NationStates Jolt Archive

North Liberty

The cruiser slowly drifted into North Liberty port, dwarfing any military vessel there, though there weren't many. Her props grinded to a halt as she hit the dock and marines took up defensive position around the cruiser Kazuhosuke. Rear Admiral Moritomo adjusted his uniform and followed by a small detachment of marines carrying the rising sun he stepped off the port and looked around to see the man who was supposed to be his contact.

If there was something that was ever an affront to an educated officer, it was the rap music from the pickup truck that droved toward his position. Though the marines initially raised their guns, the officer quickly waved them off as his contact waved from the vehicle. The truck quickly screeched to a stop next to Moritomo. It was loaded to the limit with militiamen and the contact stood up to allow Moritomo a place to sit.

"Welcome to Barkozy, Admiral. If you'll come with me I'll lead you to my commander."

The admiral slowly got into the truck and the truck went off, toward the Maritime Militia base in the city. As the truck moved he could see the shanty towns and terribly built concrete buildings that lined the road, and he could hear the thump of the rap music from the a boombox.

After a bit of a drive they arrived in a fenced in compound and were quickly waved in. That Questarian uniform really stood out, even among the 'pro' militiamen.

He was then led inside a partially underground concrete bunker where there was a barkozian officer.

"Your name is Moritomo, is it? Welcome to Barkozy. Have a seat. Oh, my name's Herman Miller."

The two shook hands and then the Questarian sat down and began to speak.

"What I came here to ask was how many troops you will be able to commit to the operation.."

"Well, I have the order of battle here.." He took out an envelope and tossed it across the desk. "..but it's not gonna be all that accurate. Realistically, I'd say 550,000, tops. Oh, I have a question for you. How, precisely, do you plan on using the Barkozians?"

"I'm not completely sure, but they will probably be used to replace Questarian garrison troops and free them up for offensive action. No offense, but I don't think your..soldiers would do much good in Gholgoth."

Miller nodded and looked at the wall beyond Moritomo for a second before getting into other matters..

"There's some more information I need to collect - namely, whether your troops will need heavy weapons from us, how fast you can have them ready to depart, and their specialities, especially regarding mobility and urban warfare."

Moritomo said, itching the back of his head. He knew he was safe - if he didn't return in 20 minutes the cruiser would start shelling the city, but he at least felt some measure of discomfort which he was trying not to show.

"Well, Admiral, they have a few heavy weapons but any help in that regard would be appreciated.. As for training and such, although these guys are contracted, they aren't nearly as good as your average contract soldiers and I suppose you'll have to deal with that. Barkozian militias come with a lot of motorization, but technicals are not good for what you might think of as conventional mechanized operations. There are tanks, too, but I don't think you'd want to waste your merchant marine sending them off to Questers, seeing how your own will be quite a bit better. Of course, these are all generalities. What I can say is that militia is inconsistent in quality. You might find some excellent units in there and you may find some god-awful ones.

Now, as far as sending them off, I can have about half of them ready in a week and the rest ready in maybe two weeks. Oh, before you finish with your questions, I'd like to ask who would be in command of this force?"

Miller seemed to look everywhere but at Moritomo. It really seemed like he didn't like the plan that much, but unless he said anything it was impossible to tell.

Moritomo nodded several times, taking in what the Barkozian militia commander was telling him.

"I understand. To answer your question, your troops will probably be filed under a seperate army group called the Barkozian Expeditionary Army, which will fall under Army Command North, most likely. On the field it can be commanded by a Barkozian if you so wish, but given your lack of experience in large field operations... well, I'll leave it up to you. But over all, the troops will probably fall under Field Marshall Waveringham or General Cornwallis."

Moritomo moved to stand up. "If thats it then, I'll be leaving - I'll arrange for the right shipping to come in, say, three weeks?"

The satellite image flickered.
“Ok. So what the heck am I looking at?” Growled Frederick Parkes as he looked at a zoomed in image of a ship.

“S’far as we can tell?” replied the techie. “It’s a Questarian Cruiser, we reckon by her make up to perhaps be Kazuhosuke, mostly because she was missing from her last known position.”

“So? It’s not as if Questarian vessels don’t stop at Barkozy, heck, some of our boats do from time to time when short in supplies and what have you. Good RnR place too, good bars.” Parkes shrugged.

“True, we thought that at first too, but it’s what began to happen afterwards that made it hit our radar.”

The image changed to tents. Lots of tents.

“What the. What is this? Glastonbury festival?”

“Just a tent city sir.” The techie replied.

“And this has to do with…?”

“Look at… grids 39 and 40.”

“Alright.” Parkes sighed and tapped some keys which caused a section to zoom.

“All I see is a bunch of people in a line.”

“Two lines. And one in front, and repeated all along this area where the tents do go anywhere near. Infact they form a neat little square.”

“Like a parade ground?” Parkes replied, looking up.

“With a parade going on, they’re preparing, and it sure as hell won’t be for us.”

“So, we have a Questarian Ally that close? Closer than the Aralonians? Have this dispatched to the Joint Chiefs and the Office of the Supreme Commander immediately.”

The image collapsed as the Techie pulled the data stick out and left the room, calling over his shoulder.

“Sir.”