NationStates Jolt Archive

This is just getting the ball rolling again. Crave, if you read this, hop on IRC for a chat. Discordia/Wilhelmsborough, this is going to effect you, so have a read.


Rolling around in his office, the Newton’s cradle that was knocking set the metronomical beat to his writing. Alan Brookes, PM of Northford, didn't like what he was doing, but the fact was, it was going to happen sooner or later, and better be it by his pen than his successor.

Unfortunate thing, War is, he mused, slowly pushing his pen across the page. Rather like a cup of tea... leave it brewing for too long, and you ruin the taste. In war, he firmly believed there had to be some attainable goal... resources, defence of the realm, protecting trade; the kind of things that made something just.

Looking at things in an objective light, he could see nothing just about Northford's action in the future war that was brewing. In simple terms, too many nations, more powerful than Northford that had far more money available were likely to be involved, and even with the might of Questers, Independent Northfordian projections were bleak.

'Independent Northfordian Projections’ , he laughed to himself, as he finished the paragraph. Quite different from Commonwealth Projections, of a glorious victory. Northfordian analysis’s predicted that even in the most optimum scenario, the Questarian Commonwealth only had a 1/20 chance of beating 'Gholgoth', the foe that international press, far and wide, from the left, and the right of the political spectrum, had predicted would be the enemy.

Starting the next Paragraph, the thoughts of what he was doing actually came to light. In a sense, he was effectively removing Northford as a viable Military for 12 months, and essentially meaning it would be another 36 before it was able to utilise its expanded forces effectively. Regardless of what was happening in the rest of the Commonwealth, Northford had amassed around 40 Trillion Universal Standard Dollars worth of Capital from defence surplus's and was planning on spending [u]big[u]. That, coupled with the fact that the Northfordian Defence budget took up 54% of the Budget, and was worth (not withstanding law and order) 20 Trillion alone, meant that it had the capital to make it able to purchase a lot, quickly. Plans were being put in place for buying Questarian Naval fleets, with Questarian Sailors on board ready to use, The Northfordian National Guard was being activated and given 24/7 training, and, perhaps most importantly, the Northfordian Air Force was dropping it's active missions by 80%, freeing up thousands of Pilots to work on training complex's.

48 Months, he wrote. 4 Years. That wouldn't be a number that IGHQ would be happy with... not that it mattered, though.

There were only 2 Northfordians who came truly close to understanding what was going on at Imperial General Headquarters, a vast complex in the Questers mainland that guided official Questarian Military Policy, as well as having overall control over how the 'Resources' of the 'Colonies and Protectorates' were to be used, and the Prime Minister was not one of them. One of them was a man called Albert Finches, a dual Questarian-Northfordian National, who was the Minister for "Questo-Northfordian" relations, and the other was Admiral James Tricker, who was also, by grace of luck, the Northfordian Foreign Minister.

Mr Finches, schooled, educated, brought up, and serving in the Questarian Navy. Owing to this, as well as his uncooperative manner, meant he was viewed by the Northfordian Executive as largely a foreigner who simply fed the Cabinet any shit that he was told. Helpful , but as always with 'Attaché' Ambassadors (as the Prime Minister saw it), lacking substance.

Admiral James Tricker on the other hand, belonged to one of the more 'powerful' families in Northford, and pretty much kept the country going during it's darkest days, working tirelessly with Questarian, Cravanian and other GASN countries to ensure that Northfordian Civilians were transported out of their civil-strife torn country. After the civil war, he decided to shift from the Military into Politics, taking his steely attitude towards people, as well as his superb intelligence into the foreign military, where he essentially personified the Northfordian Professio pro Palma [Trade before Glory] policy towards the Questarian Commonwealth. On a personal level, he was decidedly Pro-Commonwealth, and, in fact, supported Integration in areas of Government wherever there was a mutual benefit, but consistently and powerfully refused to budge on certain 'red line' zones. For example, it was his bulldog attitude that stopped troops from the Crown Imperium, or the rest of the Commonwealth, being stationed in Northford. Instead, he offered Questarian control over Northfordian Naval elements.... and, with a stroke of genius, effectively signed over wartime control of the two biggest Paper-Tiger fleets in the Navy.

This, however, all said and done, was fine. Problem was that he was 3 Weeks away from Northford, speeding back on a Naval Vessel. Typical, bloody typical, that the first major independent Northfordian foreign venture was ruined by War.

...Or so the Prime Minister privately thought.

Yes, despite the fact he was resolutely pro-Questers, even he, of late, was feeling the heat. Over little things, things that shouldn't bother an international statesman, but, owing to his years and the fact that he relied more on coffee than sleep for mental agility, he was nevertheless upset.

The first was the growth of "The Integrationist!" Party in Northford. A large party, with ever more members by the day, it was getting closer and close to his ruling "Northfordian Libertarian Party" in the opinion polls, and, most worryingly, seemed have £2 in it's coffers for every £1 the next richest party did. Further, nearly all of its donations come from anonymous Dual Northfordian-Questarian nationals, who, even more worryingly, all seem to live abroad.

As well as this, the "Northfordian Intelligence Service" (NIS) had recently been absorbed into the Questarian Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), without any prior consultation with the Northfordian Government...barring the approval of the wonderful Mr Finches. Although, he had to admit, supported the idea, as with all integration policies, he was resolutely against the idea when the Northfordian Executive was being bypassed, rather than actually integrated into. Interestingly, however, it was actually the Prime Minister himself that proposed the idea, however, he did not actually think in doing so, he would cease being privy to the information gleamed...and, nor did he think the Questarian Intelligence Personnel would start (admittedly low key) intelligence operations upon the Cravanian Enclave, Carpanthium that was boarding Northford.... Amongst everything, this was one of the things that troubled him the most: Frankly, given the way things were progressing, every day he woke he wished he asked the people of Cravan a home within the Golden Triangle rather than a Questarian home in Haven. He was a personal friend of the ex-Emperor, Matt Craven, and had dinner with him monthly, alternating between his Official Residence in the Megacity of Ripon, and the Emperors residence in Carpanthium: Steir Castle.... ’God’ , mused the Prime Minister, I need to talk to that man really severely fucking soon....

Finishing off the letter, he picked up the phone and called his secretary.

"Claire, I've finished it. Be a good Dear, and pick it up please", he asked.

Claire Kenworth, Cravanian herself quickly replied "Of Course, Sir, I'll be right up... "

"Thanks." uttered Brookes.

===

Walking into his office, the slim brunette looked concerned. "You 'lright Mr Brookes?" she asked, not only as a concerned employee, but also on a more personal level.

"Ach, you'll find out when you read that dammed thing" cursed Brookes, touching her hand lightly as he passed it to her.

"Thank you Sir", she said politely, smiling as she took it.

Watching her as she walked out the door, Brookes opened a locked draw and took out a bottle of Cognac.

"Fuck I love you", he whispered to the Glass, as he was pouring it...

===

Appearing on the Next Morning's Daily Government Press Release.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/northford.jpg

Notice Of Mobilisation of Military Forces for the Protecting of the Realm and Defence of the Commonwealth

I am not a man that likes war.

Owing to the Degrading Situation of National, Regional and International Security however, as well as the requests for assistance and aid by our allies in Haven, in the Commonwealth, and across the world I am forced to act.

From 13:00 hours yesterday, the Northfordian Military is in a state of Mobilisations, and, further, the Northfordian Government is now working within a State of Crisis, drawing on the powers granted to it by the Preparedness Act , and, further, from this moment suspending the upcoming Northfordian Elections, until a time when the state of security within Northford is such we can eliminate External Influences upon our political processes.

Also, drawing upon the Preparedness Act , I am also obliged to inform the public that the Northfordian Government is now drawing upon the Northfordian Strategic Financial Reserve, as well as now starting the process of filling up it's strategic fuel dumps around the country.

In the same vein, the Commonwealth is not increasing the alert factor on the Civil Defence program to "Amber". Thus, from this moment, the Government is undertaking commission to ensure that all citizens have provided for themselves as far as they are compelled to do under the Civil Defence Act .

On a note that may be of interest to our Commonwealth brethren, the Northfordian Navy is now undertaking regular patrols across the Strob' strait, and, once transport arrangements have been made, Questarian Admirals will be arriving shortly to optimise the efficiency of the Northfordian Naval Forces.

Likewise, The Questarian Commonwealth of Northford would also like to Formally invite troops from the Questarian Commonwealth of Azaha, to aid our own defence forces, bolstering the southern boarder, as well as providing Defensive Garrison forces across the country as whole, and starting on a program of construction of Air Defences.

Following this, there will be another update on the state of Northfordian preparedness in 7 days.

Alan Brookes,

Prime Minister of Northford.

Silence beset the room as Claire sat at her desk, the only noise being that of her slender fingers dancing about the keyboard as she transposed Mr. Brookes's letter into the Northfordian database. She enjoyed her job at the Northfordian Parliament, having come across it in the open border policy her home territory of Carpanthium had with Northford. By the time she had become well-situated at her job she had decided to apply for a visa to live in Northford itself, making trips on the weekend to visit her family who lived across the border. She was quite etablished in Richmond, living in an upscale urban apartment complete with a parking area and recreational facilities atop the building. Of course daddy's rather large paycheck as an executive at the Sapinian Arms plant in Carpanthium had something to do with that, but this fact was merely brushed to the side in casual conversation.

Claire finally reached the final paragraph of the letter, and took a moment to adjust her eyes to the surrounding environment as she looked away from the computer monitor. Rubbing at them, she returned to work, finally finishing the letter and saving it into the Northfordian database. She picked up a pen to take note of something on a Post-It, however dropped the pen on the floor by accident, next to her computer's tower which lay under her desk. Taking a few moments to reach down and get it, she returned to her work. The computer's processor began to pick up speed at this point. When the processor had silenced itself, she picked up the pen again, making note of something else she did not want to forget. However, being in a bit of a clumsy situation on that particular night, she dropped the pen beneath her desk again, this time taking a few more moments to pick it up. She had made careful note to mute her computer's speakers before doing so, albeit casually and without incident. It was just another ordinary night, after all.

After a few more hours, it was finally her chance to return home. Claire collected her belongings from the day and, with a wave and a smile, bid the Prime Minister a good night. Walking out to her car, she began the commute home through Richmond's streets. Another well spent day at the office.

Three Hours Later
Cravanian Consulate

The gates to the Cravanian consulate creaked open as the guards gave the visitor entrance, even at this ungodly hour of the night. Approaching the front door, a slender woman bound in a well-tailored walking coat pressed the intercom button to the front desk, her long brunette hair concealing her face.

"Front desk here.", she heard crackle through the speaker.
"I'm here to see a Mr. Galvenston.", the young woman replied. "Dreamcatcher."

Immediately the line went silent, and the door unhinged. In walked the young woman, into the marvelously constructed marble interior which was the Cravanian embassy in Northford. Most Cravanian embassies were spectacular structures.

"Up the stairs, down the hallway, to the left.", the woman at the desk replied, almost whispering as if it was not safe.
"Thank you.", replied the young woman. Making her way through the embassy, she finally came upon a Mr. Peter Galvenston's office. With a quiet knocking, came the response to enter. Brushing her hair aside, she opened the door and immediately smiled.
"Quite the catch tonight, Pete.", she said.
"Really, Claire? What've you got for me?"

She withdrew a jump drive from her pocket, throwing it down to the desk.

"The Prime Minister's press release about mobilizing the Northfordian military. Various messages to departments in the government about said mobilization."
"Damnit...", Galvenston remarked under his breath. "Cravna wanted Northford to stay out of this."
"Well it looks like that's not going to happen.", Kenworth replied, replacing her smile with a lopsided expression across her thin lips. Her sharp features softened somewhat as she sighed.
"I'm sure I'll be getting more and more info by the day, however I'll keep my updates on the same twice-a-week schedule as usual. No need to raise any suspicions, mind you. I rather like my job."
"Which job?"
"My official one.", she replied, baring her pearly white teeth with a laugh and a smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have official work in a few hours and I need my beauty rest."
"Doesn't look like it from here.", Galvenston replied, to which he only got a snort.
"Not sure how I should take that from yourself, considering you're about twenty-five years my senior."
"Don't take it. Now get out of my office and go and enjoy your sleep. I'll include this with my morning report to Cravna tomorrow."
"Thanks. And good night. Get some sleep yourself, Pete."
"Won't happen."

Within about a half an hour Claire was back in her bed, and by five that morning Richmond time the report and other information would be in the hands of the Director of the Imperial Department of Intelligence, hours before the press release was published.

As Claire dosed off to sleep, she gazed at a flag holder which lay next to her bed, a Northfordian flag crossing a Cravanian flag in the stand. She thought about exactly what she was doing, and how her actions could quite possibly drive a spike between the homeland she loved and the place of residence which she had come to love. She had never set foot in mainland Cravan, having been born and raised in Carpanthium. Her parents told her stories about the magnificent structures of Cravna and the beautiful bay of Oured, from which her mother and father were from respectively. And as she fell to sleep, one thought crossed her mind.

For the motherland...

============================================================

Government Announcement:

The Nothfordian Contract with 'Hostile Takeovers', based in TheSilverSky, has elapsed.

The Skyian Mercenaries are to leave Northford within 7 days.

============================================================


Source: The Ripon Gazette - The Northfordian Government's Official Paper.

SIC:

Secret Diplomatic Communique

http://i181.photobucket.com/albums/x204/Sgt-Alex/OfficialSealTWSP.gif
To: Northford
From: The World Soviet Party

Following with our policy of neutrality in the upcoming NATO-Questerian Commonwealth conflict, we couldnt avoid noticing that your fleets, while certainly impressive, are not powerful enough for a sustained combat (not to mention full naval combat with bigger vessels).
Anyways, I have been told, by the Soviet Goverment, to make you an offer you and your people might find interesting, that is, providing your navy with some quality ships, specially designed to take down bigger, more powerful (and more importantly, more expensive) enemy boats.
Thus, we would be willing to offer you, with a discount taking into consideration your total war status, a good number of Bergstein Class Light Frigates (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12331908&postcount=41), seeing as this ship is... flexible to say the least, capable of being adapted to carry and fire most of today's anti-shipping missiles, which we understand you possess in big numbers.

We await your response, be it negative or positive, looking forward to making our nation-to-nation relationships better.

Signed,
Nathan Andrets, TWSP's Armed Forces Commander.

OOC: Was in the wrong thread, put it here, where it belongs.

OOC: Plucked from my thread. >.>

[Northfordian Border with Havenic Kahanistan]

It was public knowledge that five Hostile Takeover Inc. ground warfare divisions had been contracted out by the government of Northford to guard the southern border, they had literally built the border defenses from the ground up.

However, the winds of change and war were blowing across the land. It was time for them to leave. The contract had been canceled by HT Inc. and the cancelation fee paid.

The troops began to take everything sensitive, the bases would be nothing more but former shadows of themselves. All sensitive equippment was loaded up and shipped to midlonia, then SS, and eventually The Silver Sky.

Within the week the last of the forces were moved out.

[OOC: Yeah, Doom, I know I said I was going to make it a 3000+ worder... well, I got couldn't seem to get past 3000, so I just chopped it up some more, and now it's 2500.]

Northfordian Cabinet Meeting Room

"Please be seated, Gents" stated the Prime Minister, getting things started. "I'm not going to beat around the bush here. This is mostly going to be discussing foreign policy, defence, and the Economy...or what's left of it," he added, looking towards the chancellor, "I know there are other things to discuss, but we're sort that out over the weekend: This is more important."

"Anyway, Harold, You're the defence Minister, give us the latest updates", he added, as an afterthought."

Sitting forward, Harold Jones, Defence Minister for Northford started to speak, his slow, droning voice picking up.

"Morning people", he started, "Well here it is. Take out attaché 3 in the minutes, and you'll see what we've done so far."

Waiting a monent for people to get a look at the sheet, he continued, "As you can see, I've split it into three 'Tiers': Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary, in order of importance."

"Primary Goals, we've expelled Skyian Mercenaries from our Country, replacing them with 20 Million Troops from the Questarian Commonwealth of Azaha. This might seem... to some... as rather an overkill, but I suggest you all wait 'till the Intel Briefing before you make your minds up. Fortunaltely, unlike the Cravanians, the Azahans are less than a day away, by plane...."

"The Cravanians?" Interupted the Minister for rural affairs, Laurence Seamus.

"Yes. It seems our....'Allies’ are sending Troops to Carpathanium. Either way, we were getting those Azahan's, only difference we're going to be airlifting them here, as well using Ferries. Estimates put it at 15 Divisions a week, in terms of infantry, assuming we.... address it with proper urgency. I'll refer back to that later, but, well, cutting things short, it's going to be a major operation. I'll leave the details with the Transport minister...we've worked things out."

Taking a sip of water, he continued, "Number two, we're playing host to a Doomani contingent, for a short time. Only about 20 Divisions. They're going to take the place of the Skyian Troops along our Southern Boarder; should we decide to kick things off. They're under their own command, a Mr C. Publius Silvanus. They havn't confirmed it yet, but we're looking at around 200 000 men."

"Number three amongst the Primary Objectives is the issue of re-armament," he started finally, "We've ordered most of what we need, and most of what we've ordered has been confirmed, and of what's confirmed, well, most of it will be here within the end of the year."

Looking at the bemused faces, and the use of the word most three times in a row, responded "Well..... we've got gaps.... but there's work in progress."

Across the room, the Prime Minister had listen to enough 'War, War and more Bloody War' he thought to himself, 'Time to move this along'. When the Defence Minister had finished his sentance, he hit his "Chairmans" hammer, on the Gravel.

"Jones", he started, "Keep it moving. Whats our force readyness, and, in a nutshell, out long've we got till those lovely shiney bunkers are ready for us?"

"Well, in light of the Intel, we've adopted a policy of 'Maximum readiness in minimum time', rather than the previous '3 Year Plan'. I'll get to that intel again in a minute, but what that means is we're placing the emphasis up battle ready divisions in the next year rather than fresh, divisions within the next three. As most of us know, we've got the infrastructure for an army of 12 Million, but our manpower numbers 4 Million- Previously, we maintained dozens of Corps at 10% readiness, along with several Rapid Response divisions. Now, with the 3 Year plan, we wanted to bring those corps up to 100% over three years. Our adopted plan, in light of the Azahan and Doomani re-enforcements is a consolidation of units: 6 Million men, a consolidation of a third. Within the year, we expect these units to have a readiness of 80%."

"The Northfordian Navy and Airforce are, however, in considerably better shape. We’ve a slight shortage in Capital Ship assets, but those are being made up by purchases from Questers and the granting of Domestic Production Licences from Praetonia. On the submarine front, our strategic assets are presently preparing for operation ‘Wet Splash’, should war break out, and, likewise, the rest of Submarine fleet is positioning itself along the Strob Strait, along with the Azahan coasts and a significant SSK deployment at the colonies.”

“On the issue of the Airforce…we’ve got the infrastructure in place for the increase in force, along with the necessary expertise. It’s just a matter of waiting for the planes, and getting the dammed things in the air.”

“Finally, the bunkers you’re referring to are built, and are approximately a month away from being operational.”

Thankful that the briefing from the Defence Minister had finally ended, the Prime Minister took a chance to cut in.

“Gentlemen, I need the Bathroom. This meeting shall resume in an hour.”

And with that, he walked out, most of the people in the Room following him.

==========================================================

Ripon Dockyards

Large, Imposing and Powerful, the guns that guarded the Entrance into the Ripon Channel were not to be laughed at, their multiple barrels providing more than ample defence against would be foes. On all four ‘Corners’ of the strait stood multiple bastions: Re-enforces concrete, multiple metres thick, each housed 3 Quadruple turrets, each 32”, as well as two dozen smaller guns, of 14”. Protecting each bastion from the air was a large SAM Battery, and for protection against missiles stood several 40mm CIWS Batteries, as well as a large AMM (Anti-Missile-Missile) platform.

The strait, however, also had other defences. Primarily, these took the form of huge anti-Submarine nets that guarded the entrance, that were kept closed to prevent intrusions into the harbour. This said, the Gem in the crown for the defences of Ripon Strait were the troops that manned it. The contingent consisted of 1/3 of the Northfordian Marine Force, and numbered about 600 000 men. In the Channel, they manned multiple Air defences, as well as numerous missile batteries, designed to significantly hinder any attempt to sink the Home Flotilla’s while they were in port.

==========================================================

“Easy Patel”, moaned his Weapons Officer, as the young ensign walked down the ladder. “We can’t have tenderfoots like you tripping ass-over-tit on these things, they’re dangerous”

Patel, first ensign of the NNS Carp touched his feet down on the ‘solid’ deck below. “Sir, my chance of tripping with decrease significantly if you choose your opportunities to…render… your advice to me a little more skilfully.” He started, choosing his words carefully. “And”, he continued, “Surely the only danger here is ourselves? I was taught in the NNA* that these vessels are usually kept unarmed, as to ensure keep things…under control”

Laughing the Weapons Officer gave the ensign a discreet wink, “Well, you know Patel, things are getting more and more dangerous” he said, pausing for a moment, “No one knows what toys they’ve put on this thing, but I suppose if one were looking at this in a…shall we say…analytic mood the fact that the amount of actively deployed Submarines have increased by 80% speaks for itself.”

Taking a moment to comprehend, Patel responded “So that me-“ before being interupted.

“Ensign Patel.” Growled the Weapons Officer, “You have no idea who is listening to us, and until that hatch is closed and we’re several leagues underwater in the Strobovia Strait it would do you good to remember that. Our ‘Allies’ are fortifying their boarder, and, if they had half the brain I did, they’d be taking advantage of our open boarders to put as many pairs of ears in this Channel as possible. So don’t be stupid and get moving.”

Walking onto the Bridge, the Weapons Officer took stock of the scene before him: Business he uttered to himself almost silently.

“How long until we are at sea Captain?” he asked the tall, haggard figure overlooking a control panel on the other side of the room.

Turning around, the Captain revealed his grease laden overalls to the immaculately dressed Weapons Officer.

“Oh.” Responded the Captain, eyeing up the man, acutely aware of what a mess he looked, “’Miralltly want’s the chains off* by dawn, but I’s ‘pect we’ll not be doing much ‘till pro’ly lunchtime. There’s been some problems with the Ballistic Interface. Heck, by my reckoning we’ll miss the SSBN deadline…and knowing how fucking bitchy those lads from Rekek* are, they’ll probably just have us Admiralty make Ghost the Midlonian Coast…not like there’s much else better to do.”

Looking over the Officer for a moment, he continued “Anywho Rice, you might’n’well get changed into ‘Workers’. I’ll be dammed if I’m celebrating this launch, and if you talk to the crew the rest of the crew that have already reported for duty, they won’t be either.”

“Roger Sir” replied Weapons Officer Rice, turning about face and walking through the bulkhead.

“Four Months.” Ranted the Captain to himself, the empty Bridge of the Carp his only companion. ”Four Fucking Months I asked for… but No… Fucking Miralty only gave us three... Not like we’ve not been out there, No… not like almost every fucking Sub in this dammed Channel…Shore Leave….Shore Leave my Bollocks.”

==========================================================

“Holiday’s?” Questioned the Chancellor over the Cabinet table, “You have any idea how much this is going to cripple our fucking economy? I mean, I know we have priorities, but fucking hell…”

“Fenlon”, reprimanded the Prime Minister, “Keep it civil. Please continue, Jones.”

“As I was saying,” he started, glancing for a second at the chancellor. “Implementing the Lockdown Act will have a number of effects, one of which will be severely limiting civil air travel, essentially making it impossible to leave the country on a plane to anywhere outside the Questarian Commonwealth without written permission from the Home Office. Also-“

“Wait, wait, wait” interupted the Chancellor again, “I accept we need planes for the transferral of Azahan troops, and there are issues with tightening up the boarder, but ‘banning’ people? Come-on…”

Tapping his pencil on the desk to get the attention of those around him, James Tricker, Foreign Minister, now too his opportunity to have his say.

“Gentlemen, we’re going about this the wrong way” he stated, not really caring who he offended. “Nationalisation? Banning People? We’re Northfordians, not fucking Nazi’s.”

Taking a sip of his water, he continued. “ How about this: We compulsory purchase the planes, and let the Airlines sort out their own replacements. Of course, we all know that we’ve ordered the retooling of those Aeroplane Factories, so they won’t be able to do diddly squat. Topping it all off, of course, most countries willing to trade with us are also arming to the teeth. That’ll nail it, and we won’t sound like authoritarian Nazi’s.”

For a moment there was silence. It was not usual for ideas to be bounced back and forth along the Cabinet meetings, but usually, no body dared to actually tell a person in another department how to do their jobs.

After a short while, the Sports Secretary, Adam Grinch spoke “What about shutting the airspace down?” he asked, remembering that doing so would not actually achieve the required aim of ‘locking down’ the Commonwealth.

Not waiting for a reply, the Foreign Minister cut across the silence, “If I remember correctly, those with Civilian Air licences are being recalled back to the Northfordian Airforce, and last time I checked, civilian traffic is being directed to the Atlee Islands*, so as long as make it bloody clear that anything straying out of that Air Corridor will be shot down, we’re sorted.”

'Pragmatism', he thought to himself, "It isn’t hard, though half these career politicians lack the compromising ability of a pack of seagulls."

"Speaking of the Coast", he mused to himself, "Wonder what my old ships doing....."

==========================================================

NNS [I]Valiant

Sitting in Dry Dock overlooking Churchill inlet, the NNS Valiant was a sorry sight. A Vigilant-class Trimaran command battleship, made in Woodstock, Sarzonia, over twenty five years old, the Vigilant had seen many chapters of Northfordian History. Twice converted to offices, it had been alternating throughout it’s history as the Flagship of the Northfordian Navy, and an essentially a large, armoured paperwork storage facility.

Today, however, things were different: Northford was re-arming, and the Valiant was, once again taking the role of the face of the Northfordian Navy, becoming Flagship for the 2nd Home Fleet. The second home fleet was, by all measures, the ‘Old’ Guard of the Navy. Consisting mostly of heavy gun platforms and missiles batteries, the fleet was largely devoid of escort ships. Instead, unusually, it relied only on incorporated elements of the 14th Corvette Squadron since it was long assumed that any case that it would be deployed, sufficient escorts would be made available from the other home flotilla’s. This was a sharp contrast to the other fully functional ‘fleet’ in the Northfordian Navy, the ‘Postcard’ 1st Fleet. It had everything it needed for it to fully function, even it’s own dedicated logistical infrastructure.

Not that it mattered today, however.

Today, however, the 2nd Fleet was being called out for an altogether fanfare. Flowing out of the Ripon Channel, in full colours, the Valiant effortlessly parading it’s new coat of paint to the ocean, waves seemingly bouncing off it’s hull.

==========================================================

Captain Brown wasn’t fond of welcome parties. He didn’t see the point, after all, they can lead to…false illusions about a place, he reasoned, and perhaps delusions of grandeur. Not that it bothered him, after all, he was getting paid to sail a ship from A to B, identify the new Arrivals to Northford and then show them where they were docking. ‘Not very hard’, he reasoned, walking out onto the Bridge.

“Gentleman, update?” he asked openly to the Officers that were congregating around the wide-screen television that adorned the bridge, providing live Video feed from the ships UAV.

“Captain” started an officer, “The Hawk is approaching the convoy now, shall we open radio contact, or let the Valiant do it?”

“No, no, we’ll do it ourselves.” replied the Captain. “Gentlemen, sit down.”, he asked, giving everybody a moment to be seated, before he put on his Bluetooth headset on.

Tapping the earpiece to activate it, he spoke “This is Captain Brown of the NNS Close Commence Voice Activation.”

“Speech Patterns Confirmed” was the reply from the computerised voice in his earpiece.

“Broadcast. All Channels.” Commanded the Captain

“Confirmed” replied the earpiece again.

“Greetings, Friends. This is Captain Brown of the NNS Close. Welcome to Northfordian Waters. Please radio your SID* and we will escort you to accordingly.”

Awaiting the reply, he tapped his earpiece to cut the feed.

==========================================================

Glossary:

NNA: Northfordian Naval Academy

“Chains off”: The term given to when a submarine leaves it pen. Colloq: West Northfordian

Rekek/ RECC: Ripon Engineering Construction Corps: Marine Corps in charge of maintaining harbour schedules in port, well known for ‘forcing’ ships in a poor state of readiness to leave port, in order to reduce queues and free up Harbour berths.

Atlee Islands: A small atoll that was transformed into a small naval base in the Strob strait. Artificially expanded by the Questarian Engineering Corps working in conjunction with the Northfordian Naval Engineers, it serves as a Submarine refuelling facility, refuelling point for Escorts, as well as a ‘Hedgehog’ in the SHCZ (South Haven Control Zone) within the Questarian Commonwealth’s defence network.

SID: Ship ID, a 12-character code that all ships are assigned as they enter Northfordian waters. Typically contains information about the port and berth that they are allocated to dock in, their type of ship, as well as a unique identifier. Example: RMS-A95-ME-3ZD9. This stands for The port of Ripon, Mainland Side, Shah Docks. Pier A, Berth 95. Military Escort. Unique Identifier: 3ZD9.

OOC: Not sure what's going on, but I'll be watching this thread

Hey Will...

Basically, this is to do with the QC/Gholgoth thing, so no IC threat to you. In fact, I'm actually drawing forces away from the Discordia Taskforce.

Anyway, hop onto #draftroom in a couple of hours, and we'll have a chat bout our ongoing RP, if you want.

OOC: Just wondering if you are going to answer the communique.

Admiralty Building
Georgetown, United Kingdom

Buried deep within the heart of Georgetown lay the heart of the Office of Royal Navy Intelligence. Since independence in the early 20th century, the Royal Navy had occupied a privileged part of the political establishment and had successfully manoeuvred over the decades to establish itself as an equal to the whole of the remainder of the Royal Armed Services. Accordingly, the Royal Navy maintained its own massive intelligence division equipped with its own ELINT hardware and personnel. It was within one of the cramped analysis centres for the RN's satellites that a colonel took a careful look at the latest data taken from an orbiting satellite passing over Northford.

"What do you make of this," the Royal Marine colonel queried to his colleague from the senior service. He flipped a transparent satellite image onto a light-table and flipped the switch, illuminating what the two were convinced had formerly been a maintenance closet.

The jet-black haired commander leaned in closer, reaching behind him to grab a magnifying glass. While the two had access to the latest in imaging software, the preferred method was the time-tested Mk.1 eyeball. "The pens have cleared, mate."

"No shit, Danny, but where the bloody hell did they go?"

"The nucs could be anywhere, the diesel-electrics, well, they are probably headed out into the strait. A small problem for us, to be sure, but one that the in-theatre O-class and S-class submarines can handle."

"Despite the fact they are out-numbered?" the ground-pounder replied with a smirk.

"When has the government ever deployed enough ships or submarines."

HMS Oracle
Strobovia Strait

"I have the Conn," Captain Trent Kline announced, stepping up to and then sitting down upon his command seat. "You are relieved, XO."

"I stand relieved," Kline executive officer replied. "Captain, ASDIC is tracking two possible submerged contacts bearings one-seven-one and two-one-three. No positive identification, but we have solutions plotted and have slowed to four knots and are holding at one-one-five metres."

Kline nodded. "Good work, XO, go get some sleep." The two men exchanged knowing smiles, both knowing that Kline had slept little and that the XO would now similarly sleep very little. They were far, far from home. Their submarine was a long-range diesel-electric patrol submarine. One of the quietest in the Royal Navy, designed for operations in foreign theatres, the Admiralty was taking advantage of the months before the conflict was likely to erupt to pre-position submerged forces in the Strait. Surface forces would be following, but could be far more easily tracked than the UK's submarine force, which would remain an unknown expect until docked at Cravanian piers.

The Oracle had a simple mission, simple for peacetime at least. When permitted, she was to lay encapsulated-torpedo mines upon the seabed. However, as his executive officer pointed out, they had been prevented from carrying out their mission for nearly six hours now with the presence of presumed foreign submarines, the descriptor 'hostile' not yet allowed to be attached to such tracked targets. Kline had tired of waiting, though, and hoped that north of here in the deeper portions of the strait that the mission was being accomplished in a more timely fashion by his fellow RN submariners.

His last update indicated that while the deployment of a SOSUS network across the strait was underway, it was several days behind schedule as it was being done so as to keep the Commonwealth in the dark as much as possible. Transient noises from the Oracle would defeat that purpose and so therefore the delay. Kline also knew that two submarines each were watching the termini of the Ripon Channel, that meant four nuclear submarines were already on station. He did not know how many more exactly were in the theatre--and so Kline was hesitant to attempt to manoeuvre any closer to the two submerged contacts to his south.

"Helm," Kline finally spoke, garnering the attention of the whole control room. "Set new course, follow the fathom along bearing zero-four-eight, speed five knots."

"Aye, captain."

And so under the waves, the chess pieces continued to slide this way and that.

Camp Harrow
Cravanian Overseas Territory

Letting the butt of the L75 rifle rest upon his shoulder, Malcolm Gallagher squeezed the trigger, firing a two-round burst. The 7x50mm rounds slammed into the silohuette that the Major-General in charge of the Oceanian Expeditionary Force's ground units estimated was about 600 metres downrange. He missed the central kill-zone, but still hit the chest. "You are getting old, Malcolm," he muttered to himself.

Oceanian doctrine emphasised controlled, trained rifle fire. Otherwise there was no point in operating with a battle rifle. Thus, as the infantry regiments settled into their new homes thousands upon thousands of kilometres away from home rifle ranges were established. Gallagher had come to inspect Camp Harrow, the primary base for the 1st Brigade, 3rd Infantry Division. Overhead, attack helicopters thundered past, keeping an eye upon the surrounding grasslands while in the distance the rapport from the autocannon of the brigades IFV's could be heard.

Despite the training, Gallagher remained nervous. He had several more months before combat was expected. Yet, the advantages he now held were eroding day by day, week by week. The sudden buildup of forces could not be hidden. Likewise, the overhead satellites and the oblique shots from the RAF reconnaissance aircraft detailed the buildups taking place upon the other side of the border. Bunkers and gun emplacements and surface-to-air missile launchers countered by Northfordian bunkers, gun emplacements, and surface-to-air missile launchers.

Matches were being hastily thrown into giant piles, separated only by a razor thin barrier invisible to all but the politicians in far away places like Georgetown, Richmond, and Laurana where dotted and dashed lines held paramountcy over the lives of those standing guard upon the line. And as time passed, the piles simply grew larger while the spotlight of scrutiny grew ever more intense, scorching the ground until it smoked from the heat.

As the general returned the rifle to the quartermaster accompanying him and his staff, a flight of RAF strike aircraft buzzed the base, startling a few of the greener soldiers. Gallagher knew that what the men and women on the ground felt would be equally felt by those aloft, patrolling and exercising day in and day out.

Off the Coast of New London

At sea, however, Fleet Admiral Sir Wesley Osborne could do little else other than walk around the perimeter of his flagship, a path of a little over four kilometres. New London was, unlike the sunny, subtropical Home Islands, a volatile mix of climates. The city of St. Claire unfortunate enough to be among the most-drenched. To its benefit, however, the city sat on the windward side of a collapsed volcano, the caldera forming a deep and nearly circular basin.

From the port wing bridge of his flagship, Osborne could spy the snow-capped remnants of the northern rim of what was left of Mount St. Sebastian. It marked the southern terminus of the Rodriguez Channel and entrance into the Gulf of Cualito, which is where his flagship would be docking in twelve hours. New London was not the largest overseas naval base in the Oceanian Empire; but it was the most naturally inclined towards the pre-positioning of super-dreadnoughts and super-capitals.

A week ago, one of the autoloaders for one of the forward guns had gone offline and with the only spares in the Home Island destined for another one of Osborne's ships, his flagship and its escorts had been forced to sail to New London where a replacement was waiting in an underground storage depot. The departure, however, meant a three week delay in the ship's training regimen. Two weeks for travel and one week for the hurried repair of the gun, replacement of the barrel and installation of the new autoloader.

The original plans had seen the HMS King George departing for Haven several weeks prior; however, the Admiralty had seen it fit to revise his departure date and to continue training in Oceanian waters instead of the far more uncertain if not hostile waters of Haven. Osborne also knew that a growing problem in another area of Oceanian interest meant that his fleet could be reduced in size, and being close to home would facilitate a quick replenishment of personnel and materiel.

Osborne's only glimmer of hope in the recent deployment fiasco was his convincing of the Admiralty to dispatch the first convoy of materiel to Carpanthium. Ships laden with stores and ammunition for the Royal Navy would arrive there in another week's time and begin the stockpiling of supplies necessary to the United Kingdom's war effort in Haven. While some supplies could be airlifted to the Cravanian territory, much would have to be shipped in and stored overseas. Originally, the Admiralty had wanted to wait to send the first load with Osborne's Expeditionary Fleet, but he had convinced the First Lord that to do so would mean, effectively, less fighting time in Haven. Osborne knew that the moment the first shells were fired, no Oceanian convoy would make the transit entirely intact.

Ministry of Defence
Georgetown, United Kingdom

"Any indications whatsoever about the disposition of these forces?" Quentin Sterling was the Secretary of State for Defence, civilian head of the Royal Army and the Royal Air Force, and in his hands a memo from the Royal Intelligence Service informing him of a rapid buildup of ground forces in Northford.

The liaisons from the RIS exchanged a glance before shaking their heads. "No, Mr. Secretary. However, by the sheer fact that we can detect these deployments means that they are significant and could well alter the balance of forces in the theatre."

Now Sterling shook his head. While no rocket scientist, even he could recognise that fact. "What I need to know, gentlemen, is who these forces are, what they are carrying with them, and where they are headed. Without that information, these pictures are all but useless. They show transports unloading men and equipment at various Northfordian aerodromes. Both sides are ramping up for war, I expect to see images like this on a near-daily basis." The Defence Secretary paused and took a deep breath, trying to recollect and calm himself.

"What about aerial assets in opposition to the RAF?" Sterling finally asked, in a much calmer voice than before.

"That too, sir, is a problem. We have seen indications that the Northfordians are expanding their combat aircraft assets; though, at the moment, this remains unconfirmed until we see images of aircraft types not known to be in their order of battle."

"Very well, then, thank you for this," Sterling replied, waving the piece of paper in the air before the RIS liaisons. "I shall take this to the Prime Minister tomorrow." He waited until the two left his office before picking up the phone to contact his secretary just outside. "Yes, get me the Air Marshal and then the General. Tell them I need to speak to them about deploying additional forces."

Richmond
Commonwealth of Northford

Denis Howell sighed. Not the sigh of a man exasperated, rather the sigh of a man exhausted. Howell was, for the time being, the official representative of His Majesty's Government in Northford and had been since the bilateral relations between the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth had begun what now seemed to be an era ago.

Indeed, as he walked along the waterfront of Richmond--ostensibly alone on account of the inconspicuous presence of his bodyguards--he squinted his eyes to focus in on the stern of some freighter pulling away from Northford in the day's dying light. Underneath the flapping Red Ensign, the name Liberty stenciled in white upon the ship's ebony hull and underneath that in a small point size, Devonport. She was another Oceanian merchant vessel steaming away from the Commonwealth; and if Howell were to gauge the winds stirring that ensign, he estimated that ship would never return to the Northford it was leaving.

Nor would it likely return to the same United Kingdom.

And nor would he.

It was a mere matter of time, Howell realised. Just yesterday, the Foreign Office had issued travel advisories to UK citizens against extended travel to Northford and urged expatriates and visitors already in Northford to register with the local consular offices or the embassy in Richmond. Within days, Prime Minister Brookes would likely order the same and in a few weeks time would come mandatory evacuations and after that the closure of the embassies and consulates. It was all a matter of time.

And as Howell listened to the gentle crashing of water against the seawalls and the groans of his newly-purchased leather shoes along the ground, he realised too that time was all so short. While cordial relations between the two states were now an era and an eon ago, they existed but yesterday. Royal Navy personnel had been not far from where Howell stood meeting their Northfordian counterparts. Now those same individuals likely sat behind computer consoles plotting the most efficient means to kill each other. The booming trade was now beginning to grind to a slow halt. While a free trade agreement had been of some importance, bilateral trade had never really taken off. Instead solid, steady growth in imports and exports and flows of capital represented a maturing trade relationship. That too would soon wither and die.

Watching the freighter diminish in size upon the horizon, the UK ambassador looked upwards at the few evening stars rising into the coming dark sky. Two nations so similar had now taken two paths so divergent that they had now seemingly but one recourse with which to settle their differences. Despite all appeals to civility and gentlemanly conduct, that recourse would be red in tooth and claw.

Howell then turned away from the ship now gone off the face of the earth, and with a sudden change in the wind, bringing a cool maritime breeze, he stiffened his arms and brought them closer to his chest. Quickening his pace, he resolved to return to his office all the more quickly, for the paperwork in the Foreign Office waited for no man.

Ripon Port, Northford

The merchant freighter had put in late afternoon, the large vessel had entered the deep water port of Ripon after a rather rough time crossing the Strobovia Straits. The short journey had been relatively pleasant with the warmer weather in the South from the high pressure over the South West of the Haven. RMS Stone Seal was a container vessel. The dockworkers had been unloading all afternoon goods from Clandonia, filled with electrical wares and consumer. Once the ships of the Royal Merchant Navy had carried tonnes of goods home, the load this time was lightened with just a few crates with the Northfordian economy gearing up for war. A reminder of the tensions with the trim cruiser and the destroyers in port flying the Clandonian ensign of a Fast Battleship Squadron, protecting the trade of the Crown in the uncertain times, ships now travelling in convoy hoping fro strengths in numbers.

The crew had been given the night off, as such the town was crawling with a few thousand Clandonian sailors both military and civilian, the Royal Marine Police had been sent to keep a good watch on the crowds from the escorts and the trade convoy. In the offices just near the docks a taxi drew up to the building, the flag of the Clandonia East India Company fluttering in the light sea breeze. Out of the taxi a man stepped out entering the small two story building, walking into the cool lobby, the hum of the air conditioning and the marble floor with the security guard on the front desk nodding to the man. He was the local director of the company, a Clandonian middle class educated man in the cream linen suit enjoying the expat lifestyle. Entering the finely decorated office, full of paper work, computers and a server humming away with a few people working late, They said the company never stopped work.

"Ah good evening Mr Richards, the ships are loading now, not much today what with this ruddy war on the horizon?"

"Indeed, its uncertain times I spoke to some chap at the Admiralty this afternoon about the escorts. Seems that now the expeditionary fleets arrived back in the Haven after the victory in Italia and the Med. It means we have more force protection, a godsend if it does get worse."

"Indeed." The other man muttered, flicking through the pile of forms. The office hazy from smoke, virtually everyone had an ash tray on their desk, cigars, opium and pipes were popular in the workplace. The man in the suit walked to his private office, closing the frosted glass door reaching for the decanter full of whiskey and the little ice bucket adding some to the crystal glass.

Bloody war. He thought, sipping the drink as the ice crackled. Richards feared that his ships would be attacked, there wasn't much trade coming back but huge amounts of equipment were still being imported to Northford from Clandonia. Piles of containers were in the docks and ports of Danskeran and Victory Island full of goods, he was also now seeing quite a few weapons coming in, Doomani guns, Praetonian missiles and Clandonian military grade electronics. Flying the Clandonian Blue Stars was the way they hoped, already openly declared neutral and with the conference ongoing in Velkya it was hoped that the NATO and QC block respected those neutral nations. Back home mobilisations were progressing at a slower rate but were still occurring, many in the government knew that there was little time before open hostilities began and at any moment Clandonia could be dragged in.

There were millions of Clandonians in the Questerian Commonwealth lands and in the NATO territories, on business and holiday. No travel advice had been given but in the Foreign Office plans were being drawn up, scaling from advice against travel to a particular country all the way to evacuations by a naval battlefleet under the protection of the guns of the Royal Navy.