NationStates Jolt Archive

Snow fell gracefully around the many arches that filled the mountain valley, remnants of a long dead empire. Scorch marks could still be clearly scene on them, reminders of the bloody war of independence. Only ten years ago, the land of IBeria was under the rule of the corrupt dictator Ortu Danbi, but fell thanks to a student rebellion that led to the regions independence and the creation of five new nations. The dictator was burned alive in the firestorm that had engulfed the very valley he stood in.
Emperor Charles I stepped off the balcony, his body warm inside a black suit. He had started the rebellion and had since led the nation of the Imperial IBeria. He stood in the midst of the grand hall of old regime’s royal palace, château Regina. The hall was lighted by huge chandeliers hung form the vaulted ceiling, which displayed a glorious map of the region.
The hall was filled with guests, mostly delegates and councilors of the People’s Assembly, but the main table, which ran for half the length of the hall, seated the top officials of emperor’s council. They had fought with him in the rebellion and had become his most trusted advisors.
Charles gracefully went to the head of the main table and turned to speak to the congregation of people.
“Dear countrymen, today we celebrate our independence. Today we remember the hardships we endured, the friends we lost, and the liberty we won. One decade ago, I was only a student of the Royal College. Yet, now I stand before you as your emperor, whom you have desperately held onto.
The people broke into laughter. Thou the country was a republic, the people had long opposed the removing of their beloved emperor, who still had the nearly unlimited power at his whim.
“ It is therefore that I say that the Celebration of Victory is to begin and cheers!” Everyone took long drinks and then proceeded to clap, which shook the building as the emperor sat into his chair.

To the Nations of the World
It is the joy of the United Charleston States of Imperial IBeria to invite foreign dignitaries to the three day long Celebration of Victory, as an opening of the this nation to the world. All flights may be directed to Robmoethanbug International Airport, in the capital, Morvick, and then may travel by car to the nearby mountain château of Regina. Dignitaries may bring security personal and support staff and will be treated to suites in the château. Events will included a military parade, two state dinners, and discussion on IBerian politics and relations.
Well be your day,
Minister of Public Relations, Megan Aovin
Minster of Foreign Affairs, Ethan O’Conner

The speaker mounted in General Garand's desk crackled to life, prompting the aging CEO to set the stack of AAR's he was reading down...

"General, the mail's arrived..."

Sandra, his secretary, typically filtered the junk out of the important stuff, which was few and far between...

"Fine, send me the good shit..."

Garand's tone was less than enthusiastic, at least until he read the letter enclosed in the ornate envelope...

'Time to get someone other than Dekker's ass out into the diplomatic crossfire...'

He had just the man in mind for this operation...

"Sandra, get Stillwater's ass into a suit and on a plane ASAP..."

"General, what was the destination?"

"Iberia. Imperial Iberia. Put Davis on the plane with him to act as a technical advisor. Tell him to work the arms dealer angle as much as possible."

"Yes sir."

Sandra dispatched the emails to the respective operative's cellular phones before drafting a response to the invitation letter...

Dear Minister Aovin,

We at Red Dawn International would be very pleased to dispatch a diplomatic detatchment to your independence celebration. Captain Mercutio Stillwater and Sergeant First Class Jackson Davis will be arriving via private jet within four hours.

Sincerly,

General Jeffory G. Garand
USMC (Ret.)
President and CEO
Red Dawn Security Services International

About fifteen minutes later, Stillwater and Davis had boarded the small Learjet bound for Imperial IBeria...

"Sir, you got any idea why you're running this op and not Colonel Bray? He's usually the unlucky bastard who gets stuck with this sort of shit."

Jackson Davis was a former Special Forces Weapons Sergeant, formerly of the US Army. Raised in the midwest state of Colorado, his mannerisums were somewhat rough, but he was still a capable soldier. His official designation within the Red Dawn corporation was that of an arms dealer, acting as a liason between clients and the corporation itself, supplying those with the need with military-grade hardware and equipment. Standing roughly 6'3" and weighing a powerful 236 pounds, Jackson kept his brown hair short in the standard high and tight style, and obeserved the world through a pair of intelligent brown eyes.

Mercutio Stillwater, son of a pair of minor actors from California, was more of a cultured sort. His voice had no accent, no hint of origin, but still retained personality. A former Navy SEAL and later a CIA clandestine operative, Stillwater had been trained to deal effectively with people in either a diplomatic or terminal role. What he'd done for the CIA was still buried under mounds of black ink and red tape, but that hadn't stopped him from getting hired at Red Dawn. A sniper by training, he was still comfortable with a handgun at close ranges. Stillwater measured 6'2" in height, and weighing about 194 pounds. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were an unsettlingly cold green.

Their flight lasted another two hours before they were able to step off the plane and stretch their legs. Stillwater's tuxedo was an expensive Italian model, set off with a funeral black bowtie. Davis was clad in a similar tux, but wore a standard tie in a single windsor knot, colored the hue of fresh blood. He also wore a pair of fingerless tactical gloves, as well as a kevlar vest capable of stopping small-caliber rounds. His Beretta 92FS rode in the small of his back, tucked in his waist band. Stillwater was similarly equipped with a ballistic vest, but had foregone the gloves. His Glock 19 was secured under his left shoulder, within easy reach of his right hand.

Entering the airport concorse via the private terminal, and each carrying a black duffel over a shoulder, Davis began to look for a greeter while Stillwater conversed with the security officer about the nature of their visit, collecting a pair of diplomatic ID badges by the end of the conversation...

“Miss Aovin, the representatives of Red Dawn International have arrived.” Said t a petite secretary. She quickly laid a folder on the table next to Aovin and went into an adjoining room.

“Thank you Mrs. Duberry.”

Aovin took up the folder and quickly memorized the diplomat’s names. Captain Mercutio Stillwater and Sergeant First Class Jackson Davis. Hmmm…Red Dawn International. Her mind ran through different scenarios of encounter.
She turned to the room around her. Four other members of her department busily typed, wrote, and talked, creating a sense of pride for Aovin.

“Everyone, it is time to move.” Mrs. Duberry, please come with me. The rest of you will meet with any other dignitaries that arrive.”

Aovin moved out of the small room and into the Bandenburg Air Terminal, built only five years earlier. Two bodyguards followed close behind.

“Miss Aovin, they are just being greeted by Customs and Security agents, Gate A22.” Duberry kept her self occupied by a cell phone.


“Mr. Stillwater, Sergeant Davis,” Aovin shook each of their hands, “I am Minister Aovin, thank you for coming.”

Aovin was of normal height, around 5’6, and had long brunette hair. She held herself in a graceful manner, speaking of her birth in the IBerian Aristocracy. Yet, scares covered her arms and face from torture under the former régime.
She was flanked by the two bodyguards, dressed in plain gray suits and Mrs. Duberry, who had removed herself to the outside of group, talking still into her cell phone.

“Welcome to IBeria, please follow me. Your luggage will be carried ahead of us.”

The temperature was near freezing; yet, the Minster and the people crisscrossing through the terminal took no notice. The terminal was much warmer, like that of spring, and was made entirely of glass. Huge trees sprung from the many aisles into the terminal’s capacious sky. The two bodyguards cleared a path trough the many pedestrians deeper into the airport.

“Sorry about the weather, but we are at a high elevation and spring is late this year.”
Aovin’s face remained stoic.
“We will be tacking the Trans-Reynes, our bullet train service. It has a station within the terminal and not to far off.”

She pointed to a close area packed with people carrying luggage.

“The train will arrive at the château Regina in about an hour.”

Minister Aovin ushered them into a guarded train compartment, furnished in leather. It held a maid, small kitchen area, and a wide screen television, which was promptly shut off.

Stillwater's reaction was akin to jaded, he'd seen this sort of splendor before during his time with the CIA. Davis, however, had rarely seen such luxury...

"This is fuckin' sweet..."

Stillwater elbowed him rather harshly in the ribs as Davis muttered under his breath. He'd have to use more 'polite' language from now on...

"I don't think I've had a chance to introduce myself..."

Stillwater extended his hand towards their greeter, the scarred brunette...

"Captain Mercutio Stillwater, Red Dawn International's Diplomatic Divison..."

He lied, he was really a clandestine operative, but such titles usually put people off during diplomatic negotiations. He was here to parlay with the brass, and possibly forge an alliance and a few contracts...

"This is my associate, Sergeant First Class Jackson Davis..."

Davis extended his gloved hand, an odd accessory for such a nice suit...

"Pleased to meetcha. SFC Jackson Davis, Arms Distribution Division..."

The motion of extending his arm revealed a tattoo running down his forearm, and doubtless he had more...