NationStates Jolt Archive

The Trouble with Puppets (MT, Open when I say so.)

06-02-2007, 08:41
Port Christi, Valla Verde, Southeast Pacific Ocean

Brigadier-General Francois de Souza, in full olive drab combat fatigues, marched up the stairs of the Valla Verde Senate Chambers Building escorted by a number of soldiers armed with FNC rifles and MAG machineguns and photographers as a number of vehicles assembled in the street out in front, including a number of former Valla Verde Defence Forces (VVDF) Marder II armoured carriers and a Leopard 2A5 tank. The sound of combat boots echoed through the interior halls against the marble floor as the general made his way to the central chambers, a black P90 submachinegun in his hands as he pushed open the doors, revealing himself to the room of scared senators and politicians.

"Greetings, comrades!" He bellowed before laughing, "We apologize for the mess we created in the capital, but it was necessary to kill your loyalist troops before making our way here to see El Presidente. Now where is our beloved leader?" As he finished speaking, two soldiers with their carbines pushed through the door, followed by the other members of their section, forcing the bloodied and beaten President Manuel Bishop to the floor as they entered. "El Presidente, I'm afraid your time of squandering the people's resources is over, no longer will the oil of Valla Verde go to the imperialist dogs of Aequatio for prices which leave our nation and people marginalized. Your time is most assuredly over," de Souza said with a devil's grin as he pulled the charging bolt back on his weapon and fired it into Bishop's chest, leaving him to die in the center of the senate chambers before his soldiers started firing into the seats with their own weapons.

It would be three days before Brigadier de Souza opened up to the world about the actions he had committed within his coup d'etat.

"Comrades of the Global Socialist Revolution! No longer will Valla Verde bow to the so-called 'Republic of Aequatio' in providing it with oil taken from the blood of our workers! For too long I served the wrong masters, only to have realized the only way to make good on my purpose in life but to name myself El Presidente of this nation and move to create a new regional great power!"

Viva the revolution!"


Ebon Tor, Magna Casa, Aequatius Prime

The cooler winter climate had set in over the city, although there was no snow as there was around Attica in the north, it still rained considerably as President Holden Reid sat at his desk, reviewing reports from his advisors when an aide accompanying his Secretary of State entered his office and handed him a report concerning the recent events within Valla Verde.

After thirty minutes, he was meeting with his highest advisors, discussing what was to be done about the situation, as the new-found oil reserves created a most economical solution to the growing fuel shortages facing the Republic in the recent months. "This cannot stand!" Shouted the secretary of defence.

Interior was the next to speak, "The nation requires those resources if we are to continue growth, it is utterly impossible to import everything we need from our other allies in Gholgoth, they require the strained number of regional resoruces just as badly as we do."

"This is a direct threat to our nation interests," Explained defence angerly, "We must act immediately, to ensure our continued existance and to protect our citizens!"

President Reid sat at the head of the table, his firehead resting in his hands before he looked up at his ministers, "All right, get me the Joint Chiefs."

OOC: Basically what I'm doing here is the first in a series of small, limited conflicts for myself, as it seems as though the international community is no longer properly challenging me in writing or conflicts. No offence, but you people just aren't that fun, so I'm going to play with myself. At one point, I would be more than glad to have one or two outside parties join in the conflict, under strict guidelines however, which will be outlined later.

Yes, like masterbation. (Glad to get that out of the way.)
06-02-2007, 10:05
Camp Fowler Aequatian Republic Marine Corps Base, Espandor, Aequatius Secundus

The base had become a hub of activity once the mobilization order had gone through for the first marine division. Sergeant-Major Dom Hastings, the sergeant-major for the first battalion, second regmental combat team, helped his other non-commissioned officers organize their infantry units in the most effective way he had come to learn in the marines: shouting.

"Jesus tapdancing Christ, Staff Sergeant," He said, emptying the parachute bag for one of the Surveillance and Target Acquisition Platoon sergeants, "How in the holy hell were you expecting to get in-land without a proper chute? Walk off the fucking back of the Chinook, huh? Pack that shit right for once, then again to make the fuck sure!"

He liked the marines under his command, he wanted them to survive when it came time to meet the enemy in the field and nothing angered him more than a marine who did not care enough about his own life by making mistakes in the details such as parachutes, rifle drills or even personal hygiene. As he prepared the infantry for their coming tasks, those in logistics had the monumental task ahead of them of loading the assault vessels with the heavy equipment such as tanks, artillery and trucks.

In the harbour of Espandor sat the vessels which made up a divisional amphibious assault group, mostly the Bishop class ships which resembled smaller aircraft carriers, along with the no-less important Lowe class transports and the escorts such as the fleet workhorses, the Daniel Hurst class destroyers. They marines would have the usual support offered by the Navy, which consisted of an aircraft carrier strike group with a pair of accompanying battleships for fire support.