (ETA 30 min).

Bandurian High Command

A few orders and one of the black planes bound for Bandurian colonial holdings or another southerly country was quickly redirected to supersonic flight across another direction. The plane, more accurately a dropship with UCAV fighter escort -- a fairly large one at that -- held a single battalion of Shadowers, the elite Bandurian special operative forces. As the dropship and its escorts rocketed through the skies at a tenuous Mach 4, the massive engines pushing the plane to its limits as the battalion within waited for their next orders, the minutes began to tick by, the dropship covering 80 km in each one... soon it was beginning to descend towards the capital of the Democratic Colonies.

[ooc: Do you have a large open plaza in front of the spire under attack? If so, kindly clear it for us.]

The Harakian diplomat, Zachary Mitas, wiped sweat from his brow as he, along with the other dignitaries, listened to the gunfire and screams from outside the door of the room. The whole room shook as a steel-armoured body hit the ground down the hallway, and everyone in the room jumped. Zachary suddenly wished he'd brought along a bodyguard, although he knew if the security with assault weapons couldn't manage anything, one man with a pistol would do even worse.

He reached up and loosened his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt as he did so, and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He stood and quickly crossed to the window, putting a hand to his left ear as he clutched the phone to his right. The number he diealed was on speed dial, and all he pressed was a single digit. After several seconds it clicked in, dialled, and rang once before he got throguh to an automated machine. He dialled in a series of numbers and there was a click, a second's pause, and then a human voice answered. "Hello?"

"Fucking hell, Mary! We're under attack!" Zachary shouted over the gunfire. "I hope you're sending somebody to help us!"

"We've already got a CEF group enroute," the woman on the other end replied. "They'll take a little while to arrive, since they're deploying off an amphibious assault ship a long ways away. The planes will drop them at Colonies' airports, and they'll take helicopters from there that are relaying in from another ship."

"We don't have that much time, Mary," Zachary responded edgily. "I doubt if we even have five minutes."

"Well thirty is the nicest estimate I can give you. An hour is more likely," Mary responded angrily. "In one hour you can have forty men banging down the walls, and in five you can have three hundred. Anything else you'd like me to throw in?"

"Some tanks would be nice."

"Fuck you, Zack. I'm doing all I can for you. The guys in charge thought it would be best to let domestic groups handle the attack, and it was all I could do to persuade them."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You always stick your neck out for me, Mary," Zack grumbled. "Thanks anyway. I doubt I'll see you again."

With that he set the phone down and looked up at the dignitaries and Ms. March. "In an hour we can have forty elite troops here. It won't be enough, will it?" he asked wearily.

Ambassador Harrison Davis placed the receiver of the hot line back on its cradle. He looked into the faces of his terrified staff.
“Well, its official. Our intelligence was correct. Colonel Eastin has started a coup. And from all indications, it has already turned bloody. We have all worked hard to encourage the Democratic Colonies to allow their churches the same freedoms they enjoy in Keneria. I know, I know, the Colonel’s objectives are the same as ours; however the ends cannot justify the means. We cannot condone a military coup, especially a bloody one. That being said, it is the position of the Kenerian government that we will not interfere with what is an internal issue. On a more practical note, we are to offer no resistance.”
“Are we just supposed to sit here?” The question came from one of Ambassador Davis’ most promising assistants. Her fear was undeniable and he felt a sense of compassion for her. She had left a fiancée at home to help him in his diplomatic efforts. He knew it had been quite a sacrifice for her.
“In a word, yes. The President and the Supreme Commander both feel that we are in no mortal threat, and I agree. The Colonel isn’t a madman and we feel that he would rather have had the coup without firing a shot. Our only concern at this point are the actions of the other nations who have diplomats here today.”

[OOC: Is this still open? I'd like to have a dignitary present, if possible, and maybe with a bodyguard who is currently on the toilet or something.]

Yes Questers, this thread is still open for involvement. You'd be very welcome if you'd like to participate.

Union Square, Viconia City, Democratic Colonies

Union Square was considered to be something of a gathering place in Viconia, a focal point for the populace. Built in the late 1960's to commemorate the birth of the nation, it was a wide, open plaza, guarded at its corners by towering statues of marble. Under the watchful eyes of the fathers and mothers of Colonial Unification, countless tourists and patriots had celebrated on countless New Year's nights, and had embraced on countless summer days by the massive reflection pool that was the centre piece of the square. Inductive to thinking, inductive to pondering, Union Square's tributes to the nation's heroes often drew in those lost in thier own thoughts, providing poets and artists with an environment ripe for thought and creativity amoung the spirits of the past.

On that paticular day, however, Union Square was not the peaceful oasis of tranquility it usually was. On this day, Union Square was a sight of horror as bullet ridden police crusiers sat all but destroyed on the marble face, and the blood of Colonials tainted the water of the reflecting pool a deep, solemn red.

*****

His pistol clicked softly, a quiet admission of failure as Constable James Howard pulled his trigger again and again. An officer of the Capitol Police, it was his duty to ensure the security of locations such as Union Square and the Capitol Spire, to which the square was attached. Blood running down his face as he struggled to ram a new magazine into his service pistol, he ducked as yet another burst of automatic impacted the police cruiser he was seeking shelter behind. While the majority of the rogue Dragoons had advanced into the Capitol Spire, atleast two dozen seemed to remain at the entrance to the structure, preventing any attempt by the police to reinforce thier comrades still inside the Spire.

Rising up above the hood of his crusier, Howard fired a rapid burst at the Dragoons, before again ducking behind his badly damaged vehicle.

"All officers in Union Square, please be advised," crackled Howard's radio as another burst of machine gun fire blasted in his direction. "Please be advised, a foreign aircraft has been granted clearance to land within Union Square, repeat, an aircraft has been granted clearance to land in Union Square. All officers are ordered to evacuate the square, and remove any police vehicles from the square if possible."

"What the hell?" demanded Howard as he peered over the edge of his crusier's roof at his foes. "Who the hell thought that was a good idea?"

"Inspector Morris here," crackled Howard's radio again. "Abandon your cars if they are too damaged to leave the square, but be sure to take any wounded with you. We need to clear out of here - trust me, no one wants to be here when whatever the hell is coming down arrives. Viconia Metropolitan SWAT just arrived, so they'll be giving us cover fire as we make our grand exit. Make a dash out of the square as soon as possible, and try not to get shot... good luck, people."

*****

The Capitol Spire, Viconia City, Democratic Colonies

Secretary March looked at Zachary Mitas as he wiped yet another bead of sweat away from his eyes.

"Any help would be much appriciated, Mr. Mitas," said March with a quiver of fear lying just under her words. "Our own forces are currently en route to assist us here, but you must understand, these things do take some time. In the meanwhile, if you could all follow me? This area isn't safe anymore."

As is to punctuate her words, a dozen federal agents stepped through the massive oak doors that led into the conference room. Submachineguns and combat shotguns wielded in thier professional hands, one of them stepped forward to utter a few words to Secretary March. Her face, already pale, seemed to grow even more concerned as the agent spoke.

"What's going on?" demanded one diplomat.

"The terrorist attack currently underway against us is, ah, more serious then anticipated," stammered March as she and the agents backed away from the oak doors. A massive steel plate emerged from the floor, pushed upwards by hydraulics hidden beneath the door.

"Please, remain calm," said March as the gunfire still occuring outside was muffled by the rigid steel barrier that had risen to cover the doors. March's bodyguard drew his sidearm and directed the other agents behind cover, even as the steel barrier locked itself into position in front of the doors, blocking access into the room.

"Remain calm?" demanded another diplomat. "You made no mention of any terrorist threat when you invited to this talk!"

"Please, remain calm," urged March again. "Please, just... there is only this one entry into this conference room, so please, let's all just back away from it, and towards the windows. Please, let's just back away from the door..."

The gunfire outside seemed to draw closer as she spoke, as it increased in volume and intensity.

Thhis is an open letter to all christians in this trying time in your region. Fear not God is looking out for you. As you read this four transports full of holy warriors
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v3...es/specops.jpg are loading up ready to come to your aid. We will be outside your borders soon. We will land and help if you the people want it.

Zachary moved with March over to the windows, staring out them and down at the square far below, where he could see gunfire being exchanged. Funny, he thought, In all my years in international relations, this is the first time I've ever seen gunfire. I'm happy for it, but now I wonder if it would be better to jump out the window or die in a hail of bullets. Hard decision.



In the air, a short distance away

Sergeant Alex Spidell looked around at his squad, huddled together in the belly of a helicopter, drop ropes at the edges, with open doors. Some of his men were sitting with their legs hanging off the helicopter, down towards the skids. Alex had hisback to the front wall, facing back at Corporal Fred Jefferson. "Hey, Fred," he shouted.

"Yeah?" Jefferson shouted back, over the roaring din of the helicopter's rotor.

"You know anything about these Dragoons we're gonna be fighting?"

Jefferson shook his head, but PFC Roger Blane turned and shouted, in a thick Borderlands accent, "Sarge, I read up on them and it says they're tough as nails. Power suits that can bounce bullets right off 'em. Shoot for the head or blow 'em up's what I say, sir."

Spidell nodded, then shouted even louder. "Everybody hear that? Shoot for the head or use explosives!"

The squad mumbled their agreement at this statement, then fell silent again, a couple small groups of the squad of eleven talking to each other. Spidell looked out to the right and left. Around him were five other helicopters, three of them transporting CEF troops just like those in Spidell's squad. The other two were small, short-range gunships with rocket pods and miniguns, under orders not to fire until given a direct order to. The transport helicopters had miniguns mounted in the sides of the planes, manned by crew of the helicopters, again under orders not to fire until ordered to. The miniguns were loaded with 7.62 mm armour-piercing bullets, but still the Harakians had never dealt with Dragoon armour before, and had no idea how effective it would be. Inside each transport helicopter were also two snipers equipped with their choice of weapon. Several simply used C7s, several actually brought large-calibre sniper rifles.

The piloty of the chopper turned his head around and shouted at Spidell. "Twenty minutes!"

Spidell nodded and turned back to the squad. "You all heard that. Twenty minutes to the hot zone!"

*the transport screamed in low towards the border, the men and women abord each one eyeing ht einquestion troopers with them. Each solider saying prayers and checking their weapons.*

The ambassador crouched in the corner of ht eroom as the two bodyguards stood on either sides of the door with both their pistols drawn, a full load of AP rounds in the mags. They hadstrapped the limited bodyarmour they had brought with them, but even with there training they would be no match in an equal fight with the battlesuited soldiers currently blasting thier way down the corridor outside.


The Ocean Class Assault Transport D-145 Had a Chinook-3 Transport Choppers running up its engines on the launch deck, as 30 Special forces commandos in full battlegear embarqued from the ramp. They all had mags of stacked and AP rounds do combat the Battlesuits of the Dragoons, and five where even carrying Tagus antiTank missile Launchers so they could combat any APCass they could encounter.

MESSAGE TO SECURITY FORCES

ONE CHOPPER INBOUND
TRANSPONDER 2440/B-1C
CARRYING SPECIAL FORCES TO AID IN THE RESUCE OF DIPLOMATS TRAPPED IN CAPITOL
<<BREAKBREAK>>

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the bloody hell is happening!"

Katie Tenncent, the CEO of the largest Arms Company in Questers, screamed as she began to dial a number fervently into her extremely-expensive mobile phone.

"Calm down, calm down, and most importantly, shut up." His bodyguard, Hammers, replied. Searching through the cupboards in their room, he found what he was looking for - a shimmer of metallic light behind a pair of briefs. Pushing the underwear aside he grinned as he slid a .357 magazine into he Sig Sauer 228. Inserting it into his shoulder holster, he rummaged through the drawer below and produced a Desert Eagle. He slotted it into the waist holster and tossed the last gun, a .303 webley revolver to Tenncent, who was frantically trying to ring someone. A mini armoury, all of his own. Hammers wished he had brought along armour piercing rounds, but there was no time. He would have to make do with what he had.

Dragging the executive out the door, he carefully drew his Sig Sauer. Scanning the corridor, Hammers moved down to the right. He didn't know where he was going, but whoever was in that building probably wasn't going to be friendly.

"So where exactly are you taking me?"

"Hell if I know"

"What? You bloody idiot, I'm going to go look for the Foreign Secretary. -"

"Oh no you're not" Hammers grabbed Tenncent's collar. "If you go back there they'll probably kill you. Or worse."

"Fine." she gulped. "But you better do it right"

"Well I'm not going to do it wrong" he muttered.

The building was huge. They had been round several corridors when it was painstakingly obvious what was going on.

"Weren't we here a minute ago?"

"Shutup and keep walking" Hammers ordered. Dealing with civilians, especially this civilian was so irritating. But he had grown fond of her over the years, despite the business-only relationship, and didn't want to see her get killed. At least if only so his contract remained.

"Oh, look, fancy that. This is the meeting room. I think i'll go in and have a word with Madame March. Maybe then we can get something worked out." Tenncent stated.

"This isn't the time for-" Hammers slapped his palm over his face as Katie Tenncent rapped on the huge steel door of the meeting room. The gunfire had died down a little and didn't sound so close. The pair of Questarians hardly realised that very soon the Dragoons would be practically on top of them.

Capitol Spire, 15th Floor - Entranceway, Federal Congress Chamber

The blood pooled on the polished marble floor as Colonel Richard Eastin stepped over the bodies of what he once considered his fellow warriors. An entire platoon of Colonial Marines had made thier stand here, acting as the last line of defense between Eastin and the Congress Chamber. Needless to say, they had failed, but not without first causing his forces considerable casualties. Unlike the federal agents and the Capitol Police, the Marines were equipped with military assault weapons like the R22 Rifle (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/NationStates/d6c34629.jpg). While the rifle itself wasn't a problem unless a Dragoon's relatively vulnerable faceplate was penetrated, its attached 25mm pump-action launcher was a much more considerable threat to Eastin and his company.

While a platoon of Marines was dead at his feet, along with yellow jacketed members of the Capitol Police, the bodies of over a dozen broken and bleeding Dragoons joined them in lying lifelessly on the ground. Some sported faceplates broken by precision rifle fire, while others had ragged breaches in thier armour caused by 25mm sabot rounds. The price had been great, Eastin conceeded, but once he broke through the massive steel doors that remained as the only obstacle between him and Congress, the entire nation would have to hear his words. And, if they wished for the leaders of this land and the ambassadors of others to live, would obey them.

*****

Capitol Spire, 78th Floor - Executive Offices, Department of Foreign Affairs

The Dragoons swept forward, slowed but not halted as they ran through thier foes again and again without pause or mercy. They had broken out of the reception area with only a single loss, and as they had planned, were now approaching the Executive Conference Room where they knew thier targets were.

The heavy footsteps of titanium striders were heard around the corner by Constable Perseid as he dragged the battered form of a fellow police officer away from the advancing Dragoons. Blood was in no shortage all over both the officers, but only one of them was responsible for its being there.

"Stay with me, Hewitt," whispered Perseid as he continued to drag his wounded comrade down the corridor. "Only another turn until we make it to the Executive Conference Room, and they'll have a medic for you there - that, I promise. So don't you give up on me, or I'm going to be really pissed that I dragged you all the way here for nothing, alright Hewitt?"

Perseid smiled grimly as there was no response from the silent officer that he continued to drag along the corridor, her feet sliding along the floor as Perseid had his arms wrapped around her.

"Come on," urged Perseid through gritted teeth as the sound of metallic footsteps drew closer and closer, with only the occasional gunshot ringing out now. He continued to drag her, although when he finally did reach the outside of the Executive Conference Chamber, what he saw hardly lived up to his expectations.

"Help!" shouted Perseid at the two figures standing in the corridor. "Agents, I need help!" he shouted again at who he assumed were federal agents. "I have an officer down, I need - she needs a medic! Get the blast doors open and let us in there, she needs a medic!"

New Atlantis – President Benjamin Hayes was on the phone when his secretary escorted Tristan Michaels, Supreme Commander of Kenerian forces, and Justine Lewis, Chairman of the Senate Intelligence committee into his office. He motioned for them to sit.
“I understand” President Hayes replied, then hung up the phone. He turned toward the two men. “What is the situation in the Democratic Colonies?”
“Ambassador Davis and three of his aids are trapped in the Capital Spire” Chairman Lewis answered. “He has been in touch with his Chief of Staff at the embassy. They’re safe for now…”
“But?”
“We’ve had reports that there are troops on their way to the Spire.”
“Yes, during coup that would be expected.”
“That isn’t what I mean, Mr. President. These aren’t DC troops. Reports are that they’re Bandurian. There have also been reports that at least a half dozen helicopters have been seen heading toward the Spire that have Haraki markings.”
“This doesn’t look good.”
“I agree Mr. President” the Supreme Commander interjected. “Unless the Colonel receives significantly more help from his military, his coup seems destined for failure.”
“And if his coup fails, the DC government will undoubtedly take it out on the Christians. It’s amazing…” President Hayes continued, “…how often governments forget the old adage, “Those who refuse to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.””
“I don’t quite understand” the Chairman replied.
“How many times in history have nations tried to quell religious freedoms? How many times have they failed? No country, however great, has ever silenced religious freedoms without paying an incredible price down the road. And specifically, Judeo-Christian freedoms. Look at Babylon, the Mede/Persians, the Greeks and Romans. Where are they now? They all paid a heavy price.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, Mr. President, but where does that leave us now?”
“What is the status at the embassy?”
“We’re on high alert, but everything there seems quiet at the moment” the Chairman responded. “We have no intelligence regarding any activity against us at this time.”
“Commander Michaels, if I recall, the 21st Airborne Division is the closest unit we have to the area?”
“Actually Mr. President, we do have one unit closer, but yes, the 21st Airborne would be able to reach our embassy first.”
“Put them on alert, DEFense CONdition Two. I want them ready to go in on a moment’s notice if necessary.”
As the two men left the President’s office, he turned to look out the window. We can’t interfere, but we can’t let this coup just die…

Kenerian Embassy, Viconia City, Democratic Colonies – Greg Strickland, Chief of Staff to Ambassador Davis sat at his desk immersed in the piles of paperwork that had invaded his desk over the past couple of hours. Even though the Ambassador seemed calm, he detected the strain in his voice during the last conversation they had. The Ambassador was with three assistants, apparently in an anteroom somewhere when the attack began. Strickland knew the Ambassador well, and knew that sitting idly by was not his first choice for a course of action. The Ambassador believed in his mission, believed in peace, but also believed in the God given right of life, liberty and justice. “One cannot have justice without liberty, and of course one cannot have liberty without life” the Ambassador had once told him. Life was sacred, and true liberty meant the ability to worship as one believed. The door to his office opened timidly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes, come in.” It was Peter Jacobs, a rather new member of Strickland’s staff. He was carrying a tube approximately three feet in length. “Wonderful!” the COS exclaimed as he noticed the tube. “You were able to procure it.”

“Yes, sir” the young man replied, handing Strickland the tube.

As Peter turned and left Strickland’s office, Strickland excitedly opened the tube, pulled out its contents, and spread it over his already overburdened desk. Architectural plans of the Spire.

*****
New Atlantis, Keneria – “Please sit down, Mr. Michaels” the President said as the Supreme Commander was escorted into the President’s office for the second time that morning. “I have just been informed by Ambassador Davis’ COS that they have managed to obtain detailed blueprints of the Spire in Viconia City.”

“That could become very useful.”

“You mentioned earlier this morning that we have another unit in the vicinity of the DC?”

“Yes Mr. President. Actually we have two Stealth units that are conducting training maneuvers with a nearby ally.”

“Can they be reached?”

“Yes Mr. President.”

“In your estimation, what would their chances be in an engagement of this type?”

“Mr. President, these units are the two best Surgical Operations teams we have. To coin an old movie, you could say that they’re the best of the best of the best. They’re the ones that are actually conducting the training maneuvers. I think, given the situation, their chances of success would be quite high. There is a lot of confusion going on over there right now, especially with other foreign troops moving in. These Stealth teams’ specialties are to get in, successfully complete the assignment, and get out leaving virtually no footprint. I don’t see any reason why anyone would even know they’re there, especially with the blueprints.”

“Good. I want them at our embassy yesterday.”

The dropship descended from the sky like a giant bird of prey as the square below seemed to part for it, almost casting a black cloud of gloom as it touched down on the ground and the doors slowly began to open. Then, figures began climbing out of it. Three Shadower teams.

Immediately, one could observe that the Shadowers would be a force to be reckoned with. Their armour was midnight black, covering their entire bodies, like a metallic suit. In addition, it had small turrets sticking out from next to the eyes, along the thighs and forearms, and from under the chin -- each one was a voice-activated rifle, propelling a stream of armour-piercing .22 rounds towards whomever the Shadower was facing. This in addition to the light machineguns and short-range grapplers they were carrying. The leader could be identified by a crimson plume atop his head, standing a little bit taller than the rest of the soldiers.

Shadowers had been trained from birth to fight, and even before then -- genetically altered to become taller, stronger, healthier than most men. Almost no military force could stand up to them in single combat, even a few small units. But they were not the only ones. They were accompanied by strange vehicles climbing out of the dropships like metallic spiders, minitanks, their turrets immediately rotating towards the enemy.

As a virtual firestorm of armour-piercing rounds, RPGs, and tank fire obliterated whatever hostiles were still guarding the entryway, the Shadower battalion was occupying itself with more important tasks. It split into three teams, each team consisting of 20 Shadowers. One team reached the base of the Capitol Spire, pulled out their rappelling gear, and began climbing up the sheer walls. The two other teams pushed their way into the lobby and blasted open the elevator shaft doors with incendiary tank fire whose sheer heat caused the door to buckle under its own collapsing weight, and began climbing towards the 78th Floor, where hostiles had already been reported.

Attached to each team were twelve robotic minitanks, looking like so many robotic spiders. With their own fire, they could climb walls easily, which was exactly what they proceeded to do. Climbing up the sides of Capitol Spire, the mounted infrared scanners atop each minitank scanned each floor along the way for signs of military activity and reported their information back to the team commanders, who were following, scaling the walls with their rappelling gear with an agility that belied their heavy armour -- another result of their genetically-altered strength. One team of 20 Shadowers and 24 of the assorted minitanks (assault, recon, escort) was climbing the side of the Capitol Spire -- attracting a crowd, as they knew they would -- while the remaining 40 Shadowers, and the remaining minitanks, ascended through the elevator shaft.

As the minitanks climbing up the outside of the Spire reached the fifteenth floor, they detected the activity within and began searching for the best entrance to the floor. This basically entailed finding the nearest window, which the first assault minitank in the line just punched in, destroying it immediately. From then on tank after tank climbed in, immediately searching for the enemy forces and preparing to launch rounds against them. They would be followed within moments by the rest of the Shadowers.

Meanwhile, the elevator doors on the 78th floor were forced open and the first minitank crashed through with its same high-powered incendiary rounds, twisting and blasting the metal beyond recognition as it quickly began scanning the surrounding area for targets...

[ooc: The minitanks are 6' long x 3' wide x 5' high, just for reference. As I said, they look a lot like giant spiders. The Shadowers look a lot like Darth Vader with extra apparatus.]

OOC: Very nice post, Banduria, but could we slow down a little? I'd like to allow the good Colonel to get a few more things done before it all comes down on him. Also, it's generally frowned upon to post the losses of anotehr RPer's characters or forces - it's generally preferable to post what your troops are attempting to do, so that the other RPers have the opportunity to write up a reaction and losses, and determine the general level of success attributed to the attempted action. If it's alright, I'd rather let the Dragoons at the entrance of the Spire remain in one piece for atleast a bit longer. There are still a few things I'd like to see happen. Thank you.

The Government District of Viconia, capitol city of the Union, was in a state of confusion both on the ground and in the air as people and vehicles rushed both to and from the Capitol Spire. Ambulances, often overfilled with wounded, fought thier way to hospitals while police and news crews crowded the roads, trying to find thier way to the Spire. Elevated road systems and underground expressways were trapped in a state of gridlock, while in the skies above, news helicopters jockeyed for camera angles while trying to avoid colliding with fighter jets, police drones and airborne ambulances.

It was through this aerial confusion that the Ready Battalion of the 10th Airmobile Division flew, slowed by the disorganized flights of aircraft that swarmed around the government district. One thousand troops aboard V-22 Ospreys, the Ready Battalion was a more then capable of destroying a single company of Dragoons - assuming, ofcourse, that they arrived at thier destination intact.

*****

Capitol Spire, 15th Floor - Entranceway, Federal Congress Chamber

The slamming of steel on steel was deafening as Colonel Eastin's Dragoons pounded against the massive steel door that kept them from the Congress Chamber.

"Colonel, I think we're going to need a little hand if we're to break through, sir," reported one Dragoon as sweat poured down his face. "Some of our suits are starting to overheat, and all we've managed to do so far is make a few dents, sir," he continued.

Colonel Eastin was about to reply, but before he could, another of thier company called to them from by a bank of windows.

"Colonel, sir! There's some kind of aircraft landing in Union Square," the Dragoon announced.

"No doubt the forces of one of today's foreign guests," spat Eastin. "Order Captain Culver at the entrance of the Spire to withdraw if required, but have her try to hold her ground."

"Yes, sir" came the reply as Eastin turned back to the metallic barrier that prevented thier advance.

"Lieutenant De Mornay?" asked Eastin as he extended an open hand. "Give me your Javelin Missile Launcher, if you please."

The Javelin, an anti-tank missile, was the heaviest single weapon carried by the Dragoons.

"A few missiles should do the trick, wouldn't you agree, Lieutenant?"

*****

Capitol Spire, 1st Floor - Entrance Level

"Hold this ground!" shouted Captain Culver as she fired her belt-fed MG-43 light machinegun. The weapon fired 6.5mm rounds as she held it tightly against her shoulder, attempting to kill a Shadower with a red plume on his head. The Dragoons were firing thier weapons at the Bandurian Shadowers, while all around them, groundshaking explosions thinned thier own numbers.

While most of the Dragoons were armed with belt-fed MG-43s, as Culver was, others were armed with the deadlier but much slower firing GL-8. A large, heavy weapon issued only to the Dragoons, the GL-8 was an automatic munitions launcher of sorts. Fitted with eight barrels, it fired 25mm grenades or sabot rounds, rotating barrels much like a revolver after each shot to avoid overheating. The weapon, while too heavy and bulky for general infantry use, found a perfect home in the arms of a Dragoon, as the weight of the weapon and the massive stores of ammunition needed to feed it could be easily carried by a Dragoon's combat exoskeleton.

Heavy RPG and anti-tank fire continued to cause massive explosions, marring the once elegant face of the Spire as heavier weapons were directed at its entrance, and the Dragoons crouching under its ruined fascade returned fire with bullets and grenades. Marble and glass showered the scene as the historic entrance to the Spire crumbled and shattered under fire.

"Captain Culver, I think we need to withdraw!" shouted one Dragoon as he fired his machingun madly. An explosion knocked him off of his feet even as he spoke.

"We hold here!" replyed Culver as she continued to fire at the foreign soldiers.

"But ma'am! Look above us!" came the shouted reply amid another explosion.

Captain Culver looked up as machinegun fire continued to sweep the entrance, and another wave of anti-tank fire exploded with a supersonic crash.

The entrance to the Capitol Spire was something that often graced the fronts of postcards and tourist photographs from DC. Elegently sculpted from imported marble, the entrance to the Spire presented the groundlevel face for the Spire towards Union Square. From the concourse infront of the Spire, a tourist would ascend a dozen or so polished marble steps, before perhaps pausing to admire the twin statues of the goddesses Athena and Venus who supported the overhanging archway that hung over the entrance, and then finally enter the Spire itself. The statues were rather iconic in the hearts and minds of many Colonials, in a nation that loved things that seemed larger than life. Measuring perhaps six metres tall, each goddess held up the arch with a single hand while the other hand held forth a sword in Athena's case, and an olive branch in Venus' case. The arch extended a dozen metres away from the face of the building, putting the Dragoons underneath its artisically designed form.

This was rather concerning to Captain Culver, for as she discovered as she looked above her, it was crumbling rather quickly, and looked as if it were about to collapse.

Captain Culver gasped as she finally realized what was going to happen.

"Dragoons!" she screamed through helmet mounted radio. "Withdraw to within the Spire! The entrance arch is going to collapse on us and crush us unless we move!"

The Dragoons, inspite of the heavy fire around them, moved swiftly as they scrambled to thier feet and through the already destroyed doors of the Spire. Anti-tank fire and RPGs continued to crash into the entrance however, causing Dragoons to die thier places even as they beat back a hasty retreat.

"Come on, move it!" shouted Culver as she herself sprinted into the Spire. The arch above the entrance continued to shake and crumble as anti-tank fire continued to bombard the entrance. As machinegun fire continued to sweep the entranceway, another salvo of anti-tank fire proved to be the last fire that the arch above the entrance would take as it finally sucummbed to explosions all around it.

The wreakage of the collapsing arch took the iconic statues of Athena and Venus with it as it crumbled downwards, covering the entrance to the Capitol Spire with its remains. The bodies of dead and dying Dragoons were buried in the rubble as the entrance to the Spire was effectively blocked by tons of marble.

*****

Capitol Spire, 15th Floor - Entranceway, Federal Congress Chamber

"We took heavy losses, Colonel," radioed the voice of Captain Culver. "About half of my detachment is dead or missing."

"Very well, Captain," came the reply from Colonel Eastin as he cradled a Javelin Missile Launcher in his arms.

"It should take some time for our foes to clear out the rubble - plant some explosives in the lobby, claymores and such, and then bring your detachment up to the 15th floor. We're about to enter Congress," he continued.

"Sir, I should also note that the Ready Battalion of the 10th Airmobile Division should be here soon, sir. Isn't it time that - "

"I'll take care of our Airmobile friends when the time comes," interupted Eastin. "I want them to be in the Government District first. I want the news cameras, I want the press to be watching when the Ospreys go down in flames. Now get up here, Captain. Something is going on in the Congress Chamber - I can hear something on the other side. I think our foreign interventionists have just entered through a window, and they're making quite a racket about it. Get up here, Captain - whoever these foreigners are, we'll handle them together."

And with that, Eastin raised his missile launcher. He fired it, causing the massive steel barrier to buckle backwards and groan in stress.

"Another one or two of those should do the trick," said Eastin as he was handed another Javelin. He raised it to his shoulder, targeting the door.

"As soon as those doors are breached, I want us to charge in," he ordered. "25mm auto-grenadiers first."

As his troops readied themselves, Eastin fired the second missile at the already weakening door.

"What are you talk-"

"We're not agents." Hammers explained. "We're the representatives from the Questarian Company Portham Shipwrighters. We'd open the door for you, but hell, we can't open it either."

Tenncent looked furious. "This visit didn't include attack by terrorists on the bloody package! This is an outrage."

"Shutup." Hammers whispered. "I don't know what choices we have." He said to the Captain. "I'm well armed, but unfortunately I can't do anything for your friend. Are there any medical facilities up here?"

[OOC: Sorry for crappy post, heh. Been busy with schoolwork all day.]

OOC: Is this still open? If so, is it open only to certain nation types, or just to anybody who wants to take part?

~ Romandeos.

OOC:
Still open. The meeting at the Capitol Spire was intentionally left vague in nature - "piracy on the high seas" - so that any nation could have diplomats at the meeting, and thus a stake involved.

Intervention in another fashion, ie intervention to support Colonel Eastin, would be fine as well, although any overt acts would ofcourse not be well received by the Federal Government.

OOC:
Still open. The meeting at the Capitol Spire was intentionally left vague in nature - "piracy on the high seas" - so that any nation could have diplomats at the meeting, and thus a stake involved.

Intervention in another fashion, ie intervention to support Colonel Eastin, would be fine as well, although any overt acts would ofcourse not be well received by the Federal Government.

Romandeos has little serious deployment capabilities at this time, but this is a cool thread, and so I suppose I will think of something. Romandeosians like freedom of religion, and so they will likely support the Colonel. Romandeos is a largely Christian nation.

P.S Is it alright with you if I say Romandeos operates a full Embassy in your country?

~ Romandeos.

OOC: I'll pop into this with an ambassador in a bit as well.

[ooc: Oh... er... sorry about that. ~_^]

As the entrance collapsed, the Bandurian Shadowers began moving, having sustained minimal losses (they loaded their dead into the dropship, which then disappeared into the sky, miraculously avoiding the swarm of aircraft surrounding the Spire -- perhaps by virtue of their 40mm cannons and extensive XSRAAM defences). The Shadowers moved swiftly, pulling out rappelling gear as they began to climb the ruined marble face of the Spire towards the 15th floor, where a problem area had already been detected, along with twelve of the minitanks.

Meanwhile, the remainder of the Shadowers and their minitank escort began blasting their way through the collapsed doorways with grenades, mines, plasma explosives, and heavy incendiary fire, planning to clear the rubble swiftly as well as destroy any explosives or booby traps planted by the fleeing detachment of dragoons. Finding quickly that their bombardment didn't seem to be working, as more rubble simply fell from above into the smoking holes left in the piles on the steps, they radioed Central Command for a replan and were directed to take the building from the outside instead, giving support where needed.

Therefore, the next wave of minitanks and Shadowers began ascending with their gear, back turrets ready to fire armour-piercing rounds in case they were attacked from below or behind as they climbed. Apparently more Dragoons were attacking the foreign offices, on the 78th floor. The Shadower physique was strong enough to endure such a grueling climb, and a Shadower with acrophobia was unheard of thanks to the genetic screening. Thus, bypassing the 15th floor altogether -- where 20 Shadowers and 24 minitanks were gathering within the Congress Chamber itself, preparing to mount a defence -- the remaining 40 Shadowers and 12 minitanks continued to climb towards the 78th floor, where they would mount another defence against the Dragoons attacking there.

[15th Floor, Capitol Spire]

Striding through the stunned groups of government officials gathered in the Congress Chamber -- and paying them little mind or the honour of an explanation -- the Shadower captain barked out a few commands in a harsh, unfamiliar language, his forces following him towards the steel doors. Just in time, too -- the first Javelin missile slammed against them as he approached, causing them to buckle inwards. The minitanks took up a formation against the door, preparing special tungsten-tipped missiles that would simply punch holes in the door, their proximity warheads then obliterating everything outside it. Meanwhile the Shadowers themselves guarded the door, waiting with all weapons and systems ready if the Dragoons chanced to break through before the minitank missiles were ready.

[ooc: You're free to talk to the Shadowers if you want, but I'll probably have to wait with a response until tomorrow. It's a bit late here.]

Daemon Farwell... The Minister of Foreign affairs and High Daemon to the Emperor's own band of assassins. Who would have guessed that he would have wound up in a situation like this? To think he was only there to draw attention away from the piracy Antanjyl was commiting on the high seas. What was the point when a bunch of insane soldiers would do the job for him?

"Mister Farwell!" His assistance managed to break him out of his trance as he puffed on that cigarette, "They're breaking down the door! What are we going to do?!" She shouted, grabbing ahold of the dark haired man's shoulders and shaking him violently.

"Dammit Emilia..." He muttered as he tossed the cigarette onto the floor and reached into his jacket, pulling out his pistol. It a special issue for diplomats, which fired a .50 tungsten round, "They'll probably kill us one at a time unless their no doubt outrageous demands are met. "But don't worry. There are plenty of other diplomats around to hide behind. Do you have your gun? If so hand it here..."

"Actually I left it back at the hotel..." She whispered as she looked around the room at the others.

"Ah well. Don't worry, by the time they get through with the other diplomats you'll probably be rescued. Praise the God-Emperor."

"Praise Galf." She repeated as the second explosion rocked the steel doors.

The pilot turned back to Spidell. "Five minutes! We're over the city now!" he shouted. Spidell turned to his squad. "Five minutes," he shouted. THey turned to look at him and nodded. Most seemed calmer than he was used to. He had spent a great deal of time in the infantry prior to his joining of the CEF, and he was used to having scared rookies udner his command. The skilled, hardened CEF men were something else. Nothing seemed to phase them. They were forty men going up against what best estimates called a hundred and fifty and worst estimates called a hundred more than that, wearing power armour and carrying chain gun grenade launchers. The CEF men were armed with nothing more than LAWs, grenade launchers, shotguns and assault rifles, and they seemed fearless.

Then came the fateful news, that changed the whole day. Spidell listened to the co-pilot get the news and turn back to Spidell. "Sarge, there's been a change in plans. The front entrance has been completely destroyed, caved in. The Dragoons retreated back inside the building and have undoubtedly prepared a few nice surprises for those that follow them. The Bandurians already seem to have the ground level under control, se we've been given orders to drop rope you in on a balcony on the 23rd floor. It's a big balcony, big enough to land one squad at a time from one chopper at a time. The gunships will provide support while you make your way down the stairs to the 15th floor, where the Dragoons are attacking the diplomats."

Spidell nodded and turned to the squad. "Change of plans, boys," he shouted. "Three minutes to drop and we're not hitting the ground. We drop in on a balcony on the 23rd floor, and run down eight flights of stairs to the room the diplomats are in. Since it'll be mostly indoor fighting, I suggest those of you with under-barrel shotguns load in slugs instead of shot. More effective against armour. Those with grenades, well ... Use discretion. There's more innocent people around than we thought there'd be, so use them in extreme circumstances only."

"Sir, we're here to protect one guy," piped up an annoying PFC, Charlie Tomero. "Why can't we just get him on a chopper and get out?"

"Because, Chaz, we're not here for one guy," Jefferson answered to give Spidell a break, "we're here to kill all these bastards so they can't hurt anybody else. Fundamentalist power suit-toting rebels are our specialty today, whether we like it or not, so this is what we're stuck with. Now shut up, we're here."

The Spire was suddenly looming in front of them, almost seeming larger than life, and the fifteenth floor was evident: There were Bandurians and huge fucking spiders entering through the windows, having just climbed up the walls. As the helicopter pulled around the rear of the building, their target appeared evident: A medium-sized balcony with nothing above it, good enough for a skilled pilot to hover and allow drop ropes to get the CEF men in.

Spidell's men were the second chopper in, after Captain Sam Reynolds, the platoon commander, with Squad 1. Spidell's Squad 2 landed after several minutes of awkward helicopter renegotiating, and Reynolds turned to Spidell. "Alex, we don't have time to wait for the other two squads to land. Kyle will take command of Squads 3 and 4 once they're all on the ground. We're moving out."

Alex nodded and beckoned to his men to follow him. Shouldering his C7 carbine, he waited until the last of Reynolds' ten men had made their way through the door and then followed them. The stairs were a short way away, and Spidell followed Reynolds' squad down them. Eight flights of stairs were somewhat tiring usually, but there was no time to be tired now. The twenty-one men softly running down them moved quickly but quietly, preparing for indoors combat against opponents with superior equipment and really big guns. Oh yes, it would be fun. The following twenty-two men were on their way five minutes later, and the six helicopters pulled away to try and find targets they could destroy. One of the transports pulled up level with the fifteenth floor window, and both snipers - one with a C8, the other with a high-calibre rifle - lined up to watch the situation through their scopes. The gunnery chief manning the minigun aimed it directly at the bending doorway, and simply prayed that people would get out of his way.

OOC: I might put something in tomorrow.

The Chinook-B flew over the twin gatling cannon ready to shoot down any missiles heading in its direction, radioing there intention to help erescue the hotages in the open on all available channels, it stopped over a street about three blocks away from the spire and the 30 special forces repeled down on a half dozen ropoes which were dangled from the side cargo doors.

Major Kwaoski brought up her rifle and signaled the advance, demolitions and heavy weapons up front. They began moving towards the gunfire at the spire with loaded weapons.

From: The Cascadian State Dept.
To: Secretary of Foreign Affairs of the Democratic Colonies
Subject: Military Coup

The Republic of Cascadia is concerned about the effects of a coup by the military. We believe that this started because of your proposals to censor or expel Christian clergy from your nation. The Republic believes that this is wrong. All people have the right to express their beliefs. If you would like, we could send dipomats to arrange a confence before you and the leaders of the military coup to settle differences.

The Spire
Rodenkan Ambassador Sir Leo Eskinhaus, along with his bodyguard, found himself trapped inside the Spire as heavy fighting raged throughout the building. He and his bodyguard were currently huddled behind a desk, trying to avoid being noticed by the Dragoons. Leo looked to Edgar Horvitz, his bodyguard for the last three years he had served on the diplomatic staff of the Kingdom of Rodenka, and was current;y clutching the Mini Uzi he carried with him.

"Ed, we need to get in contact with the Embassy. Now."

"Already on it Sir Eskinhaus," replied Horvitz, already speaking into the small radio at his wrist. "We have a terrorist attack in progress at the Spire, I repeat, we have a terrorist attack at the spire. We require immediate evacuation!" He nodded instinctively as a reply came across the airwaves.

"Sir, they're deploying the Embassy Guard to mount a rescue operation. Apparently the main enterence has been caved in, they'll have to make an enterance via the roof."

Leo nodded. It seemed they'd be herre a while longer.

Embassy Guard Headquarters, Capital of the Colonies

Colonel Sir Emil Weikhelm stood over the blueprints of the Spire, examining possible entereance points. His aide, Lieutenant Robert Ulsen stood next to him.

"It would seem, Sir, that our best choice of entry will be via balcony, by helicopter."

"I know Lieutenant. I'm dmaned glad that the boys we have on Embassy duty have at least some combat experience." Emil sighed, "Three platoons of soldiers will have to do it. Now, our main goal will be to fight our way to the Ambasador's position and evacuate him via helicopter, along with any other personnel we can find. All other besides the ambassador are secondary, however."

"Yes, Sir! I'll brief the men."

"Lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

"Load up on armor piercing ammunition, these bastards have some heavy armor."

"Yes sir."

Half an hour later, three Mi-8 helicopters lifted off from the Embassy grounds and headed towards the Spire. As they headed in towards the tall building, Eskinhaus watched another group of helicopters dropping men onto a balcony. He pointed to one a few rooms down.

"That's our target! Get ready to deploy."

The helicopter came to a virtual stop in mid-air, hovering two feet over the balcony. Quickly, the men disembarked, hitting the blacony and spreading out as hey entered the building. One after the other, the other two helicopters dropped their men and peeled off. Total, the Colonel had 106 men under his command, armed with G-36K Assault rifles, Mg-3 light machine guns, and fragmentation grenades. Hurriedly they moved toward the stairs.

The Spire, 78th Floor

Ambassador Ivan Yakushin, from the People's Republic of Kilani, had been caught outside of the Foriegn Office when the attack began. His escort, four People's Army soldiers, had immediatly hustled him into a side-room when the shooting started near the elevator. Unlike other countries, the Kilani government did not use anyomous business-suited men. They used soldiers in full dress uniform, usually armed with AK-74Us. Now Yakushin was hunkered down behind a desk in a side room, listening to the Dragoons outside as they pounded on the security door of the foreign office. The four PAK soldiers had made a make shift barricade to hide behind and had their weapons trained on the door.

The four soldiers were also in full dres uniform: grey-green trousers, jack-boots shined until they gleamed, a grey-green jacket buttoned down the center, black, leather belt, peaked cap, and red trim.

"What do we do now?" he hissed to the soldier standing next to him. THe soldier, Sargeant Sergei Abulain, had been with the ambassador since his arrival in Democractic Colonies. He knew he and his three men were fully expected to die in order to get the ambassador to safety. He glanced down at Yakushin.

"Comrade Ambassador," he began, "We can do nothing as of now. I radioed the embassy and they have informed me they are preparing rescue operations. Apparently they are calling in a platoon of the SID."

"Thank God," Yakushin muttered, "If anyone can get us out, it is them...But in the meantime, perhaps we can talk to these men outside. They are rebelling against their own government and they should have no need to want us dead. Maybe they will be open to negotiations?"

Abulain nodded slowly, "Perhaps. I will go outside and ask."

One of the other men spoke up, "No Sargeant, let me go. You are a superior officer and Comrade Yakushin's safety is in your hands."

Abulain thought for a moment, before speaking, "Very well. We will wait for you here. Good luck Private Leonov."

"Thank you comrade."

Leonov stodd and shook hands with everyone before slowly easing out of the office door. He silently walked to the corner and took a quick look. He watched as the one apparently in charge issued orders. It seemed that the security door was thwarting even their enhanced strength. He took a deep breath and walked slowly around the corner, holding his AK above his head with both hands, trigger asembly and clip pointing upwards.

"Do not shoot! I am Private Viktor Leonov of the People's Army of Kilani. I am representing Ambassador Yakushin. He wishes to negotiate his release with you."

Democratic Colonies Airspace

As soon as word had reached the Kilani Intellegence Division, a Special Infantry Detachment had been prepped, briefed and launched on a high-speed jet, along with their heliocopter transport and escorting gunship. They would be on the ground in the Capitol within a half-hour and suited-up within another ten. Then it was only a ten-minute heliocopter ride to the target.

They had reached the fifteenth floor, in the back of the building, away from the meeting room and elevators near the front of the building. A sergeant from Reynolds' squad gingerly pushed open the door off the stairwell, stepping throguh it and swinging his C8 around to look both ways down the hallway, then turned back to the stairwell and motioned the 'all clear' signal. Reynolds nodded, turning to his men. Follow me quietly, he motioned, then cautiously stepped through the door, making his way down the hallway to the right, towards the elevators. In the distance, they could hear gunfire and the occasional explosion.

Spidell's men followed close behind. He turned and motioned the last four, including Tomero, to go the other way down the hallway and stay in touch on the headsets, just to secure and all clear the floor. They nodded and moved off down the hallway. Spidell watched them go for a split second before turning and following Reynolds' men, who were stopped at the corner. Reynolds cautiously looked around it, then quickly pulled his head back.

Motherfucker, he thought. Two of them out there. Those suits look tough. All I've seen is pictures. Against those things, we're woefully unprepared. I don't think we have enough C4 to kill a hundred of those things. Maybe fifty, but no more. Yeah, this will be a fun time. Outnumbered and outgunned. I guess we'll have to rely on skill and deception, then.

He closed his eyes and summoned up the mental image of the room he had just peeked into. It seemd a bit like a reception room. There was a counter on the left side boxing off part of the room that looked like it could serve as a bar, or maybe something else. He didn't know the local customs, so he couldn't judge. Counter on the left, a few marginally comfortable chairs around the room. A couple - probably plastic - plants littered the room in corners. All in all, an interesting place for a firefight.

Chief of Staff Greg Strickland’s office had hastily been turned into a war room of sorts. The Stealth teams had just arrived, but still without specific orders from New Atlantis.

“A frontal insertion is impossible. The Dragoons have the main entrance completely covered, not to mention the foreign troops we know are on the way” Strickland informed his guests.

“The only way to covertly gain access is underground” Colonel Trist commented.

“Sewers?” the COS asked.

“Sewers, air conditioning, whatever access tunnels they have. There’s bound to be access for communications, electrical, that sort of thing.”
“Lets see those blueprints” Colonel Trist asked as he moved around Strickland’s desk. He flipped through some of the prints until he found what he was looking for. “Here. There are electrical access tunnels here and here” he said pointing to the two areas on the prints.” The Colonel flipped through some more pages. “Good” he finally said after studying one of the prints. “We’ll be able to access these tunnels at this point here. It’s close, but far enough away from the plaza that we can enter without being seen.”

“Are we sure there are no Dragoons guarding these tunnels?” Strickland asked the Colonel.

“As far as I know we don’t have any intelligence regarding Dragoons in the tunnels, but we have to assume they are. Eastin’s no fool. He’s sure to have planned this out to the last detail. Besides, I know we don’t have any specific orders yet, but who’s to say the President won’t order us in to help the Dragoons.”

“And you expect them to stop and ask questions first?”

“No. We’ll have to go in expecting a firefight.”

“Are you sure your team can handle that?”

“Although our specialty is surgical maneuvers, we’ve seen it all. We can handle it. Have you heard from the Ambassador?”

“Not since that first call. I don’t dare risk calling him. I don’t want to inadvertently tip off their position.”

“Well, until I hear otherwise, lets assume we’ll be sent in” the Colonel said as he motion for his second, Captain Linda Carrol, over to his side. “We’re going to have to come up with a good one this time” he told her.

The ambassador squeezed his tie nervously. Outside, he was hearing explosions after explosions. Next to him were his two bodyguards. There were officers from the Foreign and Dipomatic Protection Unit of the Federal Investigative Bureau or the FIB. They were huddled behind a chair, the officers brandishing MP7s.

"Jesus Christ," said the ambassador.

"Damn, straight Adrian," replied one of the bodyguards.

The explosions continued on and on. Adrian pulled out his mobile phone, and called the Department of Foreign Affairs, in the Northern Colonies. The call was replied by an old lady, one of the workers at the Department.

"Amy," Adrian started panickingly. "The Spire is under attack!"

"What, dear?" She replied. "I can't hear you properly."

"There are terrorist sqarming across everywhere," shouted Adrian. "Send the FIB, army, anyon..."

At that point, he was interuptted but his bodyguard.

"We need to move," one of them said. "We're sitting ducks here."

"Yea, Andy's right," replied the other. "If we move, we might be able to get out."

"Let me just finish this call," Adrian replied. He was about to put the phone back into his face when Andy, in a sense of frustation, pulled him. In the process, he dropped his phone.

"What the fuck are you doing Andy?" Shouted Adrian.

"Saving your life, mate," replied Andy. He pulled a holster from his belt with a pistol in it. "Now hold this and shut up!"

And with that, the three men moved out of the dipomatic room.

A friendly *bump*

OOC: I apologize for my lack of posting lately. My winter break is about to end, and I've been scrambling to finish a class assignment that I should have been working on, but ofcouse, didn't. I intend to make a comprehensive IC post within the next 24 hours. Again, I apologize for the lack of IC RP.

another *bump*

“Recon? What do you mean, recon?” Colonel Trist asked Chief of Staff Greg Strickland.

“The President wants you to gain entrance to the Spire through the tunnel system and make contact with any Dragoons that may be positioned there. Find out what the Dragoons may need in the form of support, and then report back to me. Do NOT engage any of Colonel Eastin’s forces, nor any foreign troops. Those are your orders.”

"Has the President decided to assist?"

"Not at this time, but we will definitely not interfere. If we end up getting involved in this, it will be in support of the coup. However, IF we do get involved, and that is a very large "if" Colonel, we must be completely covert."

"Understood. That will be right down our ally. You should expect to hear from us within the hour."