NationStates Jolt Archive

Honor Air-Force Base, Yarkai City

Honor AFB was a bustling center of activity for the Marines. The base was primarily used for Logistics and aid operations, but today, it would be used for the delivery of a squad of marines who were to train in a nation largely unknown to the Government: The Protectorate of Lyras.

Squad Omega-Tango-Foxtrot 9 sat in the enormous belly of their C-5 transport while a few men ascended the ladder and seated themselves in the first class area of the aircraft while the others preferred the lower level for it's mechanical wonder.

"So Johns, have you heard about that Tsunami thing the Ryous have been all hyped up about?" Asked Cpl. Alec Manson as he climbed the ladder that led up to the top of the aircraft
"Yeah, It was on the evening news last night. The National Guard has begun some searches near the cost to keep it safe in case any ships have gone down." Replied Sgt. Robert Johns
"I'd expect the National Guard to do something hyped up like that. It's their nature" Said Manson, taking a seat on one of the fluffy, heated first class chairs. and sat back as the Aircraft's engines came alive. Johns finally had time to catch up on that sleep he had been neglecting for the last two nights

Camp Beta, Kahanistan

Vasquez saluted the two officers in the Cazelian fashion, adding a slight bow at the end of the three second salute
"It's an honor to meet you gentlemen"

OOC: Sorry for the short post. Just like the last one, I have been neglecting sleep.

Denton nodded and saluted. "And you, too." Nelson strained to raise his hand.

"Lieutenant." His voice sounded like what Darth Vader might have sounded like if he'd lived to 120. "We will... train infantry here. Mr. Jones. Ms. Wade. Stand... with the... Cazelians. Explain to... them the... training. Mr. Slade. Address the... battalion."

Slade stood before the battalion. "I am Sergeant Major Tom Slade, senior drill instructor. I am going to take your little, pussified commie asses, and turn you into legionaries of death. When I am finished with you, you will pray to whatever God you worship that war with APOC will come, so you can crush their skulls, flay their skins, and swim in their blood. But until that day, you are rats. You are lower than rats. You are a lower form of life than puke. You are a lower form of life than Nazis. You are not even fucking human beings."

"The short rifle most of you have is the Aequatian G101. It fires a 6.5x55 millimetre round, 850 of them per second. It is the source of Gholgoth's power. Now, this power is ours, to resist whatever invasion force lands here. Your first task is to learn how to use this rifle, and use it well. You will sleep with your rifle, just like it was your wife, husband, boyfriend or girlfriend. You will practise every day with it until you can shoot like Annie Oakley."

"The medium rifle you have if you chose an infantry combat position is the G100. It fires the same round as the G101, but at longer range and with more accuracy. The trouble is that it's not as suited for urban combat, where you have to move a rifle barrel around a narrow doorway, but in the trenches and fields you'll rather have it than the G101. A very good weapon, especially with those nice bayonets on them for the thrill of up close and personal killing."

"The long rifle for the best and brightest of you, the trained monkeys, is the G106. It fires an 8.5x60mm round at long range, it's a designated shooter rifle. Good for dropping people in powered armour, and delivering some heavy pelting. Great for taking out critical targets, like enemy commanders or important equipment."

"If you are truly a snivelling coward, and can't face your enemies in honourable combat, you were issued a compensatory dick, the SSG-25, which is as long as you are. It fires a 20x104mm slug. Great for busting skulls, taking out optics on tanks, shooting fuel stores, in general creating utter havoc. If you have that weapon, do consider shooting yourselves with it."

"I have faith - misplaced, probably - that the most craven, whimpering coward can become as fearless and homicidal as the most bloodthirsty Doomani. Do not disappoint me. I will hand you over to Ms. Lang, Mr. Woods, and Mr. Clark for your training."

"YES SIR!" Yelled the squad in perfect synchronization. Vasquez turned to Wood "Your drill-bits* bear a...striking similarity to ours. Other than the fact last week one of the recruits had his hand pinned to the wall by ones of drill's knives. That seems to happen quite often" He commented "But I have to ask...What are the Doomies like in battle?"

"The Doomani... are the most fearsome opponents you will face," said Woods. "The average Doomani soldier is somewhere between fifteen and twenty centimetres taller than the average Kahanistanian soldier. Maximus himself is about 205 centimetres tall, and weighs about 130 kilograms. For comparison, I'm about 180 centimetres and 85 kilos. They wear thick, intimidating combat uniforms, and in close use a vicious weapon called a Gladius Doomanus, a 40-centimetre blade with three pairs of 'teeth' which inflict devastating wounds. They also have an unhealthy love of barbaric weapons such as flamethrowers and corrosive gas."

"The average soldier, from what we know, is severely brainwashed. He... Doomani soldiers seem to be all male, unlike our own... is generally of much lower education than our own. Many are barely literate, despite their propaganda that our brains are 60% the size of theirs. They believe that God is on their side, and therefore will often take risks that a less brainwashed force will not - sending two hundred thousand against several million of ours, for example. General Granson can explain better than I can how they win their wars. Interestingly, some have considered hiring Doomani mercenaries to train our troops, but I am opposed. Mercenaries are only loyal to the shekel, or the denarius. We would be allowing likely hostiles access to our training methods."

The arrival was going to be unusual, and word had filtered out across the base. A Cazelian marine squad were coming to participate in Lyran training, and/or to observe, as they saw fit.

It was the first time that Executive Command had authorised such a thing. Ripples of curiosity had already reached back up the chain, and to the ears of no less than Warmarshal Krell himself.

He ignored them. He'd heard the arguments before, and as far as he was concerned, that was that.

Diplomacy had always been undertaken from the position of the enigma. Lyras had, for a long time, been almost unknown outside the Protectorate's fortified borders. This was, to some extent anyway, about to change.

The unit was scheduled to arrive at Port Finch (http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb62/2821090/StornArchipelago-1.png), Lyras' largest shipyard, and home to Lyras' 45 million stong marine assault forces. Technically part of the ground forces, marine assault units enjoyed far and away the highest degree of autonomy within their own command structure, and had evolved their own unique traditions and culture as a consequence.

In fact, as the Warmarshal glanced at the clock on his computer's monitor, the plane should be approaching its destination, Port Finch Aerospace Force Base, within about 30 minutes.

If Colonel Raman was his usual efficient self, the welcome units should already be in place.

Krell chuckled. He doubted Lyras would be like anything that the Cazelians had ever encountered before.

Camp Beta, Kahanistan
Vasquez sighed "If they attack you again, I'd be honored to fight alongside your men with my superior's permission" He said "However, we, like the Doomies are addicted to flame-related weaponry; or at least we're getting into it. Our techboys are working on a new flamethrower to give the Londies some flaming hell the next time they decide Cazelia looks like a nice piece of land to take"

Port Finch, Lyras
Manson was shook awake by the impact of the C-5 hitting the runway; He stretched and yawned, then got up and slid down the ladder to the cargo bay where he saw that Johns had moved himself and jarred the poor man awake. He barely opened his eyes but it was enough for him to notice Manson
"I was dreaming about killing Londies Manson, it was wonderful" He muttered
"Glad to hear that Rob, let's get going"
Johns batted at Manson for a second with his hands until his comrade grabbed one of the attacking appendages and and pulled him to his unsteady feet
"Don't wan to look bad for the Lyrans, Rob. Just keep cool and don't say or do anything stupid"
"Yeah. Got it Alec" Replied Johns as Lt. Loyd shaped up his men in a desperate attempt to add slight organization to the unorganized, unique* Marines.
The aircraft taxied to a halt. The mouth of the plane began to open, Loyd looking nervous and Manson & Johns looking perfectly calm, if not happy.

OOC: *Every Marines uniform is customized by the soldier, often making each soldier unique

Major Nelson smiled. More accurately, the muscles on his cheeks moved; other than that, his facial expression changed little.

"I would... be... honoured to... fight... alongside you."

"The Major is a victim of a Pestis Dei attack," said Granson. "A Doomani chemical weapon. From what little we know of it, it corrodes most NBRC suits and is highly flammable. We treat injuries with an alkaline solution, but most victims die within minutes. His lungs were nearly destroyed, so he uses a biphasic cuirass ventilator, and a voice box."

"Their... barbarity... knows no... bounds," said Nelson. "I would... recommend... a thermobaric... or incendiary... rocket launcher. You get... more range. Plus... there is no... flamethrower pack... that we can shoot. Once we... overcame the... initial terror... we killed... many flamethrower... soldiers. An assault... rifle shoots... farther than... a flamethrower."

Vasquez stuck himself "By any chance would you happen to have any Doomani armor lying around? I kinda want to see what my trusty HK417 will do to it..."

"We don't have any here, not original anyway... we were more interested in getting out alive than in taking gear, but I do think some stuff was taken to the Ministry of Defence," said Granson. "We do have some replica armour. A .50 handgun round will break a trauma plate, probably knock the wearer down with minor injuries, and the 8.5mm rounds tear through it. It's a little more resistant to the 6.5 round, but not obscenely so, especially at close range. What's your HK417 fire?"

Slade set up a training dummy painted to look like a Doomani soldier. He put a replica military vest over it.

He took the clip out of his rifle "It fires the 7.62mm NATO. It seemed that the M-16 and the HK416 couldn't bring down a Londinian, so we went with the '417" He slammed the clip back in and sighted in the Doomani
"Think it'll do anything to it?"

"Probably. The FN FAL was a favoured weapon among the insurgents who fought the Doomani in the East," said Granson. "Once we realised how useless our M-16's and AK-47's were, anyway. The FAL was one of the few weapons that reliably injured or killed Doomani soldiers, and it fires a 7.62 x 51 NATO slug. Plus, insurgent gunsmiths didn't have as much trouble constructing weapons to fire that round as they did making knockoffs of, say, Doomie sniper rifles."

He fired three shots on semi, switched to auto and filled the dummy with lead and turned around "Target eliminated"

"Yes. Let's work on your fire discipline," said Corporal Wade. She was certainly a bit nicer than the sergeants were. "You want to hit the soldiers coming at you with one burst each. Enough to likely kill or seriously injure the enemy, but not so much you run out of ammo after killing one or two of them."

"The Allaneans have a saying, 'two to the chest, one to the head, guaranteed to make a man dead.' That's really more of a self-defence situation. When you're fighting at a distance, one burst per soldier should be enough. If you're a machine gunner, by all means spray the enemy, but make sure you get the ones closest to you first. They're the ones that'll plant a charge on your pillbox, or worse, open the door and clear your whole bunker with a flamethrower, God forbid."

This time Jackal gave it a try and leveled his G109A1, switched to auto, and put three shots into the target's skull and chest "Hell, those Allaneans are right! Two in the chest and one in the head sure does make 'em dead"

Wade nodded. "We'll start combat training after chow. Mess hall's over there." She nodded to a large building near the headquarters.

"Care to come along? Can't fight on an empty stomach. There's going to be an epic battle today. OPFOR is Legio XVIII, played by the 43rd Infantry Division. Of course, we won't buy Doomie gear for ideological reasons, not that I'm sure they'd sell to us anyway. So the imitation won't be so good - they'll be using, I think, Hali-53's. An ideologically acceptable substitute for the DR-83."

The men looked at each other briefly and nodded "Yeah, we'll come. The food on the C-130 was lousy anyways" Said Vasquez as he followed the Kahanistani "I remember my OPFOR training back at Camp Yarkai. We actually managed to get some Londinian armor from the 1st war, and we used it to it's full extent. God it was fun, and good for the training. It's where I first met my squad too"

"Great. I think our OPFOR will mostly be using the few Nakil tanks we have, and green smoke to simulate the use of chemical weapons." Wade led the squad of Cazelian marines and nearby battalion of troops to the mess hall.

"Since there are so many of us, there's more than one line. They just hand out trays. It's all generic stuff, they won't have anything with too much sugar in case some of us are diabetic, no pork or beef in case you're Jewish, or Hindu, or Muslim. Bad for your health, anyway. Plus, since the government banned factory farming the price of meat went through the roof. Army wouldn't spring for it."

The men gathered up their meals and took sat down at a table with the instructors
"Back in Yarkai they give us Lobsters, since their so abundant there. They ain't always fresh, but they're still good to some extent"

"Yeah, seafood's about the only meat that isn't crazy expensive," said Woods. "Price is getting high with overfishing, but not nearly as high as, say, lamb. That stuff's about a hundred shekels a kilo. You can get a good-sized lobster for ten. Of course, the same damned liberals who went on about the barbaric practices of factory farming are also claiming that boiling lobsters is cruel."

Vasquez shook his head "Liberals caused us to surrender in the Londinian war. We could have fought on. Bastards"

"Yeah. Liberals suck." Woods nodded in agreement. "I'd drink to that, but we aren't allowed alcohol this close to a combat exercise. Besides, Eleanor's all offended." He nodded at Wade. She was picking at her mashed potatoes.

Raman watched as the big C-5 eased down the runway, taxiing to a halt several hundred metres away, with the doors opening.

Raman was the CO of the 6781st Marine Assault Battalion, and had been informed by his corps commander, General Bathgate, of the pending Cazelian arrival. Three squads of marines had been prepared to welcome them, and they waited in an informal gathering, AR44s (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/a2.html) slung loosely over shoulders. Not that it was likely known to the Cazelians, but being outside of a private residence without a loaded weapon within arms reach was a crime within the Protectorate.
Lyrans, as a rule, detested overuse of formality. They had been known to employ it, occasionally, but usually for the benefit of non-Lyrans. Generally speaking, it was thought of as a complete waste of time that could be used practicing how to kill people. As a consequence, the group was formed up in what was sometimes referred to as "column of blob"...
The first group of Cazelians moved to exit the plane, and Raman took in the eclectic mix of uniforms presented. If 'uniform' was a viable word to use in the context. Uniform implied some degree of uniformity, but there wasn't much of that. They were, it must be said, a far cry from the Lyran marines, dressed as they were in their standard-issue multi-spectral camouflage (http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb62/2821090/LyranBDU_woodland.png).
The colonel began to move forward, and the platoon behind him. All of them, as per Lyran standard, born of infantry-bloodlines, and thus not one was below 6 foot 5.
Raman spoke, addressing the Cazelians.
“Gentlemen, welcome to Lyras.”