NationStates Jolt Archive

"I don't know how deep they are, but if all the fragments can be extracted the likelihood is they should heal fairly well. The human body is incredibly delicate, but incredibly strong too. If you do get a big scar, you can show your friends when you go down to the pub"

He felt the ambulance take the familiar roundabout by storm as the vehicle leaned to one side.

"Hospital is just down the road, about a kilometre away. We'll be there soon"

"That'd be if I had a pub I could go to after this... not that you should worry about that. A scar's nothing compared to what I could be getting. I'll have a few moments privacy at the hospital, before the police and whatnot come to have a chat with me. Perhaps I'll be able to wriggle out of a sentence if I give them what they want but..."
At that point, he realised he was talking to himself, and shut up as the medic tended to his leg.

Marten felt the ambulance slow down as it turned into the road that led to the hospital. The sirens were turned off and it accelerated once again, braking for a few turns. Eventually, the driver pressed the horn three times and the vehicle came to a halt.

"You're more drowsy now, so we'll put you on a stretcher and you'll be going into theatre"

Marten led him in, where paramedics and doctors approached with a stretcher.

"I'll take the stretcher, yes."
The man stood up, lying down on the stretcher.
"I don't need an operation to take them out do I? It's just a case of examining them and taking them out one at a time, am I right?"

"It'll ideally be done under sedation, rather than feeling in with fingers and pulling them out. We don't know how deep the pieces are either. Anyway, I think this is where we part ways; I'll be handing you over to the hospital staff now. Good luck"

The doctors began taking the man to the operating theatre.

In one sense, the man was happy he would be out for the count. Knocked out, he wouldn't be able to help the authorities in regards to the airship until he came around, by which time it would be far too late. On the other hand, that would mean he could not negotiate, meaning he would be facing the full penalties of associating with terrorists.
He kept the thoughts fighting in his head as he was carried through the hospital, towards wherever he was going.

[OOC: A bit of OOC planning. Is there any way to board the airship without the passengers dying? My imagination is running low, you got any ideas?]

(OOC: I can think of a few. A few clues for you: the RADAR can be jammed easily, and the airship's blind spot visually is directly above it. I'm thinking a high-altitude boarding via paratroopers dropped in from above, or a helicopter approaching from high above, or even an airship if it approached from behind.)

[OOC: I've missed some posts, so I'll check with you. Are there actually explosives placed around, et cetera? I'm thinking of having intelligence barge into the hospital in an armoured car and question the man]

(OOC: They were bluffing. Go ahead with what you want. Just dont expect him to be very talkative.)

bump for Calizorinstan

[OOC: Are the people with the missiles still there? I'm thinking of trying to board soon, but what'll happen to the passengers?]

IC:

A police motorcycle escorting a black saloon tore into the hospital compound, blue lights flashing. The car behind it had blacked-out windows and no light-bar, but flashing lights concealed in the windscreen and radiator grille. The motorbike stopped and the rider unslung the submachine-gun he was carrying on his back, then rested it on his lap.

Two men got out from the car, a suited intelligence brigadier and a uniformed Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm Colonel. They ran into the hospital, using their identity cards and some persuasion, they eventually approached the terrorist.

"Your operation is cancelled for now. I want you to help us stop an airship"

(OOC: Yes, they are. I won't give you any more hints, but if you read you'll see the passengers for now are fairly snug. Unless anything extreme happens (such as an attack by fighter jets, or them coming onto their final crash run).)

"You want my help to stop the airship?"
He smiled as he saw the looks on the men's faces. High ranking men, who were used to having sub-ordinates do work for them. He knew the type very well.
"First, you will have to guarantee that my information I can give you will drop all charges that will be brought against me in this case, not limited just to association with a terrorist group and plotting to cause mass murder. If that is the case, then I will give you all the information you need to know about them aboard the ship. Their armaments. Their weak points. Their plans."
He smiled, knowing he was in control.

"Fine. Commit a crime again, though, and you'll be prosecuted. You, for now, have the upper hand"

The Brigadier looked at the man's face. The in-control look. It was too smug, and he desperately wanted to punch him in the face. His hand twitched. Whether they could trust the man, he didn't know. He'd also just made a snap decision, but he was pretty sure intelligence would back him up this time.

"It's good to have my assurances to safety. Now, to what you want. There were originally ten people aboard the airship, including me. That has since been reduced to five, not including me. There's a pilot, our leader, and three guys with guns told to shoot anything that comes too close. In the gondola, they have hostage the two surviving crew members. As I know it, the passengers are safe at the moment: we got no reply from the three who went in to take control, so we can assume they are dead. The gondola however is locked off from the rest of the ship, so no-one can go in or get out. The thing they will have told you about the explosives is false: no charges have been planted.

However, what they want to do is drive the whole lot into the capital. They're confident that they won't be foiled, since they think you'll be to scared to intervene, and don't think you know they are going to go ahead with crashing it into the capital. They don't expect an attack."

[OOC: Bit of time fluidity in this post, but it shouldn't have any consequences]

IC:

"We're going to take action now. If what you say turns out to be a lie, then you'll suffer the fate of your terrorist friends, in that you'll die. More may die, but dying yourself won't be a personal gain, which is what all of us are after, isn't it? I'm going to take a mad risk. You can have that shrapnel taken out. However, you may not wake up, bear that in mind. anything else to tell us?"

__________________


Airship S.R.F. Vasterfors
Thirty Miles from RNAS Galvik


"Roger, Control. Out"

The duty communications Lieutenant turned to the captain.

"Kapten! Green light, we have permission to proceed"

"Make full speed. We have about ten miles to cover!"

The gondola was tense. Inside, crewmen were running about like a submarine crash-diving. The atmosphere reflected a renewed sense of purpose and determination. In the seating area, the twenty-one Air Cavalrymen were finishing their sandwiches as if it were a marathon of some kind. Eat. Use toilet. Check weapon. A fair number of them had pump-action shotguns. More versatile and much faster to rechamber than a bolt-action rifle, almost as fast as a semi-automatic weapon, it was the choice firearm of many soldiers. Nevertheless, these men, shotguns, rifles, sidearms aside, seemed scared. The captain looked at them. They were experienced men, and the scaredness was merely tension. Flight SWAF-592 would soon be upon the vast and sprawling suburbs of Auston, and then a couple of dozen minutes.

__________________


The DD80 flight was back. Under the command of their squadron leader, they advanced upon the airship. They were going to take the missiles down. Their engines were screaming as they dived in from all directions, ready for action.

"I told them to back off. And what do they do?"

The RADAR showed the fighters moving back at high speed. Suddenly, the display cut out, flickering as a wire damaged in the fire-fight finally gave up and melted. The missile-launcher team hiding inside the gondola waited as the most visible fighter came into view through one of the small windows. Leaning out the side, hardly visible to anyone, he aimed the launcher towards a target, LASER designator now strapped to the top. He counted as the designator showed the range. 500m. 400m. 300m. 200m. Fire!

The missile shot from the side of the gondola, jumping over the external gantry as the man dived back in. Locking in on the aircraft's heat signature, it began spiralling in on the target fast inbound. Inside, he loaded another missiles as he listened out. Would there be an explosion? Behind him, the leader furiously walked out, dragging the navigator behind him with the cable loop around his neck. He flicked on the radio.

"I warned you I would kill a hostage. Now watch me kill him."

He dragged the man out onto the gantry, leaving another man to walk out, attaching the cable to a beam. He nudged the men to the edge with the gun barrel, before kicking the now-struggling man in the back. The cable went taught as he fell, swinging under the airship madly as he tried to grab onto the side of the gantry.

"He'll die soon. You've killed that man, so are you willing to kill another?"

The inteligence Colonel at RNAS Galvik replied.

"Very soon, you will have no leverage. We're willing to stop you crashing into our capital and we'll do so. You see, you are going to die. Notice how my mood is different?"

__________________


The fighter's laser designator activated instantly, but not in time. It did get the missile, but it's proximity detector and fusing took hold and detonated the missile near the plane's right wing. Shrapnel flew everywhere. Dozens of pieces smashed through the left wing, shredding holes in the fuel tanks. Red hot fragments started a small fire inside the engine intake itself. The pilot saw the burst of flame. The engine's fire suppresion activated and doused the flames, just in time. The engine was damaged, and not lightly either. What's more, a fragment had gone through the cabin and blood was seeping from his left leg.

"I'm hit! Returning to base, returning to base, Over"

Meanwhile, the squadron leader was lined up for the gantry. His finger has over the button. He pressed it. The twin cannons mounted in the nose opened up in a furious staccato roar and hurled tracer rounds towards his target, which was diving for cover. Maybe too late. The squadron had been praying on the missile launcher firing and pouncing when they did.

The gantry ripped itself to pieces as the leader dived for cover, rolling as he moved into the cover of the gondola. Around him, the walls of the gondola ripped to pieces as rounds smashed around him. Quite soon, it was over, allowing him to move out of cover. The missile team were lying underneath the remains of the rear wall, shaking in terror. The entire exterior gantry leading up to them had been ripped to pieces, massive holes in the surviving pieces of walkway. The gondola rear itself was a nightmare of impact holes, mostly destroyed from the impacts. As he realised his options were running out, he had an idea. He walked over to the pilot, a wet patch on the floor near him.
"Go get yourself cleaned up in the toilet. I've got one final idea."

He opened the intercom unit as he took control of the airship. He flicked manual control back on, before examining the computer screen for gas levels. All were normal. For now at least. Flicking up four switches, he moved to a series of small, delicate levers. Grabbing hold of all four, he slowly moved them backwards, watching warning lights illuminate across the panel as gas loss was registered. Arrows moved from the separate cell regions to outside the airship shape as helium was vented, the storage tanks too full to hold any more. Soon, the altimeter registered 500m, far below their normal flight path.

"See what I'm doing? I've got control of the airship gases. You shoot again, I flick the controls right to the base. This airship remembers it weighs a few thousand tonnes, and comes back to earth accordingly. We may be short of the city, but I doubt one of the people in their suburban homes wants this coming through their roof."

He was interrupted as a warning klaxon sounded. Some of the hydrogen vented from the fuel lines had ignited, starting a small fire in the centre of the airship. He ignored it: the fire suppression systems would be enough for now. Just to make sure, he diverted some helium into the area, hoping it would extinguish it.

"They're still dropping, Colonel. Five-twenty...er...steady. Steady at five hundred metres"

"Very well. How close are they to the nearest military unit?"

"Let me see...approximately two miles, sir"

"Scramble them"

"Yes, sir"

__________________


The area was one of the military checkpoints mantained near to the main radar and relay station half a mile away. They were taking over tracking the airship from RNAS Galvik. The Captain commanding the checkpoint was in a Jeep, and his 'batman' was sat in the back, next to the mounted machine-gun. The camp's armoury was being raided, and under the orders of the intelligence Colonel, sniper rifles were being mainly taken. The crew of an armoured car ahead of him traversed the turret forward and started the engine, sending out a plume of exhaust fumes.
Behind him, men were being hurried into medium trucks and half-tracks. All in all, 67 men.
The four-vehicle convoy, with an armed police escort clearing the way ahead, roared onto the main road, accelerating to top speed. The airship could already be seen, two miles away from a housing estate. They were going to take the pilot down.

(Remember, the airship's travelling forwards at about 120km/h)

The pilot returned the gondola, looking at the array of red lights across the panels.
"What the hell have you done?"
"Putting a bit of pressure on them."
"And as a result we've got a fire on board? Brillaint."

He pushed the leader aside as he looked at the fire containment system, almost groaning as he saw what it meant.
"You've set fire to a main hydrogen cell area. It's gonna burn out soon, but not before you lose enough altitude to make it crash short."
"Pull her up then."

The reserve tanks of helium began pumping gas out into the airship cells, amking the airship almost shoot back up to 1000 metres. Anything loose in the gondola flew about as the airship regained altitude, followed by a rocking sensation as altitude equalised.
"We've got five minutes till the final flight computer programme initialises. Once that happens, we'll be able to get out of here."
"I'll be able to get out of here."
The leader smiled, before walking away from the confused pilot. He strapped a parachute on his back from the stores, before pacing over to the exitway.
"You guys keep doing what you do best. I'll be back in a moment."

[OOC: I think I've skipped time a bit too fast, and forgot about the airship. I think we need to fit five minutes in somewhere. How do you board an airship, BTW?]

IC:

S.R.F. Vastefors

"We're not close enough"

"Closer. Accelerate to flank speed!"

"Kapten?"

"The engines can endure that for an hour. We have minutes. Emergency revolutions"

"Kap'n"

The airship was accelerating to 157kph, her design maximum speed. The engines were at full power, flank speed, and would shut down after an hour under such operation. The airship was carrying three spare pilots as well as it's already large detachment of Air Cavalry, and was making for the airship.

"We must be doing twice their speed. Keep it up!"

(OOC: Use your imagination. Ropes, boarding ramps, ladders, jumping...)

The leader paced along the gantry, swearing. The authorities shouldn't be acting like this. In his plan, this would not have happened at all. He yanked a fire extinguisher from its bracket outside the gondola, muttering as he climbed inside the airship. At the same level as the hydrogen cells, he could see the fire burning inside, obviously ignited from one of the safety flames they'd lit. He sprayed the extinguisher in front of him as he paced forward, a jet of halon gas shooting ahead of him as he attacked the blaze. He stopped as he realised it was doing no good: the fire had caught hold well. If it spread to the engines, that would be a problem, but for now it was alright. He dropped down a level, and moved along to the rear of the airship. This would be his only attempt at escaping the airship.


Back in the control gondola, a shreiking alarm cut thrugh the low fire klaxon. Looking at the flight display, the pilot saw that two of the six engines had cut out. Frantically trying to restart them, he looked at the fuel line controls, noting red patches spreading down the fuel lines. He opened the ship-wide intercom involuntarily as he yelled out to the others preparing to go for another shot at the aircraft.
"The fuel lines have caught fire. Brace yourselves!"
The red flow hit the main pipleine, acclerating down it towards six engines mounted on the outside of the main gondola. After a few seconds, he looked at the gas screen, sighing in relief even as the other engines cut out.
"The emergency cutoff came into effect. We're safe for now at least."
He looked out the large holes in the rear of the gondola, watching clouds of smoke drifting from the side of the airship envelope. The momentum would keep them going for a while at least, enough to get to an important area.

[OOC: More time fluidity, hey hey]

IC:

"We're within boarding distance"

"Keep the ship steady, Olson. Draw level with that gantry"

A boarding ramp was gingerly passed across and heavily anchored on their side. They attached their harnesses to it as the first man went across slowly. Unclipping it quickly, he unslung his assault rifle.

"Move! We haven't much time!"

The leader pulled back into the airship gasbag when he saw another airship pulled up against the side towards the rear. How had they crept up so fast? It was no worry to him: he was rid of all this now. And there was little these people could do to stop the inevitable.
Moving right to the end of the airship, he came out underneath one of the giant control ailerons. Counting to five, he walked to the edge of the gantry, before jumping. He was going for a LALO jump: if he opened the parachute at low altitude, he would be able to get down without being noticed until very near the end of his fall. That would give him ample time to escape into the city area.

After ten seconds of free fall, he opened his parachute. A few hundred metres above the ground, he angled the parachute so that he would glide in to land in a nearby afforested patch. He was lucky these were suburbs. Soon, he found himself overshooting them, to land in someone's back garden. He cut the parachute off as he ran to a halt, leaving it on the ground as he lept over the fence into the forest.

As soon as two more men were across, the corporal charged down the walkway, assault rifle and underbarrel shotgun at the ready. Behind him was another two men and then a pilot. His body was full of sheer adrenaline. He was running faster than he had in a while, keeping his balance perfectly. He was trying to get to the gondola.
Meanwhile, three men were heading for the passenger gondola to tell them to jump for it. They had parachutes, they had been told, so it was their job to secure the passengers.

In the control gondola, one of the men looked out, spotting the other airship alongside.
"How did they creep up on us? I don't believe it!"
At this point, the pilot knew he had had it. He walked over to the parachute locker, throwing out parachutes as he fitted one on his back. He looked to see the surviving hostage in the corner, head between his legs. He felt a pang of pity, before moving on.
"I'm getting out of here now, and you're idiots if you ain't coming."
Saying that, he took a run to jump over the side of the gantry, parachute deploying almost immediately as he drifted away. The remaining men watched, and smiled. Three of them, all ready to cause chaos. The missile launcher was hefted over so it was aimed at the other airship, at gondola height. A couple seconds later, the missile was fired, as the other two began firing with assault rifles in the vague direction of the airship, in an attempt to make them keep their heads down.

The airship's countermeasures activated immediately. It was more akin to those of a tank, with specialised grenade-launchers deploying at close range as well as the laser dazzler; the missile would have hit, were it not for it's slow speed exiting the launcher, especially as a MANPADS-type system, and that no large heat sources were too near to the gondola, and the missile was confused as an infrared heat-seeking weapon. It took a hit from the laser very quickly, still travelling at slow speed, and was damaged by the grenades. This destroyed it, that blast sending several dozen fragments into the modest armour of the gondola, a few making it and cutting holes.
As the smoke cleared, the port GPMG gunner took aim and sent a hail of rounds at 1200rpm towards the gantry, while the underslung 28mm cannon traversed quickly and sent a long, 20-round burst.

__________________


The corporal was nearer the gondola now. No resistance yet. These gantries, from what he could tell, linked on to a common walkway. If the airship didn't silence them, the cavalrymen would. Meanwhile, behind him, three men and now two pilots were racing to get to the gondola. These pilots had experienced Alfegan airships before and knew that the same basis was used as the controls by most models.

Meanwhile, further to the rear, the three men, a corporal and two privates, were slowly making their way to the passenger gondola. Heading through a series of passageways, they finally made it to the door. Opening it hurriedly, they burst into the passenger area.

__________________


The small military convoy below had failed to take out their target, or attempt it. Their corresponding angle was just enough, but they'd misjudged speed badly. Nevertheless, they had a good point of observation.

"Sir, look!"

A Lance-Corporal pointed out to the Kapten.

"Parachute!"

Their C.O. took a look. It had been clear of the airship for over ten seconds, and was coming down fairly close to them. It dissapeared over a line of trees, in the large fields beyond. He signalled to the Jeep driver and the armoured car.

"Pick him up! He won't get far over flatlands"

The men kept cover as the remains of the airship gondola shredded down to an even lower level. The remains of the controls began to be hit by bullets and shells that came through the remains of the structure. The plastic sheets ended up falling back down to earth, along with the injured body of one of the terrorists, gun firing involuntarily as he fell into freefall.

The two still inside continued firing once the GPMG ended its burst, taking aim at any figures they could see. The second man ducked down quickly, revealing the missile launcher again, now loaded. He aimed it on unguided mode down to where the enemy were advancing on them, letting it soar down towards the enemy.

The explosion killed the lead two men instantly, and blew a pilot and another two men off their feet, with shrapnel wounds. The structure absorbed a lot of the impact. Behind, the second pilot was only forced to duck and let rip with his submachine-gun. The staccato chatter of the weapon echoed as he pumped several bursts at his opponent. Behind him, another two men advanced, one firing with his battle rifle.

[OOC: No passengers to greet our loveable heroes?]

(OOC: I'll leave it til Mokastana can catch up!)

A second man collapsed as a burst of rounds cut over the smoking remains of the gondola, more pieces falling off as the now-useless missile launcher was tossed to one side in exchange for an assault rifle. Rounds continued being exchanged from the last surviving man as he manically tried to kill those in front of him.

________________________________

The pilot landed, crashing in as the parachute calmly drifted over him. He looked around the field, swearing as he felt his ankle had broken. No point now in trying to escape. He lay down, calmly letting exhaustion creep in non him.

[OOC: Expect your man to be picked up next post]

IC:

The pilot took a bullet to the shoulder, which knocked him over. A ricochet gave the soldier behind a hit to the knee. Behind him, one of the wounded men picked up his shotgun and fired once, then pumped the weapon. He was hurt, but only, it seemed, by some scratches and concussion, and the odd piece of shrapnel. Behind him, a calvaryman with an SeG-3 opened fire, sending four 7.7mm rounds darting from the rifle's muzzle.

The last man finished off his rifle's contents, before leaping up and charging into the hail of fire from the Antigrans. His knife clattered onto the gantry as he was riddled with bullets, body armour cracking under the trepetitive strain. Collapsing, he missed th gantry and ended up falling straight off into the air below him, falling rapidly downwards. He actived the parachute with his teeth, breathing heavily from the numerous broken bones and wounds, as he looked up to the airship above him.

He spluttered as he tried to let out a silent celebratory yell: the airship control vanes at the rear had moved. The airship was angling itself for the collision course: the final flight plan. The results of this would be amazing to watch, even from the back of an ambulance.

[OOC: How would I go about manually overriding the controls? If there isn't a way, your designs need improvement. In the meantime, let's all sing the anti-air missile song. For the sake of the story, I'd like to wait for Mok to catch up]

OOC: ok let me get this straight,

Antigrian forces attack the airship,

that bleeding terrorist is talking his time away,

Caz is gone,

antigirans have boarded and fighting is breaking out


Ok I will take it from there:

IC:

Nicolas stood over the terrorist with the rifle in his hands, the air marshall was helping Patrica take care of the steward as the ship continued on and with the occasional flare all things were pretty calm. He had noticed a parachute falling a few minutes ago, followed by what appeared to be another from another part of the cabin.

"I bet you would love for us to take you up there, so you can try and escape and tell your friends what is going on down here. You see that out there, people are jumping, and since I doubt any passengers are in the front area, I think it is your friends. Since I doubt they would let hostages flee like that without getting shot at."

Just then a fighter jet flew past in the distance, explosions could be heard, it sounded like the Antigrians decided to do something finally. Nicolas wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but he didn't want this madmen to try and take advantage of the fight. The ship dropped suddenly, nearly knocking Nicolas off the chair, he stumbled around and braced himself using the gun against the floor.

"What the hell are they doing? If they plan to get on here they better do it fast!"

[OOC: Needs a bit more catch-upping than that. We're already in the passenger gondola, and for the last time, there is no second 'i' in Antigran]

The terrorist winced as the entire airship dropped, the sudden shock jarring his broken ribs. Looking to the large group, he slowly moved himself over to the reception desk before making sure all knew he was trying to get up without wanting to cause anyone harm. He soon had his bruised body levered up against the desk, blood-stained clothing rippling as he turned around.
"So, any ideas to get out? The fire doors don't want to budge."

[OOC: So, overriding controls? How close, in your mind, can I be to the gondola at this point, and can I gain entry in my next IC post?]

(OOC: Well, the firing's stopped, and the back's been blown to buggery. Ask the pilot if you want to know where the overides are.)

OOC: just consider them confused in the passenger cabin....and I was leaving it open in case the terrorist tried to pull something


IC:

"Get out? we could just jump with parachutes as a last resort, but as for the fire doors...(insert foul spanish here)"

The airship pulled up again as more chaos ensued outside. As they waited light gunfire could be heard from around the ship...muffled by the distance and components of the ship....

"I think we may just have to wait to see, and hope the Antigrans (better????) get here soon."

Just as the word "soon" passed his lips a large bang could be heard from the back as what sounded like soldiers raced into the cabin, Nicolas raised his rifle and looked around, waiting to see who was in here.

As the doors burst open, the stewards guarding the doors moved in as if to attack the men, assortments of fire extinguishers, lamp shades and other blunt objects wielded ready to attack. As they saw they were soldiers, they quickly moved back, allowing them passage inside, until they found the fire walls.
The head steward groaned.
"I hope they've got some heavy cutting equipment on them: those fire walls wont go down without a fight. Shall we parachute out of here, or wait to be rescued?"

A sudden shake of the vessel saw a piece of gantry come collapsing downwards, a man holding on for dear life from the side. The whole lot stopped, held in place by supporting cables, as the man began clambering up. Slamming a razor inside the lip of the door, an exhausted, oil splattered face peered up. The neat attire of the private detective had been ruined in his escapades across the airship, but he was still recognisable. He had torn his shirt to act as a bandage around a hand, blood soaked through it.

After a few seconds panted on the floor, he pulled himself up.
"Almost had me for a minute there. You wouldn't believe what I've been up to."
He spotted the first aid kit, rushing over to apply a proper bandage. The unwrapped t-shirt revealed a hideous deep burn, a soapy-white material lurking at the charred bottom of the wound.
"You would think these airships had automatic shut-off valves on the hydrogen pipelines? I decided to shut off the engines in situe, just as the pipeline caught fire. Guess where my hand was?"
He wiped it over with some wipes, before applying fresh white material.
"Anyway, they can't go anywhere now. Once the momentum runs out, they'll be only able to control up and down, with the wind not helping them at all. I just hope we aren't over the city yet."

Patrica looked to see if he had the pistol that she was suppose to destroy/confiscate, in doing so she went over to help him bandage his hands and treat his wounds. Nicolas looked him over like he was crazy, but then again, after this trip it wouldn't surprise him what could happen.

"Are you alright amigo?"

The detective smiled, watching the others' faces.
"You get to see some weird shit in your time. This is one of those instances, I guess. But don't you worry about this for now: I'll be able to pull through this. 'tis but a scratch."
He left the bandage tied, smiling as Patricia tied up his bandage. He knew her from earlier: she was the one he had talked to from Montana. One of the people he had under suspiscion. Best to keep an eye on her, even if the private investigation was completely irrelevant.

"So, how's things been going on down here?"
He had noticed the man he assumed was a terrorist, by the way everyone seemed to have weapons pointed at him. All were in a bad way, much worse than him. All had parachutes, which he rapidly added to his inventory as soon as he noticed the cupboard filled with them.
"I never thought I'd see a child-sized parachute, but there you go."

"Firewall...will some grenades do it? Anderson, do we have any cutting equipment?"

"Ja, the Corporal brought one because the sergeant said we might need it"

"Get on your radio!"

While the man shouldered his rifle and asked for their squad leader to attend with his chainsaw, they set to work finding a weak point.

__________________


The first pilot in the lead, brandishing machine-pistol, followed by the other two pilots and two soldiers, raced towards a new gangway and another hatch-like door. Not waiting to see if it was locked, a soldier fired five times from his SeG-3 and kicked it open.

"A chainsaw on a fire door? If it works go right ahead."

Nicolas was glad that support finally came, but they looked a little confused as what to do next, he only hoped that in the control gondola things were going just as well.

"If any of you guys are medics can you take a look at my knee, I think he busted it up good. I cant bend it."

He said with a sly smile, it hurt like hell, but after getting shot, burned, dropped out of helicopters and on top of that surviving politics, he could take it.

Inside the control gondola, a scene of chaos greeted those entering. Holes had been ripped in the body of the structure at the front and rear, light shing through the darkened interior. Sparks jumped from severed electrical connections of many of the instruments hit by the gunfire in the front of the gondola, the entire lot whining as the structure moved in the wind. A support beam had broken through the roof of the gondola, explaining the fragility of the airship. The one display still working, the backup primary flight display, showed an artificial horizon flanked by two scales. One measured speed, the other altitude. At the top, two error messages were given in the autopilot course system, with a small diagram showing the airship's flight plan. It was a botched landing routine, with the autopilot altimeter set to thinking the ground was much further away than it was. A small clock had been set to count down from 60 minutes, with the hand now on 5 minutes, moving regardless of the deep hole through the back of the clock.

The two side rooms had been badly damaged: gaping holes and craters covered the outside walls of the store room, crates scattered everywhere spilling their contents. In the midst of a flow of survival ration packs from an over-turned chest, a terrorist lay flat, blood seeping from a large wound to his head. Behind him, a single figure lay curled up in the corner, dirty uniform revealing him to be the co-pilot. The last survivor of the flight crew.

_________________________________


The head steward listened as he heard the men cutting through the firewall. Once they'd cut through that, they'd have all the other firewalls cutting off each stairwell to cut through, to release all the people.
"Do you guys have control of the Control Gondola? There's a master over-ride to the firewalls in there, as well as a working abandon airship alarm. Plus we have someone you might like to talk to."
The detective pulled the razor back out, tossing it about. Whilst they were waiting, he could try weeding out some information from Patricia.

"It's strange this, isn't it? The only weapon I could find on the entire airship. Though I could've tried something better, but this fits in my pocket. And it's set for a very close shave indeed."
He watched for her reaction to it, noting he'd have to swab it for fingerprints a bit later.

Meanwhile, the terrorist had plans. He'd soon be in the custody of the Antigrans, not something he was looking fowards to. He'd built up some of his energy, and reckoned he might be able to do something.

On the ground, the armoured car party was in sight of the man. The armoured car commander, A Lieutenant, had seen the parachute and they were racing towards it over the flat plains. The two men in the Jeep had the mounted Heavy Machine Gun ready, as did the crewmen in the armoured car with their machine-guns and fourty-millimetre Bofors gun.

__________________


The pilot saw his Alfegan counterpart huddled up in the corner as he searched the gondola for life. Shouldering the machine-pistol, he ran over to him and crouched down. He could see the fear in the man's eyes, and the Antigran began to speak softly.

"Hey there. It's okay, the terrorist are dead. It's all okay. Look at me"

"Truls. Truls, look at the screen!"

"What?"

"We're on a collision course. We've got five minutes!"

Truls turned back to the Alfegan.

"Can you tell me where the overrides are?"

Meanwhile, over the radio, a Private in the control gondola had been contacted by the men in the passenger gondola, and had promptly activated the abandon ship alarm as well as trying to find the firewall override, which he found after some help from the second Pilot. The third pilot, who had a bullet in his shoulder, was slumped near the entry point to the gondola, being bandaged from a small aid pack. With his good arm, he picked up his radio and contacted the S.R.F. Vastefors, to be relayed to the authorities.

"Abandon - abandon ship alarm activated. May expect parachutes, over"

__________________


They broke through the firewall as they got the message that they'd found the override controls for it. News was also coming through of their impending collision. Meanwhile, four more men had found their way to the passenger gondola.

The co-pilot, slowly pulled himself up, shaking violently still. His skin was pallid and cold, even though he was sweating. He used the remains of the internal walls to haul himself over to the control panel, seating himself in the one remaining chair. Pulling out a keyboard, he began typing commands into the computer, a flickering screen occasionally showing the command lines and responses. When met by a series of errors, he stood up, reaching behind a large unit before ripping out the cable. The display screen froze, before shutting down.
"That should do it. The airship will continue losing altitude since its lost gas, but it should be able to maintain buoyancy at around 100m above the ground. We'll need to be towed because there was a fire in the fuel storage cells, unless you can go send a team to reopen the valves."
He quickly plugged the cable in again, before restarting the system. The flight display started up, followed by many of the other instruments he now started checking over.

------------------------------------------

As the firewalls opened again, folding up into the walls and ceilings, the abandon ship alarms began. Flashing red strobe lights started up across the gondola, alongside a loud siren akin to an air raid siren. The stewards quickly rushed to doors, strapping on parachutes to the most able, briefing them and then letting them run out the side of the airship. Parachutes were hooked to static lines, allowing them to open immediately after leaving the airship.

Those less able were taken to one side, awaiting the rest to leave. Strapped to the stewards in tandem style, they lept out of the airship in the same style. Over a hundred parachutes blossomed across the sky as the passengers began floating back down to ground.

The head steward was assited by extra stewards in passing the few passengers in his area out of the airship, before hooking himself up to the static line.
"Shall we get going?"

Nicolas noticed that it appeared none of the soldiers heard him. Not to say that others were not in need of medical attention, but it would be nice to get some relief from these men. Keeping his gun in the direction of the terrorist he kept an eye on him and asked again.

"Any of you Antigrans know something about knees, my in pretty screwed up."

As for Patrica, she saw the target weapon, and noticed that this detective had somehow managed to get a hold of it. There was no way that he could of figured out how to piece that thing together, someone else must know the secret in this area. Nicolas that bastard. Instead she decided to look innocent and try and sqeeze some information from this detective, who had shown her this for a reason.

"What is that, it looks complicated? are you some sort of secret agent or something?"

She gave him a flirtatious look, hoping to get his mind off of deception and on to something a little more, primitive.

"If I told you I was a secret agent, you would have to die."

He mentally noted her reaction. He thought he caught a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. How could he bring that to the surface. She was quite a nice woman, but he knew that was not to get in the way of an investigation. He could be looking at a murderer. That thought changed the feeling he had for her, as he decided to try keep up the charade of him being some form of secret agent.

OOC: you are talking about the elctronic razor/gun device right? Do you remember how Nicolas built it?

Electric shaver handle attached to a cylinder attached to a barrel...

(OOC:Ah... Editing underway)

[OOC: I have no idea what's going to be wrong with his knee. Do you want it broken or bruised?]

OOC: well, he has some shrapnel in it from a shoot out about about two years ago that started bugging him....then he took a kick straight into it, so consider it either broken or popped way out of place, and the shrapnel isn't helping.

Anderson approached the Mokan.

"I'm not a medic, but we've all had courses, so I'll take a look"

Rolling up the trouser leg, he saw the bones disfiguring the muscle and skin at an odd angle. It looked fairly immobilising, for now.

"It's either broken or very seriously dislocated, as far as I can tell"

He turned to the others.

"Anything we can use as a splint or something?"

"Hmm, maybe I like a little danger Mr. ....."

Patrica was still talking with the detective when they the soldier went over to Nicolas. She wanted to get information from him, no doubt Nicolas had found the weapon, and if he did, that meant that Nicolas and the detective had been in the mans room before she got to it. The microfilm was safe, but not that gun....leave it to terrorist to screw up a perfectly safe operation.

Meanwhile Nicolas was watching the soldier take a look at his knee, and by the bloody mess it was he thought it might be best to clean it off, unfortunately most of his clothes were covered in blood. Where was a clean rag at a time like this? or at least a wetnap?

"Well, that looks a lot worse then it felt, Mr. Terrorist you had a good kick there. I am just glad that you are now in custody and not threatening us anymore. Also a splint would be nice."

he looked around the hall they were in, not much but rifles, splintered wood and blood, maybe the rooms might have something.

"The name's Bond. James Bond... almost had you there! Nah, call me Smith. But you say you like a little danger. Ever been in danger's way, say?"

The head steward quickly hobbled off to a cleaning cupboard, taking out a large plastic broom. Leaning it on the edge of the desk, he snapped it in half before taking it over to the Mokan.

"This what you're after?"

"Good enough"

Anderson got a small reel of rope down from his shoulder and carefully wrapped it round the leg, then pulled it tight. That would probably hurt. He did it again, tying a knot.

"That will have to do. I'll help you up"

__________________


In the control Gondola, the crisis was not over yet. The first pilot noticed that they were, as the crewman had said, slowly losing altitude. The smaller airship beside, the Vastefors, was keeping steady with them and the boarding ramp restored. On board, they were, through means of computer, trying to find the nearest airport with airship docking facilities. After about a minute, they found one - Auston KCT, twelve and a half miles from the city centre. They would need to weave round the lesser areas of Auston to get there. The Captain got on the radio to the pilots.

"Is she still capable of docking safely, over?"

The co-pilot leant back as he looked to the displays still working, as he took control of the airship again.
"We could try landing her. The problem is that it is unlikely to be safe, since the auto-stabilisation system is offline and I doubt the gas controls will be working fully . And we still don't have engine power, so we'll have to be towed. A crash landing is the most likely method of us coming down to earth, so we'd best have a straight run-up to the landing pad."
The altimeter read 450m, with a vertical speed reading of -0.5 m/s. They had 14 minutes of flight time until it hit the ground, unless the buoyancy would hold.

"I've got an idea. In Antigran airships, we can refuel in the air, with provision for the same with the envelope gas. Is there any way to transfer it? How much has been lost? This will be a landing like nothing I've ever done"

He leant back and took note of the systems flashing warnings and the altimeter.

"I doubt it very much you could refuel this in mid air: the airship was designed to refuel on land, not in the air, so it's extremely unlikely you could transfer even the methane fuel on-board unless you had a few hundred gas cylinders hidden there."

He felt the engines start as the airship angled around, moving towards the airport. Below, a line of orange parachutes spread on the ground marked the landing places of the passengers of the airship, now gathering together for pickup by the emergency services.

"Ah, that is painful! Mierda!"

With a few other choice words Nicolas got to his feet with the help of the Antigran, however now he was not sure what would happen next. As he was getting up Patrica continued the charade with the detective:

"Mr. Smith, that is even worse spy name then bond." She smiled teasingly, "Would you consider this airship ride dangerous?

They felt the engines kick on as the airship began moving again, this time Nicolas spoke up...

"Judging by those parachutes, should we stay on this thing or find a way to get off?"

"I've been in much danger than this before. Hell, this has been one scary flight, but not as bad as hanging over a near bottomless drop pursued by some madman. But what would you know of danger, Patricia? You are but a pen-pusher for Montana, not a secret agent. Unless, of course, you have a different agenda..."

The head steward sighed, leaving the detective as he kept an eye on the terrorist.

"We'll be just fine. I wouldn't risk jumping this low, unless of course you have done ULAULO jumps before. I had a mate who did BASE jumping one time, though I never saw the draw of it. Plus I don't think you want to land with a knee like that on tarmac, and a tandem jump is out of it. We're all invalid, and we can just here until we land properly."

Patrica interrupted the detective with almost a girlie outburst:


"Oh my, you must tell me about that one, about the near bottomless drop. Please?"

Meanwhile Nicolas decided to lean against the wall as the airship began its slow decent.

"True, I know jumping would be suicidal, I hope we have a safe landing, not much to do now but sit and wait."

By this point Nicolas had put the rifle down on the floor next to him. After taking out the clip and clearing the chamber. Pocketing the clip he got his little .22 and put that in another pocket. His jacket was ruined. So were these pants.

"Hey steward, do you know where I can get a change of clothes?"

Then it dawned on him....

"Nevermind, can you just help me get to my room?"

"Fair enough mate. I think I can trust the Antigrans with our slippery customer, can't we?"
The steward walked over to the Mokan, supporting him as they walked through the ruined entrance hall, finally reaching a set of steps. Climbing up, he walked the Mokan towards his room on the edge of the airship, opening it with his card key.
"Excellent. I'll leave you in here to change. Might be an idea to collect your stuff together, to save the entire place being ripped apart by the police."

[OOC: Crap...no time...expect something this afternoon]

The first police were arriving, along with ambulances, to pick up the escapees. It appeared they'd landed in groups, in streets and occasionally on rooftops of the skyscrapers that dominated this part of Auston, with a few injuries like sprained ankles for ambulance crews to pick up. There were dozens of them landing all over the city centre, in traffic and on buildings - however, they'd be alright.
At Auston KCT International airport, the full emergency sirens were blaring and emergency crews being scrambled. The full eleven massive fire engines were roaring out from their garages and military, police, and medical teams arriving in all manner of vehicles, from ambulances to Armoured Personnel Carriers.

Nicolas was not completely unaware of the situation a few hundred feet below him, but at the moment it was not his biggest worry. Taking off this suit caked in blood was. He could hopefully get a shower when he landed, that would be nice. he tore off the jacket and (formerly)white undershirt and grabbed a T shirt he had from an open suitcase. The pants would have to stay on, due to the split around his leg, but now he was glad he had that walking cane. Going through his stuff he pulled out the few things that really mattered. An old picture from '75, his medication, and of course, his gun and razor from the jacket. Taking those few items he pocketed the medication, gun and razor, and carefully put the aging picture into his wallet.

Then walked back out the door to wait for the landing.

The airship moved around towards its run towards the airport. It would be landing emergency style: instead of the normal method of landing in which the airship would approach at about 800m, before descending nearly vertically onto a concrete/tarmac/grass landing area, the airship come in at a low angle, using the friction of the landing area on the mooring stakes to slow the airship whilst the engines went into full reverse.

In the gondola, the co-pilot had taken charge as he looked out through the windows at the fast-approaching landing area.
"Impact in minus 20. All engines to full reverse thrust, and change mix in lifting cells to full air."
The airship vented all gas from the central area of cells not used for balance controls, the altimeter registering the large drop as they entered the airfield area at a few tens of metres above the ground. Once the tail was clear of any surrounding buildings, he moved back to the gas controls.
"All personnel, brace for impact."
The airship main gondola was the object hitting the ground, scraping along as small launchers fired along the length of the airship. Large stakes, propelled by compressed air, embedded themselves into the surrounding ground, pulling tight as the airship continued moving forwards. The main gondola buckled as it continued ripping along the ground, shaking the entire airship as it were as light as a feather. Nearing the end of the landing zone, the craft finally slowed to a stop, the front of the main gondola mangled as it finished taking the stress of the entire airship. The co-pilot let out a yell of delight, kicking open the side door of and watching the ramp inflate.
"At least we nailed that one."

In the main gondola, the head steward picked himself up from the reception area. Around him, the entire hall had ripped to pieces in the impact, mangled and crushed. Below him, he could see the smoking tarmac in places, alrge gashes in the base of the floor showing the construction to be a mix of aluminium and CFRP.
"Is everyone alright in here?"
He looked around, swearing as he noticed one person missing.
"Of all the people who could've disappeared, why did it have to be the bloody terrorist?"

Outside, the terrorist pulled himself along the side of the gondola, hefting an assault rifle in his hand. He'd picked it up from the head steward when he fell, before rolling out through one of the gaping holes ripped in the side. Quickly scuttling down the side not facing the rest of the airport, he began limping at high speed away from the airship towards the perimeter fence.

Nicolas had fallen over during the the emergency landing and now was for the lack of better word unconscious. After managing to hit his head on the wall on the way down. As for Patrica, she was holing on tight to the counter and managed to keep her purse from spilling out and was now trying to help Nicolas regain consciousness, and figure out what exactly he knew about Montana being on this flight.

The air cavalrymen noticed the terrorist missing shortly afterwards. One leapt outside and scanned the area - he noticed one figure limping away. By now, he was about seventy-five metres away.

"Stop there!"

He yelled. Pointing out his position to the police still arriving, he kneeled and raised his battle rifle. Meanwhile, the fire engines were arriving, followed by three ambulances. Firefighters raced around, readying hoses and monitors in case of a blaze. Paramedics, accompanied by a firefighter with rescue equipment, raced towards the gondola.

The terrorist swore, before making up his mind. Better dying free than dead. He turned around, letting off a 3-round burst on automatic at the Antigran. Diving to the ground, he continued crawling to the fence about three hundred metres away, turning back every few minutes to fire off retaliatory shots at the Antigrans.

The head steward dazily stepped from the main gondola, helping Patricia carry Nicolas out towards the emergency services. The detective left beside them, holding his arms up to declare he was neutral. Behind him, pieces of gondola occasionally cracked under strain, the area around littered with debris of smashed glass, plastic, metal and wood.
"Welcome to your final destination. I hope you have enjoyed your flight aboard this SkyWays airship, and hope that I will be seeing you again."
The man laughed, stumbling across to the gathered emergency services.

Patrica played with the contents of her purse sitting next to Nicolas as the medics began to look over his knee and strap him into a strecher. She was taking the pistol apart quickly and quietly in her purse with one hand and reshaping it into the seemingly innocent items she had. To say she was multi-talented was an understatement. There was a reason why she was one of Montana's top assassins. The detective still had that pistol, and now he was in custody of the Antigrans. If the authorities got a hold of that it could cost Montana millions in either, denial and bribery, or redesigning another one. Luckily the one the detective had was an older model. Looks like lots of old stock would have to be sold off to potential buyers.

She could try bribery, but if he was one of those "honest types" then that plan could backfire really fast and point right to Montana Inc.

What to do...

"Mr. Smith," she continued with the flirting, hoping to keep his mind off the toy, "umm, what are you doing after we get out of this mess?"

Just then loud cracking of assault rifle fire broke off in the distance, Patricia ducked next to the ambulence and waited to see what was going on. The last thing she needed was to be killed just as they made landfall.

[OOC: May want to re-type your last post, Mok. Look at Alfegos's last post]

IC:

One bullet caught the Air Cavalryman in the chest and hurled him back, further reeling from the hammer blow of another bullet to the shoulder, shattering the bones in his shoulder. It would have no effect, for he was already dead, two bloody holes ripped in his body and blood seeping from his wounds.

"Corporal?"

One of his men crouched down beside him. He knew he was dead. The man looked at the assassin running away with steel, penetrating eyes. He picked up the Battle Rifle that the dead corporal had, and took aim carefully with a steady hand. The target was inside the ring, the post hovered over him - then he fired a four-round burst of 7.7mm rounds. And then four more until the magazine was empty.

[OOC: Just to let you know, I'll be away Tuesday 'til Friday, quite possibly without internet access]

The terrorist continued moving, hearing the shooting stop. He'd obviously managed to keep their heads down for a bit. Nearing the fence, he turned around to aim back just as he heard a loud series of cracks. He collapsed downwards, partly through instinct, and partly through shock. Taking his hand away from his chest, he saw blood now pouring out, spreading across his dirty clothing. He coughed loudly, spitting up blood as he noted where it had hit. Luckily, he hadn't been hit in the heart, but in his right lung, now collapsed. He'd die if he continued doing this, but was now so oblivious to his death in his attempt to escape that he felt two more rounds entering his back as mere pinpricks. Grabbing onto the fence, he hauled himself up, continuing onwards as a round hit his leg through strangely hazy surroundings. He fell off backwards as his hand took a round collapsing back into his trail of leaking blood, not hearing the commotion in the distance. A vague smile crossed the man's face as he noted the large holes blown across his body, surprised he'd kept going for the five seconds that seemed an hour to him. The black oblivion washed over him as his breathing slowed to a halt, his hand dropping onto the assault rifle on his right hand side.

_____________________________________________

Deep in the woods, the terrorist leader continued cursing to himself as he walked through the deep undergrowth, thorny vines catching at his legs. Already though, he was plotting his next move. The client who had asked for this to go ahead would be disappointed, and would be asking for more than a refund. Airship flights kept flashing into his head as he eventually stumbled upon a barbed-wire fence. Checking around whilst aiming with his assault rifle, he leapt over, barely missing the sharp barbs, and landed in a ditch. Being dry weather, he only landed in thick leaf litter, the stench of stagnant mud below wafting over him. Crawling up over the brink, he noted a small road passing through the area, cutting through the forest. Could he get a ride here? Probably not best to risk it yet. He chewed on some fruit he'd found, barely visible from the dense cover of the bush. He doubted even an infra-red camera could spot him through the thick leaves above him, that gave an aura of twilight to the area. Within minutes, he heard the sound of a motor coming towards him.

He leapt up onto the verge, aiming the assault rifle at the man. Hopefully, he'd have the sense to stop. If not he'd be wishing he would.

_______________________________________________

Inside the gondola, the detective started replying to Patricia.
"Well, once I've been through the police here, dropping off all the information I need, I guess I'll be whisked off for a debrief, before being reassigned. Continue with the assignment I was on mainly, since I've neared conclusion."
He picked up the weapon, spinning it around on his finger. He heard shouts suddenly as he saw the terrorist running off towards the perimeter fence. Typical. He ducked into a corner as the soldiers opened fire, bullets whipping past in mad bursts. Within a few seconds though, it was all over. He ran over to the dead body, checking the pulse.
"Well, here's their only other victim. What a pity."
He closed the man's eyelids, giving the other soldier a pat on the back.
"Good shooting mate. I think by now the terrorist bastard must be finally dead."

[OOC: Still got writer's block. My apologies for the crappy post]

IC:

The private picked up his own shotgun and pumped it, then ran after the terrorist to make sure he was dead. Behind him, the emergency services had finally all arrived. Paramedics were swarming round the airship, seeing to those that had got out of the gondola, who were being hurried into ambulances sprawled round the mighty aircraft.

__________________


The white van belonged to a plumber, with a name and number in large print on the sides of the vehicle, a last-generation Seat Inca. The driver was heading towards a house which he had a contract to mend with the local Council. Taking a quick look at the gun in the man's hands, he stamped on the accelerator, making the engine roar as he changed up through the gears. He had the sense to duck as he approached, steering towards the verge to try and scare whoever it was.

(OOC: The guys are already out of the gondola... sorry!)

The man had just had enough today. With the rifle at his shoulder, he looked towards the driver coming to try and run him down. Aiming straight through the windscreen, he let off a few rounds through the windscreen before diving back into the ditch. The cracks in the windscreen would mean the police would be likely to stop him, but there would be at least bait for another car. Hopefully the driver would be dead, or incapacitated enough to be removed. He picked himself from the ditch, flicking the safety back on and the sights back up.

One bullet hit the driver in his right eye, going through to his brain. He slumped forward against the steering wheel, seatbelt straining at his neck. With the van still accelerating, it ploughed into a pine tree. The bonnet crumpled on impact, activating the airbags and pushing the dead driver back against his seat.
Overall, the van was now in a sorry state. The front of the vehicle was driven back against the wheels, puncturing the two front tyres. Steam billowed freely from a damaged radiator. Perhaps more importantly, the engine was dead.

Pulling himself up, the man walked over to the van, looking at the damage. As he'd expected, it was a complete write-off. But it was perfect bait for another vehicle. The man inside was obviously dead, tears of blood coming from his eyes and rolling down his front. He'd have to make it look less suspicious, if he was to have a chance. Using the butt of his rifle, he drove into the windscreen, smashing a hole in the area weakened by the bullet holes. That done, he slammed the man's head forwards into the air bag, twisting his neck at the same time to break it.
Leaving the broken door to hang off, he scurried off to hide in a nearby thicket, able to watch for any arriving vehicles whilst able to leap out onto the road at a moments notice.

__________________________

The Private Detective walked over to help the paramedics with the wounded. Nicolas had collapsed, the head steward was shot to pieces and the Calzorinstani was definitely injured. He smiled to the Montana Inc. worker, walking over to one of the paramedics so they could dress his burnt hand.

Nicolas was slowly coming to again, this was not the way the flight was suppose to be, if anything he was still kinda out of it

"waiter, can i get a water...."

As for Patrica she waited looking around scared, but relieved that they were down. Inside however, she was pissed the mission was a failure. How Montana Inc would get out this one was beyond her control, but then again, the only thing they had so far was that pistol. No info on the other "happenings," a few bribes later that pistol may be back into the right hands.

[OOC: My posts are getting slightly bigger and less half-arsed. I hope that's the writer's block gone. My draft for my new thread has improved, too. At last]

IC:

Hansse Muller was something of a motorbike enthusiast. Not being able to afford a superbike, he'd taken out a loan from the bank and bought a new BMW K1200S a month ago. He loved this road; the long, gently winding tarmac expanse across and around the foothills, the relative emptiness of it. There was no speed limit here, and on the vast open straights and fast bends, the Police relied on common sense to keep motorists at below two million miles per hour.
He'd got the bike in 'Night Black', so they called it, and it was a good description. Here on the sharply winding woods before the hills, however, he had to go slower, for the large ditches either side of the road were usually just as wide. He had a smile on his face as the bike took him up the sun-lit road, but it vanished quickly. What the heck? He hit the brakes as he saw the van, bonnet steaming, crumpled against the tree, and the bike slowed to a stop.
__________________

The Paramedics had their hands full, mending the wounded Passengers in the flicker of blue lights. Four of the massive fire engines, the tanker, and one quick-response engine had been ordered to return to station by fire control, but three trucks, a rescue vehicle, and a rapid-response engine stayed at the scene. Another ambulance passed the fire engines, heading for the airship. Clinging onto the passenger-side door and standing on the footboards was another paramedic, and behind that a police car. Extra help.
The airport police had put away their submachine-guns and pistols and were either on the radio, poking bits of broken airship, or being told to 'hold this' by the paramedics. Whoever looked at it, these people were in a bad condition, to say the least. The steward had blood everywhere, although most of it dried or clotted, a flesh wound to the hip and a bullet a bit deeper into his shoulder, but he seemed to be coping fairly well. Nicolas wasn't very badly hurt as assessed by the paramedics, but nonetheless was being wheeled on a squeaky trolley into a waiting Mercedes ambulance, while the Sky Marshall was being given painkillers.

In the bush, the assault rifle was slowly raised, every effort made not to rustle. He was two steps away from the motorcycle, and he could not believe his luck. Whilst the vehicle the man was riding was an exposed target if he was pursued, it was definitely fast enough for him to make an escape should the balloon go up. Plus the helmet would mask his face should he be a wanted man. Enough to get him to a safehouse in Auston, and from there to Neo'Ilos, a joint territory between Zaheran and Alfegos. A hive for trade, both legal and otherwise, and his ticket to wherever he wanted to go. His clients would be coming after him now, and unless he pulled something out the hat at his safehouse he'd be on the run for the rest of his life.

Leaping out into the road, he hefted the assault rifle and aimed at the man's chest.
"Good afternoon. If you do what that idiot did, you'll be ending up in the same state as him. I'll be wanting your bike and helmet, and for you not to do anything suddenly. Or you'll end up in a complete state."
____________________

A pair of large jets touched down on the runway as the Alfegos Aerofleet Auxiliaries arrived. Each was bulbous, showing it to be an Ekranoplan by true design, though able to operate as a proper jet under light loads. Coming to a halt as the engines fired into VTOL mode, the vehicles slowly floated over towards the airship, eventually landing. Each let loose twenty-four emergency engineers, wearing blue camouflage uniforms and hefting large metal chests between them. As the two finally came to rest, a group of smartly-dressed officers stepped down, moving quickly along the tarmac as the engines wound down to silence.
"Stand aside people! We're going to try and stabilise the airship, so that it can be entered safely."
Moving towards the side of the massive airship one pair took out a pair of backpack ladders, hitting trigger releases to activate gas release cylinders. Aluminium tubes shot from the end, trailing thin carbon-fibre rungs. At the end of the ladder, a pair of vicious hooks dug onto a gantry twenty metres above. Securing the bottom into the ground with two weighted hoops, the men began to ascend upwards, each wielding a large rucksack cable reel and repair gun. Below, a surveying team began checking the main gondola's exterior, in preparation for a forensic analysis team.

Muller spent what seemed like an eternity looking at the assault rifle in the man's hands. The fact that he was calm surprised himself, and the only thought currently in his head was whether the insurance would cover a new bike. In one fluid motion, he stepped off the bike and took his helmet off, revealing the curly light brown hair underneath. He kicked the stand out with his left foot as he watched the man get up.
__________________

As the aerofleet auxiliaries touched down, an airport police car roared away, preceded by a Police motorcyclist and followed by three ambulances and another motorcycle-borne officer. The seldom-used large, sheet-steel security gates at the far end of the airship apron were opened for them, the small convoy making a sharp right to head towards the hospital, five and a half minutes away providing the police had the road fairly clear. Meanwhile, a firefighter, the single 12mm black band on his white helmet denoting the rank of Station Officer, approached one of the uniformed Alfegan officers.

"Station Officer Hakanson, incident commander. I have some heavy rescue equipment if you need it, and I believe my Police counterparts have an on-site forensics team. What, specifically, are you going to do here?"

Everything was going as it should. The terrorist's fingers curled around the trigger by impulse when he saw the man kicking the stand out, relaxing as he saw it was only a mundane reaction. Circling around, the terrorist kept the man in aim whilst approaching the motorbike.
"Listening? Because if you don't, I'll have to shoot you. Put the helmet down on the ground with the keys. Once you've done that, I want you to walk over to the van with your hands on your head, facing the van at all times. If I even think you're going to try any heroics, that'll be your last thing you'll ever do. Now do it."
He moved closer to the motorbike, still aiming at the man.

_______________________________________

"Good afternoon Station Officer. I am Major Ya'slo, in charge of this auxiliary detachment. As we said, the structure is likely to be unstable following the shooting at it by the Antigran air force and the loss of almost all lifting gas. Whilst it should hold, being rigid, we can't guarantee that. Thus, we will be putting up supporting cables internally to hold it together, and setting up external braces to make the gondolas safe. Once the airship's been declared safe, you can send in your forensics teams."

Behind him came a muffled crash as a cable gun was fired, cable locked into a primary beam before being fired into a second, a mechanical lock ensuring the cable stayed taught. By the main gondola, braces had been erected over broken sections of the structure, holding it steady.

"I reckon they'll be finished within half an hour. After that, they'll be staying on here as support for when the Aerotender arrives to start the repairs on this."

Muller took the keys out of the ignition and rested the blue and white Ariel helmet on the ground.

"There"

He said, simply. He walked at a fair pace over to the van, giving the man one last quizzical look before turning back to the dented white bodywork of the van. The gush of steam had somewhat lessened by now, and he heard the gunman picking up the keys.
__________________

"Very well. My men will be on-hand to provide support whenever and if ever necessary, but I shall send some back now. You can expect further police, perhaps a command vehicle, to arrive over the next few hours, as well as press, although we shall do our best to keep them well back. We shall establish a wide cordon for you to work in peace"

He made a hand gesture to a Crew Officer, who yelled out to his fire crew. One man started the large fire engine up and the others got in the cab. It emmited a plume of exhaust fumes than began to move off, towards the red-doored fire station.

There was the rattle of keys scraped up from the ground, followed by the various slithering sounds of a helmet being fitted. Just the right size luckily, not that there were many sizes. He flicked down the visor, dimming the surroundings to cooler dark shades, before inserting the keys into the ignition. The engine started up, the man gunning it to make sure it was healthy. A deep roar echoed around the area, followed by a quiet purr. Kicking the stand away from the side, the man leant over as he gunned the engine, roaring off along the road. As he passed by, he let off a volley of shots in the direction of the man's back, before concealing the assault rifle between his legs. Moving off, he could almost smell his destination: that of freedom.

--------------------------------------------

The men continued working on the airship structure, four men now assigned to a perimeter patrol watching the gathering bystanders. An ANN news team had turned up, speaking rapidly in Fegosian before trying to interview the guard, promptly ignoring them and continuing their walking around the perimeter, rifles obvious on their slings.

Inside the cordon, another pair of ekranoplans had landed. These had come up the river to the airport, flying at low altitude due to their extremely heavy burden: that of helium. Around them, additional auxiliaries carried large cylinders in groups of six, hefting the large units over to the airship's side. From an unloaded one, a long pipeline trailed up to the side of the airship envelope, disappearing inside through an access way. A small pump roared as it regulated pressure from the cylinder, marked as being under a pressure of 500 bars. Enough to lift a tonne of mass at normal pressure, but hardly anything compared the the full amount needed: just enough to keep the structure safely stable.

In the far distance, it was just possible to see a pair of airships coming in towards the airport. Two large Aerotenders, carrying even more equipment and helium towards the stranded airship, ready to get it into full working condition. Alongside them, a small Aerofrigate rushed through the air, carrying police and company officials to discuss the implications of the events.

[Summer free-time over. I have to cram my needs into 45 minutes, please excuse my lack of posting]

[You can just tell I've just watched Police Academy, can't you?]

The gunman's aim was bad, firing from a vehicle, but one nonetheless penetrated his right shoulder, making a sickening fleshy splatter as it did. Fired at point-blank range, it made a larger exit wound as the slightly flattened bullet came out of his shoulder and hit a tree, making little headway into the thick wood at low velocity and stopping not more than an inch through. The force threw him forward and he bounced off the van, rolling across the crumpled bonnet and falling against the tree that the Seat had hit.
His hand moved to his shoulder and he touched it - there was a burning hot sear of pain and he stopped. His breath began to return as he felt a surge of adrenaline - he had a rough idea of what to do. With his good arm, he fetched a hankerchief from his pocket and stuffed it into the hole. God, that hurts! The bullet had passed millimetres below his bone and torn muscle away. It very serious as a flesh wound, blood now oozing from it. Next, he got the red and yellow scard from his neck and wrapped it round the general area, tying it in a tight knot, which should apply some pressure. He stumbled to the roadside and waited for another car to come along.
__________________

The Police went about setting up a wide cordon around the area, aided by Air Cavalrymen. First, they approached the ANN news team, who'd arrived first and told them to stop recording and get well back with the others. Further away, the press and general public were already clamouring for a look, standing on each other with no regard to the fact that most of the tight crowd couldn't breath. They were slowly beating back two police officers, and thier colleagues rushed in. A superintendent yelled out, trying to get the mass' attention without success. Finally, he gave up and gave an order to an Air Cavalryman, who raised his battle rifle and fired a ten-round burst above their heads. Many stepped back, and the superintendent began speaking loudly in English. He noticed a few cameras were on him.

"This is a crime scene and area of highly important national security! We will keep you behind the boundaries of this concrete security wall, and I shall warn you that my men are authorised to use resolute force to prevent your entry. You can report from here, where only the top of the airship is visible. I suggest you stand clear of the gates and road for any further units arriving"

His men, specialist though they were, were few in number, and so needed reinforcements badly. Regular airport police were now arriving from within the airport perimeter, and promptly, a police motorcycle siren and flashing blue lights interrupted the scream of protests. It was followed by a patrol car, two single-deck buses decked out in blue lights and police livery, and another patrol car, all bearing the word Polishögskolan, meaning they were from the nearby Police Academy. They rored in through the gates, the motorcyclist stopping well forward of them and the patrol cars skidding to either side, leaving tyre marks on the concrete ground. The buses stopped quickly and police disembarked quickly from all vehicles, about half running over to the crowd wearing armour vests and navy-blue helmets. Their cadet-issue revolvers and batons were evident as they lined up. From the lead patrol car stepped Commandant Larssen, his decorated black cap distinguishing him from the other officers. He carried his non-standard Walther P99 in right hand and surveyed the scene.

The motorbike continued rapidly along the road, the trees thinning as he passed into the fringe of the city. Slowing as he passed by a large sign warning him of a massive roundabout up ahead, he pulled over into a rest area to check on something. One thing he always took with him was an emergency tin: in the outback, it was a survival kit. This tin however was more suited to this region: a false Alfegan passport lay on the top of the cigarette tin, which he removed from its protective plastic sac to reveal a wad of Æ1500-worth of the local currency, notes of multiple denominations with some small change. Underneath that was a small silk map, which he unfolded.
Leaning against the propped up motorcycle, he unfurled the map to reveal a detailed city plan of the capital, going from the centre to the periphery. Now against the hot exhaust, he left the map to heat up, until brownish-black lines began to show. The lemon-juice markings revealed a pattern of dots and numbers, notes scrawled on the other side of the map as a key. Along with a local safehouse he had established, there were the sites of three item drops and a point on the quayside where he knew he could hire an escape vessel. First though he needed to get to the safehouse, only a few miles from his position on the nearest motorway.
Moving off again, he soon was speeding down the road, pulling off at the junction he had marked on the map and cruising down into a quiet suburb. He counted house numbers along the street, until he came to the one he knew. Number 193, a small detached structure with garage and small fenced garden. As well as being a place of refuge, it was also a home away from home when he needed it.
Taking out the map again, he looked at the safehouse notes again. The key was hidden outside, within the garden grounds. Walking the motorbike into the garden to hide it from prying eyes, he moved over to a small rockery on the garden edge. To the casual observer, he seemed to be admiring the cascade of creepers that had overgrown it, but closer inspection would see he was counting. He soon removed a stone, releasing a host of disturbed insects and a small metal combination-cylinder. He twisted the numerals on its side, soon allowing a drawer to slide open and reveal an unused key to the back door, and to the garage at the side.
His first stop was to place the motorbike inside, in case helicopters were out after him or a tracking device was fitted. The garage door soon moved after being freed from its rusted frame, allowing access into a dark interior. A few assorted tools and fuel cylinders stood around the sides of the revealed space, a gap to the side adequate for hiding the motorbike. The shining walls revealed themselves to be coated with fine-mesh wiring, that joined up neatly with the garage door itself: a faraday cage, able to block all incoming and outgoing signals. As he left, he made one glance at the other vehicle this building held: underneath a cream dustcover, the shape of a car was apparent. The door slammed shut, sealing the cage, before it locked.
The door rattled as it was opened, allowing access into a dusty interior. After a few seconds of loud beeping, the man de-activated the building alarm, before hanging the keys up inside a small metal locker. Throwing off his shoes, he closed the door behind him before putting one of the coins on the side in the electricity meter. The lights powered on, lighting up the building as he paced over into the open-plan lounge, before he fell into the sofa opposite a flatscreen television. Before getting business, at least he could see what chaos he had caused.

Another unsuspecting motorist braked hard yet again as he saw the carnage. A man stumbled towards him, the top-right part of his white Umbro-branded shirt a dark, stained, bloody mess. The man, an mid-level executive for the Royal Bank of Antigr, ran over to him, leaving the door of his grey BMW 5-Series open.

"What - are you okay?"

"Save for a bullet in my shoulder, yes"

He led him to the open door and rested him on the passenger seat, then whipped his Nokia mobile phone from a pocket. His shaky fingers dialled 555 and he explained to the operator what had happened, taking worried glances at the wounded motorcyclist. A fizzing and solid thump erupted behind him and he ducked forward, then looked back. Something electronic had short-ciruited, and a small trail of smoke rose from the engine compartment. Thump. Small flames licked the bonnet.

"What's happened? Talk to me"

"I-It's on fire now. There's sparks and flames"

"Stay back from it. Fire, police, and ambulance services are on their way"

The few minutes seemed like an eternity. He crouched down next to the motorcyclist, oblivious to what was happening behind him. The biker talked feebly, and bravely tried to laugh it off. He looked up as he saw a police car arrive and stop in the shallow roadside ditch, followed by a large, red Dennis Pump Engine. Firefighters in light brown protective clothing jumped out and opened the metallic roller lockers on the sides of the engine, one pulling out the right-hand-side black high-pressure hose reel, attacking the blaze. The Crew Commander stood behind him to help control the high recoil of the hose and firemen began to run towards the flaming engine compartment wielding ABC powder fire extinguishers. A policeman ran over to the BMW and crouched down beside him.

"I can't do anything for this. Best to leave it to the paramedics"

Thirty seconds later, a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter ambulance pulled up. Another thirty seconds later, the wounded man was being led into the ambulance.

"Thanks!"

He called back.
__________________

What the terrorist would have seen on television was an interruption to regular programming for an ABN newsflash. It showed some brief footage from an Alfegan news team, and then cut to a correspondent in front of a cameraman, speaking in Antigran. The camera spun round to capture an approach of five police vehicles, then a senior police officer speaking in english. It then cut to a live picture with the same correspondent speaking Antigran. Evidently, more news teams were turning up.

"As you can see behind me, the authorities obviously don't want people seeing what's happening over half a mile away behind me, and armed police officers are keeping people back. Indeed, I've just been told that they've issued a threat to shoot any airborne news crews down if they come within range of the scene. We don't know what exactly has gone on here, but it is definitely of major concern to the security forces. More on this in half an hour with the six o' clock news"

The helium canisters were being disconnected as a loud series of clangs started up around the airship exterior: great pains were being taken by the men not to enter the gondolas, to preserve any forensic evidence still available inside. The cacophony came as the auxiliaries finished a series of commands programmed into the airship via an external port to the controlling computer in the control gondola, where the terrorist had denied it was. Around the airship, any loose tatters of fabric and metal blew away from the sides as the airship redistributed gas to identified safe cells inside the airship, lifting the nose and control gondola up off the ground. A prepared metal scaffold was slotted underneath, the crew locking it into position as a runner sprinted over to the Antigran crew on the ground.
"The airship is now safe to enter, so long as you only have eight men at most in at a time. We've got some protective kit if you don't trust our engineering, but we'd recommend you get your investigation on as soon as possible, before we have to get ready to tow this back to Alfegos."
The distant group of airships was getting much closer.

"Right. I'll send my forensics team in. Thank you"

He spoke into his radio discreetly. Behind him, an airport police 4x4 and two vans headed off towards the airship, carrying the standby forensics team and some engineers. Once at the airship, they unloaded a total of 31 men and women who subsequently began to unload their equipment from the back of the vans. Two engineers went in first, and the scene that greeted them was carnage. The walkways were anything from slightly dented to completely crushed or disfigured, and the little metal signs were on the grey spaced walkway or debris outside of the airship. The auxiliaries had done a good job stabilising the hulk as they walked along, ducking or hopping over obstacles. Behind them, a Police Sergeant had entered. They would have a hard time picking their way through the debris, but it would have to be done. The aerotenders had meanwhile got much closer and ground crews getting ready to recieve them.

The auxiliaries continued watching the structure as the police teams boarded, sweeping up debris from off the nearest landing pad as they prepared to receive the two aerotenders. The first, the AAS Helium Runner, began to slow down as it moved towards arriving. At nine hundred metres long, it was twice the length of the enormous airship liner, with an internal gas volume at least eight times that of the other. The eight Prevanian-crafted engines, each the size of a small house, sent out a loud splutter as they came to a halt, before screeching back into a full reverse. The engineering hands aboard the ship rushed towards the gantries as it closed in on the ground, slowly slowing down as it approached within three kilometres of the airport.

In the gondola of the much smaller airship bobbing in its slipstream, a group of suited officials waited, sitting in foldup chairs as they watched the incoming view through the front oxynitride screen. Around them, the large gondola crew were noticeably agitated: the two weaponry system controllers sat alert on their control stations, hands just off of the firing controls. The Foreign Minister sat just behind the airship Captain as messages flickered back and forth between him and the ground. Along with him were a team of attachés he had hand picked, representing Alfegos in this mess. The Captain turned around to the Foreign Minister as he received a message on his radio.
"Could you confirm sir how many men will be landing in addition to crew and auxiliaries?"
"Eight diplomatic staff, a team of twenty investigative staff from the Internal Ministry and twenty-four aeromarines."
"Right you are."
The Captain turned back as he checked the air speed meter, changing engine power as he called over the intercom.
"All personnel prepare for landing."

[I'd rather not RP the forensics investigation in great detail, if you don't mind - I don't know enough on the subject to be of any worthy RP, if that's all okay]

No sooner had the ship touched down and the passengers got up from their seats before the seniormost officer on the scene, police Commandant Larssen, went up to them and saluted.

"Welcome to Antigr, I'm the senior officer here. Normally, I'd have to have you remain on or very near to the ship due to your contingent of soldiers but I've just got the powers-that-be yelling down the 'phone a few minutes ago, ordering me to let you through. With the help of two busloads of police cadets, we've set up a wide cordon and you can work in peace. However, I shall, on behalf of my senior officers, require to know what you are doing unless down to highly secret level. A few minutes ago, the crowd would have overrun us but I fired a few shots into the air and they're docile, for now. I have instructions to keep watch on you and keep guard over you, if any of you get harmed then it's quite possibly my job on the line. I'm sure you'll have seen the damaged airship to your immediate left, airport police, engineers, and forensics officers are at work"

Behind him, there were further shouts of protests and another gunshot as two more police cars drove in and pulled up much nearer to the airship, about two hundred metres away near to the fire engines. Following it was a police van, halogen strobe lightbar flashing, a truck marked 'AREA COMMAND' and the same in Antigran, and finally a police Range Rover towing a medium-sized command unit. Once the Range Rover had stopped, a tall man in navy blue and white dress uniform stepped out onto the concrete surface, his cap bearing the Insignia of Police Chief of the area. He looked ahead and jogged towards the airship, while armed police got out of the cars.

The airship came to a perfect halt to the side of the crashed airship, with the two aerotenders much higher above, slowly drifting in the wind as the engines counteracted the drift. The side door unlocked with a hiss, dropping down onto the asphalt to reveal a wire staircase down to the ground a metre below. The Foreign Minister moved to this front entrance, as the gondola crew set up the landing controls. Above, the Helium Runner dropped down a tangle of wire ladders, men rapidly descending downwards as the ladders dropped to the nearby second landing pad. As the first men started touching down, the second aerotender (the AAS Zinc Renegade) moved in to prepare to drop down its compliment of men and Aeromarines. The Minister moved forward with his party of attachés to the greeting Police Commandant.

"Good afternoon, and thankyou for your welcome. I have landing from the other two airships over there the investigative presence that will be sent for this matter by Alfegos. We have also brought along some relief for security, since this entire area will have to be cordoned off. Before you close off all sky traffic, I have had word that officials from the Counter-terrorism office of the National Security Service will be arriving in three hours with a mobile operations centre, to allow for us to determine any danger to civilians as quickly as possible. The aerotenders here will work on tending to the crashed airship, as well as providing any repair support needed in the local areas should further attacks take place. The Aerofrigate will be defending the sky of this sector, with a range of about 200km.
Now, I am here to sort out the diplomatic mess that has happened as a result of this. If you could escort me to the relevant officials for this matter, the head of the Internal Ministry Rapid Investigative Team should be coming over now. There's a platoon of Aeromarines who will be on the ground, so that you can relieve some of the cadets you have in the area. The Aerofrigate will provide the air support needed."

Coming across the tarmac and concrete jogged a team of six men, whilst the rest of the team trailed carrying the equipment in large metal cases. All were dressed in black uniforms and stab-proof vests, an orange star surrounded by palm leaves and two swords showing them to be members of the Interior Ministry. At their head was a man wearing three stars on his shoulders, the rank of a Captain.
"Investigative Captain Hoy'tu. While my men get set up and we get the area prepped for full investigation, would you care to explain to me what has already started?"
Behind him, two men had dragged a few chests around the main gondola, unpacking a diesel generator and set of floodlights to prepare for the evening. Others were setting up a forward command tent, nail-bolting it into the tarmac and setting up the bright orange material. Inside, computer equipment was being linked up to the generator, whilst a portable screen was being set up for the forensics men to get kitted up into their scene protecting clothing and prep their kit.

The aeromarines had landed by now, the lieutenant setting up a small command post on the airship terminal roof from where a small backpack ladder provided access to the ground. After briefing the section NCOs, he took up the observation role on the roof with a fireteam on patrol, whilst the rest broke up into fireteams to patrol the barricades being set up. The airship had offloaded some hundred-metre razor-wire strips, to try and keep the crowds out. All were fully kitted out in body armour, thick landing boots and ceramic helmets, meaning they stood a good six inches above even the tall police cadets. A mix of crowd-control weapons had been dished out from the station armoury of where they had been working: a mix of SHOK-equipped shotguns, AF-07P assault rifles with bayonets fixed and TASERNET pistols, with a couple even walking about with 69-issue backpack gas canisters filled with CS gas. On the roof, two marksmen patrolled with high-velocity anti-material rifles, ready to take out any offending vehicles or targets should they make a run for the area.

"Of course, sir. As I've said, my men will be required to keep a presence here, be it a large one. A company or so of Air Cavalry will be arriving within the half-hour. My airport police comrades tell me that closing off all air traffic in the way of standard aircraft is unnecessary, as this is a very long way from the main airport, the planners gave you a wide berth and overdid it, you are about two miles from the old airport which you cannot see due to the trees. As you can see, we've got a command contingent here already, armed police, soldiers, and the air force will be keeping an eye on us. The slightly telephone-like sound - I don't know what to compare it to - is the characteristic sound of DD80 fly-overs, they don't sound like anything else"

He was interrupted by one of his men approaching him. His shoulder insignia denoted the rank of inspector, and his coat and hat were his only standard police uniform, save for the PT-3 submachine-gun slung to his side, under his arm. Larssen spoke to him in Antigran, leaning back slightly and talking quietly.

"Utplacera dina manar runt om omkretsen och förhindra någon civilist från kommande inom en mile av här. Du har min tillåtelse att använda dödlig styrka, om nödvändigt. Du har ditt beställer, inspektör"

This, essentially, were orders to set up a perimeter to keep any civilians from a mile of the area, at least, and giving him permission to use their weapons to do so, if required. He turned back to the Alfegan while the inspector and his soldier-like policemen jogged off.

"If you understood Antigran, you'd see I was setting up a secure area around here. Beware that you cannot bring in more than a Battalion as defined by Antigran law, our definition is about 600 men. Otherwise, you shall all have to leave without express permission from the government to stay and the king's signature, which you won't get at such an early stage. Also, if I remember it correctly, you are allowed a maximum of eight airborne vehicles and the same for ships. I'd recommend you stay within our rules. Ah, commissioner"

He turned to the senior policemen who'd arrived with the command unit. They exchanged salutes and the officer addressed the Alfegans.

"Anything you need to know, the Commandant has already told you or will tell you. The Prime Minister and Minister of Defence shall be along quite soon, bringing their own convoy and policemen. With them, we shall have about a hundred and thirty men on-site, excluding the patrol cars which will be arriving, soldiers, and airmen"

Meanwhile, a police sergeant and his detachment of three cadets and two constables walked over to what appeared to be an Alfegan NCO in combat dress. The policeman was massive, six foot ten inches, and he bent down slightly to the soldier.

"If I were you, I'd keep away from the perimeter and press, we've got that sorted and we don't need press reports of hundreds of divisions of Alfegan storm troopers landing to kill us all. My cadets are in their twelth week and pretty much police officers, we can handle the crowds. I'd very much appreciate it if you did that and told your officer, 'cos otherwise the police commissioner will tell him"
__________________

Inside the Airship, the police sergeant turned to the Alfegan captain.

"Sergeant Ahlbom, sir. We're just investigating the structure and looking for evidence of suspect activity, we cannot take years to take fingerprints from the whole airship. We are few in number and carry only field equipment, if you could help us it'd be appreciated, that is if you can. As you can see, inside here is a wreck"

On the perimeter, the Lance-corporal whistled, calling the other three men over, before turning back to the police sergeant. There was a rhythmic clang as one of the men walked over, showing he was carrying one of the backpack gas cylinders. Noting the man's height in unshown amusement, he began speaking.
"This airship is, as you can guess, property of an Alfegan company. Therefore, it is property of Alfegos. I have been ordered to patrol this part of the perimeter with my men, and will do so until ordered otherwise. I do understand your concerns, so I will radio in."
He flicked a switch on his communications earpiece, before talking in Fegosian down the line.
"Alpha One, Si'co: akeahat'ta An'tiga'ba lopa pe'loma. Kia'ma bo?"
"Ka Alpha One! An'tiga'ba toi'rai akeahat'ta, ou ma'laka!"
"Bo. Ka'sa Alpha One."
Steering away from a possible literal translation of what ma'laka meant, he began talking.
"The Leu'tanent says that he'll have to be asked first before we move off. As it is now, we will continue patrolling the perimeter. I'm sorry, but this one will have to be done... I think it is called in English "by the book". If you have any complaints, they will have to be raised via the correct chain of authority. As it is, twenty-four aeromarines is hardly hundreds, so for now we should be alright. Thankyou."
The rest of the squad began patrolling back in the direction they had been going originally, the Lance-corporal moving back the way he came. Further around, a fireteam were busy moving in some razorwire coils to form an inner cordon a hundred metres from the outside, locking it down into the ground.
________________

The Foreign Minister nodded as he confirmed the man's comments.
"Excellent. I can trust that everything shall be able to go on as has been said, and we don't have complications. I will wait for the arrival of the diplomatic party aboard the Aerofrigate."
_________________

Inside the airship, the investigative team entered wearing the forensics kit, some taking items behind them.
"We will provide all the manpower you need. We have the auxiliaries recovering the airship flight recorder and computer records, and have brought in a mobile laboratory if we need any chemical or basic DNA analysis."
Behind him, there came the snap of a camera shutter along with a flash from the light. He took out a small PDA, bringing up a floor plan.

"This was provided by Alfegos Aeronautics. We're currently in the remains of the main lobby area. The two rooms to the side here are mostly the luxury suites. Further up are the fifteen normal rooms around the outside, and an open plan shopping/bar area to the centre."

Small white tape had been set up around the three bodies lying in the crushed hull, along with orange tape around numerous bullet holes in the area. The cameras photographing the bodies flashed once more, before the bodies were carried off towards the mobile laboratory. In their place were large white markers. Smaller white markers showed the location of where items had been collected, such as casings and weapons.

"So far, we can deduce there was some form of attack here, culminating in a firefight between two parties. The bodies have yet to be identified, but we suspect they were the terrorists, due to the knives we've found on them.
Since we doubt our mobile command centre and laboratory are adequate for questioning, we recommend that you perform questioning, either here or at the nearest police station."

He took a look around the wreck, the two parties of men moving about.
"We can discount most areas, seeing as the attack was reported to mainly be towards the control gondola. Once they've taken the recorder out, that'll be a place to start looking. Otherwise, once this area has been searched we should look for where the terrorists entered the main gondola, and then move on to how they boarded."

_________________

The television flicked off, the man smiling. Havoc had, at least, been caused. Now though was the time for him to make his way out of here. With some depression admittedly hanging over him, he took the garage keys from the key safe, along with a set of car keys.

OOC: Sorry I have dropped a few RPs to stay on track with classes,

can we just assume that my characters are being treated like every other nameless passenger..

[Sorry for lack of reply - time issues. Ya know, this could've done with an OOC thread, don'cha think?]

Not really... it's alright enough as it is, since we've hardly got any players (me and you now...). TG me any of your concerns regarding anything, and I'll be glad to help. Forthcoming warning: I'll be off the weekend after this one coming, on an IRC with the first-year cadets as a corporal. I watched the thing on the BBC about army bullying, and have taken notes from that... :-).

The towering Sergeant shrugged lightly and strode off immediately towards who appeared to be their officer. He looked towards the Sergeant as he approached, probably taking in his height. Approaching him, the Sergeant put on something of a fake sweet smile as he dominated the Alfegan with his height, making him look up. Sergeant Trana liked it that way.

"I've just asked one of your Corporals to move away from the perimeter here, before the press see your troops and concoct some lies. I'd much appreciate it if your platoon could stay more immediately within the vicinity of your airships. I've asked nicely"
__________________

Had the terrorist bothered to watch the television for two more minutes, he'd have seen another convoy arrive up the concrete road, press almost being run over by the police vehicles which didn't bother to slow down. With far fewer ridiculous health and safety laws on emergency vehicles than some other countries, emergency services were not required to fit quieter sirens for police work. An advantage was that you actually heard the vehicle before you saw it, a disadvantage was that anyone standing too close would have hearing damage. As such, photographers fleed the road for a few seconds while the vehicles rounded the bend fast and drove into the airfield. Two solo motorcyclists, a marked highway patrol vehicle, and two supercharged black embassy Jaguar XJS saloons tore into the compound, the sirens dying down as they pulled up. Close behind them were two police vehicles, a Jeep, and four grey army trucks arrived, bearing Air Cavalry insignia. Before they'd even come to a complete stop, tailgates were down and armed soldiers with assault rifles and riot shotguns stepping down, a Major at the helm. The cleaner, slicker motorcade contained the Prime Minister and Foreign Office Minister, who got out decked out in suits and large watch coats. Accompanied by four suited personnel, with sunglasses, gun holsters just visible through their coats, they strode briskly over to the waiting Police and Alfegan minister.

"Good day"
__________________

The two forensics teams studied the carnage around them with great interest. It was interesting how men of the same trade, from whatever area of the globe, managed to work well as a team. Antigran engineers and uniformed police were accompanied by white-covered Alfegans, taking photographs of the interior with bits of metal and fine furnishings lying around them. Above, a police helicopter could just be heard over footsteps and intense chatter, an officer sitting in the doorway with a Canon high-end SLR camera. The Antigrans, not having more than field equipment, instead aided the Alfegans in their search and analysis, being careful not to touch too much as they headed further from the point of entry, engineers checking for areas of which to be wary.

The Lieutenant moved from the small command post on the building rooftop as he saw the situation unfolding below with the Antigran Police, leaving his Colour Sergeant to oversee the setting up of the barbed wire barricades. Dropping down on one of the backpack ladders, he touched the tarmac before clicking over in his urban-warfare digicam BDUs. His communicator was built into his helmet, an inconspicuous aerial over both his ears, the channel swap switch just under his left cheek. He kept the section commander channel open as he paced over to the tall sergeant, looking up at the man attempting to intimidate him. He let his AF-07P assault rifle hang on locked sling as he listened to the man's concerns, before answering.
"I do understand your concerns, Sergeant, and will act upon them at my discretion. Otherwise, at this time, I will continue to have my men patrol this area, unless one of your or my superiors sees it fit for me to remove them from the perimeter. If you have concerns of bad press, I believe it would be suitable for you to contact your commanding officer, who will know the appropriate channels to go through. Now, if you are quite finished, Sergeant, I will go back to my proper duties, thankyou."
He turned to walk off.

_______________

Under the shadow of the AAS Zinc Renegade, the Foreign Minister and his party stood to greet the arriving Antigran officials, the buzz of activity all around.
"Good afternoon Prime Minister, Minister. I'm here on behalf of Alfegos to see what we can sort out from this complete mess."
His attachés nodded their respects as he moved to shake hands.
"We have set up a meeting room of sorts aboard the Zinc Renegade, so we should be able to meet there."
The airship gracefully and inexplicably touched down behind him, popping a couple of inches above the ground at the main cargo gondola. One of the side access ways had been let down, touching down onto the ground revealing a route into a hastily-lighted interior, a central area cleared of goods chests and helium canisters with a few chairs set up. A fireteam of the aeromarines had been called in to guard the entrances whilst the party of men were motioned towards the interior.

_______________

In the forensics tent, a flexible plastic screen had been set up, held rigid in a set of clamps and rippling unnaturally in the wind. Photographs were already being analysed by a team uploading them onto a portable server stack, linked up to a set of satellite dishes. An inner sealed area inside held the laboratory, and the morgue. Inside here, one of the terrorist bodies was laid out on the ground, stripped of clothing and undergoing thorough looking over by the specialist corpse analyst. He had called in some Antigran officers to help him with his work, hoping he had picked the less squeamish ones. The body, he knew, was only recently dead by being still warm. Congealed blood covered the floor from a burst wound, where the man was trying to extract a bullet that had decided to lodge in bone, carefully extracting it with something resembling tweezers, though altogether more industrial. A computer screen set up here showed up the wounds across a diagram, along with notes attached to a side. The specialist wore a small laser dot on his index finger, which he used to move a cursor across the screen and highlight areas, whilst typing in with his free hand the necessary information. The extracted bullets lay in a series of small bags in a small painted square marked out with the body number, along with the man's personal possessions, awaiting any further analysis.

[OOC: Can you think of any ideas that would allow the police to know of your man in the safehouse? I intend that they miss him, but it'd make for some good RP. BTW, how many military airships do you have in Auston at the moment?]

The two constables stared at the body with intent but somewhat reluctant interest. One was thoughtful and looked closely, but the other frowned and closed his eyes briefly.

"You okay, Sigfrid?"

"Yeah, just - I haven't seen a body for awhile"

"Only been a week"

"I'm fine, I'm fine"

They looked in closer. One shook his head and pulled away slowly, then spoke into his little radio, asking the sergeant to give him Dagard. While the Alfegan went about the field lab, constable Dagard entered and greeted them.

"You're the expert on these matters, what do you see?"

"It's hard to tell with all the blood still fairly fresh, but look at how wide the wound is, and if you look closer, not a perfect circle"

"So?"

"Jacketed hollow point or hollow point bullets would be a bit cleaner than this. The army, for the past year, have had a new ammunition. It's designed to tumble within the body, causing a wound at least as high as the round, and cause wounds like a hollow point, but there is no international law on it yet, that I know of"

He turned to the bullets. Crouching down to the table at eye-level, he narrowed his eyes to a slit and focused. Then, he got back up with a small groan.

"Seven-point-seven millimetre. Antigran, he must have been taken down by the soldiers. Also, he has a wound in his side, where flesh is torn away. That's a large chunk, possibly from a shotgun slug or standard shotshell albeit at very close range that has passed him and not lodged in the body"

He turned to the Alfegan, who he guessed had been listening in.
__________________

Trala turned round with a look of mild defeat on his face. It quickly vanished as the cadet that arrived with him in the patrol car looked at him, toting the shotgun from the rack in the vehicle.

"I overheard. Why can't he just go?"

"Because they're damned edgy, that's why. They know they don't need more than a few soldiers or crew from the airship, but they bring a platoon of stormtroopers. They're bordering on the edge of the law as it is, and the King won't really approve, either. We'd be best just keeping an eye on them, they look as if they could do something stupid. Look at all those barricades, too. Just watch 'em, Marten"

"Appropriate channels indeed. Well, I suppose their Minister is just over there, shall we send them a communique?"
__________________

Prime Minister Bengtsson shook his hand warmly.

"Quite. I shall think we have a big mess to sort out, I don't really know what's happened myself. My defence minister told me something about New Dawn before we left, and I have a hurriedly-handwritten one-page dossier in my hand. It feels quite odd here with no flash of cameras. Anyhow, shall we?"

He gestured to the airship gondola and turned towards it.

(I've got three military airships in the area, along with three ekranoplans. Still within the rules. Also, I was thinking the police could track him down by the stolen motorbike, which some neighbour could have seen hidden away and report it or something after hearing about it on the news.)

Inside the morgue, a section of soldiers walked in with three more body bags, placing them down before removing the corpses within. Two were dressed in civilian clothing, whilst the other was in airship crew uniform.

"Thankyou for your help constables in identifying him as the one shot down by the soldiers. If you notice, his body is also riddled with multiple scrapes and smaller bullet wounds, indicating most likely an Alfegan-issue rifle being used. This, as you can guess, shows he was involved in an earlier gunfight, showing he must in some way have been involved in an earlier firefight: possibly inside the main gondola. So far, I've counted eleven penetration wounds, seven grade ones, two grade twos and a grade three, responsible for his final death. There are also multiple pellet and slug-related wounds. This man was obvious a fighter in some way: I have already taken a blood sample to check for chemicals and high levels of Adrenalin. The latter would suggest he was Fegosian, so would be identifiable from the National Genetic Health Register. But onto the next bodies..."

He moved to the air staff body first, taking the clothes from the body carefully, before starting taking photographs of key points.
"One gunshot wound, grade one, to the shoulder, with fractures resulting in the scapula and left humerus. Main cause of death however appears to be..."
A flash bulb flickered, as he summoned the constables in.
"... you see the purple band around the neck? Pooled blood caused by burst vessels, indicating a possible death by strangulation. If, however, I poke this..."
He prodded the back of the neck, moving it to an unnatural position.
"... you will see the vertebrae are broken, indicating death by long-drop hanging. The deep pattern in the neck would suggest a cable of some sort, backed up by no trace of fibres upon the neck."
He took a step up, moving over to the macabre tool kit.
"Even when you are dead, you can speak volumes. And they call me mad..."

____________________

A generator hummed as lights lit up in the gondola area. The minister sat down in one of the folding chairs, indicating positions to the other members in the circle. A container had been placed in the middle, forming an improvised surface.
"Let us start by discussing the most immediate problem: that of security to this area. We have set up a platoon patrolling the perimeter, with barricades of a suitable nature to halt any attempts to enter the area erected. In case of riot breakthrough, we will be able to assist the local police in providing heavy support. Do you have any problems with that?"

The Prime Minister leant back in his chair. He turned to the police commissioner and muttered something in Antigran to him. A reply came back quietly through his ear and he leant forward again, the creases in his suit reappearing again as he did so.

"No major problems, although we'd much like the soldiers to stay back from the security gates. While of solid concrete, not too far from it is a wire fence. Photographers and cameramen manage to get through occasionally and snap up some photos for the press. There is only a narrow angle through which they can view, thanks to a generator shed and the two Polishögskolan buses. However, your men will be highly visible patrolling close to there and you know what press can be like. This could turn embarrassing for both our countries, even more so than it is already. Other than that, we have not many qualms. A Superintendent Ottosson and a detachment of thirty men from the Special Branch have been scrambled and will arrive via helicopter and car, I've been told. With their help, we have enough police to exclude the immediate area, set up roadblocks, and get the bloody press and public out. However, doing so when something so obvious has happened by force without much warning could turn into a riot. Rumours have already got out as to what airship this is, and one of these is correct"
__________________

"They've called me mad a lot. Now, long-drop hanging? I've seen that with crash-test dummies, specially modified. it's violent, his head could easily have come off. We shall have to have a word with the Navy Fleet Air Arm who intervened - If you didn't know, they were detailed to shoot the airship down if neccessary, at the briefing we were told they came pretty close to doing so"

He spoke into his radio again. A garbled reply came through, which was just understandable to someone used to radios.

"We'll have to get the rest of the bodies in while they're still - fresh, if you like. Take blood samples and such. In the briefing I've heard of a group called Fresh Dawn or something. Do you know anything about them?"
__________________

Erik Ødegård looked at the bike intently, parked in the alley leading off the main road. The registration plate was one he recognised. Where have I seen that? He thought and furrowed his brow with his left hand, his head bowed. The news. The news, that was where. A guy had his bike stolen in an armed encounter, the film crew had captured the scene as the flames were hosed down. Reaching for his Sony Ericsson, the five button was pressed three times. He had a brief discussion with the operator. Once the operator had ended the call and noted the details, her watch officer referred it to a superintendent. He referred it to area command, the chief's words still fresh in his mind. This was more than a stolen bike.
__________________

The police car made a handbrake turn in the road as the halogen rotator lightbar began throwing blue beams around it and the yelp siren started. It accelerated hard up the road it had just come down. Inside was constables Sæther and Temrin, the latter of whom swung the wheel hard to the right as they took a junction at 45mph while the former drank the last of his coffee in one big, hurried gulp.

"Patrol 56. Patrol 56, this is regional. You're a mile away, you don't have long. Officers will have junction 702 for blue clear"

"Got that, regional. Responding"

The terrorist would be able to see the blue lights in the distance on the straight main road. It would be a matter of a few dozen seconds between finding the bike and their man or losing him in traffic.

"So the current situation is extremely volatile? That's a brilliant start... we will pull back the soldiers to interior barricades they have set up, and move them into play should there be a breakthrough to quickly contain and force back any threat. The aero marines were primarily deployed in case any further attacks were likely, so as to attempt to provide the sort of support that the Police would not normally need except in a case such as this. If you have any further questions on this, I will find you the Lieutenant in charge so you can consult him.

However, to the more immediate situation: that of the group involved. From the information I received so far, they are New Dawn."

He left the silence to hang in the room for a moment, before continuing.

"New Dawn are a recent Global anarchist movement who have their roots in Alfegos. They started off with kidnappings and the like, and we soon thought we'd got the group under control, with the leaders under arrest. However, this is not so, as shown by this.
What the group want to do is sever all ties Alfegos has with the outside world, before using its isolation as a perfect situation to allow the overthrow of the government. Intelligence from our sources have linked group funding to several offshore accounts, which we suspect are proxies for money being shifted by another group or groups. The same intelligence also stated that the New Dawn group was eradicated.

This leads to the following possibilities: either that the group was not completely eradicated, or that the group claiming they are New Dawn are imposters. We will need to thoroughly cross-examine the surviving terrorists to try and determine which solution is the most likely.

The priorities for now however are the security of this site, the status of the passengers aboard the airship, and whether we have any terrorist suspects on the run. Comments, ladies and gentlemen?"

_________________________

"Lovely isn't the way he died? Completely clean and painless if calculated properly. I don't see why people go for the electric chair as a way of carrying out capital punishment when this method is so much cleaner. But they had a stroke of luck they didn't decapitate the subject.
But I heard your lot attacked when they obviously knew that there was this bloke's life in danger. The many over the few, I know, but still..."

He looked over the next few terrorist bodies, mostly riddled with gunshot wounds of assorted severity.

"The rest of the bodies should be arriving any time soon, once they finish the photography in the airship itself. I hope at least we won't have any deaths from falling from high altitude: if there are, I recommend that you use the bucket in the corner. I've dealt with a few jumpers before, and they are not the most pleasant of cases, though better than when they try and dispose of a corpse in fire..."

He marked up the gunshot wounds on the airman corpse on the screen, before sending it onto the investigative network. Next door, the data would've flashed up on screen along with any data collected from items analysis and subject details from the Government computers to form a full profile: truly make the dead talk. Back at home, he knew there would be a team examining computer data in the Central Police Station, New Zevkhay, as well as in the ISS headquarters in Ol'vi.

"New dawn you mean... one of the less nasty groups in Alfegan history. I'd rank them a 6 out of 10 on the scale of evil, about the same as the Peri'vi Volunteers. Not like the groups thirty years ago that napalmed schools out of transport planes, or set off Tabun cylinders in town centres, but still pretty serious. They're an anarchist sect that tried to get attention a few years ago with mass kidnappings, though they ended up being hunted down by many governments, with most now in prison in their own countries, or in prison in Alfegos. They only just missed the death penalty, so are lucky in one respect. Thing is, something like this isn't their style."

(OOC: Won't do the safe house siege for a while yet. Maybe next post)

Bengtsson sighed again. He wasn't sweating, but if he was the gondola would be awash.

"So far as I know, the passengers are at the local hospital, guarded discretely by police and the secret service, the latter, of course, an untrue rumour. We have the Navy Fleet Air Arm patrolling the airways, they've already threatened to shoot down a news helicopter as per their orders, and if anybody tries to charge in from the sea - "

He raised his right hand and gestured to the thin line of blue visible beyond the strip of new evergreen forest.

" - they shall be destroyed by two frigates, a hunter-killer submarine, and the police. We have the army here too, I should think we are fairly secure. We're going to try and move the press away about now"
__________________

Commandant Larssen sighed heavily. After another gunshot to get the unruly crowd's attention after well over an hour of arguing, he spoke loudly and clearly with his mild but strong voice.

"Will you all go back to your vehicles! We need to secure the area as a matter of national consequence, again, my men will use force if necessary"

That prompted a shove forward from the crowd of nearly three hundred. The police shoved them back to where they were, which further prompted a man to push his way to the front and barge police out of the way, yelling out for all to hear.

"I think my brother was on that airship! I need to get through!"

He tried to get through again. Once more, he was pushed back and fell against the crowd. With a deeply annoyed look on his face, his fist carried him forward as he attacked a policeman, striking him just below his neck. More joined in, shoving them back, and within half a minute, there was a yelling, violent crowd. The spark had fallen on the fuel. An Inspector yelled.

"Hey!"

That was all they needed. As the police were pushed back, forty cadets and policemen, all with riot shields, got to the front and formed a hasty wall. Rocks thudded off the sheet flame-treated steel. It was a riot. Sergeant Trana fetched a PT-3 submachine-gun from a colleague and ran over to the rapidly-developing scene. The police had formed a three-deep line, jostling but making no progress. A rock smashed a headlight on a motorcycle. Cocking the weapon, he fired half the magazine into the air and then the remainder. The crowd briefly lost momentum and the police shoved them back. By now, the Air Cavalry had joined in, making up the authorities' numbers to be almost that of the crowd. The police, by now, had less-than-lethal ammunition in their shotguns and started taking the front ranks down with rubber slugs.
__________________

"I know there are a few groups who have something against Antigr. There's even capitalist terrorists now, targeting us, as well as leftovers from the civil war. New Dawn, though...I wonder what they'll do now they haven't got their way"

As the riot suddenly developed, the aeromarine Lieutenant switched to a general broadcast to all sections.
"Patrols teams one and two, prepare to aid the police in case of a breakthrough. Three, four and five, move back to the wire barricades. Six, open fire on non-lethal rounds. Let's get to work!"
On the rooftop, team six let rip upon the crowd below: two FN Minimis firing rubber rounds complimented the warning shots let off from the anti-material rifle towards any nearby vehicle tyres. The Lieutenant looked over with binoculars as he watched the police forced back by the angry crowd. Already, he could see Team 1 setting up one of the gas canisters, one using a few leaves to see which way the wind was blowing. Luckily, into the crowd. Team two had taken up firing positions in the cover of the forward barricades, gas masks in place. Team one fitted respirators, before calling over the shared channel with the Antigrans.
"We've got the gas set up. Get ready to move in units with respirators."
The cylinder carrier unwound a small length of cable on the side, moving back a few metres to the shelter where the rest of his men were, before yanking the cord. A loud crack came as a charge detonated, followed by a roar as the cylinder ejected its load. A wide nozzle reduced the gas pressure from the 150 bar is was in the cylinder, allowing 3000 litres of CR non-lethal tear gas into the atmosphere, directly into the crowd. A slight crosswind meant that it would take a few seconds to have a noticeable effect, but once it occurred the riot would be over. Even someone trained to deal with CS gas would have difficulties in overcoming CR gas, which had a strength at least ten times that of the nearest conventional equivalent. Enough to temporarily blind, until it broke down in an hour or was treated with the correct chemicals.
"Gas deployed. Prepare to move in and mop up resistance. Get a team to bring the CR antidote from the airship to treat any police caught up in this."
The firing quietened: hopefully there would be no need to deploy a second cylinder.

_______________________________

"Excellent then. If that is so, then we need not worry about security. We will have flights arriving to repatriate the walking wounded, once questioning has finished. But that needs to go about with the utmost urgency. Hopefully, you will be able to provide the manpower needed to get through them all.

Now whilst the threat of a secondary attack is unlikely, we must be ready for it. This will most likely be propagated by one of the survivors, if they escaped. From your reports, do you know how many terrorists have been found out of the total number reported aboard the airship?"

_________________________________

The sound of Police sirens worried the man inside the house. He'd been careful enough, hadn't he? Then he realised he'd left the garage door open.

He banished all thoughts of doom from his head as he dealt with the present: the treat of the police. He had the AF-07 on the table, but that would be useful only for a short time. Moving to the security unit, he set the panic alarm, before activating it. Metal shutters folded down across the windows, whilst the doors triple-locked. The two outside doors were only wood veneered: he'd made sure to buy steel ones to ensure security should this happen. Thick bolts on both the hinges and the normal side ensured that the entire wall would need cutting out before it were to move.

As the lights of the strobes lit up the street, he moved to the back of the wardrobe in the master bedroom, showing the second control panel. It also hid a small safe, which he opened. Inside, an UMP sub machinegun lay alongside stacks of ammunition, most already loaded into magazines. Taking four and the gun, he slotted the magazine in before cocking it, a sharp sound that rang out in the confined space. Checking the sights were still in order, he let it hang in his right hand as he moved to the street-side window. Peering out through the metal frame, he could see at least one patrol car pulled up outside. If they tried taking in the door, he'd shoot. Until then, he would busy himself getting ready to escape through the tunnel in the basement.
_____________________________

Luckily, it was part of police training to deal with gas and the effects on police as well as the crowd. The wall of police ran backwards, fast enough to get away from the cloud of tear gas but not so fast that they would trip over each other. Standard riot gear included multi-purpose gas masks, and units were at the front with riot shields in a matter of about ten to twenty seconds. A few in the crowd tried to rush forward towards the police. Trana was at the back of the line of police and close to the edge, wielding a shotgun once again, and the turned round in the blink of an eye and fired the shotgun, pumping it to rechamber another rubber slug. The round struck the protester squarely on the nose, almost immediately releasing a gush of blood. An inch either side and he would have been blinded. Lassard, half-empty P99 in hand, turned round and made a gesture to the Alfegans to tell them to stop. The phrase 'situation under control' echoed through radio channels as gasmasked police wielding rifles and shotguns advanced to arrest those now trying to get away. Meanwhile, one or two Policemen caught in the cloud were brought to the back and given first aid as the correct antidote was brought for them.
__________________

"I'm afraid I have no idea of the number of terrorists found, we should have some clue in about ten minutes. Things never run as they are supposed to. However, a surrendered terrorist is being treated in a hospital not far from Auston, police shall be questioning him as soon as he is of sound mind"
__________________

Constables Sæther and Temrin got out of the car, revolvers drawn. They quickly spotted the bike and ran towards the building with strobe lights coming from it. Their visit was clearly no surprise, and so they made for the door as two more patrol cars arrived.
Unfortunately, this was a part of Auston with a large police presence, as well as being one of the most highly-populated areas in Antigr, and so the Police had specialist equipment. The sound of a diesel engine was clear among the sirens, and soon the cause of the noise was soon obvious - an MVc all-terrain APC was coming down the road, not four hundred metres away, at full speed with a mounted 15mm heavy machine gun, distinguishable from and army vehicle only by it's two strobe lights and navy-blue paint, with 'Blue Berets', the police marksmen unit, marked in English down the sides. High priority meant high priority, and central Auston police district was a bad place to site a safehouse.

(Just a note: rubber rounds (known in the trade as flexible baton rounds) aren't ever fired directly at targets: they're fired to bounce off the ground and at the target. With rifles, that's another matter.)

The gas canister ceased its hissing as one of the aeromarines ran over, carrying the now-empty cylinder away from the collapsed riot, the rest following to keep the gap secure whilst the Antigran police collected up those affected by the agent. A pair had taken out a small bucket, taken those affected and dunking their heads into the milky liquid for a few seconds to neutralise the agent. Without field showers, the affected men would be feeling pain on their skin for the next two days until they had a good shower somewhere.

The gunfire by now had ceased, replaced by the yelling of police units as they rounded up the blinded, confused, choking rioters that had been caught up in the cloud. Within a few minutes, the gas cloud would thin to being unnoticeable, the effects on those entering the area noticeable though for a while. Enough for the perimeter to be secured, and the mess to be cleaned up.

_______________________________

"Well, that is a pressing issue: we must track down all surviving culprits before we can be sure we are safe. We must also await any response of the New Dawn group: if it is truly them, then there will be some sort of demand video in the system soon, both here and at home in Alfegos.

Until then, to the investigation. How many investigative units have you in the area? We have enough specialists, but the manpower needed is quite large. I think that some have already sorted that out, but the question still lies with joint co-operation in terms of this investigation."

_________________________________

The man aimed through the metal shutters out at the men on the path below. If he could keep their heads down with a quick burst, he'd buy time to make a run for the basement. Flicking off the safety catch, he checked the fire select lever was to semi-automatic, before firing off a pair of shots towards the nearest police officer. Diving down quickly to avoid possible fire from any marksmen he'd revealed his position to, he crawled along the floor out the room, before sliding down the stairs. With no windows visible in the hall save from upstairs, it would be hard to see him wriggle across to the cupboard under the stairs, where he opened the door to reveal a small stairwell. Slamming the door shut, he locked it with a chain, before picking up the kit he had salvaged from upstairs: the UMP and ammunition, along with his tin of useful things. Taking the steps four at a time, he ended up in the basement. Unlike a normal house, this space was almost empty, save for the oil heater. This was the subject of his interest, for he ran around to the rear of the heater to reveal a small crawlspace behind it. Unhinging the grille, he dived through, locking it closed behind him as he moved into a gradually-increasing wood-lined tunnel underneath the neighbourhood. This went a hundred metres into the local park, and from there to safety.

[I don't know what to edit the last post into, so I'll just leave it for now and hope no-one notices]

The heavy machine-gun on the heavy tracked police APC turned on it's ring mount and fired, sending rounds thudding at about five rounds a second towards where the gunfire had come from. The terrorist's burst missed by an inch and proceded to strike a wooden power pole behind Temrin, who'd dived to the ground instinctively. Picking himself up, he ran towards the wooden doors and fired three rounds into the lock, reloading round by round into his revolver as he fired. The doors were solid and inward-opening, and behind them he caught a glimpse of a heavy framework and steel. Adrenaline still coursing his veins, his voice echoed over to the APC crewmen. It's engine revved and it accelerated, making for the wall while the gunner took cover. Behind it, a police Mercedes Sprinter had pulled up and a crowd gathering.
__________________

Bengtsson gestured to the Police Commissioner, who leant back and had a quick think.

"Well, at the scene are a total of 160 police officers, 125 of them capable of assisting. They have orders to co-operate whenever called upon, but apart from that we don't have too much to offer. I believe, if the individual can be relied upon, joint operations can continue smoothly"

A shockwave shook the entire tunnel as the terrorist sprinted along its length and towards the end. A small crack of light illuminated the end of the narrow tunnel, that was temporarily obscured with dust. Something had just hit the house hard, enough to shake it to the very foundations. Moments later, a second more decisive shock led to a distant crashing of masonry as the side of the house caved in. With the security systems active, he would have seconds to escape the tunnel as the fail-safe disposed of all evidence.

Whilst the man clambered out into the centre of a hedge in the local park, a small light had illuminated on a computer unit in the control panel. Within seconds, an invisible signal had passed via the wireless network to all computers within the house. As an emergency signal was broadcast onto the internet in general, the computer drives began erasing themselves. Whilst this industriously took place, signals coursed from the alarm box that had set off loud sirens and flashing strobes to a large wad of home-made Semtex explosive in the basement. 35kg of Semtex, or enough to destroy the house and most of the neighbouring buildings.

It was like in the movies: an improbable device threatening the surrounding area, with yield unknown and likely to be a honey pot for wannabe bomb disposal units. The only difference was the large metal case located in the basement now visible through a gaping gash in the floor revealed by the side of the house collapsing through the wooden floor was the lack of clock. For those able to read into the computers of the building before deletion started, they would have found it was on a five minute timer, enough time to catch out the police who would undoubtedly bring in large amounts of their resources to remove the threat. The clock circuit hidden under the callous metal interior began to tick down.

___________________________________

"Very well. Now with this done, we need to consider the reaction the police force will have in case we can identify any follow-up plots.

In Alfegos, the communist terrorist cells that were not eradicated in the many purges of the cities learnt to move as far underground as possible, not even reacting if there is a bombing on their street. However, as we saw in the last two civil wars, when an event occurred on such a large scale they had a chance, they were entitled to raise arms for their belief. Whilst this was thwarted, it may have been a signal for any other cells in this nation to activate. Whether in support of New Dawn or not, this must be taken seriously. The civilian alert in Alfegos has been raised to Orange: that is that it is more than 40% probable that there may be an attack against the civilian populace. As you can guess, this has thrown the aerodromes and shipping ports into turmoil whilst the military move into these areas to act as defence and reaction, but it is for the best."

At this point, the radio controller for the Zinc Renegade sprinted into the room, past the two guards. Quickly bowing in light of the authorities present, he regained his breath before speaking.
"This is of importance to all in this room. I have just got a message from the National Intelligence and Surveillance Office (NISO). One of the sites we have been monitoring which we know is used for communication by the Milkavich Volunteers has flagged a call to arms call for the entire group in Alfegos. Whilst we've removed it to stop it being carried on, there may have been hits before it was identified. We're trying to trace the signal origin, but the poster of the message had one of only four identified hot accounts on the site."

He let the message sink in, before continuing.
"For the benefit of the Antigrans here, the Milkavich Volunteers are the second most dangerous group in the history of Alfegos. They are a communist-supporting group, who have only committed to massive attacks: during the three civil wars, and the last major regional war. From the second civil war, we learnt they had chemical weapons, crude though they were. Any attacks they carry out will be on a massive scale, such as this one, and possibly could be successful."

In the silence, the president sat deep in thought.
"Send the message to raise the alert in Alfegos to red, and deploy the Black Guard. My Antigran friend, I would recommend you do the same, in case the wheels of any groups in your nation start turning. Neither of us can risk any more attacks like this. Airman, send back an additional reply to NISO. Tell them to determine the source of the signal as rapidly as possible, and petition the JICB to get as many resources as possible into suppressing any threats. Finally, I want you to get us as much information as possible on New Dawn, up to and including Bravo level security. My attaché will give you the correct password."
One of the men stood and left with the radioman.
"We need to solve this threat quickly. Lest we feel the consequences."

[OOC: Drat. Not enough time to reply...quite a nice twist, I won't have any movie heriocs this time, something more logical. Any ideas of how I could integrate this into my Civil war?]

(OOC: The less-experienced groups deciding to use the signal of attacks as a sign to start their own, starting a chain reaction of attacks that leads to a mass movement of separatist parties?)

[You're hired. This post is based on a guess, it may well need to be rewritten, so tell me if it's not okay]

The blue berets officer behind the machine-gun sprayed the failing structure with fifteen-millimetre bullets as three more Blue Berets ran out from behind the vehicle and crouched down among the rubble, assault rifles obvious slung in a combat stance from their shoulders. They fired three rounds at anything suspicious they saw, which amounted to about twenty-seven rounds spent between them. Moving fast in a crouched position, they scoured the wreckage like ants over a rotting corpse, until one of them shouted to his squad, while standard police teams began to enter. From their training, they recognised fairly quickly what it was.
"Where's the clock?"
"There isn't a bloody clock. It's active and it must only have been activated about a minute or so ago when we came in through the wall. We can't have long"
"How long for bomb disposal?"
"Eide's team won't be here in less than ten minutes"
"I don't think we have that long. A few minutes, at most"
"This isn't an American movie, none of us can diffuse this!"
"How far to the park?"
"Next block down. Why?"
"I think it has a pretty big pond in it"
The two men bent down. Four police officers lay or crouched down and tried to lift the thing up, luckily it was one unit and didn't appear to have an anti-tamper device of some sort, containing the fusing and timer. Officers were already running to the nearby warehouses, looking for anyone about and dispersing the crowd. After twenty seconds, they'd managed to lift it. About three minutes left, not that they knew. The level of adrenaline had to be felt to be believed - together, they lifted the module into the back of the oversnow APC and they jumped in, holding it in place while it reversed and accelerated off. Two minutes and eleven. By now, the vehicle's multifuel engine was revving hard as it careered down the straight road, passing warehouse and the odd office at near top speed. While the distance was only a hundred yards, give or take, the time it took to get there would be an eternity, as time itself had slowed to half it's true pace, giving the policemen time to think. What the hell am I doing? The carrier shuddered as it mounted the low concrete wall at high speed, the rear unit bouncing along, limited only by the vehicle's weight. It stopped near the pond, which was nearer a small lake, covering half a kilometre each way.
"Lift!"
The forty-odd kilograms felt surprisingly light in their hands as the six men ran as best they could with the large box over their shoulders, crouching down once they'd reached the waterway. Half of them had only just caught on to what they were trying to do as the module was collectively thrown a couple of metres, creating a widespread splash as it entered the water. All going well, it would sink along the sloping lake-bed and rest at about ten metres. The police officers sprinted back to the carrier as the driver revved the engine. They were oblivious to the fact that their man was not more than a few hundred metres away.
__________________

Prime Minister Bengtsson leant back once again, making another sigh, a sigh of a man who'd heard it all before, thinking for five seconds as those around him seeked a reaction. Finally, he turned to his attaché and asked quietly for something. The suited man gave his metal-framed briefcase to the Prime Minister, who gave a thank-you and opened it with a master key and two six-digit combination locks. Once this had been done, what appeared to be a normal laptop appeared, wired in to a thirty-hour endurance battery pack and high-power wireless encrypted transceivers. He turned to his side so the sunlight didn't obscure the screen, and in doing so allowed the Alfegans to see. He realised this only a few seconds later as he confirmed his identity but made no effort to change their obvious view. It looked like a normal laptop, save for the obviously upgraded component parts and the 'DEPARTEMENT AV FÖRSVAR - MINISTRY OF DEFENCE' roundel seal on the screen. He began typing very rapidly in what was essentially an upgraded email client, making very clear, in capital letters, the english words STRATOS LEVEL YELLOW - 109QS3V. Within seconds, it was sent through a network employing thirty-four levels of ciphering from office to experimental level. In a keystroke, he'd increased the national alert status to it's fourth-highest level (After Ultimate Red, Red, and Orange), something which hadn't happened for almost a decade. He began to type, rapidly, a more detailed report to the Minister of Defence and the Secretary of Intelligence.

(Go on... I'll let you have it this once.)

The man ducked back into the bushes as he was a group of men coming past. Looking at a small timepiece on his wrist, he knew that about four minutes would've gone since the bomb countdown started. Another minute to go, he had a look at the group of men walking past. Suppressing a curse, he began crawling through the bushes towards the edge of the park, where the fence of somebody's house cut over. He lept over the fence and into the cover on the other side, rolling into a flower bed as he curled up into a ball in anticipation of the explosion.

It came a few seconds later. The bomb timer reached zero, setting off a capacitor unit to dump a charge into the six separate 5kg blocks of Semtex, each enough to demolish a two-story building. Together, the unshaped explosives detonated, the shockwaves from the detonator caps causing a chain of reaction throughout the charges. A massive blast blew a large amount of the lake into the air, along with a large quantity of lake bed and nearby shorelines. Clods of mud, earth and water began raining down on the surrounding area, as the remaining water in the lake sloshed about uncertainly. The terrorist picked himself up from the flower bed, ears ringing from the loud blast. Now, in the confusion, it was time for him to make a break for it. He began vaulting fences through the evacuated house gardens, moving into the street at the end of the row of buildings. Inconspicuously moving away through side streets, he began moving towards the city shoreline, where his ride would be waiting.

While the water had no doubt softened the blast, it was obvious as soon as the torrential hail of water had ceased that damage was widespread. The concrete, in this man-made extension of the lake, had done much to limit the destruction, but a small tidal wave had swept away from the blast zone and would overturn boats nearer to the opposing limits of the body of water. Near to the surface, the blast still made some sort of fireball where the distortion of water allowed it to, unleashing a rain of small chunks of concrete and undergrowth. This rain was lethal, places where larger chunks of concrete were thrown utter devastation. One landed on a generator shed and smashed through the slate-tile roofing, heavily damaging the versatile diesel generator inside by letting loose a flow of fuel which met several sparks from the damaged electricity circuits only seconds after the impact, making it burst into flames as further chunks hit roofs and cars, setting off car alarms and adding to the general sense of chaos.
No sooner had the rain subsided than fire engines, ambulances, and further police teams began to appear. The debris appeared to have set the upper levels of a four-storey hotel on fire and caused victims, thankfully less than they may have been thanks to the evacuation. Still, chaos had ultimately been achieved and it looked like their man would get away.

After five minutes of running blindly through streets, the man found himself panting in a small service alley to a row of shops, bent over double to catch his breath from the mad escape. He soon recovered, and picked himself up to check the street name outside. A splurge of indecipherable letters soon found themselves being searched for on the map the man produced from the tin again. After a while searching, he found himself only a few minutes from the water front. Even if the safehouse was compromised, that meant he would leave enough chaos to cover his tracks enough to let him get to the docklands. A small circle on the map indicated a nondescript address near to the area: the key on the back of the map showed it to be the home of a notable criminal organisation in the area. And any such organisation should be able to give him safe transit, for the right sum.

__________________________________

The room winced as they heard an explosion in the distance.
"What the hell was that?" The president moved from his instinctive brace position to normal, and into the confusion.
A crew member rushed in a few minutes later form the front of the airship, bowing before speaking.
"It looks like an explosive has been detonated near the city edge. I'll try get a report from the Antigrans, sir."

[Where do you want to go with this criminal organisation thing? Sorry for the lack of IC reply]

(OOC: Free-style it. He wants to get to an Alfegan colony (Neo'los) by any means necessary. He has the cash to persuade people, but the sort of firepower to bring the situation to a Mexican standoff, should there be any sort of hindrance.)

Mafia. Correctly rounded off to 'Cosa Nostra', a Sicilian criminal organisation that had gone from small-scale arranged crimes to national and then onto the global stage. Antigr was one of the places where an offshoot had begun like in America and Australia. This particular place was the site of one of their 'meets', and it was manned by an all-Antigran crowd. The warehouse by the docks was well-lit and surprisingly homey, save for the Steyr TMP machine-pistols and two HK 416 carbines suspended from their slings, hanging neatly on pegs in the corner. If the police arrived, it would be fairly obvious that this was their target place, not that they would get in. The card game was interrupted by the voice of a sentry, who grabbed his TMP and told them of an intruder. He looked like a tourist
"This is the third time today, Renee! He's just another lost idiot"
"Then why is he walking up to the door?"
Renee flicked his safety off while the man talking to him descended down from the metal second storey built round the interior edges of the warehouse. Walking over to the door, he slid a piece of wood aside to reveal a slit to allow him to see and talk. In english, he began in a flat voice;
"State your business"
__________________

The Prime Minister regained his seat. His chief attaché sat up straighter and released his grip on his silver-grey KK in its shoulder holster, allowing it to slump back to a more natural position. Another suit pulled out a modified Icom radio and tuned in to one of the emergency service channels to check, being greeted by a small explosion, shattering of glass, the sound of a high-pressure hose being opened, and a fire engine siren complimenting a revving diesel engine as the vehicle tore round a corner. A loud and worried conversation conveniently erupted over the radio as two commanders tried to find out what was happening. An explosion of some kind, a bomb? Halvar began speaking in a determined manner, talking rapidly to the point that the Antigran language, to the Alfegans who didn't speak it, became even more of a meaningless babble. In the end, one of the attachés got up, having produced a Canon SLR camera from somewhere and walked briskly over to the exit, pausing while the Prime Minister spoke.
"He's going to the incident area, no more than four miles away and will give us details when he arrives. The number of police officers here is a drain on the local police departments, they don't have enough personnel to attend and will need backup from here, at least fifty officers for total area control"
He addressed the Alfegan minister in particular.
"Do you want to go down and see what's happened with the police? Unless, of course, there's something in health and safety against it"
As he spoke, a patrol car roared away as the gates were opened again.

As the man approached the warehouse door, he looked about to see the sentries disappear. They had noted his arrival well. He patted the machine pistol in an inside pocket, checking the weapon was cocked. He'd a habit of hooking the chamber open whilst in his pocket, using it as an impromptu safety, the advantage being that as soon as he let the slide forward the weapon would be ready to fire. He made sure his hand rested on it as the slide on the door opened.
"Good afternoon. As you may have judged by the noise, I've left quite a bit of mess in the area, and the authorities that be aren't too happy about it. I was recommended by a friend of a friend to come here for the use of services that I know you to provide that I would find useful."

The man pulled out a wad of Antigran notes, waving them in front of the hatch.
"I'll make it worth your while."
_____________________

The man smiled at the Capo Bastone behind him, and spoke under his breath in Antigran.
"Thousand-Marc notes"
The ever-rare thousand-Marc notes, pretty much illegal in civilian hands and in closed circulation within the government, state-owned banks, and criminal circles. He nodded and the guy at the door slowly opened a smaller door within the strong, innocent-looking larger door designed to take a lorry. The sentries were alert, Renee with his machine-pistol in hand. The safety was off. It was not usual for them to be so relaxed and to let someone in, but the man's story was concise and believable.

The man walked in, keeping his eyes open and glancing all around to take in the surroundings. There were enough armed to make a problem should negotiations break down, even if he still had an ace up his sleeve. Passing one of the smaller 200 Marc notes to the man who had let him in, he paced over to the men indicated, slightly bowing to them.
"Good afternoon gentlemen. I have come here to ask of your services: in particular, I wish to have transport from this country to Neo'los, with no questions asked and with no documents needed.

He took out the wad of 1000 Marc notes from his pocket, flicking through them before placing them back in his pocket.
"I'm sure you realise the value of these. Are you able to provide me such?"

[OOC: A draft map (http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/MapNew_Pic03.png) of Antigr to give you an idea of what I'm on about]

The Capo Bastone sat back in his wooden chair. Looking up at the expectant Alfegan, he muttered the words
"Neo'los, huh? The closest Alfegan territory to Antigr, we have much - "
His English broke momentarily as he recalled his vocabulary.
" - business there. But it is still about five hundred miles from the most westerly point in Antigr. You are asking a lot"
He sighed, leaning back. Waiting for the Alfegan's reply, he considered what the man was asking him to provide. A boat will leave the night of thursday, all being on schedule. Two days. A car journey across Antigr, we'll probably be stopped by the police. The boat journey through the Geranger straits, the navy or police have many patrols. One boat rammed...or blown to pieces. Many risks. He thought of the thousand-Marc notes again. For a few thousand.

The terrorist shuffled uneasily as he heard the men talking. He had heard this tactic before: make it sound more difficult than it was, to extract as much cash as they could from him. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes of the men the party had in the area: if he drew his weapon now, he would be ripped to shreds before anything could happen. He had no explosives on him for the moment, so could not try that approach. Cursing mentally, he took out the wad of notes and began counting.
"It is dangerous, as you said. But shall we put it like this: I have money here, but if you can get me alive to Neo'los I will pay you even more. Shall we put it as... thirty thousand marcs now, and a further fifty-thousand marcs in unmarked silver bullion on my safe delivery to Neo'los. Do we have a deal?"
He placed the wad of thirty notes onto the table, pocketing the small denomination notes in his pocket.
_________________________________

"Divert as many men as is necessary from the cordon to deal with this incident: I'm sure our men can keep control of the area now."
The president and his attachés followed the Antigran group out, a pair of aeromarines rushing out to the group to act as an impromptu guard. A few of the airship crewhands hauled after them a box of body armour, for the president and his delegation to wear as they moved to find the site where the blast had happened.

"Not much in the way of health and safety rules, being a president: it's a case of you getting shot is pretty much your own fault for not arranging security better. Not that I think there'll be a second blast: lightning does not strike in the same place twice."
The president immediately regretted saying that: he knew that lightning had done so in the past, and could do here. But negotiations could not go on whilst the other party were preoccupied, so best to tag along to see what the fuss was about.

The Sotto Capo gave one last thoughtful look at the Alfegan, who probably knew what he was thinking; surveying him, examining his features, trying to gain an inkling of personality in the few seconds that he had, a point emphasised by the seeming impatience on the Alfegan's face.
"Very well. Money for transport, it makes sense, after all"
He motioned to a 'Soldato', who beckoned to the Alfegan. Through a series of doors and a back street, there was a selection of cars parked out back.
__________________

Prime Minister Bengtsson checked his KK Compact again, pulling back the slide just enough to check that a round was chambered. It was on it's almost unique half-cock safety catch, a far more effective and far quicker to disengage safety than the traditional safety pin or lever, which was set to the [F] setting. It was unusual in many countries to find that a politician of significant standing, having his own private army of guards, to be armed but the last civil war had taught him better and made him more cautious and more curious at the same time, a combination that perhaps was not for the better. He was walking briskly again, approaching a black Mercedes-Benz S-Class from his motorcade, with a Volvo S60 police patrol car to it's front and rear, in the slightly green-tinted navy-blue paintjob with large white chequered battenburg markings along the sides and POLIS scrawled on the sides and bonnet. The S-Class was black with tinted windows and interior deck-lights as opposed to a more revealing lightbar, but it was clearly a specialised vehicle with bulletproof glass and all manner of hidden protection. Bengtsson gestured for the President and an attaché to get into the back, while a police officer also gestured for an attaché to get in the two patrol cars. Bengtsson himself climbed into the front of the Mercedes. It was decked out in medium-dark leather and had the translation of 'Special Escort Group' inscribed in small, capital letters on the dashboard, the purpose and design of the car more apparent as a low but wide pistol port could be seen on either side of the windscreen. They were designed to take a machine-gun each. Other than that it looked nothing more than a luxurious police car, with various control and electronics boxes on the dashboard and a high-power radio on the interior roof between the two front seats. The Prime Minister seemed for some reason happy in here, and had a small grin on his face which didn't provide much in the way of reassurance.
"Hang on tight, our police drive like lunatics"

[Bump?]

The Alfegan followed the man from the meeting place, nodding a farewell as he walked to the assortion of motor vehicles. He knew from experience he still had a long way to go, and would be unlikely to go the whole way without the deal being crossed. He moved his hand inside his jacket again, feeling the pistol grip of the weapon in the inside holster against his hand reassuringly. It was there if he needed to use it.
Following on, he entered the car indicated, sitting down alert.

___________________________________

The car, a silvery-grey last-generation Mercedes-Benz E-Class saloon, briefly broke the darkness of the garage with its interior lights, competition coming solely from that halo of the third world, a fluorescent tube hanging bare in a corner. The Benz roared to life as its six-cylinder engine was revved and the old garage door opened automatically. It rolled quietly out into another anonymous back-alley and continued to roll forwards down the slight incline, while inside the driver checked his mirrors briefly. Looking left to the Alfegan in the passenger seat, he took in the alert look on the man's face; he thought of saying something but decided against it as the vehicle turned onto a main road behind a van. The interior of the car was consistently plush beige leather, a GPS navigation console was seated in a suction-cup holder, as was an Icom walkie-talkie closer to the driver, an in-car charging lead running down to the appropriate power outlet.
The driver mused; the journey he was taking this man on was going to be long and troublesome. The money the man was offering was more than substantial for the trip and so the boss had decided against shooting him in the back. For now, at least, he was safe, although the boat voyage was another question entirely. There, he would be handed over to some associates. The dash through the Geranger straits would be very risky indeed, the multiple naval bases on the islands meant that the boat may well run into a navy ship entirely by accident, and once they found out that the boat was not registered with a journey plan for the area would set alarm bells ringing. Indeed, the Mafia was thinking of going the longer way round for the number of boats and men they were losing. The RAF Coastal Command had been known to pop in on occasion for target practice, such was the effort to stop drug trafficking in the straits, and the Mafia was reputed to lob it's cargo overboard without a second thought in an effort to get away. Whatever that cargo might be.

The prime minister and his escort staff and guards quickly moved over to the police motorcade, preparing themselves for what they were likely to see. Preliminary reports suggested that no casualties had been sustained from the blast, though that was not what he worried about: what he feared were copycat bombings after this. Whilst he was unarmed, he noted the AF-07P assault rifle in the able hands of the aeromarine next to him, the man's finger resting upon the trigger to allow for a rapid reaction at a moments notice. As the cars sped off towards the site, the prime minister ensured that, whilst uncomfortable, his seat belt was on: though he'd normally leave it off to allow for a quick escape from a vehicle, at the speeds the Police were going he had decided that it was not the best of ideas.

As the three-car convoy roared away onto the main road, they were joined by two solo police outriders on motorcycles which sped away to clear the road ahead. The kind of average speed to be expected was around 70mph, which meant that the four miles would be dealt with in about three and a half minutes. The noise of traffic grew as the straight road became a fork, which then led to a motorway entry sliproad, the sirens of the outriders and police convoy had the desired effect of clearing the road ahead. The high speeds became quite noticeable braking as the convoy, after no more than a minute, roared onto an exit slip and down into a main road between two residential areas. The emergency services pouring into the area became obvious as they passed three ambulances and slowed to go through a gap made for them and oncoming emergency services by two patrol cars, blue lights illuminating the surrounding area. Ahead, two officers had opened some dark green metal gates, allowing the convoy to cut across the paved section which ran parallel to the official city centre, a monumental fountain and four statues of lions surrounding it, shining pristine in the sun. The prime minister was pressed forward against his seatbelt as they braked hard to go round a corner while the car in front achieved the sharp turn with a wide powerslide. Another sharp corner and another test of suspension and nerves later, they were joined by a police van as the smoke ahead became more imposing and more obvious. The driver hit the brakes again as they were flagged down by a leading fireman, a trio of fire engines lined up on one side of the road and the police on the other. After a signal from the lead vehicle, Halvar turned to him spoke the simple words;
"This is as far as we go. We're about a kilometre away, as you can see, the fires and debris have spread"
After which he got out of the car. His quiet words of disdain and annoyance shadowed by the arrival of an aerial ladder platform from the local fire station.

The president sat waiting out the ride in the car by looking out at the gathering chaos. Emergency services were moving to-and-fro, pouring in an even greater quantity than at the airport. Of course, this was a civilian area, meaning that it was more likely that casualties were present. Finally leaving the vehicle with his two Aeromarine guards at the edge of the scene, he moved to a small crane. Even out here, he could see the occasional lump of mud in an otherwise bone dry road, the reminder of a blast that had obviously been powerful enough to do a massive amount of damage to wherever it had gone off. Thinking as he clambered into the cage at the end of the ladder platform unit, he quickly pulled out a PDA, tapping a few buttons to access the messenger utility, before sending off a signal to a joint Foreign-War ministry office back in Alfegos, ironically using in its route of travel the subject of the message.
"Prime Minister, I have been thinking about this issue with the missing terrorist, and am treading into dodgy water here: if after this we could talk in privacy, I may be able to offer a solution to this whole issue, in terms of finding the man we're both after. I am guessing, but I believe luck is on our side in this case."

He waited as the ladder elevated, so he could get a view of the damage that must've been done by the charge. Soon enough, he was able to see a large crater, surrounded by a central core of emergency services.
"Whatever that was that went off, you must've be lucky as to the location of it detonating. Lake bed, I presume? If that'd gone off in a building, that would most likely have flattened an entire city block. But that should give us a location, since there was not that much smoke produced: mostly just a load of water, mud and shopping trolleys from the lake bed I presume?"

Bengtsson grinned.
"Yes, mostly shopping trolleys. It appears there's one in the road, just behind those cars"
He surveyed the damage. I'll bet I get blamed for this. He flinched as there was a small explosion, which turned out to be the fire spreading to another building. This was very bad. So far, he counted fourteen fire engines, minus the ALP he was on.
"I suppose we'd better get down, I expect the fire brigade want to use this"
As the hydraulic arm whined and damaged road got closer, he turned back to the President with a quizzical expression.
"You said you may have a solution?"

"Dear me, what a mess. Make sure you don't focus too many resources on the area: we don't want a second attack taking out the emergency services, if there were one.

To reduce the risk of that happening though, as you said, we have a solution. I will show you the full extent of what I am considering to let you into when we get back, and have the privacy of a secure link alone aboard the airship. For now, I will tell you this."
Leaning over so the prime minister was able to hear, he whispered a single phrase into the man's ear.
"Eyes in the sky."

Moving back, he continued talking to the prime minister.
"It's all perfectly legitimate of course, so don't react badly to it."

[OOC: EDIT]

The Prime Minister considered what the Alfegan was saying to him for several seconds, running the process over in his mind. Eyes in the sky. He decided to take him up on the first point.
"There could indeed be a secondary attack, but we can't afford not to concentrate resources into the area. After all, you'll see that buildings all around you are either badly mauled or a raging inferno. Emergency services are still arriving. I'd like this ideally contained quickly, before we have another..."
He thought back a couple of decades to his school days. Useless. After several more seconds, he remembered.
"...Great Fire of London, although I somewhat doubt this. Anyhow"
He gestured to the black Mercedes-Benz.
"You talk of a secure link and an airship, I believe"

"I do speak of the airship we were aboard meeting before this blast. It should allow the tool we are to use in this case keep us with the element of surprise. The airship has aboard it a data encryption unit with the correct codes for us to access data from the Intelligence Department of the War Ministry - via the Aerofleet Sky Command. But I must not give it away yet. Come, let us return to the airport as soon as possible, so we can move along that line of enquiry. Try and summon the heads of the operation against this threat if they are available, os we can co-ordinate this response."

The Prime Minister ushered the President into the back of the Mercedes again, which reversed quickly onto the wide pavement with a bump. A second later, first gear was engaged and the car sped off in the direction at had come after a perfect three-point turn, soon joined by the two police cars and two motorcyclists, waiting at the top of the road. The Antigrans had spawned many, many rallying and touring car world champions, thanks in part to a comprehensive education in driving, drivers being required to be able to apply power with precision and cope with sudden dips, crests, and icy roads. As such, the ordinary city police drivers nonetheless drove their vehicles with aplomb. Bengtsson was clearly enjoying the experience from the front passenger seat as he spoke into a mobile phone in rapid and slightly exaggerated Antigran.
"Where's the fire chief? I need to speak to him, pretty soon"
"Up a ladder somewhere about two miles away from you, surrounded by flames and firefighters, I expect. You'll only be able to talk to him by radio"
"Okay. Does the ambulance service and hospitals know what to expect?"
"Yes"
"And the local military commander?"
"More success. We have some Colonels from the Territorial Guard and the Army, as well as a Brigadier from so-called Military Intelligence"
"I'll need to speak to them all. I'll be there in a few minutes. Tell the commissioner to pour in the first line of reserves to the wider surrounding area, they'll have eventual backup from the army. We need to secure the whole damned city"

As the car sped across the area, the president took out his PDA, this time attaching a large flexible electronic screen. The screen flashed across with colours, before loading up the text. The image that appeared was a person's face, blurred by some form of image encryption.
"Is the footage available?"
"We've managed to transfer all data from the deep storage area to the primary uplink server - you'll have to use beta-level security clearance codes on there, though I believe you should have it."
"Have you got anything yet?"
"Not as such: we're looking at minus thirty minutes onwards, to try and find the target. So far, no success. Hopefully, contacts on your end will have some luck."
"And the strike?"
"We have acquired from Space Command the codes to the Thor network, should you need it. I doubt it though: for now, you will have access to two Omega-type IRBMs armed with HE conventional tips should you need rapid reaction to any unfolding events."
"Excellent. A last resort of course though. Send them all in the information bundle."

The line cut out as they screeched into the airport area, the aeromarine gate guard moving to the side to allow the vehicles in. A larger satellite dish had been set up now, focused at a point high in the sky. The military advisor waited by the side of the landed airship, Flight SWAF-592 now standing further upright with spotlights focused on it from the other airship above. Leaving the car, the president moved directly to the fore-most gondola, passing the bridge crew standing to attention before entering a small room at the rear of the gondola. In the centre, a large scrambler unit stood with a thick bunch of cables running out through a port to the dish outside. A computer unit had been set up, showing a screen with three data entry prompts. Each field was extremely long.
"Once everyone is in, I will connect and explain to you what we have here."

The Prime Minister looked quite intently at the computer unit and the large, grey boxes that formed it. His attaches were with him, staring at the large network of wires as the He looked outside to see a helicopter descending, the translation of AIR CAVALRY written in white capital letters down either side. The deep, repetitive swish of the rotor blades remaining loud for all to hear as the medium helicopter touched down, complete with door gunner, his 13.2mm heavy machine-gun visible through a large window space next to the open side door well defined against the green and deep blue camouflage scheme. Out of it stepped two Air Cavalrymen with assault rifle and pistol, followed by another man in a grey trench coat. As he drew nearer, however, the rank of brigadier became apparent as denoted on his broad shoulders and the suit that he appeared to be wearing was, in fact, naval dress uniform, as standard to members of military intelligence. His hair was blond, as could be expected around these parts, and wore, with his air of authority, a thoughtful expression and a knowledge of what he was doing.
"Military intelligence"
He said to the President, who he sensed was watching.
"He's going to help us lock down the county, if necessary"
__________________

The E-Class saloon was, by now, 2 miles from Auston proper and driving fast along the motorways, in the inside lane of the motorway at 105mph, the speed limit. The motorway authorities had imposed a quite high speed limit but, on the other hand, it was more strictly enforced. The driver would get slightly tense as they passed a police patrol car parked on the hard shoulder, and would typically check his wing mirror after passing it. By now, however, he was getting used to it, although he sensed the Alfegan was tense, or in thought, having not spoken much, if at all. The E-Class had tinted windows, which helped when they came to the odd tolling station, complete with CCTV cameras.

As the intelligence representatives entered the room, the president closed the door, before rapidly typing in codes via a keyboard. Just audible outside was the sound of two aeromarines moving to guard the door, should anyone try to enter. Numbers began passing rapidly across the screen as the computer ran an encryption script, before an image flashed up.
"As you will be aware in Antigr, we in Alfegos use satellites rarely, due to the extreme cost of launch and such. As a result, we use high-altitude airship units filled with hydrogen, posted at altitudes of around fifty- eighty miles above sea level. These are known as mesolites, and we have many posted around, under civilian law, providing high-speed internet, TV and phone services. The one over Antigr also carries a high-resolution camera unit, which is used for general surveillance purposes. We never meant any harm in this: doubtless you have spy craft over our own soil. But sometimes it can be useful. Especially now."

The president watched as a remote controller selected the area which the
camera had been focused on: the inner city, near to the airport.
"This footage is from about half an hour prior to the blast. We had a camera trained to try and track the airship hijacked, though the intelligence lot managed to get a satellite better equipped for observation in before. But, by good fortune, the camera was pointed around the area."
The image zoomed in, pixellating slightly, before an estimator software piece began to redraw the frame.
"And here we have the house with our man in. If you look there, you should be able to see a figure, who we believe is our target. He moves into the house, and then disappears."

He turned back to the intelligence officer, and the prime minister.
"We will allow you to use the mesolite feed from the last three hours and from now on until we finally capture the target, on one condition: we take him in for questioning first. Do we have an accord?"

Another sigh. His mind surged through the options and timeline that lead up to this point briefly, in a timespace of a few seconds while the room remained quiet. Finally, the Prime Minister let out a breath and looked at the President for a few seconds more, before saying in a long, drawn voice.
"Yes" He paused.
"Ja, we have an accord"
There was a brief silence, a very brief silence, before Halvar spoke again, in Antigran so as not to reveal what they were saying, to the intelligence officer and his accomplice in a similar trench coat and unrevealing uniform.
"Commander. Officer. Contact the grid and inform them of current status. We have new evidence, arrange for a satellite feed to be relayed to PTEC, and I want an uplink. More specifically, I want police and a helicopter gunship on standby, just in case"
They nodded and disappeared, and Bengtsson followed, into the main part of the gondola containing the few folding chairs. In a few seconds, the officer returned with the familiar metal-framed briefcase containing a computer, the PTEC uplink, PTEC being the main relay point for intelligence and military data above Classification D. Typing in several alternating passwords as well as a voice scan. The scanner picked up the frequencies and regularities in his voice and the computer finally opened itself up to greet the Prime Minister with the PTEC transceiver application. Within seconds, he was greeted by a messenger program and he began relaying to the central home security grid in the Ministry of Defence building in Auston.