NationStates Jolt Archive

A small and otherwise unimportant island in the northern reaches of the Atlantic Ocean is our scene. Decades ago a more southerly government had moved in to claim its resources -- gold, platinum, iron ore, bauxite -- and for a time had operated a thriving industry; but then perhaps it had discovered richer deposits elsewhere, or had obtained the resources for less via trade deals. Either way, the island was now sparsely populated -- mainly with the vacation homes of the wealthy, as well as a couple of small towns in which resided the men and women who worked the mines and foundries that continued to slog on despite the fact that the government had rather lost interest in the island itself. It was almost a sovereign nation, with its own little culture and government structure; but neither its inhabitants, nor those who would replace them, really cared whose flag flew from its courthouse.

It was an indian summer day in late October; within a few more weeks the temperature would drop and the seas would begin to freeze over. Already several icebergs had been spotted floating southwards from the great northern wastelands whence they came. In all respects it was business as usual, until the small military detachment's sensors began to buzz.

The sensors revealed some kind of heavy radar jamming going on to the north. Now, everyone knew about the north in those parts; it was an uninhabitable wasteland, used mainly for nuclear testing. Above the wastelands there was a permanent cloud of radiation, blocking communications and satellite signals and incapacitating most electronics. Ships that had ventured there never returned; the rare survivors usually went insane, returning with tales of horrible death and strange creatures. The cloud of radiation was a common feature. But now it seemed to be moving south.

The island attempted to reach its motherland, but the communication fizzled out midway. Something was seriously wrong. Outside the day was still sunny; while rain clouds scudded across the sky, and a thunderhead loomed in the distance, there seemed no natural atmospheric reason for this disturbance. The obvious reason came shortly thereafter: it was not a natural occurrence.

By then it was too late. Twelve explosions in the air above the island signified the death of all electronics on its shores. The garrison manned the anti-aircraft guns, loading in shells; but the bombers never came close enough for the shells to be effective. Wherever the missiles landed on the island, a thick cloud of reddish smoke arose, so thick that it was impossible to see a few metres in front of one's face; they were joined by more capsules containing a greenish gas. By this point, everything that lived on the island had fallen insensible.

Then the ships arrived.

Through the misty smoke they sluiced, almost silently, through the waves; down from the sides of the ships into the inflatable boats came the eerily garbed soldiers, in suits that doubled as NBC gear and heavy body armour; with them they bore their rifles, their mortars, their grenade launchers; from the RO-RO transports the tanks and artillery emerged, grinding through the shallow water of the landing point. On the opposite side of the island the same happened as the Armiferi brought their training to bear.

Upon landing the Armiferi divided. About half remained behind to set up the beaches, establishing a vast array of fixed and mobile defences; the other half went in search of the populace. The garrison, lying unconscious around the military base, was unmercifully slain; the Armiferi cleaned up the mess they had made the best they could. All other citizens were found and taken to a large tent that temporarily served as a HQ. With less than an hour left before they regained consciousness, their clothing was stripped off and replaced with black uniforms with particularly large collars; a device that looked like a nail gun inserted a small chip into their bloodstream; another device branded a unique barcode on the backs of their necks. Finally, they were all dosed with more tranquilisers to allow the Armiferi more time to prepare. It was all done with consummate efficiency.

An hour later more ships arrived, these bearing Morituri; under the harsh commands of the Oversector Commanders, they set to work immediately, assembling a modular headquarters upon the old military base and setting up the fixed and mobile surface to air launchers. Lastly, the radar jamming devices were set up. The island was now invisible, except to those who had seized it: the si-Thaluö Damalg'iru.

As the ex-citizens approached wakefulness, they were all gathered in large tents and prodded awake by Armiferi, kept under control by the drugs. A uniformed man came before them and spoke in a harsh and unfamiliar language; another man translated.

"Morituri. Hearken to me. I am an envoy from the Moderator of this Oversector. You are to work for the greater good of this Oversector and the si-Thaluö. If you work well and righteously you will prosper. If you work poorly you will die." The man paused. "We are aware that many of you are unused to this lifestyle. Therefore, we shall make an effort to ensure that you are not punished as harshly for violations of the law as the average Morituri. Our aim is primarily to ensure harmonious growth and prosperity for all; anything that could divide the components of the si-Thaluö against themselves, anything that worships the false religion of 'individuality', is banned. Partial lists of illegal activities will be posted within your residences."

The partial lists listed an enormous number of infractions: Owning or reading books, punishable by imprisonment. Theft, (1st offense) punishable by public flogging; (2nd offense) punishable by death. Sexual intercourse of any type, punishable by death. Forming groups or clubs, (1st offense) punishable by public flogging; (2nd offense) punishable by imprisonment. Disobeying orders from the Armiferi or the Moderators, punishable by imprisonment. And so on, and so forth.

The citizens, now Morituri, were immediately shepherded into trucks and taken to various sites across the island, where they started building structures iconic to Tenuria. The genus centers (where embryos were conditioned and raised). The strip mines. The yeast vats, where food would be "grown". The private houses. Friends and families were purposefully widely separated and distributed, likely never to see one another again; houses were meticulously cleared of personal effects, leaving only sufficient furniture for the Tenurians' aims; bookshelves, coffee tables and other "illegal" articles of furniture were taken back to be transformed into beds, chairs, and other more innocuous articles. All double beds and sofas were destroyed outright, chopped up for fuel for the steel refineries.

Meanwhile, the Armiferi continued to reinforce the island. Naval minefields. Bunkers. Military and "floating" airfields. Large artillery was brought in from the homeland far to the supposedly uninhabited north. And, in the minds of the Oversector Moderators, this was only the beginning. Glory was on the horizon.

OOC: Ruthless, nasty, and cruel. It's tempting to get involved, but I doubt you're interested in FT nations coming to interfere...

New Masada, Kahanistan

Lieutenant General Igor Kaselev, Deputy Director of Military Intelligence, pored over the file in his small, cramped office. Some group calling itself the Morituri - Latin for 'those about to die' - had taken over an island and enslaved the inhabitants.

Why does this seem familiar... The general knew why it seemed familiar - he had fought against Kraven, an evil state with similar practices, for a year and a half, and they, too, had a tendency to invade and enslave.

But now Kahanistan was weakened by constant warfare with Doomingsland and its evil, Jew-hating allies. Even Lieutenant General Nadia Sklenova, the interventionist Communist Party presidential candidate, saw little hope in sending troops.

"They will merely be killed upon landing," she said. "Of course, we have to help the people on that island." She did indeed. While she had a fair amount of domestic support, there were those who feared she would destroy the economy, and there was a surprising amount of international support for Factio Dei, an extremist, theocratic political party that both generals in that office saw as traitorous and divisive. It remained to be seen if that would translate into domestic support, but that was considered very unlikely.

"What do you propose we do?" asked General Kaselev, looking across the table at the young woman. He knew the answer to that, too - she had gone to Kraven herself to incite an uprising, and been paraded through the streets of the Kahanistanian capital as a national hero in manner befitting a Roman triumph - a bitter irony given the aspects of Roman culture retained by the Doomani, Kahanistan's mortal enemy.

"I would go myself," she said. "But we need to know what we would be up against first. I recommend we send a special forces team into this island, infiltrate into the slaves, and gather information about them first."

"I agree," said Kaselev. "We cannot sit idly by while this happens. Not only are people held as slaves, but the Communist Party needs to be seen as opposing this. I will assemble a team of fifty operatives within the next twelve hours, and will have a high-altitude stealth bomber drop them in within twenty-four."

OOC: Ruthless, nasty, and cruel.
'Tis the nicest thing anyone ever said to me... *snif*

It had been only a week. Already the radar jamming fields were already in place and the stacks of mobile factory units were belching acrid, foul smoke. The original inhabitants of the island, about sixty thousand, had been swiftly reduced to a little over fifty-two thousand due to numerous infractions; rather than public executions and grisly spectacles, the Tenurians confined themselves to making wrongdoers disappear in the night. It was si-Thaluö policy to make the best use of whatever was available; healthy bodies were used for organs and cut up to provide meat, while sick ones were used for fuel or occasionally shipped back to Tenuria for scientific experimentation.

The working day started at six in the morning. Shrill klaxons awakened the Morituri; they scrambled into their regulation uniforms, used the restrooms and prepared themselves if they had to, and did their best to be out of the house by six-fifteen, when the Armiferi would come in and bodily drag them out. Prodded along at gunpoint through the smoky dawn, they reached their workplaces and began to work on whatever was assigned them. Many buildings were not yet complete, so the sounds of construction were everywhere. Messing up, purposefully or accidentally, meant instant execution and having your body dragged away to be reused.

Work did not begin immediately, of course; for the first fifteen or twenty minutes bowls of a tasteless but nutritious porridge were handed out and devoured. The porridge was laced with a depressant of Thaluön design -- depriving the brain of many sensations, such as weariness or pain; a side effect was emotional apathy. Within a month the new Morituri would be almost completely dehumanized.

Work continued from six-thirty to one. At twelve lunch was served, consisting of some kind of processed protein, vat-grown vegetable substitutes, and a slightly sweet 'filler' that resembled an energy bar. At one-thirty work resumed, lasting until seven; dinner, which was served subsequently, consisted again of processed protein -- this one coloured and flavoured to resemble beef -- a grainlike starch that resembled orzo but had been grown in a vat and was laced with tranquilizers, and another 'filler'. Then everyone was shepherded back home and in most cases fell asleep almost immediately. The work was exhausting and menial; the combination of drugs made them confused and weary; and it saved power required to keep electric lights on at night. The Oversector Moderators had exactly what they wanted. Well-fed and well-rested workers who contributed their twelve hours of work a day. For the more they worked, the more they would focus on their work, and the less they would think for themselves. No free time means no free thought, and that was exactly what the si-Thaluö hoped to exploit.

Kaselev assembled a team of special forces operatives commanded by five of the best leaders he encountered in his career. He needed such in order to stand a chance of infiltrating this island. One was Brigadier General Olivia Robeson, who had fought alongside him in Kraven and the Negev Crusade against the Doomani. A slim, unassuming woman in her mid-40's, she hardly fit the profile of a special forces officer, and that was the way she liked it. Another was Major Mark Connor, a veteran of Kravania. The other three were somewhat less experienced but no less hardened; Lieutenant Colonel Hamad al-Kurei, a long-time member of the Special Combat Service, Colonel Dennis McGroff, who had fought in both Doomani Wars and been decorated for saving over 200 civilians from a Doomani patrol single-handedly, and Colonel Julissa Cecil, one of the few survivors of the suicidal Battle of North Freetown.

Each of these five commanders would head a squad of ten special operations personnel. These were infiltrators, not necessarily combat soldiers, and they would all be under the overall command of General Robeson. Kaselev's orders were to drop in as civilians - they couldn't go in carrying weapons, for fear of them being detected if they were captured. They would have to rely on their keen senses of observation, their black belts in Krav Maga, and their extraordinary skills of escape and evasion to successfully infiltrate.

Nothing that went onto the B-2 stealth bomber could be identified as Kahanistanian-made. There was one supply crate with one hundred and fifty FN FAL's and over ninety thousand rounds of ammunition, three dozen bullet-resistant vests and equal helmets and medikits, but that was to be dropped in the sea at shallow depth later, to be unearthed during the uprising. The bomber underwent safety checks, stealth tests, and other examinations before it was allowed to take off.

First, however, a SR-75 Aurora spy plane had to be dispatched to gather intel on the defences surrounding the island, and where a good place to drop the infiltrators, supply crate, and possible reinforcements might be, and look around to see if there were camps or other marks of what might be good targets...

First would come the eerie feeling of disconnect as radio contact with friendlies became fainter and fainter, and finally disappeared altogether. The menacing patch of nothingness that occupied the radar screens signified some kind of powerful jamming equipment. Nothing for it but to see what lay beyond the patch, almost eighty miles in diameter.

The island is visible now, a column of darkness in the extreme distance. Through the light cloud cover one can see it. But systems are acting up. The plane is being tracked; not by radar, perhaps by light- or infrared-based systems, but that is irrelevant. Evidently the island now sports a powerful over-the-horizon radar as well. Or perhaps the plane has been spotted from above, indicating a developed satellite network on the part of the invaders. Attempts to communicate this information back home fail; the lifeline has been cut.

Then the red alert. The screeching of klaxons; the blinking of computer displays and red lights. There, within visual range, emerging from the smoky island, flashes of red. One, two, three, four, five of them. Evasion; perhaps throwing off flares and countermeasures; one or two missiles are drawn off, explode, crash into the sea. But even a single missile is enough to bring fiery red death, the frenzied panic, the fireball in the sky. Perhaps the unblinking eye in the sky can record it. Perhaps not.

Whether the Kahanistanis see it or not, a boat departs the island. The men inside are Morituri, but Tenurians; not natives. The boat reaches the place where the plane scattered its burning ashes across the waters. It recovers the plane and all materials thereof; it takes them back to the island. The Tenurians let nothing go to waste.

-TAG-

Oooo... interesting....

SMC-Alpha 9
Northern Soulia

In the northern tundra of Soulia, there lies a large compound. This compound is constructed of simple concrete with few windows. Arrayed symmetrically around the compound, a large number of satellite dishes groan and whir as they maintain links with the Soulian High Orbit Spy Satellites. Day after day, hour after hour, hundreds of technicians monitor the activity of the world. This vigilance had staved many an unfortunate incident in the past, however they could not be everywhere at once. Due to a malfunction in Satellite D09, which watched various parts of the northern hemisphere, there was much that was missed.

Upon repair of D09, it was noted that a small island in the northern Atlantic Ocean had seen some disturbances. It was covered in mines, and subsequently, in workers. Now, however, there was a prominent lack of people moving between the various towns and mines. There were only what appeared to be black clad workers, working long hours, constructing various buildings. Watching the feeds, one technician noted the destruction of the Kahanistani plane, and fed the details to the appropriate commanding officer.

After the tape was reviewed by command, a communique was sent with an inquiry as to the state of affairs.

[quote]Dear Kahanistani Leader,
Our spy satellites noted the destruction of one of your planes by a hostile force in the northern Atlantic. Due to an unfortunate malfunction, we were unable to determine what caused the change on this island, that is plain to see. We also have reports that radar jamming is in effect over the island, and a large area around it. If you could supply us with your appraisal of the situation, we will know how to act. Thank you in advance for any cooperation you may provide.

General Avery Deere
Soulian High Command

SECRET IC-

“Mr. Prime Minister”, said the tall African-Brittonian man in his early fifties, wearing a shy blue suit and numerous ribbons signifying his accomplishments, this man was Chief Air Marshal David Peterson, the highest ranking officer in the Air Defence Corps of the United Socialist States of New Brittonia, “I have reports that must be shown to you. Can I get the lights off?”

A pilot officer turned off the lights and left and the slide projector began to run, the entire room was completely dark, the only people cleared to hear this were several other Air Marshalls, Prime Minister Mohammed Javaid, and Foreign Minister Nabila Katchab.

“On November eight at o-six-fifty West Brittonia Time, several planes departed north from ADCS Point Victor for regular training exercises.”


A slide of their flight path was shown

“They came back safe, but this suspicious RADAR hole was showing over international waters.”

“Were there any foreign exercises going on?”, the Prime Minister asked

“To our knowledge, no”, Peterson said, “Initially, we thought so,, as you look here.”

Another slide came, showing very large dust clouds over a large island.

“Was it a weapons’ test?”, the Foreign Minister asked.

“That was what we thought, radiation levels would have confirmed that, in order to check, we sent ZEUS’ EYE to look”, ZEUS’ EYE was the code name for all Air Defence Corps’ high resolution reconnaissance satellite progamme.

“These pictures were shown”,

One was of these were the images of the sites, pictures of the living quarters, the mines, the people.

Peterson pointed to the areas with a laser pointer,
“We found this, these are what really are slavers. We got that these people, if you can call them that, are called the Amfeiri. They go around places, and enslave others in order to take their resources, they’re parasites, Mr. Prime Minister. The bad thing is that they have nuclear weaponry of sorts, that is how there were no radio and other transmissions.

Here we see a Kahastani plane, and here it was destroyed at oh-five-thirty, today. They want to find these guys out also, sir. We sent a message to their military, no reply yet, sir.”

“Will they attack any Brittonians?”, the Prime Minister asked.

“They are within range. After the plane was shot down, a small boat left, and by uniforms, they were not slaves who took a run. We can unfortunately accurately them attacking the northern points of the Blue Isle and the other northern isles.“

“Do we have any other communication if they use the weapons?”, Javaid asked, worried.

“Every base has Morse code lines, and considering that Point Victor is the northernmost settlement, and also a base they will know the first.”

“Okay. We need to be ready for them to attack, if that happens. I want to see the military at high alert. I am assuming that Victor knows about it?“

“Yes, sir, we have alerted the commander of the base, and there is a plan if any signs go as they were shown in the initial invasion.“

“Okay, I want to see a least 20 ships out in the sea up north. We need them all on the alert for this movement. Take at least 5 planes in this area per hour, we want all of them to be on alert for this boat. If there are any of these sins, we want all vessels coordinating a sight. If it comes within eyeshot, tell them tat they are too close to a ship and they will be shot. And make sure that adequate defense is up at Victor and the entire Blue Isle. Call it Operation IRIEIMAF, say it is just war-games, and I want it to happen now.”

General Sklenova looked on in shock as the computer registered the plane vanish without a trace. This was similar to her own insertion into the capital of Kraven Arterus, only her plane had been rigged to explode after her ejection. This plane had been intended to return to Kahanistan with grim tales of horror from what went on in that dreadful place.

"Good thing we didn't send anyone but the pilot over there," said General Robeson.

"Agreed," said General Kaselev. "I'll reply to these missives we've received."

Official Response from the Free Republic of Kahanistan
Kahanistanian Military Intelligence
Encryption Code Zeta - 4 - Theta - 9 - Upsilon
To: Gen. Avery Deere, Soulian High Command

Our appraisal of the situation is that they have some way of blocking radio communications from the island; I consider it highly unlikely that the pilot would not have sent an encrypted distress call to Kahanistan.

This is most disturbing; it suggests that something is going on that someone very badly does not want us to know. If you do not mind being detected, I would recommend the use of a SEAD strike unit with radar-seeking missiles. We are currently ignorant of any coastal defences, though we must assume a powerful sonar net exists around the island to prevent submarine insertion.

Signed,
Lieutenant General Igor Kaselev,
Deputy Director, Kahanistanian Military Intelligence



Next, he responded to the Brittonians.

Official Response from the Free Republic of Kahanistan
Kahanistanian Military Intelligence
Encryption Code Omega - 5 - Rho - 2 - Nu
To: Brittonian Military Intelligence

The Government of Kahanistan is most willing to accept assistance from your nation in retrieving our downed pilot, assuming she is still alive. Kahanistanian pilots are trained for endurance in the water and equipped with life rafts and jackets for water crashes. They also possess extensive combatives training and are issued water-resistant personal defence weapons.

We hope to retrieve her and any information she may have gathered about the defences around this island and the nature of their communications interdiction.

Signed,
Lieutenant General Igor Kaselev,
Deputy Director, Kahanistanian Military Intelligence

Lieutenant General Igor Kaselev,

We are re-routing one of our carrier groups in the region and will be conducting a more thorough inspection. We will forward any data that we gather to you so you may plan accordingly.

Fleet Admiral Philip Argosk


~~~

Carrier Group Delta
Somewhere in the mid-Atlantic

Admiral Ilongi was having a good day. It was serene here, and he couldn't be happier. That was, until he received his orders. Then he was ecstatic.

"All ships, course change. Bearing 5 Epsilon 15 November. All ships to battle status, we don't know what we are up against."

New Brittonia & Flaming Souls, due to atmospheric dust, smoke, and interference, there's no way you're going to have a clear picture of the situation on the ground. You'll almost certainly see the island and the ships around it; you may see structures being built and the motions of various vehicles (aircraft, ground vehicles); but I highly doubt that you'd be able to make out the individual people. And technically, the only well-documented information on my nation (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Tenuria) calls it either Tenuria or the si-Thaluö Damalg'iru. Armiferi, Morituri, the Moderators, etc are just the names of individual 'castes'.

High Command Bunker, Tengrad, Damalg'ir.

From above all that can be seen is a menacing dark cloud. No signals seem able to penetrate it; and the satellites that get close enough to gain information are usually destroyed instantly. One may descend through many levels of cloud cover and radiation, through violent and eternal storms waged unrelentingly by air against ground; and from the ground one can see a red and purple roiling sky above, a place in which night and day have little meaning and what light is provided is artificial. The Tenurian Megacities dominate the land. Walled, provided with artificial light; each a microcosm of a nation, with the Morituri toiling ceaselessly, the Armiferi defending, the Scientiae doing their research, and the ever-watchful Moderators of the Oversector keeping a close eye on everybody. Beyond the borders of the Megacities, each one comprising an oversector, lay death. The strange barren wasteland was populated only by monstrous creatures. Who ventured beyond the walls of a megacity, unless journeying by the deep-buried railroads, never returned.

It was miles under Tengrad that the High Command Bunker was located. Living within the environment that they did, the Tenurians were one of a very few nations that had ever developed sensors and electrical signals capable of passing through the haze of radiation that occupied the Northern Wastelands; what to most others was opaque was transparent to Tenurian sensors. The sensors were, in fact, so powerful that it was almost impossible to use them without the target knowing about it; when a Tenurian spy satellite passed overhead, TV sets turned to static and radios sputtered out of life.

One of the Liberi rose from his station. Armiferi who had risen so high in the nation's service that they had become worthy of a new caste, the Liberi were far from free. True, they had rights of free speech and the Armiferi tended to look the other way when it came to sex; but they were still under constant surveillance and disappeared in the night just as frequently as Morituri or Scientiae. This Liberi whispered a few words to another man, a Commander, who gave a single, sharp nod.

The Commander spoke in Tenurian into his communicator. "We have isolated instances of non-Thaluë satellites watching Oversector Eleven."

The answer was curt and came almost without a second thought. "Cast Oversector Eleven into eternal day. And deploy a brigade of Sol-Marii."

The Commander paused, then spoke again. "And several non-Thaluë warships have been spotted on a trajectory to approach Oversector Eleven."

"Deploy warships to accompany the Sol-Marii. Eternal day shall be a cover."

"Understood."

This brief exchange gives us little idea of the true meaning of these words. "non-Thaluë" was spoken almost like a curse word; in Tenurian, it sounded ugly and clipped. "Eternal day" was a phrase that has no English equivalent; "day" is the closest approximation. And the Sol-Marii were the ultimate paramilitary force. While Armiferi, the military-slash-police units, had to answer to a detailed rank structure going up to the Liberi and the Moderators above them, Sol-Marii were answerable to none but the High Command itself. And attached to each brigade were the Inquisitors, whose function was as sinister as it sounded.


"Oversector Eleven"

Satellites might record a transport ship arriving and docking at the island. It was the last picture of the island they would see, so I shall describe it in detail. The transport ship was flanked by six combat vessels that resembled destroyers; their guns and missile cells were clearly visible. Some satellites might be able to pick up submarines traveling below the small fleet, although the exact number of these would remain unknown. The transport ship was a little smaller than the destroyers. Missile launches were visible in the last seconds before the island disappeared under a blanket of red.

"Eternal day" was a replication of conditions in Tenuria. The missiles spewed a nontoxic gas that created thick red clouds carpeting the island. Behind the Sol-Marii in the transport ship were many more missiles, which were introduced into the smokestacks of the factories and buildings, ensuring a constant supply of reddish smoke; few were the sensors that could pierce the cloud, certainly not ordinary cameras.

On the ground, the scene was equally eerie. As the dense red cloud settled over the hapless workers, who barely noticed it in their drug-induced haze, dozens of apparently colourless RHIBs floated into shore, bearing between them four hundred Sol-Marii and several Inquisitors. The S-M units all looked slightly similar on the outside. They wore suits that could have been powered armour; standing about nine feet tall with unnaturally powerful arms and legs, a sensor suite built into the helmet, and distinctive protrusions that resembled pointy ears but were actually antennas for receiving communications from above. On closer inspection, the suits were customized. Some had built in shoulder rocket launchers or mini-cannons; some had replaced a hand with a hook or vicious-looking claw; some had built grenade launchers into the arms, so that throwing one could be accomplished simply by pantomiming a baseball pitch. They came ashore in total silence and began setting up a mobile command center; and the Morituri looked at each other, and they knew that the real horror was yet to come.

Under the sea

The squadron of 'Type 191' hunter-killer submarines had cut their nuclear engines and were running on gas power. There was no small talk. No light-hearted banter nor discussion of the battle undoubtedly to come. Only the realisation and acceptance of imminent death, and the communication between the vessels as they coordinated their slow but deadly approach, flanking the approaching carrier group in a time-honoured formation.

"We have contacts at ninety klicks. At least ten, numbers uncertain."

"I'm getting them too. Preparing to drop...."

"This is Blue Six, we have a drop, currently reversing direction."

"Blue Four, dropping."

"Blue Eight, we have a drop."

And so on. As the muffled comunications subsided, the submarine squadron began to pull back, waiting for the carrier group to approach. There were minefields around the island, of course; but if the enemy got too close, they might do damage to the planned Tenurian infrastructure. Therefore they had to be eliminated as early as possible.

Each of the 'drops' was essentially a large mine. When activated by the submarines, or by another ship coming within about thirty or forty kilometres, each one would deploy a trio of torpedoes that would seek out the nearest available target and essentially rip through its keel. The clincher, of course, was the eight kiloton nuclear warhead attached to each torpedo. The si-Thaluö was neither fair nor sporting; it did not leave its large and considerable NBC arsenal as a last resort in case of a Severe Homeland Threat, but used it as often and as liberally as possible.

Dyelli Beybi didn't care about slavers. Dyelli Beybi didn't care about much really so long as it stayed wealthy and uninvaded. However a build up of ships in an area that ought not to have them was cause for interest at least... and where there was a buildup of ships there was usually fighting, and where there was fighting there was valuable salvage as well as people and items to rescue (and charge a fee for the return of, naturally).

Radars would within a fairly short period of time begin to pick up a squadron of Dyellian ships, 8 in total. It was unclear what exactly they were from radar signals, but they weren't exactly low observability, radars would light them up like a Christmas tree.

Unlike the Fleet from Flaming Souls, the Dyellians showed no interest in approaching the Island. It was clear they were here to watch... and make sure that if there was money to be made, they would be there to make it.

OOC: One, sorry for the name the operation will now be called AIRUNET (pronounced air-ooo-net). Although NB only knows it. secondly, are those mines in international waters or your territorial waters?

Both, after a fashion. Tenuria is located in the middle of nowhere and therefore claims about 200 nautical miles as its territorial waters. Since the island is now Tenurian by right of conquest, we consider everything within about 200 nm ours, (which may or may not include the waters or even the lands of your island, it's up to you there). Therefore we are placing the mines in what we consider our territorial waters. Of course, since most people won't recognise a claim of any more than about 40 nm, the mines will appear to be in international waters to anyone else watching.

Of course, since attempting to communicate with us is pointless, nobody really knows how much we claim as our territorial waters. And we don't issue government communiqués because we don't have a Department of Foreign Affairs. The general conclusion is that foreigners are approximately equivalent to chickens, and you don't talk to chickens before you take their eggs.