NationStates Jolt Archive

High Traveller, approaching Rosdivan Commonwealth capital

John Melkovich, Lord Protector of the Supreme Commonwealth of Rodivan, woke abruptly from the sleep he had been lulled into by the engines of the High Traveller, a stretched B-58 Hustler that was the personal aircraft of the Lord Protector. Technically, it was the High Traveller II, the first one having suffered engine failure and crashed into the sea on a previous visit to the Divine Prussian Empire of Derscon.

"Sergeant, about how far out are we from Serenity?" he asked, waving to the Air Force steward to grab his attention. We really ought to classify this position as an auxiliary one, so that women can serve in it. Much better on the eyes that way.

"About fifteen minutes Your Highness. I believe it was the lowering of the flaps that woke you," replied the sergeant. It was quite a cushy job. Make sure one had a perfect uniform and bearing, and every once in a while fetch anything that the Lord Protector desired on the flights. Still, the sergeant would have very much preferred to be back in the field, leading troops. Perhaps I ought to put in a transfer request, head on back to the infantry.

Security Zone, Serenity International Airport

No security plan is perfect, for it is made of humans, and even in the best of organizations there are bad nuts. Two of these bad nuts were John Christey and David Campbell. Former members of the Commonwealth Army who were honorably discharged, they, like many others, had joined the CCP, the Commonwealth Communist Party, during the recent recession. The CCP was never really all that popular, or powerful, but it had launched a recruitment blitzkrieg and won fully a tenth of the seats in Parliament in the last election. Most of its support lay not with the populace at large, however, but with idealistic youths, such as John and David. This strength would also prove to be their greatest weakness, for idealistic people will do idealistic acts, and idealistic acts very rarely have idealistic results.

"Do you have that mortar sighted yet?" hissed David as he finished sighting in his own mortar. The 2.5-inch mortars had been "appropriated in the name of the People" from Army stocks during their time in service. A few minor changes to the records, and they had been logged as having been given to Red Tidean rebels several years back. A more detailed look at the inventory would have shown this to be false, they were logged out for field exercises after their supposed donation, but so far their theft had not been discovered.

Because aircraft moved rather quickly, especially Hustlers, they had chosen to presight the mortars on particular sections of the runway and fire a quick barrage of shells to take down the aircraft. Of course they hadn't taken registration shots, that would have been just a bit too obvious. Instead, all of the aiming had been based on their experience as mortarmen in the Commonwealth Army, and some practice firings out in deserted areas.

A missile would have been better, especially an anti-tank missile, but murder and treason had been the furthest things from their mind when they had acquired these weapons. All that they had intended was to have some fun and relive their days in the army.

"Yeah, it's all set," replied John as he adjusted the mortar by a few more mils. "Just need to wait for the plane to come in." Next to the mortar tube was a stack of shells, all pre-fragmented high explosive. Taken because of their smaller danger zone, their increased lethality would serve them well in today's plot.

"Three more minutes," said David, his eyes taking on a blank expression as he listened to the radio earpiece. Here was the final element of the treachery: Both David and John were members of the airport security force, assigned today to protect the Lord Protector's flight. It had been trivial for them to smuggle in the weapons, and their assigned sector of responsibility was the slightly woody area from which they were launching the attack. It worked out perfectly.

High Traveller

A few bumps announced the touchdown of the aircraft and his return home. Thank God, I hate flying thought Melkovich, still sleepy from his mid-flight nap. Suddenly, the cabin flashed red..What?! Emergency Alert?! But we're home!!!... and the four engines surged to full afterburner.

"YOUR MAJESTY!!" cried out the sergeant, reaching over to ensure that John Melkovich was secure enough to eject. It was too late. A loud report caused John's ears to cry out in pain, and shrapnel burst through the right side of the cabin, shredding the sergeant and slicing into Melkovich's flesh, as the plane tipped forward. Before he could comprehend any of this, the world suddenly flashed bright white, and everything was comprehended.

"Why Saint Peter, I didn't know that you shaved."

Terminal C, Serenity International Airport

A few camera crews were on station that day, filming on the off-chance that there might be something worth the expense of sending them out here. All that anyone expected to see was one of those inevitable bloopers, such as tripping on the stairwell, that would seem to haunt heads of state forever. No one was prepared for what they saw.

As the High Traveller touched down, bits of runway ahead of her were thrown up in a shower as mortar shells hit. Bright blue jets suddenly extended from the engines as the crew made the decision to abort the landing, but it wasn't enough. On shell landed within a scarcely twenty feet of the aircraft, sending a load of shrapnel at it. The front wheel was struck first, ripping the tire to shreds, and with that, causing the forward landing gear, now bereft of support, to collapse. Fatally, the inner starboard engine inhaled some of the fragments, shattering, and sending parts flying everywhere. It was these parts which killed the sergeant and wounded Melkovich, and it was these parts which tore open the fuel bladders. As the remaining fuel sprayed out of the crippled aircraft, it came into contact with the hot exhaust from the afterburning engines.

On the cameras, the image was one that would be imprinted on the minds of Rosdivans, not just because of the immediate tragedy, but also because of the aftermath. Geysers of asphalt spewed into the air and then the High Traveller collapsed first into the pavement, then into a fireball; a bloody, awful fireball. Flames danced through the air as the wreckage cartwheeled across the runway, throwing bits everywhere in a macabre juggle as structural integrity failed. After it finally came to its final, metal shrieking halt, it just sat there, burning ferociously as the sirens of the fire and ambulance vehicles raced uselessly to the scene.





"This is Katy Moskit of Rosdivan News Network, interrupting with breaking news: Just moments ago, terrorists attacked and killed Lord Protector John Melkovich as he was returning from a recent conference in the Holy Catholic Monarchy of Cherry Ridge. We will keep you updated as further information comes in...

OOC: Militarily, this is closed to Orleia and myself. Diplomatically, this is open to everyone.

John Antonette slammed his fist on his desk. "Damnit! How the hell did that happen?" The generals sitting around his table shrugged. In rage, Antonette jumped and and screamed, "What the hell do you mean you don't know? The Commander of the Bavarian Guard, dead! And the fecking media just had to mention he was returning from Cherry Ridge!" Antonette nodded at the men of the Royal Guard, and they escorted the Generals out. Antonette sent a message to the world in responce to the murder:
Friends of Cherry Ridge in Rosdivan and the World,
Earlier today, terrorists murdered the fine man, the Lord Protector John Melkovich. The Ridgian border has been secured, and security has been upgraded after this heinous attack. I send my condolences to Melkovich's family and all the people of Rosdivan.

His Majestic Highness, John, by the Grace of God and the favor of the Apostolic See, King of Cherry Ridge, Leath-Ri of the Isles of Redemption, Archduke of the Imperial Grand Duchy of Bavaria, Marechal of the Imperial Guard of the Greater Prussian Empire, Lord Protector of Carmel, Guardian of the Sword of Saint Michael the Archangel, and Fidei Defensor

CCP Headquarters, St. Maximus Ward; 42 miles from Serenity

"POLICE, ON THE GROUND NOW!!"

With those words, two things happened. Firstly, the St. Maximus Police Force broke down the door to the city's Commonwealth Communist Party headquarters. Secondly, they set in motion a chain of events that would lead to the most bitter fighting seen in Rosdivan since unification of the island chain a century prior. Even the last Belistandi Insurrection was not as bad.

Corporal Mike Watkins stormed into the building, firing plastic bullets at those employees who didn't get on the floor fast enough to suit him. Behind him, other policemen were busy clearing other rooms or zip-tying those who were on the ground, whether voluntarily or not. Christey and and Campbell had been quickly picked up by the loyal members of the security force, and a routine check of their names had shown them to be registered in the St. Maximus ward of the CCP. To protect evidence in case this was a larger conspiracy, a possibility that loomed more likely in the minds of investigators due to St. Maximus' distance from Serenity and their place of work, the police had been instructed to seize the building and prevent any destruction of documents, using whatever means necessary.

The truth was rather more mundane. The city of St. Maximus was located at the edge of countryside, which made land cheaper and served to allow the conspirators to play with their weapons in relative privacy much easier. With a high speed train station, it was just a short little hop over to Serenity.

Across the street

Mark Childs was a devout member of the CCP, and had been for a pair of decades. Even so, it was mere coincidence that he had taken a house across the street from the local Party headquarters. He was actually renting the house, informally, from a friend while his own underwent repairs due to termite infestation. Though he despised his friend's obvious, and successful, capitalism, he wouldn't turn down the offer to live in his friend's second house.

The crackling of a flurry of gunshots reached across the street and lawn and into Mark's ear. Rushing to the window, he peeked out and saw something he never expected to see. A storm of police officers, armed with automatic weaponry, breaking into Party office and shooting at those inside. There was only one reasonable explanation: The government's going to wipe us out!

Determinedly walking through the house to the attic, he took his cellphone out of his jeans' pocket and dialed the number of his own Party ward headquarters. "Michelle? Hey, it's Mark Childs. I don't have time to talk, but the government's finally done it...Done what?! They're assaulting the Party office in Saint Maximus right now, and killing everyone, that's what! I'm going to take direct action, bye."

Once in the attic, he took out his pride and joy: A DeLisle carbine, with a sniper's scope. Incredibly silent, the cycling of the bolt was louder than the shot itself. Settling down to a crevice in the wall, he took careful aim.

Kielce CCP Ward Headquarters

"..I'm going to take direct action, bye" were the last words Michelle Gudier heard from Mark Childs as he hung up on the phone. Damn it!

"Jacob, call Saint Maximus Ward now!" she snapped out, trying to get a handle on the situation. "Direct action" could only mean one thing: An attempt to violently overthrow the government, in this case, attacking the soldiers massacring the Party ward. Of course, that's assuming that they were being massacred. Having another nut not even two hours after the assassination of the Lord Protector is not going to be good for the Party's image. But then again, this could be a coup by the military and an attempt to use us as the scapegoat.

"I can't reach them Michelle, no one is picking up," announced Jacob in a somewhat puzzled voice. It was during normal working hours, there should be someone picking up there.

"Start calling everyone in the ward, as well as the other wards. The government's started framing us for that assassination, we need to take direct action or be wiped out without a fight."

Direct action was a contingency plan of the CCP; never renounced, but never expected either. Arms had been stockpiled, through various sources, in secrecy in case it were ever time. Now it looked as though the government had forced their hands.

CCP Headquarters, St. Maximus Ward

"Sir, we've secured the building," reported Corporal Watkins to the on-site commander, Lieutenant William Davison, as he walked outside of the Party headquarters. "We're interrogating employees and searching for all their files right now."

"Good work corporal, now let's unghhhh!" gurgled Lieutenant Davison as a .45 ACP round punched through the back of his neck and exited by way of his throat, spraying blood everywhere.

"SNIPER!!" screamed Corporal Watkins as he pivoted, trying spot where the shot had come from. That pivot saved his life, as the next round slammed into his shoulder and punched him down to the ground. Desperately keying his mike, he sent out an urgent distress call:

"MAYDAY, MAYDAY: Sniper at Saint Maximus Ward raid, request help IMMEDIATELY!!"






"This is Katy Moskit of Rosdivan News Network with another important news alert: Following numerous attacks on government buildings, the Defense Minister Michael O'Neill has declared an insurrection to be ongoing and martial law to now be in effect. A 6 P.M. curfew is now in effect for all civilians, and in areas designated as active combat zones, a 24 hour curfew is in effect. Your Emergency Alert System will advise you as to whether you are in an active combat zone.

Josef Romivkov was an OSSB agent for the People's Revolutionary Union of Orleia. This man had successfully infiltrated the Supreme Commonwealth of Rosdivan. He had also been given a top-secret mission that came directly from the Politburo itself. His orders were to start a war between the CCP and the Commonwealth's Monarchist government.

The plan had been incredibly successful; Josef had made contact with various elements within the CCP and had sold them weapons, supplies and even fairly large sums of money well before the incident. Josef after gaining the trust of the CCP managed to "encourage" two members to perform a heroic act for the cause of ending the evil class system that plagued the nation of Rosdivan.

Josef was watching a program that had greatly thrilled him…


"This is Katy Moskit of Rosdivan News Network with another important news alert: Following numerous attacks on government buildings, the Defense Minister Michael O'Neill has declared an insurrection to be ongoing and martial law to now be in effect. A 6 P.M. curfew is now in effect for all civilians, and in areas designated as active combat zones, a 24 hour curfew is in effect. Your Emergency Alert System will advise you as to whether you are in an active combat zone.

Josef turned off his television and headed out the door. His role was to be a decadent merchant for some company in another country. His identification and background was all masterly forged and put together by the OSSB and so far had proved effect. The Orleian agent decided now was the time to send a covert message back to his homeland…


Josef while driving in his little Malibu was talking on his cell phone. The phone had a connection to a satellite that would send the message back to his comrades' back in Orleia. The satellite was registered as a communications satellite and had been set up by a company in Orleia. It was really a special spy satellite that was used by field agents so they could send messages to their commanders without being traced or tracked by the local government..


SECRET IC CONVERSATION VIA SATELLITE:

Josef: Comrades, I have managed to get everything according to plan. The arms shipments were set up months ahead of schedule. We have even managed to assassinate the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth in a special operation.

Unknown: Good Comrade, your mission has been a great success. The people of Orleia will greatly benefit from your actions. We now want you to get information about possible entry and invasion points on the commonwealth. We also want you to get information about their military strength and where their bases of operation are located.

Josef: Affirmative Comrades, I will begin such operations as soon as possible. I have one problem they have instituted martial law and now we have reduce time to work.

Unknown: Understood, Continue to perform your mission. If you are discovered we want you to silence any witnesses.

Josef: Affirmative Comrades!


End Secret IC Conversation:

Josef hung up the phone and continued to drive to the nearest military base. He had to develop a plan to scout around looking for Rosdivan's military strength and how to combat it on ground level..

Though there were approximately 70 million registered communists in the Supreme Commonwealth, the vast majority of them were utterly opposed to the uprising. Still, between those who were willing to rise up and other groups that took the opportunity to rise up in support of their own aims as well, there were over a million active combatants fighting against the government, stretching thin a peacetime army of three million (not including Frontal Aviation).

There were always ways around that problem however.

Underground bunker, location undisclosed

The past two days had sharpened Defense Minister Michael O'Neill's features quite severely. As one might imagine, the stress had been incredible. With the death of the Lord Protector, there was no head of government. By established custom and tradition, Cabinet dissolved upon his death, reforming upon Parliament's election of a successor. But there had never been a situation like this one. As a result, Cabinet had not only failed to dissolve, but had unanimously chosen O'Neill to control the fight against the insurgency.

"What is the current status of the fighting?" he asked, for what felt like the thousandth time. Asking for status reports was really all that he could do, the actual combat was being commanded by colonels and generals.

"Still heavy fighting in the cities sir, but the countryside is under our control. They've never liked the Communists out there anyhow. Serenity has been secured, as have a few other cities. None of the cities have been overrun, though a few were near-run things. We've broken open our armories for the police forces, and are establishing liaisons between them and Frontal Aviation," replied General Adam Carney. Chuckling, he continued: "The cops seem to have fallen in love with five hundred pounders and Zuni rockets. They're asking if they can borrow Frontal Aviation to fight gangs after the insurgency dies down."

"How far has it spread?" Another pointless question since there was nothing that he could do about that.

"Pretty much everywhere sir, the only exception seems to be Belistand Island. It's not just Communists, it's also some local groups as well. The Army's been stretched thin as a result. We'd like a partial mobilization to aid with that," came the polite response. He might not have much he could do, but that didn't mean that there was any need to be read to him.

"A partial mobilization? What will that entail?" queried O'Neill. The regular Army was seen as serving a cadre function for the most part. In the event of a general war looming, it would serve to train the masses of men who would be inducted into the service. In the event of current fighting, such as this, mobilization was a somewhat left-field idea.

"Belistand Island seems to be completely loyal, hardly any violence at all, and that quickly shut down. The Lord Protector's policies to pacify the area were highly popular and effective. The Belistandi are pissed, to put it mildly. Since that area is secure, and highly motivated, we'll be moving most of the troops out for combat duties in the rest of the Commonwealth. About a hundred thousand will remain, and we'll use them as a cadre, to form sixteen corps in four new Fronts, total of about a million men. That'll take about 6 months." answered General Carney.

"Why bother? The rebellion will be crushed by then, there shouldn't be a need for those troops by that point in time."

"I don't believe we're dealing with solely a rebellion here sir. There's too much, and too sophisticated, weaponry for this to be of an entirely domestic origin," responded Carney carefully.

"So you think there's a possible foreign threat? Ok, I'll sign the orders, along with an amnesty program. If we can get sort out who the loyal Reds are, as well as get a number of the disloyal to give up, it'll make fighting this easier and quicker. Which reminds me, what of the Navy at Naval Base Vulcan?"

"They're secure sir. Not a chance in hell that Communists could ever overrun that base, seeing as how it's underground and has an entire army corps stationed on top of it. BC5 and a few coastal cruisers have sortied, as have the aircraft carriers and their groups; they'll be providing fire support for our troops."




"Katy Moskit with RNN: Today, on the third day of the Communist uprising, the government announced an amnesty program for members of the Commonwealth Communist Party. Those who have refused to engage in rebellion against our government are ordered to report to the nearest police office to register their loyalty; in return they will not face punishment after the conflict ends. In addition, those who have actively fought the government may surrender themselves to government forces. Provided that they cooperate fully, they will be granted leniency after the end of the conflict.

In related news, a partial mobilization has been ordered...

OOC: Meant to do a larger post with description of the fighting currently going on, but running out of time at the moment for that, will do it later tonight.

Administrative district, Kielce, 11:23 P.M.

Lance Corporal Adam Nettles blinked rapidly as one of his fellow soldiers fired a handheld rocket at the Communist strongpoint, momentarily screwing up his night vision. The Commonwealth Army really had quite a fetish for such weapons, issuing a minimum of one per soldier in infantry units. They were quite handy tools, excellent for taking out groups of soldiers or enemy bunkers.

A flash of light indicated the successful impact of the rocket, and its shaped charge warhead. Punching through the flimsy barrier of brick, a stream of superheated metal and brick debris filled the room, with the inevitable effects on rebel bodies. Bones were crushed, skin and muscle ripped from their bodies, blood boiled, and all sorts of ancillary unpleasantness made the quick end of their lives a mercy. Putting his eye to the rifle scope, Corporal Nettles resolved to make sure they received such a mercy, whether they desired it or not. As his squad's designated marksman, he provided the accurate long-range firepower needed to make a successful assault or defense.

A thud in his chest, and a figure running out of the burning fortification tumbled down. Dang, these new scopes are great. I swear I could see the spurt of blood as the bullet hit. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Six rounds, four hits. Time to move to a new position. As Nettles scrambled over the collapsed ruins of a small office building, a cascade of bullets fell upon his former vicinity, much in the way that a heavy rain may begin with no warning drizzle in a thunderstorm. Aiming at where his muzzle flash had been, none of the rounds hit however. A peek in the thermal sight, three more thuds, and two of the wannabe snipers dropped to the floor, one dead.

More scrabbling noises indicated that the rest of the platoon was now moving up, free to advance thanks to the efforts of their marksmen. With a little luck, the city would be secured by next sundown.

Bridge, Battlecruiser 5, 12 miles of the Rosdivan coast

Battlecruiser 5, or BC5 as her hull designation signified, was a large ship, built because the Army demanded heavier naval fire support than the coastal cruisers could provide. Why was anyone's guess, targets that required more punch than a 5" or 8" shell could provide were few and far between, and the Army refused to let the Navy scrap the ships. From his standpoint, Captain Michael Bridges could see one of the coastal cruisers, an update of the original foreign Des Moines-class, let loose. For psychological purposes, every round functioned as a tracer, and the sheer number of rounds flying away from the cruiser was a breathtakingly beautiful sight. Certain Communists may have disagreed with that statement.

"Captain Bridges? Call from Colonel Makins, he wants to plan a firing mission for us," announced a communications petty officer. Without any incoming firing calls for the battlecruiser so far tonight, his job had been a very boring one.

"Hand me that headset, if you'd be so kind?" requested Captain Bridges as he strode over to the console. Normally this would have been a job for a gunnery officer, but the petty officer was far from the only bored person on the ship. Besides, Colonel Makins is the head of the ground forces here, this isn't your typical fire mission call, or so at least reasoned Captain Bridges.

"Captain Bridges, this is Colonel Makins," came the voice, sounding somewhat gravelly, probably due to a lifetime of smoking. "The Reds are trying to make a breakout, and since you're here, we're letting them think that they're succeeding. I don't want to waste my boys' lives defending against a push when I can simply draw back and have them pulverized out in the open. Can your ship be ready to conduct a gridsquare mission when the Reds stumble into the ambush?"

"Of course Colonel. Just give me the coordinates," replied Captain Bridges, trying to keep the insult out of his voice. Of course we're ready, we're the best ship in the Navy after all! Making various "uh-huh" noises, he wrote down the coordinates provided.

"Alright men, we've got a Gridsquare in an hour!" he announced, to a chorus of shouts. The Gridsquare mission was what these ships excelled at. It was rather simple in its effects. Simply take a gridsquare, a normal mile by mile box on a map, and then erase every single unit inside it. That is the essence of a Gridsquare mission.

The wait, though a long half-hour, was an joyous one, for this would be their moment. This would be their ship proving its worth. There was a dead silence on the bridge as the confirmation call came in.

"Thank you sir." Striding over to the speaker, Captain Bridges flipped it to the 1MC circuit:

"All guns, FIRE!"

For a moment, it appeared as though the ship had exploded, as a giant sheet of fire covered its location. But then that sheet of fire appeared again, and again, and once more. It was the awesome power of the BC4-class. Nine turrets, each mounting four twelve-inch guns. It was a thirty six gun broadside, and all from a single ship.

The first three salvos were extended range shells carrying anti-personnel bomblets; the final salvo was high explosive shells, set to airburst. The concussion would serve a dual purpose role in killing any remaining rebels and hopefully detonating dud bomblets.

Oh what a beautiful sight it was to be watching that gridsquare. With a time on target barrage, combined with the fact that the first three salvos were all Multiple Round Simultaneous Impact, it resembled nothing more than a giant carpet of firecrackers suddenly lighting off, swiftly followed by a set of monstrous blasts as the final salvo detonated.

News always got to Castlia slowly, and conditions had been worsened by a nationwide collapse of internet, phone, and television services.
Esmerelda LaNiata, presidentia of the large republic, sighed in relief as her aide handed her a note telling her that communications would be up again within minutes. It was dangerous for a leader to be out of contact with with other nations. Suprises usually crept up that way, and Esmerelda, even as a child, had never been very fond of suprises.
She stood up, brushing off her expensive suit's skirt. "Give me all important updates as soon as the internet is back up." She rounded her desk to collect her remote from where she had hurled it weeks ago when she had realized that Castlia was effectively isolated from the outside world. Her aide nodded and left the room.
Please work, Esmerelda prayed in the general direction of the television. Takin a deep breath, she pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
A sigh of disappointment fileld the presidentia's office. It was cut short by a squeak of delight and static filled the darkened screen, and then gentled out to become a picture. A presidentia was not supposed to scream out delightedly to her aides that her television worked, but under the circumstances, Esmerelda's excitement was understandable.

"This is Katy Moskit of Rosdivan News Network with another important news alert: Following numerous attacks on government buildings, the Defense Minister Michael O'Neill has declared an insurrection to be ongoing and martial law to now be in effect. A 6 P.M. curfew is now in effect for all civilians, and in areas designated as active combat zones, a 24 hour curfew is in effect. Your Emergency Alert System will advise you as to whether you are in an active combat zone."

Esmerelda blinked. Somehow she must have gotten onto one of the Rosidivan channels. Then her brain caught up with her.
Martial law? What happened to Melkovich?
The presidentia pressed a button on her intercom. "Louis, get me all the latest news on Rosidivan."
"Yes, presidentia."

Louis was grave when he entered. The aide passed Esmerelda the printed report.
She took it, not bothering to dismiss him. It was an old report, but the news in it dismayed her. It was hard to believe Melkovich was dead.
Esmerelda forced herself to keep focused. She get mourn her ally privately later. Diplomacy had been stalled for too long due to Castlia's recent bout of communication difficulties. She looked up at her waiting aide.
"Issue a diplomatic response to this tragedy. I want to see it on my desk before dinner. I want it put out to the media before the day is out."
"Yes, presidentia."

When Esmerelda spoke, things usually happened. An official response on the part of the Republic of Castlia was out by nightfall.

"Friends and Allies of Rosidivan and Castlia,
John Melkovich, ruler of Rosidivan, was tragically murdered. Castlia's response is unfortunately tardy, for the Republic has been isolated from the world due to a recent communications failure. As a nation, Castlia sympathizes with Rosidivan and Melkovich's family, and offers her services should Rosidivan need them against the perpetrators of this deplorable act.

Emerelda LaNiata, 69th Presidentia of the Holy and Godfearing Republic of Castlia"

Ministry of State Security, Rekjyavich-Andropov Military City

Minister Yuri Golovko looked over the broadcasts from Rosdivan, as well as the orders from the Kremlin. Fine by me. He sent the order over the artificial communications channel to the Rosdivan embassy and moved on to the next incident.
________________________________________________
Greater Prussian Bay

On the road again. Rear Admiral Juergen Kaminsky put his orders on the table and looked over to the navigator.

"We're off to Rosdivan." The navigator looked over with a raised eyebrow.

"What? Oh, the rebel stuff." He chuckled. "Are we gonna shell them, sir?" The Admiral shook his head.

"No, Lieutenant, we're not. We're waiting for the Imperial Falcons to come aboard and evacuate Dersconi Embassy personnel." As if on cue, the VTOL TSS-23 Imperial Falcons came from the Island of Hope and landed on the Arkhangel-class "ultracarrier."

"Time to go!" With that, the order was sent out to the carrier escorts, and the small carrier group went out to Rosdivan.

______________________________________________

Dersconi Embassy, Rosdivan

The Ambassador looked down at the order of evacuation and sighed. "Time to go." The CoS smirked.

"For you it is." The Ambassador looked up and sighed.

"Have fun, then."

"Oh, I will. Go and pack."



Underneath the Embassy, various members of Dark Claw, the MSS Paramilitary Directorate, were arming themselves and loading up their ASH-42 Nighthawks, a stealth troop transport helicopter designed from the old and out-of-date RAH-66 Commanche Stealth Attack Helicopter. the helicotper pad was in fact an elevator that lowered down into a hanger, where the helicopters and other armored vehicles were located, as well as a small armoury.

When everything was ready, they sat and waited for their deployment orders.
______________________________________________

Condolences and Condemnations

On behalf of the people of Derscon, myself, and the entire Greater Prussian Empire, we offer our prayers and condolences to the Melkovich family, and the people of Rosdivan. To lose a leader to such a barbaric act is something unfortunately not uncommon in these days. I just want you to know you have all of our support.

I also want to take this time to condemn the CCP terrorists for their treasonous actions. The Rosdivan government has offered you so much, yet you topple all of that for your failed ideology, bringing fear and poverty to everyone, simply because of your own jealousy. Such actions are treason against Rosdivan and the entire Greater Prussian Empire. I look forward to the day each and every one of you hangs from the gallows.

I also caution any and all nations willing to aid the rebels. You will be held in contempt by the Greater Prussian Empire. Aiding and abedding tratiors will not be tolerated.

His Most Eminent Majestic Highness Tsar Alexei Alexandrovich Caesar Agustus Andropov XIV, Fedei Defensor, Par la Grâce de Dieu;
Ambrosial Seraph of the Divine Prussian Empire of Derscon;
Veliky Kralj of the Eternal Empire;
Khšaçapavan of the Covanent of God;
Leath-Ri of the Redemption Isles;
Lord Protector of the Imperial Grand Duchy of Bavaria;
Imperator of the Greater Prussian Empire;
Gloeihdamae

OOC: Since Orleia seems to have disappeared, I'm willing to accept someone else to take over his part of instigating the rebellion. TG me if you're interested

"Please, take it off, I CAN'T BREATHE!" cried out David Campbell, his voice muffled by the black bag covering his face. As if in response to his plea, the bag was ripped off of his head, allowing him to breathe more fully again. Of course, the bright light shining in his eyes was scarcely comfortable itself, and he tried to shy away from it. The shackles that held him to the chair did not give him freedom of movement however, and the light remained in his eyes no matter where he moved.

In front of him was a table, and at the opposite end of that table, he could just barely make out the image of a man. He was sitting, with his gloved hands together and resting on the table. After a period of time, he rose and began pacing across the room.

"Mister Campbell, it is my duty to inform you that you have been convicted by special military tribunal of five counts of murder, bombing of government property, conspiracy to commit terrorism, treason, and sedition — the penalty for which is death by firing squad," he announced, without a trace of emotion in his voice. "Now, we do not believe that you and John Christey acted alone in this. Though you've committed a grave crime, the government is willing to show you mercy. Tell us who else was involved, and we will commute your sentence. Perhaps exile, perhaps life imprisonment, but you shall not die. Refuse to aid us, and you will surely die."

David didn't have enough saliva to spit, but he made a valiant effort nonetheless. "Never!"

"Very well then. You have one week to change your mind, and as is customary, you may select a confessor of your choosing prior to your execution. Various priests will be visiting you in the forthcoming week," was the response as the black hood dropped around him once again and his world plunged into darkness.