Ride the Lightning [Archive] - Page 2

Layarteb

16-08-2006, 03:09

The fifty-three minutes until the attack time were slow and they were cautious. The two teams were in position and had taken care in their reconnaissance of the shack and its surrounding area. They couldn't find the source of the smoke, which kept up lightly at times and heavy at other times, perhaps from a still burning fire. The winds had shifted ever so slightly and that meant that the hazy smoke has cast itself to a new direction, providing slightly more coverage. The small bits of information they were able to get were enough to keep them well informed. "Alright. We've got two minutes to go. Let's get ready."

"Aye. We're good to go." The two lieutenants kept whispering to each other over the microphone set, they didn't want to alert the OPFOR to their presence and they hoped that most of them were out, on patrol, looking for them. They had not seen anyone yet and no confirmed sighting was a bad thing. The OPFOR knew that they were coming and had more than enough men to have the advantage over them. Still, the men crept forward more and more, to within a stones throw of the shack. All of them wore a derivative of the MILES gear, but slightly modified to correct the many flaws of MILES. In addition, none of their systems were set to audio alert, which was usually a beeping sound, that would alert those around them. They were all set to vibrations, which would alert the wearer that they were hit. The only audio that could go out would be if they used their primary weapon, unsuppressed. They still had to shoot their weapons but instead of live ammunition, they carried blanks and that meant their weapons would make noise. Because of this, they made sure that they all had suppressors with them.

At 16:45, they all began their assault. One team would hold back and provide rear support for the other team, closely watching the movements of those around them. The goal was to achieve the capture without firing a single shot and without killing a single OPFOR. Only one group had managed to do that and because of this, using weapons and completing the mission still gave you a 99. They had hoped that they could get a 100. It was no easy task and that meant, for them, they had to act very conspicuously. The other team, which had already begun their assault into the shack had moved quickly and quietly up to the fencing around it and were using nothing above hand signals. They kept a close watch for booby traps and sensors, of which they found many. They bypassed or disabled them when they came to them, working as quickly and effectively as they could. They figured that the two "hostages" would be inside the shack or in outdoor holds and, to combat this, they attacked in two groups, four per group, while the other eight provided excellent cover. They would both be graded on each others' performance so if one team fired and the other team didn't, they best they could all hope for was a 99.

Moving quickly, they entered the shack and the courtyard. The smoky haze was everywhere but the OPFOR was nowhere. That made them all nervous, they expected to encounter them by now. The first group to enter the shack went into the basement level, which was dark and damp. It was decently sized, big enough for several rooms but small enough that they couldn't fit more than twenty people inside of it. It was meant to be small and that was the purpose, especially since, they found one "hostage" being held in the rear room, by himself. "Where are they?" The lieutenant whispered to him, keeping a finger on his mouth, to indicate for him to be as quiet as possible. "Can you tell me?"

"They're here. I don't know where." He replied. "Let's go."

"We're on it. Where's the other?"

"Courtyard. In the hold."

"Okay. We've got one hostage secured." He whispered into the radio and then, they all moved towards the door. They were careful and quiet, all five of them. The courtyard was largely empty as well and, finally, they could hear some voices upstairs. The shack had two levels and a rickety, bamboo-like staircase led to the upstairs. They were close to being discovered but they had hoped that they weren't. Upon exiting, they hugged the walls, keeping their profile as low as possible. They were back in the jungle in minutes, crawling back away from the shack as fast as they could without jeopardizing their safety. The other group had less luck. They had found the hostage but they had almost been seen by three of the OPFOR, which was something that put them all tense and on edge. They had taken refuge in the prisoner hold. It was a daring and unique move, done only by one other group, and it had worked for them. Of course, they didn't know this, no team had known of any of the exploits of the previous teams. They used one of the cameras on their weapons to look around above the hold and that gave them a full view of the area around them. When the guards were turned and walking away, they made their run for it and were in the jungle fast as well. They still had only accounted for, maybe, twelve OPFOR, leaving no less than fifty-two more OPFOR, probably mostly on patrol, looking for them. They had conducted their assault in twenty minutes and now it was 17:05, meaning that they had an hour and fifty-five minutes to get back to their gear and get the hell out of there. It was a short time and they had to make sure that they got there as fast as possible.

Crawling, they moved half of the way to the gear, though they had moved definitely fast. Unfortunately, they ate up a whole forty minutes doing it, which was dangerous. With an hour and fifteen to go, they were safely away from the shack that they couldn't be seen from it. Unfortunately, neither could they see or hear the shack, which meant that if the OPFOR was coming after them, they didn't know it. They kept their vision all around them and watched the jungle closely. They almost were spotted five hundred meters from their gear when they saw a roving patrol, four men, walking around, poking at the ground, looking for them. Lucky for them, they were heading away from the beach and that gave them ample time to get to their gear, crouch-walking the entire way. With a half hour to spare, they were in the water, in their gear, moving out, into the Caribbean Sea, towards the submarine, which was going to surface 2 kilometers offshore. They had pushed their boats towards it as fast as they could and, at 18:52, the submarine had surfaced. They were lucky and with a mere eight minutes to spare, they had completed their exercise, with a 100. They had gotten slightly lucky. The OPFOR were expecting them to either come through the lagoon and so they were positioned mostly around it. They had six roving patrols of twenty-four men in total, ten at the shack, and the other thirty men positioned around the lagoon. At one instance, one of the men at the lagoon thought that he saw someone moving but deduced that it was only the wind because the movement was only when the leaves moved. He had actually seen one of the lieutenants but because he didn't act on the feeling, a grave mistake, no points were deducted. Congradulations were in order, following the exercise and all of the teams, all ten of them, went out to a bar afterwards and celebrated. The two teams were good, very good, and they had to respect that. They had gotten a 100, meaning that they could teach as well and earned the respect of everyone around them.

They were ready all right, ready for a mission that would soon put them in the midst of a hostile and dangerous enemy.

Marimaia

16-08-2006, 23:59

(OOC: Might as well get to Havana then)

Havana

The An-224's flight through Layartebian airspace was without incident, as the crew maintained an almost perfect flight plan except for occasional turbulence, which was reported immediately so that there were no suspicions raised.

As it approached Havana International, the crew followed all landing instructions to the letter. As the massive aircraft touched down and eventually came to a halt on the tarmac, the crew breathed a heavy sigh of relief to have made it so far with the least amount of trouble.

After confirming a safe landing with the tower, the Eastasian personnel disembarked to stretch their legs and meet the welcoming party; they were not entirely sure if they would be welcomed as guests or treated as potential lawbreakers.

Layarteb

17-08-2006, 23:37

The An-225 was a sight on the Havana tarmac and hundreds came out to see it. Unfortunately, the Eastasian visit hadn't been kept a secret and the media would have live coverage so that everyone could see the An-225 being inspected, albeit all the inspection would be done inside of a hangar. Still, the ominous beast of an airliner made headlines as it taxied down the runway, the tarmac, and into a hangar, large enough for two of them, side by side. The aircraft came to a sudden halt outside of the hangar and was then pushed back, into the account, so that its nose was almost at the doors. The doors were then closed and the secrecy of the mission returned.

There were three inspection teams inside of the hangar, all of them who spoke fluent Eastasian. They greeted the crew and offered them refreshments and rest, should they desire. Each crate would be offloaded and inspected by one of the teams. The three teams would be able to work quickly, so as to not delay the Eastasians on their journey to Grenada. The F-14s and F-26s were refueled on the ground as well and their pilots got out to stretch their legs as well. They were cramped and they needed to stretch. The escort fighters were kept outside of the hangar and their pilots were zoomed in on by the media and their jets put all over the television. The armaments hanging from the aircraft were ominous signs that there was no complete, full, unbridled trust in the UER and there wouldn't be, not for a long time.

The three teams would breeze through the crates and put everything back in order without doing much except for filling out a manifest. Things were detailed in order to make sure that the higher ups would not question the findings. The Eastasians would be signing the copies, taking some with them, and others would be sent through secure channels to various departments within the Empire, as well as to the Eastasian government. Every "T" was crossed and every "i" dotted.

Marimaia

20-08-2006, 11:33

The Eastasian crew gratefully accepted the opportunity for rest and refreshments, safe in the knowledge that the Layartebians wouldn't find anything suspicious aboard the flight. According to standard protocol for visiting a foreign state, the crew were impeccably polite, answering any questons that came up and signing the copies without hesitation. After thanking the Layartebians for their hospitality, the Eastasians requested permission to continue to Grenada.

Layarteb

21-08-2006, 23:39

The An-225 would lumber down the Havana runway once more time and head to the southeast, towards Grenada, another 1,555 miles away. The F-14s and F-26s would continue to escort, refueling along the way. For that brief time, the An-225 would be slightly protected. As the F-14s refueled, the F-26s would guard and vice versa. When they all began their descent towards Grenada they could look down below and see the blockaide that was in effect with well over a hundred ships in the immediate vacinity of the island. The warships below were an ominous sign that this was for real, that the Empire wasn't joking. The sheer mass of firepower around the island was something almost unseen in this area of the world since the conquest of Cuba. Since that ended, things had quieted down and the Caribbean Sea, the backyard of the Empire, was once again a peaceful haven for prosperity and life. Since the Grenada incident, that had changed.

Layarteb

23-08-2006, 01:59

"Gentlemen. It is good to see you all here. I know that we've been meeting far more frequently then usual but these are the times for it. Our plans are finally coming into play. We couldn't have asked for anything better. Our plans go back over a hundred years ago. When the Freemasons joined the Empire in the year 1800, there began a group within. We know them as the Illuminati. They disguised their intentions within the Freemasons. The Illuminati was a small group of the most intelligent and powerful individuals within the Freemasons. They were senators, representatives, bankers, academics, and so on and so fourth. They're not that different than us today, in terms of their standing within society. Things evolved slowly as the Illuminati worked from the inside out and were very effective but very limited. In the late 1940s, Majestic was founded within the Illuminati. Twelve key members of the Illuminati saw the intentions of the Illuminati but had their own. You understand. The Illuminati were hell bent on seizing total control and eventual world domination through financial, economic, and academic means, amongst many others. Majestic, on the other hand, saw flaws, deep and unfixable, in their plans. In essence, Majestic formed a 'shadow government' that would take control over the Republic. The original group had plans that were never realized, never realized because of the revolution.

"The revolution changed everything. Majestic was destroyed within the first few weeks of the revolution. The Emperor's assassination squads managed to effectively wipe them out. General Delaney, you can attest to that I am sure. Your group was involved deeply with these efforts. Was it not?"

"Yes it was. I dare not delve further though. My actions in the past do not contribute to my actions in the present."

"Understandable. Anyhow, let me delve further. Majestic had planed to seize control of the Republic through one of the largest loopholes in the Constitution of the Republic. The emergency powers clause, as it is referred, gives the executive unlimited power in a time of extreme crisis. Such a crisis as this would grant the executive the ability to suspend the constitution. Majestic had planned to initiate such a civil crisis as this and seize control of the government during the process. Though it wasn't necessarily going to be a bloody coup, in terms of dead officials, it promised to be something spectacular. Biological agents were the most plausible device that they would use. Plans were lost during the initial days of the revolution when several senators' offices were burned.

"Us, today, with the notable absence of several figures within, whom have all died, resume that plan, although slightly. We all oppose the Emperor and his Empire. The authoritarian, 'father knows best' state that we reside in today is a problem. The Republic was freedom and it was democracy. We had the right to do many things we can never do today. The Republic must be returned. We all agree with that, correct?" There was no dissent. "It is our job to ensure that the Republic is returned. The Empire has been in existence for twenty-six years and each and every year we have come closer and closer to establishing the Republic again. The time has come now. Since October, our efforts have been in full drive. We have control of an attack submarine, we seized an ICBM base, the government has shot down an airliner and lied about it, terrorism in the form of the RLA has shaken the foundations of the security that everyone basks in, we have thwarted the efforts of the government to seize Kaliningrad, we have shown the public of the brutality of the Empire in the Yucatán, we have seized a boarding school, and we have initiated a full blown revolution on the island of Grenada.

"The RLA has been our tool, the Illuminati is our tool. We operate secretly and securely. This is a two hundred year old conspiracy, more or less, and never before has it been so close to realization. Gentlemen. The decisions we make here tonight will set the course of our future. We are here to restore the Republic, to seize its control, and to restore freedom and democracy to Layarteb. We are here because we twelve are the most intelligent, influential, and powerful leaders within the Empire. We are the Republic gentlemen and I don't want to see our failure.

"Now. Our first order of business..."

Layarteb

23-08-2006, 02:48

June 23

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire," cameras flashed on the face of the Director of the Central Justice Agency. The press conference was live and the clock on the bottom right corner of channels showed the same time, 14:15 hours. "It is my pleasure to announce that we have apprehended a suspect in the case of the murder of Doctor Gordon Gray, the administrator of the University of Layarteb, at Layarteb City. Just this morning, police officers stopped a Mr. Christopher Allen Florence just outside of Charleston, West Virginia. Mr. Florence has expressed to us that he was heading west, to flee the Empire. We believe that he was heading for the Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc to catch an airline flight elsewhere in the world. We are unsure of his intended destination but he was definitely fleeing prosecution.

"Mr. Florence has three warrants out for his arrest and he has evaded capture through very sneaky ways such as burning his finger prints, using contacts that alter his iris, and by withdrawing himself from the 'grid,' so to speak. His capture is a good one. Mr. Florence is wanted in connection to an armed robbery in Norfolk, Virginia where we believe he and two associates, both of whom have been in custody for some time, robbed a bank and got away with almost §200,000. He is always wanted for first degree murder of a police officer in Tennessee during a routine traffic stop. Lastly, he is wanted in connection to at least three instances of ATM theft. We believe that the direct connection between Mr. Florence and Dr. Gray goes back some eight years.

"Mr. Florence, an unusually gifted student, was caught cheating during exams at the University of Layarteb, at Layarteb City. At that time, Dr. Gray had just initiated a zero tolerance policy to academic plagarism. Mr. Florence was thrown out of school and, much to the shagrin of his parents, he became a burden of society and a wreckless criminal. We believe that this murder was done out of revenge for 'ruining his life.' In questioning, Mr. Florence has expressed a deep hatred for Dr. Gray and it is extremely plausible that it is he who murdered the late administrator. We are still investigating but he is our only suspect, at the moment. Thank you. Any questions?"

Marimaia

23-08-2006, 20:29

Keeping a nervous eye on the massive amount of firepower beneath them as they descended, the Eastasian crew sent a message to Point Salines Airport. Announcing themselves as being of Eastasian origin, they stated their intention to deliver food and medical supplies to the population before requesting landing permission.

------------------------

In St. George's, the Eastasian consulate staff continued to act as if everything was fine. They informed the revolutionaries that the supplies were to help them last until the UER managed to secure international backing for their independence, and relayed continuous messages of support from Premier Zhao.

Inside the consulate itself, certain information which had been sent to the staff was being destroyed; the government had barely managed to escape a serious international incident, and all evidence of the UER's true intentions on the island was being erased. Although it was likely that such information would not survive the impending Layartebian attack, the Eastasians weren't taking any chances.

Layarteb

23-08-2006, 23:48

The Supreme Grenadian took the news of the "to be delivered" supplies as a great thing. They needed something to give to the people, to establish legitimacy. From what they saw, the UER was a true ally, a powerful one against the Empire. They would wait until the UER secured backing and support for them as they turned their island into a "communist paradise." That was their goal and they found little resistance, thus far, in establishing one. Under the scenes, people were planning but that was all they could do. They had few weapons and they were too scattered and unorganized to fight back, just yet. There were three core groups of people on the island: those who favored the revolution, those who were against the revolution, and those who were apathetic. The latter two groups believed that the Empire was coming to save them and they looked out, over the horizon each day, night, afternoon, and evening to see the warships. As long as those warships were there, they would take that as a sign that the Empire was still out there. It was comforting and they expected a retaliatory attack any minute. The first group, on the other hand, took a much more optimistic approaching. They saw the Empire as weak and the blockaide as their best efforts. They believed that the Empire would and could do nothing. Twenty-six years of annexations, warfare, bloodshed, and brutality in the name of the Empire was, technically, over. It had been announced throughout the Empire, when the hostilities died out, that this was a time of peace and prosperity. Banging the war drums so soon after would be problematic. Mothers and fathers would pain at seeing their sons forced to fight yet again. Wives and girlfriends would cry on the steps of the Emperor's castle. These were the dreams that they had, dreams that were, sadly, wrong. The general populace of the Empire was ecstatic when realization was declared. They hailed it as a new time and a new era in world history. When Grenada struck, they were furious. When they had shot down the civilian airliner they hungered for revenge. Little did they know but the entire Empire, save for a few pockets here and there, was against the revolution in Grenada and they wanted the island, its soldiers, and its citizens returned safely, in one piece, and the perpetrators put to justice.

When the An-225 flew overhead, the warships below watched with disgust. "Those commie bastards!" Most of them remarked. [i]"They're delivering supplies and we're standing here with our thumbs up our asses."[/u] The distaste flowed through each and every vessel of the naval blockaide. Radar and missile operators were ordered to stand down and armed guards ensured that nobody pushed any buttons that they weren't supposed to, with orders to kill those who acted in violation of the executive order currently in play. Nobody liked the Eastasians to begin with but this treachery was something that none of them saw coming. They loathed the Pushkans with fervor and fury. The Pushkans disappeared, collapsed, were invaded, and were otherwise annihilated. Now the Eastasians took their place except none of them saw the Eastasians as dissipating any time soon.

OOC: Go ahead and land and do all the RP'ing you want. You can RP the guys on the island too if you want, you pretty much know the jist of their feelings and so on and so fourth.

Marimaia

25-08-2006, 23:00

Point Salines Airport, St. George's, Grenada

"Comrades! Greetings from your revolutionary brothers in the United Eastasian Republic!"

The aircraft crew seemed relieved to have finally reached their destination, and had received a warm welcome from the Grenadian revolutionaries. They were informed that 'Ambassador' Bagabandi would like to see them at the Eastasian consulate once the supplies had been unloaded; the Grenadian who delivered the message had simply been told that Bagabandi wished to thank the brave aircrew who had risked their lives by flying through enemy territory.

-----------------------

As the supplies were being checked and unloaded, Bagabandi was at a meeting with the Supreme Grenadian, spinning lie after lie to keep his 'brethren' happy.

"Comrade, this will be the first of many supply runs! Premier Zhao called me from Beijing to offer his personal assurance of this. Apparently our scientists have developed a weapon which will render the entire Layartebian armada inoperable without them knowning who was responsible. I am not sure quite how it works, but apparently it involves detonating an unmanned submarine....these experts, what will they think of next?!

Anyway, Premier Zhao did request that some of the supplies be distributed to the general populace, to show how benevolent you are in your victory. We will of course record the moment, so we can use it as material for our ongoing campaign to have Grenada internationally recognised. Already the government of Free Palau has recognised you, and several more nations have hinted that they will do so with more proof of your good intentions."

The Supreme Grenadian nodded as Bagabandi finished.

"We owe the UER a great debt of gratitude for your support and assistance during our transitional stage to full communism. I would ask though, is Premier Zhao about to ask for a favour in return?"

Bagabandi smiled and shook his head. "Absolutely not! Premier Zhao wishes Communism to succeed worldwide, and the only way to do that is to show it as a force for good in the world. If Grenada can be shown as a beacon of hope in the Caribbean, then nations will fall over themselves to join our revolutionary brotherhood."

Meanwhile, the consulate staff finished disposing of all incriminating evidence which might actively tie them to the sponsorship of the Grenadian regime; plans were being drawn up for a hasty abandonment of Grenada first thing in the morning.

Layarteb

26-08-2006, 01:57

After it's 07:15 set down in Havana and the four hour flight to Grenada, they set down beautifully around 11:35 hours. Satellites were on hand to send back real time intelligence of the situation. The An-225 was the centerpiece of all video relays coming from the satellites and the suppleis would be tracked, as best they could, as they departed from the airport and were dispersed throughout the country. A satellite also provided real time intelligence on the Eastasian embassy and it would be photographed by a low-altitude reconnaissance flight planned for 12:05 hours. An RA-5E Vigilante reconnaissance aircraft was already being prepared. It would be carrying four AGM-88F AARGM missiles to attack ground missile and radar batteries if they were engaged. As well, it carried four AIM-204A Escape missiles for air to air combat. With a 1,380 mile combat range, the RA-5E could maintain a high-speed mission over the island, making it that much harder to engage. Maximum speed at sea level was 810 miles per hour and they were planning on flying this one at 720 miles per hour for the actual run and 600 miles per hour while they weren't over the island.

The pilot crew selected were some of the best. They had flown over the Yucatán multiple times and they had been shot at multiple times. They even had an air to air kill, albeit it was a helicopter. Over the Yucatán, a UH-1 Huey spotted them on an ingress and they were forced to engage it to keep their route from the enemy. They had destroyed well over thirty radars and ten missile batteries as well. LCDR. Luke "Mark I" Nielson and LCDR. Timmothy "Joker" Matthews were the pilots and they were ready, in their flight gear, when they met the aircraft in the hangar. They did their final checks of the aircraft and watched as it was hooked up to a small little tractor that would push it onto the elevator. A pair of ladders still hung on the left side of the aircraft, the canopy raised, as it was pushed out, onto the elevator of the Enterprise CVN. The tractor detached and the pilots stood near their aircraft, brakes engaged and stop blocks in place. "Ready Joker?" The aircraft carrier turned starboard in preparation of launch, to turn themselves into the wind to allow the Vigilante some take off assistance. The mighty floating city was one of the most powerful elements to warfare and now it was preparing to show its more peaceful side, that of a reconnaissance flight.

"As I'll ever be." They pounded fists and the elevator jolted upwards, towards the most dangerous environment in the world. With the carrier turned, the deck shook as an F-14E Super Tomcat was recovered, catching the fourth wire on landing. It had come in a little high and fast but that was fine, it landed still. The elevator was massive and could hold several hundred thousand pounds. As it raised upwards, slowly, the metal exterior of the Enterprise changed as they reached the flight deck. There, the elevator jolted to a stop and a tractor hooked up to pull the aircraft off the elevator. The pilots followed and no sooner than the aircraft left the elevator, it was descending again. The tractor stopped and the pilots did another exterior check, where the lighting was far better than below deck. "Looks okay to me. How about it Joker?"

"Time to roll." They climbed the ladders and got comfortable. They would go through their preflight checks inside the cockpit as the ladders were pulled away and the aircraft pulled into place about 300 feet before the end of the deck. There, the pilots did their final checks, lowered and locked the canopy, fitted their helmets tightly, and waited. They took their signals from the man outside as the nosewheel of the 60,000 pound aircraft was locked into the massive electromagnetic catapult, one of four. Once locked, the Aircraft Launch Officer (ALO) took control. From his position near the aircraft, he ordered that the blast panels be raised. If there was a catastrophe, the blast wouldn't go backwards, across the rest of the deck. In the world's most dangerous environment, safety was the biggest concern.

Below decks, the electromagnetic catapult built power and a hum turned from that of a car engine into an almost deafening roar. Communication was primarily done with hand signals as everyone wore ear protectors that could eliminate up to 60 dB of noise. A carrier deck was nowhere near quiet, even during no operational periods. Many people were up on the deck, doing various jobs. The aircraft was prepped and ready, engines idle, safety pin for the catapult removed. The catapult launch booth was standing by as the power built. With a thumbs up, they announced that the catapult was ready now, the hum almost as loud as the idling aircraft. With another thumbs up, the ALO notified the pilot that he was go to throttle up. Now the noise level spiked. The high-pitched, low whine of the two LDC-AE-2A turbofan engines increased. Each engine put out 32,500 pounds of thrust with full afterburner. As they throttled up, towards afterburning, whine turned to an ear splitting roar, finally culminating into a flame out of each engine, full afterburner. With a thumbs up and an okay sign, the pilot notified the ALO that he was ready. The ALO responded in due response. With their heads back, the pilot and his RIO were ready. In one smooth, quick, and fast motion, the ALO dropped to one knee with his right hand extended. Inside the catapult launch booth, the plastic cover was lifted for catapult 2 and the red button pushed. The G forces were immediate as the 60,000 pound aircraft, in 1.85 seconds, accelerated from 0 to 185 miles per hour. Another 2 seconds would go by before the aircraft was off the deck. G forces went from 1 to 7 instantly as the pilot and his RIO were shoved back in their seats.

The release was a loud pop as the aircraft nose dropped a few inches, low to catch the airflow that it was being thrown into, and so that it could maintain stability. The roar became deafening and painful. Anyone without ear protectors would have been instantly deaf and probably unconscious. The days of steam catapults had vanished and the electromagnetic catapults that replaced them were far more powerful and efficient but the technicians pined for the days when a catapult launch left a haze and cloud of steam all over the bow of the aircraft carrier, a truly surreal sight. The newest catapults generated over 125 million foot pounds of energy, as compared to 75 million from their steam predecessors. They could launch aircraft as heavy as 140,000 pounds but 128,000 pounds was considered an operational limit.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/ra5e-01.jpg

With a cheer and clapping, the Vigilante was gone, off on a mission. The four second, 300 foot, 7G run was over when the aircraft reached the end of the line. The pilot eased back on the stick and went into a 10° climb, retracting the gear, and dipping the wings, a common sign to stranded pilots that they had been seen. On launch it meant that everything was okay. The aircraft powered down to military power, to conserve fuel, and the pilot climbed to 2,500 feet. They were only 35 miles from the island and the IP and, during that time, they would accelerate to 600 miles per hour.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/ra5e-03.jpg

"Alright. Here we go." They began their mission and flew towards the IP. Once at 600 mph, they throttled back slightly and did some quick adjustments with their systems. The RIO was prepared with the cameras and they would be running a long reconnaissance run, at an altitude of 800 feet, just above the ground. They were going to be taking a lot of photographs and camera feeds. Their route would take them over a military base on the northern part of the island, past the HQ, through the capital, over the UER embassy, and lastly, over the airport. Once they were at their IP, things went differently. The pilot accelerated and dropped their altitude to 800 feet. "Devil 11. IP inbound!" He reported as their ECM systems were brought online. They were left on passive-attack mode, meaning that they would go on automatically if a threat was detected. They carried 180 flares and those were on auto as well. They would be released periodically, to keep IR SAMs off their back. The aircraft roared over the coastline and the military base at 720 miles per hour, Mach 0.946. They were moving fast, very fast. They shook the ground over the military base and continued on their path, dropping flares every couple of seconds, with two second spacings in between each flare launch. They were launched in groups of four, fifteen seconds apart. The pilot banked and turned to his heading over the HQ. They continued dropping flares. They had yet to be illuminated by a missile battery or a radar and that was good, for them, for now. They would head over the city and the embassy next. Few knew that they were coming except for those who were knocked around by the roar of the aircraft as it tore over the countryside. St. George's was a nice target for them to fly over and the pictures that they were going to take would be more detailed than those of high altitude systems, such as U-2s and U-3s. Roaring over the city and the embassy, the RA-5E Vigilante released more flares. They passed right over the embassy, most likely shattering windows and shaking the whole building and everything else in their path. They would roar over the airport in the same fashion.

Marimaia

28-08-2006, 21:36

Point Salines Airport, St. George's

The An-224 was ready to depart in the early morning; all supplies had been delivered and final checks had been completed. Bagabandi always seemed nervous for some reason or another, so his disposition didn't seem unusual as he approached the aircraft with his staff and Commissar Kim. They had told the Grenadians that they wanted to say their goodbyes to their countrymen; in reality, they were pulling out.

Beijing had written off Grenada as an absolute failure. It was a revolution in the wrong place against the wrong people; all Beijing had gained from it was mistrust from other powers. Not unusual due to their political ideology, but still irritating. The next few months and years would be spent salvaging what they could diplomatically; if the EOL remained frosty, then the military could be expanded with the excuse that the EOL was refusing to be peaceful. Either way, Premier Zhao was confident that there would be some long-term benefit.

Bagabandi watched as his staff boarded the aircraft, and smiled as a crewmember approached him.

"Comrade, this situation seems very Confucian in nature."

The crewmember looked at Commissar Kim, then back at Bagabandi. The silence was broken as a roar was heard off in the distance before an aircraft swept overhead, dropping flares over the airport; Bagabandi yelped and dropped to the floor. "We're being attacked! We're being attacked! I knew this wouldn't work!"

The pilot swore loudly. "Are they trying to kill us?! Get on, before we get bombed or something!"

Kim quickly boarded, followed by Bagabandi; the crewmember retracted the boarding steps and locked the door before contacting the cabin.

"We have the cargo, now let's get moving."

The An-224's engines came to life and the aircraft slowly lumbered down the runway before lifting into the air. As the mighty aircraft climbed higher and further away from the island, the pilot radioed the Layartebian authorities.

"This is Eastasian Aid Flight Alpha, leaving Grenada. We request permission to land at one of your superb facilities for security checks and refuelling, the cost of which will be met by our government. Although we do not have any enemies of your state aboard, we shall submit to any check you wish to conduct. Oh, and thank you for nearly killing us."

Layarteb

29-08-2006, 00:40

OOC: No surprise words as the RA-5E zoomed overhead at just under Mach 1 :)?

Marimaia

31-08-2006, 16:59

OOC: No surprise words as the RA-5E zoomed overhead at just under Mach 1 :)?

(OOC: Taken care of by editing ;) )

The Supreme Grenadian seemed less than pleased as he attempted to call the Eastasian embassy to check if his allies were alright; receiving no response from the embassy, he decided to investigate.

The streets of St. George's were awash with glass from shattered windows, earning more cursing from the revolutionaries as loyalist citizens began complaining about low-flying aircraft, refusing to believe that the Empire had been behind the fly-by. The small group of men sent to check on the Eastasians were dismayed to find no sign of life in the embassy; it was as if they had disappeared. Suspicions were raised when various filing cabinets were discovered to be empty.

The Supreme Grenadian quickly realised the situation as he watched the An-224 climbing away from the island. After contacting the airport, it was discovered that the airport guards had ducked for cover as the enemy aircraft was dropping flares and had been more concerned with their own safety than the whereabouts of the embassy staff who had arrived to see off the An-224.

With his allies having deserted him and the Layartebians growing bolder, he had a great deal to consider before making a move.

Layarteb

01-09-2006, 23:48

The Vigilante flight revealed serious data about Grenada. The Grenadians had yet to be able to ready most of the military that was left on the island and the Eastasian embassy had been evacuated. When the An-225 was given clearance to land back in Havana, the RA-5E was on final to the carrier. Its data wouldn't be deciphered for at least another three hours. The flight was a success and though no MANPADs were visually seen coming at the aircraft, they did surmise that at least two had been shot at the Vigilante, primarily as they flew over the HQ. St. George's was the main concern, that was where the Grenadian insurrectionist forces were focused. There were scattered elements elsewhere on the island but nothing in significance.

For now, everything was set where it was, as a stalemate, more or less. The Eastasian aircraft would pass inspection as it departed Havana for China and it marked the end of serious tensions. The embassy still wouldn't be hit in the attack that would eventually come but it would be explored, significantly, by advance recon teams that would be deployed up to forty-eight hours before the initial attack and invasion.

Layarteb

01-09-2006, 23:49

Layarteb

02-09-2006, 19:58

Chapter XII: Fall to Pieces

"When the dust settles from this one there is going to be hell to pay. Do you understand? No I don't want to know what you plan on doing! Damnit! I already told you. Yes. Good. Call me back when you have an answer!" In one week, the island of Grenada went from a warzone to a paradise with hope. A week later it had lost all that hope. Two weeks had gone by and the Imperial Layartebian Navy was flying nearly daily reconnaissance flights, most of them at low-altitude and transonic speeds, usually between Mach 0.90 and Mach 0.98. Their RA-5E Vigilantes kept their runs different each and every time and they had been shot at, several times, by anti-aircraft guns and shoulder launched missiles. One returned to the carrier with a damaged stablizer from a proximity explosion of a shoulder launched missile. That was the one and only damage rating that the Grenadians could inflict.

Their whole situation was degraded faster than they could speak. The Eastasians abandoned them while claiming to be garnering worldwide support for their communist brethren. It was a flat out lie. When the An-225 had landed at Point Salines, they dropped off their humanitarian rations, food, medical supplies, clean water, clothes, that sort of stuff. When it took off it was carrying the entire embassy with it. The An-225 had flown all the way back to China and now, a week later, all calls to Beijing had been left unanswered. They were perturbed now and they knew that it was inevitable that the Empire would invade them. They stared out each and every morning, towards the sun and saw nothing but naval vessels, barricading the island and keeping everything that was in, in, and everything that was out, out.

On the morning of June 30, the island resident rose to find that their island was, essentially, a military zone. Armed soldiers throughout the island had taken up positions with sand bags and machine guns. They were under seige, that was a given, but this was new. The peaceful air of the island had been shattered by the previous nights' fly over, which saw ordinance release. An RA-5E Vigilante, armed with a pair of 500 pound laser-guided bombs identified a mobile AA unit and blew it sky high. No longer were their flights eventless. They were flying for a purpose now, gathering intelligence on troop movements and everything else. They were coming!

The Supreme Grenadian, which consisted, more or less, of eight men, voted, unanimously, during the early hours of the morning to begin reinforcing and digging in, in advance of an inevitable invasion. The island had a population of some 100,000 people still and they went about their business as the insurrectionist forces rose from just under 5,000 to 25,000 as those sympathic throughout the island to their cause began to take up arms. They had uniforms for all and they conducted themselves as a traditional army with a traditional government and cause, even if it wasn't a legitimate one. Sandbags, emplaced machine guns, mortars, mines, etc. were all set throughout the island and along the beach heads. They began to get a few fighters working, which included up to sixteen F-16G Falcons, twelve F-22B Raptors, and eleven F-31A Tornado ADVs. They had at least two dozen Super Hueys and Panthers under their control as well, giving them a decent force that would have to be neutralized before the Marines hit the beaches and the cargo transports flew overhead. However, they were without an air defense network except for armored units that they gathered throughout the island. They had no control over the big and powerful SAMs that had been left and were stuck using mobile AA units and shoulder launched missiles as well as small, mobile radars. They were no match for the Imperial Layartebian Military that was all around them, that was a given but they would still put up a fight, a tough fight.

The phone call between their primary field commander, Maurice Hosten and the Premier of Grenada, Earl Rubben, was just one of many that had been going back and fourth over the past three days since the buildup was approved. Tension and frustration echoed throughout the streets of St. George's as the Grenadians struggled to go about their daily lives. They had to, they were ordered to, and it was all they could do. Their daily lives had yet to be changed from what they were on June 14, despite the change on the island.

The Supreme Grenadian was overwhelmed with the concerns of the people and that was a given. Political officers walking throughout the island were approached by hundreds of civilians a day asking whether or not they would be safe if the Empire invaded and whether or not they should be worrying about taking up arms. To prevent a revolution within, the Supreme Grenadian did away with private ownership of weapons and soon they would do away with private ownership of land but they would wait for the inevitable conflict to be over first before they went about such reforms. They didn't need to fighting within when they had to fight around them.

Layarteb

10-09-2006, 15:54

Realizing a peculiar situation, the Supreme Grenadian were desparate to make a decision. The Imperial Layartebian Navy was all around them and with it, several million tons of heavy warships and aircraft. They could lay waste to the island in minutes and turn it from a bustling paradise into a ruined wasteland. They were looking at a pair of Amphibious Assault Ready Groups, a Carrier Battle Group, and a Carrier Escort Group, 164 warhips and 6,612,873 tons of shipping with 1,031 fixed and rotary winged aircraft. That was a lot of firepower and they weren't stupid, they knew that they wouldn't last a few minutes when the shooting began. So, they would go a different route. Desparate for supplies, the Supreme Grenadian would ask that the blockaide be lifted for just one weeks time so that they could conduct negotiations. They would call it a "measure of faith" that the Empire was willing to negotiate and avoid bloodshed. During that week they would arrange to get as many supplies as they could. This meant that they would be sending out diplomatic communiques to just about every nation on the planet, save for the October Alliance allies of the Empire. They managed to hack into some of the encryption capabilities of the Empire and could send the communique almost without notice. The Empire would intercept but by the time they decrypted it they knew that they would have all the responses and information that they needed.

TO: Nations of the World
FR: Democratic People's Republic of Grenada
RE: Our Survival

Nations of the world, you have no doubt heard of our independence from the remainder of the Empire. We are human, just like everyone else. Our struggle for freedom, for independence, and for destiny has only just begun. Presenting surrounding our island paradise are 164 warships of the Imperial Layartebian Navy. They are blockaiding us, a pure act of war, an act that we will not ignore. However, we are small and they are large, they have the power and they have the will to cut us off from the rest of the world. The people of the DPRG cannot survive without supplies, without food, without medical equipment and rations.

We beg all the nations of the world to please assist us. Send us supplies and rations. In return we will pay back each and every nation helping us. We will arrange for the blockaide to be dropped for a week's time, which will allow for a legal and harmless delivery of supplies via air or sea. Please help us survive. Without help we will surely die...

The Supreme Grenadian

Layarteb

10-09-2006, 23:17

The flurry of activity throughout the Empire was nothing out of the ordinary. Majestic took note of this and arranged their meeting accordingly. They met inside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of a Pennsylvania mining town, long since abandoned. They stalked the night and their meetings were as ellusive as ever. They had two topics to discuss tonight, on the 3rd of July. The first matter was the murder of Dr. Gordon Gray. The police had originally arrested Christopher Allen Florence in connection with his murder but failed to produce any evidence to charge him on that particular crime. He was still being held in connection with other crimes. Two nights ago he was found murdered, in his cell. The second matter was a "leak" that was beginning to come forward in the media. They were lucky in that July 1 was a new moon. Moonlight failed to show onto the surface of the rural terrain of Pennsylvania and starlight was barely enough. Arriving in their limousines and town cars, the twelve men ordered their drivers to wait outside, lights off, engines off, and secluded. The drivers often conversed with each other, mainly speculating about what the nature of these meetings were about but none of them dared to disobey the orders of those within.

The warehouse was dusty, dirty, and it stunk. The twelve men had met here before but not in years. They all entered the same entrance and walked about sixty meters into the pitch black warehouse, flash lights in hand, to a door with an electronic lock. Each of them entered a code. The electronic lock could recognize up to sixty different access codes. Twelve unique ones had been programmed into the lock and then there was the master, which none of the twelve knew. Each entered his own code and the red light turned green. With a click, they entered and shut the door behind them. Everyone entered alone because they had all arrived at different times. Then, they were in a part of the warehouse that wasn't on the original plans. They descended twenty-seven steps, came to a landing, turned to the right, and descended another thirty. Then, they were at the beginning of a well lit corridor, which was about fifty meters long, a single door at the end of it. This door had yet another electronic lock, using another twelve code numbers, all unique and different from the first door. Once past this door, the individual would walk another six meters and then be in a large, abandoned CIC room. They would pass through and walk to the rear of the command center, where there was a secure, sound-proof, conference room. Inside, all twelve of them sat comfortably, and conducted their meeting.

"Gentlemen. How good of you all to make it." The Minister of Foreign Affairs of began. "Tonight is a matter of utmost importance. Dr. Gray's supposed murderer, Mr. Florence was apparently not. This leads to some speculation about who murdered him. It is becoming increasingly doubtful that the individual who killed our late colleague was a lone gunman acting for revenge. More and more does this appear to be a contracted assassination. The Ministry of Justice believes this as well and they are devoting a significant amount of resources to the investigation. Whether or not they will find the actual assassin is something that I am unaware. General Delaney, since you have experience in the field, what might we expect?"

"Expect to find little. A good assassin leaves nothing behind. Obviously, as we've seen, this was definitely a good assassin. The report stated that no shell casings were found, that the two bullets shot at Dr. Gray were removed from the wall, and that the security logs had been erased by a very powerful and capable computer virus, engineered by our own LDC for such a purpose. There is a good possibility that this was in the planning for some time."

"Would it be pertinent to suspect an individual herein?"

"I would not be able to guess that. It is possible but why?"

"I do not know. Does anyone else have a possible avenue?"

"Dr. Gray's death shocked the world. He was a trusted confidant amongst us and nothing could be shown otherwise. It is my doubt that it was an individual herein." Dr. Victor Michael said as he make a quick glance around the room. "Furthermore, without any evidence to the contrary, I think it would be unwise to point fingers here."

"You are correct Dr. Michael. I must agree. Hard evidence is a necessity before any accusation can be made." John Patrick added. "I think we have flushed out those who have been against our intentions."

"We have. General Delaney has liquidated our most recent foe, the Minister of Intelligence, and the use of the SR819 worked well against his predecessor."

"Very well. Umbrella was pleased at the successful test of its capabilities." Dr. Donald Bush interjected. "SR819" was a unique new weapon that was built around nanotechnology. It was a unique weapon, operated by radiofrequency that could be injected into an individual's bloodstream. Using a remote control of sorts, the nanites could replicated to massive numbers, effectively clogging every vein and artery in the body. It had been injected into Jacob Lepinsky, the individual who killed the first Minister of Intelligence. It disguised itself as cancer and as he set out, that fateful night, to blow up the Ministry of Intelligence, he had been guided along a path that the Minister of Intelligence was driving down. At the right moment, Umbrella scientists, working deep undercover with Majestic, initiated the kill. The nanites cut his spinal chord and caused the van to go wildly out of control. The resulting collision and explosion took out the Minister of Intelligence. What seemed like a coincidence was actually a planned assassination. Umbrella had not tested it since but the weapon was there, codenamed "SR819."

"Very well. Onto the situation then. Who and how was Mr. Florence killed?"

"It had to have been an inside job. He was being held in a police facility and nobody can just walk right in there and do a job like that. Security survelliance, once again, found out little. It is highly possible though that the same individual who killed Dr. Gray killed Mr. Florence."

July 1, 2006

Christopher Florence sat inside the interrogation room shortly after 19:30 hours. He requested this session to clear his name in the Gordon Gray assassination. Little did he know but he was already being absolved of said crime. DNA evidence and eyewitness reports put him hundreds of miles away at the time of the crime but still, the police wanted to hear what he had to say. He was joined by an interrogator shortly after 19:40 hours and he began to spill his guts. He hated Dr. Gray, that was a given, but he had no cause to execute him. However, he had more information to give. "About a month ago, no maybe less. Two weeks or so before the murder of Dr. Gray. I was approached by four men, all of them in suits, creepy, scary looking guys. They were all extremely articulate and they definitely made a lot of money. They asked me a lot of questions about Dr. Gray, particularly why I hated him and what happened. So, confused or something, maybe because I thought they were some sort of investigating committee against Dr. Gray, I told them about my plagarism scandal. They took a lot of notes and they did record the session."

"Where did you meet?"

"An abandoned school or something in central Ohio. I don't really remember too well, it was night and the place was really secluded."

"How did you get there?"

"They arranged transportation. I think it was a town car, I don't know, I was asleep the whole time."

"Asleep?"

"Yeah, they drugged me and put a black bag thing over my head. I woke up after we were there already."

"Lengthy drive?"

"I don't know if it was. You see I was in Cleveland at the time. I met the car in a parking garage at 16:30 hours and I managed to catch a glimpse of the clock on the town car when I got in. It was 21:30 hours, five hours ahead right? Unusual, you know. Well. When I woke up it was pitch black out but the clock said it was 17:20 hours. I was totally thrown off, you see, because it was pitch black out. I mean it was well after night time. I don't know how long I was out for or anything like that. I just know that it was central Ohio because of one factor, the stars. I took this astronmy class in college and I did really well in it. Anyway, I kind of did some rough estimates and stuff and I figured that I hadn't left the state, the sky hadn't changed all that much. I should have become an astronomer I tell you. Anyway, it had to be central Ohio. There was corn everywhere and I grew up in central Ohio until I was 10. So I know what it's like. It could have been Indiana or Illinois, I'll admit but I'm sure it was Ohio.

"Anyway, sorry. We sat down inside this school thing. I was already inside when I woke up but I could see outside of the window. We discussed a lot about Dr. Gray. I was hoping that, if this was some investigation on him, it would lead to his dismissal. I wanted revenge, you see. Although I was very concerned about why this was being done in such secrecy, I thought it was, maybe, some secretive governmental organization you know? Something really 'black' that needed to do this. Who knew, maybe he was funneling terrorism money or something. For the RLA? I don't know. The meeting was a few hours, it felt like that. We talked a lot about him and about me, my history, my past. I wasn't sure anymore if they were interviewing me about Dr. Gray or about myself. But when it was over, I was walked back out to the car and I got in it, then drugged, then we were on our merry way, I guess. I woke back up in my hotel room at 11:20 hours the next day. The clocks were right there."

"What did the clock say when you got back in the car?"

"It didn't. It was flashing 00:00 hours. I gave up trying to figure out the time at that point."

"What can you tell me about the building?"

"It's tough. It was really dark. It looked like it was three or four floors, windows were in bad shape. The grounds were overgrown with weeds and grass. The cement was cracked, the flag pole needed a paint job, I thought."

"Any lettering or numbers?"

"Yeah. One. A number. 1849. I don't know what that means."

"It'll help us in some way. Anything else?"

"Listen. I know I've done a lot of bad things and I'm finally caught. I've already plead guilty to the bank robberies and the ATM thefts. I didn't kill Dr. Gray though. I hated the man but I'm no killer. I didn't kill that police officer either. That wasn't me. That was one of the others. Jack. Him."

"Jack, the one we arrested for the bank robbery?"

"Yes. Him. Son of a bitch looks a lot like me."

"That he does."

"I'm no killer. I didn't shoot any police officer and I never had a loaded gun on those robberies either. I'm no fan of guns but they produce a means to an end."

"Explain to me something then. How did you learn to remove your finger prints? Where'd you get your hands on those contacts?"

"If you're planning on robbing a bank in the Empire you need to be prepared. Listen, I'm not here to try to tell you lies. I know the system and how sophisticated it is. I admit it, I planned to rob that bank and the ATMs were, well, desparation. Murder though. Not my strong suite."

"Good. We do have evidence that puts you nowhere near Dr. Gray at the time of the assassination. As far as the cop? Time will tell. Do you have anything else that you would like to add."

"One last thing. One of the four men refered to the other as General. That was about it."

"Interesting. Very well. Wait here please." The interrogator left and returned to the monitoring booth. "What do you think?"

"Probably nonsense but check it out anyway. I don't want to not explore a lead here, especially if it turns out to be useful. The last thing I want to have to answer is a question about why I did not explore said lead."

"Got it sir."

"Thank you. Leave him here for a while though. I want to ask him some things in a few hours to see if he changes his story around. Get someone checking some satellite maps for this 'school'?"

"Got it." The interrogator and a few detectives left the man alone. He was a government agent, part of the Central Justice Agency and he had been there from the beginning. His name was Ethan Hunter, a member of Majestic. Alone, in the monitoring room, he picked up his cell phone and dialed a number quickly, efficiently, and from memory. "Yeah. It's me. He just gave up the 'meeting.' Alright." He hung up the cell phone and looked at the monitoring equipment. It was left off, for now, and that was a good thing. He wanted to have a conversation with the man without it being recorded so, as he stepped out of the room, he looked to his partner. "Make sure our conversation isn't heard. I think this scum is trying to weasel out of this."

"Understood."

Ethan entered the room. He had benefitted from being masked by the lack of light the last time he met with this man. Whether or not his voice would be recognized was not his immediate concern. The man had never gotten a clear look at him or his three companions and he was pleased about that minor detail. "So, you were saying about some meeting you attended."

"Yeah?" Mr. Florence's tone dropped to pure suspicion. He didn't know who this man was but he did seem familiar. "I told the detective everything."

"No. I heard. Good details. I just hope it pans out for you."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not in the business of convicting the innocent."

"Really. Have we met before?"

"Not that I recall though you may have spotted me walking through the halls here and there. My name is Ethan Hunter, I work with the CJA."

"Okay."

"I'd just like to ask you a few more questions about that school?"

"Okay."

"You said something about the time being confusing to you. The clock kept changing around. Did you not have any other way to tell time?"

"No. My cell phone and watch were taken from me when I was drugged and they all reappeared in the hotel room. When I woke up."

"Didn't anyone see you enter the hotel, obviously being carried?"

"I asked. Nobody saw anything."

"Convienent."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"No."

"Then just what are you trying to find here? Look it up, you'll find the school, it's there."

"We're looking. Now. Just one last question."

"Go ahead." Mr. Florence was definitely onto something in his mind about this guy but he still couldn't put his finger on it. "What do you got?"

"Well. You stated that you thought it was some secret governmental organization possibly running a check on Dr. Gray. Why would you think that?"

"Aside from the questions and the general secretiveness of it?"

"Well what cause could they have to investigate him? In your opinion?"

"Well. You see. When I was a student there, I worked closely with Dr. Gray. He was, sort of, my mentor. You see I wasn't kicked out for plagarism. Well I mean I was but that was minor. I was kicked out because I found something I wasn't supposed to find. Dr. Gray was part of something, maybe like the Freemasons or something and I stumbled upon some journal he kept that had a lot of names in it, meeting places, you know that stuff. I guess he found out that I found it because a week or two later I was gone. I know he had cameras in his office."

"He did?"

"Yes. They're not really known to the security either. It's something secretive. Very."

"Interesting. Well. Mr. Florence. I'll make sure that I take this into account. Where can I find the recording device for these cameras? You know it could exonerate you and find the killer."

"I've already been told that I wasn't there."

"Yes. But evidence gets lost."

"Blackmailing me?"

"No. Just requesting some help."

"Eastern wall of the office. Underneath the globe."

"Thank you." Ethan stood and walked out of the room. "Anybody walk in?" He asked his partner.

"No. What'd he say?"

"Just that he thinks he's being framed."

"Convienent."

"Very. Why don't you head back for the day, I'm going to just ask the detective a few questions and be gone."

"You got it boss." He walked back into the room when his partner had gone and he picked up Mr. Florence.

"Come with me." As he did, popped a needle into Mr. Florence's wrist.

"Ouch! What was that?"

"What?"

"Felt like I got pinched?"

"Maybe it's the handcuffs. I'm sorry." With a slide of his hand, the needle was in his pocket and he was carrying him out. He brought him back to his cell and left the station. Six hours later, Mr. Florence was dead. The corner determined that he had heart failure, possibly as a result of high cholesterol levels. The needle injection was overlooked.

"It's not very possible. In fact I would highly doubt it myself." Ethan said as he looked around the table.

"Very well. We have no leads, obviously. Ethan were you or were you not present there?"

"I was."

"What did he say to the interrogators?"

"He was denying his involvement. He thinks there is some sort of conspiracy against him. My evaluation was that he was a little 'loony' I mean a man who robs a bank, ATMs, and shoots a cop usually isn't all there."

"Understood. Any leads at the police station?"

"Coroner reported it as a heart attack as a result of cholesterol. You've got me."

"Do you think it was nature or an assassination?"

"I have no idea. That's why I am doubting the theory?"

"Understandable. This coroner. Does he check out?"

"Been with the force twelve years. Excellent record."

"Alright. Mysterious, I'll admit. Alright moving onward. I've been tipped off that there is a 'leak' somewhere in the government and that the government was responsible for downing LA Flight 88. Back in October."

"How so?" General Delaney asked immediately.

"What credibility he has, I don't know. Apparently this is a radar operator or something. He is set to go live, on the air, with the Layarteb News Network tomorrow night."

"What can we do to pull the show?"

"It isn't known but if the public finds out the truth about the UFO incident there will be inquiries. We have a long past here that we need to keep hidden."

"Understood. What do you propose?"

"General. Actually. I propose that you handle the situation and the problem."

"You want me to kill him?"

"Yes." Without a blink of an eye or a second glance, the entire room was in agreement. "We want him dead."

"Alright. It's taken care of. But don't you think that will raise suspicion?"

"We do. You will need to make it look like a robbery."

"That can be done then."

"Very well..."

Layarteb

13-09-2006, 05:28

The Pennsylvania countryside was quiet, dark, and rural. Few people inhabited it and those who did weren't the most social of people. When the twelve cars from the Majestic meeting moved through dirt roads and lonely highways, nobody took notice. That was the nature of their game. They picked the most rural and inconspicuous places to have their meetings, meetings that were never observed by satellites, signals intelligence, public cameras, etc. Nobody knew about them and their meetings and they would ensure that nobody would. Brigadier General Delaney, instead of heading towards his home in New York, headed south. He was going to head to a military base not more than ten miles away, where he could board an aircraft and fly down to central Tennessee. He had authorization higher than most four-star generals and that meant he could do whatever he needed to do, whenever he wanted, and without any questions or notations made. That was why he was so useful to Majestic and the military alike.

For this mission he needed only two things, a forty-five caliber pistol and a knife. He had the knife and the pistol, he had too but he wouldn't use his own. He wanted something less "military" and so he would use a Colt 1911 pistol, old but reliable. His secret mission was his own planning and he would have to basically "shoot from the hip" on everything he did. When he pulled up to the base, he flashed his credentials briefly to the guard at the front gate. Immediately, upon seeing the rank and the sicker, he saluted and let him through. This was how he usually moved through bases. His rank gave him unlimited access, especially when mixed with his credentials. He drove right up to the main office, shut his car off, and entered the building. "My name is Brigadier General Harrogan, I'm with the Imperial Layartebian Army and I am here to see Colonel Ryan Ernesto. I do not have an appointment and this is a matter of national security. I would appreciate it if he could be summoned immediately." He left no room for the desk clerk to add anything or think a second thought. "Time is of the utmost importance."

"Sir?"

"Do you have a problem with my orders? If you do I can see to it that you are working a guard tower on Ellesmere Island. Do you know how cold it gets there in the winter? Do you know how cold it gets there in the summer?"

Nervously, the desk clerk picked up the phone and dialed a four digit number. "Sir. There is a Brigadier General here to see you. No he doesn't. He states that it is a matter of national security. I don't know sir." He took his mouth away from the reciever and covered it. "Who are you on orders from?"

"The Emperor."

"The Emperor sir. Yes his credentials pass. Alright sir." He put down the phone. "He'll be up in two minutes. Please have a seat sir."

"Thank you." He took a seat. He was using a false set of identifications, a set that was personally approved by the Emperor for an operation he conducted to test base security on a nuclear missile base some six years prior. The credentials had been kept in tact and this "phantom" soldier was definitely on the records and he checked out, a problem for anyone trying to put holes in his mission.

"General. I am sorry that I was not made aware of your visit."

"That's alright Colonel. I am here on national security. May we talk in private?"

"Certainly sir." The Colonel was in his full uniform and he escorted Delany to his office where he shut and locked the door, sitting down behind his desk. "We are safe in here."

"Very well. I am an officer with the 1st Special Forces Unit, 'Delta Force' and I am here on a lonewolf operation. I need a flight, immediately, to an airfield in Tennessee. I cannot divulge the nature of my mission but I do have this signed copy from the Emperor of my confidentiality." He passed over a folded paper. Inside the paper, the Emperor had personally given his approval of all things required by Brigadier General Harrogan to conduct a secretive operation in defense of national security. Pleased, the Colonel handed it back and picked up the phone. "I need a flight to McMinnville Air Force Base, immediately priority. This will be a black flight. Very well." He turned back to Delaney. "Well sir. You'll be on a C-21B Learjet out of here in twenty minutes. I hope that is satisfactory?"

"That will be fine. It is a 565 mile flight, more or less, and I want to be there as soon as possible. I will be returning here as well. My vehicle will be untouched, I trust?"

"Yes sir. Is there anything else that you will need for this operation?"

"Yes. I will need one set of black fatigues and a 1911 pistol."

"A 1911? Sir. That is not in our inventory."

"No it is not. Hence why it is important."

"I believe I can find one on the base."

"It will not be returned and I want its record erased."

"That is not a problem. I will handle it personally."

"Very well. And one last thing. I was not here at all this evening. It is only 22:00 hours and that gives me plenty of time to complete this mission and leave. I will be gone by 04:00 hours, the latest."

"Understood sir."

"Thank you Colonel. I will remember this incident favorably."

"Thank you sir." They saluted and Delaney walked towards the hangar, where his gear would be waiting for him. Gloves that allowed no fingerprint oil to escape, a special hat that held tightly to allow no hairs to escape, and a black camoflauged set of fatigues, that would, essentially, allow him to stay hidden in the silent and lightless Tennessee night. Within twenty minutes, he climbed aboard a black painted C-21B Learjet, which was definitely what he required. The aircraft was state of the art and it was ready for flight, always. Its coming and going from the base was never recorded and its pilots were specially trained and give high level clearance. They could fly him anywhere in the world and never once be caught on radar. "Gentlemen. I trust that you are aware of the serious nature of this mission in that it is not to be discussed period. This aircraft has a top speed of 635 miles per hour at 36,000 feet. I need to be at my destination in an hour, maximum."

"Understood sir." Within minutes, they were off the ground and flying into the black oblivion, no lights on, and no radio communications. They would transmit their order to land to the tower when they were thirty miles out and until then, they were silent. They couldn't escape the anti-stealth system but once their transponder signal was picked up, it would immediately flash that it was a "black jet" and its flight would not be recorded by any station. The air flight was smooth and Brigadier General Delaney took the time to relax, sitting in the aircrafts' comfortable seat, reclined, and with his eyes closed. He held the pistol in his hand, underneath his jacket and yawned. When they put down, he got off the jet and found that the base officer was more than happy to oblige his every request. He must have been kissing up for a promotion or a good word, which Delaney didn't mind but rather used to his advantage. He secured an old, beat-up Chevrolet Caprice Classic, which he drove thirty-five miles away from the base. The target lived in a small town that couldn't have a population bigger than a hundred and at 20:00 hours everyone was probably asleep. He parked the car in the middle of an abandoned junkyard on the outskirts of town. He didn't see any guard dogs or watchmen and it looked like the front office had the misfortune of being a source of entertainment for local kids. Graffiti covered it. Alright. It's go time. He said to himself and he skulked towards the woods around the town. The town was in the middle of the forests that covered central Tennessee and he would use it to his advantage. His target lived on the other side of town but he could stay in the trees throughout the entire way there and if he moved a hundred meters back he wouldn't even be seen by those houses that were closest to the edge. He was equipped with night vision so there were no problems moving through the pitch black July night. It was warm but a cool air swept through the bushes and the trees above. It was surreal, in a way, and he remembered countless times that he was in similiar situations, all of them having one end and it wasn't his.

With his pistol and knife stowed, he approached the house and crouched in the middle of the forest to look at the house. He was on a hill and level with the second floor. No lights were on and he heard no sounds except the chirping of the crickets and the calls of the night creatures. He took a careful couple of steps towards the house and stopped at the edge of a steep, six foot drop. He was on top of a rock and that rock was definitely not soft. He took a quick look around and noticed that all of the windows were covered with blinds. Nobody was looking out and he saw his point of entry, an open window on the first floor. It was low enough to the ground that he could stand up and look right into it and he would use that to his advantage. Slowing and crouched, he walked to the window and drew his knife. No other house was close enough or had a good enough angle to see him, even if it were broad daylight. He had planned this through satellite photographs that he reviewed on the plane ride. They were taking during daylight so he knew where he was going and he could tell what was what. Slowly and carefully, he stood up and put his head just underneath the sill. He listened for a good minute but heard nothing. This pleased him so he moved towards the power and telephone lines. He would cut the telephone line to the house but leave the power line. He couldn't risk setting off an alarm, if there was one. He would make his entry and so he did, using his knife to cut away the screen. He rolled it up and left it on the ground as he then, drew his pistol. There were a pair of curtains and he pushed them aside with his pistol, looking right in. He was in a bathroom, the door open, looking at a wall It was empty and pitch black, still he heard no noise. He didn't have a floor plan of the house so that meant that he had to check each and every room and ensure that nobody was left alive, especially if he was seen. He would kill first and then ransack the place to make it look like he was a drifter. He would smash alcohol bottles on the floor and half fill a cup up with beer, if he came across it. He had a few cigarette butts that he would drop as "evidence." These were butts that he collected at a truck stop on the highway leading away from the airbase. They were disgusting but they would allow him to plant some "evidence" to lead away from a planned assassination.

Without breathing, he lifted himself into the window and onto the bathmat in front of the toilet. He lowered his stance and kept his gun out, using his night vision to see as he walked towards the doorway. He listened for the sound of any movement but he wasn't hearing anything. He was pleased to find himself inside the house without any sound. To the right of the bathroom was an open living room, dining room, and kitchen area, empty. In front was a door, possibly leading to a basement. To the left was another door, this one closed, possibly the master bedroom. He needed to scope out more of the house to make sure that this was the only room he would, maybe, have to attack. Pictures would tell all and he could check the living room for these. His suspicions came full cricle when he found a nice family picture of the target, his wife, and two children, one boy and one girl. There were people upstairs, two kids. This unnerved him immediately but he had to do a job here and he couldn't have second thoughts. Slowly, he returned back to the door to the master bedroom, knife in hand. He kept his pistol in hand as well and, slowly, he turned the knob of the door, just enough to crack it open. He peaked inside. Both the target and his wife were asleep, in bed, on the far right side of it, facing away from him, cuddled up together. He put away his pistol and slowly crept towards the bedside. He had his knife out still and would have to attack quickly and effectively. He had to take them both out without either of them making a sound.

He had to act quickly and he would, if he could. He had to kill quickly. Standing in front of the bed, with his knife out, he took a silent breath inward and jumped onto the bed, his knees landing right in both of their guts. It startled them and woke them immediately but his left hand was on the woman's mouth, his knee holding her down as his blade went right across the targets throat, deeply cutting through. With a stern look, he pushed the body onto the floor, as his target quickly bled to death, vocal cords cut. The target flailed around on the ground for a few seconds as the blood rushed out and shock ensued. Jack looked right into the woman's eyes. She was fighting, hard, but not enough. The look of pure terror in her eyes would haunt him forever as he held her moth shut. He put the knife down and wit his right hand, pushed hard on her neck, breaking it from the front down, snapping her like a twig. He lift her almost paralyzed body and finished it off, breaking her neck. She died quickly. On the floor, the target, unable to speak, had crawled a little bit away from the bed, moving towards a closet, possibly where there was a gun. Jack didn't take the time to let him get there and drove his knee into his back, lifting his head to allow the gaping wound to grow bigger. The man was dead in seconds, gurgling on his own blood. The sound was sickening. He stood up and looked at the pictures on the bedside. Knife in hand, he walked out of the bedroom, ensuring that both of them were dead.

Without a thought in his head, he walked through the living room and to the stairs. Slowly he climbed up them, looking at a bathroom at the top of the stairs. To the left and right were bedrooms, one for each kid. He wasn't happy about having to do this but it had to look real. He got to the top of the stairs and noticed that both doors were closed. He entered the one on the left, the boy's room. Sleeping sounding in the middle of the room was a boy, couldn't have been more than six years old, probably still wet the bed. Jack approached the bedside and looked down. A knife was too sloppy for this so he reached down and acted quickly. He didn't want to cause the kid any undue pain, that wasn't right. He wasn't a sadistic killer who enjoyed killing children but the means to the end was justified but what he knew to be truth. He had to do this or else far more than these four would be threatened. Unfortunately, the greater good, for him, wasn't pretty. He reached down and, in one fluid motion, grabbed the kid, put his hand over his mouth, and snapped his neck faster than it took the kid to wake up. The lifeless body was put back onto the bed and he went across the hall, to the next room, where the little girl was sleeping. She wasn't more than eight. He did the same to her and left her room, closing the doors behind him.

Now it was time to set up the scene. He returned downstairs, wiped the knife off on the couch and proceeded to trash the house, quietly. He tore holes in the couch and the bookshelves were tossed. He dropped a dozen cigarette butts, broke glasses in the kitchen, emptied the refrigerator onto the entire lower floor, and poured beer into cups and spilled it everywhere. When he was done it looked like a biker gang rolled through there. He took a can of spray paint from the basement and decorated one wall with a gang sign that he had seen when he was a kid, a sign he never forgot. It was, basically, a skull and crossbones. In the bedrooms, he tossed items out of each and every drawer and dropped some loose change all around. Jewelry was thrown from the boxes and he took a pearl necklace and ripped it so that it looked as if it was broken in a struggle, perhaps between the killers. His plan was almost complete. He had trashed the house, there was no doubt about that but there was something else he had to do. He found what he needed in the basement, more or less gasoline cans, turpentine, all sorts of flammables. He covered the house with the ignitables and walked out the patio door. He stepped right onto a screened in porch, lit a book of matches and threw them onto the living room floor. The pool of turpentine immediately caught fire and he was off running.

By the time he got into the woods, a hundred meters away, the house was fully engulfed in flames and he could see windows of other houses lighting up. People had seen the fire and they were looking out. He took the distraction as a good advantage and hustled towards where he parked the car. He ran there, as fast as he could, careful not to step on too many twigs or make too much noise. The fire faded as he moved alongside the town and by the time he got to the junkyard he could hear the faint sound of sirens. He started his car and was on the road in no time. When he returned to the air base he was back on the Learjet and back in central Pennsylvania by 05:00 hours. He would be back at his home another five hours later, weary and tired from the night before but awake, nonetheless. The fire barely made the news in New York but in Tennessee it was front page, especially when investigators uncovered what they described as the most horrific crime in Tennessee history. It snuck its way onto the news channels back in New York and when Jack was asked about what senseless criminals would do such a thing, by his girlfriend, he could barely respond. He looked back at her, sitting next to her on the couch, holding his girlfriend in his arms. "I don't know. Probably the ones without a soul. They'll be damned to hell, that's for sure." She looked oddly up at him but thought little of it. His secrets would go with him to the grave.

Layarteb

15-09-2006, 01:40

When the sun fell again on the evening of July 4, Empire Day, things seemed too quiet around the Empire. A national holiday, July 4 marked the day that the republican forces finally fell to the Empire and thus, the civil war was over. October 31 still remained as the biggest holiday, being independence day for Tnemrot so long ago, 849 years ago. Since then, the land of Layarteb had seen two bloody civil wars, countless wars of intrusion and aggression, and at least five different governments. The Empire, though only serving for 26 years was arguably far more powerful than the Republic ever was and it reigned for 189 years. During its time, the Republic went from being, more or less, bogged down by bureaucracy and ineffective rulers who began to turn the Republic into a minority based system, whereby the decisions of the few ruled the many. When civil war broke out and finally ended three years later, all that changed. The Empire brought fourth power, prestige, and pride. No longer was the minority in charge and now the majority would benefit. The minority would have two choices. They could get their act toegether and benefit from the system or they could flounder and fail, falling to the mighty falcon that was the Empire and be torn to shreds as feed for the Empire.

The Emperor planned his usual speech on the 4th of July for 19:30 hours and would speak for about fifteen minutes. Cameras set up in his office were already being fine tned and prepared for the speech, which would be live on television and radio. On the internet, his speech would be streamed from the official site of the Emperor, www.governorsisland.gov. It registered over a million hits a day and, whenever there was a speech, the online traffic increased nearly a hundred fold. Though most of the people still watched his speeches on television, the largest second group was internet watchers. Radio was the smallest group paying attention to the speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. Good evening. I come to you on the 26th anniversary of the foundation of our great Empire. Twenty-six years ago, today, the feeble and ineffective Republic fell to the victorious forces of the Empire. It was a three year war that claimed the lives of millions, sadly orphaning many children, widowing many wives. Times have changed. The Empire has expanded to great proportions, touching the far edges of our global. The Empire stretches from Ireland to Peru, to the westernmost portion of Hawaii and all the way to Nauru.

"Home to a billion and a quarter citizens, the Empire is but a rising star in global politics and throughout the globe. The Empire has one of the largest worldwide economies, one of the largest militaries, one of the largest sizes, and is no slouch. Since that fateful day in 1980, the Empire has taken the measly Republic and trippled its land area in just over two decades. Now the fighting as ceased. Dreams have been realized and peace and prosperity can follow for many centuries to come.

"Layarteb freed itself from the tryannical chains of the Tnemrations almost 849 years ago. The mighty Scythes freed themselves from the warring and greedy tribes to their north and west just 189 years ago. Here, 26 years ago, we have restored the glory and the honor that had been lost during the reign of the Republic.

"Now today, we can look around, at our fellow citizens, at our wives and brothers, friends and children, and we can smile knowing that they are one within the Empire. Never before has a nation held such strong bonds of unity from such different cultures. The Caribbean, South America, Central America, North America, northern Europe, islands in the Atlantic, and islands in the Pacific have all come together to form one, single, solitary nationstate. We are a nationstate.

"A state implies only government whereas a nation is an identity, a being of people and state of mind. People feel Layartebian, they associate with the Empire, and its legitimacy is what makes us so strong. Fragmented, we cannot survive. Anarchy and turmoil is inevitable. However, unified and together, strong and willed, we can persist for eternity.

"Here we stand, today, on this, the 26th anniversary of the Empire, strong and proud. We are consolidated, we are peaceful, and we are one. There are forces throughout the world that wise to destroy this, that wish to harm us, and that wish to take away all that we have fought for and achieved. I will not allow that to happen. You will not allow that to happen. The jealousy of the world can try its best to attack us, to defeat us, and to conquer us but they will only fail. Futility is their quest and they will never learn. From all sides they can attack us. From the air and the land and the sea they can attack us. They will try their best. They will try their worst. Their results will be the same. All of them will fail, miserably. They will taste the blood on the end of the sword of the Empire and they will releash in that it is their blood. Spilled by us.

"The Empire is a beacon for the future. Never before, in the history of our planet has there been a nationstate as this one. Those who have tried have failed. Some have taken only to the eternal quest for peace and some have taken to nonstop war. None of them have endured, not like the Empire, not like Layarteb. This brings me to our latest foe.

"The ideology of communism has snuck its way into our borders. Disguised under the auspice of 'friends' and of 'freedom' communism has taken a hold of the island of Grenada. Let me digress a minute. Communism is an ideology that is more than a perversion but merely a hope without base or reality. Communist ideology is the epitome of the term, total equality. That sounds good, doesn't it? That 'line' has fooled many. In its truest form, communism supports a system whereby everyone works for equal pay, for equal rewards, and for equal benefits. Those who work two hours and those who work forty-two hours a week are paid the same. There is no incentive. There is no private property. There are no freedoms. A system whereby equality is at the forefront will be deft of freedom as the more freedom we have, the less equal we are. Communism annihilates freedom for the pursuit of a fable, which is called equality. The concept of total equality defies nature. It's a perversion of life. Capitalism, its opposite, is too flawed. Capitalism views human beings as mere resources to exploit to serve the greater end, the 'Almight Buck.' Here, in the Empire, we have a dominance of neither. Yes capitalism reigns its place here and communism is but nowhere near and never shall it be but we do lot allow our workers to be exploited like resources. We look out for each other here. Under a system of total capitalism, we would be using each other like wrenches and when one breaks, we throw it away and get a new one. Under a system of total communism, we would allow the lazy and the wicked to be treated just like the studious and the honest.

"Now. On Grenada, this 'utopian' ideology has claimed the lives of 7,775 soldiers and 1,065 civilians, all in the name of 'perfection.' This insurrection of total illegality will be quashed, quelled, and law and order will be restored to Grenada. The island of Grenada will be returned to the Empire. Its populace will be freed. However, Grenada has taught us an important lesson about nations that claim to the be a friend to the Empire. I am talking about the United Eastasian Republic and their embracement of communism, the same ideology that enslaves the free and turns them into thoughtless simpletons who want nothing more than to be just the same as the rapists, the murderers, the lazy, the weak willed, and the stupid.

"When the United Eastasian Republic recognized the insurrectionists of Grenada they entered into a realm whereby the domestic happenings of the Empire are the business of the world. What goes on without our borders is our own. The entire world does not belong in our domestic happenings, it is not their business. The sovereignty of the Empire is not to be breeched and this intrusion upon our sovereignty will not be allowed to go unchecked. I am hereby proposing to the cabinet a bill that would reduce the tourism quota of Eastasian citizens to the Empire from its current level of 42,000 to 18,500 per year. Background checks against Eastasian tourist candidates will be further increased.

"We cannot dismiss the possible threat that the Eastasian Republic poses to our sovereignty. If they are bold enough to meddle in the internal affairs of the Empire then they are bold enough to attack from within. The Empire must stand up for its citizens and its borders. We cannot dismiss a major and potential threat to the Empire. Ideologically, the Eastasian Republic is a foe. They are a foe that seeks to pollute the world with their communist ideology. They envision a world taken over by the communist ideology, a world where no freedoms exist, a world where the worst of society are equal to the best. This is a world that the Empire cannot allow to happen.

"Therefore, I wish to end tonight's speech with advice but also caution. Beware the foe that hides behind what they project to be 'goodness' and 'fairness' because the road to hell is paved with good intentions and the trickery of the deceitful propells you forward on that road. Goodnight."

Layarteb

15-09-2006, 03:09

The news was dull and boring and after the speech, Jack turned off the television and got off the couch. He was well relaxed as he walked into the kitchen, to fix himself a snack of sorts. He didn't get much past the separating ledge from the dining room to the kitchen when his cell phone rang. It was secure and encrypted, the most private phone on Earth. All dignitaries and higher ups in the Empire had one. He groaned for a moment, figuring that it was the Emperor or someone from the Cabinet with some dire emergency 15,000 miles away. When he peered down at the caller ID he was relieved that it was none of them but rather Ethan Hunter. This definitely wasn't concerning the business of the Empire. "Hello." He answered, in a hushed tone.

"Status?"

"I'm just about to fix myself a snack."

"Understood."

"How's the weather down there in Miami?"

"Listen. The work you did on the Vinegar Man was excellent. We already have four 'drifters' that we're looking for that fit 'possible' descriptions given by neighbors."

"That sounds great. I wish it was like that here but you know, we're far north."

"That doesn't mean we are going to let you hide. More waits around the corner."

"No I don't plan on travelling anytime soon. I'm on a tight budget this year. No, I'm sorry."

"Good. Point 362. 12:00 hours."

"I've got another call. I'll have to talk to you later. Good bye." For a secure and encrypted phone he still had to use code words as best as he could.

Layarteb

16-09-2006, 19:44

Brigadier General Delaney stepped out of the subway car at 11:30 hours the next day and walked through at least 10,000 people before he got to the city streets above Grand Central Station. Above ground, it was cold and raining. Over the night a major thunderstorm had moved into the area above Layarteb City and was now raining down buckets. Some city streets were flooding and potholes were miniature ponds and lakes. The lightning and thunder that danced above and shook the city was furious and ferocious. The Empire State Building had been struck by lightning once already during this storm and the World Trade Center had been hit twice. Then, there was the Tower of Luna, standing 2,057 feet in the air, amongst the tallest buildings in the world.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/towerofluna.jpg
Tower of Luna.

Point 362 was just one of tens of thousands of clandestine meeting places that Majestic used. The CIA and CJA had hundreds of thousands and possibly even millions. Point 362 was one of the first ones to be used by Majestic for their meetings after the Emperor took over Layarteb. It was actually below ground but accessed through a water treatment station that was still very much in use although never manned except when maintenance was being done. Schedules were checked and Point 362 would be empty. It was about a two and a half of a blocks from the 42nd Street entrance to Grand Central so BG. Delaney shifted his hat slightly and walked towards the facility. The Layarteb City Public Library where he was going and he could access the facility from the grounds of the library. He had a special identification card that identified him as a foreman for the city's plumbers union, giving him access to just about everything he wanted with a pipe running through or near it. He had so many false sets of identification that sometimes he forgot the identities that he had.

After a short walk, through the worst rain he'd seen in years, he walked right onto the grounds of the public library and walked towards a secluded section on the western side of the building. He had to pass through an outdoor patio, unoccupied on the count of the weather, and he passed through it quickly. Then, he was standing infront of the water facility entrance, which was a story below ground. He swiped his card and the electronic lock turned green. He opened the steel door and stepped inside. It was dark and as he closed the door behind him, the lights came on, automatically. With a loud clicking sound, the door locked behind him and he took a step to the right and descended a flight of steps to the facility. Pipes ran on either side of a catwalk that was over a ravine type situation. At the end of it was another door that led into the pressure room. It was warm down there, mainly because of the heating for the pipes. Inside the valve room, he found what he wanted, a sewer grate that descended down another six stories, to the tunnels below. It was an access point for maintenance workers to repair the pipes.

He descended below the streets of Layarteb City and then proceeded through the warm, damp, and otherwise dark tunnel. This was once a subway tunnel, shut down almost a hundred years ago and some say it was the home of the homeless of Layarteb City. They were called the "Mole People" and officials estimated that anywhere between 5,000 and 15,000 homeless people lived in the tunnels underneath Layarteb City. He walked about a hundred meters into the black oblivion, a MagLite guiding his way. It was a big one too, powered by 4 D-cell batteries. It served two purposes. Besides being one amazing flashlight it was also an excellent mêlée weapon that he could use against animals or people. He had his sidearm and knife butthe flashlight was something else. It hit hard and could kill. A knife was different, it was going to cut and he could harm significantly with it. The MagLite, on the other hand, was bigger, and heavier. You could knock a person out in a single blow.

At the end of those hundred meters he came to a door way, a very secure doorway with an electronic lock. It would take a shoulder launched rocket to even dent the doorway and far more than that to blow it open. He approached it and entered a ten digit code that would allow him entry to the doorway. It opened up into a bunker and he was standing face to face with Hunter. "What did you find out?"

"Well. The good professor had a closed circuit video system in his office. Turns out that he got a pretty good angle on the killer."

"Interesting. So who was it?"

"That evidence has been destroyed. In addition, it turns out that the man we arrested wasn't guilty."

"More interesting."

"Indeed. He told me quite a bit of information. It seems Dr. Gray was pretty crafty."

"How so?"

"Well. He fully believed in Majestic. Right down to the bone. But he found out about the secret."

"Dual purpose."

"Very much so. There is a further problem. One that I am reluctant to discuss but I still must ask your bidding."

"What would that be?"

"We have a slight problem."

"Go on."

"It seems that this situation in Grenada has blown other things out of proportion. With the failure of the Empire to see or stop Grenada certain media pundits are raising other questions. The Yucatán war is nearly 100% blown up. They are beginning to question the RLA. Some are even putting enough together to suggest a secret society within the Empire that is responsible for all of this. Whether or not they are thinking the 'Illuminati' is something that I just don't know, yet. The Freemasons have already declared themselves out of the loop for this and rightfully so. The Illuminati within and Majestic within are that society. We are that society. The public is getting antsy."

"So what does this have to do with us. Isn't this our goal?"

"It is. But there is a problem though. Time is our friend. It should not progress too fast. Nor should it too slow."

"So you think that this is happening too fast?"

"I do."

"Very well. What then, is the next step."

"Grenada is still on the table. We're going to unleash something there. Plan Overture is going to succeed."

"Have we made contact yet?"

"Not yet. However, it is precisely there. However, there still looms one element."

"What element might that be?"

"The last RLA terrorists alive."

"You are referring to the council?"

"I am."

"What do they have to do with it?"

"They can testify that they were contracted to do their task. They can blow the lid off this whole thing."

"What do they know?"

"Not enough to expose everything but enough to start an inquiry."

"That is a problem."

"It is."

"That is why they must be eliminated."

"You want me to do it?"

"The very best. We've got them in a safe house in Panama. It's pretty secluded but its a good area for them to hide. There will be a secret intelligence brief passed to the Emperor within the next eighteen hours. It will provide precise and concrete intelligence on them. He will, immediately, order a strike and execution of the leaders. Their capture is, unfortunately, not going to be recommended. He will, obviously, want the very best to complete this task. That is you."

"Understood."

Layarteb

17-09-2006, 06:48

Just as Ethan Hunter said, Brigadier General Delaney and Team One were aboard a C-130J Super Hercules, flying for Panama. They had flown down to Panama in a C-21 Learjet where they jumped into a C-130J Super Hercules. The aircraft took off and was flying comfortably at 1,100 feet AGL and 300 miles per hour. The drop point was about 3 klicks west of the safe house and that was good because they had a lot of weapons outfitted amongst themselves. Between the eight of them, they had six M52A1 Carbines, an M36A1 Sniper Rifle, an M42A1 SAW, an M71A1 P90 Submachine gun, eight M33A6 Pistols, four M34A1 SLATDWs, an M83C SMAW-D, ten M57A1 Fragmentation grenades, eight M58A1 Stun Grenades, two M61A1 Incendiary Grenades, two M62A1 White Smoke Grenades, four M68A1 Claymores, four pounds of Composition C4 explosive, and four door-breeching charges. For this mission Brigadier General Delaney was outfitted as the sniper, using the P90 as his backup weapon. They had two ambush points to hit. The first would be the safehouse, which they could use the SMAW-D to lay the initial strike and then while Gold team ingressed, Blue team could provide backup. Then, they had to move five klicks down the road to another ambush site. It would be arranged that some of the council would meet with a shadow contact about eighteen klicks away. On their way back, they would be hit with the SLATDWs and ambushed along the roadway.

The propellers of the Super Hercules droned on in the warm, silent night above the Panamanian jungle. The eight men were all equipped with their parachutes in addition to their gear, which made them very heavy individuals. The sheer amount of weapons that they were carrying in was enough to make it so that they were overloaded to begin with so they would be having a rough parachute ride down. For this reason, none of them were on static lines. They would jump out of the back of the Super Hercules, float down to 550 feet, and pull their chutes. They had parachutes that deployed very fast, as fast as a reserve chute, which would allow them to drop into the zone and pull late.

"30 seconds!" The cargomaster called from behind them as he opened the rear hatch. The wind rushed in as they looked out at the starry, cloudy night. The clouds were above them though and the moonlight pierced through them. The silver rays of the moon illuminated the cargo ramp of the C-130J as the men fitted their goggles. "10 seconds." He called again as the men moved to the edge of the ramp. "Go! Go! Go!" That was the last chant as the men ran and jumped, immediately getting into position. Their legs were together, bent at the knees, sticking straight up. Their hands were extended out and then bent at the elbows, so that their hands were on either side of their head. In this position, they could steer by dropping one hand or moving the other. They wouldn't freefall for very long. The wind rushed against them as they picked up speed. They could gain up to 125 miles per hour in this freefall but they would pull long before they reached that speed. They would fall for 550 feet before pulling the ripchord, which would be a count of four putting them at a speed of about 66 miles per hour.

Since BG. Delaney was the first out of the C-130, he pulled first, the parachute snapping him upwards as he grabbed a hold of the steering lines. The rest of the team followed shortly behind, each one having a three second separation between them. They floated down, trying their best to avoid the trees but it wasn't easy. CPT. Howard and Jackson wound up getting snagged in a tree, tearing their parachutes to shreds as they fell down, branch by branch. They landed with a thud but were only scratched up. The other six men managed to land in the target, a clearing that was about fifty meters away from where CPT. Howard and Jackson crashed, both of them catching a bad gust of wind at around 200 feet. They were the last two out of the C-130, thus they were the unfortunate ones of the bunch but that was how it worked, sometimes.

Above them, the cargomaster shut the ramp of the Super Hercules and it banked out of sight as it changed course back to base. That was it, the night was their friend. It was only 22:00 hours and they had until 05:30 hours, seven and a half hours. At the rate that they were going to be moving towards the safe house they would be there in twenty minutes, giving them an average speed of 6 miles per hour. With CPT. Howard and Jackson out of the trees and their gear hidden, they were on the move. Night vision turned the whole forest green for them as they moved through uneven terrain, passing through bushes and around trees. Sometimes, they were moving fast, other times they were moving slow, having to sidestep everything and anything that could be in their path.

The safe house was at the end of a dirt road, buried neck deep in the forest. The safe house was in a sort of pit. Above it was a raised ledge, which they would use as the attack point. They could shoot the SMAW-D right through the roof of the safe house and turn it into a tinderbox. The safe house was easily guarded though and built to withstand an attack. That would make the actual attack that much more difficult but they were the elite of the elite. Three klicks later, they were lying prone, above the safe house, looking down on it. They observed movement for about a half hour and noticed very little except two people smoking outside with submachine guns. "Alright, it's time." BG. Delaney checked his watched and looked over at CPT. Wilson. "The SMAW please."

"Here you go sir."

"Thank you." BG. Delaney took the SMAW and popped open the tube. He went through the motions, locking the tube into place, popping out the sights, and opening the firing system. He flipped open the right control box and pushed down on the safety release. The system was armed and ready. He stood up and crouched down, the weapon on his right shoulder. He adjusted the sights for 100 meter range and moved over towards the edge so that he could fire the weapon downward into the roof with stunning accuracy. "Backblast clear." He said once more as he took a quick peak behind him. The SMAW was deadly for a 30 meter radius behind him in a 90° arc. "Clear to fire." Now was the moment of truth and he pushed the new button. At a roaring 187 dB, the rocket burst from the tube and ignited, flying towards the house. It accelerated to maximum speed instantly and shook the ground and split the air as it tore through the silent night. The HEDP warhead was enough to penetrate inches upon inches of concrete, brick, and wood. A roof would be no problem for the munition and that was evident when it pierced right through and exploded, sending a flume of flames and smoke through the gaping hole it created. It hit with 164,317.6 foot pounds of force, far more than a .50 caliber bullet or even the whopping 15.5 x 115mm shell used on the M31 and M32.

They had ear plugs in for the firing, which was a necessity. At 187 decibels, the sound of the rocket was well above the threshold of pain. The rocket was louder than a volcano eruption. "We're on." They kept their positions along the high ledge, looking down on the safehouse, their rifles pointed downward. They hoped to get people leaving the building before they attacked. On the sniper rifle, BG. Delaney had the best view. He had dropped the SMAW-D right next to him and went back to his rifle, which was already set up. He had a round in the chamber and watched through his sights as a wounded man came running out of the front door, limping. With a light squeeze on the trigger, he sent a 7.62 x 51mm round through the man's chest at 2,650 feet per second. He dropped to the ground without so much as a fight. The rest of the team dropped another eight individuals escaping the house. After four minutes of no sights, it was time to move. Blue team stayed high to provide cover while Gold team moved down, through the house.

They used their Flashbang grenades at first but found that the round from the SMAW-D had done significant damage. The safe house was only a two-level split and the round went right through the roof and exploded, midair, in the middle of the split area, sending shrapnel and explosive force throughout both floors, right above the living room. The destruction was massive and at least three quarters of those actually inside the house were in the living room. They were all killed instantly by the HEDP round. Gold team had little trouble sweeping the rest of the house, finding and killing only another dozen individuals, few of them armed except for a pistol.

The house was cleared and considered secure at 00:15 hours. Now it was on to the second ambush, nine klicks away. They moved at their normal pace but it would take them a little over an hour to get there. They had time, the convoy was expected to pass through the ambush point until 04:30 hours. This would give them plenty of time to really set up a good ambush spot. The jungle was creepy at night and the millions of sounds from chirping crickets to owls to anything else out at night was like a cacophony of noise. Nobody knew just what was out there or where it was going. They didn't want to find out the hard way either. There were a lot of poisonous and deadly creatures out in the jungle and though they were trained warriors, who survived some of the worst, they didn't want to wind up being bitten by a snake or a scorpion or a spider, whatever was out there, only to die from the wounds of the bite.

The ambush point was chosen because it too offered a height advantage. They were up above a ravine, in which the road lay. A pair of rockets along the side of the road would be their ultimate ambush point. They immediately went to work, placing the Claymore mines along the sides, facing inward. Two mines were on either side and the blast pattern that they created would tear anything to shreds. To make it worse for the enemy, they put themselves on both sides of the ravine, Blue team on the north and Gold team on the south, each equipped with two SLATDWs. The attack pattern was simple and classic. Gold team would take out the rear vehicle and Blue team would take out the front vehicle. They would do this when the middle of the convoy was at the Claymore site. At that time, both teams would detonate the Claymores on their side. If anyone was left alive after that, they would shoot them down like the dogs that they were. The RLA were terrorists, no doubt about it, and they were hunted like terrorists. Mercy was nowhere to be found on this July night.

After everything was set up, which was done by 03:00 hours and the plan was down, the men sat back and waited. They would use a pair of powerful binoculars to spot the convoy and see just how many vehicles there were, this way they could be precise about the attack formation. They didn't expect these guys to have anything other than cars or jeeps, which meant that the Claymores and the SLATDWs would tear them to pieces no bigger than a quarter.

At 04:25 the convoy came into sight, 450 meters away. There were a total of eight vehicles, all spaced out well. These guys weren't joking around. Looking into the cars, they could see that the men were armed. They definitely meant business and due to their rate of speed, it was doubtful that they knew what happened at the safe house. That was good because they still had the element of surprise. The eight vehicle convoy, which consisted of nothing better than a Land Rover, was full of armed men. From all accounts, it looked as if these men were trying to rebuild the organization that they once had, that the Battle of Clinton annihilated for them.

"Alright. Wait for it. Wait for it." The SLATDWs were shouldered and the men firing had their sights on the vehicles and were following them. "Now. Fire!" The two rockets left their tubes and shot down, right into the vehicles, turning them into swiss cheese. The explosive force was enough to turn the vehicle upside down and everyone inside was more than dead. They were blown to bits. Before anyone else could react, the four, evenly spaced Claymores, went off, devestating three more vehicles, leaving only three remaining. "SLATDoWs. Get up another shot. Take out those two vehicles." BG. Delaney ordered as two more rockets sped through the air, blowing up two more vehicles, leaving only one, surrounded by flames, twisted metal, blood, body parts, and gore. The four men inside were trapped, trapped by their surroundings. BG. Delaney removed one of the thermite grenades from his best and pulled the pin. Just before he released the safety and tossed it, he smirked. The red grenade exploded just above the roof of the last remaining vehicle. Instantly, the thermite reaction, which burned for 40 seconds at 5,000°F engulfed the roof of the vehicle, melting it into molten metal. Those inside were burned alive by a combination of the thermite and the molten metal. They died more painfully than anyone else in the attack that night, which would take out a total of 70 individuals, the last remaining members of the Republican Liberation Army.

Layarteb

17-09-2006, 18:48

News of the slaughter in Panama reached the Emperor's desk only an hour after it concluded. The victory had been a major one and already the news networks were getting information and leaks about the annihilation of the last holdouts of the Republican Liberation Army. Approval ratings skyrocketed above their normal highs and finally, the Emperor declared, "Justice has been served to those cowards who slaughtered the innocent for a quest of greed and immorality." Every news station, by noon, was telling the story and commenting on it. People in the streets were asked their opinions and they gave them, in full. The RLA had been defeated and with them, the evidence between the Illuminati, the Republican Liberation Army, and Majestic. The initial plan was now done. The second plan focused on Grenada, a plan that was, for now, coming together nicely. When the Governor of South Eastern Virginia informed his cohorts within Majestic of "Plan Overture" they were more than happy to ablige.

The Emperor, who had been mulling over the cable from Grenada, requesting a one week truce to lower the blockade and allow for negotiations, was still without an answer. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, a key and crucial member within Majestic, after learning about "Plan Overture" was more than happy to help him make the decision. Obviously, the Minister was for the approval of lowering the blockade. They needed to get the plan in effect and, for that, they needed to deliver supplies to the island, to make it happen. Finally, after hours of weighing this and that, it was approved. The blockade would be dropped for one week, starting on July 16, 2006 at 00:00 EST and ending on July 22, 2006 at 23:59 EST. Now came the waiting game.

Layarteb

21-09-2006, 03:05

There were no lights on at Armonk Airfield, a secret facility. For all intents and purposes, the airfield looked abandoned. From satellites, the airbase looked like an old airfield, from the 1940s. From the ground, it wasn't visible. The 4 mi² airfield was surrounded by 9.75 mi² of restricted land. The roads that ran by it ran by nothing but fencing with signs that read, "RESTRICTED AREA KEEP OUT." Residents often reported seeing lights over the airfield but they were always dismissed by authorities who had some explanation about what they had seen. The airfield had a single runway, named 23, that was 8,000 feet long and in proper condition. There were two dozen small structures around the tarmac area. They were hangars and storage buildings. The airfield had no control tower and the only other structures was an underground parking garage and maintenance facility and the command center, which was another building, mostly underground, but sticking up enough that it would be noticable. Everything looked abandoned.

The clandestine airfield was home to a dozen helicopters and six Learjets, all of which were stored inside the hangar buildings. Maintenance on all aircraft was done underground in a large repair facility built underneath the tarmac, six stories down. Each hangar had a special lift system that enabled the aircraft to be lowered into the repair facility, where they were towed to the repair bays. There were no land lights and the glide path was all instrumental. The radar linked to the anti-stealth system and when an inbound aircraft was detected, the ILS was turned on, after the aircraft was identified. All operations were at night and no lights were ever turned on. Aircraft landed without lights, without markers, strictly on instruments. Pilots that flew for the clanestine services were some of the best pilots, especially when it came to high-risk operations.

When the C-21 Learjet carrying Team One touched down and taxiied to the hangar, nobody noticed. The aircraft came in low and fast, landing, and immediately slowing down. The aircraft used almost half of the runway up in the landing, which was normal, especially for a Learjet. Communicating with the command center, the Learjet taxiied to its hangar, pulled in, and was turned around by a rotating floor plate. The doors shut behind it and were locked. As the aircraft powered down, the door was opened and BG. Delaney and his stepped out of the aircraft, weapons still on their backs. They saluted a colonel who would debrief them. Then, they were led underground, through corridors and tunnels that linked the hangars to the command center, the parking garage, and the repair facility. They would debrief here and be on their way back home. Their gear would be stored here, temporarily, and transported to Zeta facility the next morning.

However, only ten minutes into their debriefing, something went amiss. The command center was tracking movement on its western perimeter. It was no animal either. Motion sensors tripped as the movement began to increase in speed, heading right towards the base. Thermal sensors came online next and revealed that they had an intruder. Someone had wandered onto the grounds and was making a run for it through the woods, definitely trying to see what was going on at the airbase. Perhaps they had seen the Learjet land. There were a lot of possibilities but the main one was that they had an intruder that needed to be dealt with immediately. Standard protocol included two options. The first and easiest was just to kill the person and make it like they were a missing person. The second option required apprehension. That was slightly more difficult and it left someone alive to tell a story, even if there was more plausible deniability than possible.

The debrief was halted and Team One moved into the security booth, with a lot of other people, to see what was going on. "Dispatch an apprehension unit." The base commander said as he looked at the screen. He was a very tall man, distinguishable in a crowd, but very good at what he did. He had served as a station chief in no fewer than six countries.

"No. I'll take care of it. Get an Explorer airborne."

"Sir?" The commander asked. He was outranked, being only a lieutenant colonel, but this was his base. "We don't have to kill him."

"Yes we do. See that in his hand. It's tough to make out on the video feed but that's a camera. He has pictures. We can steal those from him, sure, but then we have to admit this place. No. We're going to do this right."

"I don't understand sir." BG. Delaney and the base commander moved off to the side. "He doesn't look very old."

"I know. He's no slouch either. No. This has to be done this way."

"I would like to protest against this. It isn't wise. Someone is going to be looking for him tomorrow."

"The body won't be a problem. You have an incinerator here."

"Sir. I believe that this is highly unorthodox and I respectfully request that my disagreement with this be noted."

"It will be. Now. I need an MH-100A Explorer and I need to get inside of it."

"Is that all?" His tone changed now to disdain.

"It is."

"Very well sir." The MH-100A Explorer was a unique helicopter, serving only with the clandestine services of the Empire. It was quiet, very quiet. Based off the McDonald Douglas MD-902, the MH-100, was an armed Explorer. Its NOTAR system and highly advanced avionics made it one of the most capable light econnaissance helicopters that there was. Heavier and stronger than the MD-902, the MH-100 was, by no means, a slouch. However, it had something that no other helicopter had and that was a silence about it. Helicopters, by nature, are loud machines. The Explorer isn't, featuring an 86.8 decibel sound level, slightly louder than a vacuum cleaner at 3 feet. Nothing was that quiet and painted all in black, it was invisible to the night. BG. Delaney made sure that the one he was in was flown by a skilled and capable pilot. He climbed aboard it and was the third man in the bird when it began to power up. The pilot and co-pilot were the very best at the base and they could do just about anything that they wanted with the helicopter. This would be simple. They would simply take off and hover. BG. Delaney would do the rest. Using their FLIR, they could track the intruder for BG. Delaney. He planned to shoot him with his M36A1 Sniper Rifle.

Quietly, the Explorer was pushed out of the hangar where the pilots initiated the take off. All they saw was green, from their night vision googles and soon enough, they were airborne, the port side door open, BG. Delaney lying prone on the floor of the helicopter, his buckle attached to the safety restraint system inside the cabin. He had his rifle out infront of him, bipod deployed, nightscope on, and the belt attachment on the rifle, should he lose it. He didn't have a live round in the chamber but that wasn't a problem. The bolt-action system would eject the spent casing and load a new one once he was ready. The casing would go into a plastic bag that he hastily attached to the side of the rifle. He tied the bag on too, to ensure that no evidence was left behind.

The helicopter took off and went into a hover at 250 feet off the ground. The rifle had an 1,105 meter effective range and at 250 feet AGL he had plenty of space to aim and kill. The main problem would be the rotor wash on the bullet as it exited the helicopter, something he had to account for on the scope. Below him was trees and lots of them but they stopped eventually and opened into a clearing, where the airbase was. The MH-100 hung over the tarmac, 250 feet up, about 950 meters from the edge of the tree line. "He'll be out in twenty seconds." The pilot reported as he watched the FLIR. BG. Delaney didn't say anything back except to open and close the bolt on his rifle, ejecting the spent cartridge and loading the next round, a live one.

He peered down the crosshairs of the scope and watched for movement. The powerful night scope allowed for 1,200 meter effective range, so he could be zoomed in on the tree line and see it perfectly. Calibrated perfectly, the scope offered an invisible laser rangefinder that could be used to determine both windage and range, allowing for elevation and windage changes. These wouldn't be done automatically but the display in the scope would tell the operator if the settings weren't taken into account properly.

BG. Delaney waited and waited and waited. Finally, after almost a minute, a figure pierced through the tree line about 50 meters north of where he expected. It was definitely a college-aged kid and he was definitely nosey."Give me ten degrees starboard." The helicopter twisted slightly and now he had a better shot and a better angle. The crosshairs were right on the center of the target's chest, unbeknownst to him. He watched as the target moved slowly towards the base, raising his camera to shoot pictures. They needed to apprehend the camera nd that was a necessity. "Target acquired. Windage set. Elevation set. Range set. Preparing for shot." He watched as the boy ran towards the base. He couldn't have been more than nineteen and in his left hand was a camera, a nice digital one. It looked like he had a notebook in his right pocket, folded up so it would fit better. Sweat was dripping from his forehead and he could tell he was out of breath. The boy kept running though, not looking behind nor to his sides. He didn't suspect that he was being followed and his confidence was certain. Then, as BG. Delaney unlocked the bolt, ejecting the empty brass from his previous shot, relocked the bolt, and released the safety, the boy stopped, suddenly. He looked up at the chopper, obviously spotting it against the horizon. "Firing." BG. Delaney squeezed the trigger and let one, 8.60 x 70 millimeter round leave the barrel of his M36A2 Sniper Rifle. It left at 950 meters per second and twisted through the air, leaving a vortex in its wake. The bullet was true and passed right through the boy's forehead. It would be the last thing he had would ever see. Upon impact, his whole head shook violently, a burst of red mist, chunky and sticky, leaving the back of his head, where the bullet exited. Since it was a down angle shot, the bullet left the middle back of his head, leaving a big hole. Instantly weak at the knees, the boy fell to the ground, lifeless and limp. "Target down. He had a camera and a notebook. Make sure the body is never found." The helicopter banked away as BG. Delaney unlocked the bolt and released the spent cartridge. Rather than load another round, he left the bolt open, safety on, and magazine empty.

Layarteb

22-09-2006, 04:20

OOC: This is a great music piece for BG. Delaney, especially for this post. Reader beware, what you are about to delve into is a realm of unknown potentials, hazards, and fears. What you're about to read will forever change your attitude and perception of Delaney.

BG. Delaney (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Nation-States/Misc%20Pages/delaney-creepy.htm)

"Have you ever looked into the eyes of a killer?" Dr. James Perry asked. He was speaking, one-on-one, with John Patrick. They sat in the basement of their respective lodge. Both of them had just gone through the monthly meeting and were about to enjoy a dinner. They sat alone, opting to conduct business that they wanted no one else to hear. The basement was massive, capable of seating 200 people, comfortably. Amongst them were countless officials and dignitaries. Dr. Perry and John Patrick were just two notable names of over a hundred.

"Sure I have. I was a trial lawyer for several years."

"No. I don't mean that. I mean a true killer. Someone who hunts for blood, who thrives on the blood of who he kills."

"No. Maybe not."

"That's good because you've never really looked into Jack's eyes then. He's a killer."

"He's in the military. It's his job."

"No. He's an assassin. He's an assassin first, then a soldier. He's not a man nor a warrior. He's an animal who thrists on blood and on death. I've killed before. When I was in the military. I killed maybe a dozen people. Each and every one of them left a scar on me and on my soul. Him. He's killed hundreds. Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. Who knows. He's served for as long as I've known him. For as long as the Empire has been around."

"Twenty six years."

"He was Special Forces before that. You know he's the only person on the face of this Earth that knew the Emperor before he was the Emperor."

"Which makes him one of the most important and powerful?"

"He's definitely the most dangerous."

"What does that mean to us?"

"That means..."

Brigadier General Delaney slowly stepped off of the helicopter, forty-five miles away, in Armonk. He had his rifle on his shoulder and he slowly walked back into the hangar, the helicopter pushed in behind him. He had no expression on his face other than that of a twisted nightmare. He descended back into the corridors and moved towards the command headquarters again, to finish his debriefing.

"Listen. Just let's put it this way. The man, he's an animal. No man thrives off blood. That's an animal thing. He does. Each and every kill takes him further and further away from his humanity. I doubt he's got any of it left. A beast in sheep's clothing is what he is. The. He's insane."

"James, I tend not to disagree and I don't know him as well as you or anyone else does."

"Nobody knows him. Nobody will ever know him. Not the Emperor, not his family, if he has any. Have you ever met someone who thrived on the misfortune of others?"

"He's an engima no?"

"In short."

BG. Delaney put his rifle on the table as he sat down. "Let's continue. I hate interruptions."

"You know I've heard stories about him."

"John. I've heard them too. Who knows if they're true or not but something I do know, something from Kaliningrad. He and his men, they went into this house of some rebel leader or something like that. They went in and found his wife and someone protecting her. So he shot and killed them both, in cold blood. I heard one of them was armed but he shot them clean through, right in the head, point blank range. They could have disarmed them, you know captured them. No. Then they burned the whole house to the ground."

"Cold."

"You could say that. Cold blooded murder and not a thing to do about it. He could walk up to anyone on the street, just slit their throat, then walk away. He'd never be found, tried, prosecuted. None of that."

"I can't disagree there. He's immune to all isn't he?"

As the rest returned to their seats, BG. Delaney spoke up. "Where were we? About the assault on the convoy? Well. We set up an ambush..."

As BG. Delaney talked about the ambush in the briefing room in Armonk, John Patrick and Dr. James Perry continued their conversation. "There's more. Someone that I know to be true. I know because I saw it."

"Where?"

"It was in Venezuela. During the six-day revolt? You know when the F-18 Hornets shot the Zombie missiles into the stadium and killed all those revolters?"

"Yes. I remember."

"Delaney was there. He was only a major then."

"Well it was early. He was a enlisted when the revolution broke out, was quickly given a commendation to lieutenant. At the end of the war he was a captain. In 1983, when Venezuela was conquered, he was a major. He became a lieutenant colonel in 1990, if I remember correctly. It was 1986. The Venezuelans were revolting seriously and Caracas was a nightmare. There were bad guys all over the place and the military was there too. There was fighting in the streets. It was a bloody mess, an attempted coup that totally failed. He was down there, with his men. You see, the rebel leader was a bit of a playboy and he had about four mistresses, all of them with kids, none of them older than twelve. They found the addresses and went to each house. They killed the mistresses, all of them, just cut their throats, real slowly. Real good too. They bled out rather than anything else. They made the kids watch. Then, they burned the kids alive. They covered them in gasoline and lit them on fire. The rebel leader got the point eventually."

"What happened to him?"

"He was killed by a laser-guided bomb hit to his jeep."

"How'd they manage that?"

"Communications tracking. Jack and his men lased the target."

"Collateral damage?"

"Twelve children. Six women."

"Ruthless isn't he?"

"And he has no remorse."

"Explain something to me then. This operation. He doesn't sleep?"

"Umbrella pioneered that one. The Republic had been working with sleep cycles and soldiers for as long as known. It wasn't until the 1950s that they began to make progress. They worked on countless subjects, most of them criminals. You know, the sort of people nobody would miss or care about if they died."

"Was that even legal?"

"No. Regardless. By the 1960s they found out one thing. Sleep was a necessary ingrediant to sanity. The few subjects that survived or weren't brain dead were psycopathic. They were insane. They had only about 3 or 4 successes in 800 to 1,200 attempts. It was poor results. Then came along Dr. Eric Nolan, a premier and rising scientist. To date he's still the smartest man that ever lived under the Republic or the Empire combined. He devised a way, some sort of new type of brain treatement. He isolated certain sections of the brain and did certain operations to them. They made the person more stable. In 1971, he had the first successful candidate. Unfortunately, nothing could be done to prevent the psychosis that came from not sleeping. You know how sleep replenishes the body."

"I do."

"Well without it the body will deteriorate. They found a way to cope with that, to do certain things. They give you this one pill. It regenerates the body and prevents psychosis."

"This is what happened?"

"It is. The Emperor. Delaney. A few others. His whole squad. They all recieved it. Only about thirty people were given the proceedure and few of them are still alive. They all take a pill though, once a day. You've seen the Emperor take his?"

"No."

"I have been in the room when he has. Clockwork. Everyday at 00:41 hours. I don't know why the exact time but everyday, no matter what, at the same time. Jack. He doesn't take his."

"Could that contribute?"

"Yes." In the background someone announced that the dinner was ready and so they ceased their conversation, momentarily, and returned moments later with a plate of baked ziti and two meatballs each. Bread and salad on each table was already diminishing in quantity and many of the men present had a beer in their hands. Some had water others had soda and many had coffee. Some had a coffee and a beer. Some had none. When they returned, so did the conversation. "Jack isn't the type of person you'd want to mess around with. He's not a joker. Nor is he a hero. The Empire knows not his name nor of all of his exploits. Some of them make it to the reporters when the war is over but never with enough detail. The enemy fear men like him because they know that nobody and nothing can stop them. He could walk into a country, undetected, unknown, assassinate anyone he wanted, and walk out without ever been so much as noticed.

"Men like that get things done. That's why he's so vital to the Empire."

"And what if he ceased to be?"

"Him? It would probably hurt the Empire but I doubt it would be part of the downfall."

"I'm not suggesting any conspiracy to take him out."

"Nor am I alluding to it. I'm only saying that as vital as he is to the Empire, it could function without him."

"Well founded."

In the debriefing, BG. Delaney spoke at length about the ambush, about the slaughter. The whole while he thought of only two things. The first was the face of the kid he had just killed. That was a face of pure terror. The kid knew he was found out but whether or not he knew that he was going to die, it wasn't evident. The other face was of one of the RLA terrorists who he killed with his rifle as well. He had stepped out of the burning vehicle, shooting up at the ridge. He took cover behind one of lead vehicles and reached into his pocket. He pulled out two things, another magazine for his Colt .45 pistol and a picture from his wallet. It was a little girl, possibly his daughter. BG. Delaney trained the sights right on his finger and blew it clean off. The man doubled over, onto the ground, reaching for the picture, his severed finger bleeding profusely. Then, as the man grabbed the picture, he put another ground through his hand, obviously torturing the guy. He unlocked the bolt and loaded his last round, before he would have to change magazines. He put the sights right on his throat and fired. The round blew his throat away and left him flailing on the ground until he too bled out.

Back in the lodge basement, the two men continued. "So what is it that I should fear the most about Jack?" John Patrick asked.

"His intentions."

"Which are?"

"Who knows. None of us know. He's with us. Yes. But who knows if he has more brewing underneath. The man is an enigma, like I said. He's potent. He's capable and he's confident. He'll kill just to kill and enjoy it. He'll snap a neck, kill a baby, kill a mother, burn down a village, he'll nuke a capital. He'll do whatever he has to do to complete his mission. Those who cross him end up never seen again. Those who befriend him always worry about stepping too far. He's twisted inside, a wreck, a train wreck. Nobody knows where he lives. Nobody knows if he has a family. He has no past, no present, and no future. We know stories, tales, and misgivings. He's shot men in the company of the Emperor. He's killed those who attack him and his men. He's not the man to cross."

"Don't I know that?"

"You do. But perhaps not the full scope. Governments have fallen because of him. Families, villages, all of those broken because of him. He's got more blood on his hands than anyone else in the world. Who has directly killed more people than he has? There have been leaders who ordered the deaths of countless millions. But none of them ever had the courage to do it themselves. He has. That is why he's the Emperor's bodyguard. You see, the Emperor knows about him and his men, he knows how capable they really are and what potential they really have. He knows more about them than anyone else and you know what, he barely scratches the surface."

"So what does this mean for us, for the cause?"

"It means that he is our key."

"To what?"

"The final plan. The final phase."

"A tool is he?"

"An expendable tool."

"And if he were to find out?"

"You'd never feel it."

Layarteb

23-09-2006, 20:31

Layarteb

23-09-2006, 22:28

Chapter XIII: Bleeding Me

OOC: This post is a combination of several posts made by myself, Saint Lazare, and United States of Brink. These posts were made in the Earth II RP, War on Drugs (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=492465). In that RP, the drug world is being shaken by a call to arms by multiple countries to fight drugs and the drug trade. Now it has come home to Layarteb, far more than ever before. Some slight editing was done on this post for minor profreading and to blend the multiple posts into one.

"It's done, make the call."

It was all Kibwe needed to hear. He pressed the 'end call' button on the cell phone and slid it into his pocket. With his other hand he folded the newspaper he had been reading up and set it beside him on the bench. With a large sigh he got up and covered his eyes with an outstretched arm, glancing around for anything suspicious. He walked a few paces to a phone booth located on the corner of the street and walked inside the small glass case. Pulling the door shut he pulled out a small handkerchief and griped the phone.

Michelangelo was busy ordering a slice of pizza, a new dish brought about by Africa's modernization, from a small shop in downtown Windhoek when his cell phone vibrated and then began to play a tune. Placing the food next to him he clapped his hands together in an attempt to throw off any unwanted sauces. He answered with an alarmingly angered tone.

"Ovambo Marina; Pemba, Mozambique; Dock 3; Boat 21. Everything needed to claim the vessel is in the briefcase. You'll be safe with the identification from TATO nations along the coast. Once out of USB waters wire the rest, understood?"

"Yes."

"Good, there shall be no reason to test each other then eh?"

"I would think not."

Soon enough, Michelangelo was heading back to his place, as he had his henchmen working to fix the boat for safety into international waters. Of course, the only thing that these people knew was that they were transferring sensitive items, including quarry items. They had yet to fax any manifest to the crew but he told them that he would send it by less "conventional" methods, when the scene was safe. In the meantime, he would wait for word from Alessandro mainly about where send the package.

He had received the call from Kibwe and had another group trace the call. They found the phone booth and wiped it completely, finding every single fingerprint that they could afford to find. In the meantime, they would find this indigent fellow or find someone who was equally receptive to eliminating this person and "help" them.

Maria received the news very quickly, and was somewhat at ease, unbeknownst to her that all of her organization was settled in Windhoek and Sparetti had them all under the scope.

So the tale of a fish is quite unusual. It begins its life in the lakes and streams of some obscure country and swims its way down to the sea, where it promulgates into the vastness. It tends itself near larger groups but in the end, no one can tell where this little fish goes, until it returns to the lakes and streams to breed. And as such, as we follow the little fish to its home, we find Giacomo Benevetti - a low-lying minion of Cosa Nostra. He visits the Maracaibo Cartels occasionally, only because they are not so well-known. He'd almost been captured when the Miami Cartels went through a serious break by Layartebian forces or was it the Havana Cartels? He couldn't remember.

Pablo Muertes looked around and saw Giacomo suddenly appear from nowhere and examined him closely. "Where did you come from?" Giacomo smiled and sat by on a tree stump while numerous workers were relaying different radio frequencies, trying to keep all of their production facitilies in order. Pablo didn't like Giacomo's sudden appearance. "The last time anyone saw you, Imperial drugbusters came in knocking. What's going on?"

"The Empire is a little fidgety," Giacomo said. "It's been going on everywhere. They've arrested 5 kids, all Cottish, 2 foreign citizens, and pretty much all of these other assortments of folk who were simply caught with drugs. Some say they were tortored to make a confession, not that it meant anything that they were the actual ones."

"So I've heard..." Pablo was less suspicious. "What brings your fat ass here?"

Giacomo slowly rose, not himself a fat ass. "My contractors would like to know if your contractors would like to have revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yes. For all of the mishaps that the Empire has been causing you people. You see, my contractors take a serious offense when people start hurting our suppliers. Our suppliers give us a great business, and you see, we need businesss to keep doing what we do. We can't have goody-two shoes breaking up our fine business, so we want some blood. Real blood. And a lot of it too."

Pablo liked what he was hearing.

"I know all of the cartels have some kind of overlord person - I've seen some references but I don't know who or what he or she is. I only know that there is, so, pass this word along. Let him know that we've got something that will make the Empire rue the day they banged heads with us."

Pablo smiled. "I will see what they say, mi hermano." Giacomo then took out a satellite phone, wrapping in some cheesecloth. "When you guys are ready, give me a call. I'm the only one who will ever answer that thing."

The Governor of South Eastern Virginia, a member of the secretive shadow organization within the Illuminati called Majestic, was already assisting his treasonous cohorts in a plan that would allow them to further their plans. Majestic had but one plan, to cripple the Empire, restore the Republic, and put themselves in positions of near absolute power. It was a conspiracy as old as the Republic was and furthermore, when it collapsed so did its conspirators, only to be replaced by the current group. Majestic was, perhaps, the most secretive organization in all of the Empire and it only consisted of twelve men, all of whom were in positions of extreme power, whether it was as a statesman, as a military officer, or as part of a powerful corporation, the Layartebian Defense Corporation, Umbrella Corporation, and Manchurian Global being the most ones in the Empire and all represented within Majestic.

They were all good and kept their affiliation with the secretive organization extremely secretive. Nobody outside of the twelve knew anything about their clandestine meetings, ulterior motives, and sinister plans. They found the weakness of the Empire and that was in its arrogance. Since the very beginning, the Emperor proclaimed that the Empire would be a bastion for safety, prosperity, and peace. Following the conquests of land to the south, north, east, and west of the original boundaries of the Republic that was just what they had, although briefly. The rise of the RLA, the situation in Grenada, and the small misgivings of the group was already creating some sort of uncertainty with the people of the Empire. They had been promised absolute safety from enemies, both domestic and foreign. Grenada, being the central hub of the Caribbean Command Sector, the most secure, perhaps, of all of the Caribbean islands, was now under the control of a communist government, which had received, publicly, backing from the United Eastasian Republic, a wolf in sheep's clothing. The communist armada that was the UER had been friendly with the Empire for a long time but was not beginning to show true colors. It shook the foundations of the Empire when Grenada fell away from the hands of Layarteb City.

Majestic, which had planned, funded, and assisted the take over in Grenada, was now planning "Phase II" of that operation. It was called "Plan Overture" and would add a demonization to the Grenadian crisis. At the forefront of the plan was the Governor of South Eastasian Virginia, the longest standing Governor in all of the Empire. Though the Province of Layarteb was older, its first two Governors all died in office, of natural causes. He had grown powerful and had millions of connections. When the first drug wars tore his province apart, leaving towns burned to the ground and thousands upon thousands dead, he was approached by the two surviving cartels. They were weak and they had a big proposition. The clandestine meeting, one that would have sent him to the gallows if it had been discovered, was, perhaps, one of the worst cases of treason the Empire had seen. The cartels proposed several things. First and foremost, they needed the war to stop, they needed the Governor to declare that the cartels had been defeated. Another six months of fighting and they would have been totally eradicated. They had taken a big chance in this meeting but they came with a benefit for the Governor. There were certain rebellious groups within the province, all of whom hated the Governor. They promised him intelligence and protection, a definite deal with the devil. They proposed that they would export over 75% of their drugs and that only 25% would be sold on the streets. The Governor wasn't pleased with the figures but he liked the plan as a whole. They offered bribery money, on the order of §10 million a year, which would increase by 2.8% each year. He was up to a little over §14 million now. Lastly, the deal would allow for one more thing and that was protection for the cartels. With the new War on Drugs, the Governor was strapped for what he could do but he did his best. The deal wasn't with the Florida Cartel so most of the efforts were against them for now. However, the remaining two would have their time soon enough.

Now, with this age old pact sitting under the table, the Governor received something as a present. A courier for the Esmeralda Cartel delivered him a message, one of utmost importance. The new War on Drugs was a global effort that was probably worse elsewhere rather than in the Empire. The Empire was definitely pushing it along but it wasn't the only actor anymore. Now, the Cosa Nostra, an organization as old and deep rooted as the Freemason society within the Empire had a present for the Esmeralda Cartel. It was of such significant importance that it was going to be a bargaining chip for the cartel. They wanted further protection, they needed further protection against the Empire and its new War on Drugs. The Esmeralda Cartel, acting alone on this one, wanted nothing other than protection against the Empire and the other two. The Florida Cartel was receiving the biggest brunt of force by the Empire and soon it would be the Meta Cartel and the Esmeralda Cartels that took their share of hits. The Empire had already disrupted a meeting of the two cartels. The strike was devastating and the meeting was definitely given up to the Empire by informants and possible by intelligence assets. The truth of the matter was that the intelligence agencies had been listening to their communications for months and years prior to the outbreak of war. Informants only validated the intelligence and information gathered by intercepting phone calls and triangulating cellular phones.

That was why, this time, they sent a person. There was no signals to intercept and finding one man out of millions was extremely difficult if you didn't know who you were looking for, especially in this land. Chatter between the cartels dissipated a week before the courier was sent and in exchange for guaranteed protection, the cartel was willing to transfer something of the utmost importance to the Governor, for whatever his use was. They weren't aware of just how sinister the man was and what devious plans he had. The meeting was arranged for just three days after at 03:20 hours, in a secluded section of the Caracas docks.

The cartel, on the other hand, had only one thing to say to the Cosa Nostra, their brothers in arms. "How much?"

Giacomo had to break from his law office, in the middle of a consultation with a local restaurant owner, and answered the phone. "How much?" was the question.

"Have you decided?" he replied.

"We've considered it, but we need to know the cost."

Giacomo paused. "Let us consider this something of an investment. We'll give you something and we'll trust that you guys know what to do with it. Besides, this is too big to have a money trail, and you fellows are our biggest suppliers. We get drugs cheaply from you, so why should we make you pay more to end a mutual problem? You know?"

"We've got a possible use for whatever it is that you're bringing, but we need to know what it is, and where you're sending it."

Giacomo tsked. "You need to tell me if you want it. Then I'll give it."

The other person sighed. "We'll take it. What is it?"

"Caracas dock number 14. Inside is a crew with the package. Eliminate them quietly. Once they've been neutralized, you can take the package wherever you want to."

"Is it heavy?"

"Not particularly. I haven't seen it but it isn't that much of a burden. The one thing I will say is that if we figure out that you screwed this up, consider our business done. We want to see headlines, with the top listing noting thousands, if not millions, of folk dead in the streets of the Layarteb Empire. Capiscono?"

"Yes." The other person had only one clue as to the identity of this package and his initial thought was so horrifying and satisfying that he had to calm his mind into reality. Giacomo laid down the phone, and picked up another phone, with a secure wiring to USB.

"Alessandro. I've got your customers. Tell the crew that they are to head to dock number 14 in Caracas. I've already cleared the head quartermaster of the harbor about this arrival."

"Do they suspect anything?"

"As far as they know, these are goodwill supplies, in transient to Grenada, where humanitarian shit will be heading after their rest here. They'll never look. By the way, what is this package that you're sending? I've never heard of drug dealers sending weapons for free."

"How much will it cost to keep this private?"

"It'll be 500,000 if you don't give me a name."

"Watch that amount fill your SL account."

The conversation ended, and Giacomo was somewhat suspicious when Alessandro willingly paid the money. He was often picky with finances, but this time, he didn't even second-question the payment. It was obviously big, and Giacomo didn't like big. He left Italy because he hated big, and he was content just dealing with civil suits and criminal prosecution. He returned to his client.

One day later, a black cargo van came to a stop just a few docks away from #14. Caracas was a big city and the docks were large. The shipyard, as old as the city, had been expanded from a measely few wooden piers to a massive shipyard with over a hundred piers, a military section, a civilian section, and who knew what else. The docks were secure but not as secure as Layarteb City would have liked. Layarteb City was far more secure than Caracas and even the least secure docks in the Empire weren't nearly as bad as Caracas. Part of the trouble came from the nature of the docks. They were tough to police and patrol, there was a lot of seedy business around them, and the black market, what little influence it had in the Empire, feasted on the Caracas docks. The military section was far seculded away from the rest of them and they were sealed off and most of the attention drawn to them. One could say that the shipyard in Caracas was the Achilles Heel of the Empire. Every land had some weakness and the reduced security in the Carcas shipyard was the main one.

The black cargo van was just one of two cars, both of which were not empty inside. Inside the cargo van were six men and inside the black, Chevrolet Caprice Classic behind them were another four men. All of them were armed and they came here for business. Toting submachine guns, primarily Uzis and MP5s, all suppressed, eight of the ten men got out of the vehicles, leaving a driver in each. "Cállese. Es allí." [Keep quiet. It's over there.] The man speaking was a major player in the Esmeralda Cartel. He was the "go-to" guy who got things done. When they needed someone assassinated, they went to him. When they needed something stolen, they went to him. Whenever they needed anything, they went to him. He worked by himself mostly. When it came to categorically large jobs, he hired out, so to speak. He was a mercenary-for-hire and he opted his services out exclusively to the Esmeralda Cartel. The nine men fighting with him this evening were all mercenaries as well, his band of "goons," so to speak.

They walked, hunched over, weapons readied, towards to the main dockhouse. It was a brick structure, sitting at the end of a short row of piers and above its main door, which looked large enough to allow for a small boat to pass through, was the number "14." This was the dockhouse that they needed to hit. It was like a big garage, as high as a seven story building, brick, a slanted roof, and no lights. The garage door was down, its aluminum composition barely enough to stop a bullet fired at it from 100 meters away. They weren't going to enter through the front but rather through the side. There was a steel door on the eastern wall of the dockhouse, which was, evidently facing them as they came up the docks, hunched over, moving quickly. They benefitted from the lack of lights because of the time but also by the low sun. It was 19:30, almost sunset. The sun was down, low, on the horizon in front of them. Because of its angle, the area was pretty dark as the red sky above them cast little light. Street lights weren't turned on yet and neither were the lamps on the exterior of the dockhouses. It was the perfect time to hit, dark enough to sneak up to the building but light enough to see just what they were doing without having the need for night vision.

"Aquí. Es esta puerta. Calma." [Here. It's this door. Quiet.] Victor, the pointman, opened up the door, slowly, and quietly, and stuck a small, fiber optics cable into the door. He looked around to see that he would be entering a corridor, with one man inside of it, at the opposite end. This had to be quiet. "Un hombre. Al fin. Permanezca aquí." [One man. At the end. Stay here.] He pushed the door open more and pulled a throwing knife from his pocket. He was a master at this and a master was what was needed. Crouching, he took careful aim on the target and launched the knife towards him. Tumbling over itself as it spun through the air, the knife met its target perfectly. It was 9 inches long and almost 5 ounces, a good knife. It wound up imbedding itself in the back of the target's neck, putting him down on the ground, nearly instantly. It was a mortal wound but it hadn't proved to be fatal yet. He reacted quickly and took off in a burst of speed, running towards him, his main knife drawn. The man was on the ground, trying to pulled the knife out of the back of his neck, his face down. Victor dropped his knee into the man's back and grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up, making the knife wound that much worse. With his main knife he slashed his throat, deep and fast, the cut never being felt. The man would bleed out now, dead from the two mortal wounds to his neck. Wiping both the throwing and killing knives off on the man, Victor walked back to the door. "Movamos." [Let's move.]

The eight of them were in the corridor now. "Cierre la puerta." [Shut the door.] Another man spoke. The outside door was shut behind them and they were now at another door. This one, undoubtedly, led into the main area of the dockhouse, which, just like a garage, was one, big, open, and empty space. There would be a bathroom, an office, and a small "break" room on the opposite side of the building. They had to clear it, completely, get the cargo, and get the hell out of there. They observed at least twenty men guarding the building before they attacked and they could see that all of them were armed with automatic rifles and submachine guns. Whatever it was that they were here to steal, it was important, very important. Once again, they put the fiber optic cable underneath the door. They could see the main package, a crate sitting against the wall on the opposite side of the doorway. They counted eleven men, all of them armed.

"Once de ellos. Tres en la izquierda. Seis en el derecho. Uno en el centro. Uno en el otro lado. Se parece a alguien está en la oficina, yo no puedo ver. Podría haber personas en el cuarto de baño y el otro cuarto también." [Eleven of them. Three on the left. Six on the right. One in the middle. One on the other side. It looks like someone is in the office, I can't see. There could be people in the bathroom and the other room too.] Victor said as he pulled back the wire and put it away in his pocket. The door wasn't locked and they easily opened up the door. They moved away from the door and looked at each other. Using hand signals, Victor informed them that they would split in half, four to the left and four to the right, taking cover behind some boxes and crates that were against the wall. "¡Vaya! ¡Mátelos todo!" [Go! Kill them all!] They moved into the dockhouse quickly, their guns firing. The first firing group saw them shoot four of the eleven men dead. That's when the return fire began, putting bullets into the brick walls behind them. They kept shooting though, stopping only to reload.

The echoes of gunfire barely escaped the building and the flashes of muzzle blast lit up the darkened interior. Nearly pinned, Victor and his men leaned around the corners of their boxes and fired over the tops, putting covering fire against the enemies so that the others could pop out and engage. It was an excellent tactic that allowed them to finish off the rest of the men, taking only minor hits themselves, mostly scratches from ricochetting bullets and falling debris. They still had to check the bathroom, office, and employee room, which meant that they had to go in slowly and carefully. The office and bathroom turned out to be fatal for two of the mercenaries, catching fatal wounds to their chest and head by a quick burst of bullets from submachine guns. When it was over, they had them dead. Victor picked up his walkie-talkie and keyed up the microphone. "Traiga la camioneta. Es claro. Hemos bajado dos." [Bring the van. It's clear. We've got two down.]

Two days passed and Giacomo was packing up the office and heading out to his car, parked about three blocks down in a parking garage. He had just won another civil suit, and he was expecting a lot of money to be filing into his personal account. It was a good day.

He reached his car - a black Mercedes. It was left as it usually was, but as he approached the front door, two eyes glared back at him, as he opened the rear door and the driver's door, locking him between the doors and staring down a slicer barrel.

"You've got twenty seconds left to live. Do you talk or run?"

Giacomo, shocked at the sudden appearance, tried to dart away, but of course, it was futile. The masked man shot him twice in the back and left him to fall over the ground. He sought out the casings and the bullets, embedded in the door. After cleaning his scene, he picked up the files and the keys from Giacomo's folder. Having left it nice and tidy, he took out an incendiary grenade with a remote detonator and attached it to the body. After he had exited the car garage, he flipped a switch and let the flames burn. At 4000°C, very little - if any - evidence would remain. Of course, there was the side effect of extensive collateral, but he didn't care about that.

He cautiously re-entered Giacomo's office and sought out more details and files. He conducted a search on his computer, after using passwords that he had hacked from another computer, just five blocks away in a cafe. He loaded the SL Bank accounts and filed them into a separately encrypted account, and deleted all evidence of the former account, feeding a self-deleting worm into its matrices. After he took care of the money, he wired all of Giacomo's last calls, his messages, his personal contacts, and loaded them onto a PDA. After taking the information, he bugged the entire computer before he took out another grenade and set it on the desk. He carefully left the office, locking the door once again, and headed to a bar just across the street. After a quick drink, he paid the tab and went back out and triggered the bomb. There were plenty of witnesses around as Giacomo's office quickly burned to the ground, and his own testimony was as clean as any of the other people.

He managed to avoid getting caught by the fire folk, leaving in a group of people that didn't want to be questioned. Once he had reached a safe distance, he picked up his phone and gave a call to his hitman - "Tutti fatto, Don Sparetti." [It is finished.]

The fire in Caracas was no mystery to investigators when they arrived on the scene. The temperature and destruction of the fire, the quickness of its spread, and the remnants of the igniter all led to one cause: arson. The law office was was one of two casualties of the evening. The head lawer, a Giacomo Benevetti, a very successful and prominent lawyer in the Province of South Eastern Virginia, was found murdered and burned beyond recognition by his vehicle. It was determined, based on bullet holes in his car door, that he had been shot twice but there were no casings and no bullets recovered. The shots had to be precise and on point but the charred body wouldn't lend itself to a good autopsy other than "fire." Whether he was alive or dead at the time he was burned is something unknown and nobody had actually seen the shooting the resulting fire. They had heard the shots and saw the fire but that was the best they could do. The charred remains of the car would be good to piece together something. When his whole office burned to the ground, including everything in it, the police investigators knew that this was no "mugging." This was planned and this was professional. Immediately, they began to link the murder of Dr. Gray with the murder of Mr. Benevetti, mainly because of the lack of evidence at the crime scenes. This would perplex them for many years to come.

Layarteb

23-09-2006, 23:13

July 13, 2006

Plan Overture was going well. Under the direction and protection of the Governor of South Eastern Virginia, the Esmeralda Cartel had the same group of people move the package to the island of Trinidad. Using service roads, they drove the bomb over Venezuela, into Güiria, a small little village at the edge of the Sucre state. It was a rough, bouncing, and almost hair raising ride that took them two days of non-stop driving, during which the only actual times they stopped was for refueling. They went to the bathroom on the move, they brought food with them, and they weren't about to get caught at any checkpoint, especially with the cargo. They alternated driving shifts everytime they refueled and they were making good time when they arrived in Güiria, which sat on the Gulf of Paria, one of the best natural harbors in the Atlantic Ocean. They were going to move the bomb from here, to Trinidad, by moving through the small sea at night. Unfortunately, for them, they arrived in the middle of the afternoon, which meant that they had to lie low for a while. This was just what they would do.

They took refuge in a garage that afternoon. It was 14:25 hours when they arrived and they wouldn't be unloading the cargo until 21:00 hours, which gave them more than enough time to sleep and do what they had to do before the cargo had to be loaded onto the boat and transported some forty-three nautical miles away to La Retraite, on the extreme northwestern tip of the island of Trinidad. Neither village was very big and less than 5,000 people occupied each village. That was beneficial. They weren't populated with a high amount of law enforcement personnel and because they were so small, they were nearly invisible to the radar.

Where they stayed had been arranged and the "safe house," as it was, proved excellent for them. The ten men, who had ditched the Caprice Classic just two miles out of Caracas and set it ablaze, took turns for those remaining 6 hours, guarding the cargo with their lives. Two men out of the ten rotated every hour and ten minutes. Eight slept while two guarded, all of them with weapons in their hands, whether they were on safe or not, they could still spring up and unleash a hail of gunfire upon anyone trying to invade their sleeping territory. They were each going to get paid §60,000 for this little operation. They would be given §20,000 upon delivery and another §20,000 upon their safe return back in Güiria. It was arranged this way to ensure that none of them decided to wander away after delivering the cargo and the money was going to be all theirs. The cartel would get none of it if they wanted it that way and none of them wanted to give up any hard earned cash on this one. They had already recieved §20,000 when the deal was arranged and now they wanted the remaining two thirds of their money. They had secured transportation and they had secured the cargo. They had paid off the harbor master on both ends of the transport line and they had bribed two police officers at the docks in Güiria to not pay attention. For all intents and purposes this was a drug operation but it wasn't, it was something more sinister, more evil, and far deeper than cocaine or heroin could ever go.

Sitting in their harbor was a nice yacht, thirty feet in length, and powered by two very powered ethanol powered engines that could push them up to twenty-two knots, in calm seas. The seas were going to be calm but they wouldn't be going at maximum speed, that drew too much attention. Instead, they would be travelling at no more than sixteen knots, opting to make the journey there in three hours and another three hours back. That was plenty of time for them and when the time came, they backed the black van out of the garage and slowly drove down to the docks, only about a mile away but through narrow streets that more resembled alleyways than streets of a modern nation. Twenty minutes went by and they were at the docks, backed up on the pier, offloading the cargo, a precious container that they transferred to a carrying case. It took four of them to carry it quickly and comfortably and when they were done, eight of the ten men hopped onto the yacht and watched behind them as the other two drove the van off, presumably back to their hiding spot. Within minutes, they were travelling out of the harbor at 5 knots, the harbor speed limit. Their departure and their arrival wasn't going to be logged, in either port, and their presence was unknown. They arranged for the yacht to be taken away after they were done with it and brought elsewhere. Now the only worry they had was the Coast Guard but they had recieved assurances from their employer that this mission would be without hostiles. The Coast Guard was out there, they knew that, but they wouldn't be in the Gulf of Paria that night.

Layarteb

24-09-2006, 01:25

July 14

It was after midnight when the yacht entered La Retraite's harbor. They slowed down to five knots as they approached the docks and came to a stop about 600 meters from the actual pier. Víctor Sánchez picked up a pair of powerful, nightvision binoculars from the ledge by the throttle. They could see as far as 900 meters in total twilight and that was good because he needed to see the docks and he needed to see them perfectly. Por los cajones de madera, bajo la cubierta de un alquitranado. [By the wooden crates, under the cover of a tarp.] He thought to himself as he looked around the piers. He was looking for a bunch of crates and a dark green, even though in the nightvision everything was green, tarp. Underneath that tarp would be the receivers of the cargo. "Cállese y permanezca hacia abajo." [Keep quiet and stay down.] He said as he heard some of the men whispering to each other. ¿Dónde el infierno es? [Where the hell is it?] He thought again as he slowly looked. Finally, as he panned all the way to the east, he saw crates and a dark tarp. "Eso debe ser lo. Paco. La señal." [That must be it. Paco. The signal.]

Paco stood up a little bit and picked up a flashlight. He quickly flicked it on and off but it emitted no visible light. Instead it was more like an infrared illuminator, which could only be seen through nightvision goggles, binoculars, or scopes. He flashed the signal three times and each signal was basically four quick flashes, two slow flashes, three quick flashes, and a single slow flash. He did that three times and ducked down again. Victor kept watching the docks and, immediately, the same signal came back, from the place he was watching. "Bien. Eso es lo. Tómenos en lento. Quiero ir completamente al muelle del lejano oriente. Utilice la gafa." [Alright. That's it. Take us in slow. I want to go all the way to the far east pier. Use the goggle.] The yacht began to move, slowly, at five knots, as it entered the harbor, heading for the pier. There had been no other movement from the tarp and the crates and Victor watched intently. He was hoping for another sign but he knew that he wasn't going to receive one just yet. It was a tense four minutes as the yacht came along slowly, resting against the pier. Two of the eight men jumped off and secured the yacht, all of them holding their pistols underneath their jackets. Those in the boat had submachine guns and they were hiding those as well.

The pier was silent and the only sound was the sound of the waves. The sky was dark due to an overhead cloud clutter and that was good for them. "Hola. ¿Manuel? ¿Manuel? Escuche ordené la pizza hace dos horas." [Hello. Manuel? Manuel? Listen I ordered the pizza two hours ago.] Victor said, not loudly but loud enough for most of the pier to hear him.

"Obtuvimos tenido arriba en tráfico. Usted sabe cómo que es cuando las vacas salen." [We got held up in traffic. You know how it is when the cows come out.] The voice came from nowhere and it was the last part of the code that they had to repeat. Suddenly and with little warning, six men appeared. They were all armed with submachine guns, P90s from the initial look. "Vencedor. Es bueno para usted hagalo. ¿Le tiene un obsequio para mí?" [Victor. It is good for you to make it. Have you a gift for me?]

"Sí hago. Los hombres bajan sus armas. ¿Usted también?" [Yes I do. Men lower your weapons. You too?]

"Bájelos. Vencedor. A la hora. ¿Cómo era el paseo?" [Lower them. Victor. On time. How was the ride?]

"Calma. ¿Usted obtuvo el dinero?" [Quiet. You got the money?]

"Veinte mil grande para doce. Yo sólo veo ocho." [Twenty thousand large for twelve. I only see eight.]

"Dos nos esperan apoyamos en Güiria y dos no lo hicieron." [Two are waiting for us back in Güiria and two didn't make it.]

"Lo siento de oír eso. ¿Tiene usted la carga?" [I am sorry to hear that. Do you have the cargo?]

"Sí. Es abajo aquí. Paco, Julio, Juan, Jorge. Obtenga la carga y lo trae arriba." [Yes. It's under here. Paco, Julio, Juan, Jorge. Get the cargo and bring it up.] The four men vanished into the yacht as Victor stepped off the boat and onto the pier with one other man. Two remained in the boat, in tactically advantageous positions, ready to pull their weapons if needed. Victor lit a cigarette and stared at the man. All six of them were wearing black. They were hidden from the night and they could barely see each other. The little rays from the moon and stars that pierced through the clouds was enough for them to see and the six men had night vision goggles on their eyes, which the pointman removed. They were all hardened warriors. They had black camo paint on their faces and hands so that nothing gave them away. The six of them had their weapons holstered and Victor could see that each and every one of them had a pistol at their side and grenades along their belt. They were menacing to look at, none of them showing any emotions whatsoever. They were tough men and they were chosen for this duty for a reason. They were Illuminati Ghost Warriors and they travelled in packs of eight. Six were here, at the dock, while the other two were over 200 meters away, on a rooftop, watching everything through a pair of binoculars and a sniper rifle scope. Their submachine guns all had suppressors fitted to them but their pistols sat comfortably in their holsters, without suppressors, though they carried those on them, to use if necessary. Victor and his seven men didn't know about the other two watching them from 200 meters away and it would not have made them any more comfortable with this deal. They had gotten lucky in that they had yet to be seen but they still had to make it back to Güiria. If they were captured, they would be interrogated and who knew what they would say, the Layartebians had become very proficient in making people talk, especially if they didn't want to talk.

When the four men returned with the cargo, the conversation resumed. Victor was handed the bag of money. "¿Quiere usted contarlo? Tenemos que ser en ninguna parte." [Do you want to count it? We don't have anywhere to be.]

"No. quiero salir de aquí. Nosotros lo contaremos en el barco. Si usted nos enroscó regresaremos." [No. I want to get out of here. We'll count it on the boat. If you screwed us we'll be back.]

"Nosotros no estaremos aquí. ¿Está usted nervioso o algo?" [We won't be here. Are you nervous or something?]

The truth of the matter was that Victor was very nervous and very scared. He was a mercenary, that was a given, but he had never been in a situation like this before. He was standing in front of six armed men, all of whom were definitely more capable of him. He assessed that immediately when the six of them appeared before his very eyes, before he ever spotted a single one of them. "Estaremos en el barco. No vaya dondequiera." [We'll be on the boat. Don't go anywhere.] He tossed the bag to Paco and nodded for him to go into the cabin and count the money. He stayed topside. Once again, the conversation ceased. Victor took a long drag on his cigarette, easing his nerves slightly. He finished that one moments later and lit another one instantly thereafter. He wasn't a chain smoker but this situation was harrowing. Five minutes later, the most grueling and longest five minutes of his life, Paco emerged and nodded at him. "La buena suerte en su tentativa y hace el Empire se siente la ira." [Good luck in your endeavor and make the Empire feel the wrath.] He dropped back into the yacht and they were gone only moments later, heading out of port at five knots before they could jump back up to sixteen knots. The entire time out of port, until they were sure that they were safe, they stayed silent and down. Victor's heart was beating out of his chest and, to him, it echoed in the night for the whole world to hear. By the time they managed to get out of port, the six men joined up with their two watchers and were gone. Victor opened up the throttles once he got back out of the harbor, six minutes later, and they began to converse. They were scared, all of them. They had never come against soldiers like that before and they knew that they had a long way to go before they could be on that level. They were just glad to be safe...or were they...

Layarteb

24-09-2006, 02:16

The Gulf of Paria was a particularly dreaded one for submariners. The water wasn't very deep, barely going below 100 feet in the deepest parts. Shield class submarines had the most lucky because of their small size and its replacement would probably have just as much ease. The LDC Maritime Division was already working on a replacement for the twenty year old submarine and it was rumored to be a joint development with the Realm of Cotland.

For the larger submarines, namely the SSNs of the fleet, the Gulf of Paria was off limits. However, on this lonely, quiet, and comfortable night, one submariner ventured into the shallow body of water, at only 60 feet. The submarine have moved into position only an hour earlier by coming down through the channel between Trinidad and Venezuela, where it was deep. The submarine stayed in that area, keeping in the deeper water to avoid running aground. This particular submarine was a Hunter SSN, one of the most advanced submarines in the fleet and it was captained by the name of Julius Hammerhead and the executive officer, a lieutenant commander by the name of Steven Fronerelli were both in the CONN. The captain stood at the periscope post and watched out into the black oblivion of the sea at night. The submarine was moving at eight knots to the south, using its high frequency SONAR to search for a "small water craft." They had received orders only four hours earlier that there was a potential drug trade going on and that a yacht would be traversing between Venezuela and Trinidad between 21:15 hours and 00:15 hours and then again between 00:45 hours and 03:45 hours. It was 01:05 hours and they were on station, a UGM-205C AMESM missile loaded and ready, tube flooded and door opened. The mission was to destroy the yacht and that was what they were there to do.

The Hunter SSN was one of the quietest submarines in the world and never before had one surfaced in any body of water in the world. That was customary for the submarines of the ILN. They never surfaced and that was done on purpose. When the Republic fell, the Empire was left with three dozen 688/I class and eight Seawolf class submarines. Keeping the illusion, the Empire built over a hundred more advanced and capable submarines and ensured that they would never have to surface, meaning that they could stay as secret as ever. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the Empire was still operating those two classes, the Ohio class for their boomers, and the newer Virginia class SSN. They knew nothing of the Hunter, Scythe, New York, and Centurion classes submarines that skulked beneath the waves, going into and out of their submarine pens entirely underwater. That secret was one of the better ones of the ILN, amongst many.

The seas were quiet though. SONAR picked up nothing in the water and the high frequency SONAR was blank. "Where is it?" The captain asked himself outloud as he panned the periscope around. The high frequency SONAR could pick up objects as small as mines as far out as 8,000 yards and anything like a yacht would be easily detectable since it would be making a lot of noise, if at speed. Passive SONAR was working as well, listening in on anything in the waves that might be a ship or even worse, an enemy submarine, albeit that was nearly impossible in this body of water.

Ten minutes went by without anything when the SONAR opperator came over the loud speaker. "CONN, SONAR. Surface contact bearing 1-3-5. Course 2-7-0. Speed 16 knots. It's a small craft. Range 9,000 yards."

"SONAR, CONN. Aye." The captain smirked and trained the periscope towards the direction of the contact. He zoomed in but couldn't see much in the night. Instead, he lowered the periscope and ordered the submarine to be brought to 12 knots. The submarine would travel in a direction where it could intercept the small boat without having to go to any speed that was faster. All the captain had to do was get within 5,000 yards of the boat to get a proper identification of it. The submarine jolted forward and picked up speed quickly as the massive nuclear reactor within its belly heated up. Silent and deadly, the Hunter SSN approached from the north as the yacht swiftly transited the channel. When it was about 5,000 yards out, the captain ordered the submarine back to 8 knots and raised the periscope. He did a quick scan, found the boat, and snapped a dozen digital pictures of it before he lowered the scope again. The images were relayed to a screen on one of the panels and he could see, clearly, that the yacht was the target that they were searching for and now it would meet its end. "Weapons, CONN. Prepare to fire tube 2." He looked over at the weapons panel operator and saw the green light. The missile was ready to fire. "Fire tube 2!" The submarine shook slightly as the UGM-205C AMESM was ejected out of the submarine by high pressured air. The missile, encased in its capsule, glided upwards to the surface very quickly. When it was near the surface, the ends broke away and the booster fired. This would cause the missile to climb to an altitude of 500 feet, where it would level off. Because of the short range, the booster dropped off almost immediately and the missile would not initiate a pop-up style attack. They were going against a yacht, not an armored destroyer. With the periscope up and it recording everything that it was viewing, the captain smirked as he saw the missile descend towards the yacht. With a bright and fiery explosion, the missile impacted the yacht just on its starboard side, behind its mid-section. It exploded powerfully, turning the unarmored yacht into nothing but a fiery wreck that would sink to the bottom of the sea. That was a kill and the submarine was now headed out of the Gulf of Paria, back to deeper waters in the Caribbean Sea.

All eight of the men onboard were dead instantly and they would have been very surprised if they ever returned back to their port, only to find that the two men they left to wait for them were dead as well, killed by single shots to their foreheads, both within milliseconds of each other.

Layarteb

24-09-2006, 18:24

The sun was high over the island when the phone rang. "Go Charlie Mike Bravo."

"Gamma Yankee Foxtrot Romeo. Spider Spider. Delivery boys handled. Cleared hot."

"Roger that Whiskey Bravo. Roger that. Out." The man hung up the phone and looked around the darkened warehouse. "That's the go code. We're cleared out of here. Let's get a move on." This was the same man who picked up the package from Victor and the rest of the crew at the docks only fourteen hours earlier. "We've got six miles to the point."

"You got it sir. What's the directions again?"

"Alright. We're going to make a right on the main road, heading east. We're going to go for a ways, pass by two forks. After the second fork we've got six lefts that we won't make and a third fork. All forks stay to the right on. After the third fork we're going to make a left. That left will be our last turn. We're just going to follow that north until we reach the other side of the island. Once we get there and park, we're good. It's three and a half miles after that left. Two and a half miles to that left. We good? Keep behind us and keep the speed below thirty-five. The limit on these roads is thirty but nobody is going to pull us over for thirty-five. For forty, who knows, overzealous cop might ruin it all."

"Understood." Inside the warehouse were two vehicles. One was a four-wheel drive Chevrolet Silverado Pickup truck that could seat four. The other vehicle was a Chevrolet Monte Carlo. Both vehicles were painted silver and both of them would hold four people, the cargo in the truck, covered by a tarp. Both vehicles had big engines in them and ethanol power gave them a significant amount of power, enough to push their vehicles well above 110 mph if they needed to and both of them were matched well for high-speed chases and tight maneuvering. They weren't your normal vehicles. The warehouse was dark enough that the vehicles looked black and that was what they wanted, no attention. "Alright let's get it loaded." Four of the men went to work, picking up the cargo and sliding it into the bed of the Silverado. The cargo wasn't very heavy, only 290 pounds but it was big and bulky. Because it was almost a foot in diameter and almost three feet long, it was held in a crate that was bigger and a little heavier. To protect it, the crate was filled with packing material, adding to the weight. Handles on the bottom were made of metal, covered in rubber, to allow them a strong and tight grip on the box. It was a big package that they wanted to move quickly. Two people could lift it but that would slow them down. Four, on the other hand, that would give them a lot of extra speed and power. After it was slid into place, they fastened it to the bed tightly, using heavy-duty rubber links to secure it to the bed through the handles. The links were rated at 600 pounds and they had a little give, which was good. The crate wouldn't slide around too much. Next, they secured the dark green tarp over the bed using strong rope, rated at over 400 pounds test. The rope added extra protection to the crate and they looped it through each hole several times, making it that much stronger.

They were going to be heading to a small little village on the northern coast of the island. In a straight line, the village was only a little over four miles away but because of the lack of a direct road, they had to travel next to the southern coast of the portion of the island and then travel upwards, to the village. They could take the risk and travel right through the jungle but that wasn't a good idea and the Monte Carlo wouldn't make it through the rough terrain. They would also draw attention to themselves that way. Two cars driving down the road wouldn't, especially if they kept up with all of the other cars.

The Illuminati Ghost Warriors were some of the most amazing soldiers. They were well-trained, multilingual, and disciplined. They had all of the training that Special Forces soldiers received as they were, at one time, Special Forces soldiers. The Illuminati Ghost Warriors were recruited by experts, experts who searched high and low for the best of the best. They recruited from each and every SOF group and when they found someone that fit their profile, they went to work. It was a recruitment process much like the CIA. They isolated their candidates and kept them in limbo, engendering a certain amount of hatred in them, until they could be inducted. Candidates were already Freemasons and from there they could then bring them into the Illuminati. From there, they went out of country, to receive further training. Terrorist training camps, mercenary schools, and soldier exchange programs were all manipulated into training the Ghost Warriors. The significant amount of training that they received made them better than SOF soldiers. They were trained in espionage, fighting, intelligence gathering, reconnaissance, strike, and every other possible mission role. They could compete with the BOF forces of the Empire.

The Illuminati Ghost Warriors were organized into teams of eight and there were a total of twenty teams. The Illuminati themselves were a small group, numbering only 11,850 people, of which 400 were directly involved in the Ghost Warriors. Those who weren't didn't know of their existence. Each Ghost Warrior team was organized around a commander. Then there was a radioman, responsible for all communications. Third in line was the rocket-man, responsible for, in times of actual battle, anti-tank and anti-vehicle operations. The rocket-man when not needed provided an extra gun. Then came the heavy weapons man, an individual responsible for explosives and heavy weapons. Then there was the sniper, the best shot amongst them. The sniper was responsible for reconnaissance and back up. The breacher was responsible for gaining entry into places and he was an expert thief. His capabilities included being able to pick locks and subvert security systems. The last two were the grenadier and the technician. The grenadier was responsible for grenades and explosives during times of war but otherwise acted as a spotter for the sniper. The technician was, arguable, the most skilled. He was trained in electronics hacking and encryption. His primary role was to gain entry into computer systems, subvert communications, and maintain other advanced skills, especially when it came to technology.

Because of their small nature, logistics was a primary responsibility. Therefore, the Ghost Warriors kept a small arsenal and limited the amount of weapons that they would actually need, unlike the military, which used many different models. For pistols, they maintained the M84A1 Five-seveN, a 5.7 x 28mm pistol that fired a round capable of piercing 48 layers of Kevlar at 50 meters. For a submachine gun, they used the M71A1 P90 Submachine Gun, which fired the same round but had the same penetrating capabilities as the M84 but at 200 meters. They used these rounds more for their penetrating capabilities. The round had little stopping power in comparison to normal pistol rounds but it was powerful and potent. They maintained the M73A2 Enhanced Carbine for their primary assault rifle, using the 5.56 x 45mm bullet that was so widely used worldwide and was just beginning to be phased out in the Empire. They used the M44A1 Sniper Rifle with the 7.62 x 51mm bullet for sniper duties, enabling them significant amounts of stopping power on enemies. For a light machine gun, they stuck with the M42A1 SAW, which allowed them a light weapon with a lot of power and the same 5.56 x 45mm bullet used by their assault rifles. The rocket man used the M51A1 SRAW system for anti-tank and anti-vehicle operations. When they needed ultimate close-range firepower, they used the M76A1 Tactical Shotgun, a twelve-gauge, pump-action beast of a weapon that could tear anything to shreds with one shot. Lastly, when they needed extended firepower, they fitted an M48A3 Grenade Launcher to their M73s, allowing them a 40mm grenade that could destroy light vehicles, enclosed positions, and flush out the dug-in soldiers. When it came to grenades, mines, knives, they all used standard issue weapons for the military, meaning that they could use just about whatever they wanted, however they needed, and whenever they needed.

The Ghost Warriors were a well-organized and well-funded bunch. Dues from the Illuminati members and a host of overseas bank accounts and investments kept their funding levels abnormally high. This was what kept them running on their covert operations that were some of the most classified around. Because they were so small it was so easy for them to keep their secret, which was what made them so powerful. The RLA had received training from them and they were their tool to do what they could not. Now it was different, now it was time for them. The RLA had been wiped out, completely, which was all part of the plan. The RLA instilled the feeling of pure terror in the eyes of the people of the Empire and that was all they were going to do. This gave the initial feeling that the government on Governor's Island couldn't protect everyone like they had promised. Sure there was anger and hostility against the RLA and nobody sympathized with their cause but that was to be expected. That wasn't the goal, the goal was the terror and fear that people felt. Now with the RLA gone, they would feel "safe" again. The Ghost Warriors would unleash more terror, removing that "safety" that people felt. This would anger them more and make them demand more and more from the government. They would demand safety and protection and an answer as to when this would all stop. The Ghost Warriors would make sure that answer was never given. What they were about to do in Grenada was going to change the face of the Empire forever and instill fear unlike any other in the eyes of the citizenry.

Layarteb

24-09-2006, 20:25

"Let's get a move on. We want to be there and in the safe house." The Silverado pulled out of the warehouse followed by the Monte Carlo and both vehicles turned onto the street, travelling north towards the main road. There was a lot of activity around the shipyard that afternoon as it was Friday. They would have preferred to do this at night and on a weekend day but they had little choice. They didn't control when the Emperor issued the temporary cease fire. The blockade was going to fall at midnight, when the day turned to the 16th and that meant they had to be ready and in place by then. They would be at the northern village in twenty minutes and that would give them plenty of time to sit and wait, the hardest part of any operation. They would secure an aide boat that they would use to ferry the cargo to Grenada, ninety miles away. This whole operation was something that was well planned and well conducted. Nothing except their own failures could cause them to mess this one up. They had every element of surprise and mystery and nobody could take that away from them.

With their weapons in the vehicles and their pistols ready to be pulled, they pulled onto the main road. They had another two and a half miles to go before they came to the turn. They kept their cool as they moved down the main road, traffic around them, at a smooth 35 miles per hour. The flow of traffic around them was doing between that and 40 and they wanted to stay with the flow so they were forced to go slightly faster. A mile up the road, when brakes lights came on, they slowed down, with the rest of the traffic. There was a cop sitting on the side of the road, his radar gun tagging each and everything that came by, looking for that fool doing 45 or even 50 as some did. As their pulses increased, the men drove past the cop car at 30 miles per hour, eluding the police officer.

All around them life was going normally. People were on the streets, selling vegetables and fruits. Others were selling bracelets and other crafts. Markets were busy and stores were packed. It was the heart of tourist season and there were hundreds of them along the roads, thousands of them on the island. Many were foreign citizens, many were from elsewhere in the Empire. Residents in the Province of Dnalkrad frequented the islands during the summer months to get a real taste of warm weather rather than the chilling Arctic winds they felt, even in July. The eight men, not appearing to be tourists, had shed their black uniforms but had changed into workers uniforms, jumpsuits that made them look like they worked on the docks. This would aide them well as they now blended in with countless others. "There's the turn. It's coming up." The commander stated as he passed by the third fork. He was on an open line with the other vehicle, using a cellular phone. His hands-free system allowed him to work the gears of the vehicle as he had to downshift to slow down and make the turn, onto the last road, the three and a half mile stretch that would put them at the other coast of the island. This road was less occupied and the nearest car was a good two hundred meters ahead of them, as they moved down the two lane highway. They could go a little faster here, this road had a 45 mph speed limit so they took it up to 50, keeping their pace with the other vehicle, in front of them, actually gaining on them. "Keep an eye on the radar detector." They had radar detectors in both vehicles and the passenger was tasked with monitoring them. They were expensive and good ones, detectors that enabled them not only to detect radar and laser but also get a bearing, range, and signal strength. These were no ordinary detectors and they were totally passive, meaning that they could not be detected themselves. About a mile down the road, as they were coming up on a "T" intersection, the radar detectors chirped. "We've got a solid return. About a half mile ahead, to the left. It looks like laser."

"Roger that we've got the same return. Let's take it down to 45."

"Understood." They slowed down and watched as the detector went quiet and then loud again, as they approached. The cops were out in force and they were trying to get as many speeders as they could, especially since many of them would be tourists, who didn't have the luxury of sitting around for a trial but rather opted just to plead guilty and pay the fine. "There he is, up there, I've got a visual." They checked their speedometers and passed by the cop, being hit with the laser gun as they passed by, doing 45 mph. The cop barely budged and just went about his business, looking for someone to nab. They took it back up to 50 when he was out of sight and continued down the road. They wouldn't see another cop for the rest of the trip, which wasn't very long. The village that they pulled into was small and it wasn't a very busy one either.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/trinidad-village-01.jpg

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/trinidad-village-02.jpg

"Alright. Make a right here." They made their first right and came around the bend. "Third house on the right." The house was medium sized, with a two car garage. They had the garage door openers in their vehicles and opened them up. They both paused in the street and opted to back into either garage, which was more beneficial to them. They had more than enough room inside the garage and that was perfect for them as they would have to unload the cargo and do some work to it. When the doors closed behind them, it locked their entire house into a security loop. There were hidden cameras everywhere and motion sensors enabled them to keep tabs on everyone moving into and out of and around the house.

"Good job. Good job. Let's get the cargo off and into the work room." The commander said as he moved into the house and deactivated the alert system. The monitoring was maintained but the active system was off now, meaning that they would not be pegged as intruders. Four of them carried the box into the basement, which was outfitted to be a work room. There, they would open the cargo and do some minor work to it, to prepare it for transport.

Layarteb

25-09-2006, 01:01

July 15

"Alright. Here's what's going to happen. We've got fourteen hours before the blockade is lifted and fifteen hours before the boat arrives. If it arrives on time at 01:00 hours, we're going to be meeting it down there, with the cargo. Once its aboard and loaded we're off. We're looking at about five and a half to six hours on the boat to Grenada. We're going to be landed at a shipyard on the southern portion of the island. Our brethren, team eighteen, will already be on the island to receive the cargo. Then, we simply head back, stow away at the safe house for a few days, and we're back doing what we do everyday. Team eighteen will be responsible for placing the cargo and handling it once its on the island. The boat is going to be manned by four people already but all of them are going to be working for us so we don't have to worry. From what I am told they will be under the charter of 'Helping You,' an international, non-governmental organization that specializes in aide packages. They won't suspect a thing and when we're on board we'll paint the crate to resemble an aide package. We're going to have other cargo on board as well, to minimize the suspicion. All we have to do is get the cargo there and get it off to the docks. After that, we don't handle it anymore.

"When the blockade goes back, if it goes back, we hope it goes back. When it goes back we're going to be out of here, long gone, thousands of miles away. Understood? Good. Now I want everyone well rested and prepped for this mission. We're going in at night and we'll be landing on the island after the sun is already up so we're going to be working through the wee hours of the morning on this and then back here. The invasion of the island is being held off, for now, but we suspect that the Emperor isn't going to listen to their demands for too long. One week of negotiations will be taking place in St. George's and that means our team there is going to have to act quickly and quietly to put the cargo in place. Once the negotiations have failed and they will. I am assured that the Grenadian council is under no desire to submit back to the Empire and that means one thing, stalemate and invasion. Generally, after negotiations fail and the blockade is resumed, we can expect an invasion in twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Once that begins it'll be up to our team on the ground and the rest of the players to do what they have to do. We're done with it for now." The commander pulled down a map of the island, particularly where they would be landing and pointed to the spot where they would dock. "There are six docks here. We're going to be coming into the third from the left, which means number three. Once we're there, team eighteen will come up to us and tie us off. They will be the ones to help unload the cargo. The code words for them are 'Sucre was just another vacation compared to this.' We'll respond, 'Yeah but the fishing is arguably better in the winter than the summer.' Once the words are exchanged, everything is going to be undertaken."

"Where will they be delivering the cargo?"

"I do not know the details of the operation other than what our mission is. This comes from the leaders amongst us. Plan Overture as they are calling it is going to be as secret as any other but so secret that the parties involved will know only their role and not the roles of the others. It is true that I did know the delivery boys would be killed but that is something entirely different. They're not part of us and they're part of something else. We have to tie up each and every loose end, is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Meanwhile, 360 miles due west, things weren't as calm. The Governor of South Eastern Virginia was on the phone, listening to the tirade of the Esmeralda Cartel kingpin. He was just listening for now but he would soon erupt in fury and flames when he decided that he had hard enough. News of the deaths of the ten delivery men had reached the cartel and they were furious. They were guaranteed safety from the Governor and they had not received it, something that they were not too happy to be hearing.

"Listen to me now!" He had enough. "You will listen to me and you will listen to each and every word. There are things beyond my controls, things that would compromise my position. I was not aware of any raid being conducted in that area. However, I found something out. It was dumb luck. You see, some local villager saw the black van and saw the boat and the crate. They imagined it to be some major drug deal so, to cash in on a massive reward of §75,000 he called it in. Guess what, not my control. Turns out the DEA listened to him and took their own action. I had absolutely no control over the situation nor was I informed of it until after it was done. This happened without my consent and rightfully so, it never happens with my consent. The DEA is under their own orders, from the Emperor, and rarely do they include me or my staff in their operations unless they need something from us. So put your anger elsewhere." The cartel leader went off on another tirade but calmed down eventually, satisified though unhappy with the Governor's answer. The Governor was, obviously, lying. He had fed the information to the rest of Majestic who decided, unanimously that the delivery boys could not survive this ordeal. The Hunter SSN that had been loyal to Majestic in October was brought back and the task was done. The situation could not be fixed nor reversed, though the Governor wound up promising to have the money they were owed delivered to the cartel as a token of good will. That was the least of his worries.

Furthermore 950 miles northwest of Caracas, in Holugín, Cuba, team eighteen was getting ready. They were going to be on the first aide flight down to Grenada, which would be landing, promptly, at 00:30 hours. The aide flight consisted only of workers and on the initial flight, which would be aboard a Boeing 777-200, they packed a total of 440 aide workers, eight of which were Illuminati Ghost Warriors, all from team eighteen. The distance to Point Salines was a little over 1,100 miles and that meant the 777-200 could loiter in the air for a long time. It had a 6,000 mile range and a cruising speed of 550 miles per hour. It would take two and a half hours to get there, which included them taking off and climbing. If they wanted to be on station at 00:30 hours, they would have to depart by 22:00 hours and since they were the first flight out, they were granted priority. Once they touched down, the Ghost Warriors, dressed in their uniforms would depart for the docks and wait for the boat to arrive in the morning. They would unload plenty of boats prior to that one coming to make it look as if they were definite aide workers. That would be their "last" boat. Once they departed, after unloading the boat, they wouldn't return.

Layarteb

25-09-2006, 01:03

Layarteb

25-09-2006, 05:17

"So where are we?" Dr. Donald Bush asked, at the start of the meeting. Majestic was meeting far more frequently now that Plan Overture was in full effect and rightfully so, they all needed to be on the same page. This wasn't a formal meeting, per say. Of the twelve members, eight of them were video linked in and the other four were sitting in a private boardroom in the Manchurian Global Corporate HQ. Those four happened to be John Patrick, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Director of CEMA, and Dr. Victor Michael. All of them met up, secretly, in the boardroom on the top floor, which was exclusively off-limits to all those who did not possess a sixteen digit code and a key card.

"From the looks of it, we're on schedule. The delivery men have been killed and erased from the equation. The cargo is at the pickup point in Trinidad. The Ghost Warriors are guarding it and those who are to receive it are prepared to board their flight to Grenada. The only loose end we have is the aide boat. It should be underway right now but we don't have any communications from them just yet. We don't have any reason to worry as they are under strict orders for radio silence. The only communication that they are going to be making is when they approach the pickup point. They will signal to the Ghost Warriors on shore with an infrared illuminator when they are ready to dock." Brigadier General Delaney said as he checked his watch.

"And those on the island?" The Minister of Foreign Affairs questioned.

"They're prepared and ready. We have no reason to believe otherwise." The situation was as they described it. It was in a lull right now, just waiting for the final pieces to be put into place and those peices were the boat and the delivery. Once the cargo was on the island everything was going to be set and ready.

"What's the final position?" Delaney asked. "Where are we putting the cargo to be found?"

"St. George's. It'll be underneath the street about thirty-five meters from the central government center. Northwest of it."

"Good to hear. And of those wo will be picking up the cargo after that?"

"All set."

"Good." Brigadier General Delaney looked down at his watch again. "I'm due at the range in five minutes. How long are we out now?"

"From the pickup? Three hours and twenty-five minutes."

"Alright."

Layarteb

26-09-2006, 01:00

Holguín - 22:00 hours

The Boeing 777-200 sat on the tarmac at Holguín Domestic Airport just before 22:00 hours that night. It was loaded and being pushed back from the gate, preparing to take off for a flight to Grenada. Aide workers packed the flight and all 440 seats were filled. Stewards and stewardesses would tend to the aide workers on the short flight down, offering some refreshments but other then that, it was going to be a pretty straight forward flight. They would fly down to Point Salines, land, and fly back. They would refuel, if they had to, but otherwise they were just going to be doing flights like this all week long. The Emperor had arranged for a total of twelve aircraft to fly relief and supplies. Most foreign governments opted to stay completely out of the situation in Grenada and few contributed any goods whatsoever. A total of three sorties per aircraft would do just fine. Ten would ferry people and the other ten would ferry cargo. The only two aircraft to be used was the Boeing 777-2000 for passengers and the C-17A Globemaster III for supplies.

The eight men from the Illuminati Ghost Warriors sat comfortably in their seats, scattered around the plane. Only three of them sat next to each other and the rest were all scattered. The flight was lively and jovial and they joined in, conversing and sympathizing with the aide workers. The aide workers were doing what they were doing because either they loved to be the good helper or because they believed that the island of Grenada should be independent. The Ghost Warriors were adept in trickery and they conversed and sympathized with those on board the flight. They all had their angles worked out before hand and they stuck to them with ease.

The plane was now under its own power and moving towards the edge of the runway. It whine of the engines as low as the plane taxied down the taxiways and towards the runway. The mood remained the same on the aircraft as the pilot lined up on the edge of the runway. Then, with a jolt and a blast, the engines were pushed to full throttle and the aircraft began to drive down the runway, picking up speed as the thrust built behind the aircraft. The roar became shakingly loud as the aircraft picked up speed, past a hundred miles per hour, nearing on take off speed, which was almost two hundred miles per hour. When they finally lifted off, there were cheers in the cabin and the first load was on their way. They would land at 00:30 hours and the Ghost Warriors would be at the docks by 02:00 hours, preparing to do what they had to do.

***********************

Trinidad - 00:42 hours

"¿Huele que aire?" [Smell that air?]

"Los olores como una nueva era de la victoria y la libertad." [Smells like a new era of victory and freedom.]

"¿Dónde estamos nosotros ahora?" [Where are we now?]

"Cuatro millas náuticas fuera. Estaremos allí en veinte minutos." [Four nautical miles out. We'll be there in twenty minutes.]

The two men speaking in Spanish were two contract agents for the Illuminati. They were in the Ghost Warrior organization but they weren't Ghost Warriors. Instead, they were "helpers." This meant that they provided safe houses, vehicles, and alibis for the Ghost Warriors. They were part of the support team that made up the rest of the 240 non-fighting members of the Ghost Warriors. They were on a boat heading towards the pickup point on the northern coast of Trinidad and they were moving through the water at about 11 knots. They were under the charter of an aide mission and their hull number was registered as such. This allowed them to do what they had to do with no hassle. On the beach, at the pickup point, the eight men were dug in, hiding with their night vision goggles illuminating everything for a few hundreds meters and a pair of binoculars that gave them over a thousand meters of viewing. They had the cargo crate hidden in the brush to the north and underneath the tarp. It was barely visible in the dense blackness of the night. "How much longer?"

"About twenty minutes if they're on schedule."

"Roger that. Anybody watching us?" They whispered into their microphones as they were all linked on one channel, a channel only accessible by their eight radios. They had a two mile range with the radios and they weren't more than a half mile apart, spread out over the small beach and the surrounding vegetation. They waited and they waited until the sniper announced he had a visual.

"Silhouette on the horizon. Distance two kilometers. It's definitely a boat, probably the one we're looking for. Let's wait for the signal."

"Roger that. Eyes on." The commander, using the hi-powered binoculars, watched as the boat approached, slowly. The boat was going to give the signal at about six hundred meters from the shoreline and that was fine, they could see it clearly now.

"Somos cuatrocientos metros lejos de la señal. ¿Está la luz estroboscópica lista?" [We're four hundred meters away from the signal. Is the strobe ready?]

"Sí es. He obtenido la señal también. Dígame apenas cuándo." [Yes it is. I've got the signal too. Just tell me when.]

"Bueno ahora. Vaya." [Okay now. Go.] The man with the strobe let out the signal, which was precise and accurate.

"Alright we've got three quick. Two slow. One quick. Six slow. Three quick. That's it boys. Send out the return." The sniper lifted the strobe and began to tap out his own code back to the ship.

"Aquí vamos. Dos lento. Tres rápido. Seis lento. Once rápido. Un lento. Un rápido. Eso es lo. Yo nos tomo en. Los fusiles se preparan. Por si acaso." [Here we go. Two slow. Three quick. Six slow. Eleven quick. One slow. One quick. That's it. I'm taking us in. Guns ready. Just in case.] The boat came towards the shoreline as the eight men kept their position. They weren't going to move until the boat docked. There was a small dock, not large enough for the whole boat but big enough that if they backed up against it, they could load the cargo, get on, and get out without many people noticing them. The boat came in slow, did a quick turn, and then backed up against the dock, coming to a halt only a few feet from the edge of the sandbar. If they went back any further, they were going to be grounded. The two men who had been speaking jumped onto the dock and tied off the boat, quickly, as the Ghost Warriors emerged, weapons drawn. To play it safe, only four of them emerged and they approached the dock. "Hey guys. On time. Let's get the cargo loaded and get on the move. We're going to be getting there around sunrise but who knows with the seas. They're a little rough right now so we won't be able to make best time but we'll try our best."

"Good to hear. Good to hear. Gentlemen. Let's get it done." The other four men rose with the cargo and came towards the dock, moving slowly over the sand. They were limited but they moved as fast as they could, stepping onto the dock, and then onto the boat with ease. The four men on the boat helped load it, which included the commander and the sniper. The captain and the mate on the boat were quiet, very quiet, but they helped. The other two men were the brains of the operation, it seemed. It took ten minutes but they were ready to go and the cargo was secured. It was 01:12 hours when they unhooked the boat and began moving away from the dock. They had watched intently but nobody had seen them at all and their vehicles were packed in the safe house. They had driven the cargo down, unloaded it, and drove back. The boat was now loaded with twelve people, eight of them Ghost Warriors, and a full ton of cargo, which was in the form of seven crates. All of them would be searched once they arrived on the island and that was something that the team on the island was going to take care of, they just had to get it to them.

"Gentlemen. It is good to meet you. I'm Julio. This is my associate Pedro. Both of us are the main contacts for the Ghost Warriors. Our captain over there is Frank and our mate is Julian. Both of them are with the Illuminati as well but are not as involved as we are." They were standing on the stern of the boat, the captain and the mate near the front, driving the boat. "Please make yourselves comfortable. The best we'll be able to do is about 13 or 14 knots, which puts us in around 07:15 hours. If we can make better speed we will but we'll be arriving after dawn. I hope your backup is on the ground there."

"They should be arriving already."

"Good to hear. Well gentlemen, we've got a long morning ahead of us. Care to go below?"

"Yes. You two, stay topside."

"Got it sir." The Breacher and Rocket-man would stay topside, just to make sure that nothing unusual was going on and they would also be guarding the cargo as well, which was stored in a hold beneth the deck, a hole only accessible from the deck.

Layarteb

26-09-2006, 03:50

July 16

The seas on the way to Grenada weren't calm but neither were they rough. They were a category three, with waves between a foot and a half to four feet. The boat moved through the waves at 13 knots, its wide hull capable of the seas. They would have to slow down if the seas got any rougher but other than that, it was quiet. The engines of the boat were quiet, well lubricated and definitely not standard. They were engines specially made and added to the boat to allow it total quietness. From the outside it looked like an old cargo vessel, nothing spectacular. However, on the inside, the engines, the sensors, and the electronics system were all state-of-the-art. The boat could have cost a few million dollars to begin with but when all the technology was added, it had to be worth double the value.

Below decks, the six Ghost Warriors and the two agents played cards. They were playing a big game of Rummy down there while the four men on the deck were less active. The captain and the mate steered the boat as they pushed it towards the destination point. The two Ghost Warriors guarding the cargo were sitting near the back of the boat, resting against the hull, their weapons at their feet. "You know this is probably not one of our better plans." The Breacher began to speak, lighting a cigarette as the mist of the sea air brushed past their faces, the wind filling the whole boat. "But it is what it is."

"That's understandable. No I can't disagree but we're doing this for the greater good. That cargo is precious."

"Very. What are going to do if someone tries to take it?"

"Easy. Shoot them."

"You know what I mean. If someone knows more people know. What if we get to those docks and our friends aren't waiting for us."

"Then we're going to be screwed. We're going to have to protect this cargo and come up with another plan. Something tells me I should have brought the SRAW."

"That's why I have my trusty shottie. We're going to have to use them if there's a problem at the drop. I'm not fond of the thought but its a possibility." It was 04:00 hours and they were about half-way there. The boat tossed slightly as it pierced through the waves and pushed onward. On the island, workers were already unloading vessels that had come from around the world. The naval vessels, though they stayed there were not intercepting anyone. They were keeping tabs though, counting the vessels that came and went, registering the hull numbers, and taking as many pictures as they could. The blockade wasn't harmless, that was for sure. They tracked dozens of vessels going towards the island and watched all around the island as activity flurried at the docks. High powered cameras and live satellite feeds recorded everything that happened on the coast of the island and those satellites overlooking the island from above made sure to get every detailt aht they could.

Meanwhile, on the island Team Eighteen had already landed at the airport and were going about their tasks, unloading and key rec'ing cargo shipments that came in through the docks where they were assigned. They had been asked four times already if they wanted to take a break but they denied it. They were dilligent workers and this was their one chance and opportunity to do what they had to do. From the outside, none of them appeared to know each other and they forgot each others' names as they offloaded, much to the frustration of themselves. One of them threatened to fight if he didn't have his name remembered but that was just feeding the lie. The supervisors all remarked that they were feeding off of each other and that the situation was splendid. He wished he had more workers like them, he commented numerous times.

Finally, around 07:25, another slew of boats came on the horizon. The Ghost Warriors had been working hard and were, on the superficial layers, as it appeared to those around them, friendly with each other. The tension went away and they were showing signs of fatigue. By now they had been asked twenty times if they wanted to take a break but they weren't about to give in just yet. "You got the hull number?"

"Yeah. It's our boy. Look, the symbol is on the hull." On the bow of one of the incoming boats was a flag, a single blue flag with a symbol in the middle of it, a symbol that would only be recognized by the Illuminati Ghost Warriors and that was their logo. The Freemasons had a Square with a Compass and a G in the middle of it. The Illuminati had the "All-Seeing Eye" and now it was looking back at them. "Good. Good. We're on. Hey boss."

"Yes Darrell?" The Commander went by that name for this mission. "What can I help you with?"

"Last boat and we take a break?"

"It's about time. You guys got it."

"Good stuff boss. Thanks." They watched as the boat came into port. On the boat, the eight Ghost Warriors were dressed in overalls, with their weapons at the ready. Two of them remained below deck while two were at the bow and the other four at the cargo. They would offload the crate third and it would be taken into the warehouse and then shipped off elsewhere. The captain came inbound to the east and slowed the boat down as they neared the dock. When they were tied off, the Commanders approached each other. "Sucre was just another vacation compared to this." They spoke in hushed tones.

"Yeah but the fishing is arguably better in the winter than the summer." The other Commander replied as they shook hands. "Alright we've got seven crates onboard here. We're going to need them offloaded. They're stacked in two groups of three with the first one on top of the two. Got that?"

"Yes sir we do. We've got the dolly truck here. We can take three at a time."

"Good to hear. Good to hear. What of the last?"

"We'll just have to make a third trip."

"Three huh? Sounds good. Let's get to work." The small crane on the boat was dropped down into the hold and they attached the cables to the top of the first crate. They pulled it out and dropped it onto the bed of the truck, which was an electric machien that could pull up to three crates at a time. The second came out fine as well and finally, the third, the important cargo, came out of the hold. "Here's the third one. How long until you guys get back with the truck?"

"A few minutes. We just have to drop them off in the check zone and we're good after that. We'll be back in a few minutes." Four of the men of Team Eighteen departed with the truck and drove off to the staging area, where they would be checked. Two did not return. They pulled out the last four crates and loaded them onto the truck and made two trips. When the last crate was loaded, the Commander's shook hands and the deed was done. In the handshake, the Commander from Team Twelve, the "new" delivery boys, exchanged a simple piece of paper, tore from a small notebook. On the paper was twelve sequences of eleven numbers, ranging from three zeroes to three nines. The sequences were nothing near similar. As the boat backed away, the six men jumped onto the truck and drove to the staging area. There, the Commander approached the duty officer. He was a small man, probably no more than nineteen years old and definitely not old enough to be doing anything on this island. The Commander towed over him. "Hey. Remember the deal?" He asked in a hushed tone.

"Yeah. Five large and I look the other way on one crate. What's in it anyways?"

"Nothing you need to know about. Want the money?"

"Yeah man. I don't care nuthin' about this."

"Good. You'll keep quiet right?"

"Man boss I don't care."

"Good." He handed the kid the bills in a tight roll and watched as he put it in his pocket. They loaded up the crates onto another truck and began moving them towards the warehouse. With the confusion around them and the sheer mass of people at the shipyard, they were barely noticed when they never went to the warehouse with the single crate, which they had left for last. The crate, instead, was driven over to their car, waiting on the other side of the warehouse. It was a cargo van, white, and they lifted the crate into it and then piled into it themselves. They were off within minutes and nobody noticed they were gone. An hour later, when the boss was looking for them, nobody knew. They were long gone by then, heading north, through the island, towards the capital. The capital was about four and a half miles away and by the time they were noticed to be gone, they were there already. They had backed into an alleyway, just big enough for the van and offloaded the cargo. The van was then driven away, about six miles, dumped, and set ablaze. They weren't playing.

Layarteb

26-09-2006, 04:12

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Empire. I come to you this morning with news, news about Grenada, news that we can all look forward to and appreciate. The insurgents of Grenada have agreed to open a dialogue with us concerning the actions that have taken place over the past month. The Empire seeks to return Grenada to peace and to the Province of Raef. The island has been under duress since the sixteenth of June and now, one month later, were are here, talking about what transpired.

"I have dispatched a team of negotiators to the island and to the capital, St. George's, in an attempt to avert certain war. The island cannot be allowed to remain 'independent' as they claim. Communism will not stand in the Empire and neither will an insurgency of such proportions be allowed to go on, unchecked. We are allowing one week of unhindrance to the island. We care for the citizenry on the island as they are the citizens of the Empire, whether or not the 'leaders' in power believe so. We are sending aide packages. Countries of the world are sending aide packages. The goal here is to keep the citizens of Grenada alive and well so that when the time comes to reclaim the island, should negotiations fail, we are not one step behind.

"The 'leaders' on the island have two options. The first option is the easiest way out, they resubmit to their power to the Empire and the island saves itself a lot of pain and suffering. If they refuse they can go with option 'B.' I don't have to explain what that option means. The Empire is fully prepared to get back what they have stolen. We are hoping that these negotiations will be successful and that we will not have to go a route that involves guns and weapons. Only time will tell. Good morning all."

The Emperor's speech was short but to the point. He explained the situation and explained it well. There was no doubt that those in St. George's heard him and that was done for a reason. The negotiators in St. George's weren't there for offerings. They were there to give them an ultimatum. If they did not surrender the island by the cessation of the lifting of the blockade, it would be resumed and inevitable war was due on the horizon.

Saint Lazare

26-09-2006, 21:49

"You've got twenty seconds left to live. Do you talk or run?"

The masked man shot him twice in the back and left him to fall over the ground.After he had exited the car garage, he flipped a switch and let the flames burn. At 4000°C, very little - if any - evidence would remain. Of course, there was the side effect of extensive collateral, but he didn't care about that.

He cautiously re-entered Giacomo's office and he bugged the entire computer before he took out another grenade and set it on the desk. He carefully left the office, locking the door once again, and headed to a bar just across the street. After a quick drink, he paid the tab and went back out and triggered the bomb. There were plenty of witnesses around as Giacomo's office quickly burned to the ground, and his own testimony was as clean as any of the other people.

Once he had reached a safe distance, he picked up his phone and gave a call to his hitman - "Tutti fatto, Don Sparetti." [It is finished.] [quick summary...]

This man went by no name. He was born an assassin, a paladin of the night whose armor was secrecy and his lance the fearless pride of a true genius. At his side was a Beretta, his faithful and silent companion since his father died. His mother died by the same sword, and since then, his life has been spent eliminating the filth of society who go out to do violence on other boys and girls' mothers and fathers - sometimes even to the little children as well.

He viewed himself as the Angel of Death, an agent of divine intervention, without the morals of convention and the restraints of guilt. He shaved all of his hair [all of it] and routinely bled his wrists, as if to purge the sins of some unreasonable threshold. This would explain the numerous scars on his body and his arms...

His only true guilt was to watch another innocent die. And his lot was the specific sort that Sparetti followed and recruited. In fact, they both trod the same path; only Sparreti believed that he was alrerady condemned, whereas this man believes himself to be a savior of sorts - quite opposite perspectives indeed. But of this man, only Sparetti knew of him - and they had both agreed in advance; the mess needs a little clean-up.

After raiding Giacomo's office and life, he followed the leads given by Sparetti's analysis. Elements of the Esmeralda cartel were the cue to something bigger, and as such, something bigger was at work here than just a big drug trail. At the moment, his sole fixation was DVQ. What was it?

He decided to drive down to Dock 14, to figure out what went on there. He donned his apparel and went up the head quartermaster. It was empty, and the clouds covered any sort of lighting available. It was a run-down place, an obviously perfect location to leak material into the Empire. He approached the office and knocked politely. No one answered. He knocked again; no answer again. He pulled out his pistol and knocked on the door once again. This time, a slight creak indicated a living presence inside. He put away his Beretta and waited for the old man to open the door.

"¿Si? ¿Que haz?" [Yes? What are you doing?]

"¿Hablas ingles?" [Do you speak English?]

"Si… un poco. ¿Mas por qué venís aquí?” [Yes... a little. But what brings you here?]

"Asunto de la familia." [Family Business.]

The man entered the office and stand around waiting. The place was a leaking with extraneous matter - any evidence left would be insignificant, so he was more reassured. Besides, he left no evidence in any event. The harbormaster looked quizzically at his strange visitor and asked him. "Que eso tu ascunto?" [What is your business?]

With that, the man whipped out his pistol and aimed it straight for the man's head. He trembled in shock and fear. "¡No se cosa!" [I don't know anything!]

"A lie. And speak English. At least we'll both understand each other better."

The man pointed at some manifests. "There!"

The assassin looked at the papers and shook his head. "I want the port history of this dock. More specifically, I want to know what exactly happened here four days ago."

"They come, they leave! That is all!"

"Who's they?"

"¡No se! They come, they go! ¡Eso todos que yo se!" [That's all I know!]

"Start giving me names, or else I'll make certain the Empire finds a nice grave for you."

"I know nothing! They come."

"Names!" He removed the safety lock and held his finger at the ready. The man continued to tremble and was on the verge of fainting.

"Only one name I know. He come here often. Se llama Vencedor."

"What did he talk about?"

"That all I know. He come, he go."

The assassin lifted his pistol and stepped back to the papers, taking them all up. The old man felt a breath of ease and sat on his chair, overlooking the harbor. The assassin looked back at the man and smiled. "You've been the most uncooperative SOB I've ever met. I hope you rot in hell."

He took one simple shot to the neck and let the man bleed in his own filth on the ground. He carefully recovered the round and took up all the information that he could secure. All of the papers, he stuffed into a small portfolio, and stole away the shipping records from the computer, leaving behind his customary bug to eat away his evidence. He then left his bomb package right at the door, such that when the next man opened the door, he would trigger the very blast that deletes all of the physical evidence of his presence there. As he set his bomb trap, he also realized that he needed to buy some more... and that would come soon.

[ooc: I hope that this is workable...]

Layarteb

27-09-2006, 03:14

July 16 - 13:34 HRS

"So what do we have here? Close proximity with a door. Dead instantly. Forty-five feet away. Through a window. Into a wall. Nothing left of the office, dead body inside, probably dead before the explosion. Looks like a bomb."

"We've got that sir. That was the easy part."

"Did you recover a detonator?"

"We did."

"And the problem there being?"

"Sir. It's nothing on record. None of the investigators have seen it before."

"Military grade?"

"Definitely. We're still running a trace on the explosives. We don't have anything yet but we're working on it. Dead man is the harbor master. Autopsy is going to be ready in about an hour and a half."

"Good to hear. So. Who is this guy?"

"We're still checking."

"So he comes to work maybe. Opens the door and boom. He's dead, whole place is destroyed."

"Yeah sir. Enough explosives to vaporize everything in there and weaken the structure. We found it in a suitcase. Detonator was linked to the door. Door opens, kaboom!"

"Bomber is probably halfway around the world by now. Half way by the time the bomb blew up."

"The way it was rigged, it was definitely indiscriminate. The bomber wasn't aiming to kill just one person. The harbor master was killed, that was definitely the primary crime. The death of this guy, that could have been anyone."

"So the aim wasn't to kill but rather to destroy. The bomber had to be as far away as possible. No no he was here to destroy something. This has to be related to the shoot out on the 11th between the Esmeralda Cartel and some other group. Do you think he was with that other group?"

"Possibly." The investigation surrounding a mysterious bombing and double murder at the Caracas shipyard was definitely something that was worth noting. Media crew were all around the docks, interviewing anyone who claimed to hear anything. Even the Governor was given a short sound byte. In light of the shooting and the bombing/double murder, security was going to be beefed up. Police officers would be patrolling the docks with submachine guns, beefing up the border security there. International sections were already beefed up but the domestic sections were lacking, those would have concentrated efforts. Most of the ports in the Empire were safe and secure but Caracas fell through the cracks. Now they were beginning to reap what they sowed.

Layarteb

28-09-2006, 02:22

July 20, 2006

There were just two days left in the negotiations and they weren't coming along well. Aide and supplies had stopped completely and now the ports and airports were quiet. Those who managed to sneak out did but several more snuck onto the island, most sympathizers. The military was estimating that they were going to be fighting around 40,000 Grenadian soldiers and citizens who had taken up arms against the Empire. In reality the number was much less, only around 17,000, at most since the blockade went down just four days earlier. Negotiators were making little headway but only because they refused to compromise. The Empire wasn't going to allow Grenada to be independent and Grenada wasn't going to allow itself to be part of the Empire. Offers had been passed but none of them were convincing to either side.

The Emperor was fully briefed on the situation in St. George's and he didn't like it one bit. He could see that he was being played for a fool but he would stay the course. The one week of negotiations that the Grenadians promised were determined from the start. They knew that the Empire wouldn't falter and they wouldn't either. They only asked for it to beef themselves up and get as many supplies and guns on the island as they could, so that they could put up some fight. Still, they couldn't end the blockade just yet, not unless something had been done that would warrant it. The Emperor definitely had something up his sleeve. He was waiting for Brigadier General Delaney to arrive to go over a special operation that would put an abrupt end to this cease fire and remove any hope that the Grenadians could have for foreign support.

"General. Please. Have a seat." He said as Jack walked into the office, saluting the Emperor when he came to a stop in front of the desk. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you about Grenada."

"I'm all ears sir."

"Good. As you know, negotiations are not working. The Grenadians are playing us for fools, funneling in supplies and weapons. We need to end this blockade right away and take our island back. However, ending the blockade prematurely will only harden certain countries against us and we don't need an international coalition in Grenada fighting us. However, the longer we wait, the more weapons and the more supplies they get in there. That means the longer that they can prolong this fight."

"Logical. What are you suggesting sir?"

"Our negotiation team is weak. They're too idealistic and too unconcerned with war to be in their position. Already they have asked for another week extension on the blockade cease fire only to 'discuss' further. They're feeding us to the communists and they can't even realize what is going on here."

"That would make sense sir."

"None of them are vitally important to the Empire and I regret that they must be sacrificed so that the island can return to safety and to the Empire. Their deaths must be galvinized to bring us to war against the Grenadians."

"You want me and my team to kill them?"

"Just you. The less people involved in this the better."

"How do you want it done?"

"Assassination General."

"Where?"

"They're staying in a hotel only a mile and a quarter from the government center."

"Bombing or shooting?"

"I'll leave that up to you. Your clearance will be as usual. I want this done by tomorrow. They aren't scheduled to begin negotiations again until 13:00 tomorrow so you'll have plenty of time. You'll fly in immediately."

"Understood sir." Within an hour, he was sitting on an airplane at Layarteb City International with a hundred other people, all of them flying down to Cuba. From there, he would fly down to the island and do what he had to do for the Empire and for the future.

Layarteb

28-09-2006, 04:58

Point Salines IAP was quiet when the Boeing 737-600 touched down. The flight was loaded and for two classes, the maximum they could carry was 110 people. They had 101 people, Brigadier General Delaney being that last addition to the flight. The 737-600 was a medium range jetliner that wasn't that large to begin with but when it touched down on the runway, it was the biggest thing sitting there. It was night time and the tower directed the lone aircraft to taxi to one of the terminals at the other end of the airport. As much as Delaney was on an assassination mission, he would be conducting reconnaissance as well. He noticed that the runway was full of soldiers, all uniformed and all carrying former ILM weapons. They had countless machine gun positions set up and they were fully prepared for a Marine invasion against the airport. He could see that any fight for that airport wasn't going to be taken by a single platoon but rather a battalion or more. The 737 linked up with the terminal and two men with guns were there to greet the passengers when they stepped onto the walkway. "Welcome to the Democratic Republic of Grenada. Please follow us to the inspection counter and have your documents ready. Thank you." They were polite but they meant business. Their weapons were slung around their shoulders but they would pull them if they had to and they were good shots. Neither looked older than twenty-two years old and they were definitely locals. Being in first class, Brigadier General Delaney was one of the first men off the plane, carrying only a single bag, which had his documents in them. His cover was that of a messenger to the Layartebian negotiators and his documents would show those details. If it was researched, the negotiation team would not put up a fight, they were expecting him. It would make the assassination that much easier.

Fourth in line, Delaney stepped forward when asked and presented his documents. "Good evening. I'm here to deliver a special message to the negotiators in St. George's. My documents here will show that and if you wish to check with them, I would not mind waiting."

"We'll check. Please have a seat." They whispered something to each other and Delaney took a seat, comfortably. The two men at the counter watched as the line was diverted to the next counter. They picked up the phone and dialed their superior. "Colonel. We've got a diplomat here to see the negotiators in St. George's. The man's name is Justin Sinclair. Yes. We'll hold him for now." He hung up the phone. "Mr. Sinclair. Our superior is going to check with St. George's. Please remain here. Next in line, please step forward."

"Hi. My name is Mark Yull. I'm with the aide organization South Hemisphere."

"Understood. Let us check these documents." Delaney waited, taking mental notes of what he could see. All of the soldiers were arranged in groups of two and they carried M30A3 Carbines and M30A4 Assault Rifles. The officers had sidearms but the regular infantry did not. He couldn't decipher the ranks just yet but he suspected that they had not changed from the Layartebian ones used on the island before it was turned into a communist bordello. Twenty minutes went by and Delaney stood up.

"Excuse me. Might I use the restroom?"

"Escort him." The man commanded to two soldiers standing not more than five feet away. He was not lying but he was also setting up a ploy. He had left a small listening device on his chair before he got up and he had the earpiece tucked into his right ear. He would listen to their conversation when he wasn't around. They said nothing meaningful and were, for the most part, not shining him on either, they believed him but they still had to check. When he returned, the phone rang and he was cleared. "Have a good stay Mr. Sinclair and I hope the best of luck to you and that this situation resolves peacefully." From the look, he meant it.

"I couldn't agree more. Where can I get a car?"

"You'll be taken there."

"Good." He followed two more soldiers through the terminal, noting the armories and communications posts that were linking the entire airport. It appeared that the Grenadians had consolidated themselves to this one terminal and that meant a decipation strike was easy. Satellites were looking down at the 737-600 parked at the terminal and analysts were taking note of the positioning. When he reported back to the Emperor and his reconnaissance data was analyzed they would add the terminal to the target list. Because of its size it would need a flight of three aircraft with two to four bombs each. The terminal wouldn't survive a single sortie. The car they stepped into was a Chevrolet Caprice Classic, a wide bodied and heavy vehicle that was definitely a non-armored car of supreme potential. "Nice car."

"Thank you Mr. Sinclair. Please, if you don't mind?" They opened the back door or him and let him set inside, closing the door after he was inside the vehicle. Both soldiers sat in the front, their weapons at their sides. "Please fasten your seatbelt sir."

"It would be foolish not to." It was a shame he was going to have to kill them, they were cordial and polite, definitely caught up in their ideology and the villainous pursuit of nonsense by the Supreme Grenadian. They got about a half mile away from the airport when he removed a small shank from his book, improvised and definitely sharp. It wasn't metal either but rather made of sharp and hard plastic. He had recovered it in the bathroom of the 737-600 when he was already onboard and since he didn't have to go through the metal or object detector on the way out of the airport in Grenada, it was never seen. It was small enough to conceal but big enough to slice deeply through the neck. On that dark road, he would do just that, and quickly. With surprise, interrupting the conversation between the two men in the front seat, he made a large gash across the neck of the soldier in the passenger seat, causing him to gurgle and gag on his own blood as he reached for his throat. With the main artery cut it was only a matter of time and just as quickly as he killed the soldier, he had his arm around the head of the driver and the shank up to his artery in his neck. "Pull the car over now." He said sternly. "NOW!"

"Alright. Alright. Come on man don't hurt me." He didn't pull the car over though. Instead, he yanked the wheel hard to the left, sending the rear-wheel drive car into a fishtail that was unrecoverable. The car slammed into a tree off the shoulder at 35 mph. The driver was killed instantly when his skull was fractured on the steering wheel. Delaney, who had braced himself and tightened his belt as the fishtail began, was thrown forward. He held his body firm to avoid whiplash but his body was jerked forward hard enough that he was hurt. His arm was bruised, badly, and his leg was sore. Neck sore as well, he opened the car door and fell out of the backseat.

Groaning in pain, he struggled to his feet, the shank lost from his hands. He had lost it as the car hit and it wound up slicing a small gash in his left hand. The car was silent except for the horn, which was being pressed down by the driver's fractured skull. Delaney, shaking his head and trying to regain some semblance of 20/20 vision, reached into the car and pulled the driver back before he fell to the ground. "Holy shit." He muttered to himself as he looked at the bruises and wounds he suffered. He held his neck slightly and looked at the tree. It was being illuminated by the headlights of the shattered vehicle and steam was rising from the hood. "Damnit." He rose again, lifting himself up by grabbing onto the door of the car. He reached in and picked up the soldiers assault rifle, which had flown against the dashboard. He couldn't get the door open and so he struggled back into the back seat. Painfully and slowly, he reached over the front, bench seat and searched the two soldiers for other weapons. What he recovered was a knife and an M33A2 Pistol. One of them was an officer, the passenger. Satisfied, he fell back out of the vehicle and collapsed back to the ground. The vehicle had lost the battle against the tree and that wasn't good. As the adrenaline dissipated from his bloodstream he began to feel the pain of the powerful collision. Then, he could hear a voice, a strange voice calling from afar. Someone had seen the collision and was rushing over to help. Damnit. A witness. He thought to himself as he watched through the open windows of the car and saw a man about his height rushing over, a grim look on his face.

"What happened? Are you guys okay?" He said, looking into the car. He hadn't seen Delaney yet, who was on the other side of the car, leaning against the driver side door. The man walked around the rear of it, noticing the open door, and was surprised to see Delaney sitting on the ground. "Are you alright? I called an ambulance. They'll be here shortly."

Fucking great. He thought as he looked at the man. "Thank you. Here, help me up." He reached up with his left hand, the knife being in his right. As he stood up he jabbed the knife hard into the man's gut, causing him to double over quickly. Before he realized he had been stabbed, the man had his neck snapped and Jack pushed him into the car. In the distance he could hear the sirens and that wasn't good. He figured that he had a few minutes, if that, and so he withdrew his briefcase immediately and looked underneath the car. The gas tank hadn't been ruptured but when he put his knife through it, it began to spill out gasoline. "Here we go." He removed a book of matches from his bag and lit them. He knew he wouldn't be able to run fast so he had to get as far away as possible and, from ten feet away, he lit the matches and tossed them underneath the car. When he saw the flash he knew he had lit the gasoline on fire. It would only be seconds and so he darted quickly, only able to hobble. When he saw the next flash erupt around him, he hit the ground hard. The car exploded in the night, piercing the silent of the night. The fireball rolled upwards into the air as car parts flew everywhere. That was close. He said as he scrambled to his feet and looked northward. The lights of St. George's were on the horizon and he figured that he could get there quickly if he just stayed on this path. It wasn't more than a mile away from him.

He limped through the jungle towards St. George's and was there in about forty minutes. It was about a mile and a half to St. George's to be exact and when he was there he had to be as quiet and sneaky as possible. The hotel was near the center of town and that was where the government was based. The streets were empty because of an enforced curfew between 23:00 hours and 05:00 hours. Though only an hour into the curfew, he was sure to be the only "civilian" on the streets. Wounded, he was severely limited on what he could do. He had left the assault rifle in the vehicle and kept the knife and pistol. Unfortunately, for him, the pistol was too loud to use for the assassination but it was his best weapon. He had a can of shaving cream in his bag, which was filled with a plastic explosive that could allow him to blow a hole through a solid, two foot, concrete wall. He planned to use it if he had to but it wouldn't have much use for him unless he was trapped somewhere with no exit.

He stuck to back alleys and unlit areas as he moved through the city towards the hotel. He was going to go through the back door of the hotel and sneak his way up through the service entrance and elevator. He had studied the plans to the hotel on the way down and left them to burn in the car as it blew up. His bag around his shoulder and hanging behind him, he moved through the city quicker than he moved through the forest. He had less pain now because his adrenaline was flowing more. He still had a limp though and his arm was still bruised. He stopped the bleeding on his gashed hand and was able to clean himself up somewhat.

He was at the hotel in twenty minutes and he used his lockpicks to break into the service entrance in the back. All of the lights were out around the rear of the hotel and that was good for him since he had to go to the seventh floor, which had been entirely shut down. On the floor would be the three negotiators, their team of twelve aides, and fourteen bodyguards. That was a lot of people to kill and he had to act efficiently and smartly. He had to wipe out each and every one of them and that meant he had to act with what he had. He ascended the service stairs and as he passed the fifth floor, he thought of just how he would do the deed. He needed to get to the elevator room and that meant, unfortunately, he had to go back down, to the basement. It hurt but he did it as fast as he could. In the elevator room, he found just what he needed. Using the camera feed in each elevator he determined that three out of the four of them were unoccupied. He disabled them, leaving just one active elevator cart. He called that car to the basement immediately after it emptied its last load and from there he went to work. The shaft was hot and dangerous and noisy. Using the service ladder, he climbed to the top of the car and took out his can of explosives and worked to put a small ring of explosives not only around the main cable and the other support cables but also around the braking system. He used detonator chord to link them all together and to a small electric detonator that he could detonate with a small emitting device. He released the single elevator back into service and began to work his way back up to the seventh floor, sweat covering his head and body.

The floor was sealed off from just about everywhere. He had picked the lock on the door from the service entrance and wasn't surprised to stare down the barrels of two pistols and two men. "Who are you and what are doing here? Hands up!"

"I'm Justin Sinclair. Here check my right back pocket. My documents are there."

"Stay still." They pulled the gun, knife, and documents from him as well as his bag. "Why do you have a gun and knife?"

"Do you see me?"

"Why are you all bruised up."

"It isn't safe here. Let's get to the main room, I have important information for the negotiators."

"Come with us." They led him to the main room, where they gave him back his weapons. He sat down and plopped onto the chair.

"What the hell happened to you?" The lead negotiator asked.

"Everything went fine when I left the airport. Then we were driving towards the hotel and they tried to kill me. I think they were on a suicide mission because they crashed the car into a tree. I got out in time. The car blew up after that but man they're after me. Look at me. I sliced my hand, my right arm is all bruised and it hurts like hell, my neck is sore, and my left leg feels funny. I am pretty torn up but we have more important problems. The message I am here to bring you is that intelligence deciphered a communique from the Supreme Grenadian. They're going to attack this hotel and burst through the floor and kill all of you. They plan on making it look like something else, to delay the blockade and get more arms. We don't have much time." From the open window all they could hear was the screeching of brakes. "We're out of time!" He stated as he looked around the room.

"Four cars. Loaded with soldiers with guns. That's it. All units. Block the exits." The floor was sealed off again and immediately, the diplomatic staff was being ushered out of the room.

"There's no time. Our safest place is on the roof. The Navy is sending in a few helicopters to get us all out and we need to get out now. There's no time. Get everyone up and ready and out of the building. Quick. To the elevators." It was a longshot but it was working and his credentials were to blame for it. The twenty-nine people all assembled in the main corridor as the sound of footsteps came up the stairwells, echoing throughout the floor. "Yeah they're coming. Hurry up elevator!" The single elevator moved towards the floor and with a ding, it opened up to reveal an empty car. "Everyone in. Now! I'll hold them off. Get to the roof and hide! The helicopters will be here in two minutes. Hurry up!" They thanked him and were in the car, cramed and stuffed beyond capacity. When the doors closed and he could hear the elevator moving, he hit the detonator. The hotel shook and screeching sounds exploded from the elevator shaft. There was no time and he moved to the service stairwell quickly. He moved upwards two flights and waited for the soldiers to come onto the seventh floor before he started moving back down the stairs, towards the basement. He moved quickly, again, the pain filling up his body as he fought it. When he got to the basement, he could see, through the cloud of dust, that the elevator had slammed into the ground hard and fast. He limped over to it, his pistol raised. "Anyone alive? Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?" He yelled out as he approached the elevator car. The doors were smashed open and he looked inside to see bodies, blood, and death. "Is anyone alive? Hello? Yell or move, please, who is alive?" He moved into the car and looked at the bodies. There was no movement and he began to feel for pulses. They were all on top of each other and so it was tough to tell but he found only one pulse and that person was clearly unconscious. With a quick move, he snapped her neck and was out of the hotel, through the same way he had entered.

Saint Lazare

28-09-2006, 15:49

"What is your name?"

"Francesco Simeone."

"Ah, Frank Simmons?"

The assassin sighed and nodded. The ticket counter was buzzling with activity at the airport in Bogota. Despite many years under Layarteb rule, Bogota was still a loose city, with sometimes inefficient measures. In fact, South America brimmed with illicit activities at times - that was the purpose of the War of Drugs after all. In any event, Francesco didn't care too much - he wasn't bringing any drugs, and he had mailed his Beretta in fragments to a mailbox in Havana. It seemed pretty harmless, especially after clearing the box through the post office. While guns were restricted at times, too much attention was being shifted to Grenada and to the Drugs War that the security personnel were content to see that he had already prepared the weapon for transport and mailing. They almost asked him why he was mailing the weapon, but in any event, he would have a legitimate reason:

"My brother is big into guns and he almost always carries one."

"Your brother?"

"Si. He's a cop for the Havana Municipial Police. Or whatever. I just get him the guns, and I saw some merchant in Bogota with the Beretta that he had always wanted, and at a cheap price too. It's almost his birthday, so I just want to make him happy."

"Your brother's a cop and likes to buy foreign guns?"

"Si. Well, I bought it for him as a gift this time, you see? But anyways, he's licensed to carry guns, and besides that he's a cop."

"Who did you buy this from? And who's your brother?"

"Oh, the merchant. He's that old man on 33rd Street and Bolivar Avenue. And my brother is Ernesto Pasado. But you see, he's on some secret assignment. He told me that it was too secret, and he wouldn't tell me what it was."

"He goes undercover often?"

"Yeah. I've tried contacting the police station, precint 15, but they almost always deny his existence. I have to talk to right people in order to figure out who's he's dealing with, but again, he's undercover, so... you're welcome to try. If you manage to get him, I'd actually like to talk to him."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't want to bother him. If he's doing what I think he's doing, then he won't want to be bothered."

"Oh, so you'd know?"

"Not that I know, but I have an idea."

"Really? What would he be doing?"

"Well... it's secret, like you said. Well, not so secret, but... ah, whatever, just sign the dotted line" ... "I'm actually glad that this went so smoothly. If only people learned to clear all of their paperwork in advance."

"I agree. It's only been twenty-four minutes."

"Well, thanks for clearing this out. I'll make this gets sent through. You have a safe day!"

"As to you."

Now, he was at the airport, ready to board his plane to Havana. He had his keys and papers to get his Beretta and get to working on his case once again. The old harbormaster was a little clumsy in keeping his papers in order, and perhaps with good reason - no one everr bothered him. And what was it that Francesco Simeone thought was worthwhile to travel to Havana? The official ship's registry - the same one holding the DVQ - was moved to Havana. Of course, in some irony, DVQ wasn't listed as one of the products abroad. There were several tons of cinder blocks and concrete slabs, but nothing else of that sort. Having been around a lot of ships, he knew that cinder blocks aren't worth much at hiding chemicals, eve for drugs. So what was Sparetti looking for, anyway?

Layarteb

29-09-2006, 05:21

Brigadier General Delaney hobbled off the helicopter when it landed on the deck of an Enterprise CVN carrier. He was under cover as an intelligence agent and he was given immediate medical attention. His bruised arm was almost broken, putting him in a sling and cast for two weeks, to hear the chipped bones. His hand was cleaned, flushed, and bandaged properly and though his leg was fine, he would have to avoid walking on it too much over the next two weeks. In essence, he was out of commission for two weeks and then he would have to do some extra training to make up for lost him. With the cast, it was difficult for him to fire a weapon and so he would take a duely needed vacation. The Emperor would personally award him with a Purple Heart and a Silver Star for the mission and though he would never be able to tell a soul about it, he remembered each and every detail, it was a gift and a curse. He had led all of those people to their deaths by making them trust him. When he set off the detonator on the elevator car he could swear that he saw their faces through the steel doors and all he could think about was the face of one woman and her look of terror when she stepped into the elevator. It was almost as if she knew that she wasn't going to make it out alive. She didn't; none of them did. None of them would live to tell the tale about how a mysterious intelligence agent showed up at their door, bruised, and in need of medical treatment and ushered them all into an elevator to escape from a "death squad" of Grenadian soldiers. In reality, the soldiers were there to provide extra protection to the negotiation team. When they found the burning wreckage of the car and realized that the man in the back seat wasn't the man who climbed in, they pieced it together and imagined him to be an assassin, sent to either kill them to do something bad. They never caught him and they were too late to save the Layartebian delegation. When the Supreme Grenadian got word of the situation, they were eeriely quiet. They didn't know what to do. Would they announce this to the Emperor? Would they just stay quiet? Who would they blame it on? What would they do? They knew that this wasn't good and that they were trusted to protect the delegation and they had failed.

At 11:00 hours, on July 21, they found out their answer, albeit not the way that they wanted to find out. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Empire." The Emperor said in a stern and serious tone to the cameras in front of his desk. The entire Empire would be watching, including Grenada. "Today is a sad day for the Empire and for the peace process in Grenada. Just hours ago, our delegation team was brutally murdered by the insurrectionist Grenadian government. The entire team was found dead in their hotel, obviously murdered by a people that want nothing short of war. This heinous crime will not go without punishment. Because of this grave miscalculation by myself and the Cabinet, as to the true motives of the insurrectionists, we are forced to take severe and instant action. All the while, the 'leaders' of Grenada have been funneling in arms and soldiers and rations, preparing for a fight. Peace was never a desire for them and each and every offer we put on the table was refused. They believed not in compromise but only their own ideals and goals. Now they have murdered a delegation team sent there only for the prospect of peace. What are we to do now?

"Effective immediately, all aide workers are to evacuate the island lest they want to be caught up in serious trouble. The blockade will resume immediately and all aide workers leaving the island by boat will be subject to inspection. The 'leaders' and their 'soldiers' will not escape from their War Crimes. The 'leaders' of Grenada will be hereby given twenty-four hours from this moment to surrender the island back to Layarteb City. This is their final chance and their final warning. Should they decide against this course of action, they will be forced at the barrel of a gun to return to what it once was. Thank you and have a good day."

There it was, the entire ballgame. The Emperor had beaten them to the punch and immediately, the Supreme Grenadian suspected that the whole ploy, the whole assassination was a set up. They searched travel records as quickly as they could but the only record they had was of a Justin Sinclair who arrived just hours before the assassination and was involved in a car accident that left both soldiers dead, one having died from his throat being cut, and another civilian who had his neck snapped and stabbed in the gut. The fire resulting from the accident was found to be arson when they found the hole in the gas tank and the dribblets of gasoline moving away from the wreck as well as some blood drops. When they analyzed the blood droplets they found it had no match. When they tried to match up the name, they found nothing. Whomever Justin Sinclair was, he didn't exist by that name nor did he exist period. The Supreme Grenadian had no chance for success, not after this folly.

Layarteb

30-09-2006, 20:19

July 22, 2006
12:45 hrs

The 164 ship blockade, consisting of two AARGs with two divisions of Marines, one CVEG, and one CVBG, moved back into position, blockading the island between 6 and 20 nautical miles. They would inspect some seventeen ships escaping the island, some loaded with Grenadian civilians, others loaded with aide workers. They would all be cleared to pass but they were still monitored all the way to their ports. The island was like a Bulls eye, smack dab around a ring of potential destruction and devestation. Martial law went into effect on the island as the government tried, desparately, to state that it had nothing to do with the killing of the Layartebian delegation. Few wanted to hear them and those who did were powerless to act. The Empire was a poweful force in the world and messing with the Empire was something few nations would ever care to do, especially when the odds were so heavily stacked, against them. Quiet fell over the island as civilians took up shelter and the military made its final preparations to fight for the island against a technologically and logistically superior force. The battleships were the most ominous sign for the island. They couldn't see the carriers, those were over the horizon, where they couldn't be engaged so easily by anti-ship missiles. With their guns turned inward, towards the island, the battleships circled with the frigates and destroyers and cruisers. Their guns were forboding and looking through telescopes and binoculars wasn't helping. Each barrel had a shell loaded and ready to go and all that was required of them was a simple order, the order to fire. Once that order came, the shells would come flying towards the island at a few thousand feet per second, bringing with them enough explosive and kinetic potential that they could wipe out fortified positions in a matter of a single barrage.

Twenty-four hours later, when the ultimateum was up, things became eerie and grim. The island was eeirely quiet. They expected operations to begin during the night, when the cover of darkness would make it harder to see the strike coming and to defend against it. Night time operations were a staple point of the ILM, especially when their classified, stealth aircraft came out to bomb targets from altitudes way above the ceilings of most surface-to-air missiles. The military on the island had barely gotten control over the massive military apparatus left behind on the island but they were in possession of several aircraft. They had twenty-four UH-95A Super Huey utility helicopters, twelve AH-94A Stalker attack helicopters, forty-eight UH-60M Black Hawk utility helicopters, twenty-four F-16G Super Falcon fighter planes, twenty-four FB-22B Manta light bombers, and sixty-four F-22B Raptor interceptor planes. It was a puny military, by far, and they wouldn't last very long against the Empire but they could try. Their capability of air defense was severely limited. They had no control over the long-range or even the medium-range SAMs that were stationed on the island. All they retained control over were LAADS units, Predator units, Equalize Air Defense units, and what MANPADs were left. Their actual "army" was mostly infantry, light and medium trucks, some armored personnel carriers and infantry fighting vehicles, namely Bradleys, and for tanks, they mustered several M1A4 Abrams tanks that were sitting in storage, awaiting to be phased out by the newer Sabertooth, the tank that they would be facing.

Walking along the western coast of the island, looking out to sea, were three soldiers of the DPRG military. They wore their uniforms proudly and shouldered their M30A3 Carbines as they smoked and patrolled. Their job was to watch for any amphibious landing craft or inflatable boats, which would mean Special Operations Forces, the most deadly troops of the Empire. As they patrolled a small, two mile stretch of the coast just a mile and a half north of Grenville, where there was a small military airfield that was used by the Layartebian Coast Guard when they were on the island. It had a small runway, only about a mile long, enough for their HH-130 Super Hercules' that they flew. The HH-130 needed a runway 3,050 feet long for a normal take off and this was enough. In bad storms, they would have plenty of runway beneath them to land and take off. Out on the horizon, approximately nine nautical miles off, was a Layartebian battleship, a Layarteb Class, armed with nine 16-inch guns for their main assault and another twelve 5-inch guns for their secondary assault battery.

"You see that out there?" One of the soldiers asked, taking a drag of his cigarette, eyeing the battleship on the horizon. "That's what I'm talking about."

"What is? The battleship?"

"Yeah. It's there. We're here."

"What's your point?"

"My point is this. How do we expect to win when they have those?"

"What makes you think they'll fight? Look at the time? They're past due."

"Alright. Let's break this down." He took another drag and exhaled. "The Empire is no laughing matter. The Emperor is no slouch. If he gives an ultimateum and it isn't honored he attacks. He's done it how many times before? We're just another one of those times. There are 164 warships around our island, thousands of Marines, helicopters, aircraft. Missiles, guns, they've got it all. We don't have shit. What makes us think we can defeat them?"

"Grace of God?" The other soldier jokingly interrupted.

"It's not funny. When they come on shore and see us standing here what are they going to do? Ask us directions? No. We're going to get shot."

"That's the idea, unless we shoot first. Our idea."

"It's not like we can go anywhere. They drafted us into this. I never wanted to be a soldier. I like the idea of equality but I'm no fan of this damn weapon." He gave a tug to his carbine. "I'm not happy with this shit either. They say things will be different but they won't be. I'll take the Empire over this group."

"What are you, some traitor?"

"Aren't we all traitors?"

"No. There's a difference. The Empire never had a right to our land. They took it by force. So we took it back."

"And they'll reclaim it. By force!"

"Still. Look how late they are on the deadline?"

"So? Night time is coming. You know what that means? Stealth fighters. Bombs we can't see, only hear."

"We've got night vision."

"We have little supplies. The blockade fell. Yeah we got what we needed but not enough. We can't hold out forever."

"That's why the United Eastasian Republic will back us up. Don't you forget? They recognized us. They're going to help us. You know. I bet. That somewhere. On this island. Is a whole division of UER soldiers, just waiting for the Layartebian Marines. They're here. I bet they have fighter planes too."

"Yeah. I haven't heard anything."

"Me either."

"They're here. Just you watch. When they come ashore our communist fellows will be there to back us up."

"You hope and wish. They won't be here. Who is the UER to throw and spit in the face of the Empire? They're powerful yeah. They recognized us. Yeah. So what though. It doesn't meant shit. The Empire is still going to attack us. The UER has their own interests at heart and that means self-interest. We're on our own. You think they'll send people to die here? Tens of thousands of miles away? I doubt it. No. Nobody is here but us."

"You're a cynic. And a traitor."

"I'm neither. I'm a realist." Just then, out, on the horizon, a big flash of fire erupted from the battleship. "What the hell? Did we just hit it?" He said, looking at the flames and smoke as they rose into the sky. The silhouette of the battleship remained the same.

"GET DOWN!" The three soldiers slammed down into the ground as two things happened. The first was the sound of the shells overhead, a distinct sound that they would never forget. They sounded a bullet but much bigger, louder, and faster, it seemed. Then, about 250 meters behind them, there was an explosion. The nine rounds impacted a communications center, splintering it and sending it into the air in pieces no bigger than a human toe. Then, the sound of the explosion of the cannons, a dull booming sound, lingered on the horizon. The time was 12:00 hours [local time] and the war began, 13:00 hours in Layarteb City, 2,100 miles away...

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/layarteb-broadside-01.jpg
ILN Layarteb Class firing full broadside against island of Grenada, as seen from air.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/layarteb-broadside-02.jpg
ILN Layarteb Class firing full broadside against island of Grenada, as seen from deck.

Layarteb

30-09-2006, 20:20

Layarteb

30-09-2006, 20:21

OOC: Please note that this RP is still in the past. The war began on July 22 so any international reactions will, obviously, be past made. A new chapter will follow shortly so please wait until it is posted before any IC posts begin. Thank you.

Layarteb

30-09-2006, 21:59

Chapter XIV: Stillborn

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Empire," the Emperor began, his office in the background, his manner stern and opposing. He sat up straight, his suit and tie perfectly fixed, his hair neat, and his face severe. He stared directly out, at the camera, and relaxed his hands in front of him slightly, clasped together, on his desk. It was quiet in there and most of the Cabinet was present. "I regret that I come to you this afternoon, on the 22nd of July, 2006, with bad news. The island of Grenada, as has been the focus of discussion over the past month, remains at the forefront of policy matters.

"Just yesterday, our delegation to the island was brutally and horrifyingly murdered by agents of the Grenadian 'government.' I use the term 'government' loosely ladies and gentlemen. The island of Grenada was ruled by no officially government but rather insurgents who sought a dream of communistic equality and oppression, only to succeed themselves, where the Empire would have stopped them because of their moral decay and criminal desires. I gave, at 11:00 hours, the 'government' just twenty-four hours to end this rubbish, surrender the island and its captive citizens back to the Empire, and bow out peacefully. I hoped that my offer would not be refused.

"Since the inception of the 'communist republic' in Grenada, the leadership has done nothing but lie, cheat, and steal. They have told lies to the world when they requested the blockade be dropped for negotiations and for supplies. They wanted no negotiations and supplies were arms. They received food and medicine, yes but they receieved even more guns, bullets, and soldiers. They have cheated their way through the peace process by offering no compromise and by murdering our delegation team, senselessly and without cause. They have stolen the island of Grenada away from the people of the Empire and the Empire as a whole and have refused to surrender it back, respectfully. After all of their lies and deceptions, they were still given twenty-four hours to surrender the island or face surrender by force. Like I stated before, I hoped that my offer would not be refused.

"It has been twenty-six hours and not one communique has come from the 'leadership' there. We cannot stand by and fall as fools. Just one hour ago, I authorized all of our military forces to set REDCON 3 and commence Operation Urgent Restoration at 13:00 hours. I come to you now, fifteen minutes into that operation, to inform the public that their sons, brothers, fathers, and friends are now, officially, engaged in fighting. They will see hard times and there will be losses. You cannot have war without casualties and for that I would like to apologize in advance. I know not the pain and suffering of a mother who has lost a son or a wife who has lost a husband. Words cannot console and my apology may be meaningless but let my explanation be meaningful. It is through the sacrifice that they will give that millions, nay, billions can go on safely. It is a shame that there must be sacrifices like these but warfare is as such.

"Let me offer something that, I hope, is understood by all. It is good that men should die in war so that we never grow comfortable with it. Thank you and good day." The cameras went dark as news stations all around the Empire picked up, slowly. War had been declared on Grenada and every news station was just lying around, waiting for the official announcement.

On the Layarteb News Network, Shepard Smith, with a somber tone took the air and looked right into the cameras. "The day we've gone to war with our brothers is a sad day for the Empire. Let's take a commercial break now." A graphic, without audio, flashed across the screen of a Layartebian fighter diving and releasing a bomb into another graphic of the island of Grenada appeared.

The Emperor, inside his office, removed the microphone from his lapel and the cameras were removed from the office quickly. He stood up from his desk, buttoned his suit jacket and walked towards the television screen. It was showing a twelve split screen and in each box was a member of the Cabinet not present at the meeting, including the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who was down in the Joint Operations Center, deep below the fortress on Governor's Island. "So how are we doing?" The Emperor asked as he looked at an animation of the ensuing battle.

Layarteb

01-10-2006, 03:10

The first and so far only shots of the war came from the Imperial Layartebian Navy. The mighty battleships surrounding the island had opened up their main guns and were shelling dozens of positions on the coasts of the island. Communications bunkers were primary targets but so were bunkers and barracks. The airfield had already been peppered by three dozen 16-inch and two dozen 18-inch rounds, slamming down onto its runway, hangars, and control tower with fury and fervor. The cruisers and frigates, with their 5-inch ETC guns opened up as well, using their more accurate but not as deadly ammunition to take out tactical targets. They fired submunition carrying rounds over the airfield and over troop positions. They fired high-explosive and armor piercing rounds through bunkers and other coastal positions. However, gunfire wasn't the only onslaught that the island was facing. Some three hundred cruise missiles, mostly Tomahawk IIs, were flying towards the island at high speed with devestating accuracy. Satellite targetting worked wonders for the navy, using it to target troop positions deep within the island. With each impact, the island shook. When the Imsdal missiles began to be launched, the hardest targets were no longer safe. Missiles penetrated through bunkers and fortified positions without any resistance whatsoever. Still, the troops hadn't come and the planes hadn't been launched.

Three hours would pass by of constant shelling and missile targetting before the first aircraft took off. AWACS aircraft and their escorts had been airborne for hours before but they weren't targetting anything, yet. They could guide AMRAAM, BVRAAM, and Dodsengel missiles through datalink but that wouldn't be necessary here. F-35 Ravens and F-14 Super Tomcats were the first to take off. Ravens would go deep inland and begin striking anti-aircraft positions as the Super Tomcats would provide combat air support. From the Imperial Layartebian Air Force, heavy bombers were airborne and flying towards the island to drop their payloads on the runways and on the capital, aiming for the government. They aimed for a decapitation strike, which would, hopefully, end this war before the first troops set foot on the island. Unfortunately, the governmental leaders had taken up refuge outside of the capital, in the countryside to the northeast, in a bunker that was built specifically for that purpose. It was buried too deep in the ground for it to be reached by strike missiles. Only a direct strike by an ICBM warhead could do some damage to the bunker and that was a hard possibility. It wasn't on any map nor was it visible from a satellite. Buried 115 feet before the surface of the island it was one of the countless 'impenetrable' bunkers in the Empire.

As the Ravens and Super Tomcats were joined by F-16 Super Falcons and F-22 Raptors from the air force and F-26 Typhoons and F-37 Razors from the navy, the Marines finally were ready to go. The first on the island would be reconnaissance platoons, deployed via helicopter, mostly on UH-95 Super Hueys but some would go in by parachuting out of MC-11B CSA aircraft, flying in at 1,100 feet. They would barely have enough time to pick a landing spot before they were on the ground at that altitude but it also meant that they would be on the ground in no time. They would be joined by two teams of SEALs as well, teams 22 and 43 of the 2nd Special Operations Group. These were the same teams that, one month earlier, had scored a 100 on their jungle warfare training course, earning the right to play the OPFOR in future assaults. Both teams would act independently of each other, one being dropped in on the northern section of the island, parachuting out of a CH-53 Super Stallion II whereas the other team would be deployed near the capital, being dropped into the water just a hundred yards from shore by a UH-95 Super Huey.

With Team 22 on the north and 43 on the capital, they were going to have independent mission priorities as well. Team 22 was tasked with destroyed a pair of naval gun batteries and disabling the power station. Team 43 was tasked with capturing the governmental HQ in St. George's and the apprehension of the government leaders. Force Falcon Team One was excluded from the attack because of Delaney's injuries so Team Three went in their place, opting to be dropped in via MC-11B CSA, near the capital, with the mission priority of capturing the government leaders, should Team 43 be unable to meet that goal.

Saint Lazare

01-10-2006, 06:57

Francesco arrived in Havana the day after the war began again in Grenada. For that reason, there was a heightened military presence over Cuba, mobilizing the troops available for possible action there. He didn't care too much about it - his concern was DVQ, whatever it was. He sought out the USB vessel, in a random port. Immediately, there were subtle differences - the harbor was patrolled more efficiently by soldiers and guards. It might have been the war, or the fact that something happened in Caracas and Imperial officials were somewhat shocked into over-guarding their ports.

Nonetheless, he did what he did best.

He followed one of the port workers to his house. He careful not to elicit any suspicion from the man, and furthermore from other people. His house was in one of the lower levels of the city, not very prominent. It was likely that his target didn't have much to offer society save a decent work ethic - if even that. He cautiously walked into the apartment and found the man entering his room.

"Excuse me, may I use your telephone?" he asked.

"What do you need?"

"Well, do you have cell phone?"

"Are you crazy? Those things are too expensive. Besides, I no use for them."

"Well, I need to call home. My car just broke across the street and I need to get a mechanic. Of course, I left my cell phone at home."

The man was gullible. He unlocked his door and invited Simeone. He went inside and put down his tools and left his keys at the table. Simeone closed the door and moved to the phone. He noticed that the floor was cheap linoleum - a perfect set-up. Without wasting another moment, he pulled out his weapons and shot two straight in the man's head and back. He fell limp and collapsed, death at the first strike. Just then, the church bells rang from across the street - indicating Sunday evening mass. Simeone thought himself in the best position possible because of that. But still, he had to clean up his mess, and retrieved the bullets. Again, he set up his customary bomb, with a remote access. Having set-up the bomb, he picked up the man's keys and his identification papers, which gave him access to the harbor - what he needed. Having cleaned the area, he left and waved good-bye to the dead body. "Thank you for letting me use your phone!" The neighbor next-door, an elderly woman looked at him with a tsking appearance.

"Is there something, senora?"

"Orlando has not paid for his phone service in over three months now."

"Oh really? I just used his phone..."

"He's not Orlando. This man is - and he hasn't answered me for the past five minutes, and I've been knocking too. Diego pays his stuff on time all of the time, and he never has any problems. If they weren't brothers, I'd boot out Orlando! But he's lazy biyatch."

"I don't know what to say. Why don't they live in the same room?"

"Hell, Diego knows Orlando is a lazy biyatch, so he doesn't want to live with him. He'd rather pay more for one room, than to share it with his brother. Heck, he'd still have to pay for the room by himself, because Orlando never leaves his room."

"Ah, well. Diego is a good person."

"Si. May God save his soul, and damn his lazy brother. I swear - if he doesn't come by the next week, I'm calling the police."

Simeone nodded, somewhat in agreement and they walked out to the stairs. He saw another person pass by, and all the while, he was thinking that there were too many witnesses. So it seemed that the old landlady was going across the street to the church as well, so Simeone thought that it was convenient to have a good witness nearby - as long as she could't reason to herself why Simeone wasn't the man who burned her apartment to the ground. She'd blame Orlando, of course - the lazy SOB who played too much to fire one time. Of course, with the amount of energy packed, the impending fire thereafter would practically burn the entire building to the ground in a matter of minutes, long before the fire department couldd reach the building, and by then the bodies would be marred far beyond recognition, and likewise the bomb's evidence would tell them that the same man from Caracas was now in Havana. By then, he would be at the ports, figuring out what DVQ was, hopefully in time to stop the plans.

Layarteb

01-10-2006, 07:31

All throughout Saturday, the bombings continued on the island of Grenada. Live feed from satellites and on board naval ships was being fed into the JOC and the Emperor's office. As the sun set on the horizon over Layarteb City, where it was peaceful, calm, and bustling, the sun was already past set over the island of Grenada. The dusk of evening fell upon the island as fires burned uncontrollably in more than two hundred spots across the island. The Marines had landed, a full a division of them, moving inward, capturing strategic points, fighting the communists the whole way. Their advance was mostly on foot. The towns and cities would be attacked with armor. As the Marines advanced down dirt roads and through the jungle, they came under intense fire from dozens of spots across the island. They responded in due force, firing their weapons effectively, efficiently, and rapidly. They were storming over the communists like it was no tomorrow.

SEAL Team 22 had already reached the powerplant and planted a satchel charge by the main generator. The explosion rocked the substation, which took electricity generated by the nuclear powerplant and distributed it across the island. When the generators shattered and splintered to bits and pieces, everything went dark for the enemy. Four more substations were taken out by Marine teams, much in the same fashion. Though they would have to rebuild everything, they tried their best to limit the damage only to necessary targets.

At the capital, SEAL Team 43 was already moving through the streets, meeting heavy resistance. The Grenadians had fortified the city and the only way in and out was through ambush traps and countless barricades. They would have to be cleared by fighter-bombers and ground soldiers before any armor could get into the city, which contained 7,500 soldiers and 27,500 civilians within its limits. Attack helicopters assisted the process by using their anti-tank missiles to clear our ambush positions and destroy what armor the Grenadians scraped together.

The air war was non-existent. The few Raptors and Super Falcons the enemy managed to get off the ground were engaged and destroyed by Raptors and Super Tomcats flying for the air force and navy, respectively. The enemy did manage to get a few Super Hueys off the ground to aide their positions but these met much of the same fate, crashing due to collisions with air-to-air missiles. By midnight, when the clocks changed from July 22 to July 23, the enemy had suffered no less than 1,600 casualties and the Empire only 22. It was such a lopsided battle to begin with and it would carry on until the island was back in the control of the Empire. So far only 65 civilians had died as a direct result of the invasion, good numbers for a close quarters conflict.

Layarteb

01-10-2006, 18:26

July 22, 2006 - 23:21 AST
Victoria, Grenada

The Marine Reconnaissance Platoon, attached with the 1st Company, 3rd Battalion, 2nd Regiment, 1st Brigade, 8th Division. The Marines had landed in force with a full division hitting the island and another division in reserve. The other division was aboard the Amphibious Assault Ready Group as well, waiting to be deployed as well. The 8th Division was doing well as they were assaulting the island. There were eleven major cities to seige and take control over as well as the interior of the island. From the north of the island, moving clockwise, the cities were: Sauteurs, Tivoli, Grenville, Marquis, Saint Davids, Calivigny, Belmont, St. George's, Grand Roy, Gouyave, and Victoria. Each division was loaded with three brigades, each brigade having three regiments, each regiment having, four battalions, each battalion having four companies, and each company having four platoons. Each of the one hundred and forty-four companies had one reconnaissance platoon and they were deployed in advance of the rest of the company, organized in four squads of eight soldiers. Even still, they stuck in two groups of sixteen. They moved fast, were lightly armed, and were on strict missions to recon for the advancing soldiers. One of them was deployed to Victoria, on the northwestern side of the island. The main town was a fishing port, which was Victoria.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/victoria-01.jpg

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/victoria-02.jpg

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/victoria-03.jpg

However, that wasn't to dissuade from the importance of the town. The Grenadians had at least 2,500 troops sitting inside the town, with at least a dozen M1A4 Abrams tanks, two dozen M2A4 Bradley IFVs, and a score of trucks and technicals. They had seized hundreds of pickups on the island and fitted M50A1 Heavy Machine Guns to the vehicles, which were, makeshift technicals. These were a big threat since they were fast and agile. Though they were unarmored and the gunners were exposed, they were much harder to hit than a tank. The reconnaissance platoons were equipped with SLATDWs, giving them extra firepower but they would have to aim carefully because these technicals weren't easy to hit, by any means.

"This is Archangel 22. Come in Big Mother. Come in. Over." The radioman said into the backpack radio set. The reconnaissance platoon was on site, in a small house on the edge of the town. So far they had observed two tanks and a pair of anti-aircraft guns and that wasn't all either.

"Go ahead Archangel 22. Over."

"Roger that. We've got. Two confirmations on Abrams. Two confirmations on EADS. Two confirmations on Bradleys. Confirmation on over 400 enemy soldiers. This town is packed with bad guys. Over."

"Roger that. Vectoring in Lion 1. Flight is F-35 Ravens equipped for CAS. Over."

"Roger that. ETA? Over."

"ETA is 5 minutes. Contact on frequency 8. Over."

"Roger that. Archangel 22 out." They sat comfortable in the house as they listened to muffled explosions, miles into the distance. They used their night vision goggles to see into the village and a thermographic telescope was going to be used to spot individuals and vehicles when they couldn't be seen. This would be enough to vector the Ravens in on targets they couldn't see. "Lion 1. Lion 1. This is Archangel 22. Come in over."

"Roger that we hear you Archangel 22. Lion 1 inbound. Over."

"Report status? Over."

"Flight of three aircraft. Six AMRAAMs. Six thousand pound JDAMs. Six Mavericks. Eighteen Brimstones. Six Escapes. ETA is 4 minutes. Over."

"Roger that. Vector inbound to engage two EADS units located in a field just past the coast and another after the trees. Abrams tanks are on the move throughout the village. Bradleys are towards the eastern sector. Over."

"Roger that. We've got targets on radar. All units on the move. Thermal sights will tell for sure. Over."

"Glad to hear. Out." They stayed low as the sky remained as black as night. Then, they began to hear some voices and that was a bad sign. Someone was ordering a squad of men to check out the same house that they were in, someone may have seen or heard something. This wasn't good for them and as they began to take up their positions, gunfire began to pepper through the windows. "Shit! We're under fire! Everyone take up positions!"

"Roger that!" They screamed as they got into position, their rifles shouldered. They were taking fire before they could get into position and whether or not the enemy had armor out there was unknown to them. They could hear the enemy soldiers taking, ordering their men into the building and to use grenades. They were pinned and that wasn't a good sign.

"Lion 1. Lion 1. Archangel 22. We're pinned. Expedite and I do mean expedite! Over."

"Roger that. We're ETA two minutes. Out." The Ravens picked up their airspeed to over 600 mph as they zoomed in from 18,000 feet, their missiles acquiring their targets. They had to destroy the two AAA guns or else they would be shot down and that meant bad news for them. "2. Engage EADS. 3. Engage tanks. I'm going for the Marines."

"2. Roger that."

"3. On it." The three aircraft banked away hard as the two wingmen bore down on their targets, their Brimstones and Mavericks locked onto the tanks and anti-aircraft guns. They fired one at each vehicle, all two Brimstone missiles tracking their targets with millimetric wave radar and both Mavericks using their imaging infrared. The four missiles, once they were fired began to whistle towards their target, leaving behind a small stream of smoke. Both Ravens pulled up into a steep climb, heading back to 18,000 feet. Where they were, down at 11,000 feet, could leave them vulnerable to shoulder launched missiles. The other Raven was on a steep dive as well, with one of its JDAM bombs targetting the road outside of the house. They were going to drop the bomb far enough away from the house to avoid damaging it but close enough to kill those outside.

"Archangel 22. Take cover. One coming down!" Inside the house, all of the sixteen Marines took cover underneath whatever they could as the thousand pound bomb spiraled down, towards the street. It exploded only a half a foot from where it was aimed, killing over three dozen soldiers in one shot as well as taking out a pair of technicals that had begun to open up their heavy machine guns into the side of the house. The bomb blast shook the house nearly off its foundation and two of the Marines who had been crouching and firing out a window, in the opposite direction, were knocked clear off their feet. Half of them could barely hear above the ringing of their ears. They scrambled to their feet and looked around, dazed from the explosion. The gunfire had not stopped and they continued to take fire. In the distance, they could hear the rumbles as the two tanks and anti-arcraft units exploded, sending fragments of shrapnel for hundreds of yards.

The explosions rocked the village as the Marines regained their footing and began engaging the enemy soldiers, one-on-one. The village was lighting up like a candle as the enemy came out of their hiding spaces and began to engage the aircraft. At the same time, Marines from the rest of the company were coming down from the north, moving with infantry fighting vehicles and armor. The reconnaissance platoon was under strict orders to avoid engagements but rather to move quickly and spot for helicopters, aircraft, and artillery. Unfortunately, they were being engaged by the enemy and that meant they had to engage themselves. They had to advance out of the house and they did, slowly, using their weapons effectively against the enemy soldiers in their path. When the sound of tank fire from the Sabertooths and the sound of chain gun fire from the Bradleys echoed into the village they knew that they would be safe but how safe, they didn't know. They moved inward, towards the center of the village, engaging soldiers left and right, around each and every corner, advancing as best as they could, under the circumstances. They had called in for more air support and a pair of Super Huey gunships were being vectored in, each armed with a pair of Miniguns and fourteen Adder rockets. The Ravens were expending their ordinance against more vehicles and positions that were being identified by the Marines.

Throughout the island things were similiar. Tanks and fighting vehicles from the Marines were advancing under the cover of Ravens, Typhoons, and attack helicopters. Naval artillery had started again and 5, 8, 16, and 18 inch shells were finding their targets along the coasts of the island, slamming down into enemy fortified positions left and right. The Grenadians were having more than just trouble holding their ground against the superior firepower of the navy. One of the worst fights would be on Mount Saint Catherine, a 2,756 high peak, the highest on the island. On the top of the peak was an old, 18th century fort that the Empire had modernized. The Grenadians situated light artillery in the fort and they were using it as a looking post, spotting ships on the blockade line. They would haved trained naval guns on the ships if they had been able to gain control of them.

Saint Lazare

04-10-2006, 03:58

Simeone found his way back to the ports. It was a strange night - the night before. The fire that began in Diego's room spread and covered the entire apartment. Unfortunately, there was an excessive amount of collateral, even portions of the church were burned, and nearly an entire block in Havana was charred. He didn't have the time to see how many had died, but he hoped that whoever did die deserved it. Of course, Diego didn't deserve it, but circumstance put him in a bad place anyway. Besides, it is better that death come sooner than later, because there's more to judge at the end of a long life than a short one.

Simeone apparently arrived at the docks, dressed in normal work-clad jeans and a light t-shirt. He had no idea what Diego actually did, but he would soon figure it out. It couldn't have been anything too important, because he lived in such a clumsy apartment. But he still felt slightly uncertain about where to go. He ought to have come in the evening. Then again, there was the fact that no one seemed to care that he was Diego. And besides that, he wasn't Diego - if his bosses had anything to say about, he'd invite them to a small shack and take of the problem.

He came to the vessel, still in port. Irony would have it, the ship was resting in dock 14. He carefully came up to the ship and entered it, as other workers were busy to unload it. Immediately, he could smell the faint scent of cocaine. The workers were likely unloading material that had cocaine or at least elements of cocaine. He knew that he was on the right ship, but it confused him. Why would a drug cartel ship drugs to Cuba? They had their own cartels here - maybe to encourage competition? Unlikely - there wasn't anything in the underworld. And the Layarteb forces wouldn't like to have an open drug war being fought, especially with their own War on Drugs. So why was there cocaine?

Obviously, he was the only person who could smell it. Perhaps he was the only person who cared to notice it - or perhaps he really the only person to notice it. He spent two years in a cartel, and the smell still infused some lustful euphoria in him. He resisted the thoughts, trying to suppress them. Like the smell, he was noticeable.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh? Yeah. I need to find the restroom."

"Man, get some air. You've been here too long."

Simeone nodded and headed outside. He strolled on the deck, where the fresh sea breeze began to clean him. He was only too surprised that any one could handle all of the drugs in there. It was painfully obvious - literally. But then, a thought hit him. Perhaps it's not drugs. That seemed stupid; after all, he had gone through a wall of ambient coke. But at the same time, it seemed reasonable. Suppose DVQ wasn't a druggie product - perhaps it was being covered in the drugs. But why? And why so much? What could be so big that they'd use too many drugs to hide it? And where were Layarteb forces? They should have been storming about this ship with much prejudice.

He looked out to the nearest post. It was obvious now - the people who worked on this ship worked with the cartels. There was no way that they couldn't be affected unless they were already affected. He was trouncing into the cartel territory, and he realized that he wouldn't last long in the open. He quickly retreated to the interior, hoping to get out. Unfortunately, the same man stopped him again.

"You okay now?"

"Yeah. That was just what I needed."

"Okay, good. Well, the boss wants this entire ship scuttled by sunset. Get a crate and pull it out and transfer it to dock 27."

"Dock 27?"

"Damn, you must be coked up. Yeah - according to the plan? Where were you?"

"Bathroom. I've been having problems urinating."

"Sheez... Well, you gotta see a doctor. I can't have bad workers, go to a doctor."

"Doctors cost a lot of money. I can't afford it."

The man pulled out a good sum of money. "You know. I'm very nice. Go to a doctor. If I can't get a good pair of legs out of you, I'll know where to get you. You are Joao, right?"

"Yea."

"Damn, you've always got problems with your bladder..."

Simeone walked out with a crate, a load of cash, and a good reason to thank God for nothing too stupid. Once he unloaded the crates, he ran out of the way, feigning a visit to the bathroom. Once inside, he crawled out the window and continued on his way away from the docks. Just then, he saw about two guards with a dog approach. They were fixed all of the visitors and workers, but he knew that the dog already had a tag on him. And he was already a suspicious character. A drug dog sniffing him out - a load of cash in his hand - and not to mention, he probably was a little coked out. If they stopped him at all, he wouldn't last a moment. He tried to blend in, but the dog caught out.

The guards turned their attention to him. "Halt!" Simeone played it coolly. If he ran, they'd have something against him. The dog continued to bark at him in general, although it couldn't point out any particular place on his body. The guards scanned him quickly and asked him a simple question.

"What are you doing here?"

"Me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was leaving for lunch."

"Lunch..." One of the guards reached for the large wad of money in his rear pocket. "That's a big tab for lunch."

"Well, I carry my money."

"Where were working?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Simeone scratched his head. "You know, I was down by dock 15, working on the shipment. We've got a big ship full of timber from Dnalkard, and it's pretty tough stuff. Already, we had one incident of an incident. Some guy dropped about 1500 pounds of wood on his toe. Luckily, he had steel toes, but still, they're working to free his foot from the boot. You know, I'd say he's lucky son of a gun if his foot isn't broken. But you know, it could have been worse."

"I'd agree," the guard said. "For some reason our dog doesn't like you. Do you know what this dog is?"

"Yea. He's one of those canine patrol dogs, the one from Layarteb's Most Wanted. They do those drug and explosive busts all of the time."

"Exactly. So either you've got drugs or explosives on you, because I can guarantee that he has no other reason not to like you. After all, you're not an SOB."

"Well, I don't do drugs. My father had a problem with alcohol, and he died early."

"We're not talking about those drugs. Stuff like coke and pot."

"What?"

"Cocaine?"

"Oh... well... I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I. May I ask your name?"

"Diego La Brava."

"Diego. That's a good name. Tell me how'd you'd like to join us at the station. We'd like to have some talks with you."

Simeone then pointed back to dock 14, in the distance. "Well, you know - I was down by dock 14 on a break, and I heard some fellows there talk about coke and stuff. I thought they were talking about buying some soda, so I offered to get them some drinks - because I was thirsty too. But you know, when I got there, I couldn't breathe. I mean, I could. But it was so thick there, and it felt like my head was going to blow up. And there was this white stuff everywhere..."

"White stuff? Dock 14?" The guards perked up real quickly. Just then, a passer-by came over and tapped Simeone's shoulder. "You had problems breathing too? Man, that place felt like a soda bar in downtown after midnight - the air was so thick and you could hardly breathe."

The guards, convinced at this second account, nodded to Simeone and the stranger. "Beg your pardon, but you're free to go for now. And I'd suggest talking to a doctor; you might be poisoned." And the guards quickly ran off, with the lead guard pulling out a radio softly speaking: "0-20, 0-20, we've got a possible narcotics violation at dock 14, request back-up..."

And that ended Simeone's quandary...

Layarteb

06-10-2006, 23:49

July 23, 2006 - 03:42 AST
Mount Saint Catherine, Grenada

The roar of F-26 Typhoons overhead almost drowned out the sounds of machinery in Fort Columbus. There were two tanks, three armored personnel carriers, and a pair of MLRS artillery units warming up. Four anti-aircraft guns and a ton of shoulder launched missiles made up most of the defenses against aircraft but they had yet to fire anything. Three Typhoons roared overhead on a spotting run, their loadout consisting of GBU-44A Paveway V laser-guided bombs, AGM-177A Brimstones, and its air to air ordinance. There had, so far, been no enemy aircraft in the air yet but there had been a lot destroyed on the ground, thus far, some in transit towards the runway. Helicopters had been taken down but only Super Hueys. They were preparing to come inbound and drop their bombs when they were dissuaded.

"Overflight Kappa 2-9 target. Overflight Kappa 2-9 target. Priority Whiskey. Priority Whiskey. Friendlies in the AO. This is Harlot. Over."

"Harlot group. Harlot group. State authorization? Over." The F-26s were still on their attack run but they were still a few miles out, lasing and sorting their targets. The flight leader was looking at a book strapped to his left knee. On it was a list of codes that would be usable by ground troops. He particularly looked at the one for F - J named groups.

"Flight. Harlot. Authorization is Bravo, Yankee, Whiskey, India, Charlie, Charlie, Niner, Two, Fiver, Four, Three, Alpha, Alpha, Echo. Over."

"Roger that Harlot. This is Rhino 2. We've got you covered. Count two tanks. Three APCs. Two artillery missile. Over."

"Roger that. We're on it. Remain on station. Vehicles might move out of the target zone. Free to fire at that point. Over."

"Roger that Harlot. We hear you. On station. Out." Overhead, they climbed up to 20,000 feet and went into an orbit pattern. They had plenty of fuel and that gave them plenty of on-station time. If worst came to worst, they could call in relief, which would come in the form of Stalker attack helicopters, loaded with Brimstone missiles and Adder rockets. The Marine group, codenamed "Harlot" was just one of the one hundred and forty-four reconnaissance platoons operating on Grenada. This one, in particular, was under orders to secure and capture the fort on top of Mount Saint Catherine, which was being garrisoned by no fewer than two hundred enemy soldiers, with armor and artillery. It was no easy task for the four squads of men in the platoon, giving a total of thirty-two soldiers. Because they were broken into four squads, they could mount attacks that came from multiple directions and furthermore, they could be broken down into four rifle teams, four sniper teams, and four machine gunner teams, giving them a lot of extra firepower, which could be consolidated.

Huddled to the southwest of the fort, about a hundred feet below the fort, the platoon began to organize. "Alright, here's how we're going to play it." Captain Poker was the platoon leader and he was going to be leading this assault. "First squad, you're going to cricle around and hit them from the northern side. Second squad from the south here. Third and fourth I want you coming at them from the west. Nobody is going to be coming east because that's the main entrance. If we go in that way we're going to get hit by those tanks and APCs and then we're shit out of luck. Watch your angles and keep your night vision on. We're in close quarters here and its a possibility we may take some fire so, after breeching the fort, first squad go up to the upper levels. Second squad do the same and converge on the roof. Third and fourth are going to enter and split off, third to its left and fourth to its right. We're going to be hitting hard and fast so make sure you're keeping up. When we're all in position, go-code is 'Domino.' Ready to do this?"

"OORAH!" The Marines shouted.

"Marines! Let's do this!" CPT. Poker shouted and they were on the move. First and second squad took off, rushing to get into their positions. Second squad was much closer so that meant first squad had to double time to get to the other side. Because of where they were on the peak, they were below the field of view for spotters on top of the fort, giving them the advantage. Third and fourth squads moved to position too, keeping low as well. Within a minute, all four squads were against the walls of the fort, crouched low, weapons ready. "Three and four in position."

"Two in position."

"One in position."

"Domino! Domino! Domino!" The four squads had placed door breeching charges on six doors, two in the south, one to the north, and three to the west. They had primed the charges and pulled the arming pins. They silently counted in their heads, One. Two. Three. Four. Boom! The door charges blew up inside of eight seconds, shattering the wooden doors into hundreds of thousands of pieces, some no bigger than a carpenter ant, some as large as a forearm. They could hear the shouting inside as the firefight began. The four squads poured right in, weapons raised, shooting one to three round bursts into enemy soldiers. Their night vision goggles were perfect for the inside of the fort. Because of the placement of armor, they had no lights on and they were using their own night vision goggles to see. This meant that they were going one-on-one with enemy soldiers who could see them as they could be seen. It was an even battle now except that the Marines were horribly out numbered. However, the lack of serious training for the Grenadians meant that it evened itself out.

"One! Up!" First Lieutenant Georges shouted as they came to the first set of stairs. They had dropped eleven soldiers already and they were moving swiftly through their wing of the fort. The stairs were booby trapped and a fragmentation grenade cleared the mine that had been set. The whole wing shook as the shrapnel from the mines tore through the walls of the staircase, killing five enemy soldiers in the process. "Flash!" They used a stun grenade at the top of the stairs to blind the soldiers waiting for them, making it all too easy for them to shoot and kill the soldiers. There were three levels, including the ground level and second squad was going all the way to the third as first squad was taking out the second level. "Alpha. Take left. Bravo, on me right." The eight man squad split off at the top of the stairs. Two riflemen went with each other team, the machine gunners and the snipers, moving swiftly. The sniper had his pistol drawn, his rifle too ineffective for close quarters combat like this. The man on the SAW was having little trouble. Because of the close quarters, the SAW was working wonders. It was accurate to much longer ranges and inside the fort it was a piece of cake to control and deal with, shooting soldiers left and right.

The second level of the fort was full of rooms and corridors, none of them very long or big, meaning that they had to make a lot of turns and twists. They were finding surprises around every corner and their stun grenades were the most helpful although they had a limited number of them. Both groups swept through the second level with precision and speed, meeting back up at the other side of the fort in no less than six minutes. Two of them had been wounded, one by a grazed bullet and the other had taken shrapnel in the leg. They were non-critical but rather superficial wounds but they would still be limited, slightly.

"Two. Up!" Second squad went up to the third level quicker than it took for First squad to get to the second. Unfortunately, once they were on the third level, they were slowed down immediately. One of the soldiers took a fatal wound to the neck as soon as they got to the top of the staircase. Grenades followed and flushed out enough so that they could at least get a footing on the third floor. Their progress after that was slow and it would take them fourteen minutes to flush out the third floor, six of the remaining seven of them getting wounded in the process, none critical but two serious enough to put them out of commission.

On the ground level, the two squads moved at a speed between the other two. It took them eleven minutes to clear the bottom of the fort and with it they lost ten men to wounds, three serious. There was one death, a soldier who was blown up cooking off his grenade. He had become engaged by an enemy from his corner when he was cooking off the grenade and in the confusion, dropped it, only to have it land at his feet. The explosion took out him and seriously wounded two of the three others. Three enemy soldiers were killed too. The fire team of Third squad moved to secure the tanks and APCs and they were quick at it, using grenades in the hatches of the tanks to kill the crews inside. The APCs were taken out by SLATDWs and the MLRS units were disabled when their cabin doors were opened and the crews inside shot and killed.

It took twenty-four minutes to secure the fort completely. They rounded up sixteen prisoners, killed one hundred and thirty-four soldiers, and wounded another thirty-eight of them. Three soldiers managed to flee from the scene. When it was over, they called up to their Typhoons overhead and cleared them from the AO. The Typhoons would go on to take out a column of enemy tanks and trucks moving along the western coast of the island, on the northern edge.

Saint Lazare

07-10-2006, 06:41

[I'm sorry to make this so confusing, but the date for this setting is July 24, ~2000h. For this reason, the events that occur in the main timeline are those that are historical in this timeline. Hopefully, this will clear any confusion that has occurred]

The drug bust in Havana was one of the largest in history. It was unusual as well - they were importing the drugs and in massive bulk. For what reason?

Simeone hoped that Layarteb would figure it out for him, since he didn't feel like putting himself into more confusing places. What was DVQ exactly? Could it have been the large load of drugs being unloaded at the docks? Again, that didn't make any sense. It had to be something else. What was in the ship? What else was in the ship? He was certain that they were hiding something, and it was worth the risk to hide it in a large sum of drugs. But then, that didn't make any sense. More drugs meant more visibility - it was easier to detect a lot of drugs than a little bit. So it couldn't have been a chemical; or if it was, it wasn't a narcotic.

Simeone reclined in his apartment, an empty room in an abandoned [actually condemned] building near the old historic district. There was the ambient sound of a cantina band about two blocks down. The dancing was heavy and lively, its vibrations pulsed in him as he lay on the floor. He was spending too much time wondering what the hell he was looking for. And he hated cat-and-mouse games; eventually the cat would win and he couldn't tell if he was the cat or the mouse.

He decided to call Sparetti, but it was late and he was too tired to bother him. He hadn't slept for two days straight, plus he had just flown into Cuba three days ago. He was on the move, and while he felt that time was working against him, he needed some rest.

He only rested for about three minutes before footsteps woke him. He silently picked himself up, leaving any scraps for the visitor to review. In one hand was his Beretta, ready for the quick kill. Whoever was coming, he was certain it was a woman - the typical click of a high-heel was hard to miss. She strolled by and approached the room. Just as he expected the door to open, the person stopped. She tapped her toes three times and the entire room became silent. Simeone did not like the feeling he was anticipating.

In an instant, shots flew through the wall. One lucky shot hit him in the leg, as he replied in due with his own barrage. The woman stopped her fire and fell for cover behind the walls. It was a child's play, as the walls were crumbly and old that they offered no reral protection to anyone. They were both using silenced weapons, which meant that other people were unlikely to notice the calamity surrounding this building.

The woman took off, feeling that her job was done. Simeone - on the other hand - picked up his items and chased her through the building. They traded bullets at times, as she slid down the stairs and through the halls. She obviously didn't anticipate a chase with her victim, but nonetheless she reacted coolly and calmly. She was a professional, and it seemed to him such a waste that she was spending to kill him.

At the end of the hall, Simeone slowed his pace to a stop. He could feel the woman nearby, but the entire place was quiet. He looked to his left and right. He checked above him and around him entirely. He slowly moved to the wall, hoping to stay out of her sights, wherever she was. He turned a quick corner to find an empty room. As he turned, he could hear her footsteps again. He slowly approached the room, wondering why she wouuld expose herself.

Of course, it was only until it was too late that he realized her footsteps were rather the ticks of a clock in another room. In the time that he had spent to move to his position, the female assassin, popped a tranquilizer dart into his arm. It wasn't a strong dose, since Simeone still had enough consciousness to realize he was darted, which likely meant another painful experience waited for him on the other side of his slumber. On the bright side, he did like the sleep.

[Just an FYI, this will tie into the main line, as soon as I figure out how it can fit at all...]

Layarteb

08-10-2006, 18:56

July 23, 2006 - 05:52 AST
Grenville, Grenada

It was sunrise in Grenville, just nine miles east of St. George's, which had, thus far, been untouched by the ground war. Aircraft and helicopters had ransacked St. George's of dozens of vehicles and military positions. Grenville, on the other hand, was being torn apart, brick by brick, by a Marine cavalry unit, fighting house to house and alleyway to alleyway with Grenadian soldiers. There were at least fourteen hundred of them in the village, not many by standards, but enough to be causing the Marines a lot of trouble. At least two hundred of them had been killed already by the Marines, who had a full battallion in the village, complete with armor, artillery, armored vehicles, and support from both the air and the sea. A Mexia was providing the most support, using its 8 inch ETC guns to pummel suspected positions in city, which, as the morning sun rose, began to look like the defintion of the word "apocalypse." Half of the city was in ruins, completely demolished by bombardment from the air and sea and the land. The artillery unit with the battallion had been stationed about three miles to the south, southwest of the city. From there, they could put their artillery onto any spot in the city with total and complete precision.

The naval guns from the Mexia were also stationed only about seven miles off shore and their guns could fire at a rate of 8 rounds per minute. Putting a total of 48 rounds per minute on the city at once. The 8 inch shells were powerful and packed a good amount of punch with them. Some were loaded with submunitions, others with high explosives, and still others with penetrating munitions.

Since half of the city was in ruins, most of it still smoldering or even burning, smoke billowing into the air, most of the civilians had left the city. It was a level of devestation that the Marines did not want on their hands but, unfortunately, because of the entrenched Grenadians, they had no other choice. They weren't fighting regular Grenadian infantry like the rest of the Marines. They were fighting some other group, organized in just the same way but actually trained. The military training of the enemy in Grenville was superior to that of any other battle, save for St. George's.

To the Supreme Grenadian, Grenville was considered the most important city on the eastern coast and they had stationed a good amount of ammunition and their war machine in the city, which was just two miles south of the airfield that had been struck in the initial minutes of the assault. That airfield had since been peppered by cluster bombs, artillery, and guided bombs.

The main assault on Grenville happened around 19:00 hours on July 22, the day before and continued for a total of eleven hours so far. The eleven hours had been spent wisely by the Marines, who had moved from position to position, trying to gain a strong hold on the city. They had yet to succeed, eleven hours later. M2032A1A and M2032A1B Sabertooth main battle tanks had made the most dents in the city. There were twelve of each type in the city and they were moving swiftly and with force. One assault and one armored squadron were pounding the city, putting a total of 156 Marine units manned by 500 soldiers with the capacity to transport another 636 Marines. They only had 512 in the battallion, meaning they had plenty of room for wounded and captures. They doubted they were going to find any captures though, the Grenadians that fought here were tough and hardened. It was doubtful that they were actually Grenadians but they were fighting for them and that was all that mattered right now. The enemy was the enemy, it didn't matter what flag they came from, they were fighting against the Layartebians and that was grounds enough to completely eradicate them.

As the squadron leader turned his M2032A1A Sabertooth MBT down a main road, he felt the vehicle shake and the sound of an explosion echoed inside the tank. "We just got hit. Where?" He stated as he looked through the FLIR sights to find the shooter. On an overlay panel on one of the MFDs, the driver could see just where the round came from and he was currently bringing up that screen. It wouldn't take more than few button pushes.

"Right side. Rear panel. No damage taken. Probably an RPG."

"Roger that. Let's get them." The turret of the Sabertooth turned towards the direction of shot and the FLIR sights revealed a concealed position inside a building with three men inside. They looked as if they were loading something. "Target sighted. HEAT UP!"

"HEAT! READY!" The loader shouted. The 125 millimeter HEAT shell was loaded into the chamber by the autoloader and the gun stablized. The commander sighted the target once more and used the laser to designate the range, which came back as 130 meters. "Range sighted."

"FIRE!" The tank jolted backwards the round exiting the barrel at a muzzle velocity of 1,752.6 meters per second. The blast of the muzzle light up the street as the round impacted the reinforced brick wall of the building. The round penetrated through it and blasted it into pieces instantly, the explosion turned the three soldiers into a fine mist that was lost in the fireball and smoke and debris cloud. "Target destroyed. Let's move up." They didn't advance more than twenty feet before they took yet another hit. "Shit! Where now?"

"Front sir. No damage sustained. Probably another RPG but it hit hard." He was right, it was a hard hit but it wasn't from an RPG. The road was only about 300 meters long and to the end of it was another 255 meters. Yet, at the end of it was an M1A4 Abrams tank, which had been lucky enough to pass by, spot the tank, turn its turret, and engage. Its 120 millimeter round bounced off the front plate of the tank. The front hull of the Sabertooth was rated at 2,750 millimeters against KE shots and 3,520 millimeters against HEAT shots. The 120 millimeter round barely scratched the paint. With added Non-explosive Reactive Armor, they could take an additional 450 millimeters against HEAT and 360 millimeters against KE. "Shit sir. It's a tank! An Abrams."

"Back off. Back off. Swing around!" The commander shouted as the turret swung around. "SABOT!"

"Roger that sir." The autoloader manuevered slightly and the chamber was loaded. "SABOT UP! READY TO FIRE!" The tank had backed away behind a building, not giving the Sabertooth a good shot at all. The Sabertooth had backed off as well but they could see the enemy tank through their FLIR and probably the same way around. The Sabertooth kept their sights moving, looking for other targets, just in case. The Sabertooth had four sets of sights. They had search sights, which would only be used to locate enemy positions and vehicles. They had main targetting sights, which were used to spot the main gun, the coaxial machine gun, and the LOSATs. Then they had the secondary targetting sights, which could be used to target the other weapon systems, including the top machine gun, the missile launcher, and DEW. The last set was the backup sights, which could be used to target everything if the main and secondary sights were knocked out. The search sights kept a look out. Because of the position of the enemy tank, they could fire a Firefly missile to take it out and though that was the possibility, they were waiting to see if the tank would come around again, to try to take another shot. The longer they waited, the more vulernable they would be and finally, after a good sixty seconds of waiting, the commander didn't like what he was seeing.

"Alright. We've got a Firefly ready?"

"Yes sir. Top-down attack mode. We've got the range of the target."

"Roger that. Fire one."

"Yes sir." With a loud swoosh, the rocket motor on the Firefly ignited and the missile launched away from the tank, upwards to an altitude of 150 meters. It used its IIR guidance to lock onto the tank through its engine heat. The missile acquired its target easily as it climbed to the top of its arc. Then it turned its fins and the missile headed right down into the top of the turret. The explosion shattered the air of the morning and sent smoke, fire, and shrapnel everywhere. From their position, the tank crew could see that they hit their target. The barrel of the Abrams landed in the middle of the street. "Target destroyed sir."

"Good. Let's advance. We're sitting ducks here." They took two more RPG hits moving down the road but their 15.5 millimeter machine gun took care of the shooters because they could launch a third round at the tank. "We've got how many so far?"

"Sir. We've got one Abrams. Two APCs. Sixty soldiers. And we've taken twenty-four RPG and one tank hit."

"What's the structural integrity?"

"Well sir. We're fine. None of the rounds really penetrated much. We've got some dents, that's for damn sure. We're down to 75%."

"That sounds fine for me. Let's move." RPGs were flying through the air like bullets were, numerous. They were accurate, far more accurate then the thousands of bullets but they were also more deadly. Bullets bounced off the tanks and armored vehicles with little flashes. RPGs made some damage but, to the Sabertooths, they were barely making any headway. None of the tanks had taken more than two shots in the same area and that meant the damage and impact forces were spread more evenly out.

Layarteb

08-10-2006, 19:30

July 23, 2006 - 10:00 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Emperor's office was bustling with aides, runners, and officials coming and going. The conference table was covered in papers and pictures, hiding its beautiful, dark, mahogany, wood finish. Over a dozen stories down, the Joint Operations Center was bustling with activity as well. Military leaders were there, conducting the war; whereas in the Emperor's office, the governmental officials sat. The two groups were seperated except for the various runners moving back and fourth. An open communications link kept the two areas completely in touch with each other and the security around the castle has been doubled. Secret Service agents roved the castle with their weapons ready and Force Victor personnel did the same, only on the exterior. Traffic across the causeway was kept only to officials and tours had been halted, for the time being.

"So how are we looking Chairman?" The Emperor asked the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of the Military. He was the only military officer sitting in the Emperor's office and decisions he passed down came from the Emperor, directly.

"Well sir we've got good news and bad news. The good news is that their air force has been completely torn apart. Unfortunately that's really our air force down there. They do not have the ability to launch any fixed-wing aircraft but we have been spotting helicopters here and there, mostly Super Hueys but a few Panthers and it seems like they managed to get their hands on a pair of Apaches that we had in storage. They have all been shot down."

"It's a shame all this hardware is our own. Go on."

"Well sir. We've made significant advances on Victoria and Mount Saint Catherine. We control both points. Grenville is turning out to be a serious house to house battle. Half of the city has already been destroyed and it doesn't look like we're going to have a firm grip on it for at least another day or more. That's a hard battle sir. Panorama and Trevellan, in the north, were secured only an hour ago and we're working on Marquis and Grand Roy right now. Those should be secure by nightfall."

"What of the interior?"

"Well sir. Control of Mount Saint Catherine is vital to that and we're achieving victory as we speak. Marines are using armor to advance and push the enemy into several designated areas where we expect to corner them."

"How is the schedule for St. George's?"

"Well sir. We're going to hit the outskirts of St. George's by nightfall. It could take up to five days to secure the city. The enemy really has held up there so we're trying to demoralize them throughout the war. If we can hit St. George's when they were at low morale it will make the fight easier. The more territory north we control, the better we're going to have it in St. George's. Once Panorama nd Trevellan are under our control, we expect the rest of Saint Patrick to be under our control. Grenville is the key to Saint Andrew. Saint Mark and Saint John should be under our control by noon tomorrow, at the latest. That will leave only Saint George and Saint David. Once the other four are in control, Saint David should fall, leaving Saint George to the end."

"That's good to hear. How are our losses so far?"

"We've got 48 KIA so far. Six are MIA and we've got about 200 WIA."

"And theirs?"

"Over 2,000 KIA. So far at least 600 captured. Who knows how many wounded sir but quite a bit of them."

"What was their expected force size?"

"Well sir we expect about 10,000 in St. George's and another 7,000 to 30,000 dispersed around the rest of the island."

"Those aren't good numbers."

"No sir they aren't. We're woefully outnumbered here."

"How much of a problem is that?"

"Well sir. On the ground we have a full division with another one on stand by. They are fighting very well so far now and it is our recommendation to keep things as they are. The reinforcement division could be moved in to act as transitional forces while the island is converted back to the Empire. That way those boys who fought can get some rest."

"That is a good plan Chairman. What if they are needed?"

"We will have to send more Marines in then."

"Are they ready?"

"They are sir. Paratroopers from the army are as well. We can send them in immediately."

"And what of our SOG teams?"

"Sir. They are moving fast and precise. They have yet to fail at an objective so far."

"Excellent. Well gentlemen, this looks promising. Does the press want an interview yet?" He asked his press secretary, who was on the other side of the conference table, scribbling notes.

"Sir. They always want an interview. We have one scheduled for 13:30 hours. It's a twenty-four hour update sir."

"Good to hear. Where?"

"Press Room B sir."

"Good. Until then, let's keep a lid on everything. We don't need our successes getting out just yet, especially if something goes wrong."

"Understood sir."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/GrenadaMap.jpg

Saint Lazare

09-10-2006, 20:55

[I'm going to slow this timeline down a bit, so the main line with Layarteb isn't off by a day or so...]

2006 July 24 ~2300h
SOMEWHERE...

It was a cold and damp room. He was still in Cuba - or at least in Layarteb. The exact location was hard to come by. But regardless, it was a cold and damp room, stuck somewhat in the densest part of a jungle. It was likely the headquarters for some cartel. It was coming slowly to him - the dart, and all. He was outsmarted by a female assassin, but instead of death, he has the fine pleasure of torture on his plate. But why would they keep him? Killing him was faster, more efficient. Maybe he knew something that they didn't. What was it? DVQ? He knew nothing of it. Who sent him - that would be a secret to his death. Maybe it wasn't so much that he knew something that they didn't. Perhaps it was just them trying to figure out if he knew anything at all. In which case, why keep him? He was just as much as liabiliity dead as he was alive - the difference being that he was personally more dangerous being alive.

His hands were wired behind his back, but in no time, he ripped them off and let a little blood on his wrists. He carefully tore off his shirt sleeves and wrapped around his wrists, to keep them from letting too much blood out. It left a messy trail, and it also was dangerous itself. As he oriented himself in the room, he heard footsteps. Instinctively, he rose to the ceiling and fixed himself there. The door began to move and there he saw two gentlemen dressed in suits - nothing of the sort for the cartels. They were definitely government operatives, but it didn't quite cut too cleanly for him. He heard no gunshots, and it didn't seem that the cartel was resisting their presence, he could see the faint image of the cartel leader standing beside the agents.

He heard a clamor of words, as people started to rush around. The two men looked around the room, never really taking care to the ceiling at all. Their facial expressions were hidden in the black sea of suit and shades, but it was obvious that they weren't pleased. "If Overture gets leaked at all, I'm putting it on your head," yelled one man. He turned to his partner. "Gaddens, stay here and watch the area; he may still be around here. Vasquez, get your men searching for this SOB, ASAP."

The one man - the leader it seemed - turned away and left his friend to semi-guard the door. He pulled out a pistol and began to survey the room. It wasn't very cozy, but it was certainly spacious, for some prisoner hut in the middle of the jungle. He stepped over to some boxes and kicked them all over. Inside were packs of cocaine, and they leaked their precious cargo. He continued to look around, feeling the wall for anything loose. There was only the door, it seemed so the couldn't quite grasp how he had escaped without the guard knowing it. The door was clearly locked, and it was the only escape route. He turned back to the guard, to ask a simple question - but he saw in the littered mess of coke a pale crimson impression. Just as he turned his direction to the ceiling, Simeone smashed his feet on the agent's face. The guard outside, hearing the clamor, came over to check out the problem. Simeone disarmed the agent and popped two quick shots into the guard. He then took a closer aim and shattered the Layartebian agent's skull with a single shot. With that done, he locks the safety and steals away from the scene, disarming the guard. Luckily, his presence passes almost entirely unnoticed, since the other members of the cartel were off somewhere else. He counted his blessings and darted away into the jungle with his newfound arms, disappearing into the night.

Layarteb

10-10-2006, 00:24

July 23, 2006 - 21:19 AST
Providence, Grenada

Naval helicopters descended on the small town in Saint David parish without mercy and without a care in the world. AH-94 Stalkers armed with Brimstones and Adder rockets attacked every piece of armor within the town, which was being staged for a counter-assault on Grenville. When the Stalkers came screaming in at over 160 miles per hour, the ground crews rushed to get on the move, as if it would help them. Brimstone missiles tracked their targets with perfection, turning their turrets into shattered metal and steel. The Adder rockets turned trucks, light armored vehicles, and people into burning wrecks, covering the town in smoke and debris.

It was just luck that the armor staging area had been found by the military. An RA-5E Vigilante on a reconnaissance patrol diverted over Providence on the way to St. George's because of a SAM radar. When its FLIR picked up the 238 vehicles in the town, they immediately took pictures and alerted command. Another RA-5E was sent to St. George's and when the RA-5 landed, the information was deciphered immediately and a strike organized. That was only one and a half hours ago. Now over thirty helicopters were turning the vehicles into molten metal, in a turkey shoot.

The first shots came from a quartet of Stalkers, flying in low and fast. They locked up the tanks at maximum range and computed the maximum load of targets to attack at once, sixteen. This meant that they could fire all sixteen missiles and they would be independently flown to their targets by their own onboard sensors. When the four aircraft came within range, they unleashed a pummelling and powerful sixty-four missile assault. Tanks, APCs, and trucks exploded all at once it seemed and dozens lay dead right off the bat. They finished out their gun ordinance over the village as Super Hueys armed with rockets and Miniguns joined with more Stalkers. The assault was something out of a nightmare for the ground crews. Tanks were vulnerable to helicopters and when they moved this fast, attacked this efficiently, and were this brutal and accurate, they had no chance. Fixed-wing aircraft were held back, left to attack other targets around, including searching for and destroying the SAM radar that diverted the RA-5E Vigilante. It was eventually found and destroyed with an AARGM before the enemy knew they were locked up by the missile.

Nineteen minutes into the assault on Providence and 200 of the 238 vehicles were laying in wrecks, burning and smoking. People lay dead, burning, others wounded, others faceless. The missile and rocket explosions were powerful enough to do serious and major damage to everything around the vehicles. Bombs and Mavericks would have been just as effective but they weren't needed. Brimstone missiles would do the job perfectly.

Layarteb

10-10-2006, 00:49

July 23, 2006 - 23:22 AST
Grenville, Grenada

Grenville was a smoldering cacophony of hell. Three quarters of the city was turned into ruins with blood for wallpaper and smoke for a roof. Over two hundred fires burned within the city, some minor, some large enough to consume a whole block. In the dark night, almost midnight, the city glowed red. Hades didn't look as scary as this city did. Super Huey helicopters flying around 2,500 feet around the city had the best and the most threatening view of the city. They could see the tanks below, although they were small. They passed by huge billows of smoke, seeping up from chimneys that never existed into the black oblivion of the night.

It looked like a forest fire from the sky, a fire that burned uncontrollably and in pockets. On the ground though, it was different. The heat, fueled by a strong ocean breeze, flared up and raised the temperature in the city by over 30°F. It was hot, almost like a desert, and it was humid, the breeze doing nothing for the humidity. Fires fed off the kindle of the wooden structures and the scary sounds of the crackling wood, collapsing structures, gunfire, and other battlezone noises made it like a surreal disaster.

By 23:22 there were fewer than 200 enemy fighters left in the village, most of them having been killed in a major air assault that took place at 21:00 hours. The air assault saw A-5D Vigilantes armed with iron bombs and F-26B Typhoons armed with laser-guided bombs drop over 200 bombs on the village, most of them in the order of 500 pounds. Since then, everything had changed. Artillery went quiet and the city was seiged only by the Marine infantry and cavalry within. The Marines had taken some losses since the morning as well. They were up to 92 casualties within the city, devestating to think that the number was almost 10% of the forces that they had in the city. Four M2A4 Bradley IFVs had been taken out by Abrams tanks and RPGs. One Sabertooth was knocked out by a combined assault ambush. It took over 40 RPGs, 12 Abrams shells, and two mines. The crew managed to survive, althoguh barely. The tank was considered lost and thermite grenades were used to destroy sensitive electronics within it, just before a 2,000 laser-guided bomb impacted the roof of the mighty tank, turning it into shrapnel. In addition, fourteen trucks, eight Dingos, and six Bushmasters were knocked out by mines, tank fire, and RPGs. There was also an uncomfirmed report that 14 Marines were MIA and possibly captured. Lastly, out of the 906 Marines not KIA or MIA, about 230 were wounded.

It wouldn't be until 02:20 the next morning that Grenville was secured. It would be the bloodiest battle of the war, which saw a total of 129 Marine fatalities, 399 Marines wounded, 14 Marines MIA, 4 naval aviators killed, and 2 more missing. Enemy casualties numbered some 1,238 soldiers, all some superior military unit operating in the city and, quite possibly, in St. George's too. They made the Marines work for the village and they were very effective. Their losses were staggeringly large, compared to the Marines but that meant nothing. They were dangerous, very dangerous. Only 24 had been captured and they weren't cracking under interrogation and it was unlikely that they would. They were trained elite. If this was a prologue to what the battle in St. George's was going to be like, the Marines and Navy had to make sure they hit St. George's with everything they had.

Layarteb

10-10-2006, 06:30

July 24, 2006 - 04:10 AST
Gouyave, Grenada

Reports filtered down throughout the island of the Layartebian military advance. Layartebian aircraft, armor, and infantry moved through the island as if it were there for the taking. The only major resistance that they had faced, thus far, was at Grenville. The remainder of the towns, especially in Saint Patrick's and Saint Andrew's parishes offered resistance but they didn't last very long against the Layartebian armada. Naval guns fell silent, for now, as they had pummeled the island for the better part of the past two days. The various guns of the naval ships had put thousands of rounds into the island already. Five, six, eight, sixteen, and eighteen inch guns from the battleships, battlecruisers, destroyers, frigates, and cruisers had torn the island to nothing. Coastal positions barely survived the first onslaught and more inland positions were hit hard by the following strikes.

For now though, the naval batteries were being saved for the final battle, which would be in St. George's. The coastal positions were peppered and destroyed but St. George's had survived well. That was done on purpose. A full offensive against St. George's was scheduled to begin at 09:30 hours on July 24. The initial phases would only include naval aircraft and helicopters, strike missiles, and naval artillery. Armor and infantry would move in on the 27th, after three days of bombardment, meant to crush the will and morale of the enemy based there.

The first thirty-five hours of fighting saw 3,839 Grenadian, 312 Layartebian, and 300 civilian casualties. That was a high death toll for such a short period of time but, in retrospect, there had been worse ones that the Empire had faced, especially in Venezuela in the early 1980s.

Gouyave would see one of the highest death tolls of the war, despite being not nearly as brutal of a battle was Grenville was. Gouyave was considered a sanctuary when the war began and it was flooded with refugees, awaiting escape and awaiting the Layartebians. Grenadian soldiers, particularly the elite fighting forces faced in Grenville, found this out. By sunrise, on July 24, they had surrounded the city, which was small and had yet to be touched by Layartebian infantry and cavalry. A total of 2,450 civilians were waiting, sending out distress signals on open frequencies, frequencies being intercepted by the Layartebians.

When the Layartebian cavalry and infantry rolled in just before noon, they found the city eeriely deserted. What they walked upon was a massacre. All 2,450 of them had been killed, rounded up, and executed. Some were found dead in the streets, some were found dead in their homes, some in sewers, some in public places. The massacre was one of the worst atrocities that the Layartebian Marines had ever seen and it was all done to look as if they had perpetrated it. This wouldn't go over well...

Layarteb

11-10-2006, 03:30

July 24, 2006 - 05:05 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

Point Salines IAP had been attacked, reattacked, and further attacked from the air and the sea by aircraft, helicopters, and shipping. The runway was peppered with Durandals, submunitions, and laser-guided bombs. Craters were small and they were large. The Durandals impacted the hardest, penetrating a foot and a half into the runway, exploding underneath, creating a crater 52.5 feet wide and 16.5 feet deep. The hangars had been hit by laser-guided and GPS-guided bombs as well as cruise missiles. The shattered skeletons and remains of them littered the airport. The terminals had taken hard hits as well, mostly by cruise missiles in the initial strikes. The runway had taken multiple RGM-165 Standard LASM strikes, each one equipped with a BLU-110 hard-target penetrator warhead, weighing some 254 pounds. The explosive force of each strike, combined with the kinetic energy of the Mach 3.5 terminal impact turned each target into nothing. The airport wasn't very armored or protected against airstrikes. It was mostly a civilian airport.

The Grenadians protecting the airport, at the start of the attacks numbered some 800 but, by now, they had been reduced to a mere 250. Now the Marines were descending upon the airport. The Marines were coming in with an assault squadron, equipped with 88 vehicles, 260 vehicle crewmen, and a company of 128 Marines. Their goal was complete seizure of the airport and they had to achieve that goal before noon. Once that was set, engineers would come in and begin reconstruction on the runway so that they could use it to land C-17s, C-26s, and C-130s loaded with supplies. It was going to be the job of the Marines to make that so.

When they descended on the base just after five in the morning, only forty-seven minutes from sunrise. The sky was already getting brighter as the sun got closer and closer and closer to the horizon, in the east. The more west, the darker it was, but that was the way Mother Nature worked. However, the Marines defied Mother Nature and came from the east, their weapons drawn, their vehicles moving. Everyone sported night vision goggles and the remote operated machine gun turrets had their night sights on, as well as the sights on the armored vehicles. Leading the way were four M2031A1 Tumbler breeching vehicles, armed heavy with 12.7 millimeter machine guns, SLATDWs, 7.62 millimeter machine guns, and mortars. All four of them kicked it up to sixty miles per hour as they prepared to make the initial assault. They were going to scout the airport first and they would have the best view of it. Silent engine engaged, the four Tumblers, each with their two-man crews, approached the entrance way, guarded with reinforced concrete F-shaped barriers, the kind used to seperate the directions of a highway. They approached them with their rockets armed and each one fired two rockets at the barriers. The rockets moved far faster then the vehicles did. The kinetic energy from the missiles, combined with the 78mm HEAT charge, turned the barriers into dust and small bits of concrete pebbles.

They drove right through the white cloud of concrete dust and debris, taking fire immediately from a pair of emplaced heavy machine guns. The lead vehicle targetted them with their 12.7mm guns and fired, both guns firing a five-round burst into each gun, slamming them into pieces and killing the operators immediately. The vehicles split off and two headed for the runway now and two others headed for the hangar area. They were about two minutes ahead of the actual assault force, which was being led by four M2018A1 Wolf LBTs, armed with 105mm ETC guns, powerful enough to turn even the most modern battle tanks into disabled, scrap metal.

The two vehicles heading down the runway used their targetting systems to spot dozens of emplaced positions and used their mortars to take out four RPG positions, two HMG positions, and a recoilless rifle. When mortar rounds started landing in their path, they immediately branched out to get information on the rounds. A sophisticated targetting system tracked the incoming rounds as two more came down, missing the two vehicles by over ten feet. Being spotted from the control tower, the mortars were sitting on the other side of the airport. With enough rounds falling, they were able to get a fix on the mortars based on the trajectory and speed of the falling rounds. Their advanced targetting computer went to work and the passenger in each of the two vehicles placed their mortars on automatic for a single round shot. Two rounds were ejected with a thump. They would whistle down, onto the mortar position, without the enemy ever knowing that they had been engaged. The spotter in the tower would have to stay, for now, but that would not last for too long. Once the main cavalry arrived, the tower was to be hit with a round from one of the Wolf LBTs.

The two vehicles sweeping the tarmac area found that the enemy there had dug themselves in pretty well. They used their machine guns to engage who they could and targetting other, more difficult positions with their mortars and SLATDWs. They swept the area fast, engaging whatever their FLIRs picked up, leaving their weapons on automatic engage. All they had to do was drive and select the weapons. The vehicles were quiet and fast, armored to protect themselves against the incoming machine gun and RPG fire, the latter not hitting due to the speed of the vehicles.

In two minutes, the four Tumblers killed at least four dozen soldiers, knocked out two mortars, seven machine gun positions, eleven RPG positions, and left a significant wake of damage in their tracks as they exited the airport, their ammunition loads almost completely spent. That was fine though, as the Wolf LBTs, Strykers, and Cobras attacked next. The Bradleys took up most of the rear, protecting against enemy soldiers attacking from the rear flank. The Wolf LBTs had the most power and used their ETC guns to take out vehicles and the top of the control tower, sending a fury of glass shards, jagged metal, and debris down, onto the ground below.

The Grenadian soldiers massed well and took up defensive positions after they realized that the airport had been breeched and they were being overrun. They took up special positions that gave them the advantage, being on upper floors and rooftops, giving them the ability to fire and run away, quickly. The soldiers had not departed from the vehicles just yet but they would soon, as it became evident that the enemy was in hiding. In doing this, the enemy hoped they could sucker in the Marines. Little did they know that the Marines had a UAV on station, an RQ-12B Pegasus, flying at 60,000 feet over the airport. It used its high powered cameras and FLIR sensors to target enemy positions and relay them down to the Marines attacking. This meant that the Marines had the advantage, they could find enemy positions and engage them within the safety of the armor.

One of the hardest positions to get was a sniper position based on one fo the terminals, inside of it. A simple round from any of the chain guns or the main gun of the Wolf wouldn't have done much and a mortar wouldn't be able to maneuver to attack precisely. The call to arms came and an M2A4 Bradley IFV stopped abruptly, about 300 meters from the position. They used the UAV spotting to set the autopilot specifics for their Firefly missile. As the launcher raised up to offer the proper launch trajectory, the Bradley took a hard RPG hit to the right side. The Bradley had no time to reach and the round disabled its right tread. They fired their missile anyway, which exited with a loud firing sound. The missile arced up in top-dive mode and climbed to 150 meters, before coming right back down, into the position, which was more towards the rear of the building. They blasted the entire position with the single round and watched as a Cobra APC took up their right flank and put several of their HMG rounds into the RPG position.

The Bradley crew were forced to disembark from their vehicle and they did so, escaping to the refuge of a bombed out storage shack. The assault squadron was loaded up with eight M2015A2 Cobra M units, that were loaded up with a 120mm mortar. Each vehicle had 69 rounds with 3 of them at the ready. They could put them accurately on any point target from a tenth of a mile out to four and a half miles. In addition, the rounds hit with such force that they could destroy soft targets without much effort. That would work well. Using the UAV to target for them, they adjusted their weapons to pinpoint enemy hiding positions. Within a half hour, they had destroyed at least 90% of those positions, leaving less than 40 soldiers alive at the airport. That was when the Marines disembarked from their vehicles and began to sweep the airport.

By 07:20 they had the airport secured and they had 12 POWs. They had lost no soldiers but at least 17 had been wounded through their actions. The only lost vehicle was the disabled M2A4 Bradley, which would be repaired and put back into the game by the end of the afternoon.

Layarteb

11-10-2006, 05:43

July 24, 2006 - 09:30 AST
St. George's, Grenada

St. George's was quiet. The morning sun was rising in the east, casting down its heat already. Solar noon would be 12:13, when the sun was 94,424,810 miles away. It still took about eight and a half minutes for the light to reach Grenada but it didn't lose a lot of heat in the process. The temperature was already 81.5° F and it was rising. It was expected to be 88° F by solar noon and with it, the humidity. The Marines would definitely be sweating as they fought on the island but that wouldn't slow them down one bit. They were trained for Caribbean and jungle style warfare. Just as some of the Marines were trained in Arctic weather, these were trained for warmer weather. For them, this weather was normal for them. They trained in it day in and day out in Cuba, Venezuela, Panama, and they had once trained in Grenada, before it fell to communist forces.

In the main government building, the Supreme Grenadian convened to discuss how the war was going. St. George's had been untouched thus far and they suspected that it would be surrounded first and then their surrender ordered. They knew that the Empire didn't want to destroy St. George's and they would use that to their advantage, at least until 09:30:06. The city was eeriely silent except for the orders of soldiers and officers and the sounds of vehicles. Then, with a loud sonic boom, shattering every window in its path and creating a massive gust of wind, something soared over the city at an altitude of 2,000 feet, smashing head first into the government building. The explosion was like an earthquake. The building was reduced to mere splinters and shards from the force of the impact and resulting explosion.

In a single strike, the Empire had completely cut off the rebel government from its soldiers and from life in general. The impact was from an RGM-203A Imsdal, equipped with a 1,200 pound advanced unitary penetrator, impacting at a velocity of Mach 7. The kinetic energy alone would have been enough to weaken and possibly collapse the structure but, when combined with the explosion, it was even more deadly. The missile had been launched from an Unforgiven CGN sitting 40 nautical miles off shore. It was a decapitation strike, a perfect one at that, and it was only a precursor. Less than a minute later, aircraft and missiles were bombing St. George's to nothing. GPS and laser-guided bombs were dropped on crucial military and governmental targets, heavy strike and cruise missiles targetted some of the most fortified and well defended positions, and little was going to be left after the first hour, let alone three days. Bombardment of St. George's was going to last until 13:00 hours on July 27. At 20:00 hours, the Marine infantry and cavalry would roll in, to accept the surrender of the Supreme Grenadian. Now dead, that would be slightly different.

Now the real war began...

OOC: I am going to slow down so Saint Lazare can catch up.

Saint Lazare

12-10-2006, 03:08

[ooc: it's 2300 24July2006 in my timeline... I'm waiting for you :)]

After running through the jungle, Simeone realized that he had made one critical error - something that he had not anticipated. Strangely, this cartel camp was arranged in a concentric circle, such that it formed a loose layer of circles. It wasn't large, but the design made it difficult for him to figure out if he was in the middle or on the edge. The scene was getting hectic, as he was certain that the cartel knew he was loose for certain, on examining the corpses he left in his prison cell. For certain, he would have a story to explain to Layarteb agents if they caught him. But it didn't make much sense - why would Layarteb agents cooperate with the cartels? Was this even a cartel anymore? Of course it was - he was locked in a storeroom for coke products. But the questions continued to compound and his brain couldn't handle the load much longer. His wrists were bleeding - it was only to his convenience that it was nighttime, or else it would be more difficult to hide. And luckily they had no dogs - or otherwise his trail would have been long done.

He still carried his AK, since it was a perfect mask. The night was too dark to show his face and nearly everyone else was armed and looking around. But he couldn't afford to risk it too much, because someone might recognize him. In fact, the first person that recognized him would be the first to receive a fresh bullet.

It was at least thirty minutes after the bust, passing through a brush that he came to a rather tall escarpment. Below was a murky mix of water and rock, although the nighttime hid it all. He decided to make a turn, until he realized that his captors had surrounded him. Aimed at the ready, they fired two shots, missing both. Without another thought, he leaped off the edge and disappeared into the water. The water was more shallow than he had anticipated, and in fact, he likely broke his leg in the jump. But he couldn't afford to let one small nit keep him from staying alive.

The river current was strong, and rather than fight it, he decided to follow the current, as it was either likely to lead him to civilization or the ocean. Cuba wasn't particularly big, and it wouldn't be worth much if he walked on a bad leg anyway. He still had all of his armaments, although he wasn't certain if they would fire. But the very presence was enough to stop most soldiers from making a desperate move.

2006 July 25 - 0424

For some reason, Simeone woke up several hours later in a hospital. Two doctors were operating on his leg, to stitch it and put a cast on it. He was being fed anesthesiacs, but by this time, he had fell immune to soporific tendencies. But rather than budge and let the doctors know that he was awake, he let them continue their business. He was wondering where he was and searched for clues. Wherever he was, it was 0424 and the clinic was certainly modern. It wasn't a rural doctor's office, but it wasn't uber-city. Perhaps it was a town - but where?

Layarteb

12-10-2006, 05:21

OOC: Doh! Okay let me catch up a little more then.

July 24, 2006 - 14:30 AST
St. George's, Grenada

"So how long until we're ready?" The Illuminati Ghost Warrior commander asked as he lit another cigarette. The basement was dank. It was warm in there and each and every one of them was sweating, smoking, and working. The smoke haze cloud that filled the decrepit, concrete basement was thick and made it tough to breathe without coughing. The cargo sat strapped to a wooden table, which had been propped up in the middle to prevent it from shattering the old wood of the tabletop. There was a bright, flourescent light hovering over the table, hanging from the ceiling, held on only but its wire. It shook as they walked past it or bumped it, bathing the light everywhere around. It was the only light in the basement and too far away from the table and it was completely dark. Four of them were in the basement, two working on the cargo and two standing around, helping. The other four were on the first floor of the dirty, gutted, and unfriendly apartment building. All around them, bombs fell and missiles struck targets, whether they were governmental strongholds or tanks. The shaking of the in flight missiles and their impacts made the situation that much more impressive.

Each of them was smoking a cigarette, not because they were addicted to them, on the contrary, Illuminati Ghost Warriors were often in peak physical health. They smoked because it relieved tension and this was just about as much tension as any one person could handle, by itself, nevermind what was going off around them. "Sir. We'll be ready to go in twenty-five minutes. I've disabled the modifier and we're working on the initial now. It's going to work well sir. We just have to hook up the timer."

"Is it a possibility that an explosion could disrupt the timer?"

"On any normal timer yes, violent shaking can throw off the circuit. On this model, however, it is a lot different. It would have to take a direct hit from a 2,000 pound bomb to throw off the circuit."

"What would that do to the rest of the package?"

"Render it pretty useless."

"That's a chance we'll have to take. How likely is it to happen?"

"Not likely at all."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. Let's hurry up and get it done. It's going to take us about an hour to get it into place and then we have to get the hell out of dodge."

"Understood sir." The commander walked away, towards the rickety, old, creaky steps and ascended them, putting the cigarette butt out on the top step.

"Gentlemen. What is it like?" He asked the four men guarding the first floor. Two were stationed near the door and the other two were on the roof, keeping a good look out. "I want to hear good things?"

"Sir. The missiles and bombs are hitting rather precisely. We saw the government building go up about five hours ago. If anyone was inside of it they're definitely dead."

"And of the roof?"

"You'll have to ask them sir. They've been very quiet."

"Alright. Keep it up. Make sure anyone who walks in here doesn't walk out."

"You've got it sir."

The commander ascended the steps towards the roof and climbed up four flights. The building was abandoned a long time ago and it had fallen into disrepair since. He almost fell through the steps as he passed through the third floor, something that didn't make him feel any safer ascending the rest but he did it, to get to the roof and find out what was going on through the city. "Report."

"Yes sir. We've got a full war going on here. Naval guns, missiles, bombs. They're all hitting governmental targets and pretty well in fact."

"Have we come close to a hit?"

"No."

"Do you think we will?"

"No sir. Not unless they start bombing the civies."

"Well not likely, at the moment..."

"True sir."

"Very well. Report in if you see something."

"You've got it sir." He returned to the basement and watched the rest of the proceedure. Meanwhile, on the complete opposite side of town, Team 43 of the 2nd Special Operations Group "SEALS" were descending upon the capital. They had made quick work of many anti-tank and anti-aircraft positions and now they were about to enter the city. They were far away from the Ghost Warriors and neither knew of each others' presence, which would have made their missions that much more difficult and that much more rewarding, to whomever succeeded. The eight men from Team 43 stealthily approached a small garrison near the outskirts of the city, on the northern side. It was staffed by about fourteen soldiers and all of them were sitting there, waiting for orders. Using hand signals only, the team leader announced that he wanted to throw in a stun grenade and then capture at least two of them. The rest, he indicated, he didn't care about and so it would be done as such. A pair of M58A1 Stun Grenades were thrown from around the side of the building, both landing in front of the Grenadian soldiers. Gunfire opened next though not from the Layartebians but rather the Grenadians, who were firing blindly into the street. Four of the fourteen died from friendly fire and eight of the remaining ten were put down with rifle shots to their chests and heads. Two were captured and taken to the nearest structure, a lavish hotel, that was now abandoned.

"Sit the fuck down. You speak English!" The team leader said with a firm voice, his pistol in his hands. He didn't get an answer. "I said do you speak English!"

"Sergeant Michael Davis. Democratic Republic of Grenadia Army."

"Alright first off let's get this straight. Name, rank, serial number. That's fine. I don't care about that. First off you have no army, your state isn't recognized. Secondly, I could care less about anti-torture conventions. In fact. Let me get my pliers, hold on a minute." The two soldiers looked up at him with fear. They were restrained to a pair of chairs and put in the middle of the lobby as the SEALS surrounded them. "Now. Answer me this. Where is the war being run from?" Initially there was no answer but after a short hesitation, one of them, Sergeant Benjamin O'Reilly, spit on the boots of one of the SEALS soldiers. "That wasn't nice. Here. Dislocate his fingers on his right hand."

"You got it sir." He wiped off his boot and grabbed the pliers, pulling each of the five fingers on his right hand out of their place. It swelled and turned black and blue immediately. The soldier screamed out of pain and panic. "That's better, isn't it?"

"Now. We can stop this and fix that if you tell us where the war is being run from. You see the more you cooperate, the better it is. The less and. Well. You get the point."

"We know nothing."

"Hammer."

"Honest. We know nothing."

"Hit the index finger hard." One whack of the hammer was all they needed as the force shattered every bone in his index finger, so that he would never fire a weapon again. "Good. Good. Hurt a lot doesn't it?"

"Fuck off."

"Very well. Go for the ring finger." It was done, twice as hard and twice as fast. "Want to start cooperating or we're going to keep doing this to your friend. Look at him, we haven't even done anything yet and already he's in unfathomable pain. Shitty isn't it?"

"I don't know anything to tell you."

"Fine. Let's start off small. Was that your full unit?"

"Yes. It was." He said, hanging his head low in shame.

"Sergeant Davis. That is good. Keep that up. Now. What kind of armor do you have in this city?"

"Not much. A couple of Abrams tanks, some Bradleys, a few dozen APCs. You know, whatever we could salvage."

"Interesting. And the battle plan?"

"My unit was supposed to provide a counterattack against the impending offensive, whenever that may be."

"You are unaware?"

"We are." There was a long pause before he answered each question, as if he had to think about the treason he was committing.

"Alright. What do you know about the battlefield of this city?"

"Only what they told us."

"Which is?"

"Draw them in and make them fight house to house, alleyway to alleyway, street to street."

"Interesting isn't it."

"What is?"

"The plan. It's a good one. Did you count on the air strikes?"

"Limitedly. We didn't expect it to be this bad."

"Well. Good. So. Do you remember who runs this war?"

"They're." He took a long, hard pause. They're in the government building."

"We took that out."

"No."

"Yes."

"We just received a call from them twenty minutes ago."

"I hate to tell you but you were spoofed. A cruise missile took out the building just a few hours ago." The soldier held his head in shame.

Layarteb

13-10-2006, 03:01

July 24, 2006 - 18:30 AST
St. George's, Grenada

Team 43 had left their interrogation room hours ago, the bodies of both Grenadian soldiers lying on the floor, bullet wounds in their foreheads. Both of them had been shot, point blank, with a .45ACP bullet, killing both of them instantly. Left there, to rot and die, the two soldiers were warriors fighting against an enemy of mammoth proportions, especially when news of the decapitation strike filtered through the ranks. The Layartebians had succeeded in destroying the Supreme Grenadian and the entire rebel government with one missile, aimed and flown with perfection. The explosion sent up debris for miles and scattered the remains of the 283 people inside the building all around the wreck site. Bombs continued to fall throughout the city as the soldiers began to wonder why they were still fighting and for who and what. The strikes were powerful and precise, very powerful and very precise. In just nine, long hours, a third of the objectives against the capital city had been accomplished with no losses, so far. Layartebian aircraft and missiles had slowed their pace, thus far, but that didn't meant they were letting up on the capital. They continued to attack military assets, focusing mainly on armored units within the city, to allow the Marines to invade the city easier and without as much spilled blood.

Near the destroyed governmental building, which was being combed through by Grenadian rescue workers and soldiers. They were looking for anyone who could have survived the explosion and subsequent collapse. They weren't finding anything. The rubble was digusting to look at and search through, mainly because it was interwoven with both body parts and pieces of the building. People threw up, people cried, others screamed and cursed, and still more stayed steadfast. It was catastrophic for the rebel cause and it could haev no chance of success now.

Revenge would be had though, but in an unlikely place. Underneath the street, in front of the building, deep into the sewer tunnels were the eight Illuminati Ghost Warriors. They had placed the cargo in its place and were making final preparations now. The cargo was there to be found and they left all the calling cards that they could. It would blow the conspiracy right out of the water and expose it to the whole world. That was what the Ghost Warriors were there for, to ensure that what happened was to plan. They wouldn't be in St. George's when it happened, they had bigger fish to fry, but that didn't meant they wouldn't be watching it.

By 19:30 hours, they were out of the tunnels and beginning their egress from the city. They would head out, away from the city, approximately three and a half miles away, on top of a hill, so that they could overlook the city. Their plan would go off perfectly and with it, an end to the war. They arrived at the small house a little after 21:00 hours, a long trip for them, by foot, but it was uneventful. The roar of aircraft and missiles overhead echoed along their path as they moved throughout the jungle.

The rundown shack, as it would be better described, sat on top of the hill with the darkness of the night around it. "What is the timing like?"

"We're on schedule."

"Good. Get the SATCOM." The Radioman appeared only seconds later, the satellite phone in his hands. "Good. Thank you." He took the phone from his hands and began dialing the number. "Charlie Whiskey. Charlie Whiskey."

"Go Whiskey."

"Go Charlie."

"Establish grounds."

"Zeta, zeta, niner, fiver, four, four, zero, bravo, echo, echo, foxtrot, whiskey, alpha, charlie."

"Unicorn, omega, delta, seven, seven, six, fiver, niner, one, two, eight, romeo, juliet, romeo, alpha, charlie, bravo, whiskey."

"Roger that sir. Connection established."

"Authorized. Speak. Thirty seconds."

"Sir. The mission is a go. I repeat. The mission is a go. No upsets. No problems. Location alpha is a go."

"Clock."

"On schedule."

"Report contact?"

"None."

"Very well. Carry on."

"Out." He put down the phone and looked around. "Alright men, get comfortable. You've got our cover? We're aide workers. We were kidnapped after we arrived here and we've been here this whole time."

"You've got it sir." Now came the hardest part, the waiting...

Layarteb

13-10-2006, 03:25

July 25, 2006 - 02:30 EST
Governor Island, Layarteb City

"General. What I'm asking for is a time frame. The Emperor is growing tired of this problem in Grenada. We've been at war with them for three days and we've got the whole island secured except for Saint George's. What is the status there?"

"Well sir. We've established complete air superiority early on so our aircraft are flying over there without being hassaled. We've accomplished well over half of our objectives within the city."

"Would it be safe to send in the troops?"

"Sir. The decapitation strike ensured that the enemy won't be able to do much. I wouldn't think it a bad idea."

"And you are positive?"

"I am sir."

"Very well." The Defense Minister hung up the phone and turned to the Emperor. "The Admiral of the Navy is in agreement. We can send in the Marines now."

"Very well. Chairman?"

"Sir. I think we should wait a little longer but I cannot pass up such a stellar opportunity. We struck gold with that strike sir."

"We did."

"It is understandable that the enemy has low morale and little desire to keep on fighting. Look at the damage we've caused."

"It's significant."

"Yes it is."

"Where are the Marines now?"

"We've got a brigade right outside of the city now. The other two brigades are dispersed throughout the island."

"Is a regiment enough?"

"Quite sir. We estimate that they have a total of 7,500 to 10,000 enemy soldiers within the city. That was as of 08:30 hours, yesterday. We're currently poised to take the city as we know that their forces have been downgraded significantly in the past eighteen hours."

"Very well. Order them in."

"You're wish sir. They'll attack at 04:00 hours. Is that sufficient?"

"That decision is yours."

"Very well sir, 04:00 hours, our time. Which will be 05:00 hours for them." He picked up the phone to the JOC. "Commence Operation Sevin Dust, to begin at 05:00 hours, local time."

"Roger that sir." The orders were filtered down through the command and the aerial attacks would be subdued, while the Marines attacked. This way it would severely limit friendly fire.

OOC: All caught up.

Saint Lazare

13-10-2006, 17:42

2006 July 25 - 0754
Santiago, Cuba

Several hours later, Simeone was still in the hospital as he began to deal with the pains of being in a hospital in a country that doesn't recognize [or perhaps even knows] that he exists. He knew that in several minutes, Layartebian officials would be out to question him - how he came to be in such a bad state and about other things, things that would lead to trouble for him. They were already probably wondering how the hell he came into Layarteb, especially since he had no country of origin reference - which was probably bad. That would be doubly bad if they decided that he was a threat.

But he felt confident that the situation could be controlled. He could still lie, and he was an efficient liar. But of course, then he'd have to run, and he couldn't run. He couldn't tell the truth, in which case it was better not to say anything, but of course - if he said nothing, they would wonder still. Then they'd ask him to write. And writing was just as bad as talking because then they'd have fingerprints, although the doctors probably already toook the liberty to do that in his anesthetized state. And besides the fingerprints, they'd find a huge paper trail linking him back home - wherever that was.

His best chance was to disappear by his own volition, but it wasn't that easy anymore. He was very visible now, and there was no likely possibility that he'd get very far. He then wondered how he was discovered. Who discovered him, and how did they discover him? His memory went back farther - to the two Layarteb agents at the cartel hideout. He focused his mind on the word "Overture" - whatever that meant. Was that a new drug product? He'd heard a lot about some other drug, but he hadn't spent too much time thinking about it. Perhaps the coke in his cabin was "Overture". Too many questions again - it was hurting his head.

After a long length, he decided that it was worth more to try to move around. And he began to walk, pacing himself slowly. Despite the obvious pain, he found that the Layarteb surgeons did a very good job healing the damage. It hurt as he walked, but for most part, he could tolerate it. In fact, he tolerated the pain enough to jump on it. Of course, he wasn't certain how they had done it so seamlessly, as he was certain his bone was broken. But perhaps it hadn't - and if it hadn't, that made escape much more likely now. Of course, he was dressed in his hospital gown, but that was the same story for more than just himself. He stepped outside his room and proceeded to walk down the hall. No one seemed to care at that moment - it was the most opportunte time to leave.

Layarteb

14-10-2006, 00:04

July 25, 2006 - 14:35 AST
St. George's, Grenada

Marines were inside the streets of St. George's, where the fighting was all but calm. The battle had been raging for nine and a half hours and no end was in sight yet. The Grenadian soldiers inside the capital were well-trained, well supplied, and their morale was remarkably high, despite the bombings and the annihilation of the Supreme Grenadian. Something suggested that they had already been replaced and those replacements, being unknown, were the most dangerous kind. Layartebian bombers and fighters had eased off on the massive bombings that had already turned the city into a jagged shell of oblivion. Still, over 27,000 civilians took refuge in the city, most of them converged in the center of the city, near the ruined government building. There were numerous shelters there, that dated back twenty or thirty years and they were well stocked and hardened. The bombers stayed away from collateral targets and nothing but precision weaponry had passed over and onto St. George's. Imsdal and Tomahawk II cruise missiles made the most effective means of striking, their heavy warheads and high speeds enabling them to strike the hardest targets. It was an Imsdal that laid waste to the governmental building and a Tomahawk II that laid waste to the main command and control building. Communications, for the enemy, were completely wiped out, sealing their fate.

The Marines attacked in force and were accurate, precise, cunning, and deadly. No matter what the Grenadians put in front of them or did to try to outflank or trap them, the Marines just fought their way out of it. They called in helicopters when they needed particularly large barriers or enemy positions taken down or out. When they spotted a major target, they called in an airstrike. They used their armor as a shield as they moved through the streets and the narrow alleyways. The enemy knew this terrain and this city like the back of their hand but it wasn't helping them. The Layartebians knew it too. Layartebian Marines had trained on Grenada time and time again and it had only been a month now since the rebels took over the island.

What hurt the worst though were the 4,518 Layartebian soldiers that were missing. They had been captured by the insurrectionist forces in mid-June and they had yet to be found. Since fighting began just a few days prior, another 57 Layartebian Marines had been captured, presumably held in the same place. The island was being searched though and the missing soldiers were high priority. Wherever they were, they would be found. If they were in St. George's, they would be found. If they were in the hills, they would be found. If they were dead, they would be found. That was a promise that the Emperor made to each and every family member of the missing. Wherever they were, they were going to be found.

The city was barely under anyone's control at 15:00 hours, local time, on July 25. Neither the Grenadians nor the Marines held any grasp on the city whatsoever. Civilians were in hiding and whatever was caught outside was easy prey for snipers. The battle, as the generals feared, would become a stalemate, unless the Layartebians bombed the entire city to ruins, something that wasn't an option. They weren't bombing a foreign country here, they were bombing citizens of the Empire and that wasn't taken lightly at home and in the streets of Layarteb City, Falcon City, Racoon City, and elsewhere throughout the mighty Empire.

However, in Santiago, Cuba, things were different than they were in the middle of St. George's. Majestic had their own plans for Grenada and they didn't like snoops. When they came across one, they worked as hard as they could to subdue him but their goal was more or less on what he knew. They knew not his name, his origin, or anything else about a mysterious man that had been found by Layartebian agents working for Majestic. That was a side goal, to find out what he knew about Overture and if he knew anything at all. If he did, he was a liability and easily liquified. If he didn't know anything, he was definitely a liability as well, too much curiosity in the man.

Saint Lazare

14-10-2006, 23:54

2006 July 25 - 1500
Santiago, Cuba

He was in the middle of Santiago, in an apartment. He found that it was extremely easy to walk out of the hospital - it was almost as if he didn't exist. Maybe it was because they didn't care? Not likely; a man with multiple wounds - shot wounds - wouldn't leave so easily. Layarteb would investigate the attempted murder of one of its citizens. No... whoever worked on him wanted him to disappear, so the Empire wouldn't know and likewise wouldn't care. It worked against him to leave the hospital, but he couldn't simply return - he knew that they would be waiting for him, whoever they were.

Instead, he decided to lay low until the situation began to chill a little more. Perhaps these people would forget him if he forgot them. But it wouldn't be so simple - he busted a major drug route, and it certainly incited action from them. They either wanted answers or they wanted blood; probably it was a mixture of the two, but he didn't want to know where that would lead him.

So he was stuck in Cuba with no viable escape route. He had no real shelter, no food, no gun, and more importantly no contact. If he left the city, whoever was after him would find him more easily. If he stayed, they would eventually catch him - they only needed to search the city, block by block. Of course, then, there was the problem of who these people were - didn't they work for the government? It was all confusing, and he decided to turn on the television to catch up on world news for the past two days - has it been that long?

"Ten o'clock news from Layarteb Cuba Telemundo! Streaming live from Habana with Jose Maria-Lopez and Manuella Isadora.

J:: Officials are still looking for the man responsible for the Habana drug bust yesterday afternoon. A total of 32000 kilos of cocaine and other ambient illicit substances were recovered by the Habana Port Authorities, who handed it to the Layarteb Illicit Substances Control Unit in Cuba. This makes the largest drug bust since the Emperor declared a War on Drugs, which has been received optimistically by the people of the Empire and around the world. Still, authorities have no clue on the identity of the man who reported the mass drug deposit, which was ironically being unloaded in the open air in massive quantities. Authorities are also investigating the source of this massive load and the reasoning behind the obvious loading of drug onto the vessel."

Simeone nodded and smirked. They weren't loading the boats; they were unloading...

"M:: A Miami resident was killed after the man's friend's yacht collapsed in rapid currents after leaving Habana. Authorities have recovered the owner of the yacht, who is recovering at the hospital. Winds reached near 40 mph last night, as a storm system passed over the Florida Straits. Despite the warnings, the two men left the Havana marina at 2200 hours last night and were likely suffering the worst of the storm when they signaled a distress code to the Layarteb Coast Guard. The recovery was made in a record 32 minutes, although the loss of life was lamented...
--- 'The Layarteb Coast Guard performed excellently in the recovery of the two men. However, despite all of our efforts, the rites of nature took their toll. Our men performed valiantly - there is nothing that they could have done better.'
... The local authorities have once again stressed that storm warnings are a strong indication that conditions will not be suitable for private vessels to cross open seas. As such, they remind citizens that these warnings are not to be ignored."

"J:: In international news, Ottoman forces began a major offensive into former Moorington territory, as the recent collapse of the government there led directly to instability in Afghanistan. Hostilities began two days ago, but significant progress has progressed into 'favorable conditions' for the Ottoman AF. Ottoman forces are expected to reach Kabul later today, in what will likely become a heavily ontested fight for the control of Afghanistan."

"M:: Closer to home, Layarteb Ministry of Defense officials have declared that progress is being made in Grenada. After the collapse of negotiations, which resulted from the assassination of the entire Layarteb diplomatic envoy to St. Georges by an unknown assassin, assumed to be a Grenadan rebel who posed as a taxi driver, Layarteb forces have made progress throughout the entire island. It is expected that St. Georges will fall under Layarteb control once again, with minimal losses..."

Simeone immediately rose up when he heard "assassination" and it suddenly occurred to him that he was pursuing this from an entirely wrong perspective. He was following the trail end of a event, whereas he ought to be looking up the chain. It seemed obvious to him that the assassination in St. Georges was linked to the drug freight in Havana. But exactly how? That question would have an answer somewhere up the hierarchy, and it meant tracing steps back to Venezuela and beyond Giacomo. But then, therein lied the problem...

Layarteb

15-10-2006, 02:01

July 25, 2006 - 19:30 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. As you are aware, we have been at war with insurrectionist rebels in Grenada since 13:00 on the 22nd. I come to you this evening with a report on our battle against these forces on Grenada. Just fourteen hours ago, our Marines began an invasion of Saint George's. We have made significant successes since then, capturing and securing the entirety of the island, save for Saint George's. We expect to be in control, once again, of Saint George's by early tomorrow afternoon, if not sooner. Our Marines have been more then capable.

"Naval aircraft and ships have bombarded the city successfully and diminished the war machine and morale of these insurrectionist forces. When our Marines attacked at dawn, this morning, they attacked an enemy that was weakened, minimalized, and ineffective. The corrupt morass of a government that claimed to rule so effectively and equally under the banner of communism, a false hope and a false sense of security, has collapsed. Our initial strike against these insurrectionist forces came against their leaders. A decapitation strike, as our generals call it, was initiated in the first wave of attacks. It was successful and killed the entire insurrectionist government. Their leaders are dead; their hope devoid.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, this war will soon be over and once again can peace and prosperity be brought to this troubled region. The Empire has brought peace to this region once and we shall bring it again. We will send a clear and concise message to the world, that the peace, prosperity, and integrity of the Empire cannot be interfered with and it cannot be overcome.

"I would also like to draw your attention to the 'War on Drugs.' DEA authorities, just over twenty-four hours ago, raided a major drug operation in Havana. We have recovered over 32,000 kilograms of cocaine, Valkyr, heroin, and marijuana. Let this be a message to the cartels in Colombia, in Venezuela, and in Cuba. The Empire is not here to be taunted and will not go on allowing you to poison the hearts, minds, and future of the innocent. Drug crimes are serious crimes, which will be met with serious penalties. Rewards have been issued for information leading to the capture or death of cartel members. Concerned citizens who help us protect the lives of billions worldwide will be regarded as heroes!

"Thank you and good night."

Layarteb

15-10-2006, 19:05

July 25, 2006 - 22:05 AST
Mount Saint Catherine, Grenade

Team 22 for the 2nd Special Operations Group, the "SEALs" were moving towards Mount Saint Catherine but on a very important mission. Intelligence intercepted a communication, outbound, from St. George's that was to be delivered to a Colonel Thomas Davis in Mount Saint Catherine. The communique would never get there, the messenger lying dead from an execution-style gunshot wound to the head. The intelligence was far more important than his life. It was simple and it had only one sentence that read, "Kill the hostages." It, almost certainly, referred to the captured Layartebian soldiers from June and now, they would be freed. The eight men of Team 22 approached a secret entrance way on the mountain, one that had been overlooked almost seven times by various military patrols and advancing groups of soldiers. It was well hidden and had the runner not given its exact location, Team 22 would have never found it. The entrance was buried underneath a large rock face that stood about twenty feet high, thirty feet wide, and who knew how deep. The rock itself looked as if it weighed more than a naval destroyer. The entrance was underneath the rock, to the bottom right corner of it. It was a trap door that was completely covered with overgrown weeds, grass, and brush. It was natural foliage too, undeterred by the opening and the closing of the door. Skillful warriors defended this base, which looked, from the outside, to have the potential to be a major command and operations base.

Without backup, the eight men were on their own. Weapons shouldered, grenades ready, and night vision on, they slowly opened the trap door, only to find it booby trapped. There was a small grenade tied to a metal wire. If the door was opened too much, the grenade would go off. This was definitely a serious matter and even after the metal wire was clipped, they still opened the door slowly, only enough to remove the grenade and disarm it. With the firing pin out and the grenade harmless, they gave it a good toss off the side of the mountain, throwing the detonator fuse the opposite direction. They opened the door next and saw a small tunnel, barely enough for them to stand up fully in and entered it. The tunnel ranged, in height from four and a half to five feet and it was not lit at all. Well reinforced with 4x4s and 2x4s, they moved into it and listened for voices. Nothing echoed into the tunnels and they were forced to crouch walk through the tunnel, to keep themselves quiet, slow, and effective.

No more than eight feet into the tunnel and they found another booby trap, this one a Claymore mine that would, if detonated, collapse a large section of the tunnel. It took had to be disarmed before they could proceed and with the firing pin removed, they clipped the metal wire and took the mine with them, just in case they would need it. The tunnel was long, at least over a hundred meters, and that meant they had to move to the other end of it as quickly as they could but not so fast that it would garner attention and risk booby traps, which showed themselves to be very evident. The tunnel was silent and the only noise came from the door, which had been shut. The aircraft flying overhead echoed into the door and into the tunnel, albeit only slightly.

The eight of them moved in a line, their weapons never coming off their shoulder unless someone else was covering them. By the time they reached the halfway mark in the tunnel, they disarmed seventeen booby traps, including the Claymore and the grenade at the entrance of the tunnel. They would have to re-exit this tunnel only because they knew it would be the safest route. They knew that this was definitely not an entrance tunnel and the runner gave up this tunnel in an attempt to kill whomever was going there. He was dead now though and the SEALs would get through the tunnel, despite the wishes of the runner to have them blow themselves up and alert those within that the enemy was nearby. Using only hand signals, the SEALs advanced towards the end of the tunnel, the light echo of voices becoming more and more prominent.

The tunnel curved a lot and it was evident that any explosive devices detonated in the tunnel would only collapse a section of it and that the blast waves and fragments would not travel throughout the remainder of the tunnel. It was well engineered and chances were it had existed long before the Grenadians took over the island from the Empire. During the war to conquer Grenada, forces that opposed the annexation were particularly brutal and effective. They travelled through tunnels and were quite dangerous although most of those tunnels had since been wiped out. This one must have snuck by the watchful eye of the engineers. They imagined that it ran right underneath the fort and that it was, probably, accessible through the fort as much as through other tunnels. Why it had not been found was something they would have to ask.

At the end of the initial tunnel, they came to a fork. They could go either left or right, the right path being illuminated by bulbs. The leader gave a signal for them to split up. One squad would go left and the other right, both of them vigilant and watchful for both enemies and booby traps. Gunshots would surely echo and alert anyone around that there was enemy soldiers around and that was something they had to avoid, at all costs. Suppressors would help to lower the chance that they would be heard but they, by no means, muffled a gunshot so much as it wouldn't be heard. This was realty, not the movies. Gunshots could not be silenced unless the bullets were subsonic and special modifications done to the barrels of the weapons.

The left tunnel turned to be a dead end that led to an empty room, probably a weapons cache. Because of its insignificance, it wasn't booby trapped but there were holes cut out in the sides of the tunnel for booby traps. This was no weak fort. The right tunnel, on the other hand, led to a large chamber with four possible ways. Empty, the four men waited for the remainder of their team to catch up to them. When they did, they had some decisions to make. They couldn't split up into groups of two, that was tactically dangerous. They had four tunnels and they had to pick two of them and so they did, moving down the two lighted tunnels, ignoring the unlit ones. Both tunnels curved away from each other, only to end up in the exact same chamber, which was hugemongous and well populated, not with enemy soldiers but with the captured Layartebians. They were all restrained and the chamber was empty. These were the voices that they had heard and when the SEALs entered the chamber, most of them lit up with joy. When the SEALs lifted their fingers for them to be ignored and for the others to stay quiet, they were ignored. They had been held captive for over a month now and they wanted freedom. "Where are they?"

"Who?" The leader asked the first soldier he encountered, someone with a major's rank on his shoulder. "The soldiers? They're gone. Long gone."

"Why would they just leave?"

"I don't know. They left about two hours ago."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Maybe they have something else going on?"

"No. Did you see them planting bombs or something?"

"No."

"Alright let's not chance it, we have to get the hell out of here. You guys, check the area, see if its abandoned."

"Roger that."

"Why haven't you guys left?"

"They said they were booby trapped."

"And you guys stayed here?"

"We haven't eaten in weeks. Give us a break."

"Understood." Something didn't add up and the SEAL leader knew it. When the men returned and stated that it was empty, they began to think differently, that was until they saw a blinking red light in one of the corners. "What's that?"

"What?"

"That. Over there." He pointed to the red light.

"We don't know. It came on about an hour ago."

"Alright. Stay here. We'll check it out." They stood up and walked towards the light, stepping over the soldiers. "Listen up! Everyone! We're going to get out of here and get to freedom. But we've got a problem. That red light there. What is it?" There was commotion but nobody answered. "EVERYONE! LISTEN UP! DO NOT SPEAK UNLESS YOU CAN TELL US WHAT IS GOING ON! THE LONGER WE WAIT HERE THE LONGER WE RISK BEING KILLED. NOW WHO KNOWS WHAT IS GOING ON?" One man stood up.

"I think it's a bomb sir. It's had us scared to do anything."

"Alright." He looked back over at the major and thought oddly about him. "Let's see what we've got." It was a bomb, tied into hundreds of other bombs it seemed, all of them above the roof of the chamber. It definitely had a remote trigger but they didn't know what that trigger was and that was bad. They had not found any sensors in the tunnels and they didn't see any type of pressure plating. This was going to be tricky, especially since it wasn't on a timer. He walked back over to the major and stood him up. "You know, the Emperor is not pleased with your surrender." He said to the major, in an attempt to scare him. "We were going to initiate plan Bravo once the fighting began but we got a message from a Major Henry to abort it. Do you know anything about that?"

"Yes. We had to do that sir. We were overrun and we feared that the Grenadians would use us as bait." The team leader leveled his pistol and shot the man point blank in the forehead.

"That man is a Grenadian. There was no plan Bravo. Who else do you not recognize?" He asked the crowd. Several people stood, to make a run for it but none of them got very far before they were tackled by soldiers and either shot or beaten to death. Inside of ten minutes, 40 people lay dead, all of them Grenadian soldiers. They had the remote detonator and they had been the ones to coax everyone to stay. With them dead, the detonators safe, the SEALs began evacuating.

Saint Lazare

16-10-2006, 16:09

2006 July 26 - 0439
Santiago, Cuba

Simeone was sitting out at rerstaurant at a time when he'd expect that the people were expecting him to be strolling around. He had a grandiose plan that would hopefully give him an opportunity to move around and lose his enemy's tracks. In less than one minute, an entire block of Santiago would be engulfed in flames, likely killing the inhabitants. The minute passed, and literally the city went up in flames. Having tapped into gas lines at several points, a simple time fuse from an oven he scrapped in the apartment ignited the gas, and the massive inferno engulfed more than just his single block. It was a massive display of fire that probably destroyed nearly block along the line.

People came out of their houses to watch the spectacle, against their inhibitions. Simeone even came out to watch, imaging what Layarteb officials would do with this. Two days after the giant drug bust, a giant flameball nearly incinerates the city of Santiago. What would have caused it? It was obvious that the cartels would be responsible for this, anger at the Layarteb acquisition. They wanted the Emperor to know that this was their land and the Emperor did not have the authority to do whatever he wanted to it. Of course, it was a good fabrication - at least to Simeone. But he didn't have to work for it; people two blocks down were already shouting obscenities at random people for joining or for doing whatever with the cartels.

Of course, the massive swarm of Layarteb officials would make it easy for him to disappear out of the scene - in the same manner that he entered the hospital at Santiago, he would leave the city and go to somewhere of safe haven. He picked up a phone and dialed a number.

"Si?"

"Mio fratello, mio appartamento ha bruciato appena! Non ho qualunque d'identificazione, e va essere difficile unirla in India." [My brother, my apartment has burned suddenly. I have no ID, so I don't think I'll make it to India.]

"Non si preoccupa. T'avrò delle cose disposte." [Don't worry. I'll make it work for you.]

"Grazie. L'apprezzo molto." [Thanks. I really appreciate it.]

"È una piccola cosa. Va appena all'aeroporto in Avana e chiede al volo , numero 104932, sotto il nome riservo 'Giuseppe Torelli'. Avrà il primo volo fuori a Delhi." [It's nothing. Just go to the Havana Airport and ask for flight 104932, under the reserve name 'John Green'. You'll have the first flight for Delhi.]

The phone conversation ended and Simeone made his way to the bus station, where he hoped the crowds would hide him. He was glad to hear that it wasn't a big thing at all, especially that would mean that there was less to worry about in terms of reparations. After all, nothing is free.

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 00:01

July 26, 2006 - 09:29 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The morning sky was a peaceful sky, beautiful to the eye and those looking around. The blue radiance of the sky was decorated with high-altitude, cirrus clouds, forming in excess of 23,000 feet up, thin, white, and wisplike strands that extended forever. On the ground, the temperature was in the low 70s and it was expected to rise to only 82°F by midday. It wasn't going to be humid, there were no storms on the forecast for at least a week, and there would be a light breeze coming off the ocean all throughout the day. It was a beautiful day to be in the city and a summer day unlike any other. The day combated the weary and dreary feeling of Wednesday, the midpoint of the week and, arguably, one of the most boring days. Monday was a day when work began, a dreadful day. Friday started the weekend, a day for celebration. Wednesday was smack in the middle with no hope for either on the horizon until Thursday.

In the Emperor's castle, the beauty of the day was offset by the terrible mood that the situation in Grenada was still going on and without much progress. St. George's was a city under seige and Marines had advanced throughout most of the city but they weren't winning the battle yet. They were inflicting serious casualties on the enemy and they were definitely depreciating their numbers. They had killed a 9,549 Grenadian soldiers but had lost 1,787 of their own. The battle in St. George's was an even one and the might and technology of the Empire was evened out by the urban warfare and though the Marines were trained to fight urban scenarios, by nature, they did not garner high kill to death ratios. Unfortunately, thus far, some 3,201 civilians had died as well. The 260 captured Grenadian soldiers revealed little information that the Layartebians already knew and what little intel they gave out that was actually useful and current was immediately passed through the ranks.

"Where do we stand on Grenada?" The Emperor opened the meeting at 09:30 hours. "Please tell me we have something to look forward to?"

"Well sir." The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of the Military began, "We have met with significant success in St. George's. We have advanced within the city and are fighting the Grenadians there. They are fierce soldiers. The recovery of our captured POWs has heighted spirit and morale throughout the ranks. They are charging hard and fast and we know that they will be victorious."

"What of casualties?"

"Sir we have 1,787 fatalities and at least double that in injuries. We're still fighting hard sir. This is not an easy war and we're seeing higher casualties then normal because we are fighting forces that are armed like we are. It is a tough battle sir."

"I understand that and I am pleased thus far. How long until we can call St. George's ours?"

"Well sir our original estimates for noon today were in vain. I don't think we'll have a firm grasp on this city for at least another day or two. The enemy has mustered significant fighting forces here, heavily trained, supplied, and armed. Remember when we were invading Venezuela? It took us three weeks to gain control of Caracas."

"I remember. I do not want a repeat."

"No sir. I am not suggesting that we have a repeat but it could take some time."

"That is understandable but how much time. Our people are beginning to wonder what is going on and what we're going to do about this."

"I understand that sir."

"Good. Now is this day or two timeframe something we can count on?"

"If things progress as they are, yes. If there is something that changes that, then no."

"Very well. How are we doing otherwise?"

"We're moving elements of the second division onto the island now so that we can free up soldiers from the first to fight in St. George's. Once the city is captured, they will move out and our second division will occupy the island."

"Very well. That is a plan I am proud to hear."

"Yes sir. We are as well. There is some risk though that there will be 'rebel' factions following the fall of St. George's."

"What of their leaders?"

"That is hard to surmise right now sir. The death of the Supreme Grenadian is definitely a blow for them but it manifests itself in the fact that they could have rebel or terrorist groups brewing from former military soldiers and civilains."

"What is the risk that this will turn into a bastion for that?"

"At least fifty percent."

"That is a high number."

"It is sir. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory."

"It does. Very well. We'll reconvene tonight in twelve hours." The room emptied as the Cabinet and the Generals went back to their task lists. Generals oversaw the happenings on Grenada, thousands of miles away, and the Cabinet went back to managing the Empire. For the Emperor, this was a day that started off with peace but ended with chaos.

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 00:37

July 26, 2006 - 11:20 AST
Outside St. George's, Grenada

"How are we looking for time?" One of the Ghost Warriors asked. He was sitting on the couch, looking at his watch, just waiting for the moment that all of their dreams and their successes would pay off in one big, gigantic event of epic proportions.

"We're at nine minutes. Are we prepared?" The men held up thier preparations and doned them immediately. It was tough to breathe and the humid air only made it worse. They were waiting and waiting, three and a half miles away. They were safe there, away from the Marines and the naval gun batteries. In their ramshackle cottage, overlooking the city, they saw nothing but depression. The Marines and Grenadians alike had turned the city into a withered skeleton of what it used to be in two days. Two days of fierce fighting saw thousands of casualties, civilian and military alike. Civilians that were barricaded inside of shelters were not going to come out until the bombs and the fighting stopped. "Look at that. A city torn to shreds but this shit."

"You've got that right. It's a shame but what are we going to do?"

"What we planned all along. In eight minutes this whole wretched war will be over. The Empire will be shaken clean to its foundations. The world will see what we truly mean. They will see just how malevolent the Empire really is."

"Do you think it will be enough?"

"It will send a message."

"I think we've surmised that much. But what kind will it send?"

"For years, the Emperor has been feeding the idea of total security and safety down the throats of the populace and until today, until Grenada, it has been true. The Empire has been a bastion for safety and security. That's what happens when democracy is absent. Now even that will be taken from them. They will see just what their price will be. In seven minutes we'll show them."

"I hope we're right."

"If we weren't why would we be here?" They sat back, waiting and watching.

***********************

The situation in Grenada was changing quickly and not for the better. Layartebian Marines maintained their hold on what parts of the city they had but the Grenadians were maintaining a hold on their parts as well. They were well supplied and without continuous air and artillery strikes, the Marines were at the disadvantage. That was going to change, drastically, in a mere six minutes.

Majestic knew this and they watched their watches. They had been the ones to organize this, 'Plan Overture' and they had the most to gain by it. Unable to convene together, they were at their respective posts throughout the Empire, all of them looking at their watches. They knew the exact time that it would happen, 11:29:38, Atlantic Standard Time, which correlated to 10:29:38, Eastern Standard Time. That was what they were betting and banking on and if it went amiss, they would have the most to lose. Their cover would be blown and when the investigation took full force, they would be at the forefront of it. They worked to cover their tracks as best as they could but something this big wouldn't be avoidable. If they failed, they would die. That was about all there was to it.

Tension mounted as the seconds drew nearer. Majestic's twelve members were spread out as far away as Quebec and as close as Venezuela. They were spread out, their secure cellular phones ready for the inevitable ring. They would congratulate each other and call a meeting, an important meeting, to discuss what happened next. For now though, they just waited.

***********************

Team 43 moved through St. George's. They were about 1.25 miles away from the government building and were investigating a possible enemy strong hold that was equipped with a significant number of weapons, primarily rocket launchers and land mines. The tip came down through a captured soldier and the Marines were advancing towards that position. They would be there in a matter of two hours, at most, and that was bad news. If the enemy had as big of a weapons cache as reported, they could do serious and significant damage to the advancing Marines. The suspected cache was located in a warehouse in the industrial sector of down, at the end of a road that was definitely uninhabited at this time. If it were a normal day, fork lifts, tractor trailers, and workers would be loading and offloading thousands of pallets of goods for importation and exportation.

The men moved into the industrial sector a little before 11:00 hours and were advancing on the warehouse at 11:25 hours, with only four minutes to spare before Overture happened, the event of events. They didn't know about it, nobody did except for the Ghost Warriors and Majestic. It was the biggest secret running right now and it was also the most catastrophic. Buried beneath the city streets, only a hundred meters from the government building, Overture ticked down. When the timer ended there would be silence. Team 43 had called in an extraction Knight Hawk already and were to rendezvous with it outside the warhouse in 10 minutes. They figured it would take that long to get into the building, detonate the cache, and get back out. It wasn't heavily guarded, as they could see, and what soldiers were present were easy kills for the special forces. "Let's move!" The countdown reached four minutes as they entered the warehouse. Four of them would enter while the other four stayed outside, to provide cover, in case Grenadian forces came down the road with reinforcements. They took up defensive positions outside, hiding behind cars and walls, their weapons pointed down the street, SLATDW launchers at their feet, ready to be used against incoming armor and vehicles.

***********************

Three minutes to go and the suspense was death. The Ghost Warriors and Majestic were in the loop and in the know-how. They sat, stood, or crouched at their respective positions throughout the Empire, wherever they were, waiting, listening, watching, and wondering. Majestic had no knowledge whether or not the Ghost Warriors planted the cargo and the Ghost Warriors had no knowledge if it had been discovered or not. Seized from a military base, the cargo was definitely precious and definitely high value. It could usher in a new age for the Empire or it could devestate it.

***********************

Team 43 swarmed into the warehouse, guns blazing, firing at the soldiers inside of it. The intelligence was correct. There was a significant cache of weapons there, hundreds of RPGs, land mines, machine guns, etc. It was like finding an entire armory and it was lightly defended, something that fathomed their mind. The Grenadians had declared the area safe and used the excess troops to secure the front against the Marines. They were running out of manpower and they had to prioritize. This was a fatal mistake for them. The SEALs initially planned to blow up the cache but as they moved into the warehouse, layer by layer, they saw more ammunitions and arms than they could fathom. Exploding them would level half of the industrial complex. That was not an option.

***********************

Two minutes to spare and the Ghost Warriors were ready. They were prepared and they were ready. This was going to be the deciding moment.

***********************

Team 43 continued to swarm through the warehouse, moving towards the back of it. It wasn't that large and they had shot dead the 24 Grenadians protecting it already. When they moved to the back section, they found it to be empty. All of the arms were up front, which, in a quick count, revealed over a hundred machine guns and rocket launchers, mortars, Claymores, grenades, rockets, and a few man-portable, shoulder-launched anti-air missiles, Stingers and Wizards. They couldn't destroy the cache, that was just too dangerous and with a minute to go, they were trying to get a handle on the situation. "Cheetah 2-4. Cheetah 2-4. This is Lizard 1. We're ready for extract. We've got a huge cache here. Hundreds of anti-tank missiles, machine guns, Claymores, land mines, grenades, bullets. We've got a few Stingers and Wizards too. They've got a major cache here."

"Roger that Cheetah 2-4. Will relay to command."

"Understood. We're ready." The Knight Hawk was still eight miles away and moving towards them. They relayed the find back to command and were advised to provide support in case Grenadian soldiers arrived. They were sending in a platoon of Marines to secure the warehouse immediately. They would arrive in fifteen minutes on board four Super Huey helicopters, flying in at high speed from the fleet. They were told to hold until the Marines could arrive. F-35 Ravens would be directed to their position with anti-tank missiles in case they were attacked. With a minute to go, they had no clue what was about to happen.

***********************

"Thirty seconds." The Ghost Warriors held on.

***********************

"What are we going to do?" The team leader from 43 stated as he looked around at the weapons. "The Marines will be here to take this place over. That's fine."

"Yes sir it is. Should we reinforce outside?"

"Yes. Let's get outside and do that." It took ten seconds to get outside and the SEALs took up their defensive positions around the warehouse entrance. Walls and abandoned cars were the best form of protection against the bullets and rockets that would be coming at them if the Grenadians assaulted. However, it would not protect against Overture.

At 11:29:38 hours, Plan Overture erupted. The first mark was a blinding, white flash of light that lit up the sky, the city, and the mountains. Those who were unfortunate enough to be looking into it were cast down onto the ground in blindness. It was so bright that their retinas burned. Instantly, the entire scope of the war changed.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-01a.jpg

The eight team members from SEAL Team 43 hit the ground as hard and as fast as they could. They knew what it was and what was coming for them. They weren't fools but they weren't safe either. Out, exposed, in the open, they were trapped. They used the walls and the cars to protect them against bullets but it wouldn't do much against the flying debris that was sure to be coming for them.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-01b.jpg

Six of them were immediately blinded and the other two happened, by dumb luck, to be looking away from the flash when it turned everything in front of them into a sea of white. What came next was something that they had read about time and time again but never thought they would experience. The ground shook as a minor earthquake propogated out of ground zero, throughout St. George's. It was a magnitude 4.6 earthquake that shook the capital of the island violently as the blast wave shot outwards.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-01c.jpg

As the blast wave travelled outwards from ground zero, it brought with it thermal radiation, wind, and debris. A little over 250 feet from the detonation point, the wind speed was moving at an astonishing 2,264 meters per second. The explosion radiated outward at Mach 5.82 and with only milliseconds elapsed, the overpressure was already 1,052.7 psi. Anybody within a twentieth of a mile were vaporized.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-01d.jpg

A tenth of a mile away, and still only 0.1 seconds into the explosion, the overpressure dropped to 167.0 psi and the wind speed down to 866 meters per second. Humans were still killed instantly and on the spot. Everything short of plexiglass ignited into flames, humans including. The blast wave moved away though, down at a speed of Mach 2.57.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-01e.jpg

A quarter of a mile away and the overpressure was down to 21.5 psi, the wind speed at 244 meters per second and the speed of the explosion at Mach 1.35, a mere 0.5 seconds after the detonation. The effect was still total destruction to most buildings and there was absolutely no hope of surviving. The heat and blast wave gobbled up everything in its path as it moved outward.

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 00:38

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02b.jpg

For Team 43, it was a nightmare. They managed to get to their feet and those who could see were staring at the apocalypse. A fireball was rising in the background and, in front of it, a gray and dark cloud moving towards them with debris and fire intertwined within it. They were definitely going to die, that much they knew and they kept low, just in case. The cloud that was coming for them was moving at phenomenal speeds and they knew that they weren't going to be around for much longer. Those who could pray, did.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02c.jpg

After 1.4 seconds, the blast was a half mile away from ground zero and weakening significantly. The wind speed dropped to a mere 87 meters per second and the overpressure down to 5.9 psi. The blast wave was still moving at Mach 1.11 and anyone within this area was definitely going to suffer eardrum rupture from the noise of the explosion. The overpressure wasn't enough to destroy the most reinforced buildings anymore but it was enough to knock down everything in its path and kick up a torrent of dust, wind, and debris.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02d.jpg

Three quarters of a mile away, the overpressure dropped to 3.0 psi, enough to cause concrete blocks and cinder block walls to fail and collapse, still leading to a significant amount of structural damage. The speed of the blast wave was down to Mach 1.06 and 2.5 seconds had elapsed. The wind speed was down to 47 meters per second.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02e.jpg

At 3.7 seconds and a mile away from the blast, the overpressure registered at 1.9 psi, enough to cause conventional homes and normal structures to fail. The wind speed was down to 31 meters per second and the blast wave moved out at Mach 1.04.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02f.jpg

The detonation point was 7 meters above sea level, in 84°F weather, the air pressure being a comfortable 14.65 psi. Because of this, the speed of sound was a little over 800 mph, fast. As the fireball rose in the background, the eight men from Team 43 could think of nothing but their own families. They had little time to think, the blast wave was already at a mile from ground zero and they were another quarter of a mile away.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02g.jpg

At 4.6 seconds, the blast wave hit them, at Mach 1.03. The wind speed was 22 meters per second and the overpressure was 1.4 psi. They were immediately knocked off their feet and onto the ground as the cloud of debris and disaster headed towards them. Those behind the cars were thrown into walls and those behind the walls were knocked right down by the 50 mph wind, strong enough to be strong gale force winds, powerful enough to cause minor structural damage, particularly of flying glass. Anything that was light was kicked up into the air as the cloud approached. Most of them would go hazy soon enough.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02h.jpg

At a distance of 1.5 miles, the overpressure was only 1.0 psi and the windspeed down to 17 meters per second. The blast wave still moved at Mach 1.02 and windows were shattered, plaster cracked, and structures took minor damage. Roof shingles were torn up and cast into the air as Team 43 became covered with the debris cloud.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02i.jpg

At 1.825 miles from ground zero, the blast was almost ineffective. It stablized at Mach 1.02 and the over pressure dropped to 0.8 psi with a wind speed of 13 meters per second. The damage now came from the flying debris, which had been turned into unguided missiles.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02j.jpg

Past 1.825 miles, the blast wave ceased. It was the limit for the damage and though the wave propograted further, it did little damage. Some glass windows broke at 4 miles away from the blast zone and at 6 miles, there was some minimal damage to glass windows. The Ghost Warriors, sitting 3.5 miles away were unharmed. The rising mushroom cloud that they saw, followed by the minor shaking and the roar of the blast were about all they felt. The radiation wouldn't reach them but within at least three quarters of a mile from ground zero, the radiation dosage was significant enough to give accute radiation poisoning. Sixty percent of those who survived and were exposed within this zone would be dead within a month. The members of Team 43 who lost their vision would regain it within 40 minutes, after the effects of flash blindness wore off. The Ghost Warriors, who fitted welders masks and other forms of protection to their eyes prior to the blast removed them after the flash went away, only to watch the blast wave propogate throughout the city. They had it all on video and so did at least a hundred satellites. Naval ships saw it and so did most other people for a few hundred miles. Third degree burns were felt as far away as a mile from the blast. Radiation doses in excess of 6 Svs were felt within the first half mile of the blast and those within that area, who managed to survive, would all be dead in two weeks. The closer they were to the blast, the quicker they would die. Some would die within a week.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-02k.jpg

The eight men of Team 43 were covered in dust and debris. Two of them were dead, killed by flying debris. Two others were completely unconscious and seriously injured. The other four, who managed to be behind the reinforced concrete walls of the structure were injured but not seriously. They would be fine. All of them received a light dose of radiation poisoning, not enough to kill them but certainly enough to make them nauseous and possible cause them to throw up a little.

Plan Overture was a success and, at first, shock paralyzed the entire Layartebian military on the ground. Intelligence analysts who watched on satellites as the blast occured dropped coffee, went into immediate shock, and were startled by the blinding, white flash. "SHIT!" Was the most frequent word stated and dozens of cups of coffee were lying on the ground, spilled. Phone boards lit up and inside the Emperor's office, where the news had not reached, everything was calm and peaceful. Both he and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff received phone calls at the same time, telling them of the blast. Standing, the Emperor immediately had to sit down as he heard the news. There had been a nuclear explosion in St. George's, of unknown origin. Seismographs indicated that a 4.6 magnitude earthquake ruptured through the city and analysts predicted that the yield of the explosion was between 3 kilotons and 6 kilotons, weak but effective.

The Ghost Warriors had received a W80 nuclear warhead through the cartel, who received it through contacts with La Cosa Nostra. Where they got it, who knew. The 150 kiloton warhead was extremely powerful. Under directions from Majestic, they had dismantled the fusion part of the device so that it contained only its boosted fission primary. The bomb went off with a yield of 5 kilotons, powerful enough to wipe out the city but not enough to turn half of the island into a conflagration. Majestic didn't want to destroy most of the Caribbean Sea, they just wanted to annihilate a city. Five kilotons was perfect for that purpose and they had done their job well. They would meet on July 30, at 04:00 hours, EST, in the middle of the West Virginian countryside, eighty-five miles out of Raccoon City.

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 00:39

July 26, 2006 - 12:00 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Emperor's office was somber. Information on the blast was sketchy and a full hour and a half had passed. It would be another two hours before a nuclear emergency response team could be on the ground at Point Salines IAP. They would fly into the blast zone with protective gear and attempt to figure out what happened. They would retrieve samples of radioactive material in an attempt to find out where the bomb came from and who put it there. They had a lot of questions that needed to be answered. The origin of the bomb was one of the most primary questions and who put it there was also an important question that needed answering. Now he had to go on air, to the whole Empire and chances are most of the world, and explain what happened.

He was seated at his desk, the backdrop the usual, the brick wall behind his desk with the great map of the world, the Empire taking up one of the biggest chunks. The flag of the Empire stood on the right side of the map. Above the floor there was the grand chandalier that was lit, providing light to the room. Daylight filtered in through the windows and the Emperor was clearly visible. The camera operator was silent and only used his fingers to indicate how many seconds the Emperor had left, counting down from five. He pointed to the Emperor when he was on and with a somber yet stern look, the Emperor looked right into the cameras, his suit tailored perfectly, his tie straight. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen of the Empire and of the world. I come to you this afternoon with news of catastrophe. News outlets have been reporting that there was a mysterious explosion and mushroom cloud over Saint George's, in Grenada. They are speculating that there was a nuclear explosion. I regret that this news is undeniably true.

"A little over an hour and a half ago, as Marines clashed with insurrectionist soldiers in Saint George's, a nuclear device was detonated in the center of the city, near the vacinity of the governmental building. The origin of this device is unknown. It was not set off by Layartebian forces. At this time, we believe the bomb was set off by Grenadian insurrectionists, fearing that they would lose the war, in an effort to inflict maximum damage to our economy, our pride, and our Empire. Until we can be completely certain though we cannot cast blame.

"Is it possible that this explosion was perpetrated by terrorists? It is. The Republican Liberation Army, or RLA as they have been known, have ceased to exist and we do not believe them to be at fault. However, there is significant evidence that the RLA splintered into a seperate group just before their destruction.

"Unfortunately, as of this time, the culprits are unknown. But mark my words, we will find out who did this, who set off this bomb, and who sought out total war with the Empire of Layarteb. I ask that nobody here stands for this outrage and that anyone with information come forward. It is possible that over twenty thousand men, women, and children have died today in a senseless act of cowardice.

"Those who committed this act will be sought out, tracked down like the dogs that they are, captured, and be made to suffer for each and every life that they snuffed out this morning. They will not escape and that is a solemn promise that I give to you, to the world, and to those who have lost someone this morning. Justice will prevail.

"The island of Grenada is not lost to us and neither is the cause that we are fighting for. We will complete our mission in Grenada, it will be returned to the Empire.

"My words this afternoon cannot do everything that needs to be done to console those who have lost someone this morning. I understand this and I wish only to offer what we can right now, a moment of silence for the departed. Please join me." The Emperor bowed his head for a good thirty seconds before he lifted it again. "Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature. The search is underway for those who are behind these evil acts. I've directed the full resources of our intelligence and law enforcement communities to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. We will make no distinction between those who committed this act and those who harbor them.

"This is a day when all Layartebians from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace. The Empire has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time. None of us will ever forget this day. Thank you and good bye." The cameras dropped off and the Emperor stood up from behind his desk. The cameras were brought out of the room and the Emperor looked back at the conference table, where the Cabinet was assembled, sitting quietly. With a roar, he erupted, "What the hell happened today! A nuclear fucking bomb went off in Grenada? How did that happen? Minister?" He looked right at the Minister of Intelligence, fire growing in his eyes.

"Sir. I do not know. Our guess is that,"

"I don't want guesses I want answers!"

"Sir. The Grenadians probably planted it before we got there as a type of doomsday device, should they lose."

"And is this an official estimate?"

"It is sir."

The Emperor slammed his hands down on the table. It echoed in the room. "They're going to think we did this! That we couldn't win so we nuked our own goddamn city!"

"Sir. That cannot be."

"No I know it cannot be you fool! There will be spin."

"And sir we will have that under control."

"Will we!"

"We will sir it is already being handled." What the Emperor's Press Secretary was referring to was an initiative going out to all of the media stations that the bombing was not conducted by Layartebian forces and that any claim to the contrary would be met with severe penalties. That would eventually blow up in their face, something that wasn't going to go over too well.

"Good. Now. Get me some damn casualty estimates."

"Sir. We estimate that between 20,000 and 30,000 are dead, including civilians, enemy military personnel, and our own personnel. We cannot surmise much else right now but a ground team will be on site in two hours with equipment to get samples. Sir, we will find out where this bomb came from."

"Could there be a chance that it is our own?"

"At five kilotons? Not likely sir." The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of the Military responded. "It is too weak."

"We have nuclear weapons that are weaker Chairman."

"That is understandable sir but they are all accounted for."

"What is the possibility that one has been stolen or transferred out through corruption?"

"Highly unlikely sir. First and foremost, the codes required to activate our own weapons are secure."

"Are you certain Chairman?"

"I am sir."

"I am afraid, in this instance, we cannot rule out the possibility that our own weapon was used. What nuclear weapons did we have on the island?"

"Many sir but they are all accounted for and secured."

"What about somewhere else?"

"Sir. We can assure you that they are safe and secure."

"That's what you said about the missile base. That's what you said about the VX. Has that been found yet?"

"No it hasn't sir."

"You are right it hasn't and neither was that missile base secure now was it?"

"No sir. It wasn't."

"Good then until we find out don't tell me it isn't goddamn possible. When we find out what the hell happened here we're going to have to explain that. If it was our own bomb we're going to have to explain that. Is that understood?"

"It is sir."

"Good. So until then, until we find out, NOTHING is impossible. Is that understood?"

"It is sir."

"Good. Anyone else have anything stupid to add to this discussion?" Nobody spoke up at all. "Good. Nobody says a fucking goddamn word about this. Alright!" Everyone nodded. "Good now get out of my sight and find out what the fuck happened today." They shuffled out, quiet, muttering to themselves once they were outside of the office. They were angry that the Emperor had taken his anger out on them but they understood his predicament, they were in it too and they had to come up with answers or else they were going to be canned, that much was assured. He was furious and he recognized this as the biggest intelligence failure of the Empire.

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 00:39

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 01:18

OOC: Please no IC replies just yet. I will be posting the next chapter tonight, in which can go all the IC replies you want. OOC posts can happen, naturally.

Cotland

17-10-2006, 01:22

[OOC: Holy crap!!! So you nuked your own city? I'll love to see how Majestic is gonna justify that!]

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 01:54

Chapter XV: Cowboys From Hell

The nuclear explosion on the island of Grenada was seen as far away as 150 miles. The mushroom cloud stretched up for 32,000 feet and was slim all the way up to the top piece, which was large and rounded, lifting up towards the heavens. Smoke covered the bottom of the bottom of the base, where debris were settling. The dark, gray, radioactive cloud that lifted into the air was something ominous. Layarteb had tested its first atomic bomb in 1941 under the Republic and conducted numerous tests throughout the 50s and 60s but since then none had been conducted. The Empire had only conducted two, one exceeding 100 megatons and the other with a yield of 5 megatons, both blasts years ago. This was no test blast, this was something real. The explosion shook seismic sensors throughout the Caribbean Sea and South America. Sensors in North Carolina even picked up the test, almost 2,000 miles away. The Earth shook in that instant when the bomb exploded, sending shockwaves as far away as 25 miles away.

All around the island, the naval blockaide paused. As the flash and the rising mushroom cloud and fireball stretched up, towards the heavens, everyone was in shock. The explosion rumbled in the distance as the ships watched the horror unfold. They were safely away from the blast but they could see everything. They gasped in horror, thinking about nothing other than the fact that this conflict had just gone nuclear. Nobody knew who set it off just yet. Officials knew that it wasn't the Layartebians who set it off but they couldn't be entirely sure that it was the Grenadians either. All Layartebian weapons were present and accounted for, not a one missing. It wasn't a Layartebian bomb, that was for sure, which only made it more difficult.

Media stations took heed to the warning that any accusations against the Layartebian government that the bombing was committed by them would be penalized harshly. However, that didn't stop conspiracy theorists from running rampant with it. Pundits commented that it was the government and the stations carefully embraced a disclaimer stating that the opinions of their pundits weren't, necessarily, their own. They could use plausable deniability. Though most of the populace didn't suspect the government, at first, a lot of them had their doubts. They wanted to believe that the government wasn't responsible and, for them, they knew it wasn't, for now. If it was the opposite then they would all be shaken. They would lose total faith in the Emperor and the Empire and revolution would be at hand. That was a given. Majestic was going to plant those seeds.

July 26, 2006 - 11:45 AST
St. George's, Grenada

"Holy shit. Get a load of that." Cheetah 2-4 was a naval MH-60S Knight Hawk, flying inbound to St. George's to pick up Team 43. They were 7 miles away when the explosion shattered the summer air. The pilots looked out in horror as did the crewmen in the cabin. "You think anyone is alive?"

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-03a.jpg

"Who the hell knows Joe." Joe Freedom was the pilot, a captain in the Imperial Layartebian Navy and his co-pilot was a lieutenant commander, by the name of Charles Maldonado. "I doubt it."

"Should we even try?"

"Radioactivity has to be high."

"Yeah." Just then the radio lit up with static. They were still heading towards the cloud and they could see the debris settling on the ground below them. It was something straight out of the apocalypse.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-03b.jpg

"Cheetah 2-4." The voice on the other end was out of breath and pain was in his voice. "Cheetah 2-4." He spoke slowly. "You out there?"

"Report name?"

"Lizard 1."

"Holy shit!" LCDR. Maldonado yelled in the cabin as he heard the callsign of the voice contacting him. "They're alive!" He looked back at the pilot and adjusted his microphone. "Lizard 1. Report status?"

"We're pretty beaten up here. I'm trapped underneath some debris here. I don't know if anyone else is alive except for my radioman. He's right here but I think he's unconscious."

"What is your position?"

"Same place as before, just a little browner."

"How bad is the damage?"

"We're not too bad here, just a lot of debris and dust. The warehouse is still standing. Actually the buildings are still standing. I can see that cloud though. It's just huge."

"Yeah we're looking at it too. We're vectoring in."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-03c.jpg

"Roger that. How long?"

"A few minutes. Hold in there."

"Radioactivity?"

"Hold in there we're coming. Don't move!"

"You got it sir." The radio went dead for now as the pilot dipped the nose of the Knight Hawk. They zoomed down from their orbit towards the location, which was on the other side of the cloud. They would fly towards the position at maximum speed, only 2,000 feet off the surface. From there, they passed over the worst of the worst. Though they kept far enough away from the cloud to avoid the contamination, they could easily see the destruction below. Fires still burned, structures were toppled over, and nothing was safe. Their radiation detectors went off as they approached the cloud and that wasn't good but they disregarded them. The levels were hazardous but not necessarily lethal yet. They wouldn't spent too much time in the zone, they had to get to the other side as quickly as possible and as fast as possible. This was the best that they could do.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-03d.jpg

"Would you look at that? You got a camera?"

"Already on it. Jesus this is bad."

"I don't disagree." For the most part everyone kept quiet.

The Knight Hawk quickly approached the warehouse and, when they were above the street outside of it, they stopped instantly and went into an immediate hover, practically standing on their tail in an attempt to stop quickly. They knew that they had limited time in the area with fuel and radiation concerns but they weren't going to be fools and leave their boys to die. Their radiation alarms stopped sounding where they were and that was good, they could take them time in that respect.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-04a.jpg

The Team 43 leader was pinned underneath rubble from a mile away. His vision was blurry and he could see nothing but brown dust and a brown haze all around him. He could hear the screams of those around him and he knew that some of his men would be dead, if not all of them except for the radioman and whoever else was screaming. The radioman was alive and lying next to him but unconscious, his pulse shallow but still there.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-04b.jpg

Then he heard an angel, something heavenly above him, getting closer. He rubbed his eyes and looked up, at the sky, which was blue now. There was a helicopter above him and he could barely hear it but it was there, its rotor blades pushing away the brown haze and dust to reveal the bluest sky he had ever seen. Help me. He thought to himself as he looked up at the bottom of the Knight Hawk, getting closer and and closer to him.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-04c.jpg

When it was about 200 feet above him it was clear and he could see. His goggles get the dust from his eyes and now that the rotorwash was making its own torrent of dust and debris he was going to be having trouble seeing again. He didn't know it but he had taken a hard hit to the head and he was on the cusp of consciousness. The eight men of his dead were in bad shape, none of them unharmed. Two were dead and lying underneath a car that had been thrown a half mile to land on top of them.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-04d.jpg

The helicopter descended lower and lower. The sound of it was more than audible now and he couldn't hear the screaming anymore. The only screaming he could hear was that within his head. Save me God. Save me from this hell you have cast me into. He began to slip away again.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/stgeorges-nuke-04e.jpg

The helicopter was almost on top of him now and as it got lower and lower and lower, the leader slipped further and further back into the land of unconsciousness. When the helicopter landed, 20 meters from him, the four men inside of it stepped out. The rotor wash of the helicopter made movement and seeing difficult but they had to do everything that they could to save the men. One of them on board was a medic. They began pulling the debris off the men, finding the two dead quickly. All four of them, using strength that they never imagined they could have, pushed the car off the two men, only to find them horrifically maimed. Nobody got left behind though and they were loaded into the helicopter. It took them at least ten minutes to dig out and find the rest but they were in the air soon enough, heading back to their ship, an Ocean class helicopter carrier, at maximum speed. They would arrive in twelve minutes. It was quick enough to save five of the six remaining alive. One other would die in route towards the carrier, suffering from massive internal bleeding. The Marines that were set to hold the warehouse were diverted now. This was no longer a war as both sides were mystified by the explosion. Grenadians and Marines alike ceased their shooting at looked out at the city. Grenadians still alive thought it was the Layartebians who nuked them and they surrendered in droves. Layartebians thought that they had been nuked by the Grenadians, which fostered some hate. POWs would be mistreated worse than in any other conflict, all because of a misunderstanding that revolved around something that nobody fathomed just yet. Now this was a search and rescue mission with an emphasis on recovery and first aide. They had to find out who was still alive and who was dead, who needed immediate medical attention and who wouldn't make it.

Saint Lazare

17-10-2006, 03:38

2006 July 26 - 1334
Havana, Cuba

The news spread like fire. Simeone looked at the television screen at the airport, as the news ran headlines of enormous magnitude:

"As of the current moment, we have received official word that the explosion in Saint Georges was indeed of nuclear origin. We have yet to hear from people directly involved, but as the Emperor has stated, there is no reason to believe that the Empire would nuke its own island. There is reasonable suspicion that the United Eastasian Republics managed to ship a bomb to Grenada before being blockaded by the Imperial Navy, but these reports have yet to be confirmed. The Ministry of Public Awareness has issued a warning to all citizens travelling in the Caribbean, to consult with doctors before visiting the islands. While the blast isn't expected to have spurred too much radioactive material, there is still the ever-present threat that the bomb could be highly toxic to eldely folk and children. Iodide pills will be made available at clinics around the Caribbean shortly..."

Replays of the blast seemed to echo in Simeone's mind. While everyone else was wondering - "How could this happen?", he had a different thought - Where's the rest of it? It didn't trouble him much; he was right to assume that Doomsday was at hand, and his troubles would soon be over. But he was on another mission, heading to India. Sparetti had told him that Giacomo had worked with some people who were in India, arranging plans. He didn't know what plans, but it was certain that the couple wasn't just there to have a vacation. There was something missing in Cuba that was present in India. Hence, his flight to Delhi. Sparetti was continuing to track his target, so he was out of the picture. What Simeone needed himself was a vacation, and stepping on the plane as Giovanni Torelli, he slept for the next sixteen hours.

Cotland

17-10-2006, 09:28

The analysts from the 4. Department in the Cottish Military Intelligence Agency in the regional center in Bridgeport, Barbados chocked on their coffee when the live feeds from the battle for St. Georges showed the typical blast of a nuclear detonation. They got to work analysing the data as it came in.

Almost immediately, somewhere far from Barbados, alarms started ringing in various command bunkers deep within the Norwegian mountains, and men and women were drawn to their consoles and phones. The Strategic Missile Forces were instantly placed on a higher alert, and all Cottish forces in the region was placed on highest alert. Within ten minutes, all air bases in Barbados and Saint Lucia would be devoid of aircraft, all of them having been scrambled. Back in Norway, the leader for the Strategic Warning System, generalmajor Berger classified the incident a Code Red, meaning that it had to be in the hands of the King, Prime Minister and Defense Minister within five minutes. It being evening in Norway, the respective leaders got the notifications in the middle of dinner, a diplomatic one in the case of the King and Prime Minister. Excusing themselves quickly, they was ushered out quickly by the four Birkebeiners and brought directly to the King's office where they were further informed. They had just started the discussion when an aide came in and, ignoring the raised weapons the Birkebeiners had trained on him the second he appeared in the doorway, turned on the 42" flat-screen LCD TV hanging on the wall, and switched to the Layartebian News Network and the speaking Emperor.

After the speech, the men stood silent and looked at the now empty television. Prime Minister Rothsky loosened the tie slightly, while the King turned and looked out the window to the light-bathed Oslo outside.

"Generalmajor Berger." [Major General Berger.]

"Herre Konge?" [My King?]

"Sørg for at vi forblir på beredskapsstatus to i Karibien, tre i resten av verden inntil videre. Alle strategiske styrker skal forholde seg til beredskapsstatus to. Sørg for at all informasjon som har relevans til å finne ut hvem som gjorde dette blir overført til Layartebianerne." [Make sure that we remain at Condition Two in the Caribbean, three in the rest of the world until further notice. All strategic forces are to maintain Condition Two. Ensure that all information relevant to finding out who did this is transfered to the Layartebians.]

"Javel Herre Konge." [Yes my King.]

"Det er alt general." [That will be all General.] The King said in closing before turning back to face Rothsky.

"Hvilke tanker gjør du deg?" [What are you thinking?]

"Jeg kjenner Keiseren. Du kan si mye om han, men én ting er sikkert: Han bruker ikke atomvåpen mot sine egne. Dette er en terroraksjon slik jeg ser det." [Sir, I know the Emperor. You can say a lot about him, but one thing's for sure: He don't nuke his own. As far as I can tell, this is a terrorist action.]

"Jeg er enig med deg Thomas." [I agree Thomas.] The King said to the aging Prime Minister before walking over to his desk. "Dersom du unnskylder meg litt. Jeg må ringe Keiseren." [If you'll excuse me, I'll have to call the Emperor.]

The King picked up the phone and dialled the number quickly as Rothsky nodded and exited the office, heading for his own office in the Government building down the road to keep tabs. The phone connection was connected very quickly. Once it was picked up, the King spoke.

"Emperor, first of all, allow me to offer my deepest condolences on the lives lost in this cowardly attack. I can assure you full cooperation from the Realm in tracking down and punishing the cowardly terrorists responsible for this crime." the King opened.

"The Empire is in dire need of support right now. Whomever is responsible for these attacks will pay, whether it was done by terrorists or by Grenadians, we cannot be certain right now. We'll know more in a few hours, after samples of radioactivity can be taken." The Emperor was sounded cool, but the King knew that his counterpart in Layarteb was probably very stressed by now.

"Rest assured that the Realm will support you to the best of our ability. What kind of support do you require?"

"At the moment we need support in terms of intelligence. I am aware that you have intelligence assets on Saint Lucia and Barbados. We need any intelligence they have on possible communications, signals, or anything that could give us a clue here." the Emperors voice replied.

"We are in the prosess of analysing the information we have collected as we speak. I have also ordered that any relevant information be forwarded to your embassy immediately. I shall look further into what assets we have in the area and ensure that the information is relayed to the Empire. You can depend on the Realm sir. Is there anything else you require on Grenada? Medical assistance or other humanitarian aide?"

"At the moment anything humanitarian or medicinal will be useful. Due to the small nature of the blast, contamination is very limited and the prevailing winds won't carry it too far. However, we do ask caution. Point Salines IAP is being used for that as the winds are blowing north."

"I understand. I shall see to it that a medical rapid response team be sent to Grenada to assist, as well as as much supplies we can cram into the cargo aircraft we have in the Caribbean. We are also relaying a hospital ship to Grenada. It can be in position and ready to accept casualties within fourty-eight hours." The King paused. "I know that it is very early in the investigation sir but do you have any thoughts or ideas as to who could be behind this horrible act?"

"I couldn't fathom a reasonable guess. I can cite the most obvious, the Grenadians, the RLA. Well the RLA has been wiped out. The Grenadians could have only got it from our stocks and those are all accounted for. I just can't guess right now." The Emperor sounded upset, something which was understandable.

"I understand. With luck and a little help from the Lord, we shall find the perpetrators. I shall pray for a swift identification of the perpetrators, and for the souls of those dead and wounded in the explosion. I shaln't keep you occupied much longer sir. I'm sure you have a lot to do right now. Just keep in mind that all of Cotland is behind you in this matter sir. May God be with you and grant you the strength to resolve and defeat this shitstorm."

"We thank you for your support and sympathy. When we get to the bottom of this the culprits will pay worse than anyone has ever in the history of our planet."

"Indeed they will. Thank you for the time sir. Go with God." The King said, meaning every word he said. After that, he hung up, not wanting to disturb the Emperor any further. The situation was definately worse than he thought as he called a emergency government meeting for an hour from now. The various ministers and generals needed time to gather information. After that, he relayed the appropriate orders to send the assistance to Grenada. Then, he sat down and waited.

The orders were relayed quickly. Within two hours, a flight of eight C-12/J Super Hercules tactical transports loaded with medical supplies, water, MREs and blankets would be in the air, heading for Grenada. A V-17/A Gulfstream was also in the air quickly, carrying the twelve men and women that made up the Rapid Medical Response Team on standby at Barbados. All of them were combat-experienced surgeons and medics, and they all had training in treating radiation victims. They would get to use that experience. They knew it, since they had been given NBC-protective suits just before take-off. They would arrive about twenty minutes before the Super Hercules' arrived.

[Phone conversation roleplayed with Layarteb on AIM]

Layarteb

17-10-2006, 22:57

July 26, 2006 - 13:27 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

Seven aircraft came screaming down the runway at Point Salines, all prior traffic being cleared out ahead of the aircraft. They had the highest priority. Four of them were C-130J Super Hercules transports, landing ahead of the other three, which were two C-5M Galaxys and an NC-130J Super Hercules. The four C-130s carried equipment, supplies, rations, and a whole mobile laboratory. Aside from the pilots and load masters on the four aircraft, twenty-four men stepped out, all wearing clean uniforms with a strange patch on their arm. The patch was a biohazard symbol inside of a radiation symbol. They belonged to just one of the dozens of Quick Response Force teams. These teams were deployed in advance of radiological, chemical, and biological threats. Inside the C-5M Galaxys were two helicopters each, neatly and compactly stored. They were NH-96C Panther helicopters, brand-new to the inventory of the QRF units. They were specialized helicopters, configured for operations within hostile environments, particularly after nuclear explosions and biological catastrophes. Each of them could hold up to eight soldiers each versus the normal ten for the UH-96A and HH-96B. They were also equipped with specialized equipment and sensors that could determine threats and exposure levels. The NC-130J Super Hercules was another specially modified aircraft, designed to fly in the most hostile of environments, particularly in areas after there were nuclear explosions. They had an array of sensors and equipment to monitor radiation levels, weather patterns, and a lot of other details that would let them know just what they were up against.

The seven aircraft taxiied over towards a cordoned off area. The tarmac had been reserved specially for the QRF teams, which were under orders to find out just what happened in Saint George's. They would park the NC-130 and the NH-96s into one particularly large hangar and the other would be turned into a laboratory. Equipment was pulled in from the C-130s and the helicopters were prepared. It would take them about an hour to get up and ready and already that was too much time. The bomb went off two hours ago and they wouldn't be ready for another hour, bad news. They had raced to get to Point Salines, flying from Venezuela as fast as they could. When they touched down, they touched down faster than they should have, coming down the runway with a roar. They were here for a mission and nobody had a more important one.

The QRF team was led by Colonel José Sanchez, a Puerto Rican and a career soldier. He had graduated college with a Ph.D. in nuclear physics and chemistry was his other speciality. Everyone called him 'Domino' because in his spare time, playing dominos was his most favorite thing to do. The QRF team was made up of people who had, at minimum, a master's degree in chemistry, biological, or physics and all of them were officers. Colonel Sanchez was the highest ranking member but amongst the team, rank was of no consequence. They were close, tight knit, and their job was too dangerous for them not to be that way. If they were just coworkers the dangers were dangers. If they were family, they would look out for each other with their own lives at risk. That was how all QRF teams were and this one was certainly no exception.

When the laboratory was set up and they were ready to go, at 14:39 hours, Atlantic Standard Time, Colonel Sanchez pulled them all around the tent. "Ladies and gentlemen." Contrary to military doctrine, QRF teams employed women. This team alone had seven women. The twenty-four of them were all highly trained and they operated in six individual squads of four people each. Two squads would go into the hot zone while the rest stayed back, at the lab, analyzing the data. "We have a most peculiar situation here. This is what we're trained for and we never expected it to come to this but we have a job to do. We have to find out where this bomb came from, who planted the bomb, who set it off, and what they all had to gain. We have to find this out so that revenge can take place. If we provide the wrong intelligence our military forces will bomb the wrong people. We're standing on a battle ground here, a battle ground with no face. Our job is to put a face to it. Now. We're on the brink of total war here. The Emperor has placed all military forces on REDCON 3 and we're about to go to REDCON 2. If this is a prelude to a larger attack we need to find out and find out as fast and accurately as possible. We cannot screw this up. The lives of billions hinge on us. I know that's a shitty deal but we've got it and we don't have any other choice.

"Now not to add more to the plate but we've got a problem. Prevailing winds are blowing northeast. This radiation, although there isn't much, is blowing over the island, over the sea, and right to Barbados. We've got an international crisis here. The Realm of Cotland is a strong ally of the Empire and if they're affected by this they're going to want to take action. If they don't know who to take action against, we're all in deep, deep trouble. Now, because of the low yield, I do not believe that much radiation will reach the island of Barbados but what does, you can expect, to be a major hazard to pregnant women, children, crops, animals, you know the usual. They've already been alerted." What Colonel Sanchez were referring to was a communique that was sent from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Realm of Cotland just an hour ago. Prevailing winds were expected to bring radiation there by 15:00 hours, Atlantic Standard Time.

"Are we ready?" Everyone screamed loudly.

"YES SIR DOMINO SIR!"

"Good! Let's get this done. Teams one and six. You're in." The five men and three women from the two teams immediately went to suit up. They would be wearing radiation hazard suits, big monstrosities that could give them up to a week of protection in the most horrific of environments. The NBC suits were yellow in color and they were equipped to their own breathing devices, which filtered outside air to allow them continuous and fresh air. The specific molecular engineering of the suit provides significant protection against X-ray and low energy Gamma emissions, as well as high and low energy Beta and Alpha particles. That was perfect for their environment. Biological agents were no problem either to the suits. They were highly durable and though they could be ripped or cut open if they snagged something sharp, they were some of the safest suits around. They would be in them in four minutes and inside two of the NH-96C Panther helicopters almost a minute or two later. The helicopters were kept light to allow them maneuverability and speed. They would fit six of them into one helicopter and two into the other, mainly because it was going to be carrying a robot. They would touch down a mile from ground zero, far enough away that the radiation wouldn't affect the helicopters or the crews inside. Then, they would walk to the site, with the robot. Though they could stand in the middle of the crater, it was far safer to use a robot than their own bodies. The job of the robot was to pick up rocks, bricks, pieces of glass, and various other artifacts. Those would be brought back to the lab and studied, the radiation inside of them analyzed to find out just where the bomb came from and who planted it there.

Cotland

17-10-2006, 23:51

Royal Palace, Oslo - 13.17
The telephone sitting on the King's desk rang only twice before the King picked up and listened.

"Deres Majestet, vi har en situasjon..." [Your Majesty, we have a situation...]

Defense Ministry, Oslo - 13.21
Defense Minister Alvheim emerged from his office and walked into the situation room in the Defense Ministry, looking seriously at all those present. The seventy-six year old man looked even paler than normal, and his normally so strong voice was trembling slightly as he started giving orders.

"Jeg har nettopp snakket med Kongen. Vi må iverksette umiddelbare tiltak mot radioaktivt nedfall på Barbados." [I just spoke with the King. We need to implement immediate precautions against radioactive fallout on Barbados.]

The entire room looked at the minister for a few seconds, then erupted into discussion.

"Vi må iverksette beredskapsplanene!" [We need to implement the readiness plans!] one General said.

"Drit i beredskapsplanene!" [Fuck the readiness plans!] Another one said, before an Admiral pitched in.

"Nei for faen! Vi må iverksette Plan Brann-3!" [No goddamned it! We need to execute Plan Fire-3!]

Plan Fire-3 was part of the Cottish plan in case of a nuclear attack, and concentrated on the Caribbean area of operations and holdings there. Fire-1 dealt with an attack on Norway, Fire-2 was attacks on Murmansk, Fire-4 was the Middle East, while Fire was the overall plan. Fire-3 involved going to BERSTAT-0 and implement immediate readiness across the line.

BERSTAT-0 was the highest level of military readiness in the Realm of Cotland, and was reserved for times of extreme dangers to the Realm only. Among the military, a general consensus reigned that BERSTAT-0 was the equivalent of all-out nuclear war, and that in case BERSTAT-0 was ever ordered, the intercontinental missiles in the mountains of Norway, deserts of Egypt and Jordan, and lurking under the waves of the world's oceans would fly towards the enemy that provoked the high level of readiness. Therefore, the mention of Fire-3 was the cause of another immediate discussion among the military leadership. However, it was cut short by Defense Minister Alvheim.

"Hold kjeft! Vi har ikke tid til å krangle!" [Shut up! We don't have time to argue!] The brass was silent. "Nå. Så vidt jeg vet har vi ikke strategiske missiler på Barbados eller Sankt Lucia. Korrekt?" [Now. As far as I'm informed, we do not maintain a strategic missile stockpile on Barbados or Saint Lucia. Correct?]

"Korrekt herr Minister." [Correct sir.]

"Så dersom vi beordrer BERSTAT-0 på Barbados så har vi ikke noen umiddelbare missiler som flyr mot Grenada. Dessuten kreves Kongens og Statsministerens autorisasjon for å avfyre kjernefysiske våpen. Korrekt?" [So if we order BERSTAT-0 on Barbados, we don't have any immediate missiles flying towards Grenada. Besides, the authorizations of both the King and the Prime Minister is required to fire nuclear weapons. Correct?]

"Korrekt." [Correct.]

"Så hva stopper oss? Vi kan sende en ordre umiddelbart etter å ha beordret Brann-3 og beordre beredskapen satt ned til BERSTAT-1 eller -2 for den saks skyld. Korrekt?" [So what's stopping us? We can issue an order immediately after ordering Fire-3 and have the readiness reduced to BERSTAT-1 or -2. Correct?]

"Nei. Ifølge Brann-3 skal høyeste beredskap opprettholdes i minimum tolv timer etter ordren er gitt, etterfulgt av en skalert reduksjon i beredskap over tjuefire timer etter ordren om nedsettelse av beredskap er mottatt og verifisert. Men vi har ikke masseødeleggelsesvåpen umiddelbart tilgjengelig der." [No sir. According to Fire-3, maximum readiness is to be maintained for a minimum of twelve hours after the order is given, followed by a staged reduction in readiness over the twenty-four hours after the order to reduce readiness is recieved and verified. But we don't have any weapons of mass destruction immediately available there.]

"Godt. Da beordrer jeg herved at Plan Brann-3 skal iverksettes umiddelbart. Deretter vil jeg snakke med distriktskommandanten i Karibien." [Good. Then I'm hereby ordering Plan Fire-3 executed immediately. After that, I want to speak with the Caribbean District commander.]

Command Bunker 1-Alpha, Vieux Fort, Saint Lucia - 13.38
The entirety of the command bunker was already on high alert, monitoring the events transpiring in Grenada. Then the red phone in the elevated platform for the bunker commanding officer, in this case viseadmiral Georg Trekstad, started ringing. It rang for two rings before the admiral picked up. What happened next made him turn pale immediately.

"Dette er Forsvarsministeriet. Iverksett beredskapsplan Brann-3. Dette er ikke en øvelse. Bekreft ordren." [This is the Defense Ministry. Execute readiness plan Fire-3. This is not a drill. Confirm the orders please.]

Admiral Trekstad gulped once before his professionality and training took over. When he replied, he talked in a loud, strong voice so that everyone in the room heard.

"Iverksett beredskapsplan Brann-3 umiddelbart, javel. Dette er ikke en øvelse, javel." [Execute readiness plan Fire-3 immediately, aye. This is not a drill, aye.]

"Lykke til. Avvent telefon fra Forsvarsministeren. Slutt." [Good luck. Stand by for the Defense Minister to call.]

With that, the phone line was closed. Slowly, the admiral replaced the red phone to its cradle and took a deep breath. Then he looked down at the men and women looking at him, waiting, hoping this wasn't for real.

"Dere hørte ordren. Iverksett plan Brann-3. Dette er ikke en øvelse." [You heard the orders. Execute plan Fire-3. This is not an exercise. The admiral said before adding in a more somber voice, "Måtte Gud være med oss." [May God be with us.

With that, the people got to work. The lighting was shifted from the normal lighting to the red combat lighting, while the six boxes over the four main screens on the front wall farthest from the elevated command platform changed illumination from the [2] to [0]. It had never been that way. Quickly, people started placing calls.

Bridgeport, Barbados - 13.46
The air raid sirens started screaming as the police and the small standing defense force of Royal Marines tried their best to guide people to the shelters deep below the ground. These shelters had all been constructed within the last fifteen years and were all capable of withstanding a nuclear blast two kilometers away. They were safe as well, having fully integrated NBC protection. Information was scarce and the people were scared, very scared. Many had been pulled away from the shops and beaches they had been at when the air raid sirens started, and very few people had any idea as to what was happening. Those in the harbor could see that the few naval vessels that still hadn't put to sea were heading out now, no one visible on the decks. That was odd, they thought as they started heading for the nearest shelter.

At 13.52, the emergency broadcast system was activated, feeding information to the public via the integrated speakers in the shelters and in the public speakers on roofs and buildings. The reason for the population to head for the shelters: a radiation cloud originating from the nuclear detonation on Grenada was heading for Barbados, and for the safety of the population, precautions were being taken. The population was informed that the military was assuming control due to the higher readiness, and the population was urged to proceed to the closest shelter in a calm, orderly fashion. Naturally, that last bit didn't happen. Many people didn't know where the shelters were, and that caused confusion and rising tempers. It wasn't until the reservists that had been activated started arriving, brandishing assault rifles and wearing protective NBC-suits that things calmed down and order was reestablished. More than twelve thousand tourists were on the island, complementing the five hundred thousand permanent inhabitants of Barbados. The hundred shelters around Barbados were to be able to sustain a total of 525,000 people for up to thirty days, and arrangements were taken to have police and some soldiers in each of the shelters so that law and order could be maintained.

As the clock neared 14.52, every civilian was inside the shelters and they were closed and sealed as per the regulations the police and military knew, but hoped they'd never have to implement. Outside, soldiers dressed in protective suits patrolled the now empty island while aircraft streaked overhead and ships patrolled the island. It was estimated that it was safe to release the population from the shelters in a maximum of five days. Until then, Fire-3 would be maintained on the island, with some modifications agreed between the Defense Minister and viseadmiral Trekstad. They involved dropping BERSTAT-0 to BERSTAT-1 in twelve hours, then from BERSTAT-1 to BERSTAT-2 in another twenty-four.

The Layartebians were informed of the incident, and that if this incident caused any damage to the Cottish island of Barbados, the Realm would want revenge. If it was a nation-state, the Realm demanded to be informed of which one so it could take the necessary retaliatory strikes.

At 15.06, the radiation sensors the soldiers had deployed around the island started giving away noise, alerting the operators that the radiation cloud had reached Cotland. It wasn't as much radiation as feared, but it was estimated to have a lethality percentage of rought fourty-five percent. That was unacceptable numbers for the Cots, and why the populace was kept in the shelters. The countdown had started.

Layarteb

19-10-2006, 02:36

July 26, 2006 - 14:52 AST
Saint George's, Grenada
1,720 meters SW of Ground Zero

The two NH-96C Panther helicopters coasted over the city. They came from the southwest, the total opposite direction of where the radiation was being pulled. The radioactive mushroom cloud had dissipated now but, on the ground, it was not clear. Haze and smoke from the countless burning fires, dust from debris kicked up underneath the wind, and the heat from the countless fires radiated outward, making more haze. When the helicopters went into hover, the rotor wash kicked up everything underneath it, causing a large vortex of dust. As the helicopters descended towards the ground, Major Roy Waters, the leader of team 1, looked down, out the window of the door. "I think we're descending into the Sixth Circle of Hell. Dante would be jealous."

"You've got that right. I don't even think the designers of 'Doom' imagined anything this horrific." Captain Louis Batan, another member of team 1 stated.

"Nobody did." The helicopters hovered about 400 feet off the ground as they descended towards the deck. They had found two spots to put down, both about twenty meters from each other and about seventeen hundred meters from ground zero, a long way to travel, especially over the horrific terrain and wreckage. Team 1 consisted of Major Roy Waters at the helm, Captain Louis Batan, Captain Joseph Henry, and Captain Marcy Louis. Team 6 consisted of Major Angela Hound, Captain Nancy Washington, Captain Andy Wilson, and Captain Ryan Valeriani. All except for Captain Wilson and Captain Henry were inside of the lead Panther, the other six being in the other bird, with the robot.

On the ground, people roamed, bewildered, in shock, most of them injured. They walked away from the blast, probably only because that was common sense. They didn't know that the radiation was going the other way but chances were that people walking away from the blast on the other side of the crater didn't know the radiation was going that way. They were covered in soot and debris, their blood forming a sort of grotesque mud on their faces, arms, legs, torsos, and wherever else they were hurt and bleeding. The open wounds would need cleaning and disinfecting. They limped, stumbled, crawled, walked, and were carried. Soldiers with Layartebian flags helped others and themselves. Grenadian soldiers were no different. After the blast the battle seemed to end almost instantly. Grenadian soldiers thought that they had been nuked and Layartebian soldiers thought the opposite. Hostility brewed but the Grenadians surrendered. Few walked out restrained at gun point. Anybody that was okay to walk and had two good hands was helping someone else. At the moment, they were all on the same side and that side was escape and survival. As the helicopters got lower, they expected the people to alter their course. About twenty of them were passing by in a small group as the helicopters approached the 100 foot mark. The people barely moved over an inch. The helicopters would have to stay static. "Can you believe that?" One of the pilots asked. "They don't even move."

"Can they hear us?"

"Probably not but they can see us. They can see the rotor wash. Whatever. We'll have to wait here."

"Figures." The helicopters hung over the ground for a few moments before it was finally cleared out and ready. The NH-96s dropped, their wheels deployed. They touched down lightly on the ground and the pilots reduced the power to the rotors, to allow the teams to get out without having too much difficulty. Out of the first helicopter, the six men and women poured out, their suits blending in with their surroundings. They were out fast and they shut the doors fast, to allow the crew to get back into the air. On the other helicopter it would take longer. The two men jumped out and placed a small ramp on the side of the door, then the robot was taken out, remotely controlled from Point Salines IAP, from the laboratory. The ramp was put back in and the door shut. Both helicopters would be back at base in a few minutes, for decontamination. Even though the radiation was blowing northeast, minute amounts of it were still in the area around the landing zones and that had to be taken care of immediately.

Now they were on the ground, 1,700 meters from ground zero, directly southwest, five men, three women, and a robot. "Abandon all hope ye who enter here." Major Waters remarked. His favorite novel of all time was Dante's Inferno and he drew startling similarities to the circles of hell to where they were. He already dubbed the landing zone the sixth circle and there were nine total. The closer that they got to ground zero, the closer to the ninth circle they would get. "Come on let's get a move on." They had a communications system setup that linked all of them together and linked them back to the base lab. In addition, on their right forearms was a small PDA device that gave them satellite imaging in real-time, an overlay map with the positions of each team member pointed, radiation levels experienced, temperature and pressure readings, the status of their communications link, a type of e-mail system that enabled them to type and receive messages from the base lab, a clock and stopwatch, their own vitals, and the condition of their suit. The PDAs were expensive but they were the best piece of equipment that they had. They could check the status of everything that they needed and they could also use it as a tracking device, if they became injured.

Their hazard suits were custom fit to them and only slightly comfortable. In normal conditions, they weren't comfortable but in these conditions, with the heat, the haze, the dust, the smoke, and everything else flying around them, the suits were just hampering them. To keep them hydrated, the suits, inside of them were kept as cool as possible and they carried a water tank along with the air filtering tank. The suits are exposed to a higher pressure inside, which would keep anything from entering them if they caught a snag. The water tanks could last up to twenty-four hours, if they were conservative and they were trained to be very conservative with the water. They drank out of a small hose that hung on their headsets, which allowed them to suck out the water if necessary.

"Assemble up." Major Waters stated as the other team approached them. "We've got a problem. We're far away and we've got a lot of people here. I can see more coming this way. We have a priority mission here. They're injured. They're in shock. We CANNOT help them! Is that understood? We cannot help. Is that understood? Good. We're going to go as far as we can. We can walk in the crater but let's not and say we did. Alright, on me." The robot began to walk towards ground zero. The eight of them were stationed all around the robot. It could walk over debris, up stairs, and generally go through every terrain possible. However, standard protocol is to keep its path free and clear.

It was tough and a testament to their strength that, as they walked towards the blast crater, they passed almost a hundred people, women and children included, some barely able to walk, others unconscious or dead. It was tough for them and they wanted to help. They weren't fighting soldiers, they were scientists and their priorities were just as much on saving human lives as they were on getting to the bottom of this event yet they had to let the people go on their own. Rescue teams would be in place in the city soon enough to help those that could be helped. Triage stations would be set up outside of the city, away from the radiation. There, doctors would assess who was going to live and who was going to die. Radiated patients would be seperated from normal ones and medical supplies would be plentiful. Still, the massive effort required, would take at least a few more hours for the first ones to be set up, three and a half miles away from ground zero, well into a safe zone, just north of Point Salines IAP.

With little to do to help, the robot and the two QRF squads advanced towards ground zero. "Look at these people," Captain Batan remarked as he looked out to see another 200 or so people coming towards him. They were in bad shape and they were still about 1,500 meters away from ground zero. Their video feeds were recorded back at the base lab and they could see the devastation here. They were just under a mile now and the devestation was significant still. Anything not reinforced was destroyed and lying in ruins. Debris scattered around them here were plentiful. Chunks of buildings, wooden beams, steel girders, everything that could possibly have come from something lay twisted, jagged, and destroyed. It was horrific.

Back at Point Salines IAP, the NC-130J Super Hercules was sitting, holding short, on the edge of the runway. Inside its belly were six men and women sitting in front of panels, gauges, dials, and switches. The pilot and co-pilot worked with the four scientists within the plane. It was a beast of an aircraft, modeled on the C-130J Super Hercules, capable of cruising as far as 3,185 miles and back. They could get off the ground in as little as 1,800 feet and fly as fast as 403 mph and as high as 30,500 feet. For this mission they would be flying between 5,000 and 15,000 feet and slow, only about 280 mph. Their sensors would do the rest. The aircraft were shielded from radiation, meaning that the crew inside were safe but outside, the aircraft would absorb radiation, meaning that it would have to undergo decontamination after landing. Their callsign was Mother 1 and when they had clearance, they were barrelling down the runway, their speed increasing with each and every step, so to speak. They were airborne in 2,470 feet, climbing towards 5,000, where they would do an orbit around the city. They would make eleven orbits around the city, one at every 1,000 feet above 5,000 feet. They would be recording the whole time, getting as much information as they could.

They arrived, on station, at 5,000 feet, to start their orbit only 8 minutes after take off, at 15:02 AST. Their first orbit would take them six minutes and it would be a twenty-eight mile course around the city. They would fly in a circle and work their way outwards, flying from over ground zero to positions outside of ground zero. They would be increasing altitude with each full cricle and by the time they got to 15,000 feet, they would be able to have a full set of readings. From there, they would fly along the prevailing winds for 50 miles, to see just how much the radiation was spreading and how badly. They would return to base with the information, even though it was being transmitted, in real-time, to the base lab.

When the NC-130 took off, Colonel Domino had his own expectations. The blast was originally estimated to be between 3 and 8 kilotons, based on the seismic readings and he narrowed that down to between 4 and 6 kilotons. With that, they had predicted levels of radiation and based on other readings from satellites, they had a good base of measurements for what the readings should be and those would serve as the control. However, three minutes into the flight, Colonel Domino noticed something very strange and not at all what the control predicted. "Son of a bitch." He muttered to himself as he looked at the readings. "Get me the Minister of the Interior now!"

Layarteb

20-10-2006, 23:39

July 26, 2006 - 14:11 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"So what are you telling us Colonel?" The Minister of the Interior said outloud. The Cabinet was meeting in the Emperor's office when the urgent call came through from Colonel Sanchez from Point Salines. The phone on the center of the conference table echoed into the room, which was eeriely silent.

"Minister sir. We've detected high levels of radiation. Higher then we expected."

"What does this mean?" The Emperor jutted into the conversation.

"Sir. The device used was an enhanced radiation device. Now because of the low yield of the device, the radiation hazard isn't as bad as it could have been but we're still looking at increased fallout, especially along the prevailing winds, which are heading right towards Barbados."

"Sir. The Realm."

"They've already been notified Minister. But send an immediate cable with what we've found. Colonel. What are you recommendations for them?"

"Sir. Based on the winds, the radiation levels. Sir, I would say that they are to stay protected for one week. The biggest risk is to pregnant women and children."

"Understandable. Minister." The Minister of Foreign Affairs was on his secured cellular phone in less than a nanosecond after the information had been spoken to him. He needed to make sure that it got there at the utmost level of importance. "Colonel. How long until it reaches them?"

"It reached them at 15:00 hours sir. Local time."

"Very well. Our Minister of Foreign Affairs is seeing to that as we speak. Now what can you tell us about our situation?"

"Well sir we've got a serious situation here. The low-yield of the blast caused significant damage out to about a mile from the blast zone and we've got a crater 53 feet deep and 260 feet wide. I've directed my teams to approach to within one half mile of the crater and the robot will take care of the rest. They're still about twenty minutes away. They've reported hundreds of civilians evacuating, many of them injured badly. The destruction is terrible sir. Fires are burning out of control, water mains are shattered, we have no fire services. Sir, there is nothing stopping the fires from spreading. We have mass casualties and no rescue personnel to help them out. The wind is blowing northeast and the mushroom cloud dissipated after about an hour. Within a half mile of the blast is going to have to be evacuated for, at minimum, fifty years. To the northeast, along the wind line, we're looking at over a hundred years."

"Anything about the weapon yet?"

"Nothing yet sir. We'll know more when we analyze rocks, stones, other debris that captured the radiation. Then we'll be able to tell you, with certainty, where the bomb came from and what it was."

"How Colonel?"

"Through the radiation sir. You see every nuclear or thermonuclear weapon is unique. The material within it, though you may have a hundred bombs built to the same specifications, will always be different. That is how we can tell who built the bomb, what the bomb was, and just what we're looking at here. We'll crossreference the radiation signature with databases that we have. Every nuclear bomb is catalogued by its material signature, that is how we can tell who is what. Think of it as a sort of fancy ID card sir."

"Very well. In your best estimation, what can you tell me?"

"Nothing sir. I cannot estimate. I am here for a precise job."

"That I understand Colonel. You have a Ph.D. though so you are no fool. I know your education is not policy but you are a very intelligent person. Could it be the Eastasians?"

"No sir, I highly doubt it."

"Why is that?"

"First off, we've tracked each and every box that they sent in, even during the drop in the blockaide. We tagged and checked every box period. We know what came in and what didn't come in. We inspected it all. Those may have been 'aide workers' down there but the individuals in the warehouse, analyzing the crates, those were our men, acting as aide workers. Sir, that is not a concern." The Minister of Intelligence interrupted. "The Eastasians definitely didn't plant that bomb."

"No sir. They couldn't have. They would have too much to lose." The Colonel entered the conversation again.

"Very well Colonel. I look forward to your update."

"You should have it by 18:00 hours tonight sir."

"That quick?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well. I will be standing by."

"Yes sir."

The call ended and the Emperor turned to the Cabinet members. "That was an obvious guess sir." The Minister of Intelligence began, "The Eastasians?"

"I have no leads right now."

"No sir. We don't. That is a problem. I must ask you that we raise our Readiness Condition Status to 2." The Minister of Defense said. "It is..."

"I understand Minister. Make it happen." With that, the Empire went to REDCON 2, for the first time in almost 10 years.

Cotland

21-10-2006, 15:03

Defense Ministry, Oslo
The news from Layarteb wasn't good, but it was taken into consideration and relayed to viseadmiral Trekstad in Saint Lucia, who increased the time the populace was to remain in the shelter. He also arranged for clean-up crews to be ready to move in to clear the island of radiation when it disappated, so it would be safe for the population.

The increase of the readiness level in Layarteb was also noticed. The Realm had after some high-end diplomacy been able to aquire permission to transfer five squadrons from the now overcrowded airbases in Saint Lucia to the Layartebian air base at La Coloma, Cuba. 48 F-20/A Enforcers, 24 F-25/A Typhoons, 16 C-12/J Super Hercules, 2 E-1/B Hauk and 6 K-10/A Yggdrasils were transfered temporarily to the air base along with a minimum of maintenance personnel. The aircraft had only the weapons in their internal bays, predominantly air to air missiles, with them, the rest being left on Barbados. The Cots had considered bringing tactical thermonuclear weapons in the form of Mk.91/A bombs in case the responsible ones were found, but that hadn't been allowed by the Layartebians. Understandable, considering everything.

Bridgeport, Barbados
The six Royal Marines guarding the checkpoint on a hill overlooking the majority of the city of Bridgeport were all dressed in their MOPP-4 suits, designed to protect them from the radiation the leadership expected to appear on Barbados. They hadn't been informed of the news from Oslo yet, so they had confidence that their suits would protect them. It wasn't until several of them started complianing about nausea that the men started worrying. After having contacted the company commander, a young, ambitious and arrogant kaptein, they were ordered to suck it up and take it like men. As the good Marines they were, they tried their best to carry out their orders.

An hour later, the confirmation that something was wrong came when two of the six Royal Marines started vomiting inside their suits, vomiting up their lunches, stomack acid, and blood. They called back to the company commander, who still didn't believe them and thus maintained the order. The oversersjant commanding the checkpoint didn't really like the kaptein, so he went over his head and radioed the next in the chain of command, the battalion commander. Now, the response was different. They were ordered to hold the position until relieved, and one of the four M55A1 Rescuer medical evacuation vehicles stationed on the island was dispatched. The Rescuer had full NBC protection integrated in its design, and was able to hold up to eight patients and two medics at the time. It came to the checkpoint quickly, being able to move at the top road speed of 100 kilometers per hour on the empty roads. The two medics, both dressed in beige radiation suits similar to those used by the scientists on Grenada got out and escorted the men into the Rescuer.

It wasn't until they got in, the doors were closed and the vehicle was pressurized that they were allowed to take off the protective suits. The sight the medics saw wasn't a pretty one. The six men were pale, and appeared to be bleeding under the skin. When they opened their mouths, blood gushed out, along with occational vomit. In addition, their skin was red and burned. Something was seriously wrong! As the Rescuer rushed to the designated medical aid station in a NBC-safe bunker on the northern part of the island, the medics tried their best to keep the men comfortable.

As the Rescuer drove through the large double blast doors ten minutes later, it was decontaminated by men dressed in radiation suits before it was allowed to enter into the bunker area itself. The bunker was a large facility stretching over several levels, including a large medical treatment center intended for disasters like this. It was funded and operated by the Directorate for Civil Security and Readiness but staffed by members of the armed forces and designated civilians such as doctors, nurses, electricians, et cetera. The six Royal Marines were transported on litters down the corridors and into the medical facility were a team of doctors and nurses were standing by. The men were lifted over from the stretchers to the treatment beds and undressed. The medical professionals had to cut the clothes off their bodies, the burns being intense. After a quick glance at the REM counters each man had, their fears were confirmed. With a REM count of more than 600, the men suffered from acute radiation poisoning. At this level, there was a fatality rate of 90 percent after thirty days.

As the doctors tried their best to treat the Royal Marines, the news was spread. As a result, all personnel outside was ordered in to safe areas. There would be many more Royal Marines and reservists that would experience radiation sickness in the hours and days to come, and several fatalities. In the meanwhile BERSTAT-0 was maintained.

Layarteb

21-10-2006, 20:55

July 26, 2006 - 15:28 AST
Saint George's, Grenada
1,200 meters SW of Ground Zero

The eight QRF scientists had gotten pretty close to the blast crater. They were twelve hundred meters away or three quarters of a mile. The devestation was horrendous. When the blast wave tore through here, just 2.5 seconds after the detonation, the overpressure was 3.0 psi, enough to cause concrete and cinder block walls to fail, collapse, and disintegrate. The 105 mph, hurricane force, winds that tore through here did just as much damage, causing anything loose to fly into the air, turning them into missiles, cars included. Roofs failed instantly and as they did, so did the retaining walls. Buildings that stood six stories high stood one and they were all rubble. The fires here were much more prominent, hotter, and frequent. It was another level of hell, as they would comment, and walking through the debris was increasingly harder, slowing them and the robot down. Radiation levels were high but not high enough that they couldn't walk through here in their protective suits. The number of people, alive, and mobile decreased dramatically and since they reached the 1,200 meter mark, they saw only one person, possibly a teenager, who knew, struggling to escape the infernos. He collapsed only a few meters away, dead from exhaustion or internal injuries, who knew.

"What's it like in there Waters?" Colonel Domino's voice echoed over the radio and the sound of the roaring fires almost drowned him out.

"Hot as hell Colonel. We're in the depths of hell here."

"I wouldn't doubt it. What's the temperature reading?"

"Let me check," he pushed a few buttons on his PDA. "Only about 138 sir."

"Keep cool in there alright and conserve that water?"

"You've got it sir. Anything else?"

"One thing. Foxtrot Gamma Twelve is flying around above you."

"Can't see a thing. Too much smoke and haze."

"Roger that. One problem though. The radiation levels are double what we expected."

"You're kidding me."

"No Waters I wish that I wasn't. I am serious."

"Thanks Colonel. Safe zone still at 800 meters?"

"Yes."

"Wind change?"

"No. It's still going northeast. You're safe where you are."

"That's a statement."

"I know Major. Do what you can."

"Roger that Colonel. We won't let you down." He stopped and turned around. He was leading the pack and the robot was in the center. Everyone stopped. "How is everyone feeling?"

"A little warm." Captain Valeriani remarked, with a smirk.

"You've got that right. What are we up to now?"

"Same thing as before. Do we need to stop and rest?" Nobody shook their heads. "Alright then let's get a move on, I want to get there as fast as possible and get out of here as fast as possible."

"You've got that right." They were on the move again. The closer that they got to the center, the windier it got. Convection currents from the heat of the now 7,289 individual fires drew it wind from the outside and began to feed itself. Without any firefighting means, the fire would extinguish itself only after it ran out of things to eat and it had plenty of food. The hotter it got, the more danger it posed. Little did they know it but fire was a bigger threat than radiation at the moment. The oxygen being drawn in was increasing combustion significantly and though it was a slow process, it was speeding up.

The QRF team managed to make it to the 800 meter mark, at 15:46 hours. From that point on, the robot was on its own, being remotely controlled from the base lab. It would move at a speed up to 6 mph, meaning that it could get to the exact point of detonation in roughly five minutes. It would take longer considering the amount of debris that lay in its path. It would stop, frequently, and pick up samples of rocks, steel beams, anything that could absorb radiation for study. They needed at least fifty-seven samples to make sure that they had an accurate reading and that would take time. They had until 17:00 hours to get back to the base and that wasn't much time. The robot would take at least forty-five minutes to make its run, meaning that they had less than thirty minutes to get back to the landing zone for extraction. The samples would take at least until 17:45 to be analyzed. That didn't give them much time until 18:00 hours.

July 26, 2006 - 15:37 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

"CLEAR THE RUNWAY! CLEAR THE RUNWAY!" Alarms echoed across the airport as another wave of aircraft were coming in to land, all of them at high speed. They were two more C-130J Super Hercules aircraft, followed by a series of UH-95 Super Huey, UH-96 Panther, and C-5M Galaxy helicopters and aircraft. They were cleared to taxi to another area of the airbase, away from the QRF area but close enough to be quick walking distance. This group, which consisted of six fixed-wing and thirty-six rotary-wing aircraft belonged to the South Eastern Virginia Fire Service, all of them being trained for two missions, fighting massive fires and extreme search-and-rescue. They were the first to arrive and more search-and-rescue workers would be arriving for the next four hours, landing in large transport aircraft, happy to get out after an uncomfortable ride. Though Grenada was part of the Province of Raef, Venezuela was a lot closer and their forces could arrive a lot faster.

The commander was Chief Harry Davis Benjamin, a tall, grizzled, and definitely hard son-of-a-bitch. He made a name for himself early on conducting some of the most risky search-and-rescue operations, mostly inside large building fires. When he became a battalion chief, he furthered his name but successfully fighting 829 fires without losing a single man or building to fire. On his 830th, a building collapsed, killing three of his firemen inside, who were trying to help an elderly woman out of the building, two minutes after the evacuation call came. It took him a while and a lot of drinks to forgive himself for that and when he was clean, sober, and ready, he fought back. Fire was his archenemy and vice versa. He had one priority now and that was stopping a potential second catastrophe from happening in Saint George's.

He wasn't a man to dilly dally. Reporters at the airport weren't allowed on the tarmac but they would have surrounded him if they could and he would have ignored them, pushing them out of his way. Once a reporter refused to get out of his way while he was walking towards a scene that he punched the reporter. The reporter attempted to bring charges but he never succeeded. The man had a mission and he wasn't going to be determined by anyone getting in his way.

The command center for the entire Saint George's operation was located in the only standing terminal, not damaged by the bombing. It was at least a quarter of a mile from both the QRF command post and the firefighting command post. Chief Benjamin, only thirteen seconds after stepping out of his Super Huey, looked around at the airport and the smoke rising on the horizon from the fire. "Well. Beautiful, sunny Caribbean. Where's this command center. We've got a job to do!" A small jeep was standing by for him to take over there and he stepped up towards the driver. "Where you from son?"

"Indiana sir."

"Get up."

"Sir?"

"Get out of the driver's seat now."

"Yes sir." He did and the chief sat down. Before the driver could get back in, he was flying towards the command center, at fifty miles per hour, ignoring everything in his path, dodging pallets and ground personnel, shouting at them as he drove past. He would arrive just three seconds before Colonel Domino, who was a lot more reserved.

"Colonel. Pleasure to meet you." He said as he stepped out of the jeep, its bearings and pistons hot from the short sprint. "My name is Chief Harry Davis Benjamin. We've got a job to do here."

"Yes sir we do." They shook hands. "Just call me Colonel Domino. It works out better." Neither of the two men were about introductions or long sessions of bullshit. Both of them had priorities and they fed off each other as they walked into the building, up to the command center. The entire operation was under the total domination and control of the Governor of Raef, who had landed just an hour prior. They both saluted the governor as they walked in and took their respective seats in a makeshift briefing area.

"Gentlemen and ladies. Now that we're all here." Aside from Colonel Domino and Chief Benjamin, there were eleven other individuals around, six women and five men. Between them all, they would coordinate ground recovery, radiation testing, search-and-rescue, firefighting, criminal investigation, and various other requirements, including reconstruction, which would be handled mostly by Manchurian Global's Civilian Contracting Division. "We've got a major situation here. There are countless dead and many more injured, most severely. Search-and-rescue operations will have to become paramount in this instance. Colonel Domino's team on the ground, investigation radiation and the source of the bomb have their own mission and are to run at their own priority. I am afraid that we cannot help you guys out too much." Colonel Domino didn't care at this point, he just didn't want them to be a hindrance.

"As long as my team can operate without hindrances I could care less sir."

"Alright. Firefighting?"

"Governor. If we do not start putting retardant on that fire right now and I mean RIGHT NOW we're going to have a firestorm on our hands."

"Is that your best estimate chief? You've been here ten minutes."

Chief Benjamin rose from his seat now pissed off at the remarks of the governor. "Listen here governor. I don't care if I'm disrespectful or not but physics isn't your strong point. You know what a fire does? It sucks in oxygen. The more oxygen it sucks in, the hotter it burns. The hotter it burns the more convection and the more oxygen it sucks in. Eventually it'll suck in so much oxygen that it will create a firestorm. At that point in time it doesn't matter what you are doing on the ground, it cannot be stopped. If that happens you'll lose more of the city to fire than you did to the blast. Now with or without your permission, I am going to order in my teams to begin the operations. If you have a problem with that file a grievance because I don't care." Without hesitation, he picked up his phone and dialed a number, connecting him to the command post. "Let's get a move on it." The Governor of Raef had strong objections about his team being there, mainly because they were from South Eastern Virginia and it was beginning to show.

"I do not believe that is appropriate and I would demand a little respect. I am the Governor of the Province of Raef. You are just a fire chief."

"And I am here to save your city and tens of thousands of lives because your own teams are busy playing poker. Now let me do my job."

"I will."

"You will? Good." He sat back down. Fucking asshole. He thought to himself. As the briefing continued, the two C-130J Super Hercules aircraft, which were fitted with 2,700 gallon tanks were being readied for takeoff. They had been loaded, prior to taking off from Venezuela, with 2,700 gallons of a red, fire-retardant chemical called AquaGel-K, manufactured by a company called Phos-Chek. Phos-Chek AquaGel-K water enhancing gel is used in wildland fire control in forest, brush and grass land, direct suppression of structural fires, and for exposure protection. Functionally, Phos-Chek AquaGel-K absorbs water many times its own weight and forms a gel producing increased droplet sizes that reduce drift and evaporation when dropped aerially. In many applications the gel forms a cohesive layer which acts as a vapor barrier and prolongs the effectiveness of the water. It would be perfect for this instance. The two aircraft would be flying around the clock, dispersing the fire retardant gel over the city. Super Hueys would be doing the same, using underhanging buckets. However, things would be different for them. The C-130s could carry 2,700 gallons each whereas the helicopters could carry only 520 gallons. The Super Huey's had a lifting capacity of 4,500 pounds, which meant that they could carry a Bambi Bucket up to 520 gallons, giving a gross weight of 4,580 pounds. These Super Hueys had been modified to allow for those extra 80 pounds. The helicopters, because of their quick turn around time would drop their first loads of AquaGel-K and then just fly out to the sea, pick up water, and drop it over the city. The C-130s would be flying quick missions but the turnaround times would be much longer, considering that their tanks had to be refilled and remixed with the gel. Helicopters could fly a half dozen instances to every one that the C-130s could fly. Therefore, the C-130s were going to be concentrated on wide area fires, where precision wasn't necessary. The Super Hueys, twelve of them flying at a time, would be able to be much more precise and could fight the smaller and harder to reach fires.

When the first C-130s took off, the Governor received a phone call. "Excuse me." An aide whispered in his ear. "Chief Benjamin. I am told your aircraft are taking off. I did not give you approval."

"I gave myself approval."

"You are relieved."

"I am under orders from the Minister of the Interior to directly stop this fire."

"And I am the man on the ground."

"You can call him if you wish. I have time." The Governor, calling his bluff, did just that, only to be rebuffed by the Minister. He wouldn't give up the fight just yet.

"What are they dropping on the city?"

"The first assault will be from two C-130s equipped with 2,700 gallons of Phos-Check AquaGel-K each and twelve Super Hueys with 520 gallons of the same substance. Thereafter, Super Hueys will use water from the Caribbean Sea to fight the fire."

"This AquaGel, is it harmful?"

"It is non-toxic."

"Chief. I understand that chemicals that work are always toxic."

"You understand wrong. They've been used frequently to fight forest fires with no adverse effects to the men on the ground or plant life or animal life."

"This isn't a forest fire."

"It has urban applications as well. We have used it for urban fires."

"To this scale?"

"Nobody has."

"Then you do not know the potential ramifications."

"I do."

"And what are they?"

"At worst, irritation to the skin and eyes, nothing life threatening."

"And I am to accept that people have to suffer more. What about open wounds?"

"It will irritate them but it is non-toxic."

"And of this suffering we are to cause?"

"It's a lot less than if a firestorm rears up and they burn alive. You know how painful that is? You see, aside from your skin melting. Your blood boils. The water in your skin. That boils too. It's horrific."

"I am aware."

"Good. Then you are aware that the thousands of survivors have NO chance if we do not act now."

"That is not my assessment."

"Then you had better make it your assessment. My aircraft are taking off with or without your particular permission but when I present my report to the Minister of the Interior, which will be given straight to the Emperor I will make note of your hindrance to this process. I do not know whose side you are fighting on but this petty rivalry because my team is not from your province has to cease and it has to cease now. If you would like to reach me, I'll be in my command post." Ignoring the calls of the governor to stop, he darted out the door, into his jeep and sped back across to the tarmac, dodging another jeep in the process.

In the terminal, the governor swore up a storm at the chief. Colonel Domino, seeing this as his exit cue left as well. He wasn't being hindered by the governor but he sensed the animosity he had towards individuals not under his direct command. Just ten minutes later, at 16:01, the first chemicals were dropped over the city, 5,400 gallons worth, hitting the largest single fire within the limits. The fire sizzled below and white smoke began to rise over the black and gray smoke. Help had arrived! Rescue teams would be on the ground in minutes, helping the thousands of survivors get to help.

Layarteb

21-10-2006, 22:36

July 26, 2006 - 16:25 AST
Saint George's, Grenada
810 meters SW of Ground Zero

"Getting hot in here isn't it?" Major Hound remarked to Major Waters. "These fires are way out of control." Just then something exploaded about a hundred meters away from them. It was a gas tanker that had been toppled over. It had not been lit on fire yet but the heat caused the gasoline in its tanks to combust and explode. "What the hell was that?" She shouted as the ground shook. The explosion was behind a row of burning buildings, which took the hit of debris and force. "We have to get out of here soon."

"You're telling me. The robot is almost done. It'll be out soon enough. I heard something before, something sizzling. Did you hear that too?"

"I did. What was it?"

"No clue." The other six scientists were collecting their own samples and doing some test work on the fires and the situation on the ground. Both of the leaders were on look out for the robot. "We're in the deepest depths of hell here."

"You and this hell shit."

"I see this I think of the Inferno, I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Listen whatever works. I want out of here so bad myself."

"Yeah. No training mission was ever like this."

"Nothing was ever like this."

"You've got that right." Major Waters took a quick survey of the area and heard the faint sound of helicopter blades over the crackling and sizzling of the fires. "Wait. Shhh." He frantically looked around. "I hear something. Maybe it's a helicopter?" They were the only ones for six hundred meters that was alive and the only ones who could have heard the sound. It was faint and it echoed only slightly. "I hear it. It's coming from that way." He pointed north. "From the crater maybe?"

"What is it?"

"I don't know. It's hard to tell. I think it's a helicopter."

"A helicopter? Our NH-96s are the only ones around."

"Maybe not." The sound of the helicopter resonated in the 142°F air, above the crackling of the fires, above the sizzling of the water, above the sound of the failing structures, and above the fury of the wind. "That's a Huey. I can tell." Sure enough, a Super Huey flew right over their heads, its water bucket hanging below it, its valve open, water flowing out, in a fine spray across the air. The water was significantly colder than the air and when it touched the ground it sizzled and steamed with white smoke. Tiny fires muted themselves and the spray of the mist coated their suits. "They're putting out the fires! They're doing it!" Major Waters shouted with a smile. Everyone looked up at the falling water. "They're doing it!" He shouted again. There was a slight drawback though and he recognized it immediately. "Those buckets. Radiation."

"On it." Major Hound immediately changed the comlink on her headset. "Colonel. We've got a problem."

"Go Major."

"The helicopters with the buckets."

"Yes ma'am."

"Radiation?"

"That's being accounted for. The buckets are made of specialized materials and they are staying away from the hazard zones, which have been outlined by the NC-130. They're safe. Enjoy the relief. ETA on extract?"

"We're almost done here. The robot should be back to us in a few minutes. We'll be on the ground there by 17:00."

"Good to hear. How is it down there?"

"Still hotter than hell. It's not comfortable I can tell you that and there is fire all around us. Is the sun still up?"

"Bright and high."

"We can't tell. Too much smoke."

"You've got that right. It's billowing up pretty high."

"How is the radiation spread?"

"Not good. We've got an enhanced radiation device down there so the winds are really talking the radioactive particles for a ride. The Barbados is currently under shelters."

"Understood."

"Stay sharp out there. Base out." Major Hound switched back her comlink and caught the end of a joke being told by Captain Louis. She laughed, innocently. Helicopters had already extinguished about a hundred smaller fires and the C-130s took out at least a dozen larger ones. Unfortunately, for the firefighters, they were fighting a losing battle. The fires were spreading and by 17:00 hours they would number some 8,273. They were growing and there was little that they could do to stop them. Two more C-130s were going to be called in from Cuba and they would be under the direct command of Chief Benjamin.

Layarteb

23-10-2006, 22:14

July 26, 2006 - 16:58 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

The two NH-96C Panther helicopters put down on the tarmac and rolled into the hangar, for decontamination. The NC-130J Super Hercules had just finished decontamination and was sitting in a secluded place, so as to not absorb radiation from the helicopters. The robot, on the other hand, being the most contaminated of all, was transferred immediately to a holding chamber, isolated from the rest of the laboratory and the hangar. Its bin was opened and the samples taken out and placed on a conveyor belt, where they were transferred to the observation chambers. Reaching through rubber hands and arms, the scientists began to conduct their tests on the objects.

The two teams that were on the ground were brought into decontamination of their own and given immediately medical treatment. They weren't injured but they were dehydrated and they were exhausted. The heat was overbearing and working in the suits was always difficult, no matter where you were. They didn't need to be treated for radiation poisoning, their suits did the job well, but they did need to go through minor decontamination, just to be safe. Their suits were decontaminated as well. They had less than an hour to get the information compiled and their initial findings presented to the Minister of the Interior. The Minister may have been hoping for the culprit right away but that would take much more time. What they could present, by 18:00 hours, was what type of bomb it was, what they were looking at in terms of radiation, and what they were looking at in terms of possible fallout, both political and real.

While the scientists were going to work on their experiments, search and rescue personnel were descending upon the city. They were seeking out survivors and herding them into mobile medical camps, set up on the outskirts of town, to the south. They had eleven of them set up already, all complete with decontamination units. With the wind still blowing northeast, they were lucky for now. It was expected to remain that way until about 04:00 hours. After that it was anybody's guess where it would blow. By then, they hoped, that everyone would be evacuated. That was a lot of people but they were under significant stress here. Those with only minor injuries were brought to Point Salines IAP and transported to Venezuela or Trinidad. Those with more serious injuries were stablized first and then transported. If they were severely injured they were treated on site. Those who were critical and couldn't be moved would have to stay for as long as possible, until they were safe to move. The rescue personnel weren't about to kill more people.

They had already recovered about 5,500 people throughout the city and about half of those were already being evacuated to Venezuela and Trinidad. About 1,800 Layartebian Marines and 1,200 Grenadian soldiers had walked out as well, helping each other and civilians. The city was burning out of control still and the threat of a firestorm was still looming as the C-130s continued their assaults. They were restricted from flying too close to ground zero, because of the radiation, which hindered their efforts. Smoke rose and rose and rose, carrying dangerous radiation skyward, only to be picked up by the prevailing winds and brought northeast. They weren't prepared for this and this would be a trust test to their skill and their efforts.

Firefighters were beginning to arrive, on site, at Point Salines. They had been brought in through airlift and they were working mostly with airport fire fighting equipment. Because the water mains in the city were shattered in almost 10,000 places, they wouldn't be able to draw on the cities water supplies. They would have to advance and use foam to attack the fire and only airport rescue units could do that task. There would be over a hundred of them and they would advance on the fire from the south, attacking in a line. The main fire truck brought in as the M2038A1 Adapted Emergency Response Vehicle (AERV), the standard firetruck being used on military airports. The trucks could carry six people, including the driver, 1,000 gallons of water, 120 gallons of foam, and pump it all out in a minute. They would set up pumping units along the coast and they could pump the water to the firetrucks from there but they would need a lot of hose and that was already being set up but would take some time. From there, the firetrucks could advance on the city, using the seawater. The only problem was that they would be pumping the water for some time before it could reach the trucks and though they would be doing their best, this wasn't an instant science.

The one hundred firetrucks and their six hundred firemen would all be wearing nuclear protection gear, which would protect against fire as well. It would be hot in there and they were used to fighting fires on airports, with jet fuel, which burned at 1,800°F. They weren't dealing with jet fuel here though, they were dealing with fires that were between 500°F and 2,000°F. It was hot in there and they were fighting against time. The longer the fires burned for, the more oxygen they sucked in, and the more oxygen, the higher the combustion. A firestorm was inevitable, it seemed, and they were trying their best to fight it.

Casualty estimates were still high, in excess of 20,000 and that was conservative. They were interviewing the injured as they came out, trying to ask them how many bodies they saw, what they saw, how badly it was in there. They were shocked still and most of them couldn't answer even basic questions, to even tell them their name. To the north, things were different. The radiation spread had made most of those injured sick to their stomachs and there was no rescue personnel that far north yet, they had to set up special decontamination units before they could transport the people, few of which were going to survive.

July 26, 2006 - 17:00 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Alright gentlemen. Let's hear it. Colonel. What do you have for us?" The Minister of the Interior said into the conference phone at the center of the table. The Cabinet was present around the table and all of them were curious to hear what he and the others had to say.

"Sir. We've analyzed fifty-seven pieces of material that we've gathered from within a half mile from ground zero. We've determined a few things. First and foremost, the traces of plutonium are considered supergrade, meaning that their content of Pu-240 is very low. Analyzing weapons and Pu-240 levels, we've determined that the warhead was a W80 Mod 0, developed for the Tomahawk cruise missile but primarily for the submarine launched variant. The W80 has a two stage system with a boosted fission primary and a fusion secondary. The booster fission primary can have a 5 kiloton yield on its own but when coupled with the secondary we're looking at 150 kilotons. We do not believe that the secondary was present at the time of this explosion. We feel that the fusion secondary was removed prior to detonation, leaving just the fission primary and its 5 kiloton yield. That was what devestated our city here. In addition, the W80 has a radiation case, lined with depleted uranium. We've found traces of this element, which has a high atomic number. This helps to keep the radiation in but also boosts the radioactive output, making it an area denial weapon.

"Our estimates remain as such. Within one half mile of the blast it must be evacuated for fifty years. The radiation levels are just too high for unprotected individuals. Your rescue personnel will have to leave this area alone, I am sorry to admit. Recovery can only happen after the fires are extinguished and only by properly protected individuals. We doubt anyone is alive in this area and those who are will die within two weeks from radiation sickness. Along the northeastern path of the radiation spread we're predicting up to a hundred years of evacuation, spreading out as far as five miles from ground zero. Unfortunately, there will be more deaths here than anywhere else.

"We believe that the bomb was placed underground, thereby creating the crater we see. Ground zero looks like it was directly in front of the governmental building. The explosion wiped out everything for a quarter mile, easily. Cinder block and concrete walls failed as far away as three quarters of a mile but reinforced buildings stood after about a half mile. The blast wasn't very powerful, per say, but it was enough to cause catastrophic devesitation."

"Do you have a culprit yet?"

"We're working to analyze the samples now to find out exactly where the bomb came from. This process is much slower as we have to hand look through countless reference guides."

"Is there a time estimate on this?"

"It could take an hour it could take a day. It all depends where we find it. If it's the last page we're going to be looking for a while. I have men and women looking from the front and back of the book. I have men and women looking from the center. We're working as fast as we can but we must be accurate here. Misclassification is not a good thing."

"We understand. Thank you Colonel. Chief Benjamin. How are recovery efforts?"

"Well sir. We're having trouble fighting these fires. They keep growing and growing and without men on the ground our helicopters and aircraft can only do so much. We're flying non-stop and will be flying around the clock but accidents can happen that way and I don't want a downed helicopter or aircraft. We're bringing in about six hundred firefighters with a hundred trucks now and we're setting up pumping lines from the ocean. The water mains inside the city are fractured in thousands of places and we can't rely on them at all. We've recovered a good portion of people including about 6,000 civilians, almost 2,000 Marines, and a little over a thousand Grenadian soldiers."

"What is being done to the POWs?"

"Nothing yet sir. They're being treated as injuries. They are helping our Marines and the civilians escape. War ceased here the minute that bomb went off. Now everyone is fighting for survival."

"Understood." The Cabinet was pleased with the answers so far but they were still unhappy that the fires were burning out of control with no time frame in sight for their control or for recovery efforts. "What are weather patterns like?"

"Still blowing northeast for the wind. That'll stay until about 04:00 hours when the tide is coming up. The wind will shift in a different direction then but we don't expect much radiation after that to be in the air. Once the fires are out, the radiation spread will stop and slow. We need to be preventing a firestorm from starting here, a major threat. If one starts we're going to lose all hope of control over the city, which is why we need firefighters and we need them now. We need more helicopters and more aircraft to help us fight the fire from the inside out. I am told that we cannot go within a half mile of ground zero but we need to, we need to get in there to fight the fire and stop it from spreading further. Barbados is directly in the path until that time comes."

"Understood Chief. Colonel Domino, what can be done about that?"

"Little sir. Unfortunately the fires burning there are a danger to the pilots in the aircraft. Aircraft would have to be decontaminated and the crews would have to wear special suits during flight and they would have to limit their exposure time over the center. Water wouldn't be a good idea, gel only. I would not recommend it but I too understand the predicament."

"Chief. Your pilots will have to do it at their own risk, volunteer only. You cannot do it though until reinforcements arrive."

"Very well. When will that be?"

"By 20:00 hours we'll have triple the amount of equipment you have right now."

"That is fine for me. I will designate my men flying now to rest and the reinforcements to attack both the center and the outside simultaneously. We need to get this fire out and under control."

"Yes we do. Very well. Does anyone else have anything to add. No? Very well. We'll reconviene in two hours." The call was ended and now things were beginning to come together and become clearer but they still had a long way to go.

Layarteb

24-10-2006, 00:43

July 26, 2006 - 19:20 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

Things were souring for the Layartebians. The winds had shifted early and were spraying more to the east now, heading towards the open sea. That was good for Barbados, not that anything would change for them but it meant that a wider dispersion of the island was going to be blanketed in radiation. More people would die. Casualties were high to begin with and with people dying from radiation poisoning and sickness in the up and coming weeks and months, those figures would stagger even higher. Radiation was an enemy that they couldn't see, only detect. It wasn't like a fire that could be easily doused with water or foam or gel. It was an enemy that was undefeatable. The soldiers and rescue workers inside of the city, recovering the injured and even the bodies were doing a bang up job already and the firefighters were beginning to gain some semblance of control over the blazes. At 17:05 AST, they numbered in excess of 8,300. By 19:20 AST, they were down to 6,800. That was saying a lot. The helicopters had done a coordinated attack on two dozen hot spots and worked their way outwards. Another C-130 pass blanketed a whole row of warehouses that were burning out of control. Now they smoldered, belching white smoke, sizzling, charred black from the fire.

The smoke rose into the darkening sky as Colonel Domino stepped out of the hangar. He lit a cigarette and looked northward, to the burning city. "Look at that." He remarked to himself. In the background, aircraft were landing and taking off, some of them carrying the sick and wounded, some carrying supplies, some carrying the dead. He could see the helicopters flying, dropping their water and he watched as the Super Hercules tankers dropped their loads on the fires, only to see the white smoke rise. The setting sun in the west was a surreal backdrop. He took a few pictures of it, the purple and red sky mixed in with the rising black and gray smoke.

"Colonel. You'll want to take a look at this."

"What's that?" He took a puff on his cigarette and looked at one of the scientists, a newer member to the QRF force. Her name was Linda Hess, a first lieutenant and a Ph.D. in radio-physics. She was a bright young scientist and landing a spot on the QRF force was a guaranteed lifelong job for her, one that paid well and usually didn't have major threats. This situation was definitely out of the ordinary.

"Sir. We've identified the source of the radioactive material."

"Where is it from?"

"You'll want to see this for yourself sir."

"Alright." He dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped out the cigarette. He walked into the laboratory and passed through its clean chamber, which steralized him. "What do we have?"

"Sir. We've got an origin for the plutonium. Get ready for this."

"If its Eastasian I am going to be sick."

"No sir. Worse."

"Go on."

"Sir. The plutonium came from a breeder reactor in Cuba. Just thirteen miles south, southeast of Havana."

"What!" His expression and his face dropped. "Was this our bomb?"

"No. The plutonium was manufactured in 1976."

"The Empire of Teh Ninjas?"

"Yes sir."

"But how? When we took over Cuba we accounted for everything."

"Sir. Chances are that it was made there but assembled and based elsewhere."

"Within the Empire?"

"Our Empire? No."

"So then where?"

"I don't know sir. We'll have to sequester more documents, classified, that were seized from Havana."

"You mean their Defense Department files?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright. Can we do that?"

"Not without clearance from the Minister of the Interior."

"Well he'll have to know then."

"Yes sir." The Minister of the Interior had a like reaction when he heard about the origin of the bomb and now they had to find out just where the bomb went, how it got there, who set it off, and just what they had to gain.

Layarteb

24-10-2006, 02:33

July 26, 2006 - 20:40 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The ground beneath Governor's Island shook at 20:37 hours. That was when the Colonel gave the news. The bomb that had devestated Saint George's, killing over 20,000 and unleashing horrendous terror, destruction, and suffering upon the island, its residences, and the Empire as a whole had come from a land that the Empire had once erased from being. The backlash was going to be catastrophic. The Empire of Teh Ninjas, effectively erased from existence on June 16, 2004, the day Havana fell, had long since been forgotten. Cuba, the Cayman Islands, and the Madeira Islands had all been assimilated into the Empire of Layarteb, their leaders executed for opposing the annexations and waging war, their people one with the Layartebian people. Cuba had gone the hardest but had since become the most promising of all the lands seized from Teh Ninjas. The mighty nuclear arsenal stored in bunkers underneath the Cuban island and underneath the Cayman Islands were all included into the inventory of the Empire of Layarteb. They had written off the enemy that the Ninjan people posed and now, here they were, slightly over two years later, facing their worst enemy, an enemy that they had already defeated, an enemy with nothing to lose, and an enemy stained by injustice.

"So you're telling us that the weapon was built by the Empire of Teh Ninjas, at our Havana Facility? We use that facility now." The Minister of Defense rose from his chair, the news too much to take.

"Yes sir I am. I would suggest having a team down there immediately to seize any records still stored there."

"There are none Colonel. Those records lie in the safest places within our Empire."

"That is a problem then sir. We need access to those records. We need to know where that plutonium was shipped. That will tell us where the bomb was built, what serial number was assigned to the missile that carried this warhead, and where that missile was stationed. Every nation with nuclear weapons has been meticulous to mark where they went and who was controlling them. The Empire of Teh Ninjas was no slouch. They were meticulous as any other.

"That is affirmative." The Minister of Intelligence remarked. "However, these documents are more than classified. I am afraid you do not have clearance."

"I beg your pardon sir. And I attest that the Emperor is listening?"

"I am Colonel. Go ahead."

"Sir. If I do not get access to those records and find out where the hell that bomb went before it was taken by whomever took it then you might as well just tell my team to pack up and come back to Layarteb City. We're here to find out where this bomb came from and if we can't do that then why the hell are we here?"

"Point taken Colonel. I'll see to it that the documents get in your hands." The Emperor spoke over anyone else who might have said anything. He was no stupid man and he knew the significance of that information. "It will take some time to be delivered to you and it will be delivered by a courier. I will not trust that information, even over our most encrypted network."

"That is fine sir. I want that information, however I can get it."

"Very well. Point Salines is about 2,110 miles away. That's a four hour ride, moving very fast. I'm going to have a Learjet 80 fly down there immediately. There will be a man onboard. I trust you have Alpha encrypted code cards?"

"I do sir."

"Very well. He will use that encryption level ONLY."

"Understood sir."

"Now. That information will be viewed only in his presence. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Any attempt to will be met with serious force. His life depends on protection of that information. He will be armed. If he feels threatened he will shoot to kill."

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now. Is there anything else that you require of us, at this moment in time?"

"Sir. Just one thing sir, if I may?"

"Go ahead."

"Sir. I request only that you send a photographer."

"Why is that Colonel?"

"Sir. These pictures, what we're seeing. Sir those should haunt all of us for the rest of our lives."

"Colonel, that is highly disrespectful." The Minister of the Interior jutted in before the Emperor could respond.

"That's fine Minister. I too agree with the Colonel. I will do what I can Colonel. Keep up the good work." The conference call terminated and the Minister of the Interior looked shockingly at the Emperor. "It's fine Minister. I understand what the Colonel means. It is horrific there and he has a point. The devestation should be a reminder that nuclear weapons and war are something that our people must avoid."

"Sir?"

"You'll understand. For now, I will grant him that much."

"Alright sir." Less than an hour later, a C-21 lifted off Layarteb City IAP and flew towards Saint George's, flying at over 500 miles per hour, carrying just two men, aside from the pilot and co-pilot. One was the man carrying the briefcase, inside of which was a secured laptop with the classified information. The other man was the photographer and, just so happened to be, a member of the 4th BOG, "Force Victor." Not only was he going to be a photographer but in case something happened to the man carrying a briefcase, another member of the 4th BOG, he would step in to protect him.

Saint Lazare

24-10-2006, 03:28

2006 July 27 - 0728
Delhi

[ooc: don't need to say this, but the time is local time...]

Simeone got off the plane and emerged in a chaotic environment. There were riots in one-half of the city and the local police were having difficulty trying to find resolution to the rampant disregard for law and order. Such was the state of affairs in a country where its officials decided to take too many vacations - no one was around institute a strong sense of righteous and just action. It was just the scene that Simeone had hoped - although to some degree in lesser extremes - and he ventured to the post office with a mailkey. Inside was a package - his beloved Beretta. Additionally, he had some more bombs, but he wasn't certain if it would be necessary in this kind of environment.

As he left the post office, he found his way to the lower districts of the city and voluntarily moved into a residence. The occupant left the door unlocked and in fact, it turned out the occupant was already dead on the floor. The body was at least three days old, as maggots were growing in the vicious knife wounds. Whatever happened there, it was likely that the person attempted to struggle against a stronger opponent and lost this battle. Of course, the dead body was a welcome deterrent, but Simeone didn't like the idea of staying in a dead man's apartment. Instead, he moved up one flight of stairs and moved in forcibly. The person there was also dead...

Deciding that apartment was cursed, he moved out and found himself a neighboring apartment where the occupant wasn't dead. Of course, the occupant wasn't home in the first place, but that didn't matter. He found the amenities appealing - a jute rug with firm carpeting, bordering a pale blue wall. There was a small television that was connected to a defunct cable box, but the radio was perfectly fine. The kitchen came with basic requirements: a good-sized refridgerator, a microwave, and an oven with an open gas stove-top. Of course, the gas was turned off, but it was a convenient thing to have anyway. The bedroom fitted a merger double-size, but the mattress was very comfortable. The occupant probably had a history of back pains, or was extremely into having a nice bed of sorts...

The time was quickly approaching the morning rush hour and he quickly figured out that the occupant worked at nights. He learned this in the moment he heard a loud yell echo across the room. He unwillingly unsheathed his pistol and rushed out into the living room where the man was protesting the forced entry into his house. A quick shot to the head was enough to silence the man's miseries, and likewise end the clamor. He took care to hide the body in the closet and clean the blood from the floor, so neighbors wouldn't suspect a murder. Of course, given the aptitude of the past apartment, he was fairly certain that few people would care.

But, in having established himself in India, he felt confident that his work to uncover DVQ would proceed unabated. He would trace Maria's footsteps and find out where these words intersected. Inevitably, the conclusion would surprise many and in the end please no one.

Layarteb

24-10-2006, 04:32

Saint Lazare

24-10-2006, 21:15

OOC: Alright, my last post was basically 06:10 hrs IST July 27. Do you want me to wait for you to catch up? The bomb went off at 21:00 hrs IST on July 26. Wierd time zone sequence huh? IST = +5.50 hrs, AST = -4 hrs, EST = -5 hrs.

[ooc: well, that was a typo. After all, it would be kinda hard to leave Havana at 1330 local time and arrive at Delhi at 0730 the same day...]

Layarteb

24-10-2006, 23:53

OOC: Okay cool so I'll continue in realtime.

Layarteb

25-10-2006, 05:28

July 26, 2006 - 22:10 AST
Saint George's, Grenada

The night was horrific. A red glow emanated from the city and lit up the sky. The city was still burning and though the fires were down to only 6,100. That was good progress but the fires were still burning heavily and powerfully. The heat level had not changed, despite the reduction in the amount of fires. That was a major problem, a problem that Chief Benjamin was not happy finding. "We've got a problem here. We've got a city, on fire, out of control, and we aren't getting the heat down." He stated to his command staff. "What are going to do? Coordinate our efforts better? Of course."

"Sir. We are flying inside of the blast zone. We've got tons of more aircraft. The fire crews on the ground are doing good."

"Are you trying to tell me that there isn't anything we can do?"

"No."

"Then what are you telling me?"

"Only that we've exhausting our resources here sir."

"That isn't good enough."

"No. I know it isn't. Sir. We're out of ideas."

"You're out of ideas. Is this a collective reasoning?" Everyone stayed quiet. They weren't prepared for disasters of this scale and no standard operating proceedures could be enough to deal with the situation. "Is that so. Well I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe that this is an instance where we can't do anything. This may be unprecedented but we're going to control this."

"Yes sir." He walked away from the command center. He refused to believe that nothing could be done until he stepped outside and stepped on top of the roof top, a cigarette in his hand. He looked out, over the horizon, towards the glowing inferno and saw his worst enemy. Suddenly there was a flash of the glow and he heard the winds rustle up from around him.

It has happened. He remarked to himself. The glow increased exponentially over the next few seconds as the wind sucked inward. The fire had grown so hot that it created the firestorm he talked about, that he wanted to stop. Aircraft and helicopters overhead were powerless to fight the fire now. They had fought the outside of the blaze and were working inward when it hit, like the nuclear explosion itself. The fire flared up and instantly, the winds kicked up, and the firestorm began. Everything not on fire and in the path of the fire lit up immediately and without warning, the heat so intense. Those trapped inside this ring of fire would never make it out alive. The fire flashed up and immediately, without warning, the inside of the city, particularly around the blast crater, was an inferno of such heat and such terribleness that water wouldn't do anything but vaporize before it hit the ground.

The fire would eventually burn itself out in there as the firefighters pushed inward with their helicopters and aircraft. Over the center was too hot to fly and approach but as they moved inward, towards the massive fire, they could see that nothing was left. It was charred tremendously and steamed. It would be days before they could go that far.

Layarteb

26-10-2006, 05:22

July 26, 2006 - 23:00 AST
Saint George's, Grenada

"It's so fucking hot in here." The man wandered around aimlessly. He had been just a mile from ground zero when the bomb went off. His apartment building collapsed underneath him and he was lucky to survive, being caught inside an airpocket in the collapsing structure. Unfortunately, he was rendered unconscious and only awoke an hour ago when an injured soldier crawled into the shell of the structure for relief from the blaze. They had been in there when the firestorm ravaged the city and were lucky, yet again, to be just behind it as it forced forward, towards the center. Their structure had lit on fire but not severely and shortly thereafter a helicopter doused it with water. They tasted the relief. Now, the two of them, both injured, were lost. They had been walking around for twenty minutes and without much knowledge of where they were going, made a complete circle. The soldier, a sergeant in the Imperial Layartebian Marines had a broken left arm and had concussion damage from the blast. His hearing was damaged and blood had dripped from his left ear, now dried. His nose had bled as well and dried blood was underneath it. His right eye was black and blue, bruised heavily, and he had at least a dozen bruises on his body. He ached everytime he moved. The man, a citizen of Grenada who, at first supported the revolution, was now completely opposed to it. He saw the devestation wrought by the Marines and now, after the bomb went off, he was horrified. He was, unfortunately, more seriously injured. His eardrums had rupted and both ears bled, the blood dry now. He had a concussion and lost two teeth. He had taken shrapnel in the neck and it just missed his Jugular vein by a few millimeters. His right leg was seriously bruised as was the rest of his body. Both of his ankles were sprained and he struggled to walk, survival the only thing pushing him onward. One of his lungs was injured as well and the concussion from the blast had shattered two of his ribs. They moved but not fast.

Both of them relied on each other for survival and they were in the northern sector of the city, already having received a good amount of radiation. That was unfortunate, especially as they wandered around, towards the west, then the south, then the east, and then the north again. The two of them were bound by survival and all they wanted to do was reach safety and escape. Their exposure levels were steadily climbing though and they were dangerously exposed. The longer they spent wandering, the worse they would be, especially if they didn't head west. "Come on. That way. I think. I can't tell, my GPS unit is busted. The blast fried it." The soldier said, pointing west. "I think that's the way to the sea. I don't know. The damage, I can see buildings that way. I hope that's it."

"You hope? Come on man we've got to get out of here. Where do you think we are?"

"I don't know. Not far enough away." In reality, they were just under three quarters of a mile away from ground zero and the temperature was hot, well over 100°F and they were dehydrating fast. "It's really hot here. I wish I had water."

"Me too. Maybe we can find some. Come on. Let's go that way then." They headed west. Two bodies were in their immediate path, both mangled by falling and flying debris. They stepped over them and strode along, moving slow because of their injuries but far faster than they would be if they were not looking death in the eyes. "Come on."

"Yeah. That way. I can see buildings still standing."

"Fine. Yeah. We'll go that way. Here, help me over this." They walked over a large and unstable rubble pile, it shifting underneath their weight but they didn't fall, they held onto each other for support. Both of them were bruised badly and they had lost blood, not enough to make them woozy, yet. "So do you have a family?" The man asked.

"I do. I have a wife and two little girls."

"How old?"

"Seven and nine."

"Cute age. I had a son once but he died in an automobile accident about three years ago."

"I'm sorry you lost your son. That must have been tragic."

"If it spared him this fate I am glad. My wife. I don't know where she is. Even if she's alive?"

"Where was she?"

"We're separated you see. The grief it tore her apart. I know she was hiding outside of the city but I don't know where." His wife was alright, despite his knowledge and she was just as worried about him as he was about her. Layartebian Marines evacuated her shelter just two hours after the blast went off, before the shelter could be exposed to lethal amounts of radiation. She was now on a plane, heading to Venezuela. The whole island was going to be evacuated. "She was hiding somewhere."

"Maybe she's evacuated? I know our Marines were going through shelters and taking out civilians. We've swept most of the country."

"What is it like? You know. Being a soldier?"

"Not my dream job." He smiled. "I do what I have to do. I need to feed my family and I need to make a living. I need a roof over my head and I need to send my children to school so they don't have to do what I did."

"Do you have nightmares?" They passed over more bodies and more rubble. They were moving out of the city, slowly, too slowly. "I mean."

"I do. I've killed too many people. Here. I came to this island to fight the rebels, to take it back for the Empire. Look at this? This is what happens? We're all dead. Who knows how many. Twenty thousand? I don't know. Most of us are dead."

"Then why do you still carry your rifle?"

"I'm a soldier first and a survivor second."

"What does that mean?"

"Only that I am still at war with the rebels on this island."

"And should you come across one?"

"I hope that he will see the predicament and join us. If he doesn't. I am afraid I will have to add another body to the count."

"Doesn't that seem preposterous in this time?"

"To some. But if it means survival or death I want to survive and I have a job to do. The Empire has been good to me. I must repay it in full."

"And I?"

"What about you?"

"What am I to do?"

"Keep going and get out of this city."

"I mean when I get out. I supported the rebels, I'm sorry to say. I did. At first I really did. I wanted something of my own. I love the Empire over the Republic, I must admit. However, this wasn't their island. We had independence once. We lost that when they came."

"I understand."

"So will you shoot me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You don't have a gun. You aren't here to kill me."

"How do you know?" The tension mounted.

"I am a soldier. I know."

"And how do you know I don't have a pistol tucked in here?"

"I don't but I trust you that you and I will make it out of this city alive, our differences behind us."

"Trust. That's it? That's all you go on?"

"Yes."

"Naive of you, is it not?"

"Listen to me! Now you're pissing me off. I have two girls to get home to. A wife to get home to. You have a wife to get home to, separated or not. Do you want to see her again and live on or do you want to join the bodies here. Look. Look at that one. You see that? He doesn't even have a head. Does that make you comfortable?"

"No."

"Good. Then shut the fuck up with this nonsense and let's get out of here." Silence persisted for a few more minutes until they sparked up the conversation again. They would eventually make it out of the city but neither of them would survive past the week. They both were exposed to over 5.5 Svs of radiation poisoning and it was manifesting in them already. They were bleeding underneath the skin, their bone marrow had been nearly destroyed, and they were vomiting by the time they reached the edge of the city, near a medical facility. They went through decontanmination but they were diagnosed as "soon to be dead." Nothing could be done to save them...

Cotland

26-10-2006, 23:37

26. July 2006 - 23.00 AST
Deep below Akershus Fortress, Oslo, Norway

"... og antallet døde på Barbados er anslått til å komme på opp under fire hundre, alle sammen medlemmer av Forsvaret. Heldigvis virker det som om at strålingsbeskyttelsen rundt beskyttelsesrommene er tilstrekkelig til å beskytte befolkningen. Viseadmiral Trekstad har beordret at øya og dets befolkning fortsatt blir isolert i tjue dager slik at vi får nok tid til å rense øya for stråling slik at det blir trygt for befolkningen igjen." [...and the number of fatalities on Barbados is estimated to reach nearly four hundred, all of them members of the Armed Forces. Fortunately, it seems that the radiation shielding around the shelters are sufficient to protect the populace. Vice Admiral Trekstad has ordered the island stay under lockdown for twenty days, giving us sufficient time to decontaminate it to make the island safe for the population again.] The analyst from the Military Intelligence Agency said in closing. He had just presented the latest estimates and analyis from the intelligence community to the entirety of the Cabinet: eighteen Ministers from various Ministries and Departments, the King, five Generals, two Admirals, the President of the Storting and the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. It wasn't that often the entirety of the Cabinet convened, but now it had. The operational plans for going to the ultimate readiness dictated it, so that in the event that the majority of the Cabinet was eradicated, those in the political line of succession would know what to do. Had the King had a child that was of age, he or she too would be present, but that wasn't the case. At least not yet. The location, the highly classified bunker complex three hundred meters below Akershus Fortress, the traditional strongpoint of the Cottish Capital was the deepest bunker available in Oslo, capable to withstand a 30 megaton nuclear detonation above it on surface level, and fully integrated with the rest of the Realm. It was powered by its own nuclear pebble bed reactor, making it self-sufficient. In addition, work was underway with creating a train line between the bunker and another similar bunker complex underneath Rygge Air Force Base, some twenty-six kilometers outside Oslo. It too would be highly classified, and provide the Cabinet a chance to escape Oslo if bad things happened.

"Noe mer nytt om hvem som kan stå bak eksplosjonen?" [Any further news as to who could be behind the explosion?] Prime Minister Rothsky asked, hoping for some news so they knew what to tell the public when the people woke up in a few hours, ready for a new day as they would turn on their televisions to watch the morning news.

"Intet nytt herr Statsminister. Vi jobber på spreng, og vi forsøker å få noe vetug informasjon fra våre Layartebianske kollegaer, men de jobber på spreng de og. Vær sikker herr Statsminister. Vi skal finne ut av hvem som sto bak, og de skal få svi for det." [No news Prime Minister. We're working as hard as possible, and we're trying to get some usable information from our Layartebian colleagues, but they're working as hard as possible too. Rest assured Prime Minister: We shall find out who is behind this, and they will pay for it.] The analyst said with a cold voice. The Cabinet would spend the rest of the meeting discussing the issue and coming up with sollutions to the various problems the incident had raised, before it was adjurned in the wee hours of the morning. The King himself would be on national TV in a few hours to try to explain the situation to the people, which was in need of the leadership to keep them informed. Many had family or friends in or around Barbados, making it an extra troubling time.

Layarteb

28-10-2006, 00:20

July 27, 2006 - 02:00 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

The C-21B Learjet 80 was a fast, nimble, and luxurious little bird. It was 64.89 feet long and had a wingspan of 48.79 feet. To the top of the tail, it was 14.56 feet high, as small as some fighter planes. Empty, the aircraft was only 18,000 pounds but loaded with 8,700 pounds of passengers and cargo and 12,190 pounds of fuel, 38,890 pounds. It could take off with a maximum weight of 40,510 pounds. It was powered by two turbofan engines, putting out a maximum thrust of 4,000 pounds each, which gave it a maximum speed at sea level of 590 miles per hour and a maximum speed at altitude of 635 miles per hour. Though it could climb to 57,000 feet, at 2,200 feet per minute, the C-21B had a cruise altitude of 42,000 feet. At that altitude, it was most efficient and it flew at 520 miles per hour, making the most of its fuel, giving it an unrefueled range of a staggering 12,580 miles. The C-21B was equipped with an inflight refueling probe as well and that gave it the ability to fly on forever, limited only to the endurance of its crew, which included a pilot and co-pilot. It could hold up to 20 passengers but normally would only carry 12 so they could fit comfortably. At a cost of $10,000,000 each, the Layartebian government and military had several hundred examples in service. It was, primarily, a diplomatic transport but it could be used for airborne command post operations as well. The C-21B had a take off run of 5,450 feet, over a mile, and a landing run of 3,420 feet and it landed fast, using its brakes and reverse thrust vectoring to slow it down. Shielded from EMP, the C-21B was also equipped with flares and chaff bundles, 240 of each, as well as a powerful ECM jamming suite that could disrupt laser, infrared, and radar waves as well as throw off the gimbles for electro-optical guidance systems.

When the black painted C-21B entered into orbit over Point Salines nobody knew it was up there. The engines were particularly quiet and from the ground it could barely be heard. On take off, the C-21B had a noise rating of 67.2 dB and on approach it was 74.2 dB, quieter than a vacuum cleaner at 3 feet, which could be 80 dB. As a stark contrast, a jackhammer at 7 feet rated in the 100 dB range and a normal jet engine rated 150 dB out to 100 feet. The Learjet was a beautiful piece of machinery and because of that it was in proud service with the Empire and had been since 1983. The black jet was invisible in the air and the sound of it was barely audible as it circled at 5,000 feet off the ground, entering into a pattern, waiting for a pair of C-130J Super Hercules transports to take off with sick and wounded patients, bound for Venezuela. Though nobody knew the C-21 was up there, they did hear its two escorts, a pair of F-14E Super Tomcats, each armed with four AIM-179C BVRAAM missiles, four AIM-120D-9 AMRAAM missiles, and two AIM-204A Escape missiles. There was no way they were going to let the C-21 get shot down at all and they would defend it with their own lives.

The callsign of the Learjet was Delta 6-1 and its escorts were Delta 6-2 and Delta 6-3. They had already contacted the tower, when they were thirty miles out. They were vectored in and using their ILS and night vision, they guided themselves into the orbit pattern over the airport. They were careful to avoid getting too low too soon. The Learjets kept their lights off until they were on final, which was something magical. People at the runway weren't aware that an aircraft was landing until, suddenly, the lights flashed in the distance, as the plane was less than 5 miles out from landing. With the two Tomcats orbiting at low speed, their weapons armed, the Learjet touched down quietly, and came to a halt down the runway. The plane landed almost silently and its echo was barely heard past the tarmac area. The Learjet was going to taxi to a specially cordoned off hangar, which was guarded by no fewer than 12 MPs.

When it came to a halt inside the hangar, its door was opened and the mysterious black Learjet revealed two men, one holding a carry, the other a briefcase, which was handcuffed to his left wrist, held in his left hand. His right hand was inside his suit, on a .45 caliber pistol, the safety off, ready to be fired if the need came. The two men were escorted to Colonel Domino's base lab just 230 meters away by three MPs, all of them with assault rifles, locked, loaded, safety off, and ready to engage anyone who dared interfere with the classified mission.

Saint Lazare

28-10-2006, 06:45

2006 July 27 - 1500
India

Having rested for three hours at the new residence, Simeone ventured out to the place where Sparetti first encountered Maria. The place was still blown out, and its edifice was charred. There were signs of police presence everywhere, but no one seemed to care. It was curious to find that the hotel was built neatly on the border between TLS India and Varsolan India, such that the building was clean on one side while the other side remained a decrepit mess. Of course, no one seemed to have used the building since the bombing, so he felt that it was safe to peer around.

Fortunately, Maria left the place in disarray and there was an abundance of papers and such. Simeone felt a little lazy at this point, haing filed through hundreds of pieces of papers to find this place even. He knew that the rest of his venture would be found at the back of hundreds more - if not thousands. Mafiosi work was exhausting, and sometimes dull, especially when torturing a person to give out leaked information - it was never fun to force a man to bawl out secrets and then decide whether or not to kill him because he knew too much. Of course, some people found the greatest pleasure, but Simeone was a man of God - there was some tinge of pain [not guilt...] when he stole away a man's liberties. Of course, he justified it by making it the burden of the man to divulge the secrets - the victim's pain was only as much as the victim desired to inflict upon himself.

He passed the very room where 10 kilos of plastics blew out the roof, and he decided to pass a quick investigation. At the same time, two men was patrolling the floor. He recognized them as government agents, but he wasn't certain if they were the same folk as those he had met in Cuba. Not wanting to figure out the answer, he pulled out his pistol and knocked out one agent pulling up some files from a cabinet. The other man reached for his gun, but Simeone already had his out and shot the man's arm. The force and pain forced him to toss it away into safety, so Simeone approached him - ready to inquire his position.

"Who are you?" he asked, plainly if one could say so.

"$#@$^%$($!"

Not wanting to hear any more profanities, he shot the man in the face and let their bodies drool in the papers and fine upholsteries. He then began to search around, careful to touch on the non-imprinting sites of his hands. It was somewhat a quick search when he passed a curiously open file. Why did Maria leave all of this stuff here? Did she expect people to follow her or was she that blind to leave all of these papers behind? Perhaps it wasn't her work - no, Sparetti had called her a "professional"; she probably hired someone else who was less competent, perhaps only to cover her own trail. If that were the case, then his search here would be in vain. But then, he passed his thoughts to the dead agents on the ground. He quickly searched through their identification cards and found a Varsolan ID - so they were locals...

What would the locals want to find from here? He took the file and made his quick exit, making certain to leave another way.

Layarteb

29-10-2006, 06:11

July 27, 2006 - 06:00 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

Four hours of searching through the classified files revealed little information about the bomb. They had found three possible avenues but all of them were turning out to be wastes of time, it seemed. What should have just been simply matching up serial numbers, radiation signatures, and the such was turning into a full-on investigation. The plutonium used in the bomb was manufactured at a breeder reactor just south of Havana and was ready for use on January 5, 1968. The Empire of Teh Ninjas designed the material supergrade plutonium, meaning its Pu-240 content was very low. The Pu-240 content, which was normally under 7% for weapons grade plutonium was, in this instance, just 1.582%. That meant it would be a very capable weapon with a lot of punch. From there, the plutonium sphere, containing just 30 pounds of plutonium left from there on January 28, 1968 headed for weapons production at a facility know as El Mar, which was shut down in 1974 following an accident. Documents could not be recovered from the facility, which no longer stood. From there, the sphere could have gone anywhere. The only hope they had was manually searching through the thousands of listings for serial numbers of weapons registered when they were received. They had a partial match though, "068-884902-12388-C-2." All serial numbers had a three digit year prefix, then a six digit weapon code, then a five digit production line, then a single letter origination, then a twelve digit identification number. In so far as that was concerned, they only had the number 2. They would be searching through thousands of entries to find out where the bomb went. The bomb was definitely placed in the W80-0 warhead of a Tomahawk SLCM, which narrowed down the searching significantly. That missile was a submarine launched cruise missile and the Empire of Teh Ninjas had submarine facilities on Madagascar, Cuba, the Madeira Islands, the Cayman Islands, and several other places as well.

The Force Victor operator stood patiently by the screen, his partner never out of hand's reach either. Both of them had semi-automatic, M82A3 Storm pistols, loaded with 12 .45ACP rounds each, powerful enough to knock down anyone. They were expert marksmen when it came to both pistols and rifles and grouping for them was in the area of a few millimeters, especially on double taps. They were excellent shooters, quick draws, and very calculating. That was why Force Victor served as bodyguards for diplomats. They were mixed through the various entourages that diplomats and delegates employed. They always took on civilian roles and stood secondary to the Secret Service, which was the main bodyguard force guarding diplomats and delegates. However, the Secret Service was no secret. Force Victor, the 4th BOG, was. They were powerful and they were always there. When Force Falcon Team One or Two could not be there to guard the Emperor, a special team of Force Victor was, standing by with their weapons hidden. Usually they packed submachine guns as well but in this instance, pistols were to be fine enough. Military policemen armed with M80A1 Assault Rifles, each loaded with 45 specially made rounds, 6.8 x 48 millimeter rounds, designed by the LDC for maximum power, penetration, and stability. They didn't kick as much as the 7.62 x 51 millimeter rounds but they were stable out to the same range and they packed far more punch than the 5.56 x 45 millimeter round previously used by the ILM as its standard issue round.

The M80A1 Assault Rifle was very new, only a few months old, and it was definitely making its debut fashionably. It was only in limited use but with the groups that used it, it had preformed excellently, especially in combat situations. Jams were rare, they packed a lot of punch, and their ability to mount optics, lasers, grenade launchers, and other equipment meant that they were very versatile. Of all the ones that had been put into service use, only two of them failed to meet expectations, which was attributed mostly to a defect in the actual mechanism, which was slated to occur once in every two million built rifles. Hopefully, they figured, that the failures came now and not later.

Layarteb

29-10-2006, 22:48

OOC: Easy way to convert from IST to AST is to subtract 9.50 hours from the IST time [inverse for AST to IST]. For EST it is 10.50 hours.

July 27, 2006 - 07:00 AST
St. George's, Grenada

Day broke at 05:53 hours and now, an hour and seven minutes later, the dawn had worn off. A thunder storm had brewed to the west and was moving slowly over the island, bringing with it, rain and wind. It was slated to last between six and ten hours, a big storm that moved just a little too slowly. The outer bands of rain and wind hit at 06:45 hours and in the past fifteen minutes it had steadily increased. Inside the hangars at Point Saltines, workers ferociously worked getting patients ready for departure or at the various tasks underway. Since the bomb went off only a few gunshots had been fired and most of them were from scattered rebel forces who were out of communication and out of the loop. They were quickly subdued by Layartebian Marines. July 27 would be a good day for the Marines on the island. They would be relieved by the second division sitting on the ships around the island, in the once blockaide line. Marines on the island were treated for low to mild doses of radiation poisoning and other injuries before they were shipped out, back to their ships, where they would stay for the remainder of the cruise. The Marines coming onto the island would be at a disadvantage. They would be new to the terrain and new to the area. Lucky for them, the fighting stopped. Most of them would be used for two operations: round-up and search-and-rescue.

"Round-up" missions involved them going to each and every home on the island, rounding up people and bringing them to the airport. Until the radiation levels subsided nowhere on the island was considered safe. They would be able to return in two to four weeks and they would not have to worry about looters. The Marines would shoot any on sight. Martial law had been declared just an hour after the bomb went off and since then it had been strictly enforced. At least a dozen looters had been shot and apprehended in the time since the curfews first went into affect. These weren't nightly curfews either. People were required to be in their homes no matter what time of day and that meant, for them, that going outside without a good reason or a Marine escort meant instant death or apprehension, depending on the mood that the Marine was in at the time.

"Search-and-rescue" operations were conducted within the city limits of Saint George's. Marines doned NBC gear and sifted through the rubble and the wreckage, looking for survivors. Certain teams were assigned to body collection, others to photography, others to recovery. Individuals alive would be triaged on site by Marine corpsman and their condition would determine what would happen to them. Helicopters would be flying with baskets underneath them for airlifting them out of the most horrific spots. If a helicopter could land it would. M2023A5 Stryker MEVs were in the city as well, each having the capacity to evacuate 4 litter-bound people. Dozens of them were within the city and later on in the day, at least a hundred M2039A2 MEVs would be in the city, each of them with the capacity to evacuate 4 litter-bound people. Both the Stryker and the MEV were completly protected against NBC threats. Unfortunately, for those within the city, trapped due to the fires and the rubble, they were already exposed to deadly forms of radiation. Some would die before getting help, others would die shortly thereafter. The rain was a welcomed relief for some, helping the fire fighters. By noon, all of the fires would be out and the few that still burned at 07:00 hours were mostly isolated and smoldering. The rain would help eliminate them.

The fire had almost burned itself out by 07:00 hours. The firestorm had eated up a good chunk of the fuel for the fire and burned out most of ground zero. Anybody inside of that ring was sure to be dead, charred and petrified from the intense heat. Outside of the ring, it was different. There was rubble everywhere and people had to step through piles upon piles of it, most including dead bodies. Dead soldiers were everywhere, a by product of the war that ravaged the city prior to the blast. The war had crippled the city and the blast made it entirely worse. Parts of it would never see life again and other parts would in months to years. Recovery was going to be slow and nobody expected anything to be fully ready and commissioned before January of 2007.

They had already recovered about 8,000 bodies, some so torn apart by the blast that little was left. These were bodies from the outer rims of the city, where the blast wave wasn't so bad but where flying debris still tore through people like a hot knife through butter. Most of the bodies here were whole, albeit missing parts and chunks. The closer they got the more they would find just body parts, a finger or a toe here, a leg or arm there, eyeballs, whatever else they managed to find. Extensive DNA testing would be done.

Identification was not going to be a complex process. Officials had a list of everyone on the island at the time of the rebellion. As people departed the island on flights and boats, they were given a quick test to determine their identity. Then, their status was marked down, whether they were alive, dead, or injured. Those who weren't identified through the DNA database were, unfortunately, going to be unknowns. Just over 6,000 people had left the island already from the city and another 40,000 had left from the countryside. Out of the 8,000 recovered bodies, just over 100 weren't identified through DNA testing, meaning that they weren't citizens of the Empire. When the Empire was founded, a program was initiated that took a DNA sample from every newborn baby and living person. The information was cataloged into a central database. This was done for the purposes of recognition in instances such as this and for anti-crime measures. There was no "big brother" in the Empire, per say, but the database did have everyone's personal information stored. It was like a central "filing cabinet" with a file on every person, alive or dead.

Layarteb

29-10-2006, 23:28

July 27, 2006 - 10:30 AST
Point Salines IAP, Grenada

Thunder bludgeoned the sky above as lightning danced across the vast, gray oblivion of the thunderstorm. Rainfall had increased and so did the winds. Now blowing northeast again, although faster and harder, gusting to over 40 mph, the storm was definitely no joke. Grenada was below the hurricane belt, which was good for recovery, but it was not out of the way of thunderstorms, especially particularly brutal ones like this, that built up because of the heat of the Caribbean Sea. The waves were choppy and the boats going to and from the island were moving much slower. Incidents of sea sickness doubled almost instantly and air flights had to be cut down because of the danger to flying aircraft in this storm, from lightning and from wind.

The fires were almost out and that was a good thing. Sitting in the command post, Chief Benjamin smoked a cigarette alone. He looked at the various photographs taken of the city as it burned and as the firestorm kicked up. He felt that he could have done more, had he not been hampered by foolish politicans and government officials, especially the Governor of the Province of Raef, who saw to it that every measure of resistance to the fire that Chief Benjamin threw up, it would not be enough. The governor was sore that a Raef team had not been selected but they were too far away and unprepared. When backup from Raef finally arrived on site, to help Chief Benjamin, most of the fire was out already. They would be used for search-and-rescue efforts and they were all too pleased to get into the mess and do their job. Their commanders harbored no ill-will for Chief Benjamin, he was only doing what he was asked to do and he had done a good job of it, thus far. They did; however, harbor ill-will for the governor, who had instilled in them that it was their fault they weren't ready. His fault ran deep and soon he would be facing the Cabinet in a most unpleasant meeting.

Inside the base lab for the QRF team, the scientific experiments continued. The rocks recovered showed a lot how the radiation would disperse over time and the investigations were yielding results. They had discovered the full serial number of the weapon and by 10:35 they had the exact information that they needed about the weapon. The conference call to the Cabinet would bring smiles to some faces but frowns to others. "Sir. The Minister of the Interior will have to be paged for your question," Colonel Domino was told by his secretary when he placed the phone call.

"It is of the utmost importance. He will take the call."

"Understood Colonel. I do have to find him. Please hold."

"Fine. I will." He was put on hold and he looked at the computer screen, poking the laptop and shouting "We got ya!"

The Minister of the Interior was sitting inside the Emperor's office when his phone rang. The call was unexpected and he answered it quickly, "Yes. This is the Minister of the Interior."

"Sir. I have a Colonel Domino holding on the line for you."

"Concerning?"

"He would not say sir."

"Very well. Patch him through to me."

"Yes sir." The secretary switched the line back and joined the two calls. "Colonel, you are on with the Minister of the Interior." The secretary disconnected himself from the line.

"Colonel. What good news do you have for me?"

"The origin of the bomb."

"Hold. I'm transfering you to the Cabinet meeting line. We're all here in the presence of the Emperor." The Emperor was sitting at his desk, on the phone, at the time. The Minister of the Interior stood up and initiated the patch. "Sir. We have Colonel Domino on the line."

"Very well. Give me one minute." He ended his call abruptly and stood up. "Go ahead Colonel. You're safe to talk."

"Sir. The bomb, we've identified it. The SLCM cruise missile was built in Cuba and transferred to a naval submarine called the Havana, an Improved 688 class, stationed out of Madagascar. From there, upon the dissolution of the Empire of Teh Ninjas, the weapon was supposed to have been decomissioned. From there, we don't know what happened."

"Very well. Is this information solid?" The Minister of Intelligence asked.

"Yes sir it is. I can guarantee that we have matched everything. The weapon was Teh Ninjan and whomever smuggled it to us definitely didn't want us to find out."

"How is that?"

"Well lucky for us we had these records. When we tried to cross check it we found that the databases had been tampered with."

"How so?"

"The omission of this one missile."

"Very interesting. We will contact the United States of Brink immediately. Colonel." The Emperor stopped. "You have done a fine job. Now what can you tell us about the storm and the radiation spread?"

"Sir. The same as before."

"How did the weapon get there?"

"Our best guess is that it came during the blockaide cessation."

"You mean this was planned?"

"Yes sir. Not by the Grenadians. We found no evidence to support that."

"Then by whom?"

"A terrorist group of sorts sir."

"Alright. Very well. Keep us updated if you have more leads. Thank you." The Emperor turned to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. "I want to get in contact with the United States of Brink immediately. I want to speak to President Baruti personally."

"Sir are you suggesting they had something to do with it?"

"No. I am suggesting though that the bomb came from land that they currently occupy. I want to find out how the hell it got from there, thousands of miles away, in the middle of my fucking city."

"Understood sir." The Minister of Foreign Affairs immediately picked up his phone and dialed his office. He needed to get in touch with President Baruti immediately and he would put everyone on it that he could.

United States of Brink

30-10-2006, 01:39

Baruti was sleeping, the time difference between Layarteb City and Windhoek was about seven hours. An aide was by Baruti’s bedside, standing over him like a hawk. A quiet mumble got him stirring and before he knew it he was up. His face was old and tired and it took some time for him to come back to reality. He rubbed his exhausted face with a worn hand. His body was moving solely on mechanics before it came to. He glanced at the aid and saw the deep concern on his young face. They cared for him like a son does to an elder father. He was grateful for their dedication but hated the feeling that he was, inevitably, getting older.

With the motioning of his hands the aides dispersed leaving him to get ready for the meeting. It was another sign of his age, it took him much longer than he wanted to prepare. His body was failing him, and it was only fortunate that his mind wasn’t. He stepped out of his room and was quickly surrounded by staff members each waiting for their turn to speak. It was a lot of information and none of it truly good. His surroundings were like a beehive as he made his way to his office, aides coming and going like busy worker bees.

He made it to his office and sat down at his desk while his staff made camp around him. Laptops, files, and coffee covered the room. Baruti picked up the telephone that linked Layarteb to the United States. Before he could speak, in an ironic twist of fate, an aide walked in and delivered a rather terrifying message. ‘Ethan Raven just popped up into the grid.’ Baruti glanced at the phone with a grimace.

“Hello, this is President Baruti of the United States of Brink speaking. I am told that this is of the ut-most concern. Before I move any further let me first send my deepest sympathy for Grenada, we will send any supplies that might be needed to aid in its recovery. I must also, however, make it known that the USB had no hand to play in this utter catastrophe. We will do everything and anything to aid in your investigate. However, due to the high profile this case has, I would recommend we meet in person to exchange information.”

Layarteb

30-10-2006, 05:58

The Emperor nodded to his aides in the office. A meeting was okay with him. "Very well. Given the circumstances surrounding this incident, I would like to fly to Windhoek at the earliest possible time, possibly today to meet with you concerning something that I think we both need to discuss. If that is sufficient, my airliner will be on the ground within, sixteen hours." Windhoek, in Namibia, was 7,280 miles away from Layarteb City and the VC-26F Condor that the Emperor flew on would cruise at 525 miles per hour. It would be a long flight but it would enable him and his team to formulate a solid questioning of Baruti and whether or not some faction within his country or worse, in his government, could have sold the bomb or planted the bomb. The United States of Brink was a friendly nation to the Empire and it was part of a free trade agreement, meaning it had special priviledges with the Empire. However, if the Empire was about to go to war with the United States of Brink, the Emperor wanted to make sure that the stakes were even. Force Falcon Team Two would be guarding him and his entourage would include a number of the most intelligent minds in the Empire. The goal was to ask every possible question needed for this investigation and get every bit of information that they could. As much danger as there was with the Emperor flying to a nation that could have potentially had its hand in the destruction of a Layartebian city, he dismissed it. This was what needed to be done, he would remark and he would see to it himself.

At Layarteb City IAP, a single VC-26F Condor sat inside of a special hangar. It was always ready to fly and its pilots and crew, a total of 9 people, were never more than a few hundred yards from the plane. They lived in special quarters and worked for two months at a time. There were three crews in total and each one took turns, working two months on then four months off. Then they had another two months on and four months off and that was the way that the year went. Sometimes they switched up their schedules so that they could alternate holidays but that meant they would have to work four months in a row. The schedules were arranged weirdly and not everyone benefited all the time. The VC-26F was a beast of an aircraft, designed from the Airbus A380 airframe but heavily changed. The 1,234,590 pound aircraft, when fully loaded with fuel and payload, could soar for 9,200 miles and back, or 18,400 miles straight. With fuel and a minimal payload it weighed less, giving it slightly more range. Cruising at 39,000 feet and 525 mph, the VC-26F was the premier VIP transport for the Empire. Nine aircraft were built and whenever the Emperor was aloft so were two others, for decoy flights.

Regardless of where they were going, the VC-26F had a minimum of eight escorts. The quantity of the escorts was determined by the nature of the flight. If they were going into hostile territory, the escorts increased. For this flight, if they were to fly to Windhoek, they were going to be flying with four F-14E Super Tomcats, each loaded with four AIM-202A Dodsengel, four AIM-120D-9 AMRAAM, and two AIM-204A Escape missiles, as well as a pair of 330 gallon fuel tanks. Also, they would have four F-22B Raptors flanking them as well, each loaded with six AIM-179C BVRAAM and two AIM-204A Escape missiles as well as a pair of 600 gallon fuel tanks. Four could be fitted, if necessary. Refueling would occur twice on the journey, once over Bermuda, 761 miles into the trip, and against just south of Cape Verde, 3,524 miles into the journey. The last 3,830 mile leg would be made without air to air refueling. The F-22 and the F-14 could both fly, unrefueled, without external tanks, for 4,600 miles. With external tanks, the F-14 could fly an additional 1,050 miles and the F-22 could fly an additional 1,400 miles with two tanks and 2,800 miles with four tanks. They would still have some fuel left for a few more miles of reserve.

The F-22B Raptor, a modernized F-22A Raptor, was slated to be retired soon. It had been in service since 1993 and though that was only 13 years ago, the F-22B airframes were really just convered F-22As. They had seen extensive combat and they were very useful but their replacement, the YF-45 Scorpion would make it more than obsolete. The YF-45 could fly for 5,500 miles, unrefueled, without external tanks. It was heavy, faster, and carried far more weaponry than the F-22B could ever carry. It was stealthier as well, quieter, and much more agile. It would put the F-22 to shame but sadly, it was still in the prototype phase. Five examples had been built and they were undergoing testing.

United States of Brink

31-10-2006, 01:01

The meeting was kept ‘hush hush’ for obvious reasons. No doubt it would eventually be leaked to the press, as seemingly everything usually does, but with the immediacy of the meeting and its importance it was hoped that it could get underway before anyone knew the better. Windhoek International, the closest airport, was put on alert for the incoming jet, enough though only to ensure safety without drawing much attention. A tarmac was kept open delaying a couple of flights, but for the situation at had it was very much acceptable. Air patrols along the coast and city were increased. The President feared, if only slightly, that had this been a terrorist faction within the country it might be waiting for such an opportunity. Meanwhile the President and staff workers worked vehemently into the night preparing and drawing on any and all information available. Baruti was somewhat annoyed that this hadn’t been dealt with sooner. They shouldn’t have been caught so off guard. Regardless this wasn’t the time for that and he could only soak in all the information being passed to him. Thankfully the official language in the USB was English and would allow for easy communication.

The aircraft touched down underneath the cover of the escorts and a rising sun. The jets were than rerouted to the nearest air force base. They touched down only a few minutes later. Gliding onto the runway they were ferried into various hangers where fuel and relaxation were waiting for the obviously tired pilots. The local squadron members greeted the foreign pilots with open arms and made sure no harm came for they would be needed to make the long journey home escorting their Emperor. Meanwhile the Emperor and his staff were transported to the Capital Complex under heavy guard and thankfully without incident. There was little small talk during the travel, everyone was still very much at work and the tension was growing at an alarming rate. This was not going to be a picnic…nobody expected that.

It was still very much early and an offer for breakfast was turned down, politely. It was a clear sign that they meant business. They were lead down one of many halls in the capital building and into a well lit room. HDTV’s and Plasma screens filled the walls which were bullet proof glass. In the middle of the room was a large oak and mahogany table, with screens embedded into each seat. Baruti and his staff were seated accordingly and rose when the Layarteb delegation entered the room. The usual formality of handshakes transpired but ended there. There was a mission to accomplish and time wasn’t exactly a friend to anyone at this moment.

Layarteb

31-10-2006, 02:01

July 28, 2006 - 10:00 WAT
Windhoek, Namibia

The flight to Namibia was long. Sixteen hours were spent flying and another six hours were lost in the time zone changing. They had left at 12:00 hours, EST, and they landed at 10:00 hours, WAT, the next day. It was 04:00 hours EST, when they arrived, and the Emperor had done a lot of managing while on the Condor flight. When they entered Baruti's office, they were cordial and shook hands, bowing when necessary. "Mr. President. It is good to meet with you this morning. Unfortunately, I regret the circumstances that we had to meet here. As you no doubt have seen and heard, Saint George's, on the island of Grenada, was the subject of a devestating terrorist attack, one that involved a five kiloton nuclear device. The loss of life is incalcuable as is the damage to the economy, infrastructure, and culture of the island. The Cottish too are feeling the wake of the disaster as radiation drifts over the Barbados by the prevailing winds.

"During our investigation we discovered some unsightly evidence. The weapon used was a W80 warhead, built by the Empire of Teh Ninjas for a Tomahawk SLCM. I believe you are aware of the system. It was based out of Madagascar on a submarine called the Havana, an Improved 688 class attack submarine. The submarine, I imagine, no longer exists but such is fair. Madagascar is currently in your grasp. We need to know who would have had access to that weapon, why it would have been brought to the Empire, just who would gain from it, and what potential ramifications they could have had? Mr. President. Do you have terrorist groups within your borders that want to seek to drive a rift between the Empire and the United States, between the Empire and the world? We don't know and we need to know a lot of information. I don't want to be a pest Mr. President but we have a lot of questions to ask.

"Let me clear one thing up before you begin. The Empire, in no way, currently suspects that you or your government had anything to do with this attack. We're not here to point fingers Mr. President. We're here to get to the bottom of this, find out who did it, and punish them to a hell they'll never imagine in their worst nightmares." The Emperor stopped and looked right into the eyes of Mr. Baruti, the President of the United States of Brink. When he was in the Special Forces, before the revolution, he had done countless interrogations, especially in Venezuela. He could tell when he was being lied to and he was going to make sure he knew if the Brinkian President was telling the truth.

United States of Brink

02-11-2006, 03:17

Baruti was too old to be playing games. His hair was white and the lines in his face deep. He did not hide himself behind a façade; he preferred to use his intelligence. He was soft spoken and a master at diplomacy. He, unlike most politicians, had more friends than enemies.

“After the collapse of the TN government one of our first priorities was to search and destroy all known weapons that were produced by the said government. We were able to get all but one, now when I say this keep in mind it was on going. Most documents detailing the weapons in their arsenal had been… ‘Misplaced’ as I’m sure you understand, but nevertheless we believe that this one, which matches the description, was the warhead we had yet to locate.”

“We currently know of no organized terrorist groups operation out of our country, if we did sir, we’d be doing everything in our power to bring and end to such actions. However, and I’m probably way out of line for suggesting this but it must be said.”

When he said that an aide walked over and whispered something in his ear. Baruti nodded and the aide was gone, out the door.

“A man, a very dangerous man, thought to be dead just re-appeared not to long after the bomb went off. Apparently he saved an agent, the name I do not remember, who was accused of murdering a top government official heading up a large drug agency. Now this man is highly, highly dangerous. I’m telling you because this agent was rumored to have knowledge about this bomb. The details are limited at this moment but the coincidence is uncanny.”

“Never mind that for now, you said you have questions. Ask away sir, anything we can do to help.”

Layarteb

04-11-2006, 01:51

"You speak of a single weapon that you could not account for. Do you happen to have the details on that weapon? I would like to match it up with our details to make sure that we aren't looking at a possible second device. The first one was deadly enough but it could have been far worse. As you know we had a five kiloton blast. It could have been one hundred and fifty.

"Now. Concerning this man. What are his connections and would any of those connections pan out to anything within the Empire?" He nodded at his aides who were composing lines and lines and lines of detail, taking meticulous notes about what was happening.

Layarteb

04-11-2006, 02:21

July 28, 2006 - 04:30 EST
Rural Georgia

"Alright. Do we have what we need?" A strangely pale but very wary man stated as he looked into the back of the pickup truck.

"Everything we need Commander. Are you ready?"

"Yes. This should be good enough for now. We've got a six hour drive ahead of us."

"Yes sir. We're on it." The two men climbed into the cab of the pickup truck and started it. Behind them, a Suburban started up as well with six men inside of it. These two vehicles and their eight occupants belonged to a group of Illuminati Ghost Warriors, team 18, the same eight men who planted the bomb in the middle of Saint George's. They had escaped off the island with the first group of refugees and had since flown back to the mainland. They were in the middle of rural Georgia, at least a hundred miles from any urban, population center. Within a hundred miles there were only a handful of people and most of them were either getting ready to wake up and tend to their farms or they were fast asleep in snooze land. Team 18, on the other hand, had loaded up the rest of the W80 warhead, which they smuggled all the way to Georgia. They were preparing to transport it to a secret Majestic facility in rural West Virginia.

Unfortunately, for them, they had been tracked. When they stepped onto the plane to Georgia, radiation sensors went off about the bomb. However, the Central Justice Agency intervened immediately. They wanted to track the eight of them and see where they were going. It was a bold move to let the device on the plane but there was no evidence to suggest that the fusion secondary of the W80-0 warhead was going to be used on the plane. These were smart individuals and they were under the impression that the weapon they were smuggling throughout the Empire was going to pass through without problem. The counter personnel were bought off but, in a last move attempt, the counter personnel had been switched around. The man on the inside was never at the proper position or time, due to his protests. Unfortunately, for him, suspicion came and he was sitting in county lock-up, preparing to be transferred out based on interrogations. The CJA watched as the eight men flew independently throughout the Empire, all meeting up in rural Georgia. Until now, nothing had really been planned but as a pair of CJA bureau chiefs watched on a live satellite, they knew it would be time to act.

A single MH-100A Explorer would be intercepting the two vehicles soon enough. "Let's get on the move." The two vehicles were shifted into drive and they began to head north, towards I-75 North. Eventually that would lead them to I-40 North, I-81 North, I-77 North, to I-79 North, and then to a few state roads. It was a journey that was about 500 miles, which, doing the speed limit, would take a little over nine hours. They would be arriving in West Virginia during the afternoon, around 16:00 hours. They would never make it. Inside the MH-100A Explorer were four men, all belonging to the 2nd BOG, "Force Thunder." The four men were part of a single team and they were immediately tasked with one operation and that was the capture of these "terrorists" for interrogation connecting them to the Grenadian bombing.

The Explorer was next to silent and it could fly fast, decently far, and was quite agile. Lightly armed with two M35A1 LMGs loaded with 800 rounds each and two 7 round Adder rocket pods, armed with Mark I high-explosive rockets. The Mark I Adder rocket weighed 26 pounds with its 10 pound warhead and could fly as fast as 6,500 fps as far as 8.50 miles. They wouldn't be that far away when they fired them, if they had to fire them. The four men inside were each donning new assault carbines, the M81A3, each loaded with a 100 round C-Drum magazine. They sported at least three magazines, including the one that they had loaded. At their hips were M82A3 Storm pistols, loaded with 12 rounds each. They had at least five magazines of the .45ACP ammunition. Sporting complete night camouflage, covering their faces even, they donned their night vision goggles and shut the doors to the helicopter. The air was hot and humid, a southern night, as they took off from a secret helicopter base just fifty miles into Tennessee. The Explorer lifted to the skies, as black as the night, and climbed to an altitude of 500 feet. There, they began to head south, using the advanced avionics and navigation system to track the vehicles. They were being directed by a secret task force within the CJA. The role of Force Thunder was that of counterterrorism operations and they worked with a secret task force within the CJA for domestic activities and another within the CIA for foreign activities, both task forces linked together for all operations.

When it was dumb luck that the radiation trace was picked up from the fusion secondary, the CJA managed to hone in on three phone conversations through SIGINT. They identified all eight men and now watched as they were heading towards some northerly direction. They knew where they would meet, what they were going to be carrying, and how they would be laid out. They identified the secondary on the satellite scans and they called in a squad of the 2nd BOG. The four men were suited up and ready to go before the two vehicles began moving. When their helicopter took to the air, the two vehicles were still a few miles from the Georgia-Tennessee border. Now came the hard part, guessing the route. The phone conversations did not speak of a route and it was assumed that they knew the way already. They would have to maintain a track on them through the satellite and hope that they could catch them.

Moving over the terrain at 500 feet and 145 miles per hour, the Explorer coasted through the air, zeroing in on the vehicles as they travelled north on I-75. They would be on that for quite a while and they would use that to their advantage. They were going to intercept the vehicles whether they are on the roadway or not, regardless of where they were, this was an interest of national security. If they got away with the fusion secondary, they could cause a lot more damage and kill a lot more lives.

The mood inside the two vehicles was silent. They knew that they had killed a lot of men, women, and children, soldiers included but they were doing it for the good of the cause, for the Republic that they wanted back so badly. They kept within 10 mph of the 55 mph speed limit. Moving on these rural, almost abandoned highways, at this hour of night, at 65 mph wouldn't attract any police attention. In some cases, moving at 85 mph wouldn't attract much police attention either. If there were five or six cars for a full mile that was a lot and the two vehicles, moving in tow of each other blended into the night. Their headlights lit up the road in front of them and they kept their radios on just to keep the drivers awake. They would stop in an hour and change drivers. Within the journey, everyone would have a turn at driving. They did this to limit fatigue. They would have a chance to get in some sleep before they had to drive, giving them a good amount of sleep and refreshment. The mission was highly stressing and the effects of their mission weighed on their conscience, even if they believed in the cause right down to the bone. They were human, after all. They weren't like the trained warriors of the 1st BOG, "Force Falcon" or any other BOG for that matter. They had feelings and though they were elite, highly trained, para military mercenaries, more or less, they still had sense to weigh right and wrong.

The helicopter soared towards the vehicles, silence inside its cabin just like in the two cars. Both the helicopter and the set of two vehicles were heading towards inevitable doom just a few miles over the Georgia-Tennessee border. The two cars sped along at 65 mph while the helicopter zoomed in at 145 mph. The closure velocity was enough that it made the eight minutes that they had to intercept seem like nothing, despite the tension the men always felt just before a mission, especially one of this caliber. The pilots watched through their night vision goggles as they lined up on the highway. They were heading towards the two cars while they were heading away from them. They would be gaining over 80 mph on both vehicles and that was good enough for them. There were cars on the roadway but none of them were what they needed. They had both vehicles identified by satellite and they were being guided in by the same satellite. Eleven miles ahead were both vehicles and they closed on them quickly.

When they had visual range on the vehicles, just a mile away, the pilot and co-pilot lifted the master arm switch and the rockets came alive. "We're a mile out. Visual on the targets. We're going to vector in on the tail one, take it out, and then line back up to seize the lead. The warhead is in the lead vehicle. I got a visual on it."

"Roger that. We're good to go." The men locked their rifles and removed the safeties from them as they prepared to engage the enemy. They were still strapped into their seats and they opened the doors, their rifle barrels pointed out, their own night vision goggles on their heads. The green tint of everything around them was something that they were used to and they all were crack shots. They dropped down to an altitude of 100 feet and went to maximum speed, 165 mph, for a quick burst. They would come within a quarter mile of the vehicles, match speeds, aim, and fire the rockets, taking out the rear vehicle in a fury of fire, smoke, and shrapnel. There would be enough spacing between both vehicles that they wouldn't hit each other.

Silent and deadly, the Explorer zoomed in and the pilots locked onto the vehicle. The rockets slewed slightly on their hardpoints as they matched the speed of the vehicles, 65 mph. The HUD indicated that they had a lock and now they slightly adjusted their angle of attack so that the aiming reticle was right on the vehicle. They set the burst for two rockets and looked back a quick second. "Firing!" With a quick burst, the two rockets ignited and trails of smoke erupted from the back of the helicopter. The two rockets soared down at a relatively shallow angle, moving quite quickly. Both rockets had enough explosive and kinetic force to turn an armored vehicle into swiss cheese, let alone an unarmored SUV. The rockets hit only a split second later, impacting into the rear doors of the Suburban. They split the vehicle in half as it exploded, shreading to pieces, sending chunks of metal everywhere. The vehicle tore itself apart as it exploded, killing all six of the Ghost Warriors inside. The Commander, seeing explosion in his rear view mirror and seeing the helicopter, although barely, suddenly screamed out.

"HOLY SHIT! GET DOWN!" He slammed on the gas peddle and shifted gears. The vehicle went into high RPMs and then burst forward as the speedometer passed 80 mph. The pickup had a lot of acceleration and with a relatively light cargo, it was able to move quite quickly.

"He's running. Let's get out infront. He's doing about 90 now." The co-pilot said as they whiped the bird around and accelerated themselves, moving to get in front of the vehicle. There was no way they could be outrun and that was something that they had to their advantage. They flew low past the car, the two soldiers on the left side looking out the open door, rifles shouldered. They both fired single shots into the hood of the vehicle, in an attempt to disable it. Neither shot did much except to pierce the air filter and the radiator. It wasn't enough to stop the car right away. The helicopter rapidly went into a jump and they moved in front of the car and sped up, turning into a quick sideslip, their rifles shouldered again, this time for the soldiers on the right side. They fired quick shots, two rounds each, piercing the front grill, oil line, and the engine block this time. The car began to smoke immediately. "You got em!" The pickup immediately lost engine power and began to slow down as the engine shut itself off. They would slow down from 108 mph to 0 mph quickly, the helicopter keeping on their front the whole time.

When the car finally came towards a halt, the helicopter dropped down to 4 feet and the two men on the right side jumped out, the two on the left keeping their rifles pointed right at the window. "Don't MOVE!" The loudspeaker on the helicopter erupted. "Keep your hands up. You are being arrested. Move and we shoot!" A giant spotlight shined onto the car, blinding the passengers. The two men who jumped out on the right came around either side, their weapons up, and came to about five feet from the doors.

"GET OUT! GET OUT NOW! HANDS UP!" They both yelled. The two Ghost Warriors knew that they had been had and were without an option. Both of them coming out slowly. The two men from the 2nd BOG watched carefully. "DOWN! ON YOUR KNEES! INTERLOCK YOUR HANDS AND PUT THEM ON YOUR HEAD! NOW! DO IT OR YOU DIE!" These weren't police officers and due process wasn't needed here. Both of the men complied and a few cars began to stop ahead, on both sides of the highway. They were curious to see a helicopter sitting in the middle of the highway and men with assault rifles arresting two others. Traffic was held up on either side and both of the men on the ground were restrained with plastic zip ties. Their weapons were taken from them and put into the helicopter, along with them. Then the vehicle was quickly searched and the fusion secondary, inside its small crate, was removed, placed into the helicopter, and they were gone. The doors were shut and the traffic stood idly by, confused and wonderous. The car was left right where it was, the flaming wreck of the other about a half mile back.

When they were inside and on their way, the pilot switched radio channels. "Success. Cleanup. Two vehicles. One destroyed. Both disabled. Cargo secure. Witnesses." The mission was over...

United States of Brink

05-11-2006, 18:40

“From the information you gave me, I believe we are speaking of the same device. It was given the codename: 003 by our agents. The lower the number, the more important it was. I see you have a troubled look by that information but rest assured 002 and 1 are both secure. 003’s information was, for the most part, much in tact. It was a W80 built in Southern Madagascar a good number of years ago as you can imagine. Upon further investigation we learned that the Havana, as you assumed, was no longer in service. However, there was more to the story. The Havana wasn’t decommissioned, it was sunk…off the coast of Somalia. There were no records of any sort of engagement or malfunction within the craft. When we sent in divers the warhead was gone. It found its way into the Italian mafia where we apparently got a hold of it. It leads me to believe there was more than one warhead on that naval vessel, one that was never recorded.”

“The man is Ethan Raven. He was an ex-lieutenant a long while back, during the revolution. He was Harvard Dugan’s right hand man. He later was transferred and became a splinter cell, a lone agent in the field. He was a born killer, it’s what he did. However it broke him, in what has become known as the Maseru Incident, he became the countries most wanted man. He was supposed to be dead, we found his body. Yet he has just re-appeared…to save a man who has been rumored to have a hand in the bomb plot. Like I said it seems too coincidental for me. We have people questioning the doctors, anyone who was involved the night he came out of hiding. When I get word, you’ll hear it. Until than I would put no thought into it, its just gossip for now.”

Layarteb

05-11-2006, 19:06

July 28, 2006 - 06:00 AST
490 miles south of Caracas, Venezuela

The sub was barely peaking over the horizon when the countdown began ten minutes ago. The site was hidden deep in the wilderness of Venezuela and covered in camouflage keeping it hidden from the sky. The test was scheduled and several governments had already been notified that a test was going to take place north of Nauru. The launch site was not specified. Sitting at the test site was a single M2044A1 TEL unit armed with a single MGM-218C-1 Luna ICBM, the newest ICBM to grace the Empire. It was a road or train mobile or silo launched ICBM with an impressive 9,500 mile range. It was designed to replace the aged and inadequate BGM-174 Satan missile, which had been developed by the Empire just after its existence. With that missile out of service the Luna would be the only ICBM in service with the strategic forces of the Empire. The missile came in four variants, two using a single warhead and two using twelve independently targetable warheads, called MIRVs. The "A" variant of the missile carried twelve of these MIRV warheads, each with a a yield of 550 kilotons. The "B" variant of the missile had a single 25 megaton warhead. Both the "A" and the "B" variants were silo launched and going to be stationed at one hundred and forty bases dispersed around the Empire. The "C" variant came with two subvariants, both equipped with twelve MIRV warheads of 550 kilotons each. The "C-1" variant was road mobile and the "C-2" was train mobile. These would be stationed throughout the Empire and would be the hardest to destroy and the most capable. Finally, there was the "D" variant, which utilized the single 25 megaton warhead and was silo launched. It used the Fractional Orbital Bombardment System (FOBS) concept. This concept revolved around putting the single warhead into a low Earth orbit, giving it a near unlimited range. It could be fired anywhere and attack anywhere, including over the South Pole. It was normally a 3 stage missile with the "D" variant having a 4th stage, that being of the LEO system. With a re-entry speed of 18,000 mph the warheads would be nearly impossible to intercept. Its speed wasn't the only part of its ability to resist countermeasures. It was equipped with thousands of decoys and chaff bundles that would confuse radar and even anti-stealth systems. In addition, the warheads had small reaction jets with solid propulsion packs that could allow the warheads to change their course to avoid incoming enemy missiles. The "A" through "C" variants had a maximum altitude of 900 miles, a minimum range of 300 miles, and a maximum range of 9,500 miles. The "D" variant had a minimum range of 1,000 miles but a maximum range in excess of 25,000 miles and it could fly as high as 1,500 miles. The accuracy of the missile was as surprising. It ultilized a new system of GPS and INS that would allow the warheads of the "A" and the "C" to fall within 45 feet of their intended aiming point, the warhead of the "B" to fall within 60 feet, and the warhead of the "D" to fall within 100 feet. There were currently plans to manufacture 400 "A," 200 "B," 200 "C-1," 50 "C-2," and 80 "D" variants in total. That would give a total yield of 14,970 megatons between the 930 missiles, enough to destroy the world a few times over. No target was safe. The accuracy of the missile and the sheer power of the 25 megaton variants meant that even the most hardened and deeply buried bunkers could be vulnerable to a direct hit.

"Ten...Nine...Eight...Seven...Six...Five...Four...Three...Two...One...LAUNCH!" The quiet jungle of southern Venezuela shook and lit up as the MGM-218C-1 Luna came alive. The blast of the first stage motor on the Luna sent a flash throughout the jungle and the ground shook under the awesome force of the five rocket engines. The locking pins released by way of explosive jettison and the missile snapped upwards, its protection tube still on. Inside the command center for the strategic section of the ILAF, buried deep underneath western Virginia, the missile launch looked good. It arched upwards, to the west, shooting straight for the atmosphere. Sixty second later, the first stage dropped off and the protection shroud was ejected off the nose cone. The missile was now the beast that it was, moving upwards and westwards. The second stage would burn for another sixty seconds and deposit the system well into the upper atmosphere. Everything looked normal as the missile streaked upwards, a purveyor of doom and annihilator of worlds. The missile was powerful and it was potent.

At the three minute mark, the fourth stage cut off and the missile entered its flight path. It would take roughly twenty minutes to get to the re-entry point and during that time a lot of data was being recorded. The vehicles from the launch site would pack up and move out, to avoid being seen on satellites. They had specifically conducted the test during a one hour window when no satellites would be overhead, giving them at least some secrecy.

As the post-boost vehicle moved towards the re-entry point, it passed well over the Pacific Ocean. Its targets were twelve barges moored out north of Nauru, each separated by about a mile. The test would only claim six impacts and the release would state that the missile exceeded its predetermined range, to fool the enemies of the world.

Time went quickly as the vehicle began its re-entry. The twelve individual warheads separated along with hundreds of decoys and chaff bundles, meant to confuse enemy radars and anti-stealth systems. Some decoys put out a signature as large as the actual warheads, some larger, and they all began a terminal descent. The goal was to have four of the twelve warheads aimed at certain targets but change those targets in flight to avoid "incoming" missiles. There would be none but it would be simulated.

Then, like a harbinger of death, the twelve warheads slammed through the atmosphere at 18,000 mph or more. They bore down on their targets and in seconds it was over. They came down accurately and on course, hitting their targets as advertised, within a 45 foot margin of error. That was phenomenal and the best an ICBM had done to date. Now it was time for the release.

TO: World Community
FR: The Empire of Layarteb
RE: Missile Test

The Empire tested an advanced version of our LGM-30 Minuteman IV missile this morning north of Nauru. The launch point, deep within Central America put the missile engagement range in excess of 8,000 miles, the projected range for this missile. The test was a success and all six independently targetable MIRV warheads hit their targets within thirty meters of the impact point, a resounding success. The warheads were inert and all of them have been recovered to prevent any adverse affects to marine life in the area. The missiles hit within twenty-four nautical miles of the Nauru coast, which is within our territorial waters. This new missile will be deployed some time in early 2007.

Layarteb

05-11-2006, 19:13

An aide came up to the Emperor and whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded. What he whispered was two things, the first being that they apprehended the terrorists responsible for the actual detonation and they recovered the fusion secondary and the other was that the Luna test had been a success. It had been launched in the middle of the meeting. "Very well. Thank you." He told the aide, who walked off. "Very well. Where were we? Yes. Now to bring it off to the Italian mafia and this man named Raven. I imagine, as an agent of such caliber he would be adept to gaining access to a country without much effort. This leads me to a slight request. Do you have a DNA sample of the man so that we may identify him? Retinal scan? Blood sample? Any of those.

"Secondly. The Italian mafia are connected to the drug cartels within the Empire, that is a fact. That is a major problem. What efforts is your administration taking to curb the flow of illegal drugs into and out of your own country particularly from the Italian mafia and the cartels within the Empire?"

United States of Brink

05-11-2006, 19:37

“As you can imagine having an agent like that could have adverse affects to my administration. We couldn’t have any relation to him because of his missions, meaning any sort of paper trial could be devastating. Most of the records were destroyed or never filed. Any we did have from the revolution were changed, destroyed, or stolen. He is good, but to do all that without being caught is near impossible. Which again, although speculation, leads me to believe he has people on the inside.”

“Your other question leads to some rather troubling information. We are having a slightly hard time dealing with the rise in drug trafficking. It also makes this situation that much more complicated. Ontieno Henning is the name of the man who was kidnapped by Raven. Henning is an FDA agent [Federal Drug Agency (DEA type organization)]. He was working on a case involving the largest drug bust in USB history. His boss was the head of the organization, Nic Rudolf, who was killed earlier this month. Are only suspect is…Henning, who was kidnapped by Raven. The most interesting part however, is this: During the transport of the drugs acquired by the drug bust it was assaulted by a large force of Italian mafia members. A large freight carrying the drugs found its way into the ocean during the assault. When investigated evidence suggested that someone had broken into the hold before our divers did. No drugs were missing, but a nuclear warhead, type W80 was found.”

Layarteb

05-11-2006, 19:46

"So then our cartels definitely had a hand in this one or some terrorist organization with links to the cartels. We had a number of incidents in Caracas, particularly at one dockhouse that involved shoot outs, bombings, and stolen drugs. If those drugs that came in were just a smoke screen for a stolen nuclear warhead then that is a link. If the cartels," the Emperor stood to think and he began to pace around. "If the cartel brought in and moved the weapon where did it go afterwards? Come on think. The cartel, whichever one, funded the weapon to be brought in but they wouldn't be foolish enough to set it off, it isn't their MO. Sure they want the War on Drugs over and sure they want to be able to do it but terrorism of that nature isn't really their strong point. We aren't dealing with religious fundamentalism and the RLA doesn't exist anymore unless." The Emperor stopped and looked around. "Unless the RLA was a smoke screen. The RLA was definitely a powerful group and they were not funded independently. They were being funded elsewhere, that was for sure but we could never get who. What if the same group that was funding the RLA funded this? That same group would be responsible for the bombing. Raven would definitely be the key but there's no way we can get our hands on him." He sat back down. "Now if we got to someone who knows about the shipment that would give us something. But who. Which one of the cartels? It isn't the Florida cartel, they haven't been around long enough and they have no influence in Caracas. The Meta cartel is too weak. That leaves only the Esmeralda cartel. It had to have been one of them. We have many of them in custody. If you will excuse me for a minute Mr. President," the Emperor stood and walked over to his aide. "Quietly and quickly get on the line to the Minister of the Interior and relay what you have. Tell him that it is imperative that interrogations on Esmeralda cartel members focus on the Caracas docks. I want to know everything that they know about them. This particular incident could mean a lot." He returned to the President. "Thank you very much. You have been most helpful I only request to reask the question before about a DNA sample of Mr. Raven? So that we may know if he tries to enter our country."

Layarteb

05-11-2006, 20:11

July 28, 2006 - 10:00 EST
Washington City, Maryland

The two Ghost Warriors sat tied to a metal chair in the middle of two separate interrogation rooms, both of them cold and bright. They were deep within the Force Thunder facility, buried underneath downtown Washington City. The facility was the counterterrorism center for the Empire and it was strategically placed to be able to communication quickly and effectively with Layarteb City. They were both weary and tired, mainly from the arrest. They had been roughly treated when they were thrown in the helicopter and carried through the facility, black bags over their heads so that they could never see just where they were. They had been injected with a sleeping drug so they had no concept of time either. They were told, when they awoke, that they had been asleep for sixteen hours but they knew enough not to believe that remark. They were highly trained agents of the Illuminati and they were trained to resist interrogation and torture, which would be their ultimate test, since they were about to go through a tough interrogation. By now their capture had filtered through the ranks of the Illuminati and they were being erased and any records of them with the Illuminati were being erased. Contingency plans were put in place and from that moment on, they existed only as regular civilians, and terrorists to boot. There would be no rescue attempts and they would be, essentially, on their own. They knew that if they talked they would be dead, that was a given, the Illuminati had the capacity to do just that to them and not even bat an eye about it. They were in deep trouble.

The 2nd BOG had been around for a long time, since before the days of the Empire. Their existence, completely denied and a secret, was for counterterrorism and only counterterrorism. They had a particularly excellent track record until the advent of the RLA. They were instrumental in taking down the RLA though and when the RLA was finally brought down it was due, in part, to the intelligence that the 2nd BOG collected against them. Half of the RLA assassinations had been carried out by the 2nd BOG and they were proud of that, even to the day. When the bomb went off in Grenada, they knew that it would be up to them to stop whomever did it from doing it again.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? We're awake aren't we? My its cold in here." The interrogator joked as he walked in and sat down in a very nice and comfortable chair. That chair had a heating pad in it and he was dressed in layers. The room was about 35°F and the prisoner, the Commander, was wearing summer clothing. He was definitely freezing. Through their visible breath, the interrogator looked at him. "Do you know where you are?" The Commander stayed silent. "Well. Why don't I tell you. Ever heard of Baffin Island? You're there. If you managed to escape you'd be surrounded by the Arctic. Promising isn't it? Especially in shorts and t-shirts. You should have thought to dress more smartly."

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"You don't? You were transporting a nuclear weapon. You know what's funny too? That same weapon was the other half of the bomb that detonated in Saint George's. Let's face it, you're fucked."

"You don't know anything."

"What don't I know? I know that you set off a five kiloton nuclear bomb in the middle of a city? That's going to earn you a spot in the pressure chamber for sure. Maybe the drowning chamber, who knows. I can guarantee it'll be long and painful. Now. There's no way in hell I can get you a life sentence. You will be executed. How painful it is going to be is up to you."

"I've done my duty."

"You've done your duty." He put his feet up. "And I am about to do mine." He pushed a small button on a console on the table and it sent a few thousand volts of elecricity into the man. It was under milliamperage so it wouldn't kill him but it did cause all of his muscles to tighten up. He screamed in pain. "That's going to echo. So. Now you see my duty. Well. If you have anything to say to me I think that you should say it before I leave. I'm thirsty for some coffee you know. It's pretty cold in here."

"You will never get me to talk." He turned and smiled at him.

"We'll see." He stood up and walked out of the room. He walked into the control/observation room. "Alright. Begin the noise. Put him in darkness. Then heat it up to about 95 as fast as you can. That'll scare the shit out of him."

"Yes sir!" The lights went out and a low hum began, an annoying and irritating sound. The heaters kicked on and the temperature of the room began to rise. Condensation built up would turn to water and his immune system would take a hefty beating.

The interrogator walked into the other room where the temperature was hot, in contrast to the other room. The Ghost Warrior was sweating. "Well. What a tropical sauna it is in here? Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Good. Good. I'll tell you then. You're in the middle of Panama. It's hot down here I must admit. You sure dressed for that didn't you. Well I'm glad to hear it. Now." He sat down. "Your buddy over there in the other room has been a bad, bad boy." He laughed. "You know what he just told me? Aside from his desire to molest sheep." He laughed. "He told me that you're in charge. That isn't good. That definitely isn't good. So you are the leader then."

"You will fail in your task."

"That being? I'm just trying to figure out why two men are transporting a nuclear warhead across Layartebian soil? I doubt you bought it off eBay. So. Why don't you tell me? You're the leader."

"I've done my duty."

"He said the same thing. It gets boring to hear. Now. You can tell me or we can play games." He pushed the electrical shocking mechanism and he too felt the same pain as the Commander. "That hurts doesn't it? Well. With that in mind let me ask you a question. Since you two were responsible for bombing Saint George's how should we execute you? I can think of the most painful ways possible. Now. The more you cooperate the less painful and the quicker your death will be. I can guarantee you that you'll die but how much you have to suffer to get to that point? Well. That'll be up to you. I'll let you think about that. I'm kind of thirsty." He stood up and walked into the oberservation/control room for this one and gave orders again. "Alright. Just drop the lights completely and drop the temperature to about 40. Let's see how he handles that but do it gradually. Keep the noise off but do this. Start a water drip."

"You got it sir."

Layarteb

05-11-2006, 22:26

July 28, 2006 - 10:40 EST
Washington City, Maryland

After a grueling forty-five minutes, the lights slammed on in the Commander's room. He was sweating profusely and already a little twitchy because of the noise and the stark rise in the temperature. He bore a lot in those forty-five minutes. Heat and noise were the two most irritating factors to a human being and he was no exception. The combination of the low ptiched and dull hum as well as the heat made him more than irritable, it made him extremely twitchy. The interrogator walked into the room, dressed much differently. "Well. It seems that the heater finally kicked in. It's a shame it got so hot in here. You know that coffee was good but now I need some ice water. What about you?"

"You won't get anything out of me."

"No?" He hit the electrical shock again. The sweat from his body made it worse and made the conduction far better. The salt within his sweat was a good conductor and it made the shock feel far worse as it stretched all over his body. "You're sweating. That means this will hurt more and more. Now. You were saying? It seems that your colleague in the next room has pointed you out to be the leader. Is that true?"

"I won't say anything."

"And so it is. He said you would say that, exactly that in fact. He also said that you authorized the bombing and that you organized everything. That isn't going to be good when it comes time for sentencing. What do you think?"

"I think you're lying."

"How long have you two known each other? Man he's got you pinned to a 't.'" He joked and laughed. [i]"It's getting rather hot in here. I think I am going to ask them to turn down the heat a little. What do you think?"

"Keep trying."

"I will." He hit the electrical shock once more before he got up. He went back into the control room and ordered that the temperature be brought down to about 58°F, the lights turned back out, and the noise resumed. He was going to test every nerve this man had. He walked into the other room, the lights turning back on. "Man its cold in here. Stupid air conditioner must be broken. You feeling chilly?" He was wearing warm clothes. "I bet you're freezing."

"Fuck off." He said through chattering teeth. The sweat on his body was cold now, very cold, and his immune system, just like the Commander, was breaking down quickly.

"You know that language is very unacceptible." He hit the electrical shock again. "That's about fifty thousand volts. It's like getting hit with a TASER. We keep the amperage in the milliampere rating so that you don't die. It hurts a lot doesn't it? We do it long enough and you'll piss and shit yourself. He'll you'll pass out eventually. Hurts a lot too. What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy. All of you here." He gasped for air, the pain resonating in his body. "Crazy."

"Not as crazy as you are. As the leader you should be the prime example of crazy. I mean, come on. Let's face it. You set off a five kiloton nuclear bomb in the middle of a crowded city. It may have been a battleground but still. Tens of thousands of innocent civilians died. What were you trying to prove?"

"I did my duty."

"Yes. Yes. Your duty. How about this? Everytime you give me a line you already gave me I hit you with a shock? Let's try it." He hit the button. The duration was only about 80 microseconds but it was enough to send it through his whole body. "Shall we try again? What were you trying to prove?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did you set off a five kiloton bomb? I can wait if you need to relax a little." He noticed how much pain he was in and decided to back off for a second. He didn't want to kill him or cause him to pass out. "You want to rest?" He shook his head. "Alright. If you insist. What were you trying to prove?"

"I did..." He caught himself. "I did what I was told."

"You caught yourself there. We're learning. Who told you to do it?"

"The man in charge."

"You were the leader. How could you be a subordinate?"

"I'm not the leader."

"Your friend says you are."

"He wouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't be. Listen. I'm going to take a walk, I really need to go to the bathroom. How about we resume this in a few minutes?" He got up and walked out of the room When he went into the control room he looked around at the readings from his vital signs. "That hurt a lot huh?" He laughed. "Alright. Let's put the room at 68 and dim the lights. Let's see how he responds to a pleasant environment. Give him some water too." The interrogator walked back down to the Commander's room and went into the control room. "How is he handling it?"

"Brain waves show a lot of durress. He's pretty pissed off."

"Good. Good. That's how I want him. Alright what about his vitals?"

"He's got a high pulse. His blood pressure is rather high and his breathing is deep. He's getting tired."

"Alright. Good to hear. I'll go back in. Keep the room the same." The interrogator walked back in. "This damn heating system. It's either too hot or too cold. Hold on a minute." He walked right back out and returned to the control room. "His reaction?"

"Very little."

"Alright. Raise it back up to 72." He walked back in. "That should be better. Now. You were saying. You authorized the bombing and you carried it out. You were the leader."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's not what you said before."

"I said nothing of the sort to anything."

"Sure you did. I've got it on the recording. You said, and I quote, 'I led it.' Now that's a confession to me."

"I didn't say that."

"The recording says you did. Are you sure your memory is good? I mean I've hit you with a few shocks. I sustain it for longer than a hundred milliseconds and you pass out. You might want to rethink what you say then. You admitted to being the leader. That's pretty bad. I got a whole laundary list of things they're going to do to you. Hey. You hear something?" The Commander looked back at him oddly. "Sorry. Nothing. Just thought I heard a fly or something buzzing around. Anyway. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Plant the bomb. Come on you were onto something before. Let's not go back and waste time. I've got an appointment later with the dentist."

"I hope he drills your whole mouth out."

"I don't. That would hurt. Now. So. You planted a five kiloton bomb in the middle of a city. Tens of thousands of people died. A lot of little babies. I'd show you the pictures but I get sick looking at them. You know what. I'll go get them for you. I'll be right back. Wait. There it is again. I hear it. Its a fly or something. Damnit. I'll bring back a fly swatter." He walked out of the room and back into the control room. "Alright. Drop the lights again. Leave the temperature at 72. Begin the 'fly' sound and use the air jets to make it like a fly is on his body, crawling on his skin. That'll drive him crazy. Start with his arms and then hit his face."

"You got it boss."

Layarteb

06-11-2006, 03:27

July 28, 2006 - 10:55 EST
Washington City, Maryland

The interrogator watched through the control room as the Commander fidgeted to thwart off the fly. Though the room was pitch black, they could see through using a night vision system. "Look at that," he remarked. "He really believes it." He laughed to himself as he looked around the room. "Alright another few minutes of that and we'll cut it off. Alright. Let me go check on the other one." He walked out of the control room and down the hallway to the other control room. He looked inside to see him comfortable. "Alright. I'm going in." He opened the door and stepped in, "How are we feeling?"

"What are you people doing here?"

"What do you mean?" He sat down and put his feet up. "We don't have time for that. Where were we? Oh yes. You were telling me why you planted a five kiloton nuclear bomb and who ordered it? You're the leader so you should know these things."

"I told you already that I'm not the leader." He hit him with the shock.

"Slipped there? You already told me that one."

"Go to hell."

"Nope. That's a new one. We'll let that slide. Now. Then if I am so wrong why don't you correct me?"

"I already told you. What did I say? He's the leader."

"He is? Well. Why does he tell me that you are?" He noticed that he slipped. "He swears you are."

"He is mistaken. He is the leader. He is the designated Commander."

"Of what?"

"Of nothing."

"You had something there. Why would you stop like that?"

"I didn't have anything. Leave me alone."

"You think I'm going to do that? No. Come on you were seriously onto something. How about this? You tell me more and I let one electrocution slip? Sound good?"

"Go to hell."

"That's your one. Speak now."

"I don't have anything that I can say."

"Why not? You know it's really easy to walk out of here and turn up the heat again, put the lights out, hell maybe let a few flies loose in here."

"Go ahead. I dare you."

"If you want." He stepped out of the room but instead ordered that the temperature be dropped to 35°F and instead of a few flies he released a single yellow jacket into the room. The bug would die shortly there after because of the cold temperature but he would scare the living shit out of the Ghost Warrior for the time being. These were trained warriors but the interrogation tactics that the 2nd BOG used were far more creative than they ever imagined. He walked into the other room, the Commander was breathing heavy and still sweating. "How you feeling? Wait. What's that? Was there a fly in here? I think it just flew out. Filthy bugger I thought that there was one in here. Now. Where were we?"

"Go to hell."

"You know I'm shocking you because your buddy said that. I told him that every time we repeats himself I'm electrocuting him. You're going to get hit everytime you say something that he said."

"That's fair."

"Isn't it? If you could tell me why you planted a five kiloton nuclear bomb in Saint George's then this could be fair."

"I can't tell you anything because I didn't do anything." He shocked him.

"Sorry he said that too." He was lying but he found that it would have an effect. "Yeah. Try again. How about you just tell me who ordered it?"

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know why you can't answer?"

"No."

"Then?"

"I don't know because I just don't know."

"That doesn't sound believable you know."

"It is. It is the truth."

"That's a shame. I don't like when people lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"First you tell me you aren't the leader. He says that you are. Then you tell me you didn't plant the bomb but you were carting around the rest of the bomb. Then he tells me you guys did. Oh yeah. He confessed. It's pretty bad. Then he tells me that not only was it ordered by someone above but that you would and only you would know because you were the leader. So I told him that if you spoke and gave it up I would see if I can get you a much quicker and less painful death. Unfortunately, for him, that means the opposite. Pretty tough situation. However, if he gives it up first then, well, it reverses. Makes more sense."

"Shut up." He hit him with the shock.

"I'm sick of this repetition. You know what. I'm going to go get something to eat. When I come back you had better start giving something up or else he is going to and I guarantee he will, give you up. I can just imagine how painful that is going to be for you." He stepped out and walked into the control room. "Alright. Lights out. Make it 105 in there. Then start the noise again too. Keep that up for about fifteen minutes. Then release a dozen real flies. That ought to freak him out."

Layarteb

07-11-2006, 02:15

July 28, 2006 - 11:30 EST
Washington City, Maryland

The Commander was trying desparately to twitch away the flies but they stuck to him as if his whole face was covered in sugar. "That really has to be annoying." The interrogator commented as he walked away, out of the control room to the other room. "How's he doing?"

"It's pretty cold in there and apparently he's allergic to yellow jackets and bee stings. He's definitely not happy about it. He's spent the past twenty minutes cursing his head off."

"Alright. Give me the microphone." He pushed the button on the microphone and cleared his throat. "We'll get rid of the yellow jacket if you give me some definite detail. If not, I've got a few more of those I can release and we've got a big jar of honey in here."

"No. Don't."

"Don't what? You need to give us something more than that."

"Fine. Just get this out of here and we'll talk. And raise the goddamn temperature!"

"One step at a time." He let go of the microphone and picked up a can of RAID. "Alright. I'm going in there. Let's see what he wants to tell us."

"You got it sir." The interrogator walked into the room and sprayed the yellow jacket, which had landed on the unusually cold table. It died in a few seconds.

"Talk."

"What about the cold?"

"We'll see. I want to hear some things out of your first."

"Fine. We were just pawns."

"Of who?"

"I don't know. You have to ask the Commander. I can't possibly tell you who is who. All I know is that I am paid to do a job."

"You are a mercenary?"

"I am."

"What banner do you fly under?"

"The eight of us were under our own. We were 'contracted' by someone."

"Eight of you? You mean the six in the other vehicle?"

"Yes."

"Okay. So the eight of you are all mercenaries? You planted the bomb in Saint George's?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Like I said. I don't know. That was just what we were told to do?"

"So you take on a job like that and don't ask why? I think you're smarter than that."

"You should ask my Commander he would know more than I would."

"You know. You just don't want to tell me or you want me to believe something else by inserting certain elements of truth webbed with lies. You're not that intelligent you do know that?"

"To hell with you. I'm telling you what I know."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Well then. Let's say that you are telling me the truth and you don't know why you plant a nuclear device in the middle of a city. Well you had enough smarts to remove the fusion secondary and get out of dodge."

"We did what we were told."

"So you say. Now. Who does that without a reason?"

"The money was the reason."

"You're a Layartebian citizen. Well you were. You killed twenty thousand of your brothers."

"We did what we were told."

"Remember what I said about repeating yourself?" He electrocuted him.

"Enough of that already. I'm trying to help you."

"You do realize you aren't getting off."

"I do."

"Then why?"

"I know how painful death can be."

"So that's the motivation. Well if you keep lying to me you can forget about that."

"I bet."

"Good. I'm glad you have that down. No more sarcasm anymore it wastes time. What were your plans with the secondary?"

"We were supposed to drive it to some place in West Virginia. I knew it was somewhere in a really rural area. Very secluded."

"To whom?"

"The person who paid us to the job."

"Alright. Alright. That lead isn't getting us anywhere. Where'd you get the bomb from?"

"It was delivered to us on the island with the humanitarian aide."

"Where'd it come from?"

"I don't know. You see information was kept very minimal. We were told what our task was and that was it."

"To plant the bomb."

"Yes."

"Okay then describe who you took the bomb from?"

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"I wasn't at the ship when we received it. I was working in the warehouse, loading up crates."

"Was your Commander there?"

"He was."

"Okay. What did you hear?"

"Nothing. Our Commander told us nothing."

"Were all eight of you part of the same mercenary group?"

"Yes."

"What was your name?"

"Sons of the Devil."

"We'll research that. What have you done before?"

"Mostly work for the cartels."

"Which ones?"

"Meta and Esmeralda."

"Alright. Alright." He stood up and looked at pain of glass. "Turn it back up to 68 in here and get this man some water. I've got a Commander to talk to." He turned back to the Ghost Warrior and eyed him. "Alright. If I find out you lied."

"I didn't."

"You had better hope." He walked into the control room. "What do you think?"

"Voice stress puts his testimony at only about half true."

"What was true?"

"They planted the bomb, he doesn't know who he received it from, per say, he just can't describe them, and he was working off the docks when the bomb was received. He is telling the truth that he had to bring the secondary to West Virginia and that it was the person who paid them for it. He is lying about the Sons of the Devil name, that he doesn't know who paid them or what their mission was. They did work for the cartels and they are one unit. They are mercenaries. There's something more though. He hesitated a lot."

"I know. I definitely know about that. Alright. Good work. Keep it as I said for now. We'll see what happens after I talk to the other guy. He may have been trying to give him a code. I have a feeling that some of the lies he told were to cover the other guy so that their stories were the same. I'm going to go in there and see if I can slip him up."

"Alright."

"Keep tape on him." The interrogator walked into the control room. "How is he holding up?"

"Awful. He's covered in flies and we think he actually ate one. We can't tell. He's sweating a lot and he's definitely exhausted."

"Alright. That's good." He entered the room, the lights still out, the temperature the same. "How you feeling there buddy?" He walked over and sat down. "Kinda warm in here."

"Get these flies off me."

"Maybe later. Commander."

"I told you already. I'm not the leader."

"Oh I bet. Your buddy is singing in there. So. You're the Commander. You and your eight men go and plant a nuclear device in Saint George's. You get out of dodge and head back to West Virginia is it. Yeah. It's West Virginia. Your whole goal is to drop the secondary off to someone else. Now. That person is who paid you gentlemen to do the job. That's right. You're all mercenaries. What was the name of the group again? What was it? Oh man I can't remember." He paused. "That's right. The Devil's Outlaws. Yeah that's what he said in there. Okay. So you set up the bomb and escape. Now. I'm told this is all for the money but I don't believe that for one bit. Why did you plant a nuclear bomb in the middle of Saint George's? Money definitely wasn't it."

"I'm not telling you anything."

"You're quickly on your way to getting yourself in so much pain you have no idea. Your buddy in there? He's going to die quickly, painlessly. You. On the other hand. I can't possibly imagine just how much you're going to suffer. It is probably going to be really painful."

"Keep trying. He didn't say anything."

"How did I know the name of the mercenary group?"

"You don't. That isn't the name."

"So enlighten me."

"I'd rather not."

"Come on. That's little. You can tell me that."

"Sorry. I can't."

"Why not?"

"There isn't anything to say."

"There isn't? Are you sure?"

"I am."

"That's not what your buddy said. Now why don't you give it up and tell me."

"You aren't getting anything out of me." He shocked him again.

"You really ought to be more careful than that."

"Enough. Stop this foolery. This is against the law."

"Against the law? Do you understand what you did? The law won't protect you at all on this one buddy. You're mine and this whole Panamanian jungle is mine."

"I thought we were on Baffin Island."

"See. You don't know where we are at all do you?"

"I know that it's hot one minute and its freezing cold the next. What does that tell me?"

"That you had better start talking or else there's no point to you putting u p all this resistence. Nobody knows where you are or who you are. You're screwed."

"Fine. The group was called the Eight Balls."

"The Eight Balls. Huh? Sounds nice." He stood up and walked out, back to the control room.

Layarteb

07-11-2006, 03:02

July 28, 2006 - 13:00 EST
Washington City, Maryland

The interrogations continued with the interrogator running back and fourth between the two rooms for the past three hours and they were good. They had ran him in about four different directions, so much that he needed a break to analyze everything. The interrogation rooms, all twenty of them, were in a line in one block with a center conference room in the same block. Inside that room sat a dozen other interrogators and intelligence analysts, as well as psychologists. They had transcripts, voice stress analysis reports, and video feed that they could look at individually, on high-powered and high-end laptops that would provide them with the capabilities to do what they needed.

"Alright gentlemen," the lead interrogator walked into the room. He was the one who had been doing the interrogations and he was a professional at it. "We're running around in circles. It's been a good start but we don't have anything yet."

"We have something."

"Aside from that they planted the bomb."

"No. No. Something else."

"Alright lieutenant what do you have."

"Alright aside from the basics. They planted the bomb, they were mercenaries. That all being true. The West Virginia, the planting of the weapon. But what they both gave out, just in the last set, to each other was a coded message."

"What is it?"

"I'm leading them down path J."

"Alright. How do you come to that?"

"He told you to ask the Commander where the road led to. Something called path J."

"Alright."

"That was definitely a code."

"How do you know?"

"The Commander told you that path J existed and that it ran through Charleston from the southeast."

"That could be anything."

"Not true."

"How so then? Enlighten me lieutenant. Everyone pay attention to this."

"The Commander also said that path J ran all the way to Washington City. He said that it doesn't detour."

"No road exists as such."

"No. But from recovered documents in the jeep and the van we find that there is a path J. They guessed it got blown up in the wreck. It didn't. It survived."

"And what does it say?"

"It leads to an abandoned mine outside of Fairmont, near the Pennsylvania-West Virginia border."

"Very good. What else does this show?"

"That neither of them really knows what the other said."

"Good. Is there more?"

"That they aren't just mercenaries. They're something more. Much more."

"Good. Good. Now. People. Recommendations?"

"Alright we slip them up, completely. We can't go with a direct approach, they're too highly trained. Love or hate of comrades isn't going to work either. Love of family? We don't have squat on them. Why not this. We go into the other one and try the silent approach, just sit there. He already thinks he's won us over. Going silent on him will make him doubt himself. On the Commander. He isn't as foolish. He gave us far less. What about if we go in there and claim we're totally clueless. He's tripped us up completely. Maybe we can go rapid fire on him too."

"It's a possibility. Anyone else?" Everyone had a recommendation and each and every one of them was different except for four of them in total. Those four won out, silent approach on the other man and the "You Beat Us" approach on the other one. That called for sending him to the execution block immediately. They would do it right there, they would say, hoping to mess him up. Who knew if it would work.

United States of Brink

07-11-2006, 07:38

“I have someone working on the DNA now, although I’m not sure how long it’ll be.”

A man walked forward, someone part of Baruti’s staff it seemed. He glanced at Baruti who nodded to him, a motion that it was alright if he spoke. The man was not at all nervous as most would be, in front of two of the most powerful men on the planet, he stood firm and spoke heavy.

“Sir, excuse me for saying, but I believe your wasting your time with the DNA. If he had enough intelligence and skill to remove all records of himself, wouldn’t you think that one of the first things would be DNA? That’s not to mention that I doubt he would travel in any conventional means or under the same ID. If he does have a man this deep on the inside, he could easily have access to any ID he could dream. This man was trained to be a ghost, a nobody. Hell, when he worked for us we never had an idea where he was…he always came to us. We might as well put out a search for the devil himself.”

He walked away, a little sorry for being so blunt but it had to be said. He was an elder gentleman, someone who had worked with Raven during the revolution. He was a Major during the Zimbabwe Campaign, and worked under Raven’s command. Besides Harvard Dugan and Sarah Ovambo, he was probably the only other person who knew any details about Raven. Baruti looked somewhat surprised but held his tongue on anything he was thinking.

“Indeed,” he said speaking on the previous topic. “Nevertheless we’ll continue to look into it. I am pleased we could be of assistance. Do you have any more questions?”

Layarteb

07-11-2006, 23:29

"Well I appreciate you for being honest in the face of the request. We understand just what the situation entails but we are confident that a DNA sample and possibly a photograph of the man will help us catch him if he is inside the Empire or if he makes an attempt to get into the Empire. Our main goal is to find this man, if he is still within the Empire. However, your cooperation has been more than helpful. I do not believe I or my staff have anything further to ask. Do we?" His aides nodded that they did not. "Very well. I should like to head back now. I appreciate you having met me under such quick circumstances." The Emperor stood to shake the President's hand.

United States of Brink

08-11-2006, 22:08

Baruti was up and shaking the Emperors hand with a grin on his face. It had gone much better then he thought, the Emperor himself conveying a much friendlier side then expected.

“It was a pleasure working with you sir. Don’t worry yourself over the speed, at which we met, we understand what you have to do. As for the DNA, I will send you any results we can come up with as soon as possible.”

The man who had spoken before was again at Baruti’s side, with a photograph in his hand.

“You won’t find any official photos of Raven in our records, believe me I’ve checked and rechecked. Nothing in our far reaching database can turn up anything however I do have this. I assume it’s the last picture of him…it isn’t much but it is all we have.”

With that he handed the Emperor the photo, it was a number of years old but anything would help.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v158/FoxWally/Raven.jpg

Layarteb

09-11-2006, 00:57

The VC-26F Condor took to the air with its escorts and headed northwest, back towards Layarteb City. They left at 15:00 hours WAT, putting in a sixteen hour flight and a six hour time difference, he would be landing at 13:00 hours EST the next day. He would have plenty of time to catch up on work that he missed out with the four hour meeting. He and his staff would be working dilligently on the aircraft as they headed back. It was going to be a long flight but that wasn't going to deter them from getting done what they needed to do, which included drafting a full recovery plan for Saint George's. The situation was still being resolved and search and rescue efforts were ongoing. The capture of two Ghost Warriors was seen as good news and the Emperor wanted updates on them every six hours. He wanted them broken and he wanted them talking. They would be put to death, publically, that was a given, and though they would be given a fair trial, he doubted they would be found not guilty, not with the evidence against them. Transporting the fusion secondary alone was enough to connect them so strongly to the bombing that it would be an open and shut case. A confession would only make it juicier. Regardless of any deals made, they would both suffer greatly during their executions, the Emperor wanted them to pay for each and every life affected by the terrorist act.

However, as the flight made their way north, across the Atlantic Ocean, things conspiring in the Empire were taken full force. Majestic had ordered one of their flight commanders, who controlled twelve F-22B Raptor fighters, to take off and intercept the Emperor's plane. The orders went through very carefully and without any middlemen. The commander was in charge of the mission and he would be flying the air assault. His aircraft were loaded already with their AIM-120D-9 AMRAAMs and AIM-204 Escape missiles, plenty of them for an avid and unsuspecting foe. The Condor and its escorts came inbound and approached the Caribbean Sea to the east. They refueled a few hundred miles from Grenada and now they were going to be working their way up into Layartebian airspace, all the way to Layarteb City.

When they were about six hundred miles still into the Atlantic Ocean, the flight of F-22s got off the ground, the flight leader having coerced clearance to take off with falsified orders to relieve escort aircraft for the Emperor. The orders looked official and he and his men got off the ground. They were all coerced by Majestic into thinking that the Emperor planned the bombing in Saint George's and that they were, in essence, helping remove the Emperor from power because of this atrocious act. Majestic was fifty-fifty on the plan but they did believe that, even if it failed, it could leak to the press. It would begin to show some dissatisfaction within the military ranks against the Emperor. Weakness would be showed.

Linked into the anti-stealth system, the pilots in the Condor immediately noticed the flight taking off. There were no tasking orders for them and he suspected something right away, that was his job. "Sir. We've got a situation up here." He spoke over the loud speaker. Talking within the calm cabin stopped. Immediately, the Emperor and some of the staff darted up to the cockpit.

"What's wrong?"

"Sir. A flight of twelve F-22s just took off from Martinique. Sir. They're heading for us at high speed."

"Shit. Alright get me in contact with the escorts. Now!"

"You are on sir." He flipped a few dials. "Attention flight. Attention flight. Condor lead. Condor lead."

"Go Condor lead."

"Gentlemen, this is the Emperor. We have twelve F-22 Raptors inbound at high speed. Until further notice they are to be considered hostile. We are heading out over the Atlantic. Do me proud men!"

"Yes sir!" The Condor banked hard to the right and began to head northward, over the Atlantic, its ECM system warmed up and ready to go on at a moment's notice. "Alright flight. Drop those tanks!" The Super Tomcats and Raptors banked hard towards the incoming aircraft and gained altitude, their weapon systems armed and ready.

"Get me the General of the Air Force now!" The Emperor barked at the aides inside the cabin.

"Yes sir!" It took a few moments, about two minutes of hair raising silence and tension but the aide returned with a phone. "Got him sir."

"General. What the fuck is going on!"

"Sir. We are noticing this too. They are rogue sir."

"Well get something up there to shoot them the fuck down!"

"We're on it already sir. A flight of six F-39A Super Eagles are taking off from French Guiana as we speak sir."

"Good. Find out what is going on!"

"Yes sir!"

The Emperor gave the phone back and watched as the aides around him looked puzzled and frightened. "Ladies and gentlemen. From this point on we are under attack. A rogue element of twelve F-22 Raptors, front-line fighters, is currently in pursuit of us. Our escorts will do their best and so too will the interceptors. If it comes down to the wire we are going to be in serious trouble. If you panic I promise you I will use you as bait for a missile!" Some of them chuckled, noting the seriousness of the situation.

As the Super Tomcats and Raptors closed the distance to the enemy fighters, the F-39s took off in formation, three at a time and arched upwards, using their powerful afterburners to get up to altitude as fast as they could. Loaded heavy with fuel and external tanks, they would dump the tanks as soon as they were empty to make them much more streamlined for speed. Each of them was carrying 2 AIM-216A Halycon missiles internally, 4 AIM-179C BVRAAM missiles internally, 2 AIM-202A Dodsengel missiles externally, 4 AIM-120D-9 AMRAAM missiles externally, and 2 AIM-204A Escape missiles externally. They weighed about 86,000 pounds when they dropped their external tanks, giving them a thrust to weight ratio of 1.12 to 1, giving them the ability to climb vertically and still gain speed. They soared at 45° noses up, moving towards 60,000 feet as fast as they could. It would take them just under two minutes to get that high, from there, they could throttle back and plot an intercept course.

The Super Tomcats and Raptors closed in quickly and the Super Tomcats locked up the fighters with their Dodsengel missiles. They had a lot of them and each one of the four Super Tomcats locked up two aircraft and launched two Dodsengels at each of the Raptors. The F-22Bs were ahead of them but they had the longer range weaponry. The Raptors would have to close to within range of the AIM-120D-9 to engage. The F-14s could be much further out and launch their missiles using their datalinks. The Dodsengels lifted off with a maximum range of 250 miles. Because of the phenomenal closure velocities, which were in excess of 2,000 mph, the Dodsengels could be launched much further out. The missiles would be split. One of the two would use its terminal IIR and the other would use its terminal active radar to engage the Raptors. Because they were stealth aircraft it would be difficult for the Dodsengels to engage them but the datalink feature really helped them out.

The Raptors coming in were at 50,000 feet and 1,150 mph, moving with their full force. They were keeping strict radio silence, knowing full well that the air waves were being recorded. The Super Tomcats and Raptors, which were protecting the Condor were moving at 1,200 and 1,350 mph, respectively. The supersonic battle would be fast and as the range dropped to about 300 miles, the Dodsengels bore down on the Raptors. They locked onto their targets and they would have some slight advantage. Due to the speed of the incoming aircraft, their agility would be minimal. As they approached the 50 mile mark though, the hostile Raptors immediately dropped their engine power and their brakes, slowly down quickly, then they hit their engines again and went into erratic maneuvers. Of the sixteen missiles, only four tracked and hit, slamming into the enemy Raptors, blowing all four of them clear out of the sky. Now down to eight, the hostile enemy aircraft moved closer and closer and the dogfight began. Unfortunately, the fight would be nothing more than confusion. With twelve of the same aircraft type, in the same markings, fighting it was nothing more than total confusion. The Super Tomcats couldn't engage unless they had been engaged, which meant that they had to hang back and hope they would be engaged. The rogue pilots wouldn't be that foolish and kept in their close formations, engaging the outnumbered escort fighters.

AMRAAM and Escape missiles flew through the air as the aircraft dueled. It was a duel of fates and as the Raptors were distracted, the Condor moved out over the Atlantic Ocean, at maximum speed and maximum power, heading right for the Azores, the closest islands there were. Layartebian aircraft on the islands immediately went up and would provide escort for the Condor as it came within range and SAM batteries were active throughout the island chain. It was still far away and they had a long way to go to get there but they had the advantage on the rogue fighters, they had serious distance between them. Unfortunately, for them, two of the rogue F-22s managed to sneak through and were now moving at 10,000 feet at about 1,000 mph towards the Condor. They had successfully broken off during the engagement confusion and were closing in on the Condor quickly, their six AIM-120D-9 AMRAAMs and two AIM-204A Escape missiles each craving for a kill. The Condor had powerful ECM systems and plenty of expendables but it was unarmed and it couldn't maneuver. An AMRAAM or Escape would, if it locked onto it through the ECM systems, tear it to shreds in a quarter of a second.

Directed by the ground station, the four Super Tomcats broke off, moving to intercept the two runaway F-22s. They had plenty of fuel left to chase them down but who knew where they would go after that, especially if a tanker wasn't in the air. One would be sent out from the Azores immediately. The Super Tomcats were fast, moving at close to 1,300 mph as they hunted down the Raptors but, unfortunately, the mere 300 mph closure velocity meant that they had to be really close to the Raptors to engage them. The only hope was the F-39s, which came buzzing through at 60,000 feet and a staggering 1,950 mph. They were further away then the Tomcats but they had the speed and the fuel and the range. The six of them, 10,000 feet over the heads of the Super Tomcats, screamed over them at Mach 2.95. The two-seat aircraft were ARSB technology that were outfitted with Layartebian avionics, engines, and weapons, giving them a distinct edge over the indigenously produced F-22B Raptors. They also carried the AIM-216 Halycon, an ultra-long range missile capable of destroying an aircraft at 350 miles. They would still have to close to within 80 miles of the enemy fighters to engage them but they were well on the way.

As they flew over the Tomcats, the pilots looked up and saw the six black aircraft moving at ultra high speed. "Condor lead. Condor lead. We've got six unidentified bogey's heading your way."

"Roger that. They're friendly. I repeat. They're friendly. Maintain priority."

"Roger that." The Super Eagles flew in a tight formation, minimizing the air resistance between them allowing them to fly so fast without using too much engine power. They would have plenty of power for the dogfight, if they were to have one. At 100 miles from the Raptors, the Super Eagles prepared to engage with their Halycon missiles. Of the six aircraft, each would fire only one at the two Raptors, putting three on each plane, making it impossible for them to evade. Unfortunately, for them, the Raptors were within engagement range for their AMRAAMs and they both launched two missiles each. That was the cue to fire adn so they did, putting the six Halycons in the air. Immediately, inside the cockpit of the Condor, warnings went off.

"Shit! We're being in engaged. Tracking four. I repeat tracking four missiles. ECM system is active. Drop your chaff and let's get them to our nine." The Condor banked sharply as it dropped nine bundles of chaff. The goal was to the put the missiles on the nine o'clock of the plane, meaning that they would have to pull more Gs to catch up, making them slightly less agile. "Alright. ECM is on. We're showing full power. Turning directional on." The ECM system was a directional system that could beam its power in one direction, making it much more difficult for the enemy missiles to track through the heavier than normal ECM resistance. The AMRAAMs were still tracking, using the midcourse guidance updates from the Raptors as they moved in from 60 miles. They would get to 20 miles and suddenly, their midcourse updates would drop away, the Halycon's having hit, all six of them, turning the Raptors into Swiss cheese. The AMRAAMs continued onward but as the Condor changed course, they wouldn't get a chance to engage. They would just fall into the water. "Good work Alpha 1. Good work. Take us to the Azores."

"You got it."

"Echo 1. Echo 1. Report status over."

"This is Echo 1. We're runing low on gas but we've got missiles and we've got a clear sky in front of us."

"Roger that. Delta 1 has not answer. They're down. Check six."

"Roger that." Suddenly, one of the Tomcats blew up in the sky, taking an AMRAAM shot to its tail. Out of the six remaining Raptors, two managed to escape the dogfight. All four of the Layartebian planes had been shot down and now only two rogue fighters remained, both of them with one Escape missile each and two AMRAAMs between them, which was now only one. "This is Echo 1. We're engaged. Two Raptors. I repeat. Two Raptors. Echo 1-3 is down!"

"Roger that. Alpha flight, you're on."

"We're in!" Three of the Super Eagles broke off formation and took a sharp 180° turn, bleeding off some energy but countering with their afterburners. The Dodsengel and BVRAAM missiles that they were equiped with would be perfect hunters for the rogue aircraft.

As the two Raptors came inbound, tangoing with the Super Tomcats, they picked up speed and shot off their last three missiles, two of them without targets. One of the Escape missiles tracked a Super Tomcat but was spoofed by its own jamming system. The pilots escaped a close one. It wasn't long before the two Raptors were flaming wreckage, eating a Dodsengel and a BVRAAM each. The Emperor went on to land at the Azores and the Super Tomcats, all three of them, would refuel over the Atlantic. The Empire lost sixteen Raptors and a Super Tomcat in a matter of minutes, and with them eighteen pilots. Though twelve of them were rogue and traitors, they were still bodies that had to be replaced. Had it not been for the Super Eagles and their stunning abilities, the fighters would have won over the Super Tomcats and the Raptors, which were outnumbered.

Layarteb

09-11-2006, 01:29

July 29, 2006 - 21:00 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Emperor's Condor landed in Layarteb City, along with its escorts, which included the same three F-14s that survived the dogfight but was bolstered with an additional twelve F-22B Raptors and nine F-14E Super Tomcats. The F-39 Super Eagles stayed with the aircraft but, because of their classified nature, they stayed further back and higher up and were not noticible from the ground. The Emperor landed to press reporters left and right. All of them wondering what transpired in Windhoek, unbeknownst to the proceedings over the Atlantic Ocean just fourteen hours ago. The Emperor had spent his time on the Azores until it was full and clear to get back in the air and get back to Layarteb City. An investigation was underway and interviews and interrogations were being down on Martinique, where the rogue pilots were based. They constituted an entire squadron, which was now lost. The aircraft would have to be replaced. There were plans to field a new aircraft, the YF-45 Scorpion to replace the Raptor and they would be moved down to national guard duty, the YF-45 replacing them on the front-line.

Had they been YF-45s that they were facing fourteen hours ago, the situation would have been very different. The YF-45 was capable of carrying the Halycon and more of them than the Raptor. They could also carry more of a loadout than the Raptor could. They were more agile, more powerful, and far more capable.

The Emperor was back in his office now, under the full guard of Force Falcon Team Two, which was posted outside of his office, weapons locked and loaded in case anything else happened. "What the hell happened today!" He roared in front of his Cabinet, which was seated around the conference table. Two of them weren't present and they were locked in on video conferencing. "Twelve! Twelve! Aircraft take off! They engage my flight! Shoot down my escorts!"

"Yes sir. We're investigating that now." The General of the Air Force answered. "We've concluded that they were under the false impression from their squadron leader that the bombing was ordered by you sir."

"WHAT!" He slammed his fists down on the table. "How have we allowed this to happen!"

"Sir."

"Unless what you're about to tell me is fact I could care less right now!"

"Yes sir."

"The Empire is vulnerable right now. We've had a nuclear fucking bomb go off in the middle of Saint George's. We have over 20,000 people dead! All we have is a fucking photograph and a blood sample of a person who doesn't exist. I want answers. I want facts. The attack today proved that what we're facing is an enemy that has infiltrated the military. We're past the RLA. We're up to a new enemy, though they are an old enemy. We're up against the forces that conspired to put the RLA into place. We're up against the forces that have infiltrated this entire society. We're up against an enemy that has no face...YET! I WANT IT TO HAVE A FACE! DIMISSED!" He roared as they left the room. The attack on his plane had set him into motion and he demanded change and information.

Saint Lazare

09-11-2006, 02:03

2006 July 30 - 1200
Varsolan India

After stalking the trail of Maria, he found that there was only one way to come to terms with finding out what DVQ was. The answers remained in Varsolan territory, specifically in Delhi. Maria's contacts with numerous personnel led him down straight paths - one led to Africa, where he already knew the trail ended in Havana. It was obvious that Maria had hired the African bloc to transport DVQ to wherever it was needed. So the other route - the one leading into Varsola would obviously lead him straight to the source of DVQ.

He passed into Varsola territory, seeking answers to a question that remained unusually long yet simple - what is it? At this point, he knew that it wasn't a precursor compound because all of the reports banking out of Layarteb gave no references to any precursor compounds - except for those related to Valkyr, in which there was no mention of DVQ. He had a specific target, reading off the annals of Maria's tracks.

"Hello, good sir. Welcome to the Trans-World Petrol Chemicals Group - otherwise known as TWPCG. We invite you to join the many tour groups to see what our company does and how we can best serve you! We'll start over here with the..."

TWPCG appeared only once, but it was also the on paper that linked Varsolan corporations to anything in his DVQ quest. He entered the building at two minutes past noon on a hot day, no cloud in the sky - unusual weather for the monsoon season. Nonetheless, he continued to make his way through the corporation, following an automated tour guide group through the building until he could get out of the group. He made his stop in the bathroom. He wowuld have escaped into the duct system, except he noticed two problems - there were cameras and the duct system was tripped with traps to prevent illicit entry. The thought passed his mind: Damn, these freaks are way too anal.

He left the bathroom, realizing that his tour group was now gone. He was uncertain if that was a good thing, but he continued to stroll alone, looking for elevators. After a minute of aimless wandering, an automated sentry stopped him: "Good sir, are you lost? Please, let us assist your return to the entrance." Simeone made little effort to resist the sentries persuasion - the last thing he wanted to do was to damage private property at this time. Of course, after entering the elevator, his perception was changed for the worse. At about the 16th floor, he unveiled his pistol and fired two shots at the sentry. He shot a single round at the camera, effectively destroying it. Unfortunately, the sentry was constructed more stoutly, such that the two shots effectively did nothing. In an instant, the robot turned hostile and transformed into a mechanic beast with bladed limbs and a laser mount on its head. Simeone felt that he had indeed made the bad decision, but out of instinct, he leaped onto the ceiling. The sentry lunged forward and hit the guidance panel on the elevator - the ensuing surge fried the robot and sent the elevator tumbling down the shaft about 5 floors to the ground. Simeone quickly vacated the elevator on its roof and managed to grab onto a nearby shaft ladder and braced himself for the collapse. In the few seconds that followed, he waited for the results to transpire and caught his breath. Sentries were busy set to work on repairing the malfunction [as apparently the computers had reported to its security system, because there was no effort to recover any human body]. Still in the elevator shaft, Simeone crawled up into a relatively safe place and prepared for the remainder of his mission. He spoke softly as he climbed: "Note to self - never make Varsolan robots angry."

Layarteb

10-11-2006, 04:41

July 30, 2006 - 04:00 EST
85 miles southwest of Raccoon City, West Virginia

It was the dead of night in the West Virginia countryside. The closest person was about fifty miles away, thus the appeal of the location, an abandoned military bunker, which played host to nothing anymore. The bunker had been built in the early 1940s and was abandoned when the Republic fell. Newer, more secure bunkers replaced those from the days of the Republic and this one, in particular, was written off from the market. It wasn't on the maps and nobody knew it existed except twelve men. The twelve men were all part of Majestic and six of them were present for this meeting. The other six would be videoconferenced in from their secure places. The only exception was BG. Delaney, who was inside his office in Zeta Facility but he asked not to be disturbed at all. He would get that request so while he was secure, he was still not alone.

The men convened in the main chamber of the room and sat down around a large but dusty table. "Gentlemen. Shall we begin?" The Director of CEMA began. "We have some major setbacks."

"Yes. Quite major." The General of the Air Force added. "Our attempt to shoot down the Emperor's plane was an obvious failure. We knew this but we did expect to get at least some headway."

"It is understandable. The Emperor has the pilots for escort duty hand picked. They are some of the best. The downing of five of them was miraculous, nonetheless."

"You are correct. Now onto the capture of the Ghost Warrior team? How did that happen?" The Governor of the Province of South Eastern Virginia said. "Yes. How did this happen?"

"From what I am told. A phone conversation with them was intercepted by an elite task force within the CJA. It was sheer, dumb luck." Ethan Hunter explained. "We didn't expect for this to happen. They were careless."

"How?"

"The transcript of the conversation details their destination and some of their route. It also openly mentions the fusion secondary. A plucky analyst picked them right out of a hat."

"Is that so?"

"Quite, unfortunate."

"That does. That brings us to the point of what we're going to do with them?" John Patrick asked. "Are there any plans to eliminate them?"

"They're in the middle of a bunker in Washington City. In the Force Thunder base." The Minister of Foreign Affairs added. "So that means we can't touch them. We don't have any agents within the 2nd BOG. What do you think General?"

"Me? Unfortunately, I don't have any capabilities right now. I apologize but I wouldn't trust this to anyone but myself and I cannot penetrate that organization either. It would be just too obvious." BG. Delaney announced. "I apologize but I cannot. It would blow this entire organization out of the water.

"Noted General. What other options do we have?" Dr. Victor Michael asked. "Will they crack?"

"Possibly. Force Thunder is very adept at interrogations and getting people to talk. They're almost as good as we are."

"That isn't promising. You gentlemen are very good."

"Thank you Doctor Michael."

"So then we are alone on this one?"

"I am afraid so."

"Does anyone disagree?" Nobody spoke up. It was evident that the two captured Ghost Warriors were to be left on their own. The meeting continued into the morning and by daybreak, they were on their way back to their respective places of work and home. More decisions were made and the course of the revolution would continue, as planned.

Saint Lazare

11-11-2006, 05:55

2006 July 30 - 1243
TWPCG HQ - Varsolan India

It was a good workout of about 15 minutes as Simeone scaled the elevator walls. Of all places that lacked any surveillance, he was certainly glad that it was the elevator shaft. Of course, granted that it took a great effort even to get inside, he saw no reason to say that it was even necessary to have cameras in the shaft. The elevators ran ridiculously fast, almost to the extent where he could easily die if he made any mistake. He was only too glad to have some good work gloves as well - no fingerprints and more importantly, no blood trails. He knew that it would have been impossible to pass otherwise unharmed if he wasn't prepared [ooc: stupid goat song stuck in my head now...]. He only wondered what information he'd find and how much time he would have to uncover any secrets that the TWPCG had - inevitably, he hoped that it would be as obvious as looking on a computer database, but of course, that was wishful thinking.

He had reached the top of the elevator shaft, where unfortunately, he noticed an automated sentinel was operating. As he drew nearer, he realized that this sentinel was simply a maintenance robot, and therefore was unarmed. But he knew that it was strong enough to top his best effort. Bullets were useless at this point and his bombs were too strong and limited in quantity. He could try to work around the machine, but of course, he didn't want to leave any evidence of his presence, especially with freaky robots on the loose. With all of this thinking, the robot then suddenly left its post - apparently unaware of Simeone's presence in the shaft - and the coast was clear for Simeone's entry. He passed through the chamber, careful to check for cameras and other robots and sentinels. He walked carefully through the entire chamber, passing into a mechanical surveillance and maintenance corridor, quickly realizing that he was no where near where he wanted to be - which of course was somewhat shady at this moment, because he didn't even know where that was. He assumed that the place was likely to be heavily guarded, and it came to his apparent knowledge that there was no way to get past one sentinel without much luck [like the elevator incident] - battling a group of sentinels was suicide.

Of course, there was another way...

*** MAINFRAME ACCESS ***
&%% SECURITY ACCESS
^^^
^^^
^^^
:: ENTER CODE

Simeone paused. It had been a long time since he used a computer, and he tried to figure out the fastest way to jam the system and overload the sentinels guarding the mainframe. He would insert a worm, but he didn't bring any programs - something he now regretted. Well, it wasn't like he had anything else to do. He reached for the power cord and unplugged the unit. While he didn't expect to turn off the sentinels, he wanted to use the power to boot up another computer from which he could generate a hacking program. He spent about 15 minutes on another system, crafting the algorithms necessary to generate the system - it was obviously second-nature by this time, although it still took some time to break out the old knowledge before he tried his program once again:

*** MAINFRAME ACCESS ***
&%% SECURITY ACCESS
^^^
^^^
^^^
:: ENTER CODE

:::: *********************

= ACCESS GRANTED =

MAINFRAME ACCESS
-------------------

SELECT OPTION::
1 - DROID
2 - SECURITY SYSTEM
3 - CAMERA
4 - OTHER

The choice seemed obvious at this point - Simeone accessed the DROID option and turned off the sentinel system, or so he thought. Instead of deactivating the droids, he had complete access to all of their auxiliaries - at the helm of their commands. Taking full advantage of this, he decided to run a quick scare of the entire complex, turning the droids into combat mode and running the entire population out of the building. Patrolling the thousands of automated robots, he came across a select three sentries next to an office which vested his dear interest. He gave them script commands to investigate the area, unveiling his target room - an administrative complex of files and cabinets. It was hidden behind a vaulted door in the rear of the administrative complex, covered by the giant seal of the TWPCG. What probably could have taken hours to crack was a mere three seconds to the robot. Seeing the task was done, Simeone cracked the cabinets, patching a new code authorizing a search sequence for every instance of DVQ. At this point, Simeone was amazed at the speed at which he could survey the entire building and check for Varsolan service agents to report. From the entails of this elevator store room, he had complete access to an army that the Varsolans built to guard themselves - instead now it was an enemy. Of course, the Varsolans seemed very well prepared to retake their prized corporate HQ, seeing as they managed to destroy a good number of droids before entering the building from the entrance. They immediately shot to the elevators - and Simeone replied in kind, ordering a group of droids to block all elevator paths. If the agents tried to enter via the shaft manually, he would send a patrol to swat them out, but at this point, it seemed that the Varsolans were prepared for this kind of an incident, so time was also working against him.

And there is came on the corner blimp of his screen - DVQ.

He quickly surveyed the photos, and not quite reading the scripts of the time, downloaded them onto his personal computer unit. The Varsolans were steadily climbing the cables up to the shaft room, where he was making his case, and likely there would be news about the freak show of robot sentries stirring up trouble in one of the world's largest carriers of petrols and chemicals in the world, coupled with a severe depletion in the investment shares of its company's value. Whatever happened, it would end with a bang.

Simeone had already managed to vacate by the fire escape - conveniently placed for a quick get-away, which was probably the true intention when an intrusion was not the scenario. But given enough time, a loud explosion ran through the area, as Simeone now began scale the 43-story building. He had made progress down to the 36th floor when he saw the first Varsolan troops set up above him. They began to scale down the wall, and Simeone pulled out his pistol. The first shots went easily into the Varsolans, who were caught completely by surprise - as if his existence threw back every single exercise that they had ever attempted in their experiences. They tried to retaliate, but Simeone was moving too quickly down the ladder to be stopped. He was much better with his weapon than they were with their rifles, and it proved to be a battle of convenience - they couldn't fire back without being in his position in the first place. He was making swift progress while the Varsolans slowed their approach to keep a steady advance. Simeone had already picked off three soldiers when he was on the 23rd floor; and his first real crisis since the elevator incident was unfolding. The same squad of Varsolans was still scaling down the wall; at the same time, a new squad was climbing up. Suddenly, Simeone was squeezed between two rocks, and it wouldn't end very nicely. But of course, he still had some time, and started to use it precisely. He quickly knocked out one of the ascending soldiers and re-entered the building at the 23rd floor. Greeting him was a droid that was unfunctioning. It was active, but apparently blowing up the entire maintenance panel erased its programming. Taking the limited liberty, Simeone programmed it to "greet" his following company, and proceeded to the hall. There, the Varsolans were in full force. They were trained soldiers, but Simeone was an assassin, and as such, he favored a non-confrontation approach - to isolate them and kill them piecemeal. Indeed, the Varsolan troops were not prepared to face him, and they were sorrowfully regretting their negligence.

The sum of a story can be best told in the words of the reporter ten hours later:

"After scaling the building at the 23rd floor, the assailant recovered to the inside where he or she set up another trap for Varsolan troops. By this time, our forces had no indication to his whereabouts and at about 6 hours into the operation, the Command ordered a ceasefire to allow investigators a first glimpse into the atrocities in the TWPCG Building. On examination, it was determined that a Sergeant Kylan Miguel was killed by the assailant, stripped of his armor and left to die in the stairwell janitor's closet of the 22nd floor. It is all very likely that the assailant assumed the man's rank and escaped into the city. All authorities are being put on high alert to ascertain the whereabouts of the TWPCG attacker."

Layarteb

11-11-2006, 06:44

OOC: Yes the timetable is "ass" hard to follow but please, keep in mind that SL and I are running 2 different storylines here.

July 30, 2006 - 08:00 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Sir." The Emperor's intercom buzzed loudly in his empty office. He was eating his breakfast and reading the paper. "Sir."

"Yes?"

"Sir. Your press secetary is here to see you sir."

"Now? The Cabinet meeting isn't for another," he looked at his watch. "Two hours."

"Sir he says it is of the utmost importance."

"Fine. Fine. Send him in."[/i] He put down his fork and wiped off his mouth, standing up to greet his press secretary, Adam Bates, as he came into the office. He was sweating and out of breath. "You alright Adam? You don't look so good."

"Sir. We have a big problem." He gasped.

"Sit down before you have a heart attack. What did you run here?"

"Sir. The press got word of the rogue squadron."

"What! How?"

"I don't know sir but they've been calling my office for the past twenty minutes, non-stop."

"You got up here in twenty minutes?"

"I did sir."

"That is why you're out of breath. Please sit down. You want some water?"

"Please sir."

"Here. Here. Alright. We need to think."

"Yes sir. They definitely know about it, there's no sense denying it."

"That bad?"

"Yes sir."

"The truth you think?"

"Sir?" He took a big gulp of water but continued to gasp for air.

"The truth. My aircraft was engaged by twelve rogue pilots, probably under contract from the same individuals who set off the bomb in Saint George's. They were completing part of their 'terrorist mission' and they failed thanks to the grave sacrifices of six loyal pilots, who will all be posthumously awarded our nation's highest honor? And for those pilots who did survive, they too will receive high honors."

"Sir would that not be a bad thing? To admit dissention within the ranks?"

"This was an isolated incident. It will definitely be spun a thousand ways to Sunday, that is for sure. Today is Sunday." He laughed slightly. "What do you suggest?"

"As much as that could have serious rammifications, I can't say it is a bad idea. We will need more time to think."

"I meet with the Cabinet at 10:00 hours. Have me something by 09:50 hours and I'll go on air just before the Cabinet meets. Inform me at 09:45 hours if you do not have a story. I don't want to be up there without any backup. You understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Alert the media that we'll give a short press conference at 09:55 hours and that we will not be taking questions. It will be only a few minutes. Do not allude to the nature of it and should we not have something by 09:45 hours, we'll postpone it until after the meeting. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Now walk back to your office. I don't want you having a heart attack, you understand?"

"I do sir." Adam left the office and the Emperor looked down at his breakfast. He wasn't hungry anymore and he paced around the room, trying to think of what he would say to an audience of almost 1.26 billion people.

Layarteb

12-11-2006, 01:00

July 30, 2006 - 09:55 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Emperor sat comfortably at his conference table, his Cabinet surrounding him, camers and photographers present. They were fully aware that this wouldn't be a question and answer conference, it was going to be a short statement, from the Emperor concerning the events of the previous day and it would be informative, to put the people's mind at ease. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, good morning." He began, the photographers snapping pictures of him as he spoke. "In the past few hours, the media has been speculating a lot about an incident that involved my return flight from the United States of Brink. Let me address this to you now. As you can see, I am fine and unhurt. During our investigation into the Saint George's incident, I flew to meet with our allies in Windhoek about possible evidence that could be revealed concerning this terrorist attack. Our meeting was more than helpful. We have captured two terrorists that we believe were responsible for this act and we killed six others. Nothing is confirmed yet and I was hoping to wait until confirmation but the nature of these terrorists, that we captured, is so great that the people deserve to know that the government is doing everything for them, in this time of fear and need.

"On the return flight, a rogue squadron, apparently on the payroll of these terrorists flew to intercept my aircraft. We were caught by surprise, that is a fact, but my escort pilots were trained by the best. They went into action and defended my aircraft and their own against a foe that knew the protocols and knew the proceedures. They went against equals and prevailed because of their heroism, bravery, skill, and because the moral arguments were in our favor. Still, six brave pilots gave their lives so that I may address you here today. They will be rewarded by being awarded our nations highest medal and honor and their memory shall never die so long as the Layartebian people have breath in their chest. To the other pilots, those who bravely came to my aide, they too will be justly rewarded. Heroism is an act that is 'spur of the moment.' No one ever asks to be a hero and it is great men and women who answer that call to be a hero.

"My aircraft sustained no damage and its passengers no injury. We safely landed back at Layarteb City late last night, as you saw. I would like to put the worries and fears of the Layartebian people at ease. There was danger, I will not lie to you but a danger that was quickly vanquished by the superior abilities of our pilots and their commanders. I am eternally thankful for their skill and sacrifice and I wouldn't ask for anyone else except for those who have already answered the call. The 'rogue squadron' was not, much to my pleasure, part of the elite who escort my and other diplomatic aircraft. This elite unit, that is tasked only with protection of myself and the other leaders of our Empire, is loyal and true, as they should be and for that, I have no worries.

"Thank you." He turned back to his Cabinet and the cameras were shut down. The reporters inside took their last pictures and left, to set up their own briefings to their networks outside of the castle, on the grounds. There was a specific press area, designated on the grounds of Governor's Island, where journalists could address their networks and give commentary. That would not be doable inside of the castle, in part because of its secretive nature and because of its acoustical limitations. Echoes within the walls were very prominent and it would cause havoc for open audio systems, in particular, microphones.

Layarteb

12-11-2006, 06:03

July 31, 2006 - 01:00 EST
New Rochelle, New York

It was early Monday morning, real early. A summer storm had rolled into the area that reduced visibility significantly and, in effect, kept most of the populace in doors. It was one in the morning too and most of the populace was sound asleep, readying themselves for the Monday rush to get to work. The flashes of lightning and crackles of thunder awoke few in the quiet but large town, bordering Layarteb City, one of the first towns in Westchester County. Many of its residents either worked in the city or up in White Plains, the administrative center for Westchester County. Therefore, the town of 128,000 was the seventh largest in the state of New York, an impressive feat.

On a quiet and well kept street, Pratt Street, row houses lined one side and beautiful, sixty to one hundred year old, sometimes three floor, houses lined the other side, all with yards, some small, driveways, in some cases, and beautiful exteriors. In one house, a three floor house that had been converted into a three family house, with the owner living on the first floor and renters on the top two floors, slept a twenty-seven year old woman. Her name was Jane Auburn, a stunningly attractive woman with auburn, curly hair, beautifully deep blue eyes, and a smooth face that dropped off into a smile so pure and so innocent looking it could stop wars all by itself. She was a quiet woman and kept mostly to herself. She lived a sort-of hidden life, going out to work everyday at 06:45 in the morning and coming back roughly twelve hours later. She had few friends and spent most nights at home. To her neighbors in the house she was quiet, never a problem, but very reclusive.

From what they knew, and it was true, she worked with a software company in downtown Layarteb City and took the train everyday, forty-five minutes, down to her office only to come back later that night, to fall asleep, and do the same thing the next day. Paid well, she rented the third floor of the house, a spacious one bedroom apartment with a sizeable kitchen, living room, and a small bathroom, the essentials. She paid, each month, §600 in rent, a lot of money when it boiled down but she made more than four times that each month. She was saving up for a house of her own. Single and shy, she had few friends and the few that she had she rarely saw, they all being coworkers. She did have a sort of schoolgirl crush on a man in her office and she had begun seeing him only three weeks prior but they met infrequently and usually after work, her being shy and he being just the same. They worked well together, perhaps too well.

She fell asleep that night with more than a few things on her mind. The house was empty, the owners away on vacation and the second floor renters at a bar a few miles away. They wouldn't be back until four or five in the morning, giving her hours of total peace and quiet to sleep. She found it hard to get to sleep that night, especially after what the doctor told her just twelve hours earlier. She had been complaining of some unusual symptoms that week and finally went to see her doctor that afternoon, only to find out that somehow, though she knew how, she contracted a sexually transmitted disease, one that couldn't be cured either. It wasn't HIV or AIDS or syphilis but it wasn't pretty. She knew how she got it, the only man her being with was the man she was seeing from her office. She dreaded walking in the next day, knowing that he infected her with this. She wanted to know if he knew he had it and if he did why he would do such a thing to her. She had so much to live for and she dreamed of children one day, dreams that were now shattered. It took hours to fall asleep that night and by 01:00, she was finally in a shallow slumber.

She didn't hear the footsteps that crept up the two flights of stairs or the opening of her apartment door either. Somehow she was in a trance and even a phone ringing would have fit into her dream. She did; however, wake up when her bedroom door opened and she was ripped out of bed, barely clothed in only a t-shirt and underwear. She kicked and screamed as she hit the floor in her bedroom, her head thumping hard on the floor. Though it was dark she could see two figures standing over her, both dressed in black uniforms that concealed every bit of their body. She didn't know if they were black, white, Hispanic, or Asian but she did know that they were men and they were there for her, to do what, she didn't know. She screamed and kicked at them as they lifted her into the air and put a white rag to her mouth. She was powerless against their strength and soon she felt herself woozy, dizzy, and light headed. The last thing she remembered was hearing, "We've got her." She passed out seconds later and her limp body hung there. The man that grabbed her put her back on the bed and, using plastic zip-ties, he restrained her feet and her arms. Her beautiful, auburn, curly hair hung like silk over her face as the man lifted her onto his shoulder. Her shirt came off her hips and revealed her light blue underwear but they didn't care, they were on a snatch-and-grab mission. The two men walked out of the bedroom and the house as silently as they had come in, shutting the doors behind them, doors that showed no signs of forced entry. They had picked the locks quickly and now they carried her outside, into the darkness, and dropped her in the back of a black, Chevrolet GMT800 Surburban. One man was already sitting in the driver seat and the other two climbed into the passenger and the rear seats. The man who sat down in the back followed the woman and arranged her so that she could sit upright. "Let's go." The man in the back said and they droved off, quietly and unsuspectingly.

Jane would awake four hours later, in total darkness. The zip-ties removed, she was slumped over on a cot in a place she wasn't familiar with on any level. Groggy and with a splitting headache, she lifted her body and looked around. There was total darkness and she couldn't see more than a few inches in front of her face. The surroundings didn't look anything like her bedroom and she vaguely remembered being assaulted and kidnapped by the two men. The back of her head was still sore and there was a small lump that was tender to the touch that she noticed when she went to put her hand on the pain. She groaned slightly as she touched the bump. She stood up but found her legs were limp and wobbly, a side effect from being knocked out and from the bump on the back of her head. She didn't have a concussion but she did jostle her brain slightly. She stood up again after a minute and walked forward, her right arm out in front of her. She noticed, right away, that the floor was hard and very cold. She only got a few feet before her arm hit the same hard and cold material that the floor was made out of and it felt like concrete. She looked to the right and saw nothing. Then she looked to the left and saw a small window. She walked towards it, the cold, hard floor sending chills up her body. The whole room was cold, she noticed that, and she was barely dressed. She walked only a few feet to the door and stopped abruptly. It was cold and hard as well but not concrete, it was steel, and the window was small, barely a foot high and a foot wide and the glass was definitely a strong material. Where am I? She thought to herself as she took her hand off her head. "Hey!" She yelled as she banged on the door. There was no answer at all but a few moments so she kept banging. "Hey!" She yelled again. She kept banging on the door, now with both hands, and they were beginning to hurt her. "Hey!" She yelled again but was startled when, without warning, a face appeared in the window and stared right back at her. She jumped back, startled from the sudden appearance of a man. He turned his head to the left and yelled something, something that she couldn't hear, the walls being soundproof. Then, there was a buzzing sound followed by the sound of mechanisms moving around, definitely door locks, two of them. She fell back down onto the ground, hitting the wall behind her, and falling softly on her butt, her knees bent.

The door opened and the man appeared, a shadow with dim lighting behind him. "Who are you?" She shly asked, covering her bent legs underneath her shirt, hiding herself. The man didn't answer. "Who are you?" He didn't respond again but this time he reached to his right and flipped a switch. It sent light into the room right away, bright and blinding, she shielded her eyes. "Ouch! Stop that! Turn it off!" She yelled again but soon she adjusted to the bright, flourescent lighting in the room.

"It's okay. There isn't anything to be afraid of." The man said in a calming but stern voice. She didn't feel safe at all and slowly she opened her eyes, moving her hand away from her eyes. She saw that she was in the middle of a concrete cell, barely six feet wide and six feet in depth, a small cot to her left and a toliet bowl to her right, a stainless steel one. The room was, otherwise, barren and bare. The floor was cold and it radiated up, throughout her body. "There, that's better." He entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He had a walkie-talkie on his belt.

"Closing three." The walkie-talkie emanated and the mechanisms relocked the door. He took a seat on the bed and looked down at her. He had on a doctor's coat and was dressed in a sharp suit.

"Who are you?" She trembled, cowering in the corner now, having slid over to the toilet bowl. She was working her way around the other side, to put herself between the toilet and the wall. She glanced up to notice a small camera. Its red light ominously cut through the false lighting.

"My name is Doctor Russell Jacobson. You can just call me Russ. You are Jane?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Lucky guess."

"Where am I?"

"In a medical facility."

"Why am I here?"

"Because you've been diagnosed with something. Something that is very infectious."

"It wasn't my fault."

"No. No. I wouldn't say it was. Come on. Come up here. I won't hurt you."

"Why am I here?"

"I just told you."

"Leave me alone. Let me go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"If I let you go, you risk spreading the disease."

"I won't. I promise. Please let me go." Tears rolled down her face.

"I'm sorry. I can't. You'll only be here for thirty days. Then you'll leave here."

"Why do I have to stay here? You kidnapped me. Wait. What are you going to do to me? Are you going to rape me or kill me?"

"No we aren't. You're safe. We won't do any harm to you at all."

"Then why are you holding me here?"

"You have to be. You cannot be admitted back to society just yet."

"People will come looking for me."

"Ah, they may. They won't be able to find you though. You're in a special place here. Please. Sit down. The floor is cold and you'll get sick."

"Let me go. Please." Her tears turned to full fledged crying and she looked up at him, her beautiful blue eyes tainted with a fear that no one could know except her. "Please," she begged. "Please let me go."

"I'm sorry. I can't. Come here. Sit down please. We'll go away now. You'll need your rest." He stood up and picked up his walkie-talkie. "Open three. Clear safe."

"Roger that." The mechanisms echoed into the silent corridor and as the door opened, her crying was the only audible sound. He stepped out and shut the door behind him. The locks engaged and he shut the light off, casting her back into darkness. She crawled up into a small ball, in the corner, crying to herself as she trembled and shivered, the floor being very cold. She was too scared to move and somehow she found some safety in the corner there. It was good that she was there, in only ten minutes she had worked herself up so much that she began to throw up. The toilet bowl, with its pristine, stainless steel shine was now tainted, just like her own heart.

Layarteb

13-11-2006, 07:01

July 31, 2006 - 16:00 EST
Unknown Prison Facility

Jane never moved from the corner of the room and sat there, in total darkness, until 08:00 hours, when the lights were flicked on in all of the rooms. Then she sat there another eight hours, trembling, curled up into a ball, holding her knees tight to her chest, her shirt covering them. Her face was pair, her lips having lost all of their color, her eyes underlined with deep, black rings. She spent most of the night crying so much that she made herself sick and vomited into the stainless steel toilet at least a dozen times by 08:00 hours. She continued crying for the next eight hours, throwing up multiple times. The toilet was no longer as clean as it was before and though she flushed it every time, it still stunk a little bit like vomit. It only made her sicker but she was too petrified to move. The wall was her protection and by now she had become numb to the cold floor and wall, she had become numb right down to her heart. She jumped when the door locks began to open and the same doctor as earlier stood at the doorway. He entered and shut the door, the locks engaging but this time he had a bag with him, a small duffel bag.

"Come up here. Please. I won't hurt you, I promise. I only ask that you come here. Please. Come on the floor is cold. You're going to get really sick sitting down there."

"Go away." She said in a hushed tone. "Leave me alone."

"Fine. Fine. But you're going to get hungry eventually. You haven't touched either meal we've put out for you. It isn't bad food, I eat it all the time. Listen, I'm looking out for your best interest?"

"Then let me go home."

"I can't do that."

"Then how can you say you're trying to help me. Please. Let me go. I haven't done anything. I won't tell anyone. Please."

"No. You cannot. Listen. Eat. You'll feel better. Inside this bag are clothes and a small little book and a pencil. That's all we can give you for now."

"Let me go." The crying didn't stop and she spoke through her deep sobs. It was amazing she had any tears left in her.

"I cannot. Please. Get off the floor." He stood up and exited the small cell, the door shutting and locking behind him. She closed her eyes and continued to cry. She cried and cried and cried, for hours upon hours more. Her dinner tray was pushed into her cell at 18:00 hours but she didn't touch it and it sat there and got cold with the other two trays. There were no rats or flies in the room so nothing could collect around the food but it would rot and it would get moldy and it would smell. Each tray was pushed in the door at a small panel on the floor and they all had protective covers around them to keep them from spilling but the aluminum covers didn't do much to keep them warm after a half hour or more. The lights went out again at 23:00 hours but Jane didn't move, she didn't budge, she didn't feel anything. She cried to herself for a few more hours before her own body won out and she drifted asleep, exhausted, hungry, worn out, cold, and in pain.

She barely dreamed those few hours and when the lights went back on at 08:00 hours, she jumped from her corner. The sleep lasted five minutes in her world, six hours in reality. She stood up, her body weak from the exhaustion of crying, not sleeping, and not eating. Her stomach ached and she needed food, she couldn't hold out anymore and she walked over to the door, almost collapsing after a few steps. She sat down, collapsing down so that her legs were to her right, the left underneath the right, using her left hand for support. Then, she reached down and lifted the aluminum cover on the fourth tray. It was a warm meal, pancakes, with a cup of syrup and a cup of butter. Pancakes were one of her favorite foods, next to cookies, and she dove into it, the plastic knife and fork almost getting worn out in the process. She finished the pancakes in a short time and then picked up the small juice pack and drank it down, it was orange juice. She opened up the covers on the other trays to find that dinner was a hamburger with mashed potatoes, cold but she ate it anyway. Lunch was a ham, cheese, and turkey sandwick, also cold and she would save it for later. The previous morning's breakfast was cereal but the milk was warm and smelled a little. She dumped it into the toilet and stood up. She opened the trap door and found that it was small, too small to really do anything other than stick her hand out, probably a bad idea, it being so close to the floor. She pushed the two empty trays and the breakfast tray out. She kept the other with her, with the ham sandwich.

Then, she returned to the cot and sat down on it. She opened the duffle bag and saw that it had clothes inside of it, a blue jumpsuit, stocks, underwear, a bra, and a pair of sneakers. She changed quickly and in the corner of the room, so that she couldn't be seen. Her old clothes were dirty and she put them back in the duffle bag. She wasn't adjusting to anything, she was just trying to make herself a little more comfortable. She sat the notebook and pencil on her bed too and began banging away at the door. "Hey!" She banged for about tne minutes before someone answered, the same man as before. "You." She said when he opened the door.

"You called?"

"Where am I?"

"A safe place. I'm glad to see you've eaten and changed. Good. Good."

"Why is that good?"

"Because. We can move you now."

"Where?"

"To your temporary home."

"What is this?"

"A holding cell."

"Where are you moving me?"

"Just to a different block. Do you want to take anything with you?"

"Just the notebook."

"Fine. Get it." She picked it up and walked out of the cell, into a corridor. "Now. Just to set your mind at ease. You are in a facility with armed guards. You will not be shot. They have non-lethal weapons. It will be painful though."

"I understand."

"Good. Then I do not have to restrain you?"

"No." She hung her head in shame. She followed him, through the quiet corridor and up a small flight of stairs. There was a buzzing and the iron bars of the gate slid over and she walked through them with Doctor Russell. She followed him through a few corridors until she came to a common room area, with couches, an area rug, lamps, and a television. He showed her to a door that was open and above it a painted number, "5."

"Okay. This is how it works. You'll be here for only thirty days. You can keep track on that calendar on the wall there." The calender was by her cell door. "You are a prison, in some ways. You will be confined to this area here. There are twelve cells, as you can see, with twelve people inside of them, well only nine right now, you will make the tenth. Now. This is how it works. Inside you will see you have a cot as a bed, a sink, a toilet, a stall shower, a pair of baskets, a desk, a chair, and a mirror. Now. Let's go over the basic rules. The shower works once a day, for thirty minutes only. The temperature is controlled so you don't have to worry about anything except turning it on and showering. You can pick up a fresh and clean towel once a day just before you are entered back into your cell at night. You can drop off the dirty one as you pick up a new one. You will have two sets of clothes to wear. You have one set on right now. The other set is in the basket. You can pick up a fresh set once a day as well and you can always have a fresh pair of clothes on hand. The toilet and sink work throughout the day, there is no limit upon them. This desk and chair are at your disposal. The mirror is plastic and is unbreakable so don't try anything, you'll waste your time. Now, schedules.

"At 07:30 hours you will be awoke. The lights are controlled from outside so you will not have control over them. You will have one half hour to get up. At 08:00 hours the shower will turn on for half an hour. At 09:00 hours, breakfast is served through the door. I believe you are familiar with that. At 10:00 hours, breakfast trays are collected. At 13:00 hours, lunch is served. You can only receive lunch if your tray is outside. We do not waste food over here as we did in the previous area. At 14:00 hours, the trays are collected and the doors are opened until 18:00 hours. At 18:00 hours you will return to your cell for dinner. At 19:00 hours, the trays are collected and doors reopened. You are to return to your cell at 22:00 hours. Lights out is at 23:00 hours. You will have the same routine day in and day out.

"Now. Toothbrush, soap. All of that is provided for you. You will receive fresh supplies with your meals, if necessary. Soap, shampoo, deodorant, a brush, toothpaste, and a toothbrush, as you can see, are all provided for you. You should only need to receive a new bottle of shampoo, a stick of deodorant, and a bar of soap in fifteen days. It should be able to last you until then. Are there any other questions?"

"What about a razor?" She was trying to be sarcastic but it wasn't working. Her voice had nothing left in it.

"A safety razor is prepared over there by the shower with some shaving cream. Hygiene is important in this facility and we do expect that you adhere to the same rules of hygiene in here that you did on the outside. You will meet your fellow neighbors here in a few hours. Please. Feel free to interact with them. They will be your friends for the next month."

"Gee thanks."

"I will be in to talk with you in a few hours. I have other individuals to attend to for now." He held out his hand and she stepped into the cell, willingly. The door shut behind her and she walked over to her cot. This cell was considerably larger than the other one. It was eleven feet wide and eighteen feet long, a decent size. The door was dead center, providing little place to hide. To the right was the shower, the toilet, and the sink. To the left was the cot, big enough for a six and a half foot tall person. Next to it, to the right, was the desk and chair and next to those were the laundry baskets, the fresh pair of clothes neatly folded up for her. That was it. The floor was concrete, cold and hard, just like the rest. A camera hung in one corner, providing a full view of the whole room, to which there was no privacy. She walked over and sat down on the bed. It was past the shower time and all she wanted was a shower, badly but she would have to wait, until at least tomorrow. She reserved herself to that and sat down on the bed when, all of a sudden, the shower head turned on and warm water came out of it. She rushed to get undressed and get into the shower, if to just bathe for a little bit. She was uncomfortable with the camera, very uncomfortable but she wanted a shower more than anything and just made sure to never actually turn around and face the camera. She wanted her privacy. It turned off a half hour later and she was relieved to at least have a fresh set of clothes on and to be clean. She laid down on the bed, with the notebook in her hand, and began writing.

Today is the wierdest day of my life. I don't know where I am or what happened to me but I'm held prisoner in some facility, some prison or something. She thought to herself as she wrote.

Saint Lazare

14-11-2006, 04:52

2006 August 01 - 0110
India

Simeone had finished reading the details of the report and nearly shuttered to imagine how close he was to DVQ. The report - as he received it:

COMM: RE: MARIA GIOIOSI

Retrieved package from Gioiosi, origin of source - Teh ninjas

DVQ recovered from Teh ninjas stores, using African conscripts in Antananarivo - witnesses were promptly executed to prevent dissemination of knowledge of DVQ progress. Project submitted at request of Gioiosi to route DVQ to Colombo in Cymrean territory; HQ gave go-ahead and operation was completed. In store, DVQ was deactivated, with final destination in Layarteb territory. Target cause would be nuclear explosion of a major city or port. Route end in Mombasa, in USB territory, where DVQ was lost but recovered by Gioiosi. Operation Pendragon proceeded as called by Gioiosi - DVQ device transferred in Caracas, detonated in St. Georges. Pending request for review to determine success of nuclear explosion in Layarteb territory.

==END COMM==

* Last transaction dated 26JULY2006...

So it seemed that the case was completely closed now. Simeone already knew the jist of the plan and was shocked to have learned of this at such a late stage in the whole plan - and to think he imagined some horrible drug precursor, instead he found a monstrous beast, whose recurring face now filled his mind. It was no longer the voice of cool reason that fill him but now passionate desire to eliminate this problem of Maria and those who allowed such a weapon to be used. But then, his question echoed from the day witnessed the bomb blow - Where is the rest of it? There was more waiting for the prime opportunity, and that meant more lives were at stake. But to find the rest of DVQ, he would need help - because the bomb was likely inactive and not spewing any significant radiation trails. He needed help from Layarteb - but he already knew that there were factions working against him. The cue was then to find the right people and get them to solve the problem.

As the sun rose over Delhi, he passed the post office in Varsola and dropped off a package, labeled sensitive. The postmark - Layarteb City, Layarteb; morer specifically, the Imperial Residence. Even if the package didn't reach the Emperor, someone loyal would find it and then the hunt for the rest of DVQ could begin. In the meantime, Simeone had trails to resolve. Sparetti was busy hunting Maria in Buenos Aires, so that was re-assuring to know he was already hot on her trail. But what would he tell him of DVQ?

"The answer lies in Layarteb - I need to return."

"You just came from there not too long ago. Are you sure that it's safe?"

"I have a good feeling that time may be working against us. Millions of lives are at stake."

Sparetti paused; Simeone looked to make certain his package was ignored by the Post Office staff, which it did in the mixed deluge of numerous packages. He awaited Sparetti's response: "Don Maggiano wants this done quickly. I'm hoping that DVQ will lead you to Luigi because it's pretty much a dead-end - literally - for me."

"I don't think that I will find Luigi easily in Layarteb, but that's where the trail leads now. I have papers from a Varsolan office in Delhi that suggests the trail is near an end here."

"Bene... I hope that you know what you are doing. Your international proliferation is starting to cost a lot of money."

"Money is not worth what lives could be saved if go," Simeone insisted.

Sparetti seemingly nodded through the phone line. "Well, I think that you know with what you are dealing, so I will leave it to you to finish. I've got a flight booked from Delhi to Saint Lazare, a transfer which will then take you to Washington City. I think that this is the best that I can do to avoid the excessive security clearances in Layarteb. You are likely to be a wanted man after all of the mess you left in Cuba."

"After I'm done, they'll think of me as a hero."

Both of them chuckled. "Well, for your sake, let's hope they like you enough now. And may it be that your enemies are already dead anyway. Your name Gioacchino Morelli."

Simeone nodded with the thought. He then asked, "You miss her?"

"Let's not speak of that."

Layarteb

18-11-2006, 04:14

August 1, 2006 - 13:00 EST
Unknown Prison Facility

Jane laid on her cot and looked up at the concrete ceiling. She had written a full page in her new "diary" and resolved herself to full and complete denial. She didn't know where she was, why she was there, or what was happened but she did know that she would only be there for thirty days, whatever that meant. Maybe they're going to cure me? Why would they keep me locked up like a prisoner? What do they have to gain from this? And what happens after the thirty days?" She had written into her diary. She looked around at the cell just as the lunch trays were pushed through the door. She got up and walked over to the tray, hungry and curious. "What do we have here?" She said to herself as she picked up the tray and brought it over to the desk. It was a grilled cheese sandwich. Jane wasn't particularly fond of them but she ate it anyway, deciding that it was better to eat something she didn't like then to starve for a few more hours. An hour later, just as she was lying back on her cot, bored with herself when a loud buzzing sound starteled her right out of bed. "What the..." She jumped out of bed and ran for the corner, only to find that the door was opening. She looked around, "Must be two o'clock." He heart was pounding in her chest and her breathes were heavy, deep, and rapid. Almost in a full state of panic, she stood up and walked to the door, very cautiously and carefully.

Approaching it from the hinge side, she crouched down and pushed it open, slightly. It was a heavy door that she couldn't move much. Cowered behind the protection of it and the wall she pushed it most of the way open, until a face appeared, startling her so much that it threw her back, on the cold, concrete, hard floor. "Hello." A sweet, female voice said. Jane looked up, at an equally attractive blond woman, who didn't seem to be phased at all that she was in the middle of a prison. "I'm Lindsay. Who are you?" She put her hand out, with a beautiful smile, and help her off the ground.

"Jane. Who are you?"

"I'm just another resident here. Like you."

"Resident?"

"Yes. They told you thirty days right?"

"Yes." Skeptically, Jane answered.

"I'm on one hundred and sixty-seven."

"So. Wait. No."

"Yes. Thirty is a lie. They keep adding thirty. One guy. Steve. He's been here over four hundred."

"No. No." Jane felt a tear swell up. She suddenly began to realize that she was trapped here, possibly forever. "But. I can't leave?"

"Well no. Some people have left and not come back."

"Where do they go?"

"Don't know. Away."

"I don't feel so well." She turned pale and almost collapsed, Lindsay holding her up. She hit the concrete only seconds later and then everything went black.

Layarteb

19-11-2006, 08:24

August 1, 2006 - 16:00 EST
Unknown Prison Facility

Jane opened her eyes and looked up at the cold, concrete, bright ceiling. "Where am I?" She groaned as she lifted herself up, her hand going right to the back of her head. "What happened?" She was still inside of her cell and she was lying on her cot, looking up at the ceiling. By her bedside was Dr. Russell and he looked at her as she lifted her head from the cot. "What happened?" She asked again.

"You fainted." He stood up. "You hit your head on the way down but you'll be fine."

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That I'm here forever?" She began to cry. "Is it true! Did you lie to me!"

"You found out much sooner than I had hoped for. You are correct. The truth is I cannot tell you for how long you will be here. I would like to but I cannot. Yes you are held here. Against your will. I'm sorry but it is out of my hands."

"Where am I?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Why? What good is it if I can't escape?"

"You cannot. But that is information I cannot let you have."

"I want to know. Who can I tell? Where can I go?"

"There will come a time when you will leave these walls."

"To go where?"

"Far away. I'm sorry. That is all I can tell you. Please. Rest now or socialize. It is up to you. You should make the best of it. You'll be a lonely person if you do not." He turned and left here crying, huddled into a small ball, on the edge of her cot. She died, deep down inside, knowing that the indefinite was her only answer to anything anymore. She would confide in her diary for the time being but until such a time as she was moved away, she had nothing else. Quiet and reclusive, she spent her time in her cell, rarely venturing out, writing in her diary, day-in and day-out. When she needed more space she would use the diaries of others, the diaries that they wouldn't use themselves. Her own little collection, as it would be, carried her thoughts, her fears, her wants, and he unknowns.

Layarteb

19-11-2006, 21:40

August 9, 2006 - 08:00 EST
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Emperor's briefing with his Cabinet began at 08:00 hours, two weeks after the nuclear blast in Saint George's. The dust had barely settled. Life was returning to the Cottish island of the Barbados and the curfew on Grenada had been lifted. The island was broken down into eighteen sectors, all classified according to their level of radioactivity, proximity to the blast, and casualties already suffered. Eight of those eighteen were pemitted to be reopened and slowly, people were moving back to the island. Its population of over 100,000 would dwindle to a mere 30,000 by the time things were fully settled. Four of the eighteen sectors wouldn't be able to support life for hundreds of years and two of those would never support life again. The economy of the island was devastated. The capital of the Province of Raef was permanently moved to Havana and the military presence on the island would, in some areas, exceed the civilian presence. The Emperor opened the meeting, "Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin with the pleasantries, what is the status update from Grenada?"

"Well sir." The Minister of the Interior began. "We have a final body count for the disaster."

"Please do."

"At the time of the blast there were 27,852 civilians and 8,120 military personnel in the city along with 6,029 Marines and 8 SOF soldiers. At the time of the blast we reported 115 Marine casualties. Now. With that said, the initial blast killed 15,288 civilians, 5,299 military personnel, 3,883 Marines, 2 SOF soldiers, and 400 unidentified people. Radiation has since killed 8,906 civilians, 1,856 military personnel, and 1,587 Marines. We do not expect any more casualties except those who will die for increased risks of cancer. That brings the casualties, in total, thus far, to 37,221 for us and an additional 400 Cottish individuals on the Barbados. This is, sir, the worst terrorist attack our country has ever suffered, regardless of the government." Everyone at the table took in a deep breath. The numbers were astounding.

"That's a lot of people."

"Yes sir it is. It is estimated to cost us at least §300 billion. It is the costliest disaster in history sir. Hurricanes have not even come nearly as close to the level of destruction that we face in Saint George's. The war preceeding the blast certainly doesn't help either sir. Although the capture of the two men responsible for the blast has yielded much reward for us we are still trying to crack them."

"What does the Ministry of Intelligence feel about them?"

"Well sir. The 2nd BOG are doing a fantastic job with them but we have a long way to go still. We will not release information about them for some time. It is just more beneficial that way."

"Understood. Very well. Now. Onto the business of the Empire..." The briefing continued another hour and a half, which gave them Emperor a few hours before his speech at 12:00 hours. When the time came for that he sat comfortably at his desk, his suit and tie meticulously positioned. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. Good afternoon." He began. "Today, two weeks after the terrorist attack on Saint George's, we are able to provide to you the full scope and breath of this disaster. We mourn the loss of loved ones and we feel anger towards the cowards who perpetrated this crime. They will be caught. Those who funded them will be caught. Those who supplied them will be caught. Make no mistake. The guilty parties will be made to suffer. It is with difficulty that I tell you these figures. The terrorist attack killed 37,221 people, most of them civilians hiding from the rebellious government. An additional 400 Cottish citizens died from radiation poisoning on the island of Barbados, as prevailing winds swept the radioactive particles their way. Though it will cost over §300 billion the true amount of money can never be fathomed.

"We go forward today, two weeks later with the resolve to locate, apprehend, and punish the vile creatures that did this horrific catastrophe to the people of Grenada and the Empire as a whole. Life can never return there to the way it was and that is something that is immeasurable. Thank you. Good bye." The cameras clicked off and the Emperor returned to his daily work.

Saint Lazare

20-11-2006, 16:22

2006 August 09 - 1213
Layarteb City

Here, in the grand capital of the Empire passed the man who had nearly razed Caracas with his murders, his fiery weapons, and he stealth. He left Cuba in some perilous chase for a weapon he now knew to be so volatile that its very existence threatened the security of the world, and of his family - most importantly was his family.

Simeone managed the flight to Layarteb very easily. His pistol was safe in a lock-box in Delhi, ready for his return sometime later. In the meantime, he would forge a "new" lifestyle in Layarteb, in order to avoid rousing suspicions from the wrong people. And he certainly hoped that elements of his past wuldn't come hunting him while he waited. When he arrived in Layarteb, he made certain to check out only the more shady places, where the police were less likely to make their passes. It was a strict environment for a criminal, but not as punishing as other states. Of course, the hardest part was getting caught, because then the system worked completely against him. But until he was proven guilty, he had no fears of the Layartebians - except the same government folk whom he knew to working for DVQ's purposes. Who were these people and what exactly did they gain by nuking a city of the Empire? He had told Sparetti that he knew where to go, but having arrived in Layarteb, he now clue where the remnants of the DVQ bomb were. If the Layartebian officials - those who were the righteous folk - knew of this bomb and its existence, perhaps they could lead him to the people at the root of this problem.

But alas, it would be a while before he could resurface with his intention to kill. In the meantime, he would find a lifestyle worth the living in Layarteb. When the time was ripe for action, he make due on his promises.

[ooc: sorry to ask, but if and when you have the time, could you give me a rundown on the societal characteristics for the common citizen in a low-middle class environment?]

Layarteb

21-11-2006, 01:10

Layarteb

23-11-2006, 04:22

Chapter XVI: Sehnsucht

November was an usually warm month, at first. Then, it turned bitterly cold. A cold front swept in with a huge line of storms, moving from the south and it rained for two days straight, the wind making driving conditions almost unbearable. Planes were grounded because of the fierce storm that moved all the way from the Gulf region up the eastern coast and began heading out to sea once it reached New Jersey. The storms ravaged all in their path and the worst part headed out to sea before it could hit Layarteb City, which promised to bring far worse than they had already received. The winter was coming and though it had a late start, it was more than making up for it. November 16 marked the fourth month anniversary of the Saint George's blast. Most of the bodies had been recovered and buried. Many of them were unidentifiable and many simply ceased to be, vaporized into thin air. Rebuilding was no where near underway, the clean up was going to take many, many, many more months.

The two Illuminati Ghost Warriors captured had finally cracked. They held on for a long, long, long time, longer than any other subjects Force Thunder faced. It was a victory to them that they succeeded and defeated their stone walls of silence. Most of their interrogation methods failed and torture wouldn't work at all, that much they knew. These were highly trained and capable and they were definitely not weak. When they cracked it was only a little bit at first and then more and more and more. The physical and mental suffering that they were put through during the initial trials served to help them slightly, if only to show them that there was no measure that their interrogators would skip.

They yielded initial results although they weren't very good. At first they yielded that they were working for the cartel, the Esmeralda Cartel, a cartel that had since been annihilated through the War on Drugs. The Esmeralda Cartel was powerful and the oldest of the three remaining cartels. It fell hard and bloody and quickly as well. When the Andaman and Nicobar Islands were taken by the Marines, all the heroin shipments to the Esmeralda Cartel were cut off and they slowly began to lose money. Within weeks, recovered documents and intelligence as well as the secretive nature of the new Black Operations unit fighting them led to major arrests and killings. By the first weeks of October, the fighting was so brutal that the cartel was reaching out to its enemies for assistance. They fell quickly thereafter and by the time November 1 rolled in, they had absolutely nothing left, their kingpins either dead or in jail, their assets seized, their fields and factories burned to the ground, and their homes destroyed. Their families were wiped out as well, to ensure that they would have nothing left, though it empowered them with resolve far beyond that of any normal man or woman, it served to meet their end.

The War on Drugs had been revitalized and there was support back home. The only problem was that now a large amount of turf was up for grabs and both the Florida and Meta cartels were fighting over it, in a bloody gang war that was leaving scores and scores and scores dead. In only 14 days since the fall of the Esmeralda Cartel, 180 people had been killed, 92 of them innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. The bodies were piling up and law enforcement was having an even more difficult time attacking the cartels. Both cartels had their own hideouts and their own secretive methods. When the flaws of the Esmeralda Cartel came to focus, they adapted and fixed their own mistakes. They wouldn't go down easy, that was for sure.

Layartebian policy didn't just revolve around the War on Drugs either. When the Squornshelan Imperium fell, the Empire seized up the opportunity. The Canadian Arctic Archipelago, a 36,563 island group north of the mainland of North America was a bastion of opportunity. Marines landed on Banks Island on November 10 and had, in just six days, seized up a large portion of the archipelago. They were working to an end, total control over them for their induction into the Province of Dnalkrad. The islands were largely uninhabited, which meant that the Empire would use them for secret military means, political means, and scientific means. The hazardous and deadly environment that the archipelago presented was the perfect hide out for secretive, maximum security prisons, biological laboratories, and a host of other things that the public couldn't and wouldn't know about, not now or ever.

With all of that and what was learned from the interrogations, Force Thunder was able to convey a significant amount of intelligence throughout the circuits. The Illuminati were forced to go even more underground, hampering their efforts and severely limiting the capabilities of Majestic, who were distraught with anger and uncertainty. They didn't bet on the Ghost Warriors being captured, they were elite, and it was sheer dumb luck that they were caught. None of the twelve members could do anything to stop it without compromising themselves, which would only serve to end Majestic and plans that had been laid so carefully that it would be far more than a fool's errand to erupt them at any time. The Illuminati were forced to cease all plans for new terrorist attacks, attacks that would not be claimed by them or any other group. These were attacks that would shake the foundations of the very society of the Empire, attacks that were planned, attacks that would have no name to them, only body counts. This was their goal and they were more than happy to take some extra time out, just to make sure that they would be carried out, eventually. They were about to usher a whole new age into the Empire, an age so riddled with fear and insecurity that nothing, not even the power of the Emperor himself could stop them. They were going to bring down the Empire and with them, Majestic was going to see to it that everything went according to plan.

Layarteb

23-11-2006, 18:52

November 18, 2006 - 22:47 [EST]
Isla de la Juventud, Cuba

The cool sea air blew over Isla de la Juventud, to the south of the western end of Cuba. The air temperature was 76°F and the breeze made sure that it was cool out. The night was peaceful, that was for sure. On the beaches, the sound of waves crashing on the shore put many to sleep. It was perhaps one of the most peaceful places in the Caribbean Sea, surrounded by water, south of Cuba, and untouched by the massive industrial and commercial might of the Empire. It remained a strong tourist attraction but only two resorts sat on the island. Fishing was big off it and helicopter rides over the island were constant during the daytime. However, the island had two secrets to itself. The first was the military presence on the island. It was a fortress and contained a small naval port and an airport, aside from the civilian airport to the northeastern part of the island. SAM sites on the island were well hidden and it was easily defended. The second secret was a military bunker, located a few miles outside of Nueva Gerona, the largest city on the island.

The bunker had since been abandoned and throughout the course of the evening, the twelve men of Majestic landed on the island and made their way to the bunker. They used their access cards to make their way down through the corridors of the bunker to the main briefing room. Thick layers of dust coated everything and the power barely came on but it still worked good enough for them. Seated around a large conference table, they began their meeting. "We are at a crossroads here." BG. Delaney began. "The secondary has been recovered, the Illuminati have been forced to keep low and postpone their plans, two of their Ghost Warriors have been captured and they have cracked, and finally, the War on Drugs is once again looked upon favorably."

"What we need is a way to get our plans back into focus."

"You are correct. We do need such a thing but where do we find it?"

"What about the CBR rockets?"

"No. No. It isn't the time to use those yet."

"We do have twelve of them."

"It is too soon after Grenada."

"But is it?"

"I think it is."

"Let's put it to a vote." The men looked around the table and it was clear that the opinion was mixed, even when the vote came back with a tie. They would, for now, hold off on the plan. Any tie on a vote meant the status quo would be retained but that another vote could be called, in the future. If the motion lost it was completely struck down, for good. If it won, it was carried out. "A tie. Alright we'll stave off the motion for now. Let's get back to important matters." Majestic went on to discuss the increased activity in the Pacific Ocean, the upcoming summit with the United Eastasian Republic, the Cottish takeover of the Kangaroo Islands and possible ramifications, especially from certain hostile elements in the Pacific Ocean, and lastly of the Wake Island campaign being conducted by the Eastasians.

Saint Lazare

23-11-2006, 23:10

2006 November 23 - 0815
Outskirts of Layarteb City

Simeone woke up to a conventional alarm clock. It had been several months since his arrival in the country, and he found it utterly boring at times. Of course, it wasn't country - it was his routine. He woke at the same time, ate the same oatmeal breakfast, drove to the pizzeria at the same time, made the same antipasti dishes in the same manner, drove back home at the same time, and ate the same leftovers. It was a boring lifestyle - something that he hoped to change very soon.

Of course, boring did not always translate into unhappy. He found a vibrant Italian community in Layarteb, albeit underscored by a great number. They were several generations removed from their native home, but it seemed comforting to be around the people who could relate to those same stories from Emilia and Romagna. And in addition to the community he found, the place was extremely safe. He didn't need to worry about people stalking him - although he still did worry. He wondered much about the way that the world was working, and it didn't seem much the same familiar world that it was once. The memory of Cuba and ultimately of India left an indelible scar that would decide his thoughts for the rest of his life, and at this moment, Simeone could hope to say that it was the right thought and the right moment. Still, he waited for the moment before he would resurrect the old self to finish his old promises.

Layarteb

24-11-2006, 07:52

November 23, 2006 - 19:30 [EST]
Layarteb City International Airport

Layarteb City IAP was a busy airport that handled thousands of flights a day, making it the world's busiest airport. It handled both domestic and international flights and it definitely was the most secure airport. It was because of this security that the Illuminati had to postpone certain plans. In the wake of Saint George's the Empire had really gone ahead with extreme security measures. Airline flights were strictly watched and air marshalls on flights were almost doubled in some cases. Reports and studies throughout the Ministry of Intelligence suggested that airline terrorism had the largest impact on the population. A nuclear bomb certainly had its effects but airline terrorism was easy and efficient. They could kill hundreds at a time and without much effort either. A simple bomb onboard could take down the whole airliner and the threat of surface-to-air missiles was always a major threat, such a threat that when the Esmeralda Cartel was caught buying them, it scared even the Minister of Intelligence. They may have had the culprits of the Saint George's bombing in custody and they had a lot of links but still they had no clue who they worked for other than they were in bed with the Esmeralda Cartel. Since its dissolution, the evidence trails had come up short. That left a lot of doubt, doubt that the Emperor didn't want to see turn into another massive terrorist attack. The two captured Illuminati soldiers were beginning to outlive their usefulness and soon they would be executed but there was still more that could be had from them.

Unfortunately, they knew not of future plans. The Ghost Warriors operated in teams of eight and there were twenty of them. Rarely did their paths crossed and when they did, each team only knew their part, not the part of the other team(s). This team, that had, by now, been replaced, knew only that they were supposed to take delivery of the bomb, remove the fusion secondary, plant it, and get out of dodge with the fusion secondary, only to drop it off at a secret location in West Virginia, a location that turned out not to exist. Now that they had been replaced, they served no use even to the Illuminati and assassination plans had been formulated but they are all just too risky. They were passed up and Majestic worked to coordinate the attack plan. Majestic was behind everything. They were behind the Illuminati, who were behind the Republican Liberation Army. Everything was arranged specifically. Illuminati warriors had been the ones to stop the van that killed the Minister of Intelligence. Illuminati warriors had been there when the missile base was seized. They had been there in Quebec. They had been there when the chemical rockets were stolen. They had planted the bomb. They were present at the Battle of Clinton. The Illuminati were the most secretive organization in the whole of the Empire, aside from Majestic. They were shadowy, very highly trained, and very capable. They weren't as capable or well funded or as highly trained as the Black Operations Forces within the Imperial Layartebian Military but they were the civilian equivalent of them. They exceeded the capabilities of Layartebian Special Forces and they were far more secretive. They held normal jobs, led normal lives, had families, went to PTA meetings. They walked amongst the 1,260,000,000 Layartebian citizens everyday and nobody could point them out, period. They were that good and it stemmed from their training, ideology, and resolve.

All of them were Freemasons, bound to the fraternity under ancient penalties and obligations. Within the Freemason fraternity, they were elusive. They blended in quite well and they were good Freemasons. The Freemasons had no ill-will towards the Empire and they were a good organization, right down to their core. However, the Illuminati had infiltrated them, and done so well. They used the secrecy and the ties of the fraternity to advance their goals. They recruited from the secrecy of the lodges and they made sure that nobody knew their plans except those who could be trusted and those who couldn't be were executed, usually in crimes so horrendous that motives and identification were unlikely to be surmised.

Now, sitting eleven miles off the southern shore of Long Island, eight Ghost Warriors, from team 7, had rented a fishing boat. They had cruised to the spot early in the day and done some fishing, catching a wide array of fish, only as a cover. They were there for a real mission, a mission so intense that they had even doubted their ability to pull it off. Yet, there they were, anchored offshore. Of the eight of them, two were on lookout, visually, using night vision goggles, powerful ones, to survey the area, to ensure that nobody drifted into their field of view, especially a coast guard cutter. They were operating throughout the area. They used a surface search radar that was powerful enough to see as far as the horizon and they were in the clear, which was beneficial for them. They looked at their watches and they all read 19:30 hours. One of the eight men got back to the throttles and began moving the boat at 3 knots, slow. Using a flashlight, the commander of the team looked at some papers with flight schedules and routes. "How far out are we?" He asked.

"We're fine where we are. You should get the weapon ready. We've got about ten minutes."

"Roger that." The Commander opened up a large case, made of dense, black plastic. Inside was a shoulder launcher, complete with a missile. The missile was an FIM-186A Wizard, a powerful imaging infrared missile with significant range and with enough power to bring down a fighter. They were going to bring down an airliner. The Commander removed it and opened up the guidance port, a small screen that could show the infrared signature of an aircraft. The missile guidance system would do all the targetting, all the would have to do is point it in the right direction. With the battery charged and the missile warmed up, they did a short test and could see that it was working. "Alright. It's working and ready." The Wizard was fired by cold launch. That meant high pressured gas ejected the missile from its holder up to an altitude of about 50 feet. Then, the rocket fired. This was done to hide the launch. The smokeless rocket motor on the Wizard could push it as far away as 5 miles and to an altitude of 21,000 feet. It had a 10 pound warhead, enough to destroy an aircraft, especially a weakly skinned airliner.

The airliner in question was Layarteb Airlines Flight 1890. It was a Boeing 747-400 flying to Ireland and it would be passing right over them, loaded heavy with 524 passengers and stewards and stwardesses as well as the pilot and co-pilot. They cost $230,000,000 each, new, and they were still in production, with well over 1,200 having been built, more than half of them still flying, many in good condition. "Alright. We've got it coming. I can see it on radar." The Ghost Warrior at the controls announced. They had made sure that their radar was able to detect airborne targets as well. The airliner came towards them, climbing off the Long Island coast, about eight miles from the shore. The Ghost Warriors looked around again and concluded that it was safe. "We're go. Make sure you're leaning over the side."

"Got it." One of the men shouldered the missile and looked through the eyepiece, situated much like that on a camera. Inside he could see the status of the missile, the target information, and a beautiful infrared image of the aircraft. The engines glowed bright with heat as well as the exhaust ports underneath the actual body of the aircraft. The missile launcher growled as the guidance system locked onto the aircraft. "Firing!" With a good tone, a good lock, and good firing conditions, the Ghost Warrior squeezed the trigger. With a loud pop, the missile ejected upwards, into the air, ignited, and then travelled towards the target, rapidly accelerating to Mach 2.5, climbing towards the lumbering airliner. The missile engine had burned out on its way up, very shortly after it was launched, and proceeded skyward, locked onto the aircraft. To cope with the odd angle that they were firing from, which was southward, towards an eastward travelling airliner, the missile initiated a sweeping turn.

That was when it impacted the airliner, at an altitude of 13,700 feet. There was a small flash when it did, not an explosion like they expected. "What happened?" The Commander asked. Before anyone could answer, a large, orange fireball filled the sky above them. "Nevermind." The airliner exploded in a large ball of light and fire and split in half, the nose section of the aircraft breaking off as the tail section continued to climb. It would crash shortly thereafter, with the nose section as well. Once the killed was confirmed and the fireball filled the sky, the Illuminati Ghost Warriors immediately dropped the missile launcher into the water and it sank quite quickly. The dense plastic box that held it sank just as well, too heavy and not bouyant enough to float. "Good. Good." Next, they burned all of the papers that they had and dropped them into the water as well, ashes unreadable. Debris rained down on the water as it lit afire from jetfuel and debris. By now, they were just over 6 miles from the crash site and they continued westward. They didn't want to draw any attention to themselves so they kept quiet and kept their boat moving. They would be over twenty miles away in no time and that was what they wanted, to be far enough away that they could be nowhere near liable.

Layarteb

24-11-2006, 20:31

November 23, 2006 - 19:40 [EST]
Off southern Long Island

The explosion had been seen for miles and reports flooded the emergency channels that a massive fireball had been spotted in the air over southern Long Island, out, over the Atlantic Ocean. With the ocean in flames, emergency personnel knew right away what coul have happened, a plane had blown up and crashed. Terrorism was the immediate speculative cause and even before the coast guard cutters got there, people were talking to news cameras about a plane being bombed in midair. It was a likely cause. The first unit to arrive on scene was a helicopter, flying a few miles to the north of the plane and the pilot had thought he saw a small flash and a streaking light moving upwards, towards the plane. He tried to follow it with his eyes but it moved so fast, he would later attest, and then he saw a small flash before the larger explosion. He was a private pilot, on a joy ride over the abandoned beaches of eastern Long Island, flying his Bell 206 JetRanger. He flew tourists on private tours over the ocean in the summer but now he was just freshening up on night flying. He didn't count on being eyewitness to a plane exploding in midair. "Emergency. Emergency. This is N125NH reporting an emergency. We are eight miles south of East Moriches. Grid squae 1-1-A-B. I've got a large fireball in the sky and a lot of fire in the water. Looks like an airliner is down. We need immediate rescue personnel in the area." He echoed over the guard channels. Every ship, helicopter, and aircraft for a hundred miles could hear him. "Report. Lots of fire. Debris still falling. We've got two impact points it looks like. Unsure as to the status of survivors. I am over the area in a JetRanger, spotlight on the water. I don't see anything but debris yet."

"Roger that N125NH. We're dispatching units right away." The coast guard operator had done so when the first reports came in, sending two El Heirro class patrol boats and a Tenerife class cutter to the scene immediately. The two patrol boats were about forty miles away and the Tenerife was sixty-two. They would all make best speed to the area, the ships dispatching their HH-96 Panthers and HH-60 Jayhawks to the scene, which could get there far faster than they could. The fastest arrivals though would be the fire search & rescue personnel, who had small, fast, rigid hull boats that could move in excess of 50 knots. The seas were rather calm and the RHIBs tore through the two foot high waves with three to six personnel onboard, all of them trained in search and rescue missions for maritime operations.

The scene they approached was something out of a movie. There was silence all around them except for the distant sound of the JetRanger, searching to their east for survivors. They arrived before the coast guard helicopters and thus the only other sound was the sound of the fire, roaring on the surface of the water, where the jetfuel floated along with the debris. In the background, the lights from the shore twinkled and left a short glow on the edge of the water. In front of them, all they saw was a red glow, a glow that was eerie. Debris washed past their boats and they turned on their search lights, powerful lights that could illuminate something a million and a half miles away, delivering 7,500,000 candela. That was a lot of light and they used it to search through the debris, the narrow stream of bright, white light, cutting through the black night. The seven boats moved slowly through the water, at less than 3 knots, using their powerful search lights to look for survivors. They called out as well but there was just silence. When the coastguard Panthers and Jayhawk arrived overhead, the search intensified and the helicopters were able to search larger areas faster. Debris were plentiful but they weren't important yet. Salvage ships would arrive in a few hours to clean up the disaster but the importance was survivors. From all eyewitness accounts, they doubted anyone would be found alive but they would search for forty-eight hours before giving up, that was their creed.

Layarteb

25-11-2006, 05:55

November 24, 2006 - 06:55 [EST]
Off southern Long Island

Day broke with sunrise at 06:54 hours, rising in the east, out in the vast oblivion of the Atlantic Ocean. The ocean still burned near the crash site and rescue ships had pulled nothing but corpses from the water. There were no survivors found yet. Wreckage was being salvaged and the fires extinguished as best as they could. With eleven helicopters flying over the crash site, looking for any signs of movement, the airspace was rather cluttered. Two salvage ships sat on the water, picking up debris and six coast guard cutters joined the already thirteen fire search & rescue RHIBs combing through the waters. On the beach, a makeshift memorial had been made with flowers and pictures. They wept and cried by the shore and were surrounded by the viscous media crews who had set up their own camp. A nearby hangar was commandeered for the investigation, which promised to be thorough, conclusive, and quick. Terrorism was initialled ruled out by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) for one reason and that reason, as stated, was "We just don't know yet. I wouldn't want to point fingers before I knew who or what did it. That's all." The NTSB was in charge of investigation of accidents involving aviation, highway, marine, pipelines and railroads throughout the country. They were a big agency with a lot of highly trained detectives, who were more than experts at what they did. They were able to piece together accidents that were seemingly undeterminable within hours or days of it.

The Emperor was set to give a speech about the incident at 08:00 hours and he was prepared for it already. He had it written and almost memorized by the time that 08:00 hours rolled around. He stood at a podium in the press room and looked into the cameras, "Good morning ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. Last night we suffered a grave and horrendous tragedy. Layarteb Airlines Flight 1890 was lost in midair over the Atlantic Ocean, just a few miles south of eastern Long Island. Rescue operations are underway as we speak, looking for possible survivors. I have directed the full efforts of the NTSB to investigate this disaster.

"I assure the public that we will leave no stone unturned and that we will find out the real cause of this loss and should there be any survivors, they will be found, treated, and revitalized so that they may continue their life as unchanged from this disaster as possible.

"I want to also ask for a moment of silence, to respect those who will not recover from this disaster and who have already died." He bowed his head and gave it a full minute before he lifted his head again. "That is all. I will be taking question."

A reporter shot his hand up instantly and stood up as fast as he could. The Emperor pointed to him. "Sir. Mark Davis, Layarteb News Network. Is this act believed to be terrorism?"

"We do not know fully what happened yet so we don't want to say, either way, what has happened until the NTSB has concluded its investigation. Next question?"

"Amy Mulland. Associated Press. Sir, have there been any survivors found?"

"No. Not yet."

"Charlie Hassert. Layarteb City Times. Sir. What types of rescue efforts are underway and by whom?"

"We have elements of the coast guard searching the area as well as members of elite search and rescue teams from local fire departments." The questions continued for another ten minutes, with the Emperor answering each and every one of them. There were some he couldn't answer and he simply said that he couldn't until the investigation could be concluded. That was the main thing, the investigation, which was expected to take anywhere from four to six months, depending on how recovery efforts went. The seas would be getting rough and the sky was a gray already, the seas choppy. Efforts were already underway to locate the black boxes on the plane, which were in deep water. The radio signals from the beacons were transmitting but they were transmitting slowly. The deep sea salvage vessels on hand were working to collect as much evidence as they could, including the black boxes. They hoped to be able to put most of the plane back together in a hangar, in order to fully investigate what had happened.

Layarteb

25-11-2006, 09:03

November 24, 2006 - 09:45 [EST]
Highlands, New Jersey

The Ghost Warriors moved back towards the pier. They had to have the boat back at 10:00 hours and they sailed in at 09:45 hours. They had transited the seventy-two nautical miles in just over six hours, making good speed at 12 knots for most of the journey. They were "college buddies" out on an end of the year fishing trip and though it was cold weather, they netted quite a bit of fish, a good amount that they could sell when they pulled back into port.

When they were docked, the Commander stepped off the stern of the boat and onto the docks. "Did you guys see it?" The dock worker asked. He was about sixteen years old and definitely making money on the side working to tie up boats. His face, full of acne, definitely needed to be washed and he was definitely a bit of a dork.

"See what?" The Commander asked, playing stupid.

"The jet."

"What jet?"

"A plane. It blew up off Long Island."

"Really? When?"

"About 19:30 hours last night. You guys didn't see it?"

"No. We didn't. We were pretty far south though, almost to Cape May."

"It was high up there."

"I don't remember. Jerry what were we doing last night around 19:30?"

"Poker game dude."

"Oh yeah. We were in the cabin playing poker. Sorry. Anybody survive?"

"Doesn't look like it but they're looking."

"What was it? Terrorism?"

"They haven't said." The Commander and his men began to offload the fish from the coolers. "What do you think?"

"Well. A plane blowing up in midair? I definitely have to say that's terrorism. Maybe a bomb onboard?"

"Maybe. You guys caught a lot huh?"

"We tried. We're looking to sell some of it. If we take it, most of it will go to waste. Where can we do that?"

"Local market about a half block that way."

"Good. Thanks a bunch." He handed the dock worker a §10 bill and walked off with the rest of his men, totting the coolers and their bags of supplies. They managed to sell a good portion of their fish and get §192 for it. They had pounds and pounds and pounds of it to take home, enough that they could feast for days. They took home what they could and wound up giving a debriefing, which went easily enough. Their mission was successful.

Layarteb

25-11-2006, 21:15

November 24, 2006 - 10:15 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Emperor sat in on his daily cabinet meeting with a sense of urgency. He had only been back from his trip to Eastasia a few days before this happened and though he and the investigators did not know for sure what had downed the airliner, eyewitness reports were pushing in a single direction. "So have any groups made claim?" He asked. "I mean it's been more than twelve hours. Usually they make claims in twelve minutes."

"No sir. Nothing yet. The Ministry of Intelligence is conducting major intelligence gathering operations of known cells but we don't have much to go on right now."

"How many eyewitness accounts do we have supporting a 'missile'?"

"About thirty. The JetRanger pilot has the most compelling evidence. He was in the air, saw a flash, a streak, and then the plane got hit, he says."

"What of the coast guard?"

"They reported nothing unusual in the waters."

"So what? Some terrorists in a row boat shot down an airliner?"

"It's possible sir."

"Okay so the residue on the aircraft will prove a missile, won't it?"

"It will."

"Or a bomb?"

"Yes."

"Very well. How much of the airliner has been recovered?"

"Only about thirty percent of the pieces."

"And the black boxes?"

"Deep water. We're underway on recovery now."

"Very well. How is the public reacting?"

"They haven't forgotten the RLA and Saint George's is still fresh in their minds. Sir. They know that they're all linked, somehow."

"Well they are right. I can't blame them for being smart."

"Sir. Might I suggest," the Minister of Intelligence lowered his tone, "that regardless of the outcome of this investigation we do not link it to terrorism. Sir. It would be best if the public didn't know, if it was terrorism, that is. Dissent could grow."

"Understood. I will take that into account. Regardless, Defense Minister."

"Yes sir?"

"How is the integration of the Venom going?"

"Sir. The last Centurion was retired just three days ago. The Venom is fully integrated."

"Very well."

Layarteb

27-11-2006, 03:22

November 24, 2006 - 15:05 [EST]
Havana, Cuba

It was Friday afternoon, still early enough in the day that it was very warm. Local markets were packed with people buying fruits, vegetables, and everything else you could find in a market. Tourist season was going into a lull for now and most of the people who made their money off the tourists had to make their wages now off the local folk, seeing trinkets and food. For most of them it worked and they were able to live quite comfortably.

Touring the market this afternoon was a lovely young lady, only eighteen in age, physically but mentally she was far older. She was the youngest daughter of the Governor of Raef and she had no collegiate classes on this Friday. She went to the University of Havana and lived on campus, which was very secure and very prominent. She was studying economics and by her test scores and apprehension of the subject, it was easily slated that she would be working in the Ministry of Finance, possibly one day as the Minister of Finance. She was well known throughout the Province of Raef and was a kind hearted young lady who was never "too good" to be with the "commonfolk." The media loved her and she attended far more charity events than her father and for that he was grateful. He had an entire province to run, she had plenty of time on her hands, that was a given.

With smiles and without her bodyguards, she moved throughout the market, looking more for a pair of sandals than anything else. She smiled at people, took pictures when asked, and was otherwise very pleasurable. Perhaps she was too naive. She never heard the screeching tires on the black van as it came to an abrupt halt only fifty feet away from her. Before she knew it, she was being dragged through the market, unable to see, kicking and screaming. It happened so fast that she barely understood what was happening. First, everything went dark and she screamed as, at the same time, she felt strong arms holding her arms, picking her up. She kicked and screamed as she was thrown over someone's shoulder. Whomever it was, he was strong and she could tell it was a man, from his gamy odor. He was very strong, she pounded away at his back but he neither budged nor flinched as he carried her towards the van. She could hear people screaming in the background, for police and for help, "¡AYUDA! ¡POLICIA!" [HELP! POLICE!] She heard them screaming and nothing happened, no one came, no one could, it was all too fast.

With a thump and a rap on the back of her head, she landed in the van and screamed again. This time she heard the squeeling tires as they burned rubber, getting away from the market. The van was seen by hundreds of people and when the police showed up, only seconds after their depature, they had the lisence plate number and both a description of the van and the man who abducted the girl. They sped off after the van, which had a large headstart on them. All throughout the police bands, news of a kidnapping echoed but the identity was still unconfirmed. Many eyewitnesses identified her as the Governor's daughter, Jasmine Delgado, but they couldn't be sure. That was an alarm they did not want to raise if it was going to be a false alarm.

The kidnappers, two of them, sped away in their van. The driver made sure that he kept the van stable while, at the same time, pushing it to the limit. There had not been any signs of a helicopter yet and that was advantageous, once one was in the air, they wouldn't have a chance. That was why they had a second car waiting for them. They screeched into a small garage not far from the market and shut the door quickly. The girl, in the back, was still fighting with them but she had been restrained by now, with plastic zip ties on her legs and hands. "¡Cállese a puta! ¡Venga en! ¡Obtengamos ella en el tronco! ¡Ahora!" [Shut up bitch! Come on! Let's get her in the trunk! Now!] The driver yelled as he opened the trunk of a large, old Chevy Caprice. He and his accomplice dropped her in the trunk, rather uncomfortably, got into the car, started it, and exited the garage. It was brown and rather beat up and now they were moving away from the city. They headed south, trying not to illicit any type of suspicion. By the time they reached the city limits, after only about eight minutes of driving, there were police barracades going up and helicopters in the air, two of them, searching for the black van. They passed out of the city, unnoticed, silent to themselves, sweating under the pressure, and headed south, out of the city. Once they got on the highway, they felt that they were safe and blended in with traffic, the girl, kicking and screaming in the back trunk, restrained and blindfolded still.

Layarteb

27-11-2006, 08:26

November 24, 2006 - 15:30 [EST]
Havana, Cuba

In twenty-five minutes, the two kidnappers managed to get to Güira de Melena, a small city about 20 miles southwest of Havana and very close to the southern coast, which was only about another ten miles. The two men slowed down as they came off the highway and drove onto the small streets of Güira de Melena, their vehicle arousing no suspicion. By now the news of the kidnapping was confirmed and the entire Empire was beginning to hear about it. A very accurate description, including a photographic image, taken from a security camera showed by the kidnapper and the driver. Those pictures were on every television throughout the Empire and when the two men pulled into the garage of their safehouse, they got out to a smack. "¡Usted fue ve!" [You were seen!] The man yelled at them as he smacked both of them across the face. "¡Sus caras están en cada televisión de aquí a Groenlandia usted imbéciles! ¡Obtenga adentro ahora! ¡Salga de mi vista! ¡Fracasos! ¡Ustedes dos!" [Your faces are on every television from here to Greenland you morons! Get inside now! Get out of my sight! Failures! Both of you!]

The man walked over to the trunk of the car, taking the keys from the driver. He tapped on the trunk and she moved inside. She had been gagged as well and couldn't say much. "Sea por favor niña callada. Si no yo no puedo abrir el tronco." [Please be quiet little girl. Or else I cannot open the trunk.] He said in a calm voice as he put the key into the trunk and opened it. She was inside, sweating and definitely flushed from crying and screaming but she was quiet now. "Bueno. Eso es mejor. Venga en. Obtengamos usted fuera de allí." [Okay. That's better. Come on. Let's get you out of there.] He picked up her and drew a knife from his pocket. Quickly, he cut the zip tie holding her legs together. "Bien. Vayamos. Ande conmigo ahora. Si usted va la cojera, yo le ataré de pies y manos." [Alright. Let's go. Walk with me now. If you go limp, I'm going to hogtie you.] She nodded and he walked her out of the garage and into the house, then down the stairs, into a dimly lit and damp basement, where he put her in a chair and restrained her feet to the chair again. Her hands, behind her, were also tied to the chair as well. "Ahora si usted no chilla quitaré la broma. Si usted lo chilla vuelve en." [Now if you don't scream I'll remove the gag. If you scream it goes back on.] He removed the duct tape and she took a gasp for air and almost appeared as if she was going to scream.

"¿Dónde estoy yo?" [Where am I?] She asked. Tears ran down her face.

"Usted es seguro. Nosotros no le doleremos. Nosotros no queremos dolerle. Nosotros no tendremos que dolerle, yo espero." [You are safe. We aren't going to hurt you. We don't want to hurt you. We won't have to hurt you, I hope.] His voice was particularly soothing.

"¿Entonces lo que le hace quiere conmigo y qué hará usted a mí?" [Then what do you want with me and what are you going to do to me?]

"Acabamos de retener usted contra su hace un ratito hasta nuestras demandas son encontrados." [We're just going to detain you against your will for a little while until our demands are met.]

"¿Qué es sus demandas?" [What are your demands?]

"Luego hablamos."[/size] [Later we talk.] He took a step away from her and walked back up the stairs, turning out the lights as he did. He returned back to the ground floor and looked at the two kidnappers, watching the television. [i]"A causa de usted imbéciles nosotros tenemos que esperar para deshacerse hasta el anochecer de ella. ¡La manera de ir!" [Because of you morons we have to wait until dark to get rid of her. Way to go!]

"Lo siento." [Sorry.] They both responded. Disgusted, the boss walked away and picked up a phone on the kitchen table. He dialed a number and waited for it to ring.

"Status?" A voice asked on the other end.

With fluent English that was unaccented, definitely showing that this was an educated man, he responded, "Good."

"Very well. What time will you be attending dinner?"

"21:00 hours."

"Very good." The voice hung up and he looked back into the living room. "Hey idiots." He shouted. "By 21:00." They both nodded and he walked into the master bedroom and laid down on the bed. He had a little under five and a half hours to go before she would be moved and during that time he knew that the police and the military would set up blockaides everywhere for three hundred miles of Havana. They would have to be careful moving her. They would drive her down to El Cajio, about 8 1/2 miles away. There, they would meet up with eight men, on a fishing boat. They would take the girl and he would get §1,800,000, to be split three ways. Once the money exchanged and the girl given away, the deal was over and the three men would be on their own.

Layarteb

27-11-2006, 09:01

November 24, 2006 - 21:00 [EST]
El Cajio, Cuba

The three men made it to El Cajio without incident and parked their car just a few yards from the pier. They were nervous and sat there with cigarettes in their mouths. All three of them were low level hitters in the Florida Cartel, nobody really important and if they were arrested, they wouldn't be much use to the interrogators because they knew so little. If anything, they would be just given a trial, found guilty of conspiracy to aide the cartels, and sentenced to ten to twenty years in jail. It wasn't a particularly light sentence but they weren't very valuable. They had no bargaining power, whatsoever. As they waited there, they ferociously checked their watches every few seconds. The boat was late and as the clock passed 21:15 hours, they began to wonder if something happened. They were only minutes away from packing up when they saw a glimmer on the horizon.

"Finally." The leader said to himself as he saw it come towards him. The boat was a small, fishing boat, nothing too extravagant and nothing too expensive. It looked like it could hold only about eight people comfortably so when they pulled into the harbor and docked at a pier, the man was surprised to only see four men. Of those, one of them stepped forward, a tall, muscular man with a scar on his face. "I thought there were eight of you?"

"There are. The other four are at our destination. Where is the girl?"

"Where is the money?"

"Carlos." A man jumped onto the pier with a dufflebag and plopped it down. "I suppose that will do? The girl?" He quickly checked the bag. "We don't have all night. Where is the girl?"

"Trunk."

"Alright. Is she conscious?"

"We gave her a sedative just before we left. So she wouldn't be a problem." He picked up the dufflebag and walked to the car with the mysterious man. "Fuera de la manera." [Out of the way.] He ordered to his accomplices as he put the key in the trunk. The mysterious man bent down and put his fingers to her neck.

"She's alive. You've done your part. Thank you. Carlos. Sam." Two men appeared and took the girl out of the trunk and carried her back to the boat. "We thank you for your services." He said as he extended his hand. He shook hands and turned around and began walking away. "Oh yes. One more thing." He turned around quickly and made them all nervous. "You better now say squat."

Just as the man went to say something he was grabbed from behind. Three men appeared out of nowhere with heavy plastic bags and threw each of them over the head of one of the kidnappers. They held them tight as they fought the three men but they were overpowered and within a minute as they sucked in nothing but carbon dioxide. Though they fought, they succombed to the suffocations quickly and went limp as their pulses slowed down, eventually stopping. "Let's hurry up. Get the bodies." The three men carried the bodies to the boat and put them in the cabin. The girl was already below deck, on the bed. A fourth man then came out of the hidden blackness near the docks and picked up the car keys from the ground. He stepped into the vehicle and searched it quickly for any important papers. Not finding any, he went to quick work on the vehicle and covered it with gasoline. He placed a small bomb in the trunk and walked away. It had a radio detonator, good for two miles and he boarded the boat. The detonator was basic and nothing too elaborate, nothing that could come back to him at all.

The boat backed away from the pier slowly and headed out to sea. When they were about a mile and a half away, he hit the detonator and with a flash and a loud boom, the car exploded. Nothing would be left of it by the time the police arrived. As they pulled away and blew up the car, another group of eight men entered the house that they had stayed in, cleaned it of any evidence, and torched it as well. They disappeared into the night just as easily and quietly as the other eight had.

They moved out, into the Gulf of Batabanó, where the deepest part was only 200 feet but where 350 islands were situated, many of them tiny. The seas were calm and the sky was clear, with millions of stars for anyone to see. In older times, they would have used those to navigate but a small GPS unit was all they needed now. When they got to deeper water, they opened up the throttles and pushed the boat to 13 knots as they rode along the glass of the sea. They created a large wake behind them but it didn't matter, nobody was around. They had a radar to see if there were any ships and for 24 miles, there were none. They also had a sophisticated fish finder device, which used active SONAR to find fish, they could tell even if there were any submarines around and they didn't expect any, neither did they find any.

They cruised through the waves until they got out, into the Caribbean Sea. It was a 250 mile journey, which took them about eighteen hours to make. They moved rather quickly and it was about 16:00 hours when they stopped there, a 21°16'22.69" N, 85°28'21.72" W. The water was deep there, in excess of 7,600 feet. They had been working throughout most of their journey on stowing the three bodies inside of bags that were weighted down with chains and with weights. The bodies would sink like rocks and, just to make sure, they had pumped lead into their bodies as well, to make them even more heavier and less buoyant.

The boat was stopped there and they were moving at a mere two knots. The horizon was clear and nobody was around. They had moved west, far west, now between Cuba and the Yucatán Penninsula. "Alright. We're here. Let's drop these bodies and go." The three bodies were tossed overboard and cable tied to them showed that they were sinking. When they passed 100 feet, the cables were cut, the bodies would continue to sink, like rocks, to the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. They restarted the boat and headed off again, moving northwest now. They moved that way about 60 miles before turning west again. They would end their journey in Progresso, a coastal city in the Yucatán state of the Province of Ynoga. It was quite a journey, almost 550 miles and their boat had only an 800 mile range. Still, they made it, averaging 13 knots the whole way, meaning that it took them just over thirty-six hours to make the trip, a long thirty-six hours but when they arrived around 10:00 hours on November 26, they were as good as gold. The situation with the kidnapping had far escalated. It was on every news channel, in the papers, and everything else. The burning car and the torched apartment and both been linked to the three men who carried out the kidnapping, three men who were captured, on camera, leaving the house with the car, presumably with the girl inside. They were identified as members of the Florida Cartel, which put the blame on the cartel as a whole, the desired effect. Nevertheless, the rendezvous in El Carijo was unnoticed except for the fact that the car was abandoned and torched. Investigators concluded that they escaped by boat but there were no leads and no information. The three men were missing, the girl was missing, and nothing indicated that they were dead, except that their car had been torched. In reality, they were fish food, sinking to the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.

Layarteb

28-11-2006, 06:29

November 24, 2006 - 21:00 [EST]
Florida, Cuba

The villa was gigantic and rightfully so, it was the estate of Juan Adolfo Cortez. He was the leader of the Florida Cartel and his villa was surrounded by bodyguards galore and plenty of escape routes. The villa was under twenty-four hour survelliance, from hidden positions throughout the thick jungle around it and from the sky as well. High altitude ELINT aircraft worked to triangulate positions based on phone calls and though the Cartel was more than careful, the technology of the Imperial Layartebian Air Force and Army was overwhelmingly superior. They listened through the walls of the villa sometimes but this wasn't one of them. The entire upper echelon of the cartel had been summoned for this high meeting and it was the perfect opportunity to take them all out. A guided bomb from a fighter bomber could wipe out the leadership of the entire cartel and it was almost as if the opportunity would never arise again. However, since the kidnapping had been linked to the Florida Cartel, taking it out would erase any and all evidecne that could lead to the recovery of the governor's daughter. Instead, the Ministry of Intelligence agents who were surrounding the villa were listening in on their bugs, for any indication that the upper echelon knew something about the kidnapping. What they found out was surprising.

"¿Quién autorizó esto?" [Who authorized this?] Cortez asked, roaring throughout the large living room, where the meeting was taking place. Twelve people were there, all of them the twelve highest ranking members in the cartel.

"Nadie. Fue no sancionado. Estos hombres. Ellos actuaron sobre su propio." [Nobody. It was unsanctioned. These men. They acted on their own.] Fidel Ramona, the operations manager, so to speak, of the cartel answered.

"¿Cómo puede estar usted tan seguro? ¡Son usted realmente seguro!" [How can you be so sure? Are you really sure!] Cortez roared and from the way his voice went in and out, he was pacing around the living room. His footsteps echoed in the periods of silence. The whole villa was quiet and not even the forty-eight armed guards made any noise.

"He estado hablando por teléfono todo el día." [I have been on the phone all day.] Fidel continued. He had been, ever since the news of the kidnapping broke in Havana, he was making phone calls, looking for information on the kidnapping. When the pictures of Luis Rendon, the kidnapper, Javier Montenegra, the driver, and Hector Pimentel, their "leader" were flashed on the screen, he went into overdrive, calling much more frequently.

"Que usted ahora. ¿Yo le pago por manejar las operaciones de este negocio y cómo le viene no puede manejar a tres imbéciles?" [Have you now. I pay you to manage the operations of this business and how come you can't manage three morons?]

"De lo que he reunido es que ellos fueron pagados por hacer este trabajo. Por un intruso. Un gringo." [From what I've gathered is that they were paid to do this job. By an outsider. A gringo.]

"¿Un gringo? ¿Cualquier idea quién?" [A gringo? Any idea who?]

"Ninguna idea quién. Somos todavía investigaciones que pero nadie vio algo. Matón habló acerca de ello sólo una vez a un Fernando Lora. Nosotros lo introducimos ahora." [No idea who. We're still research that but nobody saw anything. Hector talked about it only once to a Fernando Lora. We're bringing him in now.]

"Bueno. Quiero hablar con él." [Good. I want to talk to him.] The rest of them conversed amongst themselves, usually only about daily dealings, nothing too important, nothing that the Ministry of Intelligence was very concered with, especially since what they were talking about was nonsense that the DEA already had.

A full half hour went by of mindless chatter until the doors slammed open and someone was evidently being dragged in, forcibly. From what they could tell from the visual survelliance, he had been roughed up quite a bit before he was brought in there, dragged in front of the high twelve and sat down in a chair. "Yo los dije. Yo no sé nada. Yo sólo hablé con Matón una vez acerca de ello. Juro." [I told them. I don't know anything. I only spoke with Hector once about it. I swear.] He whimpered.

"¿Qué Intimidó le dice? ¿Y cuándo fue esto?" [What did Hector tell you? And when was this?] He didn't answer right away and Cortez screamed at him, "¡DIGAME!" [TELL ME!]

"Matón me dijo. Hace seis días. Estuvimos en un bar. En La Habana. El Tres Amigos. El me dijo que él fue acercado por este hombre, una clase de mafia de tipo. El fue pagado mucho dinero por raptar la hija de Gobernador." [Hector told me. Six days ago. We were in a bar. In Havana. The Three Amigos. He told me that he was approached by this man, a mafia kind of guy. He was being paid a lot of money to kidnap the Governor's daughter.]

"¿Cómo supo él cuando hacerlo?" [How did he know when to do it?]

"Yo no lo pregunté. El dijo aunque que él sólo hablaría con él por teléfono y él iba a obtener algún teléfono celular especial." [I didn't ask him. He did say though that he would only talk to him by phone and he was going to get some special cellular phone.]

"¿Especial? ¿Qué hizo?" [Special? What did it do?]

"Yo no sé. El no dijo. El acaba de decir bosquejaría a los agentes secretos." [I don't know. He didn't say. He just said it would block out the intelligence agents.]

"¡Por qué es usted mintiendo a mí!" [Why are you lying to me!] Cortez had moved and was screaming now at him, definitely in his face.

"Yo no miento a usted. Juro. Juro a Dios y la Virgen María." [I'm not lying to you. I swear. I swear to God and the Virgin Mary.]

"¡No jure jamás a la Virgen María en una mentira! ¡Usted engaña!" [Don't ever swear to the Virgin Mary on a lie! You fool!]

"Yo no miento. Por favor. Yo le mendigo. Yo sólo le digo la verdad." [I'm not lying. Please. I beg you. I am only telling you the truth.] He broke down crying and it was definitely a sad sight inside the living room, as the twelve men looked at him, none feeling any remorese whatsoever.

"Multa. ¿Por qué hizo él? ¿Por qué hizo él independiente como esto? ¿Hizo él independiente antes?" [Fine. Why did he? Why did he freelance like this? Did he freelance before?]

"No él hizo no antes. Sólo él me dijo que fue mucho dinero. La pareja de cien mil." [No he didn't before. Only he told me that it was a lot of money. Couple of hundred thousand.]

"Eso es mucho dinero. ¿Está usted seguro que él LE decía la verdad?" [That's a lot of money. Are you sure he was telling YOU the truth?]

"Intimide nunca mentido a mí una vez." [Hector never lied to me once.]

"¿Si usted fue tal amigos bueno por qué no pidió él usted ayudarlo?" [If you were such good friends why didn't he ask you to help him?]

"El dijo que él no confiaba a los gringos. El no quiso poner Luz en peligro." [He said he didn't trust the gringos. He didn't want to put Luz in danger.]

"¿Quién es Luz?" [Who is Luz?]

"Mi hija señor. Yo la adoro y no la querría en peligro. Usted ve Matón, Luis, y Javier, ellos no tuvieron los niños." [My daughter sir. I love her and wouldn't want her in danger. You see Hector, Luis, and Javier, they had no kids.]

"Usted no nos dijo mucho." [You didn't tell us much.]

"Yo no sé mucho." [I don't know much.]

"Veo. Multa. Usted puede ir." [I see. Fine. You may go.]

"Ah gracias. Gracias." [Oh thank you. Thank you.] The agents could hear kissing sounds and it was evident he was kissing his hand. He didn't get far from the living room, as they could tell by the footsteps, before they heard, inside the living room, an order to kill him.

"Cuándo él obtiene afuera. Dispárelo en la cabeza. Deshágase del cuerpo. Yo no quiero ninguna conexión." [When he gets outside. Shoot him in the head. Get rid of the body. I don't want any connection.]

"Sí mande." [Yes boss.] They couldn't identify the voice but it was definitely a guard. Survelliance watched as Fernando was led outside, in the courtyard, where he realized that he wasn't going back to the driveway.

"El coche es allí." [The car is over there.] He said, pointing to the other direction. It was then that he realized what was happening. "No. No. El dijo que podría ir. Yo le dije todo. Juro. Yo no sé..." [No. No. He said I could go. I told him everything. I swear. I don't know...] He didn't get to finish his sentence, two bullets passing through his brain from a suppressed pistol, a Walther P99, used by, probably, the same man that Cortez had spoken to in the living room. The body was carried away moments later.

"¿De modo que qué haremos nosotros? Esto fue establecido definitivamente hacerlo se parece a nosotros lo hizo. Nuestros enemigos fuera allí ha obtenido más listo. ¿Podría ser el Cártel de Meta? No. creo que no. Esmeralda es destruido. ¿No. Lo podría ser el gobierno, la policía de la droga quizá?" [So what are we going to do? This was definitely set up to make it look like we did it. Our enemies out there have gotten smarter. Could it be the Meta Cartel? No. I don't think so. Esmeralda is destroyed. No. It could be the government, the drug police maybe?] Cortez continued in the living room.

"Podríamos encontrar el tres." [We could find the three.]

"No. Ellos Están probablemente muertos." [No. They're probably dead.]

"¿Por qué piensa usted eso?" [Why do you think that?]

"Primero regla de un crimen que usted paga alguien hacer. Usted los mata para esconder el rastro. No. pienso no que ellos serán encontrados jamás." [First rule of a crime that you are paying someone to do. You kill them to hide the trail. No. I don't think they'll ever be found.] The phone rang in the background and Cortez walked over to it. It rang twice and then there was silence, a muffled voice in the background stated to wait a minute. "Sí. ¿Hola?" [Yes. Hello?] Cortez spoke into the phone. "No. veo. Gracias." [No. I see. Thank you.] He hung up the phone.

"¿Algo malo?" [Something wrong?]

"La policía encontró apenas un coche que pertenece a nuestros tres hombres en El Cajio. Su casa, en Güira de Melena, fue quemado al suelo. La duda de la policía ellos recuperarán cualquier evidencia." [The police just found a car belonging to our three men in El Cajio. Their house, in Güira de Melena, it was burned to the ground. The police doubt they'll recover any evidence.]

"Muy profesional. No. Usted es correcto. Sus cuerpos no serán encontrados. Tratamos con alguien muy profesional, muy capaz, y muy poderoso. Ellos son listos y entrenados y dudo que tratamos con una organización que es insensata o rápido cometer un error. Esto puede, muy bien, es establecido por el gobierno sí mismos, para recuperarse apoyo contra nuestro cártel. No que ellos lo necesitan en este momento." [Very professional. No. You are correct. Their bodies won't be found. We're dealing with someone very professional, very capable, and very powerful. They're smart and trained and I doubt that we're dealing with an organization that is foolish or quick to make a mistake. This could, very well, be set up by the government themselves, to rally support against our cartel. Not that they need it right now.]

"Señor. La calle guerrea. Ellos no nos ayudan. Las ventas dejan caer." [Sir. The street wars. They're not helping us. Sales are dropping.]

"¡SE ESO! ¡TONTO! ¡Pero nosotros no podemos permitir que el Cártel de Meta obtenga las manos en césped a que podría rendir millón nos!" [I KNOW THAT! FOOL! But we cannot let the Meta Cartel get their hands on turf that could yield millions to us!]

The meeting continued for hours more but the rest of it was on the drug trade, not on the kidnapping. The Ministry of Intelligence had a lot of details now and that wasn't good. They knew that the cartel wasn't responsible for the kidnapping. Someone had paid the three men to do it and that was a given. The way Fernando quivered as he talked, he was definitely telling the truth. He was too scared to lie. In the end though, he died just the same as if he would have lied to Cortez and the men inside. He must have thought that he would live but he wouldn't. The phone call revealed too that the cartel had watchers who were keyed into the scene just as much as the police. The fact that he knew about the torchings of the house and the car before the public was something that they had to contend with and they knew that there were spies on the police force, that was a given, and many of them had been identified but left alone, in hopes of yielding their bosses, and so on and so fourth.

Layarteb

29-11-2006, 04:52

November 24, 2006 - 23:00 [EST]
El Cajio, Cuba

The car fire had been extinguished and now investigators were on scene, trying to find out what happened. It was already deemed arson and the arson investigator more than cracked the case already. He had everything laid out, from the way the gasoline was sprayed all around the car to the explosion in the trunk. The trunk door itself was a hundred yards away, consistent with an explosion and when he pulled out the pieces of the bomb he knew what they were on to, immediately. He took his pictures, scraped his evidence, and would go back to his office and wait for the lab results on the detonator and the explosive residue. They were also working on getting the identification of the car and the VIN number revealed it belonged to one Hector Pimmentel, wanted in connection with the kidnapping of the governor's daughter. Police investigators descended on the wreck soon after and began their own investigation. Because the fire had burned so hot and so fast, little evidence would be found and any that was there was undoubtedly washed away by the high powered water hoses used by the fire department. Detective Harry Callahan was the lead detective for this case. He had recently been moved from Layarteb City to Havana, primarily because of the problems with the cartels. He was a wonderful undercover narcotics officer and now that he was in Havana, he could, hopefully, help fight the drug war for the Empire.

He combed over the smoking, blackened carcass that was once an automobile. "No bodies huh? Usually they come with bodies." He said as he shined his flashlight on the trunk hinges. The smoke rose. "Well. We've got a small explosive device here. To destroy the car. More than anything else. Yeah this is definitely professional." He noted as he walked around the side of the vehicle, using his flashlight to see. The flashing lights of the firetrucks around him cast light but not as good as his flashlight. "Bet the fire destroyed everything." He laughed. Intelligent son's of bitches. He thought to himself as he combed over the wreck.

Lab tests on the detonator and other evidence indicated that the bomb was a little more than a simple binary explosive, powerful but small, with no unique semblances to it whatsoever. The police would, once again, have no leads except the connection between the three men, the cartel, the two fires, and that was about it. They had nothing else, nothing that could yield any clues. They were really working on a "cold case."

Layarteb

29-11-2006, 07:02

November 24, 2006 - 04:00 [EST]
105 miles southwest of Havana, Cuba

Jasmine shifted on the bed slightly. She was still wearing the black hood over her head, which kept her completely in the dark. Restrained and in the middle of the bed, she had no idea where she was. She wasn't gagged anymore though, probably because the men wanted to know when she awoke. It was just after four in the morning when one of them heard something from inside the cabin. He was the radioman and this was a team of Ghost Warriors, team 1 to be exact. He awoke and walked over to the cabin door. "Hola?" [Hello?] He called

"Ayúdeme. Por favor." [Help me. Please.]

"Alright. One minute." He yelled back.

"Thank you." She thought that she was safe but she wasn't. He walked back onto the deck and looked at his commander. "She's awake."

"Alright. I'll go and talk to her." The commander walked down, into the cabin, and then further down, into the bed area. "Good morning young lady." His voice was somewhat soothing to her but she hinted that she wasn't in safe hands anymore. "Do you know where you are?"

"No. Where am I?"

"On a boat."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you."

"Where are you taking me?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Why can't I tell you?"

"Yes. But why did you kidnap me?" She had no accent whatsoever, a byproduct of her high level of intelligence. She spoke six languages and none of them were anything short of flawless, those being English, Spanish, French, Germanic, Cottish, and Chinese. "Why?" He didn't answer right away and she started crying again.

"Why? To inflict change upon a system bleeding with immorality and illegitimacy."

"So that's what this is about? Revolution?"

"More."

"What more?"

"In time little girl. For now. Sleep. You have a long future ahead of you. Don't worry. We aren't here to hurt you or harm you. We're not into that nonsense. We aren't petty thugs out for a free ride or for something else. We're professionals."

"Professionals?"

"Yes."

"You're mercenaries. Aren't you?"

"Clever girl. Be quiet now. If you need anything. Give us a yell. But we aren't here to talk so make sure it's a legitimate request."

"Actually. I'm hungry."

"You will have to wait just a little longer." He got up and walked back into the main cabin and sat down on the couch. "She's hungry. Give her a half hour and feed her. The darkness remains. Keep the hood on or blindfold her. I don't want her seeing any of us. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now I'm going back up top. You four. Rest." Half of the team would sleep while the other half would man the boat for now. He would be driving with the other three in the cabin and on the deck.

Layarteb

29-11-2006, 07:13

November 25, 2006 - 08:00 [EST]
Havana, Cuba

The Governor of the Province of Raef sat in his home office, barely able to hold himself up. Since the kidnapping news broke, he had been in overdrive, coordinating efforts, trying to track down his only daughter. He had a picture of her on his desk and he looked into her eyes. "I'm so sorry." He repeated, over and over and over again, crying to himself, quietly, although he was wearing himself down. His wife was equally distraught but she opted to spend her time in the bedroom, in the dark, underneath the covers of her bed, crying to herself as well. His other child, a son who was only two years younger than his daughter was, was sitting in his room as well, silent. The kidnapping shook his whole household and he wasn't sure what he should do. He wanted to let the police handle the matter but even he knew that a kidnapping was a tough crime and there had been no demands made, yet. There wouldn't be any, not for a long while.

The phone rang and the Governor was almost too distraught to pick it up but something told him to answer it. He mustered up his courage and deepend his voice. "Good morning, Governor of the Province of Raef speaking."

"Governor. I'm so sorry to hear about what happened." It was the Emperor.

"Sir. Thank you. I don't know what to do, I confess."

"Few would. How are you holding up?"

"Not well sir. I'm completely distraught here. She was my baby sir."

"I understand. How is your wife? Brad?"

"I'm not sure they're taking it lightly either sir."

"This is certainly understandable. Listen. I understand you have a job to do and that is to run the Province. If you need to take time off from that duty do not hesitate. Make no mistake, this time will be trying for you and your family. Your priority should be her recovery as much as anything else."

"Thank you sir."

"I only have one request for you."

"What is that sir?"

"Any demands and requests that they give. I know this is more than a lot to ask and I don't want an answer right now. Any demands and requests that they may give. Please. Do not give in to them. The last thing we need to do is show weakness. The police will find her and bring these three fools to justice. I assure you that when they are caught they will be given the most amount of suffering that can be had by any, one person. They'll be treated as terrorists and I can assure you that torture will be an understatement."

"Thank you sir. I will try."

The Emperor hung up the phone and shook his head. What can I do? He asked himself. He watched the news reports as pictures of Jasmine flashed onto the screen with videoes of her at charity events. The news had shattered and shocked the Empire. The public was up in arms. They demanded her back and they demanded that the government do everything and anything, not only to bring her back but to stop this new form of terrorism.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/jdelgado-01.jpg http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/jdelgado-02.jpg

Layarteb

30-11-2006, 01:29

November 25, 2006 - 16:00 [EST]
268 miles east of Mérida, Caribbean Sea

"Stop here. Stop here." The Commander said as he looked out on the vast sea. They were a little over eighty miles from land to the west and a little over fifty miles to the east. The boat slowed down and bobbed up and down as the waves ran underneath it. They were trotting along at two knots when the Commander stepped down from the upper bridge and onto the main deck. "What's the fathometer say?"

"Twelve hundred and sixty-six fathoms sir. Well almost sixty-seven. It's pretty deep."

"Good. How are the bodies doing down there?"

"Good sir." They opened up the fish holding tank and saw the three bodies, all ready in their bags and weights. "Good. Very good. They're not smelling yet."

"Excellent. Let's get them out. Keep a look out up there."

"You got it."

The Commander and Technician dragged out one of the bodies and tossed it over the side. They had string on each of the bodies, high tension fishing wire, and each string had a one hundred foot marker on it. Once they reached that marker, the string would break and the bodies would be more than gone. The other two bodies went over just as quickly and they waited there, moving around at two knots. "Line one is clear." The Technician reported as the line snagged and snapped. The second one snapped a few seconds later and after four more minutes, the third snapped. "Nothing in sight either sir. I think we're in the clear."

"You are correct. Alright. Resume course and speed. Let's get out of here. We've got to get to Progresso by 10:00 hours, tomorrow." They would cross over into the next time zone shortly and that meant they would have yet another hour to make up. They would arrive there at 10:00 hours, eastern standard time, which was 09:00 hours in Progresso, an early time of the day but a busy one. It would be there that they continued on the next leg of their journey, through some of the most untamed wilderness of the Empire, through routes and roads that were still hostile, even though the rebellions and insurgencies had been largely suppressed. Towns were still unbuilt and many of them lay in ruins, still, some still with exposed corpses, most of which had been pecked away by animals.

Layarteb

30-11-2006, 03:05

November 26, 2006 - 09:00 [CST]
Progreso, Yucatán state

The Illuminati team pulled into the Progreso harbor slowly, observing a five knot speed limit. They moved in quietly and without raising suspicion. Their papers were well in order and their travel documents showed that their boat was actually registered to Progreso. It didn't matter where they had been, all they had to do was just show the dockmaster the registration and they could dock, free of charge, after all, they paid a yearly fee for docking there.

They pulled through the harbor and moved towards their reserved dock, some eighteen hundred yards into the harbor. They pulled up to the dock and looked around fervently. A van was parked there as well, driven by associates of theirs. The Commander approached the van. "Are you a wanderer?" He asked. The two men had never met before. In fact, though the Ghost Warriors were highly organized and highly coordinated, the teams knew not of the existence of the others. They knew that there were others but they didn't know any details and rarely did they ever come in contact with each other. They didn't know just how many Ghost Warrior teams there were.

"In the springtime, I like to travel to the Arctic. What about you?"

"I never cared much for the cold. That's why I like it here."

"Good to hear. Well the beaches will be quite humble for you and your friends."

"I plan on looking at the sights."

"Glad to hear it." The Commander of Team 13 was satisfied and looked at him with a smirk. "How is she?"

"Hungry, tired. Worn out. It was a long journey."

"Does she speak English?"

"Very well."

"I'm glad to hear it. My Spanish could use some touching up."

"Well that is a shame." They both laughed. "How are we getting her into the van? It's bright out here and I can see people all over the place. I'm sure the security cameras are eyeing this very area."

"You would be right to guess all of that but, you see, the cameras are of no bother right now. We have those under control." He looked around supsiciously. "It is rather important that we do this quickly."

"Very well. How are we going to do it?"

"We have a large box inside. We're going to bring it into the cabin. Put the lady within it. Close it. And move it back to the van."

"Very well." He looked at him and his men and nodded. The box was carried out by two men and brought into the cabin. It was large but it was a wooden box, nothing too comfortable. "Load it up." He said as he entered the cabin himself and helped. She fought and screamed and kicked but she wouldn't be much of a problem. They gagged her, once again, with duct tape, and then restrained her feet again with a plastic zip tie. They weren't so tight that they would cut into her but they were definitely uncomfortable. The same two men picked up the box, considerably heavier now, and slowly brought it off the boat and put it into the van. They went, largely unnoticed. Once the box was in the van, the two Commanders shook hands and the two groups of men split off separately. Inside the van were four of them and the remainder of Team 13 were "fixing" the cameras for the area. In essence, every angle on the boat and the van was obscured for a good two hours prior to the meeting and at least an hour afterwards, while the cameras were being upgraded and updated. Team 1, their task now complete, split off into groups themselves, three of them, and walked into town. They would head thirty miles south, to Mérida, where they would all catch separate flights out of the state and onward, throughout the Empire.

The Commander and two of his men started up the van quietly and drove off, heading towards the lower regions of the city. The girl, still inside of the box, was far more than uncomfortable inside it and the smell of the fresh pine, though delighting, was not helping the matter. She had been in total darkness for more than a day now and she was not delighted at all.

Layarteb

30-11-2006, 04:55

November 26, 2006 - 19:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Interior Minister was waiting for the Emperor to see him and as he paced back and fourth, inside of the waiting room, looking at the television, he couldn't help but think about the strong situation that was presenting itself. Shooting down of a plane. A kidnapping of a government official's daughter. Who knows. He sat back down and looked at the Emperor's secretary. The most beautiful women in the land work in this castle. He smiled at her and looked at his watch. The Emperor was ten minutes late for his meeting with the Interior Minister and it was unusual for the Emperor to be late. He had been under a serious schedule over the past month, visiting both Beijing and Oslo for a summit with the Eastasians and the King's wedding. The King was, probably, still in the Caribbean Sea, on the Emperor's yacht, enjoying his honeymoon. He heard the echo of footsteps in the corridor outside of the office and stood up. Maybe that's him. As the footsteps got closer, they echoed louder and louder and finally he could hear a voice, which was the Emperor's.

"Sir. It's good to see you this evening." The Interior Minister said. The Emperor was being flanked by BG. Delaney and another man, a man he had never seen before.

"I do not mean to keep you waiting but we'll be another five or ten minutes. Any messages Angela?"

"None sir."

"Good to hear." The Emperor walked through the tall, double doors of his office and walked around to his desk. "Now. As you were saying? This is completely mad." The Emperor was having a very confidential conversation with the lead investigator of the air crash, which happened only three days ago. BG. Delaney, pretending to be an aide, was really gathering as much information as he could.

"Sir. I am saying that the plane was definitely shot down by a missile."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well sir. We've recovered a part of the lower fuselage, right under the center fuel tank. It had a small hole in it. What it looks like happened is that a missile hit the fuselage there but did not detonate, possibly from a fuzing problem. Who knows. It could have been a dud. Either way, the missile passed through the plane. We probably won't be recovering it though sir, the search area is just too great, if it's even in one piece. The sparks and friction caused by the missile passing through undoubtedly ignited vapors and the fuel inside of the aircraft and caused the center fuel tank to explode."

"This is a fact. You sure?"

"More than sure."

"This is a major problem."

"I know sir. This definitely shows terrorism."

"Alright. You speak not a word of this to anyone. The report will not be done yet."

"Sir?"

"I am hereby ordering you to suppress your findings."

"Why sir?"

"Why? You'll find out in time. You must return here at 09:00 hours tomorrow morning. Understood?"

"I don't understand sir."

"You will. Come here tomorrow and you will find out. Thank you."

"Yes sir." Unsure of himself, the investigator walked out of the office and headed out of the castle, quiet and brooding.

"What do you think?"

"I think he'll be a problem."

"Tail him."

"Understood." BG. Delaney would follow him off the island and set up survelliance outside the man's motel room, which was out on the other end of Long Island, where the investigation was being done.

Shortly thereafter, the Interior Minister entered the office. "Sir."

"Yes. Please. Sit down. I apologize that I made you wait. We have an interesting development."

"The plane sir?"

"Terrorism. A missile."

"Sir what do you suggest?"

"We have to suppress this, for now. We'll convene tomorrow morning at 09:00 and our investigator will be there. Did you not recognize him before?"

"No. I'm afraid I didn't."

"That's fine. What can you tell me about this kidnapping?"

"Sir. We have no leads. All we know is that the three men who did the actual kidnapping were being paid by an outsider."

"So the Florida Cartel wasn't responsible?"

"It doesn't seem so at all sir."

"That closes a lot of information. Where do we stand now?"

"Until they make a demand, unless we have some dumb luck we won't."

"What about the captured terrorists who set off the bomb in Saint George's? Could it be their organization?"

"Doubtful sir. All the evidence we have on them shows them to be acting alone. They're probably remnants of the RLA that somehow snuck away."

"Very well."

Layarteb

30-11-2006, 05:35

November 27, 2006 - 09:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

The Cabinet briefing began at 08:00 hours and after a full hour, the investigator arrived at the castle. He had been picked up by helicopter and flown all the way to the castle and sitting inside of his helicopter was BG. Delaney, who had been picked up from a place just a few miles away from the hotel. He greeted the investigator when he stepped into the helicopter. "Good morning Mr. Addison. I hope you are hungry. We have a luxurious breakfast at the castle for you."

"Thank you. I'm not very hungry right now."

"Well we have a bit of a ride. Please try to relax comfortably."

"Thank you." He leaned his head back, his briefcase at the floor. Throughout the night, BG. Delaney had kept close watch over him, listening intently on what he was saying inside of his motel room. He didn't tell anyone about his actual findings but he was unsure of the situation. He didn't understand why he was being told to suppress the information and he thought that he was going to be made to lie. He wasn't too sure of himself anymore either. The helicopter flight to Governor's Island, a good sixty-seven miles, was a trip that they made in just over forty minutes, averaging 100 mph the entire way. The helicopter was a VIP transport VH-97C Serpent was capable of speeds of 215 mph so flying at 100 mph was of no effort to the helicopter. They cruised at 8,000 feet the whole way.

The helicopter touched down on the western side of the castle and bodyguards, armed with M75A1 Submachine Guns walked up to the helicopter and opened the door. "Mr. Addison. The Emperor is expecting you. Please. This way." BG. Delaney followed closely behind the two bodyguards and the investigator. They entered the castle and ascended a winding staircase that was rather large, going up severel floors. When they reached the floor that the Emperor's office was on, the two bodyguards stepped off the staircase and led the two men towards the office. They entered the waiting room shortly thereafter and stood in front of the secretary. "We have Mr. Addison to see the Emperor."

She smiled and hit the buzzer. "Mr. Addison is here to see you sir."

"Thank you Jenny. Is Mr. Perry with him?"

"He is."

"Please send him in but have Mr. Addison wait. We need to finish up something in here."

"Yes sir." She unclicked the buzzer and looked at Jack. "Mr. Perry, you may enter."

"Thank you." He entered the room and took a seat at the table. The Cabinet finished up some business concerning tax rates.

"Well. What do you have to report?"

"I surveilled Mr. Addison throughout the night. He told no one and we're lucky for that, he is an honest man. He does have some concerns and worries about lying though and he is rather unsure what is going on. I would recommend that we simply lay out what we need to, not go into strong details, and just let him know that we need his cooperation because the fate of the Empire rests on his shoulders. Responsibility like that will help him. He doesn't seem to have much self confidence so if we give him some, make him feel important then I think we can run away with this one."

"Very well. Jenny," he pushed the buzzer. "Send Mr. Addison in please."

"Yes sir." Mr. Addison entered through the doors next, shaking almost from what he was about to be a part of, the Cabinet meeting.

"Please. Have a seat over there Mr. Addison. Can we get you anything?"

"No sir." His voice trembled.

"Very well. Now. You came to us last night with information concerning what brought down Layarteb Airways flight 1890. Is that correct?"

"It is sir."

"Would you please share that information with the Cabinet?"

"Yes sir. Well," his voice still trembled and he was beginning to sweat more. "As flight 1890 climbed towards its cruise altitude of 34,000 feet, it was engaged by a surface-to-air missile, probably fired on a 45° to 52° angle from a boat, roughly five to eight miles away. The missile was definitely infrared guided and locked onto the exhaust of the underside of the aircraft, rather than the engines. The missile contacted the aircraft on its lower fuselage, just underneath the center fuel tank, passed through the aircraft, and ejected out of the side of it. The fate of the missile is unknown but we do know that its warhead never exploded. It could have been a dud or a fuzing problem or simply it was not equipped with a warhead. We do not know and probably won't know. Recovery of the missile is impossible, considering the area that it could be in, particularly since we do not know what type of missile it was and what speed it hit the plane at, leaving us with thousands of square miles to check. It is completely unfeasible.

"I hope you all agree. Regardless, the passing missile created sparks and friction. The sparks definitely ignited vapors from the fuel tank, which caused the initial explosion. This explosion, coupled with the fuel in the aircraft, served to split the plane in two parts, sending the nose of the plane down. The tail end of the plane definitely climbed sharply, until it lost its momentum. Then, the plane plummeted towards the sea. The black boxes have confirmed this data and we can hear the pilots talking about the explosion just before the front of the aircraft is ripped off. The rear boxes cut out there but the front boxes continue to record voices on the way down.

"The pilots were alive until the moment the aircraft hit the water. The plane went through rapid decompression but because they were underneath 14,000 feet, they did not pass out. The pilots were aware that the plane was going down and that all sensors were off but they were not fully aware of the full extent of the damage, that they were plummeting while the tail of the aircraft was elsewhere. They can be heard trying to issue a 'Mayday' but without any type of power or communications abilities, it did not go anywhere.

"Sir. All lives were lost." The Cabinet looked at him intently as he sat back down. The Emperor turned and nodded.

"Thank you Mr. Addison. Now I ask that you listen first before you say anything." The Emperor made his point sternly and the Minister of Intelligence stood up.

"Mr. Addison. You are aware that the Empire is facing an unknown terrorist threat?"

"I am."

"Good. Saint George's was a terrorist action. It could have been done by the same group that shot down this airplane. We do not know. They could also be the same organization that kidnapped the Governor of Raef's daughter. Once again, we do not know. Ever since the end of the conquests, the populace has had one less cause to rally around and it is hurting morale. The nuclear explosion in Saint George's shattered the backbone of our great Empire. This is definitely something that we cannot let go, unchecked. We need your cooperation on this matter. If the people of the Empire hear that their air travel is unsafe, that terrorists can shoot down airliners, easily, they will begin to cluster and they will begin to doubt the power of the Empire to protect them. The government can protect them, very well, that is, unfortunately it cannot be everywhere and it shall never attest to that fact. If we could we would be a totalitarian state and that we cannot and will not have.

"We need to hide this disaster from terrorism. We need to let the public believe that it is possible and not that it has happened, that airliners can be shot down with surface-to-air missiles. We are certainly doing what we can to stop the flow of them throughout the world, especially into the Empire, but we are fighting a large battle here. We have a big border and, unfortunately, the crime organizations in our country, particularly the cartels, know every possible way to subvert that border. Unfortunately, it does look as if they are crucial and key to all of these proceedings. They are none too pleased that we are coming after them with such fervent force with our War on Drugs. They could have been the ones to do all of this or just this or that, who knows. We will only find out with time and confession. That is a luxury we do not have, at this very moment, that is.

"That is why I am asking you and your team to hide this. I know I am asking you to betray freedom and morality but it must be done for the good of the Empire. One point twenty-six billion people live within these borders and they cannot live their lives in fear or else they won't be living at all. If they live in fear, they will put other priorities aside, such as education, economics, family growth, and so on and so fourth. It could lead to the very destruction of this Empire. You are quite an intelligence individual, I do not need to tell you twice about how bad that can be." He emphasized the last part. "Now. We have already decided on a course of action.

"The aircraft in question has a lot of time on its airframe. Now. It is entirely possible for a center fuel tank to explode. This is how though. It was not hot out so the likely cause of the air conditioner pack heating up is unlikely. However, we know of a well-done proceedure that, though it is against SOP, is often done. I believe you are familiar with 'filtering'?" He nodded his head. "Good. That requires the air conditioners to be run for several hours before the heating systems are kicked in, which keeps the air rather dry, which is what we want in this situation, particularly for certain aspects of flight. The proceedure could have caused the fuel tanks to heat up to around 145 degrees. This caused fuel inside to vaporize. This is a very flammable fuel/air mixture. Now. We know of some shielding problems with the wiring. A communication through the wires can cause a short, which would ignite the mixture. An electrical fault caused a massive mechanical failure. That brought down this aircraft. Is that understood?"

Mr. Addison stayed quiet for a few minutes, pondering the rammifications that he was going to take either way. He didn't think he would be allowed to live if he disagreed but he didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he agreed. He didn't know what to do and nobody pressured him to answer right away. The silence was; however, overbearing. "Alright," he said in a quiet but confident tone. "Alright. I'll agree to it. If only to save the lives of billions."

"That is all we are asking. We are asking that you think of the billions of lives at stake here." The Emperor added.

"But what about myself? Will not this investigation be public?"

"Very."

"And what of the improbabilities?"

"Leave the mechanics to us. You will be fine. Conclude that and suppress, eliminate, and dismiss all evidence of terrorism. Terrorism did not bring that plane down, a simple defect did. Now. You will conclude with this: 'All three theories - a bomb, a missile or mechanical failure - remain' but you and your team believe strongly that mechanical failure is the only cause as there is no evidence of explosive residue that you would find with a bomb or a missile. No evidence supports a missile and all eye witness reports are mistaken. What they saw was probably glare from the moon off the ocean."

"Understood." He got up and left the room. On December 23, he would conclude just what they told him and the investigation would be over though many would doubt the truth of the downing of flight 1890.

Layarteb

01-12-2006, 03:21

November 27, 2006 - 14:35 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Sir." The Emperor's buzzer echoed in his large office, which was empty except for him.

"Yes?"

"Sir. The Minister of Intelligence is here to see you. He says it's urgent, concerning Grenada."

"Send him in." The Minister of Intelligence entered the office with a folder in his hands. "What do you have for me Minister?"

"Sir. We received this letter, from India, about two weeks after the bombing. We've been trying to decipher it since but we have really come up with something."

"What?"

"Sir. It seems as if some agent, intelligence agent, of some foreign government, did a lot of background work into our explosion. We were tracking similiar leads but we were unable to put everything together. This is still highly skeptical but it seems that a Varsolan conspiracy is responsible for the bombing, according to this."

"Have you cross referenced the information?"

"I have. Aside from some minor loop holes, most of it is plausible and true. This particular group had ties with Esmeralda and are known to have been operating in support of the Grenadian rebels. It seems that the Varsolans were aware of our desires for the Falklands Islands a long time ago and therefore this group was trying to strike us and dissuade us from acting. They're very careful and hid their tracks rather well sir."

"This information came from India you say?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Currently Grand Duche territory."

"Very well. I'll have to contact the Grand Duke and ask him if any of the information provided was work that his government did for us." The Emperor was skeptical of the information but as he looked over the letters on the heading, "D-V-Q," he we more than intrigued. He put in a call to the Grand Duke immediately, to see if the Grand Duke had intelligence agents working to help solve the terrorist act on Grenada.

Layarteb

02-12-2006, 01:44

November 27, 2006 - 13:35 [CST]
Ticul, Yucatán

The city of Ticul was small and about 62 miles south of Mérida. Ethnically Mayan, the city had a population of only 42,000 people before the outbreak of the war in the summer of 2004. It had been witness to two large firefights and battles that brought the population down to only 28,000. It had recovered slightly and was around 32,500 people. That was what they wanted, a quiet, wartorn city, a city that wasn't on the radar, period. There had been initial talk about taking her out of country and had Kaliningrad still been Layartebian, that would have been the primary place. Unfortunately, it was under stern and strict Germanian control. There was some thought about possibly Sri Lanka or the Andaman and Nicobar Islands but neither place was close enough to transport the girl without arousing suspicion. So, the Illuminati decided on one place, the Yucatán, which was the most impoverished and least friendly state throughout the Empire. They could hide there.

When war broke out, it was the Illuminati that got the Mayans their first victories. They had secretly helped fund their revolution, hoping that it would set off a chain reaction. Unfortunately, too much factionalization occured and the Illuminati could see that their investment was dying out so they pulled the plug. They still had dozens of contacts though most of them were in hiding. When the Layartebians began rounding up leaders of the resistance and killing them off or imprisoning them, the Illuminati lost most of their contacts. The few that survived were mostly in hiding and that wasn't good. When they set up this little kidnapping, they stretched far in the planning, trying to find a contact that was willing to stick his neck on the line. That contact was Hector Ayalla and he lived in Ticul. He still had a small band of fighters under his belt, only about eight of them, in total. They hung out in local bars at night and operated cranes and bulldozers during the day. Reconstruction had been slow and money wasn't fourthcoming either. As a penalty for his inability to curb the revolutionaries within the Yucatán, the governor of the state was removed from office and his replacement had his funding slashed in half. The only funding they got now was for bare essentials and reconstruction.

Hector welcomed the mission with open arms and even provided a safe house for them to keep the girl, a house with a garage and no nosey neighbors. It was in the city and it was definitely good enough for the task. She would be there indefinitely. The city was run down, still, and so was the house but they didn't care, it was a place to stash her, a place the Empire would never look. Despite winning the war by overwhelming odds, they still lacked any serious enforcement within the state. It was ridden with poverty and crime and the cartels knew this. They fought a brutal turf war to gobble up what the defunct Esmeralda Cartel had. However, they fought each other just as much as they fought two local cartels, minor in comparison but definitely gaining in strength, who also fought each other. Violence there was so commonplace that grenade explosions and gunshots were part of morning breakfast. One could tell a foreigner, just by the way that they ducked for cover. However, that wasn't the story in the state as a whole. Progreso was still a beautiful resort town, guarded by serious police enforcement, the safest place in the state. Mérida wasn't a warzone like Ticul though it did have its share of violence. Lastly, there was Tizimín to the east of Mérida. Tizimín was about 100 miles east of Mérida and it was a wreck. The war had torn it to shreds and it was the seat of most of the violence. Police and military presence there wasn't so much for protection as it was for suppression. One of the local cartels called Tizimín their home while the other called a small southern city of Peto their home. The two cities were ravaged by daily killings and bombings. It was still disgusting.

The men had arrived with the girl shortly after 11:00 hours, the previous day, and had been comfortable since. They put their hostage in a small room, plopped her on a dirty and worn out mattress that just laid on the floor, and closed the door. There was no light in the room, no windows for escape, and only one door. It was silent and secluded but they had a video camera attached to the ceiling, to see what was going on inside of the room. She laid there for hours and hours, still restrained, still blinded from the black hood over her head. Without being able to see, she had no clue where she was. She knew that she went from a car to a boat to another car and then to a house but she had no idea of time and certainly had no idea where she was. For all she knew, she could have still been in Cuba, rather than 500 miles away, in a totally different part of the world. When November 27 rolled around, the men had gone into her room and removed the restraints and the hood but they didn't leave her to walk around freely. They had a chain attached to two wall studs and from there, they strung a single chain, long enough that she could walk around the closet sized room but short enough that she wouldn't get too far out of the door. That was clasped to her leg, not tightly but certainly not loose enough for her to slide out of it. They brought her food three times a day and gave her bathroom breaks. Little did she know that she was being watched in there as well, not that she knew where in the apartment it was. Whenever she was brought there, she was hooded again so that she couldn't see anything. She was handcuffed to a rail in the bathroom and then given her "privacy," though they watched to make sure she didn't try to escape.

Midway into the afternoon on the 27th, the other four men joined the rest of their team inside the rundown house. "How was survelliance duty?" The Commander asked the Technician, the main man in charge of bugging and messing up the security cameras.

"Worked perfectly. They never got a single thing."

"Good. I am glad to hear that."

"How is our investment?"

"She is fine. She is sitting in there now."

"Good. Good. So this is our home?"

"For at least six months or more. Who knows. The Principals told us to sit quiet for now. So that is what we're going to do. All we have here is all we need. We have the place under survelliance. We have the satellite transmitter. We have the necessities. We're set."

"Good." Life continued, for them...

Layarteb

03-12-2006, 01:22

November 27, 2006 - 18:30 [CST]
Ticul, Yucatán

"Niña. ¿Sabe usted por qué nosotros le raptamos?" [Little girl. Do you know why we kidnapped you?]

"Yo no soy una niña." [I'm not a little girl.]

"¿Sabe usted por qué?" [Do you know why?]

"Probablemente a causa de que mi padre es. Usted es terroristas. Usted no necesita el razonamiento." [Probably because of who my father is. You are terrorists. You don't need reasoning.] The Commander entered the room and sat down on a rickety chair.

"¿Es eso tan? Bien. ¿Si somos terroristas entonces por qué tendríamos nosotros interés en su seguridad? ¿Ha sido dañado usted todavía?" [Is that so? Well. If we are terrorists then why would we care about your safety? Have you been harmed yet?]

"Escúchele hijo mugriento de una ramera. Si usted coloca una mano me en cortaré el cuello abierto de par en par y permitiré que usted sangrar a la muerte." [Listen you filthy son of a bitch. If you lay a hand on me I'll cut your neck wide open and let you bleed to death.]

"Cuidadoso. Usted no será dañado. Nosotros le dijimos que y son graves." [Careful. You won't be harmed. We told you that and we're serious.]

"¿Entonces por qué me tiene usted? ¿Qué quiere usted de mi padre?" [Then why are you holding me? What do you want from my father?]

"¿Su padre?" [Your father?] He laughed, "¿Quienquiera que dijo que queríamos algo fuera de su padre?" [Whoever said we wanted something out of your father?]

"¿Entonces qué quiere usted?" [Then what do you want?]

"Libertad." [Freedom.]

"De modo que soy de creer que usted es un guerrillero. Qué un chiste." [So I am to believe you are a freedom fighter. What a joke.] She laughed.

"Somos. Un terrorista del hombre es un guerrillero a otro." [We are. One man's terrorist is a freedom fighter to another.] He laughed at her but looked sternly through his lightly rimmed glasses. "" []

"Somos distantes más que nada usted puede comprender." [We're far more than anything you can comprehend.]

"Usted aparta la bomba." [You set off the bomb.]

"No. Pero nuestra organización fue responsable de ello. Sí. Tenemos ese nivel del poder. No piense que usted es muy significativo, usted no es. Usted es apenas otro método de obtener nuestras metas y para empujar nuestra ideología a través de un ramo enfermo de personas lava el cerebro." [No. But our organization was responsible for it. Yes. We have that level of power. Don't think you're very significant, you aren't. You are just another method to get our goals and to push our ideology throughout a diseased bunch of brainwashed people.]

"¿Usted quiere una espalda de la República, hace no usted?" [You want a Republic back, don't you?]

"Entre muchas otras metas." [Among many other goals.]

"Usted no lo obtendrá. El Emperador. El es demasiado fuerte." [You won't get it. The Emperor. He's too strong.]

"Nadie es demasiado fuerte. Cada jefe tiene su debilidad. Si es una parte anaranjada en el torso o sus ojos. Está como un videojuego. ¿Usted ve? Usted siempre puede derrotar al jefe, usted acaba de tener que saber donde disparar." [Nobody is too strong. Every boss has its weakness. Whether it's an orange part on their torso or their eyes. It's like a video game. You see? You can always defeat the boss, you just have to know where to shoot.]

"¿Qué derribando aviones comerciales civiles? ¿Atacar con arma nuclear las ciudades? ¿Cuántas decenas de millares de inocente planea usted en la matanza antes usted obtiene su punto a través de? ¿Qué le hace cualquiera mejor que el Emperador?" [What shooting down civilian airliners? Nuking cities? How many tens of thousands of innocents do you plan on killing before you get your point across? What makes you any better than the Emperor?] There was a hint of disdain in her voice when she said "the Emperor" and the Commander picked it up.

"¿Presiento yo la disensión?" [Do I sense dissent?]

"Mucho menos que yo le odio." [Far less than I hate you.]

"Odio. Qué una palabra fuerte." [Hate. What a strong word.]

"Usted es un terrorista. Su organización es un ramo de terroristas. Ninguno de ustedes tiene algo sobre el gobierno, sobre la policía, o sobre el ejército." [You are a terrorist. Your organization is a bunch of terrorists. None of you have anything over the government, over the police, or over the military.]

"El ejército caerá. El Emperador caerá. Usted se da cuenta de que el proceso ha empezado y no puede ser parado. Está como la modernización o la industrialización. Una vez que usted lo empieza, no puede ser parado. Usted debe saber esto, usted es una chica brillante. Usted debe saber que ese nada que cualquiera puede hace la parada lo. Incluso si mi organización deje de existir mañana, la revolución continuará. Esto es el derecho de las personas, es su destino para derrocar a los líderes ilegítimos. Para veintiséis años ahora, nosotros hemos vivido una mentira, que el Imperio es mejor que la República. Eso es insensato. El Imperio no es nada más que una excusa de llevar nuestras libertades, nuestras libertades, y nuestros derechos. Esto no puede pararse." [The military will fall. The Emperor will fall. You do realize that the process has begun and it cannot be stopped. It is like modernization or industrialization. Once you begin it, it cannot be stopped. You should know this, you are a bright girl. You should know that nothing anyone can do will stop it. Even if my organization ceases to exist tomorrow, the revolution will continue. This is the right of the people, it is their destiny to overthrow the illegitimate leaders. For twenty-six years now, we have lived a lie, that the Empire is better than the Republic. That is foolish. The Empire is nothing more than an excuse to take away our liberties, our freedoms, and our rights. This cannot stand.]

"La República fue débil. Desplomó a causa de su propio decaimiento morales y la corrupción. Las corporaciones corrieron el país, no las personas. Nuestros votos fueron a nada. El dinero que pagamos en impuestos fue a bolsillos, los barcos, los coches, jet privados. ¿Entramos en una guerra ilegítima en Venezeula y para qué? Para proteger las inversiones de nuestras propias corporaciones, para proteger las drogas que fueron encauzadas en nuestro país, a través de la frontera. El ilegal que cruzó las fronteras. Nosotros no fuimos estado." [The Republic was weak. It collapsed because of its own moral decay and corruption. Corporations ran the country, not the people. Our votes went to nothing. Money that we paid in taxes went to pockets, boats, cars, private jets. We entered into an illegitimate war in Venezeula and for what? To protect the investments of our own corporations, to protect the drugs that were being funnelled into our country, across the border. The illegals that crossed the borders. We were no state.]

"Tuvimos la libertad y nosotros tuvimos la libertad. Las mujeres podrían tener los abortos. Las personas no fueron a encarcelar durante veinte años para fumar marihuana a sí mismos." [We had freedom and we had liberty. Women could have abortions. People didn't go to jail for twenty years for smoking marijuana to themselves.]

"Las personas vivieron atemorizadas por criminales. Los violadores y los asesinos anduvieron las calles. Los inmigrantes ilegales cruzaron nuestra frontera, gorroneado de nuestros servicios, mandó su espalda de dinero en casa, y nos dejó para morir de hambre." [People lived in fear of criminals. Rapists and murderers walked the streets. Illegal immigrants crossed our border, mooched off our services, sent their money back home, and left us to starve.]

"Las personas no tuvieron que preocuparse por ser sacado de su hogar de noche, sus derechos humanos violados, apenas en una corazonada que ellos hicieron algo. Su ADN no fue tomado al nacer. Ellos no fueron mirados como ellos anduvieron abajo las calles." [People didn't have to worry about being dragged out of their home at night, their human rights violated, just on a hunch that they did something. Their DNA wasn't taken at birth. They weren't watched as they walked down the streets.]

"Ellos no tienen que preocupar ahora acerca de andar hacia abajo las calles y para ser atacado. Ellos pueden andar al mercado de noche para leche para sus bebés sin es el disparo." [They don't have to worry now about walking down the streets and getting mugged. They can walk to the market at night for milk for their babies without being shot.]

"Usted ve todo este que atravesamos ahora. Es todo apenas temporario. El Imperio caerá. Yo le aseguro." [You see all of this that we go through now. It's all just temporary. The Empire will fall. I assure you.] He stood up and left the room. When he shut the door behind him, he eyed one of his men, sitting on the couch. "Feed her." He said as he angrily walked away. He had hoped that she harbored some sort of rebellion within her but he could see nothing.

Layarteb

03-12-2006, 11:23

November 27, 2006 - 22:00 [EST]
Empire State Building, Layarteb City

It was chilly in Layarteb City, a byproduct of a passing storm that dumped a few inches of rain overnight. Now, the storm having moved out, everything was crisp and clear, just chilly. Inside the Empire State Building, on the 88th floor, that chilliness wasn't felt at all. Instead, things inside were sizzling hot. The whole 88th floor was occupied by Intech Hardware Systems, Inc. It was a decent sized company that occupied the 86th through 90th floors. They made, imported, and exported RAM chips and microprocessors, mostly for business applications and they raked in one hell of a profit each quarter. Their chips and microprocessors were top of the line, manufactured and rigorously tested before being shipped out, free of charge, of course. They sold hundreds of thousands each quarter, millions per years. With almost a 200% markup on most products, they served to get their money back, and more.

However, Intech was a front. It was a legitimate business and it had tax records to prove it. However, it was, in essence, the shadow of the Illuminati. The company was staffed and run by the Illuminati as much as it was by ordinary civilians, unsuspecting ones. The entire 88th floor was the central hub of the Illuminati network and each day and night hundreds of men, women, and even children passed through it, not noticing a thing. It was a secure floor and only those who were allowed through it were able to move through it. The only way to get to the 88th floor was to use either of two elevators, swipe your access card, and get the approval. Otherwise, the 88th floor would be bypassed. To those who didn't have access, it was considered a confidential floor and Intech didn't want unauthorized personnel on it. They even had their own janitorial service.

In reality, the 88th floor, from initial appearances, seemed just like that of any corporate HQ. However, once you were past the walls, you were inside a high-tech world that resembled the most elaborate and intricate workrooms of the Ministry of Defense. Computer terminals, encrypted with 1024-bit encryption or better were accessible only by single usernames and passwords. There was a "master" key, so to speak, but only three people knew it. Otherwise, you could only log into a terminal if you had that ID and password. Nobody could work on another's terminal and usage was strictly monitored. The database that they had within the 88th floor and the server unit had cost almost $500,000 and it stored terabytes of data.

The Illuminati ran seventeen legitimate businesses and Intech was the most lucrative of them but not the largest. The largest was TetraMin. TetraMin imported and exported food and brought in just over two billion shingrots a year. It was a large company though with more than fifty field offices and links to at least ten countries worldwide. Intech didn't have that large of an outreach but for its size, it brought in its fair share of money, in the hundreds of millions each year. Intech and the 88th floor of the Empire State Building was the central hub of the Illuminati organization. This was the "command center" of the operation and the other field offices in various other businesses were more like substations. They fed the main hub. Each station had a chief, who was a senior Illuminati official and a high member within the Freemason brotherhood. Few of them aroused any suspicion.

However, the man in charge of everything was Kenneth Calderon. He was the "head" of the Illuminati, so to speak, and he spoke directly with Majestic. Kenneth, or Kenny as he liked to be called, was a native born Virginian, the spirit of revolution thriving in his veins. He ascended through the Freemason ranks and through the Illuminati fairly quickly and not because of politics, because he had the intelligence and the willpower to do whatever needed to be done. When it came time to plan the revolution, he was right there and it was his idea to go with an intermediary in the beginning, the RLA. He was the eyes, the ears, the brain, and the heart of the organization and he was its most deadly member as well. He knew everything about everything and though his job title for Intech was as a systems engineer, he was far more than that description could ever say. He had 11,850 members working under him in the Illuminati, 400 of which were directly involved with the Ghost Warriors, 160 of those being the actual Ghosts themselves. The twenty teams that the Ghost Warriors had numbered one through twenty-three with numbers five, eight, and eighteen being non-existent. Those three teams had either been killed or captured and had been replaced by twenty-one through twenty-three, respectively. Most of his teams had seen quite significant action.

Team One had been responsible for the kidnapping of Jasmine Delgado, the daughter of the Governer of the Province of Raef. Team Two had shot down Layarteb Airways 1890, both just a few days prior. Teams Three, Four, Six, Seven, Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve had all been part of the raid that stole the twelve MGM-212 rockets. Team Three and Twelve each lost one man during that raid but both men had since been replaced. Teams Five and Eight had been instrument in Quebec and were part of the Gray Fox unit until they were captured by Layartebian forces. Team Twelve had also delivered the nuclear bomb to Team Eighteen, who had planted the bomb. Team Eighteen was out of commission as well, six of their members killed and the other two captured, once again by secretive Layartebian paramilitaries. Team Thirteen was responsible for overseeing Jasmine Delgado and ensuring her safety during her tenure of involuntary detainment. Teams Fourteen through Seventeen and Nineteen through Twenty-Three had not seen any action just yet but time was on their side and it wouldn't be long before they too were in the foray.

Kenny had been the one to establish the Ghost Warriors. Until them, the Illuminati was only an intellectual group and he knew its outreach was tremendous but he needed more, he needed action. That was when he established the Ghost Warriors, in 2001. They trained for three years straight before they saw any action. When those three years were up, many of them were sent to the Yucatán to fight the Layartebians. They succeeded in that none of them lost a single man and they were never detected. They took their lessons and their training from the Kaliningradians, who had so strongly defeated the Layartebians in 1995. Each team was identical, eight men, all trained in specific roles, with specific weapons, and specific tasks. Logistics was a problem but he didn't have to worry, everyone was the same.

The leader of each team was the Commander. He carried an M73A2 Enhanced Carbine with 240 rounds and an M48A3 Grenade Launcher, attached to his carbine, with 5 rounds. He could equip himself with two M57A1 Fragmentation and two M58A1 Stun grenades. In addition, he always carried throwing knives, binoculars, and a lockpick set.

Next was the Radioman, who carried a backpack radioset to communicate over secure channels to the command center. He too carried an M73A2 Enhanced Carbine with 240 rounds but did not have the grenade launcher. His grenade loadout usually consisted only of two M58A1 Stun and two M59A3 Yellow Smoke grenades.

The Rocket-Man was the heavy hitter. He carried an M71A1 P90 Submachine Gun with 300 rounds and an M51A1 SRAW with 1 round. The SRAW could take out just about any tank that there was. His grenade loadout went with his mission and he carried two M57A1 Fragmentation and two M61A1 Incendiary grenades.

Then there was the Heavy Weapons Man, equipped with an M42A1 SAW with 600 rounds, four C4 satchel charges with five pounds per charge, twenty feet of primer cord, and two M57A1 and two M63A1 Concussion grenades.

The Sniper of the team was light and agile. He carried an M44A1 Sniper Rifle with 100 rounds, three throwing knives like the Commander, an M57A1 Fragmentation and an M58A1 Stun grenade and two M62A1 White Smoke grenades.

The Breacher was another heavy hitter. He carried an M76A1 Tactical Shotgun with 77 12 gauge rounds, either 00 buckshot or magnum slugs. He carried three M58A1 Stun grenades, one M57A1 Fragmentation grenade, and two door breaching charges, which were, essentially, one and a quarter pound blocks of C4 attached to a fuse that lasted ten seconds. They could turn any door into splinters with those.

The Grenadier of the group equipped himself with an M73A2 Enhanced Carbine with 240 rounds, an M48A3 Grenade Launcher with 10 rounds, three M57A1 Fragmentation grenades, one M61A1 Incendiary grenade, four 1.25 pound C4 block charges, six feet of primer cord, and a pair of binoculars.

Lastly, there was the Technician, the most skilled of them all. He carried an M73A2 Enhanced Carbine with 240 rounds, three M61A1 Incendiary grenades, and one M63A1 Concussion Grenade. He also carried an encryption/hacking device that resembled a PDA but was far more powerful. With it, he could crack into just about any alarm or computer system he would need to hack into, save for those within the Ministry of Defense and Intelligence, those being nearly unhackable.

Each of the men carried an M84A1 Five-seveN pistol with 80 rounds and a SEAL Knife 2000. Night vision was standard and it was done so much like the special forces had, with special Oakley sunglasses that worked better than most night optical devices. No expense was spared for these men.

Layarteb

07-12-2006, 01:22

November 27, 2006 - 23:30 [EST]
Empire State Building, Layarteb City

Kenneth Calderon paced back and fourth in his office and in the central command center. He had the undaunting task of assigning a team to conduct a series of operations that involved strikes and kidnappings in Panama City, operations that would help to usher in the next phase of the revolution, actually gaining popular support. He paced with the list of the teams in his hands and their profiles. Which one. Which one. He thought over and over and over again. He had too many choice, unfortunately, and he needed to strategically place his teams for this upcoming phase. The Illuminati was the revolution and if they weren't placed accordingly and new teams ready to replace those that had been either killed or captured, the entire revolution could flounder.

The more and more that he looked over the mission planning, the more he realized that he needed two teams, not one. This made things equally harder. He had four teams within a week of Panama City and three out of those four could be on their feet, legitimately, inside of a few days. These three teams were all employees of six Illuminati cover businesses, all of which had corporate offices and field offices in both Panama City and a few neighboring towns and cities. He mulled it over and over and over, finally coming to a conclusion and a decision. He would sent in teams Nineteen and Twenty, both of them scattered around Colombia and Belize, respectively. They were elite soldiers and they would be receiving the orders shortly.

About an hour after the decision was made, each of the members of teams Nineteen and Twenty had their cell phones ring, at once. "Hello. I'm looking for Mr. Bale?" The voice at the other end of the phone said.

"I'm sorry. You have the wrong number."

"Oh. I do apologize. Have a nice day sir." With that, the call ended but it was a signal, a very important signal that meant something to them. The name of the individual was the key. The name "Bale," by itself, meant nothing. However, when broken down, it was more than important. It had four letters, making it highly important. Three letters meant the most important, five less, and six the least. The first letter was "B" meaning that they had to rely on operative plan "B," which was their proceedure for contacting the office. Lastly, the name was a male name, meaning that they had to stay domestic. Quickly, all sixteen of them stopped what they were doing and switched their cell phones to secure frequencies. They all dialed sixteen different numbers, numbers personally assigned to each of them, numbers that linked up, not to people, but to highly powerful modems that synced them up to a server. From there, they entered their unique identification numbers, a fifteen character alpahnumerical ID and a twenty-seven character alphanumerical password that included characters such as the asterisk, ampersand, number character, at symbol, exclamation mark, question mark, percentage sign, shingrot sign, dollar sign, or caret. The passwords and user IDs, which could certainly be cracked by hacking programs and tools, would take, even the most cracker using the most sophisticated equipment, years and decades to crack. For the user ID, there were 221,073,919,720,733,357,899,776 different combinations. For the password, there were 7.8426251075761341737788892605047e+44 different combinations. It would take forever to crack them. The only sequences more secure were governmental ones, which used 20 character user IDs that used up to 80 characters and 30 character passwords, which used 80 characters as well, although some different ones to the user IDs. They were difficult to remember but it could be done, with practice. Combined with the 2048-bit encryption used on most government securities, it would be more than a daunting task to hack them. The Illuminati used 2048-bit encryption as well and were, much like the government, possibly phasing up to 3072-bit encryption. By now, 1024-bit encryption was largely crackable, though it took time, intelligence, skill, and highly sophisticated equipment. In just a decade, 2048-bit encryption would become vulnerable.

When the servers connected and the validation was completed, a one hundred and sixty-eight second process, they began to receive the files, which could range from a few megabytes to over twenty megabytes. Their phones all were capable of holding up to 512MB of data but the phone was only a temporary device. It could store the data until it could be transfered to a laptop though it could be read on the phone. Due to the vulnerability of it being on a mobile device, it had large access passwords required to access it. After two failed attempts, the file automatically ate both itself and destroyed the phone through a very powerful and deadly virus. It was a nightmare for a few Illuminati soldiers who missed a character or two. The first phone they received was free, part of the expenses. After that, it was on their tab, and it was an expensive phone, costing almost §800.

The files all said the same thing. They were being transferred to the local, Panamanian bureaus of their respective companies. There, they would receive further details. It was, otherwise, very innocuous but if officials got their hands on a few phones, finding the same setup, the same details, and the same necessities, it would arouse suspicion of the highest order. Within two days, they were on planes or in Panama.

Layarteb

08-12-2006, 05:15

November 28, 2006 - 06:30 [CST]
Ticul, Yucatán

"¡Despiértese!" [Wake up!] The Commander of Team 13 yelled as he walked into Jasmine's room. He looked around the darkness of the room to find her, secured to the floor, by the bed. Chain irons that secured her leg to the floor was strung through deeply imbedded rings that were anchored into the structure of the house. She wouldn't be able to escape if she tried.

"¿Qué quiere usted? ¿Qué hora es?" [What do you want? What time is it?] She asked quietly and groggily.

"Es la mañana. Ahora levántese. Tenemos mucho en discutir." [It's morning. Now get up. We have much to discuss.]

"Cualquier tiempo que lo es, es demasiado temprano." [Whatever time it is, it is too early.] She sat up and looked around. "Tengo hambre." [I'm hungry.]

"Usted obtendrá su alimento. ¡Ahora! ¡Contésteme! ¿Qué es acerca de este Imperio que usted adora tanto?" [You will get your food. Now! Answer me! What is it about this Empire that you love so much?]

"Regresa más tarde." [Come back later.] He darted towards her, his hand in the air, ready to backhand her hard, and she saw it. Curled into the corner, she cowered as he moved towards her, a beast on the prowl, its prey in sight, moving in for the kill. His strike would hit her hard, draw blood, and, undoubtedly, push her head, hard, against the wall. He stopped though, inches from her face.

"Usted tiene su deseo." [You have your wish.] He said in a hushed tone as he left the room, leaving her in the corner, crying and fightened. The threat of violence scared her so much that she had her entire body shaking.

Three hours later, he returned, well after she had been fed. "¿De modo que qué tiene usted que decir?" [So what do you have to say?] She asked when he entered the room. "¿Tiene aún usted un plan para esto? ¿O es usted y sus compañeros yendo apenas matar como muchas personas como usted puede hasta que usted espante a personas suficiente? Usted sabe que eso no trabajará. Las masa nunca se compadecen con los terroristas." [Do you even have a plan for this? Or are you and your buddies just going to kill as many people as you can until you scare people enough? You know that won't work. The masses never sympathize with the terrorists.]

"Tenemos un plan. Usted nos toma para no ser nada pero terroristas incompetentes. No. somos una organización intelectual." [We have a plan. You take us to be nothing but incompetent terrorists. No. We are an intellectual organization.]

"Su organización. Eso es todo usted dice. ¿Y qué es su nombre?" [Your organization. That is all you say. And what is its name?]

"Un nombre sólo sus miembros pueden saber." [A name only its members can know.]

"Reservado. ..Oooo." [Secretive...Oooo.] She said, sarcastically. There was no light in her room and she could only barely see his eyes as she sat there, on the bed, looking up at him.

"Sarcasmo. Qué un rasgo de la juventud." [Sarcasm. What a trait of the youth.]

"¿Es desagradado usted que yo no abrazo abiertamente revolución? Usted sabe la mayoría de los lugares, bromean mi edad, la cosa que los extremos izquierdos y los comunistas son las mejores personas fuera allí. Yo no convengo. Anarquistas. Como usted mismo. Son apenas perdedores." [Are you displeased that I don't openly embrace revolution? You know most places, kids my age, thing that the left wingers and the communists are the best people out there. I disagree. Anarchists. Like yourself. Are just losers.]

"No osa hablar de las cosas que usted sabe no. Nosotros no somos anarquistas." [Don't dare speak of things you know not. We are not anarchists.]

"Yo me disculpo. Terroristas. Comunistas. Cualquier -ists." [I apologize. Terrorists. Communists. Whatever -ists.] She said with a little giggle, enough to show that she didn't take him seriously.

"¿Usted piensa que soy un chiste? ¿La seriedad que usted toma no?" [You think I am a joke? Seriousness you take not?]

"Encuentro que tomar duramente una causa gravemente que rapta alguien y los pone en un espacio oscuro, encadenado al piso, y los espera que conviertan a su causa." [I find it hard to take a cause seriously that kidnaps someone and puts them in a dark room, chained to the floor, and expects them to convert to their cause.] She scoffed at him as she tugged her chains. "De modo que me dice. ¿Qué es este plan? ¿O es eso un secreto también?" [So tell me. What is this plan? Or is that a secret too?]

"Los detalles son. Sí. Pero el plan general. Bien. Eso es inevitable. Sigue sencillo y entendió la teoría revolucionaria." [The details are. Yes. But the overall plan. Well. That is inevitable. It follows simple and understood revolutionary theory.]

"Escucho." [I'm listening.]

"Bien. Nuestra primera fase está sobre. El Ejército Republicano de Liberación. Ellos han triunfado. Ellos han plantado las semillas iniciales de la duda. Para mostrar que el Emperador grande y poderoso no puede proteger todos. Ahora la segunda fase es donde somos ahora. Anunciamos esa fase con Santo George. No la absorción de la isla, eso fue todavía parte de los iniciales. No. Ahora hemos tomado esa herida, creado por el RLA, y lo ensanchó mucho. Esa herida es fresca y ahora crece cada vez mas. Nuestra campaña continuará. Habrá las matanzas, los bombardeos, los raptos. Las personas verán apenas cuán peligroso ellos son y cómo la legitimidad de Emperador se erosiona rápidamente como ellos no pueden ser protegidos. Eso ocasionará la tercera etapa, la etapa que saca apoyo activo y público. Habrá las demostraciones, los levantamientos públicos, y disobediance a la ley. De allí crecerá en la revolución y la rebelión abiertas, culminando en el quinto y fase final, la reemergencia de la República." [Well. Our first phase is over. The Republican Liberation Army. They have succeeded. They have planted the initial seeds of doubt. To show that the grand and mighty Emperor cannot protect everyone. Now the second phase is where we are now. We ushered that phase in with Saint George's. Not the takeover of the island, that was still part of the initials. No. Now we have taken that wound, created by the RLA, and expanded it greatly. That wound is fresh and now it is growing more and more. Our campaign will continue. There will be killings, bombings, kidnappings. People will see just how unsafe they are and how the Emperor's legitimacy is rapidly eroding as they cannot be protected. That will give rise to the third stage, the stage that brings out active and public support. There will be demonstrations, public uprisings, and disobediance to the law. From there it will grow into open revolution and rebellion, culminating in the fifth and final stage, the reemergence of the Republic.]

"Historia triste. Nunca trabajará. El ejército y la policía son demasiado fuertes." [Sad story. It'll never work. The military and the police are too strong.]

"¿Qué piensa usted que ellos harán cuándo 1.000 personas vienen hacia ellos? Hace ellos abren fuego sobre civiles desarmados, sólo protestando. ¿Es ilegal pero qué harán ellos, los detendrá todo? Un puñado de policías y soldados contra mil personas. Pienso no. Crecerá y crecerá. Habrá las decenas de miles, centenares de miles, millón, quizá aún un mil millones." [What do you think they will do when 1,000 people come towards them? Will they open fire on unarmed civilians, only protesting. It is against the law but what will they do, arrest them all? A handful of cops and soldiers against a thousand people. I think not. It will grow and grow. There will be tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, maybe even a billion.]

"¿Usted piensa que muchos unirá su causa? Las personas son prósperas. Ellos son más ricos que nunca. Ellos no darán apenas que todo arriba unir alguna revolución de mala calidad contra un Emperador tan poderoso que cuando ellos fueron invadidos por el Yelmish en Ecuador, ellos se recuperaron un mundo entero alrededor de ellos. Eso es el poder. Usted sólo tiene sueños." [You think that many will join your cause? People are prosperous. They are richer than ever. They won't just give that all up to join some shoddy revolution against an Emperor so powerful that when they were invaded by the Yelmish in Ecuador, they rallied an entire world around them. That is power. You only have dreams.]

"Eso fue hace mucho tiempo. Las conquistas están sobre. Las personas son ya no unificadas bajo la bandera del Imperio." [That was a long time ago. The conquests are over. The people are no longer unified under the banner of the Empire.]

"No. Ellos son unificados ahora bajo paz, la prosperidad, y bajo el Imperio. Ninguna revolución escuchimizada podría cambiar eso." [No. They are unified now under peace, prosperity, and under the Empire. No puny revolution could change that.]

"Libertad. Y cuando ellos ven que el Imperio no los puede proteger." [Freedom. And when they see that the Empire cannot protect them.]

"De modo que usted causará los ataques. Entonces usted los dejará. Qué un chiste. Es la artimaña más vieja en el libro. No trabajará. No cuándo personas son dadas las memorias de los temores de la República. Las inseguridades, los asesinos y los violadores en las calles, las invasiones, las separaciones." [So you will cause the attacks. Then you will cease them. What a joke. It's the oldest trick in the book. It won't work. Not when people are given the memories of the fears of the Republic. The insecurities, the murderers and rapists on the streets, the invasions, the separations.]

"Ellos verán." [They will see.]

"Dudoso." [Doubtful.] He left the room and shut the door behind him, leaving her back in the darkness that she had been cast into since she was abducted so many days ago.

Layarteb

09-12-2006, 07:58

November 28, 2006 - 14:00 [CST]
Ticul, Yucatán

Violence in the Yucatán was beginning to spiral out of control, so much so that the Commander of Team 13 began to seriously contemplate whether or not staying in the state was a good idea. A war between two cartels, the Mayan and the Metnal, based in Tizimín and Peto, respectively, had killed hundreds already. Mostly, the war had to do with car bombings and killings. Death squads for both cartels sought out the cartel bosses of the other cartels and attacked them. They leveled street corners with car bombs, they took out bosses as they rode to and from their homes, they killed policemen, they killed their family members. It was ruthless and neither side appeared to be ready to submit to the other.

The violence arouse out of the demise of the Esmeralda Cartel, the dominant cartel in the Empire. Now, the Meta and Florida cartels sought out territory that was now open to the highest bidder. The Yucatán was one of those territories. Unfortunately, for both the Meta and Florida cartels, the Yucatán had been arranged differently. The Esmeralda Cartel was in full control of it but only because it cooperated with the two local cartels, both of which demanded protection from the Meta and Florida cartels. The Esmeralda Cartel was happy to fulfill that promise as they exported heroin to the Esmeralda Cartel, heroin that was sold throughout the Empire and the world.

When both the Meta and Florida cartels moved into the Yucatán to assert their domination, they were rebuffed by the two local cartels, who wanted freedom and independence now. Essentially, they wanted full control over the state themselves and they didn't want the other to have it. They wanted it all and greed played well with them. Thus far, most of the violence was centered around Tizimín and Peto but it was expanding outwards. Local cities, towns, and villages, around those two, larger towns, were feeling the violence. Cartel death squads ducked for cover in low-lying towns, where police wouldn't think to look and when they did look, the death squads found corruption within the Yucatán state to be a little more than "excessive." Two police officers had, each, accepted over §850,000 in bribe money over the course of a few months. Only days ago, it had come out that they were on the payroll of the cartels. Now, they were awaiting trial and if convicted, they were going to be heading to their executions.

It was 14:00 hours in Ticul and the eight men of Team 13 were going about their daily routines. The Commander and Radioman were both in the living room, keeping an eye on the television. The other six men were scattered. Two were in the market, shopping for groceries and acting like normal citizens. The other four were scattered around the town, three working as a painter and two mechanics and the other conducting some reconnaissance, keeping an eye out for strangers and police. The prisoner was, quiet, sleeping in the darkness of her room. It was then that the television channel changed from commercials to "Breaking News." That breaking news was what shook the confidence in the Commander, though he was bound by his orders.

"Earlier today." The television announcer began. Though the languages of the Empire were both English and Spanish, all news broadcasts were in English. It was just the way things were. "Earlier today in Ticul, four policemen were shot and killed outside the market. Eyewitnesses say that the police were searching three men, suspecting of being part of the Mayan Cartel when a gunman, his identity unknown, opened fire. This is just another incident of violence concerning the gang war being fought between the two Yucatán cartels. Officials say that they are investigating the incident." The news break cut out and regular programming was resumed.

"Huh? Here?" The Radioman asked. Only a half of a second later, there was a knock at the door. There were three knocks and then a long pause. Then there were eight knocks and another pause. "They're back."

"Yeah. Let them in." The Radioman got up and unlocked the deadbolts on the door and let the two men inside, groceries in their hands, enough to feed them and their "kidnap victim" for a few weeks. "What happened with the police?"

"This drug war is out of hand that's what happened."

"How bad?"

"We almost got shot. Listen. Sir. We have to move her from here. This is a dangerous place to be."

"Ticul?"

"The Yucatán."

"I have reassurances that we're safe here."

"How safe can we be, really?"

"Safe."

"A drive-by? A bombing? Anything happens to her and we're in trouble. Deep trouble."

"Where are we going to go?"

"Belize. Guatemala. Who knows. Contact Command. We aren't safe here."

"We'll be fine." It was irony or fate at that moment that there were gunshots in the distance, loud enough to echo into their open windows. "We'll be fine."

"I'm not so sure. Not sure at all. We need to do something about it here. We have to find a different hiding place. Somewhere fortified."

"You are scared?"

"No. I don't want to be up shits creek if something happens to her. Stray bullet. Piece of shrapnel. I want to be alive when the Republic comes around. To see it and to be rewarded by it. Not dead or worse. In a prison."

"I'll report the deteriorating situation to Command but that's all. I'm not pushing for a relocation."

Layarteb

10-12-2006, 08:18

December 1, 2006 - 07:30 [EST]
Panama City, Panama

The Illuminati were set and they were adjusted. The Panamanian climate was remarkably different from where they thought that they would be based, which was in the northern reaches of the Empire. Still, they were well adjusted and that was what they were trained and paid for, they were elite. It wasn't long before Team 20 had their first assignment and it was minor, only requiring the capabilities of the Commander and the Sniper. The task was an assassination and it would be done in the middle of the day.

They both appeared just outside of the city shortly after dawn and both of them were empty handed, except for the concealed M84A1 Five-seveN pistols that they carried, both of them equipped with silencers and loaded with twenty rounds, another sixty within easy reach. Underneath their clothes, they were sporting light body armor, enough to defend against nine millimeter handguns and most handgun threats but certainly not against rifles or submachine guns. They only sported chest and back armor, not full armor and it was only because they might have the need for it. Their task wasn't going to be an easy one and they were going to have to pick up a different weapon for the task. Normally, an Illuminati sniper outfitted himself with an M44A1 7.62 millimeter sniper rifle. In this instance, it wouldn't be enough.

They parked their car outside of a small house on the outskirts of the suburbs and entered the house as if they were old time friends. This was really an Illuminati safehouse and what they needed was inside of it. "So where is it?" The Commander asked the home owner, the same man that greeted him at the door. This was an old man, about sixty-four years old but in good shape and certainly very knowledgable with the Illuminati cause and their mission. He was part of the support cadre that keeped the Ghost Warriors on their feet.

"In the garage. It's a black van. Decent condition. It won't raise eyebrows, that's for sure. You'll blend in well."

"Good. What about the weapon?" The sniper asked.

"That's inside as well. One M38A2 Special Application Rifle. Bolt-action. Twelve point seven millimeter. Heavy son of a beast with excellent range, out to eighteen hundred meters. Effective to about fifteen hundred but skilled marksman have gone out past two thousand with the weapon. You'll have a single magazine of ten rounds for the task. Casings MUST be recovered and the bullets have been preloaded already so that no fingerprints will be found on them. Let's keep it that way. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Very well. For self-defense, if needed, you have your pistols. Extra magazines are inside of the van as well as two assault rifles, M73A2 Enchanced Carbines with one hundred and eighty rounds each. Don't touch the bullets on the magazines and they have collection bags fitted. I don't think they will be necessary but, just in case."

"Understood."

"Bring the van back by 15:00."

"You got it." They shook hands and both of them climbed into the van. They started it and pulled out of the garage only a minute later, when the engine had warmed up a little. It was a short drive, distance wise, into town but with the traffic it would take them close to two hours. They had plenty of time though. They pulled into the base of the fifteen story parking garage at just after 10:00 hours and drove up to the thirteenth level, which was, purposely, kept vacant. Slowly and quietly, the Commander drove up to the floor and parked in a spot that was facing west. He had backed into it and shut off the van. The Sniper unbuckled his seat belt and moved to the rear of the van, which was dark. He opened a large, black plastic case on the floor of the van and pulled out the rifle, all assembled and ready. From there, he moved to the other side, where a chair and a small tabletop were situated. He sat down and buckled the belt and then, locked the rifle in its place on the tabletop. It would stablize and secure the rifle so that it wouldn't experience too much recoil. An intricate flash and sound suppressor was fitted to the front of it and he opened the scope caps of the large and bulky computerized scope that was sitting on the top of the rifle.

The Commander, using the power switch on his console, opened one of the rear windows. It was blacked out and now that it was open, light flooded the back of the vehicle. The Sniper powered up the scope and watched as the scene before him showed on the scope. A red crosshairs appeared just as well, bright with four main lines, forming a plus sign. In the center was a small dot with a box around it. Smaller lines ran perpendicular to the main lines, which were ranging indicators. On the upper right of the scope view was a windage indicator, which showed that the wind was moving west to east at 3 mph. On the left was the range, which was computerized by a small ranging laser, which was also used to determine the windage. He sighted the target building, the police headquarters eighteen hundred and eighty-five meters away. "Target building is in range. What time do we have?"

"10:10 hours. We're ten minutes away from the ETA."

"Roger that. Rounds loaded and ready."

"Good. Now we're just waiting."

"You've got that right." They sat quietly inside of the van, the warm breeze flowing into through the open window in the back. The screeching of tires echoed in the structure and it made them jump a hint but they stopped shortly thereafter. A car was several levels down but none were this high. A special parking pass was required to get to the thirteenth or higher floors and it was currently under renovations, something that didn't stop them from getting up to the abandoned level. They were far away from the building, very far indeed but that didn't mean anything for them. Using the scope to search the sky, the Sniper checked for his target, a helicopter.

It was 10:22 hours when he first saw it, coming out of the far sky. "Visual. I've got it. Still too far away and not in hover to engage."

"Roger."

"Safety off."

"Roger that. I'm starting the van."

"Not yet. Give me one minute."

"Roger." The Sniper watched as the helicopter, a UH-95 Super Huey, came towards the police station and went into a hover about 80 feet above the roof of the structure. "Starting."

"Yes. Alright. Target is in hover. She's descending now. Range is 1-9-0-0. First shot coming up. Fire. Fire. Fire." He squeezed the trigger. With a bang loud enough to shatter their eardrums, the first round left the muzzle of the rifle at an astounding 854 meters per second. The suppressor worked very well. It significantly reduced the recoil of the weapon, dropped the sound of it by at least twenty decibels. It wasn't much but it was something. They still wore earplugs that reduced the sound by another eighty or so decibels. Consequently, there was no large and bright muzzle flash, which could easily reveal their position. The bullet tore through the air with precision and power, slamming into the helicopter at its engine nacelle. The spark and the smoke that followed meant they got a hit. "Hit."

"Good. Shot two."

"Roger that." The helicopter immediately went into unstable flight as the smoke began to billow from the engine nacelle. Inside, alarms and klaxons rang as the helicopter began to lose power. Its movements became erratic and unpredictable. The Sniper, skilled, leveled the sights again and released the spent shell casing. It ejected into a collection bag and a second round was loaded into the chamber. He put the sights on the tail of the aircraft, at the tail rotor and leveled the rifle. "Second shot. Tail rotor. Range is 1-8-8-4. Second shot. Fire. Fire. Fire." He squeezed the trigger and the round ejected from the muzzle again, same speed, same ballistic, the beauty of a bolt-action rifle. The bullet sliced through the air with precision, piercing through the thin skin of the helicopter, just underneath the tail rotor, severing its power lines. The helicopter entered an uncontrolled spin now and moved away from the building. The Sniper loaded another round into the chamber. "She's out of control. Spinning now. This is good." The helicopter dropped sharply as the smoke filled its cabin and cockpit. It would prove to be fatal, as the main rotor caught the side of the building, snapping its blades into pieces. Rotating as fast as they were, they turned into flying missiles, tearing through the side of the building and the street below. The helicopter rolled over, to its right and dropped right towards the ground. It eventually crashed into the pavement below, exploding on impact, killing three bystanders instantly as its blades tore through the street below. "That's it. We've got an impact. Let's get out of here."

"On it." The Commander shut the rear window and put the van into drive. They exited the garage quietly and slowly, just as they had come in, the Sniper returning to his seat once the rifle was secured and away in its case, the safety back on, a round hot in the chamber. They were back at the safehouse in time and watched the news to find that their success was definitely a success. The helicopter had been carrying the chief of police for the Province of Raef, who was visting Panama City for a luncheon with the Ynogan chief of police. They were old friends. Killed in the helicopter crash, besides him and the three bystanders, were the two pilots and three individuals within the cabin. It was labelled a terrorist act even that soon and an investigation of the wreckage would show that it had been shot down.

Layarteb

12-12-2006, 04:54

December 11, 2006 - 12:20 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"It's been seventeen days since she was kidnapped. What do we have?" The Emperor demanded. He was on a video conference call with both the Governor of Raef and the new chief of police from the Province of Raef. "Your predecessor had to have made some progress."

"Sir. I'm afraid that we don't have any new leads at all. The trail is as cold as ice."

"What do you mean it's as cold as ice? It's been seventeen days already. You mean to tell me all we have is the burned out car and the missing cartel members?"

"Yes sir."

"That won't do. No. That won't do at all."

"I'm sorry sir. We've scanned almost every public camera in the Empire and we cannot find anything."

"Governor. Do you accept this?"

The Governor was still strong but the pain and loss that he had suffered over the past seventeen days wore on his face. He looked older, at least a year older, and his eyes were bloodshot. He hadn't slept in those seventeen days for more than a few hours, total. "No. My little girl is missing. She's been kidnapped. No ransom has been requested. Nobody has stepped forward at all. We've been running her picture on the news everyday. You mean to tell me you have no leads?"

"I'm sorry Governor. We don't. Whoever took her, whether it was the cartel members or not, obviously doesn't want money. They want something else?"

"Yes. That is obvious. They are doing this out of terror. Not greed."

"Yes sir. That is what we have deduced."

"What links do we have with this kidnapping and anything else?"

"Certainly the assassination of my predecessor is a viable link."

"I would agree. Panama City. Perhaps we should look in Panama City?"

"We have already begun."

"And?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. It's more than frustrating."

"Of course it's frustrating. Try coming home each day to your wife and explaining to her that her baby, her daughter has not been found. I can't take it anymore. She just stars at me with eyes. Sir. I'm sorry."

"That's understandable. I do not disagree with you on it. You and your wife must be under immense stress and pain. I cannot imagine how you do it everyday."

"Hope sir. Hope that she will be found. Found alright."

"I assure you we will. Isn't that right?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I want answers tomorrow. I want leads. I want something." He ended the video conferencing and looked across his desk, to the conference table. "General. What do you think?" BG. Delaney sat there, his feet up on the table. In his hand was his knife and he was cleaning his fingernails, a wicked stare on his face as he pulled out dried dirt.

"Sir." He stood and put his knife away. "Sir. I think this is more than a professional job. I don't suspect that the cartel had much to do with it. I think they may have just been a smoke screen. As intelligence has pointed out and shown."

"Yes. Who do you think did this?"

"If I have to guess?"

"No. I do not want a guess. I want a hypothesis."

"In that case sir, I would say that the same group that paid the mercenaries to attack Saint George's is responsible for her kidnapping."

"What do you base that on?"

"Only my own deductive reasoning."

"What role do you think Kaliningradians could play in this?"

"If any? Very little. The Fourth Reich saw to it that they were more than annihilated. Any remnants that still exist would not have the capabilities to pull off something like this."

"How so?"

"When they were around they could only muster a single airplane hijacking and that didn't last."

"I am aware."

"They're in the past sir. The Kaliningradians are of no concern to us. No sir. This is a new enemy. A hidden enemy."

"How hidden do you think?"

"Well sir. I'd imagine they've been around for some time now. Since the end of the conquests, they have seen their time to shine."

"We need information on them."

"We do. The Ministry of Intelligence and Justice should be good with that. Perhaps they are remnants of the RLA?"

"Perhaps." The Emperor stood up and looked around the room and then the phone rang. "Yes. Yes. When? Understood."

"Something wrong?"

"The Minister of Justice has just informed me that they have someone in custody from El Cajio. A woman who claims she saw a boat meet them on the docks."

"That's good news."

"Possibly. I want you down there to do the interrogations on her. Make it simple and effective. Don't put her through torture alright?"

"I wouldn't think of it."

"Good. She'll give her statement and then be allowed to go back to her house. Interview her there."

"Got it sir."

"Good." BG. Delaney departed Governor's Island and arrived at his house an hour later. From there, he packed a small overnight bag, said goodbye to his girlfriend, telling her only that he would be back in two days, he had to go out of country. She didn't like it much but she accepted it, after all, that was his job. He got on a private jet shortly thereafter and departed Westchester County Airport at 16:00 hours. It was 1,350 miles to Havana International Airport, in Cuba. His plane touched down at 19:00 hours and he adjusted his suit jacket as he got off the plane, a concealed pistol inside of his jacket, with another four magazines of bullets in his pockets. The Learjet had taxiied to a secluded section of the airport, the military section, and he stepped off it as a "civilian." Walking past guards, he shifted his sunglasses to make sure that his eyes wouldn't be seen.

He walked through the complex and met up with the base commander, Colonel Justin Marquéz, a native Cuban. "Colonel. Good to meet you. My name is Teddy Rockwell. I work for the Ministry of the Interior. We spoke on the phone two hours ago?"

"Yes sir we did." They shook hands. "Have a seat. Please. Cigar?"

"No thank you. So. It is kind of hot down here isn't it?"

"No more than usual. I imagine you came from cold weather?"

"Yes. It's about 35° where I left. It's what, 85 here?"

"82." He smiled. "So what can we do for you?"

"Well. I'm here on business. As much as I would like to be here for pleasure." He laughed and adjusted his glasses. "I hope you don't mind me wearing them. I have an eye condition. Very sensitive to light."

"I understand. What business are you here for? I'm sorry I didn't get much of it on the phone."

"There was a lot of background noise from the engines. I have a habit of forgetting that. Well. I am here for photography actually. There are plans for a new resort on the southern coast, about 12 miles southeast of Güines. So. I am here to take some photography of the area, to see if it is suitable or not. A survey task actually."

"Sounds exciting."

"I confess it isn't."

"I must imagine."

"But as such it is my job. I'll be in town for only two days. I plan on doing the bulk of the work tomorrow and flying out the day after. I would like to at least enjoy some of the sights. If you understand?"

"Been a while since you had a vacation?"

"Yes it has. About two years. I'm looking forward to a day of relaxation. I told my superiors it would take at least four days. So. I do all the work tomorrow. Relax the day after and fly back the morning after that. I'm a hero for coming back a day ahead of time."

"Smart move." They both laughed. "Well. I imagine you'll need a vehicle?"

"I would prefer one. Yes. I would walk but I'm not in that good shape."

"Few are. So. What do we have available? Any preference?"

"Yeah. Something new."

"New? Well that shouldn't be hard to find. What about a Cobalt SS?"

"Very nice. Transmission?"

"Manual. Supercharged four cylinder. Two hundred and five horsepower."

"That's fine with me."

"Good. We'll get you that right away." He picked up the phone and dialed the manager of the motor pool. "Yeah. Hey Randy. It's Colonel Marquéz. Could you do me a favor and have someone bring around the black Cobalt SS? Yes. For an official. Thank you." He put down the phone and looked back, lighting a cigar. "It'll be a few minutes. So tell me Mr. Rockwell. How are things in the Ministry?"

"Sluggish I'd say. That incident in Grenada. Well we're still feeling the heat from it and now with this new terrorist wave we have our hands tied."

"Wave?"

"Well. The kidnapping of Ms. Delgado. The assassination of the police chief. It's got to be linked together."

"How high up in the Ministry are you Mr. Rockwell?"

"Not very. I'm afraid I'm pretty low on the totem pole, so to speak." He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"Well I suppose that's good. The lower you are, the less grief you have."

"I agree wholeheartedly." It was at that moment that the colonel's phone rang.

"Excuse me. Colonel Marquéz speaking. Yes. Good. Thank you." He put the phone down and stood up. "Mr. Rockwell. Your vehicle is ready."

"Good. Good." He smiled and stood himself.

"I'll show you the way." They walked out of the base now and out to the front door, where the car was waiting, keys in the ignition, engine on, purring like a kitten. "Beautiful vehicle. I like to test drive it occassionally myself. I go up and down the tarmac sometimes but don't tell anyone." He winked.

"Secret is safe with me. I'll be sure to return it in the condition it is in now and with a full tank of gas."

"Thank you. Your luggage?"

"I just have one bag. Actually. There it is." The pilot walked towards him with the bag and handed it to him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome Mr. Rockwell."

"Well. Good to meet you and I'll see you in a few days." They shook hands and BG. Delaney opened the passenger door, put down the bag on the seat, and walked around to the driver's side. He opened the door and sat down inside the vehicle, adjusting the seat and mirrors accordingly. With his foot on the clutch, he released the parking brake, threw it out of neutral, into first, and pushed down the throttle. In seconds, he was zooming away, down the road at over 45 mph. The road had a 30 mph speed limit but he didn't care, he wanted to push the vehicle as much as he could, for now. He got it up to 70 mph before he slowed down for the gate.

Layarteb

13-12-2006, 06:04

December 11, 2006 - 20:48 [EST]
El Cajio, Cuba

BG. Delaney sped through the Cuban countryside for another hour before he came to El Cajio, a small town on the southern coast, a town that looked as if the Empire never touched it. It was a fishing village, if there was ever one, and the beaches were prestine and gorgeous, untouched by the decay of modern society. It was a beautiful place to settle and an even more beautiful place to die. There were a few piers, none of them occupied, the ships being at sea, definitely on their way back in, the time almost 21:00 hours. He looked at his GPS unit and saw where the woman lived, pulling through the town slowly, his lights illuminating the empty streets.

The car was quiet and when he pulled up to the house, the woman never knew anyone was there except for when her doorbell rang. It was late and she was definitely not accustomed to receiving visitors this late. Cautiously, she came to the door and looked through the peephole. "¿Le puedo ayudar yo?" [Can I help you?] She held a baseball bat in her hand as she stared at the man with the dark glasses and the fresh suit.

"Estoy de aquí entrevistarle concierne el rapto. Me llamo Teddy Rockwell y yo trabajo para el Ministerio del Interior. ¿Querría usted ver mi credencial?" [I am here to interview you concerning the kidnapping. My name is Teddy Rockwell and I work for the Ministry of the Interior. Would you like to see my credentials?]

"Sí." [Yes.] He held up his ID to the peephole and she unlocked the door but left the chain in place. "¿Por qué está usted aquí tan tarde?" [Why are you here so late?]

"Confieso a Señora que soy tarde. Mi vuelo fue demorado de la capital. Yo me disculpo pero tengo tiempo pequeño." [I confess ma'am that I am late. My flight was delayed from the capital. I apologize but I have little time.]

"¿Por qué tiene usted en gafas de sol?" [Why do you have on sunglasses?]

He removed them and squinted. "Tengo una condición de ojo. Soy muy sensible encender. ¿Puedo entrar yo a Señora? Yo sólo quiero entrevistarle concierne los acontecimientos la otra noche." [I have an eye condition. I am very sensitive to light. May I come in ma'am? I only want to interview you concerning the events the other night.]

"Dije a la policía lo que sé. Yo no le puedo decir más." [I told the police what I know. I cannot tell you more.]

"La policía no realiza la investigación apropiada. Tengo mis propias preguntas para preguntar." [The police are not conducting the proper investigation. I have my own questions to ask.]

She looked at him skeptically. "Bien." [Alright.]

"Gracias Señora. ¿Cómo es su inglés?" [Thank you ma'am. How is your English?] He offered his hand to shake hers and she did.

"My English is fine. Your Spanish is good."

"Thank you ma'am. Is there somewhere we can be seated? Perhaps the kitchen?"

"Yes. Please. Come in. Excuse me if I am wary. I've already talked to the police."

"I understand. I am conducting a different investigation. A federal investigation. Like I said before. My name is Teddy Rockwell. May I ask you yours?"

"Okay. I am Camina Flora. What do you want to know?"

"Good to meet you Camina. You told the police that you saw a boat. With men on it. Before you saw the fire."

"Yes. I was in my bedroom reading and I glanced out the window and saw the boat. It was unusual because it was late out and the boats weren't set to be back for a few days. My husband. He's a fisherman. Would you like some coffee?"

"No thank you. So you say that the boat schedule was permitting that no boats be in port?"

"Yes."

"When are the boats due back?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Understood. Now. When you said that you saw the men. Do you have any descriptions?"

"Yes. I took photographs. I thought it was very unusual and I heard about the kidnapping on the news."

"Do you have them here?"

"I do. Wait one minute please." She left and walked up to her bedroom and returned with a Polaroid and a stack of photographs, held together with a rubber band. "Here they are. Please be careful though they are originals."

"You showed these to the police?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"They weren't developed yet. I confess. They are coming back tomorrow afternoon to receive them."

"Good. Good."

"Are they sufficient?"

"Certainly. If you don't mind. I would like to take these to my car. I left my laptop there and I can scan them there and copy them so that you may keep the originals."

"Can you do it in here?"

"Certainly. If you excuse me." He walked out to his car and picked up his laptop. He returned to the kitchen with it, loaded it up, and showed her the scanner underneath the keyboard. He scanned the photographs and shut down his laptop, returning it to the bag at his side. He returned to his pencil and pad, taking copious notes about what she said. "Now. Did you see them bring anything onboard?"

"A body."

"Was it moving?"

"I couldn't tell."

"Alright. What about the three men?"

"They were killed and taken aboard."

"Killed? How?"

"I think they suffocated them."

"With their hands?"

"No. Maybe plastic bags. It was dark and hard to see too well."

"Alright. No blood left. Smart. How many were there?"

"I counted just those six."

"Six. Alright. Did you get any markings on the boat? These pictures aren't very clear. Was the flash on?"

"No. I was shooting them with a wide aperture."

"You are a photographer?"

"I am."

"Good. I'm glad you are. Well. I don't believe that I have anything else to ask you at this moment in time. Will you be available for further questioning tomorrow?"

"I will."

"Thank you ma'am. Here's my card. You can call me if you need it."

"Thank you sir." They shook hands and she looked at the card. It didn't say much except what she needed to see, his name, a phone number, a fax number, an e-mail address, a mailing address, his title, and the logo of the Empire. She smiled as she pulled her head up but instantly frowned. BG. Delaney's face had suddenly changed and he grabbed her by the neck, lifting her slightly off her feet. He was strong, very strong, and he twisted her around, throwing a thin, metal wire around her neck now. She struggled but was unable to scream as the wire cut through her vocal cords and her neck. The more she struggled, the deeper it went, cutting right into her arteries. Blood pulsed out as she began gargling on her blood, drowning in it. Seconds later, she was dead, her head nearly cut off.

He threw her on the ground and let her hit it hard. He took the wire and coiled it up, wiping the blood off on her shirt, the pool underneath her beginning to spread. He was careful not to leave any prints around and he went to work quickly thereafter. He opened the oven and turned on the gas, to maximum blast, on all the burners too. From there, he made sure the windows were shut and he pulled out a small plastic box from his suit jacket. The box was powered by a 9 volt battery and its entire purpose was to produce a spark, enough to ignite the gas. He walked out and quietly drove away. Twenty minutes later, the town was rocked by the explosion, which leveled not only her house but also two houses adjacent to her. In total, eleven people died, in an explosion that erased all evidence of the Illuminati pickup. The originals and the camera were in BG. Delaney's possession and he searched for journals and other written documentation that could have given off any evidence. He found nothing.

Layarteb

17-12-2006, 06:09

December 12, 2006 - 06:10 [EST]
Grand Cayman Island, Cayman Islands

The sun was about an hour from rising out of the east but it wouldn't be seen. Over the course of the morning, just after midnight, a powerful thunderstorm moved over the island and was stalling as it headed to the west. It brought torrents of rain and wind, lightning and thunder bright and loud enough to turn the darkened silence of the night into an illuminated and loud enviornment. That was the way BG. Delaney wanted it when he pulled up to the warehouse on an abandoned airfield in the middle of the island. There were plans to convert it into a museum but it would probably be demolished in favor of a resort or housing, who knew. Until then, it was a meeting place, a secluded meeting place. He parked just outside of the warehouse and stepped out of his vehicle. He walked into the shoddy aluminum door of the warehouse and looked into a vast and black cavern of emptiness. Well. This is pleasant. He thought to himself as he walked towards the center of the warehouse. He could see a small, blue glow in the center of the empty warehouse and he walked towards it, his footsteps echoing but not as loud as the raindrops battering the roof.

"General. I'm glad you could make it." A voice echoed in the empty warehouse.

"Mr. Hunter. I'm glad you could make it as well. I thought I recognized that blue glow."

"You thought correct. The Ministry of Intelligence saw fit to part with me for a few days."

"I'm glad to hear that. So what is it that you wanted to see me about?"

"The job is done?"

"Yes. She is history."

"Good. What do the police suspect?"

"They still haven't gotten too close to the crime scene. There's a lot of wreckage there and bits of it are scattered for miles."

"You really blew the place up didn't you?"

"How else could we destroy the evidence?"

"And the adjacent homes?"

"The fog of war."

"Correct. Very well. There is going to be a major announcement from the ministry tomorrow."

"Concerning?"

"The kidnapping. It seems that they've gotten their hands on some poor survelliance footage from Progresso that shows a coffin being offloaded a boat."

"So?"

"A boat registered to Guantanamo. That was 'sunk' two years ago."

"Very interesting. Sunk how?"

"The owner reported it lost in a storm."

"Hurricane?"

"Yes."

"So that doesn't prove much except that he's a fraud."

"Well. The coffin could be the girl. Well. It is the girl. We know the Illuminati brought her through there and on that boat."

"True. What are we going to do?"

"There isn't much we can do."

"So why are you telling me?"

"Only because we plan on moving her again."

"Where to?"

"Nicaragua. In the mountains."

"How are we going to manage that?"

"How?" Lightning flashed outside and thunder shook the tin roof of the warehouse.

"A small aircraft to Matagalpa. Then we'll transport them."

"Alright. Make sure nobody sees anything this time."

"No. They won't."

"Alright. I'm expected back in the capital soon."

"Understood."

Layarteb

19-12-2006, 03:53

OOC Summary

Chapter One: Faint & Numb

October 10: A massive truck bomb in the order of 2,000 pounds goes off outside a newspaper office of the LNN in the early morning hours. 7 dead.
October 11: Missile Base 1511 undergoes treasonous insurrection. Further reports unknown.
October 14: ILN Hunter SSN ordered to take up position off Layarteb coast. Further orders not given.
October 15: Force Falcon Team One ordered to re-establish contact with Missile Base 1511. Boeing 777 crashes north of Athens, Tennessee. All 89 on board are killed. Investigation pending.

Chapter Two: Frantic

October 16: Force Falcon Team One leads a strike on Missile Base 1511. During the course of the retaking, a single LGM-174A Satan is launched at Layarteb City with the intention of hitting it. Luckily, MIM-196 AABMS missiles intercept the ICBM before it could hit.

Chapter Three: Estranged

October 18: Force Falcon Team One lands in Santa Cruz, Bolivia for the assassination of the President of GnOoLoCoPeLep.
October 20: GnOoLoCoPeLepian President assassinated early in the morning.
October 22: Failed attempt by terrorist group to bomb Layartebian airbase in Sunbury, PA.

Chapter Four: Overburdened

October 23: Central Justice Agency begins Anti-Domestic Terrorist Force under the command of Bureau Chief Benjamin O'Davis. Identifies Republican Liberation Army as terrorist group responsible for bombings of Layarteb City and airliner over Tennessee.
October 25: RLA blows up a Boeing 707 and an Airbus A300 from Layarteb Airways over Cove Neck, New York and Belle Harbor, Queens, Layarteb City.
October 26: Emperor makes speech condemning the RLA. Raid on Layarteb City apartment nets 17 RLA terrorists and kills 3. Documents recovered tell of a plot for subway bombings.
October 28: News media is leaked the presence of the Mayan uprising in the Yucatán state.
October 30: Six security guards shot and killed execution style inside the Layarteb City office for Layarteb Publishers
United.
October 31: Secret societies meet to discuss revolutionary plan.
November 2: Two firefighters die in a suspicious blaze in a New Jersey factory.

Chapter Five: Rosenrot

November 5: 84 RLA terrorists seize St. Paul's Boarding School in New Hampshire and take 1,184 hostages, most of them under 18. In the fighting, they lose 2 of their own and kill 20, mostly school officials and guards. Terrorists round up hostages in the main dining hall as parents, soldiers, and police officers, including SWAT, surround the school. By 1300, a standoff ensues. At 1430, three children are executed by the RLA terrorists after a SWAT sniper shoots one of the terrorists. The SWAT sniper dies mysteriously. At 1530, Rome and Norway denounce the seizure.
November 6: Under the threat of a severe winter storm, small group of soldiers enter school and hide in admissions office. Families begin to grow wrestless and plot their own action. Explosions go off in dining hall and a chaotic attack is done leaving 75 terrorists, 152 children, and 38 soldiers dead. Many are wounded. Seven terrorists are captured, including the leader.
November 7: Emperor delcares national day of mourning for November 6.

Chapter Six: Precious

December 1: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island become part of the Empire. Only Quebec remains.
December 9: Quebecois Special Forces use VX gas against Jay, Vermont, killing 384 of 426 people.
December 10: Quebecois invade Ontario during the early morning. Jay Incident becomes public knowledge and Quebecois SOF and RLA terrorists blamed. Quebecois forces make quick and powerful headway throughout the course of the morning, seizing North Bay. RLA base compound in Clinton discovered for its true purpose.
December 11: Roman forces land to help the Ontarians. Quebecois clash with Roman/Ontarian forces in Alliston.
December 12: RLA forces seize 12 MGM-212 CBRR rockets on an assault at the El Jobal Chemical Weapons Depot, in Venezuela. 60 base personnel and 18 terrorists are killed. The rockets are currently "missing."
December 13: Roman forces repel the Quebecoi offensive, pushing them out of Ontario and towards Quebec. RLA group captured in Alliston, where Quebecoi forces devestated and forced back.

Chapter Seven: Colorblind

December 15: Layartebian forces begin aerial attack on Quebec at 0200 local time.
December 25: Ground war against Quebec begins at 0230 local time.
December 30: Boisclair captured by Roman forces.
January 1, 2006: Quebec War over. Montreal secure.

Chapter Eight: Gone Away

January 21: Battle of Clinton begins. Layartebian forces attack RLA compound north of Clinton, Alabama. The battle begins at exactly 10:02, local time. 8 soldiers die initially. Full assault begins at 23:00. Assault ends at 23:40 with 52 soldiers dead and 82 wounded.
January 22: Battle of Clinton continues. Stalemate ensues with a twenty-four hour ceasefire at 07:15.
January 23: Battle of Clinton ends. RLA compound burned from the inside out, RLA leadership and fighters dead from suicide or gunshots. 427 die.

Chapter Nine: Greed & Serenity

June 1: Former Minister of Intelligence dies inside of Nova Prospekt prison, Galapagos Islands.

Chapter Ten: Bleed the Freak

June 15: Soldiers begin leaving the island of Grenada for 6-day liberty.
June 16: Rebellion forces attack Grenada at 03:00 hours. At 05:29 hours, rebel forces shoot down Flight 2993 to Miami, Florida with 226 people onboard; none survive. By 20:00 hours, rebel forces have secured 100% of the island and suffered 3,049 losses. Layartebian casualties number 7,775 and 4,518 are captured. In the fighting, 839 civilians are killed in addition to Flight 2993.

Chapter Eleven: Goodbye For Now

June 16: Dr. Gordon Gray of the University of Layarteb at Layarteb City is murdered by an unknown gunman.
June 17: United Eastasian Republic publically officially recognizes the Republic of Grenada and offers supplies, funding, and aide.
June 18: At 08:30 hours, the Emperor gives worldwide speech about Grenada and condemns UER for recognizing the Democratic Republic of Grenada.
June 19: Imperial Layartebian Navy blockades island of Grenada.
June 22: UER aide flight given clearance to land in Grenada. UER aide flight evacuates UER diplomatic contingent from Grenada. ILN RA-5E Vigilante conducts low-level reconnaissance.
June 23: Christopher Allen Florence is arrested outside of Charleston, WV and questioned and held in connection to the murder of Dr. Gray.

Chapter Twelve: Fall to Pieces

July 3: Supreme Grenadian of the DPRG secretly requests international aide to be delivered during a week long "negotiation" with the Empire, during which they hope the blockade will be lifted.
July 4: MSgt. Brendan Williams and his family are murdered, possibly by drifters, in their Tennessee home. MSgt. Williams was due for a media interview regarding the shoot down of LA Flight 88 at 19:00 hours.
July 6: Secret safe house in Panama is attacked by Force Falcon Team One early in the morning, just after midnight. RLA high council, survivors of the Battle of Clinton, are all killed. The total death toll is 42 in the safe house and 28 in the vehicle convoy. The Emperor agrees that the blockade shall be lifted on July 16, 2006 at 00:00 EST and reinstated on July 22, 2006 at 23:59 EST, if no progress is made during negotiations.

Chapter Thirteen: Bleeding Me

July 11: Shoot out at Dockhouse 14 in Caracas shipyard leaves 13 dead. A mysterious cargo is stolen and the identity of all men, except two, is unconfirmed. Those two are linked with Esmeralda Cartel.
July 13: Giacomo Benevetti is murdered by shooting and burning outside his office in Caracas, Venezuela. Suspects unknown though murder is linked with Dr. Gordon Gray. Suspect sought out is believed to be the same person for both.
July 14: Esmeralda Cartel yacht sunk in the Gulf of Paria by ILN vessel. Eight men aboard killed. Two men founded murdered, execution sytle in Güiria. Both are linked to the Esmeralda Cartel.
July 21: Layartebian delegation to Grenada is assassinated in their hotel in St. George's, totalling 29 individuals. Blockade resumes and the DPRG is given 24 hours from 11:00 hrs [EST] to surrender the island back to Layarteb City.
July 22: Deadline passes. Hostilities officially begin against DPRG at 13:00 hrs [EST].

Chapter Fourteen: Stillborn

July 22: Deadline passes. Hostilities officially begin against DPRG at 13:00 hrs [EST]. First eleven hours of fighting sees 1,600 Grenadian, 22 Layartebian, and 65 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 21,239 at the start of the war.
July 23: At 00:15 hrs [EST], Victoria is secured. Mount Saint Catherine is secured at 03:00 hrs [EST]. Panorama and Trevellan are secured at 09:00 hrs [EST]. First thirty-five hours of fighting sees 3,839 Grenadian, 312 Layartebian, and 300 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 17,315 at the end of July 23. There are a total of 85 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 24: At 01:20 hrs [EST], Grenville is secured. At 03:00 hrs [EST], Saint Patrick's parish & Saint Andrew's parish secured. At 06:20 hrs [EST], the airport is secured. At 08:30 hrs [EST] assault on St. George's begins with aircraft and cruise missiles. At 11:15 hrs [EST] Gouyave is secured but massacre of civilians is found with 2,450 civilians executed throughout the town by Grenadian soldiers. First fifty-nine hours of fighting sees 7,293 Grenadian, 815 Layartebian, and 2,828 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 13,734 at the end of July 24. There are a total of 212 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 25: At 02:00 hrs [EST], all of Grenada is considered secured except for St. George's. At 05:00 hrs [EST], invasion of St. George's by Marines begins. At 21:25 hrs [EST], the captured Layartebian soldiers from June 16 are recovered. Of the 4,518 that were initially captured, only 3,758 remained alive. In the first eighty-three hours of fighting, 9,549 Grenadian, 1,787 Layartebian, and 3,201 civilain casualties are registered. Grenadian soldiers number 11,430 at the end of July 25. There are a total of 260 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 26: At 10:29:38 hrs [EST], a 5 kiloton nuclear device is detonated in downtown St. George's. The device is of unknown origin and at least 30,000 civilians and 8,500 Grenadian military personnel as well as 6,100 Marines are persent in the city when the device goes off. Possible casualties are expected to exceed 40,000. At 12:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor addresses the world about the events in Grenada. Estimates for casualties are narrowed between 20,000 and 30,000.

Chapter Fifteen: Cowboys From Hell

July 26: At 11:30 hrs [EST], martial law is declared on Grenada and an immediate "in-house" curfew is imposed. At 14:15 hrs [EST], analysis shows that radiation is rapidly spreading towards Cottish Barbados, to the northeast, and that the device used was an enhanced radiation device. At 15:01 hrs [EST], the first fire fighting chemicals fall over Saint George's. At 17:00 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as a W80-0 of a Tomahawk SLCM. At 18:20 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as a Teh Ninjan weapon. At 21:18 hrs [EST], a fire storm hits the city and ravages the inner circle of the city, around the blast zone.
July 27: At 09:30 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as being built within the Empire of Teh Ninjas in Cuba and shipped to Madagascar for basing on a 688/I class submarine. At 11:00 hrs [EST], the fires within the city are considered "under control." Recovery efforts continue within the city.
July 28: At 04:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor meets with President Baruti of the United States of Brink about the bombing. At 04:30 hrs [EST], two vehicles are identified on a highway heading north from Georgia and engaged by 2nd BOG forces. Two men are captured. Six are killed and their vehicle destroyed. Witnesses had little to say about the event.
July 29: At 06:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor's aircraft and flight are engaged by twelve F-22B Raptors going rogue from the ILAF. All twelve rogue aircraft are shot down along with four F-22B Raptors and one F-14E Super Tomcat escorting the Emperor's aircraft. At 21:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor returns to Layarteb City. The engagement of his aircraft is kept "hush-hush."
August 9: At 12:00 hrs [EST], the final casualty figures are released to include 37,221 as a result of both the blast and the radiation poisoning that followed. On Barbados, 400 Cottish individuals died.

Chapter Sixteen: Sehnsucht

November 23: Layarteb Airlines Flight 1890 explodes in mid-air, at 19:30 hrs [EST], 8 miles south of East Moriches, Long Island. The cause of the disaster is yet unknown but all 526 onboard are presumed dead.
November 24: Jasmine Delgado, the daughter of the Governor of the Province of Raef, is kidnapped at a market in Havana at 15:05 hrs [EST] by Luis Rendon and Javier Montenegra of the Florida Cartel. They soon meet up with Hector Pimentel, also of the Florida Cartel. Their house and car are burned and their whereabouts are unknown.
December 1: At 10:27 hrs [EST], the chief of police for the Province of Raef is asssassinated when his helicopter is shot down trying to land on the roof of the Panama City police headquarters. Six men in the helicopter and three bystanders on the street are killed.
December 11: Mysterious explosion around 22:39 hrs [EST] kills lead witness in Jasmine Delgado kidnapping and destroys two adjacent homes. Ten others are killed.
December 23: Official investigation on LA Flight 1890 concludes citing that mechanical failure brought down the aircraft due to faulty wiring in the center fuel tank, which ignited fuel vapors and caused the explosion. All 526 lives were lost, making it the dealiest, civilian air disaster in EOL history.

Confirmed Body Count: 66,540
Unconfirmed Body Count: 66,786+

Layarteb

09-01-2007, 06:07

OOC: Ride the Lightning is set to resume when Against All Enemies (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=512803) and Ascensión (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=509447) are completed. I appreciate your patience and please, feel free to comment or post questions that you may have. There is a lot here and the summaries help but I am sure there is some confusion, especially since the storyline has been changed and developed throughout the chapters.

Layarteb

05-02-2007, 02:25

OOC: When RTL resumes it will resume after the events of Ascensión (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=509447) but before the events of Against All Enemies (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=512803). I have some spoilers for you guys as well. Jasmine Delgado will be returned, Jane will not make an appearance, we will learn some more about the Emperor's past and Jack Delaney's past, as they intertwine, and we'll see some really in depth stuff on the Illuminati.

Layarteb

24-02-2007, 04:42

OOC: Just an update here. Ascensíon (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=509447) has been completed and I am expecting to be done with AAE within a month, maybe. Catch up and you'll be on point for when it restarts.

Layarteb

16-03-2007, 03:45

OOC: Just an update, AAE is going to take a little longer so I think RTL will resume right after the events of AAE. Here's a preview:

"Good. Now. Please. Step this way. There are sandals at the door here you may step into." The floor was cold despite the rest of the room being warm and comfortable, atmospherically. The robe dragged on the floor but that was normal. A black rope went around his waste and hung over his right side, almost touching the ground. "Yes this way." They passed from one darkened room to another one, where four other men were standing, aged twenty-six to forty-eight. All of them were dressed similarly and all of them looked at the last man, Christopher, and nodded. "Good evening gentlemen. My name is Mr. Wood. I am the conductor for this evening, so to speak. It is my duty to oversee your preparation. You are all similiarly clothed, in hooded robes. Soon you will be blindfolded and you will do the following." He stepped around them. "You will, first and foremost, place your left hand on the left shoulder of the man in front of you. With the blindfolds on, you will then proceed forward. Once inside you will be subjected to strange smells and sounds. They are foreign to you and I ask that you please remember the following things. You will not, under any circumstance, speak, unless a question is directed towards you. You will not, under any circumstance remove the blindfold. You will not, under any circumstance disobey the directions presented to you. Is this clear?" The men nodded and the sixty-five year old, short, white-haired man looked back at them. "Good. Now. If you will please line up in the following order: Mark Ballister. You are first. Here. Stand right here. George Burns, you are second. Michael Hollister, third. Christopher Rockwood. Fourth. Wesley Sinclair Jr. Last. Alright we are in order. You will be blind folded now." Five men, who came silently out of the shadows, startling three of the five men, approached them with black blindfolds. Their hoods were lowered and the blindfolds were placed around their eyes and secured tightly. "Gentlemen. You are now without light to your eyes." Their hoods were put back. "From here on out you will remain silent. Except for questions. To which I pose the first question, that being, what do you desire most in life?"

Layarteb

05-04-2007, 01:29

Chapter XVII: Ugly & Damned

The mansion was set back from the road, far back, a good half mile or so. It was a dark drive from the high gates at the front entrance and the two men in tuxedoes standing guard at the gate were more than pleasurable to the driver of the vehicle, who stopped at the gate, lowered his tinted window, and looked up at the well-dressed man. "Sir. I am bringing aboard a candidate and Mr. Buick," which was, of course, a codename for the real occupant.

"One moment." He checked his clipboard and smiled. "Go ahead in." The gates opened and the Lincoln Towncar, with its leather interior, drove onto the gravel road and moved down the unlit, spooky road, towards the mansion. The headlights weren't enough and the driver flicked on the brights only moments after turning onto the road, the gates shutting behind him.

"Are you ready?" The man in the back asked the candidate, sitting next to him, both of them in tuxedoes, after all, this was a formal affair. "Nervous?"

"I am." Mr. Buick was a fifty-two year old director in the Ministry of the Interior and the candidate was his son, a thirty-two year old low-level employee within the Ministry of Justice. His son knew not of his father's secret life, which, he presumed, he would see inside of this mansion, wherever it was. Then, it appeared in the distance, before they could continue the conversation. It was humongous, two or three floors high, built like a castle. Almost all of the lights were on and limosines and towncars were parked out front, their drivers sitting inside of them, patiently waiting. The driver pulled into an empty spot, guided by an usher with an illuminating flashlight, coned with a red plastic cover. "Alright?"

"Yes. Don't be nervous. It's a piece of cake." They stepped out of the vehicle and the usher greeted them.

"Good evening." He asked with a kind voice.

"Good evening. How much longer?"

"About a half hour. Plenty of time."

"Thank you."

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mansion.jpg

Mr. Buick retrieved a robe from the trunk of the car and a mask as well. "Normal." He said to his son, who looked at him curiously. "You'll get yours in time."

"I hope." They entered the mansion and were greeted at the door.

"Good evening Mr. Buick. Is this our candidate?"

"It is."

"Very well. We'll take him from here."

"Excellent. If I may?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you." He pulled his son aside and out of earshot. "Just be relaxed alright. It's going to be some scary shit. Trust me. You just keep quiet and do what you are told. Right?"

"Yes."

"See you soon." He shook his son's hand and his son was led away while he put on both the robe and the mask. He moved into the main part of the mansion and into the congregating area in front of a pair of large, wooden doors, which led into the main ceremony room. His son, on the other hand, was led the opposite way, into a room, spacious but dark, lit only by candles. The usher that led him in, bowed, and left, shutting the door behind him. His son stood there, looking around, confused already about what was happening when a man appeared out of the shadows of a corner, untouched by the candlelight.

"You are Christopher Joel Rockwood?"

"I am. What is going on?"

"Be quiet. You will disrobe and place this on." He took a hooded robe from his arm and handed it to him. "You may leave your underwear on but nothing else may remain. Please remove all jewelry as well. Your belongings will be safe. You can change over here." The robe was reminisce of the robe that the Grim Reaper wore and it was heavy, very heavy. "If you wish I will leave the area." He bowed and returned to the corner, waiting for the man to finish, which he did, shortly thereafter. "Comfortable?"

"No."

"Good. Now. Please. Step this way. There are sandals at the door here you may step into." The floor was cold despite the rest of the room being warm and comfortable, atmospherically. The robe dragged on the floor but that was normal. A black rope went around his waste and hung over his right side, almost touching the ground. "Yes this way." They passed from one darkened room to another one, where four other men were standing, aged twenty-six to forty-eight. All of them were dressed similarly and all of them looked at the last man, Christopher, and nodded. "Good evening gentlemen. My name is Mr. Wood. I am the conductor for this evening, so to speak. It is my duty to oversee your preparation. You are all similiarly clothed, in hooded robes. Soon you will be blindfolded and you will do the following." He stepped around them. "You will, first and foremost, place your left hand on the left shoulder of the man in front of you. With the blindfolds on, you will then proceed forward. Once inside you will be subjected to strange smells and sounds. They are foreign to you and I ask that you please remember the following things. You will not, under any circumstance, speak, unless a question is directed towards you. You will not, under any circumstance remove the blindfold. You will not, under any circumstance disobey the directions presented to you. Is this clear?" The men nodded and the sixty-five year old, short, white-haired man looked back at them. "Good. Now. If you will please line up in the following order: Mark Ballister. You are first. Here. Stand right here. George Burns, you are second. Michael Hollister, third. Christopher Rockwood. Fourth. Wesley Sinclair Jr. Last. Alright we are in order. You will be blind folded now." Five men, who came silently out of the shadows, startling three of the five men, approached them with black blindfolds. Their hoods were lowered and the blindfolds were placed around their eyes and secured tightly. "Gentlemen. You are now without light to your eyes." Their hoods were put back. "From here on out you will remain silent. Except for questions. To which I pose the first question, that being, what do you desire most in life?"

"Wealth."

"Happiness."

"Serenity."

"Justice."

"Honor."

"Gentlemen. These are responses that are okay, for in here. When you are inside you will be asked the same question. Your answer will be but one answer, not five. You desire most, not these things but rather 'Inclusion into the World of Secrecy.' Is that understood?"

"Yes." The five of them stood there, unaware of what was going on around them. The room was dark except for the candles, two of which hung at the door in front of them, illuminating Mr. Wood. The five men who had placed their blindfolds on had folded back into the shadows.

"Alright. Now. A few more things. Once you are inside, you are committed. If there is a time when you wish to be excused because you do not want to proceed further with the ceremony you may do so. In order to do that you must let us know, clearly. You may do so only by the following proceedure. You must release the hand of your conductor and place both of your hands behind your back. When you do that, your conductor will take notice and inform the master of ceremonies. At that point you will be asked what you are pledging to do and, if it is determined that you wish to exit the ceremony, you will be led out. You will NOT remove the blindfold or your hood until you are led back into this room. Is that clear?"

"It is."

"Good. Now. Relax a little bit. This will begin, for you, in about five to ten minutes. Those echoes you here are echoes that you will be hearing all night. Please. Do not jump. They will be sudden." The echoes were echoes of a staff or pole being banged on the floor or wall, they couldn't tell but it was loud enough to echo through the door and through the walls into their room, which was, though they couldn't see, large enough to hold seventy people, comfortably. The lack of light made the room seem as small as a box. A chilly draft came over them and the room and they jumped when there was a loud knock at the door. They had their hands on each others' shoulders, as instructed, and the man who had instructed them opened the door. "Who comes here?"

"A messenger."

"What message do you bring?"

"That we are prepared, ready, and proper."

"Good. I will convey that we are prepared, ready, and proper."

"Wait here."

"I shall." The door was shut and the man looked around the room. "Gentlemen. This is your last chance to back out of this before you enter the chambers. Embarassment will fall to thee if you wish to bow out in there." He waited. "No takers? Good. I like that." The knock came again and the door was opened. "Who comes here."

"A messenger."

"What message do you bring?"

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

"Very well. We shall enter. Gentlemen. Follow." The conductor took a step forward and the five men from the shadows appeared again and fell in line behind the five men. They too wore hooded robes of the same nature and they entered the room, masks on their faces. Mr. Wood had a mask on his face the whole time and there wasn't a single face in the room that wasn't masked.

Layarteb

05-04-2007, 23:47

Ritual Music (http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Nation-States/Files/Music/illuminati-ritual.wma)

The room was quiet except for eerie music in the background, music that definitely struck them with a level of anxiety. They could not see what was happening around them nor could they tell what was going on except that they were being led foward, in a straight line, into a room with eerie music in the background and the smell of incense. The room was vast, two levels, with nothing but black robes and masks surrounding them on both the main and the upper levels, at least eight hundred people.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati.jpg

The Illuminati symbol was on the floor in the middle of the room, on a large red carpet, laid over the dark, beautifully stained, hardwood floor. In the center sat the Overlord. He was in charge of all of the Illuminati and he was a shadowy figure, very shadowy. None of the body of members knew who he was nor did they ever. Of all of the overlords not one of them had been revealed and this one wasn't about to be either. It was for safety, mystery, and the way things were. He sat in the spotlight with the music in the background and his red robe stood out amongst the many black ones in the room. Two men stood next to him, guards, large staffs in their hands.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-01.jpg

He held one in his hand just as well and watched the five candidates, the conductor, and the five stewards followed. Incense burned strong and the Overlord eyed them all, sizing them up as they entered. "Gentlemen," his deep voice echoed in the hollow cavern of the room. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. Fail not to see what your eyes cannot. Guide with your sense of hearing and your sense of touch." His voice shook the foundations of the mansion it was so deep and the candidates, silent in their own worlds of darkness, only followed as the conductor led them to the center of the room. He stopped and released the hand of the candidate behind him, stepped forward to the Overlord, and bowed.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-02.jpg

"Worship Overlord. May I please see to it that the candidates are properly positioned?"

"You may." He nodded and the five stewards each came around and positioned the five candidates on the five points of a pentagon with the Illuminati symbol in the middle of them all. "Gentlemen. Kneel. On both knees." The stewards and conductor did the same, the conductor being the only one out of the eleven with a tuxedo on and one of the few in the room without a robe. This was to show that he was the conductor. His mask held his identity from the crowd though his identity was known. In the entire congregation of members, the only person who was an "unknown" was the Overlord. The Illuminati was 11,850 members strong, a big organization but they were spread out across the entire Empire and the entire globe. The 952 members present tonight were those who were local enough and not assigned so that they were able to come out to the festivities. There were an additional 48 members spread out throughout the mansion in the same, identical clothing, masks, with blak suits, white shirts, and black ties. These were the ushers. Nobody's identity was shown to anyone else though many knew who each other were.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-03.jpg

The eleven of them kneeled and the Overlord stood. "Gentlemen," his voice echoed in the cavernous room. There were no voices but his own and the only other sound was from the ritual music, which was eerie in itself. "You are here of your own free will. Is this true?"

"It is." They responded one after the other. The usher and the conductors rose.

"You are entering into a covenant and a pact. It is binding and eternal. So long as you remain on this Earth you will be subjected to this pact. Should you depart this Earth your Creator will see fit to do with you. Please do not, under any circumstance, take this pact lightly. You can never leave you can be removed though. You will learn about that in due time." He cleared his throat. "With that being said, do you wish to continue?"

"I do." They repeated, one after the other.

"Good. Good. Remain kneeling." He walked around them with the incense and made sure that a good whiff got to each of them, enough to fill their faces and almost make them cough. "Gentlemen. You are flawed. Our group acknowledges those flaws and works to diminish them. Gentlemen. You are also capable. As beings of reason and logic you are united by a single effort to better yourselves, to acknowledge the flaws in nature and society. And correct them. Now you are about to embark upon a three stage journey, away from the dark that you are in, away from the dark that you have lived, and into a new light. I am your shepherd in this journey but the men that will guide you tonight are your protectors. Entrust into them your life or else you will fail and fall. Trust is a crucial part of life and of unity. It is a crucial part of any relationship and certainly a crucial part of this brotherhood. If you wish to convey trust upon your conductors then you will be able to continue. If you do not then you will be failures.

"Now. What do you most desire?"

"Inclusion into the World of Secrecy"

"Good. The World of Secrecy is a world that is within the realm of the living. It is a world that is dark and hidden, mysterious. It is only lit by those within it and without it is not. You will be within and not without. Withouts are those who surround us on the outside. They are without the wealth of knowledge that is within. You will be Withins as you will be subjected to what knowledge is within. Rise." They rose, with the help of the conductors. "Gentlemen. I am commanded to receive you on the point of a sharp instrument. It shall be applied to your heart. This is to teach you that you heart is a crucial part of your body and your life. While your brain is the center of logic and reason, your heart is the center of life. If it stops, life stops. Those may live without brain functions, albeit they are a life of comatose. A life without a beating heart is impossible." He held out a dagger and applied it to their hearts. Upon application, it cut into the skin though not deeply. It was just enough to draw blood. He removed the dagger and wiped it with an alcohol cloth, disinfecting it. He did that to each individual, ensuring that no blood mixed. Everyone felt the sharp pain and all of them ducked back a little. Their conductors held them firm. "Gentlemen. Please follow your conductors." He slammed his staff into the ground, causing a deep echo throughout the room. Everyone in the procession turned to their right and the conductors took them by their left hands. "Follow me." They walked towards the far end. Though the candidates could not see, they could tell that many, upon many pairs of eyes were on them.

Layarteb

07-04-2007, 05:28

They followed in a circle around the room, five times, each time being denoted by pounds on the floor of a staff. For the first circle it was one but for the fifth it was five. Incense filled the air and the eerie music continued. "Gentlemen," the Overlord began again. "You have taken a journey around five continents. You have travelled to the corners of the four winds and you have met various planets. The All-Seeing Eye above you has seen all that you have and seen all that you offer. Please. Kneel." Once again they kneeled and the Overlord approached each one of them. "You are cast into the darkness of the world but instead I shall bring light upon thee. It is willed and it is just. Should any member of this congregation disagree you may speak your objections now." Silence followed and for each candidate, the Overlord said the same thing. "Very well. In that case, since there is no dissent, I shall grant upon thee the next phase of their journey." He stood them up, one by one and stood in front of them. "Prepare ye. Abandon all hope. Time is precious and you have none." With that, the five candidates set off again and walked towards the north. They were abruptly stopped.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-05.jpg

"Who comes here!" A voice echoed. It was a deep, booming voice that filled the cavernous room. "Who comes here, I said!" The conductors answered.

"Candidates seeking admittance."

"Why should they be admitted?" His voice boomed louder. "What priviledges do they have?"

"They have none but is your duty to confer that upon them!"

"Why is it my duty?"

"Because you are the Northern Guard of Darkness."

"So I am. What power does that grant me?"

"Power to open the gates."

"Very well. Pass!" His voice boomed and the leader of the group, the usher moved forward, wrapping his staff on the ground. The eleven of them moved onwards as the Overlord sat in his chair and watched. From the north, they walked to the east.

"Who comes here!" Another voice echoed as they abruptly stopped.

"Candidates seeking admittance!"

"And they've passed through the Gate of Darkness. How have they?"

"It is the will of the Northern Guard of Darkness."

"Very well. Who am I?"

"The Eastern Guard of the Rising Sun."

"So I am. What power does that grant me?"

"The power to reflect new light upon these candidates and the power to pass them off to the south!"

"Very well. Pass!" They moved onward now, moving towards the south.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-06.jpg

"Stop now! Who comes here!"

"Candidates seek admittance who have been accepted and allowed to pass at the Gate of Darkness and who have had the new light of the day conferred upon them at the tower of the east."

"And the Eastern Guard has accepted them?"

"He has."

"How?"

"In due form?"

"What was that due form?"

"Blinded by dark and brought into the new light."

"Very well. Who am I?"

"You are the Southern Guard of Shadows."

"What is my duty?"

"I ensure that the candidates do not stray too far into the shadows of the dark and stray away from light."

"Very well. I am satisified. Pass!" They moved on now, towards the west, the last part of their journey, which had every candidate trembling. With each wrap of the staff, they jumped. With each halt, they shuddered.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-07.jpg

"Stop now!"

"Why should we stop? We have passed inspection thrice!"

"Because you fail to bring the protectorate with you."

"I have it."

"Will you give it to me?"

"Not until I know your honor."

"I am with honor."

"Then prove it to me so that I may allow these candidates to pass to the west." They had been stopped midway to the west by someone who resembled a beggar more than anything else. "Prove it to me or die!" The two men embraced in a tight hold and both of them whispered into each others' ear.

"I am satisified that these candidates may pass to the west but heede my warning. Should they fail, they will be killed!"

"Take your threats elsewhere idle beggar!"

"Fool!"

"Move now!" He moved and they passed to the west.

"Who comes here and how have you made it this far?"

"Candidates seeking admittance who have been accepted and allowed to pass at the Gate of Darkness and who have had the new light of the day conferred upon them at the tower of the east and who have met the shadows in the south and strayed away from them!"

"Very well. Who am I?"

"You are the Western Guard of the Setting Sun."

"Why am I in the west?"

"Because the sun sets in the west. You are here to govern as the day ends."

"Very well. Where is the Worshipful Overlord?"

"In the center."

"Why?"

"Because he is the pinnacle to which all activities revolve around."

"Very well. Why might I allow these candidates to pass to him?"

"They have been justly worthy and entitled."

"How?"

"Honor."

"And honor accepted?"

"He did and stepped back."

"Very well. I am satisified. Allow the Worshipful Overlord to allow them admittance!"

"We shall." They turned now towards the center of the room, where the Worshipful Overlord sat, his deacons by his side. Both of them wrapped their staffs on the ground as they approached and the eleven of them stopped abruptly. "We wish to meet the Worshipful Overlord.

"Who comes here?" The Senior Deacon to his right asked.

"Five candidates seeking admittance who have been accepted and allowed to pass at the Gate of Darkness and who have had the new light of the day conferred upon them at the tower of the east and who have met the shadows in the south and strayed away from them who have met honor and passed him and who have been given the night blessing by the setting sun to carry out duties elsewhere."

"Very well. Arrange them in order." The stewarts took them from a line behind one another to a line stretched out, side to side. "Gentlemen," he remained seated. "You have passed through the Gate of Darkness, past the Tower of the East, through the Shadows of the South, towards Honor to the West, and past the Tower of the West and come to me. In the center. I find you justly entitled to receive that which you are entitled to. Please. Kneel and ask yourselves what you want more. Life or death."

"Life."

"Very well. Rise and come to the center." They did and they were placed in a circle around the center of the room.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-04.jpg

Layarteb

08-04-2007, 03:50

"Gentlemen. You kneel now, in a circle, around myself. You can see nothing but know that you have passed a great distance. Danger along the way could have killed each and every one of you but yet you moved on. To show your sincerity you will face one, last test. Those wishing to continue no further may, at this time, leave gracefully. If you fail this test you will be leaving dishonored and shamed. This test will not be good for the weak of heart. It will endure pain and suffering and it will test every sense you have. Without the sense of sight you will be cast into fear. Do you wish to go further?" They remained silent and still. Sweat came from their brows and some of them were trembling from the ordeal. "Alright. Gentlemen. Hold out both hands. Place your palms on the ground and bend over. Look to the ground and repeat after me." They did and the Worshipful Overlord approached each and every one of them as he walked in a circle.

"I, state your name," they did, "do hereby and heron for all eternity life or death." They repeated. "Accept the honor and priviledge that has been bestowed upon me that I may join this elusive organization, to which I can never acknowledge publically nor can I ever allow anyone to know I am a part of. Should I ever violate this oath, I shall allow myself to cease to exist and cease to be." They did. It was a short obligation but it was one of many they would take, after all, this was just one of five journeys they would have to make throughout their life as an Illuminati member. "Very well. Rise to your feet." They did. "Stewards. Remove their blindfolds." They did and the candidates looked around the room in shock and horror, seeing hundreds of faces. "Gentlemen. This is your body. You recognize no one and you know nothing. You are new. You have just passed through the Gate of Darkness. You have four journeys still to make but they take time, much time. May I welcome all of you to this brotherhood." He backed up and pointed to the symbol on the ground.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati.jpg

"This is your symbol and your guide. Go now and return to where you came from and receive yourselves. You will be escorted back for further instruction." They left, quietly, glowing though that they had survived the ordeal and all called the bluff of the Worshipful Overlord when he told them that they would suffer. They didn't know that he wasn't bluffing, not in the least bit.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-08.jpg

When they were escorted back in, they spent another hour going through the different stations but they learned only of the one, the Gate of Darkness, which was their current station.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/illuminati-ceremony-09.jpg

Layarteb

16-04-2007, 04:29

May 14, 2007 - 09:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Alright. Alright. Let's settle down." The Emperor cleared his throat as he walked into his office. "Now. What the fuck is going on here?" He began with a massive degree of anger. "This year has been a disaster! We entered this year with the War on Drugs raging left and right, seized southern Neuvo Rican land and wiped out the cartels. Now that was a good way to begin the year. That was March. Now, April, we have a full blown insurrection in Venezuela. To top it all of we have hundreds of thousands dead. What's the latest talley?" He poised the question right at the Minister of the Interior.

"Sir." A bit of fear trembled his voice. "Fatalities include 182,500 civilians, 4,528 soldiers, and 429,040 rebels. Casualties include upwards of 300,000 civilians, 12,086 soldiers, and 200,489 rebels. We have captured an additional 342,493 rebels."

"616,068 dead! 512,575 injured! What the living hell are we doing here? We're supposed to be protecting the people but here we are cashing them up to nothing. Not only is this an intelligence failure but it's a failure of the government as a whole. We failed the people and now I have to go on camera tonight and explain that to 1,275,000,000 people! I have to go on camera and explain to the entire Empire how over 1 million people suffered due to our incompetance. Now what I want to know is who is funding these guys. We know that the Republican Liberation Army was funded by some unknown group, possibly Totalis. Sepah-e Pasdaran documents linked Faysal, the RLA, and Totalis all to the domestic terrorism and now we've linked the Free Venezuelans to them too. But what I need to know is who was funding them? SP may have been an Islamic fundamentalist group but they weren't setting their sights on the Empire. Someone was funding them to train these groups and the money was being washed through Totalis. What the hell do we have? It's been ten fucking months since Saint George's and all we have is more terrorism. More insurrection. Now what do you people have to for me? What the fuck do any of you have?" Quiet filled the room for a few seconds. "Which is precisely why I am dismissing the following ministers. Defense, Intelligence, Interior, and Justice. You are hereby dismissed from the Cabinet. Whether you want to hand in your resignations or not is fine by me but you have all been replaced. It has been a pleasure working with you up until now but your ineptitude in protecting this Empire has led to unimaginable consequences." The Emperor walked away from the table and towards the press room, where he stood at the podium in front of reporters, cameras, and microphones. His Cabinet was joined around him, excluding the ministers who had been dismissed.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. Good morning. This year has been a turbulent year for the Empire. Since we have achieved realization last May, I hoped that peace would fill the days of our future but it seemed that I was in err.

"Since May, a domestic terrorist group of unknown origin has been funding operations against the people of Layarteb. This group is responsible for the RLA, for Saint George's, for the Venezuelan insurrection, and for the increased drug trade that we had seen up until March, when we declared victory in the War on Drugs. This group is still unknown but it has been funding these operations and its agents have infiltrated our government through corruption, corruption that was effectively stamped out from the days of the Republic.

"They have taken advantage of weaknesses and good faith. They have betrayed trust and put all of you in harms way. They have sold you out to the highest bidder and I, for one, will not let this continue.

"This group has washed its money through Totalis and used the Sepah-e Pasdaran to train these terrorist organizations. Now with the elimination of both Totalis and Sepah-e Pasdaran, this group is without support. Soon enough, they will be caught and they will be made to pay for their crimes against both the people of the Empire and the Empire as a whole.

"In light of these failures, I have dismissed the Ministers of Defense, Intelligence, the Interior, and Justice. Their inability to provide accurate, solid, and effective leadership in their ministries have left many of us to the wind. They shall be replaced immediately by more competant and effective leaders who can better serve the people of Layarteb.

"Thank you. I'll accept any questions now." Within hours they were replaced and the four of them had been sent packing along with many of their immediate staffers. They had failed the Empire and the Emperor was now at an all-time low, ratings wise. A pole conducted before his speech put him at 65% and after his speech it had dropped to just 52%. On the average, he had been between 85% to 98%.

Layarteb

16-04-2007, 05:54

May 14, 2007 - 15:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"General. The Emperor is going to ask you today to fly to Georgia to capture Assad al Samir. He's our contact and main link between the Illuminati and Sepah-e Pasdaran. Since the Eurasian assault into the southern Caucasus, Sepah-e Pasdaran has been decimated. Elements of our own military recovered documents that linked Sepah-e Pasdaran with Totalis, the Free Venezuelans, the RLA, and the atomic bombing of Saint George's. This is a problem. Eventually one of those links could lead back to us, back to the Illuminati, back to something and ruin everything we've worked for. You understand right?"

"I do."

"Good. Good. We cannot have him taken alive. You understand?"

"I do."

"Nor can we have him escape."

"I understand."

"Good. Good." The Minister of Foreign Affairs lit a cigarette and took a long drag, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air. "We're counting on you to make this happen. Is that understood?"

"It is Minister. It is." With a smirk, he left the Minister's office.

That was two hours ago and now BG. Delaney was waiting outside of the Emperor's office for the Emperor to call him in, waiting for his mission. Only he and his team had the capability to fly into Georgia, find him, capture him, and get out without the Eurasian's knowledge. They would go in via MC-130J Combat Talon III, flying out of Bandar Abbas Air Base all the way into the southern Caucasus, 1,170 miles each way but they would fly out via MH-60G Pave Hawk all the way to Incirlik Air Force Base, 620 miles each way, refueling once on the way and once on the way back by an MC-130P Combat Shadow. It was a dangerous mission and his team was ready. "Sir. Sir." The Emperor's secretary called out to him and shook him out of a daze, remembering what the Minister of Foreign Affairs had told him just two hours earlier. "Sir."

"Sorry. Yes Angela?"

"You may go in now."

"Thank you." He stood up and adjusted his tie and his suit jacket. For a soldier he never wore his uniform around the Empire except when on base. He was a soldier but a clandestine one in a war for power and domination. "Sir." He walked into the office and saluted the Emperor, who was busy watching the television screen of his speech.

"Do you hear them?"

"Sir?"

"The reporters." He said with disgust. "They think I am no longer competant to be the Emperor of Layarteb. Can you believe that?"

"Yes sir I can but I don't agree with it at all."

"Always a pragmatic."

"Yes I am sir. I am sorry to say but the recent events have definite explanation in their words."

"True. The Empire is not falling apart though. It is not too big for our own good nor are we a villanous people."

"We are not sir."

"Pathetic." He walked away from the television screen and towards his desk. "General. Please have a seat."

"Yes sir."

"I've called you down here because I have an important mission. The Minister of Defense will need some time to get acquainted with his job and so will the Minister of Intelligence. Both are competant but they are only hours new to their positions."

"What of Justice and Interior?"

"Well Justice is a toss up between Frederick Salmon and Jeanine Hunter. Probably the latter. As for Interior. I'm searching."

"Understood sir."

"So. In light of that I'm sending you to Georgia. Not the state."

"Eurasian Georgia?"

"Yes." The Emperor passed him a folder. "The man is Assad al Samir, a high profile businessman from Syria. Unfortunately, he's linked directly to Sepah-e Pasdaran."

"I thought the Eurasians wiped them out?"

"They did. You know how these things go though. Leaders tend to escape. We believe he's with a small pocket of ex-leaders and terrorists a few miles outside of Tiblisi, in a pretty mountainous region. Eurasian sweeper teams are weeks away from the area and our own special forces operating on the ground are limited to Azerbaijan and Aremenia. They cannot go into Georgia. We've already spoken with the Eurasian government and they're clued in, somewhat. They know that we are sending in a special forces team to conduct a sweep of an area just south of Rustavi but they don't know what. You'll have to HAHO in from the border of Azerbaijan. An MH-60G Pave Hawk will be picking you up but only from the border area so this will be a difficult adventure and a long one that could take up to a week in total. What I need from you and your men is to capture him. Alive. There's only about twenty SP guards and leaders around him right now but we don't know where he'll be next week. As the Eurasians close in, he'll move around more frequently. We've tracked him through signals intelligence to this region but we still don't have an exact fix on his location. Satellites picked up his convoy yesterday, which leads us to believe that he's operating in that region with the numbers I told you.

"His mission is to get SP back up and running, somewhere else. Since the leaders have been exterminated, he's risen to something high in the ranks. He is a businessman I said but his loyalty is to SP. We have direct information that he was Totalis' contact within the SP and that he may have information leading to whatever group is causing havoc on our territory. That is why we need him alive, for interrogation. He will break and he will lead us to the enemy. Clear?"

"Very clear sir. My men and I are ready to go. We'll leave immediately."

"That you will. You'll go in by Combat Shadow III from Bandar Abbas and extract to Incirlik. Good luck General."

"Yes sir." He stood and saluted, leaving the Emperor's office and the Fortress of Comhghall. An hour later, he was sitting inside his office at Zeta Facility prepping his team. He gave them the same set of orders that he was given but he wasn't going to carry those out, he would find a way to kill Assad al Samir and do it well.

Layarteb

16-04-2007, 07:28

It was a long flight to Bandar Abbas from Westchester County, a flight that took them across the Atlantic, the Fourth Reich, and through a chunk of the Eurasian Federation. Six thousand, seven hundred, and fifty miles was a long way to travel but at 550 miles per hour it took a little over twelve hours, thirteen by the time they stepped out of the aircraft. It was 06:00 hours eastern time when they landed but, local time, it was 14:30 hours. They had lost 8 ½ hours as they travelled across the time zones, halfway around the world. Their C-28A Gulfstream VI had skirted across the world quietly and, painted black, it was nothing more than a speck at its cruise altitude of 43,500 feet. When it touched down at Bandar Abbas, a Layartebian Air Force base, the jet taxiied to a hangar and parked. BG. Delaney and his men stepped out, in combat gear, holding their weapons, and stepped over to a small tent set up in the middle of the empty hangar. "Good afternoon Colonel." BG. Delaney said when he walked into the tent and found a Colonel from the ILAF standing at a table looking down at pictures. Everyone snapped to but nobody saluted.

"Soldier are you aware that we salute higher ranking officers?"

"I am Colonel. I am waiting." The Colonel laughed.

"Insubordination will not be tolerated."

"Alright. Then let me present my identification card." It was forged but his rank was still the same. "Brigaider General. I do believe that is a rank higher than Colonel."

"Sorry sir." The Colonel and everyone in the tent snapped to a salute. BG. Delaney and his men returned the salute. "Sir what brings you to Bandar Abbas?"

"That's fine Colonel. That's fine. We're going into Georgia."

"Georgia is off-limits to our forces. I do not see any orders."

"Here they are." He pulled out a signed paper detailing his orders. "Direct from the Emperor and the Ministry of Defense. So you were saying?"

"Sir. I'll see what I can do." The men took a seat and put their weapons between their legs. Their safeties were off and their weapons were locked and loaded, making some of the young airmen in the tent nervous. They knew that these guys were special forces but they had no clue what unit they were from or who they were. A little over a half an hour later, the Colonel returned. "Sir. I have an MC-130J Combat Talon III ready to fly you and your men out there as soon as it turns dark."

"That is acceptable. Until then we will rest. Where can we quarter?"

"We have an area cordoned off at the other end of this base. I'll have someone take you gentlemen over there. Is that satisfactory?"

"It is. When asked if a team of men came through here and flew out on an MC-130 what will you be saying?"

"That I have no idea what they're talking about sir?" He said without confidence.

"That's acceptable."

"Sir. May I ask what unit your men are from?"

"No you may not. Have a good afternoon Colonel." They saluted and within ten minutes, BG. Delaney and his men were in an air conditioned building that was devoid of most life at the other end of the airbase, where patrols were the only people around. He put down his M100A1 Outbreak rifle when he entered the "common" room of the building and sat down on the beat up couch. A spring nearly cut through his leg. "Lavish place isn't it?" He joked. "Well at least the television works. Gentlemen. If you wish to sleep now is the time." Half of them departed to find sleeping arrangements in the mud-like structure that was just two stories high and colored brown bot inside and out. The windows were covered with blinds keeping the light out but not enough light. Even still, the men were able to get to sleep. BG. Delaney kept to the common room and laid down himself but unable to sleep he simply stared at the television, watching some Eurasian gameshow that he didn't quite understand too well. The heat was kept out by the air conditioning but not too well. It still crept in through every crevice it could, like sand. When 20:00 hours came, the men were summoned to the hangar. It was time to go.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mc130-night-06.jpg

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mc130-night-02.jpg

Ground crew men were walking across the wings, looking for anything out of the ordinary that would otherwise ground the aircraft. They looked with flashlights in the darkened Iranian night. They checked the engines, the propellers, the flaps, and everything that could otherwise be a problem if it weren't looked at carefully.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mc130-night-03.jpg

Shorthly thereafter, the MC-130 began its startup process. Each engine was individually started, one after the other, from the starboard all the way to the port. That was when BG. Delaney and his team arrived and they watched as the engines were run up to idle speed.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mc130-night-01.jpg

Inside of the aircraft, the navigator was going over the flight plan. They would be flying over Eurasian airspace through the entire time, which meant that they had to be extra careful. If they were to venture into Georgia they could be shot down since it was a no-fly zone for Layartebian aircraft. It was a careful route, an unescorted route.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mc130-night-04.jpg

BG. Delaney and his men climbed aboard as the fourth engine started up and, behind them, the loadmaster raised the ramp. "All in." He yelled as they took their seats and plugged in their headsets, which would allow them to talk about the drone of the engine noise. The plane would be completely blacked out for the duration of the flight. The pilots would be flying with night vision goggles over their eyes for the whole flight and, inside the cabin of the aircraft, a dull, red light gave the only illumination. Windows had been blacked out and no light left the plane.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/mc130-night-05.jpg

The MC-130 bolted down the runway a little after 20:20 hours and took to the night skies gracefully and inched upwards to 30,000 feet, where it would stay for the duration of its flight. It moved northwest across Iran and into Azerbaijan after a few hours of flying at 300 mph. When it reached Azerbaijan, they sped up slightly to 320 mph and moved north, towards the northwest border of Azerbaijan, where it intersected Georgia and Armenia. When they reached Azerbaijan they were ready to go. Weapons strapped onto them, parachutes on, already breathing pure oxygen, they were ready. For 30 - 45 minutes before they jumped out of the back, they would be breathing pure oxygen and their flight time wouldn't be too short either. By the time they stepped up to the ramp, they had no nitrogen in their body and they jumped 20 miles from the target, at 30,000 feet. They were in the air only ten to fifteen seconds, just enough to get stabilized before they opened their chutes at 27,000 feet. By the time the eight chute was pulled, they were stacked up, 100 feet apart, with BG. Delaney leading the way. He used a GPS unit to guide him through waypoints as they passed over the Azerbaijani border and into Georgia. He turned east here, north there, west here, north there, through eight waypoints as he decreased in altitude but kept moving forward, slowly.

In just five miles, they were in restricted territory and another 15 more, they were over the landing zone. They guided their parachutes down and went into a holding pattern but each one of them set down only a few feet from the other. They used their night vision goggles to see as they touched down on the cold, hard, dirt ground near the coordinates. Seconds after they touched down, they were already in the process of taking apart their gear. They took off their parachutes and bundled up their gear into a container with a balloon strapped to the top of it. They would have it picked up by another MC-130 the next morning, just after sunrise. That flight would be dangerous and the crew would have to make up some story about being over Georgia but that was set. They would report navigational errors and ask for guidance from the flight controllers. It just so happened that they would be in the area right around the balloon.

Layarteb

18-04-2007, 03:54

The MC-130 flew an errant course into Eurasian Georgia, making navigational calls as it did. The pilots were in total control of what they were doing but they were on a mission of resolve. They followed the directional calls of the Eurasian air traffic controllers and quickly high-tailed it out of Georgian airspace, snatching the gear in the process. They watched as it floated away at 300 mph. "Alright men. Move out." The eight men were dressed in ghille suits that were hand-made by each and every one of them, broken in, and adapted for their purposes. They carried their weapons in front of them but they too were painted in camouflage and their skin matched the camo on their weapons. They could lay down on the ground and blend in easier than an animal. They moved out quickly and to the north, towards the given coordinates of the radio transmission that they had picked up a week earlier. BG. Delaney had an M100A1 Outbreak, long-range, advanced sniper rifle on his back and, in his hands, an M81A3 Carbine. Everyone else on the team carried Carbines, all suppressed, and they also carried an M76A1 Tactical Shotgun and an M89A3 Enhanced Battle Rifle. The only dedicated sniper rifle was the one that Delaney carried although the M89A3 could be used for sniping duties. They carried pistols and grenades with them and were ready for anything.

The coordinates were four miles away and they had to move uphill the entire time, climbing through passes and inside of a dense forest for the entire journey. Needless to say, with their gear, they wouldn't be moving uphill too fast. They would be moving quite fast but, given the risk of Eurasian special forces and SP hold outs, they had to move smartly. They couldn't rush up the hill, grow tired at the top, and then collapse. That would be a major error. Instead, they moved up the hill, carefully staggered, keeping their eyes out for anything out of the ordinary. The sun had risen on the eastern horizon and was casting its rays under the forested canopy, making shadows everywhere. It was the perfect place to stage and ambush but also the perfect place to hide out from the powers that be, especially if the Eurasians were combing the area. There was a good chance that they were. After all, the Eurasians were looking high and low for SP holdouts, which numbered possibly a dozen or less.

They walked about two miles before they stopped. BG. Delaney put up his right fist and they all stopped. He put his hand flat and pushed down and they all, quietly but instantly, went prone on the ground. Everyone hushed up but within a minute they found out why they had all been ordered to the ground. Ahead, no closer than two hundred meters, there echoed a crackling and voices. They hadn't been seen but they were now looking straight ahead, at a squad of soldiers, irregulars at best. Whether they were Eurasian SOF or not they couldn't tell but they were speaking in Farsi and not too loudly. They were outfitted with SOF-like gear but they could have been anybody. Georgia was under the watchful thumb of the Eurasian Federation but in the remote areas there was little government influence yet. This was one of those areas and as the eight of them stayed silent, still, and on the ground, the six men approached. They held G36 rifles and moved briskly through the forest. They approached the eight men, unable to see them but akeen to some sort of presence. They passed through the brush around them slower and quietly, expecting an enemy but not finding one. Walking around, past, and almost on top of the eight men from Team One, the six irregulars kept walking, away. All of the men breathed a sight of relief and watched them exit the distance. BG. Delaney stood to a crouch and checked his GPS. They were on the right course and they kept walking forward, up the hill, two more miles.

The day began to turn to night as they approached their destination. The air chilled as their elevation increased. They breathed their vapors into the air as they moved up the final marks of elevation. The trees were beginning to thin out as they got higher and higher, east of Tiblsi. The elevation there went up to 1,000 meters and where they were it was 790 meters, high enough for a good view but there was another view. To the north and to the east the elevation rose more and more. At the top of their particular hill point they could look down at the Iori River, for a brief moment, before the hills rose again, higher, steeper, towards the heavens. To their northeast was Telavi and to their south, southwest was Tiblisi. They had walked four miles to a point that was roughly between the two, almost equidistant but, down below, the Iori River flowed and they would have to cross it.

"We're here. Everyone down. Spread out." They went prone on the ground again and looked down into the river valley, lush and rich with greenery. BG. Delaney pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked down at a small village by the river. It couldn't have had more than twenty people inside of it and it was nestled right on the river. There were ten structures, all looking like houses, and all built from wood cut down from trees. The small village had a few horses and oxen but it looked like it was, primarily, self-sufficient. Goats grazed on the grass around the village, which was just 800 meters away from them. "That must be it. See that smoke there? Someone's cooking. It's almost dinner time. Sun is going down. We'll go through when it gets dark. See what we can find."

"Yes sir." For now, they would observe...

Layarteb

19-04-2007, 03:36

OOC: Fair warning, this isn't for the 'faint of heart' at all. Special thanks to Pushka for the translations in Russian.

May 16, 2007 - 19:55 [MSD]
18 miles northeast of Tbilisi

Telavi was less than fourteen miles away and they were less than eighteen miles from Tbilisi, not far but too far for the Eurasian military to have reached. Smoke rose from chimneys in the village and men returned from their labors, wherever they may have been. Many of them toted hunting rifles and automatic weapons. However, none of them was Assad al Samir, their target. The greenery around them provided for perfect cover but they didn't have to hide from anybody. Wolves, on the other hand, were a different story but they would repel them in a fight, if they had to, though they didn't plan being attacked by any wolves. "It's time to go." BG. Delaney whispered as he stood up to a crouch with his rifle in his hands. "We're going to have to go house by house, for now, and find out what's going on. Round up everyone and we'll settle this easily."

"Yes sir." They moved forward through the vegetation, carefully moving so they wouldn't lose their footing and slip down the entire ravine, a terrible event should it happen. Eight hundred meters wasn't far, by their standards, but downhill it was clumsy and difficult yet, they managed. At the bottom of the hill, they stepped towards the Iori River and found a passage a few dozen meters to the northwest. There was a makeshift bridge that was constructed of twigs, leaves, branches, and all sorts of forest material. It held up as they crossed and now they were just forty meters from the village. They could hear singing and they smelled the cooking.

The smell of cooking lamb, fried dumplings, and fried eggplant filled their lungs and their noses. Their palettes were wet with the taste of the food but that was just one thing they had to fight against as they moved towards the first house. They would move in, gag the people and restrain them with plastic zip-ties, to which they had about a hundred. Then, they would move them to a single area in the house and leave them there with one of the men watching them. They moved onto the next house and did the same but this time they consolidated everyone in the original house. They systematically combed through the village, quietly. That was the plan.

The first house was the closest to them and its chimney smoked from the cooking, which also provided heat. They could hear voices as they leaned against the walls of the house. They spoke Russian, which was good because the men of Team One didn't speak Georgian. Using just hand signals, BG. Delaney ordered two of the men to climb in through the back window while he went in through the front with one other man, the other four remaining outside for cover. Inside the house were a frail old man and his wife, both who looked no younger than eighty. Still, they were dangerous and BG. Delaney pointed the barrel of his pistol right at their heads and told them to be quiet. They complied and were quickly subdued with plastic zip-ties and tape. One of the men stayed as the other seven went on now to the second house. It was livelier with a man, a woman, and a young son, who looked maybe ten or eleven. They were eating their fill of kebab when the men came in just as they had done to the old couple. This time, they made sure to topple the man first, to prevent him from being a problem. Before anyone could utter any words they had their mouths covered. Once again, BG. Delaney told them to be quiet and they put the zip-ties on and carefully moved them to the first house. It took thirty minutes to round up everyone and when they did a head count, they had nine women, fourteen men, eight girls, and seven boys. All of them were placed on the floor of the house of the old couple, which was the largest.

"Так, ты мне скажешь всё что я хочу знать или я тебя убью. Это понятно?" [Alright. You're going to tell me what I want to know or you'll be executed. Is that understood?] BG. Delaney began as he pointed his pistol at a young boy, no older than six. He was frightened and the children had been separated from the parents, to make things that much more tense. "Отлично. Я рад. Кто лидер этой деревни. Или старейшина. Кто у вас есть. Встань." [Good. I'm glad. Now who is the village leader? Or elder? Whichever you have? Stand up.] For a moment nobody moved but then a man stood. He was 6'2"and pure muscle. He was in the forties but he could take on a lumberjack and probably win. "Иди сюда" [Come here.] He ordered and the man walked forward. He debated whether or not to blindside BG. Delaney and make a run for it, he was certainly larger than him but he thought against it. "Сядь." [Sit.] He put him down on the ground, on his knees and ripped off the piece of duct tape around his mouth.

"Ау!" Ow!] The man exclaimed as half of his beard came off with the tape. "Что вам надо? Кто вы?" [What do you want? Who are you? He asked assertively, still trying to exert dominance.

"Это не важно. Где Assad Al Samir?" [It isn't important. Where is Assad al Samir?]

"Я незнаю такого." [I don't know that person.]

"Ты мне врёшь." [You're lying to me.]

"Я говорю правду. IЯ его незнаю." [I am honest. I do not know him.]

"Не люблю когда врутя спрашу ещё один раз и потом ковото убью." [I don't appreciate lies so I'll ask one more time and then I'm going to kill someone.]

"Я незнаю. Я говорю правду." [I don't know. I am telling you the truth.]

"Так и быть. Ври мне." [Fine. Lie to me.] BG. Delaney pointed his pistol randomly towards the crowd of people. "Кто это будет?" [Who will it be?]

"Я говорю вам правду. Если ты это зделаеш я тебя убью." [I am telling you the truth. You do that and I will kill you.]

"Ты вовробуеш." [You'll try.] He eyed a small boy who was no older than eight but a weak specimen of a boy at that as he looked very sickly. "Him." He said in Farsi and one of his men lifted the boy to the screams and cries of the women in the room, someone being this boy's mother. "Он должен умереть?" [Does he have to die?]

"Hem." [No.]

"Так ты мне скажешь?" [Then are you going to tell me?]

"Я его незнаю. Я говорю правду. Слушай меня господин. Опусти оружие. Пожалуйста. Он болен. Он хрупкий мальчик. Не убевай его." [I don't know him. I am telling you the truth. Listen mister. Put down the gun. Please. He is sick. He is a frail boy. Don't kill him.]

"Ладно. Ты незнаешь. Кто нибудь в этой комнате знает Assad al Samir?" [Fine. You don't know. Does anyone in the room know Assad al Samir?] There was no silence and the women wailed; little boys included. Most of the men stayed strong but fear was in everyone's eyes. "Кто то должен знать кто он. Кто то мне врёт. Я буду щитать до десяти. Десять. И всё. Десять.Потом я его застрелю. Так кто то лучше бы начинал говорить, он должен жить с кем то из вас." [Someone has to know who he is. Someone is lying to me. I'll give you to the count of ten. Ten. That's it. Ten. Then I'll shoot him. So someone better start talking about someone is giving him quarter.]

"Стой!" [Stop!] The man yelled but he was silenced by a rifle butt to his face from BG. Delaney's XO. "Не делай этово. Пожалуйста." [Don't do it. Please.] Tears swelled in his eyes but BG. Delaney would have none of that and instead began counting.

"Десять...девять...восемь..." [Ten…Nine…Eight…"] He looked around. "Ему необезательно умерать. Семь...шесть...пять... Он просто мальчишка. Кто возмужается и ответит на мой вопрос? Четыре...три...два... Последний шанс. Когда я дойду до одного он умрёт." [He doesn't have to die. Seven...Six...Five... He's just a boy. Who's going to man up to the question? Four...Three...Two... Last chance. When I reach one he will die.] Half of the room thought he was bluffing and the other half knew he was serious. "Один...слишком позно..." [One...Too late…] He lowered the pistol to the boy's head and pulled the trigger. The suppressor dampened most of the sound but it still echoed in the room like a mortar cannon. Blood sprayed everywhere forward, which so happened to be on the faces of those kneeling in the front row. Brain matter followed and the boy, a blank expression of pain on his face, fell forward, landing against the feet of a woman, a mother herself, with the gaping head wound oozing onto her legs. The forty-five caliber bullet had done more than dislocate his head, it had rearranged it completely. "У меня осталось восемь пуль. Сколько ещё людей должны умереть?" [I have eight rounds remaining. How many more people have to die?] He eyed the boy and shook his head. He really had nine rounds. "Ещё раз. Кто знает Assad al Samir?" [Now. Who knows Assad al Samir?] He looked around again, his pistol dripping with blood. People tried to wipe it from their faces but it only smudged on them and the boy's head only bled more. "А? Кто?" [Huh? Who?]

"Стой." [Stop.] The village leader was visibly crying now. "Стой. Мы незнаем." [Stop. We don't know.]

"Кто то знает. Видите ли господин Самир зделал телефонный звонок из этой деревни семь дней назад. Семь. Так что кто то здесь его знает. Кто то его защищает. Кто то здесь скажет мне точто я хочу знать. Или больше умрёт." [Someone knows. You see. Mr. Samir made a telephone call from his village just seven days ago. Seven. So someone here knows him. Someone here is covering up for him. Someone here is going to tell me what I want to know. Or else more will die.] He looked around the room again but nobody was owning up to the task yet. "Так и быть. Так и быть. Тащи её." [Fine. Fine. Bring her.] A woman was brought forward, a woman who was old in her age but looked young at heart. She had some sort of jovial smile to her that was hidden now by tears of sorrow. Her hair was white but she moved enough to come to the front of the house. "Кто она?" [Who is she?] He asked the man.

"Она." [She.] He couldn't talk. "Она его бабушка." [She is his grandmother.]

"Она? Ну и пусть. Это пренесёт ей боль. Я окончу еёстрадания. Должен ли я?" [She is. Fine. Well this will be painful for her. I'll end her suffering. Shall I?]

"Нет. Нет. Пожалуйста. Она старая женщина, что она может зделать?" [No. No. Please. She's an old woman what can she do?]

"Кто то мне может сказать сейчас! Где Assad al Samir?" [Someone can tell me now! Where is Assad al Samir?] Still, nobody moved but BG. Delaney caught someone's eyes shifting around to one person, eying them repeatedly. "Ты!" [You!] He called out to the man, a young man in his thirties. "Он. Он. Тащите его сюда и снимите кляп." [Him. Him. Get him here and take off the tape.] He too screamed when the tape tore off his beard.

"На ково ты смотришь?" [Who are you looking at?]

"Не ково." [No one.]

"Ты мне врёшь. Не люблю тех кто врут. На ково ты смотришь?" [You're lying to me. I don't like liars. Who are you looking at?]

"Не ково." [No one.]

"Так и быть. Я тебя за стрелю если ты мне нескажешь. Посадить её обратно." [Fine. I will shoot you if you don't tell me. Put her back.] The old lady was spared the fate but BG. Delaney pushed the man down on his knees now. "На ково ты смотришь? У тебя пать секунд. Пять...четыре...три..." [Who are you looking at? You have five seconds. Five...Four...Three...] Someone stood up and mumbled something and BG. Delaney looked at him and lifted his pistol. "Уберите его с глаз моих." [Get him out of my sight.] They picked up the shaken man, who had pissed himself, and threw him in the corner, tape back on his mouth and brought fourth the man who stood, who looked as if he were his brother. "Ты. Что ты знаешь?" [You. What do you know?]

"Я знаю Assad." [I know Assad.]

"Што ж ты мне раньше не сказал? Почему ты дыл не винному ребёнку умереть?" [Why didn't you give up his information before? Why did you let an innocent child die?]

"Ты монстр." [You're a monster.]

"Где Assad?" [Where is Assad?]

"Он в горах. Далеко." [He's in the mountains. Far away]

"Где это далеко? Какие горы? Это Кавказ. Большое место." [Where is far away? What mountains? This is the Caucasus. It is a big place.]

"Там где вы его некогда ненайдёте." [Where you'll never find him.]

"Слушай. Если ты будеш в игры играть я сравняю щёт очень быстро." [Listen. If you're going to play games I'm going to even the score out real fast.]

"Вы его не найдёте." [You'll never find him.]

"Ладно." [Very well.] He lifted another child. This time it was a little girl who was a fighter but she wore herself out fast. Self-preservation had taken over and now he made her face the man, both on their knees. She was crying and struggling to get away. "Ты хочешь што бы я её застрелил?" [You want me to shoot her?]

"Нет." [No.]

"Так почему же ты мне нескажешь? Почему не спасёшь её жизнь?" [Then why won't you tell me? Why don't you save her life?]

"Потому что я немогу." [Because I cannot.]

"Почему?" [Why?]

"Потомучто не я решаю. Аллах решает." [Because it isn't up to me. It is up to Allah."]

"Пошол на хуй твой Аллах. Выбор твой. Сейчас! Ты решишь будет жить она или умрёт." [To fucking hell with Allah. It is up to you. Now! You will choose whether she lives or dies.]

"Всё уже написано." [It is already written.]

"Sepah-e Pasdaran. Ты сволочь." [Sepah-e Pasdaran. You are scum.]

"Я воин Ислама." [I am a warrior for Islam.]

"Нет. Ты не воин." [No. You aren't.] He leveled the gun against her head and faced everyone. "Этот человек терорист. Он приносит фанатическую веру в вашу деревню и прячет терориста который уже убивал. Кто уже совершил убийство. Кто насиловал. Он сжигал церкви и загрезнял соборы. Он прячет этого человека. Встаньте если вы хотите что бы он сказал где Assad." [This man is a terrorist. He brings fanatical beliefs to your village and he is harboring a terrorist who has killed. Who has murdered. Who has raped. He has burned churches and defiled temples. He harbors this man. Stand up if you want him to tell me where Assad is.] Everyone stood up like something out of a movie. "Сядьте обратно. Я не закончил. Ты знаешь что они с тобой зделают если ты мне не скажешь?" [Sit back down. I wasn't finished. You know what they'll do to you if you don't tell me?]

"Они меня убьют." [They'll kill me.]

"Да." [Yes.]

"Ты меня убьёшь." [You'll kill me.]

"Может быть и нет. Может быть я возьму тебя с собой как путеводителя." [Maybe not. I might just bring you with me as a guide.]

"А потом что?" [Then what?]

"Если будешь хорошо себя везти то я тебя от пущю. Перечь мне и я тебя сам застрелю. Хочешь плдумать? У меня нет времени." [Be good I'll let you go. Defy me and I'll shoot you myself. Want to think about it? I don't have time.]

"Скажи им я..." [Tell them I...]

"Я им нечего говорить не буду. Эта маленькая девочка может умереть здесь или ты мне можешь сказатьмне то что я хочу знать. Мне наоели эти игры." [I don't tell them anything. This little girl can die, right here or you can tell me what I want to know. I'm done fooling around.]

"Я пойду в рай." [I will go to heaven.]

"Ты пойдёшь на пол в кровавом безпорядке. После того как её нестанет...Верь мне она будет страдать гораздо меньше чем ты если ты меня заставишь её застрелить." [You will go to the floor in a bloody mess. After she does...Trust me she'll suffer a lot less than you will if you make me shoot her.]

"Скажи ему!" [Tell him already!] The village leader yelled. "Или я зделаю так что ты не выйдешь из этой комнаты со своими конечностями, скотина!" [Or I'll see to it that you don't leave this room with any limbs you pig!]

"Ты слышишь это? Тебе проклят если ты зделаешь это. Ты проклят если незделаешь. Нет некаких девствениц которые ждут тебя. У тебя есть выбор. Я могу её застрелить и оставить тебя здесь или я могу тебя взять с собой и уйти отсюда. Ты будешь жить. Столько сколько ты будешь делать точто я говорю." [You hear that? You're damned if you do. You're damned if you don't. There's no virgins waiting for you. You have a choice. I can shoot her and leave you here or I can take you with me and leave here. You'll life. So long as you obey me.]

"СКАЖИ ЕМУ!" [TELL HIM!]

"Ладно. Ладно." [Fine. Fine.] He hung his head low. "Я скажу тебе. Я скажу тебе." [I'll tell you. I'll tell you.]

"Давай. Я не могу ждать всю ночь." [Let's go. I haven't got all night.]

"Он на востоке. Девяносто два километра отсюда." [He's to the east. Ninety-two kilometers away.

"Далеко." [Fair.]

"Да. Он передвигаетца с двадцетью вооружёнными мужчинами. Они в маленкой деревне шестьдесят дв километра от Тел Авива. Её невозможно пропустить. Это маленькая деревушка с хорошими домами но там есть микроволновка. Раньше там была база Пасдарана но теперь она опустела." [Yes. He travels with twenty, armed men. They're in a small village that is sixty-two kilometers southeast of Telavi. You can't miss it. It's a small village with nice houses but there's a microwave dish there. It used to be a Pasdaran headquarters but now it's abandoned.]

"Да ты что." [You don't say.]

"Он там. Там вы его найдёте." [That's where he is. You'll find him there.]

"Где мы можем найти машину?" [Where can we get a car?]

"Здесь их нет. Мы слишком бедны штобы иметь автомобиль." [There are none here. We are much too poor for an automobile.] The village leader said. "ЕСЛИ вы обещаете уйти и некогда невозращатся вы можете взять восемь. У нас их шесть десят два." [IF you promise to leave and never come back you may take eight horses. We have sixty-two.]

"Ты богат, нет?" [You are rich, no?]

"Нет." [No.]

"Так и быть. Я уйду. Я возьму восемь коней. Ты знаешь, всё это можно было бы предотвращено если бы вы сразу сказали. Этот маленький мальчик мог бы быть жив." [Fine. I'll leave. I will take eight horses. You know this good have all been averted if you would have told us in the first place. That little boy didn't have to die.] His body still lay there on the floor and the woman he had landed against was almost numb to what she had seen.

"Он умер за Алаха." [He died for Allah.]

"ТЫ УРОД!" [YOU SAVAGE!] The village leader yelled, jumping to his feet but being quickly smashed down, to the ground, by the XO.

"Успокойся! Так теперь. Мне его застрелить? Или дать тебе это зделать?" [Settle down! Now. Shall I shoot him now? Or let you do it?]

"Погоди. Погоди. Ты сказал что сказал что возьмёшь меня с собой." [Wait. Wait. You told me you'd take me.]

"Я врал!" [I lied!]

"Что если я врал?" [What if I lied?]

"Это так?" [Did you?]

"Нет. Я сдержал своё слово. Ты держи своё." [No. I held up my word. You hold up yours.]

"Я сделаю это. Я тебя отсюда уберу. Тащите его отсюда. Пусть он стоит на улице." [I will. I'll take you out of here. Take him out. Make him stand outside.]

"Сволочь!" [You swine!] The village leader spat on him as he was dragged out and now he looked intently on BG. Delaney. "Ты за это заплатишь." [You will pay for this/]

"Как?" [How?]

"Ты пойдёш в ад." [You will go to hell.]

"Ад? Это меня испугает?" [Hell? Will that scare me?]

"Ты скотина. Плохой человек." [You are a monster. A bad man.]

"Ты незнаешь о тех злодеяниях которые я сотворил. Поумней и заткнись. 'Я смотрел и там была бледная лошадь! Её наезник был смертью, и Аид следовал за ним. Им была дана сила над четвертью земли чтобы убить мечём, голодом и болезнью дикими зверями земли.' Это я. Я бледный всадник и я смерть и Аид пришол со мной." [You know not of the evil I've done. Wise up and shut up. 'I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.' That is me. I am the pale rider and I am Death and Hades has come with me.]

"Ты цытируешь..." [You quote...]

"Это я. Теперь молчи или ты пресоединишся к ниму." [I am. Now hush or else you'll join him.] He left the house, along with his men. They encircled the Pasdaran terrorist outside and some of the villagers got to their feet and moved out to the door only to see that they were staring at gun barrels. "Некому недвигатся." [Nobody move.] BG. Delaney handed his rifle and his pistol to his XO and pulled out his knife. "Отпусти его." [Cut him free.] The XO did and the man looked at him.

"Что ты будешь делать?" [What are you going to do?]

"Заслужи свою жизнь." [Earn your life.]

"Что?" [What?] He lunged at him with the knife and sliced deep into his thigh. "Ты мне врал." [You lied to me.] He scurried away but didn't get too far. "Это безумие." [This is madness.]

"Нет." [No.] He jumped onto him and pushed him to the ground, driving his face into a rock, clearly breaking his cheek bone. "Это рациональность." [This is sanity.] Using his knife he man a superficial slice down the man's back, causing him to yelp in pain. He stood up and stepped right on his hand before he pulled the terrorist to his feet and threw him back to the ground again. Blood was coming from his mouth, from his back, from his thigh, and from his hand. His eye was swelling up and his skull was throbbing but he managed to swing forward, not that he hid BG. Delaney. He was simply pushed down to the ground again, this time losing a tooth. "Ты хочешь заслужить свою жизнь и это как ты дерёшься?" [You want to earn your life and this is how you fight?] He kicked him hard in the ribs, breaking one of them, sending the man over, onto the ground again. "Ты заставил меня убить ребёнка. Ты нечтожество." [You forced me to execute a little boy. You're pathetic.] He picked him up and threw him against the house before landing a pair of hard punches into his ribcage, right where he had broken the first rib, cracking another one. BG. Delaney was filled with rage as he dragged him into the house and pushed him down, onto the corpse of the boy, everyone watching. He pushed his face in the boy's blood like a dog in its own feces. "Я хочу что бы ты помнил что я зделал. Что это стоило тебе и этим людям. Ты будешь меня помнить до конца своей жизни." [I want you to remember what you did. What it cost you and these people. You will remember me for the rest of your natural life.] He pushed his face hard into the pooled blood, making sure to push against his already broken cheek bone and nose. He swung hard again at his face and landed a shot right on the broken bone. The man nearly fainted with pain as he picked him up again and looked around. "Верёвка." [Rope.] One of the men handed him a spool of rope that was sitting in the corner. He quickly tied it around the man's foot and threw the other end over the rafters above. He hoisted him up nearly by himself and secured the rope. The terrorist's head was about three feet off the ground and he looked through blood-hazed, pain-stricken eyes at BG. Delaney as he crouched down. "Помни кто я." [Remember who I am.] With a final blow he punched him hard in the chest and walked away. "Он ваш." [He's yours.] The eight men walked out of the village, leaving it now.

Layarteb

21-04-2007, 04:31

BG. Delaney and his men were gone before the villagers could come out and find them. They had taken the eight horses and were moving towards Assad's location fast. He was just over fifty-seven miles away from the village and they were moving almost thirty miles per hour as their horses sped along the even trail, which was gradually downsloping. They slowed down when they had to due to the terrain but, overall, they made good time as the night passed into the morning. The goal was to be in position before dawn and to use the sunrise to their advantage, storm the headquarters, capture Assad and be out of dodge before any reinforcements could come, if there were any. They were lucky, there were no patrols of Eurasian or irregular forces or even Pasdaran holdouts. They kept to the shadows and they kept away from the roads, which kept them hidden.

In the wake of the Eurasian war in the Caucasus, burned hulks of tanks and trucks still cluttered up sections of roads or had been pushed onto the shoulder. The bodies had been cleared and the dust of war settled but its remains still lingered. Tanks had been decimated by Eurasian airpower as they tried to fight off the massive armies that poured into Georgia. The rusting, charred, jagged hulks that staggered the roads each told a story about some unforgiven episode of their existence. They told tales of victory and tales of defeat, the latter being the final tales they told. They were at peace now, with their occupants, wherever they were buried. Missiles, guns, and bullets had torn through each of the vehicles at some time or another, peppering them without remorse and without mercy. They cried out for relief but they got none and the sliver of hope they did have was wiped clean when helicopters, tanks, and fighters streaked overhead.

"Depressing. Isn't it?" The XO said as they trotted past a bured out Mercedes. "Looks like someone died in there?" Through his night vision goggles he could see a half burned teddy bear in the back seat with blood on its other side.

"Yeah. I think so too. Looks bad." BG. Delaney answered. "This whole place. It's torn and ravaged, what a desolate place. It's a shame that we have to bring more bloodshed to this place." They kept up with the ride and wound up reaching a hilltop overlooking the Pasdaran base by 01:00 hours. They had plenty of time until the sun rose but their position was 2,350 meters away. It was the best position offered to overlook the base and was almost one and a half miles away. At that range only a .50BMG rifle would be good for a kill but the M100A1 Outbreak rifle was accurate and supersonic out to a range of 2,100 meters, making it capable of punching through a sheet of steel at 2,350 meters. BG. Delaney was, perhaps, one of the few men in the Empire capable of making the shot. He and the spotter would remain up high while the other six men of the team moved out, down the canyon, to the headquarters. When the sun rose, they would begin their assault.

The morning air was chilly and they realized that the canyon between them and the other side of the Lesser Caucasus Mountains was a wind tunnel. Something was keeping an almost steady breeze of 5 - 15 mph moving through the canyon and off, from the east to the west. "Feel that?" BG. Delaney remarked after he and the spotter got into position. "Windy."

"Very. I'm getting 12 now."

"It'll make this that much harder."

"Yes it will. I'll begin to range it and do some calculations." The spotter used his powerful spotting scope and its integrated laser rangefinder to accurately and precisely range the target. "Alright. It's 2-3-5-0 to the table in the courtyard. 2-3-6-5 to the radio dish."

"Got it."

"Windage is 12 east to west but it's changing too much."

"We'll worry about it when the time comes."

"Yeah." For now, they sat still, looking through their scopes at the compound, which was completely quiet. A small fire burned in one corner and there were a few beat-up chairs around it but everyone was asleep and no lights were on that they could see. While they watched, the other six men of the team moved through the blackened canyon towards the compound. "It's too peaceful a place to be such a war ravaged nation."

"That's more than true. Way too beautiful a place." Everything in front of them was a green tint, a byproduct of their night vision goggles, which let them see perfectly through the blackened air around them. It took them all a few hours to get into position and get set up but when the sun peaked on the horizon at 05:40 hours, they were ready to go. By then, the winds had shifted seven times in the canyon and changed speed almost thirty times. Something was created immense convection within the canyon, making it more than difficult to spot a target properly, let alone take the shot. "Alright. We've got worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Wind is now fifteen to the west."

"Alright. I'll adjust it." He made a few adjustments to the scope and adjusted the light levels too. "All teams in position?"

"One. Check."

"Two. Check."

"Stay sharp. Order is coming up with the sun." The sun was coming up on the horizon and activity at the compound was still lacking. The fire had long since burned out and stopped smoking hours ago. "Wait. Wait." He watched a dust cloud rise on the horizon, about three kilometers east of the compound. "Eyes on. We've got a vehicle approaching from the east."

"One. See it."

"Two. Yeah we got it."

"Alright." They all watched as the dust cloud grew closer and closer, towards the compound. "Shit." BG. Delaney as the car got closer and activity buzzed in the compound. Squad One was hiding to the south of the compound, about forty-five meters away, in a deep ditch. Squad Two was on the northern side, hiding in a small cave, overlooking the compound from the top. BG. Delaney and the spotter were to the extreme south. Several of the Pasdaran terrorists were now out in the courtyard, each holding an assault rifle, bundled in layers to protect against the cold. They wore mountain gear, which meant that they were going somewhere to the northwest, up the slopes of the Lesser Caucasus Mountains. "Where are they going and who is that?"

"They're going somewhere. Look at all that gear they're bringing out. Donkeys and horses too. They're leaving."

"Good thing we're here now. Who's in that car?"

"Don't know but I haven't seen our man yet."

"Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Maybe..." The car pulled into the compound through the east gate, the only gate, and stopped in the middle of the courtyard. It was an old GMC C/K pickup truck from the 1970s and it was beat up but it was definitely a four-wheel drive truck, which meant it could move through the terrible terrains of mountainous Georgia. "Wait. There's our man. There he is..." Assad al Samir stepped out of the passenger side of the pickup truck with an assault rifle on his back. He immediately began to embrace the Pasdaran fighters around him, unaware that the most elite group of soldiers, in the world, was watching his every move.

"Alright. Alright. Who do we have here?" BG. Delaney asked as he pulled out a book from his pocket of known Pasdaran terrorists that were still at large. "Hmm. Nobody I recognize."

"Me either. Looks like a bunch of grunts. Probably his security team. I count twenty-one including him."

"Yeah. Me too. I don't know if anyone is left inside of the buildings."

"Me either." They began to throw some of the gear into the pickup truck and two of them were pulling out another vehicle from a garage. "No horses I guess. But I do see that bus."

"Me too. Looks like they're going to leave."

"Yeah. Looks like it. We've got to act fast if we want to get them while they are stationary." BG. Delaney nodded and he released the safety on the rifle and did the final tuning to the scope to allow him to strike the target.

Layarteb

21-04-2007, 19:04

OOC: Once again, for the faint of heart, keep it moving, nothing to read here.

"You know. If we disable that pickup, they can't get the bus out." BG. Delaney said as he eyed the layout of the compound and the position of the gate. "A single shot through the engine block should do it. This rifle is powerful enough."

"Maybe two. Just to be safe."

"Maybe. Alright. Range it."

"2-3-4-2 to the hood. Wind is now seven to the west. At least the direction hasn't changed in two hours."

"Don't jinx me." BG. Delaney carefully placed the crosshairs but not on the hood of the car, on the chest of Assad, who was leaning up against the back of the pickup truck. He had a cigarette in his mouth and was in the process of lighting it, talking to someone standing to the side of him. "Alright. On the hood, just above the wheel well." The shot, as he described, would crack through the engine block, severing the oil lines and who knew what else. However, that wasn't going to happen, he had his own orders, orders that superceded those given to him by the Emperor. "Watch the wind."

"Same. Same." BG. Delaney controlled his breathing and unlocked the safety on the rifle and carefully positioned the crosshairs, right on Assad's heart. "Fire...Fire...Fire..." The last word was the key and BG. Delaney squeezed the trigger after the last "Fire," putting the .408 caliber, 419 grain projectile in the air at an astounding 884 meters per second. It had 2,342 meters to travel. It would be there in just under five seconds. It got through 450 meters instantly and after one second, it was at almost 850 meters. Two seconds had it out to just over 1,375 meters. Three seconds had it out to just over 1,800 meters. The crack of the shot was following slowly behind. There was no muzzle flash, thanks to the suppressor, and the gunshot would echo in the canyon, making it nearly impossible to get a proper bearing on the shooter. BG. Delaney had already unlocked the bolt and chambered another round, loaded exactly the same way. He could fire again before the first bullet every got to the target and he did, squeezing off a round as the bullet passed through four seconds and maybe 2,100 meters. A split second later, it hit, to the surprise of the Spotter. "Shit. Miss! We hit the target! We hit the fucking target!" He said as he looked through his spotting scope at the truck.

The bullet had tore right into Assad's chest, just above his heart, at the base of his neck. He dropped the cigarette instantly and the crack of the gunshot was now echoing in the canyon. Everyone knew that someone had just fired at them. Assad was practically on the ground by the time the sound reached the compound. The spray of blood and the piercing of the many layers of clothing that Assad had on was just one sign that he had been hit. The round tore through his trachea and split his spine. He was paralyzed, instantly, from that part of his body down and it was evident as his spinal cord was severed by the round, as it exited his body with a blast, embedding itself in the frame of the truck. Assad was struggling to stand as his legs received no messages from his brain. He began to fall towards the ground when the second round hit him, significantly higher on his body. Blood streaked behind him on the pickup frame as his body slid downward. The second round only made more of a mess. It still had over 1,000 foot pounds of energy behind it when it hit him, square in the left eye. The softness of his eye and the momentum of the bullet pushed it right through. His eyeball turned into a fountain as it exploded in the socket, spraying out eye fluid and chunks of it as it burrowed deeper. His left eye was beyond repair when the bullet had finished, turning it into a mushy residue all around his face and the terrorist standing next to him, who also got a spray of blood on him from the first round. Now, the bullet had turned the bone in his skull into shattered fragments as it entered his brain, right behind his left eye, moving downward at a shallow angle. It blew through his Sphenoid bone without any effort and bore into his temporal lobe. He was already dead, for the most part but the destruction was not complete. That part of his brain controlled speech and vision and now it was completely out of comission. The last thing he saw before he died was blackness as the lobe itself shut down from the trauma sustained. The bullet kept going though, boring next into the parietal lobe briefly and exiting through the occipital lobe, which processed more visual stimuli. When it blew out the back of his brain and skull it blew out a big enough hole that his brain, which sustained significant trauma, had begun to leak and spill out. Damaged lobes had been turned to mush and gray matter dribbled out along with blood. Assad was dead and he slumped over, onto the ground, eyes wide open, dead in less than ten seconds. Everyone around was scurrying for cover and BG. Delaney had locked and loaded a third round. He still had four rounds in the magazine. "Shit. It missed!" He said as the second bullet ripped through Assad's eye. "Fuck!" He yelled out, loud enough that anyone within 200 meters could have heard him but not over 2,300 meters away. "Shit. Alright. New plan." He turned around to look at his spotter. "Call them back. We need an airstrike. We need to take out this base before they can escape."

"Roger that. All teams. All teams. Abort. Abort. Errant shots. Target deceased. Abort. I repeat. Abort." He switched frequencies quickly and got on the radio to the command center. "Command Mirror. Command Mirror. This is Glass Two. This is Glass Two. Come in. Over."

"Go ahead Glass Two. This is Mirror. Over."

"Target is down. I repeat target is down. Mission abort. Target is down. Over."

"Say again Glass Two? Over."

"The target is dead. The target is dead. Over."

"Roger that. Confirm abort. Over."

"Confirm. We need air support against this target. Over."

"Wait one. Over." They waited patiently as the six men pulled back from the compound. The terrorists had begun to open fire now, from over the wall and from nests. They spotted some of the soldiers retreating away and now a gunfight had ensued. "State nature of target. Over."

"We're the damn target! Over."

"Roger that. Badger heavy is on station. ETA is 8 minutes. Over."

"Hurry them up! Out!" BG. Delaney lined up the sights again on a new target. "Alright. Wind has shifted now. We've got ten to the east!"

"Understood. Understood. Targetting the sniper on the roof."

"Range is 2-3-8-1."

"Check."

"Fire...Fire...Fire..." He squeezed the trigger and loaded another round in just under four seconds. By the time that the second bullet was loaded and ready, the sniper had been hit, square in the chest. He was down too. "Hit. New target. Heavy machine gun. Down, left, 40."

"Roger. Target acquired."

"Fire...Fire...Fire..." BG. Delaney fired again and the round left the muzzle at 884 meters per second just as the last three had. His men were retreating back, opening fire themselves but they were in a tough spot. The enemy had the higher ground and they were sort of firing to the east, in the wake of the rising sun, making it difficult to see accurately. The terrorists were opening fire with everything they had. They were primarily armed with assault rifles, AK series and they were bad shots. The single sniper was holding an SVD and he was down. The heavy machine gunner manned a powerful KPV with a 14.5mm bullet, almost as powerful as the deadly M31 with its 15.5mm bullet. When the round hit him, it had hit his gun first, breaking its chamber. Sharp and hot fragments of metal hit him, achieving a kill as his neck was cut across by the explosion of the chamber. "Down. Good job. Heavy weapons neutralized." He looked now for a new target. The assault rifles were secondary because they were inaccurate this far away and now that four shots had been fired, the terrorists were beginning to take cover, firing through small windows or over the tops of their walls. "Dish. 2-3-6-5. Two shots."

"Locked."

"Fire...Fire...Fire..." The first round left straight and true and seconds later so did the second round, both of which shattered the material of the dish and broke it clean off its mount, the last round splitting it into two pieces. Hundreds of miles away, a B-10 Badger was flying inbound at high speed, towards the Caucasus with its internal payload ready for a kill.

Layarteb

22-04-2007, 04:41

The airstrike was a single B-10A Badger, flying over Turkey on its way to Azerbaijan when it got the call. It was loaded with three missiles internally, large missiles, powerful missiles, missiles that had shaken the very foundation of the Caucasus Mountains when they struck. The missiles had been used to push back the Pasdaran terrorists throughout the entire campaign and now they were quiet. The last one to be fired in anger was fired just before Tbilisi fell. It struck an underground bunker complex, effectively wiping out the leadership of the Pasdaran. Since then it had not been fired but three were on their way towards Georgia now. It was the AGM-224 Advanced Hard Strike Weapon (AHSW). It came in three variants and they each weighed 3,000 pounds and were equipped with an 800 pound warhead. There was a thermobaric option, a BROACH option, and a thermate TH3 option. The missiles carried inside of this bomber were all equipped with thermobaric warheads. With a ceiling of 80,000 feet, the missile was launched in one of three modes. The most simple was direct to target, where the missile took the shortest route towards the target, usually just a straight line. There was the "low" option, which put the missile down at 100 feet AGL at a cruise speed of Mach 2.85 but that severely limited the range and striking power. For that you needed to use the "loft" option, which put the missile 80,000 feet in the air at Mach 2.85 for its cruise. However, when it hit, it hit at Mach 6. The kinetic energy alone was enough to tear a target to pieces and the bomber never had to get closer than 250 miles. It had the same penetration capabilities as the GBU-28 Paveway III, which could tear through 100 feet of earth or 20 feet of reinforced concrete. Underground bunkers and cave complexes didn't stand a chance against the missile.

As the Badger banked over Turkey for its northern course, speeding itself up to 1,584 mph, the scene at the canyon escalated. BG. Delaney had reloaded to a second magazine already, after having taken out three terrorists and the satellite dish. His other shots had missed, due to the excessive time it took for the bullet to reach the target. The Pasdaran terrorists had burrowed themselves behind the walls and were hard targets now. They barely peaked around as they opened fire on the six men, who were moving away from the compound, towards BG. Delaney's position. They continued to return fire but it was inaccurate due to the sun glare, which was becoming a serious hindrance. Bullets rained down around them, most of them inaccurately placed from "spray and pray" tactics that the Pasdaran terrorists had resorted to without their leader. BG. Delaney was hungering for another target as he put in the next magazine but there were none to tag. They would have to wait until the bombs could come from the Badger and that was a long five minutes away.

To keep their heads down and to keep them pinned, BG. Delaney took a pot shot every now and then, putting the bullet through a small, grated window or over the top of the wall but he did little damage. It only let them know that they were still in his crosshairs and since the bullets always arrived long before the sounds, they never knew when they might be targetted. They could have stuck their heads up and not have know it, creating a tremendous psychological factor.

Those five minutes were grueling but they ended quick enough. The bomber couldn't stray into Georgian airspace but its missiles had 250 mile ranges, giving the pilots enough leeway to fire from the south. They did, putting a pair of missiles into the air, after receiving the GPS coordinates from the Spotter. They were placed on lofted trajectory and sent hurdling towards the target at 80,000 feet and Mach 2.85. With 190 miles to go, it would take just six minutes to reach the target. That was another six minutes that they would have to wait. That was another six minutes of running for the men on the ground, though they were largely out of range for the terrorists. Bullets still buzzed and snapped by them here and there but they were inaccurate and they lacked any real power to them. They kept running though, making sure not to get caught by an errant bullet, lest they get wounded or die from a ricochet. BG. Delaney, on top of the hill, with his feet dug in against two rocks, lined up for another shot, just to keep them where they were until the missiles could hit. He passed into his fourth magazine as the missiles began their descent, speeding up rapidly as the final staged engine kicked in, pushing it forward, to Mach 6. There was an initial charge to the rocket and then a sustainer, which burned at a less powerful rate, just to maintain Mach 2.85. When the missile when into its descent, the sustainer increased in thrust and burned out after 60,000 feet. The missile was, by that time, travelling at near Mach 5.8. The rest of the fall built up its speed to Mach 6.

The first missile came down like a flash of light. It exploded just 100 feet off the ground, sending fragments downward along with the thermobaric explosion, which radiated outwards, from the center, like a fireball of a nuclear explosion. A thermobaric device was the closest thing anyone was going to get to a nuclear weapon, in terms of overpressure, while staying completely conventional. The overpressure quickly spiked to 430 PSI as the temperature of the air for 1,800 feet was superheated to over 5,000°F. It sucked the air right out of their lungs and lit them aflame as the fireball descended down, onto the base. The blast wave moved at over 10,500 feet per second. The Pasdaran fighters suffered little and lasted for only milliseconds as the 800 pound warhead decimated the base, turning it into little more than a heap of stone and mud. The second missile did more of the same, pulverizing an already pulverized target. The men turned and watched as the fireball rose into the Georgian countryside. BG. Delaney and the Spotter watched through their scopes and decreed that the mission, though a failure, ended successfully enough. None of them were injured or dead and they were safe, for now.

On the hill, BG. Delaney and the Spotter packed up their gear and quickly met with the other six men, grabbed their horses, and made for the south. They were racing against time. They didn't know if Pasdaran terrorists had been called in as reinforcements or if Eurasian forces were patrolling the southern sections. They had to get to the border of Azerbaijan as fast as they could to meet up with an MH-60G Pave Hawk, which would be flying in to extract them. They would have to pass through six villages on the way down. They could avoid five of them by simply taking a further route and they would but there was one that they just couldn't avoid, especially since it was near the extraction point, which was still in Georgian territory.

Layarteb

23-04-2007, 03:59

They tore through the Georgian countryside, heading south, towards Azerbaijan. The sun was high over them as they sprinted towards the south. They had two days to get there before the extraction would expire. After that, they were on their own to get back to Layarteb and that wouldn't be an easy task in any respect. The Pasdaran base still burned into the middle of the day and, as luck would have it, they were being chased. The villagers weren't allied with the Pasdaran but the men of the village were a local milita. They had a cache of weapons and they had been on their trail now since they had left. The firefight at the base only turned them in the proper direction. As BG. Delaney and his men escaped south, the villagers entered pursuit, although they were far behind them, too far to visually see them but they knew they were on the right path. As BG. Delaney and his men were sneaking to the south, the villagers were creeping up on them. As BG. Delaney and his men skirted around the first village, the villagers went through, closing on them.

The second village only brought the villagers closer to them and as they passed around the third village, they were almost neck and neck with the villagers. Armed with assault rifles, hunting rifles, and shotguns, they opened fire on them from their steeds, catching BG. Delaney and his men off guard. Lucky for them though, the speed they were moving kept the villagers' shots inaccurate. Leading the pack was the man who spoke that night and BG. Delaney eyed him cautiously. "You should have left it alone." He yelled back in English with his fist in the air. He switched hands and grabbed his pistol, pointing it towards him and fired off a few rounds himself. One of the rounds missed completely and smashed into a villager behind him, knocking him off the horse with a fatal chest wound. The second shot grazed past him but he was too determined not to stop. Him and eleven other villagers chased onward as BG. Delaney and his men attempted to evade them. "Take a left." He yelled as they tore around, away from the villagers and towards the fourth village, moving directly towards it. The villagers were caught offguard but kept up with them as they moved into the fourth village, sereing right through.

Gunshots echoed through the village as they moved through the dirt streets. Villagers ducked out of the way as the two groups of men on horseback poured through at maximum speed. BG. Delaney and his men fired back as their pursuers closed in on them. Lucky for them though, darkness was setting as they approached the fifth village and their horses were growing tired, very tired. They would have to stop but if they stopped, they would be caught, giving themselves a major problem. They had a considerable lead on the villagers but they knew that said lead could be easily lost if they blundered too much. They had to act fast and had to act now. They were in a wooded area, where they could easily hide with their ghille suits. They stopped their horses and quickly got off, then slapped their horses to get them out of the area. They hit the ground as hard as they could and hid within the underbrush on the ground. The villagers approached just ten minutes later and approached slowly. Their horses were tired too but they weren't giving up yet. They were looking for Delaney and his band of soldiers, soldiers who had murdered a child of theirs and who shook the foundation of their village.

They strode past BG. Delaney and his men and moved off to the south, towards the fifth village. BG. Delaney and his men looked towards the village and thought it to be a good thing. "Alright. Let's move out to the south. We'll go around the village and they'll get tied up, hopefully." They moved off, to the south, keeping low and in the brush. It was almost completely night out and they had the cover of darkness to work with as they switched on their night vision goggles. Walking, it would take them too long to reach the border so they had to obtain some sort of transportation but, in order to get more horses, they had to move into the village. Their goal now was to escape and evade, not walk into a den of wolves. Certainly, the villagers were being informed of what happened in the very first village. If they set foot into it, they would be overwhelmed easily and they couldn't get the horses out without noise being made. They needed a distraction. They had moved to the other side of the village and laid back down on the ground and now they used their bionoculars to watch the village. The villagers chasing them had moved out, more to the south, thinking that BG. Delaney and his men went around the village instead of stopping before it. "I have an idea. Give me an incendiary." BG. Delaney took an M61A1 Incendiary Grenade from the XO and crept towards the nearest house. His pistol was drawn and the grenade was on his belt. Carefully concealed underneath his ghille suit and using night vision goggles, he could see perfectly but not be seen himself.

He could hear voices as he got closer. He could hear them talking about what happened at the first village and they were talking loudly. They vowed to kill the "bandits" if they came through their own village. They didn't know that they had been marked themselves. As BG. Delaney moved closer to the first house, he kept a close eye on his surroundings. Villagers were still scurrying around but they hadn't seen him nor could they without the light of the sun around them. He got real close to the house and leaned against the side wall. He could hear them inside perfectly. There were three voices, a man, a woman, and a young girl. Both of them were imploring the man not to go join the hunt. He swore to them that what they did was atrocious and that they should pay. He had his rifle in his hand and was ready to go out the door. BG. Delaney, rather than listen too much longer, pulled the grenade off his belt and released the pin and safety. He tossed the grenade into the window and ran for cover. Five seconds after he pulled the pin and released the safety, the grenade went off, shattering its metal exterior. What came out next was 26.5 ounces of thermate TH3 mixture instantly producing a flame that was 5,000°F. Everything for ten meters was instantly turned aflame and the house itself was engulfed in the flames. The man, woman, and child inside were dead almost instantly as the thermate covered their bodies and burned them straight through their bones.

Villagers throughout the fifth village ran towards the fire but were repelled back by the tremendous heat from the fire. It engulfed the wooden house and threatened to spread, which would be catastrophic for the village. Many of them were running to the well to fill buckets of water to throw on nearby houses and the one that was in flames. It was the perfect distraction as BG. Delaney and his men found their way to the coral and swiped another eight horses. They were off and moving before anyone knew that they were there and gone.

Layarteb

23-04-2007, 05:17

They continued south, through the darkness, now behind the villagers. The sixth village was far in the distance, just a half mile from the border, a border that would be difficult to cross through. The villagers knew that BG. Delaney and his men had to pass through there so when they showed up and nobody had seen him or his men they figured that they had beaten them there. They would wait. Their horses needed rest from the chase and the men fanned out throughout the village, with men from that village, all of them armed. If BG. Delaney or his men came through there, they would be walking into guns galore. Shotguns, assault rifles, and hunting rifles trained to the north. They had the benefit of being there first and the benefit of being dug in so that when BG. Delaney and his men arrived, he would be walking into a trap. However, he knew that they would be there waiting for him and his men, it was the only logical place for them to go. They would use the night to get as close to the village as possible and then hide out for the better part of the day. Then, they could sweep in at night again and be extracted at dawn. They would just have to make sure that they hid out and released their horses.

They were quiet along the way and they moved slowly, to avoid the loud noise of the horses hooves and the dust cloud that would rise around them as they moved. Moving slowly, they could be there just before dawn, allowing them to get into their position as the sun rose in the east. They would hide out in the east, to use the rising sun as protection from the villagers while they got set up in their position. As they approached the village, BG. Delaney looked on his PDA to determine the best spot. There was a small creek to the east of the village and, as far as he could see, a sort of ditch there that was covered with branches and what not. The satellite image was well detailed at that resolution and, as far as he could tell, it looked like an abandoned hide out. It would serve them well. They closed to within 700 meters of the creek and jumped down from their horses. With a slap, they ran off too and the eight men of Team One moved up a small hill, towards the enclosure near the creek. BG. Delaney rolled into it hide site first and fell onto a pile of twigs. Using his night vision goggles he saw that it was nothing more than a hole in the ground with a roof on top of it. There was nothing inside of it and nobody had been there in some time. The rest of the men rolled in too and they quickly fixed the top of their hide site, making the roof cover more of the hide site. Now it was a waiting game. "Alright. Three hour watches." The men hit used the time to rest, to shut their eyes, and to relax. The first man up to watch was the sniper. BG. Delaney would be next and for those three hours, they all hinged carefully on what would happen if they were spotted. They were just 400 meters from the village and the sniper could see that the villagers had set up a significant barrier defense around the village, just waiting for him and his men to show up.

The first three hours were rather uneventful. The villagers went about their daily business as the men huddled into the hide site. They kept their weapons close to them, not that there was much room for them to move around too much. It was a large hole, as far as holes went but with eight men inside of it, it was cramped. When the sniper sat down on the ground, his watch being over, everyone had to shift over to let BG. Delaney get into the spot. He used a pair of binoculars to peek outside and watch the village. He was taking mental notes on who was where and what they were armed with, just incase. He spotted the village leaders from both villages and saw that they were conversing with each other at a position not too far from them. They had their assault rifles in their hands and they peered out, into the empty abyss of the sky. They looked to the north whereas BG. Delaney looked to the west. He and his men slipped past the village defenses and villagers in the early hours of dawn and snuck into the hide site quickly and quietly. Something isn't right. This was too easy. BG. Delaney thought over and over again as he watchd the villagers.

That thought came to realization just an hour into his watch. He squinted at first, just to make sure it wasn't a hallucination but two children were running towards the hide site. Neither of them looked older than eight and the boy and girl were dancing around and laughing as they ran towards the hide site. Apparently this was their play area. "Shit. Guys," he whispered. "Two kids coming this way. Look sharp!" He now had an important decision to make and a very quick one, they were getting closer and closer, faster and faster. He could kill the kids and silence them, he could let them go and risk them going back to tell what they had seen, or they could abduct the two kids and drug them for the time being but there was no telling how they'd react to the drugs. Options one and three guaranteed that someone was going to come looking for them but option two almost guaranteed that the villagers would know that they were there. The decision was a tough one and as they got closer, he feared that he would have to make it quickly and he leaned towards one of the more fearful ones.

Layarteb

24-04-2007, 00:58

BG. Delaney held his rifle out in front of him, shoulder butted against it, looking through the scope. "Shit." He whispered again as they got closer. "We're going to have to do something..." Everyone held their breath as the kids got closer and closer. BG. Delaney dropped down into the hole and pulled out his pistol. "Nobody shoots unless I do" They moved all the way over to one side, the far side, just to make sure that, should the kids drop in on them, they wouldn't fall onto them directly. Each second that ticked away brought the two kids closer and closer. They didn't come there to kill kids but if it was them or the kids, they would choose the kids. He knew that if anyone was going to come look for them they would come to the hole first, the villagers had to know about it and they had to know that the kids played there, if they didn't use it for anything themselves. They could abandon the hide site but then where would they go? BG. Delaney hoped with every measure of patience in his body that they would run by it and run to the creek and play there but he knew he wasn't that lucky and sure enough, he wasn't.

They both approached the top of the hide site slowly, talking to each other, telling each other that something was different. They didn't have that many sticks on the top of it the last time they had come there, to their fort. The other kids were going to be coming along later in the day, when they got back. That wasn't a good thing. More kids meant more worried parents. The kids moved over to the edge and looked down, into the hole. The little boy peered into the hole first but didn't look too far into it and didn't see the eight men huddled against the back wall, weapons drawn, hoping that the children would run in the opposite direction or pass them by and go to the creek. No of them dared more or make a single sound. They didn't want the kids poking their heads in any more than they already were. BG. Delaney stayed the closest to the front with his pistol right on them. The bullet would go through both of them without any effort at that range and do catastrophic damage, killing both of them almost instantly. The shot would also echo across the whole village so if they were going to do it they would do it quietly. Several of the men had knives drawn.

The boy was curious but he was aware that something was amiss. He told the girl to stay there while he went to get a stick to drop in there. He wasn't sure if there was something inside, probably an animal, he thought. The little girl did, never being brave enough to look in herself but that didn't mean they were going away. They were going to investigate. BG. Delaney growled, seizing the opportunity to sound like a rabid dog. It frightened the girl and she screamed and started running away. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his cheeks as he raised himself up to look out. She ran towards the creek to get the little boy. She started yelling that she heard something, maybe a dog, and that it sounded angry. The boy rushed over with a stick and stood carefully to the side of the hole. He didn't jump in or get close enough to really see but he dropped the stick and BG. Delaney used the opportunity again and barked like a dog. It definitely was a bad impression of a dog but to a scared eight year old, it had to be the most scary sound they had ever heard. The boy was brave though and went to get another stick while the girl kept back. "These fucking kids just don't want to go away." He whispered as the boy returned with another stick and dropped in it. Once again, he committed the chirade to try to drive off the two kids and this time it worked. Both of them were running away, back towards the village. They were safe now, safe enough to breath some sigh of relief but who knew if the kids would return.

BG. Delaney returned to his watchpost and the men went back to lying down. He watched as the two kids scurried away, screaming. This isn't good. He thought to himself. They're going to come back. He looked back down at his men. "Don't get comfortable. Four of you get out and get into positions on the other side of the creek. They'll come back. Go! Go!" The men reacted quickly like the elite soldiers that they were and scurried out of the hide site, rolling over the top to keep low and then down, into the creek. They hopped across it, barely touching the water and moved fast and far, through the dense underbrush around the creek and got into positions. "Next. You two. Take up a position with an advantage." The sniper and spotter left next, moving so fast that the kids had still not reached the village yet. BG. Delaney was now alone in the hole with the XO. "Those kids might have been fooled but they're bringing back their parents. Fuck. They're coming now! Son of a bitch! Get ready." The children had grabbed the village leader from the other village and the man he sat next to and both of them came with smiles. They looked too happy to kill the dog that had scared away the kids and let them play in their favorite fort. This was going to be a shooting war!

Layarteb

24-04-2007, 02:27

"I got ugly..." BG. Delaney said as he unlocked the safety on the M89A3 Enhanced Battle Rifle. He had handed off the M100A1 Outbreak to the sniper and took the EBR. It had a bipod on it and a powerful, tactical scope but he would only use the scope. He rested the barrel of the weapon on the ground at the top of the hide site and moved a few leaves over to use the scope. Any further than 10 meters would make it impossible to see him. "Alright. Let's do this."

"Which one is the ugly one?"

"Funny." They shared a laugh and BG. Delaney put the sights of the EBR on the chest of the village leader from this village and squeezed off the first round. The bullet tore through his abdomen and killed him slowly as his diaphragm stopped working. Without the use of his diaphragm, his lungs wouldn't expand or contract and he would suffocate. BG. Delaney purposely left the village leader from the first village alive. He wanted to kill him with his bear hands. The kids started running as the XO took a shot at another villager coming towards the hide site. The two shots echoed loudly in the area and everyone knew that the men they were trying to kill were now killing them. "Leave the kids alone. Unless they have a weapon." BG. Delaney said into the microphone on his collar. Everyone agreed themselves and began to open fire as more targets came into sight. The village leader from the first village was smart and careful. He stayed low to the ground and crawled towards the hide site as best as he could. Behind him, villagers were dropping like flies as they came out to see where the gunshots were coming from. The gun battle opened up fiercely right off the bat and the villagers were dug in pretty well.

The Azerbaijan border was just a few kilometers away. They could, in theory, make it to the border but they knew that the villagers would chase them and if they went through the border checkpoint, they would be shot on sight. If they treked it over the more remote regions of the border, they ran the risk of being bogged down and caught up by the villagers. They had to make a stand and they had to make one there. There was no doubt in their minds that the gunfire was echoing across the entire canyon and into Azerbaijan, which ran the risk of having Eurasian forces come to investigate. They hoped that they wouldn't but the time to leave was approaching fast. It was barely 11:00 hours when BG. Delaney gave the call to his radioman. "Command Mirror. Command Mirror. This is Glass Two. Come in. Over?"

"Go ahead Glass Two. Mirror Command. Over."

"We're under heavy fire. Engaged and pinned down 6.85 kilometers north of location Q. Request immediate extraction now! Over."

"Come in again Glass Two. Too much background noise. Over." The background noise was the gunfire that was all around them, which was combing with grenade blasts.

"Mirror Command. I say again! We need immediate extraction! Over."

"Roger that. Roger that. Wait one. Over."

"Wait one? Hurry the fuck up here. Over!" The radioman opened fire on a villager who was getting closer with an assault rifle. He was a man hungry for their blood but he only tasted his own as the bullets ripped through his chest. "Mirror Command. Mirror Command. What's taking so long? Over."

"Wait one Glass Two."

"Wait one? I've already waited two. I could build a helicopter in another four minutes out here. Over." Bullets were flying past them from nearly 85 armed people including women. The entire village had a massive cache of weapons and snipers had taken up positions around the village and inside of houses to open fire on BG. Delaney and his men. The entire village was up in arms over the killings and they didn't want it to happen to them. "Come in Mirror Command. We're naked out here. Over?"

"Roger that. Extraction will be there in twenty. Report coordinates. Over."

"Alright. That's what I want to here." He relayed the coordinates and they were, in turn, relayed to an MV-24B Bulldog, which was tearing ass across Turkey and soon to be into Armenia. It was flying at 20,000 feet and 480 miles per hour, covering eight miles each and every minute. The transport was lightly armed with a pair of 12.7mm HMGs, six AGM-177A Brimstones, four 7-round rocket pods, and two 19-round rocket pods. They had dumped their drop tanks already and were moving as quick as could be and once they reached the border with Armenia and Georgia, they would drop down to just about 2,500 feet and be moving at possibly 325 - 350 mph. There, they would approach the village and attempt to extract the men. If need be, they would open fire on the villagers but that wasn't part of the standard rules of engagement. They hoped to be able to get in and out without a shot fired but their Miniguns and weapons would, undoubtedly be used.

Back at the village, the gun battle was definitely not slowing. The benefit of their suppressors meant they had no muzzle flash but they still couldn't stay in the same spot the entire time. The snipers were definitely adept at searching for them and it looked as if they were all some sort of guerilla force since they had surprisingly professional tactics. The village leader from the first village was almost near the hide site and had managed to stay down, low enough, to avoid being shot at or killed, though bullets did whiz past him throughout the course of his crawl. "Here he comes." BG. Delaney said, knowing that the leader was approaching the hide site. He quickly moved over to the side and made sure that he could reach out as best as he could. His goal was to pull him down, into the hole and kill him from there. The XO, instead, moved over to the other side, to shoot through the roof. The man approached the hide site and before he could get his gun in front of him to fire down, into the hole, BG. Delaney reached out and yanked him into the hole. "You couldn't just give the fuck up!" He yelled at him as he landed a shot right against his face. The villager jolted into him. "I got him, don't worry!" He yelled out to the XO as he toppled over but he didn't give the villager any leverage yet. He pushed him down, into the ground and immediately pulled out his knife and made a quick slice across his chest. The blade ripped through the villagers chest and tore into his flesh but not deep enough to cause anything but a superficial wound.

"Got ya!" He yelled as he followed up with a knee to the villager's gut. The man buckled over but fought back with a hard, right hook, catching BG. Delaney offguard as the fist hit him square in the cheek. BG. Delaney didn't stop though and threw the knife on another shot and caught him right underneath his arm. The stab was deep and the wound was definitely not going to stop bleeding anytime soon. He threw another shot into the man's ribcage and definitely shattered something inside as his leg wacked him hard. The fight continued as the XO kept one eye on them and another on the scope. He put a few more rounds out from the EBR and killed another sniper. The villager fought hard but wasn't getting anywhere as BG. Delaney landed blow after blow against his ribcage and his stomach. He aimed for the head too but focused more on the body shots, where the villager was wounded already from the knife slice. He quickly fought back but he wasn't doing much damage to BG. Delaney. He was hitting BG. Delaney's vest more, which was meant to take multiple rounds from high velocity, armor piercing rounds. The fists that the villager landed were weak as he was losing energy and strength from the wounds already sustained. He had two broken ribs and the bleeding wasn't slowing down, especially since he was moving around violently, ripping the wounds further apart and deeper. BG. Delaney caught him offguard again with the knife but with the back end of it, not slicing him but caught him against a tooth and broke it clean out of his mouth. The blow was almost fatal as the villager toppled over, nearly falling down onto the ground head first. BG. Delaney was driving down with the knife and quickly caught him again, this time in the leg. "You're done." He said as he tossed the knife into the wall and picked up the villager. He grabbed him around his neck and quickly brought him to a stand. The villager fought but even he knew he was done for and blood dripped from his mouth as he was being choked to death by BG. Delaney. "You remembered me. I'm glad. Now you're going to be done for." BG. Delaney said quickly and snapped the mans neck. He fell to the floor, lifeless and BG. Delaney removed his knife from the wall, picked up the XO's M81A3 Carbine and opened fire again. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Me too. I think it's time to retire."

"Yeah."

Saint Lazare

26-04-2007, 15:29

Layarteb
19 May 2007
0850

It was an early morning - the man with no name rose as he had done for many other mornings. He was living under permissions from the Roman government, and his existence was crowded only by the fact that he was still running and searching for answers. The people around him knew little of his mission, and yet while the answers may have already been found, he would not stop until he had personally found them himself.

He was the "Roman" - the only Italian citizen on the street, and for an Italian, he spoke very fluent English and Spanish, which made him all the more appealing to the citizenry. He was a neighborly man, heading to the Church of St. Andrews every morning for mass. Again, it was one of those mornings - a Saturday in fact; he would go up for the morning mass and return for the evening mass. And then return the next day for the missal and Eucharist. He was a devout Catholic, and nothing about him seemed wrong [except that he spent too much time in church and not enough at work]. Nonetheless, he found the life around him enjoyable, and the neighbors all respected him, from the lowliest to the highest.

The one morning began normally. He woke from his apartment and instantly woke everyone else. Morning mass would begin soon, and the church was not too far away. The nameless man dressed himself, and exited promptly, although in a slow gait. He passed a man walking back up: "Charlie, you've been smoking again?"

"No..."

"You stink like smoke."

"Don't I always?"

The nameless man continued outside, where he realized the smell of smoke to be more distinct than usual. The flares caught his eyes, and it was the Church of St. Andrews. He rushed over immediately and ran into the building. The fire was sparse, but it would take more than a simple fire hydrant to extinguish the flames. Also, the thick smell of kerosene filled the halls leading to the seminary. He went to the Bishop's office - the door was locked. It was also hot.

At this point, this fire began to look like an assassination, but the reason ultimately confounded him. He broke open the door and walked into the blaze. It was burning like hell, and the bishop was settled with his company, lined on the wall with blood oozing from their burning corpses. They were shot, and then set to be burned. And this only meant one thing - the killers weren't far away. He rushed down the hall into a confession chair, untouched by the flames. He reached into the box, and opened a container, sealed under the chair. It was untouched for the longest time; inside was his Beretta.

Just as he pulled out his weapon, a shot rang inches above his head. In fact, it ran the side of his head, as it nipped his hair and a line of fresh skin fell off. It was only fresh and thin; the nameless man turned around and fired three shots. His assailant had gone away. He quickly took up the magazines and began the hunt. By that time, the flames had covered the exits to the building, and the stone was becoming excessively hot. It seemed that the only way to go was up, where the assailant was likely making his getaway.

He ran up the stairs, only to encounter a fresh wall of fire. Of course, it was only fresh - he could run through it and emerge unscathed. But his real worry was what lied beyond the falls. The stairs were winding, and every turn would reveal a new face to cover. He held his weapon low and ran through the flames. It was a quick exposure - nothing happened, except a brief heat streak. He stayed a while to make sure he was fine. Flames tend to be asphyxiating, so it was possible that he was running low on oxygen. But everything seemed normal, and he continued forward.

It wasn't much longer when he encounter his assailant. He was dressed in black, from top to bottom. For some crazy reason, this black-suited man had tried in vain to kill. And at this point, it was obvious that someone else knew who he was and had sent these men to seek after him. Of course, it was only one - and only one man was easy to dispose. But what about after the one man? The war that began so long ago was ready to become a heated struggle once again. And this nameless man would come out again and seek out the answers. But first, there was this one man to kill.

The shot came out high and missed him completely. He ducked down and shot low, on the man's thigh. It was a good shot and brought the assailant to the ground. It didn't keep him there - he was wearing protective gear. Simeone rushed up and pulled a few more shots on the man: two chest shots, one foot, one hand, and one neck [which was aimed for the head actually]. The assailant was surely dead by the time he came up to the body. And even as the flames continued to ebb around him, he began to scavenge the body for answers and clues. There was only one slip of paper: "قتلت الإيطالي"

It was a bunch of scribbles, but he knew that it was Semitic. And it was perhaps one of the only languages in which he knew absolutely nothing. He took the paper and put it in his pocket, heading for the edge to find his escape. The Church of St. Andrews burned that day, and the morning that began as any other ended with a tragedy and the resurrection of the lost assassin. With the memory of Caracas and Cuba fresh on his mind, he could only assume that whatever had happened there was now following him again. And perhaps for the better.

Layarteb

01-05-2007, 05:24

May 18, 2007 - 11:10 [MSD]
4 miles north of Azeribaijani-Georgian Border

The extraction was ten minutes out and BG. Delaney and his men were pinned down still and they were running dangerously low on ammunition. It seemed that the villagers had an infinite supply of bullets and rifles whereas BG. Delaney and his team were beginning to run out of bullets. They were down to their second to last magazines and grenades. They kept their weapons all on semi-automatic fire to preserve their bullets and were returning less and less fire. They had managed to score a significant number of hits against the villagers when they were opening fire but the villagers were under a never-ending supply of chaos. They poured hundreds of rounds, inaccurately, towards the men and they were forced to move four times already due to the heavy volume of fire coming their way.

The MV-24 was inbound at high-speed still but would soon be dropping down, to the deck, for their ingress into Georgia and the subsequent attack on the village. They had to ensure that the villagers did not attack them as they came down to land. They had to give BG. Delaney and his men as much cover as possible and their weapons would allow them to lay down enough suppressive fire to thoroughly annihilate the village in a pass or two. The MV-24 was known for devestating firepower on a single pass. Its guns and rockets alone could turn any target into dust in a single pass. When it came bearing Mavericks and Brimstones, it could turn any vehicle into dust along with the target itself. Bombs were added to its arsenal and allowed the beast of a transport to really lay serious firepower onto a target. Ten minutes was a long time but BG. Delaney and his men hung in there as the radio came alive. "Glass Two. Glass Two. This is Viper One. Come in. Over."

"Roger that Viper One. This is Glass Two. Good to hear you. What's your ETA? Over."

"Two minutes. We're on the deck now coming inbound hot. Over."

"Understood. Hurry it up. We're low on ammo down here. Out." The men on the ground had moved again and managed to group themselves into an area just a quarter of a mile away from the hide site. They were stilled pinned down though but relief was on the way, relief armed with 2,000 12.7mm rounds, 6,000 7.62mm rounds, six AGM-177A Brimstone anti-tank missiles, and 66 2.75" rockets. It was lightly armed, for its load capacity with only six of its twelve wing pylons filled with ordinance. The 2.75" rockets were Adder Mark Is, armed with a ten pound high-explosive warhead, capable of heavy blasting power, power enough to destroy anything in the village with a quick burst. The rockets were its most potent weapon and though the Brimstones were the most accurate and packed a heavier punch, they were more attuned to attacking vehicles but they could come in handy if the villagers had technicals or vehicles.

The aircraft was moving as fast as its airframe allowed, which meant that it would be there shortly but certainly not soon enough. Rounds peppered all around BG. Delaney and his men as they counted down in their head. They counted up to one hundred and twenty, each and every second closer to being extracted. The seconds ticked away slowly, too slowly for them until finally, the radio buzzed again. "Glass Two. This is Viper One. We've got a visual on the target. Pop smoke. Over."

"Roger that. We're waiting. Over." BG. Delaney immediately pulled a yellow-smoke grenade from his belt and tossed one in the area in front of them, giving the Bulldog crew a visual bearing on them. It screamed overhead first, setting itself up on a line of sight to the village. The ground shook as its engines roared overhead, popping ear drums and forcing anyone standing up to hit the deck as it tore overhead at just over 100 feet AGL. The village was in sight and the two pilots could see the dozens of muzzle flashes on the ground that were putting rounds towards BG. Delaney and his men and now the Bulldog overhead. The pilots immediately swung around again and, this time, adjusted their vectored engines, and pitched the nose down, while flying forwards. Their airspeed was naturally reduced but it put them on a -15° angle, allowing them to strafe the ground. A quick pull of their triggers fired their HMGs and put dozens of 12.7mm rounds on the ground as they passed over the main row of the village. They tore in with 2.75" rockets next, making sure that their pass was as powerful as could be, taking out at least a quarter of the village in one shot. The awe-inspiring volume of fire that lifted off the ground from the single pass was enough to give the men something to cheer. The first pass saw a depletion of just 300 rounds of 12.7mm, 480 rounds of 7.62mm, and 28 2.75" rockets. That was a lot of firepower and they had to wipe out at least half of the villagers in the one pass, leaving the village to waste, several houses burning as the pilots straightened themselves out and gained altitude.

They swung around for a second pass but this time they would concentrate on the fields in front of the village, between where the men were and where the village was, to create a sort of barrier for them. Roaring overhead, the MV-24 Bulldog buzzed as the Miniguns roared away at thousands of rounds per minute. They were putting a lot of mass on their targets and the gunners swung back and fourth, making sure to pepper the ground and anyone who managed to stick their head out high enough to be seen. That didn't stop the villagers though. They poured bullets towards the men and dinged them against the armored underbelly of the Bulldog, which was coming around from its second pass. It would put itself now in an extraction position, to get the men out and bullets continued to ping and clang against its armored hull, which could sustain hits from shells up to 30 millimeters in some areas, particularly against its underbelly. The highest caliber the villagers had wasn't even equal to a 12.7mm shell, which would do little against the hull of the MV-24. As it settled itself into position and dropped down, the men began to move towards it, emptying their last magazines towards the villagers in the field. The Minigun facing that side was still firing, putting enough cover fire down to let the men get into the cabin of the Bulldog safely. Unfortunately though, BG. Delaney, being the last one to step foot into the cabin, was also struck by a round, skillfully shot towards him.

The bullet ripped through his left arm, where his vest didn't cover, and sliced through his muscle and skimmed against his bone, before it exited the back. "OW!" He yelled as the bullet ripped through and exited. He regained himself quickly to get into the cabin when a second round contacted with him, this one significantly lower, going through his leg, just where his thigh plates ended. "FUCK!" He yelled now as he slipped into the cabin and the Bulldog lifted up, into the air. The Miniguns roared again as the MV-24 came about and the pilots sprayed a full blast of 12.7mm ammunition into the field. Safely inside the closed cabin of the MV-24, BG. Delaney and his men checked what little ammunition, if any, they had left, as the Bulldog turned away and back towards friendly airspace. BG. Delaney worked on putting pressure on the wounds as the men helped him out but it would be a long time before they touched back down in Turkey.

Layarteb

03-05-2007, 02:21

The arduous flight back, through the Caucasus and through Turkey, was long, too long. They flew at altitude and made best speed, 500 mph, for the return trip, refueling along the way to give them enough gas to get back to Incirlik and land safely. The men worked to ebb the bloodflow from BG. Delaney's wounds and they were successful enough that they slowed the bleeding enough that he wouldn't bleed out along the way but he would, without a doubt, need a transfusion once they got back to the airbase. The two wounds weren't mortal wounds, no major arteries were hit, and the bullets went in and out but they bled profusely. Lucky for him, each member of Force Falcon was a trained medic and could do far more than a regular corpsman could do though they weren't surgeons or doctors. They were trained in anatomy for two reasons: to make them more efficient at killing and to allow them to save lives if need be and it was always invisioned that they would have to save their own or the life of a VIP. Here, it came in handy and, when they returned back to the base, BG. Delaney was taken out on a stretcher and rushed to the hospital wing on the base. He would stay there for at least four days while his wounds healed and he would be out of action for, at minimum, two weeks while the wounds healed up more.

It was an interesting mission, to say the least. They had, in effect, failed. Their goal was to capture Assad but they failed. BG. Delaney had aimed for him and shot him, twice, killing him on the second shot, though he had little hope of surviving the first. He kept up the ruse that the wind shifted or that the laser targetting on the weapon was off but, in reality, he was a crisp, clean, and powerful marksman who knew exactly what he was doing. The men in his unit thought it was peculiar that he missed such a shot, he rarely ever did but they choked it up to the canyon winds themselves. It was a fitting explaination and more than just plausible it was, almost, the downright truth. The sights on the weapon were zeroed perfectly, the laser was working fine, though he had purposely destroyed it during the firefight so it couldn't be tested. Nobody noticed when he dropped it in the middle of the fight with the villager and stomped on it several times, even throwing the villager ontop of it. Smashed against the ground and the rocks, it was thoroughly destroyed and, with it, all evidence that he had, in fact, completely betrayed the Emperor, the Empire, his obligation as a soldier, and his own morals. He was a traitor now, a traitor to the Empire and the penalty for such a crime was far worse than death, especially for someone in his position. If he was found out, Nova Prospekt would be his indefinite home. He would be tortured and though he was trained to torture and withstand torture, eventually, everyone caves in, in some way, shape, or form. He couldn't hold out the rest of his natural life in Nova Prospekt nor had he any chance to escape.

While he was in the hospital ward at Incirlik Air Force Base, half a world away, in Layarteb City, the men of Majestic met. They had set up their meeting for an abandoned apartment building in the industrial section, where police patrols were frequent but inconclusive. Layarteb City was a safe city but even the safest city had its own refuse piles where filth, greed, corruption, and the seedy nature of humanity flourished. For Layarteb City that was the industrial area between Manhattan Island and the Bronx. There were dozens of junk yards, factories, docks, markets, and waste management plants. Rent for any apartment there would be under §100 a month due to its complete and utter vileness.

They all met there between 19:00 and 20:00 hours, as the sun was setting in the background and as the humidity and temperature of the day subsided. It was a warm day, not summer yet but warm enough to make any person perspire a little bit, especially if they were wearing a business suit or any pants. "Gentlemen. I'd like to begin and get this over quickly. This is a dreadful area of town." The Minister of Foreign Affairs began, having become the "leader," so to speak, of Majestic. One seven of the twelve members were present. BG. Delaney was in a hospital in Turkey, the Governor of South Eastern Virginia was trying his best to do damage control after Venezuela turned to a mess and was dangerously close to having himself removed from the political system. With the firing of the ministers of Defense, Interior, Intelligence, and Justice, many of the Empire's leaders were visibly shaken. The Emperor was calling for more blood over Venezuela and anyone with anything to hide was doing his or her best to bury it. It was a turbulent time and the Governor was next on the list. As such the Admiral of the Navy, the General of the Air Force, and General Victor Trumbell were not present either. All of them were in Venezuela, trying best to contain the mess that had been left of the Imperial Layartebian Military presence in the state of Venezuela.

"Well. It seems Delaney has done his part. Assad al Samir is deceased."

"I'm glad to hear. What is our stance with the firings?" The Director of CEMA asked, fearing himself being on the execution block as well. "It seems that the Emperor is driving hard. Have we anything to worry about?"

"It's still too early to tell Director," the Minister of Foreign Affairs assured him. "It seems that the Governor has more to worry about than any of us have and I have no doubt in my mind that the Emperor will see to it that he is fired. I am sure you are on the list too Director but I have no assurances yet who is and who isn't. This is only my hypothetical guess."

"Understandable. What should become of us if we are to be fired?"

"You will retain your contacts and influence as best as you can. We'll deal with it as we come to the bridge."

"Okay." The Director of CEMA wasn't fully convinced and he was not feeling too good about the firings and the political climate in Layarteb but he wanted change. He wanted the Republic back, more so because he wanted his own power sphere to expand but he had enough with the authoritarian Empire. He wanted democracy, to his bones, unfortunately he wanted to be rich too. "What is next on the agenda?"

"Only one other thing. What is ODESSA?"

"Organized dissidents, estranged socialites, and activists." Dr. James Perry began. " It is a group of intellectuals, elites, and leaders who have become disenfranchised with the Empire and shall call for active support of the Republic. They are beginning to form, to seep their influence into the Empire and the highest ranks of society. With the elite on our side and the active support of our people all we need is for the military to stand up and fight with us. When that happens, there is little doubt in my mind that we will succeed in overthrowing the Emperor. We need three elements for a successfully revolution and as such we will have all of them soon enough. The people are growing weary of the violence and the terror. They did in 1976 when the RAF formed and unleashed hatred upon the government and eventually the Republic fell. We will repeat the process here. It has worked in the past but now it will be quicker and far more organized. What took four years there shall take four months now. ODESSA will do that. This organization will work from the inside out and cook the Empire like a microwave cooks a hotdog. We will be flawless in our plan and this bloodshed can be reduced to nothing if we play our cards right gentlemen."

"Very well. We'll need regular updates on the progress and status of ODESSA."

"They will be provided."

"Very well gentlemen. Unless we have anything further to discuss I suggest we part ways. We'll convene again in one month. Until then, we'll let the Illuminati have their fun." The men parted their ways and Bloody May began...

Layarteb

03-05-2007, 02:58

OOC Summary

Chapter One: Faint & Numb

October 10: A massive truck bomb in the order of 2,000 pounds goes off outside a newspaper office of the LNN in the early morning hours. 7 dead.
October 11: Missile Base 1511 undergoes treasonous insurrection. Further reports unknown.
October 14: ILN Hunter SSN ordered to take up position off Layarteb coaSt. Further orders not given.
October 15: Force Falcon Team One ordered to re-establish contact with Missile Base 1511. Boeing 777 crashes north of Athens, Tennessee. All 89 on board are killed. Investigation pending.

Chapter Two: Frantic

October 16: Force Falcon Team One leads a strike on Missile Base 1511. During the course of the retaking, a single LGM-174A Satan is launched at Layarteb City with the intention of hitting it. Luckily, MIM-196 AABMS missiles intercept the ICBM before it could hit.

Chapter Three: Estranged

October 18: Force Falcon Team One lands in Santa Cruz, Bolivia for the assassination of the President of GnOoLoCoPeLep.
October 20: GnOoLoCoPeLepian President assassinated early in the morning.
October 22: Failed attempt by terrorist group to bomb Layartebian airbase in Sunbury, PA.

Chapter Four: Overburdened

October 23: Central Justice Agency begins Anti-Domestic Terrorist Force under the command of Bureau Chief Benjamin O'Davis. Identifies Republican Liberation Army as terrorist group responsible for bombings of Layarteb City and airliner over Tennessee.
October 25: RLA blows up a Boeing 707 and an Airbus A300 from Layarteb Airways over Cove Neck, New York and Belle Harbor, Queens, Layarteb City.
October 26: Emperor makes speech condemning the RLA. Raid on Layarteb City apartment nets 17 RLA terrorists and kills 3. Documents recovered tell of a plot for subway bombings.
October 28: News media is leaked the presence of the Mayan uprising in the Yucatán state.
October 30: Six security guards shot and killed execution style inside the Layarteb City office for Layarteb Publishers
United.
October 31: Secret societies meet to discuss revolutionary plan.
November 2: Two firefighters die in a suspicious blaze in a New Jersey factory.

Chapter Five: Rosenrot

November 5: 84 RLA terrorists seize St. Paul's Boarding School in New Hampshire and take 1,184 hostages, most of them under 18. In the fighting, they lose 2 of their own and kill 20, mostly school officials and guards. Terrorists round up hostages in the main dining hall as parents, soldiers, and police officers, including SWAT, surround the school. By 1300, a standoff ensues. At 1430, three children are executed by the RLA terrorists after a SWAT sniper shoots one of the terrorists. The SWAT sniper dies mysteriously. At 1530, Rome and Norway denounce the seizure.
November 6: Under the threat of a severe winter storm, small group of soldiers enter school and hide in admissions office. Families begin to grow wrestless and plot their own action. Explosions go off in dining hall and a chaotic attack is done leaving 75 terrorists, 152 children, and 38 soldiers dead. Many are wounded. Seven terrorists are captured, including the leader.
November 7: Emperor delcares national day of mourning for November 6.

Chapter Six: Precious

December 1: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island become part of the Empire. Only Quebec remains.
December 9: Quebecois Special Forces use VX gas against Jay, Vermont, killing 384 of 426 people.
December 10: Quebecois invade Ontario during the early morning. Jay Incident becomes public knowledge and Quebecois SOF and RLA terrorists blamed. Quebecois forces make quick and powerful headway throughout the course of the morning, seizing North Bay. RLA base compound in Clinton discovered for its true purpose.
December 11: Roman forces land to help the Ontarians. Quebecois clash with Roman/Ontarian forces in Alliston.
December 12: RLA forces seize 12 MGM-212 CBRR rockets on an assault at the El Jobal Chemical Weapons Depot, in Venezuela. 60 base personnel and 18 terrorists are killed. The rockets are currently "missing."
December 13: Roman forces repel the Quebecoi offensive, pushing them out of Ontario and towards Quebec. RLA group captured in Alliston, where Quebecoi forces devestated and forced back.

Chapter Seven: Colorblind

December 15: Layartebian forces begin aerial attack on Quebec at 0200 local time.
December 25: Ground war against Quebec begins at 0230 local time.
December 30: Boisclair captured by Roman forces.
January 1, 2006: Quebec War over. Montreal secure.

Chapter Eight: Gone Away

January 21: Battle of Clinton begins. Layartebian forces attack RLA compound north of Clinton, Alabama. The battle begins at exactly 10:02, local time. 8 soldiers die initially. Full assault begins at 23:00. Assault ends at 23:40 with 52 soldiers dead and 82 wounded.
January 22: Battle of Clinton continues. Stalemate ensues with a twenty-four hour ceasefire at 07:15.
January 23: Battle of Clinton ends. RLA compound burned from the inside out, RLA leadership and fighters dead from suicide or gunshots. 427 die.

Chapter Nine: Greed & Serenity

June 1: Former Minister of Intelligence dies inside of Nova Prospekt prison, Galapagos Islands.

Chapter Ten: Bleed the Freak

June 15: Soldiers begin leaving the island of Grenada for 6-day liberty.
June 16: Rebellion forces attack Grenada at 03:00 hours. At 05:29 hours, rebel forces shoot down Flight 2993 to Miami, Florida with 226 people onboard; none survive. By 20:00 hours, rebel forces have secured 100% of the island and suffered 3,049 losses. Layartebian casualties number 7,775 and 4,518 are captured. In the fighting, 839 civilians are killed in addition to Flight 2993.

Chapter Eleven: Goodbye For Now

June 16: Dr. Gordon Gray of the University of Layarteb at Layarteb City is murdered by an unknown gunman.
June 17: United Eastasian Republic publically officially recognizes the Republic of Grenada and offers supplies, funding, and aide.
June 18: At 08:30 hours, the Emperor gives worldwide speech about Grenada and condemns UER for recognizing the Democratic Republic of Grenada.
June 19: Imperial Layartebian Navy blockades island of Grenada.
June 22: UER aide flight given clearance to land in Grenada. UER aide flight evacuates UER diplomatic contingent from Grenada. ILN RA-5E Vigilante conducts low-level reconnaissance.
June 23: Christopher Allen Florence is arrested outside of Charleston, WV and questioned and held in connection to the murder of Dr. Gray.

Chapter Twelve: Fall to Pieces

July 3: Supreme Grenadian of the DPRG secretly requests international aide to be delivered during a week long "negotiation" with the Empire, during which they hope the blockade will be lifted.
July 4: MSgt. Brendan Williams and his family are murdered, possibly by drifters, in their Tennessee home. MSgt. Williams was due for a media interview regarding the shoot down of LA Flight 88 at 19:00 hours.
July 6: Secret safe house in Panama is attacked by Force Falcon Team One early in the morning, just after midnight. RLA high council, survivors of the Battle of Clinton, are all killed. The total death toll is 42 in the safe house and 28 in the vehicle convoy. The Emperor agrees that the blockade shall be lifted on July 16, 2006 at 00:00 EST and reinstated on July 22, 2006 at 23:59 EST, if no progress is made during negotiations.

Chapter Thirteen: Bleeding Me

July 11: Shoot out at Dockhouse 14 in Caracas shipyard leaves 13 dead. A mysterious cargo is stolen and the identity of all men, except two, is unconfirmed. Those two are linked with Esmeralda Cartel.
July 13: Giacomo Benevetti is murdered by shooting and burning outside his office in Caracas, Venezuela. Suspects unknown though murder is linked with Dr. Gordon Gray. Suspect sought out is believed to be the same person for both.
July 14: Esmeralda Cartel yacht sunk in the Gulf of Paria by ILN vessel. Eight men aboard killed. Two men founded murdered, execution sytle in Güiria. Both are linked to the Esmeralda Cartel.
July 21: Layartebian delegation to Grenada is assassinated in their hotel in St. George's, totalling 29 individuals. Blockade resumes and the DPRG is given 24 hours from 11:00 hrs [EST] to surrender the island back to Layarteb City.
July 22: Deadline passes. Hostilities officially begin against DPRG at 13:00 hrs [EST].

Chapter Fourteen: Stillborn

July 22: Deadline passes. Hostilities officially begin against DPRG at 13:00 hrs [EST]. First eleven hours of fighting sees 1,600 Grenadian, 22 Layartebian, and 65 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 21,239 at the start of the war.
July 23: At 00:15 hrs [EST], Victoria is secured. Mount Saint Catherine is secured at 03:00 hrs [EST]. Panorama and Trevellan are secured at 09:00 hrs [EST]. First thirty-five hours of fighting sees 3,839 Grenadian, 312 Layartebian, and 300 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 17,315 at the end of July 23. There are a total of 85 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 24: At 01:20 hrs [EST], Grenville is secured. At 03:00 hrs [EST], Saint Patrick's parish & Saint Andrew's parish secured. At 06:20 hrs [EST], the airport is secured. At 08:30 hrs [EST] assault on St. George's begins with aircraft and cruise missiles. At 11:15 hrs [EST] Gouyave is secured but massacre of civilians is found with 2,450 civilians executed throughout the town by Grenadian soldiers. First fifty-nine hours of fighting sees 7,293 Grenadian, 815 Layartebian, and 2,828 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 13,734 at the end of July 24. There are a total of 212 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 25: At 02:00 hrs [EST], all of Grenada is considered secured except for St. George's. At 05:00 hrs [EST], invasion of St. George's by Marines begins. At 21:25 hrs [EST], the captured Layartebian soldiers from June 16 are recovered. Of the 4,518 that were initially captured, only 3,758 remained alive. In the first eighty-three hours of fighting, 9,549 Grenadian, 1,787 Layartebian, and 3,201 civilain casualties are registered. Grenadian soldiers number 11,430 at the end of July 25. There are a total of 260 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 26: At 10:29:38 hrs [EST], a 5 kiloton nuclear device is detonated in downtown St. George's. The device is of unknown origin and at least 30,000 civilians and 8,500 Grenadian military personnel as well as 6,100 Marines are persent in the city when the device goes off. Possible casualties are expected to exceed 40,000. At 12:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor addresses the world about the events in Grenada. Estimates for casualties are narrowed between 20,000 and 30,000.

Chapter Fifteen: Cowboys From Hell

July 26: At 11:30 hrs [EST], martial law is declared on Grenada and an immediate "in-house" curfew is imposed. At 14:15 hrs [EST], analysis shows that radiation is rapidly spreading towards Cottish Barbados, to the northeast, and that the device used was an enhanced radiation device. At 15:01 hrs [EST], the first fire fighting chemicals fall over Saint George's. At 17:00 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as a W80-0 of a Tomahawk SLCM. At 18:20 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as a Teh Ninjan weapon. At 21:18 hrs [EST], a fire storm hits the city and ravages the inner circle of the city, around the blast zone.
July 27: At 09:30 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as being built within the Empire of Teh Ninjas in Cuba and shipped to Madagascar for basing on a 688/I class submarine. At 11:00 hrs [EST], the fires within the city are considered "under control." Recovery efforts continue within the city.
July 28: At 04:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor meets with President Baruti of the United States of Brink about the bombing. At 04:30 hrs [EST], two vehicles are identified on a highway heading north from Georgia and engaged by 2nd BOG forces. Two men are captured. Six are killed and their vehicle destroyed. Witnesses had little to say about the event.
July 29: At 06:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor's aircraft and flight are engaged by twelve F-22B Raptors going rogue from the ILAF. All twelve rogue aircraft are shot down along with four F-22B Raptors and one F-14E Super Tomcat escorting the Emperor's aircraft. At 21:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor returns to Layarteb City. The engagement of his aircraft is kept "hush-hush."
August 9: At 12:00 hrs [EST], the final casualty figures are released to include 37,221 as a result of both the blast and the radiation poisoning that followed. On Barbados, 400 Cottish individuals died.

Chapter Sixteen: Sehnsucht

November 23: Layarteb Airlines Flight 1890 explodes in mid-air, at 19:30 hrs [EST], 8 miles south of East Moriches, Long Island. The cause of the disaster is yet unknown but all 526 onboard are presumed dead.
November 24: Jasmine Delgado, the daughter of the Governor of the Province of Raef, is kidnapped at a market in Havana at 15:05 hrs [EST] by Luis Rendon and Javier Montenegra of the Florida Cartel. They soon meet up with Hector Pimentel, also of the Florida Cartel. Their house and car are burned and their whereabouts are unknown.
December 1: At 10:27 hrs [EST], the chief of police for the Province of Raef is asssassinated when his helicopter is shot down trying to land on the roof of the Panama City police headquarters. Six men in the helicopter and three bystanders on the street are killed.
December 11: Mysterious explosion around 22:39 hrs [EST] kills lead witness in Jasmine Delgado kidnapping and destroys two adjacent homes. Ten others are killed.
December 23: Official investigation on LA Flight 1890 concludes citing that mechanical failure brought down the aircraft due to faulty wiring in the center fuel tank, which ignited fuel vapors and caused the explosion. All 526 lives were lost, making it the dealiest, civilian air disaster in EOL history.

Chapter Seventeen: Ugly & Damned

December 27: The Empire begins a secret war against Faysal Abd-Al-Malik Behnam, a major warlord in Afghanistan and drug dealer who is directly linked with Layartebian cartels.
February 2, 2007: Layartebian forces assist the Eurasian Federation in seizing Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Armenia. They wage a "secret war" against Sepah-e Pasdaran, an Islamist-terrorist group in the region. Evidence gathered from Sepah-e Pasdaran link them to the Layartebian situation. Funding for Sepah-e Pasdaran was given through Faysal Abd-Al-Malik Behnam by Totalis (Varsolan Corporation on the Falklands linked directly to Grenada), the cartels, and the RLA. Sepah-e Pasdaran trained various terrorist groups acting in the Empire of Layarteb from 2005 - 2007 including the RLA and Free Venezuelans. An unknown "major funder" is sought out.
February 15: Layartebian forces invade southern Neuvo Rican Mexico and seize Campeche, Chiapas, Quintana Roo, and Tabasaco in the "War on Drugs" and, effectively, end the drug trade in the region when the war is completed.
February 18: State governor of Venezuela is assassinated, presumably by a "domestic" terrorist group related to the RLA.
March 1: Victory is declared in southern Mexico.
March 4: Successor to the state governor vanishes mysteriously. Street violence in Caracas escalates to its highest levels since 1988. Fueled by Illuminati Ghost Warriors, street violences peaks shortly thereafter.
March 12: Faysal Abd-Al-Malik Behnam is killed. Evidence links him to Sepah-e Pasdaran.
April 1: Organized protests begin in Caracas and are brutally suppressed. In total 629 people, including 55 police officers are killed when the government stepped in to stop the protests.
April 2: Two women are killed when the State Governer of Venezuela's house is attacked by rocket fire. The governor is severely injured and is forced to withdraw from his duties.
April 5: The "Free Venezuelans" announce that they are a pro-independence group seeking for Venezuelan independence and claim responsibility for the attack of April 2. They are linked to demonstrations going back to March and are immediately assumed to be responsible for the February 18th assassination of the government.
April 8: The Imperial Layartebian Military begins to mobilize as unrest in Venezuela peaks again.
April 9: The Free Venezuelans detonate a massive car bomb inside the South Eastern Virginia government building in Caracas, leveling the building. Forty-five are killed in the attack, which occurs at 01:30 hours [AST]. At 01:32 hours [AST] fighting erupts in Caracs and by 05:30 hours [AST] Venezuela is in the midst of a total revolution.
May 5: The last of the Free Venezuelans are captured, killed, or in hiding and the insurrection ends, unsuccessfully. Fatalities include 182,500 civilians, 4,528 soldiers, and 429,040 rebels. Casualties include upwards of 300,000 civilians, 12,086 soldiers, and 200,489 rebels. There are 342,493 rebels captured.
May 14: The ministers of Defense, Intelligence, Interior, and Justice are fired.
May 17: Assad al Samir, a prominent leader with Sepah-e Pasdaran is killed during a failed mission to apprehend him. He is a major player in Layartebian terrorism and acts as a middleman between Sepah-e Pasdaran and Totalis. He is also linked with the unknown "major funder" sought out by the Ministry of Justice.

Confirmed Body Count: 683,285
Unconfirmed Body Count: 683,592+ [307+ difference]

Layarteb

04-05-2007, 01:21

Chapter XVIII: Long Way Down

May 19, 2007 - 19:00 [EDT]
Layarteb City, Layarteb

Majestic had met late on May 17 and all was quiet after that, until the morning of May 19. Mysteriously, the Church of St. Andrews had been burned to the ground and it was no accident. The fire started around 09:00 hours, on the morning of May 19 and Layartebian firefighters got it under control by 17:00 hours. It was extinguished an hour later and little was left of the church except the blackened stone and concrete that withstood the heat of the fire. Anything wood was charred beyond recognition and there was little left of any papers or anything else. Investigators pulled six bodies from the fire and autospies were going to begin on May 21. Five of them had been found in the rectory, and were identified as the bishop and a few priests who were, presumably, overwhelmed by the smoke but the autopsy would ultimately prove what killed them. The other was a man found not too far away. All of the corpses were burned severely and kerosene was found everywhere. Arson was the definite cause but the difficult part was piecing everything together to find out who was the culprit and what really killed these six men. Witnesses claimed they heard the distinct sound of gunfire and that a man had gone into the church as it burned but never emerged. Whether or not this man was the "sixth" victim or a possible "seventh." There was nothing, yet, to prove the fourteen reports of gunfire but, then again, investigators had only been given forty-five minutes inside of the burned out structure and firefighters were still pulling apart walls and beams, looking for hidden fires as smoke drifted into the air mixing with steam.

The fire was an eerie reminder that the Empire was still vulnerable to criminals though not nearly as much as the Republic was. It shook the Bronx to the very core and the northernmost part of Layarteb City felt the heat from the fire. Thousands upon thousands called the church home. The Bronx was one of the largest concetrations of Roman Catholics in the northern reaches of the Empire, an Empire where paganism dominated from the very top to the very bottom. The Pagan Rite was no suspect though. Since the days of the Republic, both religious communities learned to live and cope with each other, far better than any other opposing groups in the world. However, the Empire wasn't a deeply religious country anymore though. The 1700s and 1800s are long since passed into the history books. The days when Pagans and Catholics fought each other in street wars had ended in the late 1800s and not since the revolution of 1976 - 1980 had the two groups garnered any overt opposition to each other. It was arson though, a job that was well crafted, well planned, well coordinated, and well done. The kerosene and thoroughly engulfed everything there was to engulf and flames lingered behind, hidden in beams and pews, thick pieces of wood that steamed, sizzled, and groaned when water hit them.

Water dripped from overhead beams as it pooled on the ground of the burned out church. Its stone walls were all that were left. Its roof had caved in just after 13:20 hours, when the fire was at its hottest. The "surround and drown" method employed by the fire department was all that they could do. Two firefighters were injured in the blaze, one from smoke inhalation and the other from a falling beam, which struck and pinned him as the roof began to collapse. The heroism of the LCFD was enough to save him and get him out as the roof caved in completely. Aside from the six fatalities and the two injured firefighters, nobody else was hurt or killed. Areas around the church had to be evacuated for fear that the fire would spread and engulf neighboring homes and buisnesses but, luckily, that didn't happen.

Firefighters combed through the wreckage, looking for hot spots while investigators, doning fire gear themselves, sifted through the rubble. Their gear had but one word on the back, written in bold, capital, block letters, denoting exactly who they were "ARSON." If they were on the scene that was a bad thing. It was an arson fire and all of them were lisenced, federally, to carry and conceal handguns. The standard issue sidearm for them was the M82A4 Storm, loaded with 12 .43LDC rounds and they carried another two clips, at minimum, on them at all times. To fool with an arson investigator was a federal crime that could get you upwards of 5 years in prison just for the simple act of trying to disrupt their investigation. If you escaped the prison sentence you were certainly fined upwards of §50,000 to §250,000, depending on the circumstances. They were allowed the same weapon's rights as police officers, meaning that they could, in effect, shoot someone dead and not be arrested for it. Arson investigators were serious men and women who had been firefighters for ten years or more. They knew the animal and they loved it, a little. They knew exactly how fire worked, how it travelled, and what it would do. They lived fire and breathed it too.

Six investigators were currently on the scene. They sweat underneath their fire gear from both the warm, May evening and the sweltering heat from the fire that still smoldered here and there. They were like forensics investigators but specialized to just fires. Police investigators were brought down to handle the bodies while the arson investigators went about their very first duty, finding the point of origin. If they found that, they could tell exactly how the fire spread, where it spread to, and what damage it did. They knew it was arson just by the speed of the fire and the lakes of kerosene that countless firefighters reported in the initial stages of the fire, when they had gone inside to find anyone trapped in there. Their searches were, in effect, failures and they couldn't reach either the rectory or the areas too near it due to the heavy damage of the fire. The smell of kerosene lingered and so did the soot. Kerosene fires produced large amounts of smoke and this was no exception. Smoke stained everything there was to stain and the soot was everywhere.

Layarteb

04-05-2007, 02:09

May 20, 2007 - 01:00 [EST]
Southern New Jersey

"How long have you been awake?" The scene was southern New Jersey. Fifty miles, to the east were the beautiful shores of south Jersey and a little over four miles to the west was the expanse of the Delaware River. Less than seventeen miles to the south was the Delaware coast and, to the north was Jersey. This was a quaint and quiet town of just under 6,000 residents, in a county of about 70,000. It was small, quiet, and calm but not too rural. It had no clubs but a few bars where most of the people hung out on the weekends. There wasn't much to do in the city nor was there too much work either. Unemployment affected approximately 3% of the city's working group and most of the jobs were in a Wal-Mart, the farms to the south and southwest, several other businesses that had taken up shop in the small city, and further to the south. It was a beautiful place to live, by most standards and the typical, quiet, Layartebian town that so many longed for but couldn't live in, especially those city folk in Layarteb City. The town had nothing open after 22:00 hours, not even a supermarket or gas station and it was a heavily religious town but for the Pagan Rite. There were approximately 100 Catholics in the town and they had a small church a mile outside of the town limits, where few dared tread.

It was the "safest place on Earth" as the mayor liked to say and it was true. This down had the lowest crime numbers in the entire Empire, for its citizen group and, because of that, it had been billed as the safest place to live. Still, that didn't bring the people in droves. There were dozens upon dozens of cities that were just as safe as this one throughout the entire Empire. Layarteb City was the safest large city (over 1,000,000 people) and it offered more work than anywhere else. That was where people went, where they knew they could have a job to support their families. As the city's population rapidly boomed, this one was left in the quiet. That was, until now.

Eight men had moved into a small house on Phillip Drive but kept mostly to themselves. Neighbors wondered but, they kept to themselves. Most of them assumed them to be a family or college buddies, there was a university just ten miles away. It was a town where everyone knew everyone but not these eight, which should have registered an alarm but it didn't. Privacy was a major selling point for the Empire and the private lives of its citizens was never intruded upon, unless of course they broke the law, which, in this case, they had not, yet...

The eight men were Illuminati Ghost Warriors and they made up Team 14. They were in this quaint, little town for a reason and a purpose. They had been there a month now and they were in the final planning stages of their operation. The goal was to make the safest place in Layarteb, the scariest place to live and they were going to try to pull that off in just three days. The man sitting awake, at 01:00 in the morning was the technician. He was studying blueprints and maps. "Dude. How long have you been awake?" The commander asked again, this time louder and closer to his face. The technician was in the zone and was more or less attuned only to the world of the blueprints in front of him. In the past forty-two hours he got up just ten times, six of those to use the bathroom. When he came back out, he plopped right back down again, in the dining room chair. The dining room table was large, measuring eight feet long, when it was opened with the leaf inserts and five feet long when it was closed and the leaf additions stored. It was three and a half feet wide. The technician had, originally, sat down with the table closed but after twelve hours, he expanded it to the full measurements. It was made of a beautiful, dark wood but that wood was hidden underneath a thick layer of photographs, maps, and papers. He paced around the table, looking at what he needed, getting what he needed, and sitting back down at the head of the table. "Dude!" He wasn't paying attention. His headphones for his iPod were in his ears and though the volume wasn't loud enough to drown out everything it certainly blocked out all that was around him, allowing him to concentrate. The commander, frustrated, ripped the headphones out of his ears.

"What?" Startled, he put down the glass of water and finished munching on some potato chips. "What is wrong?"

"How long have you been awake?"

"What day is it?"

"Sunday."

"What time?"

"One in the morning."

"Hm. Let me think for a second. I've been up since Friday morning, around seven? What's that forty-two hours?"

"You better rest. We're going on Wednesday."

"I'm fine. I almost have it all worked out. Once I get it I'll explain it. I'll get to sleep then."

"When will that be?"

"Monday."

"Monday! You're going to start hallucinating from being awake so long. What have you been eating?"

"Shit."

"I can tell. Keep it up and you'll be a mess for this raid. If I lose you because of this I'm going to make sure your corpse isn't found."

"Don't worry about it. I've got it handled."

"Yeah. I bet..." The technican was twenty-four years old and he was a college graduate with a masters in structural engineering, that he got in five years. He joined the Illuminati shortly after he entered his senior year of his undergraduate degree and became a Ghost Warrior after he graduated from grad school. He was the perfect man for the job, after all, the target they were going to hit was no usual target. Everything had to be planned precisely and executed properly or else they could risk failure, capture, death, or all of the above. They wanted to succeed, alive, and free. He took one more look at the satellite reconnaissance obtained from Google Earth and the picture taken from the Delaware Memorial Bridge. The target was alive, right in front of them but he had to make sure he had every angle covered. The planning was fully up to him.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/salemnuclearpp-01.jpg

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/salemnuclearpp-04.jpg

Layarteb

14-05-2007, 00:29

May 21, 2007 - 12:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Alright, let's get this started. Alright?" The Emperor said, sitting down at the conference table in his office. The Joint Chiefs and the Minister of Intelligence were joining them via videolink and the meeting began. "Ladies and gentlemen. I've called this meeting with regards to new threats that have surfaced about our domestic terrorist group. The Minister of Intelligence has informed me, privately, of stunning new evidence that could put us directly in danger here. Minister."

"Yes sir. Thank you. The Ministry of Intelligence has received numerous reports of the domestic terrorist group within the Empire. We cannot yet pin much on this group as they have released no videos, no statements, and no claims. Unlike the RLA, they are much more skilled, much less careless, and they do not identify themselves. We're hunting ghosts here and it makes it that much more difficult. While preseving the freedoms that our people have we cannot hunt them as effectively as we wish. The military is conducting sweeps throughout our country now as new evidence surfaces about a grave threat to several nuclear powerplants in our region.

"Intelligence supports that within the next week this terrorist group may attack any of the following nuclear powerplants in our immediate region: Indian Point, Shoreham, Three Mile Island, Salem, Hope Creek, and Millstone. These are major powerplants in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut. Intelligence supports that any such attack, if conducted, will be aimed at causing a catastrophic meltdown of the nuclear powerplant. If any of these powerplants undergo a meltdown we could be looking at an area with a diameter of twenty miles that we would have to evacuate for upwards of 1,000 years. Any of these powerplants, should they go offline, could cripple the powergrid of the entire northeast. We would have to construct a new powerplant to replace the damaged one, if all of their reactors went offline. Intelligence suggests that they only wish to cause a meltdown in one reactor as many more would be a suicide mission."

"How do they plan on crippling one reactor alone?" The Minister of the Interior asked.

"From what our intelligence supports, they wish to take the powerplant by force, using a team of no fewer than twelve but no more than twenty. After the control room is under control, they plan on disengaging the safety systems and causing the powerplant to run on an unscheduled test to determine its full operating potential. This will bring said reactor online to one hundred percent of its power capacity but, without regulators involved, the temperature and pressure will increase and the reaction will sustain. Once the reaction begins it cannot be stopped and a meltdown is possible. It could take just twenty minutes to begin the reaction from the point that the reactor is under their control."

"What is the most likely target?" The Emperor asked.

"The closer to Layarteb City the better but I wouldn't rule out any of the others. Security for our powerplants is a private matter. Despite our enforcement of the Layartebian Power Corporation as a single monopoly within the Empire, they are a private company. It is their job to provide security. I would, like to say though, that their efforts are commendatory." The Minister of the Interior added. "But I am not sure how capable they are in dealing with such a coordinated attack."

"Understood. We need to activate national guard units and have them there within twenty-four hours? I cannot think of a more grave concern than the one you are outlining." The General of the Defense Forces added, "Nor can I find any reason to inform the public."

"Certainly not. That would just create pandemonium. We'll have thousands dead from sheer panic. The terrorists will have one right then and there." The Minister of Intelligence reinforced as he took a sip of his coffee. "We must act quickly though. We're working on actionable intelligence here. Each powerplant mentioned should receive, at minimum, a full platoon of men with vehicular support. We should beef up security at other powerplants countrywide though."

"Naturally. These are the priority though. Twenty-four hours for these. As for the rest, we will act immediately just as well but give these priority." Within an hour, the order went out to the closest national guard bases to the six powerplants calling for the best platoon of each unit to be sent to the powerplant with the support of Bushmaster and Dingo armored vehicles. They would reinforce the powerplant and provide protection for a possible attack. They were not told if this was exercise or reality but they were told to expect a force that would outnumber them, be more technologically advanced, and employ guerilla tactics. While that order was given, the Minister of the Interior was on the phone to the CEO of the Layartebian Power Corporation informing her of the situation. She was told that, under the circumstances, the Layartebian military would have to reinforce all nuclear powerplants throughout the Empire will, at minimum, one platoon of thirty-two guardsmen due to credible evidence of a coordinated terrorist attack against any of the powerplants. Despite her reluctance to be as quiet as possible, she agreed. The Chief Security Operations Officer of the company, a retired Army major himself was on board with the plan and was pleased to see elements of the military defending the powerplants. Everyone was kept in the dark and only those who needed to know were told a very thin lie about a training exercise. Nobody knew that it really was a terrorist threat except for the CEO and should she talk, she would, without a doubt, lose control over the LPC and a lot of her assets too.

Meanwhile, to the south, the Ghost Warriors were entering the final stages of their plan. Their weapons were cleaned and ready, they loaded their magazines and made sure that they were carrying enough live ammunition. They stocked grenades, double checked their armored vests, and did cleanup around the house. They wanted to leave no evidence of their occupation and they would burn it to the ground following the "accident." They had barrels of gasoline hidden in the basement and the whole house would be easily torched once they got back from the attack. Their goal was simple, seize control of the powerplant by eliminating all of its guards and security personnel. They would kill or restrain anyone else, preferably kill, it was simpler and quicker.

Saint Lazare

14-05-2007, 01:29

[ooc: hooray for free time!!!]

Layarteb
21 May 2007
1231

After hiding for the past 48 hours, Simeone was back to his hunting regime - seeking out the very people who sought him. The slip of paper was indeed Arabic - "Kill the Italian" - and judging by the nature of the attack, he was certain that the "Italian" was him. The church was owned by Layartebian citizens, all of non-Italian descent. None of the deceased were Italians, and even the church itself was ordained by a Layarteb bishop from before the Wars. In his neighborhood, while there was a significant population of Latinos, he was the only Italian in his community for at least 16 blocks, and as far as he knew, he was the only Italian who frequently attended the former Church of St. Andrews. Whatever was the case, "il Romano" was back to his killing spree. He cabled back to Tuscany, but he received no reply. Perhaps it wasn't safe anymore for the Romans.

He decided to pay a visit to the local library.

"Rolando Romano," he gave the head librarian his name. She turned to him and gave a pass for the computer lounge. "Remember, only thirty minutes. The computer will lock at five minutes, to give you notice of your time expiration."

"Si."

He headed to the lounge and inserted the pass card into the computer. Thirty minutes to do some research. After checking his email, he typed in a few key words:

'Italian' Search results... Saint Andrew's Church fire believed to have been caused by arson - among the dead include 7 persons, but only 6 bodies recovered. One of the residents saw a local - Giovanni Torello - enter the building. Shots were soon heard afterward as the flames completely engulfed the church. Traces of kerosene were reported in the inquiry although authorities have yet to point the blame at any particular group...

He exited that search and searched 'Saint Andrews.' Search results... Saint Andrew's Church fire believed to have been caused by arson - among the dead include 7 persons, but only 6 bodies recovered. One of the residents saw a local - Giovanni Torello - enter the building...

He exited that search and thought long about his next search inquiry. Memories from Cuba brought another topic of interest to his mind: 'Havana drug bust' Search results... The beeper for thirty minutes went up and out popped his card. He looked at the clock and realized that it was only 14 minutes at most. He went to the desk to talk to the librarian. "I'm sorry, but this card gave me only 14 minutes."

The librarian looked at the card. "It must be a defect," she replied. "Here's another one. But remember, you've got 16 minutes left."

"I do. Thank you very much."

He returned to the lounge, in the midst of about 60 other people, and tried his search again. 'Santiago' Search results... The beeper for thirty minutes went up again and popped out his card. It wasn't a defect; someone was watching him. He quickly got out and returned the card. He left the library and passed into an alley. He quickly recovered his Beretta and loaded it. Footsteps followed him - he heard them clearly through the midday traffic outside. He ducked low behind a dumpster and waited until he heard the faint footsteps dissipate. Was the man going away? Did he stop? He took out his watch and aimed it as a mirror facing the entrance. He saw nothing for a while, but once the glare faded, a man clothed in black was holding a PPK, and walking down the alley. He had stopped to gaze down another access route. He was apparently oblivious to Simeone's presence.

Simeone took the opportunity to open the dialogue.

"Who are you looking for?"

The man turned around facing the dumpster. The gun went straight up and aimed at the environs of the dumpster.

"You are a priority, have always been."

Simeone replied, "Who are you?"

"Dead man." The man crept closer.

"It figures. The way you walk, you seem to embrace the fact."

The man stopped his gait, realizing that Simeone was watching him approach. He turned slightly and hugged the side of the dumpster.

"Tell me something."

The man remained silent.

'Why do they send novices to kill me?"

The man slightly shook his head. "We are not novices."

"I have been watching you for two minutes, and you have absolutely no clue where I am at the moment. You only have an idea, and on the other hand, I am talking to you. The last people I encountered never spoke to me directly. What's wrong with you?"

The man apparently took heart and charged forward, firing a single shot at the corner behind the dumpster. Simeone stood up from another dumpster two meters away and took one shot at the man. He fell over limp and cringed as the bullet ripped through his head. After waiting a while, he approached the dead man and checked his pockets. They were all empty - leaving him in a worse spot than before. He decided to leave a message for his trackers on the dead man's body: "Il Romani ritorni dalla Cuba."

Layarteb

14-05-2007, 07:30

May 22, 2007 - 06:00 [EST]
Salem Nuclear Powerplant

"Alright sir. We're here and set. We've got thirty-two men here with four Bushmasters around this powerplant. One of them is armed with a 15.5 millimeter heavy machine gun, enough to stop just about anything except an armored infantry vehicle or a tank. We've got a Bushmaster armed with the MGM-229 IRGATM too. The other two are armed with just 7.62 millimeter machine guns, lightly armed but still potent enough to take out any enemy force that wants to move on the powerplant. We don't anticipate being here more than a few days but we have our own supplies, just in case. We'll have a roving patrol on an irregular schedule and our vehicles will remain at two principle points. The first is at the front gate. I'm going to put the two more heavily armored Bushmasters up front and the other two back here, between the two high tension wires. We've got security detail going on right now and I don't anticipate we'll have too much to worry about but, just in case, I've got four sniper-spotter teams with me and two of them are going to be deployed at two points that will cover to the north and to the east. We do not anticipate a boat attack at all but we are prepared for it in the event that it happens." The platoon leader, a captain, explained to the plant director in his office. The director was concerned about the presence of the national guardsmen but was told, personally, by the CEO of the LPC that it was nothing to be alarmed about because they were conducting exercises. It put his mind at least, temporarily. He was still gravely concerned that this wasn't an exercise.

"That's very well captain but what are we doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

"If I may ask what are your orders?"

"To reinforce security at this powerplant. My orders are to remain strictly a reactionary force. I am to take my directions from you sir."

"Understood. In that case I'll delegate to the chief of security, Mr. Mayweather. Mr. Mayweather, this is Captain O'Neill of the national guard." He introduced the security chief as he entered the office with a cup of tea in his hand.

"Captain. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

"So are you going to tell us what the hubbub is about?"

"We're here to add to your security. This is an exercise."

"For what stated purpose?"

"To ensure that should any group try to attack a nuclear powerplant they are sorely defeated and captured."

"How long will this exercise last?"

"Perhaps a week or two."

"Perhaps a week or two?"

"I am not sure yet."

"Alright. Clive?" The plant director's name was Clive.

"Well I spoke with our CEO before his arrival. Nothing I can do."

"Alright. Well let's try to coexist then. I'm not opposed to the military but I don't appreciate their presence on this facility. It is a civilian and a private company."

"Understood but I have my orders."

"To which I won't contradict but please try to keep out of trouble."

"You got it." The three men stood, shook hands and the captain returned to his squad, sitting in the cafeteria. What a jerk-off. He thought to himself as he replayed the conversation in his head. His men were waiting and all of them snapped to attention when he entered the room. "Gentlemen. Have a seat. Please." They shuffled around but sat back down quickly. "It's obvious that we're not going to have a pleasant time here so let's try to make the best of it. There are thirty-two of us and that gives us a total of four shifts. Each fireteam is going to take one shift and that's going to last for six hours. Team two is up first. Fan out and put four men on the vehicles and the other four on patrol. We're light here and we've got a lot of land to cover but let's make sure that we're out here, ready to go. Team three you're on backup, stay to the south. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" The men responded.

"Good. Good." The plant was now "secure."

Layarteb

15-05-2007, 05:11

May 22, 2007 - 08:00 [EST]
Bronx, Layarteb City

Investigators had been sifting through the rubble of the Church of Saint Andrews for three days and tagged hundreds of pieces of evidence. They had even pinpointed the origin of the fire, giving them the necessary clues and pieces required to begin to unravel the puzzle that destroyed a landmark and six lives, presumably seven. Autopsies were done and they confirmed that foul play was more than to blame. Gunshots had been heard because guns had been fired. All six of the victims had been shot, five of them execution style. The sixth was killed, presumably in a struggle. The body of the seventh had not been found but there were posters all over the place and local media reported it constantly. The seventh man, Giovanni Torello, was being sought by the police in connection with the fire and the killings. The police were careful not to post him as the arsonist and the killer but they were looking for him severely. His face was everywhere, at diners, gas stations, airports, train stations, etc. The LCPD wanted him to answer questions, lots of questions. Since his body had not been recovered, he was presumed to be alive. Despite the tremendous heat and power of the fire, his corpse or pieces of his corpse would have remained but none did. Few suspected him as being dead and now came an arduous task, sifting through hundreds of hours of public camera footage to find out just what happened where and who was involved. Detectives would be working overtime on this one.

The church fire was an isolated incident. Few linked it with the wave of domestic terrorism that had begun to turn Layarteb inside out since its beginning in late 2005. It was no accident but it wasn't a terrorist act, per say. It was definitely a heinous act but it wasn't a terrorist act, which meant a lot, especially for the people. They could, thus far, deal with what had happened in the past year and a half but if their churchs were being burned down it would galvanize them either against the Empire and its failure to protect even their sanctuaries or against the terrorists, who had yet to claim anything or come public about anything yet.

The smoke had long since cleared and the flames extinguished by the morning of May 22. The area was still cordoned off but most of the investigation was being wrapped up and they hoped to have a preliminary report ready for the evening news. That was the goal and it was a realistic goal. Brass shell casing recovered from the fire were put into plastic baggies and tagged as evidence. All of it would get stored somewhere, ready to come out when the trial began, if one began, if they ever found Giovanni Torello. They were looking though and he had quickly become the most wanted man in Layarteb, although he wasn't being accused of anything yet. There were just too many questions to be answered before any blame could be made. Was he connected? Did he shoot anyone? It was obvious he didn't start the fire, public camera footage confirmed that the church was on fire before he got there and it was likely that the first five victims were dead before he got there as well. The sixth, on the other hand, had died after he entered the church. Was he responsible for killing that man?

When a body turned up in an alley in the Bronx, it revealed a startling clue. Public camera footage showed a man, matching the description and images of Giovanni Torello going into the alley. There weren't sound links to the cameras but shadows and flashes showed at least one disturbance that could be construed as a gunshot. The identity of the slain victim had yet to be determined and camera footage was obscured when the man emerged but it was almost definitely Giovanni Torello. Where he was now was a mystery but they were looking. Evidence continued to pile against him and as the autopsy of the John Doe began, a primary link was drawn between him and the sixth victim of the fire. The bullets that had killed both of them matched. They had been killed by the same weapon. Suddenly, Giovanni Torello was wanted now in connection with two murders and a massive fire. He was no longer being sought for questioning. He was being sought for detainment. In just three days he had gone from being a mystery hero to an unknown accomplice or victim to a prime suspect. If convicted, he would be given the death penalty. Suddenly life would change for Giovanni Torello.

Layarteb

16-05-2007, 05:51

May 22, 2007 - 12:00 [EST]
Salem, New Jersey

The final preparations were underway. All of the evidence that could link the Ghost Warriors to the crime they were about to commit had been destroyed and then, destroyed again. They used the fireplace to burn whatever evidence was on paper and, if something was burned enough, they burned it more. They left no drawer unopened, no cupboard unemptied. They tore through the house left and right and destroyed whatever they could. If they couldn't burn it, they chopped it up, put it in black trash bags, and brought it to the garbage piles. If those bags were going to be found, the investigators would have to dig through hundreds of thousands of tons of garbage, if it was even there by the morning. The men worked overtime and the goal was simple, in bed by 16:00 hours, wake up around 00:00 to 02:00 hours and commit the raid at 04:00 hours. They exactly sixteen hours to go when the clock struck noon on May 22. The technican had laid out every part of the attack, briefed the men, twice, and was about to burn his own evidence when the phone rang. It startled all of them since they had, officially, gone dark, eight hours earlier. The phone should have been disconnected but they kept it, just in case. No one knew the number except their bosses. A call could only mean one thing, it was off. Since they had gone dark, their commanders knew one thing, they would be unreachable. To even try the phone was a shot in the dark but it was seemingly a successful one. It rang twice before anybody moved. The commander of the group moved towards it and picked up the phone. "Mario's Pizza Delivery. How can I help you?" That was his cover. Anyone listening in on a wiretap would probably just shut it off at that point.

"Alpha proxy eleven." A voice said on the other end. They didn't recognize the voice but the code they did. It was NOT the abort code, that would have been "four" instead of "eleven." Eleven meant that they would encounter resistance but, above all, the mission was required to happen. They voice said nothing else and the phone was disconnected moments later after he acknowledged. The commander looked down at the phone as he hung it up and turned to the technician.

"Don't burn those yet!" He yelled as the technican tossed a photograph into the fire. He retrieved it quickly, blowing out the corner, which had become a giant flame. "We've got resistance to deal with. Get this phone out of here and you, get over there and find out what we have to see." He ordered the technican, who nodded and put on his baseball cap. He was out of the house moments later as one of the men, the radioman, disconnected the phone and tossed it into a trash bag. It wouldn't be burned properly so it had to be disposed of by other means. He tied up the full bag and walked into the garage, from the kitchen, and tossed the bag into the bag of the minivan that they were using. It was tinted very darkly and no one could see in too easily and that was fine. They had removed the seats and were treating it like a dump truck. It was almost full and this would be their last run to the dump so they had to make everything fit. The technician had taken the other car, a four-door sedan and drove towards the powerplant to check out the "resistance." The area around the powerplant wasn't thick trees or dense brush. It was grass and marshes. He would have an unfun time doing reconnaissance so he parked his car alongside a road just three and a half miles from the powerplant, between two farm plots and got out, holding a pair of bionoculars and a high powered camera. Carefully, he dashed into the tall stalks of corn on the farm plot and ran towards the end of it, which would give him a perfect view of the powerplant. He was there in seconds and stood there, between the stalks, overlooking the marsh.

"What have we got here?" He said to himself as he eyed the two Bushmasters guarding the front gate. "Two armored vehicles. Possibly two more over there." He told himself. "Maybe a platoon of them." Ten minutes later he was pulling up to the house, as the radioman left with the minivan and the last bags of trash. "Problem." He said as he entered the front door.

"What is it?"

"Four armored vehicles. Two confirmed. Maybe a platoon. Guardsmen."

"Guardsmen? You call that a problem? They're army rejects."

"They outnumber us, possibly four to one."

"That's fine. We have the edge. We're still going."

"How do you suppose they found out?"

"Who knows. The intelligence community is pretty large. They don't know which one though or else they'd be swarming this town and they aren't. If they knew which one there wouldn't be a platoon of men there, they'd have a company. If they knew about us they'd be kicking in our door. We're dark now so unless they have us, they won't. We're set and ready to go."

"Alright."

"Burn that evidence."

"Alright." He tossed in the role of undeveloped film and put the camera and the binoculars away, in his bag. The eight of them would, under the cover of the garage, load up the sedan with all of their gear and then load up the minivan. Four of them would go with each vehicle and they would park them on a service area about three miles away from the plant and then use two, inflatable rafts with a silent, low powered motor, to move through the marshes. They had a route plotted out, based on satellite photography. Their route was just under four miles and it was windy, through the marshes but it was a perfect avenue in because the marshes were uninhabited by people and they could move through quickly and quietly without arising any suspicion, not at 04:00 hours. They figured it would take them approximately a half hour to get through the marshes. Then, they were less than a quarter of a mile from the powerplant and past each and every security barrier that there was. They would move through the marshes low. Night vision goggles and GPS would aide them until that point and then, after that, it was their skill and training.

Layarteb

17-05-2007, 04:36

May 22, 2007 - 18:00 [EST]
Layarteb City

Marjorie Williams was a respected journalist for the Layarteb City Times, the most widely read and distributed paper throughout the Empire. She was born in 1970, in a rural town in Pennsylvania but thanks to her gifted mind, she attended the University of Layarteb at Layarteb City, School of Journalism. She graduated at the top of her class and, in five years, she walked away with an M.A. in journalism. She had worked with the Layarteb City Times ever since she graduated from graduate school in 1993. Back then, she was just a freelance writer, so to speak, low on the todem pole but she worked her way up through amazing writing skills and a knack for catchy articles. She was a fan favorite of LCT readers. A supporter of the Empire she was something of an outcast within the confines of the LCT. Many of them were devout liberals but then again, what newspaper wasn't populated with them.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/mwilliams-01.jpg

Currently, she was working on a feature report that was guaranteed to have three parts, each one at least two pages long. She was guaranteed that much because the story she was researching was something that appeared every now and then in the news and never as a headline. The staff at the LCT decided that it was time to bring it to the limelight and Marjorie was the perfect person for it. Her investigative skills were top-notch so, when she began working on the story a month earlier, she was given very little. There wasn't much to give except a list of names with details about them, each one less than a paragraph. There were over two hundred of them and she had a month to do the work. After three weeks, she had enough notes and enough interviews to write her own newspaper and follow up. Her topic was on the sharp rise of missing victims since November 2006. The main character to research was Jasmine Delgado, kidnapped from a market in Cuba on November 24, 2006. Presumably, the Florida Cartel was responsible but, when the cartel was annihilated during the final phases of the War on Drugs in March 2007, no evidence came fourth, nothing at all. Marines had swept through the Yucatán in the opening hours of the invasion of southern Neuvo Rica, in hopes of finding at least forty-eight missing persons, all presumably captured by the Florida Cartel. Nothing was turned up at all. Since Ms. Delgado was kidnapped, a total of 129 people, all of them under mysterious circumstances and none of them solved. Evidence was lacking in each and every case and there were at least four similar patterns that repeated. Marjorie was under the impression that they were not related but something stuck out about two particular styles. One of them was the one concerning Ms. Delgado. The style targetted high profile subjects, usually the sons, daughters, and in two cases, the wives of governmental figures. In total, this sytle accounted for 68 of the kidnappings. An additional 21 accounted for a possible, kidnap-ransom-release strategy, employed by criminals and was popular in Central America and northern South America. That was an old style but a popular one, at best. It usually targetted tourists. The more foreign the better. A third style targetted strictly foreign nationals but wasn't done in a way that was similar to the second. The second always followed a ransom and, eight out of ten times, the victim was released unharmed, except for maltreatment from the captors. This third style was aimed strictly at foreign nationals, whereas the second took anyone who crossed by them. The third style never asked for a ransom and never released anyone alive. It was also the least common, with only eight cases. These people were simply never heard from again and they all vanished from the most inconspcious places. Whether they were kidnapped by some secret police or some revolutionary group was unknown. Nothing was known about them at all. These were the least explainable but she did as much research as she could. The fourth and final style, kidnapped strictly Layartebian citizens but, unlike the first style, it was indiscriminate. Thirty-two people, mostly women, had disappeared in the middle of the night, from their homes, in what looked to be commando style snatch-and-grab missions. They were never heard from again. The pinpoint case was that of Jane Auburn, a stunningly attractive woman who disappeared from his home on the morning of July 31, 2006, never to be seen or heard from again. What linked all of them was that they had all, within the week prior to their disappearance, visited a doctor's office. Patient-doctor confidentiality kept the details secret but one doctor did say, speaking on the subject of complete anonymity, off the record, that a blood test had been performed.

Marjorie went to work on the story full steam. She slept less than ten hours the first week and, by the time it came to compile everything and begin writing, three weeks later, she looked ten years older. For three straight weeks she flew around the Empire, drove around the Empire, and interviewed over three hundred people, no small feat. She slept in motels and in the back seat of her car. She slept in the airport, on the planes, and whenever possible. She didn't sleep much though. She interviewed almost everyone off the record, many of them scared. She had little in the way of quotations that she could use and she had little documented evidence that was public knowledge. She couldn't go too far into depth, the police wouldn't reveal the details, after all, these were all open investigations. For three weeks, she saw her husband for a total of eleven hours and, throughout the whole time, she was writing and sorting. It strained their relationship but they talked every night, or rather they tried to, usually she was too enveloped in her work to focus too much on the convesation. This was her work and this was her passion and she wanted to get to the bottom of this or at least reveal something. There was a lot of public attention out there, just sitting around, unused. The War on Drugs was over, the Empire won. People had gotten Venezuela off their minds. They got Neuvo Rica off their minds. They were settling down. Terrorism had begun to ebb, slightly, and people saw it as light at the end of the tunnel. Little did they know that it was a freight train coming. There was a soothing light at the end of the tunnel but it was really just a freight train coming their way. But people couldn't see anything let. Hindsight is always 20/20 but this wasn't hindsight.

Marjorie sat awake in the middle of her home-office. She was back at home and she had been on the story for twenty-three days, thus far. She had to give in a rough draft of the article, which was really just the first part, by day twenty-seven. Then she would have four days after that to fine tune it. She had four days to go before then and she had a lot of her notes sorted out and a lot of it summarized already. She was smart, she did that from the beginning. Meticulously organized and detail-oriented, Marjorie tackled this head on from the beginning and as the clock passed 18:00, she stood up from her desk and left her office. She had been wearing the same clothes for almost a day and a half and she was zombie-like. The necessity for sleep was beginning to overwhelm her and she promised herself and her husband that once the article was published, they were going on vacation, for two weeks. The even had a spot picked out, far away from the LCT and far away from the horrors of office work. She would be in beautiful Aruba, sitting on a beach for two weeks. They would go fishing, snorkeling, swimming, take a cruise for one week around the Caribbean, and catch up, they had a lot of catching up to do.

Layarteb

18-05-2007, 05:48

May 23, 2007 - 02:00 [EST]
White Plains, New York

A cool breeze blew into the open windows in Marjorie's house. Her husband was fast asleep upstairs and she was down, in her study, piecing together parts of her story. She had already begun writing the rough draft but hadn't gotten very far as a nasty case of writer's block instantly began to kick in as her eyelids began to weigh down and automatically close. The nightly breeze was soothing though and as her curtains lifted into the air, she felt a sudden chill down her spine. She shivered and looked around at the room. Papers were everywhere. "What a mess." She said aloud, to the air around her. "What a mess." She smiled and walked over to the doors that closed her office off from the rest of the house. They were unlocked but closed, to keep the noises out as she did her work. She had been at the office earlier in the day and still wore her work clothes. Lucky for her though, she had showered that morning, she had to, she couldn't even bear herself. She kept repeating, over and over, in her head, that she would take it easy after the story was published.

Having taken off her high heeled shoes hours earlier, she walked up to the door and picked them up, to take with her upstairs. She was going to bed, she admitted that much to the air around her. She turned off the desk lamp and opened the doors. The house around her creaked. The floors were old. The house was old. Half of the stairs made noise and dozens of planks throughout the floor made noise. The hardwood was beautiful, that was an undisputable fact but the noises had to go. With heavy eyes, she walked towards the stairs but stopped after just a few feet. She heard more noises, more creaks. There were footsteps around her but she couldn't see anybody and she was ten feet from a light switch. "Is anyone there?" She called out as she stopped and turned around. "Hello?" She knew that she was tired and probably hallucinating a little bit due to her lack of sleep but, to her, this sounded as real as anything ever was. Silence followed for a few moments and she began to doubt herself. Must be nothing. She thought to herself as she walked towards the stairs again. She didn't get more than a half dozen steps when she felt a sharp pinch in her neck. Before she turned around, everything turned blurry and she began to lose her own balance. She saw only feet, four pairs of them, as she fell into someone's arms, someone strong enough to lift her up and put her over his shoulder before she could react. She blacked out only instants later. The feet haunted her subconscious as she was carried through the house and out of the door. Her house was a fairly large house with a long driveway that led all the way to the backyard. Waiting in the backyard was a van, a small one, an old Chevrolet Astro van. It had been modified and, at idle, it was nearly silent. Its doors were well oiled to keep them from making any noises and two men waiting inside of the van, dressed in black. No lights were on in the van and it was backed properly into the driveway.

Two men left first, both of them holding suppressed pistols in their hands. They walked over, towards the van, which had its passenger-side, sliding door open. No lights were on inside the van, not even the dashboard lights and certainly not the headlights. The vehicle was in drive and the driver had his foot on the brake pedal but they had a switch underneath the steering column that could disable the brake lights. It was a useful tool, especially in chases and stealth missions where any lights could give them away. The bright, red glow of the brake lights would have certainly shone into someone's window and woke them up and then they would be in trouble. They didn't need or want that so they took every precaution. It was evident, everything was done with just hand signals, no noises whatsoever.

When it was clear, the last two men came out, Marjorie hanging over one of their shoulders. She was out cold and would be for hours, long enough to have no clue where she was going, how she got there, who they were, or anything except the pinch in her neck and the feet that she saw as her head slammed down, onto her chest. The drug reacted quickly. A dosage of 4 cc's of the powerful drug, applied right into her neck artery, reached her heart instantly. It moved to her brain just as fast and in less than thirty seconds, she was completely gone. It took only ten for her vision to become blurry and less than that for her balance to give way. She would be out, based on her body weight and the dosage, for no less than eight and a half hours. They could give her something to wake her up but it was always dangerous to mix the two drugs, especially when the aim wasn't to inflict physical harm onto the subject.

With the door shut, the six men inside, and Marjorie, the driver released the brake pedal and allowed the van to roll out of the driveway. The only noise it made was the noise its tires made going over pebbles and the asphault. It was so quiet that her husband, still sleeping on the second floor, next to the driveway, didn't stir one bit. He usually was a deep sleeper anyway but he would wake up from the phone and, sometimes, he'd wake up if his neighbor was walking the dog late at night. "Put the needle away." Those were the first words echoed since they backed the van into the driveway. The technician nodded and dropped it into a biological waste bag, that they had conviently brought along. The needle was brand new when they filled it up outside of the house and they disposed of his immediately after. They wanted the subject alive and unharmed so using an already used needle was completely out of the question. They weren't monsters after all, they were "freedom fighters."

After taking a right out of the driveway, the driver pulled up to a stop sign at the end of the block and flicked on the switch and the lights. He didn't need to look suspicious. He didn't speed or screech the tires. Novices sped away from a crime scene. Professionals drove away as if they were supposed to be there, as if they were just passing through. Nobody would bat an eye at a van at a stop sign but if it were screeching its tires trying to get away, people would take notice. They might even remember the fictious lisence plate or the fact that it had come out of the driveway. If police got their hands on clues like that it would mean less time for them to accomplish their mission, safely. They wouldn't have that and as the van took a right down the street, from behind it, a pair of headlights lit up the night. A car took to chase but not a pursuit. It was occupied by two men, dressed similarly.

Each Ghost Warrior team was comprised of eight members. There were six in the van and two in the car behind them. That was the full team and they were the best. They had kidnapped Jasmine Delgado from the market and made it look like the Florida Cartel was behind the crime. They had kidnapped fourteen other people, all related to high-ranking government officials. Not one piece of evidence was ever recovered and they were too unpredictable. They weren't careless and they weren't in a rush. If they had to delay a snatch for a night, they would, just to make sure it went off without a hitch. This was, perhaps, why they carried the designation T-1. That meant they were the first team of Ghost Warriors, not the first ever but the first in the numbering chronology. The eight of them had, in all of their kidnappings, never fired a single shot, were never seen, and never had to take anyone else prisoner because they had witnessed the act. The Ghost Warriors were notoriously capable but T-1 was the best of the best. They were elite and they had trained longer than anyone else at a Sepah-e Pasdaran camp in eastern Georgia. They pioneered the way for further Ghost Warrior training programs but they had excelled in two areas: kidnapping and assassinations. On their training missions, they kidnapped several village leaders and elders from opposing factions and killed many others. They received their baptism of fire when the Sepah-e Pasdaran they trained at came under attack by villagers who were angry at the kidnappings and the assassinations. A small firefight ensued and T-1 managed to flank them and come up on their rear. They, during the middle of the firefight, captured the commander of the small militia force, convinced him to cease the assault, and then, when it looked as if they were going to let him go, they slit his throat and let him bleed out inside of a small cave just a mile from the camp. The villagers were wiped out months later for their betrayal of the Sepah-e Pasdaran.

Now, as they drove through the streets of Westchester County, New York, they all thought back to the days when they were training to do this sort of stuff. Now they were professionals at it and they were unmatched. They kidnapped most of the people that the Illuminati had targetted for snatching. Marjorie was now a target of opportunity. The Illuminati learned of her exploits after she had been on the case for two weeks and when she returned, they rapidly set up a plan to stop the story from every being published. The four men had moved through her office with lightning speed with a pair of black garbage bags and gathered up every note she wrote, every tape she recorded, and her laptop, flash drive included. That was what they did while she heard creaking noises. The commander had stuck her with the needle moments later and they were out of the house in less than four minutes. They would have been out sooner had her notes been more organized, rather than in six piles. The bags were in the back of the van and they would dispose of those when they got to where they were going, which was a small area in rural Connecticut, five hours away.

Layarteb

19-05-2007, 05:23

May 23, 2007 - 03:00 [EST]
Salem, New Jersey

The minivan and the sedan pulled to a stop at the end of a paved road, surrounded by nothing but swamps and marshes. "We're here." The commander said as he put the minivan into park and shut off the engine. He exited the vehicle moments later and helped them unpack the two rafts. They would have to be blown up but they had a pump with them and it would do the job faster than any of them could imagine. At the same time, he unpacked the small, electric motor and its battery, which could give them as many as twenty hours on the boats, moving at top speed, which, for the motor and the boats, at least twelve to fourteen knots. They could really move but they definitely wouldn't be going that fast. The small, black boats, which seated four each, were packed with their gear and they picked them up, and dropped them, carefully, into the water. The eight men were inside of them moments later and the five minute process that it took to get everything ready was more than enough for them to be off to a good start. They left the keys underneath their vehicles, in special magnetic holders, this way they couldn't lose them on the trip. It wasn't guaranteed to be smoothing sailing so if they were without a ride home, they were in deep trouble. They were professionals though so when they set out to accomplish this mission, they left no stone unturned. After they succeeded in the mission, they had little time to escape the effects. They could return to their vehicles in under a half hour and be inside of them in a few minutes thereafter. They could also steal a vehicle and return to their cars, get them, and escape. Or they could just get into a vehicle, take it, and vanish. Either way, they had just one hour to get out of the hot zone before the powerplant went critical.

They moved silently through the channels as turning here and there. Their course was plotted on their GPS receivers so, when they needed to turn, they did. They were military grade, giving them accuracy up to a few meters. That was pefect for their mission since they would only be used for navigation. They had the plant layout memorized so they wouldn't need anything for there except their night vision goggles and weapons, which were locked, loaded, and waiting for their fingers to bring them to life. They moved quickly through the water and, the whole time, they said nothing. They kept their night vision goggles on and kept low in the boats, making them even less of a visual target even though, in the middle of the swamp area, with only a half moon in the sky, everything was really dark. It would take someone standing within a few feet for them to be seen and the pathes they took guaranteed that nobody would be in their way.

A couple of miles away, at the powerplant, a rotational shift was underway. Another squad was taking over duties at the calm and quiet station. They had reinforced the front gate and the main gate with the Bushmasters and were ready to receive any terrorists that they could. They knew that a raid was going to happen sometime during the week against one of the powerplants. Logic dictated that it would happen in the wee hours of the morning but, thus far, nothing had happened yet. Salem was about to be the first powerplant to receive that force and it would be the only. If they succeeded, they would annihilate an area so large they would disrupt the flow of life through the area for over 1,000 years and shake the foundations of the Empire, though that had happened already, several times over, especially in the wake of Venezuela.

The swamps echoed with the loud noises of crickets and other creatures of the night. They moved through the water creating small wakes behind them as their speed remained steady at six knots. The glass like water that they disturbed was all around them. It echoed their movements and reflected what shadows it could using what light it had. It was cool, too cold for a swim but warm enough that, should they fall in, they wouldn't have to worry about hypothermia for a while. It wasn't like it was winter when they had four minutes from the time they hit the water before they were done for, before the water swallowed them. It was May, spring-time, and the water was warming up and it had already gotten into the 60s. It was on its way up further. Because this wasn't an ocean and there was far less water to heat up, the water here could easily go up to 80 or higher, especially in August. But, this was May and it wasn't going to get much warmer, especially not in the middle of the morning. Still, they didn't wear any wetsuits. They wore their standard uniform and gear, which was, to say the least, paramilitary. They were a force unto themselves and now, as they moved through the marshes and swamps of southern Jersey, hiding from the law and from its reaches, to committ an atrocious act, they were more than taken by the sheer nature of their work. What they set out to accomplish wasn't something minor. By all means, it was very major. The goal here wasn't to affect change through a small means but rather to affect change through a large, uncontrollable, and unforgivable event. When the thermonuclear bomb went off in Saint George's, it galvanized the public against said terrorist organization but, at the same time, it arose questions about the government. Why wasn't it stopped? Why was this intelligence failure allowed to go on ahead and why didn't anybody do anything about it? The questions remained unanswered, despite the "victory" over Totalis. When the Venezuelan uprising began it shook the foundations even more. When the death toll was released, the same questions were asked. How could this happen to the Empire, twice? People began to doubt the capabilities of the government to protect them and it was becomming 1976 all over again, when the rebellious groups forged a civil war so catastrophic that over three million people died in just four, short years. Already, since the first acts of terrorism by the RLA, which began this new revolution, almost 700,000 people had died. If this plan went accordingly, that number could grow rapidly as the radiation spread across southern Jersey and Delaware. It could even reach Baltimore and Washington City, if the winds were in the right pattern, though that seemed less likely.

They passed through their last checkpoints on the windy channels that led through the marshes and swamps. Now they could see the bright lights at the power station, illuminating its domes and structures. They could see the thick, white cloud of steam leaping into the air as the powerplant gave off its only emission, harmless steam, that wasn't radioactive. It was clean. Nuclear energy was very clean, very efficient, and less costly than most other kinds. Concerns of safety were widely dismissed as the safety record of Layartebian powerplants was revealed. Not once had anything remotely catastrophic happen. There had been no meltdowns, no partial meltdowns, and never before had a reactor come close to getting into a bad situation. Safety programs kept the chain reaction controlled and, should anything dangerous happen, the plant was immediately shut down and the control rods inserted fully. This stopped the reactor and, without fail, in testing, no reactor could exceed 95% of its capacity with the safety systems. The Ghost Warriors planned to disable the safeties and it was possible but only through the use of a failsafe code. Nobody working at the plant had that code, in its entirety, not even the director. Seven individuals, who were in the plant at all times, carried seven different pieces of the code, which would enable them to disable the safety systems. In reality only three were needed but, those three were always in the plant, along with a fourth. The Ghost Warriors didn't have the luxury of knowing who they were, where they were, or what their snippets of code were. However, they had the code. The technician had committed it to memory. It had been passed to them through the Illuminati commanders who oversaw the Ghost Warriors. It was handed to him through one of the men at Majestic and however he got his hands on the code was a big mystery.

Needless to say, when they stopped their boats and moved onto the wet, soft, and muddy marsh land, they were less than a quarter of a mile from the plant. The swamp stunk but that wasn't their concern. Their night vision goggles would only work so well while they were outside of the permieter. Once they hit the plant, with its bright lights, they would be blinded if they continued to use their goggles.

They stayed low coming out of the boats and kept their weapons up, ahead of them, as they moved towards the fenced perimeter of the powerplant. It was a chainlink fence and they could have easily dug underneath it but that would have taken too much time. Instead, the breecher took out a small can of what seemed to be compressed air and sprayed a square pattern four feet wide and six feet tall. Then, he waited a moment and, with a swift kick, knocked away the fence section. The can contained supercold, compressed, liquid nitrogen. He put it back away in his bag, its temperature being felt through his thick, kevlar gloves. "We're in..." He whispered as the eight men stepped into the fence, unaware that they had, in fact, triggered an alarm.

Layarteb

20-05-2007, 00:58

May 23, 2007 - 04:02 [EST]
Salem, New Jersey

Inside the security center of the Salem Nuclear Powerplant, the smell of hot coffee filled the air. It was the dead of morning and the four men and six women that occupied the center had to fight every urge to shut their eyes and fall asleep. They were looking at over a dozen television screens, linked to over two hundred cameras around the powerplant and its immediate perimeter. They also had to monitor hundreds of sensors placed throughout the powerplant that included both seismic and sound sensors, as well as heat sensors, and motion detectors. Until tonight, they had never seen any of them go off except during routine testing. So, when a seismic sensor kicked in on the perimeter of the plant, Judy Hudson, one of the security personnel, looked at the blinking red light with a bit of concern. "Alright that's not normal." She stared at it, afraid to look away.

"What is?"

"We've got a light on a seismic sensor."

"Where?"

"Northeast corner of the perimeter. It's registering a lot of movement."

"Is that where the national guard is?" The security director, Mr. Mayweather said with sarcasm, too concerned with the paper to look up at her.

"No. They're no where near the sector." His eyes shot up immediately. "What do we do sir?"

"It's them probably on some stupid training mission." He picked up the radio and, annoyed, pushed down the transmit key. "Captain O'Neill this is Mayweather. Come in." There were a few moments of static but he responded.

"Yes Mr. Mayweather?"

"What are you guys doing in the northeast corner?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What are your men doing in the northeast corner at this hour of the morning."

"None of my men are in the northeast corner."

"Bullshit Captain! I've got a seismic alert and a lot of movement." He didn't get a response right away, which was because Captain O'Neill was running, full steam, for one of the Bushmasters. He was also yelling in the air too but that couldn't be heard so far away. "Captain answer me goddamnit! It's too early for this shit!"

"It isn't shit. We have a fucking breech. Sound the alarms NOW!"

"What?"

"What part of breech didn't you fucking understand now sound the goddamn alarms!" He quickly changed frequencies on his radio, getting in touch with all of his guardsmen. "ALERT! ALERT! THERE IS A BREECH. NORTHEAST SECTOR. IMMEDIATE SUPPORT ALL UNITS!" The thirty-two of them were on their feet and on their way towards the northeast sector. At the front gate, the two trucks and the four men stayed, they were there just in case it was a diversion but, as the alarms went out throughout the powerplant, Captain O'Neill and his men were rushing over there, as fast as they could, weapons in hand.

The Ghost Warriors knew something was up when spotlights came on at full beam and began to show their way. The alarms went out next and they knew that they had been had. They hit the ground immediately, weapons raised, waiting for the enemy, which was coming quickly. They could see the Bushmasters on the move and they could see Captain O'Neill, though they didn't know it was him, running towards one of them. "Fuck! We're found! Open fire!" The Ghost Warriors did, a fatal mistake.

"We're under fire! We're under fire! I want these fuckers alive people but kill a few of them if you have to. Third squad. Rear flank! Rear flank!" The Bushmaster stopped abruptly just a few hundred meters from the eight men and Captain O'Neill quickly manned the roof machine gun, opening fire into the blind of the light. Spot lights lit up the area around him and moved further out, looking for the enemy soldiers but that wasn't a problem since their muzzle flashes were giving them away. The elements of first squad, which was closest, took up blocking positions and opened fire towards the muzzle flashes. They used many obstacles to shield them from enemy bullets but they weren't hitting anybody either. Second squad was on duty at the front gate and on high alert as the echoes of gunfire rolled across the quiet terrain at the powerplant. Third squad was moving to flank the eight men and fourth squad was on its way out of the barracks. They jumped into a security jeep with four other security personnel and joined a small convoy of three vehicles, each filled with eight men, moving towards the enemy positions. The jeeps weren't armored or bullet proof like the Bushmasters, which made them dangerous items to be in when the bullets were flying. They pulled up behind the two Bushmasters, which had set up a small wall and were firing against the muzzle flashes, which were rapidly changing position as the men moved. "Fourth squad. Right flank. Join up with third behind these fuckers!" Captain O'Neill ordered as he put a few rounds from the LMG downrange. The security personnel joined too, all armed with M43 SMGs and M75 SMGs. "Cover us. We're going in!" He yelled as he took the rest of first squad with him, towards the enemy positions. Gunfire continued to echo but they kept low and spread out, using the spotlights around them to hide them. The Ghost Warriors had to remove their night vision goggles or risk becoming blind so their shots were inaccurate and often nowhere near the targets. Everytime the spotlights shone near them, they moved position and ducked away, trying to get back to the opening but it was too far.

Third and fourth squads were moving on the right and left, staying low but moving very rapidly. They were moving to get in behind the eight men and corner them as first squad and four security personnel moved forward, using the spotlights to blind the enemy. The Ghost Warriors were quickly becomming trapped, making them more desparate. They continued to fire, trying to suppress their escape but it wasn't doing them any good and they didn't see the two squads sneaking up on their flanks, let alone hear them. "Come on! Let's get out of here!" The commander ordered as they listened to bullets pass just over their heads. "Abort!" He yelled, to which it seemed everyone heard. It was almost as if all the gunfire stopped for that split second and everyone, National Guard included, heard the commander yell out his command. It gave him that much more difficulty to work with but they kept firing. Two bullets nearly hit Captain O'Neill as he ducked out of the way. A stream of gunfire ripped into one of the security personnel though, killing him instantly. He fell to the ground without so much as a sound and the technician smiled as his M73. Unfortunately, for him, the gun jammed on the first shot and he was soon staring down the barrel of an M80 Assault Rifle. Being the furthest forward, he opted to surrender but the breecher didn't who tried to shoot Captain O'Neill. He didn't make it so far as even getting his sights up when Captain O'Neill put a three round burst of ammunition into his chest. The bullets tore through his vest and killed him instantly. The commander and the rest of the men were trying like hell to get away from the powerplant but third and fourth squads were on top of them and in another quick exchange of gunfire, each side took down one man. For the National Guardsmen it was a rookie from fourth squad, who took an unlucky headshot from a 5.7 x 28mm pistol. For the Ghost Warriors it was the radioman, who took a shotgun slug to his chest.

"PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! NOW!" The squad leader from Fourth Squad yelled as he pointed his rifle at the commander. The Ghost Warriors were too low on ammunition to fight their way out and they were surrounded from the front now by seven Guardsmen and, to the rear, another eight Guardsmen and security personnel. They had been encircled. "HANDS UP! WEAPONS DOWN! NOW!" He shouted again as Captain O'Neill approached, rifle shouldered.

"DIDN'T YOU HEAR HIM! DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW OR ELSE YOU WILL BE SHOT!" He put a round into the air, to show them that he meant business. The firefight had lasted under four minutes but it resulted in a major victory for the Guardsmen, who captured six Ghost Wariors and killed two others. Unfortunately, one of their own and a security officer were killed in the firefight but the plan was stopped and six of the Ghost Warriors were in custody, including the commander and the technician, the masterminds of the operation. News spread fast through the powerplant that a terrorist attack was averted and Judy Hudson, the security officer who noticed the light blinking, was given a commendation. Mr. Mayweather even apologized to Captain O'Neill for his tone. It didn't matter though, Salem was safe and by morning, the breech was repaired. Things had gone sour for the Ghost Warriors, who spent the rest of the morning in an interrogation room inside of the powerplant, until their ride showed up, which was a group of men from the Central Justice Agency. Presumably, the terrorists were being taken into custody into a federal prison but that wasn't going to happen since the men who showed up, with their helicopter, were really members of the 2nd Black Operations Force, "Force Thunder," the main clandestine counterterrorism force in the Empire.

Layarteb

20-05-2007, 01:10

May 23, 2007 - 08:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"So Minister. What do we know about this attack and these men?" The Emperor asked. The Cabinet were meeting for their daily round table in the morning when the Emperor ignored the standard protocol and immediately went to the item at hand, the failed attack on the powerplant. "It seems the intelligence was correct?"

"Yes sir thankfully it was." He said with a booming smile. "This was the group we were talking about and six of the eight of them have been captured. The other two were killed in the firefight."

"What have we learned?"

"Nothing yet. It's only been a few hours but they'll break. Traditionally, groups train their men not to talk for, at minimum, twenty-four hours. They all know that they'll talk, everyone does, that's the nature of the game. Our goal is to get them to talk within the first twenty-four hours so that we can get the bastards that fund and manage them. They are just a strike team and it appears they were going to initiate a melt down of the powerplant. We'll be getting what we can from them sir. I don't doubt that they belong to the same organization as the group that we captured last year, in late July, in connection with Saint George's."

"Good. Good. We need to unravel their organization. What did those two men tell us?"

"Very little sir. They're elite, that's for sure but we're hoping to now use the two groups against each other although who knows sir. They might not even know of each others' existence."

"Very well. Keep us updated. I want to know the minute these terrorists break! What is the media saying?"

"They're harping on it like no tomorrow. They're split down the line. Pro-governmental organizations are calling our security measures brilliant and the attack a failure. Our opposition is, naturally, calling our lax security a disaster and the need for the National Guard overkill."

"Did they not see what just happened?"

"The press will be the press." The Minister of the Interior concluded.

"That's true. Still. I want a press report from us. Released within the hour. We'll address this and nip it in the bud. We'll let every terrorist in this country know that we know what they're up to and that when they try another stunt like this, the results will be the same."

"Yes sir." The press officer said as he quickly departed the room to begin drafting the report.

"Alright. Now. What about this reporter that's missing?" The conversations trailed off and the fact that the disappearance of Marjorie Williams had gotten so far as to Governor's Island was no surprise. She had been reported missing at 06:00 hours by her husband, who woke to find that she wasn't there. He became suspicious when he found her shoes in the middle of the hallway and the back door unlocked, including the top latch, which he knew that he locked the night before. Though he was a suspect, initially, it was evident that he was home the whole time. Investigations would be conducted but Marjorie Williams was no where to be found, not at the office, not in her car, which was parked out front. Her cell phone was there and no calls had been made. No calls had been made or received from the house phone either. Her documents were missing, including her laptop and no evidence remained of anything. It was extremely peculiar but investigators were going to get to the bottom of it. They all noted the irony between her article and her disappearance.

Saint Lazare

21-05-2007, 00:24

Ohio
23 May 2007
1047

Simeone had travelled outside the city, concerned when he heard the news reports of his exploits. He was surprised that he was the only suspect in the case, not the two men who chased him, ran him, and tried to kill him. He figured to do some more research, but as the authorities were looking for him only, it was too much of a risk to bear. Luckily, none of the black men were looking for him; not much more attention had come to him, except from a select number of people.

As the television stations blared news of the strike at the nuclear plant south of the capital, Simeone felt that his news would be swiped aside by the recent strike. What would have been anything else seemed as evidence of two things - those who sought him clearly didn't prioritize his capture, and even suffered their main attack. Their organization was either very weak at this point, or disoriented from the events since Grenada. He had the evidence linked from Delhi to Caracas.

Just then, he paused to think about the whole ordeal - why would this organization sweep a nuclear power plant if they already other nuclear materials? Perhaps more laid hidden in this chase than appeared; more dirt left unsettled to stir.

A man patted his back. "Excuse me, sir."

It was a policeman. He was holding a poster with his picture on the platform - "Giovanni Torello".

"Have you seen this fellow?" the officer asked. It was obviously a bait trap.

"Yes. That man is me," Simeone replied. "What did I do wrong?"

"Oh really? You're wanted for the murder of seven people and committing arson in the Bronx. I was thinking that it was you."

"Really?" Simeone retorted. "I never committed any arson in the Bronx."

"Yeah? Show me some ID."

"Of course," Simeone replied, showing his ID. "Rolando Romano."

The officer looked back at him. "Is this your only name?"

"Of course. It was the one my mother gave to me. Are you implying that I am lying at all? God strike me now if I am lying at all!" Simeone glanced at the sky. "Nothing happens, God as my witness."

The officer chuckled. "Well, I don't know what to say. But you're still coming to the station for a few questions. If it's really you, then you won't have a problem, but understandably, I don't want to let this guy rampaging across, especially if this character starts to fly his way through this part of Ohio."

"But of course. I want to help the law find this man."

Simeone was gone to the police station - to whose fault and blame it would fall, he was willing to wait and see. What convinced him that this was a good idea?

Layarteb

21-05-2007, 05:25

May 23, 2007 - 11:00 [EST]
Connecticut/New York border

Marjorie opened her eyes to darkness. Where am I? She thought to herself as she looked around in a vague sense of horror. She wasn't blindfolded but she was in a room without windows. It was chilly and damp, and she knew that she was underground. At the same time though, the room didn't have any lights on inside of it. There was no light, not even a faint glow. There was no noise either. She was in a box, cordoned off, it seemed, from the rest of the world, from the reality around her. "Where am I?" She shouted out, her voice echoing off the walls around her, the concrete walls that seemingly had no end. "Who are you? What do you want with me?" Her voice echoed with panic and trembled at the unknown that she was facing. "Hello? Answer me..." Nobody answered her. Nobody at all. The chilling cold of the basement dungeon cut through her bones. She was sitting down, restrained with her hands tied behind her, to the chair. Her feet were restrained too and she didn't seem able to move or get up, although she tried. The chair seemed to be secured to the floor, which pulsated coldness into her feet and through her legs, into her body. "Where am I?" She continued to ask but got no response whatsoever. Nobody answered but there were people watching.

She was inside of a dedicated interrogation room, deep underneath the ground along the border of New York & Connecticut. The bunker complex wasn't as large as the newer ones built by the Empire but it was sufficient enough to hold quite a number of people. It was originally developed during the 1950s by the Republic as a military fortress, an underground one. The purpose of the fortress was to act as a last ditch command and control bunker, in the event of a world war. The fortress would be occupied by over two hundred soldiers and the entire governmental body, including the President and the cabinet. The place had been abandoned in early 1970 after the completion of a better one. In late 1975, it had been reoccupied by the Red Army Faction and served as their base of operations until they were defeated in 1977 when the revolution picked up to full steam. Since then, it had been occupied only briefly, between 1985 and 1989 but was determined to be ill-suited for what the ILM needed. Now it was being reoccupied. The Illuminati got a hold of access to the bunker in late 2005, as the RLA began their campaign of terror. They had since used it as the command center for the Ghost Warriors, a bit of irony on history but it was a bit of irony that would be the downfall of the Empire.

Two Ghost Warriors were looking through a one way mirror, into the room. "What do you suggest?" They couldn't see her because there was no light in the room but there was light in there room, although it was red light. It didn't pass through and, certainly, it allowed them to see properly. "Huh?"

"Leave her here for a while. We'll talk to her in the morning. By then she should be broken."

"What if she's broken now?"

"More time can't hurt." It was resolved and morning was a long way away.

Meanwhile, far away, in Ohio, a police station had someone in custody that matched the description of Giovanni Torello except that he identified himself as Rolando Romano. Something was amiss but he was inside of a police station now. He had gone willingly but that didn't stop the police officer from slapping a pair of handcuffs on him and putting him in the back of the squad car. He would be sitting inside of an interrogation room working with two police officers, trying to get to the bottom of what happened in the Bronx. He wouldn't be tortured, that wasn't the standard operating proceedure for questioning, that usually only happened in the military and only with the SOF or BOF. However, he could be helped up to seventy-two hours, against his will, by the police, before he had to be either charged or released. They would begin simply by asking him the questions that they needed.

OOC: SL you want to do the interrogation since I don't want to go through your storyline on you? You can RP the police, it's pretty straightforward.

Saint Lazare

21-05-2007, 23:59

Police Station on outskirts of Cleveland
23 May 2007
1200
T-71 hours

The room was cold, and Simeone was not entirely comfortable there. But he was waiting for the first interrogator to enter. According to the law, they had 72 hours to complete the interrogation, and while no interrogation is ever kind, the police were reputedly the softer hand of the law. There were other organizations that made it more unpleasant, although the honest truth was always that the convicted made it worse upon themselves to endure the 72 hours.

Simeone had no clear evidence against him. Fingerprints from the site were nonexistent; footprints were mitigated by the fact that Simeone was wearing a different pair of shoes [more comfortable in his opinion]. The only burden of his incarceration was his Beretta, which cunningly matched the weapon of choice in two of the murders. But it left room for explaining the other 5. He had no burn marks, typical of arsonists, but it could easily discounted by his absent history of crimes. Calls went out to the Roman and Doomani embassies, to consult whether or not Rolando Romano was a real person, and indeed whether or not he had a history. Of course, the tragedy was that there were perhaps thousands of people in Italy and especially the Empire named Rolando Romano. Chance would say that one of them had come to Layarteb. Additionally, civilians were permitted to wield firearms; tests would try to conclude that the weapon was used twice, but all evidence from the weapon would indicate that it had been used several times before - not necessarily upon two separate incidents.

About 30 minutes into the stay, an investigator came into the room: Paul Neubergen. A veteran of 20 years, he has had the most experience on the police force in Cleveland. The man was a complete mystery to Simeone who only had the first 10 seconds to decide if cooperation would work for him.

"Mister Romano, a distinguished citizen of Doomingsland," Neubergen started. "Might I ask what you were doing on the streets of Cleveland?"

Simeone relaxed and replied, "You may."

A brief pause. "So what were you doing on the streets of Cleveland?"

Simeone reflected on the moment. It was only an hour ago. "I was wandering off to the West on a street - I forget the name, but it was a lovely avenue. I had a newspaper at hand, and I crossed in front of a TV on a store window. The friendly officer stopped me and asked me to accompany him to the station. I obliged."

Neubergen could feel an air of cooperation masking something else. "Well, that's a good reply. How did you get to Cleveland?"

"I took a bus. I wanted to go to Detroit, but I couldn't afford the whole trip. So I decided Cleveland would be good enough."

"Why did you want to go to Detroit?"

"Well, I had heard news about what was happening in Layarteb City, especially in the Bronx. I thought that it would probably be better if I moved away from the city, to avoid being mistaken as a murderer. Of course, that obviously failed, but hopefully, this will clear me."

"Well, for you sake, I hope it does too." Neubergen then asked some delicate questions: "Is it true that you are a resident of the Bronx?"

"It is."

"Is it true that your address of residency happens to be two blocks down from that of Giovanni Torello?"

"It is, perhaps. I never met the man."

"Is it true that you attended the same church as Giovanni Torello?"

"No. I never saw the man."

"Is it true that you were a member of the congregation of the Church of Saint Andrews?"

"No. I went to work on Sundays, and I attended mass at the nearby Church of Saint Lorenzo." Simeone was confident in his responses.

"Is it true that your name is Rolando Romano?"

"It is. My mother gave me that name."

"Is it true that you have used other names before?"

"It is. Mostly to avoid the Mafiosi."

"Is it true that you at one point used the name 'Giovanni Torello' during your stay in the Bronx?"

"Well, I didn't use that name. It's too popular, and too many Mafiosi like the name 'Giovanni'. It's safe to be someone not noticeable to the rest of society."

"Is it true that you once worked for the Mafiosi?"

"It is. When I was in Sicily."

Neubergen paused to think about the next 70 hours. It was obvious that either Romano was innocent or he was hiding something with a lot of gilded equivocations. The interrogation would nonetheless continue.

Layarteb

24-05-2007, 03:21

May 24, 2007 - 03:00 [EST]
Connecticut/New York border

Marjorie had been kicking, screaming, and otherwise tiring herself out all day Wednesday. She was kept in the room, without any contact for the whole day, making her feel almost as if she was buried alive. What did she know, she was in complete and total darkness. She had, on several occassions, nodded off to sleep but woke back up, hoping that it was a bad dream. It wasn't. She woke up, each time, expecting to be in her bed, next to her husband but that just didn't happen. She had been reported missing already and investigators and detectives combed through her house and outside. Nobody saw or heard anything and her husband was still a suspect, although not the prime one. It was obvious that they had been having "difficulties" since she took the assignment but they weren't out of the ordinary ones. The detectives eyed him as he explained them, almost as if they had never any trouble with their own marriages. One would have expected some understanding but they were cold and distant. That was their job. They had to look objectively, not through their emotion clouded eyes. To some it was obvious he had nothing to do with it but to others he was as guilty as sin. Although most gave him the benefit of the doubt, it was evenly split, 50/50.

Three hours after midnight, Marjorie woke to noise. It was the first noise she had heard since she awoke to darkness. "Hello? Who's there?" She called out, listening to her own voice echo in the concrete chamber. "Hello? Please? Someone answer me?" Tears rolled down her face for the fourteen time. Her mascara was already ruined and she was overexerted and tired. Her body was sore from sitting for so long, especially her neck, which tilted and fell as she slept. She was hungry, thirsty, and had already gone to the bathroom where she sat. "Hello?" From inside the "observation room" the commander and the technician watched intently. "Hello?"

"Hello." The commander answered through a microphone, which distorted his voice with extra bass. "Sit still."

"Who are you?"

"We will ask the question."

"I want some friggin answers now! I've been here forever! Tell me..."

"Silence! If you want to get out of here you'll do as we say!"

"Fine! Fine! I want to get out of here!"

"Good. Good. You will not be harmed. It is not our intention. First. Why are you writing a story about the kidnappings?"

"It's a good story to write about. Obviously I'm now kidnapped. I struck someone's nerve. It's my job as a journalist to do that." She still sobbed.

"You're story is gone."

"WHAT!"

"It has been destroyed."

"WHY!" All of her hard work was gone, long gone. "WHY'D YOU DO THAT!" She yelled.

"Why? Because it isn't a proper story. It isn't what you should be writing about. Stay away from things that do not concern you. That is our warning to you."

"No! No! I won't obey it. I'm writing about my story!"

"Your story is different from theirs."

"My story is theirs!" She yelled. "My story is theirs!"

"No. It is not. You'll go free."

"Why?"

"You're answers lie within." The door behind her cracked and opened as numerous locks were undone. Light poured into the room, blinding her immediately, even though she had a blindfold over her eyes. A man walked into the room, she couldn't tell who it was, man or woman, though she heard footsteps. They were combat boots, that much she knew. Seconds later, she felt a pinch on her arm and began to feel woozy within a minute. After two minutes, she was unconscious again. The Ghost Warriors would drop her off at a hospital hours later, just before she began to wake up, they would take care of her after that, even though the hospital was all the way in Pennsylvania, one hundred and fifty miles away. As skillful as they were, nobody would see her dropped off, left on the curb, and nobody would see the men leave. By noon, they'd have her identified and she'd be coherent enough to respond to the doctors. She'd have to stay there overnight but she would live. Her story was gone, destroyed, burned, otherwise ruined. She didn't have a backup either, that was taken with the laptop. Her desk drawers contained two flash drives, both of which were taken, analyzed and ruined as well. Not a trace of her story remained except that which was in her head. That was her story.

Saint Lazare

26-05-2007, 04:16

Police Station on outskirts of Cleveland
24 May 2007
0900
T-50 hours

Neubergen was a veteran certainly, but in his career, he mostly faced drug addicts, cold-blooded murderers, and the sort of scum that society tends to scrape off easily. This man was certainly not cold-blooded but he was digging a ditch of words, and he was uncertain where this was exactly leading. He was trying to see the logic behind this.

Their session yesterday afternoon yield no conclusive results, and while Neubergen was ready to clamp on the polygraph, he didn't want to seem accusative yet; not while he had any reason to assume that Romano was guilty of anything. He was reviewing the tapes from the yesterday and owing to some twisted logic, it was equally possible that Romano was telling the truth and was still a murderer. But for what? Perhaps there was a deeper meaning to Romano's inquiry than what met the eye. It was also surprising that unlike most clients who entered into the police station, Romano remained silent about lawyers; perhaps he forgot, or maybe he already knew the laws.

In any case, Neubergen woke up early to meet his interrogation and saw that Rolando was already awake.

"Are you an early morning man, Mr. Romano?

"Only as much as you, my good man," Romano replied. Two things were evident; Romano expected an early morning, and he seemingly tolerated his presence. Most criminals abhorred policemen.

"Well, perhaps you can elucidate some facts for me," Neubergan said, holding out a clipboard. "I've been going over our tracks for last evening, and I've gathered some information about you, although I can't be to certain about them. One, you used to be a Mafia boy, but then you quit. Two, you moved to Layarteb from Doomani Sicily, but only in the past couple of months. For starters, I'm very familiar with criminal fraternities, and they don't usually like people leaving them. They think that quitters are snitches and usually there are very good incentives to stay in the organization. Things might be different over in Doomingsland, but I'm fairly certain that the Mafia wouldn't be too happy about you leaving."

Romano nodded. "I can guarantee that they didn't welcome it, but what would they do about it? If they chased me, they would be fighting a war with themselves. Mafiosi are very business conscient; I don't do anything bad to them, and they do the same for me. Of course, I have to admit that I didn't stay in Sicily for all my time. I visited a few countries to stay out of their way."

"I see. And you're all happy with the Mafia, now that you're here?"

"I know that I am innocent of the crimes that are being charged. They will likely know that they have nothing to do with this. The worst thing that can happen is that I'm wrongfully accused and suffer the sentence of death or whatever is your worst punishment available, and they don't have to worry about me spilling any secrets of theirs, most of them probably outdated by several years if not more."

"You aren't being charged."

Romano added the pithy "Yet" at the end of that. Neubergen shrugged his shoulders; it half-way sounded as though Romano was still a member of the Mafia, just on luxury retirement. He looked down at his cup of coffee and saw that it was about half full; it was a good reason to get out of the room and think for a little while.

"Well, that's about it for me. I've got to get some more coffee. Care for some?"

"Absolutely," Romano replied. "Dark, if you please."

Layarteb

26-05-2007, 20:55

May 24, 2007 - 10:00 [EST]
Washington City, Maryland

The six Ghost Warriors had undergone almost thirty hours of intensive interrogation. Force Thunder hadn't begun with the torture yet. Although, they were beginning to get closer and closer to its use. Torture, traditionally, didn't work. It either illicted a false response to end the torture or it illicted fragments of the truth just big enough to ebb the flow of pain. It had been used on the two Ghost Warriors captured in July but yielded no results. Those two were freezing their tails off on Vindication Island, in a prison that was normally reserved for rapists and those who commit horrible crimes against children. These two were likened to child rapists and when they went there, they went there for good. They wouldn't be executed but rather be sent there to suffer in the completely inhuman conditions that existed in the prison, which was affectionally called "The Ice Box." These six were looking at a similar fate.

The most critical time was the first twenty-four hours and that had long since passed. In the first twenty-four hours, the cell and the leaders, after a capture or an attack, are the most vulnerable. That is the crucial time to track them since after those hours, they are usually gone. They missed their twenty-four hours. The Ghost Warriors had not talked, a byproduct of their intensive education and training programs, all of which they received at the Sepah-e Pasdaran camps in the Caucasus region. Now, with the annihilate of the SP terrorist group and the domination of the Eurasian Federation, it was unlikely that the Ghost Warriors would be able to replace these six men, although, there was still the chance. They would have them replaced, within weeks...

The Ghost Warriors yielded nothing. They were brick walls to their interrogators and they had stopped them from getting any ground on them. It was unlikely that they were going to talk at all, let alone under torture. The torture was simply a mild formality, an avenue yet to be explored. Force Thunder interrogators had patience, more than the average person would have but, under the circumstances, they had to produce results as fast as they could. They tried as many tactics as they could, all conventional ones but none of them had thus far worked. The Ghost Warriors either knew nothing or were elite and the latter of the two was the standard assumption with these terrorists. They were elite...

The Ghost Warriors had all a silent, telepathic power to them, it seemed. They sat there, in individual rooms, separated from each other but all acted the same way. When the interrogators came in, they were silent. They stared ahead, never making eye contact. It was discipline unlike any of them had ever seen before. They said nothing, they barely blinked. Their pulse stayed low, their breathing never irregular, and their body temperature stayed the same. Even when the room was heated up and mild bouts of annoying noise were added, they stood fast and never moved an inch. They weren't allowed to sleep, never got any food or water, they certainly weren't given the opportunity to go to the bathroom but it didn't seem to faze them in the least bit. It was almost as if they relished in it. They had been caught and they had failed their mission and certainly they knew what was ahead of them, their training told them that much.

However, there was somewhat of a break in the mix. The technican was the youngest of them and looked to be the least trained, albeit he was the most knowledgable about the attack and the planning and what not. However, to the interrogators, he was the youngest and obviously, the most vulnerable, or so they thought. Their efforts against him intensified. They used him against the others. They informed the others that he was talking, that he was working to save his own skin and that he would. He would be given the least amount of a sentence and the rest of them would be in a horrible place. Death wouldn't come to them, they were told, that was too easy and there wasn't enough suffering. They were going to suffer unless they talked. The technician was told that the others were talking, that they had given him up, that they were making him out to dry. They got somewhat of a break when the discipline began to wear down a little and a tear flowed from his eye. It was a single tear but it showed tension, it showed that he was human, not a robot machine that was willing to take all of the abuse that he could. The others would be worn down much more unconventionally whereas he would be dealt with conventionally. They risked losing the edge if they brought torture to him but they entertained the idea. They hung it in front of him like a carrot to a horse. They told that if he was walking towards it if I didn't give up the information they wanted. They told him that the others had already spelled it all out but they wanted to hear it from him, they wanted to coorborate the story, they wanted to see if maybe he was the designated "fall guy."

They would continue to harp on him. They offered him food, drinks, rest, and relaxation if he spoke. They offered him a repreive from the hell that he had already endured and they told them all that the seventy-two hour thing didn't matter, they weren't in a police station. They were being held in a federal facility. Nobody would come for them and nobody would know where they were. They vanished and they were all in their hands now.

Layarteb

27-05-2007, 04:21

May 24, 2007 - 13:00 [EST]
Manchurian Global Headquarters, Layarteb City

"So it seems they have been captured. Have they not?" John Patrick said into the receiver of his encrypted cell phone. He was inside of his office, alone but there was no guarantee that someone wasn't going to barge in, especially a board member. "It is. I understand. The plan is not flawed. When the Caribbean comes alive we'll talk further." He ended the call and put his phone down on his desk. With a deep breath, he stood up, put the phone in his pocket, and left his office. "Hold my calls. I have to get some fresh air." He said to his secretary as he departed the lavish office suite on the top floor of the Tower of Luna. She didn't say a word but would comply with the request. The top ten floors all belonged to Manchurian Global and they were the most lavishly decorated floors in any building. Up there was where all of the corporate leaders stayed. Throughout the building, Manchurian Global owned another forty floors but the top ten were reserved for the corporate leaders. John Patrick, the CEO and President of the company, had the largest office and the best view. He walked through the marble tiled cooridor and into the opening elevator. The elevator attendant smiled at him and asked him what floor, to which John replied, "The roof." With a nod of his head, the attendant did just that and within seconds, the elevator had poked through the ceilings of the structure and into a small lobby on the roof, complete with an indoor pool, beach chairs, a full bar, and room enough for a hundred people. Nobody was up there though as it was normally reserved for corporate parties and what not. "Thank you," he said as he stepped out, into the glass house on the top of the building. He strolled off to the first door he could find and opened it up, the heat and sun blasting into him the moment he did.

It was warm out and the sun was beating down on the roof of the Tower of Luna without a hindrance in the sky. There was a breeze up there at 1,776 feet in the air but not enough to do much. He took another deep breath and walked across the roof towards a corner that he called his personal meeting room. It was secluded, against the giant antenna that sprung up, into the air, poking the sky. It brought its total height up to 2,000 feet, the tallest building in the Empire and one of the tallest in the world. "Mr. Patrick. It'ssssss ssssso good of you to meet me up here." A voice echoed across the roof as he turned a corner and was covered in a slight darkness from the antenna. The voice was definitely creepy but he heard it before, it was a voice that he knew to be nothing short of sinister. He spoke with a sort of slow demeanor to himself, placing unusual stresses on certain syllables and often elongated every "S" sound he could. His voice was deep and carried across the rooftop as it bounced off generators and other machinery that humed loud enough to drown out even deep thought but not his. He spoke in a slow, raspy yet commanding manner, with a certain accentuated low-key moroseness to his tone. He even had a habbit of stressing the wrong parts of words, making unneeded pauses, and awkwardly changing the pitch of his voice, sometimes in the middle of a word. "Mr. Patrick it issss a priviledge to meet you here."

"What do you want?" He replied as his eyes shifted to the well-dressed man to his left, a man who came out of the shadows in a blue suit with a red tie. His appearance could be described easily as "plain" and that was what he was. He stood barely 5'10" and weighed not more than 170 pounds, if even that much. He was older, at least in his fifties, and he had a military style haircut, something you'd expect a recruit in basic training to have. Still, clasped in his right hand was a briefcase, a briefcase that he never let go of and dared not open.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/mrcarpenter-01.jpg

"Why are you here?"

"Why? Mr. Patrick. I thought thisss wass explained to you. Perhapsss I must explain it again?"

"No need."

"Very well... You see Mr. Patrick, the time is coming to an end. I have long-waited for these daysss. I have long-waited for all of thisss... You see, Mr. Patrick, you are a key inssstrument for me and for our organization."

"What organization? I don't know who you work for or what your goals are?"

"The same organization you clandessstinely belong to Mr. Patrick." He stressed almost every syllable in his name. "Do you think there are jussst twelve of you? No Mr. Patrick. There exissstsss a thirteenth."

"You?"

"Perhapssss."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the plansss carried out."

"They are being carried out. Just as has been detailed. Do you think we're amateurs?"

"Not at all. I do not choose amateurssss but the truth is your group is the third group I have sssseen."

"What do you mean, third?"

"Did you think the conssspiracy began with the Empire?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that the revolution which brought about the Empire came because of the RAF or the Emperor's forcesss?"

"Tell me."

"I am a guardian Mr. Patrick. I am a guardian of a people that are more than jusssssst an Empire. The Republic. The Empire. Both of them were created by ussss. It is fitting that we are the endersssss. Continue the planssss Mr. Patrick." He dropped back into the shadows and seemingly vanished from sight. John Patrick had been called up to the roof on purpose but didn't know why although now it seemed irrelevant. His phone had received a text message while he was talking on it and the message was simple: "Roof." Now he knew why.

Layarteb

27-05-2007, 23:33

May 24, 2007 - 13:30 [CST]
Ciudad del Carmen, Campeche

Ciudad del Carmen Airport had been busy all morning. It's 7,200 foot runway saw dozens upon dozens of airliners ranging from small 727s to large Airbus A340s, which landed and took off all morning long. The aircraft were bringing with them 1,550 people from all across the Empire and even many others across the world. With the weekend fast approaching and Fleet Week active in Layarteb City, summer was beginning. That meant the sailing of the Sky Wonder, a luxurious, 46,000 ton cruise ship that made its berth at Ciudad del Carmen. It belonged to Mayan Tours, a large cruise ship company that operated four ships, that sailed in the Caribbean Sea, Pacific Ocean, Atlantic Ocean, and even so far as the coast off Africa. The Sky Wonder toured both the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean, going as far west as Nauru. Its first cruise of 2007 would be through the Caribbean Sea, for a seven day, six night cruise that brought it to Dominica, Grenada, Barbados, and Tortuga, off the coast of Hispanola. Of those 1,550 people, there were some 400 Cottish citizens onboard the vessel. The passengers aged from as young as two to as old as eighty-two but all of them were there for a good time. It was a vacation for them. For many of them it would be their only vacation in 2007 and for others, it was the beginning of a long summer that they all planned to spend in the tropical environment of the Caribbean Sea. To the Cottish, it was a long trip back home. Many of them would be leaving the boat once it arrived in Barbados, a Cottish controlled island on the eastern edge of the Caribbean Sea. Saint Lucia had the same status. Both had been transferred to Cottish control in early 1997, after they were captured by the Empire. That was ten years ago and both islands were, undoubtedly, celebrating their heritage and their Cottish nationality. Due to the friendship of the Realm and of the Empire, travel through these two islands and the remainder of the Layartebian territories was relatively easy. For those four hundred, this was an easy way home and a relaxing one.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/skywonder-02.jpg

For a good hour, the ship took on a constant stream of passengers. At the gangplank stood the captain and a small greeting party. Everyone was welcomed onto the ship for the cruise and everyone was made to feel more than at home. For the first few hours, before the ship left port at 15:00 local time, the crew would be greeting passengers, getting them settled in, and preparing the ship to set sail. With a length of 787 feet, a beam of 97 feet, and a draft of 26 feet, it was a big ship, with eleven passenger decks. Powered by three, massive steam boilers, the ship could make 21.8 knots on all three or 19.8 knots on two. Loaded, the ship grossed in at just under 45,400 tons and had a maximum output of 29,500 shaft horsepower. There was an additional 600 people on the ship as well, all crewmembers, bringing the total population to 2,150. They would dock at Barbados on May 28 and offload 400 of those people.

Layarteb

29-05-2007, 00:31

May 24, 2007 - 14:30 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Sir. Sir. I've got some astounding news." An aide yelled as he rushed into the Emperor's open office doors. He was reviewing a document but he wasn't upset at all that he had been interrupted. Sometimes he was but his doors were open, which meant that he was willing to be disturbed. "Sir. It's all over the news. Coming in from Cotland. Our intelligence sources are reporting it too."

"What happened? Is the Realm in trouble?"

"No sir. Not at all. Thomas Deveroe died last night in his sleep."

"What?"

"Well sir he was eighty-one."

"I know. His birthday was May 2. You know things were a lot easier when he was the enemy."

"Sir?" His aide was only thirty-five and, in 1980, when President Deveroe was kicked out of the country, the aide was barely eight years old, too young to understand anything at the time except that things were changing and mommy and daddy were safe.

"I forget how young you are Adam. Sit down, I'll give you a quick history lesson." Adam sat down and crossed his legs, ready to listen to the Emperor's lecture. "When the civil war erupted in the late 1970s you were too young to understand it. President Deveroe and his government were corrupt, ineffective, and greedy. They sought out their best interests, rather than the interests of the people. You can't rule a country that way, especially not one like Layarteb. In 1977, when the civil war broke out, the Republic of Layarteb was a sliver of what it is now and so was the population. In 1977, after a year-long campaign of terror by the RAF and LF, the population of the Republic was 95,300,000 and by 1980 that was down to 92,450,000. A lot of people died in the civil war and when it was over, peace was finally upon us. There were still a lot of forces loyal to Deveroe and his government and to the Republic. It would be a fool's errand to do away with them and plunge the country into further war, especially after 3,250,000, around about, died. Plus we had bigger goals, expansion. Well. After the President was removed from power we were holding him for trial and execution but we went a different route. An aide of mine, a close friend who, unfortunately, died shortly after our victory, suggested that we ask the people. So we did. What did we have to lose, we were victorious.

"So we polled the people and do you know that 84% of them were not happy with a decision to execute Deveroe? Amazing. Well. We listened and, instead, we exiled him from the Empire. The Realm of Cotland was ready with open arms. Many of the old Republic leaders are there although, as age takes its toll, not many of them are left. The vice president, Atticus Camilino died a few years ago in a car accident.

"You see. Back then. Our enemies were easily predictable. They would do whatever was in their own best interests. They didn't resort to terrorism and they were easy to manipulate, fool, and catch off guard. Our enemies today are nothing like that. You know this?"

"I do sir."

"Good. So you see I wish we were still fighting them than the terrorists we fight now."

"Understood sir." A headline flashed across the screen: "FORMER PRESIDENT THOMAS DEVEROE, EXILED IN REALM OF COTLAND SINCE 1980 DIES IN HIS SLEEP IN KERALA...DEVELOPING..." "What do you suppose killed him?"

"Probably a stroke or heart attack. He was old. Eighty-one."

"Sir. Do you suspect foul play?"

"Not on our end. I authorized nothing of the sort. I doubt the Cottish would either, what good would it serve them to waste resources killing a man that's eighty-one and of no threat to them."

"You're right sir."

"I'm sure the conspiracy theorists and spin doctors will have a field day with the story. Which reminds me. We should get a press release. Ask the Press Secretary to begin drafting one if you please."

"Yes sir." The aide departed the office as the Emperor stood up, watching the television. He unmuted the screen and poured himself a glass of scotch.

"Here's to you Tom." He said with a smile as he drank to the death of the former President. Memories of the civil war came rushing to his head, freshly brewed ones...

Saint Lazare

29-05-2007, 17:04

Police Station on outskirts of Cleveland
24 May 2007
1900
T-40 hours

40 hours left. The morning went cold, the afternoon was barely a worthwhile interrogation, and the evening was just started. By now, Neubergen was absolutely certain that Romano was hiding something. Perhaps he wasn't the killer, but he certainly knew who the killer was. Maybe he was the killer but hiding the truth about other things. None of the pieces of the puzzle fit quite right, and Romano seemed to be the only man to know where the pieces went. And he'd be damned if Romano skirted his 72 hours.

Romano would have to be charged, just to keep him in the system. But they had no tangible proof on which to charge him. He wasn't even the same person. The evidence collected at the crime scenes were miniscule, and didn't even make sense. The hairs collected at the second murder scene came from a cat, and only Heaven knew what sort of stuff happened in the Church of Saint Andrews. In the meantime, Romano was accurate in his statements - attending the Church of Saint Lorenzo, off in New Jersey. Questions circled him.

He entered the room once again, as Romano had finished a small meal of dinner. Neubergen confronted him - hoping that feeding him would entice him to cooperate.

"I don't know who you're working for, and I don't know if you're really Romano. But here's what I do know - you know something and you're doing a very good job of hiding whatever it is. If it's a crime, I want to know it, because the people who are there deserve to have their little slice of justice. If it's the Mafia, we can protect you. We've got protection agencies all over the Empire, and I'm pretty certain that they can make you disappear - in a good way." Neubergen paused to let Romano take in the information. "I just need you to cooperate. I'm being blunt for a good reason, because I know you have got something, so if I don't get what I want, I'll make sure that you don't get what you want."

Romano chuckled. "I appreciate your concern, but... I have been trained by the Mafiosi. They taught me the value of hunger and thirst, of deprivation, of drugs, of whatever you can contrive to do upon me. If you think that I've done something wrong, then please charge with those crimes. I assure that I've done nothing wrong; the worst that I've done is take out garbage and left on the side of the road. I'm not very tidy, you see. I make a lot of mess and sometimes, I feel sorry that someone else has to clean up my mess. But you see, that's as bad as I get, God on my right. Signor - if you want to solve this crime, you will ask someone else for the details."

"Okay. So you're not the right person. Who do I ask?"

Romano pulled a pen from his pocket - immediately, Neubergen wondered how he even had a pen in his pocket. It should have been taken away from him at the first moment. Romano wrote down a phone number and gave it to Neubergen.

"Call this number tomorrow at 1200. They will be the people to talk to and can give you all of the answers. I'll wait if you have more questions."

Cotland

30-05-2007, 12:52

May 24, 2007
Kannur, Kerala, Cottish India

The death of former president Deveore didn't really come as a surprise to the Cottish government. He and all the other former Layartebian leaders that resided in Kerala had been under constant surveillance since the Cots took over Kerala a few decades ago, and the luxurious villa just off Payyambalam Beach, two kilometers from Kannur city where he had lived comfortably had been bugged for a few years by the CGIA. From the medical records, they had found that his health had steadily decayed as he aged, so the death wasn't a big surprise. Still, they had to be sure, so after the paramedics pronounced him dead and the local police ruled out any foul play, he was brought out into the waiting ambulance, the covered gurney being brought past the growing crowd of reporters who filmed the whole thing.

After a few minutes of securing the gurney and getting everything in order, it was taken to the Kannur University Hospital, the best hospital in the city, where the doctors made the official check and pronounced him dead before preforming an autopsy. It was determined that he had died of a quite natural cause of death, a massive heart attack, and that his life could not have been saved. So, with the cause of death determined, a Death Certificate was issued and added to his official record. With this in order, the body was remanded to the family for burial.

A small press conference was held in the hospital after the autopsy and after the body had been handed over to the family, where Dr Rhavi Chattaminanghaiajah who had preformed the autopsy told the press what had killed the former president, and emphasised that it had been a completely natural death. Of course, this wouldn't stop the conspiracy theorists and other nutjobs, who saw it as a scam from the Government.

Of course, Deveroe's family respected his will, which dictated that he be buried back home in Layarteb, but they didn't have any channels back to Layarteb - the Layartebian government had seen to that. So, they approached the Cottish foreign ministry with their request, who in turn processed it and passed it over to the Layartebian Ministry of State for them to make a decision.

Layarteb

31-05-2007, 02:20

May 24, 2007 - 21:30 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Sir. They just finished the autopsy. It confirms that Deveroe died, in his sleep, of a heart attack. Completely natural causes sir." The aide said as he walked into the Emperor's open office. "It's 08:00 hours over there sir. May 25."

"Understood. Well that didn't take very long now did it?"

"No. Seven hours sir. He was found at 01:00 hours."

"So what is it now that we have to decide?"

"Sir. The Minister of Foreign Affairs will be in shortly."

"Alright. Thank you." The Minister of Foreign Affairs was in the office moments later. "What is the emergency?" It was evident that the Minister had something important as he strode in fast enough to pull half of the papers off the secretary's desk with his wake. He shut the doors behind him and walked up to the desk and sat down.

"Sir. Former President Deveroe included his burial desires in his will and those desires include being interred on Layartebian soil sir."

"Interesting. I can't blame the man. We did kick him out. How did this get to you?"

"Through our Indian consulate."

"What is the general consensus? Within."

"No sir. The man and his government are a symbol that we have villified and demonized though they did that on their own before we got here."

"True."

"Sir. How would it look to the people? To let the man that betrayed the Layartebian people be interred on Layartebian soil? He is not a hero sir. He is a traitor to the Layartebian people."

"That he is. But the batter is over. We've won. Should we now be a sore winner?"

"Sir. I think it is important that we remain strong in this hour. There's certainly no like between him and the terrorism. Conspiracy theorists can say what they like but it doesn't exist. After his expulsion he started a new life. Without Layartebian influences."

"True as it is. Perhaps we should let the people decide?"

"What are you suggesting sir? This isn't a federal democracy."

"No. It isn't. But we let them decide on his expulsion. It was the right thing to do now that we look back. Why not let them decide here?"

"Sir. Deveroe turned his back on the people."

"Yes. And thus they've been harmed. Shouldn't they decide?"

"Sir I can't agree with that. What do you think the Minister of the Interior has to say?"

"I'm not sure sir. Perhaps we should reach him?"

"I will. I'll take your opinion into recommendation but, for now, inform our consulate to inform the Cottish that the issue is not yet decided and to hold off on doing anything until then."

"Yes sir." Dissatisfied with the result of the meeting, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The Emperor, as he suggested, spoke with the Minister of the Interior and though he agreed with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Emperor decided to go ahead and put it to a referendum vote, the second in the history of the Empire. It was fitting that both of them dealt with former President Thomas Deveroe. The vote would be scheduled for Sunday, May 27 and every news station carried it non-stop. It was a major deal for the Empire...

Layarteb

01-06-2007, 01:10

May 25, 2007 - 08:00 [EST]
Caribbean Sea

The Sky Wonder had been at sea for almost seventeen hours already and it had already hugged the Central American coast, giving its passengers a beautiful, scenic view of land that was still untouched by modernity. Crystal beaches and blue lagoons radiated up, into the sky, as the sun rose behind the ship and cast its rays on the wild coasts of Nicarauga, Honduras, and Panama. The ship was moving slow throughout its trip thus far and was a non-stop party.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/skywonder-03.jpg

A cruise ship was just that, a non-stop party. The ship would be docking in Barbados on May 28 though that still gave it three days of pure pleasure as it stayed in the peaceful, calm, and Layartebian guarded Caribbean Sea. It was the safest body of water in the world, due to the presence of the Layartebian Coast Guard, Maritime Defense Force, and Navy, which made sure that interlopers are pirates went elsewhere. Three hundred years earlier, the Caribbean was a bastion for pirates but that had changed as time went on and the Republic's southern neighbors stomped out piracy. When the Empire seized dominance in the Caribbean Sea, pirates had tried to rise back but their motorboats and small craft were no match for the Layartebian Navy. The Pirate Wars of 1983 and 1992 went down in the history books as total and utter defeat for piracy. Since then, piracy was gone. It would eventually make a come back, that was inevitable but, for now, the Caribbean Sea held the title of the safest sea in the world.

The Sky Wonder had passed by a naval vessel already, which was coming north, from the Panama Canal. It was a frigate, hailing from the Layartebian Defense Forces and as it sleeked by the cruise ship it gave a call of the horn. It was a welcomed sight for the crew who knew that, no matter what, with that ship out there, they were safe and they were. The Dnalkrad Flight II frigate was, primarily, an air defense vessel, armed with over 144 missiles, a large gun, and countless other guns and missile systems, the Dnalkrad could, effectively, sink half of a convoy before it could succomb to destruction. They were used in battlegroups to scan over-the-horizon for enemy bombers and reconnaissance planes. They could scan the skies for ballistic missiles as well and engage them. They could also fight surface vessels, with limited capability. The vessels carried, at all times, regardless of their VLS loadout, eight anti-ship missiles that had enough power to sink anything short of a landing ship in a single shot. Their primary role was air defense though and even as it transited north, towards the Yucatán, the Layartebian vessel kept a careful eye on the skies.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/dnalkrad-01.jpg

All was fun and games on the cruise for the 1,550 passengers and even the 600 crew members were having as much fun as they could, under the proper circumstances, of course. They had a job to do but, on a cruise ship, especially one as automated and as new as the Sky Wonder, the ship practically ran itself. In the bridge, expensive and sophisticated navigational equipment could pinpoint the ship anywhere in the world within a few dozen meters and they had a vast array of weather monitoring equipment, which allowed them to see threats but underneath and on top of the surface of the water. Underwater earthquakes could produce powerful tsunamis that could capsize a vessel, even as big as this one. Hurricanes and other storms could cause problems as well for the vessel and its passengers on board. The crew were aware of this and those who manned the bridge were fully capable. Out of them, they had six meteorologists who payed more attention to the weather than the fact that they were on a ship.

There was one thing though that the ship wasn't prepared to defend itself against and that was airborne and subsurface threats. There was a small armory on board of the ship, which could allow the crew to put up a last stand against pirates, although the weapons had never been used once. Against aircraft and submarines, the cruise ship had no warning and no way of defending itself and, rightfully so, it didn't need it. The world wasn't a place where hunters preyed on cruise ships but, in this tumultuous time, things were rapidly changing, especially for this particular cruise ship. On board of it were sixteen men, sixteen Ghost Warriors, forming teams ten and eleven, who had been long since inactive. The last, official, raid they had participated in was the attack on the El Jobal Chemical Weapons facility, which netted 12 chemical release rockets. That was on December 12, 2005 but they were, by no means, "out of practice." They had trained long for this mission and they would do it right, there was no doubt about it.

Layarteb

03-06-2007, 19:12

May 25, 2007 - 09:00 [EST]
Fermont, Quebec

Despite the fact that it was nine in the morning, the sky was overcast with a terrible storm that seemed to form out of nowhere. It was almost as if the North Atlantic winter hadn't ended yet and was making one last stand against Quebec. Fermont was a little over fourteen miles from Labrador City, a small down on the Quebec/Labrador border. Since December 26, 2005, the town had been quiet. On December 25, when the opening shots of the Quebec War began, Fermont had been the first hit by ground forces. As the tanks rolled through Fermont, many of its citizens surrendered to invading forces but a band of milita soldiers fought bravely for twenty-two hours as Layartebian infantry and armor encircled them, defeating them with only six Layartebian casualties and fourteen injuries. The annexation of Quebec was viewed positively throughout the Empire but, in Quebec, it wasn't necessarily a hopeful thing. Sovereignty and independence had been snatched from them in just eight days when Montreal fell on January 1. It was the mindset of the Quebecers that they would be included in the Empire as a separate culture, like the Hispanics to the south. That didn't happen. Layartebian culture dominated and when French wasn't given "official language" status, the Quebecers began to resent their agreement with the Layartebians. Since then, they had been gearing up for their own resistance. When the atomic bomb went off in Saint George's, they silently cheered. To themselves, they commented, "The days of the Empire are ending..." It was a chance of a lifetime. Secretly, the Quebecers had been building up an arsenal underground. They dug tunnels throughout the summer of 2006 and into the winter of 2006 - 2007. They readied themselves for a fight against the Layartebians and they readied themselves for a fight against themselves. Fermont would be the first battleground, again.

The Quebecers found themselves without an identity anymore as the Layartebian culture enveloped them. School curriculum was changed. Their history was slightly altered. Their entire being of existance transformed in just a year and a half and they hated it down to their core. They were a wild bunch and very difficult to control. They weren't nearly as terrible as the Mayans were but they weren't as placid as anyone else. They fought against the institutions silently. They tried getting favorable leaders elected locally but it did them no good. The authoritarian grip on Quebec wasn't loosening and as they prospered, the sway of the people began to change too. Slowly it was drawing more pro-Layartebian as the wealth piled up and as the and as the safety continued. As things changed elsewhere in the Empire it seemed that Quebec would escape unscathed. That wouldn't be so...

The Quebecers had secretly formed the Layartebian Resistance Movement or Le Mouvement de Résistance de Layartebian in French. The MRL was a small group of rebellious youths and middle aged adults, men and women, who had managed to infiltrate a lot of Quebec. Their membership was small though, barely numbering more than ten thousands active fighters with maybe a passive cadre of a few hundred thousand, at best. The population of Quebec, as of 2006 was barely under fifty-eight million people. That wasn't to say the rest of the people supported the Empire, on the contrary, the Empire was decidely popular with only about fifteen to twenty million people. It was sizeable but a mere third of the populace. Most of them were simply indifferent. They wanted sovereignty but they wanted what the Empire had given them and, as such, they were torn. That was probably the remaining one half of the population leaving only about one sixth being decidely against the Empire. That was under ten million people.

Still, the Quebecers weren't alone and the existance of the MRL wasn't a total secret. The Ministry of Intelligence had won a heated debate in early 2006 for the right to place agents within the ranks of the Quebecers. It wasn't the policy of the government to spy on its own people through the MOI. However, the Minister of Intelligence had a hunch at the time that the Quebecers weren't going to lay down and submit too easily. So, since then, three agents had infiltrated the ranks of the MRL and the Quebecoi government and their identity still remained a secret. Two of them had been veterans of the war with Dnalkrad, which raged in 1986 and the other was a new recruit but a rising star in the academy. Now, they were all banded together, in a way. The identity of the third was kept secret from the other two and the identity of the other two was kept secret from the third. The third was the one inside of the MRL and he had been gathering information for months now. Every now and then he sent a snippet back to the MOI but there was never too much. There was planning and there were operations but there wasn't much else going on except talk. For the time being it seemed as if the MRL was a simple militia group. In all, the Empire contained no less than two hundred militia organizations and the Central Justice Agency has a profile and information on each and every one of them and none posed a serious threat to the Empire itself except for the MRL. However, the MRL wasn't necessarily in the data banks of the CJA. It was in the databanks of the MOI although that would change soon enough.

As the agent walked into his condo one morning after a night of "training exercises" with the MRL, he noticed that something wasn't right. He drew his pistol, a nine millimeter Baretta 92F and carefully closed his door behind him. He sensed the presence of someone and he was right. Someone was there but he didn't know where or who. His senses had grown keen since he was assigned to Quebec in the first place. He dared not make a sound, lest he give away his position. His living room was the first room to enter and the couch was in a blind spot. He quickly moved down the hall and jumped out to cover himself from the couch. He found what he was looking for in the form of two eyes that stared at him in the darkness. Suddenly, the light flicked on and cast his own eyes into a sort of reactionary closure. "Sit down and put the gun away." The figure on the couch said and he recognized the voice. It was his case officer. "I want information and details. Sit down."

"You could have just called me. The lines aren't tapped."

"This is too important."

"Fine." He holstered the sidearm and sat down on the chair across from the couch. The blinds were drawn and nothing was visible to the outside. The room was constantly swept for bugs by the agent and he had a portable jamming device that could distort laser communications, just in case someone was listening but the MRL didn't have that ability. "What is so important that has you sneaking into my apartment?"

"The CJA got word of the MRL."

"How?"

"Fluke arrest. They picked up Pierre Charset a few days ago trying to smuggle a rocket launcher into Quebec. It was a pure fluke but they got him and questioned him. Extensively. He's going to be tried as a terrorist conspirator and there is a possible link between him and whatever domestic group is attacking us."

"That's a load of bullshit. Pierre is just a bag man."

"We know that. They don't."

"Well then you have to share the damn information. The last thing we need is to have the damn CJA wrecking the show. If they shut down this case what are we going to be left with?"

"Nothing."

"That's the point. We have to find out who supports the MRL, where they get their arms, and what their plans are. We simply can't arrest and kill them. Then they go into fucking hiding and what are we left with? Nothing but a possible terrorist group that is in hiding. At that point there's no way I can stay inside of them."

"I agree. Wholeheartedly but we need everything you have on them. Everything."

"Well I can tell you they're planning something. They've got tunnels all over the Labrador/Quebec border. Miles and miles of them. They get the weapons in through illegal shipments to ports where they buy off the harbor masters or threaten them scared. They sneak them through the tunnels. I'm telling you, this city is like a massive armory. If you bomb a building the whole city goes up they have so much here. They're preparing a stand-off but I don't know much else. I'm not that high yet."

"Well get that high."

"You think I haven't been trying? Christ I've been with them over eight months. They're not a trusting people. I speak French, which helps but there's a lot of unanswered questions I simply can't answer to them."

"Do what you can. I want it in three days. If I don't have it we'll be forced to concede the issue to the CJA. They have a lot of support higher up than we do and the Emperor is rumored to be unsatisifed with the lack of progress."

"What does he know?"

"Beats me. C'mon let's get this back to our beat!"

"You got it."

Saint Lazare

03-06-2007, 20:30

Police Station on outskirts of Cleveland
25 May 2007
1157
T-23 hours

Neubergen was uncertain what Romano's message exactly meant. But since the phone number, he found increasingly difficult not to trust Romano. While he was absolutely certain that Romano was caught up in something difficult, he didn't think that Romano was on the "wrong" side of the law. Maybe he was a murderer, but perhaps the question was not "did you kill anyone?" - instead "Who deserved to die?" The time was too near to ask any more questions directly, but whatever the phone number indicated, Neubergen felt that some questions would be answered by calling it.

12:00 - the time came. He quickly but surely dialed the number, and waited for the tone. Clicks. He waited longer. At the fourth click, he was ready to hang up, but held on. He waited longer still. "Hello? Is this Signor Simeone?"

Neubergen was somewhat shocked. "No."

"Ah, then listen to me carefully. I have the information you wanted about the bombing in Caracas: the execution of Giacomo Benedetti. He was the client of the Esmeralda cartel. They took the bomb. They handed to other men in Cuba, who took it and used it. If you seek more, seek the ones who lurk in the alleys of your cities and plot t They had been planning this from the start, with the end result a nuclear apocalypse. I think you know the rest of the story, Signor."

"Wait! Who is this?"

Before Neubergen could get a reply, the familiar dial-tone voice spoke clearly: "End of messages. If you would like to replay this message, please press 1. If you would..."

Neubergen hit the "1" but he only had a dead line. He hung up the phone and barked out order: "I want to figure what place I was dialing, I want to figure out who left that message, and I want to speak with Mr. Romano, now!" The station suddenly livened to activity, as Neubergen snapped into the interrogation room, somewhat incensed. "I think you and I are going to spend the rest of your hours talking."

Romano nodded; "Very well."

Layarteb

04-06-2007, 02:25

May 25, 2007 - 13:00 [EST]
Caribbean Sea

"Where are we now?" The commander asked as they sat still in the darkened room. People walked around outside the cabin and there were porters running around constantly. There was a surprisingly large amount of activity around their room and it was making them nervous but it wouldn't affect them. "Come on...Answer me."

"Patience. Listen. This is sensitive equipment." The technician and the radio man were working on a transmitter that they stowed away inside of a briefcase. It was a large one, large enough to take up the whole briefcase. It could run on either battery power or on AC power and, presently, they plugged it into the wall. "I have to get the frequencies right or else we're not going to get anywhere." The radioman had a single headphone on his right ear and he was slowly turning a dial to the right, listening. "And the more you talk the less I hear. So please. Quiet." The technician put his finger to his mouth to tell him to be quiet. As the radioman tuned through the frequencies, sweat dripped from his brow. "Come on baby..." He had been looking for twenty minutes already and couldn't find the right one. There were several false positives too and those were written down but easily ignored.

The transmitter was actually a sophisticated, experimental, communications jammer. It was built specifically for the military by the LDC and had a very limited range. However, it wasn't an area denial weapon. It was meant to be put into a radio station and left alone. The transmitter worked by matching the frequency of the communications transmissions and jamming them with static, fuzz, and other white noise. The only tricky part was finding the frequency. For radio stations and other fixed communications sites, the operators could be given the frequency and they could have the system deployed in as little as five minutes. Here, where they had to find the frequency, it was quite different.

Costing over $50,000 for the piece of equipment, it was no toy and the Ghost Warriors had a half dozen of them in their arsenal. This would be its first operational use and both the radioman and the technician were well-trained in its use. That was the first phase of the plan, jam the communications outbound and inbound for the cruise ship. That task was delegated to Team Ten while Team Eleven would seize the armory and take the weapons and ammunition out of their lockers. Both teams would meet up and storm the bridge. They brought on light weapons themselves, pistols and knives only but they couldn't take the bridge with so few arms. They needed assault rifles or submachine guns and they needed shotguns too. They also needed to make sure that nobody else could get to the armory, which was why they would take any excess weapons and toss them overboard, just to make sure. They wanted the cruise ship blind, deaf, and dumb and they were going to achieve that goal as quickly as they could, although the transmitter was giving them more trouble than it seemed to be worth.

"Come on damnit!" There were two lights on the transmitter that the radioman particularly paid attention too. One of them was yellow. If that light lit up it meant that they had the frequency and that jamming was currently underway. The second light was green. When it lit up that meant the box was working and would continue to work until it was switched off. Dials and other switches determined power and what not. It was up to the operator to know how much power to put out. If there was too little power, the box wouldn't do its job and if there was too much power, they risked frying electronics for a ten to twenty meter radius, which would be a surefire alert that something was amiss. They had to have it just right and that was what was taking so much time, especially since they hadn't found the frequency yet, even after three sweeps. "Wait...Wait..." The set hummed and a high pitched whine echoed into his earphone. "Got it!" The yellow light came on and now he listened further. The power dial was in between his thumb and index finger as he turned up the power. The goal was to turn the whine into a low pitched growl. The tone changed and as he added more power, the pitch went down and the growl began. Then, with a click and a snap, the green light went on and the set had fully blocked all transmissions to and from the ship. "Got it." He flicked on the automatic switch, which would allow the set to maintain the frequency and the power and adjust it as necessary. He put the earphone in the case, closed it, and locked it. Then, they put it underneath the bed. "We're good. This ship is deaf and dumb."

"Now to blind them. The fish is two for three." He said into his microphone, which connected to all of their radios, both teams. They operated on the same frequency and their ear pieces were small enough to go unnoticed.

"Roger that." Team Eleven had been spread out around the general area where the armory was and now they suddenly and quickly grouped in front of the door. Six of the eight kept watch as the technician and the breacher used an electronic cracking device to send random numerical codes to the keypad. The code was at least six characters long and they had 1,000,000 combinations to send to it. It would take some time but the device worked by using random numbers instead of going up in a proper order. It also worked fast, very fast. It could send up to a thousand numbers per second to the device. Considering that it was powered by four AA batteries, that was good. One minute passed and sixty thousand numbers had been tried already. Then a second minute passed and they were up to one hundred and twenty thousand. They approached three minutes and the six men began to get wary themselves as the corridors remained eeriely empty and quiet. Then, finally, just shy of three minutes, the keypad stopped and the lock opened. The number was 3-3-2-9-1-0. They quickly removed the device, stowed it in the vest of the breacher, and the eight of them disappeared into the armory without being seen. "Would you look at that..." The commander said as he saw the weapons inside of it.

Layarteb

04-06-2007, 05:12

May 25, 2007 - 13:07 [EST]
Caribbean Sea

The Sky Wonder was equipped with a small armory but large for sixteen men. There were four pump-action, M76A1 shotguns, six M30A3 Carbines, at least two dozen M33A2 Pistols, at least fifty Flashbang and CS grenades, six M43A5 SMGs and six M43A7 SMGs, four M44A1 Sniper Rifles, and a dozen M52A1 Carbines. That was far more than they would need, especially since there was enough ammunition to arm a small militia. They decided quickly what they would take and that was all of the shotguns, two of the sniper rifles, all of the M43A5s, all of the M30A3s, and six of the M52A1s. The rest would be thrown overboard. They didn't need pistols but they did stock up on ammunition and the grenades were kept, two Flashbang and one CS grenade per person. The rest of the stuff they piled into large hockey bags and planned to toss them overboard. They equipped themselves with hundreds of rounds for their primaries and multiple clips for their pistols. The grenades would come in very handy but they still had to toss about eight of them since they were too heavily loaded. They didn't plan on really using them but if they needed to, they would.

While they did, the eight men from Team Ten took off from their main room, locking it behind them. The transmitter working as expected. They would all meet up outside of the armory and move from there. It was well below decks but they could get through the ship to the upper surfaces using the crawl spaces rather easily. Once they got to the top, they could easily toss the bag over the side and then move to the bridge, which was staffed by, at all times, no less than a dozen sailors. It would take seconds to neutralize the bridge, which was all up to Team Eleven. Team Ten would work on deploying the second stage of the mission. Inside of the control room there was a special "distress" button. When activated, it could lock down the entire ship and prevent anyone from reaching the surface or vice versa. It was installed just for this occassion except that it would be used to trap everyone inside of the ship. Anyone on the outside would have to be rounded up and put below decks, which was what Team Ten would do. With the ship secured and it not moving, they were a perfect target.

They would then move to the third stage, which was the deployment of a powerful knockout gas. It was a fentanyl derivative and named KOLOKOL-1 and it could incapacitate everyone for two to six hours, depending on its power and the bodyweight of the person. That was only the base chemical that would be used and would be done to knock everyone out to make them susceptible to the second chemical, Agent 15, codenamed BZ. The effects of BZ could last up to four days and that was the goal. Twenty hours after exposure, full-blown delerium would affect all of the passengers and effectively put them in a stupor, making them harmless. The KOLOKOL-1 usage would allow for quick and easy delivery of BZ, all of which would be done through the air conditioning system, which would be put on full blast throughout the ship except the bridge and the intakes. The Ghost Warriors would have to wear gas masks for the time being but that wouldn't be a problem. Once they controlled the ship they wouldn't have any more threats.

Then it was on to the latter stages of the mission, which were far more elaborate and far deeper reaching but everything was in place already. It was just a matter of time...

Layarteb

07-06-2007, 04:50

May 25, 2007 - 13:15 [EST]
Illuminati HQ, Truesdale Lake, New York

"Alright. We're all here so let's go over this again, just to make certain that nothing goes wrong? Simultaneous is a word I want associated with May 28. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." Kenneth Calderon headed the Illuminati Ghost Warriors and he was a man of many talents. He had once been the head of the Illuminati themselves but, with the expanded campaign against the Empire, it was necessary for him to become a full-time leader for the Ghost Warriors. It was a role he chose himself rather than be stuffed into and he was an excellent leader. His attack plans had really focused on fear. He wanted Layartebian citizens to be so afraid to walk down the streets of their own capital that nothing could redeem the Emperor. He wanted that goal and he had enough funds and arms and bodies to do it. He just needed to plan it accordingly. It was his choice to keep the Ghost Warriors a secret organization that attacked but never laid a claim to fame. It drove the authorities wild as most of the evidence they could collect from bomb sites and other attacks only led them astray as they failed to connect anything without a confession. Even captured Ghost Warriors yielded little to nothing because they knew little to nothing. Each team knew only what it had to do, nothing else. They could only implicate themselves and badly at that since they didn't even know, fully, what their own roles were. "Alright most of the people are at work by nine in the morning so we're going to start off sooner. The cruise ship is going to be affected by the target at 07:35 hours, our time. As it takes its own voyage through the Caribbean Sea, we're going to take things a little closer to home. First attack goes off at 07:40 hours here. Second goes off three minutes later. Third and fourth fall at three minute intervals after six minutes of rest. That means, 07:40, 07:43, 07:49, and 07:52. Within seventeen minutes I want a body count so high that the Emperor himself will sweat!"

"Yes sir!"

"Alright. Now this is not a suicide mission. We're using a standard bag-drop approach to this matter. Leave a bag underneath a seat and we're good. Four bags per team and each bag with no less than fifteen pounds of explosive. I don't want a light one here. That's sixty pounds per target. That's a lot of boom boom!

"The bomb is a standard blast-fragmentation effect. The explosives detonate and scatter thousands of ball bearings, like these," he held a small one up and showed everyone. "The ball bearings will be moving at speeds so fast that they could go through metal without effort and still keep going. Each bag will have roughly a thousand to fifteen thousand of them and when detonated we're going to fill the air with them. Standard radio detonators apply to two only. Now, because of the area, we're working with a limited range focus here. Two targets go after the exit point, when it is at full capacity. Maybe an interval of thirteen to fifteen seconds after you last see it. That'll trap them! The other two targets, charlie and delta, will be on stop. Those will be done by timer. We cannot risk anyone being killed in this operation so we're going through every precaution that we can here.

"Now. After the bombs go off we're going to need immediate evac's. Blend in with the crowd, everyone will be running for their lives. The goal is panic. UTTER PANIC! It'll make things ten times worse for the Empire! Now. With this in mind make sure that you with the radio detonators do not, under any circumstance, lose them. They come back here for disposal in the incinerator. The less evidence the better. Are there any questions?"

"Yes sir. I have one." The commander of Team 21 stood and asked, "What are we looking at for a total?"

"Between all five attacks we could have upwards of three to five thousands. It depends a lot."

"What about follow on attacks? Throughout the day?"

"No. We're going to keep them guessing and thinking that another one is on the way. They'll tie up their resources so badly that it will make our own egress and our other operation a complete and total success."

"What is our other operation?"

"That is compartmentalized information. The only reason I have all four team commanders here is to get complete and utter synchronicity. I do not want anyone informing their teams about anything they have here. If you are to be captured you are aware of what you have to do just make sure you are NOT caught with evidence. No weapons! You don't need them. You'll only stand out with them."

"Yes sir."

"Good. Any other questions?" Nobody stood or raised a hand. "Alright. We're under seventy-two hours so make sure you're ready. Prepare your bombs. From here on out we're dark." Of course that could only mean one thing and that was no communication between the teams and the command center. They were to go completely off the grid, a tactic which helped the Red Army Faction elude capture so many times but, at the same time, helped lead to their demise. Kenneth Calderon was wary of the pattern that he was setting but he still had time before he had to change things up and he still had time before he had to revise the tactics. For now and for a few more weeks, they would be sound, completely sound.

Layarteb

08-06-2007, 02:03

May 25, 2007 - 13:22 [EST]
Caribbean Sea

The Illuminati Ghost Warriors had reached their destination. Using the crawlspaces, they carefully moved through the decks and passed hundreds of passengers and crew members on the doomed vessel. They opted simply to hide the extra weaponry and ammunition within the confines of the crawlspace, which was simply easier to do rather than risk detection throwing it overboard. They could never tell who may have been not paying attention or paying too much attention. If anyone got word that they had the weapons in hand, it could get to the bridge before they did and a lock down could initiate and leave them without a mission. They didn't have the time for that and they didn't have the patience for failure. Midway through the vents, the two teams split up. Team Ten went for the bridge while Eleven veered off, towards the main air control ducts of the ship. There, they would deploy their painfully capable cocktail of KOLOKOL-1 and Agent 15. First, they needed to lock everyone down and, to do that, Team Ten had to secure the bridge.

Team Eleven got into position first being that they were closer, while Team Ten moved throughout the ducts, upwards, towards the bridge of the ship, which was semi-isolated from the rest of it. It was at the very top deck and that meant a lot of stairs to climb but they had the layout of the ducts in their heads and they had plenty of time. Nothing would really kick off until May 28, which gave them three days to do what they had to do.

At the top of the very last ladder was the bridge and the eight men climbed it quickly and quietly, sweating from the lack of air conditioning or any climate control in the crawlspaces. It was humid, warm, and cramped, making it that much more of a hellish environment. It was part of the job though and they ascended the stairs as fast as they could in the heat that reached upwards of 120°F. Nobody onboard the ship had any suspicion about what was going to happen and that was the decisve factor that was going to make this operation an overwhelming success. The Caribbean Sea was the Empire's playground and backyard and doing anything like this in the Caribbean Sea was unheard of so the political effects of it would cause an earthquake throughout the Empire and reach as far north as Quebec and as far south as Peru. Every piece of the Empire would see the Caribbean Sea as a piece of the Empire that was falling apart. They would all see the Empire as outliving its time. Its collapse, they would think, was inevitable and in progress. Every militia, Tom, Dick, and Harry with a grudge against the Empire would being to exact some sort of revenge. Pandemonium would be an understatement.

They shifted environments as well. Six of the men crawled into the air conditioning vents that led over the bridge and to the starboard and port of the bridge, dumping out just outside of its doors. The other two men crawled into more of the crawlspaces, which were pathetically narrow, and crawled up to the stern wall of the bridge. They would emerge out of there and the eight men would attack on a four-pronged offensive with two coming in from the ceiling, two from the floor, and the other four from the port and starboard. It was going to be a quick assault that was going to be silent. They wanted no kills, just captures and that was their intended goal. Once the ship was captured, they could initiate the lock-down, which would work perfectly if conditions were properly executed.

At 13:30 hours, all eight men were in position and all of them keyed up their microphones without saying a word. The three clicks told the commander that all teams were ready. He and the breacher would be going in through the ceiling and they were the first to go. He nodded to the breacher and both of them hovered over the grate, looking down, into the bridge. The captain was on the deck, which was perfect for them. Sailors were going about their tasks and the commander and breach, using a fiber-optics camera, could count a total of seven people on the bridge. There were eight of them, making it a quick, snatch-and-grab maneuver. He nodded again to the breacher and both of them kicked in the metal grate, which fell directly onto the ground, striking one of the sailors on its way. He was rendered unconscious from the blow, which meant that they would only have to tangle with six. "HANDS UP!" The commander yelled, pistol out in front of him. The breacher jumped on someone as well and the other six men came in just a split second later. All of them were yelling and pointing their pistols forward. The four men and two women on the bridge were completely mystified and all of them did as they were ordered. "HANDS UP! NOBODY MOVE! NOBODY MAKE A SOUND! OVER HERE. STAND HERE!" The commander ordered as he hearded them into the center of the bridge and took out plastic zip-ties. They bound the six people quickly and stood them all up, putting them in the corner, against the wall, where the radioman and breacher watched them intently.

"Move or speak and you die!" The radioman ordered and he was completely serious.

The bridge fell without a problem and now came the next step. The commander walked over to the lock-down panel and noticed that it required a key to open the plastic cover. He shook his head and walked over to the captain. "Your key. Now!" Shaken, the captain complied and handed him the key. He smirked and walked back over to the panel and opened up its protective, plastic cover. There was a red button that, when pushed, initiated the lock-down, which would take less than three minutes to complete. He picked up the microphone too, which could address the entire ship. "Ladies and gentlemen of Sky Wonder. Attention. This is your captain speaking and this is an emergency! Please return to your cabins immediately in a calm and orderly fashion. This will all be over in a few minutes and then you may resume your cruise. I appreciate your understanding. All hands. All hands. Initiate code Echo!" All throughout the ship, people buzzed and moved as fast as they could back to their cabins. Men and women herded children together and everyone did as they were instructed, after all, there was no where else to go. Watching the cameras throughout the ship, the commander smiled as the plan was going off without a hitch. The bridge doors were sealed and shut and there was no way to get into the bridge unless they were opened from the inside. "Now. For this." He pushed the red button and a timer began, counting down from three minutes. "Eleven. Eleven. It's underway. Three minutes."

"Yes sir." Team Eleven was ready and waiting. As the people scurried back to their cabins, the commander moved over to the climate control pannel and made sure that the air conditioners, on all zones, were on full blast. It was just a matter of time now.

"Alright. Now. Since you're all behaving let me tell you what is going on. You are all hereby held in captivity, against your will. It is not our intention to harm anyone aboard this vessel but we must ensure that everyone is accounted for and that means a lock down of the ship. You seven will be remanded to a specific holding area until our objectives can be completed. We are not a terrorist group nor are we a military group, officially. Our stated mission here is to conduct our objectives and report back to the Ministry of Defense. I am sorry that this had to happen to your watch but safety in the Empire is no laughing matter.

"In these days where terrorism runs rampant, we must be sure that all of our citizens are safe. We have taken control of your small arms locker and we have cleared it out. You, as sailors, have not failed in any way. Please cooperate and this will be all over in a few days where you can resume your cruise. Is that understood?"

"No. Who are you?" The captain demanded. "Who? And what authority do you have?"

"I am under the authority of the governing body of this country."

"Who are you?"

"That is classified captain. This entire mission is classified. If you do not cooperate you will be held on charges of treason or obstruction of protection of the citizens of Layarteb. Sounds bogus but the charge exists."

"I don't believe a word of it. You're terrorists. Where are your uniforms?"

"Precisely. We are here to evaluate the ability of a cruise vessel to be taken over by terrorists and for a subsequent rescue operation. Our weapons do contain live ammunition so please do not force us to use them. This will be all over in a few days. Until then sit tight! Go on. Get them out of here." They were moved to the quarters right behind the bridge and locked in, without any sort of way to get out either. The ship would soon be under complete and total lock-down. The timer flashed seconds away and the men of teams Eleven and Ten waited with zeal as people scurried to get back to their cabins in time.

Layarteb

08-06-2007, 04:03

May 25, 2007 - 13:30 [EST]
Eastern Caribbean Sea

The Caribbean Sea was a bastion of Layartebian naval power. A SOSUS net laid underneath it could track just about everything in the water that moved, large sealife included. Dolphins and whales were popular with the listeners whenever they made noise and hummed in the warm, crystal-blue waters of the Caribbean. In the air, over the Caribbean Sea, reconnaissance planes flew looking for anything that might be conceived as hostile, whether it was a surface ship or an aircraft. Destroyers, frigates, and other coastal patrol and rescue vessels moved slowly through the calm seas, looking for hostiles that might sneak their way into the boundaries of the sea. They could get over ninety percent of all intruders and those that they couldn't usually were Layartebian submarines piloted by captains who knew the safest ways into and out of the Caribbean Sea, without coming on any of the hydrophonic arrays. The Hunter class SSN was particularly capable at sneaking into and out of the Caribbean Sea with minimal detection, if any. The other vessel was the Loke SS, an air-independent vessel that was the quietest submarine in the world. It could move through the Caribbean Sea on AIP power and never raise a single ear. That was power and that was technology.

Currently skulking into the Caribbean Sea was a Hunter class SSN under the command of CAPT. Julius Hammerhead, a long-time veteran of the Imperial Layartebian Navy and a long-time member of the Illuminati. He wasn't a Ghost Warrior himself but he was a part of the program itself and so was his XO, LCDR. Steven Fronerelli. A significant portion of their crew members were Freemasons and the entire boat seemed to be a floating mutiny. The submarine was just like any other in the Imperial Layartebian Navy and its treasonous ways were never showed but now, they would embark on their most dangerous journey yet. The vessel would be moving into the Caribbean Sea and take up a position far to the west, near the Sky Wonder, which was being taken over by Ghost Warriors. Once they were in control of the vessel, they would stop it and drop the anchor. While they did that, the Hunter would move into a waiting position, underneath the vessel, and hide there until May 28. They had roughly sixty hours to get into their position, which was four hundred nautical miles away. They would average a total of seven knots throughout the journey there and they would stay as close to the bottom as they could, hugging the terrain. The Hunter SSN was equipped with a powerful LIDAR, which though it was only effective for one and a half kilometers, they could essentially map the course ahead of them without making any active noises. There was high frequency SONAR but it was an active system and they didn't want to give away their position at all.

The captain knew what he was doing and he knew the consequences of his actions if he were to be caught. His mission profile was to patrol the area to the immediate east of the Lesser Antilles, in the Atlantic Ocean and he had moved away from the patrol area and into the Caribbean Sea for this operation, an operation that was going to be cataclysmic for the Illuminati if it went wrong. He risked a lot with the mission but he was the only way it could be pulled off properly.

Layarteb

09-06-2007, 02:16

May 25, 2007 - 13:35 [EST]
300NM West of Havana, Cuba

Three hundred nautical miles west of Havana, the Sky Wonder sat, her engines off, drifting with the waves, gradually slowing down from nine knots. The ship was under complete lock-down and Team Eleven was standing by as Team Ten held the bridge. The technician and radioman panned through the various spaces of the ship, using the security system to check for stragglers. They had all of the compartments written on a large sheet of paper and as they went through them, they crossed them off, signifying that the section was secure. The passengers had reacted quickly and fearfully but properly. It was something out of the ordinary for 1,550 people and the crew members were all safely aboard, inside of the ship as well. "Echo" command meant for all hands to get below decks as well. Nobody was on the outside deck of the ship and satisfied, the commander of Team Ten gave the order to start the chemical warfare. KOLOKOL-1 would be dumped in first, which would effectively render the ship unconscious within a few minutes of inhalation. They had to be careful though since KOLOKOL-1 was a powerful opiate that could be easily overdosed. They didn't want to kill anybody, they just wanted them out of commission. The goal wasn't mass murder of them, it was mass fear that any ship could be targetted. As the air conditioning system poured the opiate drug into the air, the men of both teams doned gas masks, which filtered out the elusive chemical and allowed them to breathe without succombing to the effects. It would take at least fifteen minutes for the gas to cycle through the whole ship, which was a long time but it was necessary. Its effects could last up to twelve hours and that was the intended effect. They still had three days left on their mission and they still had a lot to do.

When the opiate was delivered thoroughly, Team Eleven switched over and began to dump Agent 15 into the vent systems. Agent 15 was far more powerful and could last up to four days, in ideal conditions. The confinement of the people, their lack of food and water, and the general conditions aboard the vessel would ensure maximum effectiveness but still, they were careful not to dump too much into the air. They didn't need to kill anyone, that wasn't the plan.

The real plan for the two teams was retrieval of jewelry and money. The Sky Wonder wasn't just moving people. It was common practice for the Empire to use civilian cruise lines to transport important cargo. In this case, they were transporting over §500,000,000 in unmarked, §1,000,000 bills. That put five hundred of them aboard and they were used to move large amounts of money throughout the government. This money happened to be cash that would be meant for the Bank of Saint Lazare, cash that would be deposited in the account. It would never make it as far as they were concerned. Once Team Eleven dropped off the chemicals, they would use the crawlspaces to get to the vault onboard, which was deep below decks. There, they would crack in, get the money and an assortment of jewelry that was being transport to the Barbados for eventual transportation to Norway. There was a large jewelry show there every so often and the jewels being transported were worth in excess of §800,000,000, including a diamond that was worth §300,000,000 as it was over 50 carats. That was the real reason behind the seizure of the cruise ship. It was a jewel heist not a terrorist action. The retrieval of over §1,300,000,000 would give the Illuminati and Majestic quite a healthy cash cow.

The Illuminati had existed for as long as the Empire. It had existed for as long as the Republic. It had even existed during the civil war that raged following independence. The Illuminati was as Layartebian as paganism and it had been collecting money for centuries. In truth, the Illuminati needed money as desperately as the seas needed fish. Their wealth alone equated that of the Roman Catholic Church, a number practically immeasurable. They owned property, they owned businesses. They owned people and they owned governments. The Illuminati had spread throughout the world and it spread like a pandemic. Disguised in Freemasonry, the Illuminati crept into every crevice and cranny in the world. They infiltrated so much and kept so secret. They were an order, an ancient order, an ancient order that was adept at survival and infiltration. So when it came to the Empire, the Illuminati saw a challenge ahead of it, a challenge that they were ready for and that they were aching for, a challenge that they would perfect.

Majestic, their leaders, were the opposite, in many respects. Majestic was entirely Layartebian. They were formed ages ago, though not as long ago as the Illuminati were. They directed operations strictly from a Layartebian point of view. They were not concerned with everything around them nor were they concerned with that outside of the Empire.

Layarteb

09-06-2007, 05:45

May 25, 2007 - 13:00 [CST]
Mérida, Yucatán

"And now it ends for you..." He said as he squeezed the trigger. The round tore through the air but spent little time in the actual air itself before burrowing into his skull, before tearing through his brain, and before its blowout through his face. The explosion sent shockwaves through the man's body as he slumped forward, death taking over him as he fell, lifelessly forward. The bullet continued its unscathed trajectory downward, on a angle into the ground. It burrowed itself in the soft, cement floor. The man's eyes rolled upwards and backwards as his body suddenly ceased functioning, his medulla oblongata blown into mist. All at once, his diaphragm stopped contracting, his blood pressure dropped, his heart ceased to beat, and his body ceased to be alive. He would be dead before he touched the ground. That was the painful truth of the matter. He was dead, completely dead. The man hovered over him, the pistol barrel spitting a little smoke, as it recoiled upwards but the shooter held firm. The barrel was still aligned for a second shot if necessary but it wouldn't be necessary, the man was already dead and half of his head had been spewed all over the wall and the floor in front of him. "That's what you get." He said as he turned around. "Let's get out of here." He said to the man behind him, both of them dressed in casual clothing, nothing that was out of the ordinary for the painful and dreadful heat and humidity in the Yucatán state in summer. They both also had dark sunglasses on, the type that only those with money could buy, especially there. Despite the riddance of crime, gangs, and drug dealers, the Yucatán was still the poorest state and still the least developed, although that would begin to change through time. It would be a long process and, surprisingly, the one place in the Empire untouched thus far by the Ghost Warriors in any sort of seriousness was the Yucatán. Most of their kidnapped victims were there or throughout the lands of southern Mexico and Central America but, for the most part, they had failed to turn the Yucatán into the hunting ground that they turned the rest of the Empire into throughout their reign of terror.

They put their pistols away and carefully exited the building, which lay above a small road in downtown Mérida, a road that until a few days prior had been still torn to shreds and beaten from the war and from when the Marines came through. They came through with such force that the criminal element, the gangs, and the drug lords had nowhere to run. When they tried to run to the east, they ran towards Campeche, where the military was. When they ran to the south, to Quintana Roo, they ran towards the military. Nowhere could they run! They were swallowed by the military and they were resoundingly defeated. Most of them had been killed or rounded up and thrown in jail. It was brutal and it was quick. The month long campaign to capture the ancient, Mayan civilization was done with much bloodshed but, in the end, it was worth it, well worth it. The riches and the sanctity that capturing the lands provided was more than enough to justify the means. Now, the Yucatán had shed blood one more time as another man lay dead, in some apartment building in Mérida. The killer was an assassin, a skilled and adept one who had little remorse for what he had done.

The man had worked with the government and was an influential member of the Ministry of the Interior. He knew high people in high places and he had all the right connections. The only drawback was that he had a curious mind, a mind that led him astray, a mind that got him killed. He was a good guy, if there could ever be a "good" side. He was nothing more than a man, on a mission. Two weeks after Ms. Delgado went missing, his daughter went missing. She was precious to him and he endeavored to find her. He dedicated his "being" to finding her and that was where he wound up, in the middle of the Yucatán, were he suspected her to be, where he tracked her down. It had been almost six months since she vanished from a picnic just four blocks away from his house. Neither him nor the police had any leads that it was a kidnapping motivated by molestation or revenge. It was linked specifically to the kidnapping of Ms. Delgado and it was the same MO. While the media and the government was overshadowed with her disappearance, he was enamored with his daughter.

So, like any concerned, worried, and resilient father, he did digging and with his influence and power, he had a world of resources in front of him. He surveyed thousands of hours of public camera footage. He had hundreds of eye witness testamonies. He dug through records, through DNA evidence, through fingerprints. He tracked the leads and the dead ends. He tracked and traced everything and then did it again. He left no stone unturned and no corner untouched. Eventually, he was led right to the Yucatán and that was where his trail ended. He was abruptly stopped in his tracks, just two blocks from his precious daughter, stripped of the only thing he wanted in life. "And now it ends for you..." Those were the last words he heart. Those words were the last things that graced his ears but nothing graced his eyes but his own end and the wall in front of him and the floor below him. He died there, on that cold pavement, just two blocks from his goal and from his desire. It was quickly cut short and all too easily. He walked right into the trap and as he listened to the words of his would-be assassin, he could think of only one thing and that was a simple thought that raced through his head. Too careless. Too stupid. Too much in a rush. He thought to himself as he died on the floor, his blood trainting the pure, grey floor below him.

His quest brought him to the heart of Mérida but it was also his end. He had come there after spotting his daughter on public camera footage being escorted out of a van in the middle of the city. He was just two blocks away. When he had arrived in Mérida, he brought with him two bodyguards, both at the insistance of the Emperor, who hoped that his success would mean success for the other captives. Both of them were present when he was killed. One of them did the shooting. They claimed to have been approached by a man in the market who was working for them, who was interested in the safe return of all of the captives. They led him to the apartment over the market and shot him. It was a cold-blooded murder that would require explaining, a lot of explaining. They had time to concoct the story, to get it right. After all, they were professionals.

Layarteb

11-06-2007, 01:40

May 25, 2007 - 13:30 [CST]
Mérida, Yucatán

"Alright. Yes. We're on our way back. Understood." The assassin hung up the phone and turned to his assistant. "We're getting out of here soon. We just have another stop to make."

"No problem. I'll be glad to get away from this humidity."

"You're telling me." They walked down a freshly paved street that was a little sticky in the heat and humidity but they kept to the concrete sidewalk. Since the war, the infrastructure of the Yucatán was being rebuilt and things were turning around. Pretty soon it would be a whole new state and it would be a whole new place to live. That was the intended goal of the invasion and everything had been done according to plan, thus far. The assassination of Jeremy Berms, the man lying dead on the cold, concrete floor in the apartment building in Yucatán, wouldn't be much of a drawback to the progress though. In the older times it could ignite a furious street war but since the Marines had come, everything had changed, and for the better. "Come on. Up this way." They walked up a stone staircase on the side of a house a few blocks away. When the assassin knocked on the door a frail woman came there and looked through the screen with a glare in her eyes.

"Sí?" [Yes?] She asked, her hand on something that none of them could see but they both assumed it to be a weapon of sorts, possibly a shotgun.

"Estamos aquí para el café." [We're here for the coffee.]

"Bueno entra." [Okay come in.]

"Gracias Señora." [Thank you ma'am.] They entered and sat down in the living room. The old woman came in and served them both a cup of coffee, which was Colombian. They waited there for a few minutes before a man came in and sat down in the living room. He wore a sharp business suit and he put a briefcase down in front of him. "You called us to here?"

"Yesss I did."

"To what do we owe this Mr. Carpenter?"

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/jdelaney-01.jpghttp://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/mwilkins-01.jpg

"Mr. Delaney. Mr. Wilkinsss. I ask both of you here after your missssion for a simple tasssk."

"That being?"

"Your asssasssination of Mr. Bermssss issss proper. It will go a long way. I am thankful for your audience. You are both excellent warriorsssss. You have ssserved the Layartebian people well. Now I ask you for a further tassssk. You are wary of the effortssss of the Illuminati to open revolution."

"We are." LTC. Wilkins responded as he adjusted his glasses. He was the XO of Force Falcon Team One. "We are helpful and sympathetic to their cause Mr. Carpenter."

"But of courssse you are." They dared not reveal that BG. Delaney was a member of Majestic, an organization so secret that only its twelve members and Mr. Carpenter knew about it. "You gentlemen and your team are clossse to the Emperor. You will be there when the time comesss that you must protect the Emperor from the forcessss within."

"We will Mr. Carpenter," BG. Delaney continued. "We will be inside the Fortress when the time comes."

"Very well. It will be your tasssk to end the Empire."

"Understood Mr. Carpenter."

"Very well. Gentlemen. You are covered when you return. Do not worry about a sssstory. I am sssure you thought of one."

"Mr. Berms is a traitor to the Empire. He supports the domestic terrorists. He set up his own daughter for kidnapping."

"It could be done gentlemen. You are done gentlemen." They stood up and left the building. Within a few hours they would land at Layarteb City and have a direct audience with the Interor Minister and the Emperor about Mr. Berms, who had been killed in Mérida by his daughters' kidnappers. Both BG. Delaney and LTC. Wilkins had been restrained during the ordeal but did not witness anything as they were held several buildings away. They would convey their sympathies for their failure to protect him but it was out of their hands, they were set up. The Interior Minister would ask questions and so would the Emperor but neither of them would be able to get a leg up on either of the men from Team One, who knew, flat out, that they were covered, completely.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/mrcarpenter-02.jpg

Layarteb

17-06-2007, 03:17

May 25, 2007 - 20:00 [EST]
Governors Island, Layarteb City

The high heat of the day begun to transition to a cooler temperature as the sun began to set. It was humid though and that made even the coolest temperatures uncomfortable as moisture in the air prevented moisture from the skin from evaporating, making it that much harder for one to maintain a normal body temperature. In the Fortress of Comhghall, the air temperature and humidity were regulated not by modern methods such as air conditioning or dehumidifiers. Due to the construction of the fortress and the materials used, the internal temperature rarely rose above 60°F except in rooms that were exposed to the open air through windows. The humidity was always low and, since its restoration began in the 1940s, a significant amount of weather-proofing was done to the fortress, especially around the windows, which was to keep drafts, heat, humidity, and rainwater out. Air conditioning systems had been installed but were only really used in late July and August, when the outside air began unbearable. The Emperor's office, on the other hand, being so close to the exterior walls, needed the air conditioner, despite the weatherproofing and sealing done to the windows. As he stood in his office, holding a phone to his ear, three aides entered, all holding brown, manilla folders. "Yes. I understand the situation. No I am not going to relent. That is the situation and that is that! If they do not want to cooperate then there will be hell to pay. No. You make them understand that!" He put down the phone and turned to his aides. "The situation in the Amazonian Republic is becoming increasingly tense. We're going to have to take further action against them if they cannot hold their own against these rebels. Now. What do you have for me?" He asked the aides.

"Well sir, the latest figures concerning the possible referendum on Sunday."

"What's the projections say?"

"Based on polling and surveys we estimate anywhere from 80% to 88% voter turnout."

"Alright. That's good. What about the outcome?"

"Our latest estimate shows that an overwhelming majority, possibly as high as 85% will vote in favor of returning the body to Layarteb for burial."

"That impressive?"

"Yes sir."

"And the latest report," a second aide began. "Shows a sharp rise in almost ten points for popularity because of this move."

"That's commendable."

"Yes it is sir. It beckons a few questions," the third aide said. "Those being key elements of democracy to the people may, in times of strife and crisis, actually turn out to increase support for the government."

"Yes but it is a slippery slope. The more you give, the more they'll want. As it is now we tread a fine line here. With the way these terrorists are acting we're in more trouble than normal."

"I agree sir but we have to at least entertain certain possibilities and avenues here. The Venezuelan mess really tossed things up for us and with the way things are going in the Amazon and the happenings there, it's a wonder we're doing so good."

"Are you trying to say that the public has lost faith in this government?"

"Not yet sir."

"Not yet!" He roared. "Do you think this is a game? That it is inevitable that they do?"

"No sir not at all. I'm only concerned with our future sir. With the way things are going and the complete lack of success we've had against these terrorists, I cannot ignore the possible inevitable."

"Then propose a solution. For now leave my office." The Emperor was furious. He had been often lately with the way that things were turning out. Since he had declared realization, more people had tied in terrorism than in any previous chapter of Layartebian history. Whatever terrorist group was working against the Empire from within, there was little success against them except for a few captures, eight in total and none of them had actually revealed anything worthwhile. They had been interrogated through conventional and unconventional means but yet they yielded nothing. No other group had, in the history of the Empire, been able to withstand the methods of Force Thunder, especially IJAM, who were highly skilled and gifted in the art of resistance.

However, thousands of miles away, in the Caribbean Sea, the Ghost Warriors were at it again. They had secured the ship, delivered their cocktail, and effectively neutralized an entire ship without a single shot fired. They were secure in the bridge and the only way to get into the bridge, other than going through the thick-paned windows, was through the air vents or through the doors. They had set booby traps with Flashbang grenades and CS grenades in the air vents and engaged the lockdown system to secure the bridge as well. Nobody would be getting into or out of the bridge unless they wanted. No distress signal had been given and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except that the ship wasn't moving anymore. Anyone searching a radar or a satellite might be alarmed that they weren't moving but, then again, it wasn't out of the ordinary for a ship to weigh anchor every now and then if it had made good speed across a destination.

Cotland

17-06-2007, 12:07

22 nautical miles North-East of Barbados
Orlogskaptein Jens Dahlgren was bored. There was nothing unusual going on, the day was warm and sunny like normal, and everything was routine, just like always. In short, it was boring.

Dahlgren was in command of a corvette in the Røyskatt class, a 121 meter long, 3,500 ton heavy corvette which had entered service four years ago and served her entire life in the Caribbean Sea, patrolling the Cottish territorial waters, maintaining Cottish sovereignty and providing assistance for any ship in need. There weren't many of those any more either, so the crew of eighty-six were left with just routine duties, perhaps a battle drill or fire drill once a week like regulations demanded, and a live fire exercise twice a year, but that was all. It was, in short, boring.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/royskatt.jpg

Dahlgren had been in command of the vessel for two years, having been given command as a punishment for insulting an admiral when he was an officer on an aircraft carrier. Had he managed to keep his tounge in check, he might have been in command of a destroyer, perhaps even a cruiser by now, but no, he was stuck here in the most boring assignment in the most boring place in the world, where nothing happened. He couldn't even hope to be transfered to a posting in the 4th Fleet which was based in Siberia. No, he was stuck in the 3rd Fleet's patrol division unless he somehow made himself distinguished, preferably in battle against someone...

But who? Pirates? The Caribbean was completely devoid of any battle scenarios thanks to the efforts of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Force/Imperial Layartebian Navy and, to some extent, the Royal Cottish Navy a few years prior in clearing out the pirates that had reigned in the Caribbean. Enough priates strung up in the yardarm and hanging there when the warships returned to port had been enough to stop them, so that possibility was ruled out.

Drug runners? Perhaps, but they too had been eradicated for the most part in the War of Drugs that had lasted for a few years and been mostly successful.

The Russians? A possibility, but they were more likely to slug it out with the battlegroups that were centered around the carriers and amphibious ships and the submarines, and not the lowly corvette that was armed primarily for self-defense and anti-piracy warfare. Besides, a conflict with them had a real potential of turning nuclear, which was something Dahlgren didn't want. He'd prefer boring and safe patrol duty to a nuclear slugfest.

In short, there weren't a whole lot of potential ways of getting out of the mess that Dahlgren was in, and with that thought, he sat back in the comfortable leather chair on the bridge, took another sip of the good Columbian coffee, and tried to get some sleep. The weekly battle drill wasn't scheduled for tommorrow anyway.

[OOC: Just setting the mood for the Cottish patrol ships in the Caribbean...]

Layarteb

17-06-2007, 18:12

May 26, 2007 - 15:00 [AST]
Caribbean Sector Command, Grenada

Almost a year earlier, Grenada had been a war zone. Ravaged by a coordinated rebel militia and then the Layartebian Military, the island had never returned to the way it used to be, especially after the atomic bombing of Saint George's by a domestic terrorist group. The island's population was now just 30,000, which was far less than what it had been. Grenada had been a beacon of stability and peace in the Caribbean Sea but it was also the heart of dissent. The tiny island had voted overwhelmingly against the status of the Province of Raef. They wanted to remain a republic. After the war and after the return of some semblance of normalcy, the Layartebians reoccupied the Caribbean Sector Command, which was an extensive, underground, command bunker that effectively controlled the entire Caribbean Sea. It was one of the most advanced war centers in the entire Empire and it was also one of the most heavily guarded. Layartebian soldiers manned it day and night, every day of the year, and every night of the year.

Deep within the confines of the command center there were radar and sonar rooms, there were satellite rooms, there were communications rooms, there were armories, there were briefing rooms, and there was a central command center that relayed the data from each and every room into a single one. The radar rooms were linked to the Layartebian Air Defense Network, which was commonly called the "Anti-Stealth System," since it used a combination of OTH-B radars, phased array and synthetic aperture radars, air control radars, sea-based radar, space-tracking systems, and various other classified equipment that ensured complete and total control, sight, and hearing of the skies around Layarteb. The sonar rooms were linked to the various SOSUS networks around and inside of the Caribbean Sea so that as much as the Empire could track the skies, they could track the depths too. The satellite rooms put images to everything they saw on the surface. It all linked together to control the entire Caribbean just like there were command centers that linked the Arctic, North Atlantic, Western Pacific, and various other areas around and within the Empire. They all linked back to a single, central, command center in the heart of the Empire, buried deep underneath the Pennsylvania countryside.

It was their job at the Caribbean Sector Command to know everything about the Caribbean Sea. They scanned radar and sonar. They had plots of all civilian and military aircraft in the air. They had routes for ships. So, when they went over satellite imagery and saw a cruise ship stopped dead, in the water, now for more than a day, they became slightly worried. "Sir." The analyst said as he compared the satellite pictures. "Sir. You need to see this. This was taken yesterday. Exactly twenty-four hours ago. This is a few minutes ago."

"Stationary still. Something's wrong." The officer in charge of the satellite room said as he looked over the two black and white pictures. "Something is definitely wrong. Ships sit around sometimes for a day or two but look here. No activity topside. There's something definitely wrong."

"Indeed there is sir."

"Good work Airman."

"Thank you sir." The discovery was made by a lowly Senior Airman and it was a catch. The Caribbean Sea was a quiet environment. There were civilians airliners flying here and there, sometimes they veered from their pre-planned route. There were fishing boats and cruise ships. There were Cottish ships. There was rarely any serious action in the Caribbean Sea due to the total control over it by the Empire. Here was the possibility of something. The ship wasn't flying a distress flag but the lack of people topside meant that something was seriously wrong. Could everyone be sick? Could there have been a terrorist attack? Could it be pirates? These were questions that needed answering. The first lieutenant exited the room, leaving his second-in-charge in command of the satellite room. He walked down to the main room, passing through a security checkpoint on the way through. As he swiped his ID, the doors opened and he entered a computer center that was something out of a high-budget movie. There were screens everywhere, people sitting around panels with headsets, and technology so expensive and so advanced that even their names were classified.

"Colonel. Sir. I have something you need to see." The man in charge of all satellite operations was Colonel John Cruz, a Cuban who had served with the Empire since 1982. "Sir."

"What is it lieutenant?"

"Sir. This cruise ship has been static for twenty-four hours now. Nobody has been topside in either of these two photographs."

"Very well." He recognized the problem immediately. "Good work lieutenant. You may return to your station."

"Thank you sir."

Colonel Cruz took the evidence immediately to the nearest communications room and had some operators search through the database for the frequency that the ship operated on and immediately, they began to hail it. The bridge was silent and those in the communications room were unconscious from the chemical agent. At the same time, communications both to and from the ship were completely disabled and jammed. Minutes went by without anything. "Try them again." They tried a few more times but nothing came of their hails, which prompted an immediate call to action. Colonel Cruz immediately got in contact with the Defense Forces and helicopters were dispatched. The closest coast guard station was Progresso, in the Yucatán, just under 245 miles away. Immediately, a single HH-92E Super Hawk was launched. It had a range of 555 miles and back, a crew of four, and the capacity to hold eleven troops or one litter. Unarmed and unarmored, the HH-92E Super Hawk lifted off from the tarmac at Progresso and began its northeast course. The helicopter would be moving at 130 mph on the way to the target but that still meant a flight time of almost two hours. It wasn't necessarily a short flight but it was the most capable. Scrambling a fighter was just too much and the use of a HU-25 was thought of but, it wouldn't necessarily be a good candidate for this assignment.

Layarteb

21-06-2007, 02:37

May 26, 2007 - 17:00 [AST]
Caribbean Sector Command, Grenada

"Alright. We have contact at exactly 17:00 hours. Atlantic Standard Time. GMT minus four. Let's see what we have." The narrator in the control room inside of the Caribbean Sector Command Center said as he watched the map above. Hundreds of miles away, in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, the coast guard HH-92E Super Hawk made a slow, low-level pass over the deck of the cruise ship and saw the same thing that the satellites saw, which was nothing.

Inside the bridge, the Ghost Warriors milled about, waiting for the necessary time before they would begin their next phase. When the helicopter zoomed overhead it caught them by surprise. They had shut down the ship's radar to make it invisible, in an electronic sense. When the coast guard helicopter flew over they knew that things were quickly going wrong. "What the hell..." The commander said as the helicopter zoomed in front of the bridge. "Ah shit! Now what..." He said to himself in a low whisper as he looked around. "They're trying to contact us, without a doubt. Nobody is top-side."

"No. They aren't. What now?"

"I'm thinking." He looked around the bridge and realized that the coast guard might set down on the ship if he wasn't careful. "Alright. I've got something that could buy us some time."

"What is that sir?"

"Well. It's a long shot but it could work for a day or two."

"Alright. Let's go for it then." The men said as they realized what he would do.

"Can you remotely turn off the jammer?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do it." He said to the technician who produced a small remote control device from his pocket. It transmitted on a frequency that wouldn't be jammed by the set, enabling communication to the set while it was working and while it wasn't. "What's the story?" He asked after a few minutes. "It's going through. It's battery powered so we're not talking something too quick here."

"Understood but if they land we have to open fire."

"That'll complicate things."

"You're telling me."

"Alright. It's off." Immediately, the radio inside of the bridge turned from its eerie silence to static followed by a radio call from the helicopter.

"Sky Wonder. Sky Wonder. This is the Imperial Layartebian Coast Guard. Are you out there? Repeat. This is..."

"We hear you Coast Guard. What do you want?"

"Who is this?"

"This is the captain."

"Captain. What is the problem? You have nobody topside and you haven't moved in a day."

"We're resting."

"Resting? Who is this?"

"The captain."

"Sky Wonder you're beginning to piss me off. What is going on down there?"

"Nothing."

"We can see that Sky Wonder. If you do not comply with us we will be forced to board you and arrest you. Who are you?"

"We are freedom fighters."

"Repeat?"

"Freedom fighters."

"What do you want?"

"For you to go away. We control this vessel," he scrunched his face as he gave out a fake battle plan. "And we have forty gallons of biological agent on board this vessel. Should you board, land, or continue to stick around we will detonate the agent and kill all 4,000 people on board this vessel. Is that understood?"

"What are your demands?"

"Demands? For you to go away."

"Sky Wonder. You are currently committing an act of terrorism against the Empire. You will relenquish control immediately." Everyone inside of the bridge laughed hysterically as the pilot circled around the bridge of the vessel, giving orders.

"You have no authority. If you do not leave right now I will execute one hostage." He turned to the technician. "Cry!" He said as the technican feigned being a hostage and then the commander cocked the hammer back, close enough to the microphone for him to hear it. "You have five seconds to leave this vacinity."

"Negative."

"Five...Four..."

"Relenquish command immediately or you will be engaged."

"Three...Two..."

"I repeat..."

"One!" He fired the pistol and the round went through the floor but didn't kill or hurt anyone. It was all an act. "That is the final warning. The next person is a four year old girl who wets the bed at night because she is afraid. Want to see her brains spread out over the front windows?"

"Negative Sky Wonder. Put the gun down. We can resolve this." It was then that the helicopter was immediately ordered to return to base. The conversation was listened to in the control center on Grenada and proceedures had to be followed. Nobody wanted a four year old girl dead, despite the fuck that none of them knew it to be a farce. "You will be engaged. We are out of here."

"Good! Communication to this vessel will be cut off!" He nodded to the technician who resumed the jamming. "That should buy some time. They'll execute a commando drop on the vessel eventually. They don't negotiate with terrorists. That's standard. We can expect it at night. Not tonight. That's too soon. Possibly tomorrow night. I'm not too sure. We're out of here at 07:20 Monday morning and this will all be over by 08:00. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" The bridge replied.

"Until then keep a close eye on what's going on. Make sure you're watching the surveillance systems closely. They could drop in Sunday night or Monday morning or possibly later. If we're lucky."

Layarteb

22-06-2007, 03:31

May 26, 2007 - 16:40 [EST]
Governors Island, Layarteb City

"Alright General. What kind of situation are we looking at here? I want the answers straight-forward and I want them as accurate as possible. There are a lot of people on that ship and we owe it to them to get htem out of this." The Emperor began as he looked at the large wall-screen in one of the many briefing rooms in the Fortress of Comhghall. They were conducting a meeting about the cruise ship and forty minutes after its discovery by the HH-92E Super Hawk, the Emperor was meeting with the ministers of the Interior, Intelligence, Justice, and Defense as well as the General of the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces, the Admiral of the Imperial Layartebian Navy, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the Imperial Layartebian Military. It was a top-secret meeting and no aides were allowed in and neither were assistant ministers.

"Yes sir. Our Super Hawk contacted the leader shortly after 16:00, eastern time. It is apparent that they are not willing to negotiate yet. Neither will we. That is not our policy. The terrorist leader claimed to have over 4,000 individuals on the ship but the manifest lists only 1,550 passengers and 600 crew, of which we can include any number of terrorists. From what we've discovered based on the failed raid at Salem, they operate in eight man teams. That is a big vessel so I can't imagine a single eight man team controlling it all. Our estimates guess no fewer than twenty-four."

"What kind of weaponry will they have?"

"Well sir none when they got aboard. However, there is a small arms locker for anti-piracy and anit-terrorist cases. They could have gotten to it and cleaned it out leaving us against shotguns, assault rifles, and possibly even light machine guns."

"Sir. If I may interject?" The Minister of Intelligence said. "The Caribbean Sea is a bastion of military presence. Whatever escape they might have planned is going to fail miserably. We have satellite coverage on it constantly as well as aerial survelliance. Communications to and from the vessel are being jammed. We confirmed that about ten minutes ago as we suspected it all along. That means we cannot contact them and vice versa unless they stop the jamming. Signals intelligence showed they did while they were communicating with the Super Hawk but returned it."

"Indeed sir. The Defense Forces are working to establish what frequencies they are on and rest assured, if we know, we can stop the jamming. There are other alternatives though."

"Which are?"

"Well sir if we can pinpoint the exact spot of jamming, we could, theorhetically, switch off the jamming set. If it is what we suspect, it is a portable, military prototype. Eighteen were constructed and two are unaccounted for. They work by radio and can be disabled once a frequency is known. We have those frequencies recorded within the LDC but we are running across some trouble getting access to them."

"I'll phone the CEO personally. That will be resolved no more than five minutes after this meeting is over. I don't care what legal nonsense they try to cite. They better cooperate or we'll find a different defense contractor. It's as simple as that. What are our options in terms of retaking the vessel?"

"Well sir. A team of SEALs could neutralize the ship but the problem lies in their claim of a 'biological' weapon. We cannot confirm or deny this claim and as such we have to treat it as a viable risk. If there is a dead man's switch, we could be in trouble. This fail-deadly mechanism could set off whatever agent they have there and spread the disease. We can be certain it will stay isolated within the vessel but that is a lot of people to lose for carelessness sir." The Admiral of the Navy added with a stern look, as he ruled out the scenario in his own mind.

"We can't be stuck between a rock and a hard place here. I want ideas."

"Sir. What about the use of an E-bomb?" The General of the ILDF asked.

"It would render the whole ship a floating nothing. Could that cause damage to the actual ship itself, other than electronics?"

"No sir. Any electronics not switched on could survive but anything switched on will be baked sir. Within seconds. Civilian casualties will be zero. The ship will be damaged though, electronically speaking. It won't be able to return to port under its own power. It will be effectively neutralized."

"What about compensation of damages? That cruise line is going to want their money for repairs."

"Sir that is a problem we have to face. We could enact a principle deaming their ship did not have adequate security but it is not within our grounds to do such a thing. We would have to pay for the damages."

"What are we talking here? A few million?"

"Sir. The ship itself is worth §125 million sir. We would be looking at half that cost sir. At minimum. Worst case scenario, this ship cannot be repaired."

"Will it render the weapon, if there is one, harmless?"

"It can sir."

"It can? What else is there?"

"Sir. The weapon is most likely remote controlled. The bomb will fix that. However, it will likely have a manual detonation on it. They could do it on their own."

"Would they know it is us if their electronics die?"

"It depends sir. Doors that are controlled electronically will cease to function so they could be trapped into certain areas. We have to assume that they have people with the bomb at all times."

"Would it be wise to use a commando team immediately after the detonation of an E-bomb?"

"It would be the best thing to do. We would stress total silence on the part of the team."

"We have to know where the bomb is."

"We would. Chances are it's an airborne weapon. That means they'll have it in either in an intake fan or within the air conditioning circuit itself. That's a lot of areas to check."

"It is. We're up shit's creek aren't we?"

"In short sir? Yes. We have a problem here that it seems we are stuck with. For now."

"First off, how would they get a biological weapon on board with enough power to knock out the whole ship? We're talking millions of cubic feet here. They'd need a lot of it. I don't see how they snuck this agent on board."

"We don't either sir. None of us can fathom how but we cannot rule it out. We are sure these terrorists are the same ones that we've been having trouble with and we've been shown, time and time again, that their capabilities exceed even our best guesses. We have to take them seriously on this matter." The Minister of Justice said. "I wouldn't suggest negotiations but we need to find out what they have before we do anything. An E-bomb followed by a SEAL incursion is probably our best bet since we can do both quickly and quietly."

"Very well. I agree. Let's find out what they have. Get a dialogue going with them somehow and let's get through their jamming so we can find out what's going on. Will we be able to remotely hack into the ship's security systems?"

"We are communicating with the cruise line on that now. We widely believe that there is a back door but nothing public about it exists. It could be illegal sir."

"I don't care what it is. That many people? If it's illegal it just became legal. I want answers and I want that jamming down. We'll convene again in four hours."

"Yes sir." The Emperor was alone in the briefing room when the video circuits cut out and he stood up slowly with a deep breath.

"I'm getting too old for this nonsense..." He said to himself as he left.

Cotland

22-06-2007, 13:40

It started in Siberia, of all places. An elderly couple had won a luxury cruise in the Caribbean in a local lottery, and had travelled to the vacation of their lives, leaving their children and grandchildren behind in the suburb to Yarkutsk with a promise to take a lot of photos, bring home souvenirs, and call daily. The couple were known to hold to their word, so when the second day without a phone call came and went, the couple's children began to worry.

After calling the cruise line, they were none the wiser, having been told that there was nothing wrong apart from the fact that they couldn't contact the cruise ship. It was now fear really set in, but the eldest son knew someone in the Foreign Ministry from their time together in the Air Force, and called to see if he could find out what was going on.

In the Foreign Ministry in Oslo, the friend happened to be fairly high up in the hierarchy in the Central American section, and happily agreed to help his old friend in need. After checking the latest intelligence the Foreign Ministry had from the Caribbean - it wasn't a whole lot - and checking with the military to see what they knew, he found the identity of the cruise ship. The Sky Wonder, belonging to the Mayan Tours as the flagship of a fleet of four luxury liners, had left Ciudad del Carmen in Campeche on the twenty-fourth, heading out on a seven-day cruise to Tortuga via Dominica, Grenada and, not surprisingly, Barbados.

The information he had gathered when searching the Foreign Ministry's records on the Sky Wonder also showed four hundred and three visa applications that had been routinely transmitted to the Layartebian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and passed, belonging to Cottish citizens believed to currently be aboard the Sky Wonder. With over four hundred citizens aboard a ship with a complement of 1,550, the percentage of Cottish citizens aboard numbered close to thirty-nine percent, and that made the sudden radio silence of the Sky Wonder and potential loss of four hundred citizens made this a Cottish matter as well.

Taking the information to his section leader, the beurocrat presented the findings and his motivation for looking it up. The section leader, an aging beurocrat close to retirement looked it over and frowned. He didn't like this situation at all. After a short discussion, it was decided to send a short inquiry to their Layartebian counterparts, asking for information as to the Sky Wonder and her current status. They also forwarded the information to the Caribbean Sector Command to see if they could do anything.

The information was sent via a 2048-bit encrypted datalink to an ORS-2 Milkomm communications satellite in geo-synchronous orbit over the North Atlantic Ocean, which immediately relayed the information to another satellite in geo-synchronous orbit over the Caribbean Sea, which directed the data down to the satellite dish park in a remote area of Castries Airbase, where the data was transmitted further down to the communications office four kilometers away via a buried fiberoptic cable, where the data was decrypted and ended on the desk of a junior intelligence officer, who had the ungrateful job of sifting through all the data Oslo sent and see if there was anything of use or interest to the sector commanders.

The officer sighed as the corporal placed the pile of prioritized paper on top of his already full desk, liting up a cigarette - a Lucky Strike - and inhaling the smoke as he glanced at the top sheet. It didn't say much apart from the red and white-striped band labeled "KONFIDENSIELT", meaning that the information inside was confidential, and the bold black letters saying that this had priority. That got his attention, so the officer flipped the page while smoking, reading quickly through the thirty pages of information, of which twelve were a list of names.

At the end of the twenty-seventh page, the officer stopped reading, instead just liting another cigarette and thinking. A cruise liner, missing. Sunk? Most likely not. They would have transmitted a distress call which the powerful sensors on the Cottish patrol ships or even the radio recievers here at Castries would have recieved, so that possibility was ruled out. Piracy? Unlikely, as the ship would have sent out a distress call in that event too, not to mention the healthy amount of Layartebian and Cottish warships in the Caribbean. Terrorism? That seemed one of the more likely possiblities, especially considering that the Sky Wonder was a Layartebian cruise liner and the Empire had been plauged with quite a bit of terrorism in the last two years. Sighing, the junior officer decided that yes, that was probably the most likely event, and with that, he started up the Acer desktop computer and started typing up a three-page intelligence estimate where he briefly described the information in the dispatch from Oslo, the possibilities, his argumentation for which was the most likely chain of events (terrorism), and his recommendations, before he e-mailed it to the chief intelligence officer in the Sector Command, a colonel in the Air Force, and lit up another cigarette before getting the corporal to archive the papers he had delivered an hour prior. With that done, the cigarette was also done, so he lit a new one - the cigarettes were the only thing keeping him alert enough to work in this boring job - before he started on the next boring papers.

The senior intelligence officer recieved the intelligence estimate twenty minutes later and contacted the head of the patrol division after he had read it, discussing the situation. It was decided to give the patrol ships already out there orders to start a search for the Sky Wonder inside and near Cottish territorial waters, while the P-14/A Poseidon ocean patrol aircraft were told to increase their vigilance and patrols. A team of special operations forces was also set on higher alert, just in case the terrorism scenario was correct and the ship ventured into Cottish waters.

An hour and a half later, the dispatch from the Patrol Division HQ in Castries was hand delivered to orlogskaptein Jens Dahlgren aboard the north-eastern most corvette, who signed off that he had delivered the message and looked at it with sleepy eyes. After he read the first sentence, the sleep had disappeared.

The Layartebian cruise liner 'Sky Wonder', belonging to Mayan Lines out of Yucatan is believed to have been hijacked by terrorists with 403 Cottish citizens aboard. This information has reliability level 2C. You are directed to increase readiness and increase patrol activity. If the 'Sky Wonder' is discovered near Cottish territorial waters, you are to intercept the vessel and escort her to a Cottish port of call. In such an event, you are to take the necessary precautions to ensure the safety of your vessel.

Dahlgren shook his head before reading the dispatch once more, still not quite believing it. There had been a lot of terrorism in Layarteb in the last few years, but they hadn't really hit the Cottish directly, had they? If the terrorists had decided to attack a ship with several hundred Cottish citizens aboard, that was a de facto declaration of war, wasn't it? And wasn't the Røyskatt class, small as it was, a warship? That meant that he had clearance to employ force against the terrorists, and that, he thought, might get him a command of a real warship somewhere a bit more exciting than the Caribbean, like perhaps the Sea of Ohthosk?

"Slå klart skip." [Sound action stations.] He finally said, taking the crew by surprise. The weekly battle drill wasn't supposed to happen for another two days!

"Slå klart skip sa jeg! Dette er ikke en øvelse!" [I said, sound action stations! This isn't a drill! ] Dahlgren said five seconds later when no one had reacted to the order with anything but shock and surprise. The crew had grown complacent with the routine, but with the growl from their commanding officer, the bridge crew jumped to action. A petty officer pressed the red button on the bulkhead behind the Captain's chair, starting the klaxons before grabbing the intercom microphone.

"Klart skip, klart skip. Gå til kondisjon én. Klart skip, klart skip. Gå til kondisjon én. Dette er ikke en øvelse. Jeg gjentar, klart skip, klart skip." [Action stations, action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. Action stations, action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. I repeat, action stations, action stations.]

On the aft helideck, a substantial number of sailors were lying on the deck, sunning themselves when the howling klaxons interrupted them. Looking at each other in surprise, when they heard the "no drill" bit, they all got up and ran like crazy to their action stations while trying to get their uniforms on correctly.

It took six minutes, an eternity in naval terms, but eventually the ship could report that all decks and sections were at action stations, with all stations manned, all weapons readied, and the ANDOSS Mk.I sensor suite fully powered up for the first time in a long time, sending out RADAR signals that the Inverse Syntehtic Aperture RADAR could identiy and plot.

The Cottish had six corvettes, nine Skjold patrol boats and five Loke class submarines out on dedicated territorial protection patrols at the moment, and the Layartebian intelligence gathering stations and forces, which undoubtedly included at least one electronic intelligence gathering aircraft, would detect that the six corvettes and nine patrol boats powered up their RADARs almost simultaniously, indicating that something was up. However, for now the Cottish stayed in either Cottish territorial waters, or in international waters.

In the meanwhile, the Foreign Ministry waited for a reply from the Layartebian Ministry of Foreign Affairs concerning their request.

Layarteb

23-06-2007, 03:52

May 26, 2007 - 19:00 [EST]
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Layarteb City

When the realization of the situation in the Caribbean Sea hit the desk of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, he couldn't have been in a worse place than he was. Dealing with the disaster unfolding in the Federal Republic of the Amazon, he now had a second problem to add to the mix. The Imperial Layartebian Military was preparing for war in the small republic. Amazonian military forces were unable to fight the Venezuelan rebels and thus far, in just a few days, they had lost every major battle they fought with the Venezuelan rebels. Both the Amazonians and the Venezuelans knew the Layartebians were coming if things continued; the Layartebians knew they were going. If the Amazonian government didn't allow full Layartebian assistance in dealing with the issue, the Layartebians would act on their own, unilaterally, and invade. An ultimatum would soon be needed. President Roberto Fraga was unwilling to cooperate but Vice-President Santoro was willing to cooperate and since Fraga had been removed from office, President Santoro had cooperated heavily. Unfortunately, he couldn't help in a way that he wanted. His army was losing the battle against the rebels. He still rebuffed requests by the Empire to step in fully and publically and introduce forces. This angered the Empire and the Emperor. They wanted the rebels dead, both sides but only the Layartebians had the capabilities to do that without losing. The Venezuelan rebels had to be eliminated and their cause destroyed or else they would rise up again and again and again. The rebels that managed to escape the war in 1988 were some of the seasoned leaders and veterans for the new war. Like the last one, they lost remarkably.

So when the news of the cruise ship hit the the Minister and news that Cottish citizens comprised some 403 of the population board, there was another, massive, international incident. As he reviewed the cable from the Cottish government he knew that they needed some sort of suppression of the incident. It couldn't become bigger than what it was. He picked up the phone to the Emperor's office. He knew what his response would be and he knew, without a sliver of a doubt, that regardless of the outcome, the situation was about to become even worse than what it was. "Sir. Yes. I just received a cable from the Cottish government. They have 403 citizens aboard the Sky Wonder sir. No. I understand. Completely. Understood sir. Yes. The official story. Thank you sir." He put down the phone and picked up a cigarette. He hadn't smoked since 1988 and now he lit one up and took a long, deep, lung-filling drag. The nicotine hit his blood like tsunami waters to a continent. His veins filled up with the powerful drug as his body took in the poison. Slowly, his entire nervous system began to calm down. He waited until he finished the cigarette before he picked up the phone and dialed the cable room. "Yes. I'd like to speak with Michael." He said as the operator answered. "Michael. Yes. I spoke with the Emperor. Yes. Transmit our official story."

"Yes sir." Within minutes a cable reply was being sent to the Cottish government over equally secure channels.

Encrypted Communique

Concerning the Sky Wonder cruise vessel,

The Empire is fully aware of the position of the Sky Wonder. Fortunately, we can provide good news. The vessel is currently experiencing difficulty with its engines and has been forced to stop for repairs. We are in communication with the captain and crew of this vessel and we have been reassured by Mayan Tours that repairs are underway and that the ship is in no real distress. We are carefully monitoring the situation.

As the communique was sent, a Layartebian destroyer took up a position not far from the cruise ship as more helicopters began to enter the area. Radar was tracking a Cottish Poseidon aircraft on its way to the position of the cruise ship, which was 24°19'48.39"N, 87°41'58.62"W, smack dab in international waters, only making it that much more difficult of a situation. A Layartebian Loke SS was in the area as well and it had moved into the position just a few nautical miles away and set itself up at periscope depth to observe the cruise ship. They were the closed vessel and also the hardest to detect, namely due to the fact that their periscope couldn't necessarily be seen by the terrorists. That put two warships within visual range of the cruise ship, the destroyer out at nine nautical miles. The Cottish Poseidon couldn't be altered from its course but it would be carefully monitored by the Indefatigable class destroyer.

Cotland

23-06-2007, 12:51

Foreign Ministry
Oslo, Norway

”Motortrøbbel? Hvis de virkelig har motortrøbbel, hvorfor plukker vi ikke opp noen radiosendinger fra dem? Det er et sivilt cruiseskip, ikke en fregatt.” [Engine trouble? If they’re really experiencing engine trouble, why aren’t we picking up any radio transmissions from them? It’s a civilian cruise ship, not a frigate.]

The senior beurocrat at the Central American section was a little annoyed with the Layartebian response to their inquiries. He knew the Empire well, and he had recieved the same intelligence estimate from Saint Lucia that the military commanders there had recieved. If it was true, then the Layartebians were trying to do some damage control, which was an understandable course of action. Still, it had some risks. If they tried a rescue operation and failed, hostages could be killed, and that was a fact that couldn’t be concealed. It would cause some public outcry in the Realm, and the effects of that was still being calculated by the Intelligence section of the Ministry. The Foreign Ministry maintained its own small intelligence section, which was to provide information and background to the Foreign Ministry’s dossiers on everything from the country to the preferences of the leadership of said country, and the effects a country’s action might have on the Realm.

The beurocrat took a sip from his coffee and looked at the man he was talking to.

”Hva har våre venner i uniform gjort som følge av informasjonen vår?” [What have our friends in uniform done as a result of our information?]

”Vel, de har naturlig nok gått til høyere beredskap, og de har sendt ut et par fly for å kikke etter skipet.” [Well, they’ve naturally enough gone to a higher state of alert, and they’ve sent out a couple of planes to search for the ship.]

”Selvsagt. Det er Forsvarets måte å handtere alt mulig på. Gå til høyere beredskap. Typisk.” [Of course. That’s the Military’s way of handling everything. Go to a higher alert status. Typical.]

The senior beurocrat was a career diplomat who had skipped his military service as a consentious objector and spent twenty-four months helping the elderly citizens instead of serving eighteen months in the military, something he was quite happy with as he didn’t really like the military, or the current administration for that matter.

”Forsvaret har sin måte å handtere ting på, liksom vi har vår måte å handtere ting på. Det er en grunn til at diplomatiet og Forsvaret ikke har samme ansvarsområde.” The Military has their way of handling things, just like we have our way of handling things. There’s a reason why the diplomacy and the Military don’t have the exact same area of responsibility.]

The junior of the two replied, trying to calm the mood of the senior beurocrat. It worked, somewhat.

”Okay. Hvilke fly har de sendt opp da? Jagerfly? Bombefly? Hva finner vel de?!” [Okay. What planes have they sent up then. Fighters? Bombers? What can they find?!]

”Nei, etter det jeg hørte har Luftforsvaret sendt opp et fly de kaller Poseidon. Det er visstnok et patruljefly dedikert til å lete etter skip og ubåter. Jeg aner ikke om de har funnet noe enda.” [No, from what I’ve heard the Air Force’s sent up a plane they call the Poseidon. It’s supposed to be a patrol plane dedicated to search for ships and submarines. I have no idea if they’ve found anything yet.]

The senior beurocrat just looked at the junior, shaking his head slowly at the military.

RCAF P-14/A Poseidon, callsign Måke 21
Approaching the Sky Wonder’s position

The Poseidon was an impressive aircraft, brand new into the service where it had replaced the old P-34 Super Orion, which had been retired early after it was determined that the Super Orion was less than up to the task of finding modern submarines, let alone kill them. So, the RCAF had held a design contest, where the winning design, from Yakutia Aerospace, Ltd in Yakrutsk in Sakha, had replaced the Super Orion. The Poseidon was a vast improvement over the Super Orion, designed to hold a very sophisticated system for the detection of even the most silent diesel-electric submarines, and equipped with a vast arsenal for the destruction of said submarines or ships in the vicinity. It also had a great range, being able to patrol out to some three thousand seven hundred kilometres away from the home base. All this was the reason why the Royal Cottish Air Force had chosen this $80 million piece of hardware.

”Jeg har en overflatekontakt, peiling null to tre. Ut fra utstrålingen og radarkontakten vil jeg si at vi ser på en jager i Indefatigable-klassen.”

”Har vi noen her ute?” [Do we have anyone out here?]

”Negativt. Den er Layartebiansk.” [Negative. It’s Layartebian.]

”Okay, greit. Vi er i internasjonalt farvann og de er allierte, men hold et øye med dem allikevel. Ser du noe til cruiseskipet?” [Okay, fine. We’re in international waters and they’re our allies, but keep an eye on them nevertheless.]

”Vent litt… ja, jeg har henne visuelt!” [Stand by… yes, I have her in visual range!]

”Mottatt, gi meg en vektor.” [Roger, give me a vector.]

”Null to fem, femten kilometer fra jageren.” [Zero-two-five, fifteen kilometers from the destroyer.]

The Poseidon turned towards the Sky Wonder, ignoring the destroyer for the moment as it descended to a mere three hundred meters, or a little under a thousand feet, and headed towards the Sky Wonder at 640 kilometers per hour. The Poseidon was lightly armed, being equipped with only a pair of Mark 50 Barracuda lightweight anti-submarine torpedoes and a pair of AGM.5/A AMESM anti-shipping missiles inside her internal ordinance bay, which could hold up to eight weapons. They didn’t have any plans to release weapons though, as this was a reconnaissance mission.

The Poseidon streaked towards the Sky Wonder, and it would pass it with a clearance of some seven hundred meters, taking pictures and filming the ship as they passed. It was strange though. There were no one on deck, and the ship was dead in the water. If the ship was without engine power like the Layartebians claimed, the standard procedures for the cruise line would be to have the passengers on the deck wearing life jackets, ready to embark the lifeboats at any moment in case that they had to evacuate the ship. Something was definitely wrong with the situation. Attempts to contact the ship didn’t work either, increasing the Cottish suspicions.

After the first pass, the pilots manipulated the controls to take a second pass, this time a little closer, at a mere two hundred meters from the ship and one hundred meters above the sea, taking it well into visual range, getting good photos, but not much else. Frowning, the aircraft commander decided they had seen enough and increased speed as he climbed and flew away from the Sky Wonder as he contacted the home base at Saint Lucia over an encrypted channel, informing them of the situation and requesting instructions. Those instructions were to remain in the vicinity but not to intervene with the Layartebian efforts. The aircraft commander confirmed the orders, then climbed to a safe three thousand meters and started circling at a safe distance of some twenty kilometres. The Poseidon was a multimission aircraft, designed primarily for ocean reconnaissance but also with visual intelligence gathering, ELINT gathering, limited SIGINT gathering and electronic warfare capabilities in mind, and was therefore equipped with powerful lenses for the digital cameras that were part of the mission package. So, even at the great distance, the Poseidon could keep an eye on the Sky Wonder while remaining out of the Sky Wonder’s detection range. The aircraft commander also contacted the Indefatigable for the first time, informing the vessel of their intentions and then cutting the channel. They had another four and a half hours of time available before they had to return to base to refuel and recrew.

Caribbean Sector Command
Vieux Fort, Saint Lucia

In the command center for the Cottish forces in the Caribbean, the data from the Poseidon were streamed down live via the datalink system and analyzed by the intelligence officers, but it didn’t take a trained intelligence analyst to tell that the situation wasn’t like the Layartebians had claimed. Frowning, the admiral in charge relayed the information to Oslo and received instructions to inform the Layartebians through military channels and offer Cottish support. The whole situation was to remain classified for the time being with everyone involved under an oath of silence, and that included the beurocrats in the Foreign Ministry, of which some had chatted a little bit too much with journalists on several occations. It would hopefully not happen this time, as the punishments for revealing classified information in the Realm was quite harsh.

A message was quickly drafted and dispatched to the Layartebian Caribbean Sector Command at Grenada, using a rarely used TOA crypter that was sure to raise some eyebrows over there.

[TOA-Crypter 23-Alpha]
[Negotiating with host…]
[Negotiation Successful!]
[Downloading message…]
[Download Complete!]
[Decrypting message...]
[Opening message…]

CLASSIFIED!
SECTOR COMMANDER’S EYES ONLY

Sir,

The Realm is aware of the situation concerning the Sky Wonder, and is concerned with the situation. Due to the number of Cottish citizens aboard, the Realm is prepared to offer any means necessary to ensure the successful end of the situation and the safe release of all hostages.

Due to the nature of the situation and for the safety of the hostages, any information pertaining to the situation is considered by the Realm to be classified on a need-to-know basis, and shall not be revealed to anyone apart from those already involved on Cottish side.

We’d appreciate to be apprised of the situation as it evolves.

-[i]Admiral Freiland
C-in-C, Cottish Forces Caribbean

[End Message]

Layarteb

23-06-2007, 20:56

May 26, 2007 - 19:30 [EST]
Gulf of Mexico, 24°19'48.39"N, 87°41'58.62"W

The Poseidon overflew both the destroyer and the cruise low enough to echo loudly throughout the cabins of both vessels. Inside the destroyer, those in CIC made sure to carefully watch its course and the course of every other aircraft in the area, for over 800 nautical miles, especially when they linked into the central air defense network of the Layartebian Military. The Poseidon was just another aircraft cluttering up their screens and they were careful to keep it only on their watch screens. The Indefatigable had launched its MQ-8C Fire Scout reconnaissance drone already and it was flying at an altitude of 5,000 feet, circling over the cruise ship, keeping a careful eye on everything below using its sensors. The drone was small and light and because of this it was easily hidden in the sky above the cruise ship. When the Poseidon flew over, it completely masked the Fire Scout drone.

Inside the bridge, the Ghost Warriors were more than annoyed with the presence of the destroyer but they weren't going to break radio silence just yet. At the same time, they kept carefully to themselves. The team that had deployed the chemical agents had already moved to the vault of the ship and were cleaning it out, all of its jewelry and all of its money. They had used the ducts to move throughout the ship, carefully keeping on gas masks due to the lingering intoxicants. People were completely incapacitated and those who managed to overcome unconsciousness saw hallucinations scary enough that many of them had wet themselves. It was a pathetic sight but they knew they had done their job highly effectively. When the Poseidon flew overhead, the team in the bridge knew that something was wrong. They couldn't get a visual on the aircraft due to its location and their limited field of view but they knew it was low, loud, and big. "What the hell are they doing?" The commander asked. "Can't they get reconnaissance from satellites."

"I'm not sure sir. We can't actually see the aircraft."

"Use the security system. Maybe we can get a glimpse of it. It's probably heading north right now."

"Got it. Here it is. It's big. Looks more like a jetliner than anything else."

"A jetliner?"

"Yes sir. Take a look. From the airframe I'd say maybe a Boeing 737. It's definitely an anti-submarine aircraft. They function on reconnaissance too. My brother operates a station aboard one of our own P-7s. It is similiar. The Cottish are here."

"The Cottish?"

"Yes sir. They operate that aircraft." The technician was a wealth of military aircraft knowledge. Except for him, every male in his family had either served in the Layartebian Air Force or been enamored with it. He happened to be the latter and because he knew the ILAF so well, he knew other air forces equally as well. He could have been an intelligence expert for the government but he chose the path of a revolutionary instead. "It carries torpedoes and missiles."

"Good enough for us. They won't engage an unarmed, civilian cruise ship. Why are they here?"

"Beats me."

"Check the manifest. Now!" The command yelled as he realized that the cruise ship was stopping in Cottish controlled territory. "How many Cottish citizens do we have aboard?"

"Looking now," the radioman said as he checked the list. "Four hundred and three."

"Four hundred and three! We're in deep shit."

"You're telling me."

"Alright. Let's get on with this. They won't engage us and the government is probably suppressing the living shit out of this situation. We're going to have to roll with this for now. We're going to be boarded eventually so let's hurry the hell up."

"Yes sir."

Hundreds of miles away, in Grenada, a communique fell over the TOA-secure line, which meant that something was up and someone knew. The sector commander viewed the cable with some distress but immediately deferred it upwards, to the Joint Chiefs, where it would eventually get to the Emperor. It would take a few hours before the reply came due to its travelling but the reply, when it came, would reiterate what they had already said.

[TOA-Crypter 23-Alpha]
[Negotiating with host…]
[Negotiation Successful!]
[Downloading message…]
[Download Complete!]
[Decrypting message...]
[Opening message…]

CLASSIFIED!
FOREIGN MINISTER'S EYES ONLY

Sir,

The Empire wishes to abate the fears expressed by Admiral Freiland. We have no indication that terrorists have taken over the Sky Wonder and, at the same time, we have no indication that the ship is in serious distress except engine troubles, which are being repaired as we speak. The situation remains the same but it is not critical. However, to protect the damaged ship we have a destroyer within visual range and numerous coast guard vessels on their way. Should an evacuation be deemed necessary, it will be conducted by members of the Layartebian Coast Guard, of which we have several on board the Sky Wonder already. All Cottish citizens will be given passage from their eventual destination to Saint Lucia and we have been assured by the directors of the cruise line that vouchers will be given to offset any inconvience, regardless of the outcome of this situation. We thank you for your concern and should we need your assistance we will not hesitate to ask.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs

[End Message]

The cable was sent shortly after 21:00 hours, when the Minister of Foreign Affairs received it on his own desk. Night had fallen and the cruise ship was eeriely silent. Inside of its hull, the terrorists took turns watching and sleeping. They kept themselves confined to the vault and the bridge and made sure to keep a close eye on the security systems of the vessel. The LDC had finally given up the jamming frequencies and the information was being brought straight to the destroyer via helicopter. It was too important to be put over the airwaves. It would be flown to the Yucatán and then flown to the destroyer via helicopter. The man bringing it was one of the high-level security directors of the LDC and he had an armed escort with him. At the same time he was armed himself and the briefcase he carried was not only handcuffed to his wrist but also bullet-proof for anything under .338 Lapua.

Saint Lazare

26-06-2007, 22:06

Police Station on outskirts of Cleveland
26 May 2007
1930

Neubergen had since charged Romano with the crimes committed in the Bronx earlier, but even as he only testimony was a phone call that was apparently untraceable [the call was placed from inside an apartment that was owned by another family, who received an unpleasant wake-up call last night], he felt even more compelled to believe that Romano was connected to the Bronx arson and murders. He decided to send an inquiry to the Layarteb authorities about the two dead men and their possible connection to Cuba. Strangely, about one year back, Cuba was rocked hard in the War on Drugs, with an arson at the port of Havana, and Santiago even faced some fires from the nearby jungles. What exactly was going on?

Romano was silent in his jail cell, as he made no apparent plea to ask for a lawyer or even a date in court; that certainly made it easier for Neubergen to sort out the facts and land a solid case on Romano, whatever the final charge would actually become.

Meanwhile, Sparetti was wondering what was taking the Layarteb authorities to figure out who the men in black suits were, and what they were doing. He was tried to being stuck in his jail cell, and assuming the name "Romano" made it even more uncomfortable. At least he was given the pleasure of not being interrogated at the moment. Nonetheless, he knew that he was being watched constantly and kept in a wall of secrets, hoping that these police officers would find the information for him and then sort out the rest. Unfortunately, that would mean that he would either have to escape or to find a way through the loops.

Layarteb

27-06-2007, 04:00

May 27, 2007 - 12:00 [EST]
Layarteb City, New York

The voting poles had been open for six hours in the Eastern Time Zone and would be open for another eight. Voter turnout was high and expected to be in excess of 85%, which was impressive for a country with no democracy on the federal level. On the local levels, where citizens voted for mayors, city council men and women, and other assorted administrators, voter turnout rates never went below 85%. People took pride in their absolute freedom of voting on the local level. The federal level was different. It managed too many people to be corrupted by inefficient democracy. It was and had to be an authoritarian system but on issues so small as this it was a good idea to allow the people of the Empire a chance and a say. The former president had wronged them and it should be their opinion on his fate.

In the Caribbean Sea, the Sky Wonder was still in its same spot. Little had changed on board and thus far the actual assault had been almost entirely ruled out despite the insistance to resolve the situation. The Ghost Warriors had cleaned out the vault entirely and were preparing for their egress from the vessel. They moved all of the jewels and the money to an area on the rear of the vessel that was a wet dock. They could swim out, through the bottom of the ship with scuba gear and escape the ship without being seen. That was how all of them would be getting out and that was how they would avoid capture. The eight on the bridge would meet up with them there just before their egress in the early morning of May 29, Monday. They would be leaving at 07:20 hours on May 29, which was under two days away now. The world was slowly taking a swan dive and the Empire was at the center of it. The Federal Republic of the Amazon and the Empire were about to go to war over the Venezuelan issue. The state of Venezuela was beginning to pick up the pieces of that disaster and the dead were being accounted for, all of them. The Sky Wonder was held hostage and terrorism within the Empire, since the end of 2005, had killed almost 700,000 people.

Things weren't over yet either. As summer approached so did a new dawn for the Empire and an inevitable fate.

Layarteb

28-06-2007, 03:11

May 27, 2007 - 23:00 [EST]
Layarteb City, New York

The Emperor sat in his office with the referendum results in front of him. He was prepared to make a speech to the Layartebian people concerning the results of the referendum and its implications. Despite the late hour, most of the populace stayed up, if they could brave the weariness. Those who couldn't would simply catch it the next morning, before they went to work. Every news station would carry the speech and commentary about it for at least a week, it was that important of a topic. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, I appreciate all of you who have stayed awake on a Sunday night for this speech. I am coming to you to announce the results of our referendum and to announce my course of action. As expected, there was a high turnout of voters, which I am grateful and pleased to say was in excess of 92%. Those of you who were unable to did not vote, I hope that you had good reasons for missing this one." He smiled conveying that he wasn't too serious. "The issue was whether or not to allow former president, Thomas Deveroe of the Republic, to be buried on Layartebian soil. Since the defeat of the Republic he and most of the republican government was exiled to various parts of the world, chiefly the Realm of Cotland. A referendum decided whether or not to exile Mr. Deveroe or execute him. Once again, the people have decided.

"The result is clear and an overwhelming 87.63% of you wish to have the former president buried on Layartebian soil and he shall.

"I choose to do a referendum simply because of you, the people of the Empire. Your opinion decided his fate so it should be your opinion that decides his resting place. I have already contacted the Cottish government and we are making plans to return the body to Layarteb for burial. There shall be no disgrace to the dead.

"Mr. Deveroe did disgrace the Layartebian people and touted a failing and collapsing Republic. He presides over its fall and he was one of the primary problems but not the only problem. He was not the sole reason that the Republic fell. Neither is he to be its hero. His leadership was fickle and unfortunately ineffective. The Republic fell, rightfully, to a stronger, safer, and much more unified country than on the face of this Earth.

"I am proud to be its leader and I am proud to welcome Mr. Deveroe back to our soil for burial.

"Thank you. And good night." The cameras and microphones switched off and the Emperor stood up, removing the wireless microphone from his suit jacket. "Well. That went well. Surprising?" He asked his press secretary, who happened to be in the office. "Do you think?"

"Yes sir. Exit polling shows an increase in your support by at least twelve points. Sir this was what we needed."

"Excellent. Excellent. Let's hope the taste of democracy doesn't create a hunger."

"It shouldn't sir. It isn't as if we banished democracy from the land."

"Indeed. Well. Let's convene again tomorrow morning to discuss what the pundits and commentators and bloggists have said."

"Bloggists?"

"They aren't necessarily legitimate journalists or sources but sometimes they spark some interesting reading."

"Yes sir. I'm on top of that."

"Good. Good night." The Emperor watched out the window as the lights of Layarteb City lit up the night. He moved onto the balcony and felt the warmth that the late spring still offered. "So. What did you think?" He turned and asked a few moments after being on the balcony alone. Foot steps echoed from his office on the stone floor and he smiled when he saw her face. It was the face of his long-time significant other, Rachel Wilson. She was back from a research project in the Irish countryside and decided to stop in to pay the Emperor a visit.

"Sounded good. Implications?" They talked through the night...

Cotland

28-06-2007, 12:34

Kannur, Kerala, Cottish India
May 28, 2007 – 10.30 AM [IST]

Thanks to the time zones of the world, it was already May 28 while it was still May 27 in Layarteb when the small motorcade of two police cars, a black Mercedes S550 with the family of the former President, and the black hearse containing the earthly remains of President Deveroe left the hospital in the morning, heading for the airport where a Cottish Government-owned Gulfstream V was waiting to transport the dead President back to Layarteb City, from where the family and the Layartebian government would take over the procedings. A lot of journalists and Layartebian expatriots who had followed their President into exile were lined up outside the hospital to film the motorcade moving through the narrow streets of Kannur, heading for the airport. Several Layartebian newscrews were present at the hospital and at the airport, sending the images live to Layarteb, letting the people at home take part in the last journey of Thomas Deveroe.

After a twenty-minute drive, the motorcade rolled past the gates at the airport and past the journalists and over to the waiting Gulfstream, where the Air Force crew were waiting. The scene was visible from through the chain-link fence, and many cameracrews filmed the proceedings of the small honor guard of Air Force personnel transfering the flag-draped casket from the hearse and into the cargo compartment in the Gulfstream, rendering the the honors that was deemed appropriate to a former head of state of a friendly nation-state, regardless of how miserably said head of state had preformed his job. The transfer of the casket was observed and controlled by the Gulfstream crew chief, who secured the wooden casket after it had been placed inside the cargo compartment, making it safe for travel.

The transfer ceremony and securing the casket took no more than ten minutes, after which the Interior Ministry official who had been the liason between the Deveroe family and the Cottish government wished the family well, offered once again the condolences of the Realm, and then took his leave, leaving the family and dead President to the capable hands of the RCAF Major that was the pilot commanding the Gulfstream.

Twenty minutes later, the Gulfstream was wheels up, climbing to thirteen thousand meters and setting a course for Layarteb City, roughly 13,400 kilometers away. It was a long distance, a tad too long for the Gulfstream to make it in one go, but this wasn’t an ordinary Gulfstream but rather a military one, which meant that it was equipped with air to air refuelling capabilities. For that purpose, the Gulfstream would meet up with a Royal Cottish Navy KC-30/F Trofast tanker aircraft over the Atlantic Ocean, filling up its tanks for the final leg to Layarteb City. It would be a long fifteen hour flight, but the Gulfstream was equipped with comfortable leather seats worthy of being fitted to a First Class cabin in a civilian airliner, there were refreshments and a fancy flight dinner available for the seven passengers that were the immediate family, and a few good and brand new Hollywood movies originally meant to be played for the soldiers – the Cottish Government had a deal with the movie industry to get the movies early, so they could show them to the troops to bolster morale – would be played for those who were interested in watching them. Most of the passengers decided to try to sleep a little or spend the time chatting. Well, except when the Gulfstream and the tanker was going to preform the highly unnatural act of mating two aircraft in mid-air to transfering fuel about twelve hours after wheels up.

Gulf of Mexico, 24°19'48.39"N, 87°41'58.62"W
May 27, 2007 – 03:30 AM [EST]

The Cottish had recieved the word from the Layartebians and decided not to press the issue, having confidence enough in the Layartebians not messing around, but they still wanted to maintain a presence there. However, using a Poseidon was just a little overkill when it came to this, as some bright operations officer had decided that the visible presence of an aircraft could jeapordize the lives of the hostages. So, when the Poseidon had to leave its station, it wasn’t replaced by another Poseidon but rather a Q-37/A Mariner unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV), which was pretty much invisible to the naked eye thanks to the high altitude in which it operated, its low-observability paintjob, minimal RCS, and some other high-tech, highly secret gadgets it was fitted with. In other words, it was perfect for the task!

The Mariner had a long loiter-time, powerful, high-resolution true-color cameras, thermal and infrared imaging spectrums, and a fuel-efficient engine that allowed it to remain on station for up to fifteen hours before it had to return to base for refuelling and maintenance. One of these UAVs was loitering in a circular holding-pattern over the Sky Wonder at an altitude of 12,800 meters, silently observing. The Mariner had the ability to hold up to two light missiles or bombs, but none were fitted to the Mariner this time. Its mission was to watch and to watch only…

Layarteb

05-07-2007, 04:19

OOC Summary

Chapter One: Faint & Numb

October 10: A massive truck bomb in the order of 2,000 pounds goes off outside a newspaper office of the LNN in the early morning hours. 7 dead.
October 11: Missile Base 1511 undergoes treasonous insurrection. Further reports unknown.
October 14: ILN Hunter SSN ordered to take up position off Layarteb coast. Further orders not given.
October 15: Force Falcon Team One ordered to re-establish contact with Missile Base 1511. Boeing 777 crashes north of Athens, Tennessee. All 89 on board are killed. Investigation pending.

Chapter Two: Frantic

October 16: Force Falcon Team One leads a strike on Missile Base 1511. During the course of the retaking, a single LGM-174A Satan is launched at Layarteb City with the intention of hitting it. Luckily, MIM-196 AABMS missiles intercept the ICBM before it could hit.

Chapter Three: Estranged

October 18: Force Falcon Team One lands in Santa Cruz, Bolivia for the assassination of the President of GnOoLoCoPeLep.
October 20: GnOoLoCoPeLepian President assassinated early in the morning.
October 22: Failed attempt by terrorist group to bomb Layartebian airbase in Sunbury, PA.

Chapter Four: Overburdened

October 23: Central Justice Agency begins Anti-Domestic Terrorist Force under the command of Bureau Chief Benjamin O'Davis. Identifies Republican Liberation Army as terrorist group responsible for bombings of Layarteb City and airliner over Tennessee.
October 25: RLA blows up a Boeing 707 and an Airbus A300 from Layarteb Airways over Cove Neck, New York and Belle Harbor, Queens, Layarteb City.
October 26: Emperor makes speech condemning the RLA. Raid on Layarteb City apartment nets 17 RLA terrorists and kills 3. Documents recovered tell of a plot for subway bombings.
October 28: News media is leaked the presence of the Mayan uprising in the Yucatán state.
October 30: Six security guards shot and killed execution style inside the Layarteb City office for Layarteb Publishers
United.
October 31: Secret societies meet to discuss revolutionary plan.
November 2: Two firefighters die in a suspicious blaze in a New Jersey factory.

Chapter Five: Rosenrot

November 5: 84 RLA terrorists seize St. Paul's Boarding School in New Hampshire and take 1,184 hostages, most of them under 18. In the fighting, they lose 2 of their own and kill 20, mostly school officials and guards. Terrorists round up hostages in the main dining hall as parents, soldiers, and police officers, including SWAT, surround the school. By 1300, a standoff ensues. At 1430, three children are executed by the RLA terrorists after a SWAT sniper shoots one of the terrorists. The SWAT sniper dies mysteriously. At 1530, Rome and Norway denounce the seizure.
November 6: Under the threat of a severe winter storm, small group of soldiers enter school and hide in admissions office. Families begin to grow wrestless and plot their own action. Explosions go off in dining hall and a chaotic attack is done leaving 75 terrorists, 152 children, and 38 soldiers dead. Many are wounded. Seven terrorists are captured, including the leader.
November 7: Emperor delcares national day of mourning for November 6.

Chapter Six: Precious

December 1: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island become part of the Empire. Only Quebec remains.
December 9: Quebecois Special Forces use VX gas against Jay, Vermont, killing 384 of 426 people.
December 10: Quebecois invade Ontario during the early morning. Jay Incident becomes public knowledge and Quebecois SOF and RLA terrorists blamed. Quebecois forces make quick and powerful headway throughout the course of the morning, seizing North Bay. RLA base compound in Clinton discovered for its true purpose.
December 11: Roman forces land to help the Ontarians. Quebecois clash with Roman/Ontarian forces in Alliston.
December 12: RLA forces seize 12 MGM-212 CBRR rockets on an assault at the El Jobal Chemical Weapons Depot, in Venezuela. 60 base personnel and 18 terrorists are killed. The rockets are currently "missing."
December 13: Roman forces repel the Quebecoi offensive, pushing them out of Ontario and towards Quebec. RLA group captured in Alliston, where Quebecoi forces devestated and forced back.

Chapter Seven: Colorblind

December 15: Layartebian forces begin aerial attack on Quebec at 0200 local time.
December 25: Ground war against Quebec begins at 0230 local time.
December 30: Boisclair captured by Roman forces.
January 1, 2006: Quebec War over. Montreal secure.

Chapter Eight: Gone Away

January 21: Battle of Clinton begins. Layartebian forces attack RLA compound north of Clinton, Alabama. The battle begins at exactly 10:02, local time. 8 soldiers die initially. Full assault begins at 23:00. Assault ends at 23:40 with 52 soldiers dead and 82 wounded.
January 22: Battle of Clinton continues. Stalemate ensues with a twenty-four hour ceasefire at 07:15.
January 23: Battle of Clinton ends. RLA compound burned from the inside out, RLA leadership and fighters dead from suicide or gunshots. 427 die.

Chapter Nine: Greed & Serenity

June 1: Former Minister of Intelligence dies inside of Nova Prospekt prison, Galapagos Islands.

Chapter Ten: Bleed the Freak

June 15: Soldiers begin leaving the island of Grenada for 6-day liberty.
June 16: Rebellion forces attack Grenada at 03:00 hours. At 05:29 hours, rebel forces shoot down Flight 2993 to Miami, Florida with 226 people onboard; none survive. By 20:00 hours, rebel forces have secured 100% of the island and suffered 3,049 losses. Layartebian casualties number 7,775 and 4,518 are captured. In the fighting, 839 civilians are killed in addition to Flight 2993.

Chapter Eleven: Goodbye For Now

June 16: Dr. Gordon Gray of the University of Layarteb at Layarteb City is murdered by an unknown gunman.
June 17: United Eastasian Republic publically officially recognizes the Republic of Grenada and offers supplies, funding, and aide.
June 18: At 08:30 hours, the Emperor gives worldwide speech about Grenada and condemns UER for recognizing the Democratic Republic of Grenada.
June 19: Imperial Layartebian Navy blockades island of Grenada.
June 22: UER aide flight given clearance to land in Grenada. UER aide flight evacuates UER diplomatic contingent from Grenada. ILN RA-5E Vigilante conducts low-level reconnaissance.
June 23: Christopher Allen Florence is arrested outside of Charleston, WV and questioned and held in connection to the murder of Dr. Gray.

Chapter Twelve: Fall to Pieces

July 3: Supreme Grenadian of the DPRG secretly requests international aide to be delivered during a week long "negotiation" with the Empire, during which they hope the blockade will be lifted.
July 4: MSgt. Brendan Williams and his family are murdered, possibly by drifters, in their Tennessee home. MSgt. Williams was due for a media interview regarding the shoot down of LA Flight 88 at 19:00 hours.
July 6: Secret safe house in Panama is attacked by Force Falcon Team One early in the morning, just after midnight. RLA high council, survivors of the Battle of Clinton, are all killed. The total death toll is 42 in the safe house and 28 in the vehicle convoy. The Emperor agrees that the blockade shall be lifted on July 16, 2006 at 00:00 EST and reinstated on July 22, 2006 at 23:59 EST, if no progress is made during negotiations.

Chapter Thirteen: Bleeding Me

July 11: Shoot out at Dockhouse 14 in Caracas shipyard leaves 13 dead. A mysterious cargo is stolen and the identity of all men, except two, is unconfirmed. Those two are linked with Esmeralda Cartel.
July 13: Giacomo Benevetti is murdered by shooting and burning outside his office in Caracas, Venezuela. Suspects unknown though murder is linked with Dr. Gordon Gray. Suspect sought out is believed to be the same person for both.
July 14: Esmeralda Cartel yacht sunk in the Gulf of Paria by ILN vessel. Eight men aboard killed. Two men founded murdered, execution sytle in Güiria. Both are linked to the Esmeralda Cartel.
July 21: Layartebian delegation to Grenada is assassinated in their hotel in St. George's, totalling 29 individuals. Blockade resumes and the DPRG is given 24 hours from 11:00 hrs [EST] to surrender the island back to Layarteb City.
July 22: Deadline passes. Hostilities officially begin against DPRG at 13:00 hrs [EST].

Chapter Fourteen: Stillborn

July 22: Deadline passes. Hostilities officially begin against DPRG at 13:00 hrs [EST]. First eleven hours of fighting sees 1,600 Grenadian, 22 Layartebian, and 65 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 21,239 at the start of the war.
July 23: At 00:15 hrs [EST], Victoria is secured. Mount Saint Catherine is secured at 03:00 hrs [EST]. Panorama and Trevellan are secured at 09:00 hrs [EST]. First thirty-five hours of fighting sees 3,839 Grenadian, 312 Layartebian, and 300 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 17,315 at the end of July 23. There are a total of 85 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 24: At 01:20 hrs [EST], Grenville is secured. At 03:00 hrs [EST], Saint Patrick's parish & Saint Andrew's parish secured. At 06:20 hrs [EST], the airport is secured. At 08:30 hrs [EST] assault on St. George's begins with aircraft and cruise missiles. At 11:15 hrs [EST] Gouyave is secured but massacre of civilians is found with 2,450 civilians executed throughout the town by Grenadian soldiers. First fifty-nine hours of fighting sees 7,293 Grenadian, 815 Layartebian, and 2,828 civilian casualties. Grenadian soldiers number 13,734 at the end of July 24. There are a total of 212 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 25: At 02:00 hrs [EST], all of Grenada is considered secured except for St. George's. At 05:00 hrs [EST], invasion of St. George's by Marines begins. At 21:25 hrs [EST], the captured Layartebian soldiers from June 16 are recovered. Of the 4,518 that were initially captured, only 3,758 remained alive. In the first eighty-three hours of fighting, 9,549 Grenadian, 1,787 Layartebian, and 3,201 civilain casualties are registered. Grenadian soldiers number 11,430 at the end of July 25. There are a total of 260 Grenadian soldiers captured.
July 26: At 10:29:38 hrs [EST], a 5 kiloton nuclear device is detonated in downtown St. George's. The device is of unknown origin and at least 30,000 civilians and 8,500 Grenadian military personnel as well as 6,100 Marines are persent in the city when the device goes off. Possible casualties are expected to exceed 40,000. At 12:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor addresses the world about the events in Grenada. Estimates for casualties are narrowed between 20,000 and 30,000.

Chapter Fifteen: Cowboys From Hell

July 26: At 11:30 hrs [EST], martial law is declared on Grenada and an immediate "in-house" curfew is imposed. At 14:15 hrs [EST], analysis shows that radiation is rapidly spreading towards Cottish Barbados, to the northeast, and that the device used was an enhanced radiation device. At 15:01 hrs [EST], the first fire fighting chemicals fall over Saint George's. At 17:00 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as a W80-0 of a Tomahawk SLCM. At 18:20 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as a Teh Ninjan weapon. At 21:18 hrs [EST], a fire storm hits the city and ravages the inner circle of the city, around the blast zone.
July 27: At 09:30 hrs [EST], the bomb is identified as being built within the Empire of Teh Ninjas in Cuba and shipped to Madagascar for basing on a 688/I class submarine. At 11:00 hrs [EST], the fires within the city are considered "under control." Recovery efforts continue within the city.
July 28: At 04:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor meets with President Baruti of the United States of Brink about the bombing. At 04:30 hrs [EST], two vehicles are identified on a highway heading north from Georgia and engaged by 2nd BOG forces. Two men are captured. Six are killed and their vehicle destroyed. Witnesses had little to say about the event.
July 29: At 06:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor's aircraft and flight are engaged by twelve F-22B Raptors going rogue from the ILAF. All twelve rogue aircraft are shot down along with four F-22B Raptors and one F-14E Super Tomcat escorting the Emperor's aircraft. At 21:00 hrs [EST], the Emperor returns to Layarteb City. The engagement of his aircraft is kept "hush-hush."
August 9: At 12:00 hrs [EST], the final casualty figures are released to include 37,221 as a result of both the blast and the radiation poisoning that followed. On Barbados, 400 Cottish individuals died.

Chapter Sixteen: Sehnsucht

November 23: Layarteb Airlines Flight 1890 explodes in mid-air, at 19:30 hrs [EST], 8 miles south of East Moriches, Long Island. The cause of the disaster is yet unknown but all 526 onboard are presumed dead.
November 24: Jasmine Delgado, the daughter of the Governor of the Province of Raef, is kidnapped at a market in Havana at 15:05 hrs [EST] by Luis Rendon and Javier Montenegra of the Florida Cartel. They soon meet up with Hector Pimentel, also of the Florida Cartel. Their house and car are burned and their whereabouts are unknown.
December 1: At 10:27 hrs [EST], the chief of police for the Province of Raef is asssassinated when his helicopter is shot down trying to land on the roof of the Panama City police headquarters. Six men in the helicopter and three bystanders on the street are killed.
December 11: Mysterious explosion around 22:39 hrs [EST] kills lead witness in Jasmine Delgado kidnapping and destroys two adjacent homes. Ten others are killed.
December 23: Official investigation on LA Flight 1890 concludes citing that mechanical failure brought down the aircraft due to faulty wiring in the center fuel tank, which ignited fuel vapors and caused the explosion. All 526 lives were lost, making it the dealiest, civilian air disaster in EOL history.

Chapter Seventeen: Ugly & Damned

December 27: The Empire begins a secret war against Faysal Abd-Al-Malik Behnam, a major warlord in Afghanistan and drug dealer who is directly linked with Layartebian cartels.
February 2, 2007: Layartebian forces assist the Eurasian Federation in seizing Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Armenia. They wage a "secret war" against Sepah-e Pasdaran, an Islamist-terrorist group in the region. Evidence gathered from Sepah-e Pasdaran link them to the Layartebian situation. Funding for Sepah-e Pasdaran was given through Faysal Abd-Al-Malik Behnam by Totalis (Varsolan Corporation on the Falklands linked directly to Grenada), the cartels, and the RLA. Sepah-e Pasdaran trained various terrorist groups acting in the Empire of Layarteb from 2005 - 2007 including the RLA and Free Venezuelans. An unknown "major funder" is sought out.
February 15: Layartebian forces invade southern Neuvo Rican Mexico and seize Campeche, Chiapas, Quintana Roo, and Tabasaco in the "War on Drugs" and, effectively, end the drug trade in the region when the war is completed.
February 18: State governor of Venezuela is assassinated, presumably by a "domestic" terrorist group related to the RLA.
March 1: Victory is declared in southern Mexico.
March 4: Successor to the state governor vanishes mysteriously. Street violence in Caracas escalates to its highest levels since 1988. Fueled by Illuminati Ghost Warriors, street violences peaks shortly thereafter.
March 12: Faysal Abd-Al-Malik Behnam is killed. Evidence links him to Sepah-e Pasdaran.
April 1: Organized protests begin in Caracas and are brutally suppressed. In total 629 people, including 55 police officers are killed when the government stepped in to stop the protests.
April 2: Two women are killed when the State Governer of Venezuela's house is attacked by rocket fire. The governor is severely injured and is forced to withdraw from his duties.
April 5: The "Free Venezuelans" announce that they are a pro-independence group seeking for Venezuelan independence and claim responsibility for the attack of April 2. They are linked to demonstrations going back to March and are immediately assumed to be responsible for the February 18th assassination of the government.
April 8: The Imperial Layartebian Military begins to mobilize as unrest in Venezuela peaks again.
April 9: The Free Venezuelans detonate a massive car bomb inside the South Eastern Virginia government building in Caracas, leveling the building. Forty-five are killed in the attack, which occurs at 01:30 hours [AST]. At 01:32 hours [AST] fighting erupts in Caracs and by 05:30 hours [AST] Venezuela is in the midst of a total revolution.
May 5: The last of the Free Venezuelans are captured, killed, or in hiding and the insurrection ends, unsuccessfully. Fatalities include 182,500 civilians, 4,528 soldiers, and 429,040 rebels. Casualties include upwards of 300,000 civilians, 12,086 soldiers, and 200,489 rebels. There are 342,493 rebels captured.
May 14: The ministers of Defense, Intelligence, Interior, and Justice are fired.
May 17: Assad al Samir, a prominent leader with Sepah-e Pasdaran is killed during a failed mission to apprehend him. He is a major player in Layartebian terrorism and acts as a middleman between Sepah-e Pasdaran and Totalis. He is also linked with the unknown "major funder" sought out by the Ministry of Justice.

Chapter Eighteen: Long Way Down

May 19: An arson fire destroys the Church of Saint Andrews in the Bronx, killing 6.
May 23: Marjorie Williams, a prominent writer for the Layarteb City Times, disappears from her White Plains home in the early morning hours. She was working on a feature story about the rise in kidnappings since November 2006. All of her notes, tapes, and the laptop she used were taken. No suspects are immediately sought. Early on the morning of May 23, Salem Nuclear Powerplant is attacked by eight unknown terrorists. Two are killed and six captured in a firefight that also claimed the lives of one security officer and one National Guardsmen. The attack was unsuccessful.
May 24: Thomas Deveroe, last President of the Republic of Layarteb, dies in his sleep in Kerala, Cotland. Cause is determined to be acute myocardial infarction.
May 25: Illuminati terrorists secretly take hold of the Sky Wonder, a cruise ship in the Caribbean Sea with 1,550 passengers and 600 crew members.
May 26: Jeremy Berms, a director in the Ministry of the Interior is assassinated by an unknown hit man in the Yucatán.
May 27: Referendum vote favors returning the body of Thomas Deveroe to Layarteb for burial 87.63% to 12.37%.

Confirmed Body Count: 683,295
Unconfirmed Body Count: 683,602+ [307+ difference]

Layarteb

05-07-2007, 04:26

Chapter XIX: Night Train

May 28, 2007 - 06:00 [EST]
Berlin, Germany

Reichskanzler Kübler looked at his cabinet members as he fixed his hair. "I will inform the Emperor of what has happened. Then we will begin a massive assault from the South of Portugal. Any citizen - man, woman, or child - who resists is to be killed on the spot. Guderian, you are in command of Operation Splitter. The land forces will consist of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Armies. I want 20 Mechanized-OS Divisions as an autonomous unit as well.

"If I know Silvaco as well as I do, he will attack first. I want readiness level raised to KRISTAT-4. Seal off the border between France and Spain. Have it guarded by the 5th, 9th, 11th, and 12th Armies supported by 8 Luftwaffe Divisions. I want the North Sea blocked off. Inform Hawdawg, Rome, Cotland, and anyone else under threat of the situation. Make sure they know that the situation is being contained. That is all." The Reichskanzler picked up one of the phones and dialed directly to the Emperor.

The secretary answered, "Emperor's office."

"This is der Führer of the Fourth Reich. I must speak to the Emperor. It has to do with the missing plane."

"One moment I'll connect you immediately."

"Hello?"

"The M-107 carrying your 108 citizens was shot down by a rebel group based out of Portugal. A certain Generaloberst Haníbal Silvaco has taken over the entire territory and claims he has obtained control of parts of Spain. That is all for now. I apologize for this, but I guarantee it will not go unpunished. Goodbye, my old friend."

Kübler hung up the phone and plotted his next move...

The phone call was surprisingly brief and the Reichskanzler had said what the Emperor feared from the get-go. Intelligence sources put something funny happening in southwestern Europe but there was nothing to pin yet. Communication into and out of the area was surprisingly out of capacity. Intelligence agents and other Layartebian citizens living in the area weren't reachable and, immediately, things were feared to be the worst. When the Reichskanzler called, the Emperor knew that the situation was dire. "Angela. Get me the Minister of Defense please." He said into the intercom, looking at his watch. It was almost 06:00 hours and the Defense Minister was definitely not in his office. He would be at home, sleeping. His secretary yawned, just getting in herself at 05:30 hours and complied with the request.

"Yes sir?" The Defense Minister said into the phone with a sort of groggy but alert tone.

"We are currently in a de facto state of war with the Fourth Reich."

"Sir? What do you mean?"

"Our missing airliner has been found. It was shot down by rebellious forces within the Reich. Portugal and parts of Spain have ceded and are in control of someone who is obviously hostile to the Empire and, undoubtedly, hostile towards Berlin. How soon can you be here?"

"I'm on my way now sir."

"I am calling a principles meeting for 07:00 hours. I want options."

"Yes sir." He hung up the phone and relayed the message to his secretary.

"As if we don't have enough to deal with, now there's this..." The Defense Minister commented to the Minister of Intelligence as the Emperor called for order in the meeting. It was purely a principles meeting, which translated to essential military and defense personnel only. It had far less people than a Cabinet meeting but the consolidation of power was higher.

"Alright. This morning, at about fifteen to six, the Reichskanzler called me to inform me of the following. And this is a direction quotation, taken from tape logs. 'The M-107 carrying your 108 citizens was shot down by a rebel group based out of Portugal. A certain Generaloberst Haníbal Silvaco has taken over the entire territory and claims he has obtained control of parts of Spain. That is all for now. I apologize for this, but I guarantee it will not go unpunished. Goodbye, my old friend.' Now the conversation was terse to the point and we know that we're in trouble. We have one hundred and eighty dead Layartebian citizens. Obviously we can call off the search planes currently combing the Atlantic Ocean. Satellites have already found and confirmed the wreckage. It is extensive and I doubt that we have any survivors. Now. Let's get through this as fast as we can. We are in a de facto state of war with the Fourth Reich. Obviously I'm not going to launch strikes against the Reich but this rebellious group has initiated war upon the Layartebian Empire and its people so I want options. First of all, how many Layartebian citizens live in the affected areas?"

"Sir. Between 6,000 and 8,000. I don't have exact figures." The Minister of Foreign Affairs said as he looked at his notepad. It was still a little blurry to him.

"By noon I want exact figures. I want them out of there. If we can. Intelligence. How many agents do we have there?"

"Four sir. None of them are reachable. We've been trying."

"Alright. Keep on it. Let's hope they aren't in custody. The Reich probably know who they are and if they knew, so do the rebels. Defense. Where do we stand?"

"Well sir we could launch a massive aerial strike against the affected areas by 20:00 hours tonight, using the cover of darkness. That's 20:00 hours their time, which puts it at 13:00 here. They're seven ahead with the switch to DST."

"Alright. What do we have in the Atlantic now?"

"Sir. First Carrier Strike group is in the Azores and they can move immediately. We have the 2nd Amphibious Group, the 1st Carrier Battle Group, and the 4th Carrier Battle Group all at sea in the Atlantic. The Amphibious Group is near Saint Helena and the two carrier battle groups near the Arctic Ocean and near Bermuda. They could be there quickly but not as fast as the Carrier Strike Group. Obviously, sir, the arament is different. Sir we do have a Venom group, in full, six ships, in the Atlantic but two of them are nuclear only. The other four carry conventional and nuclear strike missiles. Voodoos and Imsdals sir."

"What's their time on station?"

"We have one in the general area right now and a second boat could be there within hours."

"We have to take into account that the Azores is, territorially, Portugese. So that means if we're out there, so are they and they'll see our movements."

"That is understood sir. Our preferential attack is to neutralize the Azores. We have forces already on the islands, Marines, special forces, and black forces. We could land paratroopers and more Marines sir. The 1st Amphibious Group could sail in forty-eight hours sir."

"Alright. That's progress. What about their defense network?"

"It hinges on the Azores. We neutralize the Azores, we neutralize this rebel force from seeing us. Our Air Force can take care of the rest."

"How hard are we talking?"

"Sir. We could put over 10,000 missiles in the air."

"Pummelling."

"To the stone age. We could hit everything this rebel has before the Germanians even mobilized a tank."

"Understood. Let's move up to REDCON 3. I want contingency plans on everything and prepare our forces in the Azores. I want that island group to remain OUT of rebel hands. Is that understood?"

"It is sir. Encryption will be higher than standard TOA."

"Experimental?"

"Not as of two hours ago sir." The Minister of Intelligence said. Layartebian hackers and computer analysts had been toying with the idea of 3072-bit encryption. Standard TOA communications and internal communications requiring the most amount of security were regulated to 2048-bit but that wouldn't provide security much past 2030. After 2030 you would need, at minimum, 3072-bit but 4096-bit was in the works. It was just taking time. Now, with 3072-bit encryption, the Azores could be securely informed. The cypher was important and that could be delivered properly, without it being known and that could be done through direct-line communications. Fiber-optic cables had been laid underneath the North Atlantic and provided a back-up, should satellite communication be broken into by an enemy force. The fiber optics were untaped and painfully hard to crack into, especially when they sat at the bottom of the North Atlantic Ocean.

"Well that's good news. I want them informed right away. That way!"

"Yes sir. We're working on it right now."

"Good. Good. Where do we stand otherwise? What do we know?"

"Very little sir," the Minister of Intelligence continued. "What they know. We know. That doesn't say much. I'm sure the Reichskanzler is as shocked as we are."

"They picked a hell of a day to mess with the Empire!"

"Yes sir!" It was a hell of a day but that wouldn't be the only thing happening on May 28.

Half an hour later, the North Germanian communique came over the secure channels as the Azores was being informed directly about what was happening. Layartebian bases and positions buttoned down their hatches and everyone without a weapon got one. Perparations were made to surge the ships in port and put all of the aircraft on immediate patrol. The 1st Carrier Strike Group would have to move out of port but it would take another hour or two to get them ready to move out and at least two more after that to get them ready to go and moving. That was, at best three or at worst, four hours before the ships could move out of port. That left a lot of room for catastrophe.

The Layartebian Command was just one of three main command centers. The other was North Germanian Command and the last was Central Atlantic Command, where both commands unified into one. As Germanian paratroopers landed at the airports and floated down from the skies, the Layartebian forces already one the island, which consisted of one Marine regiment of 2,048 soldiers, one Special Operations Forces regiment of 2,048 soldiers, and one Black Operations Forces company of 128 soldiers bringing the total to 4,224 foot soldiers, in total. There were also pilots and sailors on the island chain as well but they weren't as highly trained as the Marines or the SOF or BOF soldiers. The BOF soldiers were the least known and they hid amongst the SOF soldiers, keeping to themselves for the most part. Everyone knew that BOF soldiers were on the islands but that was about it and everything semed like a rumor. If the Portugese decided to make an attempt on the Azores, they would learn first hand about the Layartebian BOFs hidden on the island chain.

As the word passed across the time zones, Layartebian fighter aircraft, particularly Tornados and Typhoons, took up their own barrier CAP missions as B-10 Badgers and EB-10 Badgers were loaded with a wide array of anti-shipping weapons, just in case the Portugese decided to come for a picnic. The 2nd Maritime Patrol Group, permanently stationed in the Azores, ran up their own engines. The group consisted of three Avenger MCMs, six Barracuda SSs, three Dnalkrad Flight II FFGNs, three Indefatigable Flight II DDGNs, four Leopard Flight II PCs, six Loke SSs, four Raef PCs, three Verrazano Flight II DDKNs, and four Vindicator Flight II PCs. There were several Sea Hawk and Fire Scout aircraft to look both over and under the horizon for long-ranged bombers and submarines. Germanian submarines were potent and they were deadly, which was why the Loke, the world's best AIP submarine, was the first line of defense against them. SSNs were too far away and noisier than the Loke's when it came to machinery. The Loke's could, effectively, hide in the shallow waters around the islands or the deeper waters, and wait and listen for enemy submarines. A SOSUS net deployed around the Azores and throughout the North Atlantic would provide them with the necessary capabilities to do such a task.

The biggest defense against aircraft was the deployment of the Layartebian anti-stealth system, a highly classified network of radars, satellites, and turbulence sensors deployed throughout the mainland but extended to the Azores. It could see well over-the-horizon and through any type of stealth, including the deadly and capable UCAVs being developed by the LDC. There was also the Dnalkrad FFGN, a specialized air defense frigate armed with over a hundred missiles of medium and long range capabilities as well as theater missile defense. If the Portuguese were going to come to the Azores, they would have to fight through the Layartebians to do it!

OOC: Events taken from Splitter (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=528327).

Layarteb

05-07-2007, 05:06

May 28, 2007 - 07:20 [EST]
Caribbean Sea

The sixteen Ghost Warriors and carefully and secretly moved through the ship, past the people, many of whom were dying or seriously injured, few still coherent enough to know what was going on, and to the lowest decks in the aft. There was a small wet dock inside of the ship for jet skis and a pair of launches. Normally a ramp had to be lowered for the larger vessels to get out but there was also a small, diver's door, at the bottom of the pool area. It was big enough for two divers at a time, which was perfect for them, especially since it would drop them out right into the water without ever being seen. They picked this ship for a reason and that was it. Using SCUBA gear from the ship and wet suits, they prepared now to exit the ship and go towards destiny. They carried with them their loot and they prepared to get away with the biggest jewel heist/bank robbery in the world. They were making off with §1,320,055,278.09, a healthy sum of money. Not even the Emperor's personal fortune was worth that much money.

The commander looked at his watch and noticed that the time was exactly 07:20, eastern time. He put in his breather and put his thumb up, signalling for the first two men to go. They would swim out with him swiming out last. Negotiations had been futile and the jamming codes had never been broken by the military, no matter how hard they tried, despite the cooperation from the LDC. An incursion by SEALs was scheduled for 21:00 hours and they prepared off the coast of Cuba, unaware of what was happening on board the vessel.

When the commander swam out, the last man, he met the other fifteen and they grouped up, jewelry and money in hand. They didn't bother with peoples' personal money on them, that would have taken too long and been too dangerous, given the chemical agent and its effects. Underneath the ship, which was had its anchor deployed, the sixteen men planted four, large, black boxes on the exterior hull of the ship. They weren't explosives, they had no intentions of actually sinking the vessel themselves but it was an insurance policy, should they need it. Instead, they swam towards the north, towards a predefined location, one hundred and fifty feet underneath the water. There, waiting for them would be a submarine, the very submarine that snuck into the Caribbean days prior. It was led by CAPT. Julius Hammerhead and the Hunter class SSN had managed to remain completely elusive, despite the strong naval presence around the vessel. Not even the Loke SS submarine near the Sky Wonder knew it was there, an amazing feat, considering how advanced the sonar for the Loke was and the Caribbean Sea SOSUS net.

It took about twenty minutes to swim to the submarine but it was an easy swim. One of the compartments aboard acted as a "lock-out chamber" and they swam into it before closing the hatch and allowing the water to be drained out. They were safely aboard, with their jewels and money and the submarine began moving, slowly, too slow to be heard by a whale next to it. As they did, timers counted down inside of the four black boxes attached to the hull of the Sky Wonder. The Ghost Warriors would remain within the confines of the submarine for a few days while it transitted back out into the North Atlantic, where they would eventually swim back out and get aboard a fishing boat. Nobody would ever know what happened to them, who they were, what they wanted, or where they had gone, if anywhere at all. The Hunter was a silent submarine and crewed by an expert crew, it would sneak out of the Caribbean Sea completely undetected, just as it had come in and, at the same time, it would sneak back into the North Atlantic, completely undetected, returning to its patrol area just south of Bermuda. As 08:00 hours approached, the men sat tensely aboard. They knew what would happen and so did the captain and several of the crew members, all of whom were Illuminati.

Layarteb

08-07-2007, 03:31

May 28, 2007 - 07:55 [EST]
Caribbean Sea

The Layartebian Loke SS was a nimble, small, and impressively quiet submarine. Developed jointly with the Cottish, the Loke SS was an AIP design and possibly the quietest submarine in the world. It was also amongst the most advanced. The Empire had 45 in service, all with the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces and out of those 45, four were dedicated to the Caribbean Sea, which was plenty of coverage. Two were in port with two at sea and one of those was just a few nautical miles from the Sky Wonder, watching through its periscope as the ocean liner sat there, quietly and uncomfortably. Business was usual as the submarine sat still, making no movement, its periscope/electronics mast raised and its snorkel sucking in fresh air, recharging its air cells. Inside of its hull, twenty-two men sat comfortably at their stations. Most of everything was automated so many crew positions had been cut out. The submarine could effectively run on just eight to ten men but the extra crew was done for multiple shifts since it was a submarine and submarines in the Imperial Layartebian Military never surfaced. They did this to keep them secret and hidden from the world and its prying spy satellites. As far as the world was concerned, the Empire operated Virginia class SSNs, which did surface to keep up the ruse, and Ohio class SSBNs, two of which were still in "secret" service, moving around here and there. In truth, the Empire moved away from the Ohio SSBNs in the early 1980s with the introduction of the ginormous Centurion class submarines, which had been retired in the early 2000s giving way for the Venom class SSBN. The Virginias were in service still but were old, supplanted by the Scythe and Hunter class submarines, highly advanced subsurface warriors. Those were all deep water boats though. They weren't well suited for coastal defense, which was why the Loke was used, as opposed to a diesel-electric submarine.

The Caribbean was quiet. The crews trained but they had never been shot at nor did they need to be in the Caribbean. Then, just seconds before 08:00 hours, there was a loud noise in the water coming from behind the Sky Wonder. Then there was a second, loud noise. To the sonar operators it was definitely the sound of a high-pressure launch. Immediately, they shouted, "CONN, SONAR! We have two torpedo launches! Bearing 3-5-6 and 3-5-7, range 12,500 yards!"

"SONAR, CONN. Say again?" The captain was in disbelief.

"CONN, SONAR. Torpedoes in the water!" Their sonar systems lit up as two torpedoes came towards them. The system analyzed them immediately as Mark 48 Mod 6 ADCAP torpedoes, torpedoes that were no longer in use by the Layartebian military. Someone was firing at them. Immediately, the captain ordered the boat in motion, the masts lowered, and the ship to run on maximum power. The submarine jolted to action as the general quarters klaxon echoed inside of the 200 foot long vessel. "CONN, SONAR. Incoming torpedoes! Bearing 3-5-0. Range 8,000 yards!" The torpedoes had them locked up and the Loke was ready to fire back, they always had their 6 torpedo tubes loaded with at least two Mark 76 Advanced Heavy Torpedoes and four missiles.

"WEAPONS. CONN. Snapshot tubes 2 and 6. Bearing 3-5-0. Safety on to 10,000 yards!"

"CONN, WEAPONS. AYE SIR!" The torpedoes were coming and as they did, the torpedo tubes of the Loke, which were always ready to fire, opened their doors and ejected a pair of torpedoes, both wire guided. The torpedos were heavy, both weighing 3,850 pounds and packed with 1,100 pounds of plastic explosives. They had a top-speed of 75 knots and could go as far as twenty-two nautical miles at that speed. They wouldn't have to go much more than 7 nautical miles, at a phantom target, which so happened to be out there.

The noise of the two torpdoes got closer and closer to them as the torpedoes echoed in the waters of the Caribbean Sea. All in way in Grenada, commanders were puzzled. They wanted to know why the Loke had fired two torpedoes at the ocean liner since it was the only contact out there. Immediately, flash communiques were being sent to the Loke but they wouldn't be received. The submarine didn't have its radio wire out nor was it at periscope depth anymore. The commanders and operators in Grenada could only watch, in horror, as two torpedos bore down on the ocean liner. The safeties were set and both torpedoes wouldn't arm until they were past the ocean liner and they wouldn't attack anything shallower than 60 feet. By all rights, they wouldn't even see the ocean liner but that wasn't how it happened.

As the two torpedoes came closer to the ocean liner, the first two torpedoes suddenly vanished. On board the Loke, the sonar operators were miffed that everything had now gone silent. They all wondered to themselves if the torpedoes had missed and ran out of fuel or what. The ADCAP had a long range, long enough to kill them twice over and still go back to their origins. They couldn't have simply run out of fuel, that was not likely nor logical. They wondered as the two torpdoes from the Loke bore down on the phantom target. Once they got to within 1,000 yards of the ocean liner, something went dangerously wrong inside of them. Suddenly, their presets malfunctioned and both of them ascended to 40 feet. They began actively pinging away on the ocean liner and locked onto it. Frantically worried, the weapons officer immediately hit the shut down key, which would transmit the code to the two torpedoes to shut down and sink to the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. Only one torpedo got the message and as it shut down, the other ran hot, right towards the ocean liner.

At 08:06, the second torpedo hit the hull of the ocean liner. The torpedoes had run at 75 knots the whole way and were there in just under four minutes. The ocean liner, 9,500 yards away from the Loke, was supposed to be within the safety zone but it wasn't. The torpedos malfunctioned, one more so than the other. The torpedo penetrated the unarmored and weak underhull of the ocean liner and seemingly came to a stop without any sort of detonation. The crew aboard the Loke knew that it hit, the noise echoed through the Caribbean for at least fifty nautical miles in every direction. Then everything got quiet. The torpedo sat there, in the bottom of the ocean liner, letting water in though not enough to sink the vessel, especially since the ship's water tight doors and flood control systems were always on automatic. Those kicked in as the torpedo, seemingly inert, sat in the vessel for four minutes.

Then the worst case scenario suddenly happened. The 1,100 pounds of explosives, equal to 2,145 lb. TNT detonated. The explosion ripped through the hull of the vessel and, in milliseconds, sliced it in half, vaporizing at least 5% of the ship in the inital explosion. The force ripped the ship from end to end and echoed so loud in the waters that nobody could mistake it for a whale humping. The ocean liner was torn to pieces and in just three minutes after that happened, the bow half of the vessel had sunk and the stern was sinking. By 08:15, nothing would remain except floating wreckage, bodies included. Suddenly, the worst possible scenario became a sore and deadly reality.

NationStates Jolt Archive

Ride the Lightning - Page 2