NationStates Jolt Archive

To: The Leadership of Sniper Country
From: Sir Gary Girardi
Re: Relations

The Commonwealth of Saint Fedski would like to invite the leadership, both military and political, of The Confederacy of Sniper Country to the Copacabana Military Facility in order to discuss matters of great importance to the economy and military of The Commonwealth of Saint Fedski.

The brewing conflict with the GASN over issues in West Corinthia will likely dominate the meeting as the threat of a greatly lopsided war lurks just beyond the horizon.

Other matters including a joint excercies between The Commonwealth Armed Forces and the Armed Forces of Sniper Country, Saint Fedski-Sniper Country economic cooperation and Saint Fedski-Sniper Country relations should also be discussed in depth.

The Commonwealth of Saint Fedski hopes that the leadership of The Confederacy of Sniper Country will respond favourably to its request for a meeting in Copacabana.

Respectfully your's,

[signed]
Gary Girardi
Vice Chairman
Commonwealth of Saint Fedski

The brewing conflict with the GASN over issues in West Corinthia

OOC: Does anyone know where is, or what happened to East Corinthia?

To: Sir Gary Girardi
From: Senator Drew Haltom
Re:Relations

Sir Girardi,

My response will be brief. The Confederacy of Sniper Country has had little to do with your nation in the past. The sudden interest in relations is slightly unnerving to us; nonetheless, we will attend this summit you have prepared. I will be arriving via Shotgun One, a Falcon-Jet. With me will be three representatives concerning military matters - whose names I will not mention over an unsecured net. We look forward to meeting.

-Drew Haltom,
Speaker Impromptu

To: Senator Drew Haltom
From: Sir Gary Girardi
Re: Arrival

Your timely response is greatly appreciated. I have made arrangements with the Air Force to fly escort for your arrival from one thousand kilometers of the coast. Landing can be done at Military Facility Copacabana on Friday night. My staff and I will be awaiting your arrivals. May you have a safe flight.

Respectfully your's,

[signed]
Gary Girardi
Vice Chairman
Commonwealth of Saint Fedski

(ooc: just arrive anytime, the base will be pretty much blacked out, except for the designated runway and a couple small buildings.)

Haltom stepped off the plane and took a deep breath. The man was a younger, more outspoken version of John Philips, whose untimely death, still not totally released to worldwide knowledge, was almost all but forgotten. Behind Haltom stepped two men, clad in full In-Country SCAF gear, who looked as if they had no care in the world what was going on. One blew a bubble with his chewing gum, while the other spat a wad of tobacco onto the runway. Two others, Commander-General Jonathan Szot, who dressed in his usual khaki pants and untucked polo shirt; and Katy Smith, the Sniper Country Foreign Relations Advisor; who simply wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, emerged from the jet and began walking down the stairs and onto the runway.

Haltom turned to one of the men who would easily be taken for a soldier in the SCAF and whispered in his ear. The man nodded his head, and pulled the bolt back on his highly modified M4B2 to make sure a round was chambered. The five waited on the runway as the plane began to taxi to the parking ramp.

Vice Chairman Gary Girardi was awaiting the arrival of Senator Haltom from the control tower.

"Sir, the car is waiting."

"Ah yes! Thank you." Gary replied to his chauffeur before following him down the stairs to the awaiting vehicles.

Gary's personnel car was a shiny silver 1959 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, kept in immaculate condition. Driving smoothly and quietly towards the now taxiing aircraft, the Silver Cloud and two newer Phantoms patiently waited for the plane to come to a stop infront of them.

It didn't take long for Senator Haltom and his associates to emerge, and descend the ladder. After a brief moment of silence, the five foot seven inch Vice Chairman stepped forward, towards the Senator with an outstretched hand. "Senator Haltom I presume? Vice Chairman Gary Girardi. Welcome to Saint Fedski."

Haltom reached out his hand, cracking the first smile since the plane had landed. Haltom was five feet, eight inches, and was the youngest senator ever to to be voted into the Sniper Country Senate, at the age of 25. He was now 26, and the proposal of making him the Speaker was outrageous to many, but there was something about him that simply stood out. He wore an untucked, orange polo shirt, khaki pants, and outdoor running shoes. Atop his head he bore the headgear which was signature of Senate Speakers in the past - a grey beanie "skull cap". It was tradition, no matter the time of year.

"Vice Chairman Girardi, good to meet you," Haltom spoke with a typical Sniper Country accent, from which many nations associated the nation with being full of "hillbillies and rednecks". "This is Commander-General Jonathan Szot, commander of the SCAF, and Katy Smith, our Foreign Relations Advisor," he said, introducing the two. He made no note to introduce the two guards, who still seemed not to care what in the world was going on. Their weapons hung by their sides; one kept his hands in his pockets, while the other adjusted his baseball cap atop his head.

"Shall we," Haltom urged, in an effort to leave the runway.

(ooc: sorry, didn't catch your reply)

"Pleased to meet you" Girardi smiled as he shook their hands. "If you would please come with me Senator."

The thirty-six year old Girardi turned around to open the door for the senator. "Jerry my personal assistant, will be taking of Mister Szot and Miss Smith. They will be taking the limos to our conference hall just across the base, near the navy pier."

Jerry Chartran was the Vice Chairman's Chief of Staff but often referred to as his personal assistant. The six foot tall man was of a stocky build. He usually took care of arrangements and pampered the Vice Chairman's guests when the Chairman himself couldn't. He was responsible for briefing and keeping Girardi up to date and was one of the most informed people in the entire government.

CGN Szot and Ms. Smith stepped into the limousine behind Chartran. Haltom turned around, and with a quick turn of his hand, the two armed guards nodded and also stepped into the vehicle. Haltom despised taking guards with him whenever he went out of Sniper Country, but this was a sensitive time. Any other time and he'd be here alone. Under his shirt he holstered a small Glock 26, with which he was fairly profficient.

Drew stepped through the door Girdardi held open. He wondered why the others were being taken separately, as they'd been requested to come along for the trip. Perhaps it was official "top dog" business, or maybe Girardi just had the hots for Haltom - in which care he'd actually get to fire his pistol. Drew was ready to talk on all major topics: relations, military, training, trade, and others. For now, however, he was only concerned with actually reaching the meeting.

"Well Mister Haltom, this is my pride and joy." Girardi said smiling, turning to the Senator who was seated next to the Vice Chairman in the front passenger seat. "This was my father's car and hopefully will be my son's someday. All four and a half seats of it." The half seat being the middle spot in the back of the car. "This is Copacabana, Saint Fedski's second largest military facility in terms of area and total deployment, but by far the busiest and most important. Located here is the monthly meeting of the Combined Defence Staff while weekly meetings and conferences are held with the Minister of Defence and either the Chairwoman or myself in attendance."

The car was cruising along what seemed to be a deserted highway but was infact a marshalling area for armoured vehicles. Like a giant courtyard, the marshalling area was surrounded by buildings, the headquarters of various defence departments and offices of various liaisons, observers and administrative personnel. It was divided into two areas split precisely in half by this eight lane wide 'highway'.

"This is the marshalling area for some armoured units, unfortunately they are currently overseas in West Corinthia right now, preparing for an extended conflict. As we leave the M.A we will be passing the navy piers and a smaller airfield. If we're lucky some ships may be in the harbour, I know for a fact that the fifth fighter group is making training flights at some point today and those are always fun to watch, provided one has time."

As the cars rolled by the offices, nothing could be seen in the distance, but immediately to the right, a giant of a beast was seen, obviously empty it was a massive ship with absolutely no visable weapons. Looking out of place among the seemingly tiny frigates, destroyers and even old Nimitz Class carriers, this freighter stood out like a sore thumb. Painted a deep navy blue with a single thin red stripe around the hull high above the waterline, suggesting the maximum load, the ship bore an Asgnarian flag at the back and the Asgarnian naval ensign at the front.

"You are most likely wondering what a giant, empty Asgarnian freighter is doing in the middle of our prized military facility. You've no doubt heard the saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, well the enemy can't get much closer than this. Eventually this will be very close to the enemy for she is to be begun getting loaded up this evening and the loading process will continue for nearly eight hours a night for the next seven nights."

The car continue to cruise along as CF-17s and Lu-45 Hawks flew in low with defining sounds as they landed or took off from the airfield. Seahawks and small little Little Birds could be seen buzzing around in the distance.

"Your associates should be getting the same tour from Mister Chartran back there. We'll be at the Combined Defence Headquarters momentairly. I hope you don't mind if our security personnel, conducts a quick search to remove any video or sound recording devices for the duration of our meetings. They may also ask that you hand over your nice guns before entering the headquarters proper" he said turning to look at the guards "however you will be permitted to retain your side arms while in the HQ proper."

A couple kilometers in the distance, a small hill began to rise sharply from the surrounding plains. A relatively large though low profile concrete cap could be seen taking shape on the top of the hill dispite the attempts to camouflage it. As the two vehicles approached the compound, a wrought iron fence appeared around the hill and leading up towards a vertical surface, perpendicular to the road. The two cars turned off their lights as they approached the gate and the small, inground guard structure.

Slowly, the gates opened without a sound allowing the vehicles into the compound without even slowing down. Two or three minutes later, the what seemed to be a small hill topped by a concrete bunker was indeed a small hill topped by a concrete bunker. The vertical face was the entrance to the small fortress but before they could enter, a quick security check was in store, not only for the guests from Sniper Country but for Chartran and even Girardi.

"Please turn off the vehicle, and step out." A guard ordered politely while keeping his G36C pointed, not necessarily aimed, but pointed at the driver's door.

Four other guards, dressed similarly in dark emerald green suits and likewise armed, approached the first vehicle but kept a distance, allowing the occupants room to step out and separate themselves from the vehicle.

Haltom took in the surroundings like a small child in a candy store, though he may very well have looked uninterested by his facial expression. He thoroughly enjoyed watching the Fedski aircraft buzz overhead; Haltom's father had been an air traffic controller at Remington City International Airport before he died in a car wreck three years ago.

As the vehicles approached the gates, Haltom looked at the five guards ready to inspect the vehicles and persons. It almost made him laugh; uniformity wasn't a custom in the SCAF. The Fedski guards, from all Haltom could tell, were indeed members of the military. Every time he saw a military with nice uniforms and shiny boots, all with the same weapons and equipment, he took the moment for what it was worth. A grin flowed across Haltom's face as the guards approached the vehicles and ordered all occupants out.

Haltom and Girardi proceeded to be searched, the guard only finding Haltom's pistol strapped to his chest. Carrying concealed weapons was perfeclty legal in Sniper Country, but perhaps here it wasn't. Showing courtesy, he promptly gave it up, and jokingly asked the guard to clean it and he'd be back to pick it up later.

However, things weren't about to go quite as smooth in the second vehicle. As Smith and Chartran were searched without complaint, CGN Szot and the two guards didn't like the idea of beaing searched in the slightest. Szot allowed the guards to search him after a few verbal assaults, seeing the irritation in Haltom's eyes. However, the guards were less inclined to give in.

"Yeah, dude, you can take my weapon... out of my cold, dead hands," one said. He wore a baseball cap, with an ocean wave on the front, signifying his belonging to Sanctus Real, a relatively small yet effective mercenary organization based within Sniper Country. Belonging to such an organization allowed him to bear whatever equipment he felt like carrying for the mission at hand, and for this mission he was far from fully equipped. He bore his protective vest, modified and highly personalized M4B2, his sidearm, which was strapped to his leg; and various magazines for both weapons carried in the cargo pockets of his pants. He wore a plain white t-shirt under his protective vest, along with khaki cargo pants, and a pair of Adidas running shoes. The other guard looked nearly identical, aside from weilding a SOC16 and wearing an orange t-shirt, blue jeans, and Doc Martin boots. Bot men were ex-SCAF, having quit after their contract expired. Both were experienced, DD troops, and brought their Special Forces knowledge and experience with them to Sanctus Real.*

Finally, after several minutes of cursing, threats, and an amusing standoff, Haltom called for the guards to relenquish their weapons, but told them to keep their sidearms. They also handed over all their ammunition, aside from the single magazine already locked into their pistols. This call didn't please the guards in the slightest, but they did as they were told. All they'd ever been taught went against that move. But they were in this business for the money, and the money was right, so they obeyed.

"So, let's proceed," Haltom said to Girardi, smirking.

[OOC: DD is a Special Forces Group within the SCAF Ground Forces. It is the step above GRUNT, and is the first stepping stone to entering the ranks of the 22nd SOF-D. It is abbreviated and pronounced "DD" and derives from the actual nickname of the Group - "Diadem" - meaning, "Crown"; for many years, whilst the 22nd was still in organization and secret, the Diadem was considered to be the "crown" of Special Forces worldwide.]

"Very well" The guard announced after the brief search had been completed. He took a shaky step back, as he kept his eyes fixed on the formerly heavily armed guards of Haltom's "You may proceed Sirs, but beware, there is a small water leak near the second left."

"Thank you." Girardi spoke softly to the nervous guard. "Has Admiral Murphy arrived yet?"

"Yes sir. He arrived thirty minutes ago sir."

"Excellent. Thank you."

"Have a good day sir." He was still nervously eyeing those guards despite the fact that their main weapons were now in his custody.

"Shall we?" The slightly smiling Girardi asked his guest, motioning towards the vehicles with his left hand. "Let us go."

The politicians and officials and the guards all re-entered their respective automobiles as Girardi, in his own Rolls Royce and Chartran in limo brought their beasts to life. The two vehicles began to roll away, loose gravel crunching beneath their tires.

"Wait, Sir! Hold on!" The guard shouted, realising he still had Haltom's pistol.

"Yes?" Girardi asked as the guard leaned towards the window.

"Here's your piece sir" He spoke as he held the weapon by its barrel, presenting the hand grip towards Mr. Haltom. "My most sincere apologies sir." He bowed his head for a short moment.

"Is that all?"

"Yes sir, sorry sir." He stepped back a couple small steps, allowing the vehicles to enter the catacomb that was the nervous center of the Saint Fedskian armed forces.

As the massive iron and concrete garage doors parted to reveal nothing but blackness, the cars lurched forward into the nothing. Even with the lights on, everything was black. The walls and ceilings painted and dyed black, the roadway was constructed of dark asphault, even the lines on the road were black, albeit oh so slightly reflective. As they approached the first turn at a crawl, a small red light lit up on the right side signalling the nearing turn to the drivers. A minute or so later, five small, dull lights flicked on, casting an eerie yellow light down from the ceiling and into the two lane tunnel. Reverse facing reflectors, embedded in the road immediately shone, though rather quite dimmly, to guide the small party around the bend.

"This has to be the most difficult drive in the country. We have to go slow, in this complete darkness. Our headlights are simply so other vehicles, should they approach, see us before they hit us. Fortunately for us, you are driving with the Vice-Chairman, which gives us the private use of the road."

The second bend, seemed to approach much slower than the first and was without the guiding lights. Instead, five small, duller white lights, were lined up in the middle of the road. Girardi stopped his car on top of the dots.

"This is the trickiest part here. This is a small turntable. We will turn and be given access to another checkpoint before arriving in Central Command."

The turntable had been activated by the stopped weight of the car. Slowly it begun to spun, the gears softly griding as the electric motor buzzed. A minute passed by before the platform came to a stop. It had, unbeknownst to the occupants spun a meagre forty five degress clockwise. The Rolls Royce left the platform as it spun back into the postion for the second vehicle.

As Chartran's vehicle caught up with the awaiting Girardi and Haltom, they began to move again. In the not so distant distance, two redlights were flashing, signalling the vehicles to stop when the arrived. Following the unwritten directions, the vehicles stopped, as did the lights.

Suddenly, beams of white lights began flash and dancing around. It was more guards with flashlights and this time, dogs.

"Excuse me Sir, I.D please?"

"Yes, here you go" Girardi spoke, handing his card to the guard.

The dogs sniffed around the vehicles looking for explosives and/or chemicals.

"Very well Sir. You may go."

"Thank you"

Two large doors slid open infront of them, revealing a massive, open parking lot with concrete pillars spiraling from the ground to the ceiling. Four Leopard 2 tanks could be seen positioned in the corners while various styles of jeeps, humvees and light utility vehicles were parked throughout. Armed guards walked around on the catwalks ten or so meters above the garage. Two large glass windows over looked the open area from the walls.

"Here we are Mister Haltom. The main parking area for senior officials and various commanders. I have no doubt that this is the most secure facility in the country and possibly one of the most secure in the world. We'll be going into the Red Zone over there. That's where the top commanders such as Admiral Murphy and Retired General Obliqus like to hang out. I enjoy being here as well. There is always something happening."

The two vehicles found their respective parking spot near the red doors. Admiral Murphy, who had watched them pull in from one of the windows was walked out of through the doors.

"Good morning Sir" He spoke, shaking hands with Girardi.

"Admiral, we have Senator Haltom, Commander-General Jonathan Szot who is your counterpart in Sniper Country and Katy Smith, a foreign relations advisor."

"Welcome to The Copacabana" The beaming Murphy extended his hands to the named guests, "I have our rooms ready just down the hall a little bit."

The long, winding road nearly sent Haltom into dreamland. He felt that the entire scheme of the base, with the multiple guards, long, neverending roads of pitch darkness, and simply the excessiveness of the setup was a bit too elaborate. Maybe it was for show, maybe a statement of military might and prowess, or maybe they actually believed it was beneficial to the safety of the base. Any way, it was excessive to Drew.

He was surprised at receiving his pistol back, but he wasn't going to argue with the guard about it. He placed it back in his chest holster, under his shirt. The guards weren't in the best mood, but they'd soon get over it. If all went right in this meeting, there was a chance they may be training the very men that had just taken their weapons.

Upon reaching their destination, Haltom stepped out of the vehicle and stretched. The Fedskian Admiral was stepping closer, as Drew made his way over to the two guards, Szot, and Smith. Szot was a tall, lanky man, whose hair hung down his shoulders. He had it in a pony tail, as to keep it out of his eyes. He wore glasses, and his flip-flops made the signature noise as he stepped forward. Smith, on the other hand, was a large lady, who, while sensitive about her weight, wasn't sensitive on other subjects.

The five stepped forward as they were introduced to Admiral Murphy. Szot shook his hand and smiled. However, when Smith was introduced, she made sure to correct Girardi; "Ahem, I am the Foreign Relations Advisor."

The guards simply looked around the area at guards, exits, stairways, doors, and all other routes of access or escape.

The five began to follow behind Girardi and Murphy, headed to what they presumed would be the beginning of this meeting.