NationStates Jolt Archive

Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

The red sun rose majestically over the city of Blackwood, capitol of the republic by the same name. Outside the streets were buzzing with the noise of traffic, the lifeblood of the organism that was a city beginning to flow through its vessels once again. A gentle sea breeze, carried form the ocean up along the river, lifted the veil of smog that had covered the city. Commuting people, respectable people with a steady income and the average two point seven children, rushed to their working places, their schools and their universities, as the nightlife of Blackwood slowly crept back to where it hid in the daytime; pubs and bars in the more respectable areas, brothels and striptease clubs in the less respectable but certainly more well-trafficked red light districts.
In his office in the presidential palace on King James’ Road, the former residence of the privy council of the now long gone monarchy, Stewern let his head rest against his hand, taking another sip of the cup of cold coffee. His stubble chafed against the palm of his hand as he read yesterday’s Global Tribune. It was the only newspaper in the republic that specialized in foreign news. Unfortunately, it had also been a harsh critic of Stewern’s foreign policy. It would certainly pain them greatly, if they knew that he was a frequent reader of the paper.
Stewern was not a man afraid of work, but he would not have spent the last fifty-two hours in his office, if he did not need to. Unfortunately, he needed to. The Chechnya affair, as his minister of foreign relations called it, could without doubt spread to the rest of the world. Southeast Asia was certainly the next target of the resurged Kraven expansionism. Blackwood had an important business partner in Southeast Asia, as the navy of the republic relied upon the Union-managed Portland Iron Works to supply hteir navy with spare parts and replacements. Not to mention that his falling approval rates would not survive a genocide so close to home. This business with the Questarian Commonwealth was bad enough.
Across the desk, his minister of foreign relations looked into his tired and bloodshot eyes.
‘’What now, boss?’’ she asked. She had a habit of referring to Stewern as boss. Had it been any other day, preferably one before which he had had much more sleep, he would have asked her to call him by his given name.
‘’I don’t know, Jean,’’ he said, sighing heavily as he did so.
‘’It’s all a bloody mess, isn’t it?’’
‘’I don’t think your voters would respond very kindly if you told them ‘sorry folks, but it’s a bloody mess!’’’
‘’Perhaps not,’’ he chuckled, ‘’but it’s true, isn’t it?’’
‘’Most certainly, but it’s only going to get worse if we do nothing.’’
‘’I’ll call a meeting then.’’
Jane smiled as she rose up form her seat, leaving Stewern alone. He pressed the button on the intercom, and asked his secretary to call the minister of defence, the minister of the interior, his minister of the economy and Stewern’s wife. It seemed as if he wouldn’t get to go home this night either.
Half an hour later they were all seated in what was colloquially referred to as the War Room; Stewern, his minister of defence, his minister of foreign relations, his minister of the interior and the minister of finance.
‘’I were wondering when you might call on us, Tom,’’ said the minister of defence to Stewern, taking a seat and placing a thick dossier on the round table.
‘’I had hoped that I didn’t have to, Jack.’’
‘’I would too. It’s not looking very good, is it?’’
‘’It’s not.’’
‘’Buckley, I trust you are familiar with the current situation.’’
‘’I like to keep myself a jour, even though I’m minister of the interior. I am familiar with the crisis in Chechnya.’’
‘’I am sure you know how complicated this situation is. I trust you read Harry’s memo about the economic significance of the Union, and the importance of stability in the region. The Portland Iron Works, which has manufactured a large portion of our navy, is now based in the Union, and Harry has informed me that we can ill afford to lose the resources and products that we import. Jack here,’’ he said, motioning towards the minister of defence, ‘’briefed us a few days ago on the strategic importance of not letting the region descend into chaos.’’
He took a pause to drink some of the cold coffee had brought with him while he considered the possible consequences of this meeting. The republic could go to war; of course it wouldn’t be described as a war officially, as war would require much more extensive measures to make sure it was legal according to international and domestic law. It would probably be called an armed conflict, or a protective campaign, and would be politically directed by Stewern’s executive orders instead of those of the senate.
‘’Miss Robertson and I,’’ he said, looking up again, ‘’have reached the conclusion that it is impossible for us, for several reasons, to sit idly by. This crisis, I fear, have passed the point of no return, and may only escalate. We must react. I am open for suggestions.’’

---

Two days later:

The Daily Tribune
IT WAS ANNOUNCED TODAY that the Senate has approved of the Act of International Solidarity, proposed by the President to lend assistance to the Union of Southeast Asian Nations in face of the invasion by the Kraven Corporation that many believe is imminent. The act makes legal the formation and deployment of ‘’armed forces of sufficient strength’’ to serve as a deterrent, and mandates contacting the government of the Union of Southeast Asian Nations in order to better coordinate ‘’the diplomatic and military actions that we see necessary to achieve our goals in that region’’. Doctor Samuel Harrison of the University of Norwich explains the implications and effects of this act.
Continued at p. 9

---

To: The Government of the Union of Southeast Asian Nations
From: The Government of the Republic of Blackwood
Subject: International Solidarity
It is with great sorrow that I have observed the recent development of the resurging Kraven Corporation and the aggressionism for which they are infamous. I am aware of the threats issued against the people of Southeast Asia, and which I fear the Kraven Corporation may attempt to live up to after the fall of Chechnya.
As per previous agreements, the borders of Blackwood shall remain open for all citizens of the USAN, and all refugees shall receive shelter here.
In the interest of your people and mine, I ask that we may take this cooperation one step further; that Blackwood troops may be deployed in the Union to deter the Corporate forces from attacking, and to serve alongside your own troops should worst come to worst.

Encrypted Communiqué from His Excellency, the Acting Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Union of Southeast Asian Nations, Aran Niratpattanasai
http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a338/Singaporean_Liberal/NationStates%20Pictures/SoutheastAsianCoatofArms.gif

TO: Government of the Republic of Blackwood
FROM: Aran Niratpattanasai, Acting Minister of Foreign Affairs, Union of Southeast Asian Nations
SUBJECT: Re: International Solidarity

To whom it may concern,

It is an honor, as the Acting Minister of Foreign Affairs, to talk to the Blackwoodian government as part of military matter discussions. The Blackwoodian Republic's armed forces are welcome to enter SAFPAS (Southeast Asian Federal-Parliamentarian Armed Services) bases. The Act of International Solidarity 2007 is a gracious act by the democratically-elected Senators and the President of the Republic of Blackwood, and the people of your wonderful lands. I hope that under my ministership and this Executive Cabinet, we can come closer as friends and as allies. The military leaders of the Armed Services are eager to know of the plans and details, and would like the specific details classified and delivered to them. I await the next step in the path of the Blackwoodian-Southeast Asian relationship.


Yours Truly,
His Excellency,
Aran Niratpattanasai
Acting Minister of Foreign Affairs
Union of Southeast Asian Nations

[OOC: And yes ReLib, assuming the response by Niratpattanasai was secret IC.]

’’President Stewern announced yesterday that several as of yet undisclosed regiments of the Blackwood Army, and an unknown number of units of the Republic Air Service, shall be activated in order to support the Union of Southeast Asian Nations in the war that many experts, among them Channel 4’s John Rutherford, believe is coming. This was followed today, with the increase of National Security Readiness from level four, which has been the level ever since the beginning of the current Havenic conflict, to level three. What effect this will have on the national economy, and on the life of the families of the many servicemen who may find themselves stationed abroad, has as of yet not been determined. I am Emma Robertson, and this ends the eight o’clock news.’’
‘’Ya hear that, eh Luke?’’ shouted Seán across the pub.
‘’Aye, though I’d rather not!’’ shouted Lucas back from the other side of the dark, Irish pub, filled with the soldiers of the recently activated 123rd Fenian Company of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers regiment. They had all received a letter of activation a few days ago, ordering them to report to their commanding officer at a certain date and at a certain location. The few precious days that remained were spent, at least by the single men of the 123rd, drinking in the local pubs, whose revenues had all increased tenfold during the past week. The Shan Van Vogh for example, the pub now frequented by Sean, Lucas and the others, was packed not only with the regular clientele, the farmers and workers coming to take a pint of beer before going off to church for the Sunday sermon, but the feasting soldiers and the young women of the village wishing to say farewell to their departing heroes.
‘’Eh?’’
‘’I’m having an all too good time here, y’see!’’
Seán O’Hanlon was a Private First Class of the Bravo Company, or at least he would be when the mobilization was finished. Like all members of the army of Blackwood, Seán had two lives, two occupations. In his civilian life, that which would end in a few days, he was a high school math teacher, married to a wife whom he loved and with whom he had a daughter of the age of six years and by the name of Susan. In his military life, that which he would have to force himself into once again, he was an automatic rifleman, providing fire support for the rest of the section with the aid of Lucas Collins. The switch, the transformation from civilian to military life, was made easier by the yearly month-long exercises every serviceman had to partake in, as he was never allowed to soften up as the sergeants said; but the leaving of his wife and child, who was about to start school again, would be harder.
''But still'', he thought while ordering another pint of stout, which he drank amidst the cheering and feasting crowd, the folk band on the stage on the right side of the pub playing Preab San Ol and the thick tobacco smoke that hovered like a cloud just beneath the ceiling, ''it had to be done.''
The band played the first few bars of The Rising of the Moon, and the crowd went quiet in silent consideration of the seriousness of the situation, suddenly apparent to them. Many of them realized for the first time, that they might not ever again see their families. The band finished playing early, there was not a man in Leinster that would praise the ‘’name of ninety-eight’’; and the crowd resumed their drinking, though in a gloomy mood and without the cheering and celebration. Many returned home to spend the last few hours of the night with their wives and girlfriends, and left were those that had no home to go to or simply wished to sit in silence and ponder the strange feeling of homesickness and doubt that had filled them much quicker than the pints and quarts of beer they had drunk. Seán was one of the latter.

A week later, when the soldiers had recovered from the consequences of the heavy drinking, when the officers of the 123rd had organized the troops into a fighting unit worthy of the Blackwood Army, when orders had come from higher up that it was now time to assemble the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, they marched down the main street of the Dún Laoghaire, accompanied by the cheering of the young men who were wishing they could come with them, and by the prideful mourning of their wives and mothers. First came the musicians, playing the cheerful quick march of the Dublin Fusiliers, and then came the company staff, then the first section and all the other units according to the order of precedence, every trace of the night of doubt on that pub erased from memory by the morning’s radio and TV broadcast that stressed the importance of decent men to rise against the Kraven Corporation and the honour and the privilege that it was to go off to fight in a foreign land.
All over County Dublin, and parts of Kildare, Meath and Wicklow, the scene was repeated; young men marching off to their regiment encouraged by the cheering and celebration of their families and friends. Elsewhere, other companies of other regiments did the same. The Enniskillen Dragoon Regiment recruited from Fermanagh, Tyrone and Donegal, and these counties’ workforce were soon depleted as the young men marched off to fight in a foreign land, for reasons they were not told and against an enemy they did not know.
A third of the entire 1st Expeditionary Division was recruited from the Province of Ireland, and the effect upon the economy, local as well as national, was, despite the report of Emma Robertson, all to clear, as the affected areas lost a very large part of their working force and families lost their income, save the small compensation they received from the government for letting their sons go to war. In a few years, the county of Tyrone would have the highest juvenile delinquency and the lowest employment rate in the Republic, while several of the small family companies that formerly were seen in plenty in Dublin were closed down as the heirs had died in the war or the owner couldn’t afford to stay in business. Wales and the West Midlands of Blackwood was largely unaffected, and there were many a bitter rumour amongst the separatists in Ireland and the families in Cheshire, that this was not a coincidence but rather a consideration of the presidential cabinet, having taken into account the extensive low-wage industrialization of Cymru and the Black Country compared to that of Eire and the significance of this industrialization to national economy.

A small town in Fermanagh, Ulster:
Kathryn, Cait she was called by her husband, was in the kitchen, cooking some stew for herself and her children. Her mind was on other things though, and the stew would be overcooked when the flapping of a bird’s wing against the window pane brought her back to reality. That was another fifteen minutes away though, and for now her mind was firmly fixed on her husband. She knew he was somewhere in Vietnam, and although he couldn’t tell her exactly where, he had hinted at being stationed around Khe Sanh in Quang Tri.
She had always known that the day would come when her husband was called in. He had joined the army back in 2004, and had zealously attended every exercise since he had completed his training. Still, knowing and realizing the full ramifications of something, are not the same. She felt lonely, she worried, she cried, and she wondered how she would be able to carry on if he didn’t come home. She tried to force herself not to think about that possibility. God knows it was hard enough already, with the governmental compensation for his military service being as low as it was. She, along with the other perhaps soon-to-be widows of Fermanagh, had a nagging feeling that the compensation to the families on the mainland were slightly higher, and perhaps delivered on time and regularly. Not that she was one of those bloody separatist left-footers in Connacht, no.
Upstairs, Siobhán was crying away the heavy make-up that normally hid her fifteen year old face from view. Her boyfriend, Paul Clancy, had been called back in service, even though he was just seventeen. He had faked an ID last summer to try and make some money on his own, and he had signed up for the infantry. Paul was a bright kid, and had he been born in Blackwood, Kernow or even Cymru, he would still be in boot camp when the war was over in a few weeks, and could come home to her. But he was an Irish boy, and they were only ever trained as simple rifleman. Not even her father, who had spent the last three years in one exercise after the other, would ever be promoted over Private First Class. Not that there was any official rule or law that kept Irishmen from becoming officers in the army, but that was just the way it was.
Cathal was in a dark, smelly old pub called The Old Woman. His father had always told him not to go to that area of h town, but right now he didn’t care what his father thought. He hated him, after all. Hated him for always being too busy with the fucking army, for always being too busy too listen to him, and for going away from home without even saying goodbye. So, when he got the word he said he needed to get some fresh air and then went down to the pub his father had always called ‘’that bloody nest o’ taigs’’. The man at the door had let him in; even though he was only fourteen he looked old enough; and now he was sitting ‘round a table with some other fellows with Connacht accents, drinking his first ever whiskey and talking to the men about his ‘’fuckin’ dad in the fuckin’ army o’r in fuckin’ Vietnam’’. His mother probably thought he was out jogging ‘round the block.

Somewhere in the skies above the Pacific Ocean, 04:34 AM
‘’Angel 1/1, this is Rafael’’ said the Gordon Fitzpatrick, pilot of the large C-17 cargo plane that was headed for the newly-constructed airfield in Khe Sanh. Somewhere to the back and on his right side, the fighter known as Angel 1/1 was keeping the pace. It, along with the rest of the 178th Air Wing, was the escort of the four cargo planes Uriel, Gabriel, Rafael and Michael. They were flying some of the equipment of the Enniskillen Dragoon Regiment, the formation reconnaissance regiment of the newly-formed 1st Expeditionary Division.
Over in the cockpit of the Panavia Tornado fighter Angel 1/1, Samuel Jensen heard the diluted voice of Gordon as it was carried over through the ether by the invisible radio waves to his radio receiver.
‘’Rafael, this is Angel wun through wun; over.’’
‘’We are approaching Checkpoint Eden, rendezvousing with MRTT for refuelling. Standby, over.’’
‘’Copy standing by for rendezvous with MRTT, out.’’
Samuel notified the rest of the wing that they would meet up with a tanker aircraft so that the cargo planes could be refuelled. The fighters themselves did not need to, as they were regularly supplied by buddy-tanking Super Hornets from one of the aircraft carriers the republic had based in the Pacific; but the freighters had flown straight from the Midlands and still had a long way to go until they were in Quang Tri.
The archangel cargo planes and their escorts had met up only recently; as part of Operation Lancelot, the flying in of the heavy equipment of expeditionary division in SEA, the freighters would fly from a selected number of air stations in Blackwood towards their bases in Asia while being refuelled at agreed-upon points at a certain time, while fighter cove was organized on an on-demand basis by local air assets such as the 178th Fighter Wing.
‘’Archangels, this is MRTT Alpha Bravo. You’re right on time. Are you ready to refuel, over?’’
‘’MRTT Alpha Bravo, this is Archangel Rafael, we are ready to refuel. Standby,’’ replied Gordon. Flipping the switch that tuned his radio transmitter to the proper channel, he asked the other Archangels of their fuel status. As it turned out, Michael had consumed more fuel than the rest of them. Nothing alarming though, perhaps it was just hauling a slightly heavier load than the others. Michael refuelled first, and as it was returning to formation, Uriel approached the taker. Then followed Rafael and Gabriel.

[OOC: This post will be continued at a later time.]