NationStates Jolt Archive

Harry Loveless staggered through the streets of the city. They were practically empty. As his shin collided violently with a large piece of rubble, he hastily rephrased that thought. They were practically empty of people, besides a few scavengers here and there. Bits of buildings, pieces of twisted and scorches metal, and fallen warriors, on the other hand, were more common.

What the hell happened? Wondered Loveless. How could we, how could anyone fall this far this fast?

True, Marlq had always been a bit of a backwater, but for centuries they had lived in peace more or less undisturbed by the raging conflicts of the outside world, and untroubles by internal strife. Now? Well he simply had to look about to confirm how bad things indeed were. The charnel of battle was bad enough, but it was generally impersonal, couldn't be helped.

What had happened to those that had tried to surrender though, was far, far worse. Harry tore his eyes away from the gruesome spectacle- a dozen severed heads, impaled on makeshift pikes jutted from the churned up pavement. He didn't dare examine the decapitated bodies piled nearby.

There was a gunshot. Hard earned experience took over, and Harry threw himself to the ground. He even managed to prevent himself from swearing when a jagged piece of what once had been a vintage Firebird sliced into his forearm.

The men with the guns looked wild. Granted, he was no spring rose himself, razors were near impossible to come by these days, and what ones there were tended to end up as weapons more than as cosmetic accessories. Harry's hair was longer than usual, and filthy. His clothes were torn, and his skin covered with dirt. But these men obviously hadn't been cutting or brushing their hair for a long while before the Troubles started. Likewise their beards. Their clothing was in surprisingly good shape, but it was made from animal skins, or what he fervently hoped where animal skins.

There were about two dozen of them, which was a shame. Had there only been the one, he would have risked trying to take him unawares. He'd kill for a gun, quite literally. Behind the armed wild men was, of all things, a tank. Or part of one, anyways. It seemed to have lost it's turret, and been reduced to a towing vehicle. Tied behind it was another tracked vehicle, not immediately identifiable, upon which sat a number of wooden cages. Inside those cages were women. Five of them, actually. They were all young, and all seemed as if they'd be pretty with anything resembling normal grooming.

Not any of my business, he told himself. But then he saw her. His daughter, just seventeen, had been facing the other way. Even through the disguising layer of grime, he would recognize that face anywheres. He waited until the wild men had passed, and then followed after them. They walked to the park, miraculously untouched by the devestation that had leveled the city and god only knew how much of the rest of the country.

There were hundereds of the wild men there. One of whom had apparentally been following him as he followed the others. He was good, there was no doubt about that. The first indication Harry had was a rifle but to the back of the head.

He awoke with his hands tied behind his back, with a wooden pole of some sort between the two. More alarmingly even than that, or the fact that there was a large crowd of chanting wild men around, was the fact that there was a large pile of wood beneath his feet, and he smelled petrol.

One of the wild men was holding a cell phone, transmitting the live occurence of this event to the world. Harry glanced at him only for a moment though, before looking first to the left, where the women he had seen in the cage were bound similar to himself, and then to the right, where another half dozen men were tied. He tried to say something, and realized for the first time that something odd had happened in his mouth. As one of the wild men stepped forward with what looked suspiciously like a Zippo, he realized what it was. His tongue was gone.

In a split second, he realized exactly what was happening. A human sacrifice. The wild men were goddamn pagans. He had heard that they were one of the best armed and organized groups rising from the chaos, but hadn't payed much attention to politics.

After that instant of brilliance, the pain hit him. He screamed. As if held back by a damn that he had just broken, the other joined him, wordless bellows and shrieks of pain and fear rising to the sky, even as smoke began to join them from the wood below the farthest woman to his left.

Oh Gods of the Hunt, give me cunning. Gods of War, give me strength. Gods of Justice, steel my will to the task that must now be done.

As fervent a beliver as he had been raised, Max had never had much of a tolerance for violence. Blood, even animal blood, had once been enough to send him into a naseous fit. He had become harder since then. He had had to. Still, he didn't enjoy the killing. The frightened man in kneeling in front of him, Max's knife resting on his throat, had once been the most powerful man in all of Marlq. That hadn't been an overwhelming amount of power, what with all of the checks and balances the weak fools had put in place over the years, but the man had weilded some real authority. No more.

As with the sacrifices the night before- when he had found himself actually enjoying the futile screams of the Messangers as the flame had leapt from the wood to their clothing, hair, and skin- this was being transmitted via a cell phone. With the execution of the previous leaders, a new age would dawn, and the Prophets wanted all to witness it.

The trembling weakling was restrained by a chain on each wrist. He had been allowed to retain his tongue, so that the viewers of the world might realize how far he had truly fallen.

The knife slid into the man's ribs. He screamed, but Max blocked out the screams. This wasn't like last night. It wasn't a holy ceremony. It was merely... necessary. He took no pleasure. The knife moved in a circle, slowly, as the man prayed to his impotent god. Then, it was done, and Max held up the man's heart, as, unmistakably dead, the now ex-president slumped in his chains.

OOC: I doubt you'd let me intervene in this anyway (horrendously high FT 'n all), but what precisely do you want in the immediate term? Few people actually invite conquest of their nations deliberately.

OOC: Essentially, what this is, is my laying the foundations for my nation. That is, a rather free nation, as far as personal lives and business goes, but a rather warlike one, in which human sacrifices are regulalry practiced.

OOC: Essentially what this is is my laying the foundations for what Marlq is going to become. A nation that doesn't really care what people do in their personal or private lives, but where human sacrifices are not uncommon, and where, ultimately, all political decisions are made by three women (cliche, I know, but I prefer to think of it as classic) supposedly based on religious visions.

That said, anyone wishing to get involved ICly should TG me before posting here. IC reactions are fine without TGing me, but if you plan to invade/send peacekeepers/whatever it is you do to nations like Marlq, TG me first, and we'll talk about it.

To the uninformed observer Inquisitor McLead's job was that of a spy or feild intelligence officer and on reflection that sort of work did make up a lot it, but if one probed deeper an Inquisitor's job was somewhat more "interesting".

Interesting was perhaps not the first word McLeod would have used to describe his current situation. No when you were sitting in the burnt out shell of what was once a small office block, with hordes of apparently frenzied roaming the rumble strewn streets aroudn you it took a very special type of mind set to find your situation anything more than frightening. Not that McLeod was one to find many things frightening, he had witnessed just about every act of depravity the human (and possibly inhuman) mind could think of but when your satallite phoenr efused to work and you were supposed to be arrnageing a link up with a team of special forces personnel, well thigns could get on top of you.

A few days ago the situation had been a bit different, the country had appeared on the surface fairly calm and quiet in an average small nation sort of way but the breif intel and McLeod's own digging had hinted at something darker lurking beneath, but unfortunatly nobody had expected it to erupt so soon or with the frenzy of violence it had.

Finally the sat phone indicated a connection and the Inquisitor was fianlly able to reach the special forces team sitting off shore in a converted trmap freighter. Firing off his messages he arrnaged a meeting point with the soldiers and uploaded his altest reports to the Templar head Quarters. This task completed, he packed up the phone, shouldered his pack and weapons and started to make his way to the metting point.

Templar HQ, Kirkhill, Crookfur

Master DePayne glanced once more at Mcleod's report before turning back to the shadowed council sitting roudn the board room table.

"Well it seems we were right to get an agent into Marlq, things have definately progressed as the sensitives suggested they would. So far we have no obvious signs of direct chaos taint. The acts we have seen so far, while barbaric and most defiantly religeously orientated, don't give any particular cause for concern, yes ideally we would like to effect a crushing of even the weakest taint but the reality is that with the Tribali, Rophear and other commitments we are close to full stretch, yes the regualr military could likely handle thigns but would draw far too much in the way of international attention. We are of course not entirely powerless, the SS. ILOVESERIOUSLYSTRONG is in postion and is currently deploying a team of "Ks" and brothers martial to support Inquisitor McLeod and we have a naval squadron nearby that could be deployed to "protect" international shipping. At the moment our options are limited we will unfortunatly have to wait until the power structure of this "erruption" becomes clear, McLeod has made a sketchy mention of a number of groups and indivduals not aligned with the main "pagan" element so they might well be a card we can use, even if it is only to go in and extract refugees from what ever regeme repalces the previous govenrment."

What happened? In my hand I have another hand, and that hand is clinging on a peace of bread. Nothing is clinging on the hand itself. I have blood all over me, I remember being hungry, and I think I wasn’t eating the hand, but the bread. We are rather meat eater. Rather. We.
I can’t remember the we part. What that means. I think I was suppose to do something here (wherever here is), with a…. where is it? Where is it? It’s rectangular, silver, Bigger than my palm and… it does something. Where is it? Lots of bodies where I’m staying, I can remember I was underneath them…
Cat, somebody really had a good time with these bodies… Lots of bullets… this guy have them rectangular, this in patterns… Where’s my… thing?! Wait, I’m not searching where I should… I came in from….. no, I can’t remember myself entering (where is it?!?!) I remember suffocating under a lot of other peoples, in a corner, moving them off me (Cat, I must have been lucky to be in a corner, and then coming to this area to eat… the bread (phew!). So the thing should be.......move….come on…. … HERE!!!!!! It is started like…. this, and it enters the… broad-cast mode like this…. Not working….The screen is dead (and cracked). If I can remember, there was some vocal commands.
Conex>live>1
(that was a long line, but I think it’s the right line to enter the… the live-broadcasting mode… Yes! I was filming around with this thing. What I said made this thing enter live broadcast. I can’t remember for who I’m broadcasting, but it’ s imperative that I do!)
I heard a sort of beep coming out of this thing, which is good. One beep means OK, two means Not OK.
Let’s see, I’m pointing it like this and I pan like this…..

Far across the seas, in a television studio, a technician unlucky enough to be on duty discovered a human head, without body or eyes, looking at him from a monitor.

OOC: Really, really sorry. Unexpected RL stuff.

IC: The Wild Men were in control. Susan and the other members of the work gang weren't exactly sure how that had happened. She'd seen gangs- no, that didn't describe their organization, or frightening intense focus. She'd seen units of them roaming the city, occasionally skirmishing with what had appeared to be military regulars. But until a few hours ago, nobody had really been in control.

That had changed. She was almost positive of that. If the Wild Men, or the Trio or Triplets or whatever mystical sounding force they claimed guided them could afford to start focusing on trading soup in exchange for the labor of clearing these streets, and could afford the scarily intense men with guns to guard them, and prevent them from carrying off for their own stashes any weaponry, food, or medicine, then they couldn't possibly have any major military rivals left in the city.

The Wild Men didn't seem to care much for common valuables though. Susan had pocketed a Rolex without any of them blinking, although she felt eerily certain that at least one had seen it. Come to think of it, they seemed completely uninterested in the women- or for that matter the men- in the work group, except as rubble clearing machines. One of the women had approached a Wild Man, and made it clear that she would be happy to do a slightly less physically intensive and more mutually pleasing type of work in exchange for her supper. He had roughly shoved her back towards the rubble in the street.

Long hours of working out in the gym had finally paid off, if not quite in the way she'd expected. Susan worked as well as any of the other women, and a good deal of the men. Of course, having found an untouched, but abandoned corner grocer, she had been eating better then most of them as well.

She swung the pickaxe. The piece of concrete split into two pieces, each small enough to be lifted into the wheelbarrow and carted away by the other workers. There was a rhythm in the work. She had been an accountant before the violence erupted, and hadn't really done any manual labor since she was sixteen. It felt, oddly good, especially as losing herself in the rhythm of the pick allowed her to avoid thinking about the frightening overseers, or the horrifying sacrifices said to have been carried out in central park.

When she glanced up to look for the next piece of rubble, she noticed that all of the Wild Men were suddenly standing at something resembling attention, their guns held parallel to them at their sides.

The woman was wearing a crimson robe and a crimson mask over it. She moved through the rubble without stumbling. Then the Wild Men, large, dangerous looking men all, knelt as one.

The woman touched the forehead of one of them, and said a few words. Susan wasn’t sure what the words were, only that they weren’t in English or French, the two common languages in Marlq.

Then she was gone, gliding off through the rubble, and the work began again.

CentrArm, Roman, RevTerr
A young man in his 30's was racing through the CentrArm park, at fast as his long legs could carry him. He left his wife to pick up the rest of the picnic the news just trashed. So what if they were the ruling couple of RevTerr, literary, with one leading the country and the other one the capital city? They still loved a good picnic, and the CentrArm complex, the Political and Military node building of RevTerr had even a nature corner, for the situation when traveling with the underground (secret) transporters to the outskirts was not desirable.
The closest point to where he was the Education Ministry conference room, which was already cleared for the impromptu conference. Our guy was especially pissed of by the fact that this meeting of the Allied Council was called behind his back, by the representatives from the rather unfriendly province of Radu. And, knowing how things worked, they made sure that his two trusty advisers would be already there, so he would have to take decisions in front of them. All he could do was called in some additional experts in communications.

TvRev said they picked up the transmission using the television feeds, not the usual data feeds. What does this mean?
There are different channels for transmitting analogue and digital data. The old generation broadcast systems used relays to send the images from, let's say, a correspondent in Ceahlau, to the Norad relay, and from them to the Roman relay. On a different channel, TvRev's emission from Roman would be broadcasted to the relay in Norad, who would broadcast the signal in the wild. If the signal is strong enough one person in Norad would catch TvRev with a fork.
Are we using this?
No, we went directly to a digital television system, using data feeds.
Why are they still using it?
Different evolution patterns.
If I may, Comander, is this relevant?
It is, if we can understand how come one person can broadcast something from a country with all frequencies jammed.
We thought that he patched into a local television station broadcasting systems, but as we understood, most of them are burning or wreaked by mobs.
Could equipment survive, maybe broadcast in the wild?
We have indications that there is no power.
Hidden UPS?
Possibly.
Who is this guy? What's with all this secrecy around his ID?
Crist, tell them!
Well, as you know, we conduct regular test of our diplomats: we send people as false refugee, false reporters, false locals, you name it, so we can test our facility: how's the security, how are they behaving, etc.This guy, named Feris Taren, is a FSR [Revterran secret service] agent who was to pose as a local, requesting visa.
So you are telling me that no revterran in Marlq know that he is there?
Yes.
Anything new on the embassy?
No. One of the television crew reported fire in the vicinity of our embassy. MediaWatch didn't discover anything else. Still no entrance and exits from the country.
Well, the embassy was pretty fortress like, with those big walls and the mansion look...
I saw tanks on TV on those streets. And one of them fired at the television crew who filmed that.
How is this guy broadcasting?
With a RIC.
I know that. How come he is broadcasting? Is the RIC converting the signal to analogue?
Not necessary. The equipment could make the conversion, just like ours did it back.
Can we call him?
We are working on it.
If he is using this equipment, where could this equipment be and why isn’t he using to send mere data, other then corpses?
As you know, we, in RevTerr, are having a sort of backup plan, in case CentrArm gets blow away, or the ground communication system gets electric shocked (there are a lot of weird bombs in this world). There is a communication system in place so that if something happens to me, as supreme commander, a hierarchy of command should be established. Now, what if Marlq's back-up plan got activated, and picked up our guy's transmission?
You saw the images, this looks like a cross between a military coop and the night of the living dead. Do you think that the military didn't know about the backup plan?
Admiral, I expect the Comander's Office to have backup plans for evacuating and retrieving control in case anyone of those in here gets some ideas.
That maybe true or not, but I see no reason why a country's presidential administration shouldn't have a non-military involved back-up plan.
Comander, the frequency analysis came in, it seems that the signal is not omnidirectional as we thought, it has a direct destination the RevTerran FES Satellite.
But FES is basically an orbiting microwave collecting and sending station.
Yes. But in order to deliver the warning that whoever flies above enters a dangerous area, we equipped it with the entire transmission device required to deliver warnings...
...including analogue.
But why didn't the message got delivered to the Ground Station in Ceahlau?
Because it has an addressee: TvRev Station in Roman.
How could be a television broadcast with an addressee, if all the customization one could add is the frequency?
Maybe it started as a digital with addressee; the equipment converted the signal into analogue and relayed it to the appropriate destination.
An orbiting power plant is a viable destination?
We are working at this theory. But basically we think that this guy hacked into a broadcasting station and is using it to broadcast to TvRev
Isn't it beyond their current level and price tag?
Not necessarily. Plus, if we were to buy one of this supposedly expensive device, we would rather use it as an emergency operation. And it would be secret.
Comander, it is imperative that we send the Navy to retrieve our personnel, assuming there is any.
Previous attempts by other countries resulted in violent setbacks.
That's no excuse for letting our people die. Now, at our previous assembly you ask FSR to gather data for a mission. We haven't been informed of anything beyond that promise.
That's because there is a plan in place, but that information is marked FSR Exceptional Secret.
Why is it Exceptional? Couldn't be just High Secret, so that we could have access?
Admiral Nita?
While we do appreciate your concern, we would like to investigate this at the outmost secrecy.
Comander, you know that this means you will take the blame if that plane falls?
Of course.

Matei Revert stormed into his apartment in the CentrArm complex. Anca Revert, his wife and elected subcomander for Roman was waiting impatiently.

Well, how was it?
I’m so sick and tired of attempting to convince the military to be subtle about anything. "Let's send the army in, invade that country"!
Well, there are a lot's of arms in RevTerr, none of which used since Tanah Burung. All of their production fed radans.
Yes, but explain to a Radu representative that if you send a military ship to a country in civil war, there are high chances that one of the sides, if not both, will consider your embassy a bridge head, and will even go as far as nuking it. Go to your office, I'm calling Crist and Nita.

Matei entered his office, adjacent to their living quarters, and sat in front of his video wall.
Conex>Macro>Nita Dragh
Connected, replied the system, as the face of Admiral Nita, head of FSR, and Crist Dragh, Minister for the Exterior, appeared on two of the monitors. On a third one, Anca Revert was monitoring the discussion.
Conex>Silent>2. Admiral, with your permission, I would like to give access to Crist Dragh to our little plan in Marlq. He might prove useful, and I trust his judgment
Ok, Comander.
Conex>voice>2. Crist, I'm giving you FSR Exception 3 clearance. Briefly, here's the situation: we have two intervention ships bound for Marlq. They are disguised as low-cost luxury liner, respectively, cargo carrier. They will reach the coast tomorrow. One will try to dock at the biggest harbor; the other will remain at large. Both are carrying supplies for the embassy.
Interesting. How can I help?
With nothing for now, you will be handling diplomatic incidents if need arrives.
Don't count for much outside support. The other nations are treating this as a sort of religious coup, and, as such, they want to have nothing to do with them. It is unclear who are these revolutionary fighting for, but, whoever they are, the other countries are keeping their distance.
I would be scare too if a country I know to be safe and sound suddenly gets overwhelmed by fanatics.
Admiral, if I may, why is this guy transmitting toward TvRev?
We don’t know. According to his file, he worked for TvRev in the beginning, got expert in communications and hacking communication systems, got recruited by FSR. We are assuming that it has something to do with the equipments, although at FSR have the same equipment TvRev does, and then some.
Anything new on the embassy?
Nothing new on ANY embassy in Marlq.

Embassy log, Revterran date, xxchaos day+1xx, diplomat Aspic reporting
We are fighting what appear to be armed people attacking in waves our embassy. The initial attack, surprising for it's cunning, left us without the two soldiers on guard (I'll check their names later) at the gate. A negotiating team sent from our embassy 20 hour ago didn't return, so our press attaché is considered missing in action and presumed dead. The attackers took over our gate post, and from there they attempted to move in, but we hold our ground. We received no answers to our messages inside the city, and we seem to be jammed from communicating with the outside world. We have no electricity or running water. Fights seem to erupted everywhere in the city, and we have no word from ambassador Servit, captain Erat or economic attaché Vurif. As best we can tell, when the attacks started, they were schedule to be in a meeting with the president of Marlq.
At the request of lieutenant Itrus, now in charge with our defenses, we set fire to the park surrounding the embassy, in an....

Matia looked up, as an young lieutenant with battle gear entered the room.

...attempt to give ourselves a clear sight to anyone approaching.

Yea, well, that's swell in theory, but it won’t defend us from any air raid, even more, my people on the embassy are vulnerable to that.
Matia looked helpless at him.
We've cleared the gates.
How?
Cover of dark, used the JetSets to land behind them, gunned them down.
Prisoners?
You had to ask for them, right?
They could have prove useful in telling...
Not only that they didn't respond to our hails, but they kept coming even when they were clearly outnumbered, and in no danger of being killed, only captured.
I didn't know that.
Anyway, we've set up an automatic machine gun inside the gate and we are constantly watching the walls.
That machine gun would stir an diplomatic incident.
We are under attack. THIS is a diplomatic incident. But I'm afraid is something bigger then this. I saw fires all over town, including were some embassies should have been and the central park. More over, one of the guard had a handheld battery powered TV set. You might want to plug yours, maybe....... Those are gun shots. Stay here, clear of the windows!

The revterrans drilled holes inside the roof of the embassy and now were actively using them. The sound of the guns was almost deafening.
Report! screamed Itrus on the headset.
Multiple bogies jumped over the northern walls and they are approaching.
How "multiple"?
Very multiple sir.
How about the southern wall?
The park is still burning sir.
You! Let me watch, go fire some random shots south.

With his night vision, Itrus could see that the gate has been avoided completely.
Why isn't the machine gun on the doorsteps firing?
Don't know, sir, could be out of ammo!
Boogies, southern wall!
Grenade them. Technics, make that machine gun work!

Embassy log, Revterran date, xxchaos day+2xx, diplomat Aspic reporting
A second big attack on the embassy was thwarted last night, but it left us surprisingly low on ammo, we commandeered some weapons from the attackers. Now we are...

A large KABOOM was heard from the main gate, and the soldiers on top saw it exploding. Itrus raced through the door on the roof, directly to his JetSet. That sounded like a tank.
Jetters, get equipped!
He got in front of a holed specially drilled in the roof, and ignited his engines.
High columns of smoke and dust prevented the view from the embassy, but as he climbed higher, he could see a tank, at the end of the road.
KABOOM! and the rest of the gate flew open.
Orders sir!
Get at 10 m and come cover me!
The three of them looked like bats on steroids, coming from the smoke of the embassy, so the surprise was utter. From behind him two grenades flew towards some trucks, setting them on fire. The two other fliers, hovering in shifting positions around the perimeter, spread bullets from their automatic guns. In the mean time, Itrus landed directly on the tank, and sent a grenade inside through pilot's opened view port.
Evac!
The three bats left for the embassy. Behind them, with a "Thud", the tank seized to be a threat.

Embassy log, Revterran date, xxchaos day+3xx, diplomat Aspic reporting
After yesterday daring stunt performed by lieutenant Itrus's jeters, we haven't been directly attacked. Still, no communications. We've barely had any sleep last night, expecting another tank attack at the cover of dark. Fire still rages in part of the city, but the most of the gun shots have stopped.


Matia stopped the recorder. She was tired. She didn't sleep last night. Somehow, finding herself in charge with the non-military activity on the embassy got to her. With the ambassador gone, and with a military stand-in rather non talkative (which was odd for a revterran), she had little options.
Itrus's entrance woke her from her short involuntary sleep.
Oh, I'm sorry!
That's alright, Matia replied, gathering her Ric, the revterran version of a PoketPC. I was working anyway.
You should get some sleep.
You should do the same.
Actually, I was going to sleep, but went again in the basement to see the bunker.
I can't sleep... I'm too set on reading these.
It's good that you found time for paperwork.
You're mean. I had the assistant look at the Holy Books of Marlq.
?!
You'll laugh, but the only thing I came come up to as a motive is a fundamentalist religious uprising.
I'm listening.
Marlq was stable country. Not state of the art, but stable. And yet we find ourselves attacked by these fanatical groups. Now, they are either drugged, either believers, and I doubt that you could find enough drugged people in the capital city without some Secret Service knowing about it.
Go on.
You said once that you doubt that the Army is involved, your argument being that we would be turned into rubber by now by either planes or wave of tanks...
...plus the fact that, although fierce and organized, they didn't have a uniform.
...plus that. So I'm reading these books in an attempt to transform this building into a sort of protected enclave.
Meaning...
I don't know what that means yet. There are religions whose fighters, when conquering a town, left one church for the existing believers and burned the other ones. Or there are conquerors who let one enclave for those who chose to become a minority and destroy the others.
I bet there are a lot that didn't do that.
Of course. But I'm trying to help.
Anything new on TV?
Just a replay of some executions. I'm not keeping it on, to save power. No word from the ambassador?
Not even a beep from their tracking devices.

Nova Files Excerpt #5

Such chaos. Even though the Triana begin to restore order in the Capital, it will be a long time before this country returns to a facade of normalcy. As such, this is a time of unparalleled opportunity. The success of the Wild Men show that small, highly disciplined, heavily armed groups are the best form of organization in this shifting order.

If such a group were to have access to the previously highly classified city archives, listing military tunnels, as well as supplies of food and arms, this group could conceivably duplicate the success of the Triana, even without their religious fanatacism and apparent decades of planning.

###

"Base to Buccaneer, Base to Buccaneer, over."

Edward Thatch, paused in bandaging his wounded arm to press the transmit button on the radio. "Shiver my goddamned timbers, over." He snarled.

"No need to be like that, Buccaneer," said Base reproachfully. "If this doesn't go right, we'll all be glad we weren't using our real names. Over."

"Speaking of things not going right, where the hell is my backup? Over." Demanded Thatch. There were voices outside the thick wooden door. He swore under his breath and drew his pistol. Before collapsing in the arm chair to bandage his wound, he had slid a heavy bolt in the door, and endeavored the shift a heavy desk in front of it. The bolt was heavily rusted, however, and he had not been able to move the desk far. He had little doubt that the group of looters pursuing him would have little trouble breaking through it.

"Base to Buccaneer," came the voice, a moment later, as the first thud came from the door. "Calico Jack and Gladiator are inbound on your position. They should be there momentarily. Over."

Thatch grinned. "Finally. Some good news." The bolt snapped. The door swung open a small amount, and then caught against the desk. With several large men pushing the door, however, the desk began to move. As fit and numerous as the looters might be, no one had ever accused them of tactical genius. No one was likely to in the near future, either. As soon as the door was forced wide enough open, one squeezed through.

The bullet caught him in the throat, and he fell back with a look of utter surprise and slight indignation. "Oh come on," muttered Thatch, tossing the now empty pistol aside and drawing a knife from his belt. "Don't be like that. You'd have done the same to me had I given you half a chance."

The next looter through rushed at him, clutching a broken beer bottle in his left hand. Thatch caught his wrist and hit the man between the eyes with the hilt of the knife. The man fell hard, and Thatch kicked the door, catching the third looter's arm with a sickening crack. An instant later there was a blaze of automatic fire from outside the door.

"Hope you aren't scratched up too nastily," said Calico Jack, pushing the door open. He wore a long red calico coat, and had somehow managed to find a tricornered hat since the last time Thatch had seen him. "There's an embassy under heavy attack by the Wild Men, and Base wants us to see about providing some relief."

"Just some punk with a sharp rock," said Buccaneer, "I've stopped the bleeding, and I never much liked that arm anyways. Let's go."

As the breakers raged against the coast of Marlq, 2 small inflatable boats strained through the dark night. Sergeant Major Jamieson grimaced as his boats slammed down after cresting another wave, sending spray directly into his face. As a former paratrooper Jamieson simply couldn’t understand why they couldn’t have made their entry by HALO drop or even using their support vessel’s own rotodynes, but in the end someone on a higher pay grade made the decision in favour of a waterborne entry. At least the stormy weather made it more or less safe enough to use the outboard engine, rowing was such a bloody pain in the arse.

Scanning the coastline through his night sight Jamieson found the almost complete darkness simultaneously comforting and disturbing: comforting as the darkness was a special op’s best friend masking his movements and giving him the edge over those more used sleeping when it was dark, the discomforting thing was that not long ago there should have been quite a bit of light from nearby cities, and from his time in the Tribali lands he knew that when a city’s light went out only bad things happened. Checking his PBA (Personal Battlefield Assistant, i.e. digital map/navigation system, tactical radio, IFF device and digital data terminal all rolled into one) he pointed his sight at the rough location of the rendezvous and counted down the seconds to the agree upon time. 1 second over, 2 seconds over, 3... no, wait... there it was! An IR strobe flashing a Crookfur IFF signal. Whispering into his throat mike he informed the rest of the team spread across the 2 boats and the boats made their way to shore, the 12 special forces personnel ready for whatever plan the Inquisitor could come up with.

"Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
+++Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot & shell,
Boldly they rode & well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
+++Rode the six hundred."

Calico Jack considered for a moment, and then said, "Well, yeah, sure, Buccaneer. But there were six hundred of them. There's six of us."

They had reached the edge of the park a short while ago, and their mounts, no longer nervously picking their way through rubble were beginning to pick up speed. They had avoided the improvised spotlights so far, but despite the moonless night they would soon be close enough for the Wild Men to see them.

"Ready, Gladiator?" Asked The Spartan from behind and slightly to the left of Calico.

"Aye," rumbled the giant man, mounted on a beautiful black stallion. The Gladiator and the Spartan had been chosen, in addition to their riding skills, for their strong arms. As one they threw the canisters. The Spartan's blew up with a light that would have blinded the six had they not closed their eyes in anticipation, and a noise that nearly shattered their eardrums in spite of hastily crammed earplugs. Gladiator's exploded an instant later with a gas that did double duty, acting both as a smokescreen to hide their exact movements, and as a tear gas.

Eyes and mouths tightly closed, they charged into the thick of the gas. A single shot rang out, and then they were through. The Spartan, however, had caught that shot in his barrel chest, and his horse was now riderless. Calico Jack half turned in his saddle, raising a rifle and firing into the smoke, as more shots rang out. The gas was clearing now, and he fired at one Wild Man, and then another, most of whom were still coughing due to the unexpected inhalation of the gas.

Buccaneer was waving a white flag in the direction of the embassy with his good arm. It wouldn't do to be mowed down by the men they were coming to help after an escapade like that.

"Open the gates!" Shouted the Buccaneer, as the six- now five neared the fortress like walls of the embassy. One of the Wild Men was rushing towards a Gatling Gun, of all things. A bullet from Anne Bonny put him down, but several more were rushing towards it, and a number more than that were firing at the five.

Leutenent, come up!
I’m up!
Oh, sorry sir, the soldier move from the hole in the roof. It seemed that there is activity outside.
Who are they firing at?
Apparently someone approaching us…. we noticed them only after a sort of explosion… couldn't see much.
Sir, I see horsemen and a sort of flag, apparently white. They are approaching the embassy.
Couldn’t they arrive before we improvised that gate?! Tarn, Alin, fly low, bang it the gate toward us. Go! The rest of you, sniper mode! If those five make a wrong move…
The jetters left through a hole in the back of the roof, landed to save fuel, and flew again, very low, directly to the overtopped barn roof, that now stood as main gate. They topped it down again toward the embassy, enough for the horses to jump over it, and take cover behind the walls. Lots of bullets flew across the gap, until the bar got lifted again.
Somewhere behind the embassy building, a flash light signaled the horsemen to follow it.

This coutry looks deserted, said captain Moris. No fishermen, no comercial traffic, no radio contact, no nothing. Still no sign of those Coast Guard, rescuers, anything?
No, sir. You could look at it like this: no sign of coastal bateries either.
Stay on course for another ten minutes.. Tell mister Solis to prepare.

Secur, revterran "cargo" trip with an interesting cargo and a radio broadcasting "medical emergency" had the marlqan coast in sight.

Did I lose them? Hmpf, Hmpf!... Frak! That shot barely missed me. Where are you bastard? Hmpf… No, it’s not right, there have to be more of you, staying on some upper floors, and playing with me. Who made me come on this street?
Like I don’t know the answer… When I heard the cars closing, I knew I either run or die. They were coming too precise to my building.
Here, after these walls. Hmpf, hmpf I need a minute to take my breath. The.. whatever this-broadcasting-thing-is-called looks safe. Why do a feel the need to broadcast? Maybe I’m giving myself in… I wish I would remember…
Steps! Steps on the street….carefull steps, but decisive… a man looking for someone. Frak, he’s probably with a gun and I… who kept this street so clean, not a stone in sight, only bodies… bodies with arms….

What is he doing? asked agent Festic, on duty in MediaWatch, Revterran Secret Service’s division for watching media transmissions. He was now monitoring the transmission from Marlq.
I think he put his Ric in his pocket, answered Micra, but the camera is out of it.
I figured that… what is he doing to that body….? Is he…?I think he’s breaking his arm. Yak!
Although the clothes kept away some of the stuff, it was clear that the carrier of the Ric was using a leg to hold a body, and then it pulled the arm in a counter-clock movement….

Come on, you can do it, I need your arm, Cat damn it, I’m not gonna die like this!! I push here crrrack like this, and I twist like crrrack that, and know you should be rotten enough for me to skin this with this and… Yes!!!! Frak, he’s here!! Come on, buster, take this! And this!
RATATATATATA Stop waisting bullets in the air. Yeah, breath like that, without… whatever it’s that neck stuff called. Hmpf, hmpf… your machinegun! Give me that…No amo… come on, where do you keep the spares?, not in this pocket,
Point! Pfiu!
FRAK, your living friends are shooting….batteries, batteries, what am I to do with batteries?!?!?!?!? I need bullets. You came after me with only half of magazine?!? Just my luck, I get to put down one of these busters and it’s a…
Point! Pfiu! RATATATa.
I gotta move. Here, have one of my personal kick. I would tell you it’s nationality, but all I can think about are Cats.

I think it’s your turn to write the report.

Looking point blank at a marlqan weapon, revterran ambassador Victor Servit could only remember the last couple of days… Entering the Presidential palace, along captain Eram and economist Vurif. Passing the security checks, where they left their not-safe-looking objects like Eram’s sidearm. Marlq’s Secret Service did their job, the revterran delegation complied and went to meet the president. A long and mutually advantageous relation was to be discussed, and the talks went well, until shots were heard outside the office, but inside the building. …
Eram recognized the danger of the situation in a moment. We were inside an office, apparently with all the doors locked, with only a handful of Secret Service men between us and whoever the Cat were these guys, and no military in sight to provide relief. Eram plan was pure genius: he carefully looked outside from the balcony: there were no sign that the attackers had plans with the room adjacent to us. We took one of the table, carefully carried outside the balcony, and, in a split second all three of us launched it to make it a bridge to the next balcony. Secret Service didn’t allow the President to come with us… “too dangerous, we'll better negotiate our way out”, they said. By the time the attackers down in front of the palace got the idea of what was happening we were safe in the second balcony, and from that we raced towards another wing of the building.

The metal is warm… it has been used before

We were running through the corridors, heading away from the office along with personnel, assistants, guards, visitors.
It came out of nowhere… suddenly a door opened near us and Vurif’s brains were all over me… Eram reacted a split second afterwards, inserting the Lak into the attacker’s neck. Thank Cat that these Laks can look like pens when not extended. Security men draw their weapons, lots of noises and screaming, and I can remember Eram forcedly taking me away…., through another door… Like a dream I remember attackers exiting through some doors, only to find Eram’s Lak pocking them, disarming them, emptying the magazines in the room they exited and then pushing me away, further up…

The metal pokes the forehead… the punk is in a playful mood

Two days they hid in a sort of servant room, behind some stairs. Servit believed Eram when he said that the smell that was coming from outside was actually human smell, and heard the screams, and felt lucky that he couldn’t see the flames.
In an end, the rumor stopped, and the shootings dropped, but the smell remained.

The smell… this guy smelled like those poor souls… and the gun smelled like fire… after two days, the smell was still there, for those who knew it…

Eram exited first, and scooped around. The place looked deserted, and it probably was, except for looters. The revterrans headed for the basement, maybe from there they could find a safer way to the embassy. Never for a moment they doubted the mere existence of the embassy. It was like a heaven that needed to be touched. They didn’t get sloppy as they reach the second floor. It’s just that this guy was a slime of society, a dog-like person who heard the steps and hid himself in a closet, afraid of the real players (Servit has lots of other words in mind, but he settled for now). Who knew how he got the gun?! He had it, he saw Eram scooping around, passing the locker and going to have a look outside. Most of the bullets went awfully away from their target, but some entered Eram’s back.
The punk was feeling like riding the wave. He made Servit kneel, he poke the ambassador’s head with the gun, and played with it on his face. In the end, with almost an ecstatic face, he pushed the trigger.
CLANG.
Again
CLANG
Again
CLANG, CLANG.
As the idea that the gun was out of bullets made it through both of them, one felt the world collapsing and the other felt that there was no better chance in the world. With a jump Servit was on his feet, grabbing the punk’s body and riding it all the way to the window. They crushed through it, and with a “thud” they landed two stories below, on the sidewalk.

None of them moved…