Azazia
25-02-2006, 07:19
HMS Atlantic
Charlotte Naval Base, Kingsland
Watch it mate, it’s a bloody crane not a damn toy!
High above the docks where massive cranes and lifts pulled heavy loads of stores and ammunition onto the decks of a small fleet of warships Rear Admiral Gregory Jefferson cast his ice blue eyes out beyond the breakwaters, where high seas pounded the reinforced concrete and rocks. Turning his head up to the sky he found wisps of grey clouds moving north as the latest storm passed inland, sending drenching rains and storms to the fertile plains in the heart of Kingsland. The break in the weather, however, would be brief as forecasts placed the next storm arriving within four days – ample time to set sail for the King John Islands and what would be the newest colony for the United Kingdom.
Word had come from the Home Islands and the Admiralty that the Royal Navy would be deploying a small amphibious task force to make claims on a small group of islands partially settled by the religious nation of Asbena. And while that government had not made claim to several of the islands the fact remained that the government was engaged in open conflict with the UK’s neighbour and friend, Florintine. The risk of an assault by Asbena armed forces loomed over the mission – although the superior firepower the United Kingdom could bring upon the nation set Jefferson’s mind partially at ease.
For his part, Jefferson envied the new assignment as Royal Governor for Cape St. George, the capital and military base for the new colony. Situated on a slight hill overlooking a deep and protected harbour, the town would become a naval station for the Royal Navy from which it could sortie fleets and aircraft to ensure the continent of Irathria had access to the seas. So that Kingsland could have two points of access to the United Kingdom: Port Marlton and the small strait separating the massive inland sea from the open waters of the deep blue sea.
Future Site of Cape St. George
With the blackness of night, undisturbed by civilization, a matte black turbo-prop aircraft flew low over the ground with its rear cargo doors open – all theoretically below the altitude of any potential Asbenan long-range radar installations they may have installed. With small puffs not audible over the humming engines of the aircraft twelve men descended via parachute onto a small grassland amid an island covered in heavy tropical vegetation.
A dull thud signaled the landing of the men and women who had been tasked with securing the future site of Cape St. George. Lieutenant John Peterson, however, found the dark environs of the site in a far greener shade as his visor displayed an enhanced image of the environment, thermal imaging showing the remainder of his squadron – all but one member slowly picking themselves up. Pressing a hidden button to active a microphone near his neck he uttered a low whisper to his team. Status report.
Sir, Sergeant Abrams reporting – we’re all okay except for Hawthorne. I think he broke his leg during the fall. Otherwise, the crates all landed fine except for the rations – but come daylight we should be able to recover them no problem.
Very good, Sergeant. Carry on.
Yes, sir.
Jefferson pulled out a hardened laptop from his backpack and quickly turned it on, not too worried about it as the screen appeared all but dark except from a head-on angle. He tapped his fingers on the dark grey plastic as the computer booted up and connected to a secure military satellite in geosynchronous orbit over the continent. Double clicking on a small icon he brought up a log-in screen that gave him access to a detailed satellite map of the islands and showed the expected position of a Royal Navy cruiser that would be providing fire support in case any problems arose. So far only the injury to Hawthorne had been a problem – and come morning and a secure perimeter he would call for a medevac from the cruiser.
In a few hours the sun would rise and the colonization fleet would hoist anchors and set out from Charlotte. Jefferson and his team would be waiting.
Charlotte Naval Base, Kingsland
Watch it mate, it’s a bloody crane not a damn toy!
High above the docks where massive cranes and lifts pulled heavy loads of stores and ammunition onto the decks of a small fleet of warships Rear Admiral Gregory Jefferson cast his ice blue eyes out beyond the breakwaters, where high seas pounded the reinforced concrete and rocks. Turning his head up to the sky he found wisps of grey clouds moving north as the latest storm passed inland, sending drenching rains and storms to the fertile plains in the heart of Kingsland. The break in the weather, however, would be brief as forecasts placed the next storm arriving within four days – ample time to set sail for the King John Islands and what would be the newest colony for the United Kingdom.
Word had come from the Home Islands and the Admiralty that the Royal Navy would be deploying a small amphibious task force to make claims on a small group of islands partially settled by the religious nation of Asbena. And while that government had not made claim to several of the islands the fact remained that the government was engaged in open conflict with the UK’s neighbour and friend, Florintine. The risk of an assault by Asbena armed forces loomed over the mission – although the superior firepower the United Kingdom could bring upon the nation set Jefferson’s mind partially at ease.
For his part, Jefferson envied the new assignment as Royal Governor for Cape St. George, the capital and military base for the new colony. Situated on a slight hill overlooking a deep and protected harbour, the town would become a naval station for the Royal Navy from which it could sortie fleets and aircraft to ensure the continent of Irathria had access to the seas. So that Kingsland could have two points of access to the United Kingdom: Port Marlton and the small strait separating the massive inland sea from the open waters of the deep blue sea.
Future Site of Cape St. George
With the blackness of night, undisturbed by civilization, a matte black turbo-prop aircraft flew low over the ground with its rear cargo doors open – all theoretically below the altitude of any potential Asbenan long-range radar installations they may have installed. With small puffs not audible over the humming engines of the aircraft twelve men descended via parachute onto a small grassland amid an island covered in heavy tropical vegetation.
A dull thud signaled the landing of the men and women who had been tasked with securing the future site of Cape St. George. Lieutenant John Peterson, however, found the dark environs of the site in a far greener shade as his visor displayed an enhanced image of the environment, thermal imaging showing the remainder of his squadron – all but one member slowly picking themselves up. Pressing a hidden button to active a microphone near his neck he uttered a low whisper to his team. Status report.
Sir, Sergeant Abrams reporting – we’re all okay except for Hawthorne. I think he broke his leg during the fall. Otherwise, the crates all landed fine except for the rations – but come daylight we should be able to recover them no problem.
Very good, Sergeant. Carry on.
Yes, sir.
Jefferson pulled out a hardened laptop from his backpack and quickly turned it on, not too worried about it as the screen appeared all but dark except from a head-on angle. He tapped his fingers on the dark grey plastic as the computer booted up and connected to a secure military satellite in geosynchronous orbit over the continent. Double clicking on a small icon he brought up a log-in screen that gave him access to a detailed satellite map of the islands and showed the expected position of a Royal Navy cruiser that would be providing fire support in case any problems arose. So far only the injury to Hawthorne had been a problem – and come morning and a secure perimeter he would call for a medevac from the cruiser.
In a few hours the sun would rise and the colonization fleet would hoist anchors and set out from Charlotte. Jefferson and his team would be waiting.