NationStates Jolt Archive

IAF Gravesend
Southeast England
Empire of The Anglo-Saxon Union
0743 Zulu

The dim light of the early morning filtered through the winter mists that characterised England in the latter months of the year. A thin frosting of snow had littered the region the night before, and base vehicles at IAF Gravesend were already busy de-icing and clearing the tarmac for a potential launch. At the end of the active runway, a pair of F4 Phantoms huddled together in the cold, constantly supervised by maintenance crews who ensured that these two jets of 121 Interceptor Squadron, along with their brothers in the nearby hangars, were constantly ready for launch at any given time should the necessity arise.

Inside the Operations Bunker for the airbase, several radar operators scanned their monitors, as they were relayed information from a string of low- and high-level Radar Stations along the southeast coast of the Imperial Union. Each Station individually scanned the horizon for potential threats, whilst constantly relaying information back to the radar screens in similar bunkers at airbases all across the region.

Airman Philip Louis was a third of the way through his morning shift when he elected to get a mug of tea. Sipping the amber liquid so kindly provided for him by an off-duty Air Traffic Controller, he was lounging in his chair looking across at his radar screen as it monitored the movements of aircraft within his airspace jurisdiction. It was a slow morning; several civil airliners departing internationally from Heathrow, all registered and following their flight paths, and a pair of IAF Tornados over the east coast conducting joint training operations with elements of the Imperial Navy.

“Seeyah, Phil.”

Philip looked up momentarily from his monitor to glance across at another Radar Operator who was going off-duty. He waved his hand casually and turned back to his screen to check on the traffic once more, and frowned.

A blip had appeared on his radar screen on the far corner of his jurisdiction, entering Imperial airspace from the southeast, cruising at 25,000 feet at a leisurely 200 knots. Unlike the other traffic however, it transmitted no Squawk Code to inform the radar of it identification. Philip reached over and picked up a red telephone handset before placing it to his ear.

“Squadron Command,” he reported into the mouthpiece. “This is RO Three-Two declaring UFO inbound Union airspace.”

Alarms were shortly ringing across the airfield. Engineering crews working on the two Phantoms looked up from their work momentarily, before scrambling at double-time to check that the aircraft were ready for immediate takeoff as, even then, pilots were being transported across the airfield from the barracks via truck.

Only ten minutes later, the two F4 Interceptors roared off the active runway into the morning gloom to investigate the unknown aircraft.

OOC: Open to whomever wishes to claim this aircraft as their own, but obviously closed after that. Not sure where I’m going with this yet, so I’m leaving the end result open. Enjoy!

OOC:Ill join, Ill just warn you that what the planes carrying wont exactly go hand-in-hand with the laws of physics.

IC:"Where the hell are we again?" Said the Consortium Colonel.

The pilot said, "The GPS broke, as did inertial navigation, our radar appears to be offline... in other words we have no idea."

The huge Red Tidean K-10 Transport plane had the unfortuanate luck of passing through an electrical storm that destroyed all three of its fighter escorts and severely damaged or destroyed most of the planes equipment. The K-10 was on a top secret mission, so secret, that only the Head of the Consortium(Red Tides Secret Police/Federal/Intelligence Agency hybrid), the Head of the Military, and the Supreme Commander himself knew what was onboard. All the colenol had heard was that it was either to make it to the coordinates given to him, or suffer the consequences of faliure.

The Colenol stepped back into the cargo hold, surrounding a large box were several Consortium Agents, M-50 Submachine guns drawn and facing away from the box. The colonel walked forward, he then thought he saw a green flash inside the box. He began to turn towards the source when without warning, the box exploded. The Consortium Agents werde killed in the blast, although the plane was still intact, there was now a fire roaring aboard it.

Coughing, the Colenol rushed back into the cockpit.

"GET ON THE RADIO! I want a mayday broadcast! NOW!"

The pilot got on the radio as the plane began to plummet towards the ground.

"Mayday, mayday," The pilot said smoothly, "this is a Red Tidean Military Transport Aircraft. We are going down, mayday, mayday."

The colonel all the sudden felt something grab him, his neck was twisted and snapped like a twig.

The pilots didnt hear the cololnel die. They were still broadcasting the distree call when they too had their necks snapped. A few seconds later the plane hit the ground nose first.

“Cougar Lead, this is Cougar Two, I am airborne and in formation.”

Squadron Leader James Peterson-Cottesworth glanced to the left of his aircraft and gave a thumbs-up signal to his wingman. Behind him, Pilot Officer Warren O’Donald activated his radar systems and began scanning the air ahead of them. Presently, he called out. “Confirm contact, ten miles, four hundred knots closure.”

Peterson-Cottesworth flicked his weapons hat toggle to the standby position. “Gravesend, this Cougar Lead. Permission requested to intervene with target.”

The reply was almost instant: “Cougar Lead, you are cleared to intervene, weapons hold without permission.”

Cottesworth nodded to himself, and reached for the throttle lever. “Cougar Lead acknowledging.” He then glanced to his wingman once more. “Cougar Two, this is Cougar Lead, you circle up and come around behind him, I’m going to go head-to-head with him.”

“Cougar Two, roger.” The other F4 suddenly arced up and roared away at full throttle. James pushed the lever to the stopcocks and held the aircraft steady as it roared towards the target.

“Skip, we’re losing him,” Warren announced. He tapped his radar as if to confirm its effectiveness. “He’s losing altitude fast.”

James frowned. “Gravesend, this is Cougar Lead, we’re losing target fast. Continuing to intercept.”

The radio suddenly crackled to life. "Mayday, mayday, this…Red…Military Transport…are going down, mayday, may..." The radio was interfered with by a large amount of background noise that James could not comprehend. All of a sudden, the transmission died.

James sighed. “Cougar Two, this is Cougar Lead, hold position whilst I follow him down.”

The Phantom inverted and roared down as the unknown transport slipped below the F4 somewhere in the grey mists of the atmosphere. The Phantom weaved its way down to a low altitude, and James glanced at the destruction on the ground in front of him as he buzzed the crash site inferno where the aircraft had impacted.

“Gravesend, this is Cougar Lead, UFO partially identified as a military transport, unknown allegiance, impacted twenty miles east of Tunbridge. Recommend you get the groundstompers in there pronto.”

<><><>

Gatwick Army Base
Fifteen minutes later

The base was a sudden flurry of activity as the word came in. The unidentified object and unnerved the government due to its nature, and the First Batallion, Second Infantry Division was being mobilised to secure the sight. In the meanwhile, they would take several hours to get to Tunbridge from their stockade. Until then, the civil police would contain the area.

<><><>

Crash Site
Twenty Miles East of Tunbridge

Sergeant Gregory Alderson closed the door on his Squad Car and leaned against the side of the vehicle. Dispatch had half the Tunbridge Constabulary, along with a number of Motorway Patrol officers, sealing off the area with a two-mile radius. Alderson had been assigned to block off one of the older roads into the crash site, but his backup had been delayed. He was on his own.

Reaching into his car through the open window, he picked up his radio microphone. “Charlie Victor One Zulu reporting in position,” he said clearly before replacing the mike.

A rustle in the treeline caused him to turn. The area was still dark in the misty morning gloom, and Alderson watched the darkened treeline warily, before dismissing it as nothing. A cracking of twigs made him turn again. He thought he saw something moving in the undergrowth. Gripping his sidearm, a .45 revolver, he stepped cautiously towards the treeline.

Komand'r cursed under her breath as the creature drew its weapon. She couldnt believe how bad of a day she was having. First she crashes on this planet, then these... creatures restrain her with what would be an entire legion of troops. Then she wakes up onboard of their craft, breaks out, kills what appears to be their leader, THEN ACCIDENTLY CRASHES THE CRAFT!

How odd though, this creature seemed... different. The other ones wore these strange metal masks over their faces. This one, like their leader, appeared to not have a mask. She marvelled at how the creature looked so alike to her species. But they appeared to be weaker then her species, not to mention the barely noticable differences in skin tone, eye color, and such.. She lifted up her hand and readied an energy bolt, it glowed green in her hand as she tried to decide between attacking or running away. She really didnt want to fight, she had a broken leg that she caught in the crash.

Alderson continued to move cautiously towards the treeline, his hand firmly on his .45 as a matter of precaution. This was his first State Emergency callout since taking his position within the Police Force, and he was understandably nervous.

"Hello?" He called out, stopping a few paces from the edge of the treeline. "This is Sergeant Alderson of the Imperial Police. If there is anyone from the crash site out there, please identify yourselves."

<><><>

10 Downing Street
London

John Spencer, the Permanent Secretary to the Cabinet, sat drumming his fingers nervously on the table in the Cabinet Room. Usually a refined, self-disciplined man, he was visibly disturbed by this incident - this was the first time that the Imperial Union may end up in a severe diplomatic incident with another nation.

The rest of the Cabinet had been assembled as part of COBRA - the emergency Cabinet organisation that comprised all availiable Ministers, the Prime Minister and the top-level Military Officers and Civil Servants of the Government. They were waiting for the PM to enter.

And then he did. The entire room rose in respect as The Honourable Duke George Oxford II MP strode into the room with a confident determination.

"Sit, Ladies and Gentlemen." He waved his hand dismissively as he took his seat at the centre of one side of the table. Turning to the Chief of the General Staff, George leaned back in his leather-bound seat and steepled his fingers. "General, let's here it."

General Frederick Sparrow cleared his throat and glanced momentarily at his notes. "Mr Prime Minister, approximately two hours ago an unidentified foreign military transport aircraft intruded on Imperial Union airspace and encountered an unknown accident, resulting in its crash nearby Tunbridge." The General cleared his throat again; he had been suffering from a cold during the winter months. "I apologise," he said briefly, before continuing. "According to my powers associated with State Emergencies, I instructed elements of the First Battlion of the Second Infantry Division to seal off the area."

Oxford nodded. "Good idea General." He turned to the Cabinet. "Options?"

The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Charles Winfrey IV, spoke out. "Prime Minister, we have two options as to how to proceed; we either make a public announcement as to the loss of a transport aircraft in our territory and appeal for the owners to announce themselves, or..." he glanced around. "Or, we keep it quiet."

The Minister of Defence, Horace Darlington, chipped in. "Prime Minister, I would suggest keeping this quiet until we have at least examined the craft. We could gain potential intelligence and military information from discovering its origins and any possible military equipment onboard."

George sat silently for a moment. "Alright," he finally said. "We're going to keep this quiet for now until we have examined the craft for any possible hazards or survivors, after which we will announce its existence." He turned to Spencer. "General, order the troops to close in and investigate the crash-site."

"Yes, Prime Minister."

Komand'r decided on running, she heard what the creature said, but she couldnt tell whether it wanted to help her... or hurt her. Unfortuanantly she completely forgot about the broken leg, and moved that one first. With a cry of pain she fell out of the tree line.

What the officer would see would look like a normal Teenage Girl with long red hair... with a few exceptions. The first was that she had REALLY green eyes. And I dont mean just the pupils, the place where the 'white' of the eyes were supposed to be was a light shade of green too! Then there was her skin, instead of being white, or black, or otherwise, it was an orange shade of color. She wore a purple miniskirt of somesort. She gripped her leg and her eyes were squeezed shut as she sobbed in pain.

Alderson jumped back a step as he heard the cry, aiming his weapon as he saw something fall out of the treeline, lowering it slightly when he realised that it was a girl...however, with some unusual elements about her. Alderson frowned as he stepped slowly towards where the girl lay, looking down at her with confusion.

She was quite clearly in pain, that much Alderson was sure. He reholstered his weapon and knelt down beside her gently, dismissing in his mind the strangeness about her for now until he was able to ascertain her injuries. "It's okay," he said cautiously, glancing down at her leg. "I'm here to help you."

He glanced towards the treeline. "Were you on that transport?" He asked.

<><><>

Captain Micheal Cambridge shouldered his Imperial Lee Enfield Automatic and signalled his Platoon to move forward as they approached the burning wreckage of the crash-site. "Fan out and move in, people." He called out sharply. "Standard search formation, look for anything that may give the identification of the craft, or any indication as to its cargo."

The platoon moved forward, checking around the wreckage - the fires were still burning fiercely, and they would have to wait for the civilian fire service to extinguish it before they could move in. Presently one of the soldiers shouted out - they had found the black box.

Cambridge grinned to himself. "Alright," he called. "Sergeant, pack it up and move it out. Get some of the Government boys in to examine it."

The soldiers moved swiftly to pack it up.

Komand'r opened her eyes and looked at the creature. She couldnt understand a word he was saying, but the tone sounded kind. She began to talk... forgetting about the complete and utter language barrier. The words would sound undecipherable to the police officer. They appeared to come out in one jumbled word and did not sound like any language of this planet.

The team that arrived directly at the crash site found debris laying around, and the burning body of a man wearing a Red Tidean Consortium Colonel Uniform, a autopsy would reveal that his kneck had been snapped. When the fire was put out, they would also find the upper torso of a Consortium Agent, distinguishable by the odd collar around his neck. They also found a entire section of the wing, half of which was on fire, the turboprop engines laying around broken. The edge of the wing was marked by what looked like a painted on ocean wave, this 'wave' was colored red. It was the insignia of the Corporate Dictatorship of Red Tide. Meanwhile...

The Pacific, Red Tide Proper, Capitol City of Ariga, Supreme Commander Palace.

Supreme Commander Gregori McKenna was shuffling his papers when his secratery called in.

"Sir, Edgar Starov is here to see you. He says its urgent."

The Supreme Commander said, "Send him in."

Edgar Starov, a big hulking man, was the Minister of the Military. He had a big look on his face that said 'I am not happy' as if to drive the point further, he said, "I am not a happy man right now sir, and neither should you be."

The Supreme Commander frowned and said, "Whats the problem?"

Edgar replied, "The plane carrying the 'package' did not arrived at the Roshenberg Base on time... as a matter of fact, it never arrived."

The Roshenberg base was an island housing an Ex-Soviet Submarine Facility to the north of the Red Tide mainland. It housed everything that the Red Tide Military and Consortium deemed unsuitable for the eyes of both the domestic and international community. This included particle weapons, paranormal related things, bio and chemical agents, and other gruesome weapons/things that Red Tide did not want the world knowing about. This latest development was very disturbing.

"So?" The Supreme Commander asked.

"SO!? I had to use an entire Mechanised-Infantry BRIGADE in order to seize the her! Thats FIVE-THOUSAND MEN! She should be in that base being studied and prodded like the rest of those freaks!"

"Calm down, comrade." Even in post-Soviet Red Tide, those words die hard, "We will get back the 'package'."

Edgar nodded and took his leave.

The Supreme Commander lifted his phone and said, "Get me Nicholas Wrightson..." Nicholas was the Head of the Consortium. He had to hear about this.