NationStates Jolt Archive

The two agents nodded and left the Layarteb Agent. They head off to meet some contacts in the area.

[Ooc: this takes place before Let the Guilty Hang]

Henning had recovered quite well. The brain loss was, luckily, insignificant. He had temporarily lost movement in his arms and right leg but with a little physical therapy he was moving as good as new. The only long term affect, which was permanent for that matter, was the loss of feeling in his hands. The nerves had been completely destroyed during the injection and never healed properly. He chose not to be bitter though, it could have been worse, he could have died. But he hadn’t and he didn’t know why. He knew how he was saved, that was obvious when he came to for the first time and saw Raven standing there. The reason though was still very much a mystery and beyond that he didn’t really know where he was or what the date was. Despite all this uncertainty that loomed around him he wasn’t scared. If he was going to be killed it would have happened by now and off all the stories and legends about Raven torture was never included in any of them. That didn’t mean it wasn’t in the back of his mind but the he just didn’t think about it. There was nothing he could do about it if it were to be, he was trapped, a prisoner but nevertheless felt no despair. Truth be told he was an outlaw now, not as much as Ethan but still an outlaw. He might not have known where he was or what day it was but he did know that he had yet to be cleared of the killing of Nic and his sudden disappearance could surely not have helped his case. Regardless of all of that he had bigger fish to fry.

Where ever there was a firefight or wherever people were lying dead on the streets Raven seemed not far behind. This man was like death but twice as deadly and three times as mysterious. And now he had kidnapped a suspected murderer and halted a nation. These were the thoughts of Baruti as he sat in his chair surrounded by his cabinet and staff. The men and women around him, seated in their metallic chairs, argued and yelled and debated endlessly and often pointlessly over such topics. If you lived in the United States of Brink you knew the stories, the myths, and the legends of the infamous Ethan Raven. He was considered by many the most dangerous man in Africa and even the World by some. His dark side greatly overshadowed his glory days, his days when the country looked upon him as a hero. Now he was being hunted like a common street dog, despised as a cold blooded killer, a turncoat, a maniac. The truth was that was the truth. Raven was many things: an enigma, a paradox, a hero, a killer. But what many people, alas, the world didn’t know was that he was human. Cold-blooded is a term; just as soulless and mindless are words. Despite what a person might say something drives every man, something pushes him to do what he does. Raven was no different and since people didn’t know what that was he was labeled a demon. So when word was leaked that he was alive and shooting up hospitals and kidnapping government agents it sent a chill down everyone’s spine. It didn’t help that they couldn’t find him. Baruti could only wonder; if he had gone elusive for this long why come out of hiding? There was nothing they could do to stop him, or rather find him…so why bother? And why did this man love killing so much?!

The time was well past 5:00. Sparetti went out with a concerned glare as he confronted the woman in the apartment again.

"Mia signora - dov'è Emilia?" [My lady, where is Emilia?]

"La non riturna?" [She has not come back?]

Sparetti then pulled out his pistol and shot the door to the apartment open. The attendant lady cried out to him, begging him to stop, but Sparetti turned his pistol around and aimed it directly at the woman. She stopped and returned to her room, as Sparetti climbed the stairs. He approached the door of his beloved - locked shut. He decided to peer into the door, listening for signs of life. If the door was locked, it was obvious to think that she didn't return to her room. But Sparetti was concerned that she was gone.

"Vicenzo!"

Sparetti turned around and watched in awe as Emilia arrived with a bag of groceries. His fears apparently had the better of his intuition. "You're late," he replied.

"Si. I buy my food on Thursdays - it's the best time to buy from the market. What are you doing here?"

Emilia brushed past Sparetti as she unlocked the door. She didn't seem too happy to see him. "You're aren't pleased to see me again?"

"No."

"Why not? I've missed you so much."

"I don't hear murderers missing their loved ones too often. Especially ones who work for the Mafiosi."

Sparetti shrugged. "I quit."

"Yes," Emilia replied. "And you expect me to come back to you so easily? After what happened in Rome? After I saw you kill a man in cold blood?"

"He was there to kill me, Emilia. What else did you expect me to do?"

Emilia glanced slightly at Vicenzo. "I can only imagine what you've been doing since we've been together. I'd venture to guess that everywhere we've gone was a cover for you and sick bastards. You know? It's people like you who give Italy a bad name, a reason why the Romani and the Doomani continue to suppress us. I didn't love Italy because it was the home of thieves and criminals - I loved Italy because it was the house of love and passion."

"Emilia..."

"Get out! I don't want to talk to you - after you've killed, you've spoiled, you've... trashed my home. Get out!"

Sparetti willingly budged out of the room, venturing down the stairs. He passed by the Signora's room, who watched from behind closed doors. He stopped by there and dropped a sum of money. "Per la porta - mi dispiace." [For the door - I'm very sorry.]

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

Andrew showed them out and waited until he was sure that they were gone, so sure that he visually saw them leave the hotel entrance from his window. "Alright. Let's get to business." He picked up one of his briefcases and entered two combinations, one on each side, and then opened it to reveal a satellite phone. Because he was unable to get a direct sun ray he had to plug it into a wall and it came fully equipped with an AC and DC adapter. He plugged it in and booted the laptop up, entering a sixteen character code that used alphanumeric encoding as well as symbols. There were millions of millions of billions of trillions of possible combinations, 208,998,227,690,370,098,316,628,197,376, in total, whatever number that was. He entered the code in a flash and watched as the satellite came online and the phone searched for the nearest one. Encryption went into effect immediately and the phone was ready to use. It carried both audio and visual support but, for this, he wanted just audio. He picked up the phone and waited until the pause ended. "Capricorn. Capricorn. This is Engine Two. This is Engine Two."

"Go ahead Engine Two. Authenticate."

"Zulu, bravo, tango, four, four, four, twenty, three, welcome, welcome, iota, iota, kappa, sigma, charlie, seven, two, eight, fourteen, thirty-five."

"Roger that. You're authenticated. Report."

"Report situation nominal. Preparations underway. Calibration underway. Contact is alpha. On schedule."

"Roger that Engine Two. Out." He put down the phone. In one, seemingly inoccuous sentence he reported to them his location, that the EC-21C Learjet was beginning its calibrations, and that he made contact with Eurasian agents. Everything was good to go. He didn't know it but the EC-21 was already listening in on someone's phone call, over a short-wave radio transmitter. It would land with information about a potential deal or shipment going out in a week from a warehouse on the outskirts of Tarin Kowt. Ghost Recon would be there.

...a sixteen character code that used alphanumeric encoding as well as symbols. There were millions of millions of billions of trillions of possible combinations, 208,998,227,690,370,098,316,628,197,376, in total, whatever number that was...

[ooc: I'd say that that is a grave understatement, seeing as a 16-character code using standard scripts [26] and numbers [10], as well as any other symbols [whatever], that would give you a number well in excess of of one undecillion [10E36] - by your own standard, one million [10E6] million [10E6] billion [10E9] trillions [10E12] is in fact one decillion [10E33], which is larger than your given number [10E29]. I hate calculus, but I love meth :D]

OOC: 26 letters, 10 numerals, and 32 special charaters (~`!@#$%^&*()_-=+\|]}[{;:'"/?.>,<). That adds up to 68 so 68 to the 16th power. So fine, 207 octillion..."Alright Scott!"

Dan Rosenburg, was sitting in a beach chair outside the swimming pool of Good Samaritan Hotel of Tahiti. It was the summer; dead hot, with the pool crowded with people looking to swim or just relax and work on a tan.

However, swimming and tanning were not what Mr. Rosenburg had in mind that day. The founder and leader of the Black Roses drug cartel, Dan Rosenburg was instead here awaiting Douglas Greer, head of his cartel's research department. Greer had called Rosenburg four days ago on Rosenburg's high-speed luxury yacht Fortune Seeker, telling him that "Kenny learned a new word today." In their phone conversations, Greer was the father of young son Kenny and Rosenburg was his cousin. Of course, Greer had no children and Kenny in fact stood for cocaine. Greer's latest project had been tampering with the cell structure of the coca plant.

Rosenburg took his gaze away from the thong bikini bottom of a nearby brunette and turned to face Kevin Manning, his sychophantic right-hand man. "Douglas is late," he said. Rosenburg could not stand lateness in any of his employees; more than once he had summarily shot someone who arrived late at a meeting. Thus Black Rose people learned to be punctual and show up a few minutes early to every meeting. Rosenburg's eyes moved momentarily to the cooler next to his chair; inside was a stolen army Infinity Magnum pistol.

"I know what you're thinking boss; don't do it," said Kevin, "Greer is too important."

"I know, I know, don't fucking tell me what to do!" shouted Rosenburg, facing purpling. Several heads around the drug lord turned, but after a glare from Don, one of Rosenburg's mammoth bodyguards, they turned back to what they were doing. Don was so large that he might have just been a hairless gorilla, but unlike the stereotype of the massive, dumb brute, Don was smart, level-headed, and possessed masterful marksmanship and martial arts skill. To date, Don had saved his employer from no fewer than three attempts at assassination and abduction, and his mere prescence discouraged conspiracy.

A man of average height and narrow build, dressed in an Italian suit, glasses perched on his long, narrow nose, dark hair parted in the center. This was Douglas Greer, head of R&D for the Black Roses. His first projects had been designing special smuggling vehicles, boats, and aircraft, but gradually he had expanded into enhancing the cartel's drug production, using genetic engineering and creating new pesticides and weed killers to protect the cartel's crops of cannabis, coca, tobacco, and poppies.

"You're late," Rosenburg said indignantly, leering at the scientist. Greer did not flinch. But then Don leaned in close, parroting his master's glare. Greer swallowed and took a small step back.

"I hope you aren't late again to another meeting, especially one that you called," said Rosenburg, eyes again lowering to the cooler.

"Yes sir, it won't happen ever again," said Greer quickly. You always agreed with the boss. But then he made a mistake. "I was just...delayed at the airport," he said.

Rosenburg was practically frothing at the mouth. "I don't give a damn about your fucking excuses, I want to hear about your progress!"

"Please, calm down Mr. Rosenburg," said Kevin.

"Don't tell me to calm down! Just shut your fucking mouth!" shouted Rosenburg, showering his lackey in spit. Don quietly tapped his employer's shoulder.

"I think we should go the room now," said the massive bodyguard, eying the crowd of staring people.

"Alright, let's go," said Rosenburg. Rosenburg suffered from a form of bipolar disease, alternating between moods of jocularity and rage. He was now calming down from his rage, and was settling into a jovial mood.

"Katie, we're going up to the room now," said Rosenburg to a blond-haired young woman clad in a very revealing microkini. Rosenburg was a sex-crazed man. Katie was the latest in his line of 'angels,' his term for whores. He always kept one around, putting her through a series of highly revealing outfits and relieving the pressures of running the Black Roses by night and several times by day. The angels each lasted until Rosenburg got bored or they got pregnant. Katie had been his angel for about a month now; he had first seen her as a secretary for one of Greer's underlings. She had quickly found new employment of a more dubious nature.

"Alright, Dan," sighed Katie. She, unlike most of her predecessors, hadn't chosen her job; Rosenburg had forced her into her present status, and she was too afraid to run away. One of the other angels, Lindsey, had tried to run away; Rosenburg had had all of her limbs sliced off but kept her alive using one of Greer's life-support machines, inflicting the most brutal tortures imaginable upon her until she finally passed away. Rosenburg had shown her corpse to every angel since, as a warning of the consequences should escape be attempted.

The party of Rosenburg, Kevin, Don, Greer, and Katie left the pool and ascended on the elevator to the sixth floor. Don slid the card into the room's door, drew a pair of automatic pistols, and searched all of the rooms for a would-be spy, assassin, or kidnapper. None was found. Rosenburg rolled his eyes impatiently. Next, the bodyguard took out a metal detector and began scanning all of the rooms for bugs. Only then was the guard satisfied that the rooms were secure, closing the door behind the rest of the party.

"Katie, find the sluttiest pair of lingerie in your drawer and wait in our room for the meeting to be over," said Rosenburg. His angel scowled, walked over to the bedroom and closed the door. If she wasn't so hot, she'd have been dead weeks ago for her lack of enthusiasm. For now, Rosenburg's mercy held out.

"So, Mr. Greer, what have you got for us?" asked the drug lord...

Henning had blacked out again, this time on purpose.

When he came to he was in a chair, a dim light hanging overhead. The rest of the room was a blanket of blackness. For all he could tell the room was the size of the moon, he couldn’t see more then 3 feet in any one direction. In front of him was a small table, empty and with no signs of tools or blood. His first instinct of torture was no gone, though not completely. As his eyes came to more and more he could make out more. In front of him was a chair and it was filled with a body. The body was moving, alive…good. He blinked hard and finally made out the figure that sat across from him…Raven. He put his hand on his forehead, his head was pounding but the feeling was fading. His hands weren’t tied down, he wasn’t for that matter. No torture, at least not right now.

Raven began to laugh, though, only faintly, “Torture, I can see it in your eyes. Torture is for the cowardly and weak. It is for those that talk strong but fear death above all else. I can tell you Henning…I do not fear death. I’ve died once…it’s not all that bad.”

His laughter was, for lack of a better word, pissing Henning off. What the hell is so funny?

“I see you do not share my humor, so why don’t you just ask it…why are you hear and not dead?”

“Why am I hear and not dead,” Henning responded in a monotone voice.

“You’re no good as a hero if you are dead.”

Hero? What mind game was he playing?

“Cut the shit Raven, please, do us that favor.”

“In a few days, when you have completely recovered and I can trust you, you’ll be free to go. I promise you that, without a scratch on you.”

“Trust me?”

“You have a lot to learn about the world you live in. I can’t save the country, not when I have to be the bad guy.”

“I’m not sure if it’s the toxins in my blood or you are just a plain psycho but you are not making any sense.”

“It’s already to far ahead to play nice Henning, already to far gone.”

“What is?”

“Why Henning…there’s the Devil to pay!”

Sparetti stayed in Venice for another two days before deciding to return to his haven in Tuscany. Emilia didn't seem to take his turn to criminal lifestyles too well, and while it broke his heart, it seemed that he had already reasoned to himself that he had not much more of a heart anyway. And if Emilia wasn't going to be a part of the family, then she was worth less to him than the bundles of coke waiting for him.

Despite the hypes of the day about new drugs, the Cosa Nostra still dealt the best coke. New drugs were being formulated every day and the only reason why Cosa Nostra outlasted the others was the sheer guarantee - "You will get dope." It was somewhat a strange irony that he had returned to the same place just months ago to a bustling wine business, and already in one silo, he had several tons of coke waiting for him.

"What? You can't deliver it yourselves? The Romans will not like this if they ever find it."

"They won't - but we don' deliver if we don't get coordinates."

Sparetti looked up from his desk. There were still blood stains on the papers and the table, from Luciano's visitation with Giuseppe a while back. That was old history - even before the massacre at La Plata...

"Don Maggiano has been regularly shipping this stuff and we haven't been getting any idea to where to ship it. I mean, you're usually here, but then you were gone for 2 months at least. Then Don Maggiano said that you were coming back, and it's a week later. Mi scuzi Signor, but we're also on a pay stub, and it's been a while since we've been paid."

"Money is the last thing that will come out of your mouths - ever."

"Si, si. But we've got patient families too. So when do we get back into the business?"

Sparetti paused a little - Emilia still on his mind. When does he go back to the routine and what does he do about it all?

[ooc: I overestimated the number of symbols that you would have used...]

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

PART ONE

Jumqali County, Southern Sudan, Africa


The south of Sudan was a heavy contrast, an enigma considering everything around it. It was dense, fresh jungle with a heavy tropical climate. But just to the east and directly north lay rocky scree and oil rich deserts. Yet here, in the extreme south of Africa’s biggest state was perfect jungle, teeming with wildlife and natural beauty.

But it wasn’t Amazonian jungle, it wasn’t hostile or impenetrable. It was more like a tropical woodland, like something you’d find in Oregon only hotter and with different animals.

It was around 3 in the afternoon when the five friends decided to take a rest near a little waterfall deep inside what was planned to become the Jumqali National Park. They were all college students, studying various things at the University of Kampala, or KU as it was more commonly known. It was one of the most majestically situated universities in the world, sitting on Lake Victoria, a natural wonder of there ever was one.

Mitchell was essentially leading his four friends through an area of Jumqali he knew well, where his dad used to take him hunting. He had heard from his father it was to become a national park, and so he’d forced his room-mates to stop playing video games and sleeping late for a whole week so he could drag them up there to see the beauty of it all.

Mitchell was staring out at the little waterfall with his girlfriend, Izzie, by his side. It was a sight to behold, just silently staring and listening to the water rush over the rocks and drop into the deep blue water below. But something broke their silent reverie, “Anyone got a fucking hot pocket? Christ I’m starving. Have we further to go? Mitchell, where the fuck are you? MITCHELL…MITCHELL! Answer me you bastard.” It was Billy, a happy-go-lucky but foul mouthed city slicker from Boulder, Colorado, doing Politics at KU. Mitchell turned to Izzie and they both smiled, he’d ruined their moment but in Billy’s own way. That’s why he was their friend. They turned and saw him staggering up toward them, a heavily laden backpack hanging off his shoulder, huffing and puffing. He was quite un-fit, but unlike the four others he’d already done his National Army service and didn’t really care about his health while leading the student life. Mitchell and Izzie waved to him and flipped them off before collapsing near a tree.

He shouted back down the small rise, “Mark, Carol, they’re up here.” Billy took out a packet of cigarettes and lit up, inhaling deeply, “No fucking TV and no games…but at least I’ve got a few home comforts. MARK, CAR-“ He was cut off in mid-sentence as Mark, standing behind him, poured some of his canteen over his head, wetting the cigarette. Billy just sat there nodding, the cigarette drooping down and breaking, sodden with water.

Mark and Carol strode up the small rise to where Mitchell and Izzie stood. Mark was a Greek Engineering Post-Grad doing a Masters and Carol was a Seychelles native, with a strange harmonic accent, doing nursing with Izzie. Mitchell was, of course, doing Politics with Billy.

After a half hour or so the group began to move again, Billy straggling out to the side, cursing a blue streak every time he tripped or caught himself on something, causing either chuckles or guffaws from Mark.

They were heading toward a small hill clearing called Telescope Green, because it was one of the best places in Africa to look at a sky with no ambient light and with nature all around. They might even find a few eager stargazers.

It took them another sweat drenched half hour to get to the Green, but it was certainly worth it. They broke onto the slight rise and walked up to an expansive natural clearing with long grass, open to the huge sky that seemed to bulge with stars. All five of them were quiet, staring endlessly up into the sky, few of them had ever seen so clear a sky before, except Mitchell. For him it brought back memories of his dad, because the Green was where, during the hunting season, all the hunters would camp out. The silence was broken however, by the loud passing of wind from Billy who burst into laughter, the other four doing the same a few seconds later.

Within a few minutes each person had their own pop tent placed in a small circle. Each lay head to head gazing up at the sky, munching on a Peanut Burst bar, a present from Billy.

But they were unaware that while they were watching the sky, a few pairs of eyes were watching them.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Two

Jumqali, Southern Sudan, Africa

The tunes were good. Even Billy was bouncing along to the rhythmic music. Mitchell had brought a mix CD from KU of some recent songs, basically African pop music. Like Indian pop music it took some getting used to, but once you heard one song, you were hooked.

Mitchell had the big radio hanging from a strap around his neck. Billy found it most encouraging because the tunes made him move lighter, instead of trudging and tripping over every branch and bit of fallen vegetation. Izzie clapped and joined in with the songs whenever she heard a bit she knew, followed by Carol in her strange melodic accent.

Mark and Billy walked out to the left, with Carol, Izzie and Mitchell all together. They had left Telescope Green early in the morning, after watching the sun rise high into the sky, another blisteringly warm day.

The eyes watching them never wavered…following…silent.

They stopped again at noon near the feet of some fallen trees to have something to eat. Before they set off again Billy set his pack down and wandered off to take a piss. He was constantly looking behind him to make sure he could still hear and see the others, it would be madness to go completely out of their sight.

So it was his head turned back and not looking down that caused him to tread on what was a soft-soiled ledge, and tumble head over heals down a steep bank of red soil, landing in what seemed to be a thicket of plants. He sat up looking at the strange things, covered head to foot in red soil. The plants looked like Brussels sprouts on thick green stalks, very strange. “HEY YOU BASTARDS! I FELL, HELP ME GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS. HEY…GUYS…COME HERE…GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”

Billy stood up cursing and began to try and wipe himself down. The others appeared on the ledge behind him, with puzzled looks. The ledge was like the edge of a bowl, like someone had carved a big chunk out of the middle of the jungle. People did that in some places to make new farming and grazing land, but surely whoever was considering this place for a national park wouldn’t have missed this. And anyway, they usually just cut down the trees and flattened out the land, this was like a big hole, exactly like a bowl.

From the ledge Mitchell and the others could see that it was a huge area that had been carved out, with strange looking plants on carefully laid out plots here and there, but with jungle trees in between them, almost in disguise.

Billy was trying to get their attention at the bottom of the ledge, his hand outstretched, but they couldn’t take their eyes off the huge gouge in the middle of what was supposed to be woodland jungle. Billy was hopping up and down to try and reach the ledge himself, but it was too high. Mark threw his bag down to him and the rest jumped down the ledge to Billy. “What the fuck, I wanted out of here, not company.”

Mitchell ignored him and walked over to the plot where Billy had come to a stop. He touched and smelled one of the plants and snapped up like he’d been shot, darting forward to another plot with a different, leafy plant. He muttered curses under his breath. Izzie followed, slightly worried. “Mitch, what is it? What’s wrong?” He ignored her for a second, snapping a branch off a plant and looking closer, before dropping it and crushing it under foot. “Drugs…these are drug plants. Marijuana, opium poppies…God knows what else. This place is huge.”

Mark and Carol heard him, Billy didn’t, still busy trying to brush the soil off himself. Carol spoke up, “Who would grow this here? You get about 100 years in prison just for having a cigarette full of marijuana. I mean…look at all this stuff.”

Mitchell looked around himself, before responding, “I don’t know, but something tells me we shouldn’t be here. If there’s all this stuff then there are the people who use it or sell it. They must be close. We need to get back to the Green and contact the police.”

Mitchell had barely finished speaking when a gunshot rang out from somewhere. A loud crack that sent birds flying off in panic. Carol screamed a split second after the noise and hit the dirt with a thump, screaming in pain, holding her leg, blood seeping out over her hands. Mark, just beside her dropped to the ground, shouting at Mitchell to get down. Billy was already eating dirt. He still remembered his training.

Another shot rang out, passing overhead, cutting the tops off some of the higher standing plants. Voices echoed from somewhere close by. Mitchell tried to sit up on his knees but a cold metal thing pushed him back to the ground. Izzie could see it was a gun barrel, one touched her neck a few seconds later. A few feet away Mark was hauled away from Carol, his hands bloody from trying to help with her wound.

A gun was pointed at his head and he was forced to kneel down. Billy was also hauled to his knees with a gun at his forehead, silent, no characteristic cursing. He didn’t even look scared. The people with the guns wore old camouflage uniforms and Balaclava’s, despite the heat. One stood over Carol. He slowly slung the rifle he carried and unsheathed a long, serrated edge machete with carbonized black paint on the surface to stop it glinting in the sun. He drew it over Carol’s clothes, her breathing getting heavier, her eyes wild. Mark tried to move but he received a gun butt to the side of the head, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

The last thing Mark heard before descending into the deep black was Carol screaming, blood curdling in its intensity, before it was drowned in choking moans and bubbling cries.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Three

Jumqali, Southern Sudan, Africa

Mark dreamed. Not a nice dream, but fitful and full of distress. He woke with a start, unable to move. His legs seemed to be bound, as were his arms. He sat upright, against a pole in a dim corrugated iron hut with a packed dirt floor. Packing crates stood in front of him, a dirty window to his left.

As his senses returned he realised he was parched, his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. Music wafted in from somewhere, the twang of a banjo and a guitar all spliced up. He heard voices and laughter. It took him a few seconds to get clarity…he tried to scream, remembering the last thing he’d heard…Carol… He was gagged, something tied around his mouth, to the back of his head. He let out a muffled moan.

Suddenly the door, out of sight of Mark, burst open with voices, noise and light spilling in. A body, bloodied and with ripped clothes was thrown in front of Mark, the body was bound at the ankles, hands behind the back, with a gag as well. That much Mark could see. He wasn’t even thinking about the others until he noticed the small scar on the forearm, it was Mitchell.

The guards, still wearing camouflage clothes and balaclava’s kicked the body hard in the kidneys to no effect. One snorted and spat on Mark before both left.

Mitchell heard them leave and rolled over to face Mark. He tried to smile but his face was awful looking. One eye was bruised and closed over, he had missing teeth and blood pouring from his mouth and nose as his head lay on the floor. Mark tried a smile, so did Mitchell, they both nodded and continued to look at each other.

There was nowhere to go and nothing to say. They sat like that in the sweltering heat of the small corrugated iron hut for what seemed like hours. Mitchell drifted in and out of consciousness, usually snapping his eyes open and trying to move before realising where he was.

Mark was drifting in and out of sleep, his head throbbing, his mouth simply beyond parched, when he was jolted awake by a scream from somewhere outside. There was shouts and laughing, more screaming. A woman’s scream. “MITCHELL…GET AWAY YOU BASTARDS…MITCHELL….” Izzie! It was Izzie, she was outside somewhere. Mitchell twisted and turned in his bonds, trying to move, to do something. He groaned and strained with each shout and scream. They only got louder, it became obvious what was going on outside. Mark wished he could shut out the noise, and Mitchell…he must have nearly died trying to get free. He lay on his back panting, eyes wide, tears on his cheeks. The screaming eventually subsided, only coming every now and then. Male laughter and grunts and shouts followed.
It was getting dark when sleep finally engulfed Mark, the last thing he felt was his head loll to the side and he was finally out of it again.

He woke up with a snap, hit with an ice cold blast of water. It shocked his system, he nearly pissed himself before deliriously and shakily coming to. He was in another building, only with concrete walls this time. He was roped to a wooden chair, the edges and back digging sharply into him, the ropes burning his skin. A single bulb provided illumination and two men, in camos and balaclava’s stood on the other side of the room, one with an empty bucket. Mark longed for a sip of water. He would probably suffer greatly if he didn’t drink. He tried to take in as much water as he could as it dripped down his face.

The two men spoke, some strange language. Not English, nothing remotely intelligible to Mark. Like some tribal language. One of the men eventually turned to him, “What were you doing in our jungle, eh? Trying to steal our produce, hunh?” The man chuckled to himself. “I think you have seen too much, no?” Mark tried to speak but from nowhere he was smacked across the back of the neck. He blacked out for a second before his vision came back. He groaned. The questioner continud,“Who is it you were spying for, eh? DEA? Vice? Who was it?”

Mark replied cautiously, not wanting another whack across the neck from whoever was standing behind him. “I’m a student at KU, I wasn’t spying…we weren’t spying, honestly.” The questioner sighed, “You expect us to believe this bullshit? Do you think us stupid? You saw your friend, no? Would you like to look like him by the end of today?” Mark tried to protest but this time his chair was up-ended and he smacked the floor hard, his whole left side jarring into the bare concrete. They came at him from the front, kicking at first, and then he saw the butt of a gun lifted over his head. He closed his eyes and tensed up. It came, like a train smacking into his temple at 100 miles per hour. His vision simply shattered, it was all over the place, discoloured, and then it faded and faded until there was nothing.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Four

Jumqali, Southern Sudan, Africa


Mark awoke to the sound of nature. Birds were singing, animals making noises, the jungle was in full song. It would have been nice to listen to were it not for the fact that his brain felt too big for his head and his lips felt like they were bigger than his whole face. He could barely open his mouth or his eyes. Even breathing through his nose was sore, it felt twisted and was probably broken. He could taste blood. He was still tied up around the upright pole in the small hut. Mitchell again lay in front of him looking dirtier and bloodier. He was sleeping, breathing heavily through his nose, it was making a strange noise, probably broken aswell.

There was blood all down the front of Mark’s shirt, and it was ripped apart in places. Every time he moved his head throbbed, feeling as if it might explode. It was dark outside, that was for sure. But it was still oppressively warm in the small hut and the dim light bulb didn't do anyone any favors. Mark tried to move slightly, to get more comfortable, but nothing seemed to work. He resolved to sit still and try to fall asleep, at least he wouldn’t be able to feel any pain then.

He was awakened by the sound of the door opening, scraping the dirt as it did so. It didn’t open loudly with shouting and cursing, the way the guards came in…so what gave? Maybe they were trying to kill them while they slept…shit.

Mark tried to turn around, to see what was behind him, but his bonds wouldn’t let him. Then a hand grabbed him from behind and held his head steady. He could feel breath on his ears, then a whisper of hope, “Mark, its Billy. Don’t move, don’t struggle and for God’s sake keep quiet.” Mark nodded, finally hopefull, his heart doing leaps and bounds in his chest.

Within a few seconds his bonds were loosened and freed, the gag removed from his bloody mouth. He tried to kneel up but his whole lower body was numb and he nearly fell over. Billy whispered again, “Stay still and rub your legs, stretch your limbs while I cut Mitchell free.” Mark could see Billy in the dim light for the first time, he was just as bloody as they were, with a huge gash on his cheek. He whispered in Mitchell’s ear before producing a jagged piece of glass to cut his bonds. Mitchell rolled over and the first thing he said, in a low whisper, was “Izzie…Izzie?” Billy nodded, worried looking. He whispered to both of them, “The took her tonight aswell, but she came back with glass embedded in her leg, that’s how I got us free. She’s okay to move, but she seems to be hurt internally, she’s studying nursing so I trust she knows what she’s on about.” Mitchell only nodded.

Billy whispered again, “I’ll lead you over to Izzie, then I need to find our bags. I have an emergency kit hidden in mine.” He led them in the dark over to the other hut, past a rounded campfire area where some of their captors were drunkenly sleeping, murmuring or snoring. Drink bottles littered the area. Billy left the hobbling Mark and Mitchell at the door to the hut Izzie was in, then he turned around and headed up a short bottle neck toward where light seemed to be spilling into the jungle.

The night noises would cover any he made. He kept off the trodden paths and kept moving slowly. He finally came on a sight he didn’t expect. While they’d been kept in dirty huts and beaten in some dank cellar or basement, what was in front of him was like a mini-village of chalets, like for a holiday. All located off some overgrown but well used concrete paths. Lights poured out from some of the windows. What the hell was this place?

Billy, unlike the others, hadn’t been entirely unconscious when they’d dragged him into the camp area, he’d seen them take their bags away, down the path to a small hut like the ones they’d beeen tied up in. He hadn’t seen beyond the bend then, but now he could. He carefully picked his way across a packed earth path, keeping an eye on the lit up buildings to his left. He still couldn't see them all, there was a bend in the path.

The small hut was unlocked and he slowly lay down, opening the door slowly and carefully. Nobody there. He quickly darted inside and held still for a moment. The hut had a single dim light bulb on the roof and stank of rot. Their bags were just inside the door. He carefully rifled through them and found his own.

Digging down to the bottom of the small rucksack he found the fake fabric and lifted it up, finding a tiny zip that led to the concealed compartment in the bottom. He opened it and tugged out a black package with a drawstring, a Black Wolf manufactured emergency survival kit. It was renowned the world over, containing a Sat Phone/GPS Device, compass, advanced first aid kit, small flares, matches, folding knife, waterproof torch and a wood saw. He stuffed the bag into his bloody and dirty cargo pants and began to pick his way back through the jungle toward the camp area where the others were.

Back in the little hut Mitchell held Izzie close, she was in a lot of pain and looked awful, she needed medical attention fast, heck they all did. Billy sorted through his kit, concealing the small knife and the other stuff about his person. He couldn’t get a connection with the phone, too much vegetation blocking the signal, or maybe electronic interference-who knows what kind of operation they'd stumbled into. Their best bet was Telescope Green, a couple of hours north according to the GPS.

All four slowly stalked out of the hut and slowly and silently picked their way past the drunken, sleeping captors, their campfire crackling in the night. Billy kept them off the paths, for once they now looked to him for leadership. Now was no time for happy-go-lucky bullshit, this shit was serious. Billy had done his National Army Service so he knew how to survive, how to conduct Guerilla warfare in areas like this, and how to defend himself hand to hand using Krav Maga. But the others didn’t, they needed him more than ever.

It took them a good half hour, moving slowly and stopping every now and then for someone else to help move Izzie, before they came to the bowl area of plots where they’d been taken prisoner, and where Carol had been killed. Billy searched for guards for a few minutes before waving them down into the bowl. They had to go straight across it and up the other side.

They were just at the bottom of the lip, Billy kneeling in the middle of one of the plots, using the natural moonlight to search the edges for any sign of guards, or animals for that matter. Mitchell and Mark were behind him a few feet helping Izzie down from the lip. Izzie suddenly lost her grip and tumbled sideways down the small bank, knocking over Mark who fell to the side, hitting a taut wire. Suddenly there was a loud WHOOSH, as a firework like thing shot up into the sky, red and burning. It exploded with an almighty bang, sending out a shock of light that illuminated the whole plot area for a few seconds. Billy cursed and ran back toward the three others who lay on the ground, scared. Their captors would have heard that, they’d be on them in a few minutes, they needed to get going and quickly.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Five

Jumqali, Southern Sudan, Africa

Once that first firework/flare had gone off all pretense of stealth or silence went right out the window. Billy was shouting and hollering at Mitchell and Mark to get Izzie up between them and follow him through the plot. It wasn’t long before yellow and green flares were shooting up into the sky not too far behind them.

Billy ran low threw the plots, keeping within sight and earshot of the other three. He was at the lip on the other side while they were still tearing through a perfectly formed square of opium poppies. The lip was steep for the most part, with only the odd branch or tree root, nothing sustainable that could be used as a foothold. Billy ran left seeing nowhere to get up, then turned and ran backward. He heard the sound of dogs angrily barking and the glow of the flares cast long and flickering shadows through the plots.

As he ran right, Izzie, Mark and Mitchell were now only a few feet away straining, he found a place better than anywhere else. A tree sat directly above the lip and its large roots protruded out from the red soil, giving them the possibility of climbing up and out of the plot area.

Billy waited until the three caught up, breathing heavily. The braying of dogs and shouts of men could now be heard as the few flares fizzled out above them, bathing the area in the half moon’s natural light once more. Billy pointed to the area and began to climb up the roots, slipping but moving quickly, grabbing each root like a lifeline, which it was in a way. He flopped his torso onto the harder ground on the raised jungle floor above the lip and pulled himself up, sliding around to face back down.

Mitchell thrust Izzie toward the lip, her hand outstretched. Billy grabbed it and with her climbing as best she could he helped haul her up. She flopped down beside him and crawled up the slight incline and sat against a tree, utterly exhausted and wincing in pain. Mitchell was next, more badly injured than Mark. He slipped a couple of times but Billy managed to keep him from falling right back down and he managed to get up. “Mitchell, lift Izzie and head straight north, we’ll catch up, go now…GO!” Mitchell breathed deep and moved off.

The men’s voices and barking dogs sounded closer now, too damn close. Billy reached down the lip again, clasping Mark’s outstretched hand as he began to climb. He was nearly at the top when another yellow flare went up, exposing them unmercifully. Billy hauled and Mark jumped, landing shakily on solid ground. But just as he did so a shot rang out from the plot area, and Billy watched as Mark’s head exploded in a glut of blood and brain mass, sending shards of skull flying into the side of Billy’s face. The shock knocked him down, the near headless Mark fell back down the lip.

Billy crawled forward quickly, getting as deep into the darkness of the woodland jungle as possible. He wanted to go back and check on his friend, every emotion he had told him this wasn’t right, he should get Mark out, dead or alive as a friend. But something primal fought against his foolishness, urging him forward, urging him to survive, ‘survive to fight another day, that is paramount’, the Drill Sergeants at boot had taught him. His instincts and his training were running things now.

Billy wasn’t quite safe yet, he was still partly exposed. Heavy rounds thumped into the ground all around him, and whizzed through the air cutting tree branches apart. Some bullets passed so close he could feel their heat. His adrenaline was pumping him up, his heart belting, his ears filled with a whooshing noise and the thump of his heart, his eyes focused in front and his brain focused on escape and survival. He fast crawled further into the jungle woodland, the gunfire still rattling and the rounds coming down thick and fast, but he felt safer in the darkness and with trees between him and any bullet.

Just as this thought crossed him mind a sharp blow crashed into his left arm, bowling him forward, sending Billy sprawling into the undergrowth. There was a dull pain in his arm, like something had punched him with brass knuckles. He touched it…it was wet…blood. A gunshot. His first instinct was to roar in incredulity more than pain, but his brain over-rode that, the adrenalin was keeping the pain at bay for now, buying him time. He felt both sides of his upper arm, it was through and through, a 'clean' or 'exit' wound as it was sometimes called.

The rounds still thudded into the trees around him, but were less accurate and began to drift off to the right as he picked his way through the dense woods. He hoped Izzie and Mitchell hadn’t been hit, a stray bullet was an awful thing.

He ran onward, calling out to them, wondering if they, or their pursuers could hear them. They needed to get moving fast, the captors had dogs with them. Always bad.

It was between bursts of gunfire that Billy, through the ringing in his eyes, thought he heard someone calling his name. He moved cautiously toward the sound, nearly walking right over Izzie and Mitchell, lying behind a falling log, both breathing heavily, terror etched on their faces, made worse by the huge bloody stain and wound on Billy’s arm, not to mention the bits of Mark's skull embedded in his face.

He waved it off and helped them both up, Izzie carried between them, her arms over their shoulders. They moved surprisingly quickly for three near cripples who hadn’t had water or food in two days. Adrenalin was a marvel of the human body.

They must have been moving for an hour or two when Mitchell had to stop, his neck and back had gone numb and his legs were developing cramp. They set Izzie down gently and Billy took out their GPS. Thank God! They were going the right way. It was another hour or so ahead, but the right direction was good news at least.

Billy was stuffing the little Sat Phone/GPS Device back into his cargo pants when he heard a faint rustling, maybe behind him. He half turned and a flare cascaded up overheard, throwing the jungle around him into intense yellow relief. He began to bolt for Mitchell and Izzie, just uphill but something clobbered him from the right side. Something heavy and solid, a straight smack to the side that sent him sprawling to the ground again. His vision was hazy he heard shouting, a couple of gunshots. The flare cast the strangest glow. He heard someone behind him, close, very close. He was breathing heavily and spewing what was probably abuse in the strange language they seemed to use. He stopped, Billy heard an automatic rifle bolt being racked back and then the only two words he had understood from the bastards he was fleeing, “Die, motherfucker.”

”Dette er en hellig tid. Vi skal få gjennomslag for våre planer.” [This is a sacred time. We shall make our plans a reality.]

The small group voiced their concurrence with the plans, cheering in the large cavern as their leader delivered the final words of his speech.

”Tyrannen skal dø, og vår bror her skal sørge for det. Gå med Gud.” [The tyrant shall die, and our brother here will make sure he does. Go with God.]

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

“...og denne giften som blir spredd rundt om i våre byer og tettsteder av svake individer som mangler viljestyrke til å kunne si ’stopp! Jeg vil ikke!’ Vi må sørge for at våre barn har denne viljestyrken slik at de kan si stopp til de forbryterne som vil forgifte dem med narkotikaen som bakmennene i fjerne land vil påtvinge oss. Vi har alle en rolle i denne kampen mot narkotikaen. Myndighetenes oppgave er å sørge for at de som forsøker å forgifte barna våre blir straffet. Deres oppgave som foreldre, foresatte og borgere av dette Riket er å sørge for at barna deres er sterke nok til å ha mot til å si ’nei, dette vil jeg ikke’, for det er det som er nøkkelen til å seire over narkotikaen. Dersom bakmennene ikke får solgt giften sin her så vil til slutt de slutte å forsøke. Dette forutsetter at vi alle jobber sammen mot denne ytre fienden. Det er dette jeg ber dere innstendig om å jobbe sammen med oss, for barnas skyld. Dersom vi jobber sammen og står sterke sammen mot narkotika-selgerene så vil de til slutt forstå at Riket ikke er interessert i deres ’varer’. Og da, mine damer og herrer, da har vi seiret i denne episke kampen mot narkotikaen. Takk for meg.”

[...the poison is being distributed throughout our cities and towns by weak individuals who lack the strength of character to be able to say ’stop! I don’t want to!’ We need to ensure that our children build the strength of character to be able to say stop to the criminals who wish to poison them with the narcotics that the organizers in far-away countries want to force upon us. We all have a role in the struggle against the narcotics. The job of the authorities is to ensure that those who try to poison our children are properly punished. Your tasks as parents, guardians and citizens of this Realm is to ensure that our children are strong enough to have to the courage to say ‘no, I don’t want to do this,’ because that’s the key to victory over the narcotics. If the organizers can’t sell their poison here, they will eventually get the picture and quit trying. This requires that we all work together against this enemy. This is why I implore you to work together with us, for the sake of the children. If we work together and stand strong together against the narcotics dealers they will eventually understand that the Realm isn’t interested in their ‘merchandise’. And then, ladies and gentlemen, then we will have achieved victory in this epic struggle against the narcotics. Thank you.]

The large crowd that had gathered in the city plaza of the city of Bodø in the cold January afternoon applauded intensely as the King stepped down from the plateau he had given the speech in. The crowd was elated to have had their head of state, a person who the Cottish people considered to be Gods representative on Earth and their divine leader speak to them. The Cottish people had a tendency of doing what the King urged them to do in his relatively rare speeches, and combining the message of this latest speech – standing strong against drugs – and the fact that the majority of the people being against drugs in the first place, it was highly likely that they would do as the King asked.

As the King moved down through the crowd, shaking the hands of many people and briefly talking to them, a man moved discreetly forward in the crowd which was pressing forward to get a view of and possibly even a hand-shake from the King. The detour to meet the crowd wasn’t part of the original itinerary, and the security officials were having a proverbial heart attack from the increased stress.

The security detail was extensive, with the eight men from Lag RØD from Kongshirden, the highly classified black operations unit personally responsible for the safety of the King, forming the inner perimeter with the thirty or so police officers making up the external perimeter. In addition, the several military officers in the King’s entourage were armed and sworn to defend the King if needed. All of them were within twenty meters of the King, but they had no idea what was to come.

The man was now no more than six meters from the King, who was moving slowly through the crowd. He saw a few police officers directly behind the King, all of them dressed in the official uniform with the standard issue pistols safely tucked away inside the closed leather holsters, and a few dressed in civilian suits. Probably assistants or something. Deciding he was close enough, he pulled out the tool he was going to use to end the tyrant’s life from underneath the heavy jacket and cocked it discreetly. The assassin was well trained in firearms, having been an expert marksman in the military during his mandatory eighteen months, and he was confident that he could use the M1911A1 pistol in his right hand to end the life of the tyrant. He himself was prepared to give his life for his cause, and he had no expectations of surviving the next five minutes. The tyrant was now only five meters from him. It was time.

The team leader was a meter behind the King, three of his soldiers also around the King, trying to keep a safe perimeter. They had no idea what could be in the crowd, and the leader was mildly stressed by now. His coat and suit jacket was open, exposing his body to the elements but also allowing him to grab the L104A2 Tactical Assault Pistol in the hip holster and have it ready to take out any threats within a second. He knew that the other seven men in his team were fully capable of doing the same, two could even draw their weapons faster than the team leader, and he was confident that the King would be protected if anything happened. As he scanned the crowd with the Eyeball Mark I, he just hoped that his skills wouldn’t be needed. His hopes wouldn’t come through.

Four meters away from the King, a person tried to barge through the dense crowd, pushing people away as he tried to get past. In the first few milliseconds of being through the crowd, he started to extend his arm, which held something shiny.

“VÅPEN!” [GUN!]

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

OOC: OK we forgot about our little thing against Faysal.

The EC-21 landed back at the airport with a large quantity of data that it had collected from the flight. Information gathered had revealed a possible drug deal going down in just eight hours, on the outskirts of the city, something big enough to arouse security and suspicion but Faysal wouldn't be there. It was worth investigating and Ghost Recon would, in a reconnaissance fashion. They had the target building identified from the conversation and they would scope it out, see what they could get on the building before the deal went down. When it finally did, they would be there to watch and listen. They wouldn't go for an apprehension just yet, it was too soon and the more the enemy talked, the more useful they were. If the enemy knew they were being listened to, their mission would be scrubbed, over with, and they would come home, failures. That wasn't going to happen. They had never failed before and they wouldn't now.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Six

Jumqali County, Southern Sudan, Africa

Unlike in books and the movies Billy’s life didn’t flash before his eyes. He barely even blinked, just thought ‘shit’, and shut his eyes tight. But there was no sound, no gunshot. But the guy behind him was still there with the gun. He was shouting at someone in the darkness as the flare went out. Another went up a few seconds later, a red one. The guy was still gobbing off, and getting shouted at in return for his troubles.

Billy could hear Izzie moaning painfully somewhere above the strange shouting in the horrible language. He couldn’t hear Mitchell though. He moved slightly, turned his head on the ground to see the guy standing behind him, with the rifle, an M16, pointed at the small of his back, the guys balaclava covered face turned to the side, looking at whoever he was shouting at. Billy’s arm was beginning to get sore, he could feel the pain beginning in the nerves around the gunshot…not good. He tried to move his arms, which were under his chest. He moved them down toward his waistband, and brushed something heavy and plastic…

The knife! The 5 inch folding knife from the survival kit…he still had it. Like the tree root he’d used to help himself and the others climb out of the drug plot area it was a lifeline, he gripped his hands slowly around it and extended the blade under his chest.

But the asshole behind him snapped back into place, muttering under his breath. Billy just looked at the ground in front of himself, tensing all his muscles. He sensed the guy lean closer toward him and he heard more English in a gravely, sneering tone, “Say goodbye motherfucker.” Billy smiled for the first time in ages, shouting “GOODBYE MOTHERFUCKER!” As he jerked around, his left hand outstretched, quickly slapping the M16 stock, and then gripping it and forcing it away, all in a split second. A few rounds burst from the barrel, the fire searing Billy’s side, but the rounds thudding harmlessly into the ground barely an inch away. The Guard was stunned, and Billy quickly brought up the knife with his momentum, thrusting it in his fist toward the guy’s neck. It hit and entered, like through butter until it was in to the hilt and Billy could feel a geyser of blood blow past and around his hand and the knife. The asshole’s eyes went wide and he tried to breathe, but just gurgled, a knife embedded through his artery and windpipe.

With the knife still in his throat he slumped to his knees and Billy quickly let go of the knife’s hilt, grabbing the M16 from the dying guy’s hands. He jumped up, a guard a few feet away stood unaware, but as Billy got up he stood on a dry branch, snapping it. The guard turned, rifle shouldered. Behind the balaclava his eyes went wide and he loosed off a badly aimed burst. One round smacked into Billy’s shin, sending him sprawling forward. The Guard straightened to shoot again but Billy was too fast, using one hand he fired a burst from the M16 tearing into the guard’s chest and sending him convulsing into the undergrowth.

Izzie screamed and Buck snapped to the left, a Guard lay on top of her, his head turned to face Billy, still on the ground kneeling with one hand on the gun, the other steadying him on the ground.

Billy stood shakily, motioning 'up' with the rifle barrel toward the guard who did so, getting off Izzie, his pants around his ankles and his gun sitting at Izzie's side. He was moving slow, but it didn’t matter, Billy loosed a couple of shots into his chest and he hit the dirt. The flare went out, darkness returning. The moon cast shadows through the trees, but there were no more guards nearby. Silence, and then natures sounds returning confirmed that. Billy hauled out a small torch from a cargo pocket after slinging the rifle, careful to cover the end and not let too much light out.

Izzie had hauled herself against a tree, she was shaking and her face had new bruises, her mouth bleeding afresh. Billy’s leg gunshot began to ache. He could tell from the immense pain that it was not a clean wound, the bullet was probably embedded in his shattered lower shin. His arm was aching too, and the burn on his side from the muzzle fire just added insult to more serious injury.

“Izzie, where is Mitchell, you see him? Where’d he go? Did they take him? IZZIE! Where is Mitchell…MITCHELL?” Izzie was slipping in and out of consciousness, Billy had to shake her to get her to stay with him. She weakly pointed to her side. Billy crawled over, his leg and arm sending painful bursts through his entire body. He grunted and growled as he moved. He stumbled across Mitch. Lying on his side. He shone the torch brighter, removing a finger from across the lens, and rolled Mitch over.

Billy nearly cried out when he saw him properly. He had a ‘zipper’ wound, a burst of gunfire had opened him up from his lower belly to his chin, like a zipper on a coat, from close range by the looks of things. Blood and soil mixed to make the wound black and dirty. His eyes were stuck open in horror. Billy closed them and knelt beside the body for a second. There was no time to ask searching questions or even mourn, they had to move. This was only a flanking party they had run into, the rest of their pursuers would be behind them somewhere.

With the rifle slung to the side Billy grabbed up Izzie and carried her in a piggy-back, her head lolling against his every time she lost consciousness. Billy’s whole body ached, he stumbled more than once, banging into thick trees and falling face first into vegetation that cut his face in an attempt to keep Izzie from getting hurt.

He stopped every now and then to get his erratic breath back and check the little GPS/Phone device. It was almost another three hours before he stumbled up a slight rise and the moonlit Telescope Green lay before him like Elysium. He had strapped up his wounds with torn bits of clothing, but it was the adrenalin that kept him going, the thought of being caught...what would they do?

Still, he was careful, he scoped the Green out for a good while before heading to the top edge and darting across as fast as he could move with Izzie on his back. He laid her down in the jungle on the other side, near a fallen clump of small trees and traced back to the edge of the Green.

His phone had a signal…thank God! He dialled 911 and was immediately connected. “Yes..Police and an immediate dispatch of an Air Ambulance…Telescope Green…yeap that one. Hurry, patient is unconscious, possible internal injury and many external injuries. I’ve been shot twice and am losing blood…yes I’ve wrapped the wounds. Some armed people…no I don’t know who they are. And no I can’t stay on the line. Get here as fast as you can.” Billy shut off the phone and darted back into the Jungle near Izzie, looking out over the Green to the other side.

His ears played tricks on him for a few minutes, he thought he could hear rotor blades somewhere. Then he was sure his eyes were playing tricks, he thought he saw a few figures moving in the other treeline. Just as he was going to move and see if he could get a better look he did hear rotor blades, three helicopters if he wasn’t mistaken. He looked to the sky and sure enough a few seconds later a searchlight burst onto the Green, bathing it in white light. The Police chopper came down first and bumped to a landing. Billy grabbed up Izzie and moved forward, shouting over the din.

The Police Officers moved fast, coming toward him and Izzie. He was nearly to them when he stumbled, pain shooting up his leg from the wound like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he was falling toward the ground. A tree loomed up out of nowhere and he smacked the front of his head off it as he came down. His vision shattered and he felt like he'd just jumped into a swimming pool, there was no pain. His vision darkened and the last thing he heard was rotor blades close by.

Voronej, Evenkia Okrug

Two men were sitting behind a white, roughly built wooden table in a cigarette filled small kitchen. On the table was a bottle of Slavyanskaya Vodka, an open can of sprats, a jar of salted pickles and a plate of dark bread. One of the men wore a white/blue stripped sleeveless navy undershirt, his massive arms and neck covered with tattoos. The other was an elderly man in a grey sweater, skin as dry as sand paper. Russian speech filled the room. The tattooed man downed a shot and continued his story.

"...so I told that punk to give me the money and he didn't. I sent Orehov's guys after him, they got a bit too excited, now the punk is dead. The garbage (police) got Orehov by the balls and even the Boss couldn't do anything to get him out. Orehov and the others got thrown into the 6th jail, one of my guys I have there told me that the guards have already gotten rid of most of them and Orehov cracked, it wasn't pretty, he held out for a month of beatings....now the Boss stuck me in this shithole to keep me safe from the garbage. Good thing that Orehov didn't know who Im working for or the bastards would have had the Boss himself by the balls."

"Eh, Kiril, Kiril, I told you not to get involved with those guys, your father told you, may God save his soul, you didn't listen, now look at the mess you got yourself in. I watch the news everyday and what do I see guys like you getting shot over and over, they slaughter you like cattle, you slaughter each other like cattle....eh...whats the point of even saying anything. Fun life we have here in Russia."

The old man said sarcastically taking a deep breath and downing yet another shot.

"Its not us uncle Iegor, its the life."

"Alright, so how long are you planning on staying?"

"Until it all quites down, might take a couple of months."

Kiril looked down at the table with a deep breath. A phone placed on top of the refrigerator stopped the coming of an awkward silence by ringing. The old man stood up from his chair and picked it up.

"No, Kiril isn't here, haven't seen him for months now....what?....I see. Yes I'll hand him the phone."

Kiril raised his eyes at his uncle, the expression on his face read 'what the hell!?'. Iegor placed his hand over the phone and handed it to Kiril.

"Its for you, its Serieja."

Kiril took the phone and placed it against his ear.

"The boss told me not to talk to anyone, what is this about....what? Boss wants me to do a job, why?....of course, yes I'll do it, who is the client. Okay, I understand...yes I still have my piece....yes I am ready to do it tonight. Okay, Rubkov out."

Kiril hung up the phone. His face grim.

"Looks like I'll be leaving sooner then expected...I have to go right now, please pack up my things and get Anya ready..."

"What in the middle of the night? She's sleeping."

Kiril looked into his uncle's eyes with desperation.

"Please...do this for me and...and if I don't come back, take care of her, raise her as her own. Please, keep all the money I brought with me and if I don't come back take Anya and leave this town."

Iegor looked at his nephew with a sad understanding.

"I'll take care of your daughter."

Kiril took the bottle and chugged the remainder of vodka in a single take. He walked passed his uncle and pulled out a small object wrapped up in large amounts of newspaper. He ripped the paper apart and took the gun out of its package. Throwing his coat on he stuck the Makarov pistol into his pocket. Uncle Iegor was waiting for him by the door. They shook hands and hugged, Kiril walked out on the platform and started going down the appartment building stairs. Iegor stood by the door for the next minute knowing full well that he will never see his nephew again, Anya was his only living family now, he stopped by her room on his way back to the kitchen and opened it slightly, the 4 year old girl was sleeping carelessly wrapped up in her blanket. Iegor closed the door.

Everything will be alright...everything will be alright.

He kept repeating to himself in his head not believing the words one bit.

”VÅPEN!” [GUN!]

No sooner had the soldier cried out the warning before the first gunshots were fired. The .45ACP rounds the lone gunman fired flew from the barrel of the M1911A1 at 259.08 meters per second, covering the four meters in mere milliseconds. Fortunately, the crowd pressing and the adrenaline of the moment made the man’s shot a poor one, but not poorer than hitting the King in the abdomen and leg before any soldiers could get in between. Two rounds managed to hit the King before two of the soldiers had gotten between the King and the shooter, pistols raised and firing. The men were especially trained to take down threats alive, to ensure that they could be properly executed – in this time and age that meant execution by cannon – after they had been thoroughly interrogated by the Kongshirden. Them being a black unit, it meant that they could utilize torture without any fear of the consequences. Anyway, the two men were firing their L104A2 Tactical Assault Pistols, aiming for the shoulders and knees. After a short barrage that saw the gunman’s kneecaps being blown out by the .357SIG rounds the soldiers pistols were loaded with and the shoulders being thoroughly pierced, sending the man down for the count with wounds that were non-lethal but extremely painful.

As the two soldiers were covering the gunman, shouting for him to keep down and still, the other six soldiers were moving the bleeding King out of there, the two that were armed with assault rifles covering the crowd, fingers on the triggers and safeties off. They were extracting the King quickly while shouting out frantic pleas for help and situation reports to the command center that coordinated the security operations. There, the situation was chaotic with many reports coming in, many of them contradicting each other. The leader for the command center, a colonel in the Army decided that they had a national emergency on their hands. Visibly shaking, he picked up the phone to the High Command in Oslo to inform them and recommend the cabinet be assembled.

Back in the streets of Bodø, the soldiers had managed to pull the King back to the motorcade and over to the ambulance, covering the area along with the police officers, all of whom now with their 9mm service pistols or 9mm MP5 submachine guns in their hands, holding back the crowd at gunpoint as the King was being brought into the ambulance, paramedics working frantically to stop the bleedings under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. Within a few minutes, the ambulance started rolling down the street, emergency lights flashing and the siren howling, escorted by a number of police cars and a few of the black Mercedes Benz S 600s the King’s bodyguards drove. Bodø University Hospital was the next stop, where the doctors were just receiving frantic calls from the command center, informing them to seal off the operation ward and expect a wounded VIP arriving.

Back at the scene of the crime, the gunman, still alive but bleeding heavily and in extreme pains had been searched and hand-cuffed before being brought by the two soldiers and the many police officers over to one of the police vehicles and given emergency medical treatment. The man had to be kept alive, and that was all he would be. No pain killers were administered and only basic treatment was given. It was pretty obvious that this man would have a very crappy existence for the rest of his now very short life. Within the hour, he would be brought to the nearest police station and locked up, awaiting air transport to Oslo and a proper holding facility.

No sooner had the hospital received the call before the motorcade came to a shrieking halt outside the doors to the emergency room and a number of heavily armed police officers and suit-clad men stormed in, followed by a pair of paramedics rolling a stretcher with another man on. The paramedics were calling out the vitals to the doctors as they moved quickly down the corridor, the soldiers of Kongshirden making sure none of the curious people in the corridors came close enough. One look at the pale, dead serious men aiming an assault rifle at you was enough to stop them immediately. Within ten minutes, the King was prepared for surgery, sedated and being rolled into the operating hall where the best surgeons of the hospital were waiting along with two soldiers, both dressed in surgical gown but with weapons readily available, intending to protect their King.

No sooner had the King arrived at the hospital before “Breaking News” banners started rolling over news channels throughout the world, starting in Cotland where clearly shocked news anchors professionally delivered the news that the King of Cotland had been shot immediately after giving a speech in the city of Bodø in Northern Norway and that he had been rushed away in an ambulance shortly after the gunshots had been fired, but that they didn’t know much more than that. The perpetrator had been arrested alive after a brief gunfight with the King’s protection detail, they said their sources had told them. They also reported that downtown Bodø was in a state of chaos. In closing the initial delivery of news, the news anchors promised to keep the population apprised of the situation as more updates came in. Throughout Cotland, the news hit home with people stopping everything they were doing, watching the news in shock and despair. Someone had shot their King, the man they looked up to for advice and leadership.

In the Cottish High Command, the news was just reaching them when the news broadcast went on the air. Shocked, the generals and admirals in charge of the country’s military watched the news and the images that started arriving from the streets of Bodø, sent in to the news channel via MMS. The pictures were grainy, but the clip of the shooting itself showed the King visibly hit with blood emerging, his person being covered less than a second later by an armed man who fired his weapon at a person out of view of the camera.

The same images were seen by the cabinet members who were just starting to gather at the Prime Minister’s office in the 29th floor of the government building in downtown Oslo. Prime Minister Rothsky didn’t believe the images he saw, nor did the six other ministers who had already arrived. The Ministers of Defense, Agriculture, Commerce, Justice, Treasury and Transportation were present, and they were all shocked as well. For the duration of the wait, Rothsky was in constant telephonic contact with the command center, which relayed any information they had on the condition of the King.

As the minutes ticked by, more cabinet members arrived before finally, they were all in attendance. PM Rothsky announced that the emergency cabinet meeting was now in effect, and laid out the situation as the command center had presented it. Sighing, he announced that the Realm risked losing its King and that they had to ensure the continuation of the line of succession. As it stood now, that line rested on the new Queen, who was presently in one of the two V-16/A Kongeløve aircraft that made up the Royal Flight, flying back from a visit to Murmansk. It had been redirected to Bodø as soon as the Queen received word of the news, and she was currently rushing to the hospital to be at the side of her husband. Back in Oslo, the Justice Minister spoke up.

“Herr Statsminister, Grunnloven er meget klar på hva som skal skje dersom noe skulle skje med Hans Majestet. Ettersom Kongen ikke har noen etterfølger på dette tidspunkt sier paragraf 33 at regjeringen umiddelbart må sammenkalle Stortinget dersom Hans Majestet skulle, Gud forby, dø. Inntil Stortinget har blitt sammenkalt og fått orden i sakene er det regjeringens oppgave å styre landet i Kongens sted.” [Mister Prime Minister, the Constitution is very clear on what is to happen should something happen with His Majesty. Since the King haven’t got a successor at this point in time, article 33 states that the Cabinet needs to immediately summon the Storting (Parliament) if His Majesty should, God forbid, die. Until the Storting (Parliament) has been convened and sorted out the situation, it is the duty and obligation of the Cabinet to rule the country in the King’s stead.]

“Kongen er ikke død. Ikke enda iallefall.” [The King isn’t dead. Not yet anyway.]

”Alikevel er det regjeringens oppgave å overta styringen dersom Kongen ikke er tilgjengelig. Paragraf 35 og hele Grunnloven er meget klar i dette feltet.” [Still, it is the task of the Cabinet to rule if the King is indisposed. Article 35 and indeed the entirety of the Constitution is very clear in this field.]

Rothsky merely nodded as he called upon the secretary. When she entered, Rothsky asked her to call an emergency meeting in the Storting and to get the Chief Judge of the Supreme Court over there. He also asked her to ask the Air Force to prepare an aircraft for a trip to Bodø. Rothsky needed to go up to Bodø to see how the King was doing.

[OOC: Comments so far?]

The airwaves rocked when news of the assassination attempt on the King of Norway reached the Empire. It was only moments after and Layartebian news channels were drawing in the feed from Cottish sources. The Emperor wasn't in his office when the channels shifted though. His phone rang and rang but he wasn't there to answer it. His secretary did, immediately notifying him. He had been down, in the Grand Dining Room with a few officials from the Empire when he received the news. "Gentlemen. I understand our matters are important but if you'll please excuse me." The Emperor said after the news was whispered into his ear. He stood up, buttoned his suit jacket and followed the aide adn two bodyguards out of the room and up to his office. The television was on mute but he turned it off mute the instant he got into the office, "Alright what do we know?"

"Very little. It's very hush-hush over there but what we do know is that the King was shot. His condition is unknown but he's definitely at the hospital. News reporters are rushing there so we'll get what we can from them. Our agents in the embassy are out at the moment and we're shifting priority to this. We don't know much yet, I must stress that. Though we do know that the Sorting is being called up. They're going into preparations now so everything is going to get real compartmentalized."

"Understandable. What is the potential that this is something that is purely Cottish?"

"Strong. We have no indications that this will happen over here."

"Good. We do have a terrorism campaign though."

"That is true but we have no indications that they are planning your assassination."

"Just because they aren't talking about it over the airwaves doesn't mean it isn't happening. Boost security up. We're going into lockdown mode too." As that happened, a letter was drafted to the Queen and Rothsky that stressed the seriousness of the matter and pledged Layartebian support, regardless of the outcome.

The door to the eight-man room in the basement of the old and venerable but still highly active Akershus fortress that had defended Oslo, the capital of Cotland for the better part of nine hundred years, bursted open to reveal a man dressed in the field camouflage uniform of the Royal Cottish Army, but with some modifications from the standard issue uniform. For instance, the man had a unit patch on the right-hand shoulder, something most Cottish units didn’t have, and he was wearing a black garrison cap instead of the normal beret. The eight men inside were in various states of being dressed, something the man didn’t really care about as he started shouting.

“KTS! Oppstilling utenfor om tre minutter!” [RFB! Formation outside in three minutes!]

The men looked at the man as he exited as quickly as he had arrived, continuing on his path to alert the rest of the men living down here, before they dropped whatever they were doing to get dressed and RFB – Ready for Battle.

Three minutes later, the 178 soldiers of the 3rd Company, His Majesty the King’s Guards were in formation, divided into their respective platoons and standing at parade rest in the courtyard outside the fortress commandant’s building, waiting for further orders. As the NCOs saw the Colonel in command of the elite light infantry battalion they belonged to approach along with the company officers, the senior-most of the NCOs, a Sergeant Major called out a brisk order. An instant later, the company stood in attention, rifles slung over their shoulders and eyes fixed on the Colonel. He saluted to the Sergeant Major who saluted back before reassuming formation.

“Mine herrer, som dere sikkert har fått med dere så har Hans Majestet Kongen blitt skutt under sitt besøk til Bodø. Han har blitt fraktet til Bodø Universitetssykehus hvor han blir operert akkurat nå. Sikkerhetspersonalet som er ansvarlige for Kongens sikkerhet er på plass og gjør forhåpentligvis en litt bedre jobb nå enn de gjorde tidligere i dag, men de anser sikkerhetssituasjonen som farlig. Derfor har de bedt om assistanse. Dere, mine herrer, er den assistansen. To tropper, Alfa og Bravo skal deployere til Bodø og sørge for sikkerhet rundt sykehuset. Charlie og Delta troppene skal deployere til Bodø Flystasjon der de skal tjenestegjøre som en utrykningsstyrke dersom det trengs, mens Ekko troppen skal sørge for logistikkstøtte. Dere er alle godt opplærte og godt trente i urban krigføring. Dere har de nødvendige midler og den nødvendige støtte, og dere har en viktig oppgave foran dere. Dere skal sørge for at intet mer skjer mot Kongen eller mot Dronningen, som er på vei til sykehuset. Mine herrer, dere holdes personlig ansvarlige for sikkerheten til Kongeparet. Beskytt dem med alle midler. God jakt. TRE AV!”

[Gentlemen, as I’m sure you’re aware, His Majesty the King has been shot during his visit to Bodø. He has been transported to Bodø University Hospital where he is currently in surgery. The security personnel responsible for the King’s security are in place and hopefully doing a better job than they did earlier today, but they consider the security situation to be dangerous. Therefore, they’ve requested assistance. You, gentlemen, are that assistance. Two platoons, Alpha and Bravo are deploying to Bodø and are to provide security around the hospital. Charlie and Delta-platoons are to deploy to Bodø Airbase where they will serve as a rapid reaction force in case it’s required, while Echo-platoon will ensure logistical support. You are all well educated and well trained in urban combat. You have the necessary means and support, and you have an important task ahead. You are to ensure that nothing further occurs to the King or the Queen, who is on her way to the hospital. Gentlemen, you are held personally responsible for the safety of the Royal Couple. Protect them using any and all means necessary. Good hunting. DISMISSED!]

The soldiers all stood a tad straighter than they already did when the order to be dismissed came. They were going out on a live mission, one of utmost importance. However, they didn’t have much time to think about it. Not yet anyway, because the moment the Colonel dismissed them, the platoon officers and NCOs started shouting out orders. A and B platoons were to go first, being transported by helicopter to Rygge Airbase where a C-12/J Super Hercules from the 102. Logistics Squadron was being prepared to transport the two platoons to Bodø. Another two Super Hercules’ would follow within the hour, transporting the rest of the soldiers to the northern city.

Within ten minutes, the H-21/A Super Stallion IIs, Layartebian-made heavy transport helicopters capable of seating up to fifty-five combat-equipped soldiers landed on the helipad near the northern walls, picking up soldiers and transporting them quickly to Rygge where the Super Hercules was waiting, its four turboprop engines warming up, ready to go. With the capability of carrying up to 128 combat troops, the 72 guardsmen had ample room, although there were several pallets of supplies also packed onto the plane. One quick glance at it and the men knew what they were. The writing (AMMUNISJON, 12.7X99MM; AMMUNISJON, 6.8X48MM; MITRALJØSE, L112A1, 12.7X99MM; and HANDGRANAT, MK.I [AMMUNITION, 12.7X99MM; AMMUNITION, 6.8X48MM; MACHINE GUN, L112A1, 12.7X99MM and HAND GREANDE, MK.I]) kinda gave it away.

An hour’s transport later, the Super Hercules landed gently on the asphalt runway of Bodø Airbase, taxiing quickly over to the tarmac where M100A15 Medium Tactical Trucks waited to transport the troops and the equipment to the hospital. A quick unloading session and a very fast drive through town later, the trucks slowed down to roll past the crowd outside the hospital, standing behind the barricades the police had established and were enforcing. The soldiers could understand why the security officers thought it was a dangerous situation. The hundreds of people outside were anxious to know how their King was doing, and they had shown up in a display of moral support. However, the soldiers saw only the security risk the crowd posed. One terrorist inside the crowd, and the situation would be very dangerous.

As the trucks stopped outside the hospital entrance, the troops poured out and assembled into their squad-sized units. Twelve-man squads were quickly given responsibility of sectors, and a fireteam started establishing the defensive perimeter outside the entrance, setting up the four heavy machine guns they had brought on the back of the trucks, which were positioned so that the men had a good firing arc, overlapping the sectors. Marksman teams were also positioned on the roof of the 11-story hospital building. However, in an attempt to not appear to be too hostile, the soldiers wore their garrison caps, although the helmets were hanging on their sides, ready to be put on at seconds notice, and didn’t aim their weapons at the crowd. They simply stood behind the barricade fences the police had established, supplementing the police. The sight of soldiers guarding the hospital obviously had an effect on the people, who started falling a bit back and calming themselves down. The soldiers were in constant communications with each other and with command over the encrypted battle communications network each Cottish soldier was connected in to.

Meanwhile the Captain in command of A platoon entered the hospital along with a radioman and two riflemen, all of them armed with L100A1 assault rifles, meeting up with the leader of the men from Kongshirden, who maintained the innermost perimeter, not letting anyone but the doctors and nurses that needed to be in there past. The Captain saluted the leader, who saluted back – a strange sight since the team leader was still dressed in the civilian suit which still had some of the King’s blood on it from the transportation, but the Guards and Kongshirden were both responsible for the protection of the Royal family, with the Guards forming the outer perimeter and the Kongshirden making up the inner, and therefore were well aware of each other’s existence.

“Du ringte?” [You called?]

”Det gjorde jeg. Håper du tok med noen venner.” [I did. I hope you brought some friends.]

”Det gjorde jeg. Syttito i første omgang, med hundre og seks andre som venter på flystasjonen. Vi har opprettet en perimeter utenfor, med skarpskyttere på taket og fire tunge venner med to tusen skudd hver klare til bruk.” [I did. Seventy-two to start with, with another one hundred six waiting at the airbase. We’ve established a perimeter outside, with snipers on the roof and four heavy friends with two thousand rounds each ready for use.]

”Jøss. Det burde stoppe enhver som vil inn uten invitasjon. Jeg har seksten mann, meg selv inkludert, her inne med rifler og pistoler nå som Dronningen har kommet. I tillegg er det cirka tretti væpna politifolk mellom oss og dere. Jeg tror vi skal sikre Kongeparet fram til forsterkningene ankommer.” [Wow. That should stop anyone who want to stop by without an invitation. I’ve got sixteen men, myself included in here with assault rifles and pistols now that the Queen’s arrived. In addition, there’s approximately thirty armed cops between us and you guys. I think we’ll be able to ensure the Royal Couple’s security until reinforcements arrive.]

”Det høres bra ut. Hvordan har han det?” [Sounds good. How is he?]

”I live. Legen sa at kula hadde sneiet milten og leveren og at han har mistet en del blod, men han har godt håp om at han skal klare seg bra.” [Alive. The doctor said that the bullet graced the spleen and the liver and that he’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s confident that he’ll make a full recovery.]

”Det er godt å høre. Jeg forstår det slik at dere tok jævelen som gjorde det i live? Hvor er han?” [That’s good news. I understand that you took the fucker that did this alive? Where is he?]

”Bodø Hovedpolitistasjon. Han holdes i isolasjon av politiet. De vil ikke at noe mer skal skje ham før vi skal avhøre ham i morgen.”

”Jeg forstår. Skulle gjerne hatt fem minutter alene med’n. Jaja. Jeg må komme med tilbake til mennene mine. Rop meg opp på nettet hvis du trenger noe. Kallenavn HUSSAR BLÅ 6.” [I understand. I’d love five minutes alone with him though. Well well. I’ve got to get back to my men. Call me over the network if you need anything. Callsign HUSSAR BLUE 6.]

The men nodded to each other before they returned to their respective positions. The Captain in the command center he had established in the lobby which was empty save for police officers and soldiers – the hospital had been closed for any other patients, who had to go to the Central Hospital instead – and the team leader returned to his position outside the surgical hall in which the King was being operated in. It was now three hours after the King had been shot, and the chaos was starting to diminish. More information was becoming available for the people who made the decisions, and the people were starting to understand what had happened.

At three hours fifty minutes after the gunshots, an official announcement was finally made from the Office of the Prime Minister.

[b]Official Statement

After his speech in the town plaza in the city of Bodø, His Majesty the King was shot and hit by four gunshots at 1250 hours local time. He was immediately brought to Bodø University Hospital where he is currently undergoing surgery. The extent of His Majesty’s injuries is as of yet still unknown, but the doctors are optimistic, and believe His Majesty will make a full recovery. The Cabinet wishes to emphasise that His Majesty is not mortally wounded, although his injuries are severe.

His Majesty’s attacker was immediately neutralized by the King’s security detachment and brought into custody. He is currently being held in a secret facility pending transportation to a more secure facility where he will be interrogated to find the reason for this most despicable act of terrorism. The Cabinet wishes to commend the security detachment, as their actions with absolute certainty ensured that His Majesty’s life was spared.

The Cabinet also wishes to offer our warmest and most positive thoughts to Her Majesty the Queen in this difficult time. This is a time when the people must stand united against this kind of belligerent terrorism and attacks upon our national symbols of unity. The Cabinet believes that the entirety of the Cottish people is behind us when we wish His Majesty a good and speedy recovery.

In accordance with the provisions made in the Constitution, the Cabinet has summoned the Storting for an emergency session to discuss the effects of the King's injuries. Until the recovery and return of the King, the Cabinet will maintain the administration of the Realm as dictated to in article 34 and 35 of the Constitution.

God save the King, and God save our beloved Fatherland!

[signed]
Thomas Rothsky, Prime Minister
The Cabinet of the Realm of Cotland

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Seven (48 Hours After Events in Part Six)

Bor, Capital of Jumqali County, Southern Sudan, Africa

Captain James Gumbezi took a last puff of his cigarette and stubbed it out in the outside trashcan. He turned and looked in the wing mirror of a nearby ambulance to check his appearance. He straightened his tie and checked himself for stains. He’d been wearing the same suit and clothes for over two days. His face looked strained, only finding three hours of sleep in over 48 wasn’t healthy, but nobody could rest.

Saying that ‘the shit had hit the fan’ was a major fucking understatement. Gumbezi had been idly writing his usual reports a few days ago when the call from the kid had come through. A helicopter ride later things were as clear as mud. They picked up what were two bloodied bodies and nothing more. The girl, Izzie was her name, died within an hour of reaching the County General Hospital. The doctors were horrified at her wounds, the press and public moreso once they were told she’d been sodomized and raped, not only by humans but also by objects that had ruptured several organs. How she had stayed alive so long they didn’t know.

The guy, Billy, collapsed at the scene and at the hospital was put into a medically induced coma and rushed to surgery. Ten hours later he was out and a few hours after that he came around, but was so injured he could barely speak. Once he did get the story out Gumbezi acted decisively, sending in a helicopter full of SWAT to sweep the area. They found the clearing all right, and identified the drug plants, but they were ambushed as the helicopter set them down, three of them being killed and the helicopter nearly crashing on its way back, full of holes. That had blown things wide open. Sudan State police then became involved as procedure, but Gumbezi still had some modicum of control as they said they wouldn’t be doing anything, it was too volatile for a state to handle alone.

So within 48 hours the DEA were on their way. Gumbezi had been at the hospital when they arrived at the County Police HQ in the city, but they were sending their Operations Officer by helicopter to the hospital. That had landed a few minutes ago.
Gumbezi was on his way up to the private ward were Billy was being looked after, were they would meet.

Thomas Marundo was in his late forties but looked fit and every bit the federal agent, with the black suit, black tie, ear piece and badge carrier hung around his neck. He greeted Gumbezi warmly in the ante-room of the ward. ”Captain, it was good you were here. Better to get started quickly than to linger too long in the city.” Gumbezi nodded and led him into the main ward room. There were no other patients in the room, just Billy in the centre, hooked up to a lot of blinking, whirring and beeping machines, with wires coming out of the back of his hands and from his nose. One leg was elevated as was on arm, and he had bandages and casts around his mid-section. A nurse sat in the room with him, gingerly stepping outside when Gumbezi and Marundo entered.

Billy was awake, blinking and breathing heavily. His wounds, while on their own not life threatening, had together nearly killed him. He had broken several ribs, suffered a ruptured spleen, cracked facial bones, broken nose, gunshot wound to the upper arm, gunshot wound to the lower leg that had nearly shattered his entire shin and he had a substantial muzzle burn on his side. Gumbezi had been with him the previous night when he told him Izzie didn’t make it. He didn’t take it well, blamed himself and asked God repeatedly why he had taken her and not him. The medics had to sedate him. He still seemed glassy eyed, perhaps they were still sedating him.

Marundo moved toward him first, “Billy, I’m Agent Marundo, DEA. I assure you I will avenge the deaths of your friends. We will not rest until those who are responsible for the deaths in the past few days are brought to justice. But before I begin my operations, I need some information from you.” Billy said nothing, didn’t move and didn’t even look at Marundo. Gumbezi just nodded at Marundo to continue.

“Billy, is there any way you could describe the people your encountered?”

He didn’t seem to react for a second, Marundo was ready to ask again when he spoke, his voice weak and light, but full of sorrow and hate all in one, “They wore balaclava’s, couldn’t see their faces. But they spoke a different language, tribal…horrible.” Marundo nodded, he was thinking about something. He continued with another question, “Did you see their camp? Where they lived? What sort of weapons did they have?” Billy told him what he knew, describing what he’d seen while escaping.

With his testimony and that of the SWAT team that had been ambushed the DEA had more than enough to begin operations, but Marundo had a good idea what they were actually up against. He confided in Gumbezi over a coffee in the Hospitals cafeteria. “A couple of months ago we picked up this young guy in this small suburb town outside Kampala. He was heavy with drugs, pure heroin and marijuana, had bags of the stuff in a brand new SUV. He had tried selling around KU and a few other Universities in Uganda, and with student witnesses we caught up with this guy, followed him and stung him in this town. So we bring him in, and he does nothing but hurl this abuse at us in some fucked up language. We later find out it’s this weird tribal tongue from some Sudanese jungle tribe everyone thought was long gone. This guy doesn’t talk, I don’t think he understood a great deal of English, he was like an alien with a bad disguise. State executed him a few weeks later, we thought nothing more. Then this happens. Too much of a coincidence.”

Gumbezi nodded and agreed, “This seems strange though. I mean the place those kids were hiking through was supposed to be where the new Jumqali National Park will be, but the damn planners haven’t looked at all the acreage yet, and they missed that clearing with all those buildings. My own people found out that the buildings were from some ill-fated Hotel/Spa retreat venture that went belly-up long ago, place was never finished. So these fuckers moved in with their drugs. Now seven people are dead, including three of my SWAT team. You guys be careful about this. Any more bloodshed and the friggin’ Army will have to get involved.” Both men laughed nervously, but they both knew if things went sour that could really happen.

Law and Order was paramount in the Commonwealth, a bunch of crazed tribal nutcases running amok with guns and drugs in a jungle was completely unacceptable. Seven murders even moreso. People in the Commonwealth didn’t stand for crime, there was little if any crime in some places, thanks to the long-standing policies of the Government. So a veritable narco-insurrection would have to be snuffed out fast, or people would get angry, and the last thing anyone needed was a mob of armed civilians descending into the jungle to try and hunt down the narco's. That would not be good for anyone.

The next morning broke, and throughout the Realm, people were waking up, brewing their morning coffee and turning on the TVs or radios or powering up their computers to go online to catch the morning news, most of them anxious to learn the latest news of the King’s situation.

There was little news until a press conference at 8 AM when the soldiers that had guarded the hospital since the early afternoon the previous day allowed a small group of journalists past the barriers and into the hospital lobby where the doctors that had operated on the King – the hospitals chief of surgery, two professors from the University and the King’s personal physician – gave the press conference. It was short, but concise, informing the public that the King had been operated and that the operation had been a success. There had been some no serious damages to the internal organs, and the doctors anticipated a full recovery. However, the King was out of commission for at least a month and they asked the press politely not to induce any stress on His Majesty during that time. Not that they would get close enough to. With the security of the King being kicked up quite a few notches now, they’d be lucky to get within a kilometre of him.

While the press conference was going on, a motorcade passed the gates of the military airbase in Bodø and drove directly over to a waiting V-17/A Gulfstream. A team of eight black-clad men packing assault rifles and submachine guns in their hands and pistols strapped to their hips pulled a blinded, chained man out from the Ford E150 and into the aircraft quickly. Five minutes later, the aircraft was in the air and heading south, towards Oslo.

Two hours later, the hood was taken off the man’s head and he looked around, wincing in pain. They hadn’t given him any painkillers, and the gunshot wounds were really hurting now. It appeared that he was in a stone cell of some sort, completely dark apart from the light that was trained directly into his eyes. The questions started immediately, coming in rapid succession, giving the man no chance to answer.

”Hvem beordret deg til å skyte Kongen?” [Who told you to shoot the King?]

”Hvorfor gjorde du det?” [Why did you do it?]

”Hvem er oppdragsgiveren din?” [Who is your employer?]

”Jeg... Jeg….” [I… I…]

”Du hva? Du skjøt Kongen! Hvorfor?!” [You what? You shot the King! Why?!]

The questions continued all through the morning, with a lot of questions, a lot of threats, a lot of shouting and quite a bit of roughing up. They weren’t going to give the man a lawyer for a long time yet. According to Cottish law, he could be held for up to forty-eight hours without a lawyer from when he was formally charged with a crime, and they hadn’t done that just yet.

”HVEM! BA! DEG! OM! Å! SKYTE! KONGEN!?” [WHO! TOLD! YOU! TO! SHOOT! THE! KING!?] The interrogator, a member of Lag G, one of the teams that made up Riksgarden which was one of the units in Kongshirden shouted, standing no more than twenty centimetres from the mans left shoulder. The man was securely chained to the metal chair, which again was firmly bolted to the stone floor of the cell, so he couldn’t get away. When the man didn’t answer, the interrogator grabbed hold of the mans shoulder and squeezed of all his might, making the man scream out in agony. He was pressing down on the gunshot wound in the man’s shoulder, and he was causing permanent damage to the nerves there. Not that it mattered though. They had more than enough evidences to get the man convicted for attempting to assassin the King, an offence that in Cotland was to be punished by execution by cannon (one is strapped in front of the barrel of a loaded cannon, and is thus blown into a thousand bits when the cannon is fired).

”Greit! Greit! Jeg skal snakke! Bare slipp meg!” [Okay, okay! I’ll talk! Just let go of me!] The man eventually screamed out in between the shreeks of pain. What he told the interrogators sent a cold shiver down their spines.

The man had been hired by the Lappish Mafia to assassinate the King because the Cottish government was interfering with their drug trafficking that was the source of their income. Recently, they had started importing Valkyr and selling it to the people in the north, but the recent massive busts had been devastating to the Lappish Mafia. Therefore, they were thinking smartly and going after the serpents head. Unfortunately for them, the plan had been unsuccessful and the Cottish government was now aware of what was happening.

The Cottish Government had to start planning a counteroffensive. However, first they had a traitor to execute…

Sparetti had returned to his normal routine by the next day. It was a troubling night that he had visioned recently - his thoughts devoted to Emilia, who now hated him for being Mafioso. He wondered in his mind if Giovanni knew it as well, or if he was the one who told Emilia in the first place. But no, it couldn't be that - Giovanni was like a father to him; he never have told Emilia, and besides that, she had seen him in Rome. The evidence was overwhelmingly against him, and yet he still wondered how she could have learned of his connections. In the end, he decided that that didn't matter, and that what really mattered was that he still loved her. She was his only real pleasure and treasure - the drug trade was a secondary business that helped sustain his existence as a profitable vineyard owner. It was curious nonetheless, that no Roman authority had ever questioned his seemingly vast reservoir of money, but the truth was that he had always declared them as "family" [an accurate depiction] and he paid the proper taxes for his income. If the Romans decided to investigate, they would be cutting out the large majority of Sparetti's tax money, and he was well-respected in the Dominion - despite the scandals involving Caesarini's business and the late Senator Mencius.

But his business was already starting to bloom again, when he received a phone call sometime in the morning. It was Maggiano.

"I heard from some fishermen that you missed a great catch a couple days ago."

= "Si. It was... a great catch. I had it too, but when it realized what was going on, it let go. And I had to contend to let it be free. I'd spend too much... time... chasing..."

"Relax, I'm not here to critique your skills. I'm just sorry to say that it didn't work out. I'd suggest having a stronger pole, but I don't think that that's what lost you your fish in the first place."

= "Don't criticize my sex life, Don Maggiano!"

"Calm down, Sparetti. I'm here to offer you an opportunity to retire for a while and have your own private yacht for a number days, and I can invite some good friends of yours to come. I won't be on board at all, so you can catch as many fish as possible. Maybe you'll have luck with your lost one too."

= "I've got business to work on, Don Maggiano. I can't spend time flirting."

"I'm serious. I've talked with Luciano - the one from Umbria. He told me that he's willing to join the family, and I've given him some instructions on what to do. He can take your routine on your routes for the while. And I'm sure that he'll be an ample substitute for your vineyard business. I'd strongly suggest that you take my offer at making this business work out, as well as you know, family comes first, and you've done more than enough to be a welcome addition to the family. And as well, you know you cannot refuse me, so let us make this easy for the both of us."

= "Don Maggiano... I don't think that Emilia would want to be with me. She hates me."

"No, she doesn't hate you. She hates what you do, and as long as you still love her, there is nothing wrong with that."

= "But what I do is a part of what I am; you can't change that."

"Perhaps," Maggiano said, pondering over the phone. "But let's think about this. You are a vineyard owner, who sells wine. Would you be any different if you were a cheese maker?"

= "You know exactly what I mean..."

"Think about it for a moment - you sell wine or you sell cheese. Are you any different? If you are, then I think that you need some time to decide to yourself about what you really are, because if by changing your own occupation you can change your identity, you've not quite truly understood yourself, and when it happens to pass when Signora Morelli asks you what you are, you won't have an answer for her. And it is that that will lose you your true love, not your own connections or occupation. Wine is a profitable business; it sells more than cheese, but it's a hard job. Some people don't agree with it either; but as long as those people can still like you, there must still something worth in you that makes you not as attached to your chosen occupation, a universal constant of what makes you yourself. Capisce?"

= "Si."

Maggiano fixed himself in his chair and pulled out some paper. "So what do you say? Three days out from Napoli? Five days? A week?"

= "I'll have to think about it a while."

"Well think quickly, because you have ten seconds to tell me how long before I decide for you."

= "Well..."

"Brilliante! Seven days it is. I'll have Luciano relieve you as soon as possible, and a trustworthy person will lead you to Napoli. There you will voyage with Signora Morelli to your favorite fishing ground and hopefully catch something worthwhile."

= "Grazie..."

"Don't mention it. It's my pleasure to make family happy."

Voronej, Evenkia Okrug

The Boss: "Ты разобрался с Кирилом?"
[Did you take care of Kiril?]

Valera: "Да, разобрался, всё чисто и быстро всем нам так бы умереть..."
[Yes, I took care of him, everything was clean and quick I wish all of us would be able to die this way...]

The Boss: "Философ блядь, а семья?"
[You're a fucking philosopher, what about his family?]

Valera: "Как ты сказал, не тронули, смотрим за его дядей штоб тот в минтуру не пошёл."
[Just like you said, we didn't touch them, looking after his uncle making sure he wouldn't go to he coppers.]

The Boss:"Кирюху жаль, хороший был мужик....ну чё давай его поняним наполняй рюмку."
[Too bad about Kiril, he was a good man....lets remember him, pour another shot]

A second later both shot glasses were full, they rose into the air and without clinking the two men behind a table in a lavish euro styled office poured the contents down their throats. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that one of the men was the one they called the Boss. He was in his mid-30s, fit of average build an expensive grey suit on his shoulders and a black tie around his neck. The man who he was talking to were almost the same exact clothes except that his giant size and a permanent grizzly facial expression made the two men extremely different. The Boss looked at his subordinate.

The Boss:"Жаль что Кирил так вляпался, мы же с ним с первого класса друзья были, в армию вместе пошли, бизнесс вместе начинали..."
[Pity that Kiril got into this mess, me and him were friends from the first grade, went to the army together, started the business together...]

Valera: "Да мужики его уважали, но если б его мы не убрали, убрали б мусора а потом и нас всех за одно, свиньи знают как человека сломать так чтоб он всё расказал и во всём признался."
[Yes, the guys respected him, but if we didn't take him out, the garbage would and then all of us as well, the pigs know how to break a man so he would tell everything and admit to everything.]

The Boss took a deep breath.

The Boss: "Ладно теперь про другие дела, как сделка с этими фрайерами из Лайартеба?"
[Alright now other things, how is the deal with those fraiers ("fraier" in Russian criminal slang is a derogatory term for someone posing as wise guy while in reality not being one) from Layarteb?]

Valera: "Я сними ещё не говорил но знающие люди сказали что Лайартебцы люди серьёзные, они должны через двадцать минут приехать чтобы лело обсудить."
[I didn't talk to them yet but people who know said that Layatrebians are serious. They should be here in 20 minutes to discuss business.]

The Boss: "Хмм, по чему раньше несказал?"
[Why didn't you say earlier?]

Valera: "Ты меня не спросил."
[You didn't ask me.]

The Boss took a deep breath.

The Boss: "Эх, ладно, иди, я их буду ждать"
[Eh, whatever, go, I will be waiting for them.]

Valera left the room.

OOC: Do you want me to RP the Layartebian guys? They don't speak Russian though. Is that a problem?

OOC: Yeah, if you want to.

EDIT

No thats not a problem, the Boss speaks English.

The War on Drugs hurt the Layartebian cartels hard. The Esmeralda Cartel had been exterminated first followed by the Meta Cartel. Only the Florida Cartel survived and only be a thread. They were joined by other, smaller cartels throughout the Mexican territories and territories in Central America but none had the sway and the influence that the Florida Cartel had. The power vacuums created after both the Esmeralda and Meta Cartels were destroyed created dozens upon dozens of smaller cartels, all of which were just as brutal and violent as the others. The worst was the Florida Cartel though. Based in Cuba, they sold Valkyr, the most addictive drug to hit the market. It was a designer drug that had the appeal of Ecstasy and the addictive properties of heroin. It was selling on the streets for §10 a hit and they were spending less than §1 per hit to make them, especially in quantity. Now, they were going to the Russian Federation for two purposes. The Florida Cartel members wanted to bring the new drug to Russia and they wanted to bring back as much heroin as they could.

They waited for someone to take their audience now and they had a problem, they spoke no Russian. They spoke Spanish and English only with some hints of French, not enough to hold a conversation. They hoped that whomever they were meeting with spoke English or Spanish but, instead, they waited. Jose Pablo, the man in charge, stood next to his associate, Juan Cortez. Both of them were dressed in Cuban suits and neither of them removed the toothpick from the side of their mouths. "We're here to see the Boss. We're from Cuba." Jose said with his accented English.

Valera greeted them at the door.

"Oh yes, Mr. Pablo, Mr. Cortez, he is waiting for you. Please follow me."

Valera lead them up the stairs and into the Boss's office which was a very large room walls laid out with dark polished oak a large dark colored rug covering all of the floor the ceiling made to look like white marble. The Boss's desk was up against the window, two delicate dark oak chairs infront of it. The Boss looked up at his guests.

"Please gentlemen sit down, I am anxious to hear your proposal."

He spoke slowly making his accent barely noticeable.

"We're glad to meet with you. We have a proposal that we think you'll find most enjoyable. We have a product that sells like water. We call it 'Valkyr' and I am sure that you've heard of it. We're able to sell it for 10 shingrots a hit and we spend 4 making it. We're happy with that profit but we're not very happy with the limited avenues for its disposal. We want to bring it to Russia and we want to bring it to Russia through you. We can guarantee millions of hits to be immediately available and we can guarantee the product. It kills few but addicts all. It's the perfect designer drug and it will make ecstasy obsolete. It already has in the Empire. We want to do the same in Russia. Consider this more of a trade. We'll bring 'Valkyr' to you but we want to bring back heroin. We already have it but we want more." Jose said as he nodded to his associate who pulled out a small book.

"We've prepared this for you. It contains as much information on 'Valkyr' as we can provide." Juan placed the book on the desk and both of them waited the response.

The Boss took a second to quickly flip through the pages of the book then looked up at his guests.

"Yes I have heard of this drug before, I must admit I am very intrigued by your proposal. A few things have to be worked out however. How do you intend to bring it into the country? And how do you intend to take our heroin out? We have people on pay roll that may help you with getting through the border but we do not have a ship that can make trips to Layarteb and back on a constant basis and without notice, as you know our two governments are non too friendly and a Layarteb marked ship traveling to one of our ports will be a problem even for our most loyal friends in the border patrol I am sure the same is true for a Russian ship trying to get into a Layartebian port. Do you have a plan? I would like to hear it."

"Sadly there's no easy way to move the merchandise between our two nations. There are no active policies between them, whatsoever. We will have to go through some sort of intermediary. The problem being is that every state with a free trade agreement to the Empire is a strong ally. We can't go through any TOA nations or the UER, though they're probably our best chance. We can't go through Japan, nearly all of their shipments are checked. Perhaps through Rome and even we can entertain the possibility of the UER. We know that more than 50% of cargo shipments from the UER are checked but less than 25% for Rome. Do you have any intermediaries with Rome?" Juan continued.

"Sadly not yet since we were forced to remain dormant under the Dictatorial government until the recent democracy took over. However everyone likes money and we could find contacts in Rome if we put enough effort into it, that will have to wait however. As a serious man you know that rushing into things most often then not leads to catastrophe, we have quite a few contacts in UER that we use for our other activities, some of them might be interested in this venture . I say for the first shipment UER is our best bet, I would like to get a minor shipment at first in order to test the market consumer response before ordering large amounts. Say 500 hits would do for the first shipment. Will you be able to work with our contacts in UER?"

OOC: I'm off for the night.

"It will be easy to work with our contacts in the UER," Jose began but was interrupted fast by Juan.

"Unfortunately though the UER is as keen to the drug situation as our government is so it will not be as easy as we hope. Still, 500 hits is a small amount, very small amount. We can transport it through a few methods. We can make it look like aspirin or gum. We can hide it in teddy bears. We even have a plan to sculpt a 'porcelain' like figure out of the substance. Once in your possession, it could be cut down and formed into 500 hits. We could transport a few of them. It won't be very many pieces for 500 hits."

"That will work indeed." Jose continued. "However because it is a small order we will have to raise the price slightly. We were hoping to sell them on your streets for the equivalent of §16 with §6 going to us and §6 going to you, above the cost. We'll split the shipping costs equally considering that we're both taking equal risk here. It can definitely be done and we can even deliver it through individuals carrying them rather than something more obvious."

"These terms are acceptable to us. I believe gentlemen we have a deal. We still have a lot of work to do but this is a first step towards what could be a very profitable friendship. Do not think I am a superstitious man but I would like to drink for the success of our plan. Here."

Valera knocked once on the door and a very good looking secretary came in with 3 shots full of vodka on a platter. She put the she shots on the table, smiled at the Boss and his guests and left the room. The Boss rose his shot glass.

"To democracy and a new friendship."

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Eight

Jumqali County, Southern Sudan, Africa

The problems kept mounting. It was far from a simple operation to being with, but the loss of an Army National Guard recon cipher and aerial/satellite imagery that showed little of real value only meant the operation was further complicated. From thermal imaging it appeared there was a vast underground network of corridors and rooms, most likely maintenance and staff areas left over from the Spa resort. Thermal imaging also managed to capture around seventy people moving about, but there were probably more.

Two police helicopters had also managed to get video of a gathering one afternoon but the crowd had opened fire on both helicopters, cutting the video short. Research into the area by the county and state police had also come across the file of a missing couple who had disappeared in the area some time ago. Reports of heavy drug trading in northern Uganda and around Jumqali also pointed straight toward the area and the drug crops.

Captain Gambezi and Agent Marundo had been working together for the past two days, helping to co-ordinate both their personnel. Two TNT’s (Tactical Narcotics Team) had been brought in and were working and training with Police SWAT from Jumqali and surrounding counties. They trained at a mock-up of the complex away from prying eyes. Six helicopters would insert them, accompanied by a Police Chinook that would be for prisoner extraction or emergency ground extraction.

It had been debated whether or not the operation would go down at night or during the day, and the day was eventually decided on. The local, state and federal authorities all wanted at least some of the narco-terrorists alive to stand trial, and a daylight operation promised the best chance of this.

The media, camped out all over Telescope Green, local, national and foreign, had all broken their own stories and vied for exclusives. The police and DEA were working overtime to keep them informed. The press itself had exposed the tribe to which the narco-terrorists supposedly belonged. It turned out that the tribe was truly historic, in that many centuries ago they had feuded with the Hirgizstanians over certain lands and had been supposedly wiped out. Now it seemed some had survived, raised with defeat and marginalization ever since, their hatred pouring over into the drug trade that would hurt the Hirgizstanian nation from within. But it seemed they would be utterly destroyed once more.

It was apparent their drugs trade had thrived and had become the sole supplier in the area. The War on Drugs had been a great success in the COH, and indeed in other parts of the world, but several areas still had problems, the most baffling had been Uganda and a swathe of southern Sudan. It was simply a mystery where the flow of drugs was coming from. Although now the mystery had been solved, the press simply ate it up.

So the whole conflagration had come down to a stand-off like confrontation.

A few miles away from Telescope Green lay huge meat and poultry farms that had been built on land carved from the jungle. The DEA and Police had set up their SWAT and TNT teams for training in the grassy fields and they had not let up for nearly two days, training in their mock up of the Spa resort, with the helicopters dropping them and them clearing the area. It was a strange setting, the camouflaged clad heavily armed men running about fields shooting weapons into pre-fab huts, cows watching nonchalantly while chewing grass and sheep running all over the place whenever a flashbang went off. It was strange alright, but at least it was away from prying eyes.

By the close of the second day the forty men knew their stuff. They were as ready as they could be and itching for the off. At dawn on the third day the helicopters and lone Chinook took off from the farmland, laden with the SWAT and TNT men. The six black-hawks and lone Chinook flew in over Telescope Green, buzzing the operations base and the press who weren’t awake yet. Once over the Green the choppers and Chinook got as low as they dared and raced toward the Initial Point.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Nine

Jumqali County, Southern Sudan, Africa

(Abandoned Spa Resort/Narco-Terrorist Base Layout:
http://i25.photobucket.com/albums/c88/Karl187/SOTJLayoutMap.jpg)

“Avenger 1-1, we have reached our IP, moving to insert, over” Back at the meat farm in a large black truck with ‘SWAT’ written in white letters on the side, the radio message echoed around inside. Techies wearing DEA or POLICE windproof jackets sat at computers wearing radio headsets and listening to reports.

Usually the SWAT teams and TNT’s wouldn’t have gone in without first letting a sniper/spotter team get into position, but at this point it was too dangerous and the narco-terrorists knew the jungle much better than snipers used to shooting from rooftops or from inside concrete buildings. They weren't soldiers.

The operation overall would consist of three separate insertion points and two extraction points, with an emergency extraction point if things went sour. Avenger 1-1 and 1-2 would insert in the drug plant plots, covering until the Chinook had landed. Then they’d move up the main trail to the area where Billy said he and his friends had been held prisoner. Avenger 1-3 and 1-4 would insert on the roof of the main Spa building while Avenger 1-5 and 1-6 would insert in a small clearing near the spa’s chalets.

The IP was just past Telescope Green and from there the six helicopters, trailed by the loud and ungainly Chinook split from their formation to head to the separate insertion points. An Army National Guard recon cypher, this time at altitude, showed no activity anywhere at all. A few dogs and chickens poked about in the early morning and a couple of narco-terrorists dozed around a dead camp-fire.

The noise of the helicopters would surely wake them up, but hopefully by then it would be too late. Avenger 1-3 and 1-4 would be the first of the aircraft to insert their teams and back at the meat farm the pilots chimed across the radio net, “Avenger 1-3 and 1-4 moving to insert, time to insertion two minutes. Wait out, over.” The two Blackhawk’s swooped in from the tree-line, flaring to land on the expansive roof of the big Spa resort’s main building. It was supposed to made of some nice white brick, but it was seriously dilapidated, with wooden boards on many of the windows and grime covering the outside walls.

The roof was a stone-covered affair with dirty, rusted A/C vents and a large housed roof access door at one edge. The roof was long and wide, enough to get two helo’s down easy. Both came down slowly, the SWAT and TNT men leaning from the doorways, guns at the ready, searching for targets. 1-3 set down first, close to the roof access door. No sooner had its wheels touched the grey gravel than the access door flung open to reveal a huge tripod mounted .50cal machine gun sitting there, gunner at the ready, with a loader at the side. The pilot’s saw first and went to shout, but were cut short by the loud bark of the huge weapon, a tongue of flame licking out from the barrel.
The bullets blasted into the cockpit and the gunner 'walked' the gun down toward the cargo bay so quickly that the SWAT/TNT team members didn’t have time to react, they were cut to pieces inside the, some falling out leaking blood from wounds the size of footballs.

Avenger 1-4 heard and saw the carnage a few feet below and the pilot shouted into his mic to let control know what was happening “AVENGER 1-3 IS DOWN, REPEAT AVENGER 1-3 IS DOWN. Hostile file, aborting insertion, aborting insertion…oh shit.” The other Blackhawk pulled up off the roof as the big .50cal went silent. 1-4 slipped off the edge of the building and nobody saw the two men burst out of the ground floor, one holding a Stinger over his shoulder. Nobody saw him aim and fire the shot, it streaked away from the launcher and caught 1-4 on the underbelly as it climbed above the roof. The missile made a terrible 'crunching' noise as it connected with the underside of the Blackhawk before an explosion simply engulfed the black machine, shearing the rotors off and sending the burning hulk nose down into the jungle, exploding and disintegrating as it hit the trees on its way toward the ground.

Avenger 1-5 and 1-6 saw 1-4’s fireball disappear below the treeline and as they approached the chalets they could see 1-3 sitting on the roof, rotors slowing down, smoke billowing from the inside. 1-5 and 1-6 were speeding up, the operation had been aborted, but they had been flaring for rope insertions at the time and were only trying now to point their noses down and speed up. As they were moving heavy gunfire erupted from a high floor of the main Spa building, an M60 blasted away at the two helicopters as they moved, rounds clanging off the metal, the pilots desperately trying to get their speed up and the SWAT/TNT guys swearing and trying to return fire.

But the M60 was only for mis-direction. The same Stinger team that had downed 1-4 had re-loaded and had locked up 1-5. The operator fired, the missile erupting from its tube and igniting its booster, before shooting up at a long angle and smashing straight into the nose of 1-5 sending it backward in a fireball, its tail rotor clipped 1-6 and sent it into a downward spin. 1-5 came down in a fireball and 1-6 smashed off the side of one of the chalets and dropped like a stone on its side with an awful, earth shattering thud. Narco-terrorists appeared out of buildings wielding grenades and laughing at the crew and SWAT/TNT guys screaming for help inside the twisted wreckage. They simply whipped the pins from their grenades and chucked them into the wreckage.

At the drug plant plots the entire insertion had turned into a gang-fuck. Avenger 1-1 had landed just as 1-3 had been shot to pieces and almost immediately a whole firing squad had emerged from the treeline around the lip of the plots, pumping thousands of small arms rounds into the huge black target, they couldn’t miss. The rotors were still going at full speed as the pilots lay dead across the controls and the bodies of SWAT/TNT men lay on top of each other in the cargo bay.

The group of ‘sleeping’ guys at the campfire had also awoke. They threw aside blankets and grabbed up Stingers, quickly getting heat locks on the Chinook and Avenger 1-2 who were just turning around after the abort. But the heat pouring from the big helicopter/Chinook engines provided the Stingers with the perfect signatures, and the two missiles streaked up into the sky above the trees, turning Avenger 1-2 and the Chinook into metallic fireballs that crumpled to the ground through the trees.

The little recon cypher captured much of the mayhem over a live feed and the techies in the SWAT truck back at the meat farm watched with open mouths and listened with pained, tearful expressions as they heard and watched their brothers get torn to pieces only a few miles away.

"These terms are acceptable to us. I believe gentlemen we have a deal. We still have a lot of work to do but this is a first step towards what could be a very profitable friendship. Do not think I am a superstitious man but I would like to drink for the success of our plan. Here."

Valera knocked once on the door and a very good looking secretary came in with 3 shots full of vodka on a platter. She put the she shots on the table, smiled at the Boss and his guests and left the room. The Boss rose his shot glass.

"To democracy and a new friendship."

"A drink cannot hurt at all." Jose and Juan raised their glasses and took the shots of powerful vodka. They were used to Dominican moonshine but this was powerful enough for them. "Very good." Jose said and the shipments would be sent right away. The hope was that their Russian friends found them as profitable and powerful as they did. If they did, the wonder drug would net billions more in profits to the Florida Cartel and the more money that they had, the better they could fight the government, a battle they were losing.

Valera escorted the Layartebians out of the room and Boss was left alone to his thoughts.

Эх, Кирил, Кирил...что за жизнь у нас такая? Что не глянь каждый по уши в дерьме.
[Eh, Kiril, Kiril...what kind of life we have? Everywhere you look everyone is buried in shit to their ears.]

The boss downed another shot.

Лайатребцы дело говорят, куш будет большой но проблем ещё больше. Надо будет купить очень много людей ато менты тут же загребут. Ну что ж будем ждать
[Lartebians are saying some serious shit, there will be a lot of money but even more problems. I'll have to buy a lot of people or the coppers will get me fast. I'll wait.]

Three days after the shooting of the King, and the might of Cottish law enforcement was working overtime, investigating the case. They had been given the information from Lag G about the people responsible, and thus they had a good start of the investigation. The case was being handled by KRIPOS, the highest-ranking law enforcement agency in the Realm which handled all serious crimes which had the potential of damaging the safety and security of the Realm - assassinating the King was definately part of that - and had thus been involved from the start, taking over more and more from the local law enforcement and the military.

A task force of some fifty investigators had been assembled and codenamed Task Force REX. TF REX's sole purpose was to identify, locate and arrest those responsible for the assassination attempt on the King, and had the highest priority. Since the evidences suggested that those responsible were heavily affiliated to drug-related crimes, the task force had even higher priority, given the Government's war on drugs. These fifty investigators were divided into teams with each team being responsible for investigating one particular aspect of the crime, to save time and operate more efficiently. Right now, TF REX was operating in six different cities around the Realm, of which five were located in Sami territory.

The Sami were the indiginous people of Sámpi, a territory which covered parts of modern-day northern Sweden, Finland, Norway and the Kola Peninsula, the latter two regions being part of the Realm and apparently where the Lappish Mafia belonged. The Sami people were considered to be full citizens of the Realm and had the exact same rights and responsiblities of any other population group within the Realm, meaning that they were treated well and fairly. They also had a own Parliament, the Sameting, which handled the domestic relations concerning the Sami people, such as maintaining the Sami language, determine curriculums for Sami schools, and make recommendations to the central Government in matters concerning the Sami people and/or territory. The Sameting didn't really have much real power though, but it was at least some degree of autonomy for the Sami people. Samis were also highly craved by the Military, as they were extremely skilled warriors in winter conditions - another reason to avoid upsetting them, and the Army maintained an infantry division comprised solely on Sami soldiers and officers - the 3. Motorised Infantry Division based in Karasjok, Norway. These soldiers were about the best the Realm could produce, and were remarkably enough fiercely loyal to the Realm.

The six cities TF REX was operating in were Kautokeino, Karasjok, Kirkenes, Murmansk and Lujávri in the north, and Oslo where a substantial minority of Samis, some ten thousand of them, lived. The Task Force were co-operating with the local law enforcement in identifying possible members of the Mafia and setting up surveillance on those they had already identified. According to Cottish law, the law enforcement agencies needed only probable cause that they could prove during trial before they were allowed to invade someone's privacy. KRIPOS already had probable cause - the interrogation of the shooter - for setting up the surveillance operations. It was hoped that these would give them probable cause to warrant arrests and house searches.

SECRETS OF THE JUNGLE

Part Ten

Bor, Capital of Jumqali County, Southern Sudan, Africa (36 Hours After Part Nine)

The death toll had now reached 70. That included Police Pilots, SWAT, DEA TNT and four civilians. The country was in uproar. People from every corner of the Commonwealth were demanding something be done, not simply asking. The media showed footage of the smoke rising above the trees from the downed helicopters. The bodies couldn’t even be recovered. Some photographs had been released and a few minutes of video from the cypher overhead.

The families of the deceased were on TV reading statements demanding things to be done to avenge their losses. Gumbezi and Marundo had watched the entire debacle unfold on Recon Cypher monitors. Some of the techies cried openly for friends killed. They simply shook their heads and hung them, explaining painfully to the press what had happend. As the story broke Marundo received a call from his boss, the Director in Hirgizstan City. The Fuhrer was now fully involved and had called an emergency session of Congress to declare the operation a military one. The debate had lasted around two hours, with almost unanimous backing for the military to take over the situation.

The Fuhrer didn’t address the nation, there was just a press release. He simply got on a plane and flew to Bor, meeting with the families of the deceased SWAT members and Helicopter pilots before doing anything. It was nearing 7pm when his scheduled address was to begin.

The County Court-House would be the venue, a case had just been decided there. With Gambezi, Marundo, a Judge and a uniformed soldier at his side the Fuhrer addressed the nation from a small podium at the top of the stairs to the courthouse. The press stood at the bottom, filming and snapping photographs in a frenzy. They quieted as he spoke.

“My fellow Hirgizstanians, I speak to you today with the heaviest of hearts. We have lost seventy of our brave citizens, patriots one and all. Yesterday’s operation was carried out to bring these so called narco-terrorists to justice, but the operation failed and there was heavy loss of life.

It seems these disgusting criminals are a tribe that we Hirgizstanians wiped out due to their rape and pillage of these lands and their attacks on us so many centuries ago. It seems that this evil people survived and have now returned, exacting their revenge.

Not ten minutes ago the Jumqali County Court passed a sentence on these criminals in absentia. That sentence was death, to be carried out forthwith. As you know the carnage we witnessed yesterday was tragic and simply awful. I cannot, in good conscience, let that happen again. Thus, as you have heard, I asked Congress to pass a proposal allowing the military to take over the operation, and the proposal passed. Thus from 2pm the military began moving into the County with the support of the Sudan National Guard.

I will promise you, the people of the Commonwealth, here and now, that those responsible for the deaths of seventy of our people will pay the ultimate price for their crimes. It seems appropriate at this time to beseech the blessing of almighty God on this noble endeavour and I believe a quote from the Bible is apt. As it says in Leviticus, Chapter 26-

‘And if ye will not for all this hearken unto me, but walk contrary unto me; Then I will walk contrary unto you also in fury; and I, even I, will chastise you seven times for your sins. And ye shall eat the flesh of your sons, and the flesh of your daughters shall ye eat. And I will destroy your high places, and cut down your images, and cast your carcases upon the carcases of your idols, and my soul shall abhor you. And I will make your cities waste, and bring your sanctuaries unto desolation, and I will not smell the savour of your sweet odours. And I will bring the land into desolation: and your enemies which dwell therein shall be astonished at it. And I will scatter you among the heathen, and will draw out a sword after you: and your land shall be desolate, and your cities waste.’

We shall do as it says in this book. Take comfort now that we will mete out justice to those who seek to do us harm. No longer will the filth of these criminals befoul our great lands, no longer will we be embarrassed by this situation. No, we shall take charge and I promise you a swift and decisive end to the crimes of these people. I ask only that you pray now for the families of the people who have already died. Thank you, and good evening.”

The Fuhrer stepped away from the podium and the soldier stepped forward telling the press that a Command Complex would be set up on Telescope Green were the press would be briefed twice daily on the situation.

The regular Army had not moved in all that much equipment. A few companies of soldiers plus a large National Guard detachment had taken over as the DEA and Police moved out. They were mostly for show. They would not be the ones to take down the narco-terrorists.

Those who would sat a few thousand miles away on a small island in the state of Cape Verde. They did not exist, had never existed and would never exist. Only a select few people in the Commonwealth knew about them, as well as a number of Black Operations forces, such as Delta Force. The men were officially known as the Special Observations, Intelligence and Assassinations Group (SOIAG), unofficially as Strike Force Lightning. But that was really a moot point because not a single shred of paperwork testified to their existence. Even their weapons, technology, vehicles, armor and ammunition were not strictly theirs, it all belonged to DARPA as research projects. The men who belonged to the SOIAG were all ‘dead’, every one of them at child-birth or soon thereafter.

They had been chosen at this age from babies taken in by state orphanages or abandoned by their parents. The military selected the most promising and took them, producing death certificates for each one before moving them to a secluded island in Cape Verde. From they were children they learned to be not just soldiers but machines that simply appeared human. They were given the latest medical treatments to make them stronger, faster and smarter. Sometimes they died during their ‘preparation’. What happened to them could not simply be called ‘training’. They were virtually bred to be robots. If word got out about the program there would certainly be uproar.

The only human ‘attributes’ they were allowed was their names, but they were more often referred to by rank, which was tattooed to their upper right arm, along with their name and bar-code, with a chip beneath it. On their left arm were more tattoos with their confirmed kills, MOS and their previous combat deployments. There were only one hundred of them in total, with three hundred support staff that trained them and kitted them out.

The ‘base’ they lived in was underground. Their main room was cavernous, each man had a single beds and one locker, all laid out in rows. When not training, being educated further or on missions they either sat still on their beds or slept. They never spoke. DNI (Direct Neural Interface) chips in their spines and brains allowed them to talk, if they wanted to, with each other and their support staff without ever saying a word. It was eerie. But they were, without any doubt, the pinnacle of human achievement. Smarter, faster and stronger than regular people they were the best soldiers in the world without equal. Yet no one had ever heard of them. And they would carry out their next mission without anyone ever knowing it was them.

Sparetti arrived in Naples one day early, having left Luciano to do his business. It was indeed ironic - the same man that he had nearly tortured a year ago was now the one person who was supervising his operations. It is thus how sometimes innocence is lost, in the fold of conflict and tribulation - you sometimes join with it. But Sparetti had left the numerous ironies of his past and hoped to recover one little joy that he had lost - the one pleasure which he truly enjoyed and desired. Maggiano had made arrangements right for this one moment, and Sparetti wasn't certain whether to thank him gladly yet.

Emilia arrived in a black sedan, an antique almost, and she emerged with her bright personality blooming behind dark sunglasses. Did she know that Sparetti was on the same boat as she was to be? How would have Maggiano convinced her that this was a safe trip? Did he even tell her to what she was coming?

She approached the boat and continued her bright smiles until she was on the boat. She then tracked Sparetti and knocked on his door. Sparetti was somewhat surprised - he opened the door. Emilia stood there, not so smiling anymore.

"Did you extort this man too?"

"Me?" Sparetti replied.

"Don't lie to me. Everyone knows Signor Maggiano is a kind old man, and operates his shipping industry out to the world. I'll bet you extorted him, using his own ships to transport your junk from place to place too! I don't know why I'm even here, but I couldn't tell Signor Maggiano that I didn't want to at least indulge his favors..."

"His favors?"

"Si. I'm not here because of you. Signor Maggiano is kind old man, unlike you. You are the epitome of the rotten mess that got me here. Because he doesn't anyone else, he wants me to try to persuade you out of his business."

"His business? Cara mia? [My dear] Do you even know what is Signor Maggiano's business?"

"Well, it has nothing to do with you, as far as I am concerned."

Sparetti smiled at that remark - did Maggiano run to her because he no longer liked Sparetti? Did he dare tell Emilia the truth?

"Well, I suppose each man has their own dark secret," Sparetti said. "You found out mine first, and someday I hope to mask it with something new."

"Like chocolate?" Emilia replied. "You are one of those rich nougats with the piece of dirt in the middle. Tasty outside, but cruddy center. I'm hoping that you won't try to do anything special while we're here, because I'm not going to indulge you."

"Emilia, I don't know what else to say..."

"Don't say anything. I'm only talking to you now so we can say that there is a line that you can cross. I've lost all feeling for you and those treasures that you once gave to me are in the trash, because I can't live the thought of how many innocent you killed to give those treasures to me. You are dead already, and as far as I ever care to know, you are simply a corpse walking on the ground without any sense of purpose or real intentions. So you kiss the dirt if you want to get anything from me - because that's what you are and that's all you'll get from me."

With that Emilia exited Sparetti's room, and took herself to her room on the yacht. He pounded his fist on the frame of his room, making a deep indentation on the wall. So he was to have an exile's vision of his true love, while she spat shards of glass to his eyes and to his heart. It was to be a long trip after all.

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

OOC: OK we forgot about our little thing against Faysal.

The EC-21 landed back at the airport with a large quantity of data that it had collected from the flight. Information gathered had revealed a possible drug deal going down in just eight hours, on the outskirts of the city, something big enough to arouse security and suspicion but Faysal wouldn't be there. It was worth investigating and Ghost Recon would, in a reconnaissance fashion. They had the target building identified from the conversation and they would scope it out, see what they could get on the building before the deal went down. When it finally did, they would be there to watch and listen. They wouldn't go for an apprehension just yet, it was too soon and the more the enemy talked, the more useful they were. If the enemy knew they were being listened to, their mission would be scrubbed, over with, and they would come home, failures. That wasn't going to happen. They had never failed before and they wouldn't now.

OOC: Continuing KE4.

The results yielded at first were excellent. Ghost Recon forces watched, observed, and paid careful attention to the activities of Faysal's drug dealers. They dealt out death for money and they were feared by all they came in contact with, much like Faysal was. The war lord had created a powerful network around himself that allowed for complete and total domination of his area of influence.

One morning, cold and chilling as the winter storms came through Afghanistan, the EC-21 was flying overhead when another dangerous conversation was heard. It was the voice they were looking for, Faysal's voice. This was the first time they had heard it and the listeners paid careful attention. His words were translated right off the bat and they studied the way he spoke. They studied how his mood was and the patterns of his voice. Analysis logarithms running at high speed were every piece of his voice print. This was th find that they were looking for and this was what they wanted, more than anything. Faysal's network did not know they were being hunted by the Layartebians, that was a given. If they were, they wouldn't be talking so much. The EC-21 had logged hundreds of conversations though at least 90% of them were inconsequential.

Now they had the piece of evidence they needed and they vectored the small aircraft closer, moving in, towards the location of the signal. Unfortunately though, it cut out soon thereafter. It was a six minute conversation, not enough to get a proper triangulation but they definitely got something that they needed. They recorded the find and set back down at the airfield two hours later to refuel and analyze the data, properly.

Killswitch Engage V
Continuation

The art of war is of vital importance to the State.
It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected.
The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors, to be taken into account in one's deliberations, when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field.

Sun Tzu - The Art of War

January 15, 2007 - 12:00 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Alright. Let's get this thing started. Could I have quiet please." The Emperor's office was warm and well-lit. It was the middle of the day and the windows were shut, keeping out a chilling winter wind that was gusting up to 35 mph. On the bay, it made the temperature drop from 20°F to a whopping 0°F. It was cold, too cold to be outside for too long. It wasn't cold enough for frostbite but the wind ripped through layers and layers of clothing and went right through to the bones. The heat in the Emperor's office was raised and the fire burning in the great fireplace was enough to warm up at least half of the room and the chandelier above the floor was burning as well. It was an ambient 68°F in the office and the place was packed. The Cabinet was seated around the conference table and the governors were there as well and chairs had been brought in to seat another twenty assorted individuals throughout the government. The chatter was innocuous but the presenter, the Director of the Drug Enforcement Bureau, a division of the Central Justice Agency, was about to begin his presentation. Everyone hushed up and the dancing flames of both the chandelier and the fire danced off the projector screen on the wall. "Thank you. I'm sure you are all aware of the situation in Neuvo Rica. Things aren't looking good at all. There is definitive proof that the government will dissolve any day now and that presents itself with a major problem.

"The War on Drugs is beginning to fall apart for us, again. We did destroy the Esmeralda and Meta cartels profoundly. The Florida Cartel still has a significant amount of strength and the cartels in the Yucatán are growing in strength. Unfortunately, the cartels in the Yucatán aren't just limited to the Yucatán. We know of existing trade with cartels in Quintana Roo, Campeche, Chiapas, and Tabasco. All of these are Neuvo Rican territory. The drug runners there are moving supplies and weapons in and out of the Yucatán through these four states. They are using tunnel networks and lax border securities in the Yucatán to fuel the gang wars going on there. It is getting bad again and there is a hint that Venezuela is connected but we'll discuss that later." He cleared his throat and switched the slide. "This region is a disaster. We've fought two major wars with just the Yucatán in 1993 and 2004. The details of the latter have broken out to the public and the vast differences between the Yucatán the remainder of the Empire are public. People are unhappy with how drastically different and poor the Yucatán is and they do not feel safe at all. Travel to the Yucatán is down almost 700% since the details of the uprising broke. We're not seen favorably either for keeping it hidden from the public. I can't explain all of the backlash that we're experiencing over it and that is leading us to the current problem.

"Street violence in the Yucatán has escalated and most of it revolves around the War on Drugs. Police forces are corrupt, national guardsmen are overwhelming doing their duties as soldiers and policemen. We are losing control and the longer it persists the more we're looking at a repeat of 2004. If we can ebb the flow of illegal drugs into the Yucatán and put a total stop to the cartels, we will alleviate the largest problem." He sat down and the Minister of the Interior stood up.

"Thank you Director. He is right. Our problem in the Yucatán is not going to go away. We've had more trouble there since 1993 then anywhere else, save for Kaliningrad and we've abandoned there. This War on Drugs, despite its monumental successes is unpopular. Money flowing into the War on Drugs is impeding us in more ways then one and the public no longer cares that two major cartels have been decimated to oblivion and annihilated. Unfortunately, the problem is that illegal drug use is, unfortunately, up by 200% then when the war began. We've narrowed this down to the increased use of the Black Market and the Yucatán. The Florida Cartel gets most of its supplies through the Yucatán. Faysal in Afghanistan and many other drug lords throughout the world export their product through Neuvo Rica and into the Yucatán. From there it is within the Empire. We cannot treat the Yucatán like a second-class state though, that would be completely unfounded. The Yucatán is a full state and part of the Province of Ynoga. That is undeniable. Unfortunately, its problems persist.

"What we need to do is cut off the drug flow through the Yucatán. We cannot abandon it like we did in Kaliningrad and we can't allow rebel forces within to gain popularity and support like they did in 2004. They are gaining it now and their rebels have fled into Neuvo Rican land since the cessation of the war. There are many leaders that are still at large, possibly those who orchestrated the 2004 uprising." He switched the slide to a map of the Yucatán.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/yucatan-preview.gif (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/yucatan.gif)

"The Yucatán is a vast place. It is 14,827.87 square miles in size, small compared to certain areas but vast when we're dealing with the crime element. Crime within the Empire is very low, thankfully. However, in the Yucatán, it is a shooting gallery. Gang violence has turned it into an outlaw state. Because we cannot go into the neighboring Neuvo Rican land, we cannot chase down the enemy. We're hindered here. We cannot incite a full blown war with Neuvo Rica but we can't allow their lack of a border with the corruption in the Yucatán to go on, unimpeded. The violence is going to be exported throughout the Empire. We have enough to deal with considering the terrorism against our Empire since October 2005. The terrorism campaign is not stopping and it could, very well, have roots in here, in the Neuvo Rican territories. We just don't know.

"The fall of the Falkland Islands to our forces solved a lot of mysteries of the bombing of Saint George's. Unfortunately, there are a lot of questions that still need to be answered, for example, the role of the Sepah-e Pasdaran in both Saint George's and the RLA, though they are based out of Azerbaijan. The links between the violence in the Yucatán and the Neuvo Rican territories is conclusive. That's a given. However, there is more.

"Venezuela is currently the seat of growing unrest as well. Violence has spread and gangs are on the rise. We can link them directly with the War on Drugs as well. Violence has been exported from the Yucatán and into Venezuela, where the populace has a history of rebellion. We've fought there for decades now and if we cannot ebb the flow of violence and drugs into the Yucatán we will be fighting, again, in Venezuela. Our focus now is keeping the Empire as it is. We are fighting enemies within and we are fighting enemies around us. We are fighting ideologies and agendas and we need to begin to attack the problems head on." From there, he went through several other slides, showing maps of the territories in question.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/campeche-preview.gif (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/campeche.gif)

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/chiapas-preview.gif (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/chiapas.gif)

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/quintanaroo-preview.gif (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/quintanaroo.gif)

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/tabasco-preview.gif (http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/tabasco.gif)

He sat down and the Emperor stood up and began to walk around the room. "The situation in the Yucatán is out of control." He crossed in front of the projector screen and kept walking around the table. "There needs to be certain steps taken and we need to take them immediately. First and foremost, the situation in Neuvo Rica is a disaster. We have to move our forces into the surrounding areas to ensure that our borders remain secure and intact. These four states all border our current existing land and it would be prudent to secure them. It is only a matter of time before the Neuvo Rican government subsides and falls into utter disarray. If that happens we're going to lose our control over the Yucatán completely.

"If we lose control we lose a vital part of the Empire. The history alone in the Yucatán is worth what we are about to embark upon. That is why I must bring to the table, our plan for action." The projector switched to a single heading. "Operation Ecstasy Rising. This has been a plan in existence since 1993. We first formulated the plan in the event that we lost control of the Yucatán. It calls for the military invasion and political annexation of the four aforementioned territories. Yes we would have risked war with Neuvo Rica to secure the Yucatán. Now we will have to go to war. Within thirty days, we will have enough forces in place around the territories to launch a massive invasion of the four territories with enough forces to completely cut them off and secure them.

"Operation Ecstasy Rising calls for a massive air and land campaign against the four territories that sees complete and total domination of the territories. We estimate that the Neuvo Rican government will not be in existence in twenty-one days or less. That presents the largest problem. We have advanced intelligence that Russian forces are preparing for a possible annexation of Mexican land, putting them right on our border. We must act for various purposes here. We must create a buffer zone between us and a possible Russian state. We must stop crime and we must end the drugs flowing into the Yucatán. We must abort any further exportation of violence and drugs into the Empire. We can achieve this if we take over these four territories."

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/ke5-02.jpg

"We're dealing with territory that we already know. Marines and army personnel will be able to act powerfully enough to secure all four territories. We will be putting them on two fronts, attacking with Marines from the north and army from the south."

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/ke5-01.jpg

"Our plan calls for the deployment of Marines into Yucatán and Quintana Roo with a brigade of each. We will deploy two more brigades into Campeche and Tabasco and we will deploy two brigades right into Chiapas. Army brigades will move into Quintana Roo, Chiapas, Campeche, and Tabasco. We estimate a fourteen to twenty-one day war of set-piece battles that will result in our domination of all cities. It will take possibly a further month to control the rural regions. We're moving in with enough forces to completely put the forces in these territories at bay.

"Now. We have made contact with pro-Empire forces within these territories, forces that see the inevitable happening with the Neuvo Rican government and want some semblance of safety and security. We will be deploying special forces to aide them and they will assist our pacification of enemy forces. Special Forces will be inside of Neuvo Rican territory by the end of the week and clandestine operations have begun already. We are going to be looking at a brutal campaign, do not let this sway you though."

"We are not in this war to lose. We are going to approach it with the same amount of force that we've approached similar campaigns in the past. We will domineer and we will succeed. The enemy will be pacified. They will be in control of Neuvo Rican hardware and they will be in control of a funcitioning military in these zones but we do know that they are, for the most part, on their own. These four territories have little in common with the rest of Neuvo Rican Mexico and with Russian forces possibly seizing the remainder of Neuvo Rican territories we have a lot to worry about. However, we do know that if they move in, the enemy will have no place to go. They certainly will not be welcomed by Russian forces and there is nowhere else to go but back to their homes. They won't be able to hide for too long. We won't leave any stone unturned and anyone harboring resistance to us will be rounded up and defeated." He sat back down in his chair and the meeting continued but it was set. There would be thirty days to build up forces and Layartebian soldiers would be on the ground within a week, on the ground and ready to interact with pro-Layartebian forces. Ministry of Intelligence forces were already working with individuals within the territory to help build them up and train them for the future conflict that was about to fall upon them. Clandestine operations would continue until the beginning of the war, when Layartebian military forces moved in, they would move in like a hammer and a bulldozer. Nothing would be able to stop their advance.

Two weeks went by, the first shipment of Valkyr has arrived as scheduled first being shipped to Eastasia and shipped from there to port Rezgrad on the Southern Shore of Chukotka. The drugs were then sold to highest junkies in the outskirts of Bratislava, a medium size city just far away enough from Voronej to not attract too much attention from authorities. The new drug was met with astonishing success, next day already the test junkies flocked to their dealers only to find that they were out of stock. The drug only after a few days has already compiled quite a market for itself, The Boss was pleased he has sent word to his Layartebian friends with a request for more shipments with an ambitious plan of action. For ten shots of Valkyr the Layartebians would receive 3/4s of an ounce of heroin as well as 10% of the profit gathered from the use of their drug in the Russian Federation. Because of the addictive properties of the drug it was guaranteed that people would buy it at any price. The price for the test shipment was 15 rubles per shot, once the drug would start streaming into the country the price was expected to go up to 25 rubles per shot. The Boss was very satisfied with the possibility for profit, he spent the money well, making sure to leave no trace that connected his persona to the drug.

As Valkyr took hold in the Russian Federation, the Florida Cartel saw its profits skyrocket. Tons of the drugs would be shipped into the Russian Federation through intermediaries and the profits would roll in, filling the pockets of the cartel leaders. The drug was almost everywhere in the world and Valkyr was the wonder drug they set out to make. Its rise had been astronomical and though it would eventually peak, the drug was still on the climb and the money was rolling in, money that would help them stave off the Empire's anti-drug forces, which were hot on the cartel's trail. Dozens of low-level dealers were being arrested and rounded up in sting operations and the cartel was fortunate in that the dealers knew only the next level above them, their supplier and that was it. The suppliers stayed in the shadows but soon they would begin to be rounded up as well and the shit storm would travel upwards. The anti-drug forces weren't amateurs but they weren't one step ahead of the cartel either, at least not yet.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation


January 15, 2007 - 21:00 [CST]
Chuntuquí, Guatemala

Chuntuquí was a small village in northern Guatemala. It didn't have a population exceeding 4,000 and it was the perfect place for a covert airstrip. It was nestled in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense jungle canopy. Few had any reason to be there, let alone to even look at the place on a map. It almost didn't exist but the Ministry of Intelligence definitely made sure it did. Six kilometers northeast of the rural village was a clearing, just large enough for a hardened dirt airstrip, a few hangars, and some other structures. On a satellite pass it looked more like a makeshift airfield for crop dusters then a clandestine operations base. The dirt airstrip was only 900 meters long and barely wide enough for much except for a crop-duster but that was all deceitful, and done on purpose. The Ministry of Intelligence had dozens of airfields all around the Empire and those in the region were activated again.

Sitting in one of the tin-like hangars was a small commuter plane, two propeller engines, and enough room for twenty-four people. It was no crop-duster but it was no 727 either. It was a C-31, codenamed the Infiltrator. Its whole purpose was to fly at tree-top height, into places where it shouldn't be, and airdrop supplies or people or land at clandestine airfields abroad and deliver supplies. It was a transport plane and an excellent one at that, built specifically for the purpose of clandestine operations. It could be flown by one pilot but had seating for two and it could carry twenty-four individuals or eight litters. It's cargo capacity was 7,500 pounds and it had an impressive range of 1,850 miles, unrefueled, and a top speed of 380 mph at 5,000 feet or 330 mph at sea level. It was a light plane, weighing only 34,500 pounds fully loaded and it was the same size as a Saab 340, the airframe that served as a base for the C-31. However, unlike the Saab 340, which had a take-off distance of 1,300 meters and a landing distance of 1,020 meters, the C-31 met those figures with 800 and 600 meters, respectively. The requirement was for an aircraft that could operate from rough, uneven airstrips no longer than 800 meters. The C-31 performed perfectly.

For tonights flight, the C-31 was empty except for a pilot and assistant and two passengers. It was a short hop flight and it would be a memorable one, one of the first flights into Neuvo Rican airspace. Since the government began to waiver, air defense and border security both went lax. C-31s transporting supplies to pro-Layartebian rebel groups in Mexico had little trouble getting into and out of Neuvo Rican airspace. Sometimes an F-22 or F-23 came out to look for them but they always hid in the ground clutter below and always running its infrared jammers, dissuading soldiers or rebels on the ground from engaging it with a shoulder-fired, surface-to-air missile, or MANPAD, for short. Flares were loaded, just in case but, thus far, not one C-31 had been engaged and certainly none had to drop their flares, the bright burning glow of which would have lit up the sky for a radius of a few hundred feet as they descended to the ground, confusing the infrared guided missiles.

The airstrip was quiet and a calm 2 mph breeze blew to the northwest, doing nothing to change the 64°F temperature, a stark contrast to the 0°F being felt in Layarteb City, thousands of miles away, to the northeast. In the day it would go as high as the 90s and at night it could cool down to the 60s. It rained often and winter for Guatemala wasn't winter for New York. Still, Mother Nature wasn't going to alter her personality for a meager war. Humanity wasn't too high on Mother Nature's todem pole, after all, it was killing her, slowly. Mother Nature would fight back though and, eventually, humanity would lose. The Yucatán scriptures told that tale ages ago, a tale that caused more global uproar than the execution of a religious figure.

As the cabin door was shut, the pilot of the C-31 started the two, LDC-AE-57A turboprop engines, each able to deliver 2,650 horsepower, enough to push the transporter to extreme speeds very quickly. It was limited in speed only by its airframe, not power. The propellers started up, silently at first, and then became a low-pitched drone as they picked up power and fuel began to flow through their pistons. Inside the seating area, all but two seats had been removed, making the plane that much lighter. The two men inside of the cabine were both natives of Ynoga and both of them were part of the Ministry of Intelligence. They were clandestine officers, responsible for organizing rebellions, contacting rebel groups, and maintain a constant link between the MoI and where it was deployed. They were the spies, the connoisseurs of espionage, the legends that made movies through exploits that half of them never experienced. They were the real soldiers of the MoI and they carried with them over a hundred pounds of gear, from clothes and weapons to satellite phones, maps, and anything else they thought that they might need. For this operation they carried parachutes as well. They were going to parachute down, into Campeche, in less than an hour.

There were going to fly to an area that was thick was jungles as well. It was the site of an archiological dig and the headquarters for the pro-Layartebian group within Neuvo Rica that wanted the Empire to come and save them. They organized themselves well but were in need of a name. Someone had suggested that they call themselves the "Mexicans For Layarteb" but no names had stuck yet. The spies thought they could name them, give them some sort of banner to go under and wage war against the Neuvo Rican empire, from within, making it that much easier to capture the territory. The HQ was only about 115 kilometers from Chuntuquí and they would be flying in at an altitude of, maybe, if they were lucky, 80 feet, above ground level (AGL) at 330 mph. It was a short flight and as the C-31 parked itself on the edge of the runway, the two men in the back strapped in, waiting for the pilot. There were no lights on in the plane and everyone had night vision, the panels of the aircraft being night vision compatible. Then, the pilot pushed the throttles up and the C-31 bounced, shook, and bumped its way down the runway, speeding up to 140 mph before the pilot eased back on the stick. It was enough velocity to put the aircraft in a 10° climb, raise the landing gear, and get them on their way. The airport was facing west to east and so the pilot executed a left turn, a wide one, to come to the proper heading. It was a fifteen minute flight, more or less, to the target zone and then another fifteen minutes back, a mere half hour.

Shortly into the flight, the C-31 crossed over, into the Neuvo Rican airspace, its infrared jammers on, emitting a non-detectable signal that worked to jam any passive or imaging infrared devices in a four mile vacinity of the aircraft. The pilot sat with his hand on the throttle, his right thumb on the flare button, which was on the throttle, a variation of HOTAS (hand on throttle and stick), which made flying that much more efficient and easy. He banked the plane a few time and took false headings, to confuse anyone watching. The pilot had made dozens of flights into Neuvo Rican airspace and he had never been shot at yet but he still felt tense after he crossed the imaginary line on the paper in Layarteb City.

When he was 18 kilometers from the target, a little over two minutes out, the pilot pulled the aircraft up to 1,500 feet AGL, and the two spies stood up in the cabin. They checked their gear one last time and moved to the rear of the cabin, to the rear door, which one of them opened. The wind rushed in and the C-31 leveled off at 1,500 feet as the plane came near its drop zone. There was a red and green light by the door, red signifying that it wasn't safe to jump, green signfiying that it was. The light was, for now, red but it was going to be green soon enough and surely it was.

With a low-audible buzz, the light turned red and the lead officer jumped out of the plane. He went into a high-drag position right after jumping out, the propeller wash pushing him backwards. He would pull the parachute a few seconds later, at an altitude of 850 feet, almost halfway down. The other officer followed, counting to five before he jumped. That was it, the two men and their gear were floating to the ground, everything colored or painted black. It was a clear night with only a fingernail of a moon overhead, very little clouds. The C-31 was long gone when the two of them had their parachutes opened. It had dove for the deck and the pilot's assistant shut the rear door and turned off the jump lights. He returned to the cockpit and they headed home, down low again, at full speed. They had to slow down to drop the two spies but now they were back up again, running towards the Layartebian border, using their FLIR system to make sure that nobody was in their way.

In the silent night, not even the sound of the wind brushing through them, the two spies descended from the black skies above and guided themselves into the same clearing, both of them landing with a stand. They were seasoned veterans in parachuting and they enjoyed the calm and peace as they descended to the ground at a meager 12 feet per second versus over 200 feet per second, had they not been under canopy. They both enjoyed the starlit night, closing in on each other, neither of them having a single lighted device emitting anything. They only used their night vision to see each other and, on a night like this, there was plenty of light for them to see almost as far as the horizon.

When they touched down it was like clockwork. They removed the parachute gear and took off their regular gear. Then, both of them grabbed a large bag that they had brought with them and stuffed, hastily, the parachutes and their packs into the bag, tightening it shut with a zipper and tie. They secured it and removed an attachment from the bag, which had a large, rubberized pouch. Looks were deceiving and with a single pull, the pouch expanded into a red, rubber balloon, at least five feet in diameter. It rose right up into the air, tethered by a black line of nylon string, strong enough that it would take a knife a few minute to cut through it. The balloon settled at an altitude of 450 feet and stayed there, motionless except for its meager movements with the gentle breeze.

Then, overhead, there was a zoom and a whoosh. The bag suddenly ripped off the ground and into the air, going out of sight in seconds. A second C-31 with a nose attachment had grabbed the balloon and locked itself onto the rope in a matter of milliseconds and now it was flying back towards the Layartebian border as well, the gear being tethered underneath. The operatives looked at each other, put their gear back on, and withdrew both their pistols and their main weapons. They had knives at their left sides, an M82A3 Storm .45ACP pistol on their right side, tons of gear on their backs, a smaller knife on their left shoulder vest, which would have been used to cut away the parachute if they had been tangled in its mess, and, lastly, their was their main weapon. The two of them each carried an M73A2 Enhanced Carbine, a 5.56 x 45mm weapon that had been retired from the stocks of the military. However, because of the abundance of 5.56mm rounds in the rebel possession, it was the logical choice. They didn't have the newer 6.8 x 48mm rounds that the army now used. They set out for the rebel HQ, thirty rounds at the ready, another thirty millimeters away, and an additional three hundred rounds stowed away, in a total of twelve, thirty-round magazines that were bolted in pairs so that, at any given time, sixty rounds were waiting for them. They only had to eject the magazine, move it a few millimeters to one side, reload it, and they were ready. The enemy didn't stand a chance. They could hit targets as far away as 400 meters without effort and their weapons were suppressed and equipped with an infrared pointer and infrared & visible light flashlight. The infrared stuff could only be seen through their night vision goggles. On the top rails, each of them mounted a 4x scope that would give them increased range but they kept the iron sights, just in case.

OOC: Because I just realized how confusing it is going to get between my two main story lines right now (Killswitch Engage 4 & 5), I am adding takes, in blue, to the right side of the post, as the first line. That'll tell you what you are reading. They are as follows:

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

I hope that helps. Now to another post of both, perhaps.

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

The first grab that came to Ghost Recon and the Layartebians in Afghanistan happened just 17 days into the campaign. Daily EC-21 flights were yielding a lot of results, thus far, and Ghost Recon had made it a hobby to find out what happened at meetings and they also trailed a lot of the drug lords back to their homes or wherever else they went immediately thereafter. The first burst communication to the Ministry of Intelligence with the initial findings on day 14 was so large that it took the receivers 200% more time to download it then normally. They had over twelve hours of recorded conversations, over six hundred digital photographs, and enough reports, summaries, and analyses to make any analyst put in their two week notice. Lucky for them, two dozen analysts were assigned to them, which would allow them to make something out of all the material within a day or two. They would be burning the midnight oil on that one.

Ghost Recon was in place outside of a mud house, at least two kilometers outside of the city limits. They were hiding in shrubbery and grass when the headlights illuminated the house. It had a small courtyard and, by Afghani warlord standards, it was a beautiful house. By Western standards it was a shit-hole and the men joked about it to themselves as they watched the target, a man, step out of the Jeep and walk into the house. Lights illuminated from the windows and the cold temperature was evident by the amount of layers he had on himself. There was probably no heat inside of the house either but that wasn't their concern. The man was Kemel Farsi, a low-level businessmen for Faysal. He never directly spoke with Faysal but he knew enough proxies that it was more worth it, now, to apprehend him. They had been listening to him for twelve days now, trailing him for seven, and they saw that he was a well-known man around the area. He met with elders and gave them money, he met with arms dealers and gave them assault rifles and took pistols from their hands, and he met with drug dealers, from around the world. There were Russians, Eastasians, and, not to anyone's surprise, Layartebians, Layartebians who were noticed immediately as Florida Cartel members. The Andaman Island campaign had proven to be a monumental success in destroying the Esmeralda Cartel. Would this success be equal to the Florida Cartel? The men wondered as they prepared their assault.

The four of them readied their AKS-74U assault rifles. Their pistols hung at their sides, Colt 1911s, old but effective if needed. Their body armor hugged them but none of that was seen. They were dressed like Afghanis and no part of their face was shown except their eyes, through dark sunglasses. They would only wear them for the apprehension, they didn't need to have anyone seeing them as Layartebians. They were all Domincian and Puerto Rican, dark and they had beards just like the Afghanis. They blended in well, quite well, especially since they spoke Dari and Farsi without an accent. "Alright." The leader said quietly and the four men rose from the shadows, their weapons in hand.

Quickly, they moved to the walls of the courtyard, walls only about a foot to two feet high. With a step and a hop, they were against the walls of the house and they listened. It was a small house, probably only two rooms inside and there was no distinction between where one ate and where one shit. It was grotesque, by Western standards. The four men split into two groups of two and each went around one side of the house. They had strict orders to apprehend Kemel alive but their orders on witnesses was different. They didn't want to go in shooting children, which they encountered first, and unarmed women weren't high on their list either, two being seen in the house. Kemel was taken by surprise when one of the men grappled him to the floor. The other three covered both him and kept their weapons pointed at the rest of the people in the house, two women and six children. "Quiet or we'll kill you." The leader said in Dari as he watched them put Kemel into submission. He was restrained with plastic zip-ties, painful, but effective, and they pulled him up. His weapon landed on the floor and one of the men took it with him, to ensure that they wouldn't be shot at as they exited. "He violated Islam and he will be punished. The Shari'a will see his punishment." They left, stealing his vehicle and drove off, into the distance, twenty kilometers, before they ditched the car, set it ablaze, and picked up their vehicle. They drove into their base an hour later, ensuring that they weren't followed. Now it would be the fun part.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

The two spies crept through the thick jungle of Campeche, towards the rebel base. It was quiet except for the loud chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls, and other sounds of the creatures of the night. Twigs cracked underneath them as they moved towards the archeological site. It was four kilometers from the drop site and that was done on purpose. The further away that they were, the less the rebels would be able to see them coming. They didn't want to sneak up on them but they didn't want too many people learning of their presence until they linked up with the rebels. They needed to get there undetected and they were doing a good job of it too, trudging through the jungle like natives. They held their carbines close to their shoulders, just in case they were ambushed. They didn't know just how many Neuvo Rican forces were in the area nor did they knew the disposition of other rebel groups. This was why they were going to make contact, to see just what was what.

Four kilometers later, they reached the perimeter of the rebel camp. It was cordoned off with fencing and it looked more like a dig site than a rebel camp. There were no lights on and it appeared totally unoccupied. The two spies knew they were being watched, that was a given but they didn't see anyone, yet. They walked along the fencing, their night vision goggles casting a green tint to everything as they looked for an opening. There were none that they saw, none that were out in the open. Still, they probed the perimeter, looking to get into position and get into the camp.

From the top of the main Mayan temple, the rebel leader watched through a pair of binoculars. "¿Son ellos Layartebian?" [Are they Layartebian?] He asked. He was sitting with a woman, another rebel, a bandit of sorts. She had been an outlaw for over a decade now and eluded capture from the Neuvo Ricans quite a number of times. She linked up with the rebel group about a year ago and had, since then, captured the heart of the leader, who wanted, more than anything else, to be a normal citizen in a safe country. He saw the Empire as that opportunity. He didn't know who would be coming to claim the north but he didn't care. The Layartebians were there, in the south and that was where he wanted to go.

"No puede decir. Si ellos son ellos lo esconden bien. Ellos no son Neuvo Ricos. Eso es seguramente." [Can't tell. If they are they're hiding it well. They aren't Neuvo Rican. That's for sure.]

"Bien. Que a los guardias los consigan. Si ellos no son nosotros los dispararemos." [Alright. Have the guards get them. If they aren't we'll shoot them.]

"Intrusos. Prenda." [Intruders. Apprehend.] She said into the two-way radio. The rebel leader was gentle and kind, when it came to life but when it came to war and revolution, he was ruthless and brutal. There had been two rival groups in the territories to the south and they were dominated by pro-Neuvo Rican sentiments. They didn't exist anymore. Now, as the call was made, a half dozen armed rebels surrounded the two spies and ordered their guns down.

"¡Deje caer sus armas!" [Drop your weapons!] They yelled and the spies grudgingly complied. They were led into the camp and into the Mayan temple at gunpoint, their weapons seized from them, their packs taken, and silence around them. The rebels spoke not but, instead, led the men into the ancient temple, which had been erected in the year 650 A.D. The temple was lit with torches only and the lighting was inefficient but the environment inside was cool. The temple was surprisingly well insulted and it traped in the cold air of the nights of the past week. It was extensive inside and they brought the two spies into a chamber in the middle of the temple, where they were forced up against a wall. Rebels held guns to them as the leader came into the chamber.

"¿Quién es usted?" [Who are you?] He asked with a pistol in his hands, his love by his side. "¿Es usted espías del gobierno? " [Are you spies from the government?]

"No. Somos de la tierra de Maya." [No. We're from the land of Maya.] That was the code phrase that they were supposed to use and they hoped, more than ever, that it would work.

"¿La tierra de Maya? ¿Es supuesto eso tener sentido a mí? " [The land of Maya? Is that supposed to make sense to me?] The two spies looked at each other with confusion. Had they come to the wrong camp? Was the intelligence wrong?

"Debe tener sentido a usted. ¿Quién es usted?" [It should make sense to you. Who are you?] One of the spies asked, with a curious eye.

"No. Yo le debo tener mató para el tresspassing. Usted es espías del gobierno. Yo lo sé. Usted está de aquí dañarnos. Para llevar nuestra libertad. ¿No es usted?" [It does not. I should have you killed for tresspassing. You are spies from the government. I know it. You are here to harm us. To take away our freedom. Are you not?] He held the pistol to the throat of the spy who spoke and stared into his face, unblinking.

"Estamos de aquí darle libertad. La libertad del gobierno." [We're here to give you freedom. Freedom from the government. As he talked, the gun moved back and fourth against his throat as it expanded and contracted with each word and breath.

"¿Cómo estoy yo al belive usted?" [How am I to belive you?]

"Sólo en Metnal le puede no sabe." [Only in Metnal can you not know.]

The rebel leader stepped back and lowered his pistol. He broke into a smile. "So you are the Layartebians who have come to free us from the inevitable?" He put out his hand.

"We are. They going to lower their weapons?" The rebel leader nodded and they did so. "My name is David Rice and this is Justin Hadley. Yes. We're with the Empire." Those weren't their real names but, for the purposes of this operation, they were. The rebels didn't need to know everything about them, especially not their names. "And you are?"

"As I am sure you have noticed. I am the leader of this camp. You may call me 'Ghost Rider' after the comic."

"Interesting." David said.

"This is just a joke," he smiled. "My name is Pedro Subió. This is my wife, María." She smiled and they all shook hands. "I'm glad to see you've arrived here in one piece. Now what can you tell us?"

"First. Where did you learn English?"

"I studied in Mexico City until I was twenty-five. I was the child of wealthy parents. I was lucky in that respect. Times have changed though. The land now, it is equivalent to your republic. Soiled and stained."

"Understood. Let's go somewhere safe," Justin eyed the men around him and followed Pedro and María out of the chamber and down winding steps, towards the basement of the temple, into another chamber, one that was a makeshift command center. When they were safe, Justin and David unpacked a few items from their rucksacks. They were photographs, plans, and briefings. "Alright," Justin began. "We are to prepare you and your rebels for war. We are coming in about a month. We have to marshall our forces but that isn't a problem. What is a problem is the north."

"Neuvo Rican forces are no problem."

"We have advanced intelligence that the Russians are coming north."

"Diablo! That won't do. We have..."

"We cannot go on a quest to the north. That is out of the question."

"But the people. Our people."

"We can only seize these four states. That is all our mandate is for."

"This is nonsense!" He stood and slammed his fist on the table. "I cannot let the people suffer under them!"

"Their time will come. We risk nuclear war if we go north. That is not something we can risk. We are here to stop crime into the Yucatán and the drugs. They are here, in the south. To the north, the Romans will deal with that. We hope. Until then we have no mandate there. Is that understood?"

"I have contacts."

"Is that understood?"

"No. I do not agree with this at all." Confrontation seemed just around the corner now.

Sparetti was having great difficulty trying to break an impasse with Emilia. She was as resilient as ever, and it is hard even to convince her to speak with him. They only met passingly, during dinner or occasionally in between his fishing breaks and her sun bathing routines. He didn't want to provoke a conflict, but more and more, he was finding that conflict was already present. He thought it ultimately strange that he would want to elicit a peaceful response from Emilia, despite his rough past; but he also knew that he loved her, and wouldn't want to react so harshly to her. It was a strange sequestration of emotions - the raw and cold feelings he felt towards others and the serene and sensitive thoughts towards Emilia.

It had bee three days since their departure from Naples, and the day was somewhat turning foul. Apparently a gale was blowing off to the south, and the winds were coming this way. Fishing season was over, and the end of their cruise was likely at hand. Vicenzo felt that this was his best time as ever, and decided on a soft confrontation. He had finished packing his equipment as he watched Emilia make her usual noon sun bath. The sun wasn't as bright because of the clouds, but nonetheless, it was bright enough for him to stalk her. He had approached her at the moment when she glanced down at her feet and saw his face through her toes.

"Are you playing games with my feet now?" she replied.

"Emilia."

"Vicenzo, don't give me any crap. I've tolerated enough of your presence for one season, but if you want me to indulge your banal appetite, I'm not for show."

"Emilia, listen to me!"

Signora Morelli took a glance at Vicenzo and let him exhort his breath as she tried to ignore his words.

"I had hoped that we could meet under better circumstances, but I just don't that it's right that you should bounce me out into the cold wind. I've a confession to make, and I hope that you will at least understand. I am Mafioso - and I am a criminal. I have been this way for my entire life. It's been a part of me that beckons to my passion, whatever exists of it. I've found no greater pleasure than to ignore law and do away with justice in a manner that empowers me. But then I met you - and I've felt differently ever since. You are the only person I know that evokes peace in me, and it's something that I cherish more so than my guns and my justice. I have satisfaction living with you, and my pleasures running as a criminal do not compare to the passions that I hold for simply being with you. And I have come to realize that every time I am away from you, my desire to return to you increases, and I'm at this point where I'm paces in front of you and I can feel this satisfaction, only to be clouded by your disgust of me. I have to make choice - whether to abandon you and continue with being Mafioso, or to abandon the Family itself. I don't know which way to go. If I abandon you, I lose a part of me. If I abandon the Family, I might lose everything."

Emilia sighed. "If you think highly of me, then you'll respect my space as well."

"Emilia," Vicenzo continued. "I love you."

"Words - they mean nothing to you. I've spent this time listening to you, and the only thing that I've heard is your love for me and your love for being a criminal. If you love me, you wouldn't love evil things."

"I would!" Vicenzo replied. "If you are willing to let me by your side again, I will abandon it all and I can live a life without crime."

"I cannot," Emilia replied. "It isn't right..."

"You can make me right!"

"You wouldn't know right from wrong."

"Emilia, I know life without you is wrong."

Emilia paused in her thoughts. It was evident that in the break between her harsh recourse and her thoughts that she still held some regard for him. It was all that Sparetti had hoped to see, and he was satisfied by it. But he wanted more from it.

"Unfortunately, Signor Maggiano wishes to call off this date now." Sparetti turned around, and saw the pilot of the boat, with a harpoon in his hand. "It's been a pleasure to have you around."

In that instant, the pilot shot Sparetti with the harpoon, and he fell off the boat with the barb stuck through him. He had no time to react; the attack was too sudden, and no reason to defend himself let his fall down. Emilia was screaming as two armed men carried her indoors, and the lone ranger was left in the sea for dead. The storm coming and land far away, his lot was certainly doomed. Such was the irony of the life, and the Family's intrigue thickened.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

January 17, 2007 - 09:00 [CST]
Northern Border, Guatemala

Armed forces were marshalling along the border with Neuvo Rican territory. Artillery units were sitting behind friendly lines, read to unload their projectiles and missiles towards the enemy lines. They were arranged in three missile groups and two gun groups, each group divided into four sections of three units. Each section could, in theory, rain hell upon one individual target, making a single artillery squadron capable of destroying twenty targets, simultaneously. The most powerful guns were the M2014A2 Hail Storms, armed with 62-caliber, 155 millimeter ETC guns, each with a range of just over 31 miles. They were stationed some 10 miles behind enemy lines and could fire on the move. The M777A1 was armed with a 39-caliber, 155 millimeter gun, with a range of just over 18.5 miles and they were stationed closer, up to 4 miles from the front lines. Because they were towed by trucks, they were less mobile than the M2014s but they could be moved into positions quickly and easily. For the missiles, they had the Boar and Devestator MLRS units, with ranges of up to 15 and 56 miles, respectively. Then there was the Large-Caliber Battlefield Artillery Rocket (LCBAR) with a tremendous range of 150 miles and a beastly warhead of either 3,076 APAM submunitions or 800 IISM submunitions. They could cover over a million squad feet on the battlefield and, effectively neutralize an advancing army in a single strike. Though there were only eight missiles with each squadron, they could sway a battle.

Artillery units were prized possessions of the army but nothing like the armored squadrons that were deployed at the front line. Each squadron was loaded with 24 heavy, main battle tanks and 8 medium, assault tanks, as well as 10 anti-tank units, and 4 tank-destroyers. Those were the big guns and they would be brought to bear on the enemy as the army advanced forward, into Neuvo Rican territory. The pride of the army was the M2032 Sabertooth, a main battle tank, if there ever was one. It was developed from the M1 Abrams, Leopard 2, and M2006 Emperor. It was one of the most indestructable tanks on Earth and it brought to bear some amazing firepower. It sported a 52-caliber, 125 millimeter ETC gun with 48 rounds and 12 missile rounds. The rounds were a mix of HEAT and APFSDS rounds, both of which could destroy light armored vehicles and infantry fighting vehicles with a single shot. The sabot rounds could pierce the unpenetrable armor of the M1A2 Abrams with little effort. But the tank had more. As a co-axial gun it sported a 15.5 millimeter heavy machine gun with 1,500 rounds and 4,500 rounds in the same gun for the commander. The loader had only a 7.62 millimeter light machine gun with 5,000 total rounds. Externally, it carries a Firefly launch with 2 rounds at the ready and another 8 stowed. It had a direct energy weapon for crowd control and against soldiers. It had a pair of LOSAT launchers built into the skids with 4 rounds, each one capable of turning a main battle tank into jelly. The A1B version added a 60 millimeter mortar with 16 rounds. Then, for self-protection, it had 24 smoke grenades and a powerful electronic defense system. It was a beast of a tank and it had served well within October Alliance armies in the export version, which was slightly downgraded from the ones sported by the army. They served with distinction and none had been lost on the Isle of Man or against Azad forces on the Arabian Peninsula. Nineteen were destroyed in Siberia where 1,000s were deployed against numerically superior forces. In the Empire, only 12 had been destroyed thus far, 8 due to poor tactics, 2 to a bridge collapse, and 2 to enemy fire, repeated enemy fire. One Sabertooth survived 26 hits from anti-material rifles, including the 25 millimeter Barrett, rocket-propelled grenades, including the RPG-7 and RPG-29, and even against hull-impacting anti-tank missiles. The 2 that had been destroyed were taken out by top-attack missiles. Many had been damaged in combat, most to their rear and top but they had ben repaired. That put only 31 losses to tens of thousands deployed.

Berms had been built and dug for the forces and they sat twenty feet high. On the other side, across the border, Neuvo Rican forces were preparing as well, as best as they could in territories that were rife with rebellion. Snipers would wait on top of the berms and look out, over the front lines, to the enemies. Armored bulldozers had built them all along the front lines and soldiers were sitting at the lines, dug-in, ready and waiting. Marines on ships were preparing for the same as well, preparing to be cast into battle. Helicopters would advance with attack fighters in the initial waves and the Yucatán would be secured quick and easily. Then, forces would move through and into the other territories of Neuvo Rica. The Neuvo Ricans knew that the Empire was coming but they also knew that they wouldn't be able to put much of a fight up against the superior forces.

On their lines, Abrams, Challenger II, and Merkava tanks made up the front lines with Bradley's, Warriors, Strykers, and other armored personnel carriers waited for the Layartebian juggernaut. Super Cobras, Black Hawks, and Apaches were waiting for Layartebian helicopters to come slaughtering in as well. Commanches were already operating around the berms while Anasazis watched their every move. The Neuvo Ricans had submarines and warships in the Caribbean, ready to attack the Layartebian naval forces throughout the sea. War hadn't been declared yet but once it was, the Neuvo Rican navy would be decimated right off the bat.

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

"Alright. A little further," the driver pulled the car off the road in a really rural part of the province, a part that wasn't even under the control of Faysal. The men had a cave that they used now, a cave that was originally used by Eurasian forces. Inside was equipment and other men in their outfit. "Bring him in." They spoke in English, to make sure that their captive wouldn't understand them and he didn't. When they spoke Dari it was to make sure he heard and they said several things in Dari, mostly concerning death and torture. They kept the hood over his head and kept him restrained until they sat him down in a chair, deep inside the cave. They strapped him to it using leather belts that were attached to the chair and then, with a rip, they pulled off the hood. "What is your name?" They asked in Dari. He didn't answer and they asked again. Still, he didn't answer and instead, his breathes lumbered up, into the air. "Get the water." The team leader said and a bucket of some of the coldest water they could find was dumped on his head, sending his body into instant shivers.

"What's your name?" They asked again and he obliged.

"Ahmad Zia Shah."

"That's correct. You see we knew that. We just wanted to ask you. Good. Glad to see you're awake now. Let's proceed. What do you do for Faysal?"

"Who?" They began to attach wires to his wet skin. "What are you doing?"

"That water had salt in it. Salt conducts electricity well." He laughed and they hooked up the electrical wires to a small device. Two electrical shocks of 10,000 volts with milliamperage were sent through his body, causing every one of his muscles to instantly tense up. "Hurt?" He screamed in pain as they continued to send the shocks into him, two seconds at a time. They continued the shocks for another few minutes until Ahmad lost consciousness. They tossed more icy water on him to wake him up, which he did, his eyes reluctant to open. "What do you do for Faysal?" They were wearing him down and after ten minutes he broke again.

"I sell his opium to the Layartebian cartels."

"How?"

"Through intermediaries. I sell through them."

"When?"

"Once a month."

"How much?"

"Three month's worth."

"How much money?"

"I don't know. The intermediaries handle that. I just get 700 Dinars a month."

"Sizeable sum of money? You must be rich." He laughed. "Where is Faysal?"

"I don't know." They added more electrical shocks to him and continued further and further. They found this method to work, especially against Afghans and covered in water. The Eurasians had done a lot of interrogations in the past and some of that knowledge had passed down. "I don't know." He didn't know and that was the truth. When they got that far it was time to dispose of him. A grave was already dug and he was pushed into it and shot through the head. He slumped over, into the grave and was buried.

OOC: Wow, 26 hits by RPG-29s and it survived? Got some magical uber tanks there don't ya Lay.

OOC: Wow, 26 hits by RPG-29s and it survived? Got some magical uber tanks there don't ya Lay.

[OOC: It was mostly RPG-7Vs and M72 LAWs in the Isle of Man campaign, but also a RPG-29 or two. Didn't make more than scratches in the paint. The only way the opposition actually managed to disable that one tank that was disabled was through ramming it with another tank! Sabertooth rocks!]

OOC: Wow, 26 hits by RPG-29s and it survived? Got some magical uber tanks there don't ya Lay.

OOC: Nothing would survive 26 hits by RPG-29s. However, if you re-read what was typed you'll find that this is what was typed:

One Sabertooth survived 26 hits from anti-material rifles, including the 25 millimeter Barrett, rocket-propelled grenades, including the RPG-7 and RPG-29, and even against hull-impacting anti-tank missiles.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

January 18, 2007 - 01:00 [CST]
Rebel HQ, Campeche

"David. Venga aquí. Tenemos algo usted debe ver." [David. Come here. We have something you should see.] David was admiring the ruins of the Mayan civilization around the headquarters when one of the rebel soldiers came looking for him. He was a young boy and he had a CAR-15 assault rifle slung around his body.

"Niño seguro. Vaya adelante." [Sure kid. Lead the way.] He picked up his pack and followed the boy through a maze of different passageways, lit by torches that were as dark as the night outside. "¿Qué encontró usted?" [What did you find?] He asked the rebel leader, who was standing over a piece of paper.

"Lea esto." [Read this.] He handed him the piece of paper and he began to read it.

"¿Es esto seguro?" [Is this reliable?] He asked after a minute, having read through the short communique twice.

"Tenemos una fuente dentro de. Es seguro. Muy seguro." [We have a source within. It's reliable. Very reliable.]

David smiled and picked up his satellite phone right away. He went through the channels and encryptions and logged into the secure network, patching himself right into the Central America situation room in the Ministry of Intelligence. When he go through his secure links, he began, "We've got actionable and reliable intelligence that puts a major Neuvo Rican general on the ground in Chiapas. Location is confirmed at Guadalupe, visiting the front. According to the intelligence, he's in charge of the entire Neuvo Rican military effort and he's meeting troops along the front. This is a perfect decapitation strike. Understood. Two hours? Alright." He put away the satellite phone and turned back to the rebel leader with a smile.

"Una huelga estará en dos horas. Necesitamos saber su ubicación precisa entonces. ¿Me puede decir su espía eso?" [A strike will be in two hours. We need to know his precise location then. Can your spy tell me that?]

"El hace." [He will.]

"Bueno." [Good.] David went to inform his colleague and both of them plotted for the strike. They wouldn't know what it was just yet that would be making the strike but they did have some time. Inside of a hardened, underground hangar at Flores Air Force Base, an F-41B Defender was being prepared to make the actual strike. It was being loaded with a full bomb load. Inside of its side bays it would be carrying six AIM-204A Escape dogfighting missiles. Inside of its two fuselage bays it would be carrying six AIM-221A LRAAAM BVR missiles and four GBU-51A JDAM II guided bombs, each equipped with a penetrator warhead. It wouldn't be carrying anything externally, which would maximize its stealth signature. The F-41B Defender was a lightweight fighter. It weighed as much as an F-16C Falcon Block 50 in the B, C, and D versions but it was far more equipped and capable than the F-16. It was stealthy and it could fly as far as 850 miles and back with a top speed of Mach 3.25 at altitude and Mach 1.21 at sea level. It was a nimble and classified fighter and it was perfect for the job.

It was only 190 miles to the target from Flores and they would only have to cross into Neuvo Rican territory briefly. Sixteen miles of its journey would be in enemy airspace but the air force was taking no chances. The pilot was a certified combat veteran, a major, and he was up to the task. He would make the flight at 30,000 feet, out of the way of a considerable amount of air defense missiles but, because of its stealth, it would be able to penetrate into the airspace without being seen. With an average speed of 550 mph to the target, it would take just a little over twenty minutes to get to the target site. An hour and a half after the call went out, the F-41 was airborne, its two engines throwing it down the runway and putting it in the air in just 1,312 feet, just under a quarter of a mile. From there, the pilot climbed and conserved fuel by throttling down tremendously. With his radar off, he was linked into the anti-stealth system that defended the airspace of the Empire from the ground up to space. With the uplink, he was purely passive and emitted nothing, meaning that RWRs would be silent as his aircraft flew inbound.

There was an array of enemy aircraft in the air over Chiapas. Raptors, Eagles, and Black Widows were up in the air over the Mexican state. It would make the job harder but he was confident, he had one of the most advanced fighters in the Layartebian Air Force under his control. Derived from the technology used on the Ghostrider and its sister aircraft and the Soviet Blocian Tengriy, the Defender was a marvelous aircraft and it was a secret to the day. The Defender could put up a mild defense but the pilot would have rather escapped enemy territory alive and unseen than get a kill.

Fifty miles out, he contacted David, through a secure network. His callsign was Libra 6-1 and David was Phantom. "Phantom. Phantom. This is Libra 6-1. Come in."

"Roger that Libra 6-1. We're here. What is status?"

"Fifty miles to the target. Report coordinates."

"Incoming now." David had uplinked to a satellite and he was using it to determine the GPS coordinates of the target building. "¿Dónde está él?" []

"En el edificio con la pista de aterrizaje de helicópteros en primero de ello." [In the building with the helipad on top of it.]

"Este." [This one.] He pointed to a building in the center of an army base. "Alright Libra 6-1. Upload is complete. Do you have the coorindates?"

"Downloading now Phantom. I've got them. Confirm." He repeated the lengthy coordinates.

"Confirm. That is correct. Use two thousand pounders on it."

"Roger that. Locking onto the target now. Programming bombs. We're inbound. Three minutes to target." He was almost into Neuvo Rican airspace and the fighter screamed in at 550 mph, high above the ground, subsonic to avoid being seen by its supersonic wake. The fighter screamed through the sky and crossed into Neuvo Rican airspace undetected. Ten miles out, he released both bombs, pickled so they would hit twelve seconds apart from each other, causing massive damage.

The bomb bay door snapped open and both bombs fell out, twelve seconds apart. Quickly, he adjusted his course and turned to the southwest, to come off the target. The bombs glided towards the ground, spinning as they did, using the GPS seeker to adjust their fins and find the target. The Defender turned again and was four miles away from turning out of enemy airspace, to turn back towards Layartebian airspace. It was at that moment that its radar warning receiver lit up from an extremely short-range threat. "What the..." The pilot said to himself. There was an F-22 tracking him but it wasn't an F-22, it was an F-24 Kite, an Amazon Global fighter, which was significantly improved Raptor. It was only fifteen miles away, close enough that its powerful phased array radar could detect the Defender. "This is Libra 6-1. Libra 6-1. I'm defensive. Single Kite contact."

"Roger that Libra 6-1. Expedite out of there!"

"Roger that. We're out. Bombs released on target." The bombs slammed into the structure seconds later, reducing the building to a hill of debris and rubble in just twelve seconds, killing the Neuvo Rican general and a massive amount of his HQ staff. "We've been engaged! Defensive. Missile inbound." The RWR lit up as an AIM-120 AMRAAM streaked towards the Defender. The pilot, realizing that he had been engaged lit the afterburners and put the missile to his rear, jamming it as he sped away. The target was locked up and he could, if he wanted to, engage the shooting aircraft and he did, without changing course. The AIM-221 LRAAAM was capable of attacking 180° to the rear, though it severely reduced its range, of which it had a maximum range of 110 miles. Using this option it was limited to 25 - 30 miles. The missile fell free of the aircraft and streaked upwards, in an Immelmann and streaked towards its own target, using its own radar to guide itself. On the ground, hundreds of miles away, the operators of the anti-stealth network watched the battle in 3D as the missiles sped towards their targets. The Defender had gone supersonic and it was moving faster, speeding towards its maximum speed of Mach 3.25. As it passed Mach 1.8, the AMRAAM lost its ability to engage it and would, eventually, just run out of momentum. The LRAAAM, on the other hand, had the element of surprise and it used this element to pummel itself right into the F-24, turning it into a flaming wreck as the Defender passed into friendly airspace, throttling back to save fuel.

The strike was a success and a testament to the new partnership of the rebels and the Layartebians. They provided serious actionable intelligence and were able to effectively neutralize the leaders of the Neuvo Rican southern command, which would prove invaluable once the war actually began. The strike was the first military action of the war and it saw the first aerial engagement, with the defeat of a Neuvo Rican advanced fighter.

OOC: Something small just to set the stage for what the naval battle will be like.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

January 18, 2007 - 11:00 [CST]
Gulf of Mexico

Layartebian naval vessels had steamed into their places in the Gulf of Mexico. Sehnsucht and Abaddon spy vessels were in place, far away from the battle lines, studying not just what was going on within the southern portions of Mexico but also further north, in Neuvo Rica. Satellites were tracking Russian vessels moving through the Pacific Ocean, most likely for the western coast of Mexico, which meant that Layartebian forces were, for the time being, safe to act how they pleased. Submarines, though they never surfaced, came to periscope depth and relayed their communications and watched on the horizon for any enemy vessels. The Neuvo Rican Navy had a sizeable presence in the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico but that would soon change once the fighting began. Thus far, SOSUS networks as well as satellites were tracking the presence of eighty-two Neuvo Rican warships in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea. They were classified as eight Hades SSNs (built by the Empire), four Shield SSKs (built by the Empire), two Improved Nimitz CVNs, eight Ticonderoga CGs, eight Bergen FFGs, six AEGIS Flight IIA DDGs, two Improved Iowa Class BBGNs, four Ynoga CVLNs (built by the Empire), and forty assorted supply and support vessels. They had a sizeable force that was mostly Layartebian built but it would be sunk to the bottom of the water once the battles began. Aircraft would fly towards them with anti-ship missiles and launch salvos at each of them. The hardest to sink would be the carriers and the battleships, all of which could take repeated hits from various types of missiles. Nuclear weapons were not an option at all and so the AGM-197 Kingfish, a secret but hard hitting anti-ship missile, and the AGM-224 Advanced Hard-Strike Weapon would be used alongside Voodoo missiles to sink the various ships. Four Venom SSGNs were already inside of the AO armed with a total of 192 Voodoo missiles, 384 UIM-188 Crow missiles, and 280 Imsdal missiles, between the four of them. They were ready for action and spread out along various attack routes. Their Voodoo missiles would be used primarily against the ships while the Crow missiles would be saved for use against aircraft. Imsdal missiles would be used against land-targets and any surviving ships, if necessary. With the various battle groups were more Venoms and more attack submarines, all of which were tasked, specifically with the invasion. The four Venoms that were elsewhere in the Caribbean were there for anti-shipping duties only. Neuvo Rican submarines were particularly hard to find, mainly because they were Layartebian made but the SOSUS networks were advanced and capable. Sensors had been laid throughout the entire Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico, secretly of course. Nothing larger than a dolphin could move and not be heard.

The high seas were quiet, real quiet. A Layartebian cruise liner was entering the Gulf of Mexico for a short stay and civilian airliners were flying above like nothing was going on down below. The Layartebian military presence could not be mistaken for anything else, though it was billed as a training exercise. Two more battlegroups would be moving to the western coast of Mexico to protect the AARG already there and to make sure that the Russians didn't get too overzealous and try to encroach upon what the Empire was doing. Tensions were high between the two countries and they didn't appear to be thawing at all.

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

Weeks had further passed and still nothing on Faysal came evident. He was a shadow. The EC-21 flights had revealed less and less now and only six captures had been done. Two yielded worthwhile information and all but three of them had been executed. The enemy knew that they were being spied on but they still didn't know who. Conversations always spoke of some sort of "Ghost Warriors" who swept in and did their dirty work. They described them as "Ghost Wars" between the Eurasians. They didn't know though that the Eurasians were sidelining this operation. It was really a Layartebian operation, clandestine but fully under their direction. Ministry of Intelligence liaisons kept the Eurasian government in the know-how but they also kept a lot from them. Two of the captures had never been made known to them and the three that were still alive had been sent back to the Empire for further interrogation and imprisonment. They simply just upped and vanished from Afghanistan in the middle of the night or, in the case of one man, in the middle of a day, from a toilet.

Things were slowing down. Ghost Recon now marked their days just waiting for something. They did their usual surveillance but nothing was really coming out of it. Intelligence controllers flying in the air were wasting more fuel than they were getting any results and, as with the rest of the War on Drugs, the momentum had been lost. Back home, people were split about the War on Drugs. They obviously didn't know about its operations in any detail but they did know that the gang violence, especially in the Yucatán had escalated to unsatisfactory levels. That would soon be solved with a full-fledged invasion of southern Mexico. The gangs would be silenced, the drug runners would be caught, and the deeds of evil men would be known.

He woke up on a bed, the pain from his back still present. Doubtless, he was still alive, but he now wanted to know why. Why was he still alive? Why did Maggiano want him dead? Why was his life just turning into a large mess? He didn't wait long before an elderly man came into the room. He spoke an old tongue, something that he could not understand. Immediately, one of the younger men entered, and from their appearances, Sparetti assumed that the two men were Berber.

He sighed. Yet another language he didn't know how to speak...

"My grandfather says you are a miracle man," the man said.

"You speak Italian?" Sparetti replied, with a coarseness in his throat.

"Yes. I overheard your screaming in your sleep. It must have been horrible, what happened to you and all. But what did happen? My grandfather says he found you with a spear stuck in your back, drifting in the sea. He was surprised that the sharks didn't find you first."

"I don't remember." An obvious lie - the less that these people knew, the better. Now, he had to figure out where he was. The old man started to talk and left the room. The man nodded and followed him out, leaving Sparetti alone. He examined the portly quarters - it was neat for being dirty, but anything certainly beat dying out in the sea. He was glad that the sharks didn't get him either, but then he started to wonder - why didn't the sharks eat him? Perhaps he was too far away? Perhaps there was something else to eat? Perhaps they were feeding on Maggiano's dead corpse...

No, he had to control his thoughts. If he became too angry too soon, he would run berserk - the last time was as horrifying as he could remember it. He practically waded through a sea of blood to reach and kill Maria. La Donna Gioiosi was a vile and pungent witch, but after having done what he done, he wondered if he could ever something like her. They were indeed almost alike - the difference was what they thought of family. Sparetti had never had a family; Maria had always had a family. Perhaps if the two intersected in a different lifetime, they would have been something else. They would have been the Il Re e La Reina - Il Duce e La Duca. And they would have killed many people - but what of Emilia? She was the only reason why he killed Maria; he had someone to care for! And she rejected him! The cruel irony of life - sia donna e sio capo, they both reject him; the former steals his heart, and the latter steals his life. But they would both dearly pay for their crimes.

Whose crimes? His or theirs? Perhaps his was justified...

The man came back into the room. "My grandfather wants to make you comfortable. He doesn't think that you are fit to travel yet, but we have our ways to manage things. If you need anything, just call for me. My name is Ata."

Sparetti stopped Ata as he was leaving - "Where am I?"

"You are in what used to be Tunis. But I don't think that you should worry about that for now - you have much rest to take, and spending time to think about your life isn't going to help." With that, Ata left the room. Tunis - it wasn't too far from Sicily; in fact, it was the most convenient place to stage a reprisal against Maggiano, since Tunisia was Doomani territory. A plot was brewing already within his thick skull, and the sweet taste of revenge was sweeter still.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

January 22, 2007 - 21:30 [EST]
Governor's Island, Layarteb City

"Sir. The latest intelligence reports from Mexico," the Ministry of Intelligence said over the phone as the information was beamed through secure, fiber-optic cables right through the Ministry of Intelligence and into the Emperor's office. His computer station projected the image onto the massive television at the front of his office. "As you can see, we've got a lot to deal with here."

"Yes. Yes we do. What about the Russians, where are they?"

"They're moving. They are in the Pacific Ocean right now and we can expect them on station, on the west of Mexico by February 10. We have already stated our goals to stomp out crime and problems in southern Mexico and that the Caribbean Sea is closed to Russian traffic."

"Alright. Where do they stand?"

"Most likely they will obey sir but they'll definitely not be happy about it. Our border promises to be a tense zone."

"Interesting. I can imagine. Perhaps we should negotiate a demilitarized zone between our two territories? We had one with the Empire of Teh Ninjas and it was successful. Perhaps a fifteen kilometer wide zone on either side of the border?"

"The Minister of Foreign Affairs would probably agree sir. I do not know though, he is not here."

"Understandable. Alright. What is the situation of our guys inside of their territory?"

"Well. We have two agents that have linked up with the rebels. They are doing well. They have much to report sir."

"Good. The military will be sending in a team of special forces as well, from the 5th Special Operations Group. Twelve men will be split into two teams of six and put at two locations within the territory. I'd like to insert our black operations groups but at the moment that is not a viable option. I am told."

"Yes sir. It would put too many feet on the ground."

"Very well. Report back to me with any further intelligence."

"Yes sir." The teleconference ended and the Emperor looked at the information displayed on the large television screen.

What are you planning. He said to himself, looking at the large amounts of troops that had moved to the border. Layartebian forces were gearing up and piling in and would be ready to launch a full-fledged assault on February 15. That was five days after the Russians arrived, a problem, a major problem. He wanted to have men on the ground, in force, before that date, to dissuade the Russians from moving too far south. He didn't trust them and rightfully so, the Russian was a sly character, someone whom would sell their own back teeth to advance themselves. He had always said, "If it's up to the Russians to save the world, we're screwed." He knew it to be true. His Cabinet knew it to be true. With fourteen men on the ground within the hour, the military could coordinate effectively with the rebels, who had been named by the two intelligence agents on the ground. They both gave them the name of "Ejército Libertad" or "Freedom's Army." They spoke, at length, of freedom from the Empire of Neuvo Rica, not that it was an oppressive regime. On the contrary, they enjoyed freedom but they weren't free, not as long as the crime lords controlled their territory with drugs. The rebel leaders were not idealistic people, they were realistic people. They knew that without the help of the Empire, the drug lords and crime bosses would continue to poison their children and taint their generations. With the Empire, they would have freedom, a lot of freedom, though it was an authoritarian regime on the federal levels. However, they would have safety, security, and hope for the generations to come. They could begin education, they could stop the poisons of drugs, and they could unite with their ancient, Mayan brethren in the rest of the Empire.

On the ground in Chiapas and Campeche, the two teams of ODA 201 had moved into Neuvo Rican territory through underground tunnels built by the rebels. The "EL" as they were abbreviated, welcomed the twelve men, armed to the teeth with weapons and ammunition. They couldn't wait for the fighting to begin, to rid themselves of the Empire of Neuvo Rica. There was even talk about a Mayan Republic being formed, which would please them all but that would have to wait, if it was even going to happen. For now, they cared not of the inconsequential things and focused on the task at hand, preparing for the war that was to come.

Along the Layartebian front, buried behind berms twenty feet high, the soldiers were lying down in their foxholes. There were hundreds of thousands of them as a full Army Group of 500,000 Layartebian soldiers massed. Their armor and their helicopters were silent right now but the full Army Group had 165,888 soldiers that were drivers and gunners in the various vehicles of the group. The remaining 331,776, two corps, were fighting soldiers, who could be carried around by the vehicles. The entire army could be mobile and all at the same time. Then there was the HQ staff, 2,336 soldiers who were far behind enemy lines but deployed with the group nonetheless. They coordinated everything. The whole Army Group had 63,585 vehicles to itself, though most of those were variations of trucks. There were a total of 1,944 main battle tanks with the group, which was enough to push through any defensive barrier. At the forefront of the attacks though, the Sabertooth main battle tanks would be joined by smaller, lighter, and much faster Tumbler breeching vehicles. These nimble, car-like beasts had more than enough going for them. They were meant to fight ahead of the main force and clear fortifications through brutal firepower. Because they were so small, light, and fast, they were hard targets for anything, even anti-tank missiles. They would ride up and over the berms first and propel ahead, towards enemy positions, which were behind similar berms. Snipers perched on their berms looked through scopes at Layartebian snipers, who looked right back at them. When the fighting began, these snipers would fire the first shots. It was no wonder that, overhead, clouds and a waxing moon cast little light onto the ground below. Stars were out in force and the sky looked like a black tarp that had been shot with a 22 caliber rifle, repeatedly. Crickets chirped and other creatures of the night filled the still, breezeless air with a cacophony of sounds that echoed louder than the roar of a tank engine.

Looking at the same moon and the same stars was the rebel leader, Pedro. "You know. A night like this can bring no good." He laughed as David took a drag on his cigarette. "You know. The day will come when the poison stops flowing, when the streets are safe, when the schools don't need bodyguards. I look forward to that day." Pedro was more of a philosopher than he was a rebel but he did what he had to do for his people.

"Yes it will. In just under a month."

"So there is a time table?"

"There is. It isn't solid yet but it's within a month."

"Very well. This means that we too must begin our campaign."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think we'd sit around and wait for your army to attack, did you?"

"Actually I hoped you would."

"I cannot. My people, my soldiers. They need morale, a morale boost. That is what we'll do tonight."

"What are we doing?"

"Something that has been planned. When the invasion comes within thirty days, we begin. We will put the Neuvo Rican forces on a double-edged defensive. Your army will come through the north, south, and east. To the west is nothing. The Neuvo Ricans can look to the west and feel safe. What if the west wasn't safe anymore?"

"It's good in theory but how strong are their rear defenses?"

"They are not. They do not yet expect the Russians as you say they are coming. I too doubt their interest this far around the world but I'll take your advice on it. For now, the Neuvo Ricans have guards to the rear that must be struck. Tonight we will."

"We will...?"

"Well not you or I. The target is too far away for us to do any good. We'd never make it there and back, especially not through enemy lines. No. I have soldiers on the rear. Soldiers who are in hiding. Come." He stood up with his assault rifle in his hands and entered the command center. "Soldados. Guerreros. Mis personas. Esta noche es la noche que iremos cuarto y empezaremos nuestra pelea para la libertad. Esta noche es la noche que mostraremos el Neuvo Rico que el trasero es tan vulnerables como su frente. Esta noche es la noche cuando nosotros los mostramos que ellos tienen más en preocuparse por que la armada delante de ellos. Esta noche es la noche que iluminaremos los cielos con el fuego y con la gloria. ¡Prepare para es esta noche la noche que iremos cuarto y la LIBERTAD de la marca!" [Soldiers. Warriors. My people. Tonight is the night that we will go fourth and we will begin our fight for freedom. Tonight is the night that we will show the Neuvo Ricans that their rear is as vulnerable as their front. Tonight is the night when we show them that they have more to worry about than the armada in front of them. Tonight is the night that we will light up the skies with fire and with glory. Prepare for tonight is the night that we will go fourth and make FREEDOM!]

"¡LIBERTAD!" [FREEDOM!] The mass of people shouted as Pedro picked up the phone and dialed a number that he had memorized. He waited a few rings and it finally picked up and a female voice answered.

"¿Está usted listo?" [Are you ready?] He asked softly, María by his side.

"Soy. Somos." [I am. We are.]

"Bueno. Esta noche es la noche que empezamos. ¿Usted tiene su objetivo?" [Good. Tonight is the night we begin. You have your target?]

"Hago. Es el tercero del principio." [I do. It is the principle third.] He checked a piece of paper that he pulled from his pocket. It was folded and definitely worn out but he nodded in agreement.

"Es. Vaya. Golpéelo y el informe atrás a nosotros. ¡Puede a Dios está con usted!" [It is. Go. Strike it and report back to us. May God be with you!]

"Gracias." [Thank you.] He ended the phone call and turned to his people.

"Esta noche es la noche que nosotros nos bañamos el Neuvo Rico en el fuego y en la sangre. Esta noche nosotros empezaremos con una explosión de la libertad. Avance y haga sus deberes. Prepare para una lucha y una batalla. El Layartebians será complacido con nosotros y ellos nos darán la bienvenida cuando el tiempo viene." [Tonight is the night that we bathe the Neuvo Ricans in fire and in blood. Tonight we will begin with an explosion of freedom. Go forward and do your duties. Prepare for a struggle and a battle. The Layartebians will be pleased with us and they will welcome us when the time comes.]

"¡LIBERTAD!" [FREEDOM!] They shouted once more. The war had begun...

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

January 22, 2007 - 23:00 [AST]
Oaxaca, Mexico

Oaxaca was well behind the lines for the territories that the Empire was going to annex. Miles and miles behind Neuvo Rican rear lines, Oaxaca was considered a safe city. With the Russians on the way, it would eventually become a seiged city, in control of the Russian Federation. For now though, it rested solely in the hands of the Neuvo Rican Empire and because of that it was going to shake. The FA had a cell within Oaxaca and it was a powerful cell, one that was well equipped to handle just about any threat, provided it was small enough. That was why they were chosen to send the most piercing blow to the Neuvo Rican supply lines that they'd ever face, until the invasion, of course. Equipped with pounds upon pounds of plastic explosives, primarily Semtex A, which was used for blasting. Made of 94.3% PETN, one of the strongest known high explosives, and 5.7% RDX, one of the most powerful and brisant of the military high explosives, Semtex A was a hard-to-detect and easily obtainable plastic explosive. This was why it was preferred for their targets, which included a major bridge and a fuel depot. The bridge was the aorta of the Neuvo Rican back-supply route. If they needed supplies they came across this bridge. If they needed to retreat, they would use this bridge. It was so important that it was a priority one target, meaning that it would be bombed on the first night with the airfields, air-defense networks, and everything else that would mean victory or defeat. It was the only bridge below priority three. An F-19 Ghostrider strike was going to sortie to the bridge, if necessary, and hit it with eight 1,000 pound JDAM IIs, it was that vital and that big.

The fuel depot, on the other hand, was a lesser target but it would send a clear message and its effects were going to be more than just a scratch. With the amount of explosives that they had, they could light up all six petrol tanks and turn two mechanical bays into cinders. Neuvo Rican soldiers manning the depot weren't numerous as wartime had not been declared yet and the battle was expected well towards the Layartebian border, rather than this far back. It was a clear example of shoddy planning but it was a opportunity the FA was going to take.

The cell consisted of only twenty-six people, eleven of them being women, who were certainly as tough as the men, perhaps tougher in some respects. The cell leader was a woman named Hermila. Because of the complete lack of any sizeable force at the bridge, just eight rebels were selected to go for that target and all of them were carrying pounds upon pounds of Semtex A blocks. They'd pull up in a pair of cars and assault the checkpoint with assault rifles, using a grenade launcher to destroy the guard booth on the other side of the bridge. Then, they would strap the explosive packs to the bridge supports. They had enough to strap to each support and then some so they would double up in the center span of the bridge, the whole goal being to bring down the whole bridge. The other eighteen rebels would go to the fuel depot and attack it just as quickly. Equipped with assault rifles, grenade launchers, and other arms, all supplied by the Layartebian military and government, they would sweep through it, hopefully, like the army would sweep through the front lines.

The assaults would begin at 23:00 hours, local time, and would, hopefully, go pretty quickly. At the bridge, it was quiet. A few military trucks, 6 x 6 cargo vehicles, and some fighting vehicles had crossed over and the guards were, for the most part, just relaxing. They had a radio and cigarettes and they were set, laughing, joking, taking their "off-time" as unseriously as they could, and who could blame them, guard duty was boring. With four guards per side, the bridge was, itself, not a "huge" enough target to warrant something as large as a platoon. So, when two vehicles approached, from opposite ends, packed with four rebels a piece, the guards paid little attention to what could happen. On each side, one guard stood with his rifle on his back, a cigarette in his mouth, and his hand up, beckoing the vehicle to stop. "Identificación." [Identification.] The guards asked, almost in unison. It was that dull that they had somehow managed to get in sync, four hundred meters apart.

"Aquí usted es señor. Noche hermosa." [Here you are sir. Beautiful night.] The driver handed over a few pieces of paper, which were their identification papers.

"¿Dónde es dirigido usted?" [Where are you headed?]

"Para abrazar la revolución." [To embrace the revolution.] Perplexed, the guard looked up from the papers but before he could do anything, he was dead. The gunshots echoed across the bridge and both gunshots put both guards on the ground, dead. Automatic gunfire echoed only milliseconds later and it was directed against the two guard booths, killing the remaining six guards within only seconds time, certainly not enough for a distress call.

"Apuro. Vacíe los cuerpos. ¡Obtenga los explosivos ataron ahora!" [Hurry. Clear the bodies. Get the explosives strapped now!] The rebels went to work. Two of them grabbed the bodies and began to throw them over the side, down the massive ravine below. The other six, split in half, respectively, began to move the vehicles away and pull out the explosives. They were dressed in military uniforms, which was good, in case anyone else came by and someone did, another military truck, loaded with supplies. As the driver came to a stop, one of the rebels beckoned him to stop. Before he could ask him for his identification papers, he shot him and his body was soon falling into the ravine below. They would hijack the truck and take it with them.

Further away, at the fuel depot, automatic gunfire stole the silence and sincerity from the night. Bullets flew all around as the initial assault wave broke the fences and gate of the fuel depot, the guard towers neutralized by snipers and grenade launchers. Emplaced weapons stood little chance against the 40mm grenade launchers the rebels had and they swept through it like a forest fire, strapping explosives to the tanks as they went, moving towards the mechanic bays and the actual main structures of the fuel depot. Minutes was all it took to secure the base and it left thirty-eight Neuvo Rican soldiers and two rebels dead, four others wounded though not severely. With the explosives set, the fuel depot was turned into a brilliant fireball. Radio detonators allowed the rebels to stay far back as the six petrol tanks exploded. The force of the explosions collapsed guard towers and other structures and when the mechanics bays went up, the whole base turned into a massive conflagration that would burn itself out, rather than be put out conventionally. As that fireball mushroomed over the horizon, the bridge was turned into twisted steel as well.

The explosives from the bridge went off on timers rather than radio detonators, because they had to be blown in certain intervals to allow the maximum amount of force on the load bearing beams, which caused them to fail more than it destroyed them. The metal would twist and tear itself apart, rather than be blown up, making repair that much more difficult. The whole four hundred meter span was in the ravine only seconds after the detonations and another fireball mushroomed over the horizon. War had begun for the Neuvo Ricans and it wasn't even against their "enemy," per say...

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

War in the Caucasus region had settled down. The Eurasians had succeeded, with Layartebian help. However, in Afghanistan, Faysal was still at large and new evidence was damning. Fayal's drug network had poured millions upon millions of dollars into the SP terrorists, which were now linked, not only to the Varsolan corporation in the Falkland Islands, which was responsible for the nuclear bombing of Saint George's but also the Republican Liberation Army, which had received training in Azerbaijan. The terrorists that seized St. Paul's school were all trained there. Documents linked another group called "Free Venezuelans" to the group but nothing was known about them, yet. The Ministry of Intelligence had heard the term a few times but nothing really told them what was going on or who was behind what. The intelligence gathered on the SP put them as the largest enemy the Empire had ever had. They were linked to the RLA and whomever had originally funded them. They trained them, they were on the payroll of the Varsolan corporation, they received money from Faysal and supported his men. The SP was a dangerous group that was worldwide, it seemed and not sure in the Caucasus, though that was where their camps were, camps that had since been completely shut down. Little was known though that the SP was really just one part of the Layartebian revolution, which was creeping up again, after a lull since the destruction of Saint George's. Majestic had contacted SP and asked them to train the RLA and Illuminati hit squads and the Free Venezuelans. Majestic remained in the shadows and no paper trail existed linking them to SP but Faysal was definitely there, another man on Majestic's vast payroll. The information also yielded one, important piece of imformation. It yielded Faysal's hideout!

Russian Federation Central American Autonomous Provincial Region, Mexico City

Eight months have passed since the war, Valkyr the wonder drug has already become quiet popular on the mainland. Popular enough to attract attention of authorities on the federal level. Leonid Zapasov aka The Boss knew it couldn't last long, the government was going to take the case seriously and in a year or two maximum Leonid would find himself dead in some ditch. Leonid needed a new market, a market more distant from the sight of the Federal government. First he considered Russian Federation Yemenese Province but the threat of war with Spizania basically ruled out that possibility, the amount of civilian cargo in which the drugs could be transported were scarce plus the presence of the military in such a small territory also meant that the government was watching closely. However fate gave Leonid a gift the Mexican campaign has seized and there was room to do business. For the past eight months he was working on accumulating large enough shipment of Valkyr to last in Mexico for a long time, time long enough to reroute majority of the shipments to the Mexican shore that meant more bribes and more time. But with the population in the region of over 300 million the prospects for profit were too vast plus the federal policing was lax as a sign of friendship with the Kremlin installed government the Siberian Bear's puppets were given a lot of freedom within their part of the world as long as they behaved themselves.

To put icing on the cake Leonid had his old time friend who a few years back started his own operation, already moved into Mexico and started a gambling, money laundering, banking, weapons trafficking and a few other businesses in the region. Anton Zaitsev also known as "Zaiets" was friends with Leo since the first grade, Leo and him were the last two survivors of once a 4 man operation started back in the early 90s. But that was ancient past, "Zaiets" agreed to talk to his old time friend's emissary but he had something else other than profitable relationship in mind.


So Oleg found himself waiting on a corner of a crowded Mexican street in a black business suit with a blue tie, chewing on a handful of sun flower seeds he bought on his way to the meeting spot. The sun was bright in the middle of the summer, Oleg looked at it through his shades. Turning his head to the right he caught sight of a black bimmer rolling down the street.

Inside the BMW

“Это вот он там на углу стоит?”
[Is it him standing on the corner?]

One of Anton’s henchmen Yuri pointed at Oleg.

“Погоди у меня фотка есть.”
[Wait, I got a photo.]

Yuri’s comrade Sergei started searching in his pocket for a photo. Yuri tapped their driver Valerie on the shoulder.

“Парканись на углу, мне кажется это всё таки он.”
[Park on the corner, I think its him.]

“Да это он, вот фотка посмотри.”
[Yes its him, here is the photo, look at it.]

Sergei finally found the photo and handed it to Yuri.

http://www.melofanas.lt/katalogas/images/goods/79742_Andrei_Merzlikin.jpg

“Похож, рожа как у дегенерата. Ладно бирём его.”
[Looks like it, got a face like that of a retard. Okay, lets take him in.]

Yuri gave the picture back to Sergei and as the car parked right by Oleg Yuri prepared to open the door. The car stopped, Yuri jumped out of the car and punched Oleg on the stomach, Oleg attempted to fight back but stopped as Yuri put his TT pistol against his temple and pushed him into the back of the car. The bimmer sped away, and the only thing to remind the world of what happened on that corner was the handful of sun flower seeds splattered on the cement side walk.

10 minutes later

“Мужики вы чего? Вы знаете какая у меня крыша? Я сюда для переговоров приехал.”
[Guys what the hell? Do you know who’s my protection? I came here for a business talk.]

Oleg said thinking that this was some sort of a misunderstanding. Yuri sitting to his left and pointing a pistol at his gut laughed.

“Будут тебе переговоры, мы люди Антона. Щас тебя к нему везём.”
[You’ll have your talk, we’re Anton’s people. We’re taking you to him]

“А на хера бить то было! И какого хуя ты в меня тэтешником тычиш!”
[Why the hell did you hit me! And why the fuck are you pointing a TT at me!]

Oleg raised his voice, Yuri hit him on the face with the back of his gun.

“Молчи падла, Мексика дикая страна, можем щас тебя зарезать и всем сказать што ты пропал безвести, и главное нам все поверят.”
[Be quiet you piece of shit, Mexico is a wild country, we can cut you up right now and tell everyone that you went missing, and the most important thing everyone would believe us.]

“Вы чё тут вообще озверели?”
[You guys turned into animals in here?]

”Молчи, уже приехали.”
[Be quiet, we’ve arrived]

The bimmer stopped. Yuri threw Oleg a towel and spoke to him in English with a thick accent.

“Here wipe yourself off. Speak English inside the house; Anton has some of his partners in there, Mexicans, they don’t know a word of Russian and if they can’t understand you that hurts their feelings. I know you think you’re the shit but this is a different place with different rules. The Federal government will take several years to pacify it completely, its like Wild West of the 90s all over again.”

“Херня какая то, я сюда для бизнеса приехал или каких Мексиканских подонков развлекать?”
[That’s bullshit, I came here for business or to entertain some Mexican bastards?]

”Just get your ass out of the car.”

Oleg wiped the blood from his face and got out of the car. Him Yuri and Sergei entered the front doors of a huge mansion on the outskirts of the Mexico City. Anton was sitting behind a round kitchen table, surrounded by 6 Mexican men, they were playing cards. As the butler let Oleg, Yuri and Sergei in Anton got up and turned around.

“Sorry, gentlemen, I got some business to attend to. I will be back soon, you can keep playing.”

Anton walked passed Oleg and the others and motioned them to follow him. He lead the three into an office room.

”Пожалуйста присаживайтесь Олег. Юра останься, Сергей ты свободен.”
[Please sit down Oleg. Yuri stay here, Sergei you’re free to go.]

Sergei left the room, Anton turned to Oleg who already set down on the chair opposite the desk. Anton motioned to Oleg.

“Говори.”
[Talk.]

Oleg straightened out his suit and readied himself to give his speech.

“Как ты знаеш Антон я приехал от Леонида а он человек серьёзный. Ему ненравитца когда его людей трогают, какого хера твои уроды наменя напали?”
[As you know Anton I came here from Leonid and he is a serious man. He doesn’t like it then his people are messed with, why the fuck did your bastards attack me?]

Anton looked over Oleg the fresh bruises were noticeable.

”Ах, да пацаны погаречились. Ну нечего заживёт, с ними я поговорю, так какое у тебя предложение?”
[Yeah my guys went a little overboard. Its alright, you’ll heal, I’ll talk to them, so what is your proposal?]

Oleg cracked his neck and continued.

“Ты наверное слышал что Лайартебцы изобрели новую наркату, Валкир.”
[You probably heard that Layartebians invented a new drug, Valkyr.]

”Да слышыл, и твой Босс ей на родине торгует, тоже слышал, а я тут причём?”
[Yes I heard, and your Boss is selling it in the Motherland, that I also heard, how am I involved?]

Anton already knew.

“Ты знаешь наших Федералов, кто то голову поднимет они её отсекут. Валкир становится слишком по пулярным, и это для нас опасно, нам нужен новый маркет. Мексика подходящее место, Федералы сюда пока недобрались и народу много. Но самое главное климат здесь мы сможем сами все компоненты выращивать, мы с можем Лайартебцев послать. От тебя нам нужны твои контакты с меной братвой. Ты нам поможешь обосноваться, тебе будут идти большие бабки от наркаты, 10% от общего дохода. Все выигрывают, плюс это патротично, эта гадость небудет больше продаваться на Родине.”
[You know our Federals, whoever raises their head they will cut it off. Valkyr is becoming too popular, that is dangerous, we need a new market. Mexico is a very good place, Federals didn’t get here yet and there is a lot of people. But most importantly the climate here we will be able to grow all the components ourselves, we will be able to tell the Layartebians to go fuck themselves. What we need from you is your contacts with the local mob. You’ll help us settle in, you’ll get a lot of cash from our drugs, 10% from all the profits. Everyone wins, plus its patriotic, this shit will no longer be sold on the Motherland.]

Oleg grinned. Anton thought for a minute than looked at Oleg, his eyes filled with anger.

“Скажи своему Боссу чтобы о Мексике даже не мечтал! Я загошу любую его вылезку сюда!”
[Tell your boss that he would stop dreaming about Mexico! I will put out his every attempt to settle here!]

Oleg remained calm.

“Зачем же орать? Я и так всё слышу, только непойму зачем ты так к брату?”
[Why are you yelling? I can hear you just fine, what I don’t understand is why are you acting like this towards your “brother”?]

“Он мне не брат, Кирил мне был брат, Гриша мне был брат, Артём мне был брат. Мы бы все за Леонида пулю взяли, мы все с первого класса вместе и….Леонид Кирилла убил!”
[He is not my “brother”, Kiril was my “brother”, Grisha was my “brother”, Artiom was my “brother”. All of us would take a bullet for Leonid, we all were together since the first grade and….Leonid killed Kiril!]

“Так тут всё понятно….”
[Alright, I understand everything here…]

Oleg got up from his chair and continued.

“…так значит это война?”
[…so its war?]

Anton looked at him coldly.

“Да.”
[Yes.]

Oleg turned around and headed for the door, he knew no one would touch him, not yet, not yet.

Killswitch Engage IV: Ghost Wars

Both Ghost Recon teams had moved into positions near Faysal's hideout, which was, more or less, a cave. It was a hard target to assault with just eight men, even if they were special forces. Eurasian forces had moved into a blocking position but Faysal's hideout was just too well fortified for them to assault and their orders didn't include "capturing" Faysal alive. They did; however, include killing him and that was what they were there to do. Dressed in camouflage and positioned in an abandoned structure just a few hundred meters from the cave entrance, they watched through night vision binoculars as Faysal's men kept close guard on the cave entrance. It was cold, real cold and that was evident but Faysal and his men were seasoned veterans for this cold. They wouldn't have too much to worry about though. Six hundred and eighty-eight miles away, at Bandar Abbas Airfield, a pair of B-10A Badgers had taken off just under an hour ago and they were speeding towards Faysal's mountain hideout at 52,000 feet and 1,180 mph, Mach 1.786. Both of them were loaded with three missiles each and they had been given permission to fly through Eurasian airspace for this mission, which was top-priority to the Eurasian Federation as much as it was for the Layartebian Empire.

Inside each one of them were three missiles, AGM-224C Advanced Hard-Strike Weapons (AHSW), each loaded with 800 pound thermobaric warheads. Each missile could penetrate through the cave complex and explode inside with enough force to destroy the whole complex. That was why they were bringing six of them, to make sure that the target was knocked out in one pass. With a 250 mile range, the missiles had decent capabilities but at maximum range they were limited to their penetrating capabilities. Instead, the two B-10s would close to within 60 miles of the target and launch their missiles on a lofted trajectory.

"Ghost One. Ghost One. This is Foxtrot Two. Do you have a position?"

"Foxtrot Two. Ghost One. We have a position. We're uploading coordinates now. What is your ETA?"

"Ghost One. Six minutes to launch point. Receiving coordinates. We're set. Hang tight."

"Roger that Foxtrot Two." Weighing 3,000 pounds each, the massive missiles would climb to 80,000 feet and cruise to the target at Mach 2.85 and then dive on the target at a steep angle. They would impact at Mach 6, producing a total of 2,837.279 megajoules of force, enough to rip the mountain apart with a single blow. The six minutes passed slowly for the men on the ground but they made sure that they were holding tight to the ground, to make sure that, if they were spotted, they could defend themselves best.

"Ghost One. Ghost One. Two minutes. Final verification on target."

"Roger that Foxtrot Two. Reverification." They sent the codes again and they matched up for the third and final time. "Verification complete Foxtrot Two. We're awaiting."

"Roger that. Ghost One." The bombers flew inbound, still and now they approached the launch point. "Ghost One. Here they come!" The lead pilot said as he pushed the trigger to release the weapons. They were pickled to fire at five second intervals and when he pushed down on the trigger, the bomb bay doors shot open and the first missile dropped free. It fell for two seconds and then its rocket motor ignited, sending it forward at a massive amount of speed. At the five second mark, when the second missile was released, the first missile was way out in front of the bomber and beginning to climb towards its loft altitude. The third missile came out after the tenth second and flew onward, following the other two. Both bombers dropped their payloads in unison and tore into the air, flying towards the targets. "Ghost One. Ghost One. All missiles free. Good luck!" Guided by GPS, the missiles were now on their own and the bombers each turned away from each other in a sharp bank and reversed their course, heading back to Bandar Abbas.

It was silent, utterly silent on the ground outside of the cave. The missiles would have a two minute flight time, roughly. It would be the longest two minutes those eight men waited. High in the star-lit sky, the six missiles, spaced out five seconds from each other, in two groups, headed towards six, independent targets, which were all the same target, more or less. They were all aiming for the mountain but they had different impact points and their time delayed fuses would allow them to all go off after they penetrated through the rock and earth of the mountain.

Eurasian forces, unaware that the missiles had been launched, were ordered to set up a perimeter about a half mile away, to ensure that if any of Faysal's men survived and took off running, they would be caught. Faysal was going to die, his location was confirmed inside of the cave complex and there was no doubt about his inevitable death, which was just ninety seconds away. It was quiet out there in the mountains to the northwest of Tarin Kowt and it was cold. Winter had not left and spring was still far away. Looking through their scopes and binoculars, the eight men of Ghost Recon eagerly awaited the impact of the six missiles.

When they hit, they hit without warning. Diving at 85° to 90°, the six missiles streaked down at Mach 6, leaving no visible trail behind them in the darkened night. Their rocket motors had burned out and they were on pure energy now, losing it as they descended but they would still impact at Mach 6. The ground shook when the first two missiles hit, both of them slamming into opposite ends of the cave, sealing off the two entrances. They exploded only milliseconds later, shaking the ground and collapsing both entrances in a fireball so bright and brilliant that it lit up the whole sky. The second set of missiles hit closer to the center and tore through the ground with an earthquake of their own, shattering the cave and the mountain with another set of explosions so brilliant and powerful that the third set seemed almost overkill. That set impacted near dead center on the cave complex and were the final icing on the cake. The six explosions shook the ground with a 3.4 seismic reading on the Richter scale. The whole mountain side collapsed amidst the explosions and nothing inside survived. The thermobaric explosives sucked all of the air out of the complex and replaced it with fire, fire so hot that it killed instantly. The missiles, when combined, had the effects of a low-yield nuclear warhead, melting the rock together and fusing the inside of the cave with everything around it. The eight men congratulated each other and it was evident that they succeeded.

Two weeks later, Faysal's death was confirmed. His whole organization had been annihilated and the Florida Cartel was now without a vital supply. It was a victory in the War on Drugs but a victory that the Empire couldn't and wouldn't acknowledge. Credit for the destruction of Faysal's organization was given strictly to the Eurasian Federation and newspapers at home, in the Empire, glorified the event. They heralded the day as the "End of the Florida Cartel" but it was only the beginning of the end.

The End

OOC: I know Killswitch Engage IV was kind of short and abstract but OK and I really ran out of steam on it. We apologize. It wasn't "Killing Pablo," like we wanted but it was good.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

January 26, 2007 - 08:00 [AST]
Rebel HQ, Campeche

The attack in Oaxaca four days earlier had shifted the Neuvo Rican military tremendously. The bridge was gone and the most vital artery that they had was now severed. Intercepted communications by the Ministry of Intelligence confirmed that the Neuvo Rican military did not expect the attack nor were they prepared for something so deadly. With the target struck from the list of the air force, the rebels had earned their keep. They were praised by the two intelligence agents for the attack and they earned every bit of it. Pedro smiled whenever had saw the two intelligence agents and he only ever said to them, "Compañeros de armas." [Brothers in arms.] They were all brothers in arms, the Layartebians and the rebels. Now, they watched as the Neuvo Rican frontlines would deteriorate due to the lack of vital supplies coming their way. Their morale took a dip and they knew that, when the Layartebians came over the berms, they were screwed. The rebels would harp on this.

"There is a camp, it's here, near San Pedro. It's a vital camp for the Neuvo Ricans. They have several of my men captured there including a senior lieutenant. I need to free them," Pedro told the two intelligence agents on the morning of the 26th. "They have sixty-two of my men there, some will die. We need to free them."

"How vital is this to our success?"

"It is vital to my continued support and involvement for your campaign," Pedro put it clearly.

"Very well. It will have to clear it with my command." An hour later, Justin returned with a smile from ear to ear. "It's approved. You will have our help too."

"How so? I have more than enough men to take the camp."

"You do. But we're making sure that the raid is more than a success."

"Alright. What do you have for me?"

"A few days ago, a detachment of 5th Special Forces arrived in country. They're just four miles from the camp and they will get eyes on the target. Do you have a plan drawn up?"

"We do and men in place."

"Good. When will it take place?"

"Tonight. 21:00 hours."

"Alright. The ODA will need to get in contact with your men in place."

"I'll get word to them." At 17:00 hours, the six men from the detachment met up three dozen rebel troops and the forty-two of them moved into position around the camp throughout the evening. By the time the sun went down, they were all in place around the camp, which was quiet but well-guarded by at least a hundred Neuvo Rican soldiers. Outnumbered, two to one, the first shots were fired at 21:05 hours, taking out the guard in the main tower. From there, the rebels and Layartebian soldiers assaulted the camp, hard and heavy. They tore down the main road of the camp and laid covering and suppressing fire for themselves as the rebels moved to the prisoner barracks and began to free the prisoners. The raid was brutally successful and only one rebel was killed in the assault with all Neuvo Rican soldiers meeting their end. The rebels were a force to reckon with and with full Layartebian support, they were an army of tremendous proportions.

Nyborg, Murmansk
The office looked like just about any other government office. The room was dominated by a wooden desk with a flat LCD screen, keyboard, mouse, a phone and some piles of documents on it, facing the door, with a comfortable-looking leather office chair behind the desk. Along one of the walls, a few bookshelves stood, filled with books, folders and dossier holders. The windows behind the desk were draped with a set of non-descript drapes, and a pair of chairs stood in front of the desk. In the chair, an elderly man dressed in the uniform of a station chief of the National Police Force sat, doing something on his computer, when the phone rang. The man looked up from the computer screen and at the phone, checking the number. Then he sighed before he picked it up.

"Lensmann Addani." [Police Chief Superintendant Addani.] The man said to the person in the other end, knowing that it was someone from the capital that was calling from the area code that had been displayed in the caller ID field of the phone.

"Goddag, dette er politifullmektig Hansen fra KRIPOS. Jeg ville bare forhøre meg om status i forbindelse med anmodningen vi sendte deg for tre uker siden." [Goodday, this is Junior Police Prosecutor Hansen from KRIPOS. I was just calling to inquire as to the status of the request we sent you three weeks ago.] The voice said with slight undertones of being annoyed with the length of the time the Chief Superintendant used to arrest someone. It had been a simple order: arrest Anton Matti Magga, who had been responsible for ordering the assassination attempt on the King and for the distribution of Valkyr and other drugs in the northern-most regions of the Greater Norwegian Realm.

"Ah, akkurat. Jo, nå skal du høre..." [Ah, right. Well, here's the deal...] Addani said, figuring out how to get out of this problem as he talked. He made up an excuse about not having sufficient evidences to warrant an arrest, but that he was working on it. Gathering evidences, that was. What he didn't say was that Magga was paying him big bucks to keep the police off his back. Very big bucks, actually. Enough for Addani to be able to afford a massive villa in Barbados where he intended to spend his retirement. That all depended on his abilities to keep the federal law enforcement agencies and his own officers from finding out about Addani's lucrative side business though. Finally, he stopped talking, feeling confident that he had managed to give enough reasons why he hadn't arrested the druglord yet.

"Jeg forstår din pliktfølelse og forståelse for loven lensmann, men saken er den at vi allerede har tilstrekkelige beviser for å kunne sørge for en garantert domfellelse her i Oslo. Derfor gjentar jeg: Du skal pågripe Anton Matti Magga umiddelbart og føre ham til Murmansk der vi overtar ham og fører ham til Oslo for rettergang. Og lensmann... Dette er ikke en forespørsel, men en ordre." [I understand your dedication to duty and understanding of the law Chief Superintendant, but the thing is that we've already got sufficient evidences to ensure a conviction here in Oslo. So I repeat: You are immediately to arrest Anton Matti Magga and escort him under armed guard to Murmansk where we take over and lead him to Oslo for trial. And Chief Superintendent... This isn't a request, but an order.] Hansen added, making Addani explode.

"Du kan ikke beordre meg. Jeg er lensmannen her!" [You can't order me around. I'm the Chief Superintendent here!"]

"Mulig det, men jeg er KRIPOS. Sentralt er overordnet lokalt. Du har dine ordrer. God dag." [Maybe so, but I'm KRIPOS. Federal outrank local. You've got your orders. Goodday.]

With that, Hansen hung up, leaving Addani staring angrily at the phone. What Hansen hadn't said was that Addani only had twelve hours to prove his loyalty to the Realm before KRIPOS became involved for real. Already, four detectives had entered the little village in the territory of Murmansk where Addani was responsible for the law with his eleven police officers and two dogs. Their job was to monitor Addani's every move for the next twelve hours to see how he acted.

Back in the regional KRIPOS office in Murmansk, investigators were already hard at work investigating everything about Addani, in particular his bank accounts and spendings over the past few years. In short, they were busy building a case against Addani, on suspicion of corruption and conspiracy to distribute illegal drugs and harboring a criminal. These were very serious charges in the Realm, with the former punishable by the death penalty. If a police officer was involved in crime, it was a serious offense. Add to it the crimes that KRIPOS had suspicions of, and it was a scandal, a scandal that had to be made an example of. If Addani was guilty, he would suffer immensely.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

February 1, 2007 - 12:00 [AST]
Rebel HQ, Campeche

The fifteenth was drawing much closer. The Russian fleet was drawing much closer now to Mexico as it transited the Pacific Ocean. There was no activity in the Atlantic and it was evident that the Russians heeded the warning of the Empire to stay out of the Caribbean Sea. It may have been international waters but one had to cross through Layartebian waters to get into it and for the Russians, that wasn't going to happen in the least bit. The submarine nets, the active patrols, and the backyard of the Caribbean Sea was in the firm hands of the Empire and they weren't about to share dominance over the territory anytime soon.

In southern Mexico, the rebels continued to mount attacks against Neuvo Rican forces. Their battles rarely lasted more than a half hour and they were quick to skedaddle away from the battle scene before they could be actively pursued by any reinforcements. They were excellent fighters and they hid in the shadows until it was absolutely necessary to fight. They had an unparalleled discipline to them. To the two agents, they seemed like the perfect fighting force and they had already recommended, in their reports, that the rebel army be integrated into the Layartebian military. Command seemed to agree. However, the rebels wanted none of it. They wanted an end to the fighting and a return to normalcy. The agents could understand this but they wouldn't lie to their gut and so they presented the idea several times, each time being rejected.

High noon on February 1 brought rain. The tropical storm had moved over the Yucatán peninsula and it was swirling around, churning up the high seas and guaranteeing that the Neuvo Ricans wouldn't be operating much air cover for the duration of the storm. "It's an opportunity. My men can fight in this weather. We train in it all the time!" Pedro protested to David as they walked through the corridors. "It is a good idea!"

"It is a bad idea. Reconnaissance shows that whole sector to be alive with Neuvo Rican soldiers. You've got what? One hundred men? I've seen them fight, I'm not doubting their capabilities but they're going up against three thousand Neuvo Ricans. They can't win, they'll be overwhelmed. The whole sector, it's reinforced and it is their stronghold."

"It will boost the morale of my army and destroy the morale of theirs."

"I've doubted you a few times and I've proven to be right each and every time. I beg you to listen to me on this one."

"No! My army is my army! Until your soldiers shake my hand then this is MY army!"

"You're making a huge mistake."

"We'll see..." They had been arguing in quiet for twenty minutes already inside of Pedro's quarters about a planned attack, in just three hours, on a Neuvo Rican command center, nestled deep inside of Tabasco. The command center and its whole sector, a 10 km² box of land was crawing with three thousand Neuvo Rican soldiers. That was a lot of soldiers for a single sector but, rightfully so, the command center controlled their entire air defense network in southern Mexico. If they could wipe out the command center, the Layartebian forces would be able to cross easily into Neuvo Rican territory under air cover and not have to worry too much about surface-to-air missiles. It was northeast of Teapa, on the southern border of Tabasco and Chiapas and Pedro had a hundred men, all armed and grizzled fighters, preparing to strike the command center. Since the Layartebians arrived his army had suffered just two fatalities and eighteen casualties, a remarkably low number, considering. David told him they'd lose every single man in this battle and he was adamant about it, especially if one was captured and interrogated. Pedro would hear none of it, this was about ego, David deduced. "We'll see..." Pedro repeated with disgust as David left and headed towards his own personal quarters, to get in touch with Justin.

"He's going to do it." David said frustratingly. "Fool."

"The morale factor is significant but it isn't worth the risk."

"That's what I said."

"Listen. You and I, we don't understand these people fully. We understand them on the surface, what they give us. This is more about their own pride and honor than it is about freedom from the Neuvo Ricans. When those tanks come across the border, they'll be able to say, to the generals, what they did, how they helped. It's something deeper. I agree with you, it is a foolish plan but we can't do anything about it. I'll alert the Ministry and you, please, get down there and apologize. The last few days we've all been at each other's throats. Cabin fever is brutal."

"Yeah. I guess. Fine." David stormed out, annoyed that he didn't get the same level of agreement but he had some agreement with his colleague and he was right. It was pointless to argue with Pedro and the rebels, after all, it was their army. He popped into the situation room to silence and Pedro turned to him but didn't give him time of day. "What do you need from us?" Pedro smiled.

"Air support."

"In this? What are you crazy?" He smiled again. "You're nuts aren't you?"

"No. I need four fighter jets armed with air to ground ordinance. We need something stealthy."

"You're mad. Command might agree with the raid only because it is your army but air support? What are you on?"

"Ask. What's the worst they can say?" David laughed in anger and returned to Justin.

"He wants air support."

"Nuts. He's fucking nuts."

"I said it."

"Good. Well. Come on. Let's see." Twenty minutes later, David came back into the situation room shaking his head.

"Four Ravens."

"Good. Good. Now. Here's the plan," Pedro went over the plan, which wasn't hastily thrown together but he definitely didn't see how one hundred men were going to defeat three thousand, even with four fighter jets.

Ata woke Sparetti from some deep slumber. He wasn't too happy about it; it was still night outside, and there wasn't much that he could do in his condition. It had been a few days since he had come to Tunis, but he found that much of it was spent recovering and he had more still from which to recover.

"Grandfather wants to take you to the Capo."

Sparetti perked his ears up. He was not certain of much, but of one thing he knew that "capo" was distinctly Italian. Perhaps he had some fortune to be made. Perhaps Silvestro had come to apologize, beg for mercy even. But no - those were wild ideas, dreams almost. He would have to force it from his mouth. He came to his feet as Ata helped him out. They went to a truck with a canvas cover. Inside, Vicenzo could smell fresh heroin. It was faint, but he knew that this was a drug deal operation. Perhaps he was closer to the truth than he had anticipated. Ata bumped the hood of the truck and the driver sped away to the docks.

It was a drive of about 15 minutes, at least. It was relatively short actually, but Sparetti felt more apprehensive about this meeting with the "capo". He saw the old man speaking wildly in his Berber talk. Immediately, a young man came over to them and bade them inside. Immediately, the entire area was inundated with light.

"Mio signore..."

Well, two things were certain - that was NOT Silvestro, and that was Mafiosi speaking to him.

"What do you want?" Sparetti retorted, blinded still.

"I had my Arab friends bring you because I was curious as to what had happened to Signor Maggiano."

"What do you mean?"

The man approached him and unveiled his sunglasses - a faint red stare from his eyes gave indication to only person who this could have been; Don Raguso from Ravenna. What the Mafioso was doing in Tunis at a time like this was beyond him; he was still confused about what he meant by "what happened to Signor Maggiano" and all. His confusion emanated to Don Raguso, witnessing it all, and he gave Sparetti some time to time - the light likely disoriented him, and seeing that he was no threat, left him to some comforts of life.

He then spoke softly: "I know three things about you - Signor Maggiano lent you his yacht for a cruise with some lady a couple of days ago, practically a week. Three days ago, you are not on it. Two days ago, Signor Maggiano is unavailable to the Family at Corleone, and conveniently you appear in Tunis at around the same time. Tell me - how does someone of your stature manage to play so well with coincidence?"

Sparetti smiled. "I don't know. It's funny. I was once a winemaker, and now I'm sitting at the feet of a Mafiosi."

"You know who I am then?"

"I know Don Silvestro - there's no need to cut the cheap talk in front my eyes." Don Raguso nodded, flipping his spectacles back over his eyes. His albinism was seemingly growing worse, or his shades were particularly dark. In any case, it seemed to Sparetti that Raguso's face seemed deathly pale, as if a ghost were standing there; perhaps it was.

"Tell me. Why is it that you know me, but I look at you and I can't even say if you are Mafiosi or not?"

"Maggiano has secrets. Don't you know?"

"Si," Raguso replied. "Which one are you?"

Sparetti would have said more, but Raguso suddenly clapped his hands. The blood straight to his hands and it almost seemed as if he had dipped his hands in blood. "I remember you! You were the one who killed Maria. The one who sawed her in half and fed her entails to the sharks. I remember that; I can't believe forgot that one."

"What?" Sparetti replied. "You saw that?"

"I was supposed to kill her. More so Niccolo, but by the time I was moving in, you had already finished the entire job."

"You saw that?"

Raguso nodded. "What? Are your murders a secret too?"

"You are not supposed to know..."

"What can I say? You made it obvious to a person who was looking for it. And I saw it. I don't think I've ever seen anything as vulgar as that, but I'd imagine that someone like you has a lot of rage. So... where's Maggiano?"

"What do you mean?" Sparetti asked.

"I mean... you turn here and Maggiano's gone. That - to me - does not sound like Mafiosi anymore. That sounds like Doomani, the folks who are trained to purge infidels from the Empire and Dominion. The Inquisition at Capua? You know of them?"

"I had to fight them."

"I work with them... occasionally. If theirs and mine work together, at least. But you... You were contracted to kill Donna Gioiosi and Don Caesarini, and your latest target was Don Maggiano. What a wonderful contract killer you have been!"

"I am not a contract killer."

"Oh, then you're a murderer?" Raguso said.

"I... "

Raguso waited for a reply.

"I was not sent to kill Maggiano. I worked for him."

"Worked? A former employee, disgruntled and turned assassin against his own employer?"

"FottE! I don't have to deal with this nonsense! You are making wild assumptions about everything. As far as I know, Maggiano betrayed me, when he shot me with his harpoon and left me for dead in the Sea! You have no clue what I've done for that man!"

Raguso nodded. "I know."

"What do you mean, you know?"

"I mean... Maggiano has turned more than you into traitors." Apparently, there was more to this story than Sparetti had assumed, and Don Raguso held the keys to the connection at the moment. "Signor, I don't know who you are, but I think that we've got more in common than seems to be the case. I'd encourage you to come with me back to Italy, where hopefully we can get to the bottom of this. Hopefully, we'll restore the family, but after what I saw at Messina, I don't think that we'll ever be the same. Someone has struck at the heart of Cosa Nostra, and at the moment, we're all that is left of it."

OOC: SL is your guy still in Cuba?

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

February 1, 2007 - 15:00 [AST]
Teapa, Tabasco

The torrents of rain made it impossible to see more than a few feet from your face but, in it, 102 rebels moved into various positions overlooking and surrounding the Neuvo Rican Southern Air Defense Command, a large bunker building that looked more like an archeological dig site rather than it did a military target. That was done on purpose, to aide in the disguising of the structure, which had actually been built in 1903 as a military fort but had since evolved into the Southern Sector Air Defense Command, which basically controlled every single surface-to-air missiles in the four states that the Empire was going to seige: Campeche, Chiapas, Quintana Roo, and Tabasco. They controlled over a hundred MEAD, SLAMRAAM, and THAAD sites, the latter of which were aimed against ballistic missiles. However, the MEAD and SLAMRAAM sites were brutal and they used advanced technology. They could be taken out, from afar, with AARGM missiles but if they didn't have to be neutralized, per say, it would allow the strike bombers less time between the opening stages of the campaign and the actual sorties that put them over Neuvo Rican territory. More mobile surface-to-air units like the Avenger and Chapparal were independent, largely but did communicate with the main air defense command. If they were successful, it would strike a deafening blow to the Neuvo Rican military. They could barely see the building, which had no fewer than a hundred men around it, all of them armed with assault rifles and light machine guns. This was a high priority target and they took a lesson from the bridge and fuel depot. They weren't leaving this target unguarded.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/War%20Against%20Drugs/nrsadc.jpg

The building was situated on a plain giving nobody an advantage except the snipers on the roof of the structure, of which there were fourteen, all of them looking through their powerful scopes, through the raindrops, looking for movement that could mean rebels. Two floors high, it was a relatively small building but it was also two floor down, where all the important stuff was. The 102 man and woman rebel army would have to neutralize all perimeter guards and seize control of the structure. If they called for reinforcements, the structure, which had just over 300 men inside of it could be swarmed with up to 600 in just eight minutes and up to 3,000 in thirty. There were odds there that these men and women did not want to calculate. They put their faith in the God above, all of them Roman Catholic, many of them fervently religious. Roman Catholicism had swept through Latin and Central America like a wildfire during the 1600s and up, through the 1900s. When the Empire rolled into Latin America, its largely pagan population was almost put into the minority by the vast number of Roman Catholics within Latin America. The pagan rite maintains a majority, albeit a 52.47% majority.

The battle plan had four stages to it and the rebels were ready with the first stage, which was to secure the perimeter. Snipers, armed with surplus sniper rifles in the nature of M14s, M21s, M25s, M41s, and even several M1D Garands, were positioned all around the jungled areas ranging from as close as 200 meters to the structure to as far as 600 meters away. They would all fire the first shots at 15:00 hours, their own time, and all of the snipers had their own targets but there were two dozen snipers, all together. They would make the initial dent in the efforts to secure the perimeter and the structure as a whole. Encircled around the structure, most of them focused deeply through the scopes on their weapons towards their targets. The two snipers at 600 meters could barely see anything through the thicket of raindrops but both of them eyed targets on top of the structure, snipers who were, in essence, looking for them. The remaining seventy-eight rebels were all around as well, armed with M30s, M4s, M16s, AKMs, FALs, M14s, anything that they had their hands on, anything that went bang-bang.

The snipers were all skilled hunters, many of whom could operate bolt-action rifles with such speed and precision that they could kill several deer in a heard before the majority of them got away. They were craftsmen but their trade wasn't metal smelting or locksmithing, it was killing. They were, in essence, the special forces of the rebels, and they lived up to their namesake. The first, two dozen rounds, went off at nearly the same time, sending two dozen, 5.56x45mm, 7.62x51mm, 7.62x63mm, and a few 7.62x54mm rounds against their targets. All fourteen snipers on the roof were wiped out and several perimeter guards too as the unsuppressed gunshots echoed in the still thunderstorm. They wished for a thunderclap but none came and, instead, they took their shots, reloaded their bolts, if they had them, and moved their scopes, to new targets. Muzzle flashes had filled the jungle and the fog of the thunderstorm but most of the people who saw them had been killed in the first salvo and, less than five seconds later, when the second salvo came, those who didn't see them surely did but fell just as well. Forty-eight shots had been fired in just five seconds and thirty-four Neuvo Ricans were dead. They had become wise now and many of them began firing off into the jungles, towards the muzzle blasts but, what they didn't realize, was that the snipers were all on the move, using the rain to cover their movements, crawling or low-walking, to keep from being seen. The main rebel army, which was waiting still was all down, on the ground, as close as possible, under camouflaged ghille suits or suits of their own. Thus far, over $500,000,000 had been spent to rearm and equip the rebels and it was all paying off, especially since they were making good use of the weapons.

After thirty seconds and hundreds of bullets later, the Neuvo Rican soldiers began to realize that firing blindly, into the jungles, was a bad idea. It was a real bad idea and now, the rebel snipers sighted their muzzle blasts and fired. The third salvo wasn't in unison like the other two but it took out another eighteen Neuvo Rican soldiers. Then, the rebels waited and reloaded their bolts and reset their crosshairs. The fourth salvo came another five seconds later and it was just as punishing, taking down another sixteen Neuvo Rican soldiers, many of whom were moving into position to either arm or dismount emplaced weapons. Then the real assault began.

The seventy-eight rebel soldiers popped out of the jungles, weapons shouldered, and charged, firing as they went. Their shots were far less accurate than those of the rebel snipers but even they were now on the move. Eight of them would go onto the roof and the building, eight would cover the perimeter, and the other eight would man two guard towers and a few emplaced weapons, while the main rebel army went fourth and secured the building. They carried their equipment with them, their legs almost buckling under the weight now of their rain-soaked suits and heavy packs, which either carried ammunition, explosives, or in the case of a few of them, ropes with grappling hooks. They'd get up to the roof this way, the quickest way possible.

Bullets flew like gnats, getting everywhere. As the remaining thirty-two Neuvo Rican guards on the perimeter fell, bullets, dozens and dozens and hundreds of them tore into the glass windows of the structure on both the first and second floor. Neuvo Ricans inside hit the ground but that was only a diversion. They didn't expect to get any kills through shooting out the windows. They did expect some wounded soldiers but none that would be too out of it to fight, mostly ricochet wounds. Their bullets would be fired at off angles, making them go up, rather than across. It wasn't a problem though, it was just for show. The real kicker was the grenade volley that fired. Rebels, armed with fragmentation and concussion grenades pulled their pins and lobbed them into the blown out windows. Of seventy-eight charging rebels, none of whom took so much as a superficial wound from even an errant bullet, half of them threw in grenades, one each. The grenades went off like fireworks on a string and for nearly twenty seconds, the structure shook from the massive amounts of blasts that echoed in their many, many rooms. The snipers, choosing areas of the structure where there were no direct windows, threw their six grappling hooks and began ascending to the roof, rifles on their backs, running up the walls as if they were running across the very plain that they had just crossed.

On the roof, they found the rifles, ammunition, and supplies of the dead snipers but they also found four satellite dishes and a host of antennae. They knew what to do. The snipers were each carrying plastic explosive bricks, nine ounces in weight, equipped with a ten second fuse. The Semtex A explosives that had been shipped to the rebels by the Ministry of Intelligence were definitely being used appropriately. When strapped to the antennae and the satellite dishes, the result was catastrophic. The rebel snipers took cover and made sure that they were far enough away when the explosives went off, which, in essence, rendered the entire structure isolated. They couldn't communicate with their surface-to-air sites nor could they even communicate, except by short-range radio, which was becoming increasingly unreliable in the rain.

The first stage of the assault was complete, in just two and a half minutes, long enough for a distress call to get out but fast enough that the men inside could not react. All 100 perimeter guards were killed and, after the grenade attack, another 68 were lying dead with at least that many wounded. The Neuvo Ricans had the numerical superiority against the rebels but they didn't have the tactics or the surprise factor. Only one rebel was dead, a result of one crafty Neuvo Rican throwing a grenade out of the window, killing the rebel as he backed against the wall to present a small target. Two others were wounded though not too seriously. They could still fight and so they did.

It was time for the second phase of the attack, securing the above ground portion of the structure.

OOC: SL is your guy still in Cuba?

[ooc: he's not in Cuba - he's actually somewhere in the mainland proper, living peacefully and ready for RTL to start up again...]

"Han stikker." [He's leaving.] One of the KRIPOS investigators said, observing Chief Superintendent Addani leaving the small police station and getting into a blue 2005 Mercedes S 550 sedan. The investigators made a note of the make and registration of the Mercedes before starting their own non-descript BMW and following the blue Mercedes discreetly. The Mercedes drove calmly through the streets of the little village before entering the freeway, picking up speed quickly on the mostly empty road. It was clear to the investigators that they couldn't follow the Mercedes for very long as they posed a serious risk of being spotted - all Cottish police officers were trained in discreetly following suspects, and while Addani was pretty far up the system, he was still trained in this. So, the investigators increased the gap between the cars to about half a kilometer while calling in for air suppport if it was available.

In the air twenty kilometers away, two Army H-11/A Reaper reconnaissance & attack helicopters were conducting exercises in the range near Nikel when the request came for assistance. More precisely, the request had arrived at the Military Air Traffic Control where the controllers had checked the lists and radar scopes to see who were available, and so the two Reapers had been tapped to assist the KRIPOS investigators. The exercise was scratched immediately, and the two Reapers made best speed - 400 kilometers per hour - towards the freeway, moving low and fast, their LDC-AE-3B turbines and NOTAR rotor system bringing them closer and closer to their target quickly and quietly. The Reaper was made with stealthy recon missions in mind, and was arguably the most advanced helicopter in the world. Now, they were closing fast on the freeway, and it was time to made contact with the KRIPOS team. The communication was conducted on the encrypted radio net, being patched from the KRIPOS team's cellphones via MATC to the two helicopters, which slowed down and took cover being a few trees, waiting for further instructions.

"KRIPOS team, dette er VAKT 2-1. To Reaper reko-helikoptere. Oppgi posisjon og instruksjoner, over." [KRIPOS team, this is VAKT 2-1. Two Reaper recon-helicopters. State position and instructions, over.]

"VAKT 2-1, dette er førstebetjent Frivoll fra KRIPOS. Vi er i en hvit BMW på vei nordover, cirka en halv kilometer bak en blå Mercedes S 550. Dersom dere kunne holde et øye med Mercedesen og følge etter den uten at han i den merker dere så hadde det vært topp. Over." [VAKT 2-1, this is Superintendent Frivoll from KRIPOS. We're in a white BMW on our way north on the freeway, roughly half a klick behind a blue Mercedes S 550. If you could keep an eye on the Mercedes and follow it without the guy inside noticing, that'd be great. Over.]

"Det er mottatt. Vi sjekker etter'n nå. Avvent." [Copy that. We're looking for him now. Stand by.]

In the air, the two Reapers split up and started searching for any blue Mercedes S 550s heading north using their FLIRs. Within half a minute, they had the target in sight and slaved the FLIR to follow that moving target. After that, it was pretty much simple stalking for the Reapers, which stayed low and far away, observing the target from afar. If this had been a combat mission, this would be when they either fired the AGM.19/A Brimstone anti-tank missiles in the internal bays or the M301A1 twin-barrelled 30x173mm automatic cannon in the nose, destroying the target with ease. However, they didn't have permission to use force, so they just settled with watching and giving constant reports, covering the vehicle in question from either side of the road, never letting their eyes off it.

After about sixteen kilometers, the Mercedes got off the freeway and headed onto a smaller road, diving along for a few more kilometers to a rather large villa in the middle of nowhere. It was open ground for about a kilometer in all directions from the villa, something which wasn't a great problem for the Reapers which could see the target pretty well from up to ten kilometers away with the FLIR. They hid behind the treeline and observed, reporting all movement around the villa. Since the images from the FLIR were saved on a harddrive, the sight of Addani meeting with several suspected and some known criminals could be handed over to KRIPOS for use as evidence against Addani at a later date.

Three hours later, Addani left the villa alone and headed back towards the village of Nyborg. However, this time, a Q-38/A Shadow UAV operated by KRIPOS which had replaced the two Reapers two hours prior tracked the Mercedes silently from far into the skies. Meanwhile, more KRIPOS investigators and a Emergency Special Reaction Team from KRIPOS was being assembled in Nikel, prepared to re-establish law and order in Nyborg municipality.

Outskirts of Nyborg, Murmansk
06.23 AM

The darkness of night was starting to yield to the light of the rising sun on what was to become a beautiful winter day in Nyborg with sunshine and a balmy – 9° Celsius, making it one of the brighter days as the sunlight would reflect off the two meters of snow and make the children playing in the snow after school very happy. The day wouldn’t be so great for quite a few people in and around Nyborg though, mainly because of what was to occur in the early morning hours.

At the three-story luxury villa twenty kilometres outside the village of 2,105 inhabitants, the residents were still fast asleep save for the about twenty armed guards roaming around inside and outside the building and perimeter. They were blissfully unaware that three two-man marksman teams from KRIPOS’ Emergency Special Reaction Team (ESRT) – their equivalent of for instance the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team – had been observing them for a several hours through the powerful sniper and spotter scopes, respectively. In the woods two kilometres away, three five-man strike teams had assembled and were going through the strike plan one final time, making sure everything was in order for this bust. The hood of the senior KRIPOS agent’s Mercedes served as the table for the tactical maps and floor plans the investigators had gotten hold of, and the team leaders, tactical co-ordinator and responsible agent was going through the plan, step by step. In the background, a battalion of infantry from the Home Guard had been activated to serve as a buffer, having created a tight circle five kilometres from the building, to stop anyone attempting to escape the area. Armed with powerful assault rifles, the reservists could stop anyone attempting to escape.

The plan was rather simple. Two teams would approach from either side of the villa, speeding over the kilometre long distance of open ground in armoured vehicles and stop just short of the villa where they would disembark. One team would handle anyone outside, with the other one entering the villa itself and starting to sweep it from the ground up, using submachine guns and flashbang grenades. The third team would insert into the villa via helicopter and start sweeping from the top down. There were reports of civilians in the building, mainly women and children, so the agents would have to exercise caution when they entered. Fortunately, all members of the strike teams were highly skilled in accurate fire and identifying friend from foe, all of them having undergone extensive tests before being accepted into the ESRT. The risk of collateral damage was low, but it could never be completely limited. Therefore, the responsible senior agent repeated the urgency of positively identifying the target before they opened fire, since first, there were civilians in the building, and second, the use of deadly force had been authorized. The three teams were codenamed EKKO, MIKE and LIMA, with EKKO being designated to clear the outside, MIKE with moving from the ground up, and LIMA to be inserted via helicopter. Command was codenamed ALFA, the helicopter support FOXTROT, the Home Guard battalion BRAVO, and the three sniper teams WHISKEY 1, 2 and 3, respectively.

By 06.44 AM, all persons involved were ready and the teams moved into position. Each member of the strike team was well armed, with EKKO being the heaviest armed with L114A1 Enhanced Carbines chambered in the 5.56x45mm round with various attachments, primarily front handles and red-dot scopes, and L110A1 pistols chambered in 10x21mm. MIKE and LIMA was armed lightly with L105A1 Personal Defense Weapons firing the 4.6x30mm round, basically a scaled-down 5.56mm round. The PDWs were modified with red-dot scopes for increased accuracy, and fitted with a silencer to prevent the criminals they were to detain from knowing exactly where the agents were when they entered. As a backup weapon, the men had the same L110A1 pistols the men of EKKO, as well as a (un)healthy supply of Mk.2 Flashbang stun grenades. WHISKEY were armed with 7.62x51mm sniper rifles, ranged up to 1,300 meters, while the BRAVO battalion was armed with the standard L100A1 assault rifles, firing the 6.8x48mm LDC round. All in all, it was a heavily armed group of people that were going to strike against the villa, but it was needed. The latest intel said that the guards were armed with AK-74s and AKS-74Us, not to mention the highly dangerous Sami knives, a long and very sharp knife used to among others slaughtering and skinning reindeer and enemies.

At 06.59 AM, everyone were in position and just counting down for the clock to reach 07.00, which was when the operation was to start. The helicopters – Bell 412s – were in position, waiting a few kilometres away so the sound of the rotors wouldn’t give them away too soon, and the armoured vehicles – ex-military Dingo APVs – were loaded and ready to move.

At 07.00, they all started moving. The Dingos roared out of the woods at full speed towards the villa, getting the attention of the guards. Those closest and on the roof didn’t get time to do much though, as the WHISKEY teams started picking off guards in an accelerated tempo, firing a total of 15 rounds in the first minute, taking down fifteen of twenty-two targets before the Dingos reached the villa. The rear doors opened and the black-clad agents rushed out of the vehicle, shouting for whoever was alive to drop their weapons and get the hell down with hands on their heads, shooting those who didn’t comply. While EKKO was involved with mopping up the outside opposition in a firefight that would last about three minutes with an additional five hostile and one friendly casualty, MIKE started storming the villa, moving in two-man teams with the PDWs shouldered, firing three-round bursts at targets that appeared.

In the meanwhile, the Bell 412 helicopter came to a hover on the roof, letting LIMA out and into action. The five men made their way inside and down a narrow set of stairs, weapons ready. The first firefight for LIMA was in the corridor where the point man had to place three rounds firmly into the chest and head of a mobster armed with a PK light machine gun, running towards the stairs to the second floor. After having quickly cleared the corridor, LIMA started clearing the room in the third floor, taking out another three mobsters and securing two civilian women and four children. They were locked inside a storage room where they would be safe for the time being before LIMA continued.

After having cleared the first floor and basement, MIKE started moving up to the second floor, only to be met with a hail of gunfire. A pair of flashbangs later, MIKE rushed up the stairs again and found that a mobster with a PK had barricaded himself behind a desk. Sadly for him, one of the flashbangs had detonated right above him, the small explosion having had enough force to snap his neck. Not really caring about how he died at this point, MIKE continued to pounce, clearing three rooms before entering what had to be the boss’ office. Crouching behind his desk, Anton Matti Magga was hiding, a Colt M1911 in his hand.

”Kom dokker tæl hælvete vekk!” [Get the hell out of here!] His voice shouted. The agents could hear that he was petrified. No one had ever made a serious move against him, and now he knew that he was screwed either way.

”KOM UT MED HENDA OVER HODET, NÅ! ELLERS ÅPNER VI ILD!!” [GET OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD, NOW! OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE!] The agents shouted, fanning out with weapons ready while one of them prepared a flashbang to throw over the desk to stun Magga. The team leader nodded, and the agents covered their eyes in anticipation. A second later, a massive 180 decibel bang sounded throughout the building along with a massive one million candela flash, whiting out everything for whoever had been unfortunate enough to be watching. Magga was one of them, and the very bright flash was too much for his nerve system to handle. It went into self-preservation mode and shut down temporarily. In short, Magga collapsed, giving the agents no problems when they got around the desk. The Colt was secured and Magga restrained with plastic zip-ties before he was man-handled out of the building by two agents.

Five minutes later, the remaining three agents of MIKE met up with LIMA and returned to the third floor where they unlocked the storage room and escorted the women and children out of the building to the waiting paddy wagons that would drive them into Nyborg for interrogation by KRIPOS. Meanwhile, those who had been wise enough to give up – a total of fifteen mobsters – were checked once against before they too were brought into a couple of paddy wagons and taken to Nyborg. Outside, paramedics were working on the agent in EKKO that had been hit by a lucky 5.45x39mm round while other KRIPOS investigators entered the building to document how the ESRT had cleared the building and how many hostiles had been taken out. The final tally would be for a total of 37 hostile fatalities, 17 casualties, and 15 arrested without putting up a fight for one friendly casualty and no fatalities. More importantly, the primary objective of the operation had been met, namely the arrest of Anton Matti Magga. The discovery of a total of 680 kilos of Valkyr, fresh from Layarteb, and numerous documents shedding new light on the drug trafficking in the Realm were just a bonus.

The documents would be used to great effect, terminating the organized drug distribution in the Realm within a few weeks and also shared with foreign nations where applicable. The price for a user dose of for instance Valkyr would rise from an already high 10 kroner (~$13.60) to a whooping 58 kroner! This was mainly because almost all drugs in distribution were intercepted and destroyed, and most routes of transporting the drugs to the Realm were stopped thanks to a joint effort between KRIPOS, local law enforcement, the Coast Guard, Navy and Air Force. Several cargo vessels of various nationalities would sink suspiciously in the Barents Sea over the next months with no survivors, victims of the Realm, or more precisely, Cottish submarines and torpedoes, striking back against the drug traffickers.

First though, KRIPOS were going to arrest Chief Superintendent Addani and charge him and several other police officers in the same police district with corruption, abusing their positions and conspiracy to import and distribute narcotics in the Realm, and speedily trial and execute Magga for attempted murder on the King, import and distribution of illegal narcotics in the Realm, and countless other crimes.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

February 1, 2007 - 15:03 [AST]
Teapa, Tabasco

The gunfire had rolled and echoed across the plain for as far as the sound waves travelled. No distress call got out but none needed to, the sound of the gunshots and explosions alone sent word to nearby patrols, another sixty-four men. They were arranged in eight various squads all eight of them coming from almost completely different directions. The rebels were already in the process of breaching the structure. With precision and speed, they dove into the blown out windows of the first floor, tucked, rolled, and shot up, ready to engage anybody still left alive and there were targets galore. The second floor was harder to get to but grappling hooks and rope ladders seemed almost everywhere as they scaled into the second floor and split themselves up, thirty-nine to the upper floor and thirty-eight to the lower floor. They moved through quietly and crouched, their weapons shouldered, making sure to kick the bodies on the ground as they moved, just to make sure that they were dead. Some crouched down to feel for pulses while others just stepped on their necks, crushing whatever was still there.

There were still one hundred and forty-five Neuvo Ricans inside of the structure, though most of them were either wounded, hiding, or below ground. The rebels were still outnumbered and the element of surprise was lost but they did have another element, the element of the offensive. The Neuvo Ricans had been shaken but in the three minutes since the first shots were fired, the Neuvo Rican soldiers inside of the command structure were grouping up and preparing for the defense of their structure, while reinforcements, what few had actually heard the commotion, came towards them in relief and support. The snipers on the roof and the rebels manning the emplaced machine guns would ensure that they didn't get too close to the structure. The smoke from the small burning fires and the explosions around the structure made it difficult to see inside of the building but the rebels would make due. Despite the caustic smoke, they made sure to keep absolutely quiet, while Neuvo Rican soldiers, unfortunately, were having more than enough trouble breathing. Each cough brought a burst of bullets but they would learn to keep quiet themselves.

Glass cracked under their feet, smoke filled the air in a thick haze, and blood squirted around as the rebels moved inwards, moving from room to room, shooting everyone they saw. If it was a big enough room, they would just open the door, lob in a grenade, shut the door, and wait. The building shook more and more as they drew nearer to the center and, in the sweep, they killed another eighty-eight Neuvo Ricans, still maintaining just the single loss outside and the two wounded outside. They were fearsome warriors and they pushed towards the stairs now, which were covered by Neuvo Ricans on the bottom and rebels on the top. They came to the stairs but kept more than quiet. There were soldiers down there, waiting for them, soldiers that were not green at all. Fifty-seven Neuvo Ricans were still on the lower levels, where the sensitive equipment was and where they could disable the entire air defense network in southern Neuvo Rican Mexico. It was a feat they were on the verge of accomplishing.

"Granadas." [Grenades.] They whispered to each other in barely audible words and pretty soon two concussion and one fragmentation grenade began to roll down the stairs. They clanged on the way down, alerting the Neuvo Rican soldiers that something was coming, giving them ample time to back away, behind safe points. So, when the three grenades went off, they only killed four soldiers and wounded two others, those who had been unable to get away in time. However, they didn't charge, that would be too wreckless. Instead, one rebel used the advantage of the grenades and crept down the stairs, just to the first level, holding two stun grenades. He launched both of them and jumped up the stairs again. This time, they made no sound until they bounced off the walls and went off, thoroughly blinding the thirteen Neuvo Ricans guarding the first level. Rebels poured down after that, shooting the thirteen Neuvo Ricans without effort as they squirmed on the floor in pain. The first basement level was pretty empty aside from those seventeen soldiers and the rebels moved into counter-offensive positions. They split again and forty of them took defensive positions on the first and second floors, looking out the windows with their rifles, waiting for reinforcements, which were drawing dangerously close. The remaining thirty-seven, after clearing the first basement, arranged themselves for the assault down the next set of stairs. More grenades were thrown and the pattern was repeated, with similar effects and a similar scenario. They shook the building as the first bullets from the snipers went off, swatting down at least eighteen of the Neuvo Ricans coming towards the structure. The snipers looked out, past the pelting and furious rain, which had soaked every crevice of their body and was soaking their bones just as well. They saw the movements in the jungles around them and fired at them as the bullets tore through the rain laiden air.

Down below, the situation was still in the favor of the rebels. They moved down into the second basement and started shooting right off the bat, putting bullets in the air in volumes and volumes. The rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire and semi-automatic gunfire in the second basement and outside continued as the time of the assault passed by ten minutes, a short amount of time. They had twenty more before they were overwhelmed, which meant that they had to move faster. By 15:12, the second basement was clear, the site neutralized. Semtex A blocks were put all over the servers and equipment in the second basement. As the rebels moved up the stairs again, they went off, shattering millions of dollars of equipment and bringing the entire air defense network in southern Mexico offline.

They were successful and the sixty-four Neuvo Ricans that had come to the building to reinforce the men there were dead but hundreds upon hundreds were on their way. The rebels had lost only three men and eighteen were wounded by the time the assault was over, a remarkably low number, considering they left three hundred and seventy-seven Neuvo Ricans dead. They withdrew back, into the jungles by 15:19 hours. When the bulk of the Neuvo Ricans arrived at the structure, they found it abandoned, destroyed but still standing. For the commanders, it was a disaster but there was hope, they could repair the damage. That was, of course, until 15:40 hours. The sky was dark and Neuvo Ricans had no idea what was what up there. Their IFF systems were offline and they couldn't identify the incoming contacts, which were moving low and fast, more like Neuvo Rican aircraft than Layartebian aircraft, which usually flew high and subsonic. The four F-35 Ravens were moving at supersonic speeds, just 1,500 feet off the deck, too high to be visually identified and, since Neuvo Rican forces had stealthy aircraft, they were easily mistook for F-24s or F-23s or even F-22s. It wasn't until they released their punishing payloads that the Neuvo Ricans knew what happened or who they were. Eight, one thousand pound JDAM IIs soared into the structure, turning each and every square inch of it into dust, pulverized dust. The most punishing blow of the entire campaign had been dealt. The bridge had hurt the Neuvo Ricans but not like this. They wouldn't surrender but they were now at a disadvantage so great that their morale, if it even still existed, was as low as possible.

RAVENNA

The date unknown - Sparetti was back in Italy, hiding with Don Raguso - the last of the Mafiosi known to be loyal to the Family. The short history - a meeting in Corleone turned sour, and everyone was killed there. Everyone - except for Maggiano, who was conveniently absent. And Raguso - who was inconveniently late to the meeting. He was in confession with Monsignore Domenicatti, when the thought had came to him that he was going to be late; as Domencatti later said, "Only divine intervention can stop something like that."

Whatever it was, Raguso was quick to seize the opportunity to "clean up the family" - he took out the enemies ruthlessly and prayed for their souls as he did so. And only one man remained a threat to it all - Maggiano. The original and the only - Maggiano. Don Silvestro was turning out to be an elusive character - as if after the massacre, he had completely disappeared from the international scene. His freighting company was being dismantled slowly by his son - Luigi - but as it was, Luigi was not even in Sicily anymore. The episode had convinced him to leave the family, and reside in Cagliari for the duration of his time. Those were two different islands, with different histories in Cosa Nostra - the retired players returned to Sardinia, while the players stayed in Sicily. The pitiable ones stayed even into retirement, because enough shame had been wrought upon him to consider ill the move to Sardinia.

But that was history - this was now. Sparetti had recovered a Beretta, cleaning it meticulously as if it were his own. The Monsignore came by, examining the health of his only guest in the abbey.

"My son tells me that a heavy burden rests on your heart," he said, standing at the door."

Sparetti glanced slightly at the aged man, apparently holding a recent wound to his shoulder. It wasn't the red he was wearing...

"There's nothing."

Domenicatti chuckled at that. "They all say that."

"I'm not 'they'." Sparetti retorted.

"They also say that."

Sparetti stopped talking, taking to Domenicatti's presence as a nuisance. The aged bishop stepped into the guest room - as was his prerogative to do so - and sat at a chair, taking off his cap.

"I have always believed that confession is a powerful tool for the wreary soul."

"No one wants to hear your stories, Monsignore," Sparetti replied, starting to assemble his Beretta.

"No one cares to listen to stories anymore," Domenicatti replied. "But God convicts us to listen. 'Ever seeing but never perceiving; ever hearing but never understanding.' That is our lot, and it is a sin to let it be so."

"Man is a sin," Sparetti shot back. "There's no point for redemption. They die as easily as they live."

"So it seems to me that you have murdered - that is a grievous pain."

Sparetti stopped to think about it. "Pain?"

"Pain. God never said it was a sin to commit murder - God never said to obey the Ten Commandments."

"Wouldn't your church call that heresy?"

"The Church is already heretic - this is not a place of Papal Authority, although I am still convicted to preach the Word to subjects of the Holy Catholic Church. I give the missals ordained by the College, and I do what is required of my services to the Church, but - no. If I were a true Catholic, I would meddle with dirty men and their toys."

"Us?"

Domenicatti chuckled again. "For one who convicts himself to be himself, he just as easily refers to himself as 'us' - referring to 'they' in due credit."

Sparetti felt the utter urge to wring the priest's neck, but he controlled his anger. It was not wise to strangle the man giving you a house, under any circumstance - unless of course, you aimed to keep it. And Domencatti was a man close to Raguso - killing him would be a bad way to keep an alliance of convenience.

"I'll be on my way," he said, having assembled his weapon.

"Tell me, child. Do you ponder about Emilia?"

He stopped at the door. The Monsignor apparently struck a deep vibe, and he struck it well. Before Sparetti could aptly react, Domencatti had already begun - "She came in here every Sunday and Wednesday - a devoted Catholic. She came in here to Mass and even served in the Church for a while, until she received another job. Do you know why she came here?" A long pause followed. "She prayed for you deeply. When she wasn't praying for the orphans, the elderly, the sick, the dying, the wretched, and the weak, she prayed for you. Forgiveness is a harsh tool, in my opinion. It begs you to become friendly with your enemy, and I'll say for many things, she handled your departure very well. She confessed to me every day she could, and asked for forgiveness for you. She knew that you were a good person inside, but she couldn't convince herself that you were Mafiosi. I listened - she wailed about how she was still a pure virgin and that she had hoped to be with you for the rest of her life. I told her that she still could - she asked how. I said, 'Forgiveness means accepting him for who he is and working with that.' She was rampant, insisting that she would never marry a criminal. I would have said more, but she never talked about you after that. She prayed for everyone else, but as far as you - she could never come to terms with that. She became bitter, hard, unforgiving even. She was once so soft, and after that, she became hard. Her heart was a stone cracking from the stresses of life, and no matter what she could do, the weight of her guilt pressed on her. I see the same thing in you - you are so like her in many ways. She refused to forgive you - and you refuse to forgive yourself. It's hard to say why, but people need to realize that God did create perfect beings - they simply forget that sometimes, and lose themselves."

Sparetti cracked at that. "And how is this perfect?" pointing around him.

"It isn't - but that's because an imperfect mind brought it. A human can be perfect, if he so chooses to do so."

"Humans choose nothing."

"Then my son, why did Jesus choose the life of suffering? The life of immaterial wealth? The life of meticulous piety at the expense of rejecting the excesses of the world? He was a king, born to a lineage of kings, and yet instead of the velvet and the gold, he chose the sackcloth and the iron. Wealth is not the end of our means - it is only the means of our end. I run a business, where I take money from some people, and give it to others who don't have it. People think that I keep some of the money for myself, but I don't. These raiments upon me are gifts from Signor Raguso. Everything around me is not mine, but the generosity of people before and with me. I own nothing here, and only so choose to be here, because there are things that people can give to the world, but in the end, they can never satisfy to give themselves what they need. I give that. But then again, I only give it to people who are willing to take it. I am always willing to take things, and as easily ready to give it - it's upon you to give me your story, because the truth is - people will only hear it if you are willing to give it. And they will only then hear it if they're willing to take it. Such is the lot of men - having but never giving; receiving but never taking."

"You are a hypocrite!" Sparetti yelled.

Domenicatti replied - "Yes, but what are you?"

With that, Sparetti quit the door and ran down the hall to the stairs, running as fast as he could out the door.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

February 5, 2007 - 10:00 [AST]
Rebel HQ, Campeche

With just ten days left before the Layartebian invasion, things were more than uptight in the rebel HQ in Campeche. The overwhelming successes that the rebel army had with their brutal and brilliantly planned campaign against the Neuvo Rican military machine had rendered some big results. The entire southeastern air defense network was down. The main artery that supplied Neuvo Rican front lines and their retreat plans had been cut off, completely. They had dealt in excess of 7,000 casualties to the Neuvo Rican military forces. Two fuel depots, three ammunition depots, two tank farms, and an airport had all been raided and destroyed by rebel forces. On the front lines, morale had fell and Layartebian forces, on the other side of the berms were ready to go. Land forces were ready; naval forces were ready; air forces were ready. Everyone was ready to launch a full-blown attack against the Neuvo Rican military. Armored bulldozers were ready to push down Neuvo Rican berms and soldiers were poised to launch the biggest offensive since the invasion of Venezuela in 1981, which marked the beginning of the "Conquests," as they were called. Constant reconnaissance over the front lines showed that the Neuvo Rican forces were prepared and dug in, definitely not willing to leave their positions anytime soon. They had their armor and their fighting vehicles prepped and ready just as well. They had their aircraft flying overhead, looking down at Layartebian positions. Their satellites were overhead and their forces were ready, just as well.

The two intelligence agents working with the rebels at their headquarters had seen enough to know that the rebel army was a formidable opponent for the Neuvo Ricans. They had linked up with several special forces teams and had attacked an airbase just two days after they brought down the air defense network. The airport, seized by Neuvo Rican Air Force personnel in early January, had become a major station point for Neuvo Rican fighters. F-22C Raptors and A-10N Thunderballs were deployed there and both aircraft could pose a threat to Layartebian aircraft and ground units. It was more than evident that the airbase had to be neutralized. An elite squad of rebels, numbering forty in total, linked up with two Delta teams. All together, the fifty-two men and women moved on the airbase in the dead of night. The attack left two rebels dead and eight others injured but the force managed to sabotage all of the aircraft on the ground. Forty-eight F-22s and thirteen A-10s were neutralized through plastic explosives. The Neuvo Ricans knew that they were dealing with both Layartebian and rebel elements but without an effective means of tracking and fighting them and with the clock running out, there was little they could do but grin and bear the attacks.

Cabin fever swept through the rebel HQ on February 5. The Layartebian forces were ready, the rebels knew this but they didn't know why they just didn't attack. The whole goal was to wait for the Layartebian forces to get ready. They achieved that goal ahead of time and now, with the Russians bearing down on the Neuvo Rican coast to the north, there was a sense of urgency. The rebels would not, by any means, allow themselves to be ruled by Russians. The insurgency they would mount would make the Venezuelan wars seem like training events. The Ministries of Defense and Intelligence put the Russian invasion on February 12, which was three days ahead of the Layartebian onslaught. In three days, the Russians could do a significant amount of damage but that was the intention. If the Russians were attacking to the north, the Neuvo Rican government would pull back troops from the southern lines to fight there, easing the burden on Layartebian forces, thereby reducing the number of casualties they would have to inflict and take. With the Russian fleet of 2,000 ships moving through the Pacific, a sizeable force that was, by all means, a logistical nightmare, the Caribbean was quiet. Russian forces had been barred from entering the Caribbean and Voronej had been notified well before they ever put to sea. The Caribbean was Layartebian territory and would remain as such.

For now there was just one thing to do...wait.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

February 14, 2007 - 23:00 [AST]
Front Lines, Mexico

The new moon was just three days away and the night was dim was just starlight. The moon was nearly invisible from Earth and the intended purpose. With Russian forces advancing heavily to the extreme north, the desired effect of having the Neuvo Rican army on the southern border split off and go north was well planned as well. Unfortunately, just 1/4 of the Neuvo Rican forces moved north. Without an adequate retreat artery, this meant that the Layartebian military would be going up against the Neuvo Ricans, who had been dug in for nearly two months and the only way they could go was forward. The war was just an hour from beginning and the tension and anxiety was so thick not even a machete could cut through it.

Armored bulldozers stood ready to break down the berms and Sabertooth tanks stood ready to move forward. Aircraft waiting on the tarmacs and the runways, loaded heavy with ordinance. The Neuvo Rican military had gone dark, which meant that communications weren't being broadcast anymore. To counter and fool the Neuvo Ricans, the Layartebian military kept communications ongoing but they were nonsensical. They had, in essence, gone dark too but if the enemy was listening, they would know that the attack wasn't going to come yet. Submarines skulked beneath the waves to the east and west of Neuvo Rican territory and Russians were coming from the north. Rebel forces were poised and ready to launch their own attacks. It was just a waiting game now...

The first aircraft took off at 00:30 hours and headed for the Neuvo Rican border. These were stealth aircraft, able to sneak in undetected. These were F-19C Ghostriders and F-24C Knightowls, taking off from Cuba. They headed west at altitudes in excess of 36,000 feet moving at Mach 0.9, ensuring to keep below the speed of sound to maximize their stealth. Sixteen of each aircraft were the first to take off and they were loaded with guided bombs, JDAM IIs, ranging from 250 pounds to 2,000 pounds and each one of them had a separate target. The Knightowls would be there for escort purposes and were loaded only with air to air munitions. B-7B Incubus and B-4A Magnum bombers were aloft next, flying from Venezuela and Colombia, joined by B-9C Sphinx bombers flying from Costa Rica and Panama. B-10A Badgers and their EB-10B Badger escorts were in the air next. F-25C Firefoxes, F-39C Super Eagles, F-41A and F-41B Defenders, and F-45A Scorpions were all in the air by 01:00 hours. There were close to 800 Layartebian aircraft in the air by that time, including support tankers and non-stealthy fighters and other aircraft. They all roared towards Neuvo Rican airspace, which they would all breach at 01:30 hours. Venom SSGNs, Hunter SSNs, and Virginia Flight II SSNs waiting in the waves beneath the Caribbean Sea and Pacific Ocean opened their vertical launch tubes and poured out close to 600 Imsdal cruise missiles by 01:10 hours. Naval ships on the surface did the same thing and, by 01:30 hours there were almost 900 Layartebian aircraft and over 1,400 Imsdal missiles in the air. It would all culminate at 01:30 hours when the first weapons hit, the Imsdal missiles, moving at high supersonic and even hypersonic speeds. Big Voodoo missiles poured out next and targetted Neuvo Rican carriers in the Caribbean. Carrier based aircraft were poised and ready too, armed with anti-ship missiles to sink the Neuvo Rican fleets in the Caribbean Sea, of which there were three carrier battle groups and almost thirty submarines. The carriers were the most important parts and they were targetted first by the Imsdal and Voodoo missiles.

The first weapon hit at precisely 01:30:02 hours, local time. It slammed into a command and control bunker for southern operations. The remaining 1,400 missiles hit within the next ten minutes, pounding Neuvo Rican command and control structures, airports, their front lines, naval yards, etc. Explosion after explosion, the first slavo shook the ground in Mexico and was followed by the aircraft next. Neuvo Rican fighters in the air were swatted down by LRAAAMs and Dodsengels before they knew they had been targetted. JDAMs fell through the air like rain drops with over 10,000 of them falling on their targets. The first wave was only going to last until 01:50 hours, after which there would be a forty minute break until the next wave came. During that time, satellites overhead would do battle damage assessment and find out what needed to be hit again and what could be ignored for the next waves, freeing up other targets.

Killswitch Engage V: Continuation

February 15, 2007 - 03:00 [AST]
Front Lines, Mexico

The first waves of attacks had done significant damage to the Neuvo Rican military behind the berms, in southern Mexico. Marines were already wadding ashore in the Yucatán and moving in, to secure the lawless state. The second wave hit at 02:30 hours and was just concluding by 03:00 hours. Neuvo Rican aircraft had managed to get off the ground in the hundreds but they were no match without radars guiding them. AIM-221 LRAAAM missiles tore across the sky at them from phantom locations. Their RWRs lit up as missiles locked onto them and tracked them, going terminal by the time it was too late. F-24 Knight Owls and F-25 Firefoxes flew high altitude missions, protecting bombers and shooting down Neuvo Rican fighters in droves. Unable to see the stealthy targets on their radars and unable to do much, the Neuvo Rican fighters, mostly F-22s and F-23s, were helpless. Some managed to get targets and engaged, firing off AIM-120D AMRAAM missiles and AIM-9X Sidewinders and many of them were good shots, the only problem being that there weren't many shots period. By 03:00 hours, the Neuvo Rican Air Force had lost 38 F-22s, 16 F-23s, 83 F-16s, 62 F-15s, and 22 F-24s. The Layartebian Air Force, by itself, had lost just four F-24s and two F-19s. The Navy, on the other hand, lost 11 F-26s and 8 F-14s but the fight was just beginning.

Layartebian bombers unleashed unholy hell, putting Imsdals and JDAM IIs into the air in quantities so high that it seemed almost impossible to fly without hitting something. Imsdal missiles crashed into their targets at Mach 7 while JDAM IIs penetrated through the thickest layers of reinforced concrete, shattering hangars, bunkers, and other essential targets. Aircraft kept high enough that low-altitude air defense systems such as MANPADs or AAA were ineffective. Naval bombardment from Earthquake BBGNs and Mexia BCNs dropped 18 and 8 inch projectiles on targets dozens of miles away with devestating accuracy. Naval 155mm ETC guns pounded into the air, firing dozens of rounds per minute, aiming at shore positions. In the Caribbean Sea, Voodoo, AMESM, and Imsdal missiles streaked across the sky, aiming for Neuvo Rican ships. It wasn't a surprise attack, per say, the Neuvo Ricans knew that the Layartebians were coming but didn't know when. Well, the time had come...

The land assault had yet to begin but there was gunfire all along the border as Neuvo Rican soldiers and tanks began to attack the berms. Spotters and snipers, watching the Neuvo Rican lines were returning fire and artillery systems were beginning to fire. Rocket launched artillery had already put hundreds of missiles into the air, many of them with submunitions or fragmentation warheads and it was just a matter of time before they hit. Fighter aircraft concentrated on strategic targets, for now, and air superiority. When dawn came, the non-stealthy aircraft would venture into Neuvo Rican airspace and begin, systematically picking off ground targets such as tanks and road junctions. The Neuvo Ricans had plenty of time to prepare for this and they were ready to fight to the death.

OOC: Ehh pfft I'm abandoning KE5 you guys get the point right? We win, they lose, blah blah blah.

It had been two and a half months since the Neuvo Rican territories in southern Mexico fell under the flag of the Empire. It had been two and a half months since the final cartels were wiped out in the Yucatán and the rest of the ancient Mayan civilization. It had been over six months since the Florida Cartel had been wiped out. The Esmeralda and Meta Cartels had fallen too. The War on Drugs was, essentially, over in the Empire. The government had been the victor and it was evident. The number of drug-related crimes decreased by over 800% and the number of drug-related deaths had decreased 600% since the end of the war. Marijuana became a difficult item to obtain and cocaine and heroin were almost impossible to find. Junkies had either gone insane from the withdrawals or had killed themselves. Many had been picked up by the police as they attempted to find drugs but all attempts were failures. The Empire had, essentially, dried up and that wasn't the only advantage either. Crime in the Yucatán alone went from a horrific cacophony of chaos to almost nothing as Marines swept through, rounding up anyone and everyone who was connected with the various Mexican cartels that had now all ceased to exist. The Yucatán was, surprisingly, a peaceful place, for the first time in over a decade.

The war to annex the southern portion of Mexico from the Neuvo Rican government had been successful and not only did it add more territory to Empire and connect the Yucatán to the rest of the Province of Ynoga but, at the same time, it also succeeded in ending a significant haven for criminals. They now had no where to run and crime was going down throughout the already low-crime Empire. Everything seemed to be changing for the better.

Faysal in Afghanistan had died on the morning of March 12 and the Seraph-e Pasdaran terrorist organization was wiped out earlier in the year. The flow of drugs into the Empire had abruptly stopped, which made a lot of people very unhappy and very testy. Mafia kingpins fled the coutnry, afraid that even the lowest of the low wold be overturned and arrested. The exodus of criminals was welcomed by the government but who knew where they went. The world was a big place and though they were slowly being stripped of their citizenship status, they were, in effect, gone. The hope was for them never to return.

The war, which was largely unpopular with the Layartebian people because of its vagueness and lack of concrete results, was hailed as the greatest effort by the government of Layarteb since the annexation of Venezuela in the 1980s. Now, the logical steps happened. The massive amount of funding that was allocated to ebb the flow of drugs was being curtailed to levels that would be more applicable with maintenance. The drugs and the kingpins were gone. Now the funding allocated was aimed at keeping them out. Force Tiger, the secretive black operations group that was formed to fight the drug lords suddenly found themselves without a calling but the unit wouldn't be disbanded, not at all. Instead, they were transitioned to roles of enforcement. They joined the CJA-DED on raids throughout the Empire, to find the last holdouts of the drug populace. They still would ensure that foreigners didn't bring drugs back into the country and they routinely joined up with the Marauders to stop naturally growing drugs. South America was a popular place for plants such as cannabis and coca grew, indigenously. Their fields would have to be sought out and destroyed, which is what the Marauders and Force Tiger often found themselves doing, although they, quite often, were engaged in small firefights at these fields. Farmers consistently tried to claim rights to the fields and harvest them and would fight, ruthlessly, anyone who tried to take their profit away from them. They never won against the SOF and BOF.

The scene in the abbey was still on Sparetti's mind as Don Raguso was settled in his office. Raguso had a list of all of the enemies of the family, and the only one left was Silvestro - the former father of the family. Where had he gone? Sparetti's business in Tuscany was all but dead. Luciano - the one sent to tidy the place - was found impaled on a stake for a grape vine. The vineyard was occupied by Roman authorities, seeking out the murder history, perhaps in connection with the death of Senator Mencius the few months ago. The fall of the Caesarini estate was a shock, and even more so was the level of corruption inflicted by Mafiosi - Rome had closed its borders, and only Doomani territories remained open.

The drug trade was dead in Italy. And what would Don Raguso do? He peered through his sunglasses to eye the relic that was Sparetti.

"Mio amici - we have some work to do."

"Si. What is it?"

"Don Maggiano is being a little recluse, but his son was spotted in Taranto," Raguso replied.

"Which son?"

"Luigi. No one has seen Giuseppe for a while. I find it strange that the only one left in the family is Luigi."

Sparetti locked his pistol and made way for the exit. "It makes my time easier. Where is Luigi in Taranto? I'll get him to spill Don Maggiano's location."

"At the docks."

”In other news, a man was lynched by an angry mob earlier today in the town of Sritta in northern Khabarovsk after he attempted to deal drugs in a neighborhood. The mob consisted of upwards of fifty angry residents. The local police say that the people involved will be fined, but they will not be further punished, as police officials say that this was a case of justifiable rage…”

The image of the pretty female news anchor reporting the news on the large flatscreen television that hung on the far wall of the room faded to black, making the people in the room turn their attention in the opposite direction and look to the person sitting at the head of the table in the cavernous, dimly lit room. The atmosphere was one of seriousness, making it a rather uncomfortable place to be. There were nine people sitting around the table, mostly dressed in expensive, dark business suits, but also a pair of men dressed in uniforms. The man sitting at the head of the table looked at each person sitting at the table before he finally spoke.

”Things are going according to plan. The people refuse to accept the scourge of drugs anymore, and they are stepping up and taking responsibility for their local communities. This is exactly what we wanted when we initiated this endeavour two years ago. In less than two years, we’ve broken the backs of the drug cartels, made drugs an almost impossible commodity to obtain within the borders of our glorious Realm, and ensured the safe upbringing of our children in a world without the scourge of drugs. The question now is, where do we go from here?”

One of the uniformed people, a woman in her late fifties dressed in the uniform that signified her as the Director of the National Police Force, was the first one to speak.

”We’ve already rooted out the most of the addicts and sellers. The crack-downs and strict punishments have had an effect that was far greater than we anticipated. The dealers and smugglers know perfectly well that if they try to do their filthy work here, they’re lucky if they live long enough to be hung by our hangmen. In addition, the forced rehabilitation programs we’ve been running with those who have been sentenced for using has had a great effect. Some 98 % of all those in the program don’t revert to their past sins. For those two percent who do, a second trip through the program usually helps, and we all know what happens to those who fail the second time.” – Cottish law was very clear on repeat offenders. If they committed a serious crime for the third time, the mandatory punishment was death by hanging by default. Using drugs counted as a serious crime – ”What we should do now is focus more on preventing drugs from re-appearing, something which includes education campaigns directed towards our young, and rehabilitation of those few drug addicts that still remain out there. We estimate that they count no more than three hundred thousand individuals, spread out all over the Realm. We should also maintain the vigilant border defense that we’ve been running for the past two years, and especially at sea, which is where the majority of the drugs enter the Realm.”

The attention shifted to the second person dressed in a uniform, this time the Navy blue of the Admiral from the Navy that were present at the meeting. This admiral was responsible for all the patrol divisions, which included the corvettes, frigates and patrol boats that were responsible for netting most of the drugs that were attempted to be shipped into Cotland.

”The Navy has maintained a strong presence in and near our waters for a long time now, patrolling and inspecting suspicious vessels, something which was extremely successful until recently. We believe that this reduction in captured vessels is a result of offensive operations undertaken by foreign powers on distant parts of the planet, more accurately to the Layartebian destruction of the drug cartels in Central and South America. The vast majority of the drugs in circulation in the Realm originated here, and there is a clear link between the shutdown of operations there and the increased demand here. Now, this is a fact of life: Whenever you chop of the serpent’s head, another one will grow out. We must not take this victory as a decisive one, as we are fighting a war that continues indefinitely. We must always maintain our vigil and always be prepared to act with the amount of force necessary to ensure that we remain in control and that the enemy is suppressed. For the enemy cannot be vanquished. Oh no, he is a clever one. Whenever we take down one enemy, another one will appear elsewhere and pick up the slack. Therefore we must maintain our vigil and not relent. So yes sir, the Navy will maintain its level of activity.”

There was a general consensus among the people in the room, with nodding heads to this wisdom shared by the aging and decorated admiral.

”I’m glad to hear it Admiral, and I shall convey your wisdom to His Majesty in the next cabinet meeting. Now, let’s discuss these plans for education campaigns. Miss Skjeggestad, I believe you have something to say about that issue.”

”Yes I do Mister Justice Minister. We have been thinking about starting with campaigns already in the third grade of elementary school…”

[OOC: Time to wrap things up?]

OOC: Technicially this is a fluid RP it doesn't necessarily have all that much to do with a single storyline, many storylines. I might do a little drug thing with the Amazon territories though.