NationStates Jolt Archive

The War on Drugs, within the boundaries of the Empire, had garnered popular support for some time now. However, support was waivering. In the wake of the nuclear explosion on Saint George's, which, to date, remained unsolved and the rise in drug-related crimes, despite heavy government crackdowns, people were beginning to see this 'War on Drugs' as something that was faltering. They had less and less trust in the government since the attack on Saint George's and all that preceeded it. Since the War on Drugs was being perceived as an ongoing failure, waste of resources, and waste of lives, the government was in need of something good. The Varsolan War didn't have an outcome yet and the price of that failure was just too great. The people needed something that they could put hope in, something a lot more solid and concrete than wealth and prosperity, the latter of which was fading with security. Security wasn't the only thing that people had to feel good about but it was the most important thing, next to morality and responsibility, that the Emperor proclaimed when the Republic fell in 1980. He stated, "Ladies and Gentlemen of Layarteb. Today is the day that the weak, corrupt, immoral, and ineffective Republic of Layarteb has fallen. The days of unsecured borders, criminals walking the streets, babies being kidnapped from their bedrooms, child molestors, murderers, and drug kingpins are over. The Empire of Layarteb will be a beacon of morality, justice, prosperty, peace, and security. I bring this to you, citizens of Layarteb, that I will correct the ills which have plagued the Republic for so long. The corruption and the fear that gripped our once proud nation will no longer be, no longer infest. From now on hold your heads high, walk the streets at night, and live your lives as you want to live them." That was only the introduction and the crowd was roaring, on their feet, clapping, screaming, and smiling. Those days lasted for twenty-six years. Now the foundations had been shaken, so strongly, that people were beginning to wonder if the Empire was just a temporarily fix and that the real problem lied somewhere else.

With months gone by and no significant leads against the cartels, the media and the public were beginning to think that this war was just a smoke screen. They hadn't put their finger on what yet but they needed some hope that the 'War on Drugs' was not something of a smoke screen. That's why, when the Ministry of the Interior andthe Ministry of Justice received concrete and clear evidence that the Esmeralda Cartel had a significant product line based on the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, in the Indian Ocean, the Emperor was so quick to jump on them. Until now, the War on Drugs was purely domestic. Now it would consist of a foreign strike.

Reconnaissance, intelligence, and information from captured cartel personnel pointed to something big for a while now. However, until now it remained a secret. The Esmeralda Cartel had a significant coca base and that was good for them and explained their cocaine. The Meta Cartel, in Colombia, had a big cocaine and heroin base as well. The Florida Cartel had their marijuana and other manufactured drugs, including some cocaine. However, the heroin market for the Esmeralda Cartel wasn't local and authorities knew that from the earliest days. They weren't importing from Colombia and they weren't getting any from anywhere else in the Empire. Instead, they were getting them from way across the globe, somewhere in south Asia. At first, the markets in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and their surrounding areas were a big possibility. The Fourth Reich had a big heroin problem north of those two lands. The Islamic Unionist Federated states of Khailfah Al Muslimeen had another big drug problem but assurances came that their drugs weren't being exported to the cartels in the Empire and evidence backed up that claim. So, investigators turned their attention to Southeast Asia, to Myanamar, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, all land in the grasp of Japan and the United Eastasian Republic. Both nations weren't particularly friendly to the Empire but their heroin had a significantly unique signature to it, none of which matched Esmeralda Cartel drugs. That left the question wide open. Where was the heroin coming from?

Until just two weeks prior, that question seemed almost impossible to answer. Then, like a break from the gods, a ship was seized trying to enter Guyana. The Coast Guard found at least a hundred metric tons of raw, unprocessed, opium, which would lead to heroin. Investigation and interrogation of the ship and the crew took another week and revealed that the ship hailed from the Nicobar Islands, over 10,000 miles away, under the governmental control of The Republic of Safehaven2, a faltering and unconvincing regime. Something had to be done, something that could eliminate the entire heroin supply for the Esmeralda Cartel. That something would be a two phase plan, possibly a third. The first would be the opening of dialogue with Safehaven2 leaders, hoping to achieve some sort of agreement that included strict governmental crackdowns on the drug laboratories and fields there that shipped off to Venezuela. The second would be the introduction of black forces to begin a secret war within the island chain, against cartel fields, facilities, and operations. The third, if ultimately necessary would be the annexation of the islands into the Empire for the goal of completely and significantly eradicating the drug market there.

Little did the Ministry of Foreign Affairs know that the islands were only under loose control by Safehaven2. Drug cartel leaders controlled the islands and government leaders accepted bribes, kickbacks, and were threatened into cooperation. Negotiations would be futile and the only answer was for the cessation of mob rule over the islands. A naval AARG would be dispatched along with a division of blood thirsty Marines. Until they arrived, sixteen men from Force Tiger would be deployed, flown in on a civilian Airbus A380, as tourists. They would wage a secret war against the drug cartels there and they would do it with the full, though unofficial, support of the Layartebian government.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/The%20Timeless%20Age%20of%20Empires/andaman-nicobar-map.jpg

This is the story of that war and its casualties...

OOC: All times will be in local times. For Layarteb City that is EST [GMT -5] and for the Andaman & Nicobar Islands that is Indian Standard Time [GMT +5:30]. So this means that they are 10 ½ hours apart. So, for example, if it is midnight in Layarteb City it is 10:30 hours on these islands. Realism will be observed and keep in mind that this RP is going to be closed, in a way. The timeline for this RP is, more or less, October 2006 - December 2006. The events in War on Drugs will revolve around these events. Nothing will be made public until the cessation of the campaign.

Day 1
October 21, 2006 - 07:30 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

Port Blair was a bustling Indian city. It was densely populated and not too large. Streets were clogged more with people walking or on bikes than they were with vehicles. Driving through some of the streets was a slower process than walking. Main streets were kept devoid of the level of human traffic that most back streets faced. In the sea of dark skin were some 189,000 people, packed into a small area. Interwoven between the people were the drugies. The addicted and the sellers were everywhere. Smugglers made more of a living than the tradesmen and tourism was a popular industry, moreso because of the ability to get drugs than recreation. The islands were devoid of an effective police or governmental administrative force. They were ruled by the mob, by a cartel, not the Esmeralda or Meta or Florida but by their own cartel, a cartel so deeply involved with business in Layarteb that their connections with the Esmeralda Cartel brought them in over §25 billion a year. Most of the money came from the sale of their opium products to the Esmeralda Cartel. The rest of their money came from exploiting the people and the government in their own territory. They were notable for kidnappings and executions. Leaders who sided against them saw their families murdered before them and they were never spared. That was going to change.

The Empire of Layarteb saw the island chain and the cartel rulers as a clear and present danger to national security, justifying the eventual annexation of the islands. There were over 570 of them in total of which only some 38 were permanently inhabited. Most of the islands, about 550, were in the Andamans group, 26 of which were inhabited. The smaller Nicobars comprised some 22 main islands with 12 inhabited. Luckily, for the sixteen Force Tiger soldiers on the ground, they didn't have to check each and every one of them. The 13th Black Operations Group, code named "Force Tiger," was a battalion-sized force that was based on La Tortuga Island off the coast of Venezuela in the Province of South Eastern Virginia. They had been created after it was evident that the cartel leaders were fully aware of the activities of the main force hunting them, the 6th Special Operations Group, code named "Marauders." The 6th SOG was a regimental-sized unit that was based just outside of Bogotá in Colombia.

The 13th SOG was a unique group. They were trained in counter-drug operations that included heavy fighting, demolitions, and captures. They had a good network supporting them but they were still new and this would be their first combat mission. Unlike most SOG and BOG units, they operated in five-man teams, versus eight. This made them a little faster and much more versatile. They could be fed with smaller amounts of resources and still perform as effectively as an eight-man team. They trained together, lived together, in closed communities, and cared for each other, far better than most SOG units. That was the goal. Now, sitting 10,000 miles away from home, in the middle of an Indian hellhole, surrounded by the enemy, they were about to have their baptism of fire.

The 13th SOG unit was sort of ill-suited for the Indian land. Most of their members were Hispanic, which could help them blend in much easier with the crowds in South America and the Caribbean. Here, in India, they were out of place. Their cover was as members of a geographic magazine called the Layartebian Geographic. Information about them was supplanted within the ranks of the magazine staff and they were there to conduct a three-month long research project into the vast evergreen tropical rainforest. Their story would check out if the magazine headquarters was asked. Their papers were forged with perfection and everything about them screamed journalist. They were great at photography and they knew more about rare plant and tree species than most scientists. They had definitely done their homework and they studied them relentlessly. Their apartments, two of them, were loaded with pictures, articles, and other indicators that they were who they said they were. Their pistols, assault rifles, and explosives were all hidden, well, and they never walked out of their apartment unless they had a camera and backpack in their hands. Underneath their clothes they sometimes had body armor and always had a pistol. Their pistol of choice was the M82A3 Storm, a .45ACP, 12-shot pistol. They could buy ammunition throughout the city for a fraction of the cost that they would pay in Layarteb. If asked why they carried such powerful weapons they only replied, "Dangerous animals. Wild boars. That sort of stuff. We lost a mate a few years back and we haven't forgetten the lesson." The pistols were exported throughout the world, though not widely, but they weren't rare.

Day 1
October 21, 2006 - 12:30 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

Operators from the 13th BOG were out on the town. The four teams, numbered 1 through 4, were positioned in various places around the city, conducting their own brand of reconnaissance. Team 1 was sitting comfortably at a small restaurant about a half mile from their apartment, sipping tea, reading the newspaper, and taking pictures, not of women or buildings, but rather of men walking around with weapons and stern looks on their faces. Team 2 was roving the market, picking up apples and fruits, eating them and paying for them, as they roved, taking mental notes on the amount of gunmen that they saw, being careful not to get too close to them. They took note of what weapons they had, how they held them, what they looked like, and took pictures. Team 3 was taking a stroll through the countryside to the south of the city, looking for fields and labs. They took pictures just as much as the other two teams and were careful not to look too suspicious. Gunmen were all around, armed with CAR-15 Carbines, AK-47 Assault Rifles, Uzis, M14 Assault Rifles, and M16 Assault Rifles. They weren't armed lightly either, carrying multiple clips and fragmentation grenades. To them, it seemed, machette's were standard armament. Lastly, Team 4 was out to sea. They rented a small speed boat and were moving northeast to the Ritchies Archipelago to recon the various islands there. There were over 570 islands and they had to check out a good portion of them albeit, lucky for them, most of them were small and uninhabited except for plants and wildlife.

The weather was a balmy 82.4°F with a relative humidity of 79%, giving a heat index of about 102.2°F. That was uncomfortable heat but for the island natives, who were used to the heat and the humidity it wasn't bad. The 13th BOG members were still getting used to it, after all, they had only been there a few hours. Their goal wasn't to totally blend in with island natives and attempt to be one of them, that was impossible, they all were Hispanic and they could never do that with success. However, their goal was to get used to the climate enough that they wouldn't be fatigued. For them, that would be easier than most places. The island groups were poor, downright poor. All the money was in the hands of the cartel and the rest of the people were poverished. Not many people starved, the cartels ensured that, but the creature comforts of a First World country were non-existent. Air conditioning units didn't exist there, except for the cartel mansions. Roofs leaked whenever it rained and it rained a lot, averaging some 128 inches the year before and already having rained some 98 inches this year. Rain was expected for later that evening and would continue for four days. That was something that they would have to cope with too, long rains. This year was predicting to be rainer than those before and they took that into account, after all, they planned on being there for over three months.

No less than a half an hour into their separate missions, the teams identified more than a hundred gunmen, two fields, and at least three boats, all of them belonging to the cartel. They weren't going to try to infiltrate the cartel or pretend to be members of the Esmeralda Cartel, that would have been too difficult for them and they didn't have the luxury of the time that the task required. Instead, they needed to find out what cartel dominated these islands and just what their ties were to the Esmeralda Cartel and whether or not they had reinforcements elsewhere. Word of mouth was a good task and as journalists, they would ask, carefully, some of the people around them. English wasn't a popular language on the islands but it was spoken, albeit not well. They could speak English if they needed to but they also could speak Hindi, which they had trained for prior to their mission. They still studied the language and some spoke it better than others but none of them were poor enough to not be able to carry on a basic conversation. Most of them could understand it better than they could speak it, which was something that could be slightly beneficial to them.

Five hours into their missions, they expected to have no information at all. However, a lucky break came, and miraculously as well. Team 1, ordering lunch, glanced over at a gunman seated at a table about 10 feet away. They had earpieces fitted into their ears, small enough to be hidden but powerful enough to transmit sound into their ears with precision, as if they were standing right there. One of them had walked past the table and pretended to trip over a loose tile on the floor. In the instance, he dropped a small microphone on the table. The gunman helped him up and eyed him strangely. "Who are you?" He asked, suspiciously, in Hindi.

"I'm a journalist with Layartebian Geographic. My name is Steven Gallahand. Nice to meet you." He stuck out his hand, responding in Hindi.

The man took his hand, "Shaji. Nice to meet you too. Are you here for our plants?"

"I am. They are beautiful."

"Enjoy your stay." He smiled and the Operator returned to the table.

"That was close." He whispered. The microphone began to transmit immediately. Then the second part of the equation began. A Venezuelan businessman, whom they recognized immediately as Hector Rodolfo, a cartel member from Esmeralda, walked over and sat down. "Holy shit. Hector's here. I think this is a good break." The Operator said as he pushed the record button on the receiver. "Let's see what he says." The men shook hands and the gunman began in Hindi.

"I don't understand Hindi. Speak English." Hector returned. He didn't expect them to know Spanish all this way around the world.

"Fine. How was your flight?" The gunman spoke fluent and precise English. He was definitely educated and he carried a CAR-15.

"Long and bumpy. Order me tea." A waiter came over, dressed all in white, a towel around his right arm. He asked, in Hindi, what the two men wanted. They both ordered tea. "Thank you. Now I'm here for coordination of the next shipment. The drug police at home are beginning to lighten up. They're not achieving any of their goals and we're ready for another shipment."

"That's good to hear. We'll have it ready in two and a half weeks."

"Two and a half weeks. That is too long. I need it in twelve days."

"For the price paid it will take nineteen days. If you want it sooner we're going to need more money. We've got handlers to pay."

"How much more are we talking?"

"Fifteen percent more."

"That's mad! I'll pay nothing over seven percent more. We already pay your boss an exorbitant amount of money as it is. Tacking on another fifteen percent, hell another seven percent, is robbery."

"That is the price. We can go as low as twelve but seven is not worth our effort."

"Twelve? Are these golden opium plants? No, no. Nine and it'll be final. We pay in Layartebian Shingrots. You know how valuable that currency is in the world?"

"I am aware and I think nine is still too low but I'm willing to settle at nine and a half." In reality he was only told to ask for six percent more. He would deliver eight percent and keep the other percent and a half for himself. This was no low-level cartel leader, he was high profile and definitely a good capture, if they could nab him. They would follow him and the Venezuelan afterwards. "How does that sound?"

"That is fine." In reality, the Venezuelan had been authorized to go no higher than ten percent. Bringing back a half a percent wasn't much but it would win him good favor. The tea arrived. "Well. Cheers. How have things been here?"

"Quiet."

"Good. The Layartebians do not know of our dealings here. They're still scrambling around in Venezuela, Colombia, and Cuba, trying to put the pieces together. Since Grenada they don't have a clue. They're failing left and right and the people are growing weary of their 'War on Drugs.' That means good news for us. They're going to be cracking down hard but they'll fail. They have little leads and they've exhausted most of their resources. Their counterdrug units are under 24 hour surveillance and we know their every move. We have spies in the government and we won't be caught with our pants down again." Little did he know what was going on there...

OOC If you are thinking about bringing a fleet to the Nicobar Islands, then you sir have got your war.

Day 1
October 21, 2006 - 13:30 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

"Who are those men?" Hector asked quietly. "They don't look like locals."

"I don't know. One of them tripped here. That one. With the glasses." The Operator was looking the other way at the time but could hear on the receiver that he was being tagged. "He said he was from Layartebian Geographic doing some spread on the flora and fauna here. Went by the name Steven Gallahand."

"I'll check them out"

"Yeah do that." The two men stood up and shook hands. They departed their ways and the four men stayed still.

"Eyes on. Pink and Blue. You're on the Venezuelan. Red, you're with me. On the gunman." They left some change and departed the café, picking up the microphone as they left. Quietly and sneakily, they followed the two men as they headed in total opposite directions. The Venezuelan headed deeper into town, possibly towards a hotel or some residence of some sort. The gunman headed out to the south, towards the country, possibly towards his office or something similiar. With their weapons holstered and their fingers itchy to grab them, the men kept tabs on where they walked and they stayed far enough behind the two men that they could duck away at any moment without being seen. The sea of people going into the city helped hide them but it also made it difficult for them to follow the man from as far back so they got closer. The two men following the gunman were not in a sea of people, making it more necessary for them to make themselves scarce. They followed far enough behind that they could see where he went but they were able to hide behind walls and trees and the sort. They passed other gunmen along the way, all of them carrying weapons and eyeing them suspiciously but recognizing them as foreigners and probably journalists by how they were dressed, how much they were sweating, and the camera equipment.

Hector wound up leading the men right to a hotel inside town, next to the post office and hospital. "Alright we've got Hector going into the Port Blair National Hotel."

"Alright. Stay on him Blue."

"Roger that. We're going in." The two men walked into the hotel and smiled at the clerk and concierge, following behind Hector. They walked up to the counter and requested the keys to room 302. They were registered under it and they had lost their keys, they stated. The story checked out and they were handed the keys. In doing so, they noticed the Hector had a call and that he stayed in room 409. They smiled and walked up the stairs, towards the room but veered off at the last minute, heading up towards Hector's room. It was adjacent to room 411 and that was good for them. Using their lock picks, they got into the room and found it to be empty. They were carrying some listening equipment with them, enough to listen into the room. They wouldn't be able to hear everything but they could hear enough, especially if he was talking on the phone. He got on the phone immediately upon noticing that he had a message, the blinking red light on his phone a dead giveaway.

"Sí. Ha hecho. No. Nueve y una mitad. Sí. Creo que no. Es todavía un secreto. ¿Cómo manejan ellos eso? Bueno. No somos puestos. Doce días. Sí. Bueno. Sí. Seré regresado con la carga. Entiendo. Gracias. Bueno adiós." [Yes. It's done. No. Nine and a half. Yes. I don't think so. It's still a secret. How are they handling that? Good. No we're set. Twelve days. Yes. Good. Yes. I'll be coming back with the cargo. I understand. Thank you. Good bye.]

They listened intently to the conversation but it didn't tell them anything new. "He just contacted home."

"Understood. Can you get to him?"

"It'll be tough."

"Alright. If you can." They looked around at the room and realized there was no way in from there. They would have to do this a different way and they walked out of the room and headed towards the service elevator. They were both thinking on the same wavelength and that was to get to the elevator, find a pair of waiter or stewards, take their clothes, and get into the room.

To the south, following the gunman, the two men saw him come to the end of an alley and begin to head into the jungle. He was moving quickly but he wasn't very cautious. He stepped in a mud puddle along the way and paid little attention to the three boys following him, asking him for money. The two Operators followed, now closer because of the dense thicket of the jungle and watched as he moved from clearing to clearing, towards some unseen waypoint in the distance, far in the distance.

OOC If you are thinking about bringing a fleet to the Nicobar Islands, then you sir have got your war.

OOC: Is there something about the Nicobar Islands you have because that is all SafeHaven2 land that is D12.

Day 1
October 21, 2006 - 15:00 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/The%20Timeless%20Age%20of%20Empires/13thsog-01-green.jpghttp://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/The%20Timeless%20Age%20of%20Empires/13thsog-01-yellow.jpghttp://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/The%20Timeless%20Age%20of%20Empires/13thsog-01-red.jpg
http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/The%20Timeless%20Age%20of%20Empires/13thsog-01-pink.jpghttp://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/The%20Timeless%20Age%20of%20Empires/13thsog-01-blue.jpg
Top Row (L to R): Mr. Green (leader), Mr. Yellow, Mr. Red
Bottom Row (L to R): Mr. Pink, Mr. Blue

"Well look what we've got here. That's a pretty house, don't you agree Mr. Red?"

"I do. Quite so. When is Mr. Yellow getting in?"

"Three hours."

"Good. We'll be able to do something then."

"I agree. Until then, we need a recon." The two men quietly moved towards a three story villa that looked more like a mansion than anything else. It was out of place in the countryside of the Andaman Islands and it just screamed "cartel." The two men watched as the sun got lower on the horizon. It would be setting at 16:59, just under two hours away. Solar noon was 11:05 hours and the temperature had dropped slightly since then, a rain storm expected to hit in about three to four hours. The rain would be their friend if they decided to attack. The villa was white, with a bright red roof, possibly made from clay, and it was guarded by no less than twenty armed gunmen, as far as they could see. The gunmen were stationed all around it and the large yard in front of the house. They couldn't see behind it but they could see the guards moving around the yard.

With bionoculars and a keen sense of how to hide, the two men from the 13th SOG were keeping themselves in the shadows of the thickets around the yard. They were about a hundred meters from the actual house and the yard began in about thirty meters. On one side was a muddy river that looked putrid and on the backside was a thick field of coca. "Look at that. Coca." Mr. Red said, eyeing the field. "Get high tonight."

"Yeah. Let's see if we can avoid that area. It's probably loaded with motion sensors. You know how these guys are with their crop."

"You've got it boss. I'd love to just light it afire."

"Me too. In time. Until then, let's get back. We've got a location."

"Yes we do. GPS has us at 11°37'28.03" north and 92°42'15.22" east. We've gone about 1,680 meters in total. Not a bad walk."

"No. Not at all. Let's get back. Mr. Pink. Mr. Pink. What do you have?"

"One unconscious Venezuelan."

"Good. We'll be there in twenty minutes."

"On it boss." Inside the hotel room, Hector sat in his chair, a piece of duct tape on his mouth, his hands restrained to the chair. He was unconscious, for now. When they brought in his "complementary" tea, Mr. Pink hit him hard on the back of the head, knocking him clean out for a few hours. They searched his room and found documents written for him from several Esmeralda Cartel captains. The higher-ups had something in mind for him and it wasn't just buying opium, unrefined. They wanted him to purchase that, approximately 2,400 metric tons of it. However, they wanted him to purchase something else, something much harder to get inside the Empire and significantly harder to smuggle into the Empire. He was to try to acquire 100 surface-to-air missile launchers. Normally this would be a minor threat, considering that over 90% of Layartebian airliners were equipped with infrared jamming and flares but the type that he was to acquire were laser guided. This was much more of a problem. Aircraft were equipped with laser warning receivers just as they were with jammers but the jammers were far less effective and the missiles could be launched and guided at last moment. An infrared missile was guiding towards the aircraft from its launch. Besides being a bastion for the cartel and the drug trade, the black market flourished in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Weapons were some of the most frequently sold items on the black market there. Getting a hundred surface-to-air missiles was going to take time but he had twelve days.

Everything would be transported inside a large container ship, smuggled in with spices. The containers would be search but the smell of the spices would throw off the sense of smell of the drug dogs and the opium would be well disguised within the spices to avoid X-ray scanners. Smuggling in the missiles was going to be much, much harder. That would have to be decided on the way towards Caracas. They already had the officials bribed for the shipment, who knew only that it was something for the cartel. They figured drugs and that was it. They would have no idea that it included missiles as well, which could be used to shoot down both civilian and military aircraft, including helicopters, primarily the helicopters of the 5th SOG, "Marauders."

That was a find and when Mr. Green and Mr. Red arrived at the hotel, to meet up with Mr. Blue and Mr. Pink, the documents were amazing evidence. They eyed the Venezuelan and looked around the room. "Search it?" Mr. Green asked.

"We found on this stuff. He has a pistol too. An M33A2. Not a bad model either, in good condition. He takes care of it."

"Good. That means he's a heavy hitter."

"Yes."

"Well, let's wake him up. Go get the bucket." They put a bucket of ice and icy water over his head, drenching him in the coldest of water possible. He startled a little bit and Mr. Green bent down to look him right in the eyes. He slapped him a few times in the cheeks. "Wake up Hector. There you go. Nice sleep?"

"¡Coño!" [Fuck!]

"¿Cómo se siente que Matón?" [How does that feel Hector?] Hector looked at him and shivered a little bit under the incredibly cold water.

"¿Quién es usted? ¿La policía? ¿DEA? ¿El ejército?" [Who are you? Police? DEA? Military?]

"Somos compradores." [We're buyers.]

"¿Comprar qué? ¿Los secretos y la muerte? ¡PUERCO!" [Buying what? Secrets and death? PIG!] Mr. Green smiled and stood back up, kicking his chair straight over back. He fell backwards and landed hard on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, his head taking another blow on impact. "Son of a bitch that hurt!"

"I'm sorry to hear that. I must have slipped. So what are you doing here Hector? Venezuela is a far way away."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a tourist."

"Tourist of what?"

"I'm on vacation."

"Where's the wife and kids?"

"On the town."

"No luggage."

"It got lost at the airport."

"Likely story. Heroin? You buying heroin for Esmeralda?"

"No."

"Then what about this note. Let me see. 'Buy 2,400 metric tons of our usual product of opium.' That's pretty obvious to me."

"I don't know what that is. You put that there."

"Maybe next time. What about the missiles?"

"You're not police. You're military. You're special forces aren't you?"

"Answer the questions and it gets easier. What are you buying?"

"Nothing. I have nothing to tell you."

"Fine. Mr. Red, hand me the needle."

"You got it boss."

OOC: Is there something about the Nicobar Islands you have because that is all SafeHaven2 land that is D12.

No, but you're too close to me now. And that can not be allowed.

No, but you're too close to me now. And that can not be allowed.

OOC: I own Nauru.

OOC: I own Nauru.

So, and I've had patrols going north and south and around the inernational waters at Nauru for God knows how long. If I felt threatened from there, I'd drop the bomb shell.

Nicobar is a bit more 'closer', in my eyes even if it 'isn't'. It's like the old 'They have WMDs, lets invade.' scenario, even if you aren't planning anything I don't care.

Anyways, once I get my medical problems sorted out I'll be posting. Already planning Hirgizstan's regret.

So, and I've had patrols going north and south and around the inernational waters at Nauru for God knows how long. If I felt threatened from there, I'd drop the bomb shell.

Nicobar is a bit more 'closer', in my eyes even if it 'isn't'. It's like the old 'They have WMDs, lets invade.' scenario, even if you aren't planning anything I don't care.

Anyways, once I get my medical problems sorted out I'll be posting. Already planning Hirgizstan's regret.

OOC: If you insist.

[ooc: *sings* What the world... needs now... is LOVE... SWEET LOVE... *sings*]

[ooc: *sings* What the world... needs now... is LOVE... SWEET LOVE... *sings*]

OOC: Does the Duchy want to assist in the war against the cartel on the Andaman & Nicobar Islands?

OOC: Does the Duchy want to assist in the war against the cartel on the Andaman & Nicobar Islands?

[ooc: The Grand Duchy laments in not being able to respond in character, but were we not already involved in numerous other affairs in India and at home, we would have gladly offered assistance. However, OIS might have something to offer...]

[ooc: The Grand Duchy laments in not being able to respond in character, but were we not already involved in numerous other affairs in India and at home, we would have gladly offered assistance. However, OIS might have something to offer...]

OOC: That works. Let me know. The 13th BOG is still doing the preliminary work.

Roving in international waters in the Indian Ocean, a Cottish Carrier Battle Group sailed, apparently aimlessly, roving around in the triangle area between the Nicobar island group in the north, Madagascar in the west, and Sumatra in the east, patrolling. A small combat air patrol of F-20/B Enforcers and F-25/B Typhoons were in the air while the ships moved relatively slowly through the waters, apparently waiting for something. That something would be revealed soon enough.

OOC: Cot, just FYI, I am still way in the past tense. My Marines haven't even gotten out yet so it will be some time before that happens.

Day 1
October 21, 2006 - 15:45 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

"So. How does that feel? Pinches a little right." Mr. Green stabbed him with a needle that contained a truth serum, Sodium Pentathol. "Now. I'll give that a few minutes."

"Fuck off." He felt weary already but the drug would take a few more minutes to take effect. Sodium Pentathol was a rapid-onset short-acting barbiturate general anesthetic that interferred significantly with judgment and higher cognitive function. It had many uses aside from a truth serum, some of which included to induce comas, euthanasia, and lethal injection. It was a multipurpose drug that, when used in limited amounts, was an excellent truth serum. Hector thought he was going to be beaten or torture but this was quicker and less bloodier. They waited, quietly, talking only to themselves in the process, standing at least a few feet away from him.

"How you feeling?"

"Fuck you." The response took more time to come out and he struggled against the effects of the drugs. "You heard me? Fuck you."

"I heard you. It sounds like you're having some trouble speaking there so we'll just make this simple. Shall we?" He paused, with a smile and began again, "So Hector. Do you work for the Esmeralda Cartel?"

The man struggled, sweat dripping down his face. The drug was quick acting and now he was having a lot of difficulty resisting them. "Nnnnnnnnnnoooooooo." He struggled but he was tough.

"That sounded like you were unsure. We can tell how you lie now. It'll take some resistance."

"No."

"No? No what? You work for the Esmeralda Cartel do you not?"

"I do." He fought and fought but the words came out, slowly and inhibited.

"Good. The heroin. You're here to buy heroin?"

"No."

"No?"

"Unrefined opium."

"You refine it in Venezuela?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I don't know." He struggled.

"You don't sound sure of yourself. Where is the laboratory?"

"I don't know."

"You're sweating a lot. You know we have another drug that can make that a lot worse. It's pretty bad. It's called Beroglide. Ever heard of it?"

"No. No."

"It is a serious depressant. It causes your diaphragm to stop. You suffocate. You know how slow that is?"

"No."

"It's painful. It can take hours. You want that?"

"Nnnn no."

"Good. Where is the lab?"

"Outside San Fernando."

"Where outside?"

"Three miles due south. Exactly south."

"Good. Now. Where are you bringing the drugs?"

"Into Caracas."

"How?"

"Ship. We paid off some officials."

"Who?"

"The dockmaster."

"Which one?"

"José Ruíz."

"Good. Good. What about the missiles?"

"I've been told to buy them."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Mr. Blue. You have the Beroglide?"

"No. No. Stop. Don't."

"Then are you going to answer me?"

"I honestly don't know. I think they are going to shoot down your drug enforcement helicopters."

"Are you sure?"

"No I am not. I don't know where they are going or for what purpose."

"Who paid you get them?"

"Romero..." Romero Castillo was the leader of the Esmeralda Cartel and the biggest boss of the three cartels. He had survived the longest of all of them and he was definitely the richest.

"Do you know who he was buying them for?"

"No."

"You're lying to me again!"

"No. I'm telling the truth." Mr. Green flared up and was ready to punch him right in the gut when Mr. Blue intervened, it was all scripted, more or less.

"I do believe he's telling the truth."

"Yes. Yes. I am."

"Fine. Fine. What else can you tell us. Who runs this island?"

"This chain. It's run by another cartel. They're ruled by a man named Johnathan Blair."

"That isn't a name for these islands is it?"

"No. He's from the mainland."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know. Somewhere on the main island. On Middle Andaman."

"That's a big place."

"He's there."

"What about the guy you met today?"

"Just a contact man. He isn't that high up."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Fine. What else do you know?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. I just buy and ship. I don't know much."

"You better hope you do."

"I do. I don't know much more. I swear."

"Okay. Okay." He lifted the chair up and took another needle out. It would immediately negate the effects of the drug. "Here. This will make you normal again."

"Thank you." Within five minutes the effects of the drug wore off and the man held his head in shame. He had ratted on his men and he would be killed if they found out. He knew it and so did they. "They will kill me now."

"We know. That is why we're going to help you."

"How?"

"Well. You helped us out and now we're going to repay the favor. You finish what you started here. Get what you came to get. Load the ship. It'll get pulled in port."

"And how will that help me?"

"When you are arrested, the DEA will have your name. They will know and when you are brought into jail, like all the others, you will look as if you were captured like them. You will 'die' during interrogation and you will be protected."

"And am I to believe that? We've found men like that before."

"How!"

"We have our spies. Like you have yours."

"And who were they?"

"Paul Hernandez. Mark James. Hector Pimmentel."

"All three of those? Yes I'm familiar with those names. None of them 'died' during interrogation."

"How can you protect me if you can't protect them?"

"You have to trust me."

"You? You just drugged me."

"I did what I had to do to protect my country."

"And I will do what I have to do."

"Then fine. You are a liability to us and we'll kill you ourselves." He pulled his pistol and leveled the barrel to his temple, pulling back the hammer, and releasing the safety. "Are you ready to die now? Or do you want to die in fifty years? You tell me because either way I'll get my mission done."

Day 1
October 21, 2006 - 16:52 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

The gun barrel was colder than the outside air and Hector felt that immediately. The sweat that had dripped from his head and neck during the interrogation was still fresh and went, nowhere near drying. The back of his head throbbed from where he hit the ground when his chair was pushed over and from where he was knocked unconscious. His arm stung a little, from where the needles were pushed and his arms and legs hurt from being taped to the chair. This was, in no way, comfortable, for him. His shirt was darker, soaked in sweat from his colar to his stomach, his pants just as soaked. There was little respit from the heat and the humidity in the hotel and Hector wasn't going to find any with a gun to his head either. "So come on. What will it be? Am I going to have to clean up a horrific mess or are you going to cooperate?" Mr. Green said again, making sure to spit on his face, he was that close to him. "Make up your mind fast. I'll count to three." Hector gave him no answer. "One!" He looked right into his eyes, not a blink to be found in the apartment. Hector flinched and tears swelled up in his eyes. He knew he was going to die. "TWO!" Hector closed his eyes and began to whisper something. "THRE. What? Speak up Hector!"

"I'll do it." He whispered, adding tears to the sweat. "Put the gun down. I'll do it."

"Good choice. I don't like cleaning." Mr. Green relaxed the pistol, disengaged the hammer, and put the safety back on before he put it away. "Untie him."

"But you have to promise me. You have to give me your word that I will be safe and protected."

"I will." He removed his cellular phone from his belt holder and dialed a number. It was a secure phone, one that few people in the Empire had and even fewer people knew about. "This is Snake Doctor. I've got assistance from one Hector Rodolfo. He's going to need protection when we get back. You got it. Thank you." He hung up the phone. "You're safe."

"Who was that?"

"My boss."

"And he is?"

"My boss."

"Who does he answer to?"

"His boss." They cut him loose and he stood up, almost falling over from dehydration. "Get him some water. Sit down. You're dehydrated."

"What proof do I have?"

"My word."

"What does that mean to me? You had a gun to my head."

"You've got to either accept my word or think that I am a fool. I am no fool."

"I get it."

"Good. Now when are you meeting our friend again?"

"Three days. Same place."

"What is going to happen?"

"I'm going to try to ask him to get me the missiles."

"Good. Good."

"Do I have to wear a wire?"

"No. Too obvious. There will be a microphone in place."

"Where?"

"Hidden."

"And it will be sufficient?"

"It will be. How do you think we heard everything you said before?"

"I don't know."

"You do now. Let me make one thing clear though, before we proceed. If you give us away, at all, the least bit, I will not hesitate to kill you myself, but not before I find your wife, your daughter, your son, your brother, his wife, his two daughters, your mother, your sister, her three boys, and your two cousins, Maria and Fernando. When I find them I will make you watch as each one of them chokes on their own blood. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm glad we have that clear. So long as you stay true to your word so too shall I. I have nothing to gain from you dying on me but I have nothing to lose. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now get some rest. You've had a long day." They left the hotel room, careful that they didn't disturb the bugging devices as they left, each and every one of them strategically placed around the room so that no matter where he was, they could hear him, and no matter where he was, they could see him too. He wasn't going to be getting out of this one so easily. He was going to help them or else he was going to suffer.

Day 2
October 22, 2006 - 01:00 hrs [IST]
Port Blair, South Andaman Island

The twenty men of the 13th BOG were all together, preparing to go over the information that each team had found. Team 1 went through their information concerning Hector and the trail of the drug buyer and his villa. Team 2 had counted ninety-seven gunmen in the market and found that weapons were the most frequent items on the tables next to fine spices and rugs. Team 3 had found two marijuana fields, both of them small, and a single opium field, not that large either. They found no labs though. Team 4 had spotted a number of drug ships and pirate boats roving the waters, especially around North Sentinel Island, which was an island of interest.

Now came a waiting game until morning. The twenty men took to sleep and brushed up on some of their language skills and reconnaissance photography. They reported the findings back to their command center on La Tortuga Island off the Venezeulan coast. Command was pleased to hear about the findings and for a first day it was rather impressive. Money wasn't being wasted for this operation at all. Pretty soon Marines would be suiting up on board their task force, stationed in Nauru. The task force, codenamed "Rivers" would consist of a full Amphibious Assault Ready Group, with a division of Marines, two Carrier Battle Groups, and a Carrier Escort Group. The CVBGs and CVEG would be sitting further out to sea, providing support operations. The AARG would be stationed all around the islands, with a full division of Marines for the assault. The Cottish Navy was going to help with the Nicobar Islands, particularly on Car Nicobar, which was going to be leased to them for 99 years for the sum of §2,500,000,000 per year, which would go to providing protection for the island group and for boosting local trade and the economy.

Day 2
October 22, 2006 - 21:00 hrs [IST]
North Sentinel Island

The water was quiet and unusually calm for that night. Tide had come and gone and that meant they would be a little further away from the beach then expected. North Sentinel Island was small, only about 72 km² and home to about 800 people, all inhabitants of the fiercly independent and untouched Sentinelese tribe. They had been left untouched and undisturbed by modern civilization and they knew the island like the back of their hands. That was a disadvantage to the men of the 13th BOG, who were going up against an enemy that was notorious for eating people. The Sentinelese tribe had a lot of rumors and conjecture about them and nobody knew just what to believe. Their beliefs were unknown, their reach limited to just the island. However, they had made a deal with the cartel running the island. The deal revolved around an exchange of services. The cartel would harvest opium on the island, in large scores, and the cartel would protect the island from intruders, especially nature seekers and journalists, primarily what the 13th BOG were pretending to be, even though they meant no harm to the indigenous people.

They were skilled, highly skilled, and any normal enemy would be at the disadvantage, even on their own turf. However, the Sentinelese people were different. They lived on this island for thousands of years and not a single part of the island was left unexplored by them. They survived on their own and they loathed visitors, even the cartel. However, they left the cartels alone for protection, they needed that, especially in this age of photographic and intrusive exploration. In the past eleven years, seventeen journalists had come to the island, none of whom left, none of whom were armed. The 13th BOG would add another ten but they were armed. Teams 1 and 4 were going to hit the island and explore it as best as they could, without being detected. They would use their night vision goggles and keep their rifles shouldered the entire time. Because they needed to remain as unnoticed as possible, they carried cartel weapons, which included AK-47s, AK-74s, and Bizon submachine guns. They hoped that they could blend in and act as "cartel" members but they didn't speak the native language or even the Indian language well enough if they were questioned. This was going to be one dangerous op but they had to see for themselves, they had to make sure that what they were doing was on the correct path and at 21:02 hours, they landed on the shore, weapons in hand, prepared for danger.

OOC: Yeah I apologize. I had this really good, really nice, really awesome RP planned but I think I got over my head on it. I'll continue it at a later time but for now I'm just putting it on hold and ending it. I apologize people but my mind is warped blank on this one...