NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: This RP is meant solely for Luslyvania (sp?), Romandeos and me. Anyone else is permitted to read the RP and perhaps subscribe to it. You may use the events of this RP in other RPs, but you may not participate in this one unless the three of us have discussed it and all agree beforehand.]

Lt. Col. Jim Donnelly was enjoying the view in his F-37 Archer aircraft. He had one more hour of his standard patrol to go before he could land on the aircraft carrier ISS Wemberley and look forward to 48 solid hours of relaxation. Even though it was still relatively calm in the immediate wake of Sarzonia's ratification of the Treaty of Uxland, 10 straight days of duty didn't sit well with him.

He radioed in to report yet another routine flight with little going on.

"Eagle Eye to Den Mother."

"Go ahead Eagle Eye."

"All systems check normal."

"Ten-four."

"Say, boss."

"What's that Eagle Eye?"

"Would it be possible for me to prep for landing a little early? I mean there's nothing going on right now."

Silence.

"Boss, you don't have to give me an answer right now."

Still silence.

"Eagle Eye to Den Mother. Do you copy, over?"

Now Donnelly's eyes, which had been in a perpetually half open state since the patrol began were wide open. He wasn't hearing anything from the command station. Not even static. His next attempt at a transmission took on a more urgent tone.

"Donnelly to Wemberley, do you copy, over?"

Still nothing.

He put the aircraft on autopilot and opened the control panel for the aircraft's radio. He wasn't exactly the most advanced technician in the fleet but he could at least get to the heart of what was going on with the radio transmitter and receiver.

Meanwhile, aboard the Wemberley:

"What's that sonofabitch want with an hour early?"

"Uh, Commodore, there's nothing going on, there hasn't been anything going on since tensions between Automagreek and Doomingsland began to rise. Frankly, I don't know why that bitch Bunhall wants us here."

Commodore Marcia Franklin rose to her full four foot-11 inch height. Even as short as she was, she still struck a very commanding figure, especially when she was angry. With her face turning red and her right arm extending toward Commander Cody West. Her right hand made a fist except for the index finger pointing accusingly at West.

"That bitch is Vice President for Naval Operations and you'll give her the respect she's due Commander. Do you understand?"

West looked up, preturbed and took one look at Franklin and immediately shrunk back.

"Aye, sir." Well, she is a bitch he thought but realised it was better that he not say it. Even though he and the rest of the crew resented the hell out of this boring assignment.

"Sir," West said, still somewhat chastened, but now with genuine concern. "We haven't heard from Eagle Eye."

"What do you mean?" Franklin picked up the microphone and spoke into it.

"Den mother to Eagle Eye, do you read?"

Static.

"Den mother to Eagle Eye, do you copy, over?"

Still static.

"What's going on?"

"I just contacted the ISS Woodstock on the same channel and there's no problem with our signal," a lieutenant chimed in. "It sounds like..."

"Eagle Eye's transmitter isn't working," West and Franklin said in unison with the lieutenant.

"Yellow alert," Franklin said immediately. "I want repair techs ready to hit the flight deck as soon as Donnelly arrives." She thought for a moment, the fear of the worst case scenario also playing in her mind.

"And get medical teams ready just in case."

She didn't know what it was, but the signal problem gave her a bad feeling.

USLS Long Beach, on the High Seas – High Noon.

USLS Long Beach, one of two Agrippa-class missile cruisers built in Sarzonian shipyards in exchange for Luslyvanian dollars, was on a shakedown run. The captain and crew were instructed to put the ship through the usual run to get any bugs. It was a boring task, but it had to be done if the ship could be used normally. Needless to say on this mission nobody in the ship’s company was expecting to see action.

Life often hits you with things when you least expect them.

*********

“Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge.” The voice blared loudly from the little box located on the wall above his rack.

“Damn it all!” Captain James A. Roenken, USLN, cursed as he rose up from his rack, and instinctively reached out without looking to grab his uniform’s trousers. One hand pushed hard on a button on the cursed voice box as he dressed.

“I’m coming,” he growled simply, and then released the switch. Normally, he would have likely been up on the bridge as it was, but he had been ill lately and acting on advice from his XO and his CMO to get as much sleep as he could.

“How am I supposed to sleep when they keep calling?” He finished preparing and walked in silence from his stateroom and to the bridge.

“What is it, lieutenant?” he addressed the OOD.

“Sir, we have an incoming airplane, probably Sarzonian, approaching at high speed on an intercept course with us, and it isn’t answering warnings.”

“How many times have you hailed it?” inquired Roenken. This situation was already a bit less routine than he would have liked.

“Only once so far, Captain,” was the reply from the OOD.

“Well, then,” Roenken said. “Perhaps he didn’t receive. Try again.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the OOD replied. He gave the order, and the message went out once more in the open as the warship tried to warn the warbird back.

“USLS Long Beach, calling approaching Sarzonian aircraft. You are entering a Safe Zone intended to protect this ship. If you violate this zone, we will fire. We suggest you reverse course immediately. How do you copy? Over.”

Roenken and those with him listened a few moments.

“No response, Captain,” the radioman said.

“I noticed,” Roenken replied. “Sound GQ and try him again.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the radioman and OOD responded. The message was repeated, whilst the loud GQ alarms blared throughout the ship, accompanied by clanging hatches, boots thudding on the decks, and loudly shouting officers and SNCOs giving orders.

“USLS Long Beach, calling approaching Sarzonian aircraft. You are entering a Safe Zone intended to protect this ship. If you violate this zone, we will fire. We suggest you reverse course immediately. How do you copy? Over.”

Roenken and the others waited and heard no response.

“What’s going on, Sir?” Roenken turned around to see his XO, Commander Tina Decker, in the bridge’s main entranceway. She was followed by crewmen carrying Kevlar vests, helmets and loaded bandoliers. Decker's pistol was loaded already, and she was wearing a vest while carrying a helmet.

“Approaching aircraft isn’t answering, Commander,” Roenken answered. Decker nodded.

“Light up the AN/SLY-2,” Roenken ordered. “Fire up a Dragonfly and two Mark 136s immediately. Let’s make sure we do this right. Tag the plane with the Dragonfly, and that louse out there,” he indicated ISS Wemberley on the screen “with the two Mark 136s. Make it all happen as quickly as possible. Once that Dragonfly goes up, we'll hit Flank Speed and run. Fire the 136s only on my command."

Roenken had made his crew able to operate like a well oiled machine. A rating's hands blurred like lightning on a keyboard as the missiles were prepared.

“Sir,” asked the OOD. “We aren’t really shooting at them, are we?”

“We have given him enough warning, lieutenant.” Decker’s response spared Roenken the irritating task of answering the young man personally. “He is approaching us on what this little screen, here,” she gestured to a RADAR screen “says is an intercept course. He isn’t issuing replies to hails, and he is a warplane. As to the ships, likely they won't leave us alone once we've fired."

“Yes, but-” the lieutenant began, only to be cut short.

“Mister, you question my orders further, and you’ll be arrested.” Roenken’s tone declared he wanted the conversation to end right there.

“Dragonfly is ready, Sir,” said the rating operating the weapons.

“Fire on my mark,” Roenken ordered. He waited a moment. He closed his eyes pondering how his next spoken command would affect his country. He knew he could be erring, and it was possible this Sarzonian was indeed not looking to prosecute an attack against him and his ship.

He decided he just could not take that risk. His eyes opened.

“Fire.”

OOC: I apologize if it doesn't seem all that good, guys, but I didn't want Sarzonia to wait too long. Sarzonia, I'll likely post a snap about the arrested couple sometime tomorrow.

[OOC: No, it was fine, though I doubt 1) you'd fire on the Wemberly since it's fairly far away and 2) you'd know the aircraft was Sarzonian. Until this incident, Sarzonia has had little reason to interact with your nation. Other than that, it was well done.]

By now, Donnelly was worried. He looked through a collection of circuits and couldn't spot anything that could possibly be wrong with his transmitter. He'd checked every set but one, and he finally decided to go through and look at that last circuit. Then he saw the culprit. One wire that somehow came loose.

Must've happened when I grabbed that cord too hard, he thought. He plugged the receiver back in and suddenly, he heard a blaring sound that made him jump.

"OW!" he yelled, then he slowly backed his way out from under the panel and looked up to see what the problem was.

"Shit! Fuck!"

"Wemberly to Donnelly, do you copy? Code purple, over."

Code purple. Extremely urgent.

"Donnelly," he yelled into the receiver.

"You've got a Dragonfly on you. Estimated 30 seconds to impact."

"Dammit!" Donnelly pushed a button to fire countermeasures, including the last-ditch gun he'd insisted on installing. He only hoped and prayed that would be enough to keep the aircraft from blowing up and ending his life in a spectacular fireball.

It only partially worked.

The countermeasures knocked the missile off course, but it veered off only slightly and exploded, causing the F-37 to shake violently.

"What the hell?" He grabbed for the receiver and signalled back to the Wemberly.

"I'm losing altitude. I'll be in the water in one minute. Send rescue crews. Over." He then hit the emergency eject button and the cockpit quickly lifted itself from the rest of the plane just seconds before the wounded aircraft crashed into the ocean.

The cockpit had a floatation device but it would only remain inflated for 24 hours, not nearly enough time for an extended time on the ocean. Emergency supplies also would only last Donnelly for 72 hours. If he weren't rescued before then, he was as good as dead.

*********************

For Franklin, hearing Donnelly reply to her code purple gave her mixed emotions. Relief that she finally heard her pilot, but also a sense of dread because he was completely unaware of the danger that was heading in his direction. She just knew in her experience with scenarios that played out like this that he wouldn't be able to avert certain death.

She wasn't aware of the Archer's countermeasure suite, but even if she were, the idea that he'd heard them in time seemed incredibly unlikely. She was dreading the next duty of her command: Going to Donnelly's parents and girlfriend and informing them of his death.

"Aircraft down!"

She knew it.

"Any word on whether he survived?"

She looked at the ensign's face turn ashen white and she didn't need any verbal confirmation.

"No word, sir."

Franklin closed her eyes and drew in a ragged breath, exhaling in spurts that suggested to her first officer that she was fighting off tears. He knew she had never faced real combat so the thought of losing one pilot in a peacetime situation was horrible. Especially since this was the first time she was commanding a squadron and it was on a routine patrol.

So much for routine.

OOC: Well, if I read the stats correctly, the Agrippa carries a group of aircraft, and as the Long Beach is on a shakedown trial, they'd most likely have had them up and flying a bit, and might have just spotted the Wemberley in that time and identified her as an ISN vessel. It would then be easy to identify that plane as Sarzonian, I think.

By the way, not to sound grouchy, but my ship has fired a Dragonfly just now, and is holding those two prepared 136s in reserve to fire at Wemberley if she makes trouble. If you don't chase Long Beach, she will not likely shoot her 136s, merely run balls-to-the-wall speed home, and radio a contact report.

Expect a short IC snippet shortly, and I hope to finish writing up that bit about the arrests soon.

USLS Long Beach, on the High Seas – High Noon.

Franklin wasn’t the only person seeing combat for the first time. Captain Roenken and all his crew were untried in naval warfare - outside training routines, anyway.

“Get us turned away from that flattop, now!” Roenken barked at the helmsman.

“Aye, Sir!” the rating on the controls responded, starting the ship on a sharp, starboard turn intended to open the distance between Long Beach and Wemberley. Even thought there was already a fairly good distance between the two, it wasn't enough to ease Roenken's nerves.

“Engineering is answering the Flank Bell, Sir. We’re making 20 knots now.” Decker kept incredibly calm, despite her being as untried as everybody there. How she did that was an immense mystery to Roenken’s mind. Perhaps she just took stress good. She was a parent if he recalled correctly what the personnel files said.

“Very good, XO,” Roenken said, trying to emulate the woman’s serenity.

“Sir, that flattop doesn’t seem to be doing anything,” said the lieutenant/OOD.

“Good,” Roenken said. “More time we can use getting clear, no?”

“Yes, Sir,” the young officer’s head bobbed in affirmation.

“Right;” Roenken turned to his XO. “Decker, see about an initial Contact Report to home if you please. I think the Admiralty will want to be told.”

*********

News Studio, Lusly's Landing, Luslyvania – Several Hours Later.

Lisa Bradley was an experienced anchorwoman with Luslyvania Today, a program which kept Luslyvanians informed about the world at large. It was broadcast internationally, just like many national news programs. She had been with the program just two years and had largely been involved with the routine broadcasts. Today, however she was given a report loaded with what could only be described as a bombshell.

“Lisa, are you okay?” Bradley looked and saw Program Director Luciano Breaux looking in her direction, his expression one of concern.

“I’m alright, Luke,” she answered. He nodded.

“I know it’s a heavy story. You just keep calm.”

"The second piece isn’t exactly a good one either, Luke,” she said.

“You mean about that gay couple, in Lenshire?” Breaux asked. “That’s not so bad. It isn’t like it’s the first time an illegal wedding’s been stopped.”

“Maybe alone it isn’t bad, but alongside this?” She held up the first report. Breaux gave a little nod of concession in response.

“Maybe you’re right, but that’s not something that concerns us. We just put it out there."

“We’re ready to go,” said a random technician.

“We’re on in 5, people!” Breaux called, striding off, doing his work. Bradley straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and put on a screen smile.

Breaux gave a thumbs-up, and she began.

“Hello, and welcome to Luslyvania Today. I’m Lisa Bradley. Today’s news begins with a little rumor, as word leaks out that a USLN cruiser, the USLS Long Beach has skirmished in a short engagement with the Sarzonian navy’s forces. The vessel in question is out on a long-term shakedown cruise, and is not scheduled back in port for a while. Navy Department officials won’t inform reporters exactly what has happened but sources inside have told us that the vessel in question claims it fought back a strike by Sarzonian aircraft.”

Having finished the first piece, Bradley paused before moving on.

“Moving on to a piece more close to home, a same-sex couple in the city of Lenshire was incarcerated by local police today in what the police called a preemptive strike against an illegal same-sex marriage in the works. Kent Hanson and Darren Quinn claim they didn’t intend to do any such a thing, and so far, no evidence has been found to contradict this, as investigations in to this very touchy issue carry on.”

OOC: I'm not trying to jump the whole RP forward there, Sarzonia, just trying to be realistic. I wanted the report about the arrested couple and the report about this to come out in synch, and any information regarding this little exchange would be at least a few hours getting into circulation.

[OOC: Understood, and yes, that's realistic timing.]

Mike Sarzo was muttering to himself as he began flipping toward the Sarzonian News Network's 8:00 broadcast. He'd seen too many pundits questioning the Treaty of Uxland for his liking and he saw one person even attribute his pushing the treaty forward to the fact he had cancer surgery.

However, the worst was yet to come.

"This just in," Brett Thompson, an anchor with SNN who was in his 10th year on the network intoned in a monotone that drove everyone on the station nuts, but people who were familiar with his work knew that monotone came in when he was trying to project calm. "We're receiving unconfirmed reports that a Sarzonian aircraft on a routine patrol has been shot down by the Luslyvanian navy."

"What?!" Since Sarzo's last chemotherapy treatment ended more than two months prior, he now had enough energy to sit up bolt upright. His eyes widened and his senses enhanced in that well-worn way that's boosted by adrenaline.

"Navy Command officials are not confirming or denying the reports, but they are extremely tight-lipped over reports that a F-37 Archer was seen flying over Luslyvanian naval ships. We'll have more on this story as it develops," Thompson said.

"In other news out of Luslyvania, a same sex couple has been arrested and charged with attempting to perform a same sex marriage in Lenshire. The couple, identified as Kent Hanson and Darren Quinn, claim they were trying to do no such thing. We'll have more on this story as soon as it develops."

Sarzo angrily pounded his fist against the desk as he saw both reports flash on his television screen. First Partner Jay Tyler noticed Sarzo's reaction with a grimace. He knew he'd have to try to calm down his paramour and the nation's chief executive once again. He only hoped that he'd be able to do so before all hell broke loose.

"Mike, call Kathy and see if there's anything more that isn't being reported," Tyler said. "Perhaps she'll be able to shed some light on what happened."

Sarzo gave a slight scowl, though it wasn't the trademark scowl that people throughout the world were all too familiar with in the dark days of the Gholgoth Wars.

"Those sons of bitches," Sarzo said. "Those sons of bitches."

"Mike," Tyler said, picking up the telephone and edging the receiver closer to Sarzo. "Call Kathy and see what's going on. You need to have a level head about all of this."

Sarzo knew Tyler was right. He began dialing the number for Bunhall's office.

********************

"Kathy Bunhall."

Bunhall eyed the report from Franklin as she got the call from the President. She couldn't believe the events herself. Why an aircraft flew so close to the airspace belonging to a nation Sarzonia barely had contact with was beyond her. The fact they shot down the aircraft in itself merited a full investigation.

"What the hell is going on Kathy?"

Even though she was used to Sarzo's bluster by now as the longtime Vice President for Naval Operations and previously Navy Chief, she still felt a jolt when she heard that voice.

"We're getting reports that an F-37 Archer flew into Luslyvanian airspace. The ISS Wemberley lost contact with the aircraft until just before..." She didn't finish the sentence, but it was clear to everyone what she meant.

"Why did it fly into Luslyvanian airspace?"

"We don't know. We're going to need to get the black box recording to find out, but initial reports indicate that the pilot's transmitter went out of service. By the time it came back on line, he was within 30 seconds of the aircraft's destruction."

"Did he survive?"

"No word," Bunhall said. "Though if he didn't fire countermeasures in time, there's no way he could have. They launched a Dragonfly at him."

"Shit."

"What are you going to do about it, Mike?"

"I'm going to have to address the nation, but I need more to go on than just unconfirmed reports."

Bunhall knew that and after the phone conversation ended, she went to her Intelligence Chief and asked him to speed up the investigation into what happened.

Meanwhile, Sarzo was also trying to digest the arrest on top of this combat incident.

**************************

"Sir, the warship is reversing course. What do we do?"

Franklin snapped out of her grief-stricken reverie for a moment and looked out at the Long Beach as it began to set a course back for Luslyvania. She didn't want her ship -- or any Sarzonian ship, for that matter -- to make any sudden moves and exacerbate what was already becoming a tense situation.

"Wait until they're out of range and send a rescue vessel to see if we can recover the remains of the aircraft." And Donnelly, she thought, but she knew that was without saying.

"Aye, sir."

She watched forlornly as the Long Beach accelerated and began to steam away from the scene. She eyed the medical personnel and repair techs as they began to board the rescue boat that had moved itself close to the Wemberley.

She only hoped there was someone left to rescue.

President’s Office, Executive Residence, Lusly’s Landing, Luslyvania.

“Gentlemen, we have a situation here that needs dealing with.”

Emmett Abrams, President of the United States of Luslyvania had not even been in office half a year, and already he was facing an international incident which could spell ruin and incalculable catastrophe for Luslyvania if he botched it. When the Navy had filed a report informing him what had happened, he had scrambled.

First, he had summoned Secretary of State Elijah Ingraham.

Next, he had summoned Secretary of Defense Iestyn Rheinallt and the Joint Chiefs.

Finally, he had summoned Vice President Marion Quintero.

Now those eight men were sitting with him in his office, and listening to him as he voiced his concerns about the growing crisis with Sarzonia.

“The way I see it,” he said “there are two possibilities.”

“Emmett?” Quintero looked at him.

“First, it is possible that this was all a mistake. It’s possible that the Sarzonian aircraft did in fact not intend to attack that ship, and Roenken was overreacting. In that case, we must immediately take steps to calm the Sarzonians, before this escalates.”

“How can we accomplish that, Mr. President?” Ingraham asked. “You know as well as all in this room what they’ll want more than anything.”

“Roenken’s commission, if not his head in a bag,” said CNO Admiral Raleigh Candelaria in a gruff, curt tone that said he knew he was right.

“If that’s all they want, we should count ourselves fortunate,” Ingraham stated.

“What do you mean if that’s all? This is a man’s life we’re talking about!” Candelaria sat rigidly upright in his chair, his face flushing red.

“More like his career, Admiral,” Ingraham answered.

“You cannot possibly be sure of that, Ingraham,” Candelaria growled.

“Gentlemen, cease this bickering!” Abrams barked, slamming a hand on to his wood desk loudly, cutting any response from Ingraham. “We are in trouble enough without argument in my own staff! We need to work as a unit right now. Mike Sarzo is going to be mad and it is going to take everything we have to calm him down.”

“Suppose it wasn’t an accident?” Quintero tried to get things on track.

“Highly unlikely, Mr. Vice-President,” General Garnett Weddle, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs responded. “Sarzonia has no quarrel with us.”

“More importantly,” added Ingraham “they have no reason to want one.”

Hearing this, Abrams leaned forward and started issuing commands.

“Elijah, contact the Sarzonians. Tell them we want to talk with them.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Next he turned to Secretary Rheinallt.

“Iestyn, be ready…just in case.”

“Certainly, Mr. President,” Rheinallt answered.

“Let’s get a move on, people,” Abrams ordered. In moments, he was alone.

“God,” he murmured, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t let me screw this one up.”

[OOC: I was trying to come up with a way that Donnelly's survival is in doubt until it's too late, but I think I've arrived at something. If you want to assume that your government has already contacted mine for the sake of moving the RP along, let me know. For now, I'm RPing as if you haven't tried to contact Sarzo yet.]

The rescue boat fought the choppy waters and hoped that the Luslyvanian ships wouldn't try to attack it. Just in case, Lieutenant Chris Bryson had his hand on the the communications device to notify any Luslyvanian ship that his vessel was there for peaceful purposes.

"Sir, I think I see the cockpit!"

"Let's have a look!" The lieutenant who served as the rescue vessel's first officer handed the binoculars to Bryson, who couldn't make it out conclusively, but he noticed that the seas off in the distance seemed to be slightly discoloured.

"Sir, an analysis of the composition of the area indicates it is glass. We seem to have our cockpit."

"Helm, set course. Ahead slow."

"Aye sir."

Bryson didn't want his vessel to steam too fast and risk destroying the cockpit in what he considered the unlikely possibility that Donnelly was alive. He'd played too many video games where the downed aircraft was destroyed by the ship's hull for that to be something he wanted.

"Sir, we're nearing the site of the mass."

"All stop. Let's see if we can reel 'er in."

"Aye, sir."

Forty five minutes later, the cockpit had been fished out of the seas, along with the debris. Engineers would have a field day having to piece together what happened. The black box recording likely wouldn't be fully available for two weeks until repairs to damage caused by seeping sea water could be made. Even then, a full investigation might depend on whether the doctors and nurses in the fleet had skill enough to save Donnelly. If he was saveable, that is.

"Sir, we've got Donnelly aboard."

"How is he?"

"He's not responding. Vital signs are..." The first officer listened closely to the report from the makeshift sickbay where Donnelly was carefully wheeled. The seconds that Bryson waited for the report from sickbay seemed to last for hours as the report he'd have to give Franklin could make a huge difference between life and death.

"Weak," the first officer said finally, but there. They're going to try to revive him."

Bryson gave an almost imperceptible, but clearly felt sigh of relief. At least if they could bring Donnelly back, they might be able to get to the bottom of what happened and why the remains of his F-37 were floating in the ocean.

However, none of this was known to anyone, least of all Sarzo, as the reports continued to pour in. He grimaced as he arrived in the situation room with other members of his Cabinet.

Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis was there, along with the other members of the Cabinet -- and, more recently, Tyler was also present. Even though he filled the role usually taken by the First Lady in other nations, he was as much a trusted advisor to Sarzo as anyone.

"Everyone, we've got a problem on our hands," Sarzo said.

"The latest reports indicate an F-37 Archer aircraft was shot down by a Luslyvanian ship. We're getting reports the Archer's transmitter was malfunctioning," Bunhall said.

"So where does that leave us," Lewis said. "Has a rescue and salvage operation taken place yet?"

"One just left as of 20 minutes ago," Bunhall said. "We haven't received word yet on the status of the pilot or the aircraft."

"What's do we know about Luslyvania?" Vice President for Defence John Newman asked. "Militarily, I have a basic report, but I think a look at the political situation there might shed light for us."

"Not much," Senior Vice President and External Affairs Mark Lorber said. He ran his right hand slowly through his graying hair and began massaging his temples. His final weeks in office were not going to be very kind to him.

The House's confirmation of Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner was stalled in committee as several members questioned Haffner's intemperate remarks that caused a rift between Sarzonia and Hamptonshire that was written off as permanent. The fact that Sarzo nearly asked Haffner for his resignation and also nearly fired him also gave the House committee pause. However, that was the least of Lrober's worries at the moment.

"We do know this," Lorber offered. "A same-sex couple was just arrested in Lenshire."

Sarzo interrupted.

"I'm aware of the Lenshire arrest," he said curtly. "They're not exactly doing themselves any favours there."

"If you'd let Mark finish," Tyler said hesitantly, "there's more. Right Mark?"

"Indeed," Lorber said. "Their nation looks unfavourably on same-sex couples. Their government hasn't as yet made any comment about our lack of religious marriages here in Sarzonia, but I wouldn't be surprised if that weren't in the offing."

"It wouldn't make sense for them to do that right now," Tyler countered. "They know they shot down one of our aircraft and if they don't suspect we want a quarrel with them, I doubt seriously that they're going to be real quick to draw our ire."

"Do you want to become the new Senior VP," Lorber started before Lewis cut him off.

"Mark! Shut up!"

Sarzo's glare across the room gave Lorber the visual confirmation of Lewis's statement.

"That's quite enough, Mark. Let's look at what we do know. They shot down one of our aircraft. Their government just arrested a same-sex couple. That's two strikes against them. What are our options?"

"Let's hear from their government and see if they have an explanation for what they did," Tyler said.

"Reports suggest the Archer was flying above Luslyvanian airspace," Lewis said.

"If that's true, we provoked them," Tyler said.

"But why the hell didn't they try to contact the pilot," Newman asked.

"That's just it," Tyler said. "The reports suggest that the Archer's transmitter didn't work. All the efforts in the world wouldn't allow contact then."

"Suggest," Sarzo said. "Until we get confirmation, what we know is they fired on one of our birds. That and they're a bunch of fucking savages. Their explanation better be a damned good one, that's all I'm saying."

He banged his gavel forcefully, signalling the end of the Cabinet meeting. It certainly wasn't going to be the end of the discussion.

OOC: Not much here, I'm afraid. I don't have time to make more than this right now.

Luslyvania Today News Studio, Lusly's Landing, Luslyvania.

“Oh, the Sarzonians will just love this one.”

Lisa Bradley was referring to the report she had just been handed. It was a report from the inside sources in the Navy Department’s bureaucracy that had informed them of what had happened in the first place. The word they had sent was bad.

“Read the news, Lisa,” Breaux reminded. “That’s what we do.”

“I know, but-”

“We’re on in five seconds!” Breaux called, cutting the response short. Bradley sighed and made the same preparations she always did.

Breaux gave the signal, as always, and she began.

“Hello, and welcome to Luslyvania Today. I’m Lisa Bradley. Department of Defense and Navy Department representatives have confirmed that a Sarzonian aircraft was shot down in a short exchange with a Luslyvanian Navy warship. Official word from the DoD is that it is believed the Sarzonian pilot was most likely killed. Regardless if he is dead or alive a lot of questions about this situation remain unanswered.”

Like always, she paused briefly, and then switched stories.

“In an update on the same-sex couple arrested in Lenshire, Linwick, local police have not located hard evidence to support the charges, and Governor Matthew Reeves has declared it is likely the two men will be pardoned before long. These circumstances are much alike in many ways with an arrest that took place more than a decade ago in this same city, and it has been speculated that Governor Reeves will lose the next election.”

OOC:

For reference purposes, Sarzonia, the Luslyvanian government is a presidential republic a lot like the US, in terms of political structure. The people are generally more conservative in all, though as with any state this size, there is diversity.

By the way, feel free to assume Secretary Ingraham has already initiated contact.

OOC: For reference purposes, I've cobbled a list together, showing the names and offices of some of the more prominent men and women serving in the Luslyvanian Government and Armed Forces. I don't know if this will be any help at all, but I thought I should just put it up just in case.

I'll probably update it a bit as we continue this.

President and Cabinet:
• President – Mr. Emmet Alvis Abrams (National Conservatives Party)
• Vice President – Mr. Marion Quintero
• Speaker of the House of Representatives – Mrs. Jenna Colburn
• President Pro Tempore of the Senate – Mr. Jeremiah Fowl
• Secretary of State – Mr. Elijah Ingraham
• Secretary of the Treasury – Mrs. Jessica Hewitt
• Secretary of Defense – Mr. Iestyn Rheinallt
• Attorney General – Mr. Erich Bormann
• Secretary of the Interior – Mr. Henry Gerfried
• Secretary of Agriculture – Mr. Elihu Root
• Secretary of Commerce – Ms. Maureen Tortora
• Secretary of Labor – Ms. Zelda Womack
• Secretary of Health and Human Services – Mrs. Dollie Kaya
• Secretary of Housing and Urban Development – Mr. Guy Clarke
• Secretary of Transportation – Mr. Matt Sedgewick
• Secretary of Energy – Mrs. Henrietta Hambleton
• Secretary of Education – Mrs. Penelope Cesario
• Secretary of Veterans Affairs – Mr. Carl Groepke
• Secretary of Homeland Security – Mr. Silas Travers

National Security Advisor:

• None (Office Vacant)

Executives and Governors:
• District of Lusly’s Landing*: Mr. Duncan Robles
• State of Linwick: Mr. Matthew Reeves
• State of Faybourne: Mr. Milton Valencia
• State of Roseland: Mrs. Keiko Ueda-Larson
• State of Chatsworth: Mr. Rufus Beasley
• State of Chelsea: Mr. Reuben Brantley
• State of Bancroft: Mr. Chris Creston-McDowell
• State of Yorktown: Ms. Corrine Steinberg
• State of Wilton: Mr. Furman Timmons
• State of Wadena: Mr. Frederick Murrell
• State of Leyton: Mr. Eldred Minton
• State of Brayton: Mr. Norval Yarbrough

Military Officials:
• Chairman of the Joint Chiefs: General Garnett Weddle (Army)
• Chief of Staff for the USL Army: General Rufus Kleinschmidt
• Chief of Staff for the USL Navy: Admiral Raleigh Candelaria
• Chief of Staff for the USL Air Force: General Thomas Keeble
• Chief of Staff for the USL Marine Corps: General William Coe

* Lusly’s Landing is the Capital District.

Sarzo grimaced when he saw the report: Several of Luslyvania's ships were built by the Portland Iron Works, the company that almost singlehandedly made -- and destroyed -- Sarzonia's economy once upon a time. This fact alone underscored the urgency this new run-in with a country that Sarzonia had only scarely had any knowledge of until the Archer crashed into the ocean.

He mulled over the options with Newman, Lorber and Bunhall.

"Well, we could send a fleet or three over to display our displeasure with the incident," Bunhall offered. "Let them know in no uncertain terms we don't appreciate their shooting down one of our birds."

"That's unnecessary and much too aggressive a posture for us to take," Lorber said. "That would suggest that we were innocently flying a mission and they shot at us without provocation. The reports I'm seeing suggest something completely different."

"So," Bunhall countered. "They shot one of our pilots down and he's presumed dead. The Luslyvanians announced that he was probably dead."

"Probably doesn't mean jack shit," Newman interrupted. "We have no medical confirmation the pilot is dead. Besides, do you want to risk going to war over one man's probable death? As tragic as it is, it's still one man."

"What else do we have in our quiver," Bunhall said. "If you've got any ideas, I'd like to hear them."

"There's this report," Sarzo said. "The Portland Iron Works supplied them with many of the ships in their navy. I'm not sure if they have other equipment from us or not, but that's one thing we can do."

"I'm not sure I get it," Bunhall said.

"Put them on the black list. They won't be able to buy from us."

"That's a little too provocative for an incident where it looks like we sent one of our planes too close to their airspace," Lorber said. "Besides, their secretary of state has contacted us and wants to talk."

"Fat chance," Sarzo said curtly. "I'm not talking to a bunch of fucking savages while they're arresting same-sex couples for trying to get married."

"Mike, you've got to think rationally," Lorber said. "We don't need to antagonise them because they don't allow same sex marriage and because they shot down one of our aircraft for what looks like legitimate reasons. It was one aircraft, I remind you. I don't want to see us go to extremes over the loss of one aircraft and possibly one pilot."

"I don't consider preventing them from buying from the Portland Iron Works to be an unnecessary provocation," Sarzo said. "Besides, there are other contractors who can supply their military needs." Sarzo eyed Newman, then continued, "several of whom we have bought from in the past and we would buy from if not for PIW."

"I'm going to introduce a bill in Parliament to ban Luslyvania from further purchases at the Portland Iron Works," Sarzo said finally. "And send word to their secretary of state that if anyone from that tinpot dictatorship wants to talk to me, let their fucking president get on the next plane to Woodstock."

"Tinpot dictatorship," Newman replied sharply. "Their government is set up almost identically to ours. The similarities to our history are so uncanny it's like looking at a slightly more conservative version of us."

"I don't give a shit John," Sarzo said. "If they want to talk, they know how to find me."

"But you're not giving them a chance to talk," Lorber said. "That in itself is a mistake."

Sarzo stood up and walked out, aware of the gaze from Tyler that was slowly turning into a scowl. He knew someone would be sleeping in the other bedroom tonight, but he didn't care.

Executive Residence, Lusly’s Landing, Luslyvania.

Fletcher Lusly’s statue stood watch upon the Executive Residence’s front lawn, cold eyes looking down upon the gates of the iron fence, casting his intimidating sight upon all who might seek entrance to the building behind him. Secretary of State Elijah Ingraham would look at the statue a moment every morning before entering the building, and this time was little different as he raised his eyes and gazed into that emotionless marble face, glaring at him in return. He could not help but feel he was being judged. Following a silent moment in the Great One’s presence, he continued. It had rained the previous night, but he barely noticed the cool, pleasant weather in the capital that morning.

His thoughts were on more important matters, such as his briefcase, and the papers within it, among which was Sarzo’s reply to his communiqué.

“Good morning, Mr. Secretary,” greeted the head Marine door guard.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Ingraham replied, passing through the great, wooden doors, a little grimace on his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Secretary,” greeted the young woman sitting at the front desk, also a Marine. Ingraham grinned. Fletcher Lusly had been a US Marine once, an experience that had helped him to found the nation named in his honor, and the USLMC had always been his very favorite segment of Luslyvania’s armed forces. As such the Executive Residence had always been guarded and partly staffed by Marines.

“Good morning, Corporal Kurosawa. I suppose you want to see my credentials?”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, grinning. “I’m afraid that’s still necessary.”

“Nothing is wrong with a little security.” Ingraham pulled out his ID card from his pocket like he had done many times before and handed it over. The corporal took it and swiped it in a scanning device on the desk. The device chimed.

“Mr. Secretary, you are cleared,” she said, handing back the card.

“Thank you, Robin,” Ingraham replied, using the Marine’s first name.

“Not a problem, Mr. Secretary,” she replied with a smile as he walked past the desk.

Ingraham’s return smile vanished once he was a ways past the desk. He wasn’t in a smiling mood today.

*********

“Good morning, Elijah. You're looking well.”

President Abrams stood up from his desk, and walked around it to grasp Ingraham’s hand in a firm shake. The president, Ingraham noted, looked like he had not slept all night.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” replied Ingraham. “You look…good morning, Mr. President.”

“I know, I know,” Abrams said with a chuckle. “Seriously, you look like you’ve just bit a lemon, Elijah. May I assume you have bad news?”

“You may, Mr. President. I have Sarzonia’s official response.” Ingraham lifted his case as he spoke and opened it. He pulled out the folder, handing it to Abrams, who sat down and looked it through, then fell silent and closed his eyes.

“Shit,” was all he said, following a moment’s silence “Just…shit.”

“I know the feeling,” was all Ingraham could think to say.

“Stick around, Elijah,” ordered Abrams. “I’m calling a full Cabinet meeting.”

Luslyvania Today News Broadcast, Hennemann Bay Navy Base.

“Here she comes! That’s her, that’s Long Beach!”

Hayden Reitz looked up from his position on the dock and peered out at Hennemann Bay.

“I don’t see it!” he called out.

“What are you, a blind person? She’s right there!”

He looked again at where the cameraman was pointing and saw a shape growing from the impenetrable mist hanging above the bay’s frigid waters. First he could only see the boats linked to the ship by guiding cables. Then, he could see the great tri-hulled vessel floating into view. That was her, all right. That was the Long Beach.

“It’s about time, too,” he muttered.

“Do you want to get started, Hayden?” asked the cameraman.

“Not yet,” Reitz told him. “She’ll be awhile docking yet, and we don’t want to waste film if we don’t have to. Let’s hope Roenken will be willing to talk.”

*********

Reitz listened to the speaker in his ear, hearing Lisa Bradley speaking back at the studio.

“Now, we take you live to Hennemann Bay, where Hayden Reitz has managed to secure a little interview with Captain James Roenken. Hayden?”

His cameraman signaled him to begin talking.

“Thank you, Lisa. I’m here with Captain James Allan Roenken of the USLS Long Beach, now possibly Luslyvania’s most famous person. Captain Roenken, since word arrived the Luslyvanian people have been wondering exactly what happened that caused you to shoot lethal weaponry at an aircraft from a country with which we are not in conflict.”

Roenken looked at Reitz a moment before responding. The Navy captain cut a nice figure in his uniform. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes. His receding hairline, perhaps his only physical fault, was hidden by his cap.

“Well, Mr. Reitz,” he said. “It’s actually very simple. My ship is an expensive vessel, and more importantly my crew is quite valuable, at least to me. While I was out there I saw an incoming potential threat to my crew and eliminated it.”

“Captain,” Reitz moved on to a new question. “There are some who are speculating that a horrible accident has taken place, and that you were not being attacked. Suppose it’s true? I’d think you’d be pretty upset by that.”

“Indeed I would,” Roenken answered. “Regardless, what’s done is done. The seas are one incredibly hazardous place, even in peace. In my position, I feel a Sarzonian would surely have done exactly the same thing that I did, the same thing.”

“Thank you, Captain Roenken, and now back to you, Lisa.”

Luslyvania Today News Studio.

“Thank you, Hayden,” Lisa Bradley said, turning back to the camera.

“In a public address, Governor Matthew Reeves released Kent Hanson and Darren Quinn, issuing a formal pardon as well as an apology. He made the comment that what the police involved did was just as wrong now as it was last time. He went on to say that while there is law preventing same-sex marriages, persecution of this sort is a horrible and inexcusable offense. Nevertheless the events of the last few days look to damage Reeves politically. Federal authorities have not, as yet, commented on the issue."

Sarzo stood with his arms folded, glaring at Press Secretary Heather Lloyd. She was proposing that Sarzo address the nation in light of the report that Linwick Gov. Matthew Reeves pardoned Kent Hanson and Darren Quinn, the same-sex couple who was arrested and charged under Luslyvania's strict laws against same-sex marriages.

"What the hell does my speaking to the public have to do with that," Sarzo glowered. "I don't give two shits in hell what their governor did. The fact that their police arrested the men precludes our viewing them as anything more than a nation we happen to know at best."

"Mike, I think you owe the Sarzonian people an explanation for rejecting talks with Luslyvania out of hand," Lloyd said. She had a look on her face that told Sarzo she realised she was getting close to the point where Sarzo would demand she squelch her opinion. He also saw that she was going to bulldoze that point because it was necessary.

"I'm not interested in talking to that son of a bitch," Sarzo said. "And I believe this situation says it all, a hell of a lot better than I possibly could."

Lloyd scowled.

"Right now, our political capital is as high as it's ever been in the wake of the sheer and utter collapse of APOC. You were able to accomplish that without having to fire a shot," Lloyd said. "You're going to flush all that political capital you've gained down the fucking toilet if you don't address the nation and explain why the idea of talks is so repugnant to you."

Sarzo opened his mouth to speak, but Lloyd put her hand up forcefully.

"Besides," Lloyd said. "A couple of Senators are drafting a war declaration as we speak."

Sarzo's eyes widened slightly. Now that was going too far. What little he knew of Luslyvania was enough for him to detest them, but he decided that was not a viable option. He figured he could still pursue a political or diplomatic solution to the ongoing crisis. A condemnation of the arrest or an expression of disappointment that the two men were arrested to begin with and a formal announcement of an executive order prohibiting Luslyvania from further purchases at the Portland Iron Works would do the trick.

"I'll address the nation at 4 p.m.," Sarzo said after sighing heavily. "I think we need to step back from the idea of going to war over this situation."

Lloyd's face showed no relief from the first real demonstration of reasonableness out of Sarzo since Donnelly's plane was shot down. She was disappointed that it took this long for even a modicum of sanity. As for Sarzo, he was busily typing out his executive order and the speech where he would announce it. He only gave himself two hours to piece everything together.

*********************************************************

As the clock inched toward 4 p.m., it was clear that Sarzo wasn't ready. He had his executive order typed and his speech was all done, but in a larger sense, he wasn't emotionally ready to deliver a speech to the nation and to a world that was watching and waiting for Sarzonia's next move.

Ready or not, Sarzo thought, here we go.

"And you're on."

"My fellow Sarzonians," Sarzo began. "In light of the recent military incident involving a Sarzonian aircraft and a Luslyvanian warship, and their government's less-than-forthright explantions for how such an event could have taken place, I am announcing that I have signed an executive order prohibiting the United States of Luslyvania from making further purchases at the Portland Iron Works," Sarzo began.

"Any unfinished products currently being constructed for Luslyvania are hereby ordered seized and will be adopted into the Incorporated Sarzonian Military." Sarzo eyed the camera with that slightly crazed, mostly defiant glare he was famous for before continuing.

"We note with disappointment the arrests of Kent Hanson and Darren Quinn, a same-sex couple whose only crime was that they loved each other enough to want to share the rest of their lives together. It is our belief as a nation that Mr. Hanson and Mr. Quinn should never have reached a point where they needed a gubernatorial pardon."

Sarzo felt that even though his prepared text was over that he needed to get one more thing said.

"I noted that the Luslyvanian Secretary of State has sent us a request to begin a dialogue over this situation. I am here now to outline the reasons for my rejection of said dialogue." Sarzo was aware of the widened eyes in the room but chose to continue anyway.

"We believe that a nation that arrests its same-sex couples for the so-called hideous crime of getting married is not a nation with which we choose to associate," Sarzo said. "Moreover, in light of the announced death of a Sarzonian pilot at the hands of a Luslyvanian ship of war, we ask, no demand, that the ship's captain be stripped of his commission and stand trial in a Sarzonian court of law.

"We assure the government of the United States of Luslyvania," Sarzo said in a low, almost surly tone that suggested his words were being forced out of him, "that the ship's captain will receive a fair, equitable trial." Which is more than those fuckers deserve for arresting a gay couple, Sarzo thought.

*********************************************************

Meanwhile, aboard the Wemberley, the technicians were poring over the "black box" that was rescued from the cockpit. They began running the sea water filters in an effort to extract a transcript of just what happened. In sickbay, Donnelly was being worked over by several doctors and nurses in a fevered effort to save his life.

"Well, one thing is absolutely clear," Doctor David Lopez said as he pored over the vital signs as he was talking to Pharmacist's Lionel Cohen. "Donnelly is alive. The question is whether he'll be able to make a complete recovery."

"Should we notify the commodore," Cohen asked.

"No," Lopez said. "She's asked us to only inform her if we're able to save the patient. She doesn't want to be bothered with any of the other details."

Cohen shook his head. That struck him as being more than odd: It struck him as being a potential big mistake. Little did he know just how big it would be.

As for the technicians, they were able to determine that they could restore the black box transcript once they flushed out the salt water. It would take time, but they figured that once that time was over, they would have a much better picture of what happened.

They just hoped shit wouldn't hit the fan first.

OOC:

Hmmm. You realize, do you not, that my government doesn't put much stock in Sarzo's assurance about a trial in a Sarzonian court being just?

In any case, I'll try and post tonight if I can.

OOC:

Hmmm. You realize, do you not, that my government doesn't put much stock in Sarzo's assurance about a trial in a Sarzonian court being just?

In any case, I'll try and post tonight if I can.

OOC: I definitely realise that. In fact, Romandeos and I were talking about that the other day. I figure Sarzo doing his best Worf impression (if you followed Star Trek: The Next Generation at all, you'll know exactly what I mean) would give you the IC jumping off point to do something with it.

OOC:

I mentioned being concerned about this post. That concern remains, but I don't know why. I guess it's just the blasted first-time jitters is all.

WARNING: There are expletives in this post. If you don't like that...don't say I didn't give you warning...'cause I did.

IC:

For a man such as Emmett Abrams, situations like this one he and his country faced were incredibly difficult, and in the same moment very simple. It was difficult because he could find little hope at getting through this debacle unscathed. If he handed Roenken to Sarzonia, at least he would avoid war…in the short term. Nations would see Luslyvania as a weak and limp state, easily pushed around with political threats. They would make demands, until a long time in the future, someone demanded too much. Then, a weakened Luslyvania most likely would be forced into a battle she couldn't win. If he refused, the ISN was on his doorstep by lunch tomorrow.

It was simple because he already knew his decision. He had known it before Sarzo voiced his demands on international television.

“How do I look?” he asked his wife Lisa, reaching up and straightening out his suit jacket like he had already done a dozen times before then. The petite blond smile in response, an irritated and amused smile all at once. He loved how she was able to do things like that.

“You look fabulous, dear, stop being nervous,” she said.

“I can’t stop being nervous.” He heaved a sigh. “What I have to say…”

“I know,” Lisa assured him. “You agreed to handle these things when you announced you intended to run in the first place, you know.”

“I know,” replied Abrams. “Maybe I shouldn’t have run.”

“Don’t be silly, Emmett!” Lisa admonished. “You’ve done great things since that election last year, and you know it. Just do the best you can.”

“Mr. President?” The aide stood in the doorway. “They’re ready.”

“I have to go,” Abrams told his wife.

“Good luck,” she replied.

Breathing deeply and squaring his broad shoulders, Emmett Abrams walked the hallways in silence to the Executive Residence’s Press Room.

*********

“Ladies and gentlemen, I come before you today to speak about the unjust demands made in the most recent broadcast from Sarzonia.”

He stood upon the podium, reporters gathered before him, wielding cameras and notepads in their hands, recording every little thing that he did.

“Many years ago now, a man named Fletcher Lusly made an important choice. He felt his homeland the United States of America was irreversibly perverted and damaged by things like socialism, the elitist media, and, yes, homosexuality.”

He paused, sipping from a glass on the podium.

“He did what little he could to enact repairs but was held back by his enemies. Thus when it became plain that his efforts were useless he and some others decided to leave. He went into the unknown, taking with him his family and those few who would follow him. What little they had they stowed aboard ships, sailing away on the seas, searching for fresh land in which to plant the seeds of democracy.”

He paused again, and his eyes hardened.

“Luslyvania exists today because people like him took the risks that they did. They didn’t know they would succeed. Many times in those early days they almost lost everything. At least a dozen times during Lusly’s tenures as president, it looked like this nation would be lost to hostile forces, some from within, others without. Shona pirates, the Ingalls Coup, a host of dangers threatened the young Republic. Each time, despite the odds, Luslyvanians heeded the call to arms and rallied bravely to the cause.”

His words got several quiet murmurs in acknowledgement. Luslyvanian history books told in vivid details of things like the Battle of Burkett’s Mill, in which the Luslyvanian forces had been outnumbered 10/1 by Shona warriors and had still emerged victorious.

“Now, we face a new threat. Sarzonia has issued a demand that we strip Captain Roenken immediately of his commission and give him to them to stand trial. President Sarzo stated in his speech that Roenken will get a fair, equitable trial. I don’t think anybody here could honestly say they think this assurance is anything but horse crap. I don’t like show trials a lot, and I won’t condemn a man to one simply for doing his duty.”

He paused once more, sipping from the glass on the podium again.

“Captain Roenken will not be fired, and he will not be extradited. It is that simple. People like Sarzo must be stood up to, and I have no doubt that my people are up to the challenge."

He seemed to think a moment, and then his face lit up with a grin.

“If you want him, Mike Sarzo, tell your fucking Police to get on the next plane to Lusly’s Landing and come get him.”

He let his words sink in, hearing the enthusiastic applause in response to his words. When he could get the newsies cheering, he knew that people were behind him.

“Thank you. May God bless you all, and may God bless the United States of Luslyvania.”

Having finished, he stepped down from the podium and walked out. Outside the doorway he found Secretary Iestyn Rheinallt silently waiting.

“Mr. President,” Rheinallt greeted simply. He knew what was coming.

“Iestyn, begin mobilizing National Guard units on a rotational basis. Say they are training in preparation for future operations.”

Rheinallt nodded silently.

“Also, recall all Navy units to Luslyvanian waters and have them outfitted for full conflict immediately. We will not be caught flat-footed here.”

Rheinallt simply nodded a second time.

“Also, instruct General Keeble to spread out his units, now.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

OOC: Tag.
And this wouldn't be why you need a map made would it? For the future invasion of Luslyvania?

OOC: Tag.
And this wouldn't be why you need a map made would it? For the future invasion of Luslyvania?

OOC:

It is indeed, and I'll have you that information you need as quickly as possible.

Commodore* José Lopez knew what his orders were. However, he also knew that the situation between Sarzonia and Luslyvania wasn’t about to resolve itself anytime soon unless there was some reason for such resolution.

He was known as a maverick throughout the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy. In fact, his defiant nature kept him from having four stars on each epaulette. The top brass back in Saugerties, home of the Military Command Centre [OOC: The Sarzonian equivalent of the Pentagon] denied three promotions in the last five years, each time citing his open defiance of naval regulations.

However, he was about to take a next step that was far worse than flying in the face of strict adherence to the letter of Sarzonian regulations. What he was about to do was likely to land him in a court martial. Or several courts martial.

“Helm, lay in an intercept course. Flanking speed.”

“Commodore! With all due respect,” Captain Len Tyner, officially the commanding officer of the flagship, the ISS Patuxent, which was a Potomac-class command battleship in charge of the 11th Expeditionary Fleet, which was constructed to facilitate amphibious assaults. However, before he could get his next words out, Lopez cut him off.

“You heard the order, helmsman.”

“Commodore, may I see you in private,” Tyner seethed.

Aware that his next word would anger an executive officer who already had a strained relationship with him, Lopez decided to show the resolve that kept him with the star he had earned to begin with.

”Negative. Those are your orders,” Lopez said.

“With all due respect,” Tyner began again, making it clear to Lopez that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, “you are about to commit an act of war against the United States of Luslyvania. And for what, because they insulted us. Do you really want to risk the lives of thousands, if not millions of innocent people because you’re a bull-headed asshole?”

Tyner knew he’d regret that wording, but his patience was absolutely gone. Lopez’s propensity to go it alone without advice was going to catch up to him one day, and Tyner knew that it was going to be this day.

“Captain, I need to talk to you in my ready room NOW,” Lopez said. Normally, Tyner would listen to his boss, but for once in Tyner’s by-the-book career, he was about to give Lopez a taste of his own medicine. It may cost him his commission, but he would be damned if he didn’t listen to his conscience.

”No, sir,” Tyner said. “If you’re not going to listen to me, I’m not going to listen to you when you blatantly defy regulations.”

That did it. Lopez’s eyes flashed with anger and his face began to turn a bright red as he struggled with all his might to keep from completely letting loose on the bridge with people including the fleet’s chief medical officer present. He took a quick, laboured breath and finally spoke with a surprisingly faint voice that belied how angry he was.

“Captain Tyner, you’re relieved of duty and you’re confined to quarters,” Lopez said. He tapped the communications console on his executive chair. “Bridge to security. Please escort Captain Tyner to his quarters.”

“Aye sir,” came the uncertain response of a security chief who clearly was wondering what the hell was going on.


Back in Saugerties, the ISN’s Deputy Vice President for Force Deployment was monitoring the sudden course change made by the 11th Expeditionary Fleet with disbelief, then a growing sense of dismay.

Ben Creighton was no dummy. He could tell from knowing Lopez the way he did that the guy was less than willing to follow orders to the letter. However, his repeated warnings that Lopez was a loose cannon who didn’t belong in charge of a fleet went unheeded by the very top brass. They may not have felt comfortable giving him a promotion to Rear Admiral, but they also felt he was good enough to command an Expeditionary Fleet. Especially one that was as low in the Order of Battle as the 11th. They figured he wouldn’t get his country in enough trouble from that slot, and if the ISS were at war, he figured that any admiral would be giving him the orders.

Here was the first concrete evidence that Creighton had to prove his point to his immediate boss, Bunhall. He picked up the phone and called her direct office line.

”Bunhall,” she said.

“Kath, this is Ben.”

”What’s going on Ben? I thought I told you not to call me in the middle of dinner.”

”Kath, this is important,” Creighton said. By his tone of voice and by the fact he uttered those four words, Bunhall knew it was true. Most of the problems that Creighton faced were ones he could readily solve, and Bunhall trusted him to solve them. If he was calling her, she knew it was past his ability to solve them. She breathed in slowly, fully expecting the worst.

“Kath, the 11th Expeditionary,” Creighton began.

“I know,” Bunhall said. “Lopez.” She couldn’t explain what it was, but she knew that somehow, Lopez would be the reason for the call and it was a major breach of regulations that she was going to be confronting. When she heard about the course change – and about Creighton’s subsequent efforts to order the 11th back on its normal course, she shook her head.

“Damn it,” she said. I knew I should have listened to you, Ben, she thought. Her next thought brought her even more dread: What would Sarzo say when he found this out. Lopez was too far out in his deployment for Bunhall to do anything but order him back and the nearest Sarzonian fleet was eight days away at maximum speed.

“Should we contact the Isselmerian-Nielanders,” a secretary asked Bunhall in her office. “They might be able to cut Lopez off.”

“That fleet is on its own deployment mission and it’s a bit more critical for them to be on their own patrol than it is for them to chase down one of our fleets,” Bunhall sighed. She also knew her previous next option – contacting the Imperial Praetonian Navy – was not politically viable. Even with the Treaty of Uxland, the political ramifications of the two formerly close allies being involved in such a way were hardly palatable for the ISG.

No, it looked like Lopez was on his own, and it also looked like Lopez was going to cause trouble no matter how much the ISG wanted to avoid it.

[OOC: *A Commodore in the ISN is equivalent to a one-star admiral in the USN, which is known as Rear Admiral Lower Half. A Rear Admiral in the ISN is equivalent to Rear Admiral Upper Half, which is a two-star rank. There are some other rate and rank changes in the ISN, but that’s probably the most notable one for RPs involving my navy.

If you want to RP a showdown of some kind between your fleets and the 11th, I’m game. If not, the 11th can simply hem in your fleets and wait until the sh*t hits the fan. We can talk about that via TG if you’d like.]

Luslyvanian Waters, fifteen nautical miles from Hennemann Bay.

“Captain, you might want to see this!"

Laura Littleton, captain of the Luslyvanian flagged cargo vessel SS Zelda turned from the large nav charts table to face First Mate Kyle Fleck.

“What is it, Kyle?” she asked him.

“I don’t know, boss,” replied Fleck. He was standing at the bridge’s central window, with his bulky civilian-grade binoculars raised up to his eyes.

“Is it a ship?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s a ship alright,” he replied. “I just don’t know whose ship.”

“Which way is it going?” asked Littleton.

“It’s headed towards us, it looks like,” was Fleck’s reply. “Looks like a warship.”

Littleton stepped away from the charts and moved to stand beside Fleck at the window, as he lowered his binoculars to hand them to his captain. Littleton took them with a nod, and lifted them up to examine the vessel Fleck pointed out.

“It’s a warship alright, Kyle," she said, still examining the ship. "That's odd, though, seeing a Navy ship moving that fast out here, and..." Littleton’s voice stopped suddenly. Fleck could tell she had seen something.

“Boss, what is it?” Fleck looked at her, curious. “What’s wrong?”

“That sonofabitch is a Sarzonian, that’s what’s wrong!” Littleton barked out.

“What’s a Sarzonian warship doing here?” asked the helmsman, a young man named Ben Harris who had been silent up until now.

“What the Hell do you think?” Littleton growled. “Get us turned toward Hennemann, and let’s break out the survival suits, and the lifeboats. That ship is three miles away from and is heading towards Luslyvania’s national waters, and there’ll be more where it came from if I’m not mistaken, and they aren’t here on a social call.”

Harris set to work turning Zelda around while Fleck left the ship’s bridge, seeking out the lockers containing the crew’s survival suits. Littleton picked up the intercom handset, and issued a command she had not issued before save in practice.

“All hands, don survival suits and prepare to man the lifeboats. I repeat, all hands don survival suits and prepare to man the lifeboats.”

Having done that, she got on the radio and began broadcasting a message.

“Mayday, mayday, this is the cargo ship SS Zelda to anybody who is receiving my signal. I have sighted a Sarzonian-flagged warship, fifteen miles off Hennemann Bay and closing in fast. The warship has made no attempt at communications, and there's probably more behind him – Over.”

Littleton repeated this message several times.

OOC:

I know, realistically Captain Littleton should attempt to establish communications with the ship before crying wolf, but I thought this would be more fun. Any objections, just let me know.

BTW, I was originally going to make this post longer, but alas, a power outage knocked my Pc down last night before I could save the finished version, and this is the best I could manage from memory.

By now, Sarzo was beginning to have his doubts about the whole situation that was beginning to take place between his country and Luslyvania. Things were devolving slowly, but he began to see a problem with developments. Tyler's frustration with Sarzo's refusal to negotiate with Luslyvania's Secretary of State led the First Partner to sleep in the guest bedroom of the Gray House for two nights after Sarzo announced his decision, but Sarzo was developing serious second thoughts.

He heard the phone to his private office ring and thought what now?

"Sarzo."

"Uh, Mike."

Sarzo's eyes began to widen and his features slowly morphed from a world-weary expression as his muscles contracted and his mouth gradually drew open.

"Kathy, what is it?"

"The 11th Fleet has..."

"Has what Kathy?" Now Sarzo's eyebrows began to furrow into the beginnings of a scowl. He knew Lopez and his reputation, and he knew the guy was a potential powder keg.

"The 11th Fleet has set course for Luslyvanian waters. They're due to arrive in six days."

"WHAT? Did you deploy them?"

"No sir, he went without orders."

"You mean he disobeyed specific orders not to go near there," Sarzo countered in a voice that became progressively more high-pitched.

"Correct, sir."

"Have you tried ordering him back to his original heading?"

"I have sir. He refuses to answer communicades from Navy Headquarters."

Goddamnit. Sarzo began pacing with the receiver crammed onto his left ear, trying to figure out a way for him to get out of this mess. Even though he had every confidence that Sarzonia on paper could shred the Luslyvanian military, he knew the lessons of the long-ago Inkanan Civil War. In fact, he also remembered the lessons that military historians drew from the Sarz-Panteran War.

"Any suggestions Kathy?"

"I was hoping you'd have some."

"I'll try to see if I can get Lopez to return to Sarzonia. He'd better have a fucking court martial for this shit."

"Trust me Mike, if he gets out of their alive, I'll bring you his commission on a silver platter."

"I only wish those fucktards in Luslyvania would do the same for that dingbat of a commanding officer of the Long Beach," Sarzo said.

"Mike, if a Luslyvanian aircraft flew into Sarzonian airspace, our SOP dictates,"

"We do the exact same thing. I know," Sarzo replied.

Hours later, Sarzo managed to actually get in touch with Commodore Lopez on a secure channel.

"This is a direct executive order from the President of the Incorporated States," Sarzo said in a great effort to project an even tone. Even so, the unmistakable anger that flowed underneath the words weren't lost on anyone who heard him. "You are ordered to immediately turn back and make all available speed for Nicksia Harbour. You are then ordered to turn yourself in to stand trial."

"Sorry Mr. President," Lopez said. "I'm afraid that just isn't possible."

Before Sarzo could reply, Lopez made a slashing motion with his right hand and the signal cut out. Now Lopez could add one more violation to his already lengthy list: Directly disobeying a Presidential order.

Sarzo walked aimlessly back to his bedroom where he saw Tyler asleep. This time, he grabbed his nightgown and sleeping effects and went to the guest bedroom while Tyler slept.

Sarzo shook his head, but he realised something. Even the president of the Incorporated States sometimes has to sleep on the couch.

OOC:

Nice to see you again, Sarzonia, and sorry about not posting when I said I would. Crap just keeps happening, you know?

In any case, this gives me the perfect reasoning to launch my own strike plans. I think you'll recall what I'm about in that regard.

OOC: Understood... I, too haven't had as much inspiration to post as I'd have liked.

And it's a relief that the post I thought was lost in the ether still made it onto Jolt.

OOC: Understood... I, too haven't had as much inspiration to post as I'd have liked.

And it's a relief that the post I thought was lost in the ether still made it onto Jolt.

OOC:

Indeed it is. I'm polishing up a nice, but admittedly short IC post just now. Hope to have it up soon.

I'm so going to get my hindparts whipped when the shooting begins, but at least it'll be fun. How many RL wars can you say that about?

EDIT: This is taking perhaps more time than I had expected. I am trying to work on two post at once, but don't be worried. It'll be up very soon now.

OOC:

It look me beyond what I had hoped to finish this, and it still isn't everything I'd intended to post, and so if you have read my last telegram, I guess you can call me Señor Bravo.

IC:

USLN Base at Stormhaven Bay.

Navy Department,
05 June, 2***

Captain L.A. Semenov,
U.S.L Navy, Princeton, Wadena

Captain:

You shall proceed at once and without delay to the Naval Station at Stormhaven Bay, and immediately report to Vice-Admiral Cynthia Braye upon your arrival. Admiral Braye will issue additional orders to you there.

I am, very respectfully,
Admiral Raleigh Candelaria, CNO, USLN

It was raining when Captain Larissa Semenov arrived at Stormhaven Bay, a gray overcast in the sky above blanketing all in a dark and hazy gloom. As her windshield wipers swept icy cold rain from the safety glass in buckets, she carefully navigated the roads, driving at low speed to account for bad visibility. While an intelligent decision on her part, it served her anxious nerves poorly. Captains did not often receive orders directly from the admiral in command of the whole Navy, so the reason he wanted her at Stormhaven must be quite important in some way, to say the least.

“Damn this blasted rain,” she groused as she drove. “Today, of all the days…” She turned her car’s radio on, hoping to find some calming tunes.

“-refusing the demands from his enemies in Congress that Captain Roenken be expedited in an effort to appease the Sarzonians, stating that what is happening here is just political bullying, and Luslyvania must stand-”

“Garbage,” she grumbled, switching it off again. Luckily, she could see the big main gate leading on to Stormhaven Bay USLN Navy Base. She drove up to the guardhouse, rolling her window down as she did so.

“May I see your identification, Captain?” asked the Marine sentry.

“Here you are, Corporal,” she said, passing him a laminated ID card. He examined it, and handed it back with a nod.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, hitting a switch to open the security gateway. She drove past with more speed than she had used out in the city streets. She knew where she was going and a little while later, pulled up before the administrations building.

“Ma’am,” the head Marine at the doorway said, the guard detail snapping to attention just like they always would, but there were more of them now. Conflict was seen as inevitable in recent days, and nothing was being left to chances. She saluted back and stepped inside in silence, walking up to the front desk, where a rating sat.

“Your business here, Ma’am?” he asked.

“I am here to see Admiral Braye,” she replied.

“One moment,” he said as he lifted up a phone. “Captain Semenov is here.”

Hearing this, Semenov’s eyebrows lifted. The abrupt way he spoke suggested the admiral had been sitting expectant of her arriving.

“Beckett!” he called, putting down the phone. “Escort the Captain to the Admiral’s office immediately. Be quick about it.”

*********

“Captain Semenov, please come in.”

Vice-Admiral Cynthia Braye pulled the double doors shut behind Semenov, switching the lock bolt in to place before returning to her work desk.

“Feel free to have a seat, Captain,” she said. Semenov did.

“Captain Semenov,” the admiral began. “By now, you are no doubt aware of the situation involving the Long Beach and the Sarzonian president’s extradition demands.”

“I have been keeping abreast of the news, Ma’am,” Semenov replied.

“Then the response we gave will be known to you,” Braye went on, and Semenov nodded in response. Braye’s expression grew more serious.

“Captain,” she said. “What I must tell you now does not leave this room. The government is convinced hostilities are imminent, and the Defense Department agrees. The military as it is can not hope to win in an even match. We’re good, but we’re not that good, and there is not nearly enough time to build up to beat them in conventional warfare. It was decided in a recent Cabinet meeting that we must employ some…alternate methods.”

“I’m…not quite sure where this is going, Admiral,” Semenov said.

“I’m getting there, Captain,” the admiral reassured. “Have you heard of HDI?”

“You mean Hybalt Defense Industries?” Semenov asked. Braye nodded.

“The same,” she said. “We recently purchased some warships from them. Specifically we have purchased ships that we feel are suited to convoy raiding.”

“I see.” Semenov was starting to figure things out now. Convoy raiding made sense. That kind of strategy could work if Sarzonia decided to attack.

Braye opened a desk drawer, pulled out a thick folder, and tossed it on to the desk surface in Semenov’s direction. It was un-labeled.

“Have a look at that,” she said. Grabbing and opening the folder, Semenov saw that it had information about something called the 1st Raiding Group (Provisional).

“Thirteen ships in total, various classes and specializations.” She read from there silently.

“Indeed,” said Braye. “You will notice the personnel list is one short. This group requires leadership, and you have been tapped as a potential choice.”

“A potential choice?” Semenov looked up, confused.

“This post will be a dangerous one if the balloon goes up, Semenov,” Braye said, looking her square in the eyes. “The Sarzonians could well class you and those you lead as pirates if they choose, and thusly you would be killed if captured.”

“With all due respect, Admiral, I don’t think-”

“Well the Secretary of Defense would disagree,” the admiral interrupted. “Therefore, you have a choice in the issue. Will you take command?”

For just a moment, Semenov did not speak. The big ones never were orders. She was here in this room, being asked in private so she could back out if she chose. Of course, she had little illusion as to what backing out would mean.

Hey, at least the theory was good.

“I’ll take it,” she said simply. Braye smiled.

“Good choice, Larissa,” she said, using Semenov’s first name.

“I think so, Admiral,” Semenov replied. Braye nodded and continued.

“You will lead that force from Stormhaven Bay into international waters, and await word instructing you either to stand down or to attack Sarzonian flagged merchantmen carrying important wartime materiel to Sarzonia, especially oil ships. When necessary dock in any neutral port that will have you to restock.”

“I am to remain away from Luslyvania, then?”

“As much as possible to avoid being intercepted,” Braye replied. “Also, as this mission is incredibly vital, you are being promoted. Congratulations, Commodore.”

Braye and Semenov remained in the office a while longer, discussing the assignment, and it was well past Noon when she left the building.

“Admiral,” she said as she walked down the stairs, saluting a man with two stars upon his large shoulders.

“Commodore.” Rear-Admiral Uriah Freeman returned the salute and walked inside.

OOC2:

I'll post more ASAP, but I've run low on time at the moment and inspiration is low. Hopefully the next time I post my creatives juices will be flowing strongly.

Basically, you might soon detect three groups of warships departing Luslyvanian ports. Each is thirteen vessels strong. Also, I am working on that Supreme Court bit, and hope to have an opening post up soon.

“You mean Hybalt Defense Industries?” Semenov asked Braye nodded.

“The same,” she said. “We recently purchased some warships from them. Specifically we have purchased ships that we feel are suited to convoy raiding.”
(OOC: Uh oh... what will Sarzo think when he identifies the raiders as HDI ships?)

(OOC: Uh oh... what will Sarzo think when he identifies the raiders as HDI ships?)

OOC:

Nothing good, I should think, but you are a neutral party, which means you haven't any obligations to deny sales to me.

(OOC: Actually, I have a mutual defensive pact with Sarzonia dating back several RL years. In addition, Granzi is linked to Sarzonia through several alliances.)

(OOC: Actually, I have a mutual defensive pact with Sarzonia dating back several RL years. In addition, Granzi is linked to Sarzonia through several alliances.)

OOC:

I'm aware, but do any of those alliances demand that in the present situation Luslyvania be blacklisted by HDI? Remember, my nation is defending against a hostile attack here, not invading Sarzonia.

EMERGENCY EDIT: Make that four groups of warships, not three. I purchased for packages from Granzi. My bad.

Sarzo glared around the situation room as Cabinet vice presidents and senior vice presidents made their way in. A Code Purple call meant that their business was extremely urgent, and the sombre looks on the faces of each member of the Cabinet betrayed how vital each person knew the situation to be.

"Here's the situation as I understand it," Sarzo said slowly, turning on the plasma screen and hitting a button that started the projector. "The Eleventh Expeditionary Fleet has disobeyed a direct order to turn back toward Sarzonia. They are within hours of entering Luslyvanian waters."

"Whose order did they disobey," Newman asked. Even though he was recently promoted to Senior Vice President for Defence, he still had some catching up to do in this new crisis situation. Newman caught a quick glance at First Partner Jay Tyler and his eyes seemed to cloud over for a split second.

Sarzo's glare melted away for a second, replaced with a lengthening facial expression that made it clear that there was a lot more than Sarzo's legendary temper at work. Despite his best effort to sound authoritative, the next word out of his mouth escaped with a hard-to-hear croak.

"Mine."

Even though that single word was almost inaudible, it resonated as if Sarzo had bellowed it full out. Murmurs started washing through the room as if it were high tide near Nicksia Harbour. Lewis reached over with her left hand and grabbed Sarzo's gavel and banged it three times.

"Order," she yelled.

"Now what do we do," Newman asked. "This is clearly going to be seen as a provocation of the Luslyvanians."

"I think we need to go public with the fact the 11th has disobeyed your order and let the Luslyvanians know we didn't authorise Commodore Lopez's little excursion," Bunhall said.

"Too risky," Newman replied. "They already don't trust us. This would make us look stupid."

"I don't give a fuck," Lewis retorted. "We already look stupid for getting all uppity over one aircraft and one captain. I say we make it look as if we sent Lopez. Let's make it look like this is just us doing our usual round of gunboat diplomacy."

"I'm sure the Luslyvanians have already intercepted the message to Lopez and the 11th," Newman said. "If they've decoded it by now, they'll know we ddidn't purposefully send the fleet there."

"If they've decoded it, you'd think they'd have made some kind of acknowledgement that this is all much ado about nothing," Sarzo said. "I'm willing to bet they haven't decoded it. The only thing they'll have figured out is I sent the 11th a message of some kind. If I were in their place, I'd be suspicious as hell that some other nation is going to try something when a fleet of theirs materialises off my coast."

"What would you do if you were the Luslyvanians," Lewis asked.

"That's a stupid question Nicole," Newman said. As soon as the word Nicole escaped from his lips, Newman wished he hadn't said that as he saw anger flash over Sarzo's face once again and the president's hand grab for the handle of the gavel.

"No it isn't, John," Sarzo seethed. "It's a fair question. In fact, we faced a very similar situation many years ago. Remember the Quasi-War against Sdaeriji?"

"That wasn't similar," Newman nearly whispered. However, the point was taken. Sarzonia faced two brutal wars simultaneously against larger nations. Fortunately, Sarzonia came through both in one piece. But now, Sarzonia was on the other end of the threatening situation. And it wasn't a comfortable place for Sarzo to be.

"I think we need to answer that question for ourselves," Sarzo said. "What would we do if we were the Luslyvanians? I know what I'd do. And I'm sure you all know the same thing." Sarzo stood up and walked toward the plasma screen. He knew the Cabinet senior vice presidents and vice presidents knew the answer: Sarzonia would gird for combat and would take on whoever was threatening them, no matter how large or powerful. If the nation supported the war effort, Sarzonia would give one hell of a fight. The Panteran War was proof of that.

"So what's our next move now," Bunhall asked.

Sarzo stared ahead of him at the plasma screen with the image of the 11th and its continued defiance of Sarzo's orders flickering its electronic taunt. The reflection of the faces in the room wasn't clear, but one thing was clear from the fleeting image of faces: They all were looking expectantly at him, waiting for him to answer.

OOC:

I see President Sarzo has a most intellectually sound cabinet. You know, it has to look incredibly plucky when a nation whose navy possesses less than a hundred NS modern warships takes on a leading naval force, doesn't it? Resembles the US vs England matchups in the days of olde.

In any case, now that I'm back, I'm going to cobble up a post.

OOC: Yeah, I try to make sure the Cabinet has (mostly) good people in it. I try to give all my characters both positive and negative attributes to flesh them out and make them more than just one-dimensional characters. I also try to develop back stories and reasons for their behaviours whenever possible.

I actually got a lot of my inspiration for these "situation room" type RP posts from watching a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation. I just replace the technobabble with political babble. :p

And yes, this is definitely reminding me of the old England vs. United States wars of the 18th and 19th centuries.

OOC:

Right. This is basically several ideas cobbled in to one post, so here's hoping it turned out in good shape.

IC:

“So, what’s our next move?”

Hearing those words spoken by VP Quintero startled President Abrams from his thoughts instantaneously. He looked up to see the Joint Chiefs, Quintero, and the Cabinet members he had directed his secretary to call all looking at him.

“Marion?” he asked.

“I asked what we should do now.” Quintero replied. “There’s a Sarzonian fleet inside one hour’s sail from Luslyvania’s territorial waters. From the way things look I’d say that this is an attempt to cow us in to meeting Sarzo’s demands.”

“Gunboat diplomacy,” Admiral Candelaria grunted. “The more things change…”

“What is that supposed to mean?” inquired Quintero. In response, the short, squat admiral leaned forward in his seat and looked at him.

“Look, back when England was a great power, the Royal Navy was among the best in the known world, and as proper and civilized as they claimed to be the English weren’t above intimidation, if they thought it was necessary. If a country pissed them off, they could just launch a blockade to force the offenders to see reason.”

“How very rude,” Secretary Ingraham quipped. All those present chuckled.

“How very rude indeed,” said Abrams, as the room quieted again.

“Indeed,” said Candelaria, obviously irritated. “What the Sarzonians are doing to us is the kind of thing England did to countless nations. The fabled Age of Sail is finished, but that kind of tactic is still useful, and this probably isn’t the only time the Sarzonians have used it to date. If the intimidation fails, they’ll start shooting.”

“Which means the vice president’s question is very important,” said Abrams. “In fact that is why you were all summoned here, to this meeting. Luslyvania faces war, unless we just hand Captain Roenken to them, and I can not do that.”

“Can’t you, Mr. President?” asked Secretary Ingraham.

“Ingraham…” the CNO growled, shifting in his seat.

“No,” said Defense Secretary Rheinallt. “We can’t do that.”

“Damn right we can’t,” Abrams agreed. “Luslyvania would be ruined if we did, and what is more, Roenken would almost certainly be doomed.”

“Mr. President,” Ingraham argued. “We cannot win a conventional fight against Sarzonia if it comes to that.”

“Gosh Mr. Secretary, we love you too.” That came from General Rufus Kleinschmidt, the man in charge of the Luslyvanian Army.

“I’m only being realistic, general,” retorted Ingraham.

“Maybe not,” said General Weddle, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The room silenced.

“Perhaps you would care to elaborate on that, General Weddle?” asked Rheinallt.

“It’s really quite simple,” Weddle said. “Sarzonia’s military is a larger, more experienced military, and has more modern equipment than ours. However, the American military had like advantages against the North Vietnamese forces. Russia also enjoyed said advantages in 1939, when Russian troops invaded Finland for land.”

“I can understand the Vietnam reference,” said Abrams. “Finland, however…”

“Russia invaded Finland for land shortly before the Second World War, Mr. President, an invasion meant to expand the distance a German invasion would have to cover. The Finns had fewer resources, and not as many troops, but they still waxed the Soviets terrible, and in the end only surrendered due to numerical issues.”

“So basically, you’re saying we should just fight until they get tired or we get worn down in the face of overwhelming enemy military forces?”

“Not exactly that, Mr. President,” said Weddle. “One reason America lost out in Vietnam is modern media coverage. People in the United States could see what was happening and it horrified them to no end. Eventually, they demanded withdrawal, because they believed it was hopeless to continue and victory was impossible. In reality, American forces would have won, if the American people had the will to go on.”

He paused a moment, apparently gathering his thoughts.

“I think we can not defeat the Sarzonians in a purely military conflict. However, if we are incredibly aggressive with how we use media resources, we can perhaps cause Sarzonia a lot more discomfort than they are perhaps expecting. That coupled with a harsh resistance in the military spectrum could perhaps see us through.”

“I see,” said the president. “Well, before we begin shooting perhaps there can be a victory in the diplomatic arena. Elijah, I’ve a message for you to send.”

“I’ll see to it, Mr. President,” Ingraham replied with a nod.

“Good.” Abrams turned to face his CNO. “Admiral Candelaria, can you get some aircraft in the sky above the Sarzonian fleet to get some pictures?”

“I’ve already given the order, Mr. President,” said the admiral.

“Good.” The president leaned back in his seat. “Now that we have got that ball rolling I’d like to discuss this idea of aggressive media a bit.”

************

“Approaching target vessels; preparing to adjust altitude.”

Lieutenant Hailie “Duchess” Vogel checked the altitude of her SZ-21 Coronet fighter and lightly pulled back on the stick. The two-seater’s climb from about two hundred feet went incredibly quickly, until they were at the needed height.

“Increasing speed," she said, as she accelerated.

Her backseat man, Lieutenant J.G. Jacob “Lars” Larson, chose then to speak.

“Duchess, we’ve just been painted by targeting RADAR.”

Lieutenant Vogel was not surprised. Sarzonian naval assets were almost legendary, and it had seemed unlikely to the lieutenant that she should creep up on them. She wasn’t trying in all honesty. The objective here was taking pictures.

“No worries, Lars,” she replied. “We just fly over, snap a few good pictures and go home in triumph and get drunk out of our minds, like training.”

“Nobody really shoots at us in training, Duchess,” Lars reminded.

“True,” Vogel responded. “But close as they are to Luslyvania, we’ll likely be left alone.”

“Here’s hoping. I’ve got the Kodak pod ready to go.” Lars was referring to a camera pod locked in place on the Coronet’s portside wing pylon.

“Let’s go, then,”

************

Luslyvanian Diplomatic Message to the Incorporated States:

FOR: President Mike Sarzo, ISS
FROM: Secretary of State Elijah Ingraham, USL
RE: Last Chance at Settlement

Mr. President,

I have been instructed by President Abrams to contact you in a final effort to resolve what looks to be spiraling in to armed conflict.

I realize the Sarzonian people are upset by the destruction of a Sarzonian aircraft, and that knowing the pilot may well be dead has only increased this ill-feeling. However, this isn’t logical cause for military conflict on a national scale.

My nation is prepared to make the following terms with Sarzonia:

Luslyvania will pay five times the level of the average Sarzonian life insurance policy to those individuals related to the pilot, if said pilot is dead.

Luslyvania will pay twice the replacement cost for the downed aircraft.

In return, we ask that Sarzonia commit to the following:

Sarzonian forces will immediately be removed from their close proximity to Luslyvania’s national sovereign territory.

Sarzonia will drop demands for the firing and extradition of Captain Roenken.

It is my hope that you will find these terms to be acceptable.

Best Regards,
Elijah Ingraham, Secretary of State, United Sates of Luslyvania