NationStates Jolt Archive

[ooc: This does not actually occur in Manium, but the other continent of Cordensa, however, due to uncertainty regarding what should be the accompanying word in the title of the thread... I kept Manium to make it seem more official or such. Enjoy./ooc]

His Majesty’s Ship Audace

It was nothing more than a token force to the Admiralty of the United Kingdom. Commodore Malcolm Ainsworth knew just as much, but also knew that his force could bring a state of war to the largely uninhabited island continent of Cordensa. In his late thirties with a light brown goatee accompanying his close-cut hair appeared the stylish commander that he truly was not. Ainsworth knew nothing about style, just that there were rumours he was one of the crew’s selection for “Sexiest Man Onboard.” Regardless of his sex appeal, Ainsworth knew he at least exuded a commanding presence amongst his junior officers. And given his comparative youth, that confidence had served him well in both battle and now in politics. Standing on the outer bridge, Ainsworth glanced down the large flight deck and watched in almost childish awe as a jump fighter loudly roared, its exhaust at an angle downwards, propelling the aircraft into the morning sky.

There was little to frighten Ainsworth off the coast of Cordensa save the likely reefs and shoals, which is why the distant coastline was just that – distant. To lose an amphibious assault ship to a sandbar would end any career for which he had ever hoped and prayed. The HMS Audace was one of the larger ships in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, having been designed to land a division of Royal Marines in a combat zone. Instead, its cargo bays and bunks were filled not with guns, ammunition, tanks, and soldiers but with bread, milk, bottled water, fruits, vegetables, and construction workers from the Home Islands. After all, Ainsworth mission was far from open warfare.

5 Weeks Prior

It’s imperative that we begin to expand, Commodore. Novikov is beginning to truly sap our industrial work force as its depressed economy offers companies labourers requiring less pay than here.

I could care less about the reasons, sir. I merely wanted to know why this island.

Because it’s largely untouched, which means the United Kingdom can get a foothold in the earliest stages and perhaps hold some serious sway with our eventual neighbors. Also, because the directive has come directly from the Prime Minister at the bequest of His Majesty.

God save the King. Ainsworth then raised his hand and saluted his superior officer, then brought his hand down to receive the actual orders. Inside was the paperwork that officially named Ainsworth as the royal representative to the soon-to-be-established colony, still without a name. Also inside were maps and charts and figures on the force with which he would be deploying. Most of the unit would be civilian contractors with a few Royal Army units to provide a military defence lest any hostile neighbors unexpectedly surface. His new command the newest amphibious assault ship, a ship that had been tasked with a relatively easy colonization run for its inaugural duty. Then again, the Type 62 had performed remarkably well in such missions providing the key logistics and supplies for the construction of Avinapolis in the Verdant Archipelago, Port Elizabeth in Jipangunesia, Atlantis in the eponymous colony, and now it appeared the unnamed city in the unknown country.

Present

Commodore, Lieutenant Berry has reported that the landing craft are ready to deploy with the first units. Ainsworth stared quietly at the ensign tasked with relaying the message. At the stern of the mighty vessel were air-cushioned landing vehicles that were prepared to race towards the beaches and deposit a company of infantrymen and a few bulldozers, backhoes, and assorted industrial equipment that would be useful in the first culling of the forest.

Thank you, Ensign. Inform Mr. Berry that he is to proceed with landing maneuvers.

Aye, sir.

From the open outer bridge, Ainsworth listened to the giant motors pushing air through rigid cushions, lifting the massive machines above the surface of the ocean. Finally, as they passed beyond the flight deck he could watch them fly off towards the horizon, towards the Kingdom’s newest territorial acquisition. The jump jets roared off the flight deck while helicopter gunships swung their rotors, gearing up for an escort mission – although escorting against what nobody could be certain.

On the landing craft, which roared loudly unto the gap between the trees, into the river separating beach from beach, a young private of only twenty years of age stood, somewhat nervously clutching his battle rifle. Lyle Niven had enlisted for a short four year stint in the Royal Army in order to receive a guaranteed scholarship to a regional university near his hometown city of Strafford. And so with a full head of dirty-blond hair that had since been all but shaved, and a few Credits in his pocket, he left home and entered into His Majesty’s service. Niven had managed to avoid the bulk of the fighting of the Novikovian War with his unit being sent to distant Port Elizabeth to reinforce the garrison guarding the small colony, a mission that had prepared Niven and his comrades well for this new deployment – a long term deployment that would see him stationed in the middle of a forest guarding trees.

Inside the cargo well, Niven was not privy to the sights seen by David Leicester. Slender despite his hidden muscles, Leicester also boasted several degrees in human and physical geography, economics, and history – the combination of which had made his passage through Parliament rather painless. In short, the conclusion had been that Leicester knew what he was doing down on the island known as Cordensa. As Leicester stared into mouth of the Leicester River, named after himself by Parliament, he knew the prearranged location for the settlement could be found around the bend, as of yet invisible to the landing craft.

The landing craft slowed while the helicopter gunships roared overhead, their blades pushing down the air creating intricate patterns on the surface of the river and undulating movements in the branches of the thick forest. Their goal happened to be a small series of hills around which the river flowed, providing a naturally defensible position Leicester listened to the curt military calls between pilots and their liaisons on the landing craft, confirming the site was clear of human presence and thus safe for disembarkation. Slowly, the first hill came into view, around its rocky embankment the Leicester River curved leading to a deposit of silt on the other side of the river. Meanwhile, the landing craft crossed the threshold between land and sea/water just south of Hill 003.

In the cargo well, Niven fastened the strap to his helmet, checked the battery charge, and set the small eye-piece in place, giving him up to the date data on his environment – data said there was nothing but forest outside the ramp. In seconds, the ramp fell with a heavy thud to the ground and Niven raced out, crouching behind a small outcropping of hard rocks. With his eyes and then his scope, he surveyed the immediate perimeter and the distant tree line while a tracked infantry fighting vehicle made its way through the shrubbery and underbrush along a runoff path down Hill 002, a hill that provided ample coverage of the two approaches from the river.

Beta Team, came a crackle in Niven’s headset. Move up the hill and create defensible positions while Delta Company begins to unload supplies. Niven glanced over at the sergeant who nodded at the young Royal Army soldier, encouraging him to move on up the hill. Behind him a solitary main battle tank rolled off the landing craft as it would provide the heavy fire support in the case of a military emergency. For the most part, however, the heavy military hardware had been left back at the homeport or onboard the amphibious assault ship that had transported Niven to this deserted island. Finally, Niven reached the summit and pulled from his pack a small spade/pick/shovel combination unit and he thrust the blade into the dirt and thus began his foxhole.

Leicester leapt from the landing craft onto the somewhat soft, muddy soil around the hills, enjoying the pristine beauty of the site. Behind him, mechanics readied bulldozers and other heavy machinery that would chop down some of the surrounding trees, trees that would provide building materials for the first shelters of the colony. Slowly but surely, Royal Army trucks began towing off heavy containers on flatbeds carrying critical equipment such as generators to power the refrigeration units that maintained constant temperatures for frozen fruits, vegetables and meats intended for the first colonists. Indeed, beyond the hills and past the trees in the amphibious assault ship, waited nearly three hundred individuals who had desired a better life than could be afforded on the Home Islands. Instead of building homes vertically, these families could construct wooden homes consisting of a single floor. For now, however, Leicester remained content to keep the settlers onboard the ship while the basic necessities for civilization were slowly laid down.

Suddenly, Leicester felt a tap upon his left shoulder turning him around on instinct. Facing him was a blue-eyed, freckle-faced corporal from the Royal Army detachment. With his head enshrouded in a camoflauged helmet, one eye hidden behind a shatter-proof computer screen, he opened his mouth to speak before Leicester cut him off. Let me guess, Commodore Ainsworth?

Yes, sir. He wishes to speak with immediately, we have a communications channel established on your landing craft.

Thank you, corporal. Leicester waved his arms, letting the enlisted soldier lead the way back down a path of dried mud and barren twigs and sticks from underbrush killed and then stripped in what were likely occasional torrential rainstorms that swept down the hillsides. Taking a short hop to avoid stepping in the river, Leicester boarded the landing craft, finding a lieutenant holding a phone in his hand that Leicester took with a nod.

Leicester here.

Excellent, Mr. Leicester. I’m inquiring as to the progression of your unloading of supplies, and to whether I should release the river patrol boat and the second wave of supplies.

I believe that now would as appropriate a time as ever, Commodore. I believe that we ought to be able to initiate a system of agricultural as well as a primary-level economic system dependent upon this river for travel – meaning we need to secure our access to the river.

Very well then, I’ll dispatch the patrol boat with a depth-finder and the second wave of landing craft. They should arrive within the hour. Ainsworth out.

Within several hours, as night began to fall among the trees and hills around the river, Leicester laid down on a soft swath of high grass, looking upwards into the bright night sky, untainted by the pollution from cities and civilization. To his west, the garrison had erected tents and pre-fabricated structures to serve as a make-shift infirmary, mess hall, and headquarters. A floating pontoon dock system tied the land to the river, and it was along this wharf that the patrol ship Leander had docked for the evening. For its part, the HMS Leander had nothing more than a 20 millimeter chain gun with which to defend itself and the new colony, but its sheer presence lent a credibility to the colony and the seriousness with which the United Kingdom took in the colony.

In total, the colony consisted of little more than an organized cargo facility – open-air and on the ground – attached to a single long wharf for facilitating unloading by multiple landing craft at once. Lastly, atop the main hill sat the newly named town of Abercordensa.

With the toggle of a switch, the flip of a button, Leicester grabbed hold of his straw hat, keeping it squarely atop his round head while the rotors above him began to inch in their familiar circular rotation. A quick glance backward confirmed that his chief aide had finally gotten off the helicopter, and in his arms was a briefcase laden with papers ready for Leicester’s stamp of approval or note of receipt. He quickly hurried away from the field of springy grass on which a giant H now swayed in the rhythmic pulsing of air downwards toward the Earth. Scrambling down the hill, Leicester hurried to remove himself from the awful din that slowly consumed the hilltop, the provisionary heliport for the provincial town of Abercordensa. Finally, far enough away that his shouts could be heard over the raucous, departing chopper, Leicester turned to his aide.

What have you got for me?

Preliminary timetables from the Royal Navy on shipment arrivals as well as a request from the new Minister of Colonial Affairs to prepare a briefing to be transmitted to Imperium for his review, additionally I’ve been given some requests by sailors, soldiers, and personnel requesting to purchase land here – all of which needs your official signature before we can begin to process the transfer of real estate.

Leicester nodded and gave his aide the thumbs up, Excellent work. Now, let’s get the hell away from here.

Atop the main hill around which the United Kingdom’s colony was founded several small buildings had already been constructed aside from the pre-fabricated buildings. Leicester and his aide lumbered up this hillside reaching the top out of breath, taking in the sight of a wooden cabin that served as the offices of the royal governor. For now that was Leicester. The two men walked inside and threw their jackets on the sofa while the aide placed the briefcase next to the desk in the main room. Leicester led the way up to the roof, where a small observation platform had been built.

Looking towards the northwest, down the hill, the first wharf of the city had already been built and the two men watched the patrol boat for the colony free itself of its mooring lines and speed slowly towards the mouth of the river. Around the bend, a small cargo ship had begun to appear, its deck covered with organized stacks of containers. Leicester smiled at the sight because he knew that inside those containers were the first requirements for civilizations with generators for civilian equipment in addition to raw materials for the construction of enclosed warehouses and an apartment building that would serve as home for the settlers waiting off the coast.

Sir, his aide quietly said, Commodore Ainsworth has instructed me to inform you that the Royal Army has dispatched a scouting unit to stake claim to the land to our east.

Very well then. I suppose I have those papers still to sign.

At the base of the hill, Niven lit a cigarette and drew it very slowly, savouring the break from duty. Niven was to leave on a fortifying patrol after the scouts laid claim to the land to the east. Leaning against an enormous backhoe, he pulled out his canteen and took a swig of purified water from the base camp – which had received its water from the ship offshore. The backhoe he was leaning against belonged to the Royal Army and was set to begin digging a deep, navigable canal that would surround the rocky hill on which Abercordensa sat. The objective of the military commanders was to construct an island city that could, if required, isolate itself against a hostile countryside and the canal would be one of the first steps.

With his smoke halfway gone, he spied his sergeant coming to each vehicle, booting away fellow privates who had ran off to the construction site for a moment of privacy. Niven took heed of the approaching storm and pulled the cigarette from his mouth and with the snap of his thumb flicked the wrapped tobacco into the mud near the bulldozer not less the three meters away from him. Not a bad flick… he muttered, while turning away from the construction vehicles and onto a moss-padded log where he took a seat, enjoying the softness provided by mother nature. Finally the sergeant made his way to Niven.

Private, assemble at the docks in fifteen, we’re headed out.

Sir, I thought we had off the remainder of the day?

Change of plans, we’re moving east.

Alright, sergeant. With that Niven cursed to himself and hoisted his rifle up, and slung it over his shoulder. Nothing to report to the east apparently meant he was headed out for a night mission. All he really wanted to do was catch some bloody sleep. While walking over to the still a pitiful excuse for a dockyard, Niven watched as the engineers wandered down the hill from their tents and like ants at a picnic, slowly made their way into their massive machines – each of which started with a noisy crunching sound. The long work of building Abercordensa was already underway.

Through laser-thinned corneas, Arthur Kenneson stood as a rock along the eastern seawall of Abercordensa, his vision covering the decks of two freighters belonging to himself and the other shareholders of his freight company. Over two meters tall, Kenneson, in his brown tweed suit that offended all eyes but his own, micromanaged his nascent company that had been born with the intent to bring to life the full potential of one of the most underdeveloped colonies in the United Kingdom.

In the months since its founding, the canal had been completed and a bridge built connecting the island city and the surrounding environs despite their lack of civilisation. Boasting only a modest population of some fifty-thousand, Abercordensa continued to build upon the hills in the eponymous city, while container yards, fuel depots, and lower-tier hotels and inns lay strewn about the more level floodplains. Kenneson owned Piers 3-6 along the River Leicester, or the Cordensa Channel as it was known by mariners in the colony. From the riverfront, the massive concrete walls that kept the hills in place rose like chalk cliffs that the river battered relentlessly to no effect. Engineered to sustain the city against massive flooding, the walls also presented the semblance of a massive fortification that due to the unnatural height above river-level would require massive constructs to surmount. And Kenneson and others had begun to invest in those constructs, outlaying capital to invest in massive bridges for both rail and vehicular traffic that would ferry both people and goods from the port to the city.

And yet all of it depended on the ships below Kenneson. The freighters were far from large, only moderately sized given the comparatively narrow breath of the navigation channel – something that would hinder commercial enterprises for the considerable future. In time, the emerging consortium of importers/exporters would likely arrange for a deepening and widening of the channel at least so far as Abercordensa in order to allow for larger commercial vessels.

Kenneson himself had arranged for a small condo in a commissioned but yet un-built high-rise along the riverfront in the city proper. There were only two high-rises in the city, a seven story residential building and a five-story retail centre – both of cheap prefabricated box designs. Indeed, the whole of the city was yet unattractive on a purely aesthetical level for few wealthy persons had bothered to purchase and invest in properties save for Kenneson and a few other businessmen. Most of the homes were occupied by the construction crews, the longshoremen, and the mechanics and technicians who serviced the merchant ships and kept the port running. Shortly though, work would begin on the River Drive Annex, a twelve-story all-glass and steel building that featured an arc façade that mirrored the bend of the river towards the west-end of the city. The interior of the arc-shaped building would feature a small park with a public pool all enclosed by a gate and security guards. It was to be the first luxury building in the city. For now, though, Kenneson lived in a small prefabricated home decorated in a Spartan fashion until his new home would be complete by the end of next year.

Kilometers to the east, Private Niven stared aimlessly out into the surf, crashing and tumbling upon the sands before him. Behind him, his tracked infantry carrier lay inert, taking on fuel while the driver slept shirtless upon the soft grasses at the edge of the beach. Niven, for his part, lay with his back against a palm, a cigarette dangling between his lips and sunglasses resting precariously upon the edge of his nose. His unit had been tasked with scouting the eastern frontiers of Abercordensa, and instead of ravenous dogs of war bearing bullets for canines, nothing but idle clouds, warm sand and cool waters had resisted their advance. Every week or so, on the routine patrols, the unit moved to the beach once more and under the guise of refueling and rearming, the squad and the IFV crew lounged about taking in tan. They fall rued the fact that the women of the new city had been left behind. In further breach of policy they didn’t rue the absence of alcohol, for it was plentiful owing to the secret stashes carried by the men.

Niven nodded to a brother-in-arms also sans shirt and with overly large sunglasses. The passing man bent his knees and crouched before Niven, who simply cocked his head. Where the bitches at, mi amigo?

Far away from this shit hole, Niven quipped.

This, my friend, is no shithole.

Are you saying this is paradise?

No way in hell, man. Paradise would have free beers and topless chicks laying all over this beach. All single topless chicks at that.

Dude, in this place, who gives a fuck whether or not they’re single.

Good point. The two laughed heartily, drawing a sharp glance from the tanning IFV driver. Jackasses, he muttered out of earshot of Niven and his friend. The two just shrugged and stared back out at the ocean, the other private availing himself of the opportunity to sit.

When we headed back, Jorge?

No idea, man. I figure we got at least another half-hour before the beast finishes fueling. Not that it matters, though. Higgins tells me he found a small dirt mound a couple hundred meters to the south.

Whoop-de-fucking do, man, it’s fucking dirt.

No, amigo, we’re going over the damn thing. As in we gonna be the first airborne troops on this island.

Jorge, it’s fucking dirt.

Eh, it’s still something to do.

It’s about bloody time. Leicester muttered to himself, only after casting a furtive glance up to survey the room’s company. The room was wholly the opposite of spectacular – truly befitting the status of the colony – with cheap wicker furniture that mimicked the light and airy environs, but was itself imported from Port Elizabeth – another colony. His desk offered nothing but cheap black matte metal to its audience, and left Leicester’s arms frequently with indentations from its sharp edges. Nonetheless, the room served as his office and so it was here that he officially signed his assent that the proposed bridge, both literally and figuratively, between the Borman Empire and the United Kingdom be given approval and the requisite funds.

Along the wall, he had framed a small illustration of the proposed bridge, looking from the Borman side of the river towards Abercordensa. From the shallows of the river rose tall cylinders of reinforced concrete that pushed above the arced road/rail surface and from the top of the pillars stretched out thick, bright blue cables that held the center section high above the river. The blueprints depicted a bridge that would level with the height of Abercordensa, itself thirty meters above the river, and that would provide the initial level for the roadway. The intention was to provide quick access to Abercordensa as well as the port further below; where an ordinary bridge would sit below the city, the yet-to-be-named bridge set across the river at the height of the city allowing for easy on and off ramps before the road curved downwards to the port. It would take a few years before the bridge could be completed, but the joint road/rail bridge would be the first to cross the river and would allow for rapid transport of people and goods between the two friendly states – something that would surely have great economic benefits.

To the west of Cordensa, Private Niven cradled his battle rifle pointing it down towards the moss and fern-covered forest floor. Underneath the canopy he had no need for shades, but despite the sweltering heat and humidity he kept his shirt on in fear of unknown bug bites and foreign infections. Unlike his patrols to the calming beaches, forest patrols offered no respite for the horizon stretched not for miles into a cool melting of blues but instead into vertical prisons of brown and green that kept just ahead of one’s footsteps. In the darkness, he felt eyes upon him, he could sense a hunter although he saw no large beasts – merely little monkey-like creatures that leapt from branch to branch howling and screaming in their shrill native tongues. At first, the snap of a twig and the rustle of leaves upon high prompted Niven to squat, lower his profile, and raise his rifle at a threat unseen. But after several weeks of pushing deeper and deeper into the forest, Niven and the whole of the Royal Army had come upon nothing but predatory cats and boar. And Niven was well aware that a man in another platoon had been actually killed by a jaguar-like creature before the only shot from his rifle to hit the beast had killed it.

Amidst the snaps and squawks of the birds, and the howls of the monkeys, and the distant roars of the cats Niven heard a sickening thud. Turning to his left he found a fellow private collapsed on the ground. For fuck’s sake, John, stop goofing the hell off. Niven walked over and nudged the man in his side with the barrel of his rifle before another thud echoed further behind in the column. Somewhere amidst the growing panic he heard his stereotypical fresh-faced lieutenant bark an order to spread out. Followed quickly by the also stereotypically gruff sergeant to form up in a circle. Niven and the remaining soldiers gathered in a circle. As they retreated back to their sergeant several more men fell to the ground in sickening thuds, all the while not a man pulled his trigger. When the platoon gathered a mere seventeen men surrouned the lieutenant and the sergeant as the rest lay strewn about the forest floor.

Open fire! resounded in the silence, bouncing off the trees and leaves and booming to the ears of the unseen assailants. Not a second later the battle rifles and the only surviving machine gunner began to lay waste to the forest. Between staccato cracking of rifles and the high-pitched whirring of the belt through the machine gun barrel the unit heard pitiful screaming and groaning from all around them. Amidst the screams in agony the sergeant was able to discern a scream of defiance and he quickly shouted something in which Niven could only pick out Fix bayonets!

The man’s fucking mad… Niven muttered while he fished out the sharp triangular blade. Quickly fastening it to the end of his rifle he glimpsed a bare-chested man covered in green and brown paint charging him with a long metal-tipped piece of wood in one hand and a small piece of gleaming metal in the other. He watched as the assailant cocked his arm and hurled the wood into the air while he brought his own rifle up, sighting the man until he was slammed to the ground, falling upon his back with the wind knocked out of him. Out of his left shoulder stood a giant piece of wood at a sickening angle, though he felt no pain only the need to raise his rifle which he did seeing the man before him the metal raised in two hands, the end sharpened to a point designed to pierce hide and flesh.

It was over in a brief second.

Above him the man towered with red liquid pouring onto Nevin’s chest. From the assailant’s chest, Nevin’s rifle hung with a savage hole torn through the naked flesh. The metal sword stood just short of the rifle and Nevin’s outstretched arms, both of which had thrust up into the man’s torso at that last decisive second. Nevin saw the wide-open eyes of the man who could be not but a boy, eyes that scrambled to comprehend the sudden pain, shortness of breath, and enveloping blackness that constituted the last remaining moments of his life. And then it was over. The boy’s body went limp and Nevin blacked out, not realizing that the wood was nothing short of a massive spear that had pierced his skin and severed nerves and blood vessels alike.

The next thing Nevin saw was a woman’s slender face smiling at him, her bent nose and brown eyes producing a smile and firmness that was nothing but characteristic from any young man dazed and confused. The girl politely giggled and turned away, the red cross on the white of her hat giving Niven the first indication of where he was. He tried to push himself up but found his left arm of no use, and his right lacked the strength to raise him from his prone position. Then, as he writhed about, the face returned and he eased back into his straps and harnesses. An older man’s face soon joined them and he listened only half-attentively due to the sedatives coursing through his arteries and veins, as he learned that he would no longer be able to use his left arm and that he was lucky the spear tip hadn’t embedded itself in any major blood vessels. It had been coated in a highly toxic poison. He listened only half-understanding as the doctor informed him that he had been lucky, only eight men had trudged away from the battle, and three of them in much the same condition as Niven.