British Londinium
25-12-2006, 03:45
HMS Devonshire, 1900 hrs.
"Captain on the bridge," declared an ensign as the captain swaggered onto the command deck.
"Commander Tammuz, what's our status?" he asked. He was too busy sleeping with a lieutenant who worked in missile control to pay attention to such things.
"Sir, we're still in international waters around our neighbours," sighed the XO.
"Which country, again?" asked the captain. The XO rolled his eyes.
Idiot, the XO thought. I ought to be the fucking captain, not this bitch. Maybe if he wasn't fucking Lieutenant Ishtar he'd know where the fuck we were.
"Albiov," said Tammuz out loud.
***
Londinian High Command, 1904 hrs.
Captain Aruru rose from his post. After eight hours of supervising radar technicians, one needed a break. Nevertheless, Aruru would be gone much longer than his alotted ten minutes.
He went over the LGPS room, inserting his identification card and undergoing the security checks.
"Is there an Air Commodore Hanuman in here?" he asked loudly.
A man in his forties with graying hair rose.
"I'm AC Hanuman," he stated emotionlessly.
Aruru marched towards him, carrying an official document. It read:
By Order of the Ministry for Defence:
You are to report to RAF Waddington for reassignment forthwith. Delay shall penalized.
"I'm...confused," muttered Hanuman. "I've served as the managing officer for the LGPS Programme since it's creation. It's like my child, in a way."
"Sir, I'm sorry, but orders are orders. The MoD representative told me that if you objected to or questioned your orders, you would not recieve a favourable promotion," replied Aruru.
"Whatever. Who's in charge now?" Hanuman asked.
"I'm the temporary Director of the LGPS Programme," Aruru stated, lying through his teeth.
"Good luck," said Hanuman casually as he strode out the door.
He fell for it hook, line, and sinker, thought Aruru. Those orders were faked, and my mission will be a success.
Sitting down at a control console, Aruru went to work.
***Access Confirmed***
****Satellite Control Granted****
*****Altering Alignment of Satellite 07*****
Excellent, he thought.
***
The Albiovian MiGs flew over the HMS Devonshire, signalling to them.
You are in Albiovian territorial waters. Please leave forthwith or be destroyed.
***
"What's this?" asked the captain.
"Apparently, this is their territorial waters," replied the XO with a sneer.
"No fucking way," shouted the captain. "I'm looking at the LGPS readout now. We are three kilometres out from their waters."
"Well, they beg to differ."
"Signal them that these are international waters and we will not withdraw."
***
Stealth Ship Brosnan, 1928 hrs.
"The plan worked, it seems," stated Elliot Crompton. "The trick with the LGPS fooled them. Are the Albiovians still signalling for withdrawal?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. On their next flyby, fire a missile at one of them. Then, sink the Devonshire."
***
"Shit!" cried the XO.
"What is it now? Stubbed a toe?"
"No, sir! Torpedo in the water!"
"Shit! All hands, action stations, action stations! This is not a drill!" shouted the captain into the 1MC.
The torpedo slammed into the starboard of the Devonshire.
"What the fuck? Why isn't there an explosion?" asked one of the bridge crew.
The torpedo was equipped with a drill, and sliced through deck after deck, without mercy.
"Signal Kensington, tell them our current position and status," ordered the captain as water started to flood the deck beneath them.
xx.xx degrees south, xx.xx. degrees west
HMS Devonshire under attack in international waters by Albiovian MiGs, without provocation.
***
Once the ship had sunk, divers from the stealth ship descended to capture the Devonshire's cache of cruise missiles and nuclear warheads.
OOC: Albiov is entirely my creation; I need a volunteer to RP as them. I also need someone willing to RP the terrorists, but I can do that if necessary.
"Captain on the bridge," declared an ensign as the captain swaggered onto the command deck.
"Commander Tammuz, what's our status?" he asked. He was too busy sleeping with a lieutenant who worked in missile control to pay attention to such things.
"Sir, we're still in international waters around our neighbours," sighed the XO.
"Which country, again?" asked the captain. The XO rolled his eyes.
Idiot, the XO thought. I ought to be the fucking captain, not this bitch. Maybe if he wasn't fucking Lieutenant Ishtar he'd know where the fuck we were.
"Albiov," said Tammuz out loud.
***
Londinian High Command, 1904 hrs.
Captain Aruru rose from his post. After eight hours of supervising radar technicians, one needed a break. Nevertheless, Aruru would be gone much longer than his alotted ten minutes.
He went over the LGPS room, inserting his identification card and undergoing the security checks.
"Is there an Air Commodore Hanuman in here?" he asked loudly.
A man in his forties with graying hair rose.
"I'm AC Hanuman," he stated emotionlessly.
Aruru marched towards him, carrying an official document. It read:
By Order of the Ministry for Defence:
You are to report to RAF Waddington for reassignment forthwith. Delay shall penalized.
"I'm...confused," muttered Hanuman. "I've served as the managing officer for the LGPS Programme since it's creation. It's like my child, in a way."
"Sir, I'm sorry, but orders are orders. The MoD representative told me that if you objected to or questioned your orders, you would not recieve a favourable promotion," replied Aruru.
"Whatever. Who's in charge now?" Hanuman asked.
"I'm the temporary Director of the LGPS Programme," Aruru stated, lying through his teeth.
"Good luck," said Hanuman casually as he strode out the door.
He fell for it hook, line, and sinker, thought Aruru. Those orders were faked, and my mission will be a success.
Sitting down at a control console, Aruru went to work.
***Access Confirmed***
****Satellite Control Granted****
*****Altering Alignment of Satellite 07*****
Excellent, he thought.
***
The Albiovian MiGs flew over the HMS Devonshire, signalling to them.
You are in Albiovian territorial waters. Please leave forthwith or be destroyed.
***
"What's this?" asked the captain.
"Apparently, this is their territorial waters," replied the XO with a sneer.
"No fucking way," shouted the captain. "I'm looking at the LGPS readout now. We are three kilometres out from their waters."
"Well, they beg to differ."
"Signal them that these are international waters and we will not withdraw."
***
Stealth Ship Brosnan, 1928 hrs.
"The plan worked, it seems," stated Elliot Crompton. "The trick with the LGPS fooled them. Are the Albiovians still signalling for withdrawal?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. On their next flyby, fire a missile at one of them. Then, sink the Devonshire."
***
"Shit!" cried the XO.
"What is it now? Stubbed a toe?"
"No, sir! Torpedo in the water!"
"Shit! All hands, action stations, action stations! This is not a drill!" shouted the captain into the 1MC.
The torpedo slammed into the starboard of the Devonshire.
"What the fuck? Why isn't there an explosion?" asked one of the bridge crew.
The torpedo was equipped with a drill, and sliced through deck after deck, without mercy.
"Signal Kensington, tell them our current position and status," ordered the captain as water started to flood the deck beneath them.
xx.xx degrees south, xx.xx. degrees west
HMS Devonshire under attack in international waters by Albiovian MiGs, without provocation.
***
Once the ship had sunk, divers from the stealth ship descended to capture the Devonshire's cache of cruise missiles and nuclear warheads.
OOC: Albiov is entirely my creation; I need a volunteer to RP as them. I also need someone willing to RP the terrorists, but I can do that if necessary.