NationStates Jolt Archive

Timeframe? Circa 1935. Open? Yes. Just be plausible. Whether you'd like to contribute background atmosphere, provide covert/overt aid to one side or another, take on the role of one of the early invasions I mentioned going on in other places in the world, or cheerfully invade and badger one another on various pretexts related to anything said here, bear in mind that I'd like to "pretend" small nations (bear in mind that in an era like this, the entire world has a lower population my nation "as listed" on NS proper) and the technology used in the civil war will tend towards primitive for its time.

Most historians, focusing instead of the conflict between the great super-powers of the age, would pass this year over as the momentus start of a second great era of worldwide warfare.

The shores of an ancient country near the birthplace of humanity were being supplied with soldiers from another nation who laid claim to similarly ancient glories - and who had been repulsed soundly just two generations before.

The most populous country in the world had been likewise invaded, by its confident and never-conquered (but resource poor) island neighbor. Already, the militaristic and modernity-obsessed invaders had occupied its most exploitable provinces along the northeastern coast, taking advantage of the relative powerlessness of a giant long crippled by foreign powers seeking to abuse its markets and labor.

In a nation founded on the backs of pirates, a nation that had sat out the prior great war, a nation that had not loomed great upon the stage of the world since muskets were cutting edge, an ambiguous election followed by a power struggle had resulted in two distinct governments being formed. For once, the split was not between Taharan and Joblissan; atop this older division was laid a political rift between the Democratic United National Coalition, and the Social Libertarian Independent Confederation - "Slicks" and "Dunks" in common parlance.

Both were armed. Both had regional strongholds. Both were utterly and completely convinced of their own rectitude - and that, in the near future, in the likely event that the next great war would fail to bypass the idyllic isles of Tahar Joblis, the opposing illegitimate government would lead to the subjugation of Tahar Joblis.

Both of them were right. Both of them were wrong. And, even as the whole rest of the world teetered on the brink of a war whose magnitude would not be matched for two generations, Tahar Joblis held its collective breath - and then it happened. The legislature building in Taharasopolissa, one of the largest in Tahar Joblis, and currently occupied by the Democratic United National Coalition, was set on fire while Dunk representatives were wrangling over the question of whether or not to force the Slicks to stand down by military force.

Three Dunk politicians were shot from the crowd while fleeing the building. Dunk guards returned fire into the crowd, killing at least two people and injuring several others before the crowd dispersed. The civil war had begun...

Bayonets glittered in the bright spring air as twenty thousand troops under Dunk command paraded through the streets of Taharasopolissa. Thin stamped steel breastplates gleamed with laquer, as much for decoration as protection, and the forest of pike-like blades riding nine feet above the ground were all freshly polished.

The city was almost silent; few were watching the parade. Less brightly uniformed city guards, not part of the regular army, had let up on the curfew, but were arresting anybody who looked suspicious. Almost half the town's police had failed to show up for duty, and throughout the city, black-clad officers were supplemented by Dunk paramilitary volunteers wearing a uniform light brown.

Trust, for the most part, was uneasy between the two, and with good reason... but not in all cases.

"There go the pretty boys," Inspector Crumpkin said, sighing. "I hope this mess turns out to be worth the shooting. The powder-kegs probably wouldn't have gone off last night if your fellows hadn't shot the dockworkers' favorite table-dancer." Tall and skeletal, Crumpkin had long struck fear into the hearts of juvenile delinquents along the Eighth Dock.

"Can't hardly blame a fella for shooting back, can we? Pity they didn't hit the assassins." Hart Jenson twiddled with one of the pistols in the bandoliers crossing his chest. Short and squat, with a nose closely resembling an uncooked pierogi, half chewed before being spit back out, Hart was one of the ugliest delinquents Crumpkin had ever marched down to juvie hall. Crumpkin's lecture had left quite an impression.

Five years later, Hart turned from ex-convict to informant. For three productive years, Crumpkin and Hart were the worst thing that happened to organized crime; then, slowly, Hart, not trusting his reputation as a tough to remain intact, moved on to politics, becoming a precinct captain for the DUNC party machine. He still played chess with Crumpkin on the weekends, and the two were fond of each other.

"You know it, I know it, but do they know it?" Crumpkin waved at the rooftops. "I'm surprised we haven't had any more shootings. I've never seen the dock workers this antsy."

"Antsy, smantsy. The Slicks surrender when the army gets to Corditza, we bust a few heads in the yard unions, everything goes back to normal." Hart was confident. "Beside, nobody that dumb on the docks. You shoot the fucking army, they got a lot more guns than you, and maybe they don't head out of town so quick. You and I, we watch our backs, nobody starts trouble until army is on the road."

Consider me interested in this, I'm always looking for someone doing a WW2-esque RP!


The proud city of Reicharia stood in the sunlight like a radiant jewel, it's many skyscrapers and other assorted buildings only bested by the large cargo zeppelins lazily pulling themselves through the air, Lord Minister Nathan Carroner looked out on the capital of the Black Reich and basked in the inherent glory. His nation was prosperous, his nation was safe, and as always, it was his nation, and his alone.

"Lord Minister Carroner?" the voice of Commander Militant Gregor Marshall was a booming deep bass tone, one that would be almost impossible for anyone but the man himself to replicate, "we have something here that may interest you, it seems we've found another civilised force outside the barbarian wastes".

Lord Minister Carroner's ears seemed to pick up at that, any news from outside of Reicha's limits was always of interest, especially if it was of people apart from the constantly warring barbarian peoples who worked with Dynastic remnants in the North.

"Enlighten me Gregor, it's time we met some new outsiders..."

Consider me interested in this, I'm always looking for someone doing a WW2-esque RP!
Geographical notes: Tahar Joblis is something of a middle-of-nowhere island nation. May I assume a zeppelin with emissaries arrives at your country intact? If not, I'll edit this to happen elsewhere...

Colonel Ludwig von Himmelrichter (retired) was an imposing figure of a man. His wife and co-pilot, Maria Selvi, was contrastingly tiny. Both were clad in the uniforms of the Tahar Civil Air Service, a regional institution that had been absorbed into a national program ten years ago, and both were strong Slick supporters.

They'd come out this way thinking that it might be a good idea to make contact with a foreign nation. Perhaps they could supply arms; the Dunks were rumored to have the support of the army, and with the army came its stockpiled supplies. Perhaps they would be a worthwhile trading partner in the event that the Dunks came to terms amicably. Tahar Joblis, in Himmelrichter's opinion, had closed itself off entirely too well from external influences.

All this and more Himmelrichter considered as he fussed over his medals, his dress sword, and his pistols before climbing down a ladder to the ground, noting also that he might have to lay them aside in order to avoid giving the locals offense. "I come in peace," he said, looking around carefully, prepared to travel some distance further in order to find someone worth talking to.

Halfway between Corditza and Taharasopolissa, a very topographically interesting river named Joboka spreads its swampy mouth into the sea.

The interesting thing about the Joboka river is that its basin is completely enclosed by the basin of the larger Hamzopi and Himzopi "twin" rivers - yet the two, distinct, share no waters in common. The greater Zopi river splits into the Hamzopi and Himzopi branches only a hundred and fifty miles from the shore - and from that verdant rugged terrain in between them, the lazy Joboka draws its waters.

The Joboka is known as lazy not in the absolute sense, but in relation to the swift mountain streams that feed it, although the last twenty miles of the winding river are nearly flat. The brackish mouth of the Joboka is ecologically, rather than topographically interesting; the relative isolation of the Joboka valley means the delta is home to several unique species, including a rare breed of lungfish, which paleoicthyologists suspect was once more widely spread, and which has remarkably well developed visual centers in its fishy brain.

One of these lungfish was, in fact, the only vertebrate witness of the first soldier shot in the war. The .65 caliber ball, fired blindly into the brush by a paranoid marsh native, struck the scout in the back of his head. He never saw it coming, toppling into the mud. The lungfish paused, and then swam towards the bleeding body.

A minute later, the lungfish swam off to find dinner elsewhere. Whatever it was just didn't taste right to taste buds virtually unchanged since the Cretaceous. The lungfish dismissed the dead man from its mind, and, as it so happens, never thought of him again.

The colonel in charge of the scouts in the sector, however, would never forget him. The first man to go missing, the start of his troubles - and the reason why he made a decision that would result in several thousand people dying.

There are some places in the world, inhabited by a certain breed of people -- you may accuse me of unfair generalisation, but it's true -- where no "civilised" individual may thrive. The slums and docks of Mosholau City; the swampy, sparsely populated wilderness of Gerontov; the coal mines of Southern Siev. Avoided by most, except those seeking an easy profit or a violent death; or those who can scarcely be described as civilised themselves.

The strangest of these is unquestionably the ghost city, Balindor. Once Balindor thrived; its economy was fueled by fishing and trade, its tin mines produced the finest examples of that mineral in all of Greater Siev. But it declined. Still home to hundreds of thousands, crime grew rampant; ultimately it came under absolute control of a shadowy syndicate, the population fled, and attempts to recapture the city have since failed. Today it still stands, empty, unless you know where to look; and most people do not want to look. Ships avoid its harbour. The fish have multiplied again in its bays.

Why did Balindor fall? To answer that question we go back in time. Back before John Mliath and his daring flight into space on an untried rocket; back before the formerly warring island states of Siev, Kash, and Avalon united to colonise the stars that twinkled on quiet nights. Back before modern computers and electronics. Our tale begins at the point historians have called 'the fall of Balindor', although in truth, it had been doomed to fall for half a dozen decades.

It was when the city still thrived; its nightclubs and theaters were still open, its cinemas still showed the latest films. Ezra Colins, National Democrat, was mayor; and as was customary, nearly everyone agreed that the National Democrats were on the way out, that they were in bed with immorality and crime, and it was time to vote Liberal Conservative. At that point the majority of Sievese thought the Liberal Conservatives and their tough-on-crime, tough-on-immigration policy was definitely the way to go; curiously enough, the Liberal Conservatives had not yet won a single election.

But that, as always, is the future.

Joseph Marsh. Thirty-nine years old; hairline receding, eyes faded, height about five-eleven, weight one ninety. Marsh was a policeman and he looked it. He was jaded as a Ming figurine and supposedly had land mines in his front yard. Like most of his fellow officers, Marsh's job was to maintain the uneasy peace between the police and the rising influence of a trio of gangs. They kept gang murders and turf wars from making too many ripples and attracting the attention of the Feds; Sievitsa was notoriously trigger-happy where it came to paramilitaries.

Of the three gangs, Marsh had met and dealt with all of them. The Fairies were probably the biggest of them, and their racket was primarily human trafficking. The Fairies supplied prostitutes and slaves to whoever was willing to pay the exorbitant prices; they prided themselves on always providing the best of the best, and their customers tended to agree. In part due to the Fairies' little bit of protection and blackmail they tried on the side, of course. What irritated Marsh about the Fairies was the way they acted; almost like aristocrats. Elegant and usually filthy rich, and always using euphemisms to describe their trade. It irritated Marsh because, in practical terms, there was no real difference between the two.

Second biggest, and continually warring the Fairies, came the Orcas. Marsh respected the Orcas. They didn't have any pretensions; what they did was illegal and dangerous, and they were proud of it. The Orcas traded in guns and ammo; and, when that became legal, in drugs and alcohol. As for why they warred the Fairies, it was partly because they thought of the Fairies' activities as disreputable, and partly because they fought over the same neighbourhood.

But the gang that really scared Marsh was the smallest and shadowiest of the three. He had a reasonably good idea of the organisation structures of the Fairies and the Orcas; he had met most of their representatives; he knew their motivations and their purposes. But the third gang, Karatsai, he knew almost nothing about. It didn't traffic in anything. It made hardly any money from its activities, yet it seemed to have an almost limitless supply of funds and equipment. Its activities seemed a mockery of traditional gang violence: Karatsai broke into advanced security systems, taking nothing and leaving no trace but a mocking note; men were killed and buildings destroyed in a seemingly impossible fashion; large objects such as wrecking balls were improbably stolen. Its motivation seemed to be violence itself.

And it was Karatsai that would approach Joseph Marsh about a situation in some island nation he'd never heard of. They wanted to get involved, and moreover, they wanted him to get involved. And you don't just refuse Karatsai.

http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff85/Chatto_1985/F13ScreamEagle.jpg

The three F13 ScreamEagle's swooped low over the landed Zeppelin. The vehicle had seemingly been abandoned for some time, a few days at least.

"Charlie One-Niner to Zulu-Five-Five, item has been sighted, it appears to be some sort of Zeppelin aircraft, build unknown... we're going in to see if there's anyone around."

After acknowledgement from their commanding officer (Zulu-Five-Five in this case) the three ScreamEagles rolled over on themselves and dived back towards the abandoned zeppelin.

They first noticed the tracks as they were leisurely flying a few hundred metres above the ground. Two sets of footprints led up to a small fortified village that was on the outskirts of Reichan territory and stopped at the main gate.

"Zulu-Five-Five, this is Charlie One-Niner, we think we've found our visitors, request presence of Delegate Four-Seventy"...

...

To anyone who knew Reicha, the fortified village of Garrin Mortacks would have looked like something from one of the barbarian wastes settlements, to a delegate from another country who had never seen the true Reicha, Garrin Mortacks would have looked like a veritable pack of wolves amongst semi-organised chaos.

The victim of numerous barbarian attacks over the years when roving waste dwellers would come forth and plunder the city for its valuable commodities of water, food and Reichan weapons, the people of Garrin Mortacks had turned their once placid looking settlement into a veritable castle of steel spikes, machine-gun emplacements, and even the occaisional turreted tank cannon or anti-aircraft gun to fend off the vehicle and aircraft equipped warlord raiders. Trophies of skulls and the occaisional dead body dangling in the breeze were used to serve as a warning to any would-be attacker "mess with us and fail, you join their ranks" was the message that one got from this place.

"Not exactly the best first meeting place for any major power and the power of Reicha... but a meeting place nonetheless" was what went through the Lord Minister's mind as the heavy transport he was flying in landed at the grass strip that supplied the village...

To anyone who knew Reicha, the fortified village of Garrin Mortacks would have looked like something from one of the barbarian wastes settlements, to a delegate from another country who had never seen the true Reicha, Garrin Mortacks would have looked like a veritable pack of wolves amongst semi-organised chaos.

The victim of numerous barbarian attacks over the years when roving waste dwellers would come forth and plunder the city for its valuable commodities of water, food and Reichan weapons, the people of Garrin Mortacks had turned their once placid looking settlement into a veritable castle of steel spikes, machine-gun emplacements, and even the occaisional turreted tank cannon or anti-aircraft gun to fend off the vehicle and aircraft equipped warlord raiders. Trophies of skulls and the occaisional dead body dangling in the breeze were used to serve as a warning to any would-be attacker "mess with us and fail, you join their ranks" was the message that one got from this place.
Himmelrichter paused nervously. "Are you sure this is a good place to stop? The decor does not precisely suggest... well... particularly civilized people."

Selvi shook her head. "Particularly civilized people wouldn't be able to help us win our country back, Viggie dear. They're organized and well armed - that looks like it could be an automatic musket - and we haven't seen anything this well put together for several hundred miles. Even if they didn't respond to radio. They might be using a different frequency." She raised her voice as they neared the gate. "Halloo the fort! Is anybody home? We've just flown a long way to see you!"

With a scout from his section missing, the colonel was inclined towards further investigation, which meant sending a whole sweep of light infantry on an extended patrol pattern several miles east in the black of night.

Predictably, someone got spooked, and shots were fired into the black night. Perhaps the original paranoid marsh rat struck again. At a nearby settlement in the marsh, men rolled out of bed. The Dunks and the Slicks were far from their mind; bandits and marsh locos, not armies, came to their mind; some fired shots back into the pitch black of the woods.

Tense scouts drew the obvious conclusion: Forward patrols were meeting with the Slick army! Panicked orders were sent back, and the main body of the army decamped in the middle of the night to meet the enemy.

Gunsmoke was pierced by spotlights, and the Battle of the Marsh Loco, as it would be later known, began. Villagers ran screaming into the night as artillery pounded shacks; only in the light of dawn would a body count be made.

Three thousand people were dead, more than half of them civilians, and another two thousand wounded; most of the soldiers dead were shot by friendly (if confused) fire in the chaos of an unplanned night battle. Some were stabbed in closer by their comrades; in the dark and hazy night, friend was difficult to tell from foe, but no bayonets were found among the dead villagers.

Gazing at the aftermath of the battle, General Jereth Tull glumly surveyed the scene. This is not an auspicious start to my command, he reflected.

"It's simple, friend Marsh," Nadir said, extinguishing his cigarette deftly between his fingers. "On one side we have the Dunks; on the other, the Slicks. Political antagonists. Each one has its own little army, its own little territorial claims; and each one wants control over the nation."

Joseph Marsh lit his third cigarette of the evening, and proffered his lighter, but Nadir declined with a gesture. Marsh spoke thoughtfully. "What's the difference between the two?"

"Practically, almost none," Nadir said. "I'm sure there are devastating political differences, and maybe one group is primarily Taharan while the other is primarily Joblissan; it really makes no difference. The point is that we're looking to set up a chapter somewhere in Tahar Joblis."

"And why?" Marsh paused, and added hastily, "If I may ask."

Nadir laughed harshly. "You don't trust me," he said. "Of course you don't. We control this city, after all. But you see, the ultimate aims of Karatsai cannot be fulfilled in one or two places alone. Our Polish chapter is undoubtedly doing its work now; we're making good progress here in Balindor; but our commanders have suggested that we expand further."

"And what are these ultimate aims?"

Nadir only smiled. "The other point is the Fairies and the Orcas; our only significant challengers. As you know, they are both merely cogs in the wheels of much larger groups. The Orcas are pawns of the Traders' Guild; the Fairies, a division of Butterfly. It is likely that both the Guild and Butterfly will seek further employment in such conditions, playing off one side against the other and inciting them to open warfare. Now the point here is that both groups are illegal organisations. There are elaborate files on them in Sievitsa. But Karatsai has gone under the radar; we are too small. That is why we have asked you to come."

Marsh was nonplussed. "And how will I help your operation? Who are 'you', for that matter?"

"Your liaisons -- Zenith and I. Several arm ops and a few shadows. Then, of course, the recruiters. As for you, you will lend our mission credence; especially if you bring along friends or family. The German chancellor -- I forget his name now -- once said that he would subvert the rule of law through law itself. You are a policeman; more so, you are a Tahar Joblissan policeman."

"But I--" Marsh started; Nadir silenced him with a hand. "Er... of course. Am I a Dunk or a Slick?"

Nadir chuckled. "We'll see about that. You will, however, help us set up a fully legal business. It is largely similar, in Tahar Joblis, to how it's done in Siev; and I'm sure you've done it many times around here."

"What business do you want?"

"Fishing."

"It's simple, friend Marsh," Nadir said, extinguishing his cigarette deftly between his fingers. "On one side we have the Dunks; on the other, the Slicks. Political antagonists. Each one has its own little army, its own little territorial claims; and each one wants control over the nation."

Joseph Marsh lit his third cigarette of the evening, and proffered his lighter, but Nadir declined with a gesture. Marsh spoke thoughtfully. "What's the difference between the two?"

"Practically, almost none," Nadir said. "I'm sure there are devastating political differences, and maybe one group is primarily Taharan while the other is primarily Joblissan; it really makes no difference. The point is that we're looking to set up a chapter somewhere in Tahar Joblis."

"And why?" Marsh paused, and added hastily, "If I may ask."

Nadir laughed harshly. "You don't trust me," he said. "Of course you don't. We control this city, after all. But you see, the ultimate aims of Karatsai cannot be fulfilled in one or two places alone. Our Polish chapter is undoubtedly doing its work now; we're making good progress here in Balindor; but our commanders have suggested that we expand further."

"And what are these ultimate aims?"

Nadir only smiled. "The other point is the Fairies and the Orcas; our only significant challengers. As you know, they are both merely cogs in the wheels of much larger groups. The Orcas are pawns of the Traders' Guild; the Fairies, a division of Butterfly. It is likely that both the Guild and Butterfly will seek further employment in such conditions, playing off one side against the other and inciting them to open warfare. Now the point here is that both groups are illegal organisations. There are elaborate files on them in Sievitsa. But Karatsai has gone under the radar; we are too small. That is why we have asked you to come."

Marsh was nonplussed. "And how will I help your operation? Who are 'you', for that matter?"

"Your liaisons -- Zenith and I. Several arm ops and a few shadows. Then, of course, the recruiters. As for you, you will lend our mission credence; especially if you bring along friends or family. The German chancellor -- I forget his name now -- once said that he would subvert the rule of law through law itself. You are a policeman; more so, you are a Tahar Joblissan policeman."

"But I--" Marsh started; Nadir silenced him with a hand. "Er... of course. Am I a Dunk or a Slick?"

Nadir chuckled. "We'll see about that. You will, however, help us set up a fully legal business. It is largely similar, in Tahar Joblis, to how it's done in Siev; and I'm sure you've done it many times around here."

"What business do you want?"

"Fishing."
The towering palace's top tower was in flames. Sirens in the air thousand of homes destroyed, thespeechless croud gathered around the palace, the Emporer's quarters had been shadered and only is wife daughter and son came out, the next day the funeral for the Emporer Kasmir III took place following it was the corination of his son, Empoer Kasmir the IV. bells rang as the 14 year old stood at the thrown

OOC: errr.... what?

IC:

The motors were loud enough that Rutherford Mlenzara Gneisse could not make himself heard without shouting. The noise would have been bad enough from one boat; but in stereo, with four more spreading on either side, it was absolutely deafening. Still, however, there are things one must learn to tolerate; especially when in the employ of the Siev Noncombat Agency. See-Nothing Agency they called it in joking. SNA was the closest Siev had to a paramilitary police force; it had been founded as the Siev Noncombat Advisory to resolve sticky situations without resorting to ordinary combat. Nowadays, though, nobody really cared about resorting....

We return to Rutherford Mlenzara Gneisse. Joseph Marsh had recruited him and brought him along on the journey to Tahar Joblis; Marsh felt, and Gneisse agreed, that a gang with expansionist aims deserved to be a target of government surveillance. Marsh had told Karatsai that Gneisse was a brother officer, and Karatsai in the form of Nadir had merely shrugged; it was Nadir, along with his fellow liaison Zenith and the 'shadow' Foxbat, who occupied the boat along with Gneisse and Marsh.

Zenith, a tall and skeletal woman, was shouting over the noise: "We stop in some middle-of-nowhere island for lunch and loading, then it's off to the nearest port of call and your first assignment. Got that?"

"Roger," Marsh yelled. "Anything else?"

"No."

Apart from occasional exchanges between the Karatsaim and the officers, nobody spoke aboard the boat. The three Karatsaim operated efficiently, apparently communicating by means of cryptic signs; Foxbat, a young unassuming man who might have been in his late twenties, almost carelessly cradled an assault rifle on his lap. Apart from the five of them, the boat was filled with fishing equipment and smelled strongly of fish; and the police officers had been cautioned that they would have to help out with the fishing as well. They were also to make known their eventual goal once they reached the island; although, not too overtly, and as though by mistake.

The Karatsaim were petty villains and thugs. They were murderers, arsonists, and fraudsters. But first and foremost they were actors, and very good at what they did.

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Fleeing refugees say Dunks massacre marshies!"

Pretan Fi was on her way to the Corditzan capitol hall, but the newsie's cry demanded attention. "Here," she said, flipping the boy a wooden emuri and taking a news sheet. Doubtless this was why she was being called to an emergency meeting, she reflected, reading the paper as she walked.

Not much substance here, really. They can't possibly be that stupid, can they? All the Joblissan marsh-rats will be rising up now. I suppose we'll be capitalizing on their choice of Taharasopolissa for a working capital city. God, how I hate fanning the flames of regionalism, but expedience rules in times of necessity...

"Here, now," she said as she walked in, laying the paper on her desk and raising her voice to cut across the rising babble of panicked legislators. At the sound of decisive anger, attention focused on her. As her hand raised in the air and her voice dropped slightly, the room stilled.

"What's this? A massacre? Are we going to let the Dunks get away with this? Have I not said that we need to raise troops to defend ourselves against their armed menace?" As a small point of fact, a number of marines and a noticable minority of the army had aligned themselves with the Slicks in defiance of orders from the army headquarters in Taharasopolissa.

The marines, however, were under the piecemeal command of their navy captains, and never had been a large fighting force, and no organized army unit larger than a battalion had defected with its command structure intact. The Slick government was still figuring out how to sort out (and pay) the fragmented troops under its command.

And by all reports, there were thousands of Dunk troops on the march. Motorized scouts and a few bold zeppelin pilots had made that clear at great cost.

"It's time to stop waffling and call up the militia. I don't care if we have Dunk infiltrators through the nose, we need those troops and we need them now!" She sat down with a flourish and patiently let her fellow politicians start babbling six different directions. This was how you emerged as a leader - not by arguing and scuffling on the floor, but by being the one the arguments were about.

Zenith, a tall and skeletal woman, was shouting over the noise: "We stop in some middle-of-nowhere island for lunch and loading, then it's off to the nearest port of call and your first assignment. Got that?"
In later years, the barren island of Yls would be nearly engulfed by a military/scientific complex.

For now, it was home to a useful, if barely legitimate, shipyard and clearinghouse near the main island of Tahar Joblis, about a hundred miles from the coast of the largest island. Dating back to the days when Tahar Joblis had been a stopover for pirates of the high seas, it had been a prime location for fences, and became even more so once a Taharan government decided it was time to start looking legitimate.

In later eras, it would be understood as being a fairly central location, but for now, it was near the fringe of the waters commonly used by Tahar Joblis, and one of the first inhabited islands any outsider might find along the way.

It was near this island that the SNA boat encountered its first Tahar Joblissan vessel. One of the early seaweed harvesters, its broad silent black form cut through the waves like an eerie whale, slow but graceful. And perhaps a little bit startling. They hadn't realized to start putting masts with bright flags on them to allow the ships to be seen from afar.

This particular vessel was coming into harbor with a full load of seaweed, and so riding even lower in the water. On its deck stood a grey haired woman, waving at them and shouting something inaudible over the distance and motors.

Perhaps it was a comment on how unusually noisy she found the boat.

http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff85/Chatto_1985/BT-3aircraft.jpg

"You know Mister Himmelrichter, normally our visitors don't land in the middle of nowhere and hope for the best... let alone actively try to enter a place with bodies dangling off chains..."

The big engines of the BT-3 VIP transport hummed through even the thick soundproofing of the aircraft's fuselage as the big transport lumbered from its runway near Garrin Mortacks and slowly clambered into the Reichan skies.

Lord Minister Carroner looked across at his new guests, a married couple who had come from the lands that he had only recently heard of, he also knew that they were members of the group who now screamed bloody murder about... well... the bloody murder of innocents by their opposing numbers in their home territory.

"I'm not sure if you've heard much since you were in Garrin Mortacks, those people are more, erm... well, let's just say basic in comparison to the rest of the empire". The Lord Minister silently remembered his last visit to the fortress village, the dour people there often had little communication with the outside world, and seemingly only paid lip service to being part of the Black Reich... but nonetheless, whilst dour, they wouldn't be about to turn feral or anything similar (even if they looked like they would), so who could argue with them?

Bringing himself back to his new guests, Carroner said "anyway, as far as we have seen and heard from yourselves, your people, these... slicks... could do with some assistance. What I'm willing to do as the Lord Minister of The Black Reich is provide you with military advisors, and a cache of weaponry for any new forces you wish to establish in order to defend your persons..."

Carroner looked back to his High Reichan Military Services leader, High Commander Militant Gregor Marshall, "Marshall, can the High Reichan Army afford some off-side autorifle production?"

"It'll mean our integration of these autorifles will be slowed, but provided we keep the 10 to 1 ratio intact, then it'll be of little concern"

"That settles it then," the Lord Minister said, "we will provide a contingent of 1,000 rifles as our first shipment, 900 of our bolt-action Loremasters, and a hundred of any of the following designs. Each one has its own little nuances that its state armoury prefers, so make a choice folks."

The small pictures came with a equally small description of each weapon...

http://image.com.com/gamespot/images/2006/291/928399_20061019_screen007.jpg

Currently utilised by West Reichan infantry regiments, the M7B1 is in limited production at current time.

http://kz-wod.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/helgastassault.gif

Commonly captured from North Reichan units, the S12 is a very durable and easy to operate weapon, although susceptible to inaccurate firing due to mass-production techniques. Limited numbers means they are usually kept for special operations or simply placed into storage.

http://www.winterwar.com/images/Weapons/LahtiSaloranta.jpg

Utilised by poorer empires in The Black Reich, the R17 is a simple and effective system that can, with subtle changes, be used in a light support role.

http://www.modelguns.co.uk/images/fg42t2g.jpg

Current HRMSAGE weapon, the D4A9 Reaper is currently replacing most HRMS army bolt-action weapons on a 2 to 1 basis.

Lord Minister Carroner produced a further picture, it was a picture of the Loremaster Bolt Action rifle, current primary rifle of Black Reich combat units...

http://www.lone-star-armory.com/photos/ruger3006/HPIM0182-750.jpg

OOC: Sorry about the delay.... I'm on vacation, so posts are a tad infrequent. Also, it's a Karatsai boat with a SNA agent on board, not the other way 'round; the wording was unclear.

IC:

Foxbat was first. He stared over the waters intently like a pointer, his lean severe face shaded by his eyes. Nadir turned from the motor, which continued its ostinato rumble; by a signal Foxbat indicated to him what he saw. Joseph Marsh followed the gaze of the Karatsaim. On the horizon there was land; but there was another shape as well, a boat, approaching them.

Nadir glanced at Marsh. "That may be our contact now..... no, it's not, it's another boat, but Yls is full of such people." He paused enigmatically, and hand signaled to the boat to the left; another Karatsaim turned and made a series of complicated motions the meaning of which Marsh chould only guess. Rutherford Gneisse tapped Marsh on the shoulder, and he turned once more; he stared at the newcomer for a moment. On the deck of the craft stood a figure, evidently a woman, and she appeared to be waving or shouting at them.

This was not entirely unexpected. The Karatsai had rounded up a flotilla, after all; four motorboats, the largest of them just to the right of Marsh's boat and holding six people, all purchased cheaply at Balindor docks. They were uncommon visitors to this particular island; Marsh did not know the last time Karatsai had come in, but from cryptic fragments of actual conversation he gathered that they never appeared in the same guise.

Nadir spoke again. "There is a term in comedy.... we are going to play the 'straight man'. The first-timers with a lot of money, just trying to get started in this business. 'Round one or two our contact will give us our equipment, and we will be prepared to go fishing." He then signaled again, a signal repeated by the visible Karatsaim on other boats; and the motors diminished in noise almost at once as the boats slowed for their entryway to the port, coming in almost parallel to the seaweed harvester. Foxbat had already set aside his rifle, so it was scarcely visible; that is, unless one was looking for it.

Likewise with me. We shall see, but this may be on the slow paced side for a little while.
http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff85/Chatto_1985/BT-3aircraft.jpg

"You know Mister Himmelrichter, normally our visitors don't land in the middle of nowhere and hope for the best... let alone actively try to enter a place with bodies dangling off chains..."

The big engines of the BT-3 VIP transport hummed through even the thick soundproofing of the aircraft's fuselage as the big transport lumbered from its runway near Garrin Mortacks and slowly clambered into the Reichan skies.

Lord Minister Carroner looked across at his new guests, a married couple who had come from the lands that he had only recently heard of, he also knew that they were members of the group who now screamed bloody murder about... well... the bloody murder of innocents by their opposing numbers in their home territory.

"I'm not sure if you've heard much since you were in Garrin Mortacks, those people are more, erm... well, let's just say basic in comparison to the rest of the empire". The Lord Minister silently remembered his last visit to the fortress village, the dour people there often had little communication with the outside world, and seemingly only paid lip service to being part of the Black Reich... but nonetheless, whilst dour, they wouldn't be about to turn feral or anything similar (even if they looked like they would), so who could argue with them?

Bringing himself back to his new guests, Carroner said "anyway, as far as we have seen and heard from yourselves, your people, these... slicks... could do with some assistance. What I'm willing to do as the Lord Minister of The Black Reich is provide you with military advisors, and a cache of weaponry for any new forces you wish to establish in order to defend your persons..."

Carroner looked back to his High Reichan Military Services leader, High Commander Militant Gregor Marshall, "Marshall, can the High Reichan Army afford some off-side autorifle production?"

"It'll mean our integration of these autorifles will be slowed, but provided we keep the 10 to 1 ratio intact, then it'll be of little concern"

"That settles it then," the Lord Minister said, "we will provide a contingent of 1,000 rifles as our first shipment, 900 of our bolt-action Loremasters, and a hundred of any of the following designs. Each one has its own little nuances that its state armoury prefers, so make a choice folks."

The small pictures came with a equally small description of each weapon...

http://image.com.com/gamespot/images/2006/291/928399_20061019_screen007.jpg

Currently utilised by West Reichan infantry regiments, the M7B1 is in limited production at current time.

http://kz-wod.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/helgastassault.gif

Commonly captured from North Reichan units, the S12 is a very durable and easy to operate weapon, although susceptible to inaccurate firing due to mass-production techniques. Limited numbers means they are usually kept for special operations or simply placed into storage.

http://www.winterwar.com/images/Weapons/LahtiSaloranta.jpg

Utilised by poorer empires in The Black Reich, the R17 is a simple and effective system that can, with subtle changes, be used in a light support role.

http://www.modelguns.co.uk/images/fg42t2g.jpg

Current HRMSAGE weapon, the D4A9 Reaper is currently replacing most HRMS army bolt-action weapons on a 2 to 1 basis.

Lord Minister Carroner produced a further picture, it was a picture of the Loremaster Bolt Action rifle, current primary rifle of Black Reich combat units...

http://www.lone-star-armory.com/photos/ruger3006/HPIM0182-750.jpg

"I think the R17 best suits our needs," guessed Himmelrichter.

Selvi had a slightly different reaction. "What cute little muskets! So small!" Himmelrichter elbowed her in the ribs.

"We'd be delighted for any, and I do mean any, assistance you can offer. It would actually be quite helpful to have a few instructors to -erhm- instruct our partisans in the use of these unfamiliar rifles. Will it be better to go back by air, or sea, do you think? The craft we came in is, regrettably, not large enough to transport any cargo."

OOC: Sorry about the delay.... I'm on vacation, so posts are a tad infrequent. Also, it's a Karatsai boat with a SNA agent on board, not the other way 'round; the wording was unclear.

IC:

Foxbat was first. He stared over the waters intently like a pointer, his lean severe face shaded by his eyes. Nadir turned from the motor, which continued its ostinato rumble; by a signal Foxbat indicated to him what he saw. Joseph Marsh followed the gaze of the Karatsaim. On the horizon there was land; but there was another shape as well, a boat, approaching them.

Nadir glanced at Marsh. "That may be our contact now..... no, it's not, it's another boat, but Yls is full of such people." He paused enigmatically, and hand signaled to the boat to the left; another Karatsaim turned and made a series of complicated motions the meaning of which Marsh chould only guess. Rutherford Gneisse tapped Marsh on the shoulder, and he turned once more; he stared at the newcomer for a moment. On the deck of the craft stood a figure, evidently a woman, and she appeared to be waving or shouting at them.

This was not entirely unexpected. The Karatsai had rounded up a flotilla, after all; four motorboats, the largest of them just to the right of Marsh's boat and holding six people, all purchased cheaply at Balindor docks. They were uncommon visitors to this particular island; Marsh did not know the last time Karatsai had come in, but from cryptic fragments of actual conversation he gathered that they never appeared in the same guise.

Nadir spoke again. "There is a term in comedy.... we are going to play the 'straight man'. The first-timers with a lot of money, just trying to get started in this business. 'Round one or two our contact will give us our equipment, and we will be prepared to go fishing." He then signaled again, a signal repeated by the visible Karatsaim on other boats; and the motors diminished in noise almost at once as the boats slowed for their entryway to the port, coming in almost parallel to the seaweed harvester. Foxbat had already set aside his rifle, so it was scarcely visible; that is, unless one was looking for it.
After a little bit, the woman gave up on making herself heard, and the seaweed harvester, low but larger than all four motorboats put together, pulled into dock at a stately (and declining) five knots.

The not particularly keen eyed customs official who greeted them to ask for their registration, licenses, et cetera was doubtless one the Karatsai had encountered on previous visits; the rheumy-eyed Papa Salo was amenable to bribes and not particularly bright in the first place, having halted a career as a sailor after taking a boom to the back of the head.

"Yew docked in Yls before?" he started, not recognizing any body or boat. "

The Karatsai could not have possibly guessed on their way in that the fishing industry was in decline - thanks in part to the sudden impact of seaweed harvesters like the one they'd almost collided with - and so might have been surprised at how easily their contact could procure fishing equipment in bulk.

It was, in fact, slightly before one that a two hundred ton junk with orange sails angled towards the motorboats. It rode high in the water, indicating a light load and a still-watertight hull in spite of its worn look, and halted what most good sailors would consider a rudely close distance to the boats. The man at the helm, who climbed to the foredeck to signal to the Karatsai, was anything but a good sailor.

Tarsis Kellon had one redeeming quality: Once bought, he stayed bought so long as he thought you'd keep paying him. He was keenly pragmatic, predictable, and loyal out of a keen sight for long term prosperity. So it was that he acquired not merely a shipful of fishing equipment, but the ship to put it in, bought at a remarkably low price from someone turning their life to landside in a hurry - because the unknown seller felt sure that it would probably be seized, impressed into naval action, or blown up in the coming months.

He wondered if this would get him a bonus as he tossed a rope ladder over the side to greet his foreign paymasters.