NationStates Jolt Archive

"An Evening Meal is a time for discussions about Culture, Science and the Cup Sizes of our Whores"

Ancient Northfordian Proverb

"Desperate times call for Desperate Measures", was often used by those trying to rationalise their illogical acts at a time of crisis. Such false reasoning is fraught with danger, as the tombstones of dead indicate, with such writing as 'lost hero'.

Tonight, however, was a time for one such measure; for Prime Minister Brookes was making a move that, if made public, would both divide his cabinet and cause controversy with the Northfordian Public.

Since the Questarian Commonwealth of Northford mobilised, it was hardly a secret that the Cravanian Enclave of Carpanthium was keeping pace with the Commonwealths moves for mobilisation, ensuring that at all times it had the force 'necessary' to secure its territorial integrity.

That said, however, in the past few months, things had (in the eyes of many people in Parliament) taken a rather unusual step. Midlonian and Oceanian troops were flooding in, left, right, and dammed almost centre and Arms from all over the world were being imported: Fighters, Tanks and, according to rumours, even superheavy shipping missiles.

Hardly for security...

Also, in a worrying move, satellite images from the Joint Cravanian and Illiorian Colony of Northland, indicated that the small island was gearing up for war. On detailed inspection of the images, it seemed the bulk of the civlian population was being evacuated, with the space created being filled with troops and heavy weapons.

It seemed, then, that the Libertarian Empire was gearing for war too.

Realising this, the response of the Northfordian Parliament to propose the 'Secure Boarders' Act, which would have brought it in line with the now ‘Fortress Questers’. In the act, it would have essentially locked the country’s only open boarder down, except for a newly created Northfordian Free Trade Aone, limiting to foreigners without prior approval from the Northfordian Government to a thin strip directly bordering the Carpanthium.

http://img295.imageshack.us/img295/20/nftzon0.png

Proposed Northfordian Free Trade Area

======

Stepping out of his car, Prime Minister Brookes dusted off his coat. 'Stupid Thing' he muttered under his breath, as he closed the door and fumbled for his key fob.

Taking it out, he tapped the touch sensitive screen twice in quick succession, activating the controls and causing the pad to take on a luminous blue glow.

Not quite sure where he ought to park it, he approached a footman who was standing guard over the main entrance Castle's Hallway.

"Sorry to bother you, Sir. I'm having dinner with Matt Craven at 19:00. Where should I put the car?"

"I'll open the gate up for you, Sir Brookes.", the guard replied as he reached his arm into the checkpoint box and flipped the control switch, causing the large metal gates to automatically open into the castle's gardens. "You'll find the guest parking area up the main driveway and in on your right. There aren't any other visitors here today, sir, so feel free to park it wherever you desire. His Majesty has been alerted to your arrival, and will likely be waiting there for you personally."

(RPed out with permission to keep the RP moving and add some volume to this crap-tastic post)

Brookes drove up the driveway about half-way, then decided to get a breath of fresh air. Stepping from his car, he began the brisk walk up the gentle incline to the castle, resuming use of his touch screen as he remotely drove the car up the rest of the driveway, settling it neatly into a space. Replacing his keychain into his pocket, Brookes finally reached the parking area himself, and waiting there was former Emperor Matthew looking over the driverless car which had pulled up moments ago. The Emperor looked up, watching as Brookes approached and a smile formed across his lips.

"Welcome, old friend.", he greeted Brookes, baring his teeth as the corners of his mouth lifted up. Extending his hand, he continued. "It's been too long, Alan."

Raising his eyebrows slightly at the friendly greeting, Brookes went with the sentiments, not entirely sure how this was going to go.

"Too bloody right Matt." he replied, momentarily pausing as he mused on how little the Emperors smile had changed since he saw him last. "I take it you're keeping well?"

"Never better, Al. I'm up to three times around the green a week now, walking eighteen holes. Feels great if I do say so myself."

The Emperor's smile began to drift slightly, however his expression still remained friendly.

"I have an odd feeling you're not just here for tea this time, Al.", he said as his voice lost some emotion and entered more neutral tones. "Come on in. I'll have the kitchen staff throw on a pot so we can catch up on old times. My wife is away for the week while she visits our daughter in Laurana, I wasn't one for travelling right now so I decided to stay behind and hold down the fort... Well, castle.", he said with a snort. "So we can get down to chatting without interruption or... eavesdropping."

"Ah. Glad you've not lost your touch on reality too much Matt...", replied Brookes, "...and yes, a pot does sound most acceptable."

Walking into the Castle, he made sure he cleaned his feet on the Doormat, Brookes followed the Ex-Emperor into the drawing room.

Sitting down, he peered over his sholder as the door was closed.

"I take it this Room is still clean?" He asked, referring to the lack of electronic bugs that this particular room used to have. "No disrespect mate, but this is a time when I need to be able to talk... freely."

"I ensure every room of the house, save for my conference rooms in the adjoining visitors' area, are clean. You're safe in the private living spaces here, friend."

Craven removed a cell phone from his pocket, flipping it open quickly and activating his local area network communicator on a direct link with the kitchen.

"Janet, a pot of tea if you will. And please knock when you arrive to drop it off."
"Yes, sir, right away.", came the distinct Carpanthian cockney through the communicator, not much unlike a Northfordian accent.

"Tea's on the way, old friend."

"Good, Good" replied Brookes, taking off his outer jacket before he sat down on the padded chair.

"God I've not had a cup of your tea for ages" said Brookes, stressing the last word. "Still importing the leaves from Weatherby, or they making you drink our shit these days?"

"Still importing from the Eastern Weatherby Tea Company.", Craven replied with a snort. "I never was a heavy tea drinker, but I am hooked on this stuff. Used to start every morning with a coffee, now it's all about this tea."

The table the two had chosen to sit at was positioned near a large window which offered a panoramic view of the countryside from the position which Steir Castle had on its hilltop perch. Directly below the hill the castle sat upon was the River Wick, which ran from south to north from Northford into the Strob. A crucial source of fresh water for the territory.

"It's a beautiful view, eh?", Craven remarked as a rapping came at the door from the hallway. "Ah, tea's here.", he said. "Come in, Janet."

The door opened, and a moderately attractive woman carrying a silver serving tray entered.

"Afternoon, gentlemen.", she said with a cheerful smile. She set the tray upon the table. "Can I get anything else for you, Your Majesty?", she asked.
"Nothing at the moment, Janet. Anything for you, Al?"

"Oh, no thanks Miss" replied Brookes, "I'm quite content with Tea for the moment, thanks."

Taking a look out the window, the beauty of countryside couldn't be denied. In Northford 70% of the population lived within 100 Miles of the coast, simply put, scenes like this did not exist. It wasn't that the country lacked open space, but in Northford an open space meant thick Forest, Alpine Enviroments, or open Grassless plains. What was arable was farmed, or built on. Rolling Hills? No Chance.

"The Wicks' looking good isn't it?" pointed out the PM, "After that hydoelectric plant leaked coolant in the mountains up our end, I was slightly worried our cleanup wouldn't be enough to stop it from getting to you... heck, we lost the Upstream Trout for a good coupla years."

"Could you pass the sugar please Matt?" he asked, "I've got a feeling I'm going to need a sugar hit at some point tonight"

Laughing slightly, he drew two sugar cubes out of the metal Box as the Ex-Emperor passed them to him.

Craven set the sugar box back down on the tray, sitting back in his chair as he sipped at his tea, then setting it down on the table.

"In any case, Alan, I believe we've spent enough time beating around the bush.", he said with as much as a smile as he could muster, which wasn't much. "I know the reason you're here is not to just catch up with an old friend, despite me wanting to think that. But I'd like to clarify before we get down to bussiness that I have no control over what my country does. I'm just your average Cravanian now.", he said while taking a small sip of tea, then as he removed the tea cup from his mouth he held it near his chin for a moment while pondering what he had said. "Well... Despite living in a castle and being referred to as
'Your Majesty' on a daily basis.", he said with a snort. "I've removed myself from the politics of my nation to the point that I've decided to never vote in a single Cravanian election again. Not even for local governors here."

Setting the cup back down, he again sat back, resting his elbows on the chair's arms.

"Despite this, I do still have a fair amount of influence in Laurana considering my son is the reigning monarch and the recently elected Primary Director is a Libertarian as is most of the Senate. However, I can make no guarantees on what we discuss here today, if anything which could be made policy, will be instituted."

He paused, looking down at the tray. He then returned his gaze to Prime Minister Brookes, the former Emperor's serious persona taking over from here. His green orbs seemed to drill into Brookes as Craven thoughtfully glanced towards him.

"I love Northford. I love my homeland. I worked too hard with you to get Northfordian-Cravanian relations to the point which they were just months ago to let your damned Commonwealth and Cravan's ties with NATO pull us apart. And I will do whatever is in my power, reasonably speaking, to prevent what may come of this. These are dark times, Alan. Very dark times."

Brookes sighed, almost glad his old friend had got to the point rather quick.

"Dark times?" he asked rhetorically, "Excuse the language, but friend, you've got no fucking idea, absolutely no fucking idea."

Looking away for a moment before staring back into Cravens eyes, Brookes spoke, slowly, with careful deliberate weight behind each word.

"Listen", he started, in a tone he hadn't used since The Move*, "I've not come here to try and beg for peace, and I'm not stupid enough to try and wrangle some sort of compromise."

"There's things that are going to happen regardless of anything either of us do, and you and I both know, right now there's not a lot either of us can do about it."

"Alan, despite having been away from the game of politics for a while I've not lost my sense of what is and isn't a bad scenario. When I say there's dark times ahead, I mean it."

The Emperor gazed out the window for a moment, and continued on without taking his eyes away from the countryside.

"I've not been completely removed from current events, you know. Despite removing myself from politics actively, I still observe the situation quite closely. What else is there to do out here besides drink tea and play golf?"

Despite the humor in his statement rather obvious, his tone of voice suggested otherwise.

"In any case, you're absolutely right. There's little you can do about it, and absolute shit I can do about it. Despite this, it doesn't hurt to fucking try, now does it?"

The Emperor returned his gaze to Brookes, his former persona emerging through the aging man who had retired not more than three or so years ago. Despite doing so against his wishes, Craven's mind was automatically entering its diplomatic and political maneuvering stance, something it had not done in quite some time.

"Playing Gold would be better than being in my shoes at the moment" retorted Brookes. "And in any event", he continued, "If I didn't agree with you, would I be sitting here drinking your rather fine tea?"

Taking a sip of the aforementioned Tea, the Prime Minister continued.

"There's not much... however, the two of us can actually do." said the PM, stressing the word 'us', "I do, however, think that ourselves, your son and the Highest Representitive of the Oceanian Government might be able to sort something out."

"You'll want Liz over here instead of my son. She's the one with the real power, as with her Deputy Primary Director, a Sir David Koslin. You may remember him as Director of GASN."

Craven paused, then smiled.

"No Midlonians, eh?", he remarked. "I think I know why, but I won't prod into areas I'm probably not welcome."

"No no, feel free to prod" replied Brookes, smiling, "Honestly, eh? Well fact is as you know our... Brothers... in the Commonwealth want us to clear out the Strob' and sort out Good Ol' K'Stan. Now, to be frank, I'm confident if anything is agreed where-ever we end up The Crown Imperium will swallow on it."

Glaring at Craven, Brookes continued. "And if push comes to shove, they'll have to. Between my Stategic Bombers and your.... ", The Prime Minister paused, "...Khans, the Slitty Eyed Bastards won't have a choice."

The Ex-Emperor cautiously chuckled, saying "I'm sorry", as he glared into the Prime Ministers eyes.

"On the subject of K'stan however" gnarled the Prime Minister, taking a bite of a biscuit, "There's public support there on my side, and as you've probably read, this war's already screwed up our economy. This didn't come from me, but we're dumping the Crown as our peg in 24 Hours."

Cleaning his glasses, Brookes looked out across the view once more, apparently changing the subject.

"Did you know, if there was a direct rail link between Northford and Kahanistan, freight costs between the South-West members of the Commonwealth would be cut by 30%. That amounts to Trillions of pounds..."

"Hmph. The Crown. Only reason it's so powerful a currency is because the Praetonians are whores for money."

The Emperor smiled to himself, laughing at the thought. He then switched his attention to Brookes's last comment.

"And that's what most wars are about, money and profit. That 30% drop in costs will be more than made up for in blood.", Craven remarked. "Admittedly I'm not a fan of Kahanistan. Their notorious anti-Christian sentiments have irked me numerous times in the past.", he said while glancing towards the crucifix which hung on the opposite side of the room. "The innocents in Kahanistan, though... Well, I'll be praying for them when it all goes down. Even if they hate me for my religion."

The Emperor stopped for a moment, then took another sip from his tea, letting the warm liquid flow down into his body. After setting the cup down, the two sat in silence for a few moments before Craven finally made a remark.

"You know... I still can't believe this is happening.", he said wearily. "It feels like a nightmare. Then again, so too did so many things that happened during my tenure, stretching all the way back to my father's death and my coronation. It just doesn't feel real."

After another pause it was Brookes turn to reflect.

"Ach, I'll say," he began, "I remember when I first got voted into office. Youngest Prime Minister, aged 31. God that was back when Northford was old Northford.... before we got ourselves tied up with the GASN, the Q.C and god knows what else."

There was another long pause, broken only the occasional call of a Great Northfordian Nightingale and the introduced Cravanian Skylark.

"We're being forced into war Matt, and from my viewpoint it makes the most sense if we go for the easiest target that will yield the most. And away from strategical concerns that target is Khanistan."

Before letting those words sink in, he continued.

"If you're interested, there's an experimental sub-orbital jet that could have us back in Cravana within 3 hours."

"As you wish, Al. I assume we'll be flying out of some Northfordian airbase?"

Craven fumbled with his cup for a moment.

"I'll call home with reservations to be landing within three hours time and arrange to see The Right Honorable Elizabeth as soon as she's open for a meeting. I won't necessarily tell her about you because it's better to catch a Cravanian politician off guard, I learned that in my early days. I'll have to grab some travelling clothes and perhaps a small briefcase with some personal belongings, but I shouldn't be long. Where exactly would we be taking off from? Or perhaps you can bring her into the local airport up north in the city? That'd probably be best to arrange."

Craven thumbed open his planner, sparing no time. He quickly cancelled whatever appointments he had lined up in the coming days and weeks which he expected to be gone, which these changes were immediately sent to whomever he had had arrangements with via the device's internet connections.

"The wonders of modern technology.", he remarked as he threw it back into his pocket.

HMS King George
West of the Strobovia Strait

Aboard the Oceanian flagship, the stiff wind over the open bridge blew bits of sea foam into the face of Admiral Sir Wesley Osborne, whose hands slowly and deliberately wiped it from his cheeks and brow. For nine days the bulk of his expeditionary fleet had been at sea, sailing from the rendezvous point near the Home Islands to the Strobodia Strait. At the sound of a distant jet engine Osborne looked up. Aloft, above the fleet, the Fleet Air Arm's combat air patrol and, increasingly, long-range patrols from elements of the RAF's Coastal Command deployed to Carpanthium.

He watched with quiet satisfaction as a helicopter lifted off the helicopter platform of a distant dreadnought. Commanders of the various squadrons were due to arrive on Osborne's flagship for a private dinner where the final plans would be discussed for the dire situation where either himself or his command was otherwise neutralised and central command and control eliminated.

It was a grim thought, but a prudence demanded such precautions. Osborne turned his eyes to port and found one of his auxiliaries alongside one of his fleet carriers, transferring fuel and stores for continued air operations over the fleet. Further out, beyond the range of his eyes and over the horizon, similar operations were taking place amongst the hundreds of escorting cruisers, frigates, and corvettes. Even further out, shielded further from his weary eyes by the dark depths of the sea lay the escort nuclear submarines listening quietly for their Northfordian/Commonwealth counterparts.

Ministry of Defence
Georgetown, United Kingdom

"That is quite a lot of territory to cover," Radovan Noskovic mused aloud, deliberately eyeing his fellow cabinet secretary Sir Quentin Sterling, whose office both men sat in late in the evening. "While I do not doubt the capabilities of the Royal Marines, they will be in effect leapfrogging our NATO allies and elements of the Royal Army.

Sterling narrowed his eyes and glared at Noskovic. "I should expect well-rested reserve forces to be quite capable of covering such great distances." The Defence Secretary lifted his eyes as well as the corner of his lips, then nodding to an army officer standing quietly in the back of the office. "I should like General Collins to brief you on Operation Blue Marsupial, General," and with that Sterling waved to the officer who crisply nodded before approaching the First Lord.

"Mr. Secretary," the general said, addressing the civilian head of the Royal Marines with a near sterile, civil formality. "Operation Blue Marsupial refers to the post-combat occupation of NATO-controlled Northford. Specifically, the plan as drawn up by the Royal Army envisions the Royal Marines occupying northwest Northford, expected to fall under NATO control on or around thirty-five days after the start of ground operations..."

3 km east of Copper's Grove
Cravanian Overseas Territory

Flight Lieutenant Andriy Kravchenko smirked, taking off his helmet while his flight mechanic assisted did a quick check of his aircraft. Most of his comrades from the 201st Strike Regiment had come with him to Haven. Formerly based at what was now known as RAF Prostejov, the 201st had been one of the premier Novikovian strike regiments, assigned to Prostejov to combat the intractable insurgency that continued to fester in Lesser Novikov.

During the war they had flown advanced Sukhois and MiGs. Kravchenko could remember the acrid scent of the fire devouring the cockpit of his Su-24, his aircraft shredded by a ground-launched surface-to-air missile. He survived while his plane ended up a smoking crater on the fields west of Poldi'sk. And so it went for nearly three months, his unit shredded and torn apart, the able and adept weeded out like wheat from the chaff.

Thus, at the end of the war, it came as no surprise that the survivors of the 201st had wracked up some impressive figures. Those like Kravchenko, the survivors, had torn up column after column of Azazian armour, shredded mobile radar units and blew up bridges and motorways. With experience came responsibility in Borovic's new Novikov, the responsibility of killing the patriots and the resistance to their new Oceanian overlords.

And so now, as the new United Kingdom prepared for yet another war, Kravchenko climbed down from his fighter until his boots clapped unceremoniously onto the hastily prepared concrete hangar that he would call home. His aircraft was no longer a Sukhoi or a MiG held together by electrical tape and the sweat of dedicated mechanics. His was a well-oiled Nimbostratus FA.1, supposedly the result of the lessons learned by the Oceanians in Novikov.

In the wardroom, with a mug of strong coffee steaming in his hand, he watched with slight trepidation as his squadron commander walked over, handing Kravchenko a printed piece of paper. "What's this, ma'am?"

"New orders, Andriy." It was an almost unspoken rule amongst Novikovian units, like Kravchenko's squadron. Despite the integration of the 201st Strike Regiment into the Royal Air Force as the 201st Squadron, tasked with interdictor/strike missions, the Novikovians eschewed the mention of their new Anglo-styled ranks and appointments.

"Apparently we have some ships inbound for Millingston and the Fleet Air Arm wants some backup. You and the remainder of the squadron are to be airborne and provide escort for a small frigate force transiting the Strob. Should the Northfordians or other Commonwealth forces attempt to interfere, you are to attempt to dissuade them from pursuing any such course of action. You leave in four hours."

Kravchenko downed the remainder of his coffee to the disapproving shake of his squadron commander's head. "I would recommend a few hours of sleep, Andriy. We all need it."

"Any news on hostilities," he asked, a half-hearted attempt to change the subject.

"Any day now, so be careful up there."

Residence of the Prime Minister
The Citadel, Georgetown, United Kingdom

"My hairs seem a fair bit greyer in recent days," Rodney Ingrahm muttered, his fingers careful not to let his bishop slip from their grasp.

"Then at the very least you seem a fair bit wiser," quipped the Prime Minister's Foreign Secretary, Gavin Astley. The two were sitting quietly in Ingrahm's private study on the second floor, the shades not yet drawn and so allowing the pale, yellow light from street lamps flooding the grounds to stream in and lay a gridded pattern upon the carpeted floor.

A knock on the door disturbed the two, Ingrahm hurriedly checking his watch. "Come in," he called, watching his wife appear in the crack of the door. "That time already," he asked, feigning an innocence unbelieved by his partner of many years.

"Finish your game and then come to bed," she replied. In ordinary times she would have made a fuss about informal meetings at this late hour. But she, like much of the Oceanian public, could read the dailies and the blogs as well as the rest of the world. Sarah Hall-Ingrahm could only imagine the pressures on her husband and so quietly acquiesced to his late-night meetings, some nights with Radovan, others with Quentin, and tonight with Gavin.

"Shortly, love," Ingrahm replied with a tired smile. His smile evaporated as the door clicked shut, footsteps echoing loudly on the soft carpet towards the bedroom.

"You are a lucky man, Rodney, any other woman would have none of it."

"If this be the test of a lucky man I should rather be the most unluckiest, Gavin." He finally let his fingers go, letting his piece fall on its square, threatening a knight. "In the days and weeks to come, Gavin, we will preside over a war that will cost thousands of Oceanian lives--and for what? So that we retain some semblance of power, however transitory it may truly be, in order to safeguard our national security? We fight against our friends of yesterday simply because they ascribed their name to the wrong bloc?"

"Are you saying you regret the decision," Astley inquired, saving his knight for at least two more moves.

"No. We are correct in sending troops. The world is all but convinced NATO stands for dictatorships and authoritarianism; and while we may implicitly condone it through our acceptance of such states, the actions of a democratic state such as the United Kingdom in defence of NATO shall highlight the flaws in such logic."

"So we do this for NATO?"

Ingrahm laughed, a genuine smile cracking upon his face. "NATO serves our needs," he responded, emphasising 'our' to highlight his point. "We do indeed have states aptly described as natural allies among the ranks of NATO; however, make no mistake that in many respects our interests could have well placed us along the lines staring down NATO. Look at the Commonwealth, Gavin." Implied but unstated was the one nation against whom, day by day, more rifles and missiles were being trained. "We could be, if not were already, all but allied with them."

"Ultimately, though, this is not a war about ideology, much as they may try to frame it so in the various capitals and parliaments around this conflict. This is about the same matter every war is fought: power. We seek it through NATO for our own stability while the Commonwealth seeks it to create their own stability, albeit through a forced hegemony." The Prime Minister moved a rook into position before continuing.

"Should NATO retain the supremacy it currently enjoys, than we continue to enjoy free, unmolested trade across the open seas. Should NATO falter, the Commonwealth will enjoy supremacy and our trade becomes threatened, our livelihood becomes threatened."

"Some may argue, Rodney," Astley quietly replied, in measured breaths, "that the similar ideological views shared by ourselves and the Commonwealth equate into a civil hostility at worst, no active conflict."

"Yet the Commonwealth is foolish enough to threaten NATO, and by extension the United Kingdom. Should we have withdrawn from the organisation several months ago, perhaps we could have remained quietly upon the sidelines. In this, the eleventh hour, however, withdrawing from NATO would draw their wrath upon us and endanger us just as the Commonwealth is doing at this very moment."

"We do this for ourselves, Gavin. Though I relish not the thought."

"You're spies havn't found out about the X-50?" replied Brookes, placing his cup back on the tray it came from, "Shifting it Carp' won't be possible. And if you've not heard about it yet, I won't spoil the suprise."

Taking his key fob out of his pocket, he tumbed the screen, activating it once again.

"Listen", he said, "I want the Oceanians at this meeting, so trying to suprise the wonderful Lady herself might not be the best idea. If what I want goes to plan, they're going to be central to everything."

Leaving Craven to ponder that thought, Brookes pointed the key fob at a piece of empty wall in the drawing board and tapped it several times. In doing so, apart from making a loud noise ne activateda micro-projector in the fob that shone a projection of a low quality live video feed that was being recorded from the Dashboard of his car at the wall, allowing him to drive it without even being in direct line of sight of the his car.

"Modern Technology...", mimiced Brookes, with the slightest hint of a smile on his face, "... it is wonderful, is it not?"

"Showoff.", Craven said with a grin. His mood had since significantly lightened. "I'll begin making arrangements immediately, then, and I will arrange a meeting with Mrs. Anagrams to be hosted in the Imperial Palace, and I'll draw up a communique to the Oceanians. I'll also have to throw some clothes into a briefcase for myself, but it shouldn't take me too long."

Craven rose from his chair, pacing about as he made several mental notes to himself.

If this works out..., he thought to himself. Many lives will be saved. At least for a short time...

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

Somewhere over "The Strob"
42nd Imperial Tactical Fighter Squadron
Cpt. Joan "Clidesdale" Clidesbury

"All wings, assume standard vee patrol formation.", came the distinctly feminine voice of Captain Clidesbury, commanding officer of TFS-42 "Crimson Streak." The twelve white-gray speckled CF-4 Opinicus fighters, redesignated from the ISF-15 Lammasu for service in the Imperial Air Force, thundered across the blue sky on routine patrol of the channel.

"Copy that, lead.", came the reply from leader of the leader of Flight Two, the second group of four planes in the squadron of eight. "Falling into formation."

The group soared over their patrol zone, scanning the area carefully for suspicious activity. Despite Oceanian and Cravanian patrols over the Strob remained constant, there was always the possibility of a slip in the defensive network.

A single slip could mean death for millions.

"AWACS Chieftan, you have anything on the scopes?"
"Nothing at the moment, horse lady.", came the response, the AWACS radar operating poking fun at Clidesbury's callsign. "Scopes are clear save for friendly patrols and the like."

AWACS Chieftan, an IAL-4 AWACS, was operating some 80km south of the Crimson Streak 42nd, making a pass over Millingston at that time. Operating as a mobile centerpiece to the Cravanian radar coverage network, it was also being fed by buoys set up in the channel and naval patrols running through the straits.

"Alright, flight, let's head back home. Nothin' out here today, and we're nearing the edge of our patrol radius."
"Copy that, lead. Heading back in."

As if as one, the eight planes of TFS-42 performed an about-face maneuver, sending themselves back towards Millingston International, a section of which had been sectioned off for NATO military aircraft.

Just another day in the Strob, it seemed...

"Showoff?" questioned Brookes, "Glad I got it free... would've cost me 3 Million Pounds to buy it off the shelf."

Driving the car to the front, Brookes tapped the blue screen once more, causing it to shut down. He waited a moment for the projector to cool down, then popped the Key Fob, along with the keys attached, back into his pocket.

"I'm going outside to make a quick call," said Brookes, putting his bluetooth Earpiece on and flipping open his rather old cell phone.

===

Ripon, Northford


Prime Ministers Private Office

Sitting at her desk, Ms Kenworth, Private Secretary didn't have much to do. She was pulling a late shift, The Prime Minister listed his Cellphone as 'Away', while the other ministers that usually had cause to contact the Prime Ministers Office, were, according to NORTHNET* underground, at an undisclosed bunker.

So, as far as the Northfordians knew, she kept herself busy playing Solitare on the computer...

Cutting through the monotony, however, a pulse of electricity surged through her phone, causing quite an unexpected event, or so it would seem. Being slightly startled, she didn't give her quite her usual telephone answer.

"Primeministersofficewhatdaywant" she answered rather quickly

"Clair, it's Brookes. I need you to do a coupla of things. Put me through to NAB Janwell* and contact the rest of the Cabinet, tell them they're to taking the helm for the rest of they day, and that Tricker's in charge."

===

NAB Janwell

"Prime Minister Brookes, SID: 95fdaqwop02" spat the Prime Minister quietly into his cellphone.

"Secret Idenfication Cleared. Please hold the line to wait for an operator, or enter the departmental shortcut, if known." was the computerized reply.

Quickly tapping a random series of numbers, Brookes waited a moment for the resumption of a ringing tone. Upon hearing the phone connect he quickly spoke, not giving the person on the other end of the phone a real chance to reply.

"This is Brookes. I need the X-50 ready in two hours. We're heading to Laurana, so brief the Pilot. We'll be there in about 50 minutes."

Without waiting for a reply, he hung up.

===

*NAB = Northfordian Airbase.

((Have almost forgotten about this... Well not really, just, you know. Gonna skip some time here.))

Craven stood ready to leave, having made the proper arrangements with all involved parties that the meeting was to take place Within three to four hours' time in the Imperial Palace. Having donned one of his old bussiness suits, he adjusted his tie in the mirror in the foyer. Beside him lay a small briefcase with various documents and the like, and by his heart in a leather holster lay his Model 1507 Sapinian Arms Sledgehammer, Elite custom model .357, one of his most prized possessions. He travelled nowhere without it.

In his communique to Laurana, Craven attached orders to forward a communique to the Oceanians about the meeting, as per Brookes's request. The message should have already been in Oceanian hands by that time, and thus all that mattered now was getting the delegates to the meeting in the appropriate timeframe.

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Diplomatic Communique to the United Kingdom of Oceania
Classified: Level 2 as per Article 4 of the Code of the Imperial Department of Intelligence

To my esteemed colleagues in the United Kingdom:

The presence of an Oceanian representative at a meeting scheduled in three to four hour's time, depending on the arrival of key delegates, is cordially requested. The meeting is to be a small conference between the leadership, or appointed representatives of the leadership, of the Libertarian Empire, the Commonwealth of Northford, and if possible the United Kingdom of Oceania. All three nations are heavily involved in a possible conflict arising in the Strobovian region, and thus it is deemed as crucial to the stability of the area that all three be in attendence. If it is not possible to physically be in attendence in the projected timeframe, arrangements can easily be made to converse with an Oceanian representative via video conferencing. I thank you in advance, and personally await a response from the United Kingdom.

Again, thank you.


Sir Leroy Webbings
Leroy Webbings
Director of Foreign Affairs