NationStates Jolt Archive

[Twenty Kilometers outside Stovlograd, Independent State of Elrusia]

The earth shook with the blast, and bits of dirt and rock rained on Alexi’s head. The tank’s aim was growing closer, and as another shell slammed into earthworks he and his men had dug, he realized just truly hopeless his situation was.

He had six, maybe seven men left in his command, having gone in with twenty. It supposed to be a routine convoy raid, hit and run. A rebel rocket grenade had smashed into the lead convoy vehicle, as usual, halting the other five as infantry rushed outward to attempt to protect them. Alexi’s men had started out on two hillsides overlooking the supply route, ten to each side, each issued a rocket propelled grenade launcher and light machine gun. Such heavy weapons were rare in the rebel’s inventory, and it was this very poverty which made their mission so critical. The convoy supposedly held cache of shoulder fired Strela surface to air missiles, invaluable to the rebels in countering repeated helicopter strikes against their encampments.

Their dreams would be shattered, unfortunately.

They had never counted on the cavalry riding to the aid of the settlers. Two T-84s of the State Defense Forces, freshly stocked with fuel for delivery to a nearby garrison, rolled in behind the five stalled Ural trucks. Thundering with the roar of their main cannons, the tanks rapidly engaged the two hilltop squads, and Alexi silently thanked his lucky stars for his two anti tank launchers.

Unfortunately, he had counted those blessings a slight bit too fast. His fellow rebels on the hill opposite his own (who had fired the first shot) were relatively green compared to a veteran like Alexi, and had attempted to disable one of the tanks with a normal fragmentation grenade, fired directly at a plate of reactive armor. The darkness lit up with the plate’s detonation, annihilating the puny warhead before it get within striking distance.

Worse yet, they had given away their position, and within five minutes, their position had turned into a smoking hellscape. Adding in a lucky GP-30 round that had minced three of his squad mates, Alexi had quickly reevaluated that his situation was absolutely hopeless. His hand reached down to his sternum, feeling cold metal between his grimy fingers. His cross had protected him in dozens of firefights and skirmishes, somehow allowing him to witness hundreds of time the extinguishing of life, yet emerge unscathed each time. How long could that aura last?

His gaze has turned to the stars, which were just emerging from the oppressive daylight. Would he live to fight another day, to someday see the robber baron oppressors in the capital of Brez hung for their decadence and crimes, and for a truly free nation to rise from the ashes of civil war and despair?

His answer came in the whistling blur of a mortar round.

[OOC: This is an opening for a civil war I'm doing in Elrusia (a puppet of mine). The fighting has been going on for some time between the fascist government and socialist rebels. Take sides as you please, but, please, if you can't obey RP conventions or have horrible grammar, steer clear.]

[Twenty Kilometers outside Stovlograd, Independent State of Elrusia]

Alexi cringed, gripping his Kalashnikov tightly.

This is it.

But the boom didn’t smash through his body like he pictured it would. A vibration coursed through him, followed by the telltale shaking boom of an ammunition explosion. He released his death grip on his weapon, and fighting his better judgment, Alexi peeked over the top of his foxhole, just in time to see the next shell impact. A group of foot soldiers was instantly torn to pieces by the warhead, and his eyes shot to the right.

There were now only four Urals in the formation, desperately trying to maneuver out of the way of two burning wrecks and into the safety of the open road. Infantry dove into thickets and ditches, trying to avoid the deadly accurate mortar fire that was beginning to rout them. The two T-84s, which only moments before had been dominating the haggard rebels, were frantically trying to pull away, their top mounted machine guns raking the hillsides with random and strained bursts. Dirt occasionally kicked up near Alexi’s position, but he was too fixated on trying to triangulate the firing positions of his saviors to care.

It was then that an epiphany struck him, and he ducked down, never knowing a fifty caliber bullet ripped through the space where his head had been milliseconds before. He awkwardly half ran, half kneeled through the shambles of the earthworks, counting five survivors of his group, including himself. There was a large gap in the trench from a rifle grenade, and although the infantry were pinned by the indirect fire, they still posed a threat to Alexi. He dove to the ground, wrapping his hands around the wooden grip of the RPG, the handle slimy from the blood of his fallen brothers. He shifted his weight to the edge of the gap, lining up his target.

Range, two hundred.

Alexi internally tensed up, his grip tightening as he centered the iron sight of the tube.

Click.

A sheet a flame rose out of both ends of the tube, and a muted flash echoed in the distance. Alexi’s eyes traced the thin line of quickly dissipating smoke to the burnt out hull of what was seconds ago an Elrusian State Defense Forces T-84, the tandem charge warhead having plowed its way through the radiator and into the fuel tanks, the crew consumed in a funeral pyre. Alexi let out a whoop, which was quickly drone out by something much more sinister. The rhythmic mortar fired had been silenced, and Alexi's expression turned to horror as his ears matched the sound to its name.

A sinister, robotic sound, the sound of the angel of death.

Havoc.

To: Elrusia
From: BHR

Recently we became aware of a rebel force attacking convoys and tanks in your country near Stovlograd, as a result we are asking permission to send troops to help stabalize the situation. May God Be With You.

Alex Rickard
Head Of Foreign Affairs

[OOC: Congratulations, you just invaded a sovereign nation. It's usual to ask for permission to deploy troops in someone else's country, and to do so in a post of more than two lines.]

[OOC: Congratulations, you just invaded a sovereign nation. It's usual to ask for permission to deploy troops in someone else's country, and to do so in a post of more than two lines.]

OOC: Sorry I will change it then.

[OOC: Couldn't be arsed to post this as Elrusia? Or has Velkya gone fascist, too? Sorry, haven't been keeping track of events in Velkya recently. :)]

Boat, 1,000 kilometres from the northern Elrusian coast

15 September 2007

The decommissioned narrow swift boat christened Vladimir Ilyich Lenin sailed toward Elrusia with about twenty foreign fighters. Well, foreign to the Elrusians; these young men and women were from Kahanistan.

The boat was but one of many thousands of small vessels that was fleeing Havenic Kahanistan from the evil Doomani tyrants, fascists and savages who sought to exterminate them. This boat in particular was filled with the worst sorts of Communist militants, armed and equipped mainly with Macabean Hali-53's, Interceptor body armour, and about twenty PowerBars each plus whatever supplies they had managed to cram onto the boats.

Capitalist devils not unlike the ones from Doomingsland ruled over the people of Elrusia, oppressing them with a Nazi fascist tyranny. These evil people had to be driven from power and hanged from the nearest lamp post in a massive popular uprising against the forces of repression.

Capitalist devils, thought Marcus Reid, the ship's captain, as he sat at the helm of the swift boat dressed only in a pair of swimming trunks and a half-open bulletproof vest. They were still hundreds of kilometres from shore. Laying his Hali-53 at the deck at the side of his seat, he thought about where he had heard that phrase.

---

7 October 1998

Najaster, Capital of Kahanistan
Kahanistan Military Academy

It was nine years ago, and he was 13. He was attending a speech by a Communist party official, probably some local district head or deputy head, at Kahanistan Military Academy. Reid struggled to remember the details... the speaker was a female military officer, about 24, in dress uniform and wearing a hammer and sickle armband over her left arm. She was pretty, with blonde hair, grey eyes and a slender frame, and spoke with a Gaza accent.

"The capitalist devils, fascistic tyrants of the Kraven Corporation, are never to be trusted. But neither are the leaders of Allanea, who claim to support freedom but in the end would abolish welfare and allow corporations to gain unlimited power. Corporations in Allanea can run roughshod over workers, and the common labourer has no rights that those of the capitalist do not trump. You can do as you wish there, but so can the corporations that can pay slave wages and there is no welfare to fall back upon," the woman said, her voice shaking with emotion, her tone impassioned and angry.

"Here in Kahanistan, we support the right of the workers to negotiate with their employers without fear of lockouts, strike breakers, firings, or other reprisals. This is a fundamental tenet of our democratic and free society. How free are we when corporations have unlimited power? Media corporations with the power to decide what news you will or will not hear, internet service providers empowered to dictate what websites will be available, medical insurance companies allowed to gouge the poor and desperate for their last food shekel, and then to refuse to pay a single agora when they are needed? These outrages would never be tolerated here, but in Allanea, in Parthia, Roach-Busters... these are realities! That is the result of capitalism, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

What an inspiring woman, Reid thought as he looked at the speaker. Closer inspection revealed that she was a highly decorated Captain, probably a flight officer of some sort. Membership in the Communist Party, or other parties for that matter, was common among military officers - they often had public visibility which gave them a distinct edge if they ran for elected office. At the time, Kahanistan had about one and a half percent of its population in the military, and current or former military officers made nearly 20% of all elected officials.

He had to speak with this woman after she was finished. He had to ask her about joining the party. Maybe I can even... No. I'm only 13, she's got to be 25 or 30... But he had to speak to her.

"When you go into battle against a repressive regime, remember that you are fighting not just for your freedom, but for the freedoms of the people. That is why we do not target civilian population centres - we enter to protect, not to kill. That is also why those who murder noncombatants are the lowest, most animalistic barbarians. Remember that whoever has the strongest motive to fight wins, more often than the one with the best weapons or tactics. The enemies are brainwashed, controlled by their capitalistic masters. We, on the other hand, are free people, fighting to remain that way. Remember that when you go into battle."

During the thunderous applause, Marcus slipped away from his mother and older brother, who was a cadet at the academy. The speaker smiled as the crowd cheered her, then stepped down from the podium and exited the stage.

As she gained distance from the still-cheering crowd, Marcus ran up behind her, his baggy shirt and trousers flopping about in the wind. "Miss!" he called.

The woman turned around. She was around 5'5", about two inches taller than the thirteen-year-old. "Does your mother know where you are?" she asked.

"No," said Marcus. "I... wanted to talk with you." He looked at the woman's rank insignia, then at her nametag. Absolutely unpronounceable. She must be Russian, or Belarusian, or Ukrainian. Some kind of Soviet. "Captain..."

She must have guessed he was struggling to figure out how to pronounce her last name. "Sklenova," she said. "Call me Nadia. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked, leading the boy to a park bench nearby and sitting down.

Marcus sat next to her, about a foot from her, smiled, and looked at her. She's so beautiful. He shook his head. "Nadia... I was really interested in what you had to say. About how the Allaneans are a bunch of hypocrites, they're as bad as the Doomani theocrats. About how corporations are running out of control and gobbling up the world's resources."

Nadia smiled back. She looked gentle and approachable. "Well, you can find out more," she said. She reached into her uniform jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. Apparently she was the deputy head of the local branch of the Party. The card had her email, fax, and the address of the local meeting place, with the regular meeting times prominently displayed. She handed it to the boy.

"Thank you, Nadia." Marcus embraced her. His eye caught a large, beautiful gold medal adorning her left breast. "What's that?" he asked.

"It's my breast," said Nadia casually. Her face bore no trace of any hint that she was joking. On the other hand, a set of 32B's didn't normally gather that much attention... especially when they weren't flagrantly displayed with a halter top or similar revealing attire.

"I meant, on it. I've never seen that medal before."

"The Hero of the Republic," said Nadia. This was the highest military honour of Kahanistan, but she did not seem intent on discussing it further.

"Kick ass." Marcus looked closely at the medal, then at Nadia's face. He had to join the Academy.

The very next day, Marcus applied to join the Kahanistan Military Academy, and was accepted for the 1999 - 2000 school year. He also began to attend Communist Party meetings, but he never saw Nadia again - she had been deployed to fight the Fascians, or maybe it was the Mississippians this time. However, he still thought of her, the woman who had inspired him to become a communist and join the military... followed the news articles about her, listened to her speeches, even once worked up the courage to write to her and tell her what an inspiration she had been. She had replied warmly, to indicate that she appreciated the effect that she had on young people and wished more people listened to her, at home and abroad.

Eight years later, in the spring of 2007, Marcus would graduate from Kahanistan Military Academy.

---

The Present

Marcus couldn't believe what he was doing. He had deserted the Kahanistanian military when they needed him the most, to fight for foreign communist militants - he feared more than being killed being taken alive and crucified, especially since he had seen it done to captured Candrians, on wooden Stars of David. Filthy Catholic beasts, he thought. He swore and threw his rifle to the deck.

"I wish we could kill them all!" he bellowed. "Capitalist Catholic monsters, inhuman animals! We should have brought some nuclear ordnance with us."

"The Doomani Empire will destroy itself," said Mohammed al-Hamad, the first officer aboard the swift boat. "They are a capitalist society, and the workers will arise and overthrow them, and hang Maximus in the arena in Urbs Doomanus. They are at war with Automagfreek, under invasion by Kregaia, and yet they attack us. The Empire is destroying itself as we speak. Even if they defeat us, and that is highly unlikely, they will not be able to hold onto our land at the same time they are fighting off two invasions. We will likely lose to the combined forces of the Questarians... like all capitalistic militant nations, doomed to self-destructive invasions while the enemy masses on their own gates. Let us focus on accelerating the capitalist self-destruction in Elrusia, help the communists build a state there."

"You're right, Mohammed," said Marcus. "Kahanistan is a lost cause. General al-Ghazi fights to survive, but he has lost the favour of the people. Even if he is victorious against the Doomani and the Questarians, the people will not support him and the nation will collapse. He relies on force and cobbled-together pieces of religious fanaticism and militant bourgeois nationalism to fight his battles. The capitalist devils... will destroy themselves fighting and competing while the meek inherit the earth."

They approached to near the economic exclusion zone of Elrusia, and they knew they were getting nearer to the combat scene. Militants aboard deck stretched and ate their last non-MRE / PowerBar meals aboard ship until they would leave the combat zone, and savoured their supper as they ate and drank, knowing they would quite likely die.

"Ready for battle?" asked Marcus, suiting up for battle, pulling on his BDU trousers and eyeing the female militant in front of him as she geared up.

"Yup," said Kayla Gordon, the other militant. She seemed oblivious to the fact Marcus was staring down her cleavage as she put her body armour on before buttoning down her BDU shirt.

"Never been in battle before. I'm sick as a dog, but it's going to be fun, isn't it? To fight for something greater, a glorious ideology of equality and freedom from religion and fascism..."

"Yeah, Kayla. We're going to live free or die free. Whatever happens, we're free people, and we're going to help the Elrusians be free people, too."

[CIC, ISES Stravinsky]

"Surface track, bearing south at (given speed)."

The dim red lights of the carrier's combat information center cast an evil glow on her occupants, highlighting their features in a stark crimson palette. Their menial duties obliged this choice of decoration, a precaution taken to help facilitate their night vision. It had been days since their last full combat alert, when a rebel trawler had attempted to attack a government corvette while she had activated her distress signal.

Admiral Kuilva stood, arms crossed, on the navigation bridge, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. The lack of action had afforded his men some comfort, but comfort was not something they sought. Their brothers fought and died in Gorsky Province against the omnipresent socialist guerrillas, and to sit in the middle of the relatively safe ocean and wait for some foreign devil to mount an attack was torture to such patriotic sailors and marines.

But they were naive children, Kuilva conceded. Brave and skilled, but still young and foolish. He grinned a measure, but suppressed it. His outlook came as that of a cautious father more than a dashing admiral, and he knew that their role in the northern seas was just as important as that of the soldiers fighting in the hills of Gorsky. Elrusia was in a state of virtual chaos, and advantageous foreign powers would stop at nothing to take advantage of her and her sixty million citizens, regardless of their political affiliations.

Could she pull herself together and rise above her petty differences? It seemed like high idealism for the grizzled admiral, whose reverie was soon enough interrupted by his young yet skilled aide.

"Sir!" The young Ensign snapped to attention and saluted his commander.

"At ease, comrade. What news do you bring?"

"Our RADAR picket has spotted an unidentified surface vessel crossing the economic zone off Cape Vostok. Its RADAR profile appears to be that of a small littoral combat craft."

The admiral's look turned to slight reverence for the captain who managed to crew his brown water boat through the storms of the northern seas. Regardless, his demeanor changed to that of his title, the Admiral of the Northern Fleet.

"Get a visual on them, and ready a Marine boarding party. I want the fleet up to yellow alert and a transmission on the wire to the mainland immediately, Ensign."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Several Minutes Later

One after the other, four Su-33 strike fighters screamed off the Stravinsky's flight deck, the ski jump on the bow popping them into the hazy winter skies of the northern oceans, their bluish exhaust plumes visible miles out from the fleet by the deckhands. There was a general murmur of excitement on the flight deck, as that was the first combat launch of aircraft in a month, a chance for the ground crews to stretch their legs and get back into a working schedule.

Rumor had it that they were to be relocating to the rebellious south of the nation by spring, and the general good feeling on the flight deck could only rise when a squad of heavily armed Elrusian Marines stepped onto the deck, making headway among the reverent flight crews and their parked aircraft. Moments later, a Navy Ka-27 helicopter was in the air, navigating the same flight path (albeit much more slowly) as the flight of Flanker-Ds had, carrying the marines to the unsuspected surface contact.

The Kahanistanian ship, flying the old, Soviet-derived flag, crossed into the E.E.Z. of Elrusia, but not yet into territorial waters. They knew that there was a good chance that they would be detected (this ship wasn't made for stealth, but speed, and they were edging ever closer to a sovereign nation's shores), and hoped that they could BS their way out of it.

Luckily, fishing rods were aboard, as well as a few nets. They could claim to be a fishing vessel; the 40mm eight-barreled KMI Mk. 32 ETC CIWS, twin surface-to-air missile launchers, and solo seaskimmer missile launcher would be hard to explain, but it could be claimed to be defence against pirates, in addition to the body armour and military-grade weapons aboard the ship. In actuality, that CIWS had saved the ship's arse when fleeing the Doomani.

"Cast the rods," said Marcus. "We'll be... catching something interesting."

Mohammed, Kayla, and two large, brutish men called Titus and Brutus, hefted the nets which had been feeding the crew for the past six days overboard. They also threw a large piece of spoiling fish overboard, as shark bait as much as to get rid of it. They hoped to catch something big...

Airspace over Kahanistani Vessel

"This is Krin One, we have confirmed visual on the contact, stand-by for data transfer, over."

The lead Su-33 began to led his finger four formation into a lazy, fuel efficient circle around the surface vessel, his electro-optical targeting pod zooming and focusing on the Kahanistanis, broadcasting the data to the Stravinsky's combat information center, where the Admiral and his command staff watched with great interest. The "fishing boat" looked like it was designed to hunt krakens with the level of armament it carried, and the dozen odd crew it possessed looked like shock troops from an old sci-fi film with their heavy armor and weaponry.

Kuilva's intelligence officer was the first to speak.

"She's Kahanistani, sir, although it's a older version of their ensign."

The Admiral shook his head. "It matters not. it's packing anti-shipping missiles and sitting in our economic exclusion zone flying a foreign government's flag. Was this covered in any transmission, com?"

The younger communications officer gently shook his head, replying in the negative.

"Then we'll have to do something. I want their engines cut and our Marines aboard, regardless of their opinions on the matter."

A chorus of "aye ayes" answered the Admiral.

A hundred kilometers away, the formation leader of Krin Flight broke off with his wingman, dropping to several hundred meters altitude above the gently pitching surface. They gradually throttled to three hundred knots as they made a flyby of the Kahanistani ship, clearly displaying their Elrusian blue star insignias as they passed.

Tamar Feinberg sat on one of the surface-to-air missile launchers, in partial gear - a tank top over her body armour and camo BDU trousers, holding a heavy machine gun.

"Captain Reid, they're flying over us. Should we shoot them down?" she asked in her Israeli accent. "Of course, being the aggressor against these people is probably not a good idea...?"

"Damn right it isn't," said Marcus. "We're here to protect these people, not kill them or get ourselves killed needlessly. Make sure the CIWS is on and fully loaded, we can defend ourselves but not fire unless fired upon. How're the rods and nets?"

"Well and good, skipper," said Titus Tartilius. "Nice and heavy. I'm wondering if we've gotten a real shark."

"That'd be good, if we can figure out how to get shark meat over there. Bloody hate sharks. Let's ignore the Elrusians for now, continue at our business until they do something, attack us or try to communicate with us."

((OOC: I'm tagging for interest... Velkya, if you have MSN mine is gooberwoc@Hotmail.com, I'd like to talk with you about how I could get involved.))

[Airspace over Kahanistani Vessel]

Well, they didn't shoot at us, that's a good sign, thought Admiral Kuilva. He watched the feed from the Su-33's targeting pods carefully. They appeared docile enough, although it was clear they'd have to get a hold of them to establish any concrete motives. He turned to his communications officer.

"Get them on the horn, comm."

"Aye aye, sir."

Moments later, the lead element of Krin flight had rejoined their secondary element in their holding pattern, and the lead pilot opened all known military and civilian radio channels.

"Attention, Kahanistani vessel, you are egressing towards the territorial waters of the Independent State of Elrusia, we are requesting that your vessel come to a complete and total stop and allowing Marine fire teams aboard to conduct a search of your vessel and parley with your commanding officers. Failure to comply will result in the use of deadly force against your vessel, over."

Captain Reid didn't like being threatened, and he had been trained as a Kahanistanian officer, though not as a naval commander. He would have liked to sink this arrogant Elrusian wanker, and First Officer Mohammed al-Hamad could tell. He eyed Reid nervously, hoping he wouldn't get them all killed.

Reid nodded back at the First Officer, signaling him to stop the ship in compliance with the Elrusians' demands.

"This is Marcus Reid, commander of this vessel. We're a fishing ship."

He wasn't going to admit they were from Kahanistan, and cursed whoever's bright idea it was to fly that damn flag. Kahanistanian emigres were often reticent about admitting their nationality - the Transylvanians had handed hundreds to the Doomani, who had murdered all who had fallen into their hands, including President Valens.

"Can you tell us where we are?" He wanted to know how far the ship was from the Elrusian coast, but didn't want to come out openly about it. "Over."

[CIC, ISES Stravinsky]

"Fishing ship?" The Admiral spat out, his eyes radiating a slightly frustrated glint. The targeting pods clearly showed numerous weapons on board the contact, yet they pretended it was all fine and dandy. That certainly was not going to stand.

"Comm, get me directly on the line with these Kahanistanis."

"Aye, sir, patching you through."

The ensign fiddled with his controls for a few seconds, and the turned to his commanding officer.

"All yours, sir."

Kuilva strolled over to the communications console, swiftly snatching the microphone from its cradle.

"Mr. Reid, this Admiral Kuilva of the Elrusian State Defense Forces. If I recall correctly, point defenses and anti shipping missiles are not required equipment on fishing trawlers. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded, this is your final warning."

As if to accentuate his point, the distant thundering of the Ka-27 echoed across the horizon from the Kahanistanis, and the primary element of the Su-33 flight locked their targeting pods on the trawler, the hands of the pilots inches away from their arming switches.

OOC: Either I was ignored, or you missed me so am trying again, I would like to talk to you Velkya, on MSN if possible about how I might be able to get involved. gooberwoc@hotmail.com

"We cut our engines," Marcus snapped. "Mohammed, you did turn off the engines, right?"

"Aye, sir," said Mohammed. "This ship ain't going nowhere. I can have her started again in a split second with the job Brutus and Tamar did on the propulsion system."

"Is that why this thing sucks fuel faster than a Daducheng whore? And we've had to use fish fat in the engines? Thank Hashem they're multifuel," said Marcus.

"Pirates are all over the place. These point defences saved our arses before. The anti-shipping launcher, we just have the one you see. Makes short work of any pirate ship, I can tell you. Come aboard, but no funny stuff."

[CIC, ISES Stravinsky]

The communications officer leaned back in his seat, his gaze shifting to Kuilva once again.

"Krin Flight reports they're complying. Our Marines have an ETA of five minutes, sir."

Kuilva smirked. Apply the pressure, and they'll snap eventually.

[Airspace over Kahanistani Vessel]

The chopping of the Ka-27's rotor blades grew louder and louder, until the stunted blue-green helicopter's rotor wash swept over the deck of the small vessel. The helicopter's pilot, skilled in maneuvering his mount around pitching vessels, steadily and gracefully brought his helicopter to a hovering position a meter or two above the rear of the trawler.

As soon as his steed had steadied, a half dozen Elrusian Marines in full combat gear jumped onto the deck of the vessel with several dull thuds, their AK-103s clearly visible in their hands. The Helix then pulled away into a climb, eventually crossing into a low altitude orbit of the ship, whilst training its door mounted machine gun on the deck of the trawler. As the Marines oriented themselves on the vessel, their commander, a Sargent Major, stepped forward, ready to interrogate the commander of the vessel.

Overhead, the quartet of eagles maintained their vigilant watch.

There were twenty Kahanistanians aboard the ship, but only three had had any sort of military training - Reid was an Academy graduate, Feinberg had been a naval mechanic, and Tartilius had been a special forces soldier. The others knew how to fire a weapon and what they could glean from Reid's field manual and that was it.

They were armed with Macabean Hali-53's for the most part, but there were two ancient Browning .50 heavy machine guns and four RPG-29's.

An unshaven, fit young man of about 22, with light brown hair and an ammunition belt hanging over his chest, stepped up to the Elrusians.

"Marcus Reid, captain of the fishing trawler Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. We're hoping to make a pretty big catch today."

[Vladimir Ilyich Lenin]

The Marine raised his weapon, whilst his five squad mates covered him with their own rifles.

"Captain, you are hereby placed under arrest for the violation of Elrusian territorial waters with a foreign registered warship. Lay down your arms immediately, and submit to all further instructions given to you by Elrusian Defense Force personnel. I am authorized to use deadly force should you not comply."

To drive the point home, the Helix buzzed the warship at high speed, her 55mm rocket pods clearly visible under her stub wings.

"We have done nothing wrong," said Marcus firmly. He was not going to be the aggressor here.

"This is not a warship, it's a fishing ship armed to protect itself against pirates. The crews carry weapons, of course - we've gone up against pirates in frigates, with choppers, and some using converted, decommissioned blockade runners. And if our maps are correct, we aren't in your territorial waters." He called over to Brutus Nimurus, the large man at the end of the ship who was still fumbling with the nets, trying to maintain the illusion that this was a fishing ship.

"How's the net holding?"

"Think we've got some fish," said Brutus. "What do those nimrods want?"

"To take us into custody," said Marcus. "Marine, the only instruction you've given us is to make ourselves helpless before your overpowering military might. We don't want to fight you, and we doubt you want to fight us and go down with the ship. We just want to be left the hell alone. Now, we might be able to see coming aboard your ship, and we might be able to see allowing you to search our little boat. But there is no way in hell that we're baring our necks to the executioner."

[Vladimir Ilyich Lenin]

The Marine acted with incredible speed and force. With skill honed by years of combat and martial training, his steel toed boot slammed into the sternum of the Kahanistani officer, his weapon still trained on his face. The five other Marines began to cross the deck, popping flash bangs and CS gas canisters onto the decks in front of them, their gas masks and armor shielding them from harm. They had a rough idea of the ship's layout from the Su-33s live video reconnaissance feed, and moved to disable the surface to air missile mounts with precise rifle shots while keeping an idea on enemy movements.

The Helix's door gunner swung his Kord heavy machine gun forward, firing short, controlled bursts on the CIWS' RADAR and ammunition drum, as dozens of armor piercing incendiary 12.7mm shells snaked out to the embattled warship. A second and third Helix had lifted into the air by this point, carrying fresh reinforcements to the raging battle.

Marcus grunted as the boot struck him. Like all Kahanistanian soldiers, he knew Krav Maga, the Jewish martial art popularised by the Israeli army. He grabbed the boot and pulled, intending on dropping the marine flat on his arse.

The Communist militants, not wearing gas masks, were devastated by the CS gas, and those who were able scurried into the captain's cabin. The CIWS's radar was damaged and unable to intercept missiles, though it could still be manually fired as an anti-aircraft autocannon.

"Dammit!" Marcus shouted. He grabbed a beach towel from the deck and held it in front of his face to stem the flow of noxious gases to his lungs, and picked up his rifle with the other hand. "Drop the damned choppers! These people won't listen to reason."

A militant with an RPG-29 fired it at the first Helix, and called out that there was a second Helix on the way. "We've got company! Get the engines back on!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," said al-Hamad. "Let's get this fish out to sea." Rushing for the engine room, he gunned the motor. A vast rumbling sound emanated from below decks, the sound of the engine doing its finest impression of a Pwnagian prostitute as it sucked fuel, in this case fish fat, into the internal combustion engine, and accelerated rapidly to thirty-six knots, its top speed.

[Vladimir Ilyich Lenin]

The RPG roared past the orbiting Helix, and only the quick maneuvering of its pilot allowed it to escape complete destruction. The pilot, using the utmost care and precision, fired a pair of 55mm rockets at the CIWS mount, intending on disabling the only threat to its dominance of the battle space.

The Marine NCO dropped to the floor, but, not a slouch by any means, rose to a kneeling position, firing a burst from his rifle at the fleeing Captain's legs before rushing to secure him. A trio of Marines moved through the group of incapacitated Kahanistanis, throwing their weapons overboard and threatening to kill any that moved. Two others covered the door to the captain's cabin, bright red laser dot sights dancing along the front of it. Within moments, the exterior of the vessel was secure, with a handful of dead Kahanistani militants and no Elrusian casualties. There still lay a significant number of Kahanistanis below decks, along with potential intelligence on the motives of their trespassing.

The altitude was 90,000 feet, and the wingspan was 247 feet. It was a relatively new design from AeroVironment, Incorporated; back in 2001, it set a world record for altitude by a winged aircraft. 96,863 feet for this baby, built by Aero for an "atmospheric satellite" program.

The Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense had many of these in its reconnaissance arsenal. They flew so high and so slow that no one paid attention to them - not that anyone could actually see it at maximum altitude, especially with the Birdcloak™ (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=536729) active. They were basically giant solar panels with fourteen 2-horsepower propellers and some rechargeable fuel cells. They'd stay aloft for a year at a time and keep broadcasting wherever. And, of course, they flew too high for SAMs or interceptors to get at them.

This particular one, Watchtower XVI, was straight out of Perimeter Defense herself, a detach that spent thirteen days at a "brisk" 38 mph to get to this point over Elrusian waters. She pointed her sensory package downwards, broadcasting radar, and passively receiving thermal IR, gamma, and other obscure EM bits. There was even a bunch of spysat-grade cameras along her underside, gazing downwards at the water...

...to see what appeared to be a fishing boat, being boarded by Elrusian marines. Quick identification by the "joystick team" attached to Watchtower XVI noted that on a couple of video frames, the legacy Kahanistani insignia could be seen on the flag, as the wind blew it at a visible angle. A number of large Helix transports were also seen, but cloud cover allowed only two to be confirmed. Somewhere just beyond the cameras' field of view, the silhouettes of fighter planes zipped about.

Aboard the UFS Legend, "Hey, hey, check this shit out," a console man called out to the operations lead. The lead pulled out of her own console and took a look.
"What is it?"
"Fishing boat with Phalanx and an ASM platform. Looks like it's from Kahanistan."
"Where is this?"
"Relative lat/long, 215.0314, 122.5561. It's in the Elrusian area of responsibility. Just right inside."
"This'll be interesting to the higher-ups. Keep a constant feed on that, and have you been recording?"
"Started just a moment ago."
"Good. All right, people! WC Sixteen is unofficially tracking the action on that boat. Let's have all of the optical eyes trained on her. Get identification, patterns. And Navs, keep Sixteen at a safe altitude. I'll be getting this stuff to Commodore Bracken."

***

So This Is War? (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=534546) by Andersen Lederman, published posthumously. Anne Frank won a Pulitzer for her diary, and so did the good journalist Andie for her oral narrative of the weeks she spent with Matthew Hogan in the Questers-NATO/Gholgoth war. Commodore Leslie Bracken, master of the Legend, had just finished the book, and in his office was wondering why PD still wasn't involved in the madness, when his secretary came through the door.
"Skipper, WC16's got something interesting down at B3. Their operations lead called for you."
"Interesting? Could they be more specific on that?"
"She says its some kind of conflict in the EAR. Elrusia."
"Well, that changes everything. Come, Marge, I haven't had anything interesting all day and most likely neither have you."
"Thank you, sir."

***

"What's going on, now?" asked Commodore Bracken of the operations woman, DTC Captain Madison Reeds.
"Some Kahanistani fishing boat with rather interesting armaments," Reeds replied. "got boarded by an Elrusian marine team, or at least what we think is an Elrusian marine team. They seem to be off a carrier, but wherever she is, Watchtower XVI's cameras are being blocked by cloud cover across their FOVs. We got one or two Ka-27 Helix copters inbound, with one already present. You can see right here that it's a Kamov design, the coaxial rotors and all. We also have fast-movers along the edges but we can't determine a count, or what kind."

To Bracken, this was hot stuff. Perimeter Defense had been having some problems recently concerning neighboring regions, and her military had been in overdrive on mobilizations and production for her titular purpose. If a balance of power, or a regional dispute were to occur so close to home, PD's people had to take a look - and, if necessary, add some cannon fodder to make sure that things went right...

"What the - look, was that an RPG?"
"Jesus, that's gunfire."
"Where?"
"Right there, those flashes, and you can almost make out some laser sights..."
"Whoa! That Helix was clipped?"
"No, it wasn't...narrow evasion, here, the records..."

Marcus dropped to the ground, wounded. He roared in pain, not used to combat at all - this was the first fight he'd been in, and he had no sea training, having been trained as an infantry officer.

The CIWS mount was now downed, and the SAM's and anti-shipping missile launcher were useless unless the enemy got in close, as they were all routed through the same radar system as the CIWS.

Throwing the militants' weapons overboard might prove difficult - they were generally on slings around the fighters' bodies. There were, of course, two or three defective slings or dropped weapons among the twenty. For the most part, however, the crew was not willing to surrender at this point.

Not just for your freedom... but for the freedoms of the people...

Marcus was surprised at just how bad it hurt to get shot. He was in pain from the blows and the wounds, and he was pretty sure that the crew would be murdered if they surrendered. While often surrendering soldiers were murdered, especially if they were stupid enough to surrender to the Doomani, oftentimes the fear of murder was used as propaganda to encourage soldiers to fight to the death like the Japanese in WWII.

The captain laid down on his back, knowing he would soon pass out, either from the pain or loss of blood.

Aboard the ship, those with RPG's would continue the fight - it only took one or two hits to knock out a chopper, and those could do a lot of damage if they landed... and there were machine guns still aboard the ship, which was now roaring at full speed in a zigzag manoeuvre toward Elrusia, two militants guarding the helm with a machine gun from in front of it.

Коммюнике
Offical Comminque

From: President Attontov
To: Elrusian Government

We heard about the Rebellion activity in your Nation, being a Right-Wing Capitalist Nation as well, we would want to ask if we could offer any assitance to beat these Rebels. We have a small fleet ETA: 12 hrs away from Erusia in International waters. They can be called in to help provide additional firepower for your men on the ground.

Signed,
Аттонтов
President Attontov

[Vladimir Ilyich Lenin]

The five marines began to fire upon those foolish enough to fire their rockets in gestures of futility at the Helix, which was now constantly maneuvering to avoid defensive fire, periodically pouring rockets into the top decks of the trawler while the marines crouched behind cargo boxes on the stern of the vessel, their rifles crackling as they moved to suppress any further enemy launches.

[Airspace over Kahanistani Vessel]

The four Su-33s, powerless to do anything except watch the firefight erupting on the vessel below them, were stirred to action by their threat warning receivers. Somebody was blasting a helluva lot of radiation into their patrol area, and with the Su-33's active RADAR off for the moment, and the "trawler's" RADAR systems long destroyed, that left only one possibility, a possibility that the pilots of Krin Flight would not let occur.

With the reflexes born of naval aviation, the primary element of Krin Flight lit their afterburners and began a steep climb towards the potential hostile. Krin One switched on his active RADAR, revealing his target to be a high altitude unmanned aerial vehicle whilst feeding the data to his wingman. Seconds later, the smoky trails of two AA-12 Adder air-to-air missiles streaked towards the airborne slug, their rocket engines aided by the initial momentum of their launch platforms as their target seekers went active, heading straight for their prey.

"Ma'am, I just ID'd the fast-movers," said an ensign at a console, the same one who first alerted DTCC Reeds to the Kahanistani vessel and the events surrounding it. "Su-33, NATO designation Flanker-B. There are four of them."
"How'd you get identification?" asked Reeds. "The cloud cover is pretty bad, and the IR won't penetrate at this altitude."
"Well, I got them on the IR...oh shit, that's why. They clicked their burners! They're heading straight for Sixteen!"
"What? Are they idiots, gonna shoot down a neutral UAV- what's that?" Reeds pointed at several incoming thermal signatures.
"Incoming missiles, two of them, headed straight for Sixteen!"
"Why can they see us? The Sun has higher heat output than us."
"Fox III. ARH missile, it looks."
"Get the PD into action, then!"

The two Adder missiles streaked towards Watchtower XVI, with enough momentum from the afterburner boost to hit the craft. Seconds later, static filled the console screens down at Legend, preceded by what appeared to be a bright light.

"Sixteen's...confirmed, we've lost contact with Watchtower XVI. Record at local time 17:31:46."
"Did you get that intercept? The attack and missiles? Sensory data?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. We have an excuse to complain now."

(OOC: Your UAV is not covered in magic invisibility paste, nor will it have the load bearing capabilities and power supply to maintain a pair of air defense lasers. THEL requires giant chemical vats and a dedicated support team to function at all, and you've managed to cram two of them on a UAV powered by solar panels.

And the AA-12 uses a solid state rocket engine, which doesn't need to consume atmospheric oxidizer to run.)

OOC: Helios is also a big fuel cell, and I made a bad choice for THEL. I should have written 'generic point-defense', editing now.
Edit: On second thought, maybe not.

(OOC: Just because the laser isn't named THEL doesn't mean you won't have the same problems as anything else having to mix together large quantities of deuterium and fluoride in order to produce a beam capable of doing any more than marking a PowerPoint presentation.

And the Helios didn't drag around point defense lasers, RADAR systems, and electro-optical/infrared sensors. It flew to simply fly.)

OOC: I suggest this be moved to the Draftroom (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?act=idx) . Um I might add Metamaterials are horridly expensive and optical cloaking is generally speaking as a rule an RP no no.

Oh and indeed velkies points stand on the use of THELs given the issue with non solid state lasers in small scale unmanned airframes with essentially no decent powerplant for solid state and no scale or manpower for THEL. Use short range starstreak style HVMs or some style light AAM, have RAM, subsonic flight, shrouded props , stealthy form and intensely limited payload.

OOC: No, no, I misidentified the tech timescale here. I'm thick on PMT RP's ATM, so I got a little screwed. Sorry. The post is now modified.

(OOC: That's fine, but remember, the laws of physics still apply no matter what time period you exist in.)

"Suppressive fire... doesn't."

Kahanistan Republic Guard Field Manual, page I-1 (English version, 2007 issue)

The helicopters were, of course, considered the far greater threat than the marines already aboard, as not only were they carrying more marines, but they could also fire rockets from the air and grant air supremacy to the enemy. Therefore, they had to go before al-Hamad could even think of going after the marines already on deck. The rocket fire would continue as long as there were RPG-29 rockets, or the RPG operators were killed.

On the other hand, defeating the marines wasn't necessary, simply surviving long enough to reach shore was. A .50 Browning was brought out, to concentrate fire on the choppers but secondarily on any marine that became a threat - they had already lost three wounded, and one was suspected dead.

Those with just rifles simply crouched behind barrels, occasionally firing off a burst of 6.64x51mm ammunition at the marines; sometimes they would gauge the effectiveness of the Macabean round against helicopters as well.

[CIC, ISES Stravinsky]

"Is it a confirmed kill?" asked the admiral, watching the RADAR readout of his fighters' successful intercept. His communications officer nodded. "Aye, sir, she's gone. Krin is reporting that the Marines and their helicopters are under heavy sustained fire, and are requesting permission to mission kill the ship completely."

He weighed the options. He could sink the vessel and retrieve his Marines, while denying his intelligence assets the chance for a prisoner interrogation, or he could risk his Marines being killed. The thought weighed heavily in his mind, but soon it became clear.

"Tell those Marines to keep their heads down, I want the whole deck of that thing leveled. In the meantime, get a wire back to port, inform High Command of the interception of the UAV and the potential for further violations of Elrusian air space."

[Airspace over Kahanistani Vessel]

It was over for the Kahanistanis. Joined by a pair of fresh Ka-27s, the trio of Navy helicopters opened their targeting scopes, and opened up with a stream of anti-personnel fragmentation rockets, concentrating on the forward part of the vessel while the Marine fire team, one of whom's number had been incapacitated, dove behind whatever cover they had to avoid the torrent of steel rain they was seconds away.

With the captain passed out and the ship in a combat engagement, Titus took over command of the remaining militants. Dragging a wounded militant, he ordered the 12 still ambulatory fighters to close in with the marines as soon as possible, so that the rockets that were threatening them would stop - assuming that the Elrusians were not willing to put fire on their own troops.

"Move in! I don't want them able to fire a rocket without hitting their own. Get them pinned down and keep them down. Get behind one of those crates and take out that chopper. Get a channel open to their mothership."

(OOC: Kahanistan, any infantry on that forward section of deck is going to be chopped into bitty bits if they try to advance.)

[OOC: Which is why they're closing in with the marines, so the rocket fire stops, or the marines all kill themselves. Let's move on.]

"Get me CINCLOC," Bracken said over the internal comms. "And what're our local assets on Legend?"
"We're pretty dry today, since our craft got put on the inventory buffer yesterday. We have nine F/A-18's ready, two F-14's that never made through decommissioning, and if you're willing to go through the paperwork, there are four production F-35B's on deck, with just as many pilots trained to use them. Although I don't think it'll be worth the effort to get them into--"
"We have F-35's? When did that happen?"
"You know, it's like the F-22's being spread around airbases back home. It's a you-can-look-but-you-can't-touch thing. Well, technically you can send them out, but as I said, paperwork."
"Bane of the pencil-pushing commanders. Best stay away from those planes till official deployment in...five years?"
"You got it. Ah, here's CINCLOC."

CINCLOC Admiral K. Jessica Rudder (perhaps the ancestor of the famous Jessica Rudder in the distant future? (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=494217)) was a woman with a perpetual frown on her face and was never to be seen with even a single strand of hair out of place. While she must have been in her early forties, people often thought she was a young-looking sixty. Her voice commanded respect, while her comparatively diminutive height of 5'5" did not - but no one thought about her height when they were too busy following her orders.

In her office some thousand miles away from the Legend, a satellite-relayed communication stream appeared at her monitor. Accepting it with what looked like a memorized md5 hash as a password, she turned the LCD screen to her and flicked the enter button.

"CINCLOC. What is it now?"
"Admiral Rudder, ma'am. Commodore Leslie Bracken, ID 0314-992, of the UFS Legend. You got my message and the video streams on the event with WC16?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I just finished viewing them. My, Commodore, your Watchtower team must have taken some bad medication, for them to send a UAV into foreign territory without prior consent on their part."
"It was just inside the EAR, ma'am. We'd just entered on a flyby, caught sight of this, and-"
"You do know that among the possible causes of getting your ass kicked, feeding a superior officer bullshit is one of the more irritating ones?"
"Ma'am?"
"Watchtower XVI is normally stationed over Gardenia base, of course."
"Yes, ma'am."
"So thirteen days ago," began Rudder. "WC16 got an order to move along an apparently random course towards Elrusian waters, at an especially fast speed. I took note of this at the time, and posted an inquiry at the Legend board, but no one responded. What was I to do? I let it run its course, then, to see what you were up to. Now, I get a downed UAV, the aggressors against which possibly having had some limited right to kill her. What were you people thinking? Wait, no, don't answer that. I don't want to hear about it. Instead, you contacted me to complain, and I'm going to assume that you, again, have some kind of plan. What is it?"
"You know the news about the civil war in Elrusia?"
"Yes. It's not exactly widespread given the blocks, but I know of it."
"Given the proximity of Elrusia to local Perimeter Defense 'posts, the shifting balance of power becomes a concern for PD, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'll stay quiet for now."
"Legend has access to three - sorry, two Watchtower units, all of which I plan to use to gather intelligence on the development. Now that Elrusia - by this I mean the government, not the rebels - seems to have gone hostile towards innocent birds, and quite aggressively so, there may be reason for increased concern on them."
"Okay. I'm listening - wait, does this have anything to do with your request for a local aircraft inventory on the Legend just a few minutes ago?"
"You can see where I'm going, then."
"Yes, I can see where you're going, Bracken - down that pit in Sparta! Elrusian planes shoot down an expensive piece of equipment, but thankfully it's unmanned and no one got killed; that's what UAV's are for, and that's probably why they shot it down without warning. We can ask for restitution, we can push for explanation and apology, they can slap us with an airspace violation case, and in all, we can have a good shouting match. But when you deploy armed fighters into their airspace - and maybe you plan on having things shot, too! - you're talking about international war, here. Shouting match versus deathmatch, Bracken. Take your pick."
"Ma'am, I never planned to send fighters into their airspace. I want to make a statement by stacking many of them just outside it."
"Foolish statement, and it'll cause your head to roll, do you know that?"
"If I execute-"
"No. No execution. I'll handle this. What the hell were you thinking?" Rudder closed the stream.

Bracken sat back at his chair. He might've looked like an idiot in front of Rudder, but at least he got her to act. Admiral Rudder was the only one authorized to quickly act on something like this at the moment, and she was known for being one hell of an immovable object when it came to matters such as these. But if faced with a subordinate who planned on a shitty maneuver, she'd take matters into her own hands. That was good.

210.15.23.44 expanded to Elrusian Communications
From 61.9.9.4, Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense: CINCLOC

To Whom It May Concern,
This is Admiral Jessica Rudder, Commander-in-Chief LOCAL of the Grand Unified Federation of Perimeter Defense. I've received a report that a Perimeter Defense UAV, without any onboard armaments, was destroyed within the Elrusian economic exclusion zone after sighting some unusual circumstances involving a Kahanistani fishing boat. The timescale was 16:XX to 17:31:46, the time of the destruction of the craft. Advise explanation on the matter, to avoid unnecessary complications between our nations.

Regards,
K. Jessica Rudder (Admiral-004, serial 0103-082)
Perimeter Defense CINCLOC

OOC: Hmm, what happened here?