NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: I see a Behind Enemy Lines-ish roleplay, where my pilot tries to evade getting captured, or maybe is captured, for whatever reason and my nation's special forces attempt a rescue mission. If you want to participate in any other way, and can think of how to do so, feel free to, but what is necessary is for someone to be the nation my guy is downed in.
http://maioush.files.wordpress.com/2007/06/melissa_theuriau1.jpg

“… Good Morning and welcome back to IABC Morning News. I’m your host, Tatyana Sokurov. Once again, for those of you who are just joining us, we are receiving confirmation from an inside source, that a fighter has been downed over a foreign nation. A highly-ranked member of the Imperial War Ministry, who wishes to remain anonymous because he does not have permission to disclose this information, released several details to us earlier this morning.

Apparently, Captain Dziga Ryazanov, a twenty-six year old fighter pilot and veteran of the Second Strellic War, currently serving in the Third Reconnaissance Wing of the Imperial Air Force, was running a classified reconnaissance mission. Our source inside the Ministry refused to explicitly name the nation, but was extremely clear that this was absolutely not a routine operation. Though nominally with the Third Reconnaissance, it has been confirmed that Ryazanov is currently attached to another unit. Our source stated that Captain Ryazanov took off from an undisclosed airbase or carrier at about 11 o’clock last night, Atrurian Standard Time. He reported crossing into the nation in question, which our source refused to name, at about midnight, AST. The source states that at about 12:30, contact was lost with the pilot’s MiG-25 fighter.

The source went on to make clear that, while we are not sure whether the aircraft was shot down or was forced down for other reasons, the Atrurian intelligence community was able to confirm that the plane was definitely downed, as opposed to just experiencing a communications malfunction. Our source seemed to fear for the safety of the pilot and made several hints that he may have classified knowledge and an affiliation with the notorious Military Intelligence Corps.

As of this time, we do not know any more about the situation, but will keep you updated as information becomes available. We’ll be right back after this commercial break.”

OOC: To what purpose was the Dziga assigned in this covert recon flight?

OOC: Essentially, I decided about thirty seconds ago that despite what the news and title may say, he wasn't actually on a recon mission but was transporting a 'package' vital to national security for Military Intelligence, in as speedily and stealthily a way the Air Force could manage.

OOC: TG yer way, Atruria

11:30 PM
Admiral al-Fash patrolled through the control deck aboard the carrier London. Routine patrols of the waters off the coast of Turka-Sir was manditory after several of the terrorist attacks on their nation from sea. The large ship cruised at a calm speed of 20 kts about 200 km away from the coast. Admiral al-Fash glanced around at the glowing green screens and took comfort the the disciplined way the operators' gaze never wavered for an instant from their controls. It filled him with pride to know that even on low alert the Turka-Sirian Navy was always alert and ready for-

"Sir," exclaimed on of the radar operators, "Unidentified flying object heading North-West at around Mach One. Triangulating distance.... Almost twenty kilometers South of us."

The Admiral took a full heartbeat before he barked a crisp order, "Hail the aircraft. Tell all teams to stay on standby, we don't want this bird to get away without us knowing where its going."

11:45 PM
"Unidentified aircraft, you are in restricted airspace. Please identify yourself and land your aircraft in the nearest Air Force Base immediately."

The radio operator spoke in fast-paced Arabic, and didn't take time to ponder on a possible language barrier. The terrorists they dealt with, after all, all spoke fluent Arabic. When no reply came, the operator repeated the message. Again, no reply.

"Unidentified aircraft, we will use deadly force if necessary. Turn around now and land in the specified coordinates."

11:57 PM
The Admiral shook his head. They had already waited too long for a response. If he wasn't going to turn around, then he would be shot.

"Take him down. SAM sites prepare to fire."

The message was sent to a ready SAM missile launcher. After a full minute passed by after the orders, a sleek white missile blew out through the launcher and sailed into the sky. Its target was locked on and glowing red on the missile's guidance system.

12:00 AM
"Direct hit! Its going down over the mountains... Sir, its heading for Khalique territory...."

The Admiral's eyes widened. Khalique, the feared terrorist organization that had carried out countless of attacks on Turka-Sir. Their mountain hideout had prevented any counter attacks by the military. It was dangerous territory to cross, even without the terrorist presense hiding in the holes.

"Contact the President and the DA... We may have a problem on our hands."

The fighter hit the ground hard and was forced into several pieces. Captain Ryazanov felt the impact, as his body was thrust forward, hitting his head on the controls. The world became dark.

Ryazanov awoke several hours later. For a second he could not feel anything. For a second, he could not remember anything. Slowly, an aching pain seemed to spread through his, from head to foot.

“Through Turka-Sir to Atruria, fastet route…” he remembered, “Gotta transport the package. Dammit, the package, where is it?” he was barely able to groan, as he scrambled up on all fours and tried to grope around the still semi-intact cockpit.

“Alright!” Ryazanov tried to exclaim to himself as his hand stumbled across ‘the package.’ He pocketed the tiny parcel and attempted to stand, invoking a sharp, searing pain in his left leg and causing him to stumble back down. He tried to get up a second time and succeeded, this time placing much more emphasis on his right leg. Reflecting on the past few minutes, he came to the conclusion that he must have broken the leg in the crash. “Fucking whatever,” he said to himself “I’m lucky to be alive at all.” With that, he hobbled slowly out of the wreckage of the plane, wondering where exactly in Turka-Sir he had landed.

Headquarters,
Military Intelligence Corps,
Atruria

“Damn it! God-fucking-damn it!” bellowed General Mescherin, as he stormed out of his office in a bunker in the middle of nowhere, the fabled Military Intelligence Corps headquarters.

“Major Kondrashin!” boomed the VDV airborne trooper-turned-spook as he slammed his fist on the desk of his second-in-command.

“Yes sir?” Kondrashin’s stoat-like features perked up in a combination of surprise and fear.

“How the hell did this Ryazanov mess get plastered all over the news? I want you to begin an investigation on the matter immediately.” Mescherin went on, “This is situation is fucked up beyond belief, now we’re gonna have to rescue him.”

“Sir, we weren’t going to rescue him before?” questioned Kondrashin, feigning naivety

“Do you have any idea how much a rescue operation risks, Major? We now have to successfully infiltrate the Turka-Sir, locate Ryazanov, and exfiltrate from Turka-Sir. And all of this without leaving behind any trace of our country and ourselves. Before this hit the news, we could have placed the blame on any other nation that flies MiGs, but now we have no choice. We could well be risking all-out warfare.”

“But General, would it not be more dangerous to let them have Captain Ryazanov and the package? He knows to many state secrets and the device he is transporting is vital to our national security.”

“Ah, Ryazanov’s been through the Survival and Evasion training course, he could probably withstand a moderate deal of the interrogation techniques they would use. Besides, he’s smart enough to know to destroy the package if necessary, and he doesn’t know all that much that any nation with a decent intelligence service doesn’t suspect.”

“As you say, General,” Major Kondrashin said aloud, though he silently praised himself for leaking the information to the news and forcing the military to act to protect their airman.

"Have a seat gentlemen," President Hadith said in a grave voice inside the oval-shaped conference room. Inside the dimly lit room was a single round table, a ring of chairs, and a projector with a white screen on the opposite end of the room. All men inside the room wore crisp clean suits, save for one or two hgh ranking military officials who wore the standard Elite Purple.

"Mr. President..." began Secretary of Defence Mohammed Galmeich, "If what radar and eye wtiness accounts tell us are true... We may have a downed foreign aircraft on Turka-Sir soil."

The President wiped his face with his hand in fustration, "Any more information aside from the obvious, Mr. Secretary?"

A pause in the room made the President look around at each individual's face.

"Well?"

The projector suddenly hummed to life and illuminated the white screen. The first image shown was a blurry black-and-white photograph of the MiG trailing smoke and heading down sharply.

"We've identified the aircraft as an Atrurian MiG fighter plane." The SoD began, "We're still not clear as to why they sent a plane over our territory without first seeking our consent. Obviously this is a top secret mission of some sort, as we too would seek discretion. Whatever that pilot had or was doing... Its in that wreckage."

Another image replaced the first, a topography of the mountain range the wrecked plane crashed. A red circle marked out a blurry image in the middle of the picture.

"As we feared early on, the plane crashed land in known Khalique territory. Whatever is on that plane, we want it.... And if we want it, so do the Khalique."

The President blinked at the white screen, "And what happens if they get to... Whatever it is first?"

Another long pause in the room.

"Mr. President..."

"Yes, what is it?"

"The Atrurians should be notified at once."

"Why? They were running reconnaissance on us. I would like to know what they found out."

"Yes sir, but perhaps as a sign of good will, we should offer to 'help' find the downed pilot? Make it known to the public that we share good faith to the international community and are willing to 'overlook' this slight on us"

The President pondered on that for a moment. Finally, he sighed "Very well. Send a telegram to the Atrurians and let them know that we are on 'their' side. I want whats in that aircraft, and if possible I want that pilot brought to us alive. Who knows what will happen if he falls into the hands of the Khalique or the Arturians."

"I'll see to it myself, sir."

"Very good. Dismissed."

OCC: If you don't want me to join then just ignore my post.

"Mr. Presidnet. An Atriturian fighter was downed this morning in Turka-Sir. It landed in the Khalique region according to our recon satalites."
"Any suggestions on how we should be involved?" asked the President.
"Yes sir. I have an idea." The Minister of Defense continued. "I say that we should "aid" in the search for the pilot. He did land in a terrorist region. We did say that we would hunt down terrorists no matter where they are. Now is our chance to get some good intell and technology from the Atritutians."
"This is insane!" yelled the Foriegn Minister. "We would be violating one nation's soveriengty to steal from another. Absolutly not. If we do this I will resign."
"Gurads. Remove the ex-foreign minister" yelled the President. "What is your plan Minister?"
"We find his location using satalites, spies in the area, and a small spec-ops team trained to operate in that region. This will of course be hush hush. Then once we know where he is we fake a terrorist attack from Khalique. Then we send troops in and our spec-ops tema will take him captive and blend in with the rest of the troops as we take the terrorists on for a short while."
"Approved. Good plan. Get everything going now."

"Sir, a pilot was downed today over Turka-Sir. Specifically in the Khalique region. We've had ties with Freedom fighters there for some time, and I believe it would be a diplomatically sound move to capture this pilot and hand him over to the terrorists."
"Agreed. Send the First and Only on a nighttime HALO drop."

3 AM, over Khalique...
The AC-130P flew over the mountainous region, looking for it's target. There, a red flare. The light in the cargo bay flashed green, the door opened, and 5 men jumped out. When they were at the preordained altitude, their parachutes opened and they drifted to the ground.

As Kondrashin stepped into the room, he surveyed the thirty-or-so troopers that had been allotted to his rescue effort. He had never seen any of these men before and, probably, never would again. He could tell by their uniforms and markings, however, which branch each of them were from. There was a ten-man squad from the 9th Pararescue Group, another 10-man squad from the VDV’s 3rd Force Reconnaissance Regiment. Finally, there were ten Army Spetsnaz troopers of the 1st Spetsnaz Group. Kondrashin was pleased with the selection of these disciplined, hardened warriors for this mission.

“Alright,” Kondrashin’s voice cracked, as he stepped forward. “I’m sure that you’ve seen the news, so you should have a good understanding of why you’re here.”

Kondrashin paused, then as the large monitor to the left of him flickered to life, he continued squeakily.

“Captain Dziga Ryazanov was downed in foreign airspace, over Turka-Sir at approximately 0:31 this morning. We do not know whether he was shot down or forced to land for some other reason. We do not know if he has survived. Finally, we do not know precisely where he is. However,”

The monitor turned to a map of Turka-Sir, as Kondrashin spoke. “We do know that he was in this coastal region when he was downed, and could not have reasonably gone very much farther in any direction. This will be a search-and-rescue mission, you will have to evade the Turka-Sir populace and military completely. You will rescue Captain Ryazanov, secure the package that he is carrying,” as it was shown onscreen, “ and also to completely destroy any evidence of an Atrurian MiG ever having been in Turka-Sir. The news may have already made it too late, but there is a chance that when we get them to retract their story, we can avoid a diplomatic incident.

For this op, I am reconfiguring your squads. You will be divided into five teams, each consisting of two Spetsnaz, two Pararescuemen, and two Force Recon. You will be inserted into Turka-Sir as quietly as possible by separate Naval Spetsnaz Delivery Teams, and will be expected to stay in contact with each other and comb the countryside until you achieve all three objectives.

Any questions?”

After a brief silence, Kondrashin smiled. “Well then, let’s get going.” Just as the special ops troopers began to file out the door, a page came ran hurriedly into the room and whispered something into Kondrashin’s ear. “Hmm…” he grimaced, as his eyes narrowed, “Return back troopers, it appears that we have been put on hold, as the Palace considers diplomatic options.”

“Your Highness, I am sure that you are aware of the situation by now” General Mescherin said over the phone.

“Yes Mescherin, I have some idea what is going on. In the future, if we are involved in any military-related international incidents, I would like to hear it from my military advisors before I hear it on IABC News. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable expectation, do you General?” Enquired Emperor Nevski, both sarcastic and angry.

“No sir, I do not. However, you may be pleased to hear that we have received an offer of aid from Turka-Sir. This would of course involve acknowledging that we were violating their territorial sovereignty, though at this point, we can be sure that they already know this. We’ve also received an offer from the nation of Bedouin Raiders. If we accept Turka-Sir’s offer, I believe that we should direct Bedouin Raiders to Turka-Sir, as we don’t want to be held responsible for even more violations of their territorial sovereignty.”

“Thank you, Mescherin, I believe I will accept both offers,” replied the Emperor as he hung up the phone and turned to the secretary waiting patiently in his office.

“Vera, I need you to draft a telegram to Turka-Sir. Apologize for the incursion on their sovereignty, do not mention why we did it, but apologize nonetheless. Thank them for choosing to help us in this stressful matter. Then I want you to compose another telegram, thanking Bedouin Raiders for their interest, but directing them to talk to Turka-Sir.”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” smiled the secretary as she exited the room.

OOC: Pardon the OOC. As your still a member of the Infinite Empire Atruria I could have an Imperial special ops team inserted into Turka to try and track down the pilot if thats ok with you guys?

OOC: That's cool with me. I should probably let you know, though, that, now that I'm back, I've adopted more of a Russian theme for Atruria.

Russian hey, thats cool. Well I'll get onto writing a post now, but they may be infrequent after this. I'm pretty busy now cause i'm back at uni, but i should be able to get at least a short one up every couple of days.

2:37 AM
Imperial Intelligence HQ, Arrandin, Yallak

‘I’ll be brief gentlemen because we are on a tight time schedule,’ declared General Nereïs Telán, head of Imperial Intelligence, curtly. By the tone of her voice one would have expected to see a grave face but the dimness of the room and the back glow from the projection behind her all but made the General appear as a dark human shaped shadow to her audience – a group of six soldiers - who were fully geared for combat operations as well as obvious covert work as they bore no markings or identification on their uniforms whatsoever.

To any person these men would have looked like regular soldiers but to those with the right clearance they were Imperial operatives - officers specially chosen from the ranks of the Army for their superior intelligence and superior skills.

‘Approximately four hours ago an Atrurian plane went down in an unidentified nation carrying sensitive material as well as having just violated another nations airspace with intended secrecy,’ the General continued, ‘This is bad for them, and depending on the nature of the sensitive material and what results from the airspace intrusion it could be bad for us, especially in the worst-case scenario of the outbreak of hostilities.’

‘Since then we have used the details from the news reports as well as monitoring of incoming and outgoing communications from Atruria to define an approximate area of where the plan went down.’ Nereïs quickly pointed out the approximate area of the map projected behind her. ‘You will be inserted just North-West of this area and will be task with locating the crash site, finding the pilot and whatever he is carrying and then extracting everything of value as discretely as possible.’

‘You will get the full specifics on the way,’ she added before dismissing them for immediate departure.

5:12 AM
Khalique Mountain Territory

The helicopter had terrain travelled over much of the final distance to avoid radar detection but all had gone smoothly and they had arrived at the designated insertion point without challenge or apparent detection. The aircraft didn’t waste time lingering though to be safe and did not even touch down, merely slowed and dropped low enough for the operatives to jump off before taking off again and heading out to the ‘safe-zone’, somewhere not in Turka-Sir, to await call for retrieval.

Within seconds of hitting the ground, the operatives melted into hiding, then after checking they were still in the clear and that all was quiet now the transport was gone they began working their way into the target area to find the downed plane.

OOC: If you've any problems with me getting the chopper in or whatever let me know

Port Lothar Naval Harbor,
Atruria

Kondrashin’s tiny frame sat, slouched lazily across a chair in the briefing room, across from the five special forces teams, waiting impatiently. The room’s phone began to ring and the Major immediately picked it up. “This is Major Kondrashin speaking.”

“Major, this is General Mescherin. I have an update for you on the situation,” came the voice on the other side.

“Yessir?”

“We have narrowed down the location of Ryazanov. We are still unsure exactly of where he is, but projections show that he will have landed in territory overrun with the Khalique terrorist organization. Anyhow, that is irrelevant. As of this moment, we are beginning to doubt the need to use our own operatives to rescue the pilot. Turka-Sir and others have decided to aid us instead.”

“And you trust them, General?”

“We do not realistically have any other options now that we have acknowledged that he is one of ours, do we Major?”

“But sir, how do we know that they will not try to pump him for information or take the package? Is it not an unacceptable risk to our nation. Equally as important, can we stand by idling when there is a strong possibility that one of our own will be captured and tortured by any number of the involved parties? How do we know whether or not we can trust Turka-Sir or Bedouin Raiders? And we know for almost certain that the Khalique terrorists will not take kindly to him, no?”

“Major, it is out of your hands. The Emperor has made a decision and his word is final.”

“I understand sir,” sighed Kondrashin as he hung up the phone. Kondrashin stood there for several minutes in deep thought, biting down hard on his lip to the point that it began to bleed.

Then he spoke, “There has been a change of plans now, boys. Instead of five teams, only teams 1, 3, and 5 will go, and instead of searching the entire region, you will trek into Khalique mountain territory, where you will begin your search. Your single objective is now to rescue our pilot, understood?”

As he heard their chorus of “Aye, sir,” Kondrashin announced, “Well lets get this show on the road, troopers.” And as his troops filed out, to connect with the NSDV crews that would transport them to Turka-Sir by way of mini-submarine, Kondrashin smiled grimly and thought to himself, There is no chance that I won’t be getting court-martialed for this.

Navy Advanced Spetsnaz Delivery Vehicle No. 4
International Waters

Technical Sergeant Dmitry Altov of the Air Force’s 9th Pararescue Group, as the highest-ranking trooper of all three of the teams, would take charge of the operation from this point. “Hey squid, how much longer till we’re onsite?” Altov questioned the commander of the Naval Spetsnaz Delivey Vehicle Team impatiently.

“Hold your horses, you mangy grunt,” came the sailor’s joking reply, “We are approximately thirty minutes from Turka-Sir’s territorial waters. The other two teams will arrive at separate locations several minutes later.”

“Well thank god, with the amount of funding that gets pumped into the navy, you’d think they might be able to build something maybe a bit faster. Oh yeah, and don’t call me a grunt, I’m a PJ, not a soldier. Remember that.”

“Whatever, Sarge, you’re all wearing the same suit.”

Forty-five Minutes Later

Sergeant Altov and the four other men of Team 3 sat aboard their Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, having, only moments ago, departed from NSDV No. 4. This op really should have been better thought out, he mused. I mean really, getting this far wasn’t too hard, but seriously, our only defense, and the only defense of Teams 1 and 5, is luck. All we can do is pray that none of us get caught by the Turka-Sir Navy as we disturb the waters in what is becoming plain daylight. Rediculous, but that’s what you get when a spook plans your op, I guess.

“Sir, do you want comm on?” enquired the other Pararescueman, a newbie who had just come up out of the Pipeline.

“Here, hand it to me, son,” Altov said as he grasped the radio, turned it on, and pulled it to his face.

“This is Team 3 Actual, you guys out there? Over”

Altov waited several moments and the radio cackled to life

“Team 5 Actual here, all is good, over.”

“Team 1 Actual, same here, over.”

“Alright troopers, obviously, you’re gonna head for the coast. Avoid ships, military or civvie, as much as possible. From this point onwards maintain radio silence until you reach the mountains. Out”

"The Royal Purples are being assembled, Mr. President" commented one of the military officials who sat at a phone near a desk piled with papers. Such desks peppered the entire floor of the military intelligence office.

The President ground his teeth in fustration. This operation was once just between two nations, a friendly disagreement, and a lost pilot with valuable information. Now, if reports were correct, other nations were sticking their noses in the matter.

AC-130Ps flying over their territory, helicopters landing near the mountains. It had taken a great restraint to withdraw the orders to take shots at the aircrafts. It was more than any nation could have beared so far. However, in the interest of international security, the President had allowed the gun crews to avert their attention for so long. Pictures had been taken, and if bad turned to worse they could have a form of leverage to turn things their way.

The plane crashed on their soil, making it their search and retrieve mission. Did they really think that, after a military fighter jet crashed in their mountains, they wouldn't notice more military activity? Someone was leaning their elbow dangerously close to the red button. A single spark is all that it would take to escelate this to a level that nobody wants.

The President clutched at the telegram recieved from the Atrurian Emperor. Should he respond, if so, what would he say?

Oh thank you your Imperial Magesty. Thank you for dragging me and my nation into a situation where it will take only the strongest of life-preservers to drag us out of this storm. Yes, we know everything. Yes, we know what you were up to. No, decorated words will not make the situation any better. Oh, and thank you for directing every other nation in the region towards this little mess. We can all thank your media for that mess.

The President shook his head and tossed the telegram into the trash. Spiteful words won't make the situation any better either.

"I want a full military blockade around the mountains. Barbed wire, checkpoints, the works. The regulars will do fine in that aspect, but keep the Royal Purples on task with the search and retrieve mission."

"Yes Mr. President, I'll alert the local barracks immediately."

OOC: Turka-Sir, could my Spec Op team meet with a member of the terrorists?

OOC: Of course. Would you like me to post as the terrorist group as well, or would you prefer to handle everything?

OOC: Well, they are your terrorists, and I'd hate to seperate that relationship.

Technical Sergeant Dmitry Altov and his five other troopers had made it to land, but try as he might, Altov couldn’t shake the instinctual notion that his men hadn’t got through entirely clean, and somebody knew they were coming. Altov and his troopers dragged the rubber boat across the cove in which they had landed, until they found a suitable hiding spot.

They changed from their black garb into generic, unmarked BDUs, armed themselves with foreign weapons, and grabbed some essential equipment; a med kit, MREs, some extra water, binoculars, night-vision goggles (the plan was to be out by a few hours, but who could be sure how long it would really take?), a GPS navigation system, and a compass just in case. Altov felt uneasy about just ditching their boat, though hidden, in relative public. He reflected that it would have made more sense to dive, but then reconsidered the loss that would have put them at in terms of equipment. Whatever.

After consulting their GPS system, the team silently began the journey towards the mountain region that the plane had fallen in. The team trekked stealthily and quickly, covering ground at a pace of 210 steps every minute. They stopped every forty-five minutes, took a three-minute break and hydrated. Two hours and fifteen minutes into the trek, they broke for lunch. Altov opened his MRE, activated the Flameless Ration Heater, and snacked on his crackers. After the FRH worked its magic, Altov picked up his plastic fork and wolfed down the pork kotlety that had just been warmed, then guzzled water from his canteen.

“Damn,” he whispered to his squad mates, “I love MREs,” evoking a quiet snicker from one or two of them. Altov checked his watch, “We’ve taken twelve minutes already. Get up, we don’t break again until we reach those mountains,” he finished as he pointed to the mountains up ahead.

Hours later, as they neared the mountains, Altov consulted the GPS system again, rerouting to take a quicker more efficient path. He and his troopers stepped lightly until one of them, who Altov knew as a VDV Force Recon trooper, or on this mission, One Foxtrot, silently caught the team’s attention, pointed up ahead, then made several hand signs to the rest of them. Altov translated them in his head.

Look… Ahead… Distance… troops… No entry.

Altov motioned for his team to halt. He put the Swiss-made field glasses that hung around his neck to his eyes and peered towards the mountain. Damn, that boy has good vision, he noted to himself, partly shocked at himself for getting so close and not being able to see the troops without the binoculars. He passed the glasses around to his other team members, allowing them to see the blockade of Turka-Sir troops around the mountains. He then reached for his radio, and spoke into it.

“Three Actual here, are you out there? Whisper. Over.”

“Five Actual, over,” and “One Actual present, over,” came the hoarse, quiet replies.

“Are you guys seeing Turka-Sir troops heavily guarding the mountain?”

“That’s an affirmative,”

“Yep, we’ve got a visual, there doesn’t seem to be any way we can enter without attracting attention.”

“Crap. Alright, let’s scout around the mountains. Just because there are no entry-holes from our view, doesn’t mean that none exist.”

“Sounds good, Three Actual, over.”

“Agreed,”

“Alright then let’s move on it, over and out”

OOC: Turka-Sir, could my Spec Op team meet with a member of the terrorists?

Hehe..that was my plan too...sort of....though can kill and capture several terrorists and torture them into leading my forces to the crashsite?

"Alright troops saddle up were moving out"
100 troops from the 1st Mountain Warfare Division loaded onto Chinook Heliopters and waited for the order to take off. 3 minutes later a car bomb was detonated in front of the Capitol.

"This is Commander Parka at the tower. You have a go. Say agian you have a go."
"All Pilots this is Colenel Hibert. Launch Mission. I say agian Launch Mission"
5 Chinooks took off flying into the mountains.

Meanwhile a U-2 spyplane took off flying toward Khalique.

"I have i.d.ed the crash site. The co-ordinates are oh crap. SAM incoming. Taking evasive manuveurs."
The SAM destroyed the left wing of the U-2. As the plane flew to the ground, a white parachute could be seen landing near the crash site.

Official Communique From The Armed Republic Of Ustio North

To: The Imperial Kingdom Of Arturia
Subject:Aid

We are prepared to help you recover your downed pilot. With your permission, we will deploy the 1st Air Cavalry and the 2nd Infantry, with the 2nd Fighter-Bomber Wing providing them with close air support

Regards

President-General Gareth MacMillan

______________________________________________________________________________________

Hydria Airbase, Ustio North

Major West picked up the phone.

"Yes. Yes, Mr. President" he pressed a button "Sgt. Williams, call all troops in off leave, we may have a combat situation on our hands"

"Yessir Major" came the reply

West put the phone down, and looked out of the control tower onto the aerodrome. As the word was passed, ground crews began to scurry about, opening hangar doors and clambering into refuelling trucks. Very soon, the 50th TFW would be airborne and possibly in combat

______________________________________________________________________________________

MacMillan pressed a button on his phone. "Mr. President?" came the answer

"Prepare for redeployment Colonel" said MacMillan "You and your men are to rendezvous at Pelagious airbase. There'll be a C-130 waiting for you. You're going to HALO jump into the territory thirty minutes prior to our main forces arrival"

"Understood Sir" replied Kamarov.

He put his phone down, and turned to the men assembeled in the hangar. They were all dressed in black uniforms, with red berets and black balaclavas. Each man held a pilots helmet under his arm. Kamrov was dressed similarly, but with a black eyepatch over his right eye.

"Gear up" he growled "We HALO jump half an hour before the rest of the men"

OOC: I did one like this a while ago. I got my pilot back!:D
Oh, and check the link to Ustio's factbook for information on the named military forces

"Colenel. This is Commander Parka. We have a downed plane of our own. Abandon the missionn temporarily. He has his distress singnal out. Go to the co-ordinates I am sending you on IVIS. Go there and get him. He can give you the co-ordinates to get the Atrurian pilot. Once you ahve him then return to base."
"Yes sir. Alright pilots, head toward these co-ordinates. That is a blue force marker on IVIS. We lsot one fo our pilots there. HE can lead us to the crash site of the Atrurian pilot."

The door of the President's office burst open, and a man ran into the room and up to the President's desk.

MacMillan looked up, and took the paper the man was holding. He put on his glasses and read it. He put it down, and picked up the phone

"Major West, it seems another aircraft has been lost over the Khalique Mountain Territory. I want you to deploy Talon squadron and make sure they stay out of the territory and off the radar until we get confirmation.

"Righto sir" West replied

OOC: I just love how people are asking to help search for the pilot... But are not bothering to realize that the territory he's landed in belongs to Turka-Sir, and thus requires their permission

"ANOTHER HELICOPTER?!" roared the President as he tossed the fifth report that day.

"I will not be treated like some doormat to be walked over! This is intolerable! This is an act of war!"

The military advisors in the room looked on with impassive faces, already knowing the outcome of the tyrade. When one nations moves soldiers into another's without their consent, it can only be taken as an infringement on their sovereignty, and therefore an act of war.

"Shoot down further aricraft that does not hold our flag. I want every single man and woman out there in those mountains without our uniform to be brought in and charged with aggressive behaviour and a threat to our national security. I want the nations they belong to to be held responsible for these actions and pay the penalties. I'll sign the damned documents myself to demand compensation from each country involved in this disaster!"

"Sir," interrupted a Defense Minister "They will likely be armed and behave dangerously to our troops."

The Presiden'ts eyes narrowed angrily, "Well, the only logical course of action is to return the given action with the necessary force. Wouldn't you agree?"

The Minister had nothing else to say.

"Contact the Atrurians. Get me their Emperor on the line. He and I have some things to discuss."

"Sir," another man called from a desk on the other side of the room "We've secured the crash site. They report that the pilot isn't in the reckage, which means he's on the move. They haven't encountered any Khalique gurellia fighters yet. Further orders?"

"Rienforce the crash site. We'll keep on task and send the Royal Purples to search the mountains. My previous orders still stand: take care of any invading foreigners. Let us show them that the Warriors of Islam will not lie down while we are stepped on smiling politely. Let us show that this sleeping tiger still has its fangs."
Thirty Miles from the Mountains

Hind helicopters swooped overhead towards the mountains, armed with ammunition. This wasn't a training run, these were live rounds that would blow holes into any material.

On the ground troop transport trucks carried men wearing dark purple patches on their shoulders. The Royal Purples. The best of the best. They had proven themselves in the Jihad called so many years ago. It was them who had held the beach-head against the Western invaders who had tried to take Turka-Sir and turn it into another one of their conquests. Turka-Sir had triumphed.

Soon they would be in the mountains combing every inch of the rocks for the pilot. Regular troops had already secured the crash site and were setting up a perimeter around the wreckage.

OOC: I just love how people are asking to help search for the pilot... But are not bothering to realize that the territory he's landed in belongs to Turka-Sir, and thus requires their permission


OOC: Oh, i though it belonged to Arturia? Anyhoo...

Official Telegram From The Armed Republic Of Ustio North
To: Turka-Sir
Subject: Pilot Rescue

It is with increasing concern that we have viewed the current situation in the Khalique Mountain Range. We wish to deploy a small strike force to the area to support the rescue of the two downed pilots. Under this operation our military forces will operate alongside you and will co-operate with your forces in any way neccessary

Will you allow us to land the 2nd Infantry from the 1st Air Cavalry in order to support the rescue operation?

I eagerly await your response

Signed

President-General Gareth MacMillan


OOC: Sorry :(

The small team had landed slightly off target, missing the flare by about a twenty minute walk. Their contact in the terrorist forces should be there soon, and they needed to move out.

All the men wore desert camouflage pattern, with masks as well. One man made the sign to move, and the squad headed for the flare.

OOC: Turka-Sir: I didn’t get an answer from you from my previous question so I’ve gone ahead with it for now. As always though, if you’ve got any problems about what I’ve written let me know.

IC:

As the morning sun rose higher into the sky the brightening light revealed the recent handiwork of the Imperial team. A half dozen Khalique corpses lay scattered throughout a small clearing in the mountains, some distance into the presumed area of downed Atrurian plane, each one lying crumpled up in a pool of sticky crimson fluid.
The group had silently and efficiently cut them down in minutes. Two bullets to the chest or a combat knife across the throat or through the soft spot just beneath the ear – it all gave the same result.

Not all had been slain however, and three of the Khalique had been purposefully spared and now knelt, bound, in a line under the watchful sights of two Imperial assault rifles. The Ranking Imperial Officer, Captain Nalath, advanced now towards the first of the prisoners, grabbing him by one arm and hauling him up onto his feet.

‘Where did the damaged plane go down?’ he inquired, unsure if these people even understood English or not. That was irrelevant though really… one way or another he would find a way to make them understand him. To the Imperial operative the only rules to consider were the parameters given to them for the successful completion of their mission – all else was left to the circumstances and their judgement and need.

When the prisoner remained silent, Nalath brought his armoured fist hurtling up into the mans teeth, the audible crunch denoting at least a few teeth shattering. He began to stumble backwards in obvious shock and pain but the Captain used his left arm to stop the mans fall while with his right he drew his twelve inch combat knife from his belt and drove it into the mans thigh, twisting the blade slowly. This time the Khalique let out a bloody scream. After a moment, Nalath withdrew the blade and with a sneer of disgust for the weakling he re-sheathed it and used his left arm to send the prisoner plunging backwards into the rocky ground.

The Captain took two steps to the right and then turned to face the second captive. He simply stared at the man while next to them one of the Imperial soldiers stepped forward and in one motion slipped out his side arm and put a bullet through the injured mans head, ending his moaning and squirming on the ground in agony.

‘Where did the damaged plane land?’ repeated Nalath to the second man.

The Emperor laid back in his chair, contemplating the situation at hand. This seemed somewhat manageable so far, would certainly be politically damaging. Not so much to him as to his supporters in the Duma. Thank God that he wasn’t an elected official. That the Military Intelligence Corps had gotten this far into such a mess without him being notified, was somewhat worrying however. After this mess, Nevski noted to himself, there would be some new regulations in place governing the organization. That and the removal of the top brass should do the trick. Mescherin, and a few others would have to go.

At that point, the Emperor heard a knock on his door.

“Enter,” he responded, clearly,

As the door opened slightly, his secretary popped her head in and spoke.

“Your Highness, the President of Turka-Sir would like to speak with you apparently. We have one of their government officials right now on line four. What should I tell them?”

“Actually, just patching them through will do fine.”

“Yes, ‘Highness,”

The secretary returned to her mahogany desk and spoke into the phone. “Please hold for the Emperor,”

Hold music played for a few minutes, to the tune of ‘God Save the Emperor.’ Then the Emperor picked up the phone.

“Hello, my good sir. You are speaking with Emperor Nevski of Atruria,”

Khalique Mountain Range Border, Ustio North C-130 50,000 feet up

"Alright, get ready to jump" growled Kamarov, securing his silenced G36C "our job is to find that pilot, and get out before we're noticed. You should know the routine now, we only did it for real recently." He slipped his helmet visor down and turned to the back of the aircraft. "Go on the green light" he said over the radio.

The red light on the side turned green, and Kamarov dived forward out of the plane, the rest of the team following suite.

___________________________________________________________________

President's Office, Hydria, Ustio North

The telephone rang. President MacMillan swiveled around in his chair and flicked a button on the phone.

"Yes?" he asked

"Sir, Colonel Kamarov's team has just deployed into the Khalique Mountain Range" came the reply

"Very good, thank you for the update" concluded MacMillan, flicking the switch back on the phone.

"Okay. WE got our pilot back Commander. What now?"
"Have him lead you to the crash site."


After 5 hours march over the mountains they came upon a charred area where fregments of an aircraft could be seen.
"Here it is."
"Okay. Lets get going again boys. Look for tracks."

Official Telegram from Turka-Sir
To: Ustio North
Subject: Re:Pilot Rescue

It is much appreciated that you have taken notice of the situation and have offered to aid us in the search of the Atrurian pilot. We regret to say that there has been an increase of military activity in the region, and not all of it is from our own. Many nations feel that they could walk over us without a thought to our sovereignty. This comes dangerously close as another invasion which occured so many years ago, where Western powers tried to steal our independence. So, to prevent another mishap such as that, we shall agree to your offer of assistance. For one, we ask you to help keep our skies clear and our nation safe from invading forces. We have had confirmed reports of armed men not under our flag entering the mountains. These groups dissappeared into the mountains before they could be detained. We hope that our cooperation together will not only help us find the pilot faster, but also keep Turka-Sir safe.

Signed,
President Hadith

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The young man had been responding to the crashed plane with his comrades. They had already searched the wreckage, and made themselves scarce by the time the Turka-Sirian army regulars amde an appearance. They simply lacked the numbers to take them on. So, the guerella fighters had made their way through a goat trail towards one of many hundreds of tunnels that would lead them inside the heart of the mountain. Everything had gone smoothly until they were ambushed and nearly slaughtered by soldiers from a foreign land.

Nothing could heal the humiliation of defeat at the hands of an infidel. The full beard on the young man's face was stained with the blood of his fellow jihadi, now dead among the corpses lying on the rocks.

He had watched impassively as one of the men he was with only hours ago slaughtered like cattle after he was done being questioned. The man swelled with pride as he saw that he had not revealed anything to the infidel. They would only recieve stony silence from them.

When the soldier turned to him and asked the same question in his barbaric tongue, the man chuckled, spat a glob of bloody spit on his boot, and recited proudly in rough english, "There is no god worthy of worship but God, and Muhammad is the messenger of God." With the Shahadah recited, the man smiled and said again in broken english, "Fuck you, Infidel."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The President sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair, phone resting comfortably against his head, "I would sure hope so."

The President casually glanced at the Turka-Sir news network, TSNN, and began the conversation with the Emperor, "I'm sure by now you realise the seriousness of the situation at hand. It is your pilot that is in danger, and your precious information which he holds. But who stands to lose the most? Not Atruria, oh no. We've had at least four unannounced incursions on our soil by foreign soldiers after your pilot. Now, you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with this, would you? It would be a shame to find out that you simply point your finger at Turka-Sir, hoping these.... Mercenary armies would do your searching for you."

"Sir. This is Bravo 3."
"Go ahead Bravo 3"
"Sir. Back at the crash. We have alot of tangos. They are questioning some locals it looks like."
"Bravo 1 come in"
"This is Bravo 1"
"Take Bravo to one side of the clearing and wait. Charlie 1 come in"
"This is Charlie 1"
"Take Charlie Team to the far side of the clearing. I will be with you in a few minutes. Echo 1 come in"
"This is Echo 1."
"Echo 1 bring Echo team to me. Alpha 1 and Delta 1 come in"
"Alpaha 1"
"Delta 1"
"Take your teams with the pilot and follow the tracks. Everyone understand their assignments. Good"

"Alright Echo team. We are going to the left side of the clearing. Bravo will be on our right and Charlie on our left. Watch fields of fire if I give the order. Don't hit civilians. We want this to appear to be a terrorist attack."

A slight smirk appeared on Captain Nalath face and he gave a low chuckle. Such arrogance and determination was commendable, but ultimately it was wasting precious time and that annoyed the Captain.

‘And where is your god now?’ he demanded. Without waiting for an answer he drew his sidearm and in one practiced movement, shot the man in the left knee. There was a sound like breaking wood as the kneecap shattered under the impact.

‘I have no interest in you, your nation or your god,’ the Captain stated in a raised but calm tone so that he could be heard over the man’s moaning, ‘I just need to know where the crashed plane is. Tell me and you will survive this.’ As he waited for an answer he rotated his pistol to aim at the mans other knee.

The other Imperial soldiers kept a keen watch of the perimeter from their hidden positions as the interrogation continued.

Official Telegram from Turka-Sir
To: Ustio North
Subject: Re:Pilot Rescue

It is much appreciated that you have taken notice of the situation and have offered to aid us in the search of the Atrurian pilot. We regret to say that there has been an increase of military activity in the region, and not all of it is from our own. Many nations feel that they could walk over us without a thought to our sovereignty. This comes dangerously close as another invasion which occured so many years ago, where Western powers tried to steal our independence. So, to prevent another mishap such as that, we shall agree to your offer of assistance. For one, we ask you to help keep our skies clear and our nation safe from invading forces. We have had confirmed reports of armed men not under our flag entering the mountains. These groups dissappeared into the mountains before they could be detained. We hope that our cooperation together will not only help us find the pilot faster, but also keep Turka-Sir safe.

Signed,
President Hadith

To: Turka-Sir
Subject:Re:Re: Pilot Rescue

I understand that you would feel threatened by the increase in military activity around your nation, as would any national leader.

It is with this knowledge that my nation's ground forces are pulling back to bases in Ustian territory. We will deploy Viper & Cobra squadrons aboard the aircraft carrier Manta to the Khalique mountain border and commence aerial border patrols

Hopefully, this will prevent further unwanted incursions into your territory.

Safety & Peace

Signed

Presisdent-General Gareth MacMillan

"Snipers do you ahve shots?"
"This is Echo sniper. I have a shot on the leader."
"Get ready to take it. Teams are to pull back up to hills where we can shoot into the open."

2 minutes later:
"Does everyone have good firing positions with some cover?"
"Echo team does."
"Bravo does"
"Charlie does"


"This is a Bedouin Officer. You will let these men go and return to your base or else I will make you do these things"...

Khalique Mountain Range Border, Aircraft Carrier Manta, 25,000 ft

Lt. Sam Jones stepped out onto the flight deck, the wind whipping his hair about. As always, his WSO Sgt Bill Durant was late for take-off.

"Never mind" thought Sam "At least i can check the plane without him interfering"

He looked up from his watch and down the flight deck. Lined up along the deck of the carrier were Ustio North's own fighters, the F/A-40 Warhawk. On the right landing strip, the dark blue Warhawks with the sharks mouth nose art belonging to Viper squadron, with Sam's closest to him. On the other landing strip, the white and red stiped Warhawks of Cobra squadron.

He stepped up onto the wing of his plane and slid the front canopy open. Before he got in, he looked around. Below him, the Khalique Mountains of Turka-Sir slid silently by.

Sam climbed in and sat down. He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. However, he was interrupted soon after by one of the mechanics, who handed him a coffee and Ustio's morning newspaper. The Headline read: Ustio North National Arms Cancels "Warhound" Titan Project.

He had no sooner read the headline when he looked around to see Sgt. Durant walking towards him. He handed the paper and cup back to the mechanic, who moved on with his friend in tow.

"Where've you been?" called Sam

"Admirals Office" replied Durant "Don't ask" he said, seeing Sam's face as he got closer.

"Try not to be late again, otherwise you're likely to get transferred to another unit" said Sam, before slipping the canopy shut.

"Yeah, yeah i got it" complained Durant as he slumped into his seat, shutting the canopy with a slam

"Control, this is Viper One, requesting take-off clearance" radioed Lt. Jones

"Viper One, standby, we have an aircraft landing on strip one. You are clear to proceed when airspace is clear. Await Control confirmation that airspace is clear" came the reply

A C-130 touched down in front of them and taxied up to the hangar. A group of soldiers in black with face masks stepped out and proceeded into the hangar.

The radio burst into life "Viper One, cleared for take-off"

"Roger that Control, Viper One out" replied Sam, still pre-occupied by the soldiers who had just landed. He flicked a switch on the plane and the engines whirred to life. He pulled back on the stick and the plane lifted directly up. Flicking another switch, the landing gear retracted.

"Switching to flight mode now" he said. The wings flattened out and the engines flicked to forward motion, increasing its speed to over 60 knots very quickly. "Control, Viper One is clear of the carrier. Proceeding with specified mission"

OOC: Well, this is inactive.

Oh well...

*Clears Throat*

All Ustian Military Forces Are Returning To Ustian Bases, Effective Immedietly