NationStates Jolt Archive


Discovering a nation-The return of Aust

Aust
14-12-2006, 21:47
OOC: Hey, most of you lot won't reamber me but once upon a time I graced these forums, bringing hell to some modratly size nations and trying to stop wars between the RWC and NATO. Anyway i've decided to return and restart my nation but I'm going to abandon the old plotline and ideas (Aust being based in Antartica for example) Ship the whole place to the jungles of South-East Asia, halve the population and scatter them at random in small villages and start anew anyways...

Aust is now a large but sparly populated nation, with a population of roughly 3 billion scatted in small villages and a few large towns and citys, marooned deep in the jungle. Currently the new democratic goverment is attempting to spread both Christianity and links to the scattered tribesmen and expolit the coutnrys vast natural resocurses, but of course the dense jungle and hostility of the tibesmen makes this hard.

However no doubt you probably want to have a explore and try to steal some of the lands for yourselves and with so much chostline and so few citys/towns of any size you'll be able to land quite easly and start prospecting...

Nowever the natives mgiht not be pleased to see you...

Anyhow, I hearby invite you to join this RP, start your incursions now people!
Siap
14-12-2006, 21:54
OOC: I take it this would be good space for smugglers to hide out in?
Aust
14-12-2006, 22:00
OOC: I take it this would be good space for smugglers to hide out in?

yep
Siap
14-12-2006, 22:02
OOC: Need to step away for a bit, will make an IC post later
Aust
14-12-2006, 22:18
OOC: Need to step away for a bit, will make an IC post later

OOC: okay. I'll be Rping both Aust goverment and the natives
Azazia
14-12-2006, 22:22
no idea if this goes beyond the scope you intended, but if so i can amend it accordingly.

Garrett Newton smiled a broad and pearly-white toothy grin as his ochre-coloured eyes gazed upwards at the flag flapping off the mast in the stiff sea breeze. Unlike the gruff and scruffy men surrounding him under the warm blue skies, Newton exuded the ideals of the Oceanian businessman through the finely woven, white linen suit he wore despite the threat of stains from the diesel fuel and oil and grime and sea spray that so perfectly characterised life at sea.

For the sea was the one unifying element of the Oceanian culture, an amalgam of thoughts and ideas and virtues and vices drawn from northern Europe through to Russia that settled islands populated by Polynesians centuries before their ‘discovery.’ It consisted of hopes and dreams of impoverished peoples throughout the Pacific who had known nothing of peace and prosperity and stability until the arrival of the United Kingdom. It consisted of fear and hatred harboured by those who sought to undermine and reverse their oppression. It was a mishmash that had found its way to near-pristine jungle shores.

Newton hailed from Churchill, a major energy port for the United Kingdom of Oceania, and it was there in an oceanfront café that he had first heard from some Pacific Islanders of lands sparsely populated yet hiding vast resources from the world, resources that the Oceanian economy wanted and needed for its continued growth and expansion. Newton had heard the stories only then to set about in selling his shares in a mid-cap shipping firm to finance an expedition to the very shores that his eyes and smile now beheld.

His ship was an ocean-going survey vessel, formerly owned and maintained by the Royal Navy though saved from the scrap yard by a resale firm that had leased it to Newton. It had set sail with the government’s blessing and two Royal Navy ships, one a small patrol ship and the other a supply vessel primarily tasked with refueling and restocking the small group’s provisions. Aboard the patrol ship, he stood looking at the white ensign flapping in the blue sky while a small launch was being lowered from the supply ship—a helicopter already spinning up its rotors.

Of course, it made no sense for Newton to go to the shore himself as it was simply too risky. Instead, a private security force he had hired was climbing down webbing to the boat, along with them a Royal Marine lieutenant to officially represent His Majesty’s Government in case any natives appeared. With them in the launch traveled an assortment of small arms complementing the Marines own service rifle but most importantly a small gas-powered generator that would provide the energy for the first tents and geological equipment that would be used to survey the unknown lands.

At last, the launch set off from the supply ship escorted overhead by the now airborne helicopter—all in tiptop and speckles shape. For Newton feared that should natives arrive a ragged and rugged-looking crew would be improper to represent the United Kingdom and more importantly himself and his business interests.

On the boat, ocean water sprayed onto the faces of the nine men and one woman. For Henry Birch, it was his first deployment as a Royal Marine and he quietly clasped then released the pistol grip of his rifle his eyes scanning the coastline through the scope situated atop the rifle looking for any sign of anything—he knew not what to expect and unlike Newton was worried of that fact if only because unlike Newton his life was potentially endangered.

The boat finally began to slice through the waves until its reinforced bow landed softly into the wet sand along the beach. He watched with only mild respect as the all-but mercenaries leapt over the side laughing and spitting and striking up their cigarettes and cigars. Birch switched off the safety and made his rifle ready and then steadied his nerves before letting his boots slam and sink into the sand. He brought his rifle up as he caught a movement from the corner of his eye—only to watch a brightly plumed bird sail upwards and then gracefully bank to return into the jungle. He kept his other eye out for other movements while his chapped lips parted to release a small exhalation along with an inaudible mutter, “and so we are off.”
Aust
15-12-2006, 12:56
The people of the Tilwoki tribe had never seen a white man, nor had they ever seen a black man, or any man that wasn’t a member of there tribe. They had no word for stranger or for enemy because they had never been those words. For thousands of years they’d been sealed off from the outside world, protected by Jungle and rivers. You could say that they where a ferial, wild people, little more than savages with untamed hair and primitive weapons.

To call them savage would be wrong of course, they may not wear clothes, and use knifes and forks but they had a strange sense of honor and religion, they didn’t kill people or destroy the environment like some people.

Yet within 5 minutes that’s all going to change…


Deep in the jungle of Aust

The boys name was Tincalic, but we’ll just call him Tin for now. He was crawling over the deep undergrowth of the jungle floor on his belly keeping his breath quiet and shallow, his skin covered in paints the Shaman had made to hide him from his enemy.

In his left hand he gripped a spear, in his right a bow and a quiver of arrows was thrown over his back. He was sweating with excitement, ahead of him lay a Puma asleep. He had spotted it a hour ago, and had trailed it since the, abandoning his hunt for food. The honor would be his if he could kill the beast and take it’s corpse back to the village. No one in the village had ever killed a puma, at least no one alive, and the feats of those who had, long dead now, where ingrained in myth. If he killed it then the Shaman would sing the Ballard of Tincalic and the Puma.

He crept ever closer, before finally darting into the cover of a bush. The Puma didn’t stir as he pulled out his bow and knocked his best arrow. He took careful aim, light wind from right to left, he adjusted his aim carefully and then it was perfect.

He let the string go and watched as the arrow went unerringly towards the beasts throat, then a breath of wind caught it and it sailed slightly to the left, missing the throat and embedding itself in the beasts neck. The big cat roared and rose it it’s feet in pain, trying to bite the barb that had pieced it’s skin. It finally managed to rip the stick off, leaving the head in it’s fur.

Tin knocked another arrow and let fly, this one his the beast in the neck again. It roared and charged towards him, covering the ground remarkably quickly. Tin crouched and readied the spear and the beast leapt into the bush, straight onto the spear end, running itself through on the blade through the sheer force of it’s jump. Tin knew that if the cat had hit him, he’d be dead, killed by the sheer force of the blow.

The creature was dying now, it’s chest heaving and blood spurting from the mortal wound. It lashed out at Tin, slashing open his chest and leaving 4 claw marks that would eventually turn to scars. He’d been lucky that the Puma had been weakened, if it had been at full strength that blow would have cut him in two. Still he yelled at the searing pain and leapt back, blood spilling down his naked body.

“Bastard!” he roared at the beast and the beast roared back, desperately trying to reach him, it’s life’s blood pooling around the ground as it crawled forwards. Tin kept stepping back, knowing that he just had to stay out of the beasts reach was as it became weaker and weaker and slower and slower. Finally it stopped, shuddered and died, a trail of blood marking it’s long, slow, agonizing crawl towards it’s killer. Blood mattered it’s fur and the spear kept it’s head upright, it still looked proud and dangerous even in death. At first Tin was afraid to approach it, fearing that it would spring back to life and kill him.

Finally he summoned the courage to approach it once more, marveling at its sleek and graceful body, how to get it home was the question. He felt light headed from the loss of blood and when he tried to drag the thing it simply proved too heavy even to move an inch. Wondering what to do no he decided not to take the body with him but to simply bring the animals head, to show his achievement. If the Shaman wanted the body they would return to bring it back.

How to cut the head off was another problem. Arrowheads where too small while his spearhead was buried deep inside the Pumas innards. He heaved at the spear shaft but only succeeded in breaking it off He had no choice now. He crawled towards the thing and pushed it onto its side, the spears entry point clearly visible. He closed his eyes and reached into the hole, his hands imminently drenched with gore. He took a firm grip on the remaining shaft and heaved on it, the suction of the flesh giving strong resistance to his efforts, finally with a squelch the flesh gave and the spearhead and shaft came out with a flood of fresh blood which poured over Tin.

Blood splattered he now reached for the head and slowly cut at it, using the razor sharp spearhead like a knife, it took him nearly an hour but finally his could pull the head away from the body. It was surprisingly heavy, and exhausted he hauled it away from the body, carrying it upside down with both hands.

Feeling thirsty from his endeavors he cut his way through the deep jungle, carrying the head with him, till he reached a well trodden path that lead down towards the beach and the river. The water there was cleaner and safe than in any other part of the river so once he reached there Tin dived in, leaving the head by the wayside, desperately trying to wash himself of the blood and the muck.

He must have been in the water for half and hour when the birds took off, a good half dozen of them including one with a magnificent plumage. Tin fell still and began to tread water, listening to the still air. Then he heard them, the horse voices unlike any that he had heard before, coming from the sea.

Slowly Tin crawled up the rivers sandy banks, taking care to move slowly and stealthily. Then, having reached the top of the banking he saw it, a great silver thing that floated the waters offshore. It was too big to be one of his peoples canoes, and besides, it was too choppy to sail out there, so Tin settled down to watch it. There seemed to be creatures on top of it, moving and wandering about, but surely there shouts could not travel so far.

Of course, due the beaches hilly nature, tin still hadn’t seen the dingy that had pulled into the shoreline.
Azazia
15-12-2006, 15:43
It took little more than a simple push and a change in the angle of a wrist before the utility helicopter dipped its nose. As it did so contra-rotating propellers pushed humid tropical air down, the wash over the blades generating lift and the tilt forcing the air away at an angle, allowing the small helicopter to ease forward over the beaches. The pilot, a member of the Fleet Air Arm, took the helicopter down the pristine sands until he reached what he had seen some distance away owing to his altitude, a small river that potentially offered potable water for any workers or settlers. And then he saw him, at altitude a speck but a speck of man no less. The wash from the rotors sent ripples through the sand likes ripples in a pond while the man’s hair fluttered. Remembering the briefing that natives could potentially be rather primitive he pulled his helicopter up to reduce the wash and then eased it backwards so that as he radioed the individual’s position he could keep an eye on the individual.

Lieutenant Birch watched the mercenaries closely as they began to spread out into the jungle, each of them separated by several metres and yet still tethered to each other through an ear-piece radio. One, a woman with thick upper arms and calves, stood motionless, a cold testament to what was likely some sort of military training. As the individual responsible for the security of the launch itself, Birch stretched out his arms while his rifle fell back against his chest. He threw his helmet into the launch and dug out his crimson beret adorned with the seal of the Royal Marines. Supposedly, studies conducted by the Royal Navy indicated that berets were less-threatening than helmets. Birch simply thought the helmet unbearable in the sufferable heat and humidity.

Then a sharp crackle reverberated in his ear, the voice of the pilot of the helicopter hovering a few hundred metres down the beach. Although not able to transmit to the pilot, Birch had been given permission to listen in to the pilot’s reports in order to facilitate his task and the potential threat of an unknown individual down the ways suddenly bearing fruit made Birch grateful for that decision.

Feeling exposed out on the naked beach, Birch dropped to a single knee and brought his rifle up, looking for the river mentioned by the pilot through his scope. Behind him, the woman mercenary brought a hand to her forehead to shield her vision from the glare of the sun, occasionally throwing curious, wondering glances towards the Marine.

Unfortunately a hill blocked his line of sight and Birch could see little more than dancing swirls of sand. He stood and turned to face the mercenary, “reports of a contact down the beach, I will return shortly,” he said crisply and cleanly to which the mercenary simply grunted. Birch kept his rifle ready, the bullpup’s barrel intentionally pointed down towards the sand in a non-threatening fashion while his eyes scanned the tree line for any and everything.

At sea, Newton had finally returned to his cabin, painted and decorated as an escape from his new-found dreary life at sea. Taped to the bulkhead a simple map of the region, although the heavy vegetation prevented any real images of the ground—with the exception of a few clearings thought by some of his geographers to be indications of human settlements. He leaned back into a leather office chair he had managed to bring aboard and pulled from his desk a series of documents highlighting the potential value of the land, even if as just a resource for timber.

For in truth, nobody Newton had spoken to back in Churchill had known what exact resources lay in abundance in this foreign jungle. They had simply known of resources, perhaps the jungles hid precious metals and gems like platinum or diamond, or perhaps minerals like aluminum and titanium, or even just commodities like spices and such. Perhaps, Newton feared, he had landed where nothing existed but trees. As the ship’s captain pushed open the door and informed Newton of the spotting of an individual, the enterprising investor grew a broad smile. Nobody settled anywhere without reason.

On the beaches, the mercenaries began to push deeper into the jungle, two men stumbling upon tracks, large tracks from some sort of large game. They exchanged looks and set about in silence to try and hunt down something that could make them rich. Now hundreds of metres away, Birch ascended one dune to stop before reaching the crest and then to scan the next hill, atop which he found the person in question. He crouched down behind the protection of the dune for a moment trying to figure out what to say before he rose and gave a shrill whistle to get the individual’s attention.

“Hello there, I am Lieutenant Henry Birch, Lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Marines, Essington Regiment.” He followed up by waving a hand only then to realize that, in all likelihood, the individual did not know a single word of English, “bloody hell,” he finally muttered to himself.
Aust
15-12-2006, 16:13
Tin had been lying inthe sand for almost an hour. I was an old hunting technique that his people had perfected over many a long melenia. You lay as still as possable adn watched, and slowly you would become part of the enviroment to the animals.

Earlier a giant black brid had overflown the jungle but Tin had ingored that. People couldn't fly, and it didn't seem to be a threat. Besides such birds had flown over the village and the jungle before without any harm.

To his left Dinh heard a trickle of sand down the dune, but had already checked over that hill and had seen no animals so more likley it was the strong wind distrubing the grains. Then he heard the breathing.

It was close, maybe ten meters or so away on the other side of the dune, and evidently it's owner was climbing the dune. Tin slwoly backed away down the river bank, leaving the puma head where it lay. Obviously the man didn't know he was here so if he hid his body in the banks contures he could probably watch without being spotted. People can be incredably unobservent at times nad often a mans head is mistaken for a small bush or a clump of weeds.

Tin had just finished his move when the man came over the dune, he was unlike any man Tin had seen before, tall and...pale? Tin had never heard of such a creature, but there he was, with a long stick in his hands and a red thing on his head. This man must be a shaman of some sort so Tin watched to see what he dead. Once he was gone Tin would return to his people adn report what he had seen.

But the man seemed to know he was here, against all the odds. He looked directly at Tin and began to speak. Tin just stared as a chorus of random sylables came out of the mans motuh.

Then he ran.
Southeastasia
15-12-2006, 16:17
[OOC: Where in specific and particularly in East Asia are you now based in Aust? Be very concise on where it is please....just curious, that's all.]
Aust
15-12-2006, 16:39
OOC:I'm think the Vietnamise/Thailand sort of area
Aust
15-12-2006, 19:49
Bump
Gaxiton
15-12-2006, 20:03
OOC: Sure, I'll join.

Major Eric J. Huntson, along with a squad of seven other Gaxiton SpecOp soldiers, servayed the area. They had just landed on a beach located in the nation of Aust and, so far, had not encountered any resistance. Their orders where to secure a small section of the beach until the main force arrived to sweep through the area and establish a point of entry for the small invasion force Gaxiton was sending in. The Major looked around and smiled to himself. This was going to be a walk in the park.
Azazia
15-12-2006, 20:57
When the man darted, Birch jumped backwards a bit in surprise not having expected such a reaction. Quickly composing himself, he scrambled up the dune and, after sweeping through to make certain no trap had been laid, moved on to the hill that the man had just occupied. Reaching the top of the second hill, Birch once more performed a check of his surroundings.

With his rifle buttressed against his shoulder, the lieutenant let a free hand move to the scope, switching from its digital optical setting to a thermal setting that would highlight the warm body of a human against the cool, shaded jungle floor and its flowing water. And so, as the native ran and ducked and weaved, Birch saw it all—though he stopped as he reached the tree line, fearing to rush into some elaborate native trap or ambush. Instead he lowered his rifle once more to a non-threatening position and headed back down to the beach to make his way back to the launch.

Deep inside the foliage of the jungle, the two mercenaries that had been tracking some large game worked their way to a small wading pool where they stumbled upon a large cat, sleeping in the shade of a large fern. With a much more marked degree of efficiency than the natives they had not yet seen, both sent rifle rounds into the animal. The rapport of the rifles cracking the life of the jungle in half, spooking birds and beast and sending them to flight while the puma itself roared mightily in defiance before dying. After a few minutes, they made their way over to the dead animal and whipped out digital cameras with which they took pictures of their prey. And while the two did try to lift the beast to drag it back to the landing zone they found it too heavy and so left it to rot in the jungle.

Aboard the supply ship HMS Abundance, a brown-headed middle-aged man stood along the rails near the bow, watching through puffs of smoke from his pipe as another launch got underway with scientists and geographers and some more mercenaries. The first launch had returned with four mercenaries and Lieutenant Birch, the ablest officer under his command and so when the young lieutenant announced his arrival from behind Captain Wallace James back it came of no surprise to the officer.

“And so what do you make of this land, lieutenant,” James asked without turning around.

“Sir, I am worried about the security of the civilian personnel and I would recommend the deployment of ground forces to secure the full perimeter immediately.”

James slowly turned, letting the small of his back rest upon the cold rail damp from the salt water. “And why do you say that, lieutenant? The quick brief I received while you were en route indicated nothing of a significant enemy presence just a single individual and that barely seems a threat to me.” The man stroked his bushy mustache so oddly out of place in modern times, using his hand to conceal a wry grin.

Birch shook his head, “if I may speak freely, sir?” After James nodded, Birch continued. “Sir, if there is one native there are likely to be more, at least enough within one day’s travel of our landing zone. And I think it safe to say that no matter my intentions I did very much spook the lad and that fear could turn into a fanatical movement to defend this land from… well… us, sir.”

At last, James burst out into a roaring laughter. “Relax, lieutenant, I agree entirely. Unfortunately there are a few logistical problems with your recommendation about securing the camp’s perimeter. Primarily, there are not enough marines under my command. Have you ever heard of the Abercordensa massacre?”

“No, sir.”

“Our colony in Abercordensa, when founded, consisted of a small fortified island in the midst of a deep and navigable river, when we started to expand and scout for new areas of expansion, the Royal Marines were tasked to explore the surrounding jungles. And so they did until they extended their lines too far and natives armed with blow-darts and spears ambushed various squads and assaulted the city itself. In the end, of course, we crushed the natives—but the havoc and interruptions plagued the colony for years and forced much of the capital invested to be diverted to security, rather than infrastructure, upgrades. I fear that if we begin to send out all the men and women onboard the Abundance to secure the perimeter we will leave not only the camp undefended but also these ships.”

Birch let the redress sink in before finding a response. “Then what shall you have my men do, sir?”

“Go find this native and his people and establish a dialogue. You will not, of course, be able to literally communicate but I should hope a common language or set of symbols can be found with which both parties can begin to communicate. So take your troop down to the beachhead and with one section in reserve, begin to move down that river until you find some natives.”

An hour later, Birch returned to the beach, this time with nearly 40 people, almost a third of the total number of Royal Marines detached for the operation. At the river where Birch had first spotted the native, the lieutenant established his weapons section with its 60mm mortars, though detaching its machine gunners to move with him and two of his three rifle sections upriver. The third rifle section Birch split up between guarding his mortars and supplies as well as the geologists and geographers now working on the beach. In that capacity, they remained seconded to Newton’s mercenaries.

Slowly but surely, the two reinforced rifle sections began to move upriver, keeping eyes and ears out for any movement or noise. Birch kept his men alert through their use of the thermal scopes, knowing that should the natives be preparing an ambush their camouflage would only work on a visual level—not thermal. And so the men moved forward, quietly and carefully making their way through a foreign jungle hoping to find someone or something that not even Birch knew how to identify.
Aust
16-12-2006, 11:17
Tin ran and ran and ran, scuttling alone the forest paths that led to his home. It was a good 5 miles run but he completed it swiftly, avoiding the deepest parts of the jungle and skirting round the dangerious parts where the lairs of verious preditors where.

Finally he tumbled into the ring that surrounded the village. A rough wooden stockade surrounded the main buildings, which itself was surrounded by scorched land. The village had onyl recently been established on this site and within 4 years they would move again, but for now it stayed.

People stared at him as he ran in, wodnering what his hurry was about. He burst into the main hall via the womens entrence, not bothering to pay any attenion to conventional protocol and then through the bamboo awning that blocked the single women and married quaters. In the center of the room, sat the Shaman and the Cheif with several of the men of the tribe. They where deepin discussion, though they all looked up as he came in.

The Shman raised one eyebrow inquistivly and Tin began to explain what he had scene. He told of the fight with the puma, how he had watched the silver floating thing, about the giant black bird and finally the strange, pale man. The Shaman nodded slowly and then began to peak in his dark voice.

"Thank you Tincalic. Today you have rpoved both your valour and your skill. However we already knew about these monsters of which you speak. A few of them with firesticks are already heading towards the villages. They are Demogi, evil spirts of the Savanna which our ancestors feld long ago. That is the lore" All present bowed there heads at the invoking of the aincent stories.

"No doubt the Ar-Pien, the spirts of our ancestors, will come to defend us in time but we should not rely on them. We must deal with these devils that are advancing upon our sacred home first and foremost, lso I shall send a group of our finest hunters to find these devils adn deamons and destroy them. That is the lore." Again all present bowed and prepared to move out.

They covered themselves with thick green dyes for camorflarge, painting every part of there bodies green, they armed themselves with blowsticks and spears and arrows and flint armed mantraps which they would use to pin an enermy in place before they killed him.

They would attack once and then disappear into the jungles darkness to attack again and let the devils bludner onto the traps that had been set all around then. For that was the lore and that was how it would be done. The devils would die.

-----------------------
Sigon City-Aust

The real state of Aust was one of many city states, each controling a vast amount of jungle that lay outside the city walls. Reliant on foreign imports for food and exporting Austs vast iron and gold resources in return each city survived almost inderpendently, bound together by a loose confederacy.

Sigon ciy was the second largest, hoem to almost a billion people, it was active in trying to cultivated the jungle though most of it's populances worked in the sewrvice industry for foreign tourists who came to see the maginifcent jungles and sample the local people, well the local women anyway.

However this women had never sold herself, probably because shes the daughter of the president. Currently she works in Police department, which is mainly concerned with stopping illigal immigration and preventing foreign powers landing on Aust and destrubing the natives.

She's just had a report from one of the patrol boats of a ship and a helicopter docking in Anchor bay, about 150 miles south of Sigon. She stares at the report, trying to asses it's significance. "Probably smugglers" she mutters under her breath before commisioning a half dozen patrol boats to go and intercept the ship.
Independent Hitmen
16-12-2006, 11:31
OOC: Welcome back Aust....remember me?? hehehe, invasion!! Anyway I'll put some form of IC post up soon :)
Jenrak
16-12-2006, 15:50
OOC: Welcome back Aust. I'm looking forward to seeing to role play with you once more. It's most likely me sending a group of missionaries to attempt a conversion of your people, most likely, as that is all I seem to be doing these days.
Azazia
16-12-2006, 18:10
To a sudden snap, Birch motioned for his troop to drop and bring rifles to bear. The men waited anxiously, until one pointed to a tree and a primate hanging delicately from a branch. While in a defensible position, Birch ordered his laptop brought out—and used it to link up with the helicopter hovering above. It had returned to the ship to refuel and more importantly, re-equip itself to better support the Royal Marines on the ground with the pod now hanging securely off one wing stub.

As packets of information streamed between the two computer systems, Birch quickly read the visuals appearing on the screen—a detailed topographic map provided by the helicopter’s terrain-mapping radar. He could see the river and the hills though the canopy layer and clusters of objects that could very well be a settlement of sorts, or just a cluster or rocks and things. On the computer’s secure network, he sent a brief query to his mortar teams to make certain they too had received the updated maps should their assistance be required and when they responded affirmatively Birch transferred the map to his small handheld device and closed the laptop computer. He chopped his hand forward and two riflemen moved out to take point.

At sea, Newton paced anxiously on the forecastle, his eyes desperately—but futilely—attempting to see the progress being made upon the beach. His scientists had now been at work for nearly an hour and still no word on preliminary reports even being made ready. He wanted if not needed the results and his pacing simply quickened to the chagrin of the ship’s crew performing daily maintenance on the ship’s 20mm mounts. After some time with no word, the investor stormed back into the superstructure to find his staff milling about in their wardroom.

“What news have you for me?” he asked plaintively.

“None yet, Mr. Newton.”

“Well why the bloody hell not?”

Newton’s sudden shout startled a few of the people in the room, but an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a round belly took the vexed investor to the side, wrapping a large hand around his shoulders. “Sir, with due respect we need a lot more time than a few hours. The only samples we have thus far are a few rocks and grains of sand. And even those will require some time to analyse.”

“How much time?”

“Give us at least half a day, Mr. Newton.”

Further out from the coast, a tall, gaunt man with jet-black hair hidden neatly behind a pristine white officer’s cap stood with hands upon a railing looking out towards the calm Pacific seas. Thomas Pittney loved the sea, and always had since his childhood days of sailing with his parents off the coast of Queensbury. He had joined the Royal Navy shortly before the start of the war with Novikov and so had served as a navigation officer on a cruiser throughout the duration of the conflict. He now had his own command, a guided missile frigate tasked with protecting the colonisation enterprise of Mr. Garret Newton—he shuddered every time he thought of the man.

Pittney enjoyed the bright, warm sun on his face while a cool breeze prevented him from feeling excessively hot. Nonetheless, the furrows on his brow hinted at the worry that lay behind his otherwise stoic face. Pittney was no fool and was well aware of his situation and how untenable it would become if threatened by a naval force. Of course, he had been promised reinforcements—but with the sudden surge of violence in the UK’s other colonies, that small force had been delayed for a week at the earliest.

The only solace in his situation was the capabilities presented by his ship’s design. The HMS Cutlass was one of the Royal Navy’s newest frigates, equipped for a more general-purpose role than her predecessors. Her primary weapons against seaborne targets were 16 anti-ship missiles and a 90mm rapid-fire gun. Against aircraft 32 surface-to-air missiles and for ASW work some 24 torpedoes, a helicopter, and then three more unmanned combat drones for good measure. Yet none of them were of any value without his crew, which was itself largely green. Some of his junior officers had served in the war and a few senior non-commissioned officers had seen some action as well—but the vast majority for the 144-person crew had never before seen combat outside of the films and the simulators.

Unbeknownst to Pittney, however, the Royal Navy had been attempting to provide some support—mostly through the use of the Office of Royal Navy Intelligence and their network of surveillance satellites, one of which had been tasked to long-range identification of potential threats to the small group of ships. And so as the ships set sail out of Sigon City, it would be mere minutes before those images were relayed to Pittney and his crew.
Zackaroth
16-12-2006, 18:47
Christian Borne sat on the deck sleeping with a newspaper over his face. He slept soundly as his medium size boat sailed through the water. Hard to believe this guy was once apart of Zackaroth's special forces. He had retired quite awhile ago. He wanted to try something new so he went on the Zackarothian Explorers League. He decided to explore some uncharted land in the East Asia area.

He brought a team of 4 with him. Harold Franko was the first to sign up. He was a rookie and was planning to go into the military soon after his membership expired in the club. The second was George Bader. He was the younger brother of one of the men Christian had worked with and was happy to let him on board. Next guy was just called Ol' Steve. Like his named implied he was a bit aged in his mid 50s. He served in the navy for awhile and was injured during the war between Zackaroth and Von Strangaild. Even though he was honorably discharged he still wanted to prove his worth and went along with Christians gang.

" Land up ahead! Infact I think I see another boat!" said Harold as he peered through his binocluars. Christian woke up grumbling. If another boat was here it meant some one had already found this land. He thought about turning back and heading home but they where running out of supplies and and most likely couldn't make the trip back.

" Keep going. We need supplies for the trip home. Contact them and tell them we are coming on shore " Christian said getting up, yawning, and went into the cabin.
Praetonia
16-12-2006, 19:33
The ships had come in the night. Five destroyers and a cruiser protecting a large merchantman were anchored just 3 miles out to sea. The ships were some way up the coast from the Oceanans and, obscured by the surrounding clutter, could not see the foreign vessels. The cruiser was the PWS Harrington, a Town-class vessel of the Imperial Navy. The destroyers and the merchantman, however, were property of the Royal Aust Trading Company, an entity created by the Confederation of Praetonian Industry and granted a Royal Monopoly on the exploration of the newly discovered land. The monopoly was granted ostensibly because His Majesty's Government had confidence in the CPI to do the best job at exploring the new land, but in reality it was to ensure that the newly carved out territory would become the legal property of the Crown and not that of the Free Trade Congress.

Still obscured by the encroaching darkness, eighty marines were launched in rigid electric boats towards the shore. The little moonlight there was glinted off of the fixed bayonets of the marines. They could see only by their IR goggles, and hoped to be able to establish a camp before they were noticed by prying foreign eyes. The engines were almost silent, and the only evidence of landing came when each boat hit the beach with a dull thump.

In the first boat to land, the commander of the expedition's marine force, Lieutenant-Colonel George Richmond, led the 18 marines from his boat silently towards the tree-line. All he could hear apart from the noise of the jungle up ahead was the dull crunching sound his mens' boots made as they compressed the loose sand beneath their feet. In a few minutes he had reached the treeline and could hear more boots to the right and left of his position moving up. His men lay prone with their rifles readied, scanning the jungle left and right for any signs of movement. Nothing.

He heard another four dull thumps, more foot steps, and then the shuffling noise of people hurriedly assembling tents. Over the next two hours, a petrol generator was assembled, a satellite phone was set up, two tonnes of supplies were moved into a small flat-packed warehouse and twenty tents were set up. George looked at his watch: another three hours until dawn. That should be more than enough. Some of the soldiers were now moving out into the jungle to scout out the local terrain, and establish a good site to build an initial perimeter.

As the sun began to rise, an encampment appeared, as if from nowhere, surrounded by sandbags and guarded by dozens of armed marines. The petrol generator thundered to life and a helicopter flew over the untouched jungle. Larger landing ships were being prepared, loaded with more supplies and people from the merchantman. The jungle may have remained as it was for tens of thousands of years, but it was changing fast, and it would never be the same way again.
Aust
16-12-2006, 21:59
To a sudden snap, Birch motioned for his troop to drop and bring rifles to bear. The men waited anxiously, until one pointed to a tree and a primate hanging delicately from a branch. While in a defensible position, Birch ordered his laptop brought out—and used it to link up with the helicopter hovering above. It had returned to the ship to refuel and more importantly, re-equip itself to better support the Royal Marines on the ground with the pod now hanging securely off one wing stub.

As packets of information streamed between the two computer systems, Birch quickly read the visuals appearing on the screen—a detailed topographic map provided by the helicopter’s terrain-mapping radar. He could see the river and the hills though the canopy layer and clusters of objects that could very well be a settlement of sorts, or just a cluster or rocks and things. On the computer’s secure network, he sent a brief query to his mortar teams to make certain they too had received the updated maps should their assistance be required and when they responded affirmatively Birch transferred the map to his small handheld device and closed the laptop computer. He chopped his hand forward and two riflemen moved out to take point.

At sea, Newton paced anxiously on the forecastle, his eyes desperately—but futilely—attempting to see the progress being made upon the beach. His scientists had now been at work for nearly an hour and still no word on preliminary reports even being made ready. He wanted if not needed the results and his pacing simply quickened to the chagrin of the ship’s crew performing daily maintenance on the ship’s 20mm mounts. After some time with no word, the investor stormed back into the superstructure to find his staff milling about in their wardroom.

“What news have you for me?” he asked plaintively.

“None yet, Mr. Newton.”

“Well why the bloody hell not?”

Newton’s sudden shout startled a few of the people in the room, but an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a round belly took the vexed investor to the side, wrapping a large hand around his shoulders. “Sir, with due respect we need a lot more time than a few hours. The only samples we have thus far are a few rocks and grains of sand. And even those will require some time to analyse.”

“How much time?”

“Give us at least half a day, Mr. Newton.”

Further out from the coast, a tall, gaunt man with jet-black hair hidden neatly behind a pristine white officer’s cap stood with hands upon a railing looking out towards the calm Pacific seas. Thomas Pittney loved the sea, and always had since his childhood days of sailing with his parents off the coast of Queensbury. He had joined the Royal Navy shortly before the start of the war with Novikov and so had served as a navigation officer on a cruiser throughout the duration of the conflict. He now had his own command, a guided missile frigate tasked with protecting the colonisation enterprise of Mr. Garret Newton—he shuddered every time he thought of the man.

Pittney enjoyed the bright, warm sun on his face while a cool breeze prevented him from feeling excessively hot. Nonetheless, the furrows on his brow hinted at the worry that lay behind his otherwise stoic face. Pittney was no fool and was well aware of his situation and how untenable it would become if threatened by a naval force. Of course, he had been promised reinforcements—but with the sudden surge of violence in the UK’s other colonies, that small force had been delayed for a week at the earliest.

The only solace in his situation was the capabilities presented by his ship’s design. The HMS Cutlass was one of the Royal Navy’s newest frigates, equipped for a more general-purpose role than her predecessors. Her primary weapons against seaborne targets were 16 anti-ship missiles and a 90mm rapid-fire gun. Against aircraft 32 surface-to-air missiles and for ASW work some 24 torpedoes, a helicopter, and then three more unmanned combat drones for good measure. Yet none of them were of any value without his crew, which was itself largely green. Some of his junior officers had served in the war and a few senior non-commissioned officers had seen some action as well—but the vast majority for the 144-person crew had never before seen combat outside of the films and the simulators.

Unbeknownst to Pittney, however, the Royal Navy had been attempting to provide some support—mostly through the use of the Office of Royal Navy Intelligence and their network of surveillance satellites, one of which had been tasked to long-range identification of potential threats to the small group of ships. And so as the ships set sail out of Sigon City, it would be mere minutes before those images were relayed to Pittney and his crew.

OOC: Hey, Hitman, havn't seen you about for a long, long time, sicne the Antraatica war in fact. You too jerak.


IC: The ships sped over the water, they wehre not large vessels, just two decks with a 30mm cannon on the cabin and another two 10mm cannons on the upper, but they wehre quick and manourverable, and used to dealing with the smugglers and the pirets that infested Austian waters. They quickly closed the distances between themselves and the smugglers ship, eating up the miles in quick sucession.

-------------------------
Ti-Quali, cheiften and war leader of the Tilwoki tribe crouched in the upper foliage of the jungle, invisbale to the naked eye. In his hand he held a bloepipe with which he was deadly accurate. To the tree to each side of him other members of his group-10 in all with another dozen on the ground- waited for there enermy. They ahd spent the last 2 hours preparing this amush, setting traps to surround the area with flint stakes caltrops speared in deadly poision, crude tripwires and other such impliments of pain. Now they just had to wait for there enermy.

The scout had just returned, silently appearing out of the bush. The devils where still ehading this way he reported, though they had stopped to mess about with a silver chair of some sort and they where being very caucious. They had stopped at the slightest mistake from the scout, but they wehre still heading in a roughly straight line, and even if they diviated from the ppath that they would soon come across then Ti-Quali had made sure that plenty of traps awaited them. Indeed, he had sent another group of worriors to set traps on the devils route back to the boat, just in case they escaped the ambush.
Aust
16-12-2006, 22:05
The ships had come in the night. Five destroyers and a cruiser protecting a large merchantman were anchored just 3 miles out to sea. The ships were some way up the coast from the Oceanans and, obscured by the surrounding clutter, could not see the foreign vessels. The cruiser was the PWS Harrington, a Town-class vessel of the Imperial Navy. The destroyers and the merchantman, however, were property of the Royal Aust Trading Company, an entity created by the Confederation of Praetonian Industry and granted a Royal Monopoly on the exploration of the newly discovered land. The monopoly was granted ostensibly because His Majesty's Government had confidence in the CPI to do the best job at exploring the new land, but in reality it was to ensure that the newly carved out territory would become the legal property of the Crown and not that of the Free Trade Congress.

Still obscured by the encroaching darkness, eighty marines were launched in rigid electric boats towards the shore. The little moonlight there was glinted off of the fixed bayonets of the marines. They could see only by their IR goggles, and hoped to be able to establish a camp before they were noticed by prying foreign eyes. The engines were almost silent, and the only evidence of landing came when each boat hit the beach with a dull thump.

In the first boat to land, the commander of the expedition's marine force, Lieutenant-Colonel George Richmond, led the 18 marines from his boat silently towards the tree-line. All he could hear apart from the noise of the jungle up ahead was the dull crunching sound his mens' boots made as they compressed the loose sand beneath their feet. In a few minutes he had reached the treeline and could hear more boots to the right and left of his position moving up. His men lay prone with their rifles readied, scanning the jungle left and right for any signs of movement. Nothing.

He heard another four dull thumps, more foot steps, and then the shuffling noise of people hurriedly assembling tents. Over the next two hours, a petrol generator was assembled, a satellite phone was set up, two tonnes of supplies were moved into a small flat-packed warehouse and twenty tents were set up. George looked at his watch: another three hours until dawn. That should be more than enough. Some of the soldiers were now moving out into the jungle to scout out the local terrain, and establish a good site to build an initial perimeter.

As the sun began to rise, an encampment appeared, as if from nowhere, surrounded by sandbags and guarded by dozens of armed marines. The petrol generator thundered to life and a helicopter flew over the untouched jungle. Larger landing ships were being prepared, loaded with more supplies and people from the merchantman. The jungle may have remained as it was for tens of thousands of years, but it was changing fast, and it would never be the same way again.

Fortuntly for the native people of Aust the Praetonians had landed away from the villages on a neglected strech of coastline near the Twlsi River, but there arrival was not unoticed. A Austian helicopter, lauched from the nearest city, that of Bambinio, was currently winging it's way towards them, eager to scout out what was obviously a strong incursion by some sort of force.

OOC: Sorry there no ponger posts guys, but I don't have the time right now, I'll try to post mroe later. Zackaroth, I'm presuming your sighting Azazia's forces, so I'll let you too talk to each other.

Thanks guys, Praetonia, whens the next NS general election
Azazia
17-12-2006, 01:31
Birch held up a hand, stopping the remainder of his troop when his two scouts scampered back to the main body of marines. “What have you got for me, Jimmy?”

A marine whose face consisted of little more than splashes of greens and browns and blacks picked up a twig laying next to his hardened boot. He sketched out a small diagram, there route marked by a line along which the scout marked squares. “Thermal signatures, sir. Almost failed to notice them too, instead of the ground they are up in the trees. Go a bit further down the road, if I can call it that, sir, and I counted near a dozen individuals hiding amongst the ground foliage.”

Birch clapped the man on his shoulder before hoisting his rifle, “good work, Jimmy boy. Good work indeed.” He motioned for the remainder of his men to hold as he worked his way up to just below the crest of the hill beyond which lay the men waiting for Birch’s marines. He peered through his scope until he found an individual nestled securely within a tree—and when Birch tried to sight him with his naked eye he found the spot nearly indistinguishable from the foliage. “Clever buggers,” he muttered as he returned to the scope.

“What are you looking to do,” Birch breathed, studying the man from afar, he reckoned at least six hundred metres or so. And then he caught the break he had sought, one man with a bow and some arrows. They intended to resist. Now it was Birch’s time to scamper back down the reverse of the hill until he rejoined his men.

“They are armed men, just as we feared. Now, I estimate the range to be near six hundred metres, do you agree, Jimmy?” Birch paused until the scout confirmed his estimation. “So, at six hundred metres I doubt they will be very effective in stopping us—despite what you men may think, an arrow to the neck or a spear tip between the plates in your armour will kill just as easily as one of our rifle rounds. Where we have the advantage is in sensors and ranges and I intend to fully captalise on those advantages today.”

Snapping his head to the right, Birch continued. “And so I want Alpha Section to form up with me on the ridge while Bravo, you are to take positions covering our flank and rear—be wary of natives moving up in the trees as well as on the ground. Alpha, at my signal we are to begin to eliminate enemy resistance while Harry and Charlie, I want you two to provide heavy fire support: Harry, you will be up with us on the ridge covering the slope and Charlie you will work with Bravo and cover our rear. For Crown and Country, men.”

“Huzzah!” came the whispered, but nonetheless enthusiastic, response. The two rifle sections split to attend to their tasks while Birch moved with Alpha to the top of the ridge. He set his rifle to single-shot with a flick of his finger while he drew a bead on a target with a bow. Ground troops in the United Kingdom trained extensively to become crack shots, the average rifleman able to hit targets up to seven hundred metres. It helped, of course, to be wielding their powerful rifles rather than their predecessor, under-powered 5.56 rifles—but in the end Birch, as well as any other trained soldier, knew it was the training and practice that made the shot, not just the rifle.

“Make ready men,” he whispered, his men passing the message down the line. “Fire.”

In an instant, the jungle came alive with thunderous cracks from the rifles. Birds squawked and made flight while primates screamed. The Oceanians remained silent, however, firing off one round at a time at the targets in the trees and the targets on the ground—only their rifles speaking for them.

Several kilometres away, the mercenaries and scientists at the base camp looked up, the sound of rifle fire dim and distant but audible if only because of its disharmonious fit into the pristine jungle. By now, several tents and canopies had been erected in and under which the scientists toiled while the mercenaries established firing positions behind newly felled trunks and offloaded crates. The generator had finally started after some initial problems and the motion-sensor tripwire around the camp was near halfway completed. And so after the first few shots, the mercenaries returned to their monotonous tasks, the civilians’ fascination lingered just a bit longer until they recalled the reason for their large advances and expected paychecks, the work sitting out upon the tables.

At sea, Pittney grimaced before his communications officer, a red-haired fellow with a comically critical case of acne. For the moment, however, he was more intensely worried with the six patrol boats photographed leaving Sigon. “Damn inconvenience,” he muttered, casting his eyes back and forth from satellite photos to the sounding charts of the coast. “How long until they arrive?”

“Even if fast, sir,” came the response of his navigation officer, “they are over 200 kilometres distant and it would take a little while to arrive. I reckon that—

“Captain,” came a shout from another officer in the CIC. “Bridge reports a surface contact, sailboat, small, probably civilian.”

The communications officer pressed his finger to his ear, tilting his head slightly. “Indeed, sir, they are radioing in the clear,” the man paused and then smiled, “informing us that they are landing.”

“No request, how polite of them,” Pittney muttered. “Very well, inform Captain James that his men shall be expecting some company. Then contact Mr. Newton and inform him that his newfound colony shall be having its first visitors and that perhaps our guests can trade labour for supplies.”

“Very good, sir.”

Pittney returned to the satellite images, bringing out a magnifying glass to inspect the ships ever more closely. “What do we have here,” he muttered aloud.

“Not much, I daresay, Captain,”

Pittney glanced up to find his blonde-haired, blue-eyed executive officer. Lieutenant-Commander Hilary Renton. Pittney gave him a smile before resuming his inspection, “nice of you to join me, Commander. As you can see, ORNI sent us this—six patrol boats leaving Sigon presumably en route to this location. We are situated here, a few kilometers north of this bay and just south of this river. Shallows and deeper water and we are stuck inbetween because that fool Newton wanted to land on pretty sands instead of a logistically simpler harbour.”

Renton laughed politely, his doing so allowing his captain to follow. “Well, Captain, I think we can just chalk this up to more evidence of how daft this Newton character truly is.”

“Indeed, I think you are right Mr. Renton.”

“Anyways, I do worry about these boats. In Avinapolis, the damn Germans tried to storm our ships and as such I fear that these Austians might very well try to land marines onboard my ship, or perhaps even ram us.”

Both men gave pause to study the pictures. “Well,” Renton finally said, breaking the silence, “perhaps next time the Admiralty will equip His Majesty’s frigates with manned-machine guns. I am hardly a fan of using our gum to stop them.”

“Perhaps if we blow it into bubbles,” Pittney added with a laugh. The gum consisted of two close-in-defence-systems, the Joint GUided Munitions Mk.III. It could fire close-range anti-ship missiles as well as fire 35mm tungsten-tipped rounds at phenomenal velocities. While ordinarily used for anti-missile defence it could be turned to a lesser-degree of effectiveness against small surface targets, such as the patrol boats.

Pittney let his fingers drum upon the table. “Commander, sound action stations and launch a drone to reconnoiter the boats as they approach. We shall take no chances that these patrol boats could be supported by submarines. And then make arrangements for the other ships to move closer to shore while we will move further off the coast to disentangle our surface search from the ground clutter.”

As the frigate began to prepare for battle, the remainder of Birch’s troop that had landed on the beaches and had stayed behind with the camp took to preparing seaward fortifications, primarily moving another felled tree and some more crates to form a protective barrier. Then they waited until the sailboat and her crew made landfall.
Aust
17-12-2006, 11:54
Ti-Quali screamed as a bullet ripped into his arm, causing him to fall from his perch, though he managed to stop his fall by grabbing a branch as he hurtled past with his good arm-an action that resulted in the tendon on his left tearing. pain seared and Ti-Quali screamed, but hung on for dear life.

Around him the woods exploded into life as verious animals where disturbed or hit by the bullets. Ti-Quali's blowstick had disappeared into the udnergrowth somewhere below him, while all around him more worriors fell as the merciless bullets tore into them.

He yelled a call for his men to retreat, hoping the verious traps would slow down his enermy. Then, he finally let go of the branch and fell heavely to the jungle floor. He could hear the moans and screams of his men who ahd been hit and who had fallen the 30 feet or so to the jungle floor. Many had broken there legs or worse.

Ti-Quali though was meraculasly unharmed by the fall-other than the torn tendons in his arm-he strugged to his feet and then staggered back towards the village.
Azazia
17-12-2006, 20:12
As the natives began to scream and wither and die, Birch found a target and put a round through his chest—and without armour or any real sort of protective clothing the body simply exploded. “Poor buggers have no chance,” he muttered to himself, the sounds of his fire drowning the pang of sympathy. And as the native force broke rank, Birch looked at the marine behind the machine gun and simply nodded. With their backs turned as they fled the fight to return to their village, the barrel of the gun spat out flame and fire, round after round following the forces that staggered in their attempt to retreat.

When the jungle finally stilled and the heat signatures on the ground slowly started to fade, Birch motioned for his men to pick themselves up. “Keep moving,” he ordered, and he watched as his scouts set off down the path while he then returned to Bravo and his second heavy weapon support person. “We broke their resistance,” he began until a sharp scream pierced the eerily silent jungle.

Birch and Bravo dropped to a knee and formed a defenseive perimeter, anticipating withering fire from above but none came, only the crackle in Birch’s earpiece. “Sir, Jimmy went down,” came a harrowingly cold and collected voice.

“What from?”

“Sir, Miles says something like a bear trap. He is bringing back Jimmy now, he says that there are sharp wooden stakes driven right through his calf, right through his boot.”

The lieutenant frowned, if he had lost a scout to such a simple device it did not bode well for the remainder of his troop. “Bravo,” he said, turning to face his second rifle section, “remain at this position and be on the lookout for anything suspicious, booby traps and alike.”

The marine officer darted towards the hill where Alpha had recollected itself, along the way he kept an extra eye upon the ground looking for anything suspicious. When he reached his men, his second scout had returned with the limp body of Jimmy. “How is he,” he asked quietly.

By now, the section had pooled together their canteens to wipe off some of the camouflage on his face, revealing a deathly pale young man who hailed from the city of Providence. “Sir,” the second scout whispered, “this is a simple trap, flint-tipped spikes that closed around his leg—nothing sophisticated, things we are taught back at the Academy. And while the wound fits, Jimmy’s reaction does not. He should be far more alert and while blood would be lost, not enough yet has exited to make him this pale.”

“An allergic reaction perhaps?”

“To flint? Highly unlikely. No, sir, I think we are dealing with something far more deadly, ingenious but deadly nonetheless.” The scout pointed Birch’s eyes towards a single flint spike not embedded in the near-comatose marine’s leg. With his glove on he wiped a clear film of liquid off the rock and brought it to Birch’s face in a shaft of sunlight streaming through the canopy. “Poison, sir. We have not the equipment to identify it—but with Jimmy so ill so quickly I imagine it is something the natives know to be lethal.”

Birch nodded and turned to the troop sergeant, he motioned for him to step to the side and the two stood up, looking up at the trees, highlighted and shadowed in angelic light, toucans and woodpeckers slowly returning to their homes to triumphant squawks and taps. “What do you think,” Birch asked solemnly.

“I think we both know it, sir, Jimmy is not going to make it back.”

“I know, so do we leave him or what?”

“Sir, I think it best we take two marines and lug Jimmy back to base camp. He is going to die en route, of that I am certain—but morale is going to suffer if we leave him here alive until he expires.”

“But then we lose three men for a single casualty…” Birch quietly trailed off, marveling at the natives’ brutally simple, but efficient trap.

“Just because they are natives does not mean they are primitive, sir. We won this battle, but paid a price higher than we thought we would. Next time, we shall simply move slower and more carefully. Have the men keep an extra eye out for booby traps. Have the returning men keep an eye out too, the natives would know we are a small group and would try to cut off our escape route. I know I would.”

The officer smiled at the middle-aged, but rough-looking sergeant. “I think you are correct, sergeant.” Slowly, the two made their way back to Alpha, now gathered around their fallen comrade save two rifleman standing lookout.

“Alright,” Birch began, “Rodrigo and Niles, you two are to take Jimmy back to base. But be extra careful, if they laid these traps ahead of us, they could have lain them behind us.” He paused to press his mic, “Bravo, you are to leap ahead of Alpha and take point, Charlie you are attached to Bravo. I want you to pay extra attention to the path in case of booby traps and alike. “ As Bravo began to march up the path towards Alpha, Birch stood and addressed them all.

“Men, we shot them up real good, but they hurt Jimmy real bad. And they did it with a simple trap laced with some poison. So we are moving forward, but we are doing so more carefully than we were. Be on the lookout not just for natives, but also their traps and their tricks. Do that and we can accomplish our mission and return back to base alive and well.”

The men offered a quick cheer before setting about their task. Bravo began to move forward, paying extra close attention to the trail while keeping an eye out for other native ambushes. Those few survivors they passed were quickly put out of their misery.

HMNB Avinapolis
Royal Crown Colony of Avinapolis

Far from the jungles of Aust lay the jungles of the Verdant Archipelago, home to numerous carnivorous plant species that were, in their own way, as lethal as the natives of Aust. Yet, despite the difficulties, the United Kingdom had carved out a prosperous port city that was the key to operations in the Indian Ocean for the Royal Navy. In well fortified barracks, the Royal Marines kept ready for immediate deployment in the Rapid Deployment Brigades, but all three were en route already to the Oceanic Empire’s troublesome colonies.

Instead, Lieutenant-Colonel Simon Travers found himself relaxing in the officer’s club, enjoying a pale cup of tea by the pool, in which various officers from various Royal Marine regiments were swimming laps and engaging in other activities. He remained still, enjoying the subtle flavours until a long shadow appeared across his chest, at the top of the shadow a worryingly familiar salute.

Travers turned to find a major, his had extended to salute a superior officer. “What can I do for you, major?”

“Sir, Port Admiral Davidson had requested your presence, he has something urgent to discuss.”

It took Travers only fifteen minutes to dress himself and then find himself outside the office of the naval base’s commanding officer. The door squeaked open and a Royal Navy secretary motioned for the lieutenant-colonel to enter. When he did, the door was quietly shut behind him. “What can I do for you, Admiral?”

“Thank you for coming, Colonel Travers, please, do sit down.” Davidson pulled from a long desk drawer a tube whose caps he quickly pulled off only to role out a laminated map of the Austian jungle. “Colonel, as you are well aware, the, disturbances in New London, New Albion, and Recedentia require the deployment of our three RDBs and as such we are left with precious few resources to deploy in case of emergencies or other contingencies.” As the map finally reached its end, the admiral placed four heavy paperweights at the corner to lay the map flat on his desk.

“This is Aust, a rather sparsely populated place offering the UK valuable land and resources. If we can establish a military presence there, it shall strengthen the links between our territories in the Pacific and here in the Indian. However, the operation is being headed by a piggish civilian investor, one Garret Newton, to whom the Admiralty offered a single company from the Essington Regiment as supplementary support for a private security heading the investment’s defences. However, before the ghastly attacks on our forces earlier this week, the Admiralty had planned for one of our RDBs to head to Aust and fortify this new colony, ostensibly being run by Mr. Newton Oceanian Aust Company. However, as I already mentioned the three available RDBs are being redeployed elsewhere.”

Travers smiled and then laughed politely, “which means that my regiment will have its stand-down period cut short in order to redeploy to another jungle.”

“In short, Colonel Travers, that is correct.” Davidson reached to the side of his desk and from a small table poured himself a glass of ice water, silently offering some to Travers who nodded. “Now, the original plans called for the deployment of a full assault carrier group, originally HMS India. However, the new carriers are thought of rather fondly by the Admiralty and are being deployed in support of our counter-insurgency operations elsewhere in the Empire. Instead, you shall be deploying off the HMS Victory.”

Despite being in mid-sip, Travers placed his glass on the table, politely of course on a coaster. “Sir, with due respect, the Victory is in antiquated helicopter-carrier insufficient to support modern amphibious operations. She is dedicated ASW platform.”

Davidson nodded, “I know, Colonel, and I did raise that point with the Admiralty, however, they insist it is sufficient for your needs. I did, however, convince them that it would be insufficient in carrying much of the supplies and ammunition you would require and as such you will be deploying with a separate Bounty class supply vessel to allow you to stock up on arms and ammunition. However, the Victory is your ride.”

“And I am supposed to fit my entire regiment onto that carrier?”

“That, I am afraid, Colonel, is where I must add further grim news,” Davidson responded quietly. “You are also ordered to detach 3rd Battalion to redeploy to Dawesport to liaise with the locals. The Admiralty thinks your men did a splendid job in keeping a lid on the violence and that your officers and men will be able to reconnect with the locals t help the RDB flush out the insurgents.”

“A good plan that will cost me a third of my force in Aust, bloody hell,” Travers muttered, taking a long sip from his water, wishing it were something else. “Very well, Admiral Davidson, when do I leave?”

“24 hours, Colonel, and before you begin,” Davidson quickly added, “I argued for more time as well to load and stow cargo, but on that point I was also dismissed.” The two men raised a wry smile and their glasses, clinking them together, “the Admiralty,” they toasted before Travers stood, repositioning his cap as he readied to leave Davidson’s office.

“Thank you for your support, Admiral.”

“Godspeed, Colonel.”

As the Royal Marine left his office, Davidson turned to look out his window to the busy port below, where cranes were already loading crates and drums. In half an hour they would be supplemented with personnel driving a few infantry-fighting vehicles onto landing craft. It would be a rushed operation, Davidson knew, and that was a shame.
Aust
18-12-2006, 10:49
[FONT="Palatino Linotype"]As the natives began to scream and wither and die, Birch found a target and put a round through his chest—and without armour or any real sort of protective clothing the body simply exploded. “Poor buggers have no chance,” he muttered to himself, the sounds of his fire drowning the pang of sympathy. And as the native force broke rank, Birch looked at the marine behind the machine gun and simply nodded. With their backs turned as they fled the fight to return to their village, the barrel of the gun spat out flame and fire, round after round following the forces that staggered in their attempt to retreat.

When the jungle finally stilled and the heat signatures on the ground slowly started to fade, Birch motioned for his men to pick themselves up. “Keep moving,” he ordered, and he watched as his scouts set off down the path while he then returned to Bravo and his second heavy weapon support person. “We broke their resistance,” he began until a sharp scream pierced the eerily silent jungle.

Birch and Bravo dropped to a knee and formed a defenseive perimeter, anticipating withering fire from above but none came, only the crackle in Birch’s earpiece. “Sir, Jimmy went down,” came a harrowingly cold and collected voice.

“What from?”

“Sir, Miles says something like a bear trap. He is bringing back Jimmy now, he says that there are sharp wooden stakes driven right through his calf, right through his boot.”

The lieutenant frowned, if he had lost a scout to such a simple device it did not bode well for the remainder of his troop. “Bravo,” he said, turning to face his second rifle section, “remain at this position and be on the lookout for anything suspicious, booby traps and alike.”

The marine officer darted towards the hill where Alpha had recollected itself, along the way he kept an extra eye upon the ground looking for anything suspicious. When he reached his men, his second scout had returned with the limp body of Jimmy. “How is he,” he asked quietly.

By now, the section had pooled together their canteens to wipe off some of the camouflage on his face, revealing a deathly pale young man who hailed from the city of Providence. “Sir,” the second scout whispered, “this is a simple trap, flint-tipped spikes that closed around his leg—nothing sophisticated, things we are taught back at the Academy. And while the wound fits, Jimmy’s reaction does not. He should be far more alert and while blood would be lost, not enough yet has exited to make him this pale.”

“An allergic reaction perhaps?”

“To flint? Highly unlikely. No, sir, I think we are dealing with something far more deadly, ingenious but deadly nonetheless.” The scout pointed Birch’s eyes towards a single flint spike not embedded in the near-comatose marine’s leg. With his glove on he wiped a clear film of liquid off the rock and brought it to Birch’s face in a shaft of sunlight streaming through the canopy. “Poison, sir. We have not the equipment to identify it—but with Jimmy so ill so quickly I imagine it is something the natives know to be lethal.”

Birch nodded and turned to the troop sergeant, he motioned for him to step to the side and the two stood up, looking up at the trees, highlighted and shadowed in angelic light, toucans and woodpeckers slowly returning to their homes to triumphant squawks and taps. “What do you think,” Birch asked solemnly.

“I think we both know it, sir, Jimmy is not going to make it back.”

“I know, so do we leave him or what?”

“Sir, I think it best we take two marines and lug Jimmy back to base camp. He is going to die en route, of that I am certain—but morale is going to suffer if we leave him here alive until he expires.”

“But then we lose three men for a single casualty…” Birch quietly trailed off, marveling at the natives’ brutally simple, but efficient trap.

“Just because they are natives does not mean they are primitive, sir. We won this battle, but paid a price higher than we thought we would. Next time, we shall simply move slower and more carefully. Have the men keep an extra eye out for booby traps. Have the returning men keep an eye out too, the natives would know we are a small group and would try to cut off our escape route. I know I would.”

The officer smiled at the middle-aged, but rough-looking sergeant. “I think you are correct, sergeant.” Slowly, the two made their way back to Alpha, now gathered around their fallen comrade save two rifleman standing lookout.

“Alright,” Birch began, “Rodrigo and Niles, you two are to take Jimmy back to base. But be extra careful, if they laid these traps ahead of us, they could have lain them behind us.” He paused to press his mic, “Bravo, you are to leap ahead of Alpha and take point, Charlie you are attached to Bravo. I want you to pay extra attention to the path in case of booby traps and alike. “ As Bravo began to march up the path towards Alpha, Birch stood and addressed them all.

“Men, we shot them up real good, but they hurt Jimmy real bad. And they did it with a simple trap laced with some poison. So we are moving forward, but we are doing so more carefully than we were. Be on the lookout not just for natives, but also their traps and their tricks. Do that and we can accomplish our mission and return back to base alive and well.”

The men offered a quick cheer before setting about their task. Bravo began to move forward, paying extra close attention to the trail while keeping an eye out for other native ambushes. Those few survivors they passed were quickly put out of their misery.

In the village tbhey heard the gunshots that echoed through the woods and the screams. The tribespeople gathered at the village gates, waiting for their concoring heros to return home, but all that came where the distant echos of screams and a last few bangs. They waited for nearly an hour when someone at last staggered through the treeline. Tin and a few other boys went forwards the meet him, giveing him a lift across the burnt ground too the village.

It was Ti-Quali, the villages cheif. He was covered in blood and wounded, so badly wounded in fact that ti was a mirical that he had managed to make it back at all. He collapsed as he passed through the the gates and they carried him inside the main hall, laying him our of a stone slab that lay iun it's center.

And there they examined him. The prognosis was not good, both of his arms where serivly damaged, one from grabbing hold of the branch as he fell past and the other fromn what looked like a tiny metal fly that had broken the bone. That, at least, could be fixed with time.

but it was to his abck that more serious damage had been done. there where a line of small holes in it, that ran across the bottom his ribcage and had exited through his stomach, breaking bones and rupturing essential organs as they went. He would not, the shaman declared, be able to take on food or water. HE would die from starvation eventually, if the bleeding and the shock didn't kill him first.

They did there best for him. Setting his arm in rubber, trying to block up the holes with funnel-web and fly-weave, giving him natural pain killers and hallucogens to take away th e pain. Finally, after an hour or so on the slab he returned to coniousness.

First he cried out in fear, for the pain-killers had blinded him but they managed to calm him and then he began to tell them what happened, about the millions of black flies that had flown from the firesticks, about the way they adh been killed one by one by there enermy. Finally he councilled them to flee further into the jungle, to where they would be safe.

They followed his instructions and within the hour the village was deserted, leaving him alone, gasping his final hours on the stone slab.
------------------------------------------
The Austian ships where closing now, only and hour away from the smugglers and now within radio contact. Thus they tried to make contact "This is Captain Jack Black of the Austian Navy, you are trespassing in Austian waters without permission. State you name, country and intentions."
Southeastasia
18-12-2006, 16:19
[OOC: Aust, what is your definition of NSEarth?]
Aust
18-12-2006, 19:51
OOC: Never did the earths thing, in fact i prosted a long essay a year or so against it. To me NS earth is a huge, huge speare that contaisn every nation. I know this is impossable, but you need to think the earth enlarged by about 300 or 500. After all my own population I(which I halve for RP's) is bigger than the real earths by 2 billion.
Azazia
19-12-2006, 03:13
In a single afternoon the world had changed, so far as the world was known by the people of Ti-Quali’s village. As the sun finally began its long but ever quickening descent down towards the distant horizon where the sea met the sky, the sound of boots thumping upon worn and treaded ground played quietly against the chants and hymns of a jungle teeming with vibrant life. As the village emptied, the leading elements of Lieutenant Henry Birch’s troop of Royal Marines came upon the gates to the village, topped with spikes armed with flint rock protecting huts and homes and structures built by a mankind separated from that of Birch’s world only by a thousand or so kilometers and a thousand or so years.

He and his men stopped at the edge of the village. Along the way, another trap had nearly caught another of his men except this time the stakes had forced only a glancing blow off the marine’s boot, shredding it but preventing its poison-laced tip from meeting flesh. Nonetheless, they had reached their initial objective; the suspected home of the native Birch had first identified what now seemed like days ago. Except it seemed almost entirely empty and devoid of the life originally anticipated.

With silent hand signals, Birch sent three men into the village, their bayonets making quick work of the thickly wrapped vines designed to serve as a lock. It took several minutes, but one by one, each hut was cleared until Birch finally found himself in the centre of the village outside the largest building, this one of stone construction, albeit primitively hewn stone, but stone nonetheless.

His marines quickly secured the exterior of the building, cautionary glances through the open windows confirming no real presence; and so Birch decided not to force entry into the building as his marines burst in with their rifles ready—though they found only a bleeding old man upon a stone slab in the centre of the building.

“Bravo, secure the perimeter,” Birch finally spoke aloud, breaking the silence. He walked carefully up to the old man, his one arm set as if broken, but in an unusual fashion with an unusual material. Finally, he let his rifle fall to the side, his sergeant also appearing now by his side.

“What do we have, lieutenant?”

“A traitor perhaps?” Birch answered, though his tone far more inquisitive than reassuring.

“Or an ambassador?”

“Or a mortally wounded warrior?” The two stood about, looking at the man, only dimly aware of the situation. As the marines secured the village, Birch and his sergeant wandered outside the building and looked up through the hole in the canopy ceiling at a rapidly darkening sky. “Think we can airlift him out, sergeant?”

The sergeant looked up at the small hole and then back in the direction of the ships at anchor offshore. “Sir, I think those flyboys might be able to pull it off, just maybe. The bird has no tail rotor to worry about, just her main rotors and I reckon she can fit in that gap in the tree cover rather well.”

Birch nodded. From what he remembered at the Academy, the Falcon series of helicopter had been designed as a contra-rotating unit in order to allow her better access to small, quickly cleared patches in the jungles throughout the empire. “Very well, sergeant, go have Alpha clear a sufficient space of huts to land the helicopter.”

His sergeant nodded and walked back towards the great stone building already shouting orders. Satisfied such work was underway, Birch proceeded to find his radioman who sent the brief request for the medical evacuation of the native.

Within twenty minutes, the helicopter had arrived overhead, the daylight now replaced by twilight, only the rush of the warm and humid jungle air and the blinking lights on the bottom of the helicopter betraying its position as it hovered above the remnants of half the village. It descended slowly and carefully, branches and young trunks bowing to the immense force of the artificial winds. It landed, however, and as the side doors slid open, Birch helped the Royal Navy medics drag out the stretcher and IVs from the helicopter and then into the stone building. Within minutes, the wounded native was on the helicopter and on his way back to the infirmary aboard the supply ship.

His mission over, though in some respects a failure in having failed to negotiate a settlement with the natives, Birch gathered his men and, after leaving behind some monitoring devices left by the helicopter, pulled out of the village, taking great care on the trek back to the base camp several kilometers away to avoid the same traps that had plagued him on the ingress.

At sea, Pittney looked down at the LCD display screen on the table below him, the enemy ships en route and now within communications range, their radio constantly blaring challenges as to the identity of Pittney and his small flotilla of three ships.

“Shall we respond, Captain?” the communications officer inquired quietly.

Slowly Pittney nodded, well aware that the very language of his response could bring about armed conflict or a grudging peace. “Very well, Lieutenant.” Then, taking a pen from his pocket, Pittney scribbled a quick note on a spare sheet of paper. “Send this, if you please.”

Radio Transmission

Attention Austian Vessel, this is His Majesty’s Ship Cutlass.

You are interfering with ongoing naval operations off the coast of land claimed by the United Kingdom.

You are hereby advised to remain one hundred kilometres outside this area of operations for the safety of your ship and your crew.

I thank you for your concern though your assistance is not required.

Good day.

Thomas Pittney, commanding officer, HMS Cutlass

End

When the message was finally broadcast, Pittney leaned a little closer to the digital charts on the electronic table below him. “Commander,” he said without looking up, “prepare a firing solution for both the missile batteries and the main gun in case these Austians continue to press on in their interception.”
Southeastasia
19-12-2006, 05:57
OOC: Never did the earths thing, in fact i prosted a long essay a year or so against it. To me NS earth is a huge, huge speare that contaisn every nation. I know this is impossable, but you need to think the earth enlarged by about 300 or 500. After all my own population I(which I halve for RP's) is bigger than the real earths by 2 billion.
[OOC: Noted. I was hoping that it wasn't on my version of SEA, and I have a similar definition yes.....I was hoping I would not end up annexed by Oceania or something for no good reason.]
Aust
19-12-2006, 13:34
In a single afternoon the world had changed, so far as the world was known by the people of Ti-Quali’s village. As the sun finally began its long but ever quickening descent down towards the distant horizon where the sea met the sky, the sound of boots thumping upon worn and treaded ground played quietly against the chants and hymns of a jungle teeming with vibrant life. As the village emptied, the leading elements of Lieutenant Henry Birch’s troop of Royal Marines came upon the gates to the village, topped with spikes armed with flint rock protecting huts and homes and structures built by a mankind separated from that of Birch’s world only by a thousand or so kilometers and a thousand or so years.

He and his men stopped at the edge of the village. Along the way, another trap had nearly caught another of his men except this time the stakes had forced only a glancing blow off the marine’s boot, shredding it but preventing its poison-laced tip from meeting flesh. Nonetheless, they had reached their initial objective; the suspected home of the native Birch had first identified what now seemed like days ago. Except it seemed almost entirely empty and devoid of the life originally anticipated.

With silent hand signals, Birch sent three men into the village, their bayonets making quick work of the thickly wrapped vines designed to serve as a lock. It took several minutes, but one by one, each hut was cleared until Birch finally found himself in the centre of the village outside the largest building, this one of stone construction, albeit primitively hewn stone, but stone nonetheless.

His marines quickly secured the exterior of the building, cautionary glances through the open windows confirming no real presence; and so Birch decided not to force entry into the building as his marines burst in with their rifles ready—though they found only a bleeding old man upon a stone slab in the centre of the building.

“Bravo, secure the perimeter,” Birch finally spoke aloud, breaking the silence. He walked carefully up to the old man, his one arm set as if broken, but in an unusual fashion with an unusual material. Finally, he let his rifle fall to the side, his sergeant also appearing now by his side.

“What do we have, lieutenant?”

“A traitor perhaps?” Birch answered, though his tone far more inquisitive than reassuring.

“Or an ambassador?”

“Or a mortally wounded warrior?” The two stood about, looking at the man, only dimly aware of the situation. As the marines secured the village, Birch and his sergeant wandered outside the building and looked up through the hole in the canopy ceiling at a rapidly darkening sky. “Think we can airlift him out, sergeant?”

The sergeant looked up at the small hole and then back in the direction of the ships at anchor offshore. “Sir, I think those flyboys might be able to pull it off, just maybe. The bird has no tail rotor to worry about, just her main rotors and I reckon she can fit in that gap in the tree cover rather well.”

Birch nodded. From what he remembered at the Academy, the Falcon series of helicopter had been designed as a contra-rotating unit in order to allow her better access to small, quickly cleared patches in the jungles throughout the empire. “Very well, sergeant, go have Alpha clear a sufficient space of huts to land the helicopter.”

His sergeant nodded and walked back towards the great stone building already shouting orders. Satisfied such work was underway, Birch proceeded to find his radioman who sent the brief request for the medical evacuation of the native.

Within twenty minutes, the helicopter had arrived overhead, the daylight now replaced by twilight, only the rush of the warm and humid jungle air and the blinking lights on the bottom of the helicopter betraying its position as it hovered above the remnants of half the village. It descended slowly and carefully, branches and young trunks bowing to the immense force of the artificial winds. It landed, however, and as the side doors slid open, Birch helped the Royal Navy medics drag out the stretcher and IVs from the helicopter and then into the stone building. Within minutes, the wounded native was on the helicopter and on his way back to the infirmary aboard the supply ship.

His mission over, though in some respects a failure in having failed to negotiate a settlement with the natives, Birch gathered his men and, after leaving behind some monitoring devices left by the helicopter, pulled out of the village, taking great care on the trek back to the base camp several kilometers away to avoid the same traps that had plagued him on the ingress.

At sea, Pittney looked down at the LCD display screen on the table below him, the enemy ships en route and now within communications range, their radio constantly blaring challenges as to the identity of Pittney and his small flotilla of three ships.

“Shall we respond, Captain?” the communications officer inquired quietly.

Slowly Pittney nodded, well aware that the very language of his response could bring about armed conflict or a grudging peace. “Very well, Lieutenant.” Then, taking a pen from his pocket, Pittney scribbled a quick note on a spare sheet of paper. “Send this, if you please.”

Radio Transmission

Attention Austian Vessel, this is His Majesty’s Ship Cutlass.

You are interfering with ongoing naval operations off the coast of land claimed by the United Kingdom.

You are hereby advised to remain one hundred kilometres outside this area of operations for the safety of your ship and your crew.

I thank you for your concern though your assistance is not required.

Good day.

Thomas Pittney, commanding officer, HMS Cutlass

End

When the message was finally broadcast, Pittney leaned a little closer to the digital charts on the electronic table below him. “Commander,” he said without looking up, “prepare a firing solution for both the missile batteries and the main gun in case these Austians continue to press on in their interception.”


TO:Thomas Pittney, commanding officer, HMS Cutlass
From: Captain Jack Black, Sigon City State, AS Itali

You are claiming land that ahs been Austian for several thousand years, and are thus constuting an invasion of Austian land. We demand that you leave our ladns now or you will be commiting an act of war that will result in your forces destuction at our hands and the possable invasion of your own terratorys.

We would advise you not to carry out this course of action as we do not wish to begin relations with your nation on such a agressive basis, but if you do not withdraw within 24 hours we are affraid that such action is invetiable.

Yours,

Captain Jack Black



The Asutian ships stopped in the water. The contense of the enermies message had been relayed to Sigon, and from there had been forwarded to Aust City itself.

In Aust City the members of the AIS where busying themselves trying to find out as much as possable about 'the United Kingdom' and it's millitary, it's power and it's size. Meanwhile appropriate renforcements for Captain Blacks Task Force Delta where being allocted. The Austians new from experience they ahd to strike hard and fast.

eventually it was decided that 6 squads of ASAS where to be allocated to the area, to be deployed by parchute in the jungle near there enermys base, accomnied by 4 companys of Paratroopers. At Bambinio 2 squadrons of Lancaster Mark 45 bombers where ebing prepared to strike on the enermys fortifictions accopnied by 3 squads of F-99 fighters.

The Naval force was also being added too, 3 destroyers, 4 subs, and 1 aircraft carrier where setting sil from both Bambinio and Sigon. This incursion into Austian terrtory would be crushed within 24 hours.
Zackaroth
20-12-2006, 00:59
" What hell? Are they expecting us to attack them?" Christian said eyeing the defensive line on the beach. He went around the ship preparing to land on the beach. " Ok guys we are about to land. Dont make any threatening movements. Don't carry any weapons on you. i don't want to go home full of holes. These guys seem like they really want this land so we buy some food and supplies and leave in the morning" he said to his crew as he watch the boat drift torwards the sands.
Azazia
22-12-2006, 04:16
Despite revisions to the original plans and specifications, the more spacious CIC of Pittney’s ship still seemed but a tiny and cramped space, forcing him to head up to the bridge and stand outside in the dark, star-lit night air. Taking a deep breath he looked towards the constellations lit more brightly than would ever be seen off the coast of the Home Islands, where light from the massive conurbations drowned out the subtle beauties of the night sky.

For several minutes he stood alone, his hands resting upon the rail, and then the familiar groan of the hatch opening and then the familiar sound of his executive officer. “Captain, we have received a response from the Austian vessel.”

Pittney nodded solemnly. “What do we have, Hilary?”

The executive officer shook his head, despite Pittney’s remaining fixed upon the celestial world above his tiny frigate. “Nothing good, I am afraid to report, sir. Though the silver lining is a twenty-four hour reprieve. Your Austian counterpart, however, has claimed that any attempt to pursue Mr. Newton’s claim will be construed as an act of war.”

Once more silence returned to the bridge, the two officers both now fixating on the distant factories of atomic fusion reduced to twinkling points on a black canvas, punctuating the twinkles, the rhythmic laps of the offshore waves against the hull of the frigate.

“I suppose we should notify the Admiralty, Hilary,” Pittney finally breathed, breaking the silence.

“Indeed, sir. Perhaps they can even send reinforcements.”

Pittney allowed himself a quiet, dignified laugh, half a scoff really. “Any potential colony of Mr. Newton’s is a small morsel compared to the lands of Recedentia and Albion and Sarnia, Hilary. If it suits the Prime Minister’s purposes we shall be left to rot as floating, bloated corpses without a word of protest. No, it is now my turn to admit my terrible fear that we are but alone out on this tranquil sea.”

Renton stiffened his back and turned to face Pittney, who had made his peace to turn around to face the hatch and his responsibilities. “Nevertheless, sir,” Renton added to Pittney’s comment, “we shall do our duty for Crown and Country.”

With a wry half-smirk, Pittney allowed a smile to appear upon half his face. “Very well, Commander Renton, then instruct every man to attend to his duties extra vigorously in the coming hours. Right now, I need to go get in touch with the Admiralty.”

Not far from the battle preparations taking place onboard the frigate, Captain Wallace James had splayed out several satellite-created topological maps of the area in and around Anchor Bay and the base camp. Since sending out his message, Pittney had ordered the Royal Marine captain to be informed of the situation, of the potential of facing a similarly armed and larger force resisting their consolidation from the beachhead. And so, although James had few heavy weapons onboard the supply ship, he had begun to investigate potential sites to base his few anti-tank and anti-aircraft missile systems as well as his heavier mortar pieces.

He had a pencil and compass in hand, drawing an arc from rocky ground near Anchor Bay when a quick rap upon the open hatch summoned his attention. A sailor from the ship stood outside his compartment, “Sir, the captain would like me to inform you that at this moment we are receiving a critically wounded native aboard the flight deck, a medevac from that native settlement.”

James let the pencil and compass fall to his table, the pencil rolling ever so slightly with the swells of the ship. “Very well, has Mr. Newton been informed?”

“Indeed, sir.”

The two made their way quickly to the infirmary, joined a moment later by an out-of-breath Newton, carefully clasping a folder under his pinstriped suited arm. They watched in silent fascination as the battered and bruised body of Ti-Quali was transferred from the now-bloody stretcher to the clean and sterile sheets of the infirmary bed; where masked doctors and nurses quickly began to peel off the rubber and treat the bullet wounds and reset the broken bones.

In the middle of the procedure, Newton forced his way into the circle of medical professionals and after retrieving a small, flat black box from his folder pushed the native’s thumb into the box and then onto a piece of paper within the folder. Smiling, he said quiet thanks to the doctors before retreating to the rear of the room and then after reviewing the contents of the folder once more, he left the room promptly.

James, for his part, continued to watch, as the doctors toiled—eventually discovering the damage to the internal organs, which they then began to address. Despite the hatred and resistance shown by Ti-Quali’s tribe, the medical staff onboard the ship remained true to their profession and treated the individual in the best fashion they knew how. When he awoke, he spoke in unintelligible syllables before retiring to a pain-killer induced sleep.

At last, one of the surgeons removed his mask and approached the Royal Marine captain. “Captain James, we have done all we can and I think we have stopped the internal bleeding—but the patient is extraordinarily weak and I cannot in good conscience allow you to interrogate him.”

The officer nodded and then left the compartment, returning to his makeshift planning office to scribble a word over the images of the native village on his images: Tegali. From now on, at least, they would have a native-sounding name to ascribe to the territory, a name unwittingly derived from the tribal chief’s own name uttered in non-sense statements.

On the beach, as Christian’s boat drifted towards the sand, one of Birch’s non-commissioned officers drew a binoculars from his pack and set about the task of inspecting the incoming sailboat from afar. He waved his arm and his men lowered their rifles after the marine saw no weapons readily displayed on the boat. As it drifted ever nearer, as close as its keel would allow, Corporal Andrew Peel signaled for one of his privates to bring up some sturdy paper from the rapidly unfolding settlement of sorts.

Peel quickly constructed a megaphone of sorts that he aimed towards the sailboat. “Attention unidentified vessel, you have illegally entered the waters of the United Kingdom and are hereby ordered to drop anchor and prepare to be boarded.” Peel placed the megaphone atop a crate and shouldered his rifle once more; from his perspective he would receive either one of two responses, the boat dropping anchor or a hail of gunfire. He sincerely hoped for the former.
Questers
23-12-2006, 01:24
AUST!!!

Remember me? Hogsweat?
Aust
30-12-2006, 14:47
OOC: Yeah Hoggy I do. You never got Hogsweat back did you?

IC: Ti-Quali lay inbetween life and death, conciousness and unconsiouness. He knew he was hear but everything was black. From time to time strange images fluttered into his mind, memorys of times long gone or not yet come. He was a child again, making his first kill. He was an old man looking down on his grandchildren. He was flying.

He tried to amke sense of what was going on, it was all too fast and too slow, to confused. He could seen things being pushed into his body. From time to time sounds drifted into his shattered conciousness. There where voices, sounds, the counch of amchinery adn the steady bleep of a heart monator. Ti-Quali tried to make sense of it all, trying to work it all into the mythology that surroudned the tribe, but he could discover nothing.

Ti-Quali slept.

----------------
The Austian forces began to assembel. The two fleet began to gather in Percis Bay and Twison bay. Airial reconsense began, U9 spy planes sending back detailed information of there enermys layout. In the jungle the Austian troops made there drop and began to make there way through the jungle towards there enermys base.

In Sigon the Austian Commanders watched. There where three of them, Grand Admiral Richos, Air Leader Wilson and Feild Leader Richardson, the overall commander of the forces.

"There not retreating, sire," Wilson said as he scanned the latest feeds from the U9 planes. "Infact there digging in. They'll have established considerable defenses by the time the 24 hour window is up." The General nodded and continued looking at his charts.

When can the navy be there?" He asked the Grand Admiral,

"18:00 hours."

"My men will be there by 22:00, we'll attack in the dark. At 21:30 I want the bombers to commense assult upon the enermys encampment, as soon as the navy is in range they'll commense assult as well. We'll blast them until 24:00 and then my forces will strike.
-------------------
The day past qucikly for the Austian forces slowly making there way through the jungles and the waters of Aust. It was a hot, sweltering day, the hight of a long wet summer and as night began to fall the storms began, rain pouring down from the heavens.

The Asutains pressed on, the 60 Austian soildiers worked there way through the forest using macheties to cut there path through the dense foliage until theya rrived at the remains of the village. There they stopped, setting up a rudimentry sugery and armoury, digging in, waiting for there signal to attack.

High above the skys the 24 Mark 45 bombers cruised high above the could cover. Sliently approching there destination. Almost undetectable there fighter escorts buzzed round them like a swarm of bees.

Then, finally, they where there. A single command was spoken and the bombs dropped.