NationStates Jolt Archive

In the waters near Terra Recedentia, three small craft, obviously military by the matte gray paint and the black symbol of some military force painted on the top of the bow, made for one person each, blasted through the swells of the open ocean and turned towards a frieghter owned by New Dornalia. The small craft zipped around the frieghter, keeping a safe distance so as to not be sucked into the props or be plowed over, then turned away and headed for the large grouping of islands that lay to the South West of the New Dornalian claim and East of the main landmass.

The craft were obviously advanced, probably experimental, looked to be armed with fixed front firing machine guns and had powerful engines, as they were withdrawing at 35 knots, at the very least. Either someone allready here has a new toy, or another group has decided to come to the large continent.

-------

At the islands, the three small craft twisted and snaked in and out of the islands and came upon a destroyed anchored in a channel. On a nearby island, there was allready an expedition setting up survey equipment. The destroyer had been sent to do a recon mission to find out about this landmass, which seemed nearly untouched for some reason, and find a suitable forward base that could also be a port to aide expansion inland.

Commander Cresy, the most senior officer on the destroyer, looked at the written orders again. Establish your 'beach-head'. Do not engage in any hostile military action without prior approval, unless your forces come under enemy fire. Any contact with other nations, be they native governments or intercontinental represenatives, is to be kept cordial, but distant. Nothing new for the Crimm, who were almost xenophobic towards other nationalities(excepting Freeks and Panterans, who are considered as brothers and sisters in arms).

These islands provided acess to the islands to the North East and the landmass to the West, in addition to being easy to disengage from, should things somehow turn nasty. With nothing but ocean to the South East, a naval force could be off the islands and leaving the area within three hours. Hopefully, no one had anything that dengerous pointed at them and if they did, they didn't really care about the Crimm to do anything about it.

He didn't know what the Admiralty or the High Commander had in mind for this new continent. All he knew was that the orders to come here came from the High Commander's desk, with approval by the Senate. If the military dictator and the civilian governt said to do something, that was good enough for him. From reports, he could see that this place had potential, but the Empire had never been a colonial force before. They had brutally conquered their lands in Europe, Africa and Gholgoth and immediatly made them full provinces, with military garrisons and local governments. It would be interesting to see how this played out. Hopefully it went better than the colonization of Africa, way back when...

His thoughts broke away as he watched the Experimental Coastal Patrol craft, nicknamed Coastals, coming in.

-----

The small attack craft circled the destroyer, one by one coming along side and being lifted out of the water to a berthing station on the rear deck. A man jumped out of the last one and saluted the Navy Commander. "Sir, we have made contact with a frieghter. Unsure of it's nationality, but someone else now knows we're here. No contact with any native population."

The Commander nodded. "No matter, Sergeant Szabo. They'd find out soon enough, when the cargo ships and the dredgers start arriving. The smaller channels are too narrow and shallow to allow proper transport of anything bigger than your Coastals. You'll patrol again in the morning. I want to know if any of the nations around here come to these islands. If you find any, greet them if you can, but if you can't, just smile and wave, before departing. We'll get translators out here eventually." This time Sergeant Szabo nodded and stepped away to handle his boats, after being dismissed.

Sergeant Bela Szabo, who had no real use for his name other than for paperwork, looked at his team. "Spray them down and check the thirty cals. And load all three with fish. Now that someone knows we're here... someone might not want us here." A round berth in the hull allowed the Coastals to carry one torpedo each, if they went up against something that machine-gun fire couldn't bring down. It would slow the Coastals down a tad, but they had another trick to make up for that.

A corporal nodded. "Right Dracula." Bela smirked at that name. No one in his squad called him Sergeant unless there was an officer around and no one called him Bela at all. His nickname, of course, came from Bela Lugosi's portayal of Count Dracula. He lived up to the nickname too, by being cold hearted and ruthless in a fight.

Over the next two weeks, Dracula and his men were out there again, swooping around the islands at a good pace. They were probably spotted by any ships in the area, but the sleek gray craft didn't approach, unless they were. And then it was to circle the approaching ship like sharks, then break off and resume patroling, without once responding to any communication. That wasn't their job, after all.

Then the larger ships began to appear, one being an Amphibious Assault Ship, which launched ten more Coastals and several landing craft, loaded with supplies. All of them headed to the largest island in the Eastern half of the grouping. The other two large ships were dredgers, which went to work on two channels, pumping the sediment and sand from the seabed onto the nearby islands. True it was all loose and would have to be compacted to be of any use as a foundation for anything, but this was only the first day of major operations.

Now the Amphibious Assault Ship did send out a radio transmission, claiming the western half of the island grouping for the Intercontinental Empire of Crimmond and a request for any cartographic information of the ocean in this area, to aide in preventing accidents.

---

As the Coastals came around a small islands, Dracula killed his engine and the other four with him did the same. He stood up in his boat with the confidance of a man who had been a seabourne Marine for most of his adult life and eyed the scene in front of him. There was a boat tied to an post driven into the sandy mud, but no one around. Then he looked own and saw he was sitting over a lot of underwater sealife. Sponge divers? he thought, then waited a minute to see.

Sure enough, two natives came up for air, looking more than a tad nervous at the four attack boats that had appeared. Bela sighed and shouted at them in basic forms of English, Spanish, Japanese and even Russian. They shouted back in a language he had never heard before. He shook his head and waved, before witting down and turning his craft away. "Remind me to advise the captain that a translator would be a very good idea. Even if we have to hire one from another nation."

One of the other 'pilots' spoke up. "Hey Omar, maybe you should stand up and show off a bit. That'd start relations off on a good foot." The only female with the group uttered a few words that Dracula smirked at. "Allright, people. Enough fun, let's get back to the living hell it is to patrol these islands in Coastals." He got a few chuckles from the other three pilots as he powered up and shot around the island, throughly enjoying his job and knowing that was a rarity in the military.

----

City of Skye, Capitol of the Intercontinental Empire of Crimmond.

"Sir, official maps are being updated now, reflecting the new colony." An aide reported and the man behind the desk nodded.

"Very good. Inform Commander Cressy that he will be overseeing the security of the islands while the Assault Ship will be overseeing the construction efforts." High Commander Andrew Coleman IV stated, leaning back in the chair that was twice as old as he was, which was saying something, considering that he was a nearly eighty year old military dictator.

He looked into the blank computer screen and saw his reflection. Deep lines marred his face, his bloodshot and sunken eyes hidden behind his trademark aviators, while his bald head was hidden by a beret with false hair attached. He body was covered with padded clothing, to make him seem less frail and, to top things off, sickness had taken his left foot years before. Though offical sources said it was an old war wound.

Coleman sighed. He was known as Crimmond's most brutal miltary leader and as the Lord of Blood, for his work in leading his nation through the Era of Blood. It had served as muscle and intimidation for the GDODAD, before things turned bad for that alliance. In his second reign, he had pledges loyalty to Gholgoth in general and had pledged to fight to the death for the nations of Automagfreek and Pantera.

He was a warrior, but he wanted something else to be known for, even if it was just a footnote. The establishment of a colony on this continent, for trade and political purposes, rather than as a military staging area or as conqured land. True, the Navy and Marines were handling much of the load, but that was the most efficient way. Afterwards, the Senate would take control. And when his son, Kenneth Coleman II, returned from assignment, he would take over personal governership of the new colony. That would establish his name and give him credibility, for when he would take his father's place as ruler.

MV Robert Black

At 75,000 tonnes deadweight displacement, the MV Robert Black was far from one of the largest Oceanian-registered merchant vessels afloat, however, she was important for the fact she held within her hold much needed supplies for the UK’s equatorial colony. Oceanian Equatorial Recedentia consisted primarily of tropical rainforest inhabited by indigenous tribes that carved intricate wood pieces; however wooden art did not interest banks and shipping companies in Imperium, Philadelphia, Port Hamptonshire, and Breningrad. No, the confluence of the two largest rivers did. The potential for a massively important port city at the mouth of the two rivers held more appeal to shareholders than gold. But such a city would need an infrastructure. And such an infrastructure would be delivered piecemeal by ships such as the Robert Black.

Captain Ivan Tulov breathed in deeply only to exhale a puff of smoke from his pipe. Standing outside on the steel plated deck, his free left hand gripped the white railing while his eyes peered out across the seas where to the north a few specks of green could be seen amongst the blues of the ocean and the sky. There rest the islands forming the northern edge of the shipping lanes into Equatorial Recedentia, islands inhabited by primitive peoples and now ruled over by another more distant peoples. He turned back towards the bridge, along the back bulkhead hung a map of the Home Islands. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Pulling the hatch open, Tulov stepped over the lip and into the air-conditioned compartment that would make tropical transits that much more bearable. Course and speed?

Course two-nine-zero, speed twenty-two knots, Captain, the ship’s navigator answered.

Tulov nodded, and smiled at the man. A descendant of the native peoples that had inhabited the islands he called home. The more they stayed the same.

Meanwhile, the crews from the Assualt Ship were busy. They were putting together what amounted to a small port town, complete with modern homes and a port. True that there was only ship provided clean water and electricity came from generators, but power and desalination plants would come in time. Until then, whitewashed roofs and collection basins it would be, in addition to shipped in food, water and fuel.

Within a few days, a fishing trawler from Africa had arrived, looking a bit beat up from being on the open sea for too long. After a days repairs, they went out to see what they could net. A strange mix, this was. A military supplying a colonization of a small island grouping that was being built from scratch like a modern town and being forced to live off of shipped in foods, until their town was self sufficient, which would be a while. Right now, only workers were in it. After they were down, civilians would move in to fill it up and make it run.

The claim of half the islands seemed just that. A claim. The only area directly controlled was the largest island, in the South East.

----

Cresy looked through his field glasses at the cargo ship, which was called the MV Robert Black, his translation books told him. His destroyer was in a standard slow evasive course, as was standard procedure for a patrol.

He looked at his first mate. "Radio that cargo ship... I'd like to know who they are and where they're going." The mate nodded and relayed the order to the second mate, who relayed it to the radio room's chief who relayed it to the radioman, each repeating the order along the way. Things took a few seconds longer that way, but there were less mistakes. The message was sent in all the main trade languages, as a courtesy.

"Cargo ship MV Robert Black, this is the Crimmond Imperial destroyer Bonefish. Identify your nation of origin and your intended destination."

MV Robert Black

For a moment Tulov breathed in the silence of the bridge, created by the tuning out of the heavy diesel engines throbbing and giving life several decks below. He breathed in the filtered and sterile air that smelled nothing like the sickly sweet mixture of smoke and sea that he could enjoy in the fresh sea air. Having found the freighter still on course, he rested his hand on the handle and tensed his muscles to open the hatch and was about to until the radioman spoke up, Hey, captain, we have a request to identify ourselves.

Tulov turned, his yellow teeth smiling underneath his bushy mustache. Interesting, he said to nobody but himself. The Royal Navy had put out advisories on traveling too far north of his ship’s current route owing to acts of piracy – but there had been no mention of anybody operating at the southern end of the strait. Well, lad, he finally said to his radioman, a young man of no more than twenty years of age. Tell them already.

Across the radio waves a crackle and hiss of static heralded the freighter’s response. Bonefish, this is the Merchant Vessel Robert Black out of Poldi’sk, United Kingdom carrying industrial goods for the Royal Navy base in Oceanian Equatorial Recedentia. There was a slight pause, and then another crackle and hiss, though we sure glad to see somebody out here. Before putting to sea we heard quite a few reports of rampant piracy in the straits to the north – your presence is very reassuring.

Cresy was listening to the response on the bridge and flicked his own mic on, speaking in an oddly accented version of English*. "This is Commander Cresy, commanding officer of the Bonefish. Believe me, any pirates that come near this island group will have their fleet increasing in number, but decreasing in combat effectiveness." A fancy way of saying he'd blow their ships into pieces. "If you'd spread the word to the base commander that these islands are claimed, it would be appreciated."

As Cresy flicked the mic off, a Coastal swept around in front of the destroyer and submerged, then reappeared several hundred feet further, going airbourne for a short while. Cresy sighed and looked at his second mate again. "Tell Szabo that those Coastals aren't toys. Just because they can do things like that doesn't mean he needs to show off."

[*I assume that your crew is speaking English]