NationStates Jolt Archive

12 kilometres outside the city of Xasov. Federative Sikh Republic of Space Union. 1630 h

The cargo planes delivering shipments to Space Union Defence Industries' plants came at regular intervals from various parts of the country, bearing with them the raw materials or prefabricated parts necessary for the building of aeroplanes, tanks, ships, and any other vehicle of warfare and destruction commissioned by the Space Unionist government. This one is no different. Timed by management to arrive shortly before the workers' departure to exasperate them by making them work into overtime, the 16'30 flight is perhaps one of the least favourite of SUDI's good workers.

There will be another reason for them to dislike this one, however.

As the cargo plane reached its destination, its doors opened and two-score or so men in dark cloaks emerged, bearing with them several large packages. It was an unusually high number of men bearing an unusually low amount of raw materials. That boded ill for the future of this particular factory.

Perhaps the guards did not anticipate an attack here; perhaps they were merely unprepared, as any other factory would be. Nonetheless, it proved relatively easy for the men to hijack several transport cars, drive them across to the main entrance to the factory, and use the IDs of the (now deceased) former drivers of the cars to enter the factory.

No-one can agree precisely on what happened next; the highly trained Special Ops apparently succeeded in infiltrating the factory by getting through unmanned security with electronic codebreakers, removing manned security with silenced SMGs, and deactivating cameras with wireless deactivators. According to various accounts, they went as far as the upper administration to cleanse the building of everyone but the common workers; according to others they stopped once they had reached the intercom.

But the fact remained, there was a foreign presence in SUDI, and High Commander Cio Marié knew that would not go unnoticed for long. Therefore, Marié had planned a second strategic attack.

* * *

All those telephone lines and internet cables had to come from somewhere in the general area of Xasov; it was Marié's mission to find out where that was. For the previous day or two, he had been looking up through the Internet the locations of main lines, then traced them with satellite intel back to a cluster of communication centres run by the largest telephone and Internet companies in Space Union. Those in turn were powered by nuclear reactors. They were all relatively close together, which made his job easy.

Marié had briefed Team 19 the previous day and all twenty of its members had come over in the morning on various commercial flights, all provided with carefully forged passports and papers from various neutral countries. After picking up rented or stolen cars, they headed for the cluster, or Point Echo as it was referred to by Marié and the High Command.

Armed with their false identities, an assortment of lethal weaponry, and wireless deactivators, Team 19 members entered the power plants, passing themselves off as workers and deactivating the scanners to prevent them from picking up the weapons, the same way they had at the airport. Once inside, they headed for the reactor rooms, blasting guards out of the way on their way down.

Naturally, not every mission was doomed to succeed, and Team 19 lost seven of its members on the way down, with two of the plants remaining unharmed. But that was why every building in Echo Cluster had been entered; as a mere precaution. Team 19's plan -- nuclear meltdown -- required only one reactor to work.

It is possible to guess what went on in the reactor rooms without too much difficulty. Explosives were placed and armed. Scuffles and small battles doubtlessly took place as guards and Team 19 struggled for control. But in the end, there could be only one outcome.

A beautiful yellowish cloud began to mushroom into the sky, and the power in Xasov abruptly went out.

The city, and more importantly the SUDI plant nearby, was now cut off from the outside world.

* * *

Akalber Gresal liked his job. It may not have fit in well with his mostly pacifist views, but he liked the bantering with co-workers, fitting the metal parts, watching aeroplanes grow from a mass of parts to a single flying whole; in fact, aeroplanes in general. Since a young age he had watched flying machines of all sorts incessantly, demanding that his parents take him to the local airport, where he would sit for hours. He also had a huge bank of trivia on the Space Union Air Force, down to the most detailed specifications of the SuF-7, which was at the moment what this SUDI plant was building.

Wings were moving down the conveyor belt, various workers attaching parts to those that would carry the fighters through the skies; Gresal had just finished attaching part of a pylon to the underside of a wing and sent it on to the next in line, and he was waiting for both the next wing to be flipped over and the five o'clock bell, when the conveyor belts abruptly stopped.

A murmur rose among the workers from silence to a low rumble as they began to mill towards the exits, when the voice came.

It was deep, musical, and strangely compelling, with a tone of unmistakable authority: here was the voice of someone used to being obeyed, someone who did not even consider the possibility of people not obeying him; and for that reason people did obey him, sometimes without even knowing why. Something in the voice made them all stop in their tracks as it spoke.

"Good evening, workers of Space Union."

Dead silence.

"If you have anything in your hands, please put it down."

Compliance. The workers put down their lunchboxes, their briefcases, anything else they are carrying.

"Please remove all weaponry or potential weaponry from your person."

Wrenches, screwdrivers, scissors, the odd gun, and flick knives clattered to the ground. Even so, there was a deafening report and one worker's head simply disintegrated, as though it had never existed, his lifeless body falling to the ground as a .45 revolver fell out of his jacket pocket and another sniper's bullet turned where it had been into a small crater.

"I said, all."

The last few armed workers put down their weaponry, the tension electric. They now knew the consequences for disobeying.

"Now, remove the outer layers of your clothing."

The workers looked at each other quizzically but were too frightened to defy. Shirts, trousers, jackets, and coats hit the ground, along with the bodies of one or two workers who had failed to comply.

A conveyor belt began to move, and packages started to appear. Uniforms. The gentle voice said, almost regretfully, "Put these on."

Gresal unfolded one of the uniforms. It was oddly bulky, black with the silver lettering "IMPERIVM TENVRIAE", under which was the symbol of an upwards arrow crossing a parabolic shape, also embossed in silver. He pulled on the trousers and shirt, others doing likewise. Shadowy figures were now beginning to appear from the corners of Gresal's vision, watching.

"Now, you may return to work."

The workers did not do so. They learned the consequences.

The shirts tightened around their throats, a metal bar in the stiff collar wringing the breath from the workers. They hurried to the machinery, which had started up again.

For the next four hours SUDI workers learned the hard way that if one of them made a mistake, everyone in their 'group' would pay. Each group appeared to be overseen by one of the mysterious shadowy figures, all of which appeared to be wearing dark felt hats over facemasks and long cloaks that seemed to hide their feet from view.

At 20'30, six cargo aircraft from Tenuria arrived under a screen of radar jamming UAVs, bearing with them enough cots to fit all the workers, along with a light brigade of ITDF crack troops, eight hundred and sixty-four in all. The screen was itself merely a precaution, as the destruction of the communications centre in the area had caused a loss of power to most of the area's air defence network centres; however, there was still a chance of detection by patrolling ships, passing aeroplanes, or backup ground-based systems. The brigade was only the first to arrive of several groups of soldiers during the night. The crack troops and their logistical personnel, under orders from the mysterious commander of Team 21 with his compelling voice, began taking up positions around the factory, digging in bunkers, pillboxes, and machine-gun nests. At 21'00 or so, the workers were granted a scanty meal from the corporate canteen and allowed to sleep. The aircrafts they had constructed during their work on that day were stored in a hangar, eventually to be flown to Tenuria.

At 23'00 twenty cargo aircraft arrived carrying the 10th Battalion of the Imperial Tenurian Defence Forces, a total of ten thousand of the Imperium's finest. Every two hours another group of soldiers would arrive in cargo planes, following the accepted aerial highways and reporting their positions religiously to the Space Unionist air traffic control.

Throughout the night two or three flights of SUAF fighters did fly-bys over the factory, perhaps monitoring activity in the area following the massive explosion that sent Xasov's communications into obscurity. The first, which succeeded in returning intact, reported that the factory seemed quiet but there was an unusual amount of activity for such a time of night. The following flights vanished without a trace.

Finally, at around 3'00, an group of six only slightly damaged aeroplanes returned from patrol. They would or could not respond to the calls of command, and one was shot down as a hostile before the scans were performed and the planes were allowed to land.

The planes rolled to a stop. Silence.

Workers ran out to open and refuel the planes. They were greeted by a horrifying sight.

In some of the planes the pilots had been stripped of all flesh, left as grinning skeletons, with deep gashes in bones in places. In others the pilots were still alive, dangling naked from the ceiling of the cockpit in a grotesque puppet-like positions, scars and marks of torture on their bodies, their voice boxes removed. In the sixth the body of the pilot was left dead with the words cut into his stomach:

WATCH THE HORIZON WELL, HEATHENS, FOR THE DARK GODS SHALL RISE AGAIN.

Below it the stamp of an eye had been branded into the skin with an iron.

And directly below that was the mark of a whip.

OOC: A nuclear meltdown is just the core overheating and the fuel elements melting. It's not a nuclear explosion, and as the containment dome of a real world nuclear reactor can withstand an 800mm armor piercing projectile or a jumbo jet crashing into it and have only a small scorch mark, there's not going much if any radioactivity release.

OOC: I just RPed it as being a regular old coal powerplant.

Federate Satpul Singh lay in his bed sleeping silently like a baby. It was 5 o'clock in the morning and the sun had yet to bathe the Chita House with beams of light. Suddenly the doors sprang open as the lights in the room sprang to life. A loud thumping was heard as one of his body guards entered the room. With a gentle nudge, the bodyguard woke up the Federate. Singh growned as he drifted from his dreaming and back to reality.

"Huh? What is it?" asked Singh with a drowsy tone.

"Sir, there is urgent matters that must have your attention. Kerry Sihad is outside waiting for you."

"Very well, tell him I'll be there in a few minutes."

With that, his bodyguard left the room, closing the door after him with a gentle crack. Singh shifted out of his bed as he dangled his legs to the side of his bed and rubbed his drowsy eyes. He wasn't much of a morning person and he hated when anything like this called his attention.

He pulled out of bed and immediately walked over to his closet and reached into his closet for some "formal" looking clothing. He didn't have time to get ready and he pulled on one of his suits without much care and placed his turban on his head, adjusting it only slightly to make him look at least not totally incompetent looking.

The Federatial Chamber's doors swung open as the Federate left the room and briskly walked down the lighted halls. Pictures of his predeccessors lined each side of the walls until he came at another hallway. He turned left and walked all the way down till he came to the two doors. Inside was the conference room were he and his Council of Ministers conducting any meetings. As he walked in he saw the grave face of his Minister of Domestic Affairs. Whatever had happened, it was important.

"Mr. Federate, I'm sorry to have disturbed you in your sleep. My apoligies but I have some terrible news to tell you," said Sihad as he got up to shake the Federate's hand with a pale, ghostly face.

"No worries, I can sacrafice for my country. So yes, what has happened that demanded immediate attention?"

"Sir, it seems like there has been a sort of.... disturbance. Earlier today, we learned of a large scale explosion in one of the powerplants near Xasov. It resulted in a spectacular explosion that has knocked out the power for 25% of Xasov and most of the suburbs."

"WHAT?! How did this happen?"

"Were not sure, sir. From our latest intelligence, we believe it to have been done by a terrorist group. But even more disturbing is some more intelligence. A couple of flights of SuF-7 Nightmares were scrambled to do some intelligence gathering and to survey what had happened. The first two flights revealed that there was some abnormal activity at a Space Union Defence Industries (SUDI) factory southwest of Xasov."

"So yes, what happened after that?"

"Well a few more flights were scrambled, though, none of them returned. At 3:00 AM, we tracked 6 SuF-7 Nightmares on our screen. They did not verify themselves so we shot one down. After a while we were able to screen them and allowed them to land. But when we inspected the cockpit, we found the pilots dead or maimed beyond recognization. It was a gruesome sight, from what one of the ground crew members said."

"By god, who did this?"

"We believe that a group of terrorist from the nation of Tenuria infiltrated the plant secretly and also blew up the powerplant. From what I've heard, they were only successful at this because of the recent security shifting that leaders there have been doing, leaving the place only with minimum security."

The room fell silent. The Federate only stared at his hands that laid on the table. The situation was bad. There were terrorist group in charge of a factory near a major city that had 25% of its area cut off power and workers being held as hostages.

"We can only do one thing: wait. I want further intelligence gathered on this before we do anything. Until then, I believe the terrorist won't hurt the workers, much."

He knew this plan was dangerous but at the moment, there was little to be done. One way or another, though, the dogs would hunted down and slaughtered. One way or another.....

Cio Marié had been busy. With some easy research through the Internet, he had unearthed the names of several major Space Unionist officers at airbases in the Xasov area, which were very few; the area was rather undeveloped and lacked very much of anything worth guarding, which perhaps explained the rather careless security in the area, especially such moves as tying military sensors into civilian power plants.

The Tenurians knew time was running out for them. Seizing the factory had been an incredibly dangerous move, and while it had been turned into a virtual fortress due to the quick work of the Imperial Tenurian Defence Forces, an offensive of certain power could overwhelm it, uncover the true purpose behind the takeover, and leave the Imperium with a heck of a lot to explain.

Cio Marié did not doubt that the Space Unionists already had their suspicions... he knew as well as anyone with a grain of common sense that traditional terrorism struck visible targets rather than ones of strategic importance; they aimed for maximum visibility and striking a power plant in an isolated area was far from a very visible move. Marié doubted that many more than a third of Space Unionist citizens even knew about the attack. But perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

The leader of the Sol Marii, the infamous special operations force of the Tenurian Imperium, Marié was an experienced military commander. He wasn’t sure who he was pitting his wits against here, but he had learned to overestimate his enemy until they made a move. And they had not. He would tread carefully until he knew how the Space Unionists worked.

At the plant, groups of aeroplanes of various types were setting out frequently, mainly bound for Tenuria by one route or another. Each one carried the blueprints for the fighter, its weapons and equipment, and everything else necessary for it to run. The planes flew apart rather than in groups to maximize survivability; sometimes one responded poorly to in-depth interrogation by a roving CAP patrol and was shot down, but the pilots knew what to do, and the planes simply combusted on the way down, leaving nothing but charred remains as clues for the Space Unionists to find.

The blueprints were also scanned into the microfilms of the Tenurian special forces, just in case they happen to escape alive, or get a chance to send those transmissions to their government.

Several examples of various types of fighters and bombers managed to escape, however, and were soon winging over the sparkling sea. But their pilots had no idea how much time it would be before the SUAF was on their tail, out to stop them from reaching the Imperium, or whatever else the Space Unionists believed to be their final destination.

The flight of SuF/A-6Cs soared through the skies at over Mach 1.5 as they supercruised to their destination. The pilots sliced through the air as if it was melted butter with a butter knife. The sky was clear this night, if seemed nature was on their side. The flight of SuF/A-6s consisted of 6 SuF/A-6C Super Wraiths from the 11th Air Armada. It had been only days before that news had arrived through the high command that a terrorist organization sponsored by an unknown nation had taken control of a major factory near the city of Xasov.

Reports had already surfaced that planes being constructed from the plant were heading out of the airspace for who knows where. A couple of flights had been scrambled to stop this flow, but at the time there were only a few sorties available and many of these planes got by. Some planes had been intercepted and shot down as they refused to be escorted, but the remains had exploded and not allowed for any information to be gathered from them. After a few of these incidents, SUAF command had authorized the unrestricted shooting down of all planes not verified by them. That's where Kalbir Khan and his flight came in. They had been ordered to establish a no-escape zone over the factory. If any planes were rolled out, they would be shot down. No planes were allowed to even get within the immediate area around the factory let alone land at the runways. It was completely isolated. The good thing was that the factory couldnt' turn out any missiles so that any escaping planes could not fight off the SuF/A-6s, so this would be easy meat for them.

As they approached what they had dubbed "Escape Alley" suddenly twenty targets were picked up by the aircraft's passive sensors. They were a good 80 kilometers away. The flight immediately turned on their radars to get a better scan of the airspace. There at the southern part of Escape Alley was a group of 18 SuF-7 Nightmares flying out into the distant. No SuF-7 Nightmares had been given clearence to enter into the area from the SUAF so they weren't friendly.

"Tom Leader, 18 Nights on our east"

"Roger that, intercept them"

"Aye"

The SuF/A-6s immediately dove down as they sped down to 55,000 ft were the SuF-7 Nightmares were flying. Immediately the radar lit up as each aircraft obtained a lock on the enemy SuF-7 Nightmares. This obviously tripped off the Nightmare's radar warning system as the SuF-7 Nightmares began to spread out and break their formation. Each SuF/A-6 broke their formation as each went after an enemy fighters. They would make sure none of these got away. The fighters accelerated to Mach 2 as they neared their targets. The SuF-7 Nightmares ignited thier afterburners as they began to immediately open up a gap. But it was already too late, the SuF/A-6s were on their 6 o'clocks and fired off two SuAIM-801R Fire Strike Medium-range air-to-air missile at each target. Soon explosions filled the sky as the flight mopped up any stranglers with an extra AAM. By the end of the hour, the flight had just annihalated 18 SuF-7 Nightmares with no loss for themselves.

The flight banked to the left as they turned around to go to base. Another flight was already entering the patroled area. No one was coming in and no one was leaving, except Space Union Air Force aircrafts.

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

General Ahaj stared out into the crisp black screen of the night. The night was eary and quiet. The 5th Armored Division had been stationed in the northern sector. Along with a couple of other armored and light infantry divisions, the Space Union Army had made a blockade of the factory. For days, the factory had been quietly slipping aircrafts and other stuff back to somewhere else while there was no power in the area. The Space Union military had rectified that situation with the movement of a couple of divisions to the parameter of the factory's boundaries.

Nothing was going in and nothing was going to come out. It was only a matter of time before Operation Black Fire would begin.


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

From Ayadi Accord Newspaper

Factory Seized By Unknown Terrorist; Military Blockades as Power Stays Out

Ayadi, Space Union - Today in a startling event, Space Union leaders have publically announced the reason behind the recent major loss of power in the area around Xasov that sent 25% of the city into pitch black darkness.

Today, Space Union officials have blamed a terrorist plot for the explosion in the major powerplants outside of Xasov. The explosion caused the loss of power to 25% of Xasov along with most of the area outside of the boundaries of Xasov. Furthermore, the officials have disclosed that they have credible incident that the terrorists target wasn't against Xasov, directly but instead to cut off power so they could seize a major factory SUDI factory outside of Xasov. The terrorist are believed to be supported by a foreign nationstate, but it is unclear at the moment which state this could be.

In response to the news, Federate Satpul Singh announced a full scale military operation to cut off the terrorist from any possible escape or any further delivery of plans. The Space Union Air Force has already applied a No-Flying Zone around the factory and has begun constant patrols with the downing of hundreds of planes while strikes by SuF-7 Nightmares multi-role fighters have destroyed most of the runways for the factory. 7 SuF-7 Nightmares were lost in the bombing run. Most speculate because of surface-to-air missiles but the SUAF has yet to comment.

In further steps, the Space Union Army has already created a blockade of the factory so nothing is being allowed in or around the factory through the ground. All power has been cut off to the factory as Space Union forces destroyed all powerlines connecting to the factory, effectively shutting it down, early in the morning. Other troops are on standby, waiting for the order to advance on the factory.

It is suspected that there are between 10,000 to 30,000 enemy troops within the factory complex with over 2,000 workers. Any advance on the factory would result in the loss of many civilian lives, causing many military analyst to hold off any military action at the moment. Aerial strikes have been ruled out for now as "too dangerous to the workers".

As the crisis continues to unfold, we will keep you up to date on the situation at hand.

OOC: Is it a power station taken out and a factory?

IC:

President Roberts just finished briefly scanning the Newspaper article in Space Union's Ayadi Accord Newspaper.

"Good Grief" He exclaimed. It was during a short interval at the ongoing Hanoverian Islands Treaty Conference and he had been handed it in a matter of interest by one of the military personnel nearby; "Major, see to it that a message is sent to Space Union, we condem all acts of terrorism within any nation, ask them if it is at all possible that we could aid them in any way. We could certainly send aid or temporary Power Units if needed...so sad that man must do such things!"

"Yes sir, i'll have the message sent immediatly."

With that the Major scurried off to carry out his task, and he rapidly got to it with gusto, he too hated terrorists and being part of the Special forces he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of terrorists actions.

The message which was rapidly sent went as follows:

-Secret Communique to the government of Space Union-

Dear Sir, we are appaled by the actions of this terrorist group and are currently viewing unfolding events from a rapidly stationed Spy sattellite above the Factory. It is also our belief you may be lacking in power supplies if our intelligence serves us correctly? If so we are willing to send you temporary power supplies and aid if you so wish. We hate terrorism and condem their actions. For that reason if you have any need of specialists we are willing to send intelligence officers to aid you, although from what our satellite has seen it would be advisable possibly to follow one or two of the aircraft flying around with a stealth aircraft to discover their final location.

Regards, Major Thompson, H2 Special Operations

Tengrad, the Damálg Imperium. Night.

The night was crystal clear, sharp and cold as a bell, the mists wafting skyward like smoke. The streets of Tengrad were silent except for Imperial Guard, Sol Marii, patrolling to ensure that the curfew was not broken. Inside the Imperial Palace, in the South Stateroom, the Tenurian High Command was meeting.

Dark Lord Thane Darlash had taken his traditional seat at one end of the long table, shrouded in darkness at the farthest edge of the flickering, dim light cast by a pair of torches and a single massive tactical display, fitting in oddly with the mediaeval surroundings. The Dark Lord was clad in traditional robes of black, his hood thrown back against his head to reveal its dark purple in the dim light, deep-set eyes glittering amidst his face like stars in the night, cold and unwinking. Around him sat his commanders and his warriors, Sol Commander Cio Marié, Admiral Devan, Airmarschall Tan Durinn, the lower Generals and Ministers.

Cio Marié, the youngest present, seemed to be in charge of the situation. The dim light reflecting off his silver hair, belying his thirty-five winters, his angular features strained in grim concentration, Marié handled the meeting with an expert's calm and poise, garnered during years of service with one of the world's premier fighting forces.

"As you can see, gentlemen, Space Unionist forces have blockaded Echo Point. While the mission of Team 21 has been effectively fulfilled, as examples of each type of aircraft needed along with their blueprints have arrived in the Imperium and indeed are under production now in our re-education camps, we currently have a significant number of troops trapped in Echo Point."

"Regarding Team 21," Tan Durinn broke in, an elderly bearded family man with jolly eyes and hair barely touched by the ravages of frost, "what of it? Is it still in the target point?"

"Not any longer, Air Marshal," Marié said. "Team 21 members were instructed to pilot the aircrafts out of the area. All but two have escaped alive. The remaining fighters were piloted by prisoners or other dispensables."

"So the matter remains solely of the 10th, 17th, and 218th Battalions."

"Exactly. General Junuthì, do you have a plan to suggest?"

Junuthì rose, a severe man of Prussian background complete with stereotypical moustache and an austere half-squint gaze. "Airlifting the troops is out of the question, as is a strategic retreat. We cannot equip them with more potent weapons to wipe the entirety of Space Union out along with themselves; they are effectively cut off from anything we can do," Junuthì said. "The only option is to simply abandon them."

"This seems a bit of a waste, with all due respect," an Admiral interrupted, forehead glistening. "Three entire battalions, lost for a single mission?"

Darlash spoke for the first time in a sonorous, almost musical voice of surpassing gentleness. "Allow me to remind you, Admiral, of the importance of this mission to the Imperium. Due to the brave men and women of the 10th, 17th, and 218th Battalions, the Imperial Tenurian Air Force will soon be using designs ten times more powerful than those it previously employed. This will allow the Imperium to better defend herself against foreign powers and terrorists that could conceivably kill millions of citizens. So you see, those thirty thousand men and women have given their lives for Tenuria. The same way so many have in the past."

Junuthì added what Darlash may well have been thinking but was too compassionate to say aloud. "Besides, we have 297 more battalions in the ITDF; 293 discounting those of the Northern Legion. This is no great loss for our military power, either."

Marié, at the display, nodded in agreement. "The Battalions have their orders. We can do nothing more now than follow their progress."

* * *

At the factory, the Tenurians were digging in, preparing for the inevitable assault upon their position. All communications with the High Command had been lost some hours earlier. They knew they were being left in Space Union to die. Perhaps they had known that long ago, but only now was it spelled out for them in such beautiful and terrible clarity.

And because they had nothing left to lose, because they knew they would never see the nuclear waste-stained, daemonic shores of Tenuria again, because they knew their lives would not go in vain, they would fight until the last soldier was dead, and the explosives rigged around the factory had been detonated, killing everyone within and outside for a radius of almost two kilometres.

Machine gun nests, pillboxes, SAMs, SmartFlak emplacements, MLRS, towed and self-propelled howitzers, automatic cannons... all were in place to greet the Space Unionists when they chose to attack. Even some chemical and biological weapons had been smuggled into the country aboard one flight or another.

Inside, the workers had stopped working. They were held hostage, simply awaiting their deaths at the hands of their oppressors, for there would be no liberation. Only death awaited the denizens of Echo Point. Death stood before them all, a grim sentinel, just waiting for the moment to sweep down and cover all within the folds of her cloak. Death, what the Tenurians lived for, ate for breakfast and dinner, stared at across their dining room table and stared into on their television sets. Everything spoke to the peoples trapped in this grim tapestry with the voice of an Upanishad:
' I am become Death / The shatterer of Worlds. '

Chita House - Ayadi, Space Union:

The Federate tapped lightly against the wooden desk with his ball point pen. He was waiting anxiously for some good news. He reclined a bit further in his chair, receiving no comfort in it. He had been bombarded by non-stop stream of bad news all this week. A factory had been hijacked by some terrorist that were being funded and aided by some nation the Space Union intelligence community had yet to determine. Whoever it was, they had cleaned up their tracks well. Now the Space Union Army was sitting outside the doorstep, fully encircling the entire plot with air force fighters patrolling the skies non-stop.

His aid Foreign Minister Harman Sidhu finally spoke up in the dead silence that had formed in the room with the absense of any sound besides the hollow tapping of the pen.

"Sir, if I may say, I think we should look at the situation differently."

"How so?" asked the Federate as his interest grew a bit, though, not by much.

"Why not try a diplomatic method? The psychological factor of being encircled and being left for the dead by their commanders probably has these terrorist looking for a way to live. Why not try for a bit of diplomacy? Bargain with them."

"Bargain with terrorist? Terrorist that probably have the place laced with explosives waiting to explode the minute we give the order to seize the factory? Sorry for the dull remarks, but honestly?"

"But what you are forgetting are these men probably value their lives. Now that there commanders have left them for the dead, what point do they have left in actually protecting the place and fortifying it other than to stay alive? I'm betting that if given another option, they'll snatch it. They have no where to run. The Space Union Air Force has destroyed all the runways and the Army has fortified the perimeter around the factory."

The room drifted into an eary silence again as the Foreign Ministers words rang in Satpul's head. Was it possible? He had always grown up thinking terrorist were not to be bargained with, mostly because his early childhood had been during the Space Union Civil War with the communist guerillas destroying villages and furthering their interests at the cost of civilians. But at the end of the day, these terrorist may just be soldiers following orders. Perhaps there was a solution.

"Very well, let's try this avenue and see where it leads. If its a dead end, we'll back up and take the other route, whichever that is. At this point, any road could lead to success, though, at what prices is the question."

"I'll dispatch a message to the factory's computers and alert the General."

Sidhu got up from his seat and almost ran out of the room with a new surge of excitement to a possible solution to this stand off. Satpul was less excited because of his caution toward diplomacy with killers but if it worked, at least one thing would be solved.

In only a few moments, a message was sent whizzing through the internet to the mainframe computer of the factory that was surely being watched. The General would also be notified of the decision and the current plans. Further updates would come to him as the situation progressed, hopefully in the right way.

Secret Communications Channel:

To: Hotdogs2
From: Space Union Government
RE: RE

We have received your message and we take kindly towards your offer to help us in our time of need. But at this time, we are stressing all our options at this point. We may have a break through in this situation and we will keep in contact with your great nation. But for now, we do not require any foreign help in this domestic strife. But your show of friendship and willing to help has touched us and it will not be forgotten. We sincerely hope we will not have to call upon your help, as at that point all options will have been exhausted. Thank you for understanding.

Signed,
Federate Satpul Singh

Space Union Defense Industries Headquarters (SUDIHQ) - Ayadi, Space Union:

CEO Sim Nam paced across the flooring sweating like a donkey. This was a disaster and he knew it. The week had been great until this had come up. He grabbed a towel off his desk and wiped the sweat rolling down his cheeks. He felt so dirty from thinking to the point he was either sweating of pacing or the idea that terrorist were going to blow up a factory with over 3,000 workers in it. What could he do, though? He had ordered the evacuation of all Space Union Defense Industries' employees from the area and had authorized the government to take military action to prevent the escape. But now what?

He sat down in his chair, tired of pacing while catching his breathe. This much stress wasn't going to be good for his health but that was of little concern to him. Not only were his workers in jeopardy but also the company as a whole. Buyers may become jittery at the idea that some lunatics had taken control of a SUDI factory and held 3,000 workers at a gunpoint. The company was a target of a terrorist group. That alone would drive away investors and customers. Furthermore, the expansion of the company had been at godly speeds over the course of the past years and it could slow. In only a matter of 2-3 years, the company had become a multi-trillion dollar enterprise and expanded to many different countries. It had already collected trillions worth in sales and pushed itself to the point that it was one of the largest defense contractors in the world, next to giants like Portland Iron Works and Kreigzimeer. Som

All that work could go down the toilet if something happened. Yet sales hadn't plunged and investments were at a all-time high, even with the breaking news. If any damage was going to be done by the terrorist against the companies' finiancial state, they had failed. The company was as strong as ever. The only concern now was how the government was planning on conducting the business. Were they going to send in military troops or what? The answer was bugging him to the point he finally called up Federate Singh who was on his hotline.

"Hello?"

"Greetings Federate, this is CEO/Chairman Sim Nam."

"Ah, yes how are you Sim?"

"Good, I was just calling on a business meeting. What is the status of the situation?"

"Well at this point we've decided to pretty much exhaust all options before we do anything."

"And that would be?"

"Well Harman is dispatching a message to the terrorist to see if they might wish to bargain. Basically at this point we have assured them that no charges will be pressed and that they will be housed, protected, and payed by the government if they were to surrender themselves and allow the employees to leave the factory."

Silence filled the line as the news broke down onto Sim. Politicans were bargaining with terrorist? That was all that was running through his mind at the moment.

"WHAT THE HELL???"

"Yes, yes I know. It sounds crazy but its worth a shot."

"Can't you see this isn't going to work????" shouted Sim over the line infuriated.

"Calm down, think this true. Do you want all those employees to die? If we can save them, we have to try all avenues of contact. Is that correct or not?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Very well, I have to get back to work."

"Okay, but keep me informed as the situation unfolds."

"Alright, good bye."

"Good bye"

Sim hung up the phone with a "click" while he used both hands to rub his temple. Although the idea was crazy he could see where they were coming from. Maybe it could work..... or maybe it wouldn't. Only time would tell at this point.

Staff Sergeant Rob Zigane, 3rd IOC, ITDF, rubbed bleary eyes as he watched the computer screen. It was really a tedious job, he reflected; he had been initially instructed to search the computer network for construction records or blueprints of fighters and related equipment. All he had found on the local hard drive was the blueprint for the SuF-7 "Nightmare" and its equipment, and via a network search only the most general specifications for other fighters and bombers; those were duly sent off to High Command to be deciphered, but the results would likely be very different from SUDI's conclusions.

Despite the lack of very promising further results, Zigane had to stay at the computer; if the sensors built into his uniform detected him shirking on the job the collar began to tighten around his throat, a friendly reminder that High Command could strangle him to death at will if he chose to disobey Them. Or rather, High Command's agents; High Command Themselves were too far above managing such minutiae; and besides, communications with Them had been, quite simply, lost.

So he was bored, and playing Solitaire by the dim light emanated by the computer screen, while below he heard the clanking of machinery as the timeless wheels of the factory churned and ground, a sound he had become inured to -- to the degree that his ears no longer detected it, only its absence -- when his attention was arrested as the computer screen went blank and then began to display a document. Zigane made a motion of surprise and hit a button on his watch-communicator. "Major? I think you'd better see this, sir."

Within minutes Zigane's commanding officer was on the scene, reading the message aloud.


>>> TO: Unknown terrorists
RE: Surrender

The Space Unionist Government has seen fit to give you a chance to surrender and release your hostages to us. In return, you will be granted amnesty and allowed to live without fear of persecution in Space Union or any other country you so choose.

This is your final warning. You have 48 hours, before we decide not to be so merciful.

[END MESSAGE]


The two men shared a glance. "What do you think, Sergeant?" Major Euston asked.

Sergeant Zigane had never been asked for his opinion before by a commanding officer; indeed, due to the childhood training all Tenurians went through he had learned to associate expression of opinion with electric shocks. He was therefore flustered and unwilling to speak. But he could not disobey an order such as this.

"I think..." he started hesitantly. "Sir, we have our orders from High Command."

"I know that, Sergeant," Euston said. "But we are cut off from High Command. We have been abandoned here."

Zigane started to recite the credo. "If that is what the High Command wishes, that is what shall come to pass..." but was cut off by his superior.

"Shut up!" Euston snapped viciously. "If you think I'm going to walk to my death by Their orders when we're being given an opportunity to walk away free men..."

"Sir, I'm afraid I'll have to report you for treason..."

"To whom?" Euston asked, smiling. Zigane had no answer. The Sergeant stared fearfully at nothing beyond his commander. Euston had always treaded a fine line between orthodoxy and insubordination. He had even spoken idle words about the High Command before, but he had been left be by Them; perhaps they did not think of him as a threat. Perhaps Euston's Conditioning had gone awry.

Zigane had only one way out of this. He reached for his side. Euston was quicker, and within a moment his TI-47 was leveled at Zigane's hand.

Zigane paused. He knew Euston's accuracy. It was more likely that he would suffer for trying to bring Euston to justice. He stood there, torn between his duty and his life, an electric bond of tension emanating from the two. It seemed as though total silence had befallen the factory as Zigane considered.

Slowly, steadily, Zigane relaxed, letting his hand descend from its precarious position atop his gun, to drop limp at his side. Euston relaxed too, unclenching the grip on his pistol, and reaching for his transmitter to order his soldiers to turn themselves in.

In a single abrupt motion, Zigane dived, his body hitting Euston across the ankles. The TI-47 went off once, leaving a blackened hole in the wall of the control room. Everything was plunged into confusion as the two men grappled for control of the gun, overturning chairs and tables in their wake.

Zigane managed to claw his way to the intercom, and bleeding from deep scratches and gashes he succeeded in hitting the red button. "Treason! Treason!" he cried, as though the life of millions hung in the balance. Euston caught up the pistol and Zigane turned to face him, his visage a tragic mask of bruises. But Euston did not hesitate.

Zigane stiffened and stared with a dull inevitability at Euston, his face clenched and contracted in pain as the bullet penetrated his body and fragmented, sending painful shards ripping through vital blood vessels and bodily organs. He reached out faintly as though trying to grasp some distant object. Euston stared in horrified fascination at the face that, and he knew this with a sudden clarity, would haunt him for the rest of his days -- stained with blood, staring blankly and horrified at his killer.

Zigane's vision dissolved into an eternal field of white, of all colours of light mixed into one, as he no longer had any sense organs to differentiate one from another. Then he collapsed backwards, his head crashing down on a heavy button, a sharp fragment of something sending yet more blood from his thigh.

Euston stared at him for a while, many thoughts slowly reconciling themselves into one, a realisation of what he must do now. He picked up his transmitter, wondering what it was, and then starting to realise what he was here for. To preserve lives rather than to take them. To live rather than to die.

"All soldiers, by order of the High Command, lay down your weapons and exit the perimeter. I repeat, exit the perimeter, and surrender yourselves to Space Unionist forces. You will not be harmed." Euston paused to consider, then went on, "Any one among you who claims that the High Command has issued contradicting orders at any time in the past will be charged with treason."

The message was met with mixed reactions among the troops.

It came from the High Command, or so they believed; thus it must be obeyed. However, it did not seem a wise move to abandon a position once it had been so strongly fortified, and give in to the enemy. Nonetheless, High Command must surely have its reasons.

There were, of course, those who dissented, and came out bearing weapons of war; however, their commanding officers used a few buttons to ensure that they knew the consequences of that. Five or six were dead of asphyxiation by the time they had reached range to attack the enemy.

Eventually, following very specific lines -- to avoid the mines and motion-controlled autocannons set up around the factory -- the Tenurian troops began to exit cautiously, as though in wonderment. The sky was that of the early morning, streaked with pinks and oranges; but to the Tenurians it was as though they had never seen it before.

Many of them never had. The skies over Tenuria were contaminated with ash and smog, and appeared a threatening red or reddish-black quite frequently; towards the North the skies were said to be different, a swirling mass of colours, ever-changing due to demonic activity; or at least so it was rumoured.

After exiting the perilous area within five hundred metres of the factory, the Tenurians began to cross the no-man's land ahead with a determination that bespoke their long years of training, ancient Tenurian runes glittering on their uniforms in silver, symbols that perhaps a dozen living people outside of Tenuria understood -- many of them scholars who had devoted their lives to studying ancient languages, of which Kada'haiyyam, the tongue of the Imperium, was one.

Several interpreters from Comms picked up the frequency of the waiting Space Unionist soldiers' radios and broadcasted a short message in broken English instructing them that they were not armed and came only to surrender.

For the first time in their lives, the Tenurians were free. And they had no idea how to react to it.

* * *

The sleeping workers were woken abruptly in their confined area all at once. Not by any troops entering their area; nor by any sound. Their iron collars suddenly tightened, pressing down upon their throats, restricting the breath and leaving them gasping for air and choking and clawing as one. Zigane's body had fallen upon the master button, the button that relayed its electrical impulses to sensors in the captives' uniforms, and began to choke them all slowly to death.

Generally, it takes anywhere between 15 and 60 seconds for the victim to go into unconsciousness. After that death usually follows within minutes, sooner for the younger or weaker.

After death the human body goes through various spasms as muscles relax, and several minutes after death Zigane's body will roll off the button as a result. However, a fair number of the workers may have already died by then.

By now, the spasms of the unconscious are becoming fewer and further between. Heartbeats are slowing down, for some stopping. Then the first spasm takes place, Zigane's arm flinging itself out to hit an off switch. All power in the factory goes out, and the signals being sent to the uniforms diminish in strength and disappear.

A great void is left in their stead.

The most ironic thing is that not a single Tenurian soldier even knows of this occurrence...

The soldiers swept through the building as they inspected it. Only an hour before, Tenurian soldiers had left the building along with the hostages after they had been given an offer to live in peace and be freed from any trials or crimes. So far 20 of the thousands of hostages had actually been killed. Some of them through bullets and others through the collar brace they had on that sent an electrical shock through them. It was found also that a couple of Tenurian soldier had also been killed through gun shots, most likely between confrontations between officers and soldiers when they decided to leave instead of stay for the dead.

Lt. Colonel Iian searched through one of the dead bodies in the control center. The dead man was, according to his dogtags, Staff Sergeant Rob Zigane, 3rd IOC, ITDF. From the bullet in his body, he was probably one of the guys resisting the evacuation. Iian merely shoved his body to the side and called in some of the Medics to take him back to the make-shift hospital they had outside to store him with the others that were dead.

What a tragedy this had been. 50 families now were either missing a man or woman. These folks might have had children who now didn't have a father or mother or they were the child of a parents who no longer had a son or daughter. Anger boiled in him as he felt a surge of hatred for the vile Tenurian terrorist that had occupied this damn factory. What had they done it for? There own commanders abandoned them and left them for the dead, merely seeing them as another resource to expend. Then again he knew that he would do it too for his country. These men probably felt there duty to their country was greater than their duty to their commanders.

Iian walked out of the room, holding on to his assault rifle as if it were his life. Even though the place had been scanned for any "unwanted" visitors, he still felt at edge. The complex was so huge that a clever minded maniac might find a way to escape any detection and pull off a couple of shots before being gunned down. He didn't have "Getting Killed" in a rogue gunbattle on his to-do agenda today. Maybe another day but his life was settling down and he had no plans to give it up.

He gently rested his body against one of the crates in the area while he fingered his gun's crevices and mold over. He was feeling sleepy, not having much of a sleep the night before and he was dozing off occasionally. As his head slumped he suddenly heard a gunshot go off and one of the crates exploded by him. He immediately jolted to life and fell to the ground, hoping that the gunshot hadn't hit him on the head. He had heard about people that got shot in the head and at first didn't realise it until they fell unconscious. The room was suddenly full of bullets whizzing everywhere as whoever began shooting was instantly gunned down from the stairways. His body fell over the side and slammed into the ground. If the bullet had killed him, that fall sure did.

Iian, still stunned, slowly got up scanning for any other intruders. He was waiting for another shot to ring, another scream to be heard. But nothing happened. He watched as the others began moving towards the body along with him. He was the first to get to it and looked at the body. The bullet had hit him straight in the chest and fresh blood was oozing out. His arm was bent behind his back and over his right shoulder in an unnatural position. Iian looked at the man's face and just turned without giving it a second glance. He was going home.


Chita House, Ayadi [SECRET IC]:

The Federate rubbed his palms together as he concentrated on his thoughts. Today was one of his better days as news had arrived that the two week standoff with the terrorist who had seized the Space Union Defence Industries' factory had given up and allowed the hostages to leave. It was confirmed that 50 were dead and likely some more with a couple suffering from wounds and unconscious. He was due to deliver a speech on the matter in a couple of hours but for now he had assembled a top secret meeting with his Foreign Minister that even his closest aides had no clue upon. His Foreign Minister Harman Sidhu was already seated in his ivory chair sipping his tea while reading through a paper he quickly shuffled back into his briefcase upon the enterance of the Federate.

"Good morning, sir. I received your message and rushed over here as fast as possible."

"Thank You Mr. Sidhu for your cooperation. As your probably hear the SUDI factory crisis has finally ended and we can have some breathing space."

"Ah yes, I received news earlier. It seems the terrorist aren't actually terrorist but soldiers from Tenuria, according to the worker's uniforms and the soldier's uniforms."

"Yes, that is why I asked you to come."

The Federate motioned for the Minister to take a seat again as he folded his arms and went into deep thought. The idea had plagued him all morning yet he hadn't come to a decision. It was as if a curtain had fallen before his head and blocked any reasoning he had beyond instinct every human contains from birth.

"I've decided that Tenuria needs to be punished for such an act of terror against our beloved republic. The standard embargo along with messages distributed to all allies to follow suite will be done. But I have a bigger punishment in mind. I believe a military action should be taken into account."

"Sir, are you suggesting war? I understand that you are infuriated as is all Space Unionist today, but a war? We can't afford at the moment to fund another war with the civil war in Macabees and the continueing violence between CAD and the Sovereign League down south in Aralonia. And as you must know the Chamber is now riddled with its own conflicting agenda and trying to declare war even at this moment would not yield much beyond failure."

"Harman, I understand where your coming from and I've taken that into account. I don't plan on a full scale war. I plan on a swift, strategic attack to send a blow to Tenuria and knock some sense into them. I'm talking about a bombing raid against one of their major cities. It will be an Federatial Order."

Harman was going to say something yet it didn't come out. He looked to his side as he avoided any eye contact. If there was any debate in him, he was apparently suppressing it. But the Federate took the silence as an okay.

"Very well, if you have nothing more to say, you are dismissed Harman. I have already sent word to the Air Commanders to be ready for the order. I will decide in 24 hours whether or not to."

Harman merely offered a nod as he shifted out of his chair and walked out in an unorganized manner. It was as if he had something else more important on his mind. Whatever the matter was, it would soon be concluded.

Grand Inquisitor Asvel Naelgard swept across the cold marble floor, a wind in his wake, the folds of his dark cloak falling carelessly across his body and the ground, less a shield from elements than an extension of Naelgard himself. Behind and around him a few torches burned, casting a faint smoke and light into the air; beyond a window the red sky shed nary a ray of light upon the passage.

Light was scarce in the Imperial Palace, as it always had been since the death of the Old Empire; but with Naelgard's passing even the torches seemed dimmed, veiled, as though his cloak had stirred up some dark energy that drained away oxygen. Even the Sol Marii stayed out of sight, simply verifying that Naelgard was going where he was supposed to. He was an Inqusitor and they were above suspicion, the selected commanders of the Black Legions, answerable to none but the Whip Himself.

Naelgard climbed a stair and emerged into a vast open space, the former Imperial Courtyard, now become the personal sanctum of the supreme leader of the Damalg’i Imperium. His purple cloak seemed to shut the door silently behind him, as the Inquisitor himself moved with a silent and swift step across the darkened floor of the courtyard, avoiding the huge fallen blocks and pillars, his eyes reflecting the constant interplay of lightning and flame that seemed to engulf the purple sky permanently over the Courtyard. His attention was on the torch-lighted spot, the torches illuminating a massive stone throne -- like some ancient, barbarous pagan altar -- but not the figure that sat within it, shrouded in darkness, hidden from mortal view.

Naelgard knelt, bowing his head to touch the floor; and he sensed as the figure stood with a slow, but not pained motion; and moved down from the throne towards where Naelgard paid tribute, as a man in prayer. His face was visible now. Deus-Imperator Thane Darlash, the Whip, was neither tall nor short, and could have been a young man or as ancient as the vine-encrusted pillars he stood among; the only thing one noticed about him were his eyes, immediately piercing and commanding and entreating at the same time, bearing with them an air of immeasurable nobility; and his voice, when he spoke, which was mellifluous and musical, and bespoke an infinite grace and dignity -- a voice that was so used to being obeyed that it no longer even considered the possibility of people not listening to it, and for that reason, they did.

Darlash laid a kindly hand upon Naelgard's shoulder, speaking, "Rise, my friend; there is no need for official protocol here."

Naelgard rose until his eyes were level with Darlash's; he said in a low voice, "If it so please you, my Lord."

Darlash uttered a short laugh. "Very well, Inquisitor, speak. Why have you come to-day? You know well I have not sent for you."

"True, my Lord, but I bring you information; information that you may find useful," Naelgard said, his eyes flicking rapidly from Darlash to the throne behind him, and back.

"But why could you have not assigned that information to one of your underlings, or through the UCS? You need not trouble yourself to do this."

"Once again, my Lord, you prove yourself a paragon of logic," Naelgard murmured. "However, I felt that perhaps I could be of some service in this matter myself."

In vivid, concise language, Naelgard outlined the problem, then stood back to watch the other’s face. Darlash was silent for a long moment. He paced back and forth, evidently deep in cogitation, and Naelgard dared not to make a sound, waiting. Finally he turned to Naelgard and said, “It is as I thought, then.”

The Inquisitor half-smiled. “So why have you chosen to do this, my Lord? As far as we know the innermost workings of the Imperium are now being exposed to Unionist police and army forces. Workings we have tried to hide for so long.”

Darlash smiled too, but it was a dangerous smile. “If I did not know you better, Naelgard, I would say that you were doubting my authority.”

The Inquisitor gulped, tasting bile.

“However... allow me to remind you, Asvel, that it is those selfsame workings that make it possible for us to prevent any intelligence on the Imperium to fall into enemy hands. As you know, each citizen of the si-Thaluo Damalgi’ru is implanted with several chips; if we track them to captivity, we can activate the DHR chip, which injects a sufficient dose into their bloodstream to stop it completely within five minutes.”

“Aye, but even that may not be enough, my Lord,” Naelgard spoke. “For the Space Unionists will surely seize the arms of Imperial troops, and find imprinted on them ‘I’sivi Tenuriano’, ‘Arms to the Tenurians’. It will take only a search through the Internet to find that in the days of the Old Empire the land was called Tenuria.”

“What you say, Asvel, certainly makes sense,” Darlash mused. “It seems likely that once this has been discovered, the Space Unionists will attempt... er... violent action of some kind. Considering that no transmissions can penetrate through the fog of electromagnetic radiation covering the Imperium, attempts at diplomacy will go unanswered; and the clouds will make satellite intelligence impossible to gather, giving us a significant advantage.

“It is likely that, seeing how easily we abandoned ten thousand troops in a foreign land, the Space Union government will overestimate our troop strength and be more hesitant to launch an invasion. In addition, if we concentrate our defenses in a particular area – in this case Ithaë, the sole port and gateway from the sea to the land – the Space Unionists will attempt to land elsewhere, with... understandably catastrophic... results.” Darlash half-smiled, Naelgard shuddered. Tenurians that passed into the Bleak Hills, the high plateau north of Ithaë that culminated in craggy, rocky cliffs plunging down to the sea, had never returned; and sometimes even from the city one could hear otherworldly howls and calls from the mists that lay beyond the heavy stone and iron walls that ran along the base of the hills, with watchtowers evenly spaced where the Border Legions patrolled day and night. Farther on the Bleak Hills became the northern range of the Forbidden Mountains, home to strange creatures that – if it were not for the everlasting vigilance of the Border Legions – would soon overrun the Imperium and return it to the wild, savage, and barbarous land it had once been before the coming of the Old Empire.

“So what do you suggest, my Lord?” asked Naelgard, turning his thoughts back to the present, and immediate future.

“Inquisitor, order a full mobilization of all anti-air elements, and the 5th, 6th, 9th, 10th, 14th, 48th, and 76th Legions into Ithaë. Maintain the air groups on high alert, and have the Outer Island base prep all of its ships.”

“What do we do now?”

“We wait.”