NationStates Jolt Archive

The sudden collapse of Huahin would be certain to throw the Huahinian holdings around the world into a state of collapse. Therefore, the Realm decided to take over the Isle of Man in the Irish Sea. This relatively small island would become a part of the Realm which would be an important part of the Cottish Realm, mainly because of the facilities the Realm would build there. A flight of five C-14B Yggdrasil transport aircraft, two C-130J Hercules tactical transports and two E-42B Phantom electronic warfare aircraft carrying approximately 1,000 soldiers and their equipment, travelled half an hour behind the flight of twenty fighters which intended to ensure that no Huahinian military forces would open fire against the Cots. ETA would be in an hour.

The first flight from the Royal Cottish Air Force was now no more than ninety kilometers from the shores of Man, more precisely off Douglas, the capital of the island. This flight of twenty fighters, more precisely eight F-63K Tengriys armed for air to air, six F-16G Super Falcons armed with AMESMs and 250 kilogram bombs and six F-37C Razor multirole fighters armed with a few air to air missiles and a lot of air to ground weaponry. AMESMs and 250 kg bombs being the norm. This group flew first, scouting the area for any opposition. Apparently, the collapse of the Huahinian government had gone down with more trouble than first anticipated. There were only a few aircraft flying over Man, identified as the Huahinian version of the venerable EF-2000 Typhoon. Easily trackable on RADAR and equally easy to engage with the Cottish missiles. How they were going to do this wasn't easy to tell. Therefore, the group broke up into pairs, where the Tengriys kept high and looked out for any aircraft while the Falcons and Razors went lower and headed for the island. Unfortunately, the Huahinians detected the F-16s on their radars and demanded an explenation. After a brief radio exchange, it was clear that the Cots would have to fight their way to Man when the Huahinians fired BVRAAMs against the planes. The Cots dropped flares and chaff and started manouvering while engaging them with their own BVRAAMs and Dødsengels. They also engaged the SAM sites which were brought online with AMESMs. Unfortunately, they lost three of the F-16s and a Razor before the Huahinians were shot down. The air combat was intense, but the Cots had a dilemma too. They needed the Isle of Man Airport, the only one on the bloody island intact in order to land the troops, and the Huahinian fighters were using it. That meant that they couldn't bomb it, forcing them to allow the Typhoons to take to the skies before shooting them down. Fifteen minutes of air combat would ensue before the E-42s came within range to effectively jam the SAM sites and the Typhoons. In that period of time, the Cots lost three Tengriys.

http://www.iomguide.com/images/reliefmap-big.gif
Map of the Isle of Man

Thirty minutes after the first dogfight started, the transports came over Man. The Cottish fighters had managed to suppress the Huahinian fighters and SAM sites, at least sufficiently for the transports to land. The C-14s landed first, landing quickly and taxiing quickly to the tarmac where they opened the doors and allowed the soldiers to quickly disembark. The C-130s landed immediately thereafter, carrying the heavy equipment. A few CTLAVs equipped with M20A1 15.5x115mm heavy machine guns were inside the Herc's, ready to be driven out shortly. Anyway, the C-14s allowed the soldiers to get out, allowing nearly 1,000 elite light infantrymen to fan out and starting to secure the airport. A few Huahinian police officers and the soldiers manning the military portion of the airport put up a fight, firing their light weapons against the Cots as they advanced. Infantry squads donning M15A2 assault carbines and M22A2 SAWs progressed downwards, shooting anyone resisting. After a firefight lasting nearly two hours, the Cots finally managed to secure the airport. It cost them nearly fifty soldiers and damaged one of the C-14s sufficiently for it to be grounded, but they had a foothold. They did face resistance though, and dug in to endure the onslaught until relieved.

Meanwhile, in the Norwegian Sea, an Amphibious Battle Group progressed steadily down towards Man, carrying nearly nine thousand Marines. These soldiers were to be the relief for the poor bastards occupying the airport.The whole operation had been carried out too quickly for everyone to be in place before it started, but they couldn't risk anyone taking Man from the Cots. It was to be an important piece of the Realm's economical future. However, that future depended on the soldiers holding on for the eighteen hours it would take the Marines to reach Man and land safely plus the eight to twenty hours it would take them to reach the airport from the landing beaches.

OOC - I'm going by what I have found situated in the History of Huahin thread.
IC.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/62/Royal_Army_FV105_Sultan_IFOR.jpg/250px-Royal_Army_FV105_Sultan_IFOR.jpg

General Montgomery surveyed the scene. The shock collapse of Huahini Government was a surprise, but the invasion of Cotland, a nation supposedly on good terms with Huahin had come as a further shock to the troops stationed in the Isle of Man. Nevertheless, they would not be defeated. Unlike other Generals, "Monty" as he was knwon informally, was keen to be seen leading from the front. In his command and control vehicle, he was about to lead an armoured charge against Cottish positions. A group of vehicles, including the General's own FV105 Sultan were going to reclaim the airfield. Meanwhile, slightly further back, troops equiped with 50 and 81mm mortars were preparing to bombard known Cottish positions in preparation for the attack.

The General looked at his men. Surrender was not an option in their eyes, for they were proud, and they wanted to be victorious, as they would bow to no foreign power. As the troops marched along together getting into position amongst the vehicles. the General cast a thought to his family, or rather, what was left of it. He had a brother back in Huahin's Arctic lands. What fate had he encountered? He could only hope that someone had peacefully restored law and order. But he had to concentrate and the here and now, for his troops very lives depended on his decisions and his judgement. He owed these men his undivided attention, and in return they would give their undivided loyalty.

In the city of Douglas, vicious in-fighting had developed. Machine guns and rifles had been freely distributed for the fight against Cotland. Molotov Cocktails were also being created. An ingenius invention was the sticky bomb which was been formulated from stocks of chemicals and other industrial materials in the port. The grenade was formed of a glass sphere containg the liquid explosive and a plastic (Bakelite) handle containing the fuse. The sphere was wrapped by a sock or glove that was coated with a very sticky resin based adhesive - enough to hold the grenade onto a tank hull. These would all be used to bog down Cottish forces, and stop them from taking the port itself. In the event of a naval invasion, the port entrance had been heavily mined, and nets had been put in place to stop frogmen or midget submarines.

As the men made their final preparations for their attack on the Cottish positions in the airfield, the General looked into the eyes of his soldiers, and saw the same desire and desparation that burned in his own eyes. The chainguns mounted on top of the vehicles were oiled, the 30mm cannons of the light tanks were loaded, the 7,62mm ammunition was loaded into the guns of the troops, and their hearts were beating to the sound of war,

The Cottish would face a fight.

The General felt let down by his leaders who had pushed the country in to chaos, but the Isle of Man would remain free. Free of the corrupt Huahini Government, free of Cotland. He spoke to his men:
"There are some who are alive at this moment who will not be alive shortly. Those who do not wish to go on that journey, we will not send. As for the others I expect you to rock their world. Wipe them out if that is what they choose. But if you are ferocious in battle remember to be magnanimous in victory.

"If there are casualties of war then remember that when they woke up and got dressed in the morning they did not plan to die this day. Allow them dignity in death. Bury them properly and mark their graves.

"It is my foremost intention to bring every single one of you out alive but there may be people among us who will not see the end of this campaign. We will put them in their sleeping bags and send them back. There will be no time for sorrow.

"The enemy should be in no doubt that we are his nemesis and that we are bringing about his rightful destruction. There are many regional commanders who have stains on their souls and they are stoking the fires of hell for Cotland. He and his forces will be destroyed by us for what they have done. As they die they will know their deeds have brought them to this place. Show them no pity.

"It is a big step to take another human life. It is not to be done lightly. I know of men who have taken life needlessly in other conflicts, I can assure you they live with the mark of Cain upon them. If someone surrenders to you then remember they have that right in international law and ensure that one day they go home to their family.

"The ones who wish to fight, well, we aim to please.

"If you harm the regiment or its history by over-enthusiasm in killing or in cowardice, know it is your family who will suffer. You will be shunned unless your conduct is of the highest for your deeds will follow you down through history. We will bring shame on neither our uniform or our nation.

"Good luck."

OOC - I hope this is alright. I'm going to sleep now because here is 0100

"Oberst, vi har innkommende panser! Sektor elleve!" [Colonel, we have incoming armor! Sector eleven!]

The oversersjant called over the encrypted radio communications while pulling out the M72A1 ILAW. This disposable little anti-tank weapon was able to penetrate more than 560 millimeters of standard steel armor. Sufficient to destroy a Sultan command vehicle, a Spartan APC or a Scimitar recce tank. The Cots had somewhere around three hundred and fifty M72s available to complement the ninety M71A1 84mm recoilless rifles and twenty M70A1 Javelin 127mm anti-tank guided missiles. The Cots had dug in along the perimeter of the airport with strongpoints in the buildings, housing the heavy machine guns and heavier anti-tank weapons. The Cots also had 60mm and 82mm mortars ready for supporting their forces. The five companies from the light infantry battalion were going to hold out and hold this airport, no matter what. The Herc's had gotten back up into the air and would bring in more ammunition and supplies for the soldiers within two hours.

The oversersjant looked over to his men who were lying in hiding behind the small bumps in the terrain, taking cover. Their digitalized camo uniforms would also make it more difficult for the enemy to spot them in the green terrain. The M15 carbines were painted a dull black and fitted with the necessary equipment. Lasers that wouldn't be seen unless you wore a set of night vision goggles, red-dot sights, sight optics for the HUD of the Computer/Radio System, or CRS for short and, in some cases, M50A2 underslung 40mm grenade launchers. The men were all well trained and experienced, and that showed. They didn't engage targets unless they had a good chance of hitting him, and when they hit him, he would have to have a lot of luck if he was to survive the 6.8 x 43mm (if he was lucky), 7.62 x 51mm (if he was unfortunate), or 15.5 x 115mm (if he was shit out of luck) projectiles hitting him. The latter projectiles should be able to penetrate the light armor of the vehicles the enemy was using too, saving the need for the Cots to use valuable anti-tank weapons.

Overhead, a flight of F-16Gs were still in the area around the airport, some 13 kilometers from Douglas. They still had their bombs and the 450 rounds of ammunition for their nosemounted BK27 27mm cannons, and they intended to use them. From a position some two thousand meters over the battlefield, the two F-16s started a steep dive, moving at high speeds towards the vehicles they had detected with their AN/ASQ-238 Integrated FLIR Targetting System. Moving as close as four hundred meters, they released the Mark-82 250 kilogram iron bombs, two each, against the enemy group of armored vehicles while opening up with their 27mm cannons. All the time, they dropped chaff and flares like crazy while having their AN/ALQ-229 Advanced Airborne Self-Protection Jamming Suite operating at max, trying to fool any anti-aircraft missiles the enemy might have.

OOC - I have been searching through the posts of Huahin and found something interesting out.

IC.
The Eurofighter Typhoons were operating from the last aircraft carrier in the area, based in Douglas. It had moored in the port, to give it maximum defence. Using their advanced thrust vectoring, the planes approached the Cottish F-16s. To their surprise, the Cottish had picked them up and were armed As the F16's flew closer to them, they fired their missiles, however, they only fired half their available missiles each. At the same time the Cottish had fired their missiles, however, being isolated so long away from the Huahin mainlands gave these pilots plenty of time to practice. From a horizontal attitude, the pilots rapidly pitched the nose up, using the integrated fly-by-wire flight control and TVC systems to command high pitch rates. Altitude gain was only minimal, and the airspeed dropped quickly as Angle of Attack reached 90 degrees, but the aircraft still moved horizontally. With airspeed below 50 kt., the aircraft went inverted and the nose fell through the horizontal. As airspeed increased, the pilots pulled through the nose-down vertical position and back to horizontal, accelerating in the same direction as they started the maneuver. This brilliant demonstration of the advantages of thrust vector control made many Cottish missiles miss their targets, and left the Typhoon in a great position to shoot back, and their remaining missiles were launched at the F-16's, before they headed back to the aircraft carrier.
Down on the airfield, the element of attack initially worked well, with the troops briefly reclaiming the airfield, but superior Cottish forces had beaten them back. General Montgomery had survived the initial onslaught, although his forces were few and far between. He had ordered Captain Black to undergo a special mission in the south.
Captain Black had only taken a motorcycle to drive down to the south, as he wanted to avoid enemy detection. He saw a small cave, and this was what he was looking for. Huahin (ooc - so I get impressioned) had a fondness for tunnels, and here was a penal colony situated underground. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a security guard, and a 9mm handgun.
"Thank god, I thought you were Cottish."
"No, of course not, so what's the situation."
"Well behind these doors here, the prisoners are running riot. They can't escape, and they have nowhere to go. All the prison guards were taken away to fight Cotland, and I was left alone to look after them."
"How many of them are there?"
"Oh, there's about 2,000. Before we got the word about the Cottish invasion, they were kept outside in a massive compound, and left to fend for themselves."
"What kind of people are they?"
"Oh, murderers, terrorists. Mainly convicted of plotting against the government. Rapists and Paedophiles are all shot. (OOC - I do not want anything to do with them!)"
"Left to fend for themselves you say?"
"Yes, that was the government orders, and we always had a government official ensuring that we gave them the harshest treatment possible. It wasn't until just before the guards left that they were herded in here. Only the toughest have remained."
"I wish to speak to these men."
"You must be having a laugh!"
"Right now, we need every man we can get."
So Captain Black strode over to the door, and went to open it...
OOC - Time for meal. I will write more later.

It was clear that the capture of the Isle of Man wasn't going to be as easy as the High Command had thought. Already, more than two hundred men lay dead on Man with more casualties expected. While the reports indicated that the infantrymen had beaten back the counterattack, they were taking casualties from aircraft operating from an aircraft carrier in Douglas harbour. How the hell the Cots had managed to figure that out wasn't certain, but they would deal with it soon enough.

Underneath the surface of the waters, somewhere in the North Atlantic, a rather large submarine moved through the waters, silently and undetected. The Skjærsild class SSGN had just recieved flash orders from High Command, ordering them to unleash some twenty missiles against Douglas, all of them Imsdals. The Imsdal was the standard cruise missile employed by the Royal Cottish Miilitary, being able to move at speeds of up to Mach 7 and to deliver its massive payload to the target with pinpoint accuracy and with a very high survivability rate against enemy air defenses. Sixteen of the missiles which were to be fired were of the -A configuration, meaning that they carried a massive 544 kilogram Advanced Unitary Penetrator warhead, basically just 544 kilograms of high explosives shaped into a hardhitting warhead. It was these which would attack the aircraft carrier and any other military facilities in Douglas, while the remaining four were of the -E configuration. These missiles carried a W-100A warhead, intended to detonate high above the target as to get the maximum effect of the EMP warhead. These four would be detonated over the southern parts of Man, most likely knocking out any electronics.

The large whale-like submarine opened twenty of the firing hatches, revealing the sealed capsule the missiles were surrounded with. Five seconds after the hatch had been opened, the capsule cracked open in a flurry of bubbles from the pressurized air which was used to eject the missiles. The air bubbles surrounded the missile, protecting it from getting wet by the cold, wet and salty Atlantic Ocean encircling it. After a brief period, the missile had travelled the fifteen meters to the surface. Bizzarely silently, the missile jumped out of the water with sufficient speed to have it travel its entire length and then some before it lost momentum. Then, just as it started to fall back into the ocean from which it came, the rear of it exploded into an orange fireball, giving it momentum again. It travelled up towards the skies in a hail of fire, leaving behind a massive smoketrail. It moved upwards and upwards, gaining more and more speed. After fifty-six kilometers, the booster which had propelled it this far burned out and was dropped, giving the boosters of the rocket itself a chance to burn. They did, giving the missile even more airspeed as it levelled at just over twenty-five thousand, nine hundred meters above sealevel. Relatively quickly, it achieved the cruise velocity of Mach 5.9, or 7,040 kilometers per hour. At the same time, the missile armed its warhead and locked on to the target. After travelling only a fraction of its range, it passed Ireland and started preparing for the final decent. Just before it passed over the northwestern coast of Man, the missile started its steep dive at a 75 degree angle towards the target, in this case the enemy aircraft carrier, moving faster and faster. Before long, it had reached its terminal velocity of Mach 7, or 8,352 kilometers per hour. It used its Quad-Mode seeker to the max, locking on to the aircraft carrier with both its HARM-mode, the GPS tracker and the Millimetric Wave Radar. As it came closer, the last seeker mode, the IIR mode also locked onto the heat signature of the aircraft carriers engineering compartments, finalizing the lock-on mode. From now on, the missile wouldn't accept any external commands. The missile would hit in a few seconds, along with the rest of the missiles behind it.

After the -A missiles had hit, the EMP missiles detonated high over Man, knocking out the electronics of any unshielded areas. The Cots had been warned in advance and turned off their electronic equipment, saving them a lot of headaches after the missiles had been detonated.

The surviving aircraft belonging to the Royal Cottish Air Force had been forced to return home due to the lack of fuel and ordinance, so for a brief moment, the airspace over Man belonged to the Huahinians. However, due to the troubles caused by the defending forces, the Royal Cottish Navy was called in. An Enterprise class heavy aircraft carrier and its battle group was ordered in to the area of operations along with its air wing of some 110 combat aircraft. The carrier had been on manouvers in the shores off France when the orders had come, so it had immediately scrambled a number of aircraft and sent them on the way while it had started to move towards Man. A total of twenty-four F-63N Tengriys, the navalized version of the Air Force variant moved towards Man to assist in the destruction of the air units. These heavy fighters each carried, apart from the two large fueltanks closest to the fusilage, some six AIM.4-B Dødsengel extreme-range air to air missiles, eight AIM.3-A BVRAAM beyond-visual-range air to air missiles and four AIM.1-B IRIS-T short-range missiles for dogfighting. In addition came the 32mm dual-barrel cannon for real dogfighting. Being part of the Naval Air Force, these aircraft were manned by elite pilots, many of them experienced pilots. The weaponry they donned were also highly advanced, being able to manouver just as well as, or better, than the Huahinian pilots. The manouverability of the Typhoons would quickly be rendered useless when opposing the finest aircraft ever produced by Dat' Pidzy Arms Corporation in the Armed Republic of Soviet Bloc, a close ally to the Realm and arguably the best weapons manufacturers in the entire world. To add to the advantage the Cots believed they posessed, the carrier had also sent up one of its E-11 Dagger AWACS aircraft, giving the Cots another tactical advantage. With the powerful radar of the Dagger, the pilots could see things before their own radars picked them up thanks to the encrypted two-way datalink employed, something which also allowed the Dagger to target the Dødsengel missiles for the fighters. The Cots engaged the enemy aircraft from the maximum effective distance, some 200 nautical miles, firing two Dødsengels per target. While the Dødsengel had a maximum range of some 250 nautical miles, it would need fuel to manouver so that it could ensure a kill. Moving at Mach 4.8, each missile had a 98 percent chance of hitting the target. With each enemy aerial target having two Dødsengels targetting it, the chances of it being missed was virtually non-existant. Soon, the enemy air threat would be eliminated completely.

"So why should we listen to you?" said one.

"Yeah, what makes you think we give a fuck?" demanded another. Assembled in the cafeteria were a hundred and forty of the most violent and undisciplined men from this region of the former Huahin. Most of these men had done murder less than twenty-four hours ago, the bodies of every sex offender committed to this prison lying in a grisly half-burned pile in the shower facility.

Nathan Black, army captain and season special ops commando, needed to be just as ruthless to make this plan work.

"Because it's a long fucking swim to anywhere. And because your other option includes me, walking out the front door and locking it behind me. If I have to do that, I will personally spray-paint a big fucking 'X' on the roof of this hole and see if the Cottish air force won't use you for bunker-buster target practice. How about that? Do you give a fuck now?"

The cafeteria erupted into a buzz of growling and muttering. Black heard the phrases "should shiv the motherfucker" and "fucking hardass" and "just as bad as the screws". One of them, a thickly muscled man with a shaved head and flaming orange beard stepped forward. He took a defiant stance and crossed his arms over his broad chest. The rabble swiftly quieted, then he spoke.

"No," the man said simply. "We would prefer to take our chances with the Vikings than follow a skinny little piss-ant like yourself." A chorus of raucous affirmations came from the prisoners.

Black decided on a new tactic. It seemed the stereotype was true; these criminals would only respect a proven strength and superiority. Sadly predictable as it was, challenging the leader appeared to be his best chance. Perhaps he could challenge their faith in appearances, as well. Captain Black was not a large man, only five-foot-ten and weighing slightly less than 14 stone. But his long experience in special forces and extensive training in unarmed combat made him lethal. He doubted these villains were any more skilled than common street brawlers.

Black vaulted over the railing and dropped into the cafeteria from his place on the tier above it. He landed cleanly on one of the bench-tables. "Well," he said. "Seems pretty clear." Black stepped down from the table onto a bench and then hopped down to the sky-blue painted concrete floor, a wide grin on his face.

"You're all taking your cues from a fucking idiot."

The crowd began muttering furiously again, forming a ring around Black and their red-bearded leader. Black glanced around; he saw the ring close and found himself surrounded by malicious glares and flexing hands. Exactly what he'd expected. Now came the harder part.

"Any last words?" asked Black.

Redbeard burst into laughter, a dark and cruel noise. He was quickly joined by the rest of the rabble. Black simply stood and waited. Redbeard's laughter became a warcry as he charged headlong at Black. The crowd's laughter melded into uproarious cheering.

Redbeard closed to a few feet away, roaring and red in the face, thick arms spread wide for grappling. Black stepped forward and snapped his right leg up with blinding speed. Redbeard's tongue shot out of his mouth, accompanied by a softly crunching snap. The thick man sort of hopped to a standstill, his eyes bulging from their sockets. Black's steel-toed boot had swung up in front of Redbeard's chest and connected where his jaw met his throat. The impact lifted Redbeard's skull with enough force to tear the brainstem free from the spinal column. The man was dead instantly.

Black resumed his fighting stance to the sudden hush in the cafeteria. All eyes were on Redbeard as he fell bonelessly to the floor, his head bouncing hard off the concrete.

"Who's next?" Black said into the stunned silence. His only answer came in the form of a hundred and forty - a hundred and thirty-nine - expressions of mixed shock and fear. "That's what I thought," he said.

Black moved back toward the table. The crowd parted for him and he stepped back up onto it. "You should listen to me because I'm offering you all the opportunity to fight your invaders face-to-face. Out there! In here you're all murderers. Out there you're patriots! In here you're sitting ducks waiting on the dubious mercies of a hostile nation. Out there you have a fighting chance to win your freedom at the business end of a rifle!

"That is," Black smirked, "if you can take orders from a skinny little piss-ant like myself."

The prisoners roared their approval. Black had his troops and the first part of his plan was complete.

It seemed that the cruise missile attack on the carrier in Douglas Harbour had done its job. From what the Cots could see, there was no further immediate threats to the Cottish air superiority over Man. That air superiority was already pretty strong thanks to the carrier steaming like crazy towards Man, and it was to become even stronger thanks to the large Amphibious Battle Group sailing towards Man. It had entered the English Channel, so it was expected to arrive within twelve hours, max. In sixteen hours, Marines would start landing. Further supporting the Cottish soldiers were a flight of twelve F-6A Enforcer multirole fighter jets and four FB-177A Barsuk fighterbombers, supported by two KC-14A Yggdrasil refueling aircraft and a E-42B Phantom electronic warfare aircraft. The Tengriys and Super Falcons had been forced to return to the bases due to lack of fuel and weaponry.

Royal Cottish Army

4. Light Infantry BN
Soldiers: 1,000
M38A1 CTLAV: 80
M38A2 AT: 20
M38A3 Avenger ADU: 10
M939A3 5-ton TRK: 20

Royal Cottish Navy

Amphibious Battle Group 14
Elestee class LST: 5
Indefatigable class DDGN: 8
Infernal class DDGN: 4
Marauder class LHAN: 1
Mexia class BCN: 2
Moengen class AON: 1
Murmansk class SSN: 2
Nådeløs class FFGN: 10
Osean class LPHN: 2
Poseidon class LSDN: 4
Storm class LPDN: 6
Tordenskiold class CGN: 2
Wirgley class AEN: 2

Amphibious Air Wing 14
C-11B Dagger: 2
E-11C Dagger: 2
F-7A Predator: 20
H-53N Super Stallion: 48
H-86B Merlin: 16
H-92B Stalker: 16
H-93A Reaper: 4
H-95A Huey II: 34

Carrier Battle Group 5
Enterprise class CVN: 1
Indefatigable class DDGN: 6
Infernal class DDGN: 4
Murmansk class SSN: 2
Moengen class AON: 1
Nådeløs class FFGN: 6
Tordenskiold class CGN: 2
Wirgley class AEN: 1

Carrier Air Wing 5
A-5D Vigilante: 16
C-11B Dagger: 4
E-11C Dagger: 4
EA-5F Vigilante: 4
F-6B Enforcer: 24
F-37G Razor: 20
F-63N Tengriy: 24
H-86A Merlin: 8
H-86B Merlin: 4
RA-5E Vigilante: 4
RQ-15C Mack: 4
S-11A Dagger: 8



Royal Cottish Marine Corps

Marine Brigade 14
Marines: 8,927
M5A3 Løve MBT: 48
M38A1 CTLAV: 120
M38A3 Avenger ADU: 48
M50A1 Invader AAV: 360
M50A2 Invader AC4I: 13
M777A2 LW155 ART: 24
M939A3 5-ton TRK: 144

Royal Cottish Air Force

C-14B Yggdrasil: 5
C-130J Hercules: 2
E-42B Phantom: 2
F-6A Enforcer: 12
F-16G Super Falcon: 8
F-63K Tengriy: 8
FB-177A Barsuk: 4
KC-14A Yggdrasil: 2

Casualties
KIA: 69 [army]; 0 [marines]
MIA: 0 [army]; 0 [marines]
WIA: 225 [army]; 0 [marines]

Using the overhead projector from the library, Captain Nathan Black outlined his plan to the men. His new platoon leaders nodded their heads, silently impressed with what they recognized as sound tactics. The general population had already established their own hierarchies and so it was easy for Black to assign leaders and groupings, breaking them up into six platoons.

"What are we doing for weapons?" asked Grimshaw, platoon leader of his Aryan group. "The security stash was raided by the screws before they buggered off."

Black pointed to small hill near the prison's entrance. "The guards here were not aware of the weapons cache in this area, set aside for tactical teams in case of rioting. Since no one on the island was particularly concerned for your welfare, the cache remains intact. In it, we'll find plenty of weapons and body armour.

"We don't want to be spotted, so we'll be humping the gear overland under cover of darkness to the main camp, here," he pointed to another spot on the projected map. "It's not far, and I expect we should have few worries, so long as were careful. We will also, need to supplement our arms with some extra firepower from General Montgomery's armoury."

"What kind of extra firepower?" The question came from Ali, leader of the Muslim faction.

"Hand grenades, anti-tank weapons, rocket-propelled grenades, shoulder-fired anti-aircraft rockets, things like that," Black shrugged.

Hushed whispers and low whistles of approval rose from the seats. The Irish faction leader, Murphy, stood. "When do we get started?" Some cheers and eager chuckling rose, mostly from the Irish.

Black turned the overhead off with the flick of a switch and checked his watch. Twenty-two fourteen hours. "Now's as good a time as any, don't you think?"

[OOC: Let's fast-forward a bit.]

The ships of Amphibious Battle Group 14 had arrived at the shores off Man, and was now positioning itself for deployment. The initial landing place would take place at three different locations on the southern shores of Man, with one battalion of infantry being landed on each site.
The first site was on the small peninsula to the east of Castletown, which was close to the airport where the besieged men of the Army lay entrenched. This site would become a supply drop-off area when it was secured, to allow for the HLCACs and LCUs to land supplies to keep the Marines fighting.
The second site was west of Castletown, which would also be a battalion of infantry supported by a company of tanks. This unit was to press on towards Castletown to capture it.
The third landing area would be another battalion of troops, this one being airlifted in with the heavy transport helicopters. They would land at Port St. Mary on the relatively large southwestern peninsula, where they would capture and hold the city until reinforcements could arrive via HLCAC.

The remaining troops, some six thousand, eight hundred would land after the first wave in order to secure a beachhead, or in this case three beachheads. They didn't expect too much of organized resistance, but the civilian populace wouldn't be too happy with the Cots being there. Cotland and Huahin hadn't been on the best of terms, but the people would soon learn that the Cottish way of life was indeed better than the Huahinian one.

At exactly 00:30 hours, the two Mexia class battlecruisers swinged their large turrets towards the shores of Man, aiming at the targets spotted by UAVs and reconnisance aircraft earlier that evening. Their target was any defenses that could pose a threat to the Cottish vessels or Marines, mainly defensive structures, minefields, large amounts of troops or equipment, artillery emplacements and so on and so forth. The two Mexias had between them a total of fifteen 203mm main cannons and sixteen 155mm secondary guns, not to mention the many VLS cells which were filled with deadly missiles, both anti-air and anti-surface. The twelve Mk.141 launchers the two ships had between them could fire fourty-eight BGM.5 AMESM missiles which could attack both ships and land-based targets at ranges of up to more than three hundred and eighty-five kilometers away.

Those two Mexias opened up at exactly 00:30:30, sending a volley of fifteen 203mm projectiles and sixteen 155mm projectiles against seperate targets in and around Castletown. The crews of the turrets reloaded their cannons quickly and continued to fire, sending hundreds upon hundreds of shells down on the enemy from large distances. The 155mm projectiles were fired against those targets which were closest to the ships while the 203mms with their longer range were used against targets further away. Unlike previous conflicts, the Cots had introduced a brand new doctrine for all its branches. No longer would it completely level a city in order to ensure that it got all the targets like they had in for instance Kalmykia and Bolivia. No, now the Cottish strategy was so-called surgical strikes, using only as many shells as required against a target to ensure that it was destroyed, and not against other surrounding targets as well.

Four hours after the shelling had started, the commander ordered the Mexias to cease fire. From now on, they would support the landing marines, firing at targets the Marines pointed out to them. For the last hour of shelling, F-7A Predator light-weight tactical fighters flying from the Marauder LHAN had been in the air, sending ordinance against targets the Mexias couldn't see. AMESMs and iron bombs had been the norm, along with the 35mm cannon in the nose of the aircraft. A total of twenty of these imported beauties were with in this campaign, supporting the Marines.

The first helicopters took off at 04:20, being in the air and heading towards the shores fast, filled with combat-ready Marines and escorted by H-92B Stalker gunships fitted with 70mm 19-rocket pods and Brimstone missiles, as well as their dual 30mm cannon in the nose. The first of the H-53N Super Stallions touched down at the first location, codenamed LZ Alpha, twelve kilometers from the airport, on the shores. It was followed by another seven Super Stallions and four Merlins, carrying in total 460 combat-ready Marines, and four H-92B Stalker gunships. It was still dark, though it was getting brighter for every passing minute. The sun would rise at 05:15, and by then the Marines planned to have secured the immediate area. They fanned out, moving in squad-sized elements, fourty-six in total, supported on the ground by their own M15 rifles and M22 SAWs and the other squads; from the air by the Stalkers and the M134A2 Miniguns fitted on the Super Stallions and Merlins as well as the F-7s; and from the sea by the 203mm and 155mm cannons on the Mexias, the 155mm cannons on the Indefatigables and the 127mm cannons on the Infernals and Nådeløs'. The helicopters would return to the ships to gather the rest of the battalion and land them at LZ Alpha too.

At LZ Bravo, fourteen kilometers from LZ Alpha, no transport helicopters were heading. Instead, the Poseidon LSDNs and Storm LPDNs were launching HLCACs carrying the M5A3 Løve main battle tanks and infantry inside the amphibious M50 Invaders. These new amphibious vehicles had replaced the older Layartebian vehicles used, and packed a much heavier punch. Each Invader had a 30mm Bushmaster II chaingun for defense, and carried 18 Marines. A total of fourty of these vehicles were sailing towards LZ Bravo under the cover of the semi-darkness and from smoke from the smoke grenade launchers they had, travelling in a fan formation with at least fifty meters between each vehicle. They also travelled in several rows, minimizing the risk of two being hit by the same artillery shell, if the enemy had any left after the massive bombardment. HLCACs were carrying the equipment that wasn't amphibious, such as the tanks and support vehicles. Thankfully, members of the 2. SOF, Marinejegerkommandoen, had recceed the area in advance to make sure that it was suitable for the Marines to land there.

LZ Charlie, the last landing area was to be visited by a total of fourteen H-53N Super Stallions, sixteen H-95A Huey IIs and eight H-92B Stalkers, putting a total of eight hundred and fourty infantrymen on the ground, along with some relatively heavy equipment such as 82mm mortars, 84mm recoilless rifles and 127mm anti-tank guided missiles of the type Javelin. In half an hour, the Super Stallions would return with some CTLAVs for the Marines to use as backup and support.

The first thing the Marines did when they landed was to secure the area. Any resistance or hostiles were terminated as quickly and efficiently as possible. The Marines didn't have orders to take prisoners, so unless the person in question made it perfectly clear that he surrendered, he'd be killed. The Cots considered anyone holding a weapon or acting in a threatening manner a hostile, and thus a legal target. If the enemy was overwhealming the Marines, they'd call in support in form of either helicopters, tactical fighters or naval artillery via the radios and datalink system each Cottish Marine was equipped with.

In total, some two thousand, two hundred Marines were being landed in the first wave. Within two hours, another two thousand would be on the beaches.

The surviving aircraft belonging to the Royal Cottish Air Force had been forced to return home due to the lack of fuel and ordinance, so for a brief moment, the airspace over Man belonged to the Huahinians.


The attacks had stopped, but likely only for the moment. The moment was not wasted. From within hangars built into the northeastern side of Snaefell, four B-2 Spirit bombers began their take-off run, out of the hangars and down abbreviated runways. Immediately, the bombers - codenamed Omega Flight - climbed steeply into the air over Ramsey and the Point of Ayre. Within a minute, Omega Flight was over the Irish Sea, angling northwest toward the Mull of Galloway. Over the small area of international water the bombers corkscrewed up to an altitude of 40,000 feet, careful not to violate the airspace of either Layarteb's Ireland or Hawdawg's Scotland. When they had achieved the cruising level, Omega Flight angled back toward Douglas.

*****

Deep inside Snaefell, General Philip Cross was sipping tea and following the progress of Omega Flight with great interest.

"Do you really think this will work, sir?" Colonel Winston Rivers, Cross' second-in-command asked.

"I daresay it will, Colonel. I daresay it will. That puffed up saracen Montgomery would charge in with sabre raised and destroy us to the last man, with his bloody delusions of martyrdom, and I'll not have it. We're not knights of the realm to be sacrificing ourselves blithely for House and Country. No, I do believe we can be just as prosperous and at least twice as alive serving a new nation, than we would be did we follow General "Lemming" Montgomery to a bright and shining end."

Rivers digested that for a moment. "Perhaps Cotland will reward our assistance with nice fat retirement packages, hmm?"

Cross swiveled in his chair. "I'm not quite ready to retire just yet, Colonel. Are you?"

"I understand there are some very beautiful, very blond, Nordic goddesses in Cotland," Rivers said with a sly smile.

Cross snorted and shook his head. "Great Scot, man. You're in your forties, for God's sake. Did you learn nothing from your failed marriage?"

"All the more reason to find myself a rosy-cheeked doxy to settle down with." Rivers' smile widened into a full grin.

"You're incorrigible," Cross said, waving a hand in surrender. A beeping sounded from one of the control consoles. The officer at the station called his report over his shoulder.

"Omega Flight on final approach, General."

Cross set his tea aside. "Excellent. Thank you, Lef-tenant." He turned to address Rivers. "Now, we sit back and watch as our greatest threat in this takeover is reduced to so many smoking hulks, and the insane General Montgomery is removed from the field."

*****

The order came, and four bomb bays opened forty thousand feet above the Isle of Man. Omega Four dropped his load of ten first. A few seconds later, Omega Three did the same. Then Two. Finally, Omega One released his payload. Once his bay doors closed again, the four bombers turned around and went back the way they had come.

The effect was devastating, demoralizing, and completely unexpected. As each payload of bombs approached their target areas, their outer shells popped open and peeled away, each deploying its ten submunitions. These then deployed parachutes to slow them and make their descent more vertical. At a pre-determined altitude over the target site, the parachutes were jettisoned. Rockets in the submunitions lifted them up and spun them, each dispersing four skeet bomblets. As the skeets spun, wobbling, they searched for their targets with infrared sensors. When the targets were located, the skeets detonated, transforming their targets into burning twisted ruins with their molten-copper warheads.

The column of Challenger 2E MBTs that Montgomery had moving forward were shattered, all but two. Artillery sites known only to Huahinian forces were destroyed entirely. Armoured and infantry fighting vehicles near the front lines became crematoriums for the troops inside them. It was a crushing blow to the forces resisting the Realm of Cotland. One the Huahinians would not easily recover from. If they recovered at all.

The Cots had just learned that they couldn't rely on the enemy air force being defeated, something they learned when a radar operator aboard one of the Tordenskiold class guided missile cruisers detected a brief blip on the screen.

"Jeg tror jeg så noe." [I think I saw something.]

"Hva da?" [What?]

"Det så ut som en smygebomber. En B-2." [It looked like a stealthbomber. A B-2.]

"Har fienden det da?" [Does the enemy posess stealthbombers?]

"Aner ikke. Ber om tillatelse til å aktivere anti-smygesystemet." [No idea. Request permission to activate the anti-stealth system.]

"Tillatelse innvilget." [Permission granted.]

The operator flipped some switches and increased the power in the Inverse Synthetic Aperture Radar array of the mighty cruiser, sending out more than a million watts of energy in every direction, scanning the airspace. Seeing something moving away, the operator narrowed the energy beam to just a single degree while pumping up the amounts of energy, sending eight and a half million watts of energy towards the area. The radar waves wrapped around the targets, eliminating their stealth. The radar signatures now showed that there was indeed a contact.

"Kontakt fiendlige fly, peiling null-null-fem, fart fire hundre knop. Avstand femti nautiske.Designerer kontakt som Raid 3. Klassifiserer kontakt som fire B-2 Sprit strategiske bombefly. Ingen vennlige fly er meldt i området. Anbefaler engasjering." [Contact enemy aircraft, bearing zero-zero-five, speed four hundred knots. Distance fifty nautical miles. Designating contact Raid 3. Classifying contact as four B-2 Spirit strategic bombers. No friendly aircraft reported in area of operations. Recommend engaging the enemy.]

The weapons officer nodded and concurred with the recommendation, which was quickly passed to the battlegroup commander for authorization. Four seconds later, the go-ahead came. Now, things were getting hectic. Missile radars were brought online, weapons were prepared and the missile alarm was sounded, giving anyone on deck exactly ten seconds to get the hell inside. Twelve seconds after the alarm had been sounded, the weather-covers of the Mark-51 vertical launch system cells flipped open to allow for a total of eight RIM.4-A SM-4MR medium range ship to air missiles. They had an effective range of eighty nautical miles and were fitted with thrust-vectoring, making them extremely agile. The stunt the Huahinian Typhoons pulled on the Air Force wasn't going to be working this time, not that it would anyway.

The missiles erupted from the VLS cells in a hail of fire and smoke, moving quickly as they got up from the cell. As they streaked up, they left a stripe of white smoke from the cruiser as they climbed to 25,000 meters. On the way, they dropped the booster that had propelled them to this height and initiated their own solid-fuel booster, propelling the missiles to Mach 4.3. The missiles were tasked with two missiles on each contact, ensuring that even if one of the missiles failed, something which was an opportunity with the 89% success rate of the SM-4 missile, one would take out the aircraft with its 100-kilo blast-fragmentation warhead. More than enough to take down a B-2 Spirit. They would intercept at approximately seventy miles out, with the missiles diving steeply against the target, giving them little if any warning.

The Marines were doing well. So far, only very isolated pockets of resistance had been encountered, all of which had been defeated. The Marines had taken a few casualties, but far less than anticipated before the landings. A few Marine Recon teams were already in the very front, designating targets for the Mexias and aircraft overhead. What they saw was awe-inspiring. Tens of tanks and armored vehicles lay burning and destroyed in the area. Had the Mexias opened fire here? There was a bit of confusion, but the information was relayed to the intellligence people back on the ships who concluded with that they might be internal strife among the Huahinians. Perhaps they should try to enlist one of the sides...?

Town of Andreas, North IOM

The mist of the early morning was just burning off over the small, no mark town of Andreas. The main streets were silent, cars parked up and un-moving, still covered in dew.

A flag-pole stood in the centre of the city, devoid of any coloured cloth, the ropes twanging and pinging against the painted white metal, almost hypnotic in the silence. A couple of birds chirped here and there, while they swooped about the rooftops.

However, in a large yard on the outskirts of the town centre there was activity. A sign on the concrete wall outside the yard was faded and scratched, it read North Army Depot, 3rd Regiment. A Huahinian flag was painted neatly underneath, and over the top someone had scrawled, Fucking Liars!

Inside the yard there were a couple of squat, grey concrete buildings with numbers painted on the roof's and the sides. At the rear of the yard sat 10 Challenger 2 tanks, immaculate and covered in dew. They were painted a green, grey, black and brown colour and they sat in perfect order.

In another corner of the sprawling yard sat four helicopters, two Apache's and two Lynx Transport helis, their rotors all tied down to the ground, bending and bouncing in the wind rolling in from the sea.

In front of the tanks and helicopters there were about 300 men assembled in tight order rows, all at attention. They were wearing dark DPM uniforms and had SA80A2 rifles shouldered. Some soldiers wore green tanker and Air Corps uniforms with DPM web gear, and shouldered SA80A2 Carbines. They were all standing facing a huge hangar type building, the doors wide open. Inside were around 50 vehicles, trucks and Jeeps and APC's. A Sergeant Major stood off the to front left of the rows of men.

A Land Rover Defender 110XD sped out from the cavernous hangar and stopped a few metres away from the front row of men. A tall, heavy set man wearing DPM and a black beret, with only a pistol belt around his waist, jumped out of the drivers seat and clambered up onto the roof, and stood up, scanning over the men assembled before him.

He spoke:

"FREINDS, COUNTRYMEN, MANXIANS! Today our small, fledgling nation is facing its greates trial since the collapse of the Huahin Government. We are facing threats from the Viking hordes in Norway, sandwhiched between their allies in Ireland and Britain. Our little nation will be a constant thorn in their side. The Norwegians have already invaded in the south, and you've heard their aircraft and their bombs. It is only by the grace of God that they have missed our little depot, but we cannot count on this grace any longer. Today, we move out. We are going further south to meet up with more troops.
Have no fear my freinds, for we are in the right and the Vikings are in the wrong. We are in the fight of our lives, but remember this is our home, and we will defend it to the end!
I SAULTE YOU ALL!" The man on the Jeep saluted and his men saluted back. He had the name Carver written on a name-tape over one of his breast pockets and he had a Colonel's insignia on his shoulders.

A few minutes later the four helicopters were hovering above the base, there were trucks, jeeps and APC's lined up in the yard and the Challenger Tanks were roaring out of the gates.

Tens of tanks and armored vehicles lay burning and destroyed in the area.

[OOC: Dozens, even. ;)]


Snaefell Air Base, IOM

"Confirmed, General. Omega Flight is gone," the young lieutenant called from his station.

Colonel Rivers turned to face the general. "I think perhaps the Cots are not impressed by our assistance."

"No, no," General Cross said, wagging a finger. "We are merely misunderstood, dear fellow. Have Signals send an encrypted message in the general direction of the main Cottish beachhead...east of Castletown, if old Monty's scouts are worth anything at all. Have it state that we are responsible for clearing the dissenters from their path, and offer our allegiance and hope for cooperation."

"Consider it done, sir."

*****

Douglas, IOM

Captain Black was in serious trouble. He and his makeshift company of convicts had just reached the foothils to the north, marching overland to their new assignment, when all hell broke loose back in town. Staccato crackling heralded a symphony of explosions. Thick black smoke plumes roiled up into the sky and melded into a larger charcoal cloud.

The sound repeated itself, not once, but three times, each sounding more distant and muffled than the one before. After a few moments, three smudges of tenebrous smoke marred the horizon. Each of those locations had been areas where General Montgomery had defences entrenched. Now it appeared they were so much slag.

"What the fuck was that?" one of the cons cried.

"What happened?" demanded another.

Black looked down at his troops for a moment, then back at the smoke clouds. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "I think we're on our own for now, lads."

"Oh, bloody fecking hell!" Grimshaw shouted. "That's just bleeding brilliant! What're we supposed to do, then?"

The skinhead's tirade was met with a hard stare from Black. "Shut up, Grimy," said Murphy. "Seriously, though, Cap. What are we to do now?"

Black thought again for a moment. "We continue north. The Cots appear to be based on the south of the island. If we keep to a northerly course, were bound to find friendlies."

"What if we don't? What if we pass them right by?" whined one of the Aryans.

"It's not that big of an island," Black replied. "Let's keep moving, then."

Glen Audlyn, IOM

The town of Glen Audlyn was nothing spectacular to begin with, but now that it had been bombed and strafed, it at least looked interesting. Carver's men and his vehicles catiously made their way into the town, the tanks going first. Luckily there had been no Cottish air sorties, they were occupied elsewhere, Carver presumed.

The Airfield at the North East of the town wasthe objective, and it was easy to spot as it was still smoking. Plane and vehicle wreckage lay everywhere, hangers were on fire and crumbling and the control tower lay in ruins on its side. The four Helicopters had flown ahead, the two Lynx Helis had dropped their troops and they had secured the airfield. Now the remainder of Carver's column rode in through the crumpled gates of the military airfield. His troops looked somewhat dismayed, but he himself was impassive, he had the kind of look of a man that knew something he wasn't telling anyone.

He drove his Land Rover to the end of the 01 Runway and parked it in front of where the aircraft take off. He strolled over to the grass on the verge of the runway and found a grey stone. He lifted the top off it and pressed a button on the inside and two feet away a pole with a number pad on the top came up out of the grass. He stepped over and keyed in a number. There was a large whining noise and at the rear of the runway the concrete seemingly lifted up, revealing a huge ramp. The slab of conrete, really a massive metal door on hydraulic hinges, lifted up.

Carver waved a squad of troops over to him and they came running. As they did a white-coated man wearing Air Force trousers appeared on the ramp. His white coat was covered in blood and he looked tired and gaunt, his bald head glistened with sweat. He studied the men for a couple of seconds and then crossed himself and offered a silent prayer. Carver stepped forward, "I'm Colonel Carver, 3rd Regiment from Andreas. Requesting permission to enter the base."

The white coated man looked at Carver for a long moment with bleary eyes, when he spoke he spoke as a man exhuasted. "I am Major O'Hanlon, Air Force, your the highest ranking officer now Colonel. There are no troops here, only wounded and a few pilots. Come and see."

Carver spoke into his radio and the tanks and vehicles began to move up the runway, and the helicopters were covered with netting near the ruins of other helos.

*****

The underground base was a miracle of Huahin engineering. It stretched the entire length of the air field and spread out massivley wide. It had room for over 100 Fighter planes and numerous vehicles. It had living quarters for pilots and troops.

Only 55 planes remained in the hangar, some 40 F-2000, 5 Harrier's and 10 Tornado GR.6. Carver had ordered his tanks and vehicles to park in the empty plane bays and he had given O'Hanlon several Medics and a surgeon to help with the many wounded. Carver had then taken the remaining pilots and his own troops and had briefed them on his plans.


As evening drew on two EF-2000 and one GR.6 rolled up the ramp and blasted off into the sky. They turned high up and headed out to sea, turning back about 10 miles off the coast, and roaring down toward Douglas. They began to engage Cottish ships as they did so, firing Penguin AS missiles at Max range.


*****

As the planes were in the air Carver sent a message to the Air Base he knew was south of him, in Snaefell.


ENCRYPTED MESSAGE

TO: Snaefell AFB
FROM: Colonel M. X. Carver, 3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB


Have made it to Glen Auldyn with troops, have taken command. I am organsing sorties against enemy forces. Please inform of your situation and the situation in the South.

MESSAGE ENDS

Triple-Encrypted Message

TO: Colonel M. X. Carver,
3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB

FR: Major General P. G. Cross,
Commander, Manx Air Wing, Snaefell AFB


Excellent work, Colonel. Your hard work and ingenuity shall be rewarded. Continue to secure Glen Auldyn for the time being. Supplemental staff are on their way to assist in getting the base back into fighting form.

You are also ordered to report here at Snaefell at 1000 Hours tomorrow for debriefing and further instructions.


[signed]

HMS 'Stjerne' (LHAN-14)
”Det er som vi trodde. To forskjellige fraksjoner opererer på Man. En fiendtlig mot oss, en vennligsinnet. Den vennligsinnede har kontaktet oss og forklart at de er ansvarlige for å rydde unna personell og utstyr som marinesoldatene har rapportert at de har funnet.”

The intelligence officer stood opposite the commander for the battlegroup, presenting the results of the analysis of the situation so far.

”Jeg forstår. Er det sannsynlig at de mener det alvorlig?” [I understand. Is it likely that they’re serious?]

”Vi har ingen grunn til å ikke stole på at de snakker sant. De fire bombeflyene vi skjøt ned hadde angrepet fiendtlige styrker, og det er logisk at de tilhører den vennlige fraksjonen.” [We have no reason not to trust that they speak the truth. The four bombers we shot down had engaged enemy forces, and logic dictates that they belong to the friendly fraction.]

”Forstått. Kontakt dem og gi beskjed om at vi ikke skal engasjere styrkene deres, men de må identifisere seg. Sørg for å få noen til å kontakte dem. Har ikke vi noen spesialstyrker tilgjengelige?” [Understood. Contact them and inform them that we won’t engage their forces, but they have to identify themselves. Make sure someone contacts them. Don’t we have any special forces available?]

”Jo sjef. Vi har fem team fra Marinejegerkommandoen tilgjengelige. Et av dem kan ta kontakt med fraksjonen og fungere som forbindelse.” [Yes sir. We have five teams from [i]Marinejegerkommandoen available. One of them can contact the fraction and act as liaisons.]

”Sett i gang.” [Get going.]

Before the battle group commander could say anything else, alarms started sound, calling every man and woman aboard the ships to action. The voice of the executive officer of the ship was heard shortly thereafter over the intercom speakers.

“Klart skip, klart skip! Alle mann til kampstasjoner!” [General quarters, general quarters. All hands, man your battle stations!]

=================

In the battle center aboard cruiser in charge of the air defense of the battle group, once again the air raid alarm was sounded. The three aircraft weren't particularly stealthy, and had been detected early on. A flight of four Tengriys from the carrier which was approaching had already been tasked to find out where they came from and to take them out, while the integrated air defense network of the battle group was activated. All the ships were linked together using encrypted datalink, commanded by one of the guided missile cruisers. There, the air defenses were tied together, something which increased the effectiveness of the missiles and radars. The CIWS' weren't tied in, as the ships needed that to be independent so they could defend themselves against missiles that engaged them. The primary threat was the Penguin anti-shipping missiles. The Penguin had a range of some twenty-five nautical miles, or roughly thirty-five kilometers, well within range of the Cottish air defense missile, and was barely supersonic, something which made the Cottish job easier.

A number of air defense missiles were targetted at the incoming missiles and against the aircraft which fired them, mainly RIM.3-A SM-3ERs against the aircraft and RIM.4-A SM-4MRs and RIM.2-B RAMs against the missiles that were incoming. The Mk.102 close-in weapons systems, in reality just a five-barreled 25mm gatling gun with a whooping 15,500 rounds available per mount and a powerful doppler radar were also prepared for use against the incoming missiles. A total of two SM-3ER missiles were fired against each aircraft, and three SM-4MRs were fired against the Penguins. Whatever of the missiles that survived were targetted by RAMs, missiles with a range of six nautical miles and then, if any survived, were engaged by the CIWS, which had a range of some five thousand meters and an amazing rate of fire. If the Penguins managed to beat that, they would have to pass the outer perimeter of frigates, then the middle perimeter of destroyers and cruisers before it came to the battlecruisers and amphibious vessels, which had by now deployed most of the Marines.

A group of six F-7A Predators were loaded up with BGM.5-A AMESM missiles and 250-kilogram iron bombs and sent to destroy the airbase where the enemy had taken off from. The UAVs suggested that the apparently abandoned airstrip at Glen Audlyn was the origin of the attack. The Predators would fire missiles against the buildings and any operational radars there first, then fly over, dropping bombs on the runway and strafing any targets on the ground with their 27mm six-barreled gatling-guns. This was just the first air raid against the airstrip though. It would be engaged by A-5D Vigilante carrier-borne bombers later today too, carrying massive amounts of bombs to ensure that the airstrip wouldn’t be used against the Cots again.

On the ground, the Marines were getting things up and running. A total of nine infantry battalions were on the ground now, three on the east side of Castletown, four on the west side and two at LZ Charlie. In addition, the tank battalion had been landed and split up to support the two main infantry units. Operating in troop formations of some six tanks each, a total of eight troops were backing up the infantry. Artillery were to be offloaded next and deployed on the eastern peninsula, where the Cots had pretty much secured. They were only a few hundred meters from the airport now, and moving forward.

On the airport, the light infantry had been reduced to six hundred and eighty-three men still able to fight. A hundred and eleven had been killed, with the rest being too badly wounded to fight. Helicopters were braving enemy small-arms fire to land on the airport to take on wounded soldiers, flying them to the ships where the medical teams were working twenty-four seven. All of the Army CTLAVs had been destroyed, and the heavy machine guns on them taken off and placed inside the buildings in a defensive role. The defenders were still fighting, though they were running out of ammunition and other supplies. Therefore, it was a great relief to see the Marine M50A1 Invader armoured vehicles driving onto the runway, firing their powerful 30mm chainguns at targets of opportunity. As a company of ten Invaders stopped in front of the ravaged terminal building, the rear doors opened and out came a total of one hundred eighty rested and well equipped Marines. More were coming, but these were the first of the reinforcements the battalion commander had been promised. They were just four hours late, according to the plan. The Marines were deployed in squad-sized elements to take over for the Army soldiers, who were glad to see the “goddamned jarheads” come help them out. The rivalry between the Army and the Marine Corps was a friendly one, but serious never the less. Still, in combat they knew that they could rely on the other covering their back.

Within an hour, two battalions of Marines backed up by a troop of M5A3 Løve tanks had reinforced the airport, allowing the light infantry battalion to fall back to the support area to rearm and regroup. The battalion commander, who had been a company commander when they landed here, got into a M50A2 Invader amphibious command post carrier and got an update on the situation. Things were looking up, since they had managed to establish two strong bridgeheads and one which had the potential. It was surprising that the enemy hadn’t conducted a counter-attack against the bridgeheads yet, but for every hour the enemy didn’t show, the stronger the bridgehead became. As it was now, it would be pretty hard to drive the Cots back onto the sea again. The thing that had the potential of hitting them would be to launch air raids, but the air defense missiles of the ships protected them from high-flying threats and the Wizard MANPADs and Avenger air defense vehicles against low-flying threats would make sure that any air raid would be costly for the enemy.

"How bad is it, really?" asked Murphy.

Black continued a few steps before answering. "It's pretty bad. Those four grease stains back there were supposed to be our counter-offensive against the Cottish beachheads. Whatever took them out did a damned good job of erasing that play."

Murphy nodded as he digested that. A quick glance back showed that some of the men were starting to lag, stringing out their line. "We should probably stop soon," he suggested.

Black halted and turned to survey the company. A number of the fitter men were doing all right, but most of them looked exhausted. More than a few were sunburned on their faces and arms. The company had marched nearly halfway around Snaefell by now, not a bad day's work given the circumstances.

"I think you're right. Good eye, Murphy." Black moved back toward the men, holding up his fist to call for a halt. The men in front halted immediately, then the ones behind them, raising their eyes off the ground enough to notice those in front were now standing. "Oh, thank Christ!" someone wheezed. Farther behind, men hurried to catch up, a final burst of adrenalin brought on by the prospect of rest. One waved a dismissive hand and dropped where he was.

"C'mon, fat ass!" one of the Aryans shouted.

"It's all right," Black said. "His platoon leader can fill him in later." He pulled a map from one of his many pockets and scrutinized it briefly. He gestured for Murphy to lean in and pointed to a feature on the terrain, just ahead from their current position. "Take seven fit men and scout this cave out. If it's good, send one of them back while you secure it. Should only take ten minutes one way."

"Got it," Murphy said and began picking out his section. As he did, Black addressed the rest of the company.

"You men have done good work today. You've all exceeded my expectations of you. Unfortunately for you, I'm going to raise my expectations now." Some of the men laughed.

One voice in the back whined, "Way to go, assholes!" That only drew more laughs.

"Not too far ahead is a small sheltered crevice in the side of the hill. If it checks out as suitable, we'll make camp for the night and get some rest. I'll tell you now, though, there will be no fires and no lights. While these things are generally important to the continuation of life here on Earth, in a war they can be the harbingers of a swift and painful demise."

"At least we'd not have to do any more bloody marching!" A few chuckled. The rest just ignored the comment.

As did Black. "We'll be off again before dawn and hopefully reach Snaefell AFB before the sun gets very high above the horizon. We'll have no shade on this side of the hill during the morning and we'll be very visible to any aerial patrols, so I want to get us there as quickly as possible."

"Can't we just sleep in 'til the afternoon?" the same voice said. No one laughed this time, and the comment drew a few frowns.

Black's face grew hard. Some were beginning to recognize the expression and did their best to avoid drawing it. "Does the ass clown in the back have the balls to stand up and make himself known?"

With some shuffling, a head popped up as the individual got to his feet. Even exhausted as he clearly was, he still managed a cockiness to his stance. It was Fisher, a skinhead and one of Grimshaw's toadies. He crossed his swastika-tattooed arms.

"Yes or no?" Black asked.

Fisher's face screwed up in confusion. "Yes or no what?"

Black casually drew his Desert Eagle and cocked it. Confusion became rapt attention. Fisher had left his gear - along with his rifle - on the ground, three feet away.

"Yes or no what, man?"

Slowly and deliberately, Black pointed the Eagle at Fisher's head. The skinhead's trembling hands came up as if to ward off any potential bullets.

Fisher's voice rose higher. "What the fuck, man?! Yes or no what!?"

Black continued to train the large handgun at Fisher for a long moment. The other men were all frozen, barely daring to breathe as they watched the exchange. "When it's their gun pointed at you, do you think the Cots will let an escaped child-killing racist paedophile live?"

"What?! I ain't no fuckin' skinner!" Fisher spat.

"No, you're not. But when I cut you loose and send a bulletin to them saying that you are, and they find you, you will very likely find yourself as you do now...staring at a gun pointed at your head."

"What?! Wait...what do you mean, 'cut me loose'?"

"Yes or no?"

"What?! What the fuck?! Yes or no?! What the fuck do you mean cut me loose?!" Fisher's eyes widened as he thought he had caught on. "No! No, don't cut me loose, man! Don't cut me loose!"

"Are you going to leave this company and go back the way we came, or am I going to have to kill you? Yes or no?"

Fisher's mouth hung open as the question crashed in on him. He grunted and stammered, trying to find the words to convince Black to let him stay. "But...c'mon, man...I...I...fuck...please let me stay. I promise I won't say another fucking word, man. Please!

Black took three steps forward. The response was instant. Fisher scuttled away and raised his hands again. "Okay! Okay!" he said angrily. "I'm fucking going! Fuck!" He bent as if to pick up his gear.

"No," Black said.

Anger and indignance and desperation played across Fisher's face. "Can't I even take any food or anything?"

Black took two more steps.

"All right! Fuck!" he shouted, moving away.

"If I find that you're following us, I will kill you. No warning."

Fisher opened his mouth a few times, but allowed choice retorts to die on his tongue for fear of being shot. Finally, he began trudging back toward the south. Black and the men watched for a few minutes as Fisher receded. Soon, the skinhead was lost to dusk's shadows. O'Brien, one of Murphy's men, returned then.

"Murph says it looks good, Cap. Just big enough for us if we pack in."

Black nodded. "Head back, then. We'll follow." He uncocked the Eagle and holstered it.

"Grab your gear, men. Let's move."

The Aryan leader came up and paced Black. "What's on your mind, Grimshaw?" Black prompted.

"Don't you think he's gonna rat us out to the Cots? I mean, he'd never rat on the inside, but it's a big world out here and he won't be worrying about a shiv in the kidneys, you know?"

Black shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"He'd trade information on us in a second if he thought it would convince the Cots not to shoot his ass for being a skinner."

"I'm not sending a bulletin."

"You're not?" Grimshaw asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It would be stupid, for one thing. The Cots would follow the signal back to us and learn our position. The last thing we need is to light a flare saying 'here we are', which is what sending any messages would amount to. No, I believe we're just fine."

They marched a little way in silence as Grimshaw tried to work out exactly how they weren't in any additional danger. Black smiled. "Figure it out yet?" Grimshaw shook his head.

"Well then, here's a little strategy lesson for you. Fisher's antics would eventually become bolder the longer I left him to continue, which would have a deleterious effect on morale and discipline."

"So he's gotta go," Grimshaw reasoned.

"Not necessarily. Under other circumstances I might have simply warned him. But at the moment I can't spare the time or effort. I didn't think he would be willing to just go, given the fact that he's probably institutionalized and scared to death of being all alone on the outside. He needed to be properly motivated and the only threat serious enough for him was death."

"I'm surprised that even worked. He's a stubborn little bastard."

"Mm. He won't follow us, I don't think. If he does, I will kill him. If not, which is more likely, then he'll be in enemy territory and will no doubt go into hiding. He won't go to the Cots because he thinks I'm sending them a bulletin saying what a heinous threat to the public he is. Even if he does end up in Cottish hands, he'll keep quiet so as not to draw any attention to himself. So we're well rid of him and can be fairly certain of his discretion."

Grimshaw gave Captain Black an appraising look. "You're kind of a douchebag, you know."

Black smiled. "Yeah, I guess I am."

ENCRYPTED MESSAGE

TO: Major General P. G. Cross,
Commander, Manx Air Wing, Snaefell AFB

FROM: Colonel M. X. Carver,
3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB


We will accept your troops General, but I cannot leave my men. Three of my planes were destroyed today, three more patriots for the cause. I need reinforcements, planes and tanks if you have them.

MESSAGE ENDS

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

South IOM

The three aircraft didn't stand a chance, the pilots knew it before they took off. They had volunteered for the mission and the Colonel had explained it to them. Before they even had a chance to fire their missiles they had been engaged by Cottish AA fire and a number of planes had been spotted heading toward them, slipping in and out of radar cover.

The three pilots, in the two EF-2000's and the Tornado, managed to dodge a few missiles before firing their 10 Penguin missiles in quick succession.
The missiles streaked away towards the ships in the distance. Only one missile would actually hit its target, which was a frigate. The planes then turned and burned toward the coast, getting lower and lower as they did so. The Tornado, however, was slower and didn't make it far, a missile from the ships exploded into the engine intake, destroying the plane completely. The two Eurofighters made it to the coast, flying as low as they dared, below radar. From nowhere, however, one of the Eurofighters was locked up and fired on, four missiles headed from four planes that popped up on the radar as they fired and then dissappeared. The pilot followed the plan and ejected well before the missiles hit the spinning plane.

The other Eurofighter however, managed to catch the empty A2 along the coast and he managed to land the plane on a straight stretch between Laxey and Corrany. He left the plane sitting on the middle of the rode and slapped the wad of C4 to the inside of the cockpit and scrambled out, fallling down the A2 embankment and then running for the forest ahead, entering it just as the four Cottish planes roared overhead, and then passed back lower, obviously looking at the plane. A few seconds later the timer on the C4 ended and the plane crumpled into a fireball that erupted from the cockpit.

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

Glen Audlyn, IOM

So far the bombing had gone on half an hour. It had been mostly to the middle and forward areas of the runway, only a couple landing near the rear area. The underground bunker was doing its job perfectly, but it was noisy and scary as the very foundations of the earth shook under the many bombs erupting almost overhead. Carver stood looking at a radar screen that had gone blank a couple of seconds ago and he then keyed a radio and announce placidly, "Little Fox, this is Den, you are a go, repeat, you are a go."

As the Cottish A-5's raced in behind the other bombers and the UAV's, from a wooded area on a small mountain overlooking the smoking airfield a squad of men hurriedly prepared 10 Stinger missiles, quickly finding the lock-ons and firing the missiles, bending down as the smoke cleared to attach another missile to the launcher. The 10 Stinger's streaked up in the sky, after the A-5's, the pilots probably shocked. Then another 10 Stinger's were loosed from the wooded area and then the squad dissappeared back into the gloom.

As Little Fox's sneak attack got underway, Carver was busy trying to find a way to repair the radar devices from their nodes below the ground. He was walking toward the rear of the cavernous vehicle pool to find the Engineers offices when he noticed a pair of black Landrovers with trailers covered with black tarpaulin's. They were not part of his outfit, nor where they part of the Air Force outfit stationed in the Bunker, in fact the vehicles had no markings at all.

Carver looked around and scratched his ear before strolling casually over to the two jeeps. He looked around them for a second. They were the XD110 and had mud all over the lower parts. The paint was flat and cheap, obviously military. The windows were blacked out so he opened one of the doors and peered inside, just a normal cab, some dried mud on the floor and some empty gun racks. The MG hatch in the roof was closed and the fitting was resting on the rear cabin floor. The keys were sitting in the dash.

Carver listened outside for a second. The bombing was still going on somewhere to the rear.

He closed the door and strolled around to the trailer of the first jeep. The tarpaulin was secured by some bungee cords. He undid them and threw them onto the concrete behind the trailer and lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath were twelve 3 dimensional triangles of metal, all sitting with their points upright. A strange cradle device sat in the middle of each triangle, and it was connected to a lifting system of some sort, which was itself connected to a huge round drilling device that sat at the bottom of the pyramid shaped devices. There were a few boxes in the middle of the trailer, around which the devices were arrayed. Three were marked: DANGER: C4 PLASTIC EXPLOSIVE- HANDLE WITH EXTREME CAUTION. The other two boxes were marked: MX-100 ANTI SHIPPING DEVICE- DETONATORS. Carver looked puzzled for a second and stared at the devices for a long moment. Then he grinned.

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

OOC: Cymrea, you could have those prisoner guys meet up with my downed pilots or something? Cotland, is one Penguin missile hit OK, I was going to RP that none hit their target, but that isn't all that interesting?
Don't be alarmed at the MX-100 devices either, all will be explained. I can remove them from the RP if you want as they are actually a little pet project of mine, but I would err on the side of including them as things will be very...explosive? *Dr. Evil laugh*
Losses:

2x Lynx Helicopters
2x Apache Helicopters
(All four were on the Airfield, and it was bombed.)
2x EF-2000
1x Tornado GR.6

1x Pilot

The lone Penguin managed to penetrate the close-in defenses that the Nådeløs class guided missile frigate had activated. The missile penetrated the armor of the superstructure, slamming into the Operations Center before detonating. The results were devestating. The commanding officer and the entire staff died in the explosion, which also ignited fires and totally destroyed the combat systems. She was effectively combat ineffective. The fireball that started made its way through the fireproof hatch which had been left open by an inexperienced crewman, blasting all the way up to the bridge. Those on watch there suffered third and second degree burns, dispite the fireproof hoods, gloves and clothing they wore. The XO got up from the deck and started damage control, dispite being injured. It soon became clear that the captain was dead, and that all the power was down. However, the reactor was still intact and the hull below the waterline likewise. What they had to do was to put out the bloody fires!

Helicopters from the surrounding ships started moving over to the stricken frigate, taking on wounded and sending in fresh crews to help fight the fires. The Cots were hoping to save the frigate, even if it would mean towing it into a friendly port. Blackpool and Liverpool in Hawdawg England wasn't far away. Neither was Belfast or Dunkalk in Layartebian Ireland.

===================

The pilots of the A-5s decided to quickly drop their bombload over the airport before they got the hell out of the area, informing all aircraft that they would be flying over a hot area. In the Combat Information Center aboard the aircraft carrier, it was decided to abort all raids on the airport. All aircraft were ordered to withdraw from the area, and to stay away for the time being. Another plan was forming. Unfortunately, it costed the Cots three A-5s before they could get out of there, dispite intense IR jamming and use of flares.

An Indefatigable class destroyer operating with the carrier battle group was ordered to unleash a total of three BGM.6-B Imsdal SCRAMjet cruise missiles filled with 240 BLU-123 IISM thermite submunitions each against the airport. The -B version was perfect for hitting airports, being able to vaporize anything within a 1,250 meter radius. The three missiles were to hit the areas around the runway and tarmac, hopefully taking out any defenses there.

The weather-covers on three of the VLS cells sprung open and exposed the missiles inside to the outside world briefly before the three missiles rose from their cells in a hail of fire and smoke. The smoke-trail and firetail followed the missiles, showing their flightpaths to anyone within visual range. Before long, the missiles were at 25,908 meters and cruised towards the target at Mach 6.2. After a couple of minutes, the missiles entered a steep dive towards the target, increasing the airspeed to Mach 7. 120 meters over the airstrip, the covers of the missile burst open and the submunitions rained down on the airport and any equipment and poor bastards unfortunate enough to be down there, igniting as they reached the ground. The ensuing fireball was nearly two thousand, five hundred degrees centigrade warm, making sure that nothing but rock would survive. Of humanly engineered things, only a nuclear weapon generated more heat. The Imsdals slammed into the ground before the thermite ignited, making three very big holes in the ground.

OOC: I have a Naval base near Dublin and one near Belfast, if you need them.
Will make a big post tomorrow.

Triple-Encrypted Message

TO: Colonel M. X. Carver,
3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB

FR: Major General P. G. Cross,
Commander, Manx Air Wing, Snaefell AFB


Included among the forthcoming supplemental staff is Colonel W. H. Rivers. He will assume command of Glen Audlyn during your absence, which should alleviate your concerns. Further objections notwithstanding, I remind you that your presence here is not merely a request, but a direct order.

I look forward to meeting, you Colonel.

[signed]



[OOC: Worry not, I have a destination in mind for the convict company. If everything goes to plan, it'll be a sweet little story arc. I'm not as skilled at outlining battles, so my main contribution will be to sprinkle some flavour flakes through the thread with more character-level narratives, hopefully giving some extra depth to the metaplot. ;)]

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

The Little Fox detachment had made it back safely and had entered into the underground base via one of the hidden entrances in the surrounding hills. Carver had been making his way up the tunnel to meet them as he heard a dull roar overhead. He stood listening for a second and then his eyes went wide and he ducked to the ground, and shouted into the tunnels, EVERYBODY GET DOWN. INCOMING! He heard some scraping and rattling up ahead and then the overhead lights flickered and then...KABOOOM!

Carver instinctively pressed himself into the immovable concrete and covered his head. There were three distinct explosions making up one huge one. There was dust pouring down from the roof in little drops and the overhead lights were rattling in their cages and flickering on and off. Then there was silence. Carver removed his hands from his head and opened an eye, his arms were covered in dust and the shaking lights cast strange shadows up the tunnel in front of him. Then he heard scuffling and shouting up ahead and from round a corner burst the ten men from the returning detachment. Carver jumped up and beat himself down to get the dust off his uniform. He signalled the men running toward him to follow and he set off running back toward the main hangar.

Carver and the team of ten men burst out into the main hangar expecting the worst, but they didn't find it. A few of his own soldiers and some Air Force personnel were re-stacking crates and boxes and brushing away bits of broken glass from a nearby office. Carver breathed a sigh of relief but then he saw the Air Force Commander rushing toward him. He started talking when he was still aways from Carver, "Colonel...Colonel, the damm ramp is gone. The blast doors have kept us okay, but it won't fucking open now. Thats probably because one of the missiles or bombs have destroyed the ramp and its cover." The Commander was breathing heavily and Carver looked puzzled for a second and then he perked up. "Don't worry Commander, there are several other exits to this bunker, as you well know. There are two personnel exits, one vehicle exit and an aircraft exit. We'll be fine."

The Commander calmed down slightly and before he could get another word in, Carver had moved on, "Commander, what are those black jeeps over on the other side of the hangar? Who do they belong to?" The Commander looked bemused for a second before remembering, "Oh yeah...a squad of Navy Special Forces types brought them here about three days before you arrived. Said they were going down south to scope things out. They left the vehicles and ain't been back since."

Carver thought for a moment before speaking again, "Where did they come from?"

The Commander replied after thinking for a second, "Ramsey, they said they were out of Ramsey Auxiliary Naval Base, its out East, not far."

Carver turned to the ten men of behind him. "Time to saddle up again guys. Get outside, get a few civilian cars and get down to Ramsey, get me a sit-rep A-SAP. Load up on weapons and ammo, get some chow and then get going." The men saluted and Carver shot one back at them. They walked off to one side of the hangar to load up and Carver went the other way, to the Comms office to check messages.

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

ENCRYPTED MESSAGE

TO: Major General P. G. Cross,
Commander, Manx Air Wing, Snaefell AFB

FROM: Colonel M. X. Carver,
3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB

General, I cannot and will not leave my men or my post. I will also not allow another Officer to take command here. You would be ill advised to force this situation.
As well as that General, what have you been doing for the cause? Before our radars went down I detected no air craft flying out of your base, and you have more than I do, and whats more you have Stealth aircraft. I have already downed three Cottish planes and have fired on the Cottish fleet. We have also suffered intense bombing here. What are you doing over there General?

MESSAGE ENDS

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

Flight Liutenant John Stryker had had a bad day and a worse night. He had been forced to land on a road, had destroyed his plane and was now on the run, supposedly. He had suffered an awful night of rain and humid heat, a weird British Isles combination of bad weather. As dawn had come on Stryker had skulked out of the forest and had seen the embers of his plane still burning on the road.

He was expecting the Cot's to come during the night to check the wreckage but they hadn't. Stryker crossed the A2 carriageway about a mile away from the wreckage. He could see the spire from a church in Corrany in the distance, but he wasn't interested in that. During the night his wingman, O'Hanlon, had gotten on his survival radio. The closed communication was short wave and a short burst giving a coded message. If anyone was listening they would have heard, "Delta 1-2 is at Point Lima Bravo Sierra on Charlie, repreat, Delta 1-2 is at point Lima Bravo Sierra on Charlie."

To anyone listening that could have meant anything, even if their position was triangulated, the message meant nothing. But it meant something to Stryker, who was nominally Delta 1-1. It mean that O'Hanlon was at the Life Boat Station in Corrany. That was one of several RV points they had drawn out before the mission. Thus Stryker was making his way across the sand dunes of the beach toward the small Life Boat Station that was beside the Boat Club's boat-house a few hundreds metres outside the small town.

Stryker scoped the building out with his binoculars from a vantage point on a grass covered dune before making a bee-line for the building itself. As he neared the boathouse he took out a 'Cricket Clicker' from his web gear and as he knelt at the concrete base of the wooden Life Boast Station he clicked twice. He got a faint 'click' in return and he jumped up on the jetty and went in through a small side door that was open a fraction. To the left of the door stood O'Hanlon, M92 drawn. He closed the door, holstered his pistol and grinned a toothy Irish grin. "About fuckin' time Stryker."

[OOC: I guess you aren't interested in facing the Marines head-on, so I'll advance a bit further.]

Castletown, IOM
The situation could have been worse, but it was pretty good. The Marines had fortified their bridgeheads, and would start moving northwards soon. The taking of Castletown had transpired with few casualties. Twelve dead, thirty-two wounded on the Cottish side. The castle which was the namesake of the city had been captured nearly intact, and would become the newest command center for the Marines. The port would also serve as the primary supply port of the Cottish campaign, where the heavy equipment and supplies would be offloaded. When the supplies had arrived, the Marines would press on.

The five large cargo ships steamed into the port and started offloading the supplies and, even more importantly, the equipment for Air Cavalry Battalion 8 very quickly. In all, some sixty-six helicopters, eighteen CTLAVs and sixteen howitzers were offloaded and prepared for action on the docks. The 936 personell for the battalion would be there within two hours to use the equipment, being flown in from Norway. The eighteen attack helicopters and fourty-eight transport helicopters would be very useful for the Cots, along with the six hundred extra infantrymen.

Somewhere off IOM
The stricken frigate had been taken under tow by a Infernal class destroyer and was towed towards Blackpool in Hawdawg England. The tow couldn't go faster than seven knots, so they wouldn't be at the docks for another fifteen hours yet. Fortunately, the Infernal was equipped with sufficient missiles to defend both itself and the frigate. In addition, a Murmansk class submarine scouted the area around the two ships, making sure no surface threats got near them.

Somewhere over southern IOM
The flight of two H-92B Stalker helicopters from the Navy were on a scouting mission, having been ordered to find any enemy troop positions and clear them in anticipation of the upcoming advance. They had no outer ordinance, rendering them nearly invisible on radars. That, and the fact that they were flying at one hundred twenty knots, ten meters over the ground would make them pretty difficult to discover. In case they detected any targets, they would use the 32mm dual cannons to devestate the targets. If that wasn't enough, they would use the Brimstone missiles they had in the internal ordinance bays.

Triple-Encrypted Message

TO: Colonel M. X. Carver,
3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB

FR: Major General P. G. Cross,
Commander, Manx Air Wing, Snaefell AFB


You haven't the authority to allow or disallow another officer of my choosing to take command of Glen Audlyn. Your refusal to follow a direct order shall result in charges of insubordination. Furthermore, it is not your place to question my strategy in this situation.

It has become clear that at the first sign of conflict, you abandon all discipline and act as your whims carry you. You are therefore deemed unfit to command at this time. Colonel Rivers will relieve you of command, and you will report to me, immediately. Failure to comply with these order will result in your lawful arrest and detainment.

I do not make this decision lightly, Colonel Carver. Nor should you take it lightly. Do not ruin what your file tells me is a heretofore solid career. And do not fool yourself into thinking that you are acting the selfless hero. Remember your training and follow your orders, soldier.

[signed]


*****

Captain Black turned his radio on, just as the convict company was preparing to bed down.

"...Bravo Sierra on Charlie, repeat, Delta One-Two is at point Lima Bravo Sierra on Charlie."

Murphy frowned. "What's that mean?"

"It means we're headed for the beach in the morning. In the Manx forces, Delta designations are given to combat air crews. Charlie is the codename for Corrany, a village nearby."

"What's point Lima Bravo Sierra?"

Black thought for a second. "I'm not sure. But LBS can't mean too many things in a settlement that small. Regardless, we'll be heading over there to see if we can pick up the downed pilot and take him with us to Snaefell."

Murphy nodded. "Go and tell the platoon leaders about the change in plans, Irish. I'm going to see if I can't triangulate the signal," Black said.

"Will do, Cap"

Black pulled a calculator and a compass from his pockets and began to do some math.

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

Carver was at the comms office for the second time in an hour. He was listening to Little Fox's sit-rep. "Little Fox Sit Rep from R-Point. Have reached destination successfully and secured it. Destination is abandoned. There are some vehicles and some other things. There is one interesting item that the Colonel should see."

Carver's eyebrow lifted at this last line, what the hell could that be, he thought. He keyed the mic and spoke, "Very well Little Fox, will be at R-Point presently. I will contact you before I leave HQ. Hold fast and watch out for Cottish boats and air patrols. Keep your Stingers close. Carver out."

As the Colonel was walking out the door of the office he was immediately called back by the Comms NCO, an encrypted message was coming through. The NCO snapped the thing of paper off the machine and handed it to the Colonel. He glanced over it for a few seconds and grinned.

He walked out of the office and went over to a concrete upright with a control panel in the wall. He keyed a button and spoke, his voice echoed through the intercom system of the bunker, "Attention, this is the Colonel speaking. All 3rd Regiment and Air Force personnel report immediately to the central hangar. I repeat, all personnel are to report immediately to the central hangar."

It took about 10 minutes for the 300 plus soldiers and airmen to assemble in the hangar. The 3rd Regiment soldiers were on one side, the Air Force personnel on the other, the Commander standing at attention in front of both bodies of soldiers, facing Carver who stood on the roof of an APC facing the men. He had a megaphone in one hand, and the wire stetched away toward the hangars interface system on the concrete upright near by.

The men were put at ease and then the Colonel spoke. "Gentlemen, our orders from our superiors: The orders read: 'You haven't the authority to allow or disallow another officer of my choosing to take command of Glen Audlyn. Your refusal to follow a direct order shall result in charges of insubordination. Furthermore, it is not your place to question my strategy in this situation.

It has become clear that at the first sign of conflict, you abandon all discipline and act as your whims carry you. You are therefore deemed unfit to command at this time. Colonel Rivers will relieve you of command, and you will report to me, immediately. Failure to comply with these order will result in your lawful arrest and detainment.

I do not make this decision lightly, Colonel Carver. Nor should you take it lightly. Do not ruin what your file tells me is a heretofore solid career. And do not fool yourself into thinking that you are acting the selfless hero. Remember your training and follow your orders, soldier.'" Carver paused to let the soldiers look about themselves, puzzled. Then he spoke up again. "The truth is, we haven't received any orders or reinforcements. They want me to be replaced and they don't appear to be conducting any operations whatsoever. However, they are orders but I am torn about obeying them, thus I have called you all here. If you wish me to follow the orders then all of you take one step forward." Carver let his voice trail off and he watched the soldiers in front of him. No one moved.

Carver paused for a long moment before speaking again. "You realise we could all be court-martialled for this?" A Sergeant Major from the 3rd then made himself heard, "Fuck them Colonel, ain't no traitor going to court-martial me, Sir." There was nods and murmurs of approval from all the men, the Air Force Commander grinned. Carver smiled, "Well then, Carry on men." Without prompting all the men saluted and Carver looked slightly stunned before returning the gesture and hopping off the APC and walking back to the Comms room as the men went about their duties again.

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


ENCRYPTED MESSAGE

TO: Major General P. G. Cross,
Commander, Manx Air Wing, Snaefell AFB

FROM: Colonel M. X. Carver,
3rd Regiment (Andreas), Acting CiC at Glen Auldyn AFB

'The King grinned red as he walked from the blaze,
Where the traitor lost both his name and his face.
Through the halls and the corridors stinging in blood,
He tasted his grin and it tasted good.
The King took his head. Left him broken and dead.

The King left none living, none able to tell.
The King took their heads and he sent them to hell.
Their screams echoed loud in the place of their death.
Ripped open they died. With their final breath.
They hailed to the King, the King of Kings.'

Traitors shall be dealt with when final victory is achieved.
You shall be first General.

Give my regards to the Vikings.

[B]MESSAGE ENDS

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

O'Hanlon came back into the small boat room a few minutes after ducking out. He grinned at Stryker who was eating some cold rations, and said, "Nothing like having a shite with the wind whipping round yer arse. It'll wake ya up in the mornin boy."

Stryker laughed and shook his head, "And they let you fly planes."
Stryker turfed the remainder of the rations into the rear of a nearby Rigid Inflatable Boat, a huge orange monstrosity. O'Hanlon sat down against the concrete wall and spoke up, "The town is pretty deserted. Although, I wonder was it that way before all this started. There's a hotel about half a klick away, looks abandoned. Perhaps we should invest in some real estate?"

Stryker looked around thoughtfully for a second before nodding and getting up, O'Hanlon following suit.

The hotel was set back from the beach by a cracked little concrete road. The reception area windows were shattered and the inside had been looted by the looks of things. The two pilots had a look round and decided to move up the stairs and see what the rooms were like. A couple were wide open, their doors had been knocked in by all manner of instruments, one had a Fire Axe embedded in it. O'Hanlon said, "Reminds me of my brother's wedding." Stryker grinned and moved on. They came to a number of rooms near a fire escape that weren't touched. They tried the doors, locked. Stryker looked at O'Hanlon. "Oh, you just assume I can pick a lock?"

O'Hanlon continued his tirade about the abuse levelled at him by snobby Manxians as he picked the lock with a metal toothpick from a knife. After fiddling for a few minutes there was a click and O'Hanlon turned the brass knob and the door opened. The room inside was immaculate, it had been freshly made up and hadn't been touched in ages. Stryker moved in and went straight to the window and pushed the white linen curtain over and peered out. The room looked out on the sea and the road in front. They had a great view of the A2 that snaked into the town and a view of the boat yard they had just come from.

Stryker turned away from the window and found O'Hanlon sitting on one of the two beds, phone in hand. "Yes, Room Service? I'll have a steak and chips with a bottle of stout and a Children's Meal Deal for my freind...WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'VE NO STOUT? WHAT KIND OF A HOTEL DO YOU CALL THIS?" He slammed the phone down into the cradle. Stryker picked it up and listened. There was no dial tone- the line was dead. He laughed and O'Hanlon grinned, whipping out two cigar tubes and handing one to Stryker.
"I think even you earned this one boyo."

[OOC: Well played, sir! :D My initial plan was to have your Colonel Carver get all locked up while I take over Glen Audlyn, and then rescue him with Captain Black's company. You've artfully dodged me, you crafty bastard! I'm interested to see where this textual jousting takes us. In the meantime, Black is headed to the beach at Corrany....]

OOC: I thought you'd like that! Anyway, you could try sending Col. Rivers up to me and he gets taken prisoner. As for Black and his team, you should RP them coming up the beach and into Corrany, and they and the pilots can meet up. If you get Black into Corrany I'll have the pilots meet up with them somehow. Definetly keep up with the 'textual jousting' though, its become a great little section of the RP.

IC:

Ramsey Auxilliary Naval Base, IOM

The Naval base wasn't in Ramsey itself, it was about a quarter mile outside, along the old coastal road that was deserted. Carver took his jeep out, he drove himself, with a Corporal riding shotgun and a Sergeant manning the GPMG on the roof.

It took them a good half hour to make it out to Ramsey. They were travelling in daylight which made it dangerous, so Carver had to pick his route carefully, driving through a couple of forested areas, the jeep bouncing wildly and scraping past the tree trunks. Eventually they came within spitting distance of the base and Carver gunned the truck up and over the coast road, turned right and then hung a screeching left into the base. He was guided into a storage building by one of the Little Fox team.

Lt. Rice, the leader of Little Fox, met Carver in the storage building with a grin and a salute. "Glad you could make it sir. If you'll follow me I'll show you what we found." Carver saluted back and nodded, and then followed the Lt. out of the building and into the yards in front.

There were some Rigid Inflatable Boats and some small plastic hulled boats with machine guns sitting in another building. The Lt. showed Carver around. The Admin offices lay on the other side of the base, and they were pretty much abandoned, but they hadn't been looted yet.

Finally the Lt. led Carver down to the far end of the base toward the sea. There were gigantic mooring posts and jetty's from which to moor big ships, all gone now. The Lt. led Carver parallel with the sea toward a huge hangar looking building that jutted out into the dark grey sea. Carver knew it was a sub bay, but there couldn't be anything in it...

The Lt. went around the back of the huge long, blue coloured building and opened a service door that was guarded by two men, snapping to attention as they saw Carver. The Lt. grinned before opening the metal door and stepping inside, followed by Carver.

Inside the building was the size of a football field and at the very end, closest to the door, sat a huge Trafalgar Class Missile sub. Carver's jaw dropped as he gaped wide eyed at the huge black shape sitting idly in the water. It was the only thing in the sub bay and it sat there right in front of him.

After the initial shock Carver's face broke into a smile, and then a look of puzzlement. "Liuetenant, while this is a superb find, no one here knows anything about subs, we're soldiers, not sailors."

The Lt. looked knowingly at Carver, he had thought about it himself. And then, as if God himself was answering them, a call came across the Lt's radio, LT, LT! We got about 60 guys coming toward the base, all walking. They look like...like fucking sailors. What do we do?"

The Lt. thought for a second before answering, "Get inside the base and hide, they don't know we're here. Get the other men hidden away, as soon as they're inside, form up behind them and block their escape. Report when its done."

The Lt grinned triumphantly at Carver, "We've got some sailors on the way." Carver smiled slightly and waited, he took a look around the sub for a bit and then the Lt. called him back.

The two men walked back into the main base area and strolled the few hundred metres up toward the main gates. From a good bit away they could see a gaggle of blue clad men with their hands on their heads, kneeling on the ground, five men posted around the little gaggle, guns pointed in, un-moving.

Carver strolled up closer to the gaggle and looked at them for a second. They were wearing blue Navy coats, jeans and white shirts. They were Sailors all right. "I am Colonel Carver, 3rd Regiment and acting Commander at Glen Audlyn AFB. We are the resistance, gentlemen. Might I have your unit, ranks, names and what your doing here?"

An older man with a bald head and the first hint of grey stubble on his face was sitting at the head of the group of men, and he spoke up with a grizzled old voice. "Colonel, I am Captain Frank Gerritsen of the HS Manx, the Trafalgar Class sub in the bay over yonder. This is whats left of my crew, we're hold up at Ramsey, down the road aways. We have no orders but me and the remainder of the crew come down here for a couple of hours every day to check on things. Your the first freindly faces we've seen, and thats saying something since you got guns pointed at us all." The Colonel ordered the five me to lower their guns and Gerritsen stood up, followed by his men who did so more sheepishly. They were a strange bunch, from the very young to the very old.

Carver shook hands with Gerritsen and spoke again. "Tell me Captain, how many missiles does that sub have?"

"She currently has 30 Tamohawk's loaded and ready."

Carver's eyes lit up.

BUMP for Cymrea.

With the arrival of the Air Cavalry battalion from the Army, the Cots were ready to start advancing. Collumns of M5A3 Løve main battle tanks and M50A1 Invader amphibious assault vehicles were ready to move forward, supported by gunfire from the two Mexia class battlecruisers which sailed on opposite sides of the island, supported by a pair of destroyers each, and from the M777A2 155mm lightweight towed howitzers the Marines had set up on the hilltops nearby. With a range of thirty kilometers, the towed artillery could deliver lethal supporting fire to the Marines from large distances, and be able to be transported via helicopter to other locations as the Marines and Army pressed on.

The plan of attack was simple. The Marines would split into two primary attack waves, each consisting of five infantry battalions and eighteen tanks, and move forward under the protection of artillery and air power. The first unit, codenamed Svartbjørn, would proceed north towards Foxdale and secure the area south and west of the city. The second unit, codenamed Brunbjørn, would proceed towards the outskirts of Douglas, the capital of Man. Cities and towns south of the line the Cots would draw would be secured by the remaining Marine units. The Army Air Cavalry battalion, codenamed Hauk, would proceed via helicopter to Dalby and Glenmave, securing those two settlements. With less than 1,000 civilians per settlement, the Cottish soldiers would have little trouble securing them.

At 04:30, the Marines moved out. Within moments, the entire column was moving forward, advancing. The artillery remained silent, having no targets to fire against. A few F-7As moved quickly over the units, performing a recce of the area ahead along with the helicopters. Two of the new H-93A Reapers were equipped for reconnaissance, meaning that they had only the ammo for their dual cannons and a few missiles inside the internal bays. This rendered them pretty immune to any radars the enemy might have, and with the reduced infrared signature the helicopter had thanks to the design, it would be difficult for any short-range surface to air missiles to lock on to the IR signature, something which was necessary for the Stingers to blow the helicopter out of the skies.

It took the tanks and vehicles twelve minutes to put four kilometres behind them, which was where the enemy lines of defense were met. The first real action of the invasion was met at the hills near the village of Newtown. This small community, housing no more than six hundred, fourty people was defended by about two hundred infantry and a platoon of four tanks, mainly Challenger IIs. It was these units which were first engaged by the tanks belonging to the Royal Cottish Marine Corps. A Cottish platoon of four M5A3s manoeuvred up along the hillside, getting the advantage of the high ground. It made targeting a bit more difficult, but before long, the mighty Mk.120-A one hundred, twenty millimetre electro-thermal cannon of the Løve fired in a fireball and smoke, sending a deadly projectile against the enemy tank one thousand, eight hundred meters away. With the computer-calculated trajectory, the main gun was able to fire very accurately. The projectile, a so-called “silver arrow” penetrated the armor of the Challenger and ignited the ammunition stores, effectively destroying the tank. One down, three to go.

While the tanks were busy taking out the other tanks and any vehicles, the M50A1 Invaders moved fast towards the village, firing their Mk.30-D 30mm Bushmaster II cannons at targets. The new Cottish doctrines dictated that they couldn’t level the village with artillery and air power anymore, instead focusing on precision guided weapons and surgical strikes. Therefore, the thermal sensors and FLIR systems on the Invaders were used to scan the area for any enemies. Anyone detected, in this case a team of three manning a stationary 12.7x99mm heavy machine gun were targeted and annihilated with a burst of five high-explosive 30mm projectiles. The effects were devastating and chilling, with the high-explosive projectiles detonating when they hit anything, ensuring that the three men were dead and the machine gun nest being rendered inoperable.

A hundred meters from the buildings, the Invaders stopped and opened the rear doors, allowing the eighteen Marines inside each vehicle to get out. Within minutes, two companies of Marines moved through the village, securing it. House by house, the village was secured. Many of the Manx’ were too scared by the armed and combat-clad Marines to put up anything but a symbolic resistance, but that wasn’t the case in every house. One man in his fifties were ready when the Marines came with his double-barreled hunting shotgun in the arms. When the Marines entered, the first of them were shot down with two buckshots in quick succession. The first one wasn’t too harmful, with most of the shock having been taken by the NCS Mark III bodyarmor the Marine was wearing. It was the second shot that killed him, having hit the Marine in the face from a distance of no more than four meters. It turned his head into goo inside the helmet, dropping him instantly. This enraged the Marines, who pulled out their comrade in arms while laying down covering fire inside the house. The 6.8x43mm rounds from the M15A1 rifles and M22A2 SAWs slammed through the wooden walls. After a quick break, the squad leader decided to lob a few grenades into the house before entering again. Quickly, two M67 fragmentation grenades were thrown in the door. The second after they detonated, two Marines stormed in, firing their M15s. Other Marines kept the house surrounded, laying down covering fire if they saw anything. Two minutes after the Marines entered for the second time, the all clear signals were heard from inside. Shortly thereafter, the Marines pulled out four mangled corpses. One of the corpses was the man who had opened fire, the others being the wife and children of the man. They had been killed by the grenades and subsequent wild gunfire. It was one hostile and three collaterals dead, but the Cots could use this later if there were any insurgencies: If you resist, we won’t just kill you. We’ll kill your family as well! The bodies were photographed and identified before they were placed back inside the house. After a quick search for any valuable intelligence and weaponry, the house was set ablaze and the Marines moved on. The dead body would be picked up by a H-95A Huey II later for transport back out to the ships and a flight back to Norway where he would be put to rest in a military cemetery outside Oslo.

After an hour, Newtown was secured, and the Marines pressed on. Resistance were expected to be met all across the line.

[OOC: If you want to do a battle with the Marines, go right ahead. Foxdale and Douglas would be good places to RP a battle.]

OOC: A battle will happen between Carver and the advancing Cots, but not yet.

IC:

Ramsey Auxiliary Naval Base, IOM

Carver and Gerritsen were standing inside the HS Manx SSBN. The crew that Gerritsen had with him was a skeleton crew, and it showed. The sub was huge inside, nothing like what Carver had imagined. Gerritsen stood throwing orders out over an intercom system from a comfortable looking chair on the Bridge. A few men bustled about here and there, pressing buttons and peering thoughtfully at banks of multi-coloured screens and buttons.

The Captain turned in his seat after giving another order and looked at Carver, "We'll be set in a few minutes. I'll run the plan by you again, make sure I have it right. First, we move the sub out, slowly, from the bay here. We prep the missiles beforehand of course, and as soon as we lock up our targets, the two Cottish Battlecruisers in the south, we fire and then abandon ship once we begin to scuttle it. Then you evac myself and the crew." Carver leaned on a railing and nodded, "Yup, thats right. The trucks are in the larger storage hangar, your men get up the jetty, into the yard and we all exfil back to base. It'll be magic hour at that point, so even if the Cots are flying up this way they'll have trouble seeing us. I'll be off now Captain. Good luck, I'll see you and your men once we're back at Glen Audlyn." Carver snapped off a salute and Gerritsen returned it.

Gerritsen lit a pipe and hummed to himself while Carver clambered up and out the hatch, past a waiting sailor who was securing everything on deck. Carver went down the metal gangway and then two of his men pulled it away. As Carver and his men were walking out of the bay the hum of the subs engines began.

Around fifteen minutes later the sub was clear of the bay and had stopped not far from the jetty that had Carver's men lined up on it, ready to get the sailors away. Carver stood watching and checked his watch, it said 6.29, only another minute. As he thought that a number of hatches opened on the subs foredeck and then, in the next 15 minutes the most awesome display of light and firepower was witnessed as 30 Tamohawk Missiles streaked up out of their launchers and into the pink sky, their vapor trails cascading down over the water.

About 30 seconds after the last missile was away a few sailors jumped down from the conning tower and tugged on packs, throwing them out into the sea while they held ropes snaking back. The black packs erupted in the swell into large rubber rescue dingy's. More sailors now came down from the conning tower, with oars. Carver, through his binoculars, had counted fifty-nine men coming out of the tower, now all in the subs, some already on their way toward the jetty, one clinging still to the side of the sub. Then, suddenly, the sub lurched forward and the small dingy that was holding on slipped away as the sub began to move forward and down into the sea. The sub completely disappeared and Carver was wondering did the Captain go down with the sub, but then a figure burst the surface, it was Gerritsen, with a breathing bottle in his mouth. He was hauled aboard the waiting dingy and then the sailors began paddling toward the jetty where there were already men disembarking and running for the waiting trucks.

Around half an hour later the small convoy of five trucks, an APC and a jeep reached the fire break in the huge forest that led to the primary vehicle entrance for Glen Audlyn.

The powerful radars on the Cottish warships picked up the incoming Tomahawk cruise missiles very quickly, and the ships went to battlestations for the n'th time.

"Vampyr, vampyr, vampyr! Innkommende missiler, kurs tre-fem-ni, fart Mach null komma åtte!" [Vampire, vampire, vampire! Incoming missiles, bearing three-five-niner, speed Mach zero point eight!]

Immediately, things shifted from the 'here we go again' mentality in the CIC to the more useful 'oh shit, this is for real!' thinking. Immediately, the maximum power of the radars were focused on the direction where the missiles originated from and a trajectory was calculated. It seemed that the missiles were aimed for the two battlecruisers. This information was picked up in the OPS centers of both battlecruisers virtually immediately, thanks to the datalink that linked all the Cottish ships and aircraft and shared information quickly and efficiently. The captains of both ships ordered flank speed and started manouvering while firing off missiles against the incoming missiles. From the speed and flight profile, the missiles were classified as BGM-109 Tomahawk (http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/systems/munitions/bgm-109.htm) cruise missiles. These missiles weren't supersonic, something which the Cots could use to their advantage. Each Tomahawk was targetted with two SM-4MRs, fired from primarily the two Indefatigable class DDGNs escorting each Mexia. On the battlecruisers and destroyers, the RIM.2 Rolling Airframe Missiles and the Mark.102-B close-in weapons systems were prepared for action as well. If the Tomahawks managed to survive the two SM-4MRs which approached with a speed of Mach 4.3, or 5,131 kilometers per hour, and manouvered easily with their thrust-vectoring, the RAM Block IIIs and CIWS' were ready to take them on.

Near Corrany, IOM

After only three hours of sleep, Captain Black had the convict company pack up and move out. Under cover of darkness they made their way toward the eastern shore. With barely an hour to go before the sky would begin to lighten, the company entered the small village of Corrany, remarkable only for how completely unremarkable it was.

Black put his head together with Murphy and Grimshaw. Of the 'toon leaders, the two men showed some skill at actual leadership, not just the strongarm bully-boy tactics of prison. They would be his lieutenants for now. "Murph, you and I will try and find the pilot; we'll take two sections, Irish and Welsh. Grim, you split the rest of the company into sections and assign them separate buildings. If we're made by the Cots, I don't want us all in one place. Once everyone has their assignments, have the team leaders rotate sleep shifts and get the men some more shut-eye. Questions?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Let's go, then."

Black and Murphy went to choose their sections as Grimshaw set about executing Black's orders. One man, from the Scottish faction, was not impressed. "I'm not taking orders from no bloody skinhead." Black noticed and stopped to watch.

Grimshaw hesitated only a breath, seemingly considering, before drawing his pistol. Not a Desert Eagle, but a Colt .45 and still plenty big. "Yes or no, Ginger?" He cocked the hammer.

The effect was instant. Ginger paled visibly, swallowed, and slowly set about following orders. Grimshaw, to his credit, simply uncocked the pistol and holstered it, satisfied with the compliance.

Black smiled to himself and caught up with Murphy.

Ten minutes later, Black and Murphy led their sections, Dragon and Harp respectively, through Corrany. Numbering only nine in each section, the teams strung out behind their leaders and kept to the pre-morning shadows as they silently searched each building on opposite sides of the street. Black was just preparing to enter a small store with broken windows, when a shadow flitted across his vision. With lightning reflexes, Murphy raised his pistol and fired, the silencer muting the shot to a whisper. When Harp advanced to identify the target, Black could see Murphy's silhouette slump.

"Stay here, stay down," he instructed his team. In seconds, he was standing next to Murphy. The Irishman looked up, a grimace on his face. At his feet was a cat, shot cleanly through its head.

"Nice shot, Murph." Black clapped him on the shoulder. "Drag the body into one of the buildings and take his radio. How long do you think before Kitty's patrol leader figures out he's missing?"

"Not funny, Cap," Murphy said.

"On the contrary, Murph. It was a damned good shot, though. Let's continue, shall we?"

"This is some kind of omen for certain," Murphy muttered as Black rejoined his team.

The rest of the search continued uneventfully. As Dragon was searching through what appeared to be the village doctor's office, Black glanced out a window toward the docks. On the side of a run-down building with only a few peels of white paint left on it, were the words "Life Boat Station".

"Dragons with me," he said, leading the way back into the street. Harp Section was already there. Black waved the team over.

"I think we have our Lima-Bravo-Sierra," he told Murphy as the two teams came together. "There a Life Boat Station just behind this street along the docks. I want you to take Harp Section and surround the building, in case this turns out to be a trap of some kind. I will take Dragon in and see if we can't locate the pilot. Give me four minutes to triple-click the radio, then follow me in and expect to fight."

"Will do, Cap." Murphy set Harp up in a perimeter around the Station. Black and Dragon Section slowly entered, weapons at the ready.

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

A sergeant in a Huahinian air force uniform brought a letter to Colonel Carver. Carver noted the Manx Air Wing HQ badge on the man's shoulder. Instead of opening the letter, he addressed a question to the man.

"What does the traitorous General Cross want now?"

The sergeant blinked. "This letter comes directly from Colonel Rivers, sir."

Furrowing his brow, Carver slowly opened the envelope. The letter was indeed handwritten.

Colonel Carver,

Before I walk into what must surely be an arrest, I would have you know a few things. Foremost among them, my sworn statement that I do not agree with General Cross' decision to capitulate to the invaders.

I was sent with this team of staff to relieve you of command and take control of Glen Audlyn. Upon your reporting to the General you were going to be arrested and gaoled while Cross surrendered peacefully to the Cots. Between the two air bases, Cross believed that the Cots would hold enough advantage that they could take the rest of the island with little to no difficulty. He has already destroyed General Montgomery's armour and artillery, handing the beachhead to the Cots nearly unopposed.

He cares nothing for whom he serves; his only desire is to continue serving, to continue commanding. He's not from Man, and his lack of loyalty isn't really surprising. But I am Manx, born and bred, and I will not stand by and watch as my home is invaded. I am grateful and pleased to find that you will not either.

I am caught between two webs, and I would not be the fly. With this letter, I surrender myself and my staff to you. I have handpicked them from those discontent with the General - there aren't so many, I'm sorry to say. Cross is very persuasive. Fortunately, I was given this assignment and have made a clean break. With luck, Cross can be subdued and we can resist the Vikings unfettered by dissension.

I will meet you soon, Colonel. Until then, please accept the following command codes for Snaefell AFB....

OOC: This RP just keeps getting better and better. Bravo!
Are Black and his men freindly towards my pilots or not?

IC:

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

As Carver was reading the letter, little did he know that 27 of his Cruise Missiles were destroyed. However, three managed to make it through the brutal Cottish CIWS Defenses, two hit one Mexia Class on the west side of the island, while the final missile hit the Mexia Class on the east side. Carver would have to wait to get confirmation over the internet.

Once he had finished reading the letter he scratched his head, looking at the Air Force Sergeant stood in front of him. The Sergeant was being covered by two rifles, and it would seem, if the letter was true, that the Sergean then posed no threat. But Carver decided to press the man anyway, "Sergeant, you know this base is in lockdown? You were lucky that my snipers have good eyes and instincts, other wise you might be still sitting in your jeep on the runway with a sizeable hole in your forehead. Now Sergeant, I will need to know when Colonel Rivers will be arriving so I can prepare. Whats more I need information on supplies, units and manpower at Snaefell AFB. Can you provide me with this information, or do I need to wait on the Colonel?"


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

Corrany, IOM

O'Hanlon and Stryker had both been awake for the better part of an hour. O'Hanlon had been on watch when he woke up Stryker, saying he'd seen movement along the coast road. And sure enough as the dark blue sky began to turn light they observed groups of men moving through the small town. They could hear their chatter on their survival radios. Stryker had observed that they didn't sound like regular soldiers, nor did they look like regular soldiers. But one thing was for sure, they weren't the Cots.

O'Hanlon was wondering whether they should show themselves, but he was answered when one of the groups stopped short of the Life Boat Station, somehow they knew something was up, Stryker assumed their code was broken. Now they waited to see what these fellows would do, if they shot up the station then they both needed to make a hasty exit, but if they didn't, what then? Was it safe to show themselves?

[OOC: Cheers! And Black is a friendly, yes. He's under the impression that a downed Manx pilot is in need of assistance.]

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

The sergeant stood his ground firmly and showed no outward anxiety. Looking Colonel Carver straight in the eye he said, "No, sir. I do not have the full run of information you require. I could give you my personal estimates, if you wish, but they would be incomplete. Colonel Rivers could answer your question more satisfactorily, sir. His intent is to surrender to your main gate in--" He checked his watch. "--ninety-six minutes.

"As to the former, I am confident that the men here are every bit as sharp as you say, Colonel."


____________________________________

Corrany, IOM

The Life Boat Station proved empty. Undaunted, Black and Dragon Section moved onto a hotel next door. One of Dragon Section, Lang, led the way inside with Black at his back. Black was about to declare the hotel empty when the captain noticed that one door was closed and tapped Lang on the shoulder. Black silently pointed to the door and gestured for Lang to take up a position to one side of it.

The rest of Dragon was moving into position as Lang crossed in front of the door. With a loud bang! the door came flying out, knocking Lang on his ass. Instantly, eight Huahinian rifles came to bear on two men armed with Huahinian sidearms. For a heartbeat, the two sides faced off, and then one of Dragon Section opened fire.

A stream of bullets tore into the door frame, cleanly missing the two men. The return fire did not. With a single shot, one of the men disarmed the Dragon, who fell clutching his arm.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" he yelled as he fell.

"Hold!" hollered Black. In the heartbeat before the shots, he identified both men as Manx pilots. "Weapons down!" Black held his arms out, palms down.

"Who the fuck are you?" the pilot who had fired demanded.

When the Dragons all had there rifles pointed at the floor, Black answered. "I'm Captain Nathan Black, formerly of 1st Regiment, Douglas. I'm here to rescue Delta 1-2, whom I heard over the radio as being at "point Lima-Bravo-Sierra on Charlie".

The first pilot glanced at the second. Neither pilot had lowered his pistol.

"Who the hell are these men, then? They're certainly not House soldiers."

Black smiled sardonically. "No, they're--"

The door to the Station burst in and Harp Section rushed inside. A flurry of noise and activity heralded their arrival to the top floor with guns drawn. Black stepped in front of them with arms raised. "Hold!" Black shouted at the same time as Murphy. The Irishman's eyes flicked from the Dragon on the floor, to the bulletholes in the wall, to the pilots with pistols still raised but now pointed at Harp, and finally back to Black.

"We heard shots," he said, a hint of question in his voice.

Black lowered his arms, saying, "It's all right. These are the men we're here for. Weapons down."

"What's with Jones?" Murphy asked, indicating the Dragon on the floor.

Black looked over at Jones. He'd slithered to a wall and was now working on bandaging his arm. "Twitchy trigger finger. Lang, give him a hand."

"More Irregulars, Captain Black?" queried the first pilot. Finally, he holstered his sidearm. The other pilot followed suit.

Black turned back to the pilots. "Irregulars, yes. This is just two sections of a company of men I've assembled to aid the resistance against Cotland. We're scattered throughout Corrany, in buildings, to hopefully avoid aerial detection. Given that you're the ones we're here to protect and retrieve, might I get your names, now?"

OOC: Cymrea, Stryker and O'Hanlon were actually in a hotel overlooking the Life Boat Station, I assume you just didn't see that, thus I will take Black's instrusion as being inside the hotel, you can amend your post to that affect if you wish.

IC:

Corrany, IOM

Stryker holstered his pistol first, O'Hanlon a couple of seconds later, the barrel still smoking slightly. They were facing the fellow called 'Black' who was standing a couple of feet inside the shattered door, another man slouched on the inside wall, clutching his bleeding arm.

Stryker stood still for a second before speaking, "I'm Flight Liutenant Stryker and the man behind me is Flight Officer O'Hanlon, that should suffice for now. Your lucky you managed to catch us, we were getting ready to exfil the hell outta here. You must have seen us at the windows, well we ain't commando's thats for sure. Now, Captain, my orders were, if I survived, and I have, to get back to base. Myself and O'Hanlon have rested here to make sure the Cots weren't following. Our Commander is continuing the fight against the Cots, and I know he'd love to have a few roughnecks like you around. So what do you say Captain?"

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

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

Carver looked at the Sergeant thoughtfully for a moment. "Indeed Sergeant, you are correct to presume my men are sharp. If Colonel Rivers is somehow trying to doublecross me then he will find himself in a rather nasty predicament, and so will you for that matter."

Carver walked away and conversed with the AF Commander before returning, "Sergeant, it seems to me that in order to be smart about this I will need to place you under arrest until I can verify your truthfulness, and Col. Rivers'. I would not protest if I were you, this is only a precaution, if you are truthful you will be released when the Colonel arrives." Carver nodded his head and the two soldiers either side of the Sergeant moved in and flex cuffed him. The Sergeant did not struggle as he was led away.

[OOC: Nope, missed it. But editting took only a moment.]

Corrany, IOM

Black felt genuine relief for the first time in days. "Absolutely, Lef-tenant. That's precisely what I put this team together for. Since my original unit has been wiped out, I will gladly offer my services to your commander."

Stryker nodded.

"So...where are we headed, then?" Black asked.

_____________________________

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

Carver nodded his head and the two soldiers either side of the sergeant moved in and flex cuffed him. With a nod of acknowledgment, he offered no resistance as they led him away.

On the way to detainment, one of Carver's men asked, "Any ID on you, Sergeant?"

"Breast pocket," he replied gesturing with his chin.

When they arrived at the holding area, the soldier removed the ID and read it aloud.

"Sergeant Aaron Black, Manx Air Wing Headquarters, serial number..."

Dispite the litterarily thousands of rounds and tens of missiles fired against the incoming Tomahawks, three still slipped through the defenses. Two of them hit the western Mexia, while one hit the eastern one. The warhead of the Tomahawk was a 340-kilogram heavy blast-fragmentation warhead, something which had the potential of creating a lot of damage. Fortunately, the Mexias carried a great deal of armor, something the eastern Mexia benefited from. The Tomahawk came in in an angle, detonating. The warhead made a massive dent in the side and took out a few structures and defensive machine guns on the deck, killing twenty crewmembers and starting a small fire, but other than that, it only scratched the paint. The western Mexia wasn't as fortunate. One of the Tomahawks created a massive dent in the armor and weakened it, something the second Tomahawk benefited from. It managed to penetrate the weakened armor before detonating, creating a lot of damage and killing dozens of crewmembers. Still, the Mexia was still afloat, albeit crippled.

The news was recieved at the flagship, and it was decided that something had to be done. A message was sent to Oslo, who did some work. In Haakonsvern naval base outside Bergen, a Ragnarok Flight II class battleship lay at anchor, waiting to be decommissioned and scrapped. Although under minimal crew, the reactor was still online and the mighty guns were still working. Ammunition was in the process of being offloaded, but it had just started. The commanding officer, a kommandør who was about to pack together his things in his lavish quarters was interrupted by a knock on the door.

”Sjef? Viktig beskjed fra Flåtens Hovedkvarter.” [Sir? Important message from Fleet HQ.]

The captain accepted the message and read it. The message was rather surprising.

From: Fleet HQ, Oslo
To: CO, HMS Dødsengel
Priority: RED

BEGIN MESSAGE

You are hereby ordered to make preparations to put to sea as quickly as
possible and proceed to a position 20 nautical miles north of the Isle of Man.
Further instructions to follow. This message is a warning of war. You are
to take all necessary precautions to ensure your command structure
and the safety of your ship.

END MESSAGE

The captain read over the message twice more before picking up the phone which linked him to the bridge. He ordered the ship to prepare for departure and for all crew to report back aboard on the double. Shortly thereafter, hundreds of men returned to the ship while the HMS Dødsengel once again was a flurry of activity. She was set to be decommissioned in four days, but instead, she was putting to sea to see some action. Seventy minutes after the orders arrived, the Dødsengel cut her moorings and put to sea. Ninety minutes later, she had cleared the outer isles and headed for Shetland, increasing speed to thirty-four knots. After twelve hours, she would pass Shetland and head down the western coast of Scotland before reaching the position ordered, where she was to lay down some gunfire for the Marines and Army. The six 203mm and nine 155mm guns of the Mexia were about to be replaced by the nine 406.4mm and twelve 155mm guns of the Ragnarok Flight II. The heavy armor of the Ragnarok class would also be able to shrug off any cruise missiles fired against her.

The loss of one of the Mexias had also caused the Cots to change tactics. Angered by the many deaths and loss of one of the capital vessels of their fleet, the Marines were ordered to hold position until more personell could be flown in. A brigade of paratroopers would be airlifted in and be in position when the Dødsengel was in position, ready for the new tactic.

HMS 'Dødsengel' (B-46)
Length: 320.00 meters
Beam: 40.00 meters
Draught: 14.00 meters
Displacement: 95,000 metric tons
Power Plant: 2 CNE-1-A Pebblebed Nuclear Reactors [350 MW / 469,357.8 shp]; 4 Geared Steam Turbines; 4 Shafts; 4 CRP Propellers; 5 Rudders; 2 Bow Thrusters
Speed: 36 knots [sustained]; 41 knots [max]
Endurance: 60 years, limited to 120 days on supplies
Crew: 2,300 crewmembers total
Aviation: 2 H-86A Merlin, 1 RQ-9A Predator B
Armament:

Primary: 9 Mk.300-A 406.4mm/56 caliber cannons in triple turrets
Secondary: 12 Mk.155-A 155mm/56 caliber cannons in dual turrets
Missiles: 48 Mk.51 VLS cells with 96 RIM.1-A ESSM, 12 RIM.3-A SM-3ER, 12 RIM.4-A SM-4ER; 5 Mk.141 quad launchers with 20 RGM.5-B AMESM
CIWS: 6 Mk.102-B 15.5x115mm CIWS mounts with 8,000 rounds per mount; 4 Mk.49 launchers with 84 RIM.2-A RAM missiles

Armor: Titanium/DU/Tungsten/Steel/Kevlar scheme: 48cm [hull]; 60 cm [vital areas]
Combat Systems: AEGIS-type radar suite, hull-mounted sonar, Advanced Prarie/Masker, AN/SLQ-25 Nixie, SBROC II missile avoidance system
Cost: $6.3 billion

Airborne Brigade 7
Soldiers: 5,100
M38A1 CTLAV: 396
M38A2 AT: 72
M38A3 Avenger ADU: 48
M53A1 Dingo APV: 162
M56A1 Dragon MLRS: 12
M100A1 MTV: 48
M100A4 MTV: 144
M100A7 MTV: 12
M100A8 MTV: 12
M100A11 MTV: 48
M101A1 HEMTT: 72
M101A2 HEMTT: 18
M777A2 LW155 ART: 60

OOC: Cymrea, you RP Col. Rivers arriving at the ruined runway and above ground structures, and I'll take it from there.

IC:

Corrany, IOM

Stryker turned around to O'Hanlon and then back to Black, "Unfortunately Captain, I am not at liberty to tell you were we are going, but your a smart guy so when we come close to where we're going, you'll probably recognise it. We need to head off North-West, but I think we should wait until nightfall. The last thing we need is the Cot's finding us humping across a farm in the middle of the afternoon. What do you say Captain?"

Bump

OOC: Sorry, got sidetracked with the football forum. I'll post again later today.

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

"Shouldn't we be making some attempt at stealth or camouflage, Colonel? asked Captain Henderson.

Rivers glanced at him as they marched. Henderson was a good man, and a good officer. But he'd also spent his career up to now in a chair; Henderson had never seen combat before. Though bought at a high price, combat experience was an invaluable commodity in leadership. Rivers had seen action.

"Our aim is to surrender to Colonel Carver and his men, not get ourselves shot creeping about like burglars."

Henderson looked skyward. "What about Cot patrols?"

"The Cots are well south of us for the moment. And I don't know about you, but I haven't seen a Cottish aircraft in days. The closest one didn't get much further than Corrany. Besides, speed is our primary concern just now."

The captain returned his gaze to the road. He recognized the particular bend they were approaching. "This should be it, sir. Just around that turn, it's a straight shot to the gate."

Rivers nodded and came to a halt. He turned and waited for the rest of the men to stop and form up, then he addressed them.

"All right, men. We're very nearly to safety. It's going to be confusing and a bit harry, so keep your heads about you and remember that we are doing the right thing. Ready? Good. Let's go."

________________________

Northwest of Corrany, IOM

Having slept the day away, the Black Irregulars, as the men were taking to calling their company, marched on fresh legs. They had split into two groups and were now moving overland. In each group was one of the two pilots they were escorting.

"Seems a bit dodgy they won't even say where they're going," Grimshaw commented.

"I have a pretty good idea where they need to go," Black replied. "Glen Audlyn's not too far from here and in this direction. I think Stryker just needs reassurance that we're who we claim to be."

Grimshaw's eyebrows lifted in the dark. "What? We rescued them, didn't we? We're taking them to base, ain't we?"

"Well," Black grinned. "It's more like we busted in on them, shot the place up and negotiated a cease-fire of sorts. Stryker sees a group of armed men in civilian clothing and one man in a Huahinian uniform, apparently giving the orders. It's natural that he'd have questions about our bona fides."

"Bloody ungrateful, if you ask me." Grimshaw spit onto the ground.

Black shrugged. "We are who we say we are and we're going where they need to be. Everything will play out properly, so we need not concern ourselves overly much about convincing our guests."

They marched on in silence for a moment as Grimshaw mulled that over.

"So why'd you separate him and his partner, then?"

Black grinned again. "Because two can play the "convince-me" game."

Slowly, Grimshaw's confusion turned to surprise and mirth. He sniggered. "Damn, Cap. You really are a douchebag."

The Black Irregulars continued their march to Glen Audlyn through the deep and windy night.

OOC: We'll RP Rivers and Black arriving in Glen Audlyn and have Carver welcome them, but after that we should hold up until Cotland gets back in August.

IC:

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

Carver was sitting behind the Comm's Officer in the small room packed with communication equipment. A radio had gargled a few minutes before, one of the sniper teams was reporting movement in the outermost perimeter. Carver waited patiently. If it was Rivers, he was just on time.

A couple of minutes later another sniper team reported in saying, "We have an unkown number of men, in uniform, entering via the main gate. They are marching, guns are slung. They look unaware, repeat they are unaware. What are our orders Colonel?"

Carver smiled for a second before lifting the mic he held in his hands, [I]"Teams one to five remain in place, teams six, seven and eight, move out and round up the group of men. Teams nine to twelve, are to move and cover teams six, seven and eight. All teams report that you understand?"

Carver got twelve 'Affirmatives'.

Outside on the ruined runway Rivers had stopped his men and was looking about him. The afternoon was foggy and the gloom seemed to settle amongst the shells of buildings and the hulks of ruined machines. Then, seemingly out of the grey mist, six heavily camouflaged men appeared, three carrying L96 sniper rifles, the other three carrying large spotter scopes and SA80A2 rifles. One of the snipers spoke, "All of you remove the magazines from your weapons and place them on the ground, same goes for sidearm magazines." There was a lot of shuffling as the men complied.

The sniper spoke again. "Now, take one step forward and place your weapons on the ground. Then take two steps forward and kneel down with your hands behind your head. Go slowly." Again there was shuffling as the men complied.

The sniper spoke into a radio and from a ruined building came a Land Rover. It stopped near the kneeling men and two soldiers jumped out, policing up the weapons and magazines. The weapons were placed in the rear of the jeep and a few minutes later it sped off toward the forested area. The sniper spoke up again. "Now you will all stand up, keeping your hands behind your head, and line up in single file. You will not speak, and you will follow us. Keep your eyes on the man in front and nowhere else."

The whole group shuffled about and got into a long line before being led off.

They were lead through to the rear of the base, past bombed out buildings and bits of downed Cottish planes before entering a forested area with a tight path. After a mile the path widened slightly and then disappeared as it neared a big river gully running through the trees. The sniper teams never missed a beat, jumping down into the dried out gully and continuing along. Eventually the came to a well concealed door set into rocks at one end. There was no key code or anything, the door was opened by a soldier manning a camera in the bunker. The snipers and Rivers walked through with the men.

[OOC: Sounds good. After we're all together, and Cot gets back, we can give him his opposition...with some stank on it! Oh, and you picked up on the air sergeant having the same last name as the Captain, yes?]


Near Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

The vantage point wasn't great, but it was good enough to spot movement. And there was a lot of movement around the air base.

"What do you think, Cap?" asked Murphy as he squinted through his own binoculars. "Are they friendly?"

Black rolled onto his back. "What do I think? I think that's the Huahinian flag still flying in the parade ground. I don't think the Cots are so subtle as that."

The captain skooched down the hill on his ass. Murphy follow suit and they rejoined the rest of the Irregulars.

"I told you this was the place," Stryker said.

Black stood and straightened his slung rifle. "Yes, well. If it's all the same I'll ascertain that fact for myself."

Stryker glanced to O'Hanlon and back. "What, you don't trust me?"

Black grinned and leaned in, so as to speak somewhat privately. "Do you trust me, Lef-tenant?"

The two men exchanged stares for a moment, then Stryker blew out a breath. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good," said Black, genially. "Since we're all on the same side, we might as well be friendly." He held out a hand.

Stryker took it and they shook firmly.

Black turned to the men. "Looks like the soldiers at this base don't take any chances. It also looks like they've had company recently, so they might be jittery. We're going to go in nice and slow. Whatever they ask you to do, do it. The sooner they figure out we're friends the sooner we can get to business. In the meantime, any messing about will be rewarded with a bullet, and probably not even mine. Keep your heads up, your eyes open, and your mouths shut. You've done a helluva job so far. Let's build on that.

"Move out!"

OOC: Which guy has the same name as the Captain? The Air Sergeant that came to tell Carver about Rivers?

IC:

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

The sniper teams had only just returned to their positions when yet another group of armed men entered the airfield. This bunch of men, rag-tag and most without any uniforms, were wary but seemed somewhat at ease. The snipers picked out two pilots moving in their midst.

Carver was down in the bunker, he was about to go outside the Comm's office to greet Rivers and his men, when another sniper team called up. "Colonel, we have more armed men entering the airfield. They are not uniformed, but there appear to be two uniformed pilots moving with them. They look aware. Your orders Colonel?"

Carver looked puzzled for a second, but he caught onto the fact that there were two pilots, they were probably his pilots, but they could not afford to take chances here. "Ok, all sniper teams are to stay put and watch. I am sending an APC and two trucks up to the airfield via the first auxilliary vehicle exit. Cover their approach once they are visible to the new arrivals. Keep giving the APC and the trucks updates. Carver, out."

A couple of minutes later a camouflage colored APC and two five ton trucks were racing out of the bunker and into the forested area, hanging a right on the overgrown roads, back toward the airfield.

The new arrivals were checking through some of the abandoned and destroyed buildings and the hulks of vehicles and helicopters. A couple of them picked over the remains of a Cottish bomber, picking up the tale end to see the blackened tail flash. Captain Black was standing near a rubble strewn crater on the middle of the runway, with Stryker and O'Hanlon nearby. "No wonder you guys couldn't land here. How the hell did you survive against the Cots, three planes? You guys must have balls of steel."

O'Hanlon, who'd be quiet for a long time, perked up at this, "Oh aye, of course I do, but Stryker don't." Black smiled and Stryker flipped O'Hanlon the bird.

A few minutes later Black was watching a squat looking APC and two trucks race across the tarmac toward him and his men. Some of his men were in mixed minds about what to do with their weapons, little did they know that numerous hidden eyes were watching through scopes. Black shouted, "Hold your fire, dammit. Gather round my position, move it!" Black's men began to move in closer to him as the APC and trucks neared. It was a good job none had done anything as the APC was sporting a 50.cal MG, as were the two trucks.

The APC whined to a halt, and trucks a few feet behind. An Officer jumped down from the cab of one of the trucks, unarmed except for a pistol around his waist. Then from the rear of the APC came six heavily armed men, two with huge GPMG's, the others with SA80A2's with Grenade Launchers.
The Officer closed in on Black who stood out amongst the other men. "Might I have your name and rank, and what the hell your doing here?"

Black responded, "Captain Black, formerly Huahin Army. The pilots behind me said I should come here, my men are a bunch of convicts but they want to fight."

The Captain looked over Black and his men before settling on the two pilots. "What are your names?" The two pilots replied and the Officer nodded them over toward one of the trucks, their names checked out ok.
The Officer then turned back to Black, "Very well Captain, if you wish to enter the base you will order your men to line up, place their weapons on the ground and take two steps forward." Black and his men complied. "Now, half of you get into the back of one truck, the other half of you get into the other truck." Black and his men walked slowly forward and jumped into the two idling trucks. The six armed men policied up the weapons and carried them back to the APC. A few minutes later the trucks and the APC were bombing through the forest toward the vehicle entrance of the bunker.

[OOC: Yep, the air sergeant who went in ahead of Rivers. Aaron Black. He and Captain Nathan are brothers. Nathan is older by about four years. Just a little thingy I tossed in for flavour.

I think from here we can "fast forward" to our joint resistance once Cot gets back. This is a sweet ass RP.]

OOC: Ok yeah, we'll fast forward once Cot gets back, assume everyone gets to know each other in the time between then, and once Cot gets back we can get straight into the action again. And yes, this is an excellent RP.

OOC: This should be the last post before Cotland gets back, its just to get this out of the way.

IC:

Glen Audlyn AFB

The bunker was now as full as it had ever been. Colonel Rivers and his men mingled in with the other Air Force personnel and Black and his men stood in groups here and there, talking with Carver's men. The 300+ soldiers, sailors and airmen were standing facing Carver's jeep.

A few minutes later he appeared from an office and hooked up a mic to the bunker's PA system and clambered aboard the jeep. He stood up straight and waited patiently for everyone to be quiet. Then he began, "I thought I'd come out here and let you see just how big a sonofabitch I really am." There was some laughter among the men and Carver grinned.
"You're all here for one reason, and thats to fight. To fight for your country. That country was once Huahin, but now we fight for our home, Manx, which is our country. We must resolve that this nation shall not now perish from this earth." There was a roar of approval.

Carver stood still and waited again for quiet, "As my men know, and some others of you may know, I was once General Carver, commander of the Fourth Army Corps. I had 50,000 troops, hundreds of tanks and everything else you can damm well imagine. I fought with my men in the war against Doomingsland. And when I say fought, I don't mean I sat in a bunker and directed things. The moment we arrived in theatre the Doomingsland Forces were on the offensive. I and my crew went through three tanks in the first day alone, and I was shot twice doing so. I lost four thousand men and two hundred tanks in the first day. The second day I lost over twice that. The Doomingsland Forces simply overran us, I had no support from the air or the sea. I went out there with a Corps, and I came back as a Colonel with 300 men and ten tanks."

Carver let that sink in for a while. There was some shocked faces and some talking, Carver's men were looked at with awe now, some shook their hands, others just gaped. Nobody knew they were what was left of the famed Fourth Corps. Carver was thinking to himself, he could still hear the screams and the bombs and the carnage. He hadn't slept properly since.

"I have seen war, and so have my men. We've been through the worst things you could imagine, and we survived because we all fought tooth and nail for what we believed in. Thats what we all must do now. Now you all know how I feel."

Carver jumped back off the jeep and disappeared.

The Cots had taken a break in the advance after the losses inflicted. They hadn't expected this much hostility from the Manxians, and the units committed had been under-strength. Therefore, the forces currently in Man would be replaced, effective immediately. The first ones in were the paratroopers of the 9th Para Brigade (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11465368&postcount=4), who took up the positions along the front, allowing the other soldiers and Marines to return behind the lines and return home. The Marine brigade was replaced with a brand new unit, the 11th Marine Division.

The 11th was a new unit in that it was the first active-duty unit which implemented a whole new combat system called CIFS, or Cottish Infantry Fighting System. CIFS was basically an improved version of the Land Warrior infantry fighting system, and allowed the Marines to among others communicate with each other silently, designate targets without having to call up the artillery battalion or aircraft, relay intel and other information and issue new orders, all thanks to the encrypted 2-way datalink each Marine carried in his CRS, or Computer/Radio System on his back. Along with cameras, pixelated uniforms, modified weapons (optics and cameras on all weapons, allowing the Marines to hold the weapons beyond a corner, see what's there and engage the enemy while staying in relative safety) and basically a mean look, the Marines of the 11th Division seemed like Angels of Death as they loaded up into the vehicles and helicopters and moved off to their company rally areas. The leader of the 11th Division, Generalmajor Harald Eia didn't have all his CIFS equipment on, but he still looked like one mean SOB as he stepped off the grey Globemaster III transport plane. In his hip pistol holster, a M3A1 Desert Eagle rested while the general smoked a Cuban cigar he had been given by the King personnaly when he had been ordered to undertake this mission. Brigader Davidson had failed, and had been ordered back home for "consultations" along with his brigade. That usually meant that the officer would be seriously questioned about everything that had to do with the mission, then given an honorable discharge from the service. Eia had decided that he wouldn't end his career like that, so he would use any means at his disposal to achieve victory, even if that meant a war of attrition. He had twelve thousand Marines' and six thousand paratroopers' lives to waste against the Manxians.

Twelve hours after the general landed on Man, the Marines passed the positions the paratroopers manned and pressed forward, punching their way through the enemy positions supported heavily by artillery, both tubed and rocketry, the heavy M51A1 Sabertooth main battle tanks and the other support vehicles. The 220mm artillery rockets fired by the M56A1 Dragon multiple launch rocket systems were a mix of Mk.1 rockets loaded with 500 incendiary submunitions, Mk.2 rockets with their powerful 100 kg high-explosive, blast-fragmentation warheads and Mk.3 rockets which were filled with 12 'Bouncing Betty' anti-personnel mines each. In addition, F-20B Enforcer multirole fighters flew over the area, dropping Mk.82 250kg iron bombs and Mk.95-A cluster bombs against the enemy positions, all while the 155mm shells from the M777A2 light-weight howitzers and surviving Mexia dropped down on the area.

Meanwhile, the UAV on the battleship 'Dødsengel' had spotted a few people on the airbase at Glen Audlyn and relayed the information to the fire control center in the deck behind and beneath the bridge. Here, it was analyzed, added to the weapons computers and relayed to the three turrets. Here, the crews pressed the right buttons and made sure that a high-explosive 406 millimeter projectile was gathered from the magazines below and raised to the large turrets. The barrel was inspected by a sailor before it was given the all-clear. That was enough for the projectile to be pushed into the barrel, followed by a few gunpowder-packs. It was all pushed into the barrel and the breech was sealed. This in turn lead to the barrel being raised to the correct elevation automatically by the computer. A signal was sent to the central computer. When all nine signals were recieved, the message was sent to the CO who was the one to give the order to open fire. The 'Dødsengel' was to fire its main guns in anger in her sixth campaign now, and the first time in this particular campaign. A few minutes later, the captain had ordered the ship to 30 knots on a north-south heading. They were sixty-seven kilometers from the airbase, well within the reach of the nine primary cannons which had a range of more than ninety kilometers. The turrets turned to the east and erupted into a hail of fire and brimstone, covering the ship in brown cordite smoke. The nine projectiles flew in a ballistic arch and pounded down on the compound, slamming mainly into the runway and trees outside the base, but the UAV detected it and relayed the information. A few quick adjustments later and the cannons on the 'Dødsengel' spoke again. This time, accuracy was much better, and the projectiles would be able to blast through a lot of stuff, making the airbase completely inoperable when they were done. An additional twelve volleys of nine shells each would be fired against the base over the next hour before the cannons would be silent again. The Marines were expected to reach the position in a few days. They could secure it then.

11th Marine Division
Personnel(infantry): 7,074
Personnel (crew): 5,258
M14A1 Gepard ADU: 48
M19A1 Brobygger AVBL: 4
M20A1 Samaritan ARV: 8
M36A6 Nidaros CEV: 8
M38A1 CTLAV: 228
M38A3 Avenger ADU: 72
M50A1 Invader AAV: 210
M50A2 Invader AC4I: 20
M51A1 Sabertooth MBT: 50
M53A1 Dingo APV: 24
M56A1 Dragon MLRS: 48
M57A1 ACE: 8
M100 MTV: 640
M101 HEMTT: 120
M777A2 LW155 ART: 144

Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

The barrage had been going on for the best part of an hour, but the underground base was holding its foundations steady. Work was going on during the barrage, soldiers yelling inches from each others ears or giving improvised hand signals.

A lot of the air force personnel were stripping the aircraft of their weapons, the front cones of the aircraft were all stripped down and the 20mm Cannons were being removed, along with huge belts of mean looking ammunition.

Crates of TOW and Maverick missiles were being unloaded and weapons specialists were removing the explosives and passing them to Carver's men who were attaching detonators and then placing them in boxes, which were placed in the backs of a couple of Land Rovers. The huge charges from the strange naval mines were also being stripped out.

Carver was busy briefing a number of officers, checking every now and then over his shoulder at the ten Challenger 2 Tanks lined up, soldiers clambering all over them.

As night fell the barrage kept going, but two Jeeps roared off into the night, down an access tunnel and out into the forests. Two soldiers sat in each jeep, the rear of each was filled with all kinds of improvised explosives. It was doubtful that the four men would ever return, but in case they got a break they wore civilian clothes and only carried concealed pistols.

Between Glen Audlyn and Snaefell there were a number of roads that the Cots were expected to use and a myriad of IED's were placed on the side of the road, and one soldier dropped off to kick start things in that area whenever the Cots should come. For the rest of the night the other three soldiers dropped off their loads and placed them on roads, including the main ones, between Snaefell and Glen Audlyn, taking up covering positions to set the explosives off. The jeeps were hidden deep in forested land and now the four soldiers, spread out all over the place on different roads, settled in for a long wait, but a wait they would gladly endure.

Bump

The method of advance for the 11th Marines were somewhat different from the older tactics. Instead of everyone moving in a large collumn towards the objective, two battalions of infantry were transported in the M50A1s, which followed the M51A1 Sabertooth main battle tanks. These monsters of modern weaponry were armed with not only an extremely powerful 120mm electro-thermal chemical cannon, but also several machine guns and even long-range anti-tank missiles, giving the tanks extreme ranges of inflicting death and destruction. Two companies of ten Sabertooths each escorted each battalion of Invaders, who were advancing along the roads towards the north. What was new though was that for every settlement, town and village in their path, two to six Super Stallion helicopters loaded with one Marine platoon each landed troops who quickly secured the area for any resistance. In the cases where resistance were found, the Super Stallions used their two L25A1 Miniguns to great effect, laying down litterarily thousands of 7.62x51mm rounds against the enemy positions. As if to top things off, a pair of Predator tactical fighter jets swooped in to send in a few 70mm rockets or a pair of Mk.81 125 kg iron bombs if the Miniguns and Marines on the ground didn't get the job done. Something similar would be done on strategic hills, where Super Stallions, Huey IIs and Merlins would transport the M777A2 lightweight howitzers and the crews so they could set up temporary firebases to maintain constant artillery support to the advancing units.

In addition, a pair of CTLAVs carrying reconnaissance personnel drove ahead of the main units, scouting for enemy activity and reporting back. It was these Marines who first met the enemy. Two M38A1 CTLAVs, each carrying the driver, a gunner for the powerful L21A2 heavy machine gun mounted on top, and a four-man team from the Division's recon battalion drove in a leisurly 35 kilometers per hour down the road, keeping their eyes open, looking for anything out of the ordinary. They kept thirty meters from each other, vary of the risks. Then, just as they cleared a turn, it happened. A massive flash of orange and black, a very loud bang and a lot of smoke and dust suddenly appeared. For the driver in the second CTLAV, that was enough. He stepped on the gas pedal and started evasive manouvers like he had learned in the training facility outside Apati in Murmansk while the Marines in the back radioed for immediate reinforcements, preferably yesterday! The CTLAVs had enough armor to stop a grenade from an RPG-7, but if anyone had survived in the first CTLAV was uncertain.

Nevertheless, as the vehicle cleared the smoke, the gunner looked around and thought he saw some movement a few hundred meters away. His L21 was cocked and ready to deal out some pain, and the Marine was more than willing to do so. Quickly, he traversed the big black weapon towards the movement, trained the sights on it and pressed the double trigger with his thumbs. The 1.14 meter long barrel started kicking upwards as the heavy 12.7x99mm rounds flew out in a speed of 930 meters per second towards the target which was maybe three or four hundred meters away. The blowback pushed another round into the chamber from the 250-round box magazine, ignited the gunpowder inside the shell casing which propelled the round out along with a muzzle flash which was about half a meter long, kicked out the spent casing and pushed in a new one, all in less than a millisecond. The Marine was, like most Marines, an expert marksman, accurate with virtually all his shots. This time was no different, with the rounds impacting the forestline where he aimed them, hitting in a tight gathering like he wanted. While he fired loose against the movement, the driver stopped for ten seconds, letting the four Marines inside get out. Two riflemen carrying L15A2 carbines flanked left while the other two flanked right, advancing towards the place where they believed to be occupied by enemy forces. They waited for a confirmed target and didn't shoot ...yet.

In the back, two Sabertooths and three Invaders kicked the pedal to the metal and drove quickly forward towards the place where the reconnaissance forces had been hit. They would be there in four minutes. A pair of Stalker gunships would be there in six, and a Huey II MEDIVAC in another five.

Northern IOM

The soldier looked on at the rising smoke and charred hulk of a CTLAV through his small green field binoculars. He was wearing farmers clothes, accented by a pair of ugly green wellington boots, covered in mud. The destroyed CTLAV had triggered a small wire that ran across the road, as thin as steel guitar string but super sensitive. One of the TOW Missiles payload had struck the armoured vehicle from the side, and it was nothing but a charred hulk, smouldering.

The other vehicles behind them were reacting like a well trained unit. The second CTLAV in the small column gunned its engine and sped past the fiery wreckage of the lead vehicle, but it didn't go far. It screeched to a halt a few feet beyond the destroyed vehicle as the Marine in the turret fired at something, nowhere near the soldier, but perhaps there were other civilians in the area seeig what the commotion was, and then trying to flee after the explosion. In any case a couple of soldiers jumped out of the rear of the vehicle. The soldier peered through his binoculars, and lying on his stomach, he put the binoculars down and looked at a small console with switches on it, and flipped two quickly. Before he even touched the second switch an explosion clapped out, followed by another smaller one, and the second CTLAV dissappeared in a cloud of smoke, crunching metal noises filling the air.

Behind this the rest of the column, two large and mean looking tanks and three other armoured vehicles lurched forward quickly, kicking the tires and lighting the fires. They quickly by-passed the two smoking vehicles, swerving in the centre of the road, trying to get out of the area. As the last vehicle passed the second CTLAV the soldier again dropped his binoculars and flipped twelve more switches on the small console, a thunderclap explosion coming after each one, the tanks and other vehicles dissappearing from his sight. He didn't stick around either, instead he threw a green shoulder flash with a green background, a black tank sitting below a black Skull, with 3rd Regiment stitched around the edges- the Cots would undoubtedly find the console and hiding spot, and they'd know who it was that ambushed them.

As the soldier crawled back into the forest he smiled to himself, another three soldiers were lying in wait on the other approach roads.

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[OOC: Cot, I reckon the charge from a TOW Missile would be enough to destroy a CTLAV? The other explosions were from Maverick Missiles and Anti-Ship Mines, basically you tell me what they did to your tanks and Invaders (I have no idea what they are- I just said they were 'armored vehicles'.)- whatever seems appropriate to you.]

[OOC: I meant to have the tanks and stuff at least a few kilometers behind the scouts, but I'll accept it this time.

Beware of gruesome graphical descriptions below. Read at own risk...]

The radio contact with the remaining CTLAV was lost shortly after the last transmission, and a massive explosion was heard and seen. Locking down everything, the two tanks rolled forward in a tight formation, with the Invaders behind, their 30mm ETC cannons ready. As they passed the burning CTLAVs, there was another set of explosions. With the heavy armor, the Sabertooths rode it out with no casualties or damages, but the Invaders weren't so lucky. One of them exploded immediately, having been hit directly by four IEDs. Eighteen infantrymen and the three-man crew died in a fiery inferno. The other two Invaders fared better, but they were both damaged. Still, they were still there, albeit a bit shaken.

Deciding not to let the deed go undone, the tank commanders activated their thermal imaging systems, which saw through the forested area with relative ease. Spotting someone running away, the lead tank's turret traversed and opened up with its coaxial 15.5x115mm heavy machine gun while traversing the large 120mm ETC cannon. Selecting a high-explosive round, the loader slammed it into the barrel quickly and let the commander "paint" the running person with the integrated thermal sight/laser rangefinder. After assuring the distance to be less than one thousand meters, and dead accurate, he ordered the gunner to open fire, which the latter did immediately by pressing down the two triggers. The Mk.120-B ETC cannon erupted into a muzzle flash three meters long as the 6.6 meter long barrel recoiled, spitting out the deadly HEAT projectile. It sliced through the shrubs and bushes before striking within three meters of the target, detonating in a big, orange fireball. The other Sabertooth did the same with any other thermal targets on their screens, sending 120mm HE shells and 15.5x115mm DU-tipped projectiles against any targets. They also fired off some smoke grenades, covering the road.

Meanwhile, infantrymen from the surviving Invaders had dismounted and were searching for survivors and for the enemy. Fortunately, a combat medic had been aboard one of the Invaders, and he was now checking the wounded Marines. There were nine of them combined from the two Invaders, two critically wounded. A fireteam of four Marines ran in search of survivors from the reconnaissance team. Spotting something bloody in the ditch through the smoke, the teamleader ran over, hoping and praying. There lay one dead Marine over his brother in arms, blood and gore flowing from an open skull. The Marine underneath was also pretty beat up, but he had a pulse, which was enough for the teamleader. Pulling the dead Marine gently off him, he screamed at the top of his lounges: "Sanitet!" [Medic!]

The medic over by the Invaders fifty meters away heard the call to duty, and grabbed his field kit before legging it the fastest he could towards the source of the cry. Repeated cries for the medic helped, and before thirty seconds had passed, he threw himself down next to the teamleader. Quickly, the medic triaged the patient, establishing that the vital signs were present but not as strong as they should be; that the patient was bleeding from multiple areas, including the head; and that he had blown off his left leg in the explosions. Grabbing bandages and other medical gear, he started applying pressure against the most serious bleedings.

"Press hardt her!" [Squeeze hard here!] he ordered the teamleader, who was sitting next to the medic, scared and confused. The medic had to knock him in his helmet and shout it in his face before he snapped out of it and did as ordered. He got to work on the stump that was left of the leg, which was spraying blood all over the ditch and adjacent road. He pressed a large bandage against the blood, trying to stop the bleeding so he didn't die from bloodloss. With that done, he gave the patient plasma to try to replace the lost blood before he was satisfied that he could be moved. Calling for a stretcher, he got the help from the fireteam to lift the man. There being no stretcher in the area, they had to carry him over to the relative safety of the remaining Invaders. With the tanks advancing slowly, firing away at anything that moved or had a thermal signature, they cleared some room for the MEDIVAC-configured H-25A Huey II that was approaching the area, escorted by two H-10B Stalker gunships, which filled the area with infrared and radar jamming. Both crewmembers in the Stalkers had their eyes peeled, watching for anything which could be dangerous to them. With dual 32mm cannons and 70mm rockets ready, the Stalkers could lay down some serious firepower against any enemy attack.

"Tango Hvit Tre, dette er Engel Null-Ni. Vi er inne i området, anmoder om rettleding, over." [Tango White Three, this is Angel Zero-Niner. We have entered the area, request guidance, over.]

"Engel Null-Ni, Tango Hvit Tre. Legger ned røyk, gjentar, legger ned grønn røyk. Bekreft." [Angel Zero-Niner, Tango White Three. Popping smoke, repeat, popping green smoke. Confirm.]

"Bekrefter grønn røyk." [Confirming green smoke.]

On the ground, a Marine pulled the safety pin of an L69A2 green smoke grenade and tossed it onto the open road. After five seconds, the grenade started fizzling and poured out thick, green smoke which rose quickly, marking their location to the MEDIVAC helicopter.

"Tango Hvit Tre, Engel Null-Ni. Vi har røyken, innkommende. Over." [Tango White Three, Angel Zero-Niner. We have your smoke, inbound. Over.]

The large grey helicopter with Red Cross markings clearly visible on the sides, front and belly decended rapidly, coming to a hover about twenty meters from the two Invaders and thirty meters from the burning CTLAVs. A flight medic dressed in an olive flight suit and with a white helmet on jumped out to help the Marines who carried their surviving comrade to safety. After carrying him and the nine other wounded to the helicopter, the Marines fell back to let the Huey II take off to carry their comrades to the safe operating room established at the international airport.

When the helicopter was safely away, the infantrymen who had sweeped forward returned with their findings. A console used to trigger the explosives and a shoulder badge. It was carried back to the divisional HQ and the commanding officer while a message went out to all units in the area of operations via the encrypted two-way datalink system the Cots had.

"FLASH FLASH FLASH - Improviserte eksplosive sprengladninger i fiendlig arsenal. Utvis ekstrem forsiktighet." [FLASH FLASH FLASH - Improvised explosive devices in enemy arsenal. Exersice extreme caution.]

Before long, the artillery started firing against the roads the Cots intended to use, detonating above ground to try to set off any IEDs there. Also, H-11A Reaper reconnaissance helicopters started flying overhead, scanning the area around the roads for thermal signatures. If any were detected, they were lasered and a pair of Mk.95-B 250 kg Paveway bombs dropped from a pair of A-5D Vigilantes 12,000 meters overhead would pop by to say hi (read: blow up in their faces). Also, the Sabertooths drove first in the collums now, scanning the area with their thermal scanners. It slowed the Marine push down somewhat, but they were still moving forward...

[OOC: There would still be some IED's connected to pressure wires on the roads, so some vehicles might still get blown up.
The tank battle between your men and Carver's is coming up, as you can see. I suggest we hold off until your tanks enter the township of Glen Audlyn, which sits just below the ruined airstrip, then we can start the battle.]

IC:

Northern IOM

The four soldiers now all lay dead, patriots all.

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Glen Audlyn AFB, IOM

Carver was hurriedly talking to an Air Force engineer as he pulled on an Olive Drab NOMEX tank crew suit. "Sir, there's no way we can get the cannon's from the plane to work properly, the only thing we can do is set them up as stationery cannons."

Carver then had a bright idea, "Tell you what Specialist, put one cannon on each of my tanks, weld the frames onto the turrets above the Co-Axial gun and run the electrics into the Commander's cupola, it'll mean we can move the damm thing at least, and the sound might do some good aswell. Get to it, we're getting ready to move out."

Carver finally managed to pull the tanker suit on and strap on a shoulder holstered 1911 Pistol. He then walked toward where his armoured column was getting ready. The tanks sat out in front, Air Force and Army personnel scrambling all over them, welding things here and there. Behind the tanks sat various APC's/IFV's including ten Stryker Anti-Tank IFV's, ten AS90 Braveheart, ten Stormer Light Tanks, ten Stormer Air Defense IFV's, ten Starstreak IFV's, ten Warrior IFV's and twenty FV-432 APC's, their crews getting themselves ready, and the mounted infantry checking over their weapons. Jeeps sat here and there aswell, including the two blacked out ones. GPMG's were being hefted into place on the roof racks, and scrap metal was being welded onto the sides.

As people were hussling and bussling Carver's voice pierced the noise over the base intercom. "Soldiers, Sailors and Air Men, we have come to the end of our endevour. The Cots are on their way here. But do not despair, for I see us in a boxing match with them. We have tied their arms behind their backs by putting their ships out of action, and now the head is lurching toward us, and we are about to break its nose. If we succeed whenever the battle should come, perhaps a truce can be arranged, or at least an amnesty. Make no mistake gentlemen, you will all, every one, be remembered on this island forever, as patriots." There was a cheer from the men who had stopped working, before busily returning to what they were doing.

The endgame was nearing, and the Cots knew it. More and more of Manx territory was taken every day, and it seemed that the efforts made by the 11th Marines were doing the trick. The tactics the Marines had entered the conflict with had changed dramatically, as they now pressed northwards slower and more carefully than before. Helicopters and reconnaissance aircraft scanned the area ahead of the advancing troops, and UAVs and satellite intelligence was used extensively. The intelligence battalion attached to the 11th Marines was becoming increasingly more important as every hour passed, as they were starting to act as the divisional eyes that they were supposed to be. It was a løytnant in that battalion who went over the latest satellite images, most of them only half an hour old, when he detected what was ahead. After making a few quick remarks about the images, he got in one of the 36, no, there were only 34 left now, CTLAVs attached to the battalion and had the visekorporal in the drivers seat drive as quickly as possible to the division HQ, which was currently established on a hilltop overlooking the town of Ballaugh. Here, sitting inside one of the M50A2 Invader amphibious command vehicles, generalmajor Eia sat, talking over the radio while checking the various maps and computer consoles inside. The junior officer knocked on the side before daring to stick his head inside, hoping the general wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Hva vil du?” [What do you want?] the general asked, looking at the junior officer with a slightly irritated look.

“Herr general, du bør se dette.” [Sir, you better take a look at this.]

The løytnant climbed inside and placed the satellite images on top of the maps and papers on the small table. There was enough light inside the cramped vehicle that the general could see exactly what was on the images. What was meant as a post-shelling shot to see how much damage the mighty guns of the battleship had caused had just turned into a very valuable piece of intelligence. It showed a lot of armoured and not-so-armoured vehicles, and apparently someone trying to modify about ten Challenger 2 tanks.

“Vi antar at dette er det tredje regimentet som vi har forstått har hovedansvaret for motstanden. Dersom vi tilintetgjør denne avdelingen antar vi at seieren er garantert.” [We assume that this is the 3rd Regiment, who we understand has the primary responsibility for the resistance. If we destroy this unit we assume that victory is assured.] the junior officer said bluntly to his commanding officer.

“Jeg forstår. Vel, takk for informasjonen. Du bør komme deg tilbake til din post, for du kommer til å få en del å gjøre. Tre av.” [I understand. Well, thanks for the information. You better get back to your post, ’cause you’ll get a lot of work soon. Dismissed.]

The junior officer saluted and returned to his CTLAV which would take him back to the intelligence center 7 kilometers away, in the town of Kirk Michael. The town had been taken with a minimum of bloodshed, and turned into an intelligence- and prisoner detainment center.

The general got to work immediately, ordering increased reconnaissance flights over Glen Audlyn [OOC: I can’t find jack shit about that fucking place on neither the Web nor Encarta or any other encyclopaedia. Where the hell is it?] and constant UAV coverage. Also, a pair of Reapers were tasked with covertly obtaining intelligence on the area.

From the deck of the Enterprise class carrier operating in the North Atlantic, thirty nautical miles off the northern coast of Ireland, an RA-5F Vigilante was immediately launched with a pair of F-20B Enforcers as decoys and escorts. The Vigilante would fly over the airbase at 14,000 meters, well out of range for any air defenses the 3rd Regiment had available. Meanwhile, the Enforcers would stay out of reach and out of visual range, trying to keep the enemy from detecting that their position was revealed for as long as possible. Meanwhile, two infantry regiments (6 battalions) and the whole tank battalion was in the process of being repositioned along with fifty-four M777A2 lightweight howitzers, which were positioned on hilltops within twenty-five kilometres of the airbase. The Dragon MLRS’ were safely positioned at Foxdale, where they were well within the range of everywhere on Man. They could also be used if need be.

The infantry would take up positions along all three axes, giving the defenders only access to the sea, where the HMS ‘Dødsengel’ and a small escort of two frigates and a destroyer were being positioned, cutting off that route as well. Two infantry battalions were held in reserve three kilometres from the front while the rest would take up positions no less than six hundred meters from the airbase perimeter. The Cots had a plan. The only thing needed would be to get the units into positions quickly and quietly so they maintained the element of surprise. Dark was coming, something which would serve the Cottish purpose. The units would be fully in position within six hours. At first light, the Manxians would get a big surprise. Meanwhile, deep below the decks of the Marauder class LHAN, the PsyOps support personnel were working overtime, preparing the secret weapon…

OOC: Check out the maps on google and you'll find Glen Audlyn, its directly north of Snaefell. As for seeing the tanks getting modded, I don't think that would happen, as its all underground, in the bunker. Reading back it would seem I didn't make that clear enough, my apologies. It doesn't really matter that much anyway.

IC:
For the first time since the war with Doomingsland, Carver was back in a tank. He was sitting on his own in the Commander's seat, looking around the inside. His own tank and crew had been destroyed in the first battle, he had been blown clear of the tank, saving his life, but not his crew's. Then on the second day his replacement tank was hit again, this time he tried to haul the gunner out of the tank, with the man burning up in his hands. It was no use.

In his mind Carver could hear the screams. His eyes were closed, his head jerking as if hearing the battle again. Then he suddenly opened his eyes, keyed his radio and said one phrase..."Mount up." Outside the crews of the IFV's, APC's, Jeeps and other tanks scrambled aboard, some waving goodbye to freinds they'd probably never see again. Some Air Force and some Navy personnel were dressed in combats and scrambled aboard behind the 3rd Regiment soldiers, the rest were watching them go, dressed in civilian clothes, their war was over.

The cavernous hangar was suddenly filled with the sound of many diesel engines revving and idling, and then Carver ordered his tank forward, and the column followed in single file down the exit tunnel.

Once outside the 90 Armored vehicles and the gaggle of jeeps kept in single file in the forest. At a crossroads in the fire break, the ten AS90 Braveheart's broke formation with a couple of jeeps and lurched off up an incline to a pre-planned firing position. The rest of the column continued down the single dirt track.

Dark was descending over the entire island, and the trees made it hard to see where the sun was going down. Carver had everyone switch to NV after magic hour had passed. He received a quick burst on his radio from the artillery, "Ready to fire, enemy spotted." Carver gave the order to fire and warned the artillery to watch out for aircraft, and to abandon the vehicles once the ammunition was gone. Around a minute later the first artillery salvo crashed away into the night sky somewhere high up in the forest, and the dull thud of the explosions could be heard out in front, flashes lighting up the sky for a split second.

Carver waited for the second salvo before moving forward. The fire break came out on a thin country round that wound itself around the forest, and it bordered fields as far as the horizon. The Cots were out there somewhere, they were firing back themselves, the distant crash of fire could be heard in echoing across the peacefull night.

Carver’s tank lurched out of the fire break and bounced across the tarmac on the road before crashing through a small fence and bouncing down a slight dip before beginning to drive smoothly across the vast field. As the rest of the column prepared to follow he gave an order, "Tanks, go into arrow formation, IFV’s will tuck in behind us in small diamonds of four, Air Defense units, guard out flanks in two’s, one Stormer with one Starstreak. Infantry APC’s will dismount at the pre-planned Initial Point along with Infantry in the jeeps. Good luck."

Almost immediately Carver began to find enemy targets moving along roads to his west, probably trying to get into position outside the airbase. As a unit the tanks swung their guns, locked their targets and fired, the 120mm shells crashing out into the night. A split second later balls of fire erupted out to the west. Carver immediately began to swing across the fields toward the fire. As they neared the road the field dipped, they couldn’t fire at all. As they got closer small arms fire began to erupt on the tanks, just little rattling noises from inside the tank, but now the Cots were aware. He picked up a small switch that ran with a lead up out toward the closed over cupola and disappeared. He pressed the button and the 20mm Vulcan Cannon on the roof spat out its rounds like a dragon, the sound echoing around the turret. Whether he was hitting anything was beside the point, the sound alone would be fearsome. The Co-Axial gun was firing aswell, Carver could see the tracers through his cupola. The fire from the Cottish positions was getting closer and a couple of unguided Rocket Grenades had flown by over the tops of the tanks.

The tanks lurched into the bank that came before the road and the engines groaned and shuddered as they pushed the heavy tanks up and over, crashing through a hedge, and then they were on a road. Carver could see flames through his cupola, so close the NV was flaring and useless. He picked out a CTLAV through the gloom, firing its heavy gun, and the Gunner fired, the tank rocking slightly as the CTLAV exploded in a fireball. There was no armor about that Carver could see, only infantry. Another couple of shots rang out from his tanks as Cottish vehicles were decimated. The Co Axial guns and some of the makeshift 20mm Cannon’s were spitting out rounds all around the road and the surrounding fields. Carver had just decimated an Infantry unit, he smiled slightly as he called for a ceasefire, and the tanks lurched back down into the field and joined up with the rest of the units to press on.

As they did so five APC's and a few jeeps skidded away up to the road, the guns firing at the remaining Cottish Infantry. Half of Carver's Infantry, their plan changed, would now get out on that road and start sweeping for Cottish Infantry moving up toward the airfield.


[OOC: I suppose we could work this like a chess game. I go, then you go etc. In that post I decided to run into one of your Infantry Battalions that was trying to flank around the airbase, it seemed like they'd be the ones advancing furthest.]

The element of surprise was lost, generalmajor Eia knew when the reports that the 5th Battalion was taking heavy fire from armor and artillery, and shortly thereafter from infantry. His men were engaging in close quarters battle, a field where the Marines reigned supreme. However, CQB alone wouldn't be enough to win the battle. Moving one additional infantry battalion, the 8th, to reinforce the 4th, he also ordered two tank companies to proceed to the area to support the infantry.

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

In the forested area which was currently occupied by the 4th Battalion (Infantry), 11th Division, the strength had been decimated from four companies of 195 men each to one company, four platoons and three sniper teams, totalling at 357 Marines still alive and fighting. They had a small number of CTLAVs attached, most of which had been destroyed in the initial attack. Still, the battalion XO, major Alexander was still alive and coordinating an effective defense. The Marines concentrated on moving around squad-sized units now, forming small, efficient fighting units. His snipers were deployed along the units and were taking shots at the enemy infantry, taking them down quickly with single-shots in the head. A 8.6x70mm or 12.7x99mm round would be sure to penetrate the kevlar helmets the infantry carried and kill them quickly and efficiently.

A few ATGM-teams were also in action, getting their Javelin missiles out of the CTLAVs and into position. With a two-man team working together, they fired the missiles against the enemy tanks from an average range of 1.3 kilometers, sending the deadly MGM.18-D Javelin against the enemy vehicles. The 8.4 kg tandem warhead would certainly be able to penetrate the Chobbam armor on the tanks, let alone the smaller support vehicles.

The infantry had taken up defensive positions where they could be found. Behind a rock, tree, in a ditch. Anywhere where they weren't exposed. 6.8mm projectiles from the L15A1 rifles and L22A2 SAWs, accompanied by the 40mm grenades from the squad grenadier's M50A2 grenade launcher and the 60mm shells from the two mortar teams relatively safe behind the Cottish lines illuminated the darkness of night and created eerie scenes.

http://www.iraqi-freedom-diary.com/images/night-combat.jpg

As an explosion from the 120mm cannon on one of the Challengers lighted up the background just fifteen meters away, oversersjant Thor Bøe looked up, slightly aggrivated now. He had transfered in from the 14th Division just a month prior, and now they threw him into the fray...again! He had seen battle in just about every campaign the Royal Marines had been in for the last twenty years, and he was getting somewhat tired of being fired upon all the time. Looking up as the dirt settled, he looked back at the automatic rifleman covering behind the knocked-over tree five meters behind and two meters to his left.

"Helvete! Johnsen, legg ned litt jævla dekningsild for faen! Ser ikke du det jævla infanteriet?!" [Fuck! Johnsen, lay down some fucking covering fire! Can't you see the fucking infantry?!]

The man nodded, cocked his SAW and opened up against the incoming infantry, making them duck for cover. Meanwhile, Bøe trained the ACOG sight on his L15A2 carbine and selected semi-automatic fire with his thumb. The satisfying click made him crack a little smile as he looked down the sight and directly at a Manx infantryman trying to crawl his way towards Bøe's position, trying to keep his SA80A2 from getting dirty. It would be the last thing he did, as Bøe gently squeezed the trigger and sent a single 6.8x43mm full metal jacketed lead projectile directly through the kevlar helmet of the man, killing him instantly. He had shot six enemies during this campaign, making this one number seven. Just as he was to fire another round, his radio crackled.

"Dingo fem til Dingo alle. Innkommende vennlig panser fra vest. Gjentar, innkommende vennlig panser fra vest. Artilleri-støtte avventer ordrer. Bekreft." [Dingo five to Dingo all. Incoming friendly armor from the west. Repeat, incoming friendly armor from the west. Arty support standing by. Confirm.]

"Dingo Blå To bekrefter." [Dingo Blue Two confirming.] Bøe said in the microphone before switching channel. "Dingo Blå To til DivArt." [Dingo Blue Two to DivArt.]

"Dette er DivArt, over." [This is DivArt, over.]

"Ber om umiddelbar ildstøtte, koordinater 7-8-4-3-1. Skyt for effekt. Bekreft." [Requesting immediate fire support, coordinate 7-8-4-3-1. Fire for effect. Confirm.]

"Bekrefter. Forvent støtte om to-null sekunder. Ut." [Confirming. Expect support in two-zero seconds. Out.]

Firing off a few more rounds, Bøe tried to make himself as small as possible, not an easy task when you're 1.94 meters tall and weighs in at 102 kilos, ost of which is muscle, but he tried. He also informed his squad to do the same thing, because he had ordered artillery support almost on their position. And sure enough, twenty seconds later, the 155mm shells started raining down. Three batteries were providing support, twenty-seven M777s, targetting everything within the area. That included a few armored vehicles and a Challenger tank.

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

The company commander for the 3rd Company, 10th Battalion (Tank), 11th Division lead the way for his company of ten Sabertooth tanks, driving at 60 kilometers per hour across the terrain. Tapping into realtime reconnaissance images from an orbiting RQ-15C Mack UAV, he selected four Challenger tanks to be the first targets. Feeding the necessary information into the four MGM.17-A LOSAT missiles his tank carried, he prepared to engage the enemy. Five seconds later, he gave the go-ahead to the gunner, who selected the four LOSATs on his computer screen and pressed the distinct red button with the word "ILD" [FIRE] etched in with bold white letters four times in rapid succession. Immediately, the tank shook as the rear of the missiles seemed to explode in a fiery inferno of orange before streaking towards the skies, leaving behind a white streak of smoke showing the trajectory. The four missiles didn't travel far, just a bit more than three kilometers before they entered the terminal velocity, moving very fast toward the position of the enemy tanks. They wouldn't miss, and they would easily penetrate the relatively weak top armor of the tanks before detonating, killing everyone inside.

Seven of the twenty Sabertooths fired off LOSATs towards the various tanks and vehicles before finally entering within range of their very powerful 120mm ETC cannons. At the maximum range of 2,800 meters, the company commander fired towards a Starstreak carrier. Shortly thereafter, the Sabertooths joined the party for real, driving quickly towards the enemy positions, approaching on their left flanks, firing their 120mm cannons and 15.5mm coaxial guns. Death was coming, and it was in the shape of the M51A1 Sabertooth main battle tank!

Carver had expected a follow up attack and he got it, almost within 30 seconds of turning his tank around to look back at his infantry deploying nearby. He saw them taking up positions in the field, the jeep firing up onto the enemy soldiers running about. A couple of large rockets streaked toward his position, just over a small defiladed hill. Someone called "INCOMING!" over the net before a tank down the row exploded, disappearing behind a wall of flame.

Carver himself wasn't fazed. He called in the road co-ordinates over the net and within seconds deadly accurate 155mm Artillery was raining down, sending the Cots either flying in pieces or diving for cover. Artillery was also incoming from the Cottish side, chewing up the field near where the Infantry had just dismounted.

In the chaos Carver had the rest of the Infantry dismount, and they slipped away in the dark. Almost as Carver had given the order the screens in front of him lit up with the red words "INCOMING!". The type was detected as LOSAT a few seconds later and a count-down timer was estimated. He waited until the missiles were twenty seconds from impact before giving his order, "ALL UNITS REVERSE AT SPEED." Carver's tank revved for a split second before bouncing backward, the count-down timer said 10 seconds, and then as he looked out of his visor around the cupola everything around him lit up and the tank was shunted backward, Carver himself thrown backward, smacking his helmet off the metal on the other side of the cupola.

He was dazed, and aware only of static pierced by screams coming across his radio. Outside he could hear loud pops and bangs, he recognised the sound of ammunition cooking off immediately. He hauled himself into a sitting position and asked for a Net Call over the radio. Three tanks replied, four starstreak, three Stomer units, five Stryker IFV's, six Stomer light tanks and one Warrier APC made their calls, as well as a couple of infantry units.

Immediately Carver order the units to fire and move at will. He heard the Stryker Unit's firing their big AT missiles, and the Stryker tanks were also firing somewhere in the distance.

He ordered his own tank to get under way. There were enemy units all over the place. He looked at his Firing Computer and locked up two enemy tanks, before seeing them dissappear, the Stryker's were doing their job. He heard the other three tanks firing somewhere in front of him, the flashes from explosions made it hard to see outside, but the computers in front of him gave a good idea of what was happening.

Carver could hear the fearsome roar of ETC Cannons, and instantly he knew the Cots were bringing some serious firepower to bear. He instantly doubted whether the AT Missiles from his Stryker's would do more than shock the crews inside whatever tanks they were using. He picked out a tank himself, one rising up onto the nearby road, and fired just as it slammed down onto the tarmac. There was no explosion, just a shower of sparks and flame and the tank loomed large and kept going. He ordered a HEAT round loaded and fired again, this time the tank dissappeared behind an explosion, but as it cleared it was still there, all black and green in his view, stopped. Then it lurched forward.

Shaking his head he was wondering why he wasn't hit himself yet, but he perservered. He ordered another HEAT round into the breach, and told the Gunner to aim for the tracks. Again the enemy tank went out of view behind the explosion which erupted low to the ground, and then it came into view again, the side-skirts blown away at the front end, the track flopping about. But the turret was still turning, slower than usual, but turning toward him. With net-call's and fire orders and blurred shouts over the radio Carver managed to shout to his own driver, "Ram that fucking tank, drive into them, do it." Carver's tank suddenly made a skidding turn and then the tank was pointed straight toward the stricken enemy tank. Carver could see and hear the battle raging all around, light flashing here and there, small arms smacking off the turret. But he was concentrating solely on the turret swinging around, and then SMASH! He was thrown against the front of the cupola, hitting the screens in front of him with his chest. The screech and crunch of metal echoed throughout the tank.

Carver moved slowly up to his visor to look out and all he saw was black. Then the tank bounced slightly as the driver separated and reversed. As they were doing so Carver grabbed up his radio for a net-call, but as he did so a blidning light erupted somewhere and then it shut off to blackness.

Carver was only aware of floating somewhere, with something wet on his shoulder. There was just blackness all around, with the odd piercing light, like a storm was brewing. The storm seemed to just rage far away, cracking and booming, just staying where it was, the lighting breaking the darkness on the horizon, never getting closer. Then everything seemed to stop, the blackness returned completely, the wetness stayed on his shoulder.

Carver opened his eyes slowly. There was color and brightness, something nudging along his left leg. He was looking at his hands, they red and covered in blood, scars along the top. There was a thick, dry black piece of something attached to the palm of his hand. He looked down to his left, there was a huge red stain running down his chest from his shoulder, a piece of jagged white molten metal was sticking out of his shoulder, about a foot long. There was no pain yet. At his left leg there was, of all things, a grey rabbit sitting, nudging his leg. It eventually tired and then jumped away.

Carver was sitting in a field, lying at an awkward position along a ditch, a fence and bush above him. There was a dull pain in his shoulder now, and his body ached. He managed to kneel up and half pull himself up to the fence. There was carnage to be seen. About fifty vehicles lay in fields as far as a hill aways. There was hazy smoke drifting from some of the charred vehicles, the grass was stained black and red here and there. A helicopter was flying somewhere in the grey clouds, but the battlefield was silent, a few bodies lying here and there near the vehicles.

After stumbling up the ditch and into the field he found his own tank, lying on its side, the turret about 20 feet away, near the ditch were he came up. He didn't want to look inside the hull or the turret. He'd seen things like that already. He turned around and faced the other charred vehicles and said aloud, "You are all patriots and heroes." A tear driped down Carver's bloody and black face. He walked over to the road, it was covered in blood and Cottish equipment, a couple of pieces of an armored vehicle lay here and there. There were birds chirping to each other in the few tries that lined the road, life went on.
From the road he looked north, there was a small farmhouse there, smoke was rising from the chimney.

The battle had progressed favorably for the Cots, who had lost none of their tanks and few of their other vehicles once the tanks and artillery was brought to bear. As for the infantry, they had taken some serious losses, but they were still surviving. A few tanks had been slightly damaged, but the worst damages had been the tank which had first gotten its track blown off and then a bloody Challenger 2 tank in its front, creating one massive dent in the side! Needless to say, the sersjant who had commanded the tank wasn't very pleased. Still, the Challenger had gotten its due when two Javelins had penetrated the side armor and killed those inside. With most of the enemy vehicles destroyed, and friendly reinforcements coming to the area, the battle was effectively won. Several Manxian infantrymen threw down their SA80s when they realized that the battle had been lost, but some had chosen to fight on. They were killed where they had fortified themselves. Tragic and brutal, but necessary.

By now, the Marines were roaming the battlefield and surrounding area, mopping up any remaining resistance. They were under orders to take prisoners if possible, but to kill anyone resisting arrest. With these orders fresh in mind, oversersjant Bøe led his squad along the road. There, all alone, they saw a man dressed in a bloody tank uniform walk on the road, apparently in his own world. Quickly giving a few hand signals to his squad about spreading out and flanking the man, Bøe trained his L15 against the man and shouted out in accented English.

"Halt! Stop, or we will open fire!"

The man stopped, and Bøe proceeded carefully. As he came closer to the man, he could see that he was wounded and needed medical attention rather quickly. It was clear that the man couldn't put up very much of a fight, so Bøe walked up to the man, slowly, constantly aiming his rifle at the man's head.

"I'm oversersjant Bøe of the Royal Marines. You are now a prisoner of war." he said to the man, who apparently was a higher-ranking officer from what remained of rank insignia on the torn, bloody NOMEX uniform. Motioning for one of his men to check the man, Bøe kept his weapon trained on him. The search produced a Colt M1911 and some papers which identified him as one Colonel Carver, commanding officer of the Huahinian 3rd Regiment. The colonel was zip-tied and brought back to the battalion CP which had been established on a hilltop, where the colonel was given the most basic of medical treatment before a Merlin came to collect him. He was flown back to the interrogation center at Kirk Michael, where he would be interrogated by the Division intelligence officers.

Carver was only aware of the birds in the trees. They were chirping all the time. Someone was shouting at him slowly with an accent. The voice was blurred. There was ringing in his ears, constant. Only high pitched sounds seem to come through, like the birds. Carver stood still and kept looking at the trees.

He was vaguely aware of hands padding and prodding him, and people moving and shoving. Then his hands went behind his back, a dull ache in his left shoulder. The jagged piece of metal was still there. He wondered if they'd let him keep it.

He was driven somewhere, that he was sure. The strange movement couldn't have been anything else. He had no idea how long he spent driving, he kept blacking out and then slowly being drawn back into consciousness, the black gloom receding to the blinding light of day, even though the day was typically overcast.

He was led into a tent somewhere, people were watching him. They took his cuffs off and laid him on something, maybe a stretcher, he didn't know. There was more prodding, and dull pains as they pressed and poked his wounds. A bandage went around his head and he was forced to drink water before being hand-cuffed again. Then he was walking toward a strong wind and lots of noise. And then he was floating in the air. He blacked out again.

When he finally woke he was in a bed of sorts, a hand-cuff strapped to the metal sides and his right hand. His right hand was bandaged. His head was bandaged aswell and his left arm and shoulder were in a sling across his chest. The room was sparse, there was a door and a guard sitting next to it staring at him, nothing in his eyes. Carver felt hazy, they'd probably drugged him up. The jagged metal was gone from his shoulder, he wondered where it was, and for that matter, where he was.

It felt like he was back in the War, on a stretcher behind the lines, a morphine drip at his side, Doomingsland Artillery pounding away outside, surgeons and doctors and nurses bustling to and fro, someone screaming nearby. Yet again he’d escaped death, he’d been blown out of the turret for the second time. He rationalized that he was probably the only soldier on earth ever to evade death in such a manner. What was the point really? He had prepared himself to die every time…and he was still alive. He thought to himself, ’What gives?’

Bump

The Colonel was handcuffed to a bed inside Peel Castle (http://www.mcb.net/iom/peelip33.jpg), which had been converted to a command center and prison camp for higher-ranking prisoners. With the rank and position of Carver, it had been decided early on to transfer him there. Cuffed to a bed inside the infirmary, sealed off from the other pasients with a white curtain, Carver lay. A soldier sat near the door, watching the prisoner. He had clear orders to summon the doctor when the prisoner woke up, something which he did. The doctor came after a few minutes, followed by an officer dressed in a forest-camo field uniform with the distinctions of an Army Captain. In reality, he wasn't a Captain, and he most certainly wasn't in the regular military anymore. The man belonged to the military intelligence agency FO/E, and he was a specialist in obtaining information from prisoners. He had already started the interrogation process several hours prior. Little did Carver know that the spook had mixed Sodium Amobarbital (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sodium_amytal) into the IV the prisoner had in his arm. The truth serum was already well within the colonel's body, taking over the brain of the prisoner, rendering him uncapable of thinking in the long-term, lying, and making him very receptible to telling the truth. All this the interrogator knew as he waited patiently for the military doctor to finish his check.

"Du har ti minutter. Etter det må han hvile." [You have ten minutes. After that, he needs rest.]

"Takk doktor." [Thank you doctor.] the spook said before walking up to the left side of the colonel. "You're in a pretty bad shape," he said completely without even the slightest hint of an accent, speaking in the so-called Queen's English. "You had a massive piece of shrapnel in your shoulder. You've been operated and you're going to recover completely. Want to tell me what happened?"

Now this was familiar. After the debacle in the War in Doomingsland, Carver had been quietly arrested and taken back to Huahin. He'd been interrogated thoroughly. They tried to make him confess that it was his fault they were losing, they tried everything from physical pain to fancy drugs. Having been in SOF when he was young he knew many tricks, but he simply kept silent the whole time. They eventually tired of him, and did what he thought was worse than blame him for the losses-they stripped him of his rank and command, and sent him and the remainder of his men to the last Huahinian outpost, the Isle of Mann.
If the Cots thought he would speak then they had another thing coming.

Within a couple of seconds Carver realised his drowsiness wasn't from morphine, he recognised the dull fogginess of Sodium Amobarbital, or truth serum as it was more commonly known. He'd been given it before. The only way to beat it was to keep your mouth shut because once you started talking you never stopped until they got everything from you. The trouble was that you felt you should talk, the drug lulled you into a false sense of security and wellbeing, that if you talked you'd be ok. But as Carver's mentors taught him, the brain is all-powerful and it can conquer everything if you want it to.

Carver watched the Doctor leave, and then a wiry little man with a keen eye was left in the room, a Captain's insignia on his uniform, but he was too old and didn't look remotely like any captain Carver had ever seen. He spoke good English though, asked Carver "Want to tell me what happend?" Carver smiled involuntarily, the drugs were working. The man's faced relaxed, he thought he was going to get his answer. Instead the smile turned into a grimace, Carver overriding his facial muscles with great effort. He gurgled his throat and then spat on the face of the man. The man's demeanor suddenly changed and Carver's face went into a smile again, only this time he let it be.

The soldier at the door got up the instant Carver spat in the interrogator's face. The interrogator on the other hand motioned for the soldier to stop while taking out a hankerchief. After whiping the saliva off his cheek, he returned the hankerchief to his pocket while looking at the colonel.

"Now that wasn't very polite, was it?" he asked retorically before continuing, not letting Carver answer. "We're not going to hurt you. We're not going to torture you. Unlike your previous government, we don't allow torture. In fact, it's in our constitution that torture is forbidden."

The interrogator gave that piece of fact a moment to sink in before continuing.

"We know that you are the commanding officer of the third Regiment. We know that your unit is headquartered at the North Depot in Andreas. We know that your last base was the large hangar underneath Glen Audlyn air force base. We even know of your background in the Huahinian Special Forces. I admire your loyalty to your country, but you see, the fight is over. The Huahinian government fell a long time ago, so while your loyalty is commendable, there is no one left to be loyal to." The interrogator said, stressing the point that he had no reason to keep quiet.

"Those of your men who survived, which I'm sorry to say number less than a hundred, have already given us this information and much more. They're being held in a holding facility somewhere else on this island. There is no other resistance. Now, all we want from you is confirmation that the information we have is valid. After you help us, you will be transfered to the same holding facility that your men are being held at where you will be detained for a shorter period of time while we consolidate our positions before you will be released. You see, we're not barbarians, regardless of what your now defunkt government might have claimed. So do you think you could help us? It'll get you out of this place faster."

Carver's face was screwed up, one part of it wanted to smile involuntarily, while the other he was trying to make function. He was telling his brain to raise an eyebrow, he was surprised at this guy at his bedside. The last time he spat on a guy like that he'd had three teeth knocked out with the butt of an SA80 by a fellow countryman.

Carver was inwardly taken aback by this man. It wasn't Huahinian propaganda that turned him against the Cots, in fact before the invasion he only knew where the damm place was on a map, that was it. Carver naturally assumed all the spook/intel types were the same, cold and calculating REMF's that would brutalize a man who was chained up, yet who would soil themselves at the first shot fired in a battle.

The only thing Carver was concerned about was his men, the wiry spook had said less than 100 made it, that was, at least, more than he had expected to survive. The only other thing was about loyalty to his country. Since Huahin fell Carver and whoever joined him might have wore Huahin uniforms, but they were fighting for Manx, they were fighting for themselves.

However, if he opened his mouth he wouldn't stop speaking, so he looked around the room for a pen. There wasn't one, so he made a scribbling motion with his hand, and after a minute or two the spook knew what he was getting at. He spoke in Norwegian to the soldier by the door who stomped out and came back a few minutes later with a pen and a note-pad.

Carver put the pad on his chest and wrote with his good hand, the note said, "Intel Wrong: We fought for Manx. Fuck Huahin."

OOC: Is it just me or did the Sabertooth wipe the floor with the bad guys?

OOC: It sure did. The best thing I had was Challenger 2's and some out-dated British Armor. I did disable one though...and ram it!
Carver's record is pretty good overall. He put three ships out of action, stemmed a Cottish advance with IED's and downed two Vigilante Aircraft. Not to mention killing a load of Cottish soldiers and sailors. For just over 300 men in an isoltated base with only some antiquated equipment, that seems pretty good to me.

Bump

[OOC: Dude, I started university this week. I have nfc when I get the time to post again.]

[OOC: No problem.]

The spook flashed a brief smile as he read the words the Colonel had written. 'Fuck Huahin, eh?'

"So you fought for Manx, eh? Perhaps you would like to know a little about the plans Cotland has for this island?" The prisoner nodded, still refusing to speak, so the spook continued.

"Once we've consolidated our power here, we will make a lot of reforms to adapt Man to a vibrant, important part of the Realm. We have no plans to establish large military facilities here. Quite the contrary. We intend to rebuild Manx as an important financial center. A hub for the economies of the world, if you will. Banks will be built here. Interest rates will be very favorable, and the taxes will be very low. We hope that in five to ten years, Manx is a rich Crown Colony of the Realm, and that the people are proud to be Cottish citizens." He paused, looking deep into Carver's eyes. "I admire your spirit Colonel, I really do. But the battle for Man is lost. We have taken over every single settlement and are whiping out what remains of resistance. If you just talk to me, you can be with your men within the end of today. All I need for you is to talk to me."

Carver listened intently, his head cocked slightly to one side, the hand-cuffs clinking slightly as he shifted his weight. The spook seemed earnest, although it would probably take a good while for the plans to come to light. Huahin, on the other hand, had never made any promises about Manx. It was an out-post they humiliated people on, and used for prisoners. Carver had hated the island for a time, but had come to peace with it in the end, just before Huahin collapsed. Now it was all changing again.

At one point Carver had been proud to wear the Huahin uniform, but any allegiance he had for them was shattered when he saw how easily their bluster was destroyed by Doomingsland, and how they tried to blame Carver, personally, for their initial losses. Once Huahin fell, Carver believed Manx, if it could hold out, offered a chance for survival and renewal, to gain what glory had been lost. He was proud of his men and what he'd done, but the Cots had won. They were damm fine soldiers he thought. Maybe complying with these guys would be better than holding out, getting back to his men sure looked like a good prospect. Maybe then he could see how things lay.

Carver shifted again as the spook finished, with his eyes boring into Carver, asking him to talk. The hand-cuffs clinked and settled. Carver cleared his throat and spoke, his voice low and raspy, his throat raw. "What do you want from me...Captain?"

The interrogator wanted to laugh and grin like a madman, but he restrained himself. The Colonel had talked, and with the truth serum fully integrated with every living cell within his body, he would tell the truth. There was no way he could manage to lie.

"Let's start with your latest command. We would like to know how many men, what equipment you had, bases, depots, the works. We would also like to know about any hidden weapons- and ammunition caches you might have."

Carver's eyes bulged. He saw it immediately in the spooks eyes. The smart little guy was well trained, that was for sure. Carver shifted uncomfortably as the spook began to talk. He was cursing himself. However, having been given truth serum before, and having administered it to others, he knew what happend when you talked.

The serum was a nervous system relaxer, it wouldn't literally make you tell the truth, it would simply lower your inhibitions, as if you were drunk. Carver knew by opening his mouth he would probably talk, but the lowered inhibitions made him susecptible to the spook's sneaky ways. As the spook was talking Carver's head began to swim. He shifted in the bed again, realised his left arm wasn't strapped to the bed, it was in a sling. He shifted his arm slightly. It would move, but it was sore.

After the War Carver was injured worse than he was now, with internal bleeds and ruptured organs. But he still managed to try and kill himself, while taking as many with him as he could. One night during an interrogation he managed to hit one of the spooks with a cast on his arm, and then he had fallen off the bed, attempting to fling machinery at the two men in the dark room. He put himself into a coma doing so, but then they left him alone. It wasn't until much later that they dropped his rank and shipped him out to the island.

The spook finished talking, a straight face...but his eyes, they were triumphant, not the look of an equal. Carver breathed deep, began to move his arm, pain already shooting up his shoulder as he forced himself to sit up, already bringing his left arm out of the sling and around in a fist. The spook saw it but it was too quick. A beeping went off somewhere as Carver connected his punch with the spook's left temple. There was an ugly crunch and Carver's vision began to dim. The guard at the door was up and moving and there was machinery beeping. Before he went under Carver shouted, "The truth is, your a fucking arsehole, and you just found my hidden weapons." After that Carver's vision went black and he felt himself falling into nothingness.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
(OOC: I was watching Rambo 3 last night, and I thought I could replicate the scene were the Russian guy asks the Colonel were the missiles are, and he says..."Close...they're in your ass." Same sort of thing.

The guard reacted quickly, pulling out the metal telescopic baton and raising it over his head in a single, fluid motion. Aiming for Carver's right side, the guard's arm flew down in an arch, the 40-centimeter baton first, directly onto the side, connecting with the left-hand side of Carver's solar plexus with a dull thump. After making sure the prisoner was subdued, the guard checked on the interrogator.

"Helvetes jævel. Slo faen meg løs tanna!" [Fucking bastard. Knocked loose my fucking tooth!] The interrogator said as he got back up, cradling his jaw in his right hand.

"Hva skal vi gjøre med fangen?" [What shall we do with the prisoner?]

"Plan B." [Plan B.]

The guard nodded and went over to the telephone to make the propper arrangements.

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

When Carver woke back up, he would find himself sitting in a metal chair in the middle of a cold stone room without windows, naked, with his hands and feet secured with durable leather straps to the chair, which was bolted down into the cold stone floor. Carver's feet were able to get, at most, only five centimeters above the floor. To top things off, there was freezing cold ice water, no warmer than five degrees Celcius, covering the floor at a depth of ten centimeters.

Standing in each corner were four guards, dressed in black field uniforms with L5A2 Barak pistols and telescopic batons in the olive pistol belts, knee high Wellington boots on their feet and a bucket of ice cold water easily accessible. When they were ready, the interrogator, a younger one this time, nodded and they drenched the Colonel in cold water. This was not torture after Cottish law, but it was pretty close to it. Not that the interrogators cared much, with them all being members of the 5th Black Operations Force, also known as the Intelligence Support Activity. Officially, they didn't exist and thus could not be punished for violating other laws than the military ones.

After Carver was awake, the interrogator, dressed in a black jacket to keep warm in the eleven degree cold room carefully trodded over to Carver, circling him, the splashes of his boots moving around the water echoing off the stone walls. He spoke with slightly accented English.

"You are a tough one. That's why they sent you to me. Let me introduce myself. I am no one, and these fine gentlemen in the corners are no one. We are, how do you say, ghosts, no?"

Carver woke up freezing from his feet up, glaring bright light reflecting off a floor that was shiny...and appeared to move. His first thought was drugs, they'd pumped him full of something again and he was dizzy, hallucinating even. He tried to move, but something wet and stiff stopped him dead.

As his head became less fuzzy his vision finally settled, water...there was water on the floor, ankle deep...and freezing. There was restraining straps all over him, dark leather with buckles, roping around a straight backed metal chair. His head was clear now, no drugs...but the room was painfully cold. The wound in his shoulder seared with pain, as did his wrist were he'd hit the spook. There was a throbbing pain in his solar plexus aswell.

He couldn't look behind him but there were two men in the corners in front of him, probably two behind him aswell. There was another man in the room, standing half in and half out of shadow. He moved his head and then the two men in front lifted sloshing buckets from beside them and and they threw the contents over the Colonel, the searing pain of the icy water shooting through his body was like being stabbed with a million tiny needles. He clenched his muscles and breathed heavily. This was a whole new ball game for sure, no nice little spook this time, just a bunch of hard bastards. However, this was Carver's game too, SOF prepared him for stuff like this, and he done similar things to men himself. But everyone had their threshold. He just hoped his wounds didn't make his situation worse.

Once the water had stopped sloshing about the man in shadows stepped forward. He was wearing an unmarked black coat, and wellington boots. He was younger than the other spook. This one looked smart, sharp and fit. He knew his business obviously. They introduced themselves as no one. He'd done that enough times himself. Carver laughed. "Well, I'm the King of Norway, and I demand todays paper and some breakfast."

"Well aren't you a funny one," the younger spook said sarcastically before nodding. The two men in the corners Carver couldn't see walked quickly up to Carver and looked at their superior before doing what they were ordered to. One grabbed Carvers head and forcefully made him look up onto the stone ceiling. Holding it in that position, the other man pulled up the ten-litre plastic bucket and started pouring, aiming for Carver's nose and mouth. The icy cold water was poured down on him in a steady rate, not giving the colonel a chance to take a breath due to the man holding him down. All he could do was to try to keep from drowning. After having poured maybe four litres of water, the superior nodded and the pouring stopped, momentarily anyways. The spook crouched down so he could look directly onto Carvers left cheek and eye.

"That wasn't a clever thing to say. Now, shall we try again? I want to know the exact locations of any hidden Huahinian weapons caches in your area of responsibility. Failure to give the information will result in more pain for you. Just tell us what we want to know, and you'll survive this ordeal." The spook said while keeping a very neutral expression. After a short pause, he continued. "If you refuse to give us the information, His Majesty's Armed Forces are sad to report that one Colonel Carver, commanding officer of the Huahinian Third Regiment died of the injuries sustained during the Battle of Glen Audlyn dispite the military surgeons' best efforts."

Carver simply looked blank faced at the spook as he nodded to the two men he couldn't see. They sloshed toward him, he could only hear them. Then they stopped, he sensed they were close. The spook nodded once more and then Carver felt someone grab his neck from behind and in front, and jerk it violently backwards, until it was nearly horizontal and the only thing he could see was the dim light in the concrete roof.

His neck muscles were tensed and his jaw pulled slightly. Then one of two men lifted something, Carver couldn't see what, the light was forcing him to close his eyes. Then something icy hit his face in a torrent. For a split second he thought they had thrown water over him again, but the torrent didn't stop. Then he realised what it was, water torture. The idea was to constantly have a stream of water poured over your face, you couldn't effectively draw breath, and if you tried you'd swallow water and cough and strain yourself even more, and then you'd need more breath. Carver had went through this in his training, and he'd put men through it. All you could was remember not to panic.

Carver kept his eyes closed and held his breath. He managed to hold it in for a minute or so before struggling and then opening his eyes and mouth, trying to struggle himself out of the neck hold, but he was forced down easily and the water kept coming. He started spluttering, trying to keep the water away from his nose and mouth, trying tiny hiccups of breath, the odd one with water. He coughed and spluttered for what seemed like enternity, his lungs began to burn and his chest began to heave, his body struggling and blood vessels straining in his forehead. His vision began to get red...and then his neck was released and the water stopped.

Carver jerked forward and nearly coughed his lungs up, drawing huge breaths of air and blinking, trying to focus his sore and stinging eyes.

Before he was fully recovered the spook began to talk, threatening him if he didn't speak up. He was crouched down in front of Carver, watching him struggling to breath. Carver coughed and tried to clear his throat. "Hey...you couldn't...suck my dick while your down there? You...tell his Majesty...to go...fuck himself. How...is the other...spook...by the way?" As he finished Carver grinned, pleased with himself, and watching the younger spook carefully.

The spook said nothing. Instead, he nodded and the procedure was repeated, only more intensely now. For every two litres poured down, there was a three second pause before they poured again. While they poured the water, another man came and threw a bucket of ice cold water and icecubes over the subdued, tortured, naked man sitting in the chair. After about five minutes, the spook motioned for them to pause.

"Had enough yet?" he asked. "Don't be a fucking hero. Just tell us what we want to know, and the pain will go away. That's all you have to do. Tell us what we want to know. Where are the weapons?"

For what seemed like another painful eternity they tried to drown him, and now added throwing ice cubes and ice water over him, which sucked any breath he had right out. Carver was willing his body to faint...to just pass away into sweet unconsciousness.

It eventually stopped, just as Carver thought his lungs would explode out of his chest. They let him recover for longer this time, he couldn't speak for a while, trying to clear his throat and spit blood.

The spook eventually moved in and asked him the same question once more. Like all good soldiers Carver realised that no-one could hold out indefinetly. Only idiots believed that. You only gave in when you thought you were going to die. So far Carver's brain had been telling him he was drowning, but his body knew he wasn't going to die yet. So he tilted his head back and eyed the spook with watery, bloodshot eyes. "This the...best you...can do...kid?"

This guy really didn't know that he was a complete idiot, suffering for no reason what-so-ever. However, from the previous interrogation, they had an idea as to what could break him. In fact, they had prepared for it. Nodding for the men to continue, he exited the room for a short while before returning a few minutes later, accompanied by two other men dressed in black field uniforms who were dragging a gagged, blind-folded and restrained man dressed in a Huahinian BDU. On his tattered uniform sleeve, the insignia of the 3rd Regiment was still visible. The man was dragged in front of Carver and forced to kneel. When he was in the kneeling position, the spook motioned for the other men to stop the water torture and to allow Carver to sit up straight. After waiting for Carver to recover sufficiently to speak, the spook removed the blindfold of the POW.

"Colonel, you are proving to be a very troublesome subject. However, we have realized that we're going to have difficulty getting information from you without resorting to more... brutal... means. Tell us where the weapons caches are," At this point, the spook pulled out his personal L5A2 'Barak' Tactical Pistol, which was loaded with thirteen 10x21mm hollowpoint bullets in the magazine. The spook pulled back the slide of the pistol, forcing a 10mm bullet into the chamber, cocking it so it would be ready to be fired before he aimed the pistol at the back of the POW's head, finger on the trigger. "...or your corporal dies. If you refuse to talk, we will shoot him and try again, and again, and again, until we get the information we need. Understood? Where are the caches?"

Carver was again reeling from another burst of water torture. As his vision began to cloud again they stopped once more. He jerked upright and spat up bloody water and coughed and spluttered. There was a bit of hustle about the room, people were moving at the door. They dragged somebody in and Carver sat up, blood and saliva dripping from his mouth, his eyes bloodshot and searching.

His eyes stopped on the blindfolded man they were dragging into the room. Carver's eyes bulged as he saw the 3rd Regiment badge tattered and hanging loosely off the man's shoulder, a Corporal's rank on his jacket front.

He recognised the man even before they took the blindfold off, his name was Watson, a Stryker driver. Carver pleaded with the bedgraggled man as they took his blindfold off. Watson was scared and his eyes were nearly shut, adjusting to the harsh light. Once he saw Carver his eyes went wider, most of his men probably thought he was dead.

Then, as the recognition faded to fear, the spook began to talk, quickly producing a gun, cocking it menacingly and holding it behind Watson's head before asking about the caches once more. Carver always knew they might pull this trick, and he wasn't about to let another of his men die at the hands of the Cots. Carver tore his eyes from Watson and stared a hole through the spook before speaking.

"There are no caches. We took as many weapons as we could in our final attack, the rest were left in the underground base which was rigged to explode by some engineers. You can go and look for yourself. The only weapons that left the base were IED's, and as I understand, your countrymen found them pretty quickly. No let this man go you fucking coward."

The spook smiled when he listened to Carver, who finally spoke. This was a controversial method of obtaining information, but it was an effective one. Keeping the weapon trained in the back head of the Manx corporal, the spook replied.

"Thank you Colonel. Now, let's hear how many men you had under your command, the exact equipment listing and how many munitions you had. Also, we want to know everything there is to know about the bases, firebases and military equipment in your Area of Responsibility. Failure to present that information will result in the death of the Corporal here. On the other hand, if you answer truthfully, the Corporal will be returned to the POW camp where you will join him later. Understood?"

Carver nodded at the spook. But he still didn't trust him above half. He kept the gun at the neck of the now quivering Corporal Watson, but he did look kind of relieved that Carver was talking. Before speaking to the spook again, Carver nodded at Watson, just to reassure him.

The he turned back to the spook, anger still in his eyes, but he had to talk, there was now a life riding on it. "I had three-hundred men under my command, plus 200 Reserves but they never showed up once you guys came along. The 3rd was stationed at a base in Andreas, I destroyed all the files and computers when we left for Glen Audlyn." Carver paused for a second, clearing his throat and spitting a globule of blood onto the watery floor.

"We took all the weapons, armor and vehicles we had to Glen Audlyn. There one hundred and fifty Air Force personnel came under my command, followed by thirty arriving at a later date. I also took command of a Submarine at the Naval Base in Ramsey, which was scuttled, and sixty Sailors then came under my command. All three hundred 3rd Regiment and a few of the Air Force and Sailors came with me on our final attack, as well as all but two of our vehicles which had been used earlier to place the IED's. The rest of the Air Force and Sailors rigged up the underground base and I assume they got out and blew it up. The rest of us...well, you know that story. There is only a few AS-90 Artillery and two jeeps that I cannot account for, I do not know what happend to them, I sent them to a firing position before my attack, thats the last I saw of them. This is all I know."

The spook took everything in, but before he could reply Carver spoke again, "If you release me I would be willing to take command of all Huahin and Manx POW's, as their former commander, at Snaefull, was a piece of shit coward, like you."

The spook nodded to the information given. The news about the submarine was new to the Cots, but it would be investigated thurroughly. Decocking the Barak and replacing it in the holster, the spook nodded to the two men who returned the blindfold on the corporal, dragged him to his feet and pulled him out of there.

"Tell me about this Snaefull."

Carver nodded to Watson, his face flushed with relief, and Carver's, as the gun was put away and Watson was dragged out of the room. The spook then moved in close again and asked about Snaefull.
Carver cleared his aching throat once again.

"Snaefull is the largest military base north of Douglas. It was an Air Force base, with some Army units aswell. I was only there about twice before all this began. But as soon as it did, the commander down there, a Major General called Cross contacted Glen Audlyn, which I had taken command of by then." Carver paused and spat some more blood onto the floor.

"At first he wanted to know why I was at Glen Audlyn and why I was in Command there, and I told him it was because the guy who was there before hadn't been seen for days. Anyway, he wanted me to stand down from combat ops and go to him for 'debriefing'. Well it all smelled like donkey shit to me, so I told him where to go. He shut up after that. Turns out he wanted to surrender to you guys at first sight, save his skin. A Colonel called Rivers turned up at my base a few days later, told me everything. I assume you took the base and the good General. I only offer to assume command of the POW's because I know my men will not take kindly to a coward telling them how to act as Prisoners."

"Very good Carver. We'll talk more later." The spook said, nodding to the men before pulling out a syringe filled with anasthetic. The two men grabbed Carver and held his head totally still. After a quick snap on the titanium needle, the spook administered the drug into Carver's system via an artery in his neck. Within a few seconds, he was in a dreamless sleep. When the men were certain he was asleep, they loosened the restraints and dragged the Colonel out of the icy cold room and placed him on a stretcher waiting outside. After securing his hands and placing a thick, warm blanket over him, the two men carried him down a long corridor to a medical ward where a team of medical personnel, also members of the 5th BOF, waited. They quickly checked that Carver didn't have any permanent injuries before treating him for hypothermia.

The anasthetics he had been given would keep him knocked out for at least twelve hours, at which time he would wake up in a detention cell within the castle, dressed in a bright yellow jumpsuit. On his left anckle, there would be an electronic "beacon" which transmitted the exact location to the guards and which couldn't be removed unless you had the correct tools, something Carver didn't have. The detention cell was heated, and the bed had clean sheets. In the upper parts of the corner, a CCTV camera filmed everything which happened inside the detention cell. It was a remnant of the Huahinian occupation, and was used by the new rulers to the greatest extent. When Carver woke up, a slot in the metal door was opened and a warm meal consisting of meat balls, boiled potatoes, brown gravy and steamed vegetables was placed on it along with plastic utensils and a plastic cup of water. An anonymous voice outside, presumably the guard, simply stated, "Dinner. Eat."

The last thing Carver remembered was the spook saying they'd talk later. Then the hands grabbed him again and stuck something in his neck. It felt weird, his outer skin was basically numb from the cold, but he felt something go in beneath the skin, a needle. Within seconds his vision blurred and then simply went blank.

Some time later, he assumed, he woke up in a cell wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit and a little watch-like device strapped to his ankle. The room was concrete and old bricks, looked like a room in a castle or something. There was a clean bed beneath him and a small camera looking straight at him. He did nothing but stare at the camera for a while. Then he got up and paced back and forth in the room, his body aching and his throat raw, but he was alive.

When dinner came he simply wolfed it down, it was passable, but it was hot and there was a lot of it. Once finished he set the plate and plastic utensils by the steel door and waited, wondering what was going to happen next. But at least he had a clean bed to sleep on, the room was warm and he'd just had some hot food.

After a few hours, the hatch opened again and the anonymous voice returned.

"Turn to face the wall opposite the door and hold your hands on your head."

When Carver complied, the door was unlocked and a pair of guards dressed in the normal field uniform of the Royal Cottish Marines entered, holding L2A1 USP standard issue pistols chambered in the 11.43x23mm caliber and 40-centimetre telescopic batons made out of stainless steel. One kept out of reach with his hand on the pistol while the other Marine took Carvers hands and handcuffed them with plastic zip-ties. When that was done, they escorted him out of the cell and into a long corridor without windows.

After a relatively long walk, they finally reached a courtyard where more Marines, this time armed with assault rifles and what-not were, and a pair of CTLAVs were waiting, engines running. The pair turned Carver over to an officer and a squad of infantry, who placed Carver in the back seat of one of the CTLAVs with one Marine on each side and another in the front, turned to face Carver with a small personal defense weapon chambered in the 4.6x30mm caliber trained on Carver's chest, just in case. After a short wait, the CTLAVs started rolling and drove out of the courtyard and across the pontoon bridge to a makeshift heliport where a pair of H-25A Super Hueys waited. Carver was transfered from the CTLAV to one of the Super Hueys along with the infantry. A Super Huey could seat up to fourteen combat-ready infantrymen, so one POW and nine infantrymen was no sweat. Soon enough, it took off and flew southwards, towards Castletown. During the ten-minute flight, Carver was allowed to look out and see the area they were flying over.

Before long, the Super Huey landed and Carver was lead into another CTLAV and driven to a camp which clearly was a barracks once. However, two buildings of the camp had been sealed off from the rest of the camp with a pair of four-metre chained-link fences with barbed wire on top and a concrete foundation two and a half meters deep, motion sensors and ground sensors to detect if anyone were trying to get out, and armed guards and German Shepard attack dogs outside that again. A total of four guard towers overlooked the encamped area with sharpshooters, mounted machine guns and powerful search lights. Carver was escorted past the main gate to the prison camp where several former Manx soldiers, also dressed in yellow jumpsuits and with ancle chains watched as their CO was escorted past them and into the building housing the prison staff.

Carver was marched past the reception area, up a flight of stairs, past the secretary and into the office of the commandant, a oberstløytnant in the Army. A military police battalion had been transfered to Man, with its headquarters here outside Castletown, and the officer sitting behind the metal desk working with the laptop computer was the commanding officer. The two Marines ordered Carver to attention and stood ready to beat the former officer into submission if he didn't comply immediately. When he did, the oberstløytnant spoke with a moderately accented English while eyeing the Manx from behind his desk.

"I am oberstløytnant Rien, and I am the commandant of this prison camp. I understand that you are the senior-most officer we have captured alive. You will represent the prisoners of war we currently hold. The rules are simple. You do as we say, and you will be out of here relatively soon. You disobey, and we take the appropriate action to ensure you regret disobeying. Revelie is at six in the morning. Head count, then exercise before breakfast at seven in the morning. Daily tasks will be given by the officer in charge. Lunch at eleven thirty, dinner at seventeen. Head count at twenty thirty, and lights out at twenty-one in the evening. If anyone is found to be missing, we will punish the remaining prisoners. Any prisoner caught attempting to escape will be executed, and you will be held personally responsible. Any questions so far?"

Carver was silent most of the journey. He had no real interest in where they were going. It was obviously considered an inescapably facility, otherwise they wouldn't have let him look out of the windows on the helicopter.

He did, however, crack a smile upon seeing the wariness the Cots had around him. He was escorted by huge armed guards, and on the helicopter he had been sandwiched in by no less than nine soldiers. Perhaps word of the fact he had punched out a spook while lying seriously injured had gotten out. Carver smiled at the thought.

His bones and body were still aching from the water torture, and his throat was raw, forcing him to spit bloody phlegm every couple of minutes, or go into a fit of coughing that would tear apart the lining of his lungs.

Carver and his guards eventually arrived at the menacing looking POW camp. It was probably a former base, one that Carver didn't recognise. It had changed a lot, the Cots being serious about security. He was marched along a walkway between the prison yard and the other area of the base. He picked out the faces of some of his men and some he didn't recognise, obviously from other units. His own men stood gaping, astonished or smiling and nodding at their commanding officer, most of whom believed was dead.

The guards took him into an admin building occupied by Military Police, all business like. He was taken up to what he assumed was the commanding officer's room and was given an explanation of things. It pleased him to hear he would be in charge of the POW's.

At the end of the speech Carver nodded and spoke in a raw voice, "So what the hell is your rank in English? You say that ober-leut-nant crap in front of my men and they'll hate you even more." Carver continued over Rien, who was obviously about to burst in.

"As I see there are men here of other units, it will take time for them to come to respect me. Any escape attempts by these men will not be my fault and if you punish my men for that...perhaps I need not tell you what might happen? Rest assured I will do my best to ensure there are no attempts at escape. I also would like to know where you are holding General Cross, I assume he is here?"

One of the Marines slapped Carver over the head while the second had his telescopic baton in his hand, ready if Carver got out of line. Rien on the other hand didn't react noticably, save for leaning forward a bit and smirking.

"We have our ways of discouraging escapes. You may inform your new command that for every man who escapes, ten will be executed. Officers are not excluded from such public executions. You will obey our orders." The oberstløytnant replied coldly. Without giving Carver a chance to reply, he continued. "My rank is oberstløytnant, which is the equivalent of Lieutenant Colonel in your chain of command. Still, you are under my command and will do as I order, lest you want to have a very uncomfortable time here. As for this General Cross, I have no information concerning a prisoner with that name."

The oberstløytnant didn't know that Cross had shot himself when all was lost, and that his corpse had been incindirated as the Cots fired thermobaric warheads into the base shortly before they moved in and captured it. In fact, few Manx soldiers had survived the assault on Snaefell.

"You and your men will be held at this facility until my commanding officers instruct me to release you, which will be when we have consolidated our power here. Please don't let this be harder than it already is. Any questions which are relevant to the matter at hand?"

Carver took the slap on the head with a glare at the MP who did it and listened to the Liutenant Colonel as he explained himself. Carver felt slightly dejected that General Cross wasn't among the POW's, seeing his traitorous face would have been a great triumph.

When Rien had stopped talking Carver looked around for a second before speaking himself, "So you're a light Colonel and I'm a full Colonel...maybe if I join your Army when I get out of here, you'll be saluting me..." Carver turned to the MP who had slapped him, "...and I'll remember that slap."
Carver turned back to Rien. "And Liutenant Colonel, I've been shot six times, blown up three times and tortured twice in my life. Making my life uncomfortable would be a job I doubt you'd succeed in."

Before Rien could respond Carver had already started talking again.
"I guess we need to go out and announce to the men that I'm the new commander. I'd also recommend telling them when you plan to release them and what their rights will be once you've done so. An explanation of Cottish aims here would also, I think, help."

Rien nodded as he sat back into his relatively comfortable chair.

"It depends on whether we deem you fit to serve in His Majesty's Army, Colonel. That, only time and NSM will tell. As for the futures of your men, they will be released from this facility when we deem it fit, at which time they will be discharged from military service and be allowed to return to their homes and families. They will have all rights and duties of Cottish citizens, naturally, since this island is a sovereign Cottish territory." Rien paused to let the information sink in before he continued. "The aims of the Realm are to turn this backwater island into an economic haven. We intend to turn it into a northern Monaco, with extremely favorable economic conditions, when we have consolidated our power here. Everyone on this island will benefit from it. As will the Realm. That is why we have spared most civilian population centers from destruction and deviated from our regular warplans. You should be grateful for that Colonel. Andreas was very high on the list of targets scheduled for a dose of VX and thermite warheads. The casualties would be enormous."

Carver was slightly shocked at the suggestion that biological or chemical warheads would have been used against such a small island, but their reasoning, he supposed, was fair. After all, he had personally downed two of their superior Vigilante attack aircraft and had sent out an air-strike that put a ship out of service, not to mention the other two ships and the cruise missiles. In reality the Cots had probably believe their early victories in the South would continue, a bloody nose from some rebels in the north was the last thing they needed or expected.

Carver let Rien finished before speaking. He was beginning to like him, he was no spook and he was no bull-shitter. This was the first Cot he had meet that was not trying to get information out of him, or threatening to torture him to achieve it. His men also seemed sturdy and well trained.

"You may find that, looking back on my operations here, the use of those weapons may have been necessary to avoid a slow-down of forward momentum on the ground. I was told about the Monaco-esque plans before, by a man less becoming than yourself...and one now missing a tooth or two. I have no idea how civilians are taking to Cottish occupation, but I do have experience in occupation forces and you need to get that message out quickly and be seen to be doing something." Rien nodded at the points Carver made, seemingly taking them on-board or perhaps signalling he'd already thought of them and was/had acted on them.

"Am I to be escorted to the yard or are you going to address the prisoners aswell?"

"Trust me Colonel. The appropriate measures have already been started." Rien merely replied to Carvers ideas for what they should do to keep the public fron rioting. "As for your new 'command', shall we?" He said ironically before nodding to the two Marines. They slammed their heals to the floor before taking the batons and keeping them ready, just in case. Rien got up from his seat and grabbed his field cap with his left hand while adjusting the placement of the hip holster for his L2A2 USP pistol with his right on. Carver was ordered to turn around and march forward, escorted by the two Marines and oberstløytnant Rien. Outside, the Marines were dismissed and the two officers were followed by four MPs to the gate to the prison camp while the loudspeaker system came online, speaking first in Cottish and then in English, albeit with a somewhat distinct accent.

"Attention prisoners! Assembly in the parade ground immediately! Assembly in the parade ground immediately!"

The Manx prisoners of war did as ordered, as they had learned that being late wasn't a good idea. So far, they had been kept in the dark as to their future and as to how long they would be here. Armed guards with fearsome dogs roamed the parade grounds, guards barking out orders and dogs just barking at the prisoners.

As Rien, Carver and the guards entered the facility, a single order was barked out. The prisoners knew the order as it was a standard order, and they obeyed.

"Rett!" [Attention!]

A few guards carried out a platform for the oberstløytnant to stand on. Carver was ordered to halt as Rien ascended the platform so that every prisoner in the parade ground could see him. Speaking in the same voice as earlier, he started speaking into the loudspeaker he had been given by a MP seconds earlier.

"Prisoners. You have a new senior POW commander. Colonel Carver of the former third Regiment. He had been informed of the rules, but just to make sure you all know them, I shall repeat them. Løytnant Paulsen has informed me of plans to escape this facility. Apart from the precautions we have taken to prevent such attempts to be successful, we shall execute ten prisoners for every one who manages to escape, as well as the escapee when we find him again. Apart from that, you will obey the orders from the guards or you will be severely punished. Also, Colonel Carver will be held personally responsible for any disobedience and punished accordingly. That is all. You are dismissed."

With that, Rien descended from the platform and stopped only briefly at Carvers position. "I meant every word I said Colonel. Keep that in mind." With those words, Rien walked out of the prison camp and returned to his office, followed by some of the guards. The prisoners would be left to talk with their new PoW CO.

Carver scratched his head as Rien walked briskly out of the compound, his guards in tow. The first person to come out of the small semi-circle of men standing around Carver was Corporal Watson, minus the blindfold. He shook Carver's hand and the two men smiled at each other, happy simply to be alive.

Around 20 of Carver's men had survived and now they were all crowding round him, shaking hands and embracing, old comrades together once again. Carver was asked repeatedly about what had happend to him and he told them, his men laughing when he told them about punching the spook and saying he was the King. Watson and the only other officer from the 3rd to survive, a Captain named Steen, pointed out the various buildings and a bit of the informal routine. Carver was guided over toward and office, where the former Commander, an Air Force Major who Carver had commanded, was extremely relieved to see him. He explained that the Cots had been putting pressure on him, literally, because of the escape attempts, and he was, unashamedly speaking, glad not to be in charge anymore.

Some of the Air Force men and Sailors who had attacked with Carver drifted in and out of the small cabin while the Major was explaining what the C/O did.

Outside the rest of the men, from other units milled about, talking and smoking amongst themselves. The Major eventually went out and brought them all together. The first thing Carver noticed was there was no discipline whatsoever. Men saunterned in and smoked and talked while at attention. No wonder there was always talk of escape.

The Major didn't speak at all, just stepped down and moved off to one side. Onl Carver's men stood at perfect attention, saluting him as he came to the door of the cabin, which was raised up a few steps.

Carver's first words were, "Sergeant Major Blythe, step forward and dress these men." From out of Carver's men a stocky old man with a bushy moustache and quipped grey hair stepped forward and bellowed in a voice loud enough to drown out the barking of the dogs on the perimeter. "COMPANY FALL IN. MOVE IT, FUCKING FALL IN YOUR RETARDED SONS OF BITCHES...FALL IN LADIES...NOW...NOW...NOW!" The rest of the men essentially did as they were told, sauntering over toward the perfectly formed lines of the former 3rd Regiment and extending their lines. A few rag-taggers didn't move, and were now isoltaed behind the near perfect lines. The Sergeant Major then shouted, "COMPANY...DRESS LEFT...DRESS FRONT...AT EASE." A pin could be heard dropping.

But the silence was shattered first by the bark of a dog and then the shout of "Fuck you!" from one of the rag-taggers. The Sergeant Major was leaping forward when Carver checked him, instead stepping down the steps himself and marching over to the thin, wiry and aggressive looking man in the yellow jumpsuit. He was all affrontery as Carver approached, grinning like an idiot and giving a stupid attempt at a salute before belching in Carver's face.

Carver didn't miss a beat, his hand shot out, two fingers out-stretched, striking the man in the natural depression between the chest and the neck, just below the adam's apple. The lightning jab instantly close and then opened the man's windpipe, causing him to crumple to the ground, gasping for air and clutching his throat. The Sergeant Major shouted for the few other rag-taggers to fall in and they did so quickly, the other man standing straighter now, looking ahead.

Carver bent down to the man, still grasping his throat, spluttering and trying to hoarsely breathe in air. Close to his ear Carver bellowed in his deep, rumbling voice, "BOY...YOU GET INTO THAT FORMATION NOW BEFORE I SEND YOUR STOMACH THROUGH YOUR SPINE...FUCKING CRAWL INTO PLACE...MOVE." Carver lifted up and stepped over the man, kicking him in the back, forcing him to crawl, spluttering all the way, until he was standing at attention, his face purple and his eyes watering.

Carver returned to the door of the cabin and started to speak. "I am Colonel Carver, formerly of the 3rd Regiment. I don't care what units you are from, they don't exist anymore. We are POW's now. You don't have to like it, but you had better get used to it. There will be no escapes or attempts at escape, or plans or even thinking about escape. What the Cots do to you for this, if they don't kill you, will seem like paradise until I get a hold of you. My reputation is known to most of you...and if it isn't then you just try me." Carver paused to let things sink in. Chatter started up somewhere, but the Sergeant Major cut it short with a shout.

"Take a look now to your left, your right and behind you. Take a good look. You try and escape, and those men are the one's you condemn." Carver let them look for a second, letting his words again sink in. There was no chatter this time, just lip biting and looks of consternation.

"You will do as I say, when I say. This camp will be run like any military base you ever served on, ranks will be obeyed. Cottish ranks will also be recognised and you will use them when and if they are needed. I will personally ask Liutenant Colonel Rien to let me deal with all acts of insubordination arising on our side. Until we are released we are still soldiers...and we'll act that way damm it. So our country has been lost again, well get over it. Huahin collapsed and now Manx has collapsed, but perhaps now we can finally move on." Carver paused and spat up a small globule of blood and phlegm.

"I will address any queries or problems. Platoons and their leaders will be assigned today and tomorrow. Dismissed." Carver let the Sergeant Major take over. He brought the men to attention and they saluted the Colonel who returned it, before going back into the cabin, the sun just setting on the island.

One of the MPs adjusted the strap on his L20A1 submachine gun as he watched the new prisoner take charge of the prisoners. They had acted like vanquished prisoners normally do, by falling into anarchy and completely ignoring military protocol. The Cots let them do that, as it made it easier to interrogate them and keep them from making organized escape attempts. Another guard, this one holding a three year old Doberman named Hades picked up his walkie-talkie and informed the command post what was going on. Inside his offices again, Rien smiled as he heard it.

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

Elsewhere on Man, the soldiers and Marines were patrolling the streets, holding their weapons in a prepared but non-threatening manner as they spoke with the population, handing out sweets and toys to children, medics and doctors helping those in need of medical assistance, and the men of the PsyOps detachment rolling around the streets in their modified CTLAVs, informing the people of the new government and the plans. Senior officers were meeting with councellors and other officials, and appearing in churches to speak to the people of Man. They all said the same thing: that the King had in His divine wisdom decided to transform Man from this backwater island that no one really knew about into a vital financial hub for people all over the world, with large banks which offered extremely beneficial rates. This would in a manner of no more than ten years completely transform Man, and the people living there would reap the goods in form of extremely low taxes, large corporations moving in to set up branches, sorely needed jobs, and above all else, a lot of money coming to the inhabitants of the island. But there was one condition for this to happen: the people of Man had to cooperate with the Cottish government and swear allegiance to the Realm. In return, they would get the financial goods and the status of a Crown Dependancy, which meant that the Realm would provide defense, finances, foreign relations and a constitution, leaving the rest to the Manx people. These were promises. So was the promise that the Marines and Paras would leave Man within a year, when they were to be replaced by a Marine Infantry Brigade which would provide territorial defense. The Cots intended to keep their promises.

[OOC: I haven't really got anything planned for the stay in the POW camp. If you want to RP something about it then go ahead. If not, I reckon the next, and probably last thing, is for them to be released etc?

[OOC: Doomingsland said he wanted to have some of the prisoners Cymrea RPd extradited in a TG, so I'm basically just waiting for him to post.]

OOC:Right, been busy today, but here we go...

IC:

The war with the Huahinese was still fresh in the mind of the now Roman Doomani that lived in the confines of Siberia. While the war on the ground had been relatively short and lopsided in favor of the Imperium, that did not prevent the Huahinese from destroying several towns and killing hundreds. Sure, they had their excuses, but that did nothing to comfort those who had witnessed the slaughters.

When word reached Capua that Manx, a former Huahinese stronghold, had fallen to the Cottish, various organisations began pleading with Imperator Secundus I to negotiate the extradition of Huahinese war criminals with the Cottish.

Of course the High Command, even after the war, had monitored the movements of the Huahinese 4th Corps for the very purpose of someday reaping vengeance upon those who had once defiled Imperial soil. That data now seemed to be coming in handy. The possibility of Huahinese soldier that had taken part in that invasion being held captive by the Cottish was one that Imperator Secundus I could not ignore, and thus he personaly ordered the formation of a small delegation to be sent to Manx.

While that was being set up, a request was sent through the Roman embassy in Cotland for permission for an Imperial delegation to search Cottish POW camps for individuals that may have perpetrated war crimes against the Imperium, and further permission to extradite them upon identifying them.

To the Doomani, the issue of whom to send to Manx was a sensitive one. It was eventually decided that all men on the delegation must have taken part in the conflict in one way or another, preferably combat experience. The man chosen to head the delegation was none other then Legatus Legionis Brutus Sulla, commander of the Imperial DCVII Armored Legion during the war with Huahin. The man who had defeated Carver.

Brutus the Butcher, as he had been nicknamed by the enemy, had totally decimated most of 4th Corps within three days of fierce fighting, totally routing them and sending them packing. The reason for that nickname?

Well, if you were a Huahinese soldier in 4th Corps that would have been rather obvious. Imperial tank crews mouted the severed heads of slain enemy soldiers as hood ornaments on their Imperator tanks. Prisoners taken by the Imperium during the war were generally summarily crucified or impaled if they weren't tortured to death in an interrogation room.

Brutus had personally ordered two-thousand Huahinese soldiers captured after the total decimation of their brigade to be crucified along the road all the way to Vladiviostock.

None the less, he, like most Imperial generals, personally took part in the fighting, distinguishing himself with glorious and noble deeds in the name of the Imperium. He was both a mass murderer, a superb general, and a hardened soldier, which earned him great popularity with the masses.

Of course, the mass murderer part of his resume wasn't exactly widely published in the world media...

The requests were recieved in Cotland, and some serious consideration was given to them before a reply was answered. The Cots were OK with the Doomani coming to have a look, provided they come unarmed as to prevent any possible emotional murders, but the issue on a carte blanche on extradition was another matter. The Cots didn't want to extradite someone who could be a vaulable source of information or someone the local population cared about, something which could seriously jeapordize everything the Cots were trying to build there. The reply was sent within hours.

Encrypted Communique

We will allow an unarmed delegation to visit POW camps in Manx, provided you allow them to be escorted by Cottish soldiers as they travel. We have yet to completely consolidate our power, and travel poses a certain risk.

As for your second request to extradite any war criminals you find, we are less enthusiastic. Should you find a war criminal among our POWs, we will be willing to enter negotiations for their handover, but we make no promises. Our first and foremost concern is the internal stability of the Realm.

Should you accept these terms, the International Airport at Castletown will await your transport. Please inform us of your decision.

[signed]
Foreign Ministry, Defense Ministry
The Realm of Cotland

[OOC: This could be interesting. Carver and the 3rd Regiment are vets of the war against Doom. Trying to take men from the camp Carver commands would be...interesting, to say the least.]

Encrypted Communique

The Imperial Government fully understands the Realm's concern in this matter and shall comply fully. Keep in mind, however, that we are not eager to send unarmed personel through an area the Realm has stated it has not yet fully consolidated its power within. Therefore, we are placing our trust in your army. We hope this trust is not misplaced.

As this message is being sent, an Imperial Government VIP aircraft is on its way to Castletown International Airport. The aircraft's manifest is being transmitted with this message. If you have any more concerns, to not hesitate to contact the embassy with any questions you may have.

OOC:Post the rest later.

The Cots recieved the message and immediately started the preperations. 2nd Platoon, Company "B", 2 Parachute Infantry Battalion, 9 Para Brigade would be the unit responsible for the protection of the Doomani visitors. The platoon, some 43 man strong, would be transported in four M100A15 trucks and six M38A1 CTLAVs. It had plenty of weaponry, with twenty-six L43A1 assault rifles chambered in 6.8x43mm, six of which were equipped with an L80A2 40mm grenade launcher underneath the barrel; nine L43A2 assault carbines chambered in 6.8x43mm; two L67A2 light machine guns chambered in 6.8x43mm; three L62A2 squad automatic weapons chambered in 6.8x43mm; one L63A1 light machine gun chambered in 7.62x51mm; one L43A3 squad marksman rifle chambered in 6.8x43mm with a 4x Scope; two L85A1 60mm lightweight mortars; and nine L2A1 USP pistols chambered for the 11.43x23mm (.45 ACP) round. In addition, the four trucks and six CTLAVs were equipped with heavier ordinance, primarily L60A2 heavy machine guns chambered for the massive 15.5x115mm round, L61A3 heavy machine guns firing the venerable but still oh so lethal 12.7x99mm round, and L64A1 automatic grenade launchers, in reality little more than slightly modified MK 19s. In addiiton, they had a wide variety of hand grenades, anti-tank weaponry and mines packed inside the vehicles, just in case. Right now, the platoon was waiting on the airport, relaxing. Some talked or ate, some slept, while others cleaned their weapons or just simply relaxed by the trucks on the side of one of the large hangars where fighters and helicopters stood, maintenance crews fiddling with them, keeping them ready. The platoon commander, a løytnant [1st Lieutenant] was speaking with his squad leaders, all of them sergeants, about the upcoming mission while they were waiting for the Doomanis to arrive.

Sure enough, three hours later, a VIP transport with Roman markings touched down at the airport and quickly taxied to a secure terminal. Aboard the aircraft was the general and his entourage.

It was a small group, consisting of Legatus Legionis Sulla and a few lower ranking officers (one of which was actualy a member of the Inquisition, though none of the other Imperial personel knew that), four men total. A platoon would be more then adequete for their protection. All men were clad in their black and red dress uniforms, and, as the Cottish Government had requested, left their sidearms on the plane.

As they stepped off the aircraft's boarding ramp, Sulla stretched. He was a tall man standing at six-foot three, quite tall for a Doomani. His uniform was absolutely immaculate as was his stiff posture. He was a professional soldier, and that was evident from the way he moved.

At fifty-nine years of age he was nearing retirement but was still in superb shape, although his face (in addition to the scars) showed plenty of signs of ageing. His grey hair was cut short as per Imperial regulations.

"Let's get this shit over with," he muttered under his breath to himself.

He was a man of action, and, therefore, disliked the formalities associated with his job. Some of his colleagues were absolutely obsessed with these formalities, but he loathed them. He wanted to get down to the camps as quickly as possible to deal with those murderers that had once managed to escape him.

There would be no escape for the Huahinese this time.

The Cottish soldiers were notified when the aircraft was on final approach, and while the sergeants got the men up and presentable, the platoon commander wandered over to where the aircraft would eventually stop. As it did and the passengers disembarked, the løytnant looked the Doomanis over. Most looked normal, but one, presumably the leader, was quite impressive. Scrutinizing him with a trained eye, the løytnant made the conclusion that this wasn't a man to mess with. Being dressed in battle fatigues, with his L43A2 bullpup carbine slinged on his back and the helmet hanging along the tactical webbing, ready to replace the scarlet berét which signified that the man belonged to the elite Paratrooper Corps, the gruffy-looking officer in his mid twenties gave a sharp salute.

"Lieutenant Tom Moen, platoon commander, Company B, 2nd PIR, 9th Para Brigade. My men and I have been ordered to escort, protect and guide you during your stay here on Man. Any questions before we head for the vehicles sirs?"

Sulla smartly returned the salute and shook hands with Moen. After all, this man would be responsible for the safety of his men and himself.

"Legatus Legionis Brutus Sulla," he responded in a low, calm voice. "I do not have any questions and do not believe any of my men do. Let us depart as soon as we can."

"Very good sir, follow me." the løytnant said as he shook the hand of the elderly officer, who seemed to have seen his share of fighting.

Moen lead them over to a group of five-ton trucks and CTLAVs, the Cottish version of the venerable Humvee, only completely redesigned with a fuel-economic diesel engine and armored to withstand impacts of both mines, IEDs and ammunition up to 20 millimeters in caliber. The CTLAV seated the driver and five passengers, one of which would have to act as the gunner if a weapon was attached to the cupola in the roof. These particular CTLAVs were fitted with remote weapons stations, meaning that the gunner was safe in the front passenger seat, operating the heavy weaponry on top from there. The paratroopers were for the most part riding in the five-ton trucks where they could easily get out and clear the area with their powerful smallarms while the heavy weapons on the CTLAVs and the trucks would cover them, leaving the CTLAVs for the officers.

After making sure the visitors got into the CTLAV's relatively comfortable seats (compared to the wooden seats in the trucks), Moen got into the lead CTLAV and got the convoy moving. The gunners in the CTLAVs and the trucks kept a vigil eye as the vehicles rolled out of the secured airport area, heading for one of the three prisoner facilities the Cots had on this island. It'd be quicker to take a helicopter, but none could be spared for what the troops reféred to as a baby-sitting mission. Not that they complained though. Company "B" had seen the worst of the fighting when the 9th Para took Douglas, the capital, and the men in the platoon were the men still capable of fighting. All of them were due for decorations, mainly because they had fought as hard as they did and survived. If something happened, the paras would deal with it.

Within an hour, they had gotten to the first of the three facilities, the one outside Castletown. The vehicles rolled through the gates and parked in the assembly area, well within eyesight for the PoWs who were watching with curiosity. The camp commandant, oberstløytnant Rien waited for them as they arrived. After a salute and quick exchange of words between Rien and løytnant Moen, the two Cottish officers came over to the four Doomani officers. Rien saluted.

"Gentlemen, I am Lieutenant Colonel Rien, the commandant of this facility. I understand that you may be interested in some of our prisoners?"

Sulla and his men returned the salutes from their Cottish counterparts. Sulla, naturally, was the first to speak,

"That is correct, Colonel. In fact, I have extensive files on the men we are interested. My subordinates will provide your people with the proper data, of course." he replied.

The fact of the matter was that, while the former Huahinese Government was collapsing under its own weight, the Inquisition had managed to hack their military database, downloading thousands of terrabytes worth of data on the Huahinese Army, including personel files. This was now coming in handy with this little investigation.

Included in the files were members of the former 4th Corps, including Carver and just about everyone who had served beneath him.

Sulla glanced over towards the prisoners gathering near the fence and shot back a cruel smirk. He could tell some of them recognized him. That, or they at least recognized the unit insignia on the shoulder of his uniform. It was the helmeted death's head, symbol of his DCVII Legion.

Any Huahinese soldier fighting against Doomani forces would have become uncomfortably farmiliar with that unit, which was more or less the source of all of their suffering.

He turned back towards Rein, speaking once more, "Now, Colonel, if you don't mind, my men and I wish to change into utilities. This should give your men a chance to compare our list with your prisoner roster."

Carver was still sleeping after his early morning work-out. His routine was to work-out with some other soldiers from 6am to 8am and then sleep again until either 10am or 11am before beginning the day proper. It allowed him to recoup from his injuries but still keep in shape.

But today Corporal Watson was shaking him awake, the Sergeant Major standing behind him, worried. "Colonel, get up, you gotta see this." Carver sensed the urgency in Watson's voice and got up quickly, pulling on his loose jumpsuit and storming outside, Watson and the Sergeant Major in tow. From the steps of the cabin he could see a gaggle of men gathered at the inner fence, looking at a few CTLAV's that were sitting outside, engines ticking over. A few men, including Rien were talking in front of the vehicles. Carver busted his way through the gaggle of men and stood at the chain link fence.

As he looked from the fence one of the men in front of Rien looked around and Carver's blood nearly froze. It was Sulla, of the Legion, no doubt about it, and some other men either recognised him or the insignia they wore. The surprise passed into curiosity and puzzlement. What the hell were Doomani soldiers doing here? Then it clicked. Most of the men in the camp were from the 4th Corps, which Carver had commanded in the War with Doomingsland. There had to be a connection. But surely the Cots wouldn't let these Doomani bastards do anything?

Carver didn't have time to think about it. Rien led Sulla and his men away and Carver turned to the Sergeant Major. "Get all the men alerted. Tell them whats going on. I'll be dammned if those Doomani cowards think they can waltz in here. Make sure we can take the beds apart and make sure we can take the legs off every chair in the compound. We can use them. Get to it Sergeant Major."

"That is correct, Colonel. In fact, I have extensive files on the men we are interested. My subordinates will provide your people with the proper data, of course." he replied. "Now, Colonel, if you don't mind, my men and I wish to change into utilities. This should give your men a chance to compare our list with your prisoner roster."

"Naturally. If you'll follow the sersjant over here, he'll show you where you can change. Please join me in my office when you're ready so we can discuss how to best do this thing." Rien replied. A sersjant [OOC: Sergeant] stood ready to escort the Doomanis to a barracks where they could change in relative privacy. A squad of Paras would follow the guests, making sure they were safe. The rest relaxed, but kept their eyes on the POWs crowding by the fence. Rien noticed this too, and ordered them dispersed. Less than a minute later, the MPs inside the cordoned-off area started moving towards them, their dogs barking worse than before.

"OK, nothing to see here! Move on, nothing going on!"

Just in case, the Cots placed sharpshooters in the guard towers, armed with L74A1 sniper rifles, really nothing more than a slightly modified M21, firing the 7.62x51mm round. They would take no chances.

Sulla could have sworn he recognized one of the prisoners staring at him. He stared coldly right back at him...and then he remembered. That was him. The man he had defeated. Carver. Sulla was quite surprised when he learned Sulla had actualy managed to survive the campaign when the Inquisition hacked the Huahinese military database. He hadn't been sure Carver would have been on Man either...but it seemed Sulla had hit the jackpot.

He looked away for a moment. He was disappointed in Carver. He had allowed himself to be captured. What a fucking coward, choosing life over glorious death. He hadn't been a particularly challenging opponent either, but Sulla still recognized him as a fine leader of his men. It was a shame that he would be nailed to a cross in the arena...

Turning back towards Carver, he shot him a look that said "I'm coming for you."

After a brief moment of subtle tensity between the two men (no one else really seemed to notice), the Doomani officers followed the sergeant off to get changed. Ten minutes later, Sulla arrived at Rein's office, fully clad in digital-pattern BDUs.

While he was wearing the uniform of a foot soldier, you could tell he was a general do to the ornamentation on his uniform. The left half of his chest was well-decorated with medals and ribbons and he wore black and red shoulderboards, signifying his status as a Legatus Legionis. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off surprisingly big arms. This old man definately worked out.

Sulla could have sworn he recognized one of the prisoners staring at him. He stared coldly right back at him...and then he remembered. That was him. The man he had defeated. Carver. Sulla was quite surprised when he learned Sulla had actualy managed to survive the campaign when the Inquisition hacked the Huahinese military database. He hadn't been sure Carver would have been on Man either...but it seemed Sulla had hit the jackpot.

He looked away for a moment. He was disappointed in Carver. He had allowed himself to be captured. What a fucking coward, choosing life over glorious death. He hadn't been a particularly challenging opponent either, but Sulla still recognized him as a fine leader of his men. It was a shame that he would be nailed to a cross in the arena...

Turning back towards Carver, he shot him a look that said "I'm coming for you."

After a brief moment of subtle tensity between the two men (no one else really seemed to notice), the Doomani officers followed the sergeant off to get changed. Ten minutes later, Sulla arrived at Rein's office, fully clad in digital-pattern BDUs.

While he was wearing the uniform of a foot soldier, you could tell he was a general do to the ornamentation on his uniform. The left half of his chest was well-decorated with medals and ribbons and he wore black and red shoulderboards, signifying his status as a Legatus Legionis. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off surprisingly big arms. This old man definately worked out.

Sulla could have sworn he recognized one of the prisoners staring at him. He stared coldly right back at him...and then he remembered. That was him. The man he had defeated. Carver. Sulla was quite surprised when he learned Sulla had actualy managed to survive the campaign when the Inquisition hacked the Huahinese military database. He hadn't been sure Carver would have been on Man either...but it seemed Sulla had hit the jackpot.

He looked away for a moment. He was disappointed in Carver. He had allowed himself to be captured. What a fucking coward, choosing life over glorious death. He hadn't been a particularly challenging opponent either, but Sulla still recognized him as a fine leader of his men. It was a shame that he would be nailed to a cross in the arena...

Turning back towards Carver, he shot him a look that said "I'm coming for you."

After a brief moment of subtle tensity between the two men (no one else really seemed to notice), the Doomani officers followed the sergeant off to get changed. Ten minutes later, Sulla arrived at Rein's office, fully clad in digital-pattern BDUs.

While he was wearing the uniform of a foot soldier, you could tell he was a general do to the ornamentation on his uniform. The left half of his chest was well-decorated with medals and ribbons and he wore black and red shoulderboards, signifying his status as a Legatus Legionis. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off surprisingly big arms. This old man definately worked out.

Sulla could have sworn he recognized one of the prisoners staring at him. He stared coldly right back at him...and then he remembered. That was him. The man he had defeated. Carver. Sulla was quite surprised when he learned Sulla had actualy managed to survive the campaign when the Inquisition hacked the Huahinese military database. He hadn't been sure Carver would have been on Man either...but it seemed Sulla had hit the jackpot.

He looked away for a moment. He was disappointed in Carver. He had allowed himself to be captured. What a fucking coward, choosing life over glorious death. He hadn't been a particularly challenging opponent either, but Sulla still recognized him as a fine leader of his men. It was a shame that he would be nailed to a cross in the arena...

Turning back towards Carver, he shot him a look that said "I'm coming for you."

After a brief moment of subtle tensity between the two men (no one else really seemed to notice), the Doomani officers followed the sergeant off to get changed. Ten minutes later, Sulla arrived at Rein's office, fully clad in digital-pattern BDUs.

While he was wearing the uniform of a foot soldier, you could tell he was a general do to the ornamentation on his uniform. The left half of his chest was well-decorated with medals and ribbons and he wore black and red shoulderboards, signifying his status as a Legatus Legionis. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off surprisingly big arms. This old man definately worked out.

The sersjant was impressed when he saw the Doomani officers exit the barracks, and saluted before he escorted them across the compound and into the HQ building and to oberstløytnant Riens office, where the commandant waited behind his desk. He too was impressed when the Legatus Legionis, and saluted before sitting back down.

"Well sir, I have been ordered to allow you to check our prisoners of war and to inform command about any prisoners you are particularly interested in. However, I have not been informed about the reasons. Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me sir?"

Carver caught the look Sulla gave him, and he clenched his teeth, half growling "Just try it you smug bastard."

After Sulla dissappeared inside a building Carver turned and bade the rest of his men to go to their jobs. He himself went back into his office and began to smash the wooden chair to pieces, shoving a wooden leg up each arm of his jump-suit and searching about for something else to use...just in case.

Sulla knew he would eventualy have to recount that incedent again, but when Rein asked him he was nearly caught off-guard. As he began to recount the tale, he remembered just why he was on Man in the first place. Those Huahinese fuckers...they would pay for their crimes.

"My dear colonel, this story begins quite some time ago. Day two of the Huainese invasion of Siberia, to be exact," he said as he began to pace back and forth in front of the desk,

"We had begun to evacuate several villages that were in danger of falling into the range of enemy artillery. Unfortunately, we were a bit too slow..."

Images of untold carnage began to fill his hardened old mind. Burned, mangled corpses of mothers and babies strewn amidst broke glass and rubble in the streets, the charred hulks of the trucks that they had been boarding.

"By the time we began loading the women and children on the trucks to get them out of there, the Huahinese 155's opened up on the town. The fuckers were using phosphorous rounds, and their FO damned well knew that they were targetting civilians. That whole convoy was totally wiped out,"

Finally, he stopped pacing and looked Rein right in the eye.

"First they wage an illegal invasion and then they kill our women, our little sons, our daughters. That man Carver. He commanded Fourth Corps, the unit responsible for that massacre and innumerable others. I bore witness to that particular slaughter firsthand as my tank, the lead vehicle, moved within visual range of the town. I personaly went into the town and helped evacuate whoever was still alive..."

He looked down at Rien's desk, "An infant died in my arms, colonel. He had a chunk of white phospohorous embedded in his neck. There was nothing I could do..."

He stood up straight, regaining himself. "I've seen more than my fair share of combat. I've done things even our media won't show on TV...I have personaly killed over six hundred people..." once more he was looking Rein right in the eye, his tone one of total seriousness, "That, however, was by far the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my military carreer, that Huahinese attack. I've seen similar attacks on armed soldiers, but that didn't phase me one bit, but that was on unarmed women and children...people of the same Doomani blood as I.

"Those bastards in your camp, Rien. They have to be brought to justice. You see, my tale was only one out of dozens of such incedents. Carver's army was responsible for murdering over ten-thousand civilians."

"I see. We heard several reports of autrocities during that campaign, from both sides, although very few were verified. It is of my understand that several Doomanis also committed similar actions during that campaign, in retaliation perhaps..." Rien said, not really giving Sulla the chance to reply. "I have orders to let you inspect the prisoners. Not to 'punish' them. If you or your men attempt to attack the prisoners, we will stop you, with force if necessary. The same applies if the prisoners attempt to attack you. Is that acceptable sir?"

Rien wanted to make sure that while he had orders to prevent the prisoners from escaping, he would also ensure that they weren't subjected to unnecessary oppression or violence. He, and the Armed Forces, knew that men under pressure had a tendency of snapping, often in violent ways. By letting the prisoners know that they would be released back to society when the Cots had consolidated their power, combined with relative freedom within the compound if they did as told, that pressure was significantly reduced, giving the men something to behave decently and live for. They also knew that escape meant certain death for both one self and ten of his fellow prisoners, selected randomly. Hence, there had been no escapes nor any escape attempts while this camp had been under Cottish control. Rien intended to keep it that way!

"Of course, colonel. These men are in your custody and we have no intention of complicating things for you. We shall take no retaliatory action until these men have been properly tried...in Roman courts..." he replied, "Of course, should any of the prisoners attempt to assault any of my men or myself, we will not hesitate to kill in self-defense." he added soberly. He did not need a gun to kill.

He had killed many a foe with his bare hands.

"Sir, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I have been ordered to hold the prisoners here and to protect them from any danger, it be themselves, foreigners, et cetera. With all due respect for your rank and status as distinguished visitors, if you or your men kill or seriously harm any of the prisoners, I will have you arrested and trialled according to Cottish law." Rien said in a cold, dead serious voice. "Now, if there is nothing else, we should go inspect the prisoners. After you sir," Rien said, getting up from his comfortable chair.

The visitors were escorted down along the fence when the loudspeakers crackled to life, speaking in a moderately accented voice. MPs inside and outside were given new instructions over the radios.

"Attention all prisoners! Report to the parade ground for inspection immediately! I repeat, report to the parade ground for inspection immediately! Anyone found not to be in the parade ground will be punished! That is all!"

"We have invested heavily in the security of the prisoners," Rien said while pointing out the double fences, vicious barbed wire and patrolling guards and dogs. "See those little devices in the ground?" Rien asked Sulla as they walked towards the double gate, pointing out a small ball, no more than six centimeters in diameter and painted dark green. "That is an infrared motion sensor. We have hundreds positioned along the perimeter of the camp, well concealed. In addition, we have mined the no mans land between the fences with Claymore anti-personnel mines. There has been no escape."

The loudspeakers clicked off after their announcement, and the cabins emptied of prisoners, as they filed into the centre of the yard, the Sergeant Major bellowing orders at them, ensuring they dressed left, right and centre.

Carver came out of his own cabin a few minutes later, to stand at the head of his men. He spoke, "We have bastards coming to see us today. Roman, Doomani bastards. They tried to kill us once...AND FAILED. You all know the drill gentlemen." Carver simply paced back and forth, waiting for Rien to come and tell him what was going on. He could feel the wooden chair legs against his forearms, and he saw some of his men had them aswell. He wouldn't use them unless the Doomani's tried something, or if they tried to take him. They had tried to kill him twice, and failed, he'd be damned if they were going to try a third time.

bump for Doom...

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