NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC:Ok, here is the sign up thread:http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=467654

Now: Fred, a spy for Altusha, was running down the street, away, from the police that had been chasing him. He looked back, and tripped. He scrambled up, and got one look at a mirine, about 6 feet tall, and dressed in all green, before he ent unconcious.

When he awoke, he spent hour, upon hour, of horrible torture. he screamed in pain, all day and all night, for 2 weeks, before he told them where he was from: Mauvasia. Technically, this wasn't a lie, he was born in Mauvasia, but his parents and him had moved to Altusha when he was six. zthey pushed him out the door, and he got one good look at the sun, and sky, before he ws shot dead.

OOC: Who what when where and why? You've answered about 1/2 a question, who. We need more details.

Also, how did he arrive in... whatever nation it is? What was he doing there, and why were the police chasing him? Where was he tortured? What did he look like? (etc.)

Those silly '06s. ('05 whose old nation went bye-bye from inactivity here)

Underground Bunker, 20 miles west of Ghammora, Capital City of Altusha

"Sir, we just got back the spy drone that was following the spy in Krendakov."
"Alright then, play it back."
The young man set the capsule in a projecter, which displayed on the ceiling:

It showed a young man, about 6 feet, brown hair. He looked around for people, and then walked over to a door. He looked around again, and making sure he was, alone, picked the lock and went inside. The camera followed aftr him, making sure to stay hidden. He pulled out a pistol and hit a guard over th back of the head, knocking the guard out. The young man walked through a door marked Weapons Research, and came out with an unmarked vanilla envelope. He looked around, and but didn't see a small trip laser. When he stepped in the trip laserm it went off, and immediately a squad of men came running around a corner, for the person that Fred had knocked out had reawakened and called security, then the police. Fred pulled out his pistol and shot the door until he hit one of the hinges. He jumped into the door and kicked it down. He quickly got up and started to run one way when police rounded the corner and started shooting. He turned and- the projector stopped."Is that all there is?"
"Yes sir."
"Ok, tell me everything there is to know about this mission."
The officer picked up a porfolio, opened it and started reading. "At apporimately 0600 Friday, March 3, Frederick Ghana went right through the border, claiming to be a tourist out to see the sights. he spent four weeks setting up for the mission. His mission was to get top-secret aircraft plans from the Krendakovian government. He was captured on Friday, March 31, 2010, and presumably dead."
The senior officer frowned, and kept staring at the screen, even after it had gone blank.

The interrogator slapped the man in the face, hard. Another tooth fell out. He pulled down the lamp and shone it in his eyes.
"Where are you from?" He questioned, while holding the man's throat with his left hand. It had been a fortnight, and he had not told them anything. The interrogator removed his hand from the man's throat and pulled out his knife. And placed the point right below the poor spy's eye.
"Be a good boy and tell me where you are from."
The spy swallowed a mouthful of blood and opened his mouth, no sound came. He cleared his throat and began again
"Mauvasia..." He began, but was cut off by the interrogator.
"That wasn't so hard, was it now?" the interrogator asked while undoing the straps holding the spy in place. He offered his hand, the spy grabbed it and the interrogator pulled him off his feet. He guided the man, who walked unstably as he hadn't moved for roughly 236 hours, to the door. He threw it open and outside was a courtyard of concrete with all sort of plants in it. The unlucky spy looked up at the sky while a guard stepped from the side of the door, out of the dark, pulled his rifle to his shoulder, took aim at the spy's head, and pulled the trigger. Everything disappeared for the spy.

General Iaroslavl talked to the head of the KGB over the telephone. They were both in offices that looked identical; small rooms with wooden paneling and a large wood desk. Each had many folders on their desks, some were the same. Lying open in front of them was a folder marked 'Mauvasian Spy' each of which contained a copy of the spy's passport, tourist's visa and other important documents. Iaroslavl was the first to speak.
"Those designs were top secret, how on earth did they manage to find out about them?"
"Well," began the head of the KGB, "It would appear they have a mole in the R&D department, if not the air force as well."
"Have you found them yet?"
"Well, one of the employees went missing about two months prior to this attack, he is down as 'missing: presumed dead'."
"Hmm... well, what do we do about Mauvasia then?" questioned the general turned president.
"That is for you to discuss with your war ministers and foreign secretary, not me. Although I can give you information on their nation." replied the head of the KGB.
"Well, I'll talk to you later. Goodbye"
"Goodbye, general."
Hanging up the phone, General Iaroslavl gathered up the folder and stood up. He took a look around him, looking for anything he might need and decided there was nothing else he required. He left his room, closing the door behind him, and walked down the corridor and down to his secretary's office. He opened the door. Behind the door was a woman about thirty years old. She sat behind a desk with a computer terminal on it. General Iaroslavl coughed, and she turned up from the screen.
"Yes, general?" she asked.
"Could you send out a memo that there is to be an emergency meeting for my cabinet? Make sure you label it 'Vitally Important'." Came the reply.
"Yes general"
"Thank you."
The general took a step back and closed the door. Then he left for home.

The room was large, with the same sort of wood paneling that the offices had. All of General Iaroslavl's cabinet sat at a large table. They were reading through the same folder that Iaroslavl and the head of the KGB had been reading the previous day. Some were quietly murmuring to each other, others sat in stoic silence. The general walked in and they all stopped what they had been doing as they stood up.
"Sit down, sit down." the general told them, "we must get to business right away."
They all did so, the head of the air-force spoke up first.
"The security of the KAn-F-1 project has had its security compromised, it must be watched much closer by the KGB. As we can see from these documents, the detail of their investigations is not deep enough. No-one should have been able to find out about this project."
"This," commented the head of the KGB, "is blatantly not true. We're not talking about some badly organised terrorist group here. We're talking about a fully capable intelligence service. Keep in mind it's a lot easier to infiltrate an organisation than it is to prevent infiltration. Why we even have spies in Mauvasia right now."
"Men, this is not the greatest problem we have."The general cut in, "The greatest problem is if Mauvasia want their spy back, which they will. If they think we might be holding him, they might send troops in. We must find a way to... preoccupy them."
"Don't worry," stated the head of the army, "We are more than capable of talking them on"
"I think," cut in the head of the navy, "that the general has something else in mind than defending. I think it might involve something a little nearer Mauvasia itself."
"Good thinking." Replied the general, "I want the navy to deploy five carrier groups to the ocean around Mauvasia and 'make their presence felt'. Any objections?"
No-one had any; or if they did, they did not wish to make them known.
"Good," continued the general, "make it so."

The next day, five carriers and twenty destroyers and many supply ships gathered off the east coast of Krendakov, right on the eastern edge of the Kelnethi peninsula. It was a beautiful day, and the sun shone of the water, causing reflections to play on the side of the ships. At 1200 hours, all the ships powered up their engines and started off towards Mauvasia, when they reached, they would sit just of Mauvasia's territorial waters. The captain of one of the carriers watched the land recede from view, and sighed. He so wished that the navy had some more powerful ships, and he had sent many letters to the head of the navy detailing such a need: all to no avail, however. He sighed as the last bit of land disappeared from view, and turned round to the vast expanse of the ocean that lay ahead of him.

Main Office, President's Palace, Duntovostok, ChevyRocks

The CCRAF General layed the pictures in front of President Johanson. In them, you could clearly see a man setting a golf ball down with one hand, with a 9-iron in the other. "So what's this about General?"
"Well Mr. President, earlier today we were testing our new recon plane, the RF-40B, over one of our ports on the southern coast. We took these pictures of what appears to be a Navy enlisted man playing golf."
"And you called a meeting for this?"

The General laughed for a moment, "Not quite sir. See, the RF-40 is a version of the F-40 fighter, and these pictures were taken from 80,000 feet and a speed of around Mach 3."
"Good god, are you serious?!?" The President was amazed. While the pictures weren't the best quality, the fact that they were this good from the speed and altitude was astonishing.

"So what's the chance of anybody tracking one of these RF-40s?"
"Pretty likely, sir."
"Pretty likely? I thought reconnissance planes were supposed to be hard to find?"
"Well, sir, the RF-40's RCS isn't any better or worse than that of an F-16. The problem is that the exhaust itself generates a radar signature, so it isn't all too difficult to find it."

Johanson was confused, "So how can we use it as a reconnissance aircraft?"
"Well, Mr. President, our recon satellite program is still behind schedule, you know they have that problem with the rocket boosters leaking. We needed to have an interim way of getting photographic information. So we had eight F-40Bs fitted with cameras instead of missiles. And you're right for thinking that if they aren't stealthy, they shouldn't work. However, at the speed and altitude it operates at, any SAM that could get to it would be about the size of an ICBM, but in any case the RF-40 can turn in whatever direction the pilot decides, which would deplete the fuel of the missile attempting to hit it. Other then that, unless we're up against another plane that can make Mach 3, it isn't a big problem."

The President thought for a moment, "Very good General. This kind of reconnissance capability could come in very useful."

Just then, an assistant entered the room. He spoke quietly with the General, handed him a folder, and left.

"What is it General?"
"Mr. President, we just got these photos from another one of our RF-40s. It would appear to be a task force of naval vessels, none of ours, sir. Among them are some five aircraft carriers and at least two dozen smaller ships."
"Whose are they?"
"We're not sure at the moment, we'll have the photos sent over to the Navy Labs for identification. What we do know is that they're gathering off the coast of Mauvasia, just outside of their territorial waters. As of yet, no hostile action has occured."
"We'll have to keep an eye on this. Thank you, General."

Those silly '06s. ('05 whose old nation went bye-bye from inactivity here)

OOC: You do know you can revive dead nations, right?

OOC: You do know you can revive dead nations, right?
OOC: Yeah, but I felt like starting over.

bump for later

Donovan Marduc was a very strange character, to say the least. Six feet five, with jet-black hair, deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, and an angular chin, he looked half Vietnamese and half Scotch, a child of dozens of cultures. His accent could not be placed; he moved gracefully, like a dancer, and silently as a cat.

Marduc was the head of Mauvasia's Intelligence Department. He spent most of his time inside his soundproofed office, receiving transmissions from his subordinates. Very rarely did he actually hear anything from an actual spy; they tended to pass their reports on to Marduc's underlings, who processed the information and in turn sent summaries on to their superiors...

It was rare that Marduc received a visit from anyone, so he was surprised to look up one day to see the heavy door swing open silently. He was even more surprised to see who entered.

"Welcome, Mr. Donsair," Marduc ushered in the President's Chief Advisor, in his soft pastelled tones.

Karl Donsair, a plump ageing man in a stereotypical business suit, sat carefully in one of the plush armchairs in front of Marduc's desk. Marduc himself returned to his seat. "Now what can I do for you?"

Donsair passed a few documents over to Marduc. "As you probably know, these are our plans for the creation of a new and revolutionary type of aircraft, which have been in the works since we received the package of aircrafts from Sarzonia."

"Yes, quite so. What of them?"

"Well... I'm sure you also know how long anything takes to get processed by the DepDef..."

"Of course." Marduc chuckled slightly, thinking over the laborious processes of bureaucracy to be found throughout the Mauvasian government.

"I'm just wondering -- this is of capital importance -- did you have any, um, operatives try to go out and seize plans from anyone else? Just as a retrieval mission?"

"Of course not," Marduc sounded more amused than offended. "Why should I do such a thing?" His tone changed imperceptibly. "Why do you need to know? Some nation's pissed at us for something?"

"So it would appear..." Donsair pushed over another photo printout to Marduc, who read it. Donsair watched the other's face turn ashen with a certain satisfaction. After a time Marduc handed it back.

"Have you talked to Louis?"

"Of course, he was the first one I went to. None of his... groups... have infringed on anyone's territory. We're fine where that is concerned."

"Get the DepDef in full meeting then, posthaste," Marduc said, slamming down a folder. "And thanks."

***

Louis D'Hiver, chairman of the Mauvasian Department of Defence, looked around at his assembled group. Almost the entire upper staff of the Department, including dozens of Generals, Admirals, Marshals, and retired versions of all of the above stuck filing papers in some office far from actual combat, had entered the room, putting aside their regular disagreements over doughnuts and ships for a common end.

"We," he said in an unmistakable tone, "have a problem."

On cue, the screen behind him lit up into a fantastic panorama of colour and light, which quickly adjusted and focused onto a scene displaying the coastline just off Mauvasia's territorial waters.

"An unknown task force appears to be mobilising off Mauvasia's coast... It consists of several aircraft carriers and a larger number of escort vessels, although we're not sure exactly how many or of what type."

He looked pointedly at a former Vice Admiral now in charge of the Navy Identification division, who shrank back with at least a semblance of contrition and murmured something apologetic to the wall.

"First off, we have to find out exactly what the blighters are doing there... That I'll leave to you," he indicated the Admiral in charge of the MIRNa. "Next, we have to figure out how to stop them. If they want war, we can give them exactly that... but it's always better to try diplomacy before rushing headlong into battle with our boots on the wrong way."

D'Hiver paused for an instant to catch his breath. Then he looked at the Admiral again. "Mobilise as many vessels as you can that won't go around fighting each other instead of the enemy... send out that message, as I said... You, Marshal--" he indicated the Marshal of the Air Force-- "get planes on high alert, aircraft carriers don't carry just sightseers now do they. You, General--" here indicating the General of the Army-- "keep our coastal railgun emplacements from the Golden Throne on high alert, in case we actually need to use the bloody things."

The Admiral nodded. "Yes, sir, I'll get on it straightaway," although his task was nowhere near an easy one. The Marshal merely grunted his approval, while the General half-bowed respectfully.

"Oh, and stick around," D'Hiver added as the group appeared to be leaving. "We might need you again."

>>> Transmission to unknown fleet:

Please state your purpose, intention, and nationality in approaching Mauvasian territorial waters. If you do not comply, you will be considered hostile and treated as such, leading to the destruction of your fleet and a blockade of your nation.

Respectfully and in friendship,

Sir Arthur Fenwyck
Admiral of the Mauvasian Imperial Republican Navy (MIRNa) <<<

OOC: I see no way for me to get into this. I guess I'll wait.

The cardboard wallet full of printouts hit General Brinksmann's desk with a heavy thud. The top opened, spilling papers across the surface, and he cursed as he tried to put them back into some semblance of order. The top one had five words printed on it:

Unidentified Ships Sighted off Mauvasia

Beneath that was the stamp of the Helfaer Intelligence Service: an eagle's head with an arrow clasped in its beak, and above was another stamp.

Highly Urgent

Brinksmann immediately moved that page aside and went onto the next one. A satellite image printout from earlier that day, showing the outline of Mauvasia, and in the water there were several black smudges. A second picture was a view from closer in, and this one was annotated. A red ring around each of the now more defined objects was linked to some pencilled text that identified what it was- there were five aircraft in total, their long flight decks and tower marking them out immediately. With them were twenty more combat vessels, probably destroyers from their size and armament, and myriad supply vessels. A dotted line marked the extent of Mauvasia's territorial waters, and although the fleet wasn't actually over that line, it was certainly close.

This was a pattern that Brinksmann had seen several times before. It was a standard strategy to deploy a fleet or two just outside the claimed waters of a nation, often under the pretence of "war games", either as a show of military might or to provoke a rash nation into striking first and lending legitimacy to imperialism. Whichever nation had sent these ships was apparently prepared for war. After all, to deploy aircraft carriers represented a significant logistical and financial undertaking, and to deploy five suggested far more than a social call.

Picking up the telephone, Brinksmann dialled the Intelligence Service Headquarters and asked for Naramis. Lord Naramis was Lord Pirus's second in command, and although Lord Pirus was the head of Intelligence and protocol dictated that Brinksmann call him about such a matter, Pirus was also incompetent. Naramis was not. After being patched through to Naramis's office, the phone rang at his end three times before it was answered.

"Hello? This is Pha Naramis. How can I help you?"

"Naramis? This is Brinksmann."

"General! You sound overworked."

The General laughed, then continued.

"I'm afraid this isn't just a chat. I'm calling on business. The recent incident in Mauvasia."

"Oh. That."

"Do you have any more recent pictures? Has the fleet moved?"

"Hang on a second. I'm getting some now... Nope. No movement at all."

"Damn. Do we have a positive ID?"

"Also no. We know they aren't Mauvasian, but we don't have enough resolution to see their flags on this satellite. Its one of the old ones. A newer one might be able to, but we'd have to wait. What do you want me to do?"

"For now, at least, we're going to leave this one where we found it. Keep watching and let me know if anything happens."

OOC: Okey, guys, I don't reveal everything in the first post. It keeps the reader questioning, and asking questions. Its good writing (No offense) Its just how I write.

IC:Admiral Johnathan Bradley, Chief of the Space Navy (OOC:my nation is FT, but the infentry and vehicles are PMT), walked quickly toward the open doors. In the room sat about twelve men. Guarding the room were two of those new 'super-soldiers'. God, those demon things give me the chills, he thought. He walked past them, and sat down to the meeting. "What's new on the agenda?"


OOC: Gotta go to bed. Oh, by the way, I wont bring any of my space-based weaponry into this. I promise (though it doesn't mean much).

Main Office, President's Palace, Duntovostok, ChevyRocks

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming," President Johanson said. He had gathered his Advisors to discuss the situation off of Mauvasia. Each one of them had a folder with copies of the recon pictures. "Yesterday, these pictures were taken by one of our RF-40 reconnissance planes. They show a rather large task force of naval combat vessels, just outside of the territorial waters of Mauvasia. Admiral Donnell, your report?"
"Well, sir, we haven't yet identified their nation of origin, however we can see that along with the five carriers there is also around twenty destroyers, and several other support vessels."
"Pretty big force. Any idea what they're up to?"
The National Defense Advisor spoke up, "Perhaps it's an exercise...or perhaps a rescue operation?"
"That would seem to be an awfully large amount of combat ships for an exercise or a rescue mission," the Admiral added. "Since they haven't engaged in an actual shooting war, they may be trying to put pressure on the government of Mauvasia."
"Well we certainly need to find out where they're from. General Clayton, we need more information. Can you get us any closer photos?"
"We certainly can. I'll get some more overflights of that fleet, lower altitude, to help identify the ships."
"Thank you, and thank you all. We're adjourned."

On the tarmac, Capital North R.A.B.

A lone RF-40B was taxiing out to one of the three runways at Capital North. Captain Briggs had reviewed his orders, he was heading to near the Mauvasian coast again. He'd flown over yesterday and took pictures of the unknown fleet. He'd be doing it agian, but at a lower altitude this time, much lower. Mission plan called for 40,000 feet, the "brass" said they needed clearer pictures. Something was going down over there, that was for sure.

OOC: I see no way for me to get into this. I guess I'll wait.


[OOC: same. although prehaps we could start our own little something off, to be incorpreated into this later on?]

Those silly '06s. ('05 whose old nation went bye-bye from inactivity here)

(technically, I'm an '04. My nation couldn't get on the forums, so I stopped playing, and my nation was deleted.)

The admiral sat in his private office, a small room containing not much more than a desk. He was looking over a folder containing the information on Mauvasian defences. If this came to war it was his job to be able to take out any ability for the Mauvasians to resist the Krendian forces. He needed to know what the Mauvasians could throw at their fleet. He turned the page when the communications officer entered.
“Sir?” the officer questioned.
“Yes?” replied the admiral, closing the folder quickly.
“We have just received a message from the Mauvasians.” the officer told him, while handing over a small slip of paper he had been holding in his hand.
>>> Transmission to unknown fleet:

Please state your purpose, intention, and nationality in approaching Mauvasian territorial waters. If you do not comply, you will be considered hostile and treated as such, leading to the destruction of your fleet and a blockade of your nation.

Respectfully and in friendship,

Sir Arthur Fenwyck
Admiral of the Mauvasian Imperial Republican Navy (MIRNa) <<<
“Hmm…” sighed the admiral, leaning back into his chair. He scratched behind his ear, a sure sign that he was contemplating what to do and that he knew that what he did could affect Krendakov in many ways. He grabbed a pen, and flipped the paper over and started scribbling furiously. Finishing it, he handed it to the communications officer.
“Send them this” he said and lay back in his chair and closed his eyes, attempting to think of where all this could end up - he could not.

As the communications officer walked down the corridor back to the bridge, he read the note.

To: Mauvasia
From: Krendian fleet
Body: Any violent measures taken against us will be taken as a declaration of war against Krendakov. We are in international waters and are therefore not breaking any laws. Any attempts of aggression against us will result in retaliatory measures.

[OOC: same. although prehaps we could start our own little something off, to be incorpreated into this later on?]
[OOC: Were both Socialist/Communists though. So no. Maybe a Capitalist pig(:p) will attack one of us and we call the other for help?]

Sir Arthur Fenwyck was enjoying a morning cup of very weak black coffee and reading through the very bleak headlines of the newspaper—enjoying it thoroughly, as well—when an aide appeared in his office as though summoned by a djinn, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Sir, message for you from the fleet."

"Dang and blast it," Fenwyck said under his breath, putting down his milk with a small dash of coffee within and the newspaper carefully on his desk, as one handling delicate poisons (although some might argue that weak black coffee is equivalent to poison, but this is not the time to discuss coffee drinking habits). He picked up the message and read it.

Thoroughly irritated with the Krendian fleet by now, Fenwyck called his aide. "Get everything we have on Krendakov and mark it Intelligence Code: Red," he yelled across to the next-door office. The aide apparently complied, as Fenwyck heard the rapid tapping of fingers against a computer keyboard, and nodded emphatically.

So the Krendians were playing the "We-haven't-done-anything-and-thus-you-can't-harm-us" game, eh? Well, two could play at that, as Fenwyck himself knew. He therefore opened a link to one of his subordinates and broadcasted an order.

At the docks outside Dûriandor, sailors began arriving, airlifted by shuttles from wherever they were waiting in reserve for this moment, or simply clambering aboard the ships if they were already there. Within less than an hour, the first ships of the Mauvasian Navy were putting out to sea.

The IMRS Adamant, first in a line of battleships of the same class commissioned from Sarzonia's Portland Iron Works, became the centrepiece of this display of naval power. Around it were as many naval ships as Fenwyck could get out of their docks in time: four Oceania class large escort vessels, ten Commandant class guided missile cruisers, twelve Evermore class destroyers, ten Wingate class anti-air frigates, six Consequor class coastal defence vessels, and twenty-four Stills class assault support boats, along with a single attack submarine. In addition, there were several support vessels, although these were limited to hospital and refuel ships; supplies would not be needed due to the close proximity to the shore.

The Mauvasian fleet sailed out at some 20 knots, and stopped exactly fifteen kilometres from the shore, within range to attack the Krendians if it so wished. But it did nothing else. It merely stopped there, awaiting a reaction.

Main Office, President's Palace, Duntovostok, ChevyRocks

General Clayton and Admiral Donnell entered the room. Donnell spoke first, "Mr. President, the situation off of Mauvasia has...well, intensified, so to say."
"What happened now, Admiral?"
"Well, first off, we finally found out where that huge carrier task force came from, it's from the Republic of Krendakov. Secondly, the Mauvasians have responded."
"Responded, how? They didn't fire upon them, did they?"
"Not yet sir, but they have deployed a large number of ships, square in between the Krendian fleet and the coast. From what we can tell, they have assembled a battleship, four other large vessels, along with twenty cruisers and frigates, twelve destroyers, and at least thirty other ships."

General Clayton handed President Johanson the photos. The first showed quite clearly the Krendian carrier battle group. The second showed the Mauvasian's task force. The third was zoomed out, and had red circles showing the locations of both fleets.
"One little slip, and this situation is gonna make Jutland look like a wet match."

Just then, Defense Secretary Borgesov entered the room. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "That blizzard is really slowing down traffic."
"Indeed," said the President. "What's the news on the situation, Erik?"
"Sir, we've been searching through news and radio broadcasts from both countries, we can't find anything. Our best guess, whatever the problem is, neither Krendakov nor Mauvasia, wants anybody else to know about it."

Brinksmann was busy reading through a file detailing ICBM construction for the last month. Columns of figures rolled in seemingly endless migratory paths, legion on legion of prices, serial numbers all arrayed there, a grand army of blurring figures. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them. Forcing himself to focus, he took in the data quickly and accurately, commiting it to memory. There was, of course, an electronic copy on the computer system, but it was often a good idea to memorise information to avoid trawling the inevitable morass that was the Helfaer Defence Network.

Just as he was about to flick the paper into the incinerator, the telephone rang. He picked it up and heard Naramis's voice at the other end.

"General, we have an update on the Mauvasia situation. The fleet of ships has been positively identified as belonging to the Republic of Krendakov."

"Never heard of them. What intelligence do we have on them?"

"They're a large nation, over two billion citizens, fairly powerful economy. Still, that isn't the main reason I called. The Mauvasians have reacted badly to the Krendakovian fleet. They've created a possible flashpoint situation."

"What? What have those damned fools done?"

"They've mobilised a fleet of their own, and they're going practically toe to toe with the Krendakovians. Fifteen kilometres to be exact, well within naval gun range. Its sufficient to say that they've escalated the situation. Its not war yet, but if one captain snaps and pulls the trigger, we could be looking at a war between the two nations."

DoEs AnY1 No AnY ArMs CoMpAnYs That BeGiN WiTh K?

DoEs AnY1 No AnY ArMs CoMpAnYs That BeGiN WiTh K?

[ooc: Assuming you mean NS arms companies, try Kriegzimmer. And please use standard English, its so much easier to read. Also, this is probably the wrong place to put this. Use the forum search to find the List of Storefronts. That should put you on the right track.]

Bradley walked into "The Mauvasians have responded."
"Good, now maybe those commie basterds will kill each other."
"Yeah, right. Their infastructure will collapse before they can even go a year fighting."
"Yeah. That's what will happen under communism."
Bradley sat down, and said "What's the status of the engagement?"
The Chief of Intelligence cleared his throat and said "Well, sir there isn't actually an 'engagement' yet. But it will happen. Soon."
"Good." Bradley responded.

The meeting continued for several hours, until Bradley walked out of the room after no one could decide wether or not to bring their merc armies into the engagement. Bradley walked into his office without a word to his secretary. His office was made from the bridge of the first BattleStar to ever be made, the Pruetego. He sat down, sighed, and put his head down on the desk. He called hi secretary: "I don't want to be disturbed for several hours unless it is something extremely importent.A "Yes, sir" came from his secretary. He laid his head down and went to sleep.

OOC: You do know you can revive dead nations, right?
How?

[bump for Krendakov]

bump

"So, the Mauvasians have a fleet as well?"
"Yes sir, it's slightly larger than ours."
"Hmm..."
"Sir, it may be overstepping my duties, but if we strike first..." The admiral cut him off.
"Yes, we could have a good chance of winning. You're right, lieutenant. I think It would be best for us to start launching the aircraft and preparing the missiles. Get the frigates to line up between us and the Mauvasians and get all the aircraft carriers ready for moving out. We'll need the frigates to cover our rears while we retreat. And use the gas engines."

The Krendian fleet began to organize itself under grey skies. The seas beneath them swelled like a giant grey creature. Grey ships, grey sky, grey sea. The world seemed to drain of colour as the fleet prepared for war. The sky was filled with the roar of jets taking of from their carriers - propelled at great speed into the air – and began to accumulate in the sky, armed with short range anti-shipping missiles and a few anti-air missiles. The frigates prepared a line formation and the carriers started to move away. Now was the time to strike.

Suddenly, there was a roar. One-hundred and twenty missiles flew from their launchers. It was an impressive sight to behold. They disappeared into the distance as the aeroplanes turned to follow in their wake. The aircraft carriers speeded away as the frigates slowly inched forward, ready to move in to finish off any survivors. It looked magnificent, twenty frigates ready to destroy the remnants of the Mauvasian fleet... though maybe the Mauvasians would destroy them, only time would tell.

OOC: FYI, for missiles it is: three at each of the Wingates, five at each of the Commandants, two at each of the Evermores, two at each of the Oceanas and eight at the Adament. I'll do aircraft after you post losses and retribution strikes.

The room was lit only by the glow of tactical displays as Sir Admiral Fenwyck watched the Krendian fleet. It was a tense stalemate and it looked like things were going nowhere. The other aides and personnel watched the screens intently as well, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly an exclamation burst from one of the aides. "Sir! Missiles inbound!"

"Damn! Where's the bloody comm?" Fenwyck fumbled with a few wires and broadcasted an order to the fleet. "Open fire!"

The fleet's close-in weapons systems went into immediate overtime. Attempting to act in the defence of the fleet, they began spewing bullets. However, the ships' crews were not quite so well-trained with the new Sarzonian ships as they ought to have been, and several of the systems rotated the wrong way, doing nothing but causing explosions in mid-air. Missiles continued to close in despite this, even as some were luckily hit and plunged to the bottom of the sea. By now, however, the crews were getting used to their first combat test of the ships, and forsaking excitement for calm order, the ships' guns began firing.

At first this was limited to small guns—76mm and under, knocking more of the incoming missiles out of the sky. But within a few minutes, the Mauvasian fleet was returning missile fire.

In a glorious display of firepower, the Adamant started the return strike by emptying four of its vertical launch blocks, sending three hundred and eighty-four missiles streaking towards the Krendian fleet. Twelve of them plunged from the sky due to electronic malfunctions and another six exploded harmlessly well out of range, but the rest were still incoming.

Other ships began adding their fire as well. The Commandant class missile cruisers carried a total of 128 missiles each, and these began rising from the blocks in small clusters of 10-20 missiles until over 640 had been fired. The destroyers and frigates also managed to fire a few missiles each, although the guided missile cruisers and the massive battleship were contributing the most to the strike.

Even as the missiles plunged towards the Krendian ships, the missiles hit. Over 30 were left due to the slow reaction time, and while the larger ships avoided significant damage, they began swiftly weakening the Mauvasian fleet. Sir Arthur Fenwyck radioed the commander of the Adamant and asked for a damage report.

The commander answered, "It isn't too severe... A couple of support boats are sinking. There are huge fires sweeping the decks of Commandant Three... Wingate Six and Seven both have significant damage, Evermore Two is sinking as well... Minor damage reported to one of the Oceanias, but not too much."

"Excellent. I'm sending you air support in a minute."

The big guns of the fleet now began sounding. The huge 635mm naval guns of the battleship and the large escorts began sounding, propelling shells towards the Krendian fleet. More guns joined in the chorus of death, even as an assortment of fighters took off from the Mauvasian mainland towards the Krendian fleet. JSFs and Raptors flew alongside Coronet and Valkyrie fighters from the Avalon Aerospace Corp, as more than fifty fighters closed in to add their support to the SAM configured vertical launch systems of the fleet.

So far, things were looking up for the first combat test of the MIRNa's refit. But that could soon change.

[OOC: You have about 1000 anti-ship missiles inbound (not all at once though) and a wide array of shells coming in as well. Your call. :)]

The Mauvasian missiles raced towards the frigates, brining significant amounts of death with them. The CIWS of the frigates and aircraft carriers started spitting bullets out, in an attempt to stem the horde of missiles. Explosions filled the sky, and due to the proximity of many missiles, several chain reactions happened. Still, many missiles were still incoming. The sailors attempted to use the anti-aircraft guns to help, but to little effect. As the missiles neared the sailors dived to the deck. Missiles hit many of the ships, explosions ripping holes in some of the ships. Four frigates had large holes in their sides, and the sailors rushed to the life boats, trying to flee the ship. Another five were seriously damaged. Most of the remaining ones had sustained some minor damages. However, the sailors were still stunned. Just as they recovered from that the shells started hitting, much lower accuracy than the missiles but still dangerous. They successfully destroyed another frigate and damaged one more. Soon the frigates returned fire, firing off their remaining forty-five missiles. The 3" cannons were firing as well, and sailors were rushing about, trying to repair damage, reload missiles or fire cannons.

The aircraft moved in, flying down towards the Mauvasian fleet. They had noticed the incoming enemy fighters and knew they needed to be in and out – fast. A total of one-hundred and twenty MiG-29s were flying at the Mauvasians, and they knew how well they did could tun the tide of the battle. Three flew towards each of the Wingates and Commandants. A total of eighteen flew at the Adament, as they knew victory would be a lot easier if it was taken down. The remaining twenty fighters just hit whatever they could.

It was obvious this was not going well for Krendakov, but they knew they could win if they did this right. They could, nay, must win. If they lost, their reputation would be at stake. This would be a hard battle, and it could easily go either way.

By now, the Mauvasian ships had figured out how to use the CIWS, and were successfully knocking incoming missiles out of the sky. Only a few managed to hit, and they caused little damage. The 76mm guns of the frigates were more accurate, and a few patrol boats were knocked out of action, as was a single frigate. As the Krendian MiGs approached the Mauvasian ships, SAM batteries began firing. Sort of. Some of them were entirely empty—the crews supposed to be stocking them had gotten into some kind of argument over a football team—and others malfunctioned, spitting the SAMs towards Mauvasian ships instead of Krendian aircrafts. A few of the surface-to-air missiles hit one of the cruisers—already burning from Krendian missiles—and ripped a huge hole in its armour. The ship was beginning to fill with water and sailors evacuated hastily onto lifeboats. However, over 100 surface-to-air missiles did make it towards Krendian planes.

Meanwhile, the Mauvasian planes had reached air-to-air missile range. They released several AIM-41 heat-seeking medium range missiles each towards the enemy aircrafts, then began to break off from their formation, winging down towards the sea. An F-22 failed to stop at the right altitude due to mechanical failure, hitting the sea and exploding, its missiles combusting due to the heat caused by the too-rapid acceleration.

The planes nonetheless kept formation and prepared to engage the enemy fighters at close range. They were outnumbered, but had faith in their skill and superior armament. Which was perhaps a bad idea.

The nuclear-powered attack submarine, meanwhile, had a task of its own. It descended towards the depths and began following the departing Krendian aircraft carriers at a brisk 22 knots, aiming to sink them with torpedoes to prevent the Krendian fighters from having a secure place to land.

[OOC: You have an array of 250-something missiles, SAMs and AAMs, coming at your fighters, and that's primarily it right now.]

Main Office, President's Palace, Duntovostok, ChevyRocks

For the time being, Vice President Joseph Derekson was in control of the country. President Johanson had left earlier to The Beltway for the Georgetown Peace Conference, for the purpose of deciding how the Beltway-Gilabad War should be ended. And since the dogfighting between Gilabadian and Chevrokian naval fighters a few days prior, all was quiet. That is, until CCRAF General Clayton and Defense Secretary Borgesov walked in.

"Hello, General, Defense Secretary. What news do you bring today?"
"Well sir, you know how we've been keeping an eye on the Krendakov-Mauvasia situation?"
"Yes, I'm well aware of that. Why, do you have an update on it?"
"Yes, sir. And it appears that there's no longer a stand-off between the opposing two task forces."

General Clayton opened the brown envelope he was holding, pulled the report out, and handed it to the Vice President. It was labeled "RF-40 Photographic Reconnissance: Krendakov-Mauvasia Naval Conflict." First inside, it listed the numbers and types of combat vessels on each side. Following that, were comparative pictures of the fleets from several days ago, from the earlier overflights. After that though, there were more pictures. They were different though, several ships that were there before, were missing. Several other ships that were still there had smoke coming from them.

"Good god," said the Vice President. "So they're in a shooting war now. What sort of threat does this pose to any of our interests?"
The Defense Secretary responded, "At the moment, not much. Some of our merchant vessels are in the general area, but they shouldn't be any closer than about 300 miles from the battle."
"Thank you General, Defense Secretary. Keep me posted on any further developments."

A short but relatively safe distance away from the two battling fleets a small rectangular silver box stuck up inches from the ocean waves observing the main body of the Mauvasian fleet. Streaks stuck across the sky as Rear-Admiral Lorlen watched first contact between the Mauvasian and the Krendian fleets from his Atlantis class Nuclear Stealth Assault (ANSA class) submarine. The commander of the Wolverine attack squadron turned away from the periscope and went to look over the shoulder of the sonar operator.

“Report”
“There are well over several dozen craft in the engagement. Varying sizes from frigates to Aircraft carriers. The Mauvasian fleet does seem to be the bigger but from the radio chatter that we’re picking up they seem less practised in using their equipment and are suffering some damage to some of their ships.”
“Can we get any idea of this situation about who’s gonna get the better of this?”
“No sir, not just now.”
“Ok Kysleson. Keep me informed.”
“Yes sir!

Lorlen turned away from the green luminance of the sonar station and walked over to the communication desk.

“Send a communiqué back to admiralty HQ and tell them of the situation. Ask them to advise us on our course of action. We don’t want to interfere with our governments plans”

The Rear-Admiral was stood behind the communications officer watching him work when a cry went up from the Sonar officer.

“Sir!! We’ve got a blip breaking off from the Mauvasian fleet !! it’s a …. nuclear class attack submarine. It appears to be heading towards the Krendian aircraft carriers.”

“So how does this concern us?”

“Well sir we’re directly between the carriers and the subs position. Its heading towards us.”

“Have they detected our position?”

“No sir, I doubt it. They are on a direct intercept route with the carriers”

“Comms, get a message out to that sub. Warn then of the presence of this attack group, but deny them the exact location of our group. Let them know that this is their one and only warning, if they continue on this course they will be engaged.

The comms officer tapped away for a couple of seconds and then sent the message to the Mauvasian fleet.

“Tell me as soon as we get a reply” said Lorlen as he sat down in the Command chair.

OOC: Just popping in as Thread Moderator/Watcher/Advisor etc. I'm seeing some excellent posts coming together here, absolutely no godmodding and some brilliant detailing going on in a lot of the posts.

Very well done to all the writers!

The fighting had not gone unnoticed by Helfaer High Command, and even now an observation fleet closed in on the warzone. Surveillance drones launched from the ships sent back reports of a heavy missile exchange between the two fleets that showed no signs of stopping.

"Whats our situation?"

"Real-time feed shows that both sides have taken several losses, although so far nothing larger than a cruiser. The damage appears to be concentrated on support ships. Missile fire is heavy, but most of the ships appear to be out of gun range. Air battles are also taking place, but neither side appears to be gaining the upper hand."

"Which side would you estimate are stronger?"

"The Mauvasian fleet seems to contain at least some Sarzonian designs, which would give them an advantage. The Krendians also appear to be flying MiG-29s against F22s, so the Mauvasians are likely to gain air superiority, although with heavy CIWS and SAM fire that likely won't give them much of an advantage. To be honest, its too early to say."

"Very well then, continue your present course."

The Helfaer fleet surged forwards towards the furious battle.

Captain Peter Greenburg watched the tactical displays from within his submarine, running silent at some fifty metres below the surface, with some concern. The two navies were exchanging fire furiously, with no clear outcome, but that was not all. The sonar printouts registered an incoming fleet as well, and Greenburg had no idea whether it was hostile or not. Turning back to the main display with a resigned sigh, he heard the frantic voice of his Lieutenant, Abigail Snow, one of a small but growing number of female officers in the MIRNa.

"Sir! We're pinging more signals on the sonar... They're far too small to be enemy ships, but they could be highly stealthed submarines or unmanned vehicles. Orders?"

Greenburg swiveled to look at Snow's pockmarked face, blonde hair, and impeccable uniform—she was by far the neatest officer in the submarine, her aesthetic sense perfect.

"I'd recommend finding out, first of all, what they are and second, if they're hostile," Greenburg said a bit sarcastically. He was rather old-fashioned, under the belief that women should not serve in the military. Before Snow could respond in kind, the radio officer, someone known only as Martins, interrupted.

"We're getting an incoming transmission, Captain. Here."

Martins handed the printout to Greenburg, whose stubborn square face darkened as he read the message.

"Arrogant fools. They're in our waters and they threaten to engage us? Martins, put them in their place. We're not moving an inch off course."

"Yes, sir." Martins complacently sent back a message that was nothing of the kind.

>>> Transmission to unknown fleet:

You are in Mauvasian waters and thus requested to move out of our course. We have a full battlegroup of submarines behind us; if you continue to make threats you will be engaged by the Imperial Republican Navy. This is your final warning.

Respectfully and in friendship,
Captain Peter Greenburg, CO, MIRS Norfolk, Navarre Class SSN <<<

The "battlegroup of submarines" statement was, of course, a bluff, but not entirely. After all, five more submarines were setting out from Dûriandor port already, to reinforce the fleet in case they were needed. With the number of blips showing up in the water anyway, it would be difficult for the recipients to distinguish submarine from surface ship. At least, so the illustrious Captain hoped.

The comms officer suddenly went very still, then grabbed a pencil and began scribbling down a message on a piece of paper. Although the state of the art subs did have an automated system for this, the comms officer was old school and prefered to do it this way. And besides, this was still the more often prefered method due to the automated method often giving off unfortuante noises when they were least needed. The comms officer grabbed the note and passed it to Rear-Admiral Lorlen, who was sat in his command chair. Lorlen read the message, slowley going redder in the face:

>>> Transmission to unknown fleet:

You are in Mauvasian waters and thus requested to move out of our course. We have a full battlegroup of submarines behind us; if you continue to make threats you will be engaged by the Imperial Republican Navy. This is your final warning.

Respectfully and in friendship,
Captain Peter Greenburg, CO, MIRS Norfolk, Navarre Class SSN <<<

"Right, first of all inform the illustrious(!) Captain Greenburg that we currently are safetly in international waters, as we have every right to be!! So any attempt at percieved hostile action will be percived as an act of war by my Goverment! Also, add as a personal sidenote to the captain from one seaman to another, that the Dylanites Elite Wolfpacks hunt in groups of anywhere between 6 and 12 State-of-the-art assult submarines and any act of agression will be met by total and complete retailiation"

Lorlen waved his hand to dismiss the comms officer, but after he didnt depart after a second, Lorlen turned back to him

"yes, anything else Davis?"
"No sir, .... errr, i mean yes sir. We're giving away tatical information to the enemy?"
"Just do it salior"
"Yes sir"

The comms officer started to turn away

"And Davis"
"Sir?"
"Word it better than that."
"sir"

Davis saluted at the obvious show of rank and returned to his station to send a message back to Captain Greenburg

Lorlen swiveled around in his chair
"Sonar, can we get any idea of how many incoming there are?"
"no sir" came the reply "we can only get a deffinate on one incoming sub, any other possible incoming will be cofused with the surface ships"
"Damn! thats not good, so we dont know how many submerged threats we face?"
"no sir, but the only good news is that we will deffinetly be able to identify them before they come ito firing range, unless the surface action moves more our way"

The Rear-Admiral got up and moved over to the comms deck again.
"and Davis, when you've got that message off, let the rest of the Wolfpack know that they are to enter total silent running mode. I want complete Stealth here people. To Radar, Sonar or even any bloody fishermen that happen to look over the side of their boat. No Sound, is that clear? .... good."

Lorlen sat back in his chair and complemated the moment as Davis sent off a message to the MIRS Norfolk.


To Captain Peter Greenburg, CO, MIRS Norfolk, Navarre Class SSN:

We are clearly in international waters and are not trespassing in Mauvasian waters. Currently ours is a mission to protect Dylanistic intrest in the local areas, mainly trade shipping. Your submarine is currently on an intercept course with a Wolfpack of Assult class nucleur submarines in international waters. Any further direction on this course will be taken as hostile action. This is your final warning. Any attempts at aggression on your part, such as a continuation of course will be taken as an act of war by the Goverment of The Dylanites.

(A friendly sidenote from one seaman to another Captain, Wolfpacks can hunt in any size from 6 to 12 submariens, and all are crewed by extreemly capable seamen. We are more than capable of defending ourselves)

In the hope of peace
Rear-Admiral Robert P. Lorlen,TES Tiberius, ANSA class Assult Submarine