NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC:
Sign-up/OOC thread here: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=555615

Map of Anderia here: http://img142.imageshack.us/img142/8714/colawarset9.png

IC:

Far away from any civilized country, deep in the mists of the Pacific Ocean, lay the little known Democracy of Anderia. They lived on a single, desert island that bore the same name as their nation. And the people of Anderia, all four million of them, were dependant on their sole substantial industry, their only export, the soda sales industry.

The island consisted of three towns, Capital Cove, the most successful, Dyspepsi University, a college town, and Cloaca Town, a residential area. All of these towns were on the edge of the isle, along with a few structures or single-family residences, and in the center lay a peacful, if arid, meadow.

This Democracy barely sustained itself for years, having no international trade at all, until the Cola companies came. First, Cloaca-Cola, which established a single, sprawling factory in Anderia Town. The island became so much more, relatively, prosperous under them that the town was named after them. The island was addicted to them, and for once the Democracy actually had a trade surplus. No longer could it sustain itself, but now it could buy what it needed, and, to an extent, what it wanted.

Later, Dyspepsi-Cola established a factory in Anderian University, which was also named in their honor. Suddenly, there was a free market. Suddenly, there was a sharp division in drink loyalty. On one side, Dyspepsi was cheap and readily available; on the other, Cloaca-Cola employed the majority of people in their factory, and fired those who bought Dyspepsi.

Now, both companies are escalating in corporate warfare. Both want complete control of the market in Anderia, and now, the Buy & Sell Corporation is willing to give it to them, in the form of arms.

Capital Cove
Anderia

Robert Catalonis was a nervous, timid fellow, with constantly furrowed eyebrows and darting eyes. He dabbed his sweating forehead uneasily as he stood at the piers of Capital Cove, capital of the Communist enclave on the island, and smoothed out a nigh-invisible wrinkle in his brown tunic. Through the morning fog, he began to make out the contours of dozens of large cargo vessels approaching the shores, each fluttering the purple civilian ensign of the Londinian Commonwealth from their prows. In actuality, they were disguised troopships, carrying the three thousand members of the Royal Londinian Army's 73rd (Black Watch) Regiment, the nation's most elite infantry unit. The People's Liberation Army of Anderia had requested the aid of the Londinians a fortnight ago, knowing that, despite the rhetoric of a new consul, imperialism still ran in the blood of the Londinian people, and Catalonis' bet was right.

Several moments later, the first cargo vessel docked at the harbour, extending a long metal walkway onto the pier at which Catalonis waited. A young black-uniformed officer arrogantly walked down the pier, offering a limp salute to the Communist leader.

"Chairman Catalonis, I presume," the officer said as he walked. "Major Charlie Stewart, Armate Royaumé Londii, and commanding officer of the regiment."

"The, ah, pleasure, is all mine," Catalonis replied. "I trust you received the intelligence our commune's personnel have gathered."

"Indeed," the major replied. "My men will have to move out under the cover of darkness, but our harassment operations ought to be able to proceed within the month, Chairman. Our first target will be against Cloaca-Cola; it is up to you to deliver the offensive pushes, and to make alliances, sir."

Angaorian Gulfstream G4 landed at a small airport near Cloca-cola town. Abroad was Spencer Shives He is son of Timothy Shives The Feared reputed leader of The Shives Crime family. The largest organized crime in Angaor Their dealings ranged from arms Dealing to contract murder. They came to capitalize on the brewing war in Anderia. Spencer was calm and he had a major rep for only being 21. When the plane landed there were 4 Black Suv's waiting to pick him up. Several Members of the Angaorian Mafia got off the car holding MP9s and he got inside and they rode of driving into the Cloca town. He opened in it was a brick of cocaine which was 93% pure. He figured with this most potency that it would surely have the consumers running wild for the companies product. about 15 minutes later they arrived outside Cloca Cola Companies headquarters. Spencer got outside the car he took several guards with him and he walked inside and up to the receptionist desk and said>


"Hello I'm Spencer Shives i would like to talk to the CEO" said Spencer

Cloaca Cola was run by a rich, fat man, the normal stereotype for rich CEOs. He was named Jacob Cloaca, thus the name of his company which soon had the name of its main town and an entire half a country. Under Mister Cloaca was Edward Rinchens, the Head of Affairs. He was the main executive of the company and it could be said he did all of the work. He was the mind behind the operating plane, the creator of the five digit names of workers of no importance, the idea behind contracting mercenaries and thugs, the eyes and mind of the man who put cocaine into the product for it to be addictive, and, some say, he was one of the few men who pushed Anderia into a Free Market.

Four times he had set up meetings to try to buy out Dypepsi. Another three times he tried a hostile take over. And one time he tried a true hostile take over in which they used arms, taken from the surplus of it from the now defunct Anderian Army.

That had failed for the men hired out wimped out and the ones who did make it to Dypepsi University learned that the enemy had the same idea. Edward had made a deal with the others to get rid of the arms which they did and everything was quiet for the most part.

Cloaca hired over 50,000 workers, 35,000 of which had the names such as 00100 to 35000. IF a worker was given a four digit name they were practically labeled non existant or worthless and it gave Jacob and Edward ground for a little force of drones with no self esteem. Everything was to easy, except for getting the weapons. The Commies had been given all of the weapons so the Cola Companies wouldn't fight eachother with them so CC couldn't get their arms back.

So they were screwed.

Until the receptionist answered the man.

"I'm sorry sir, you have no appointment so Mr. Cloaca cannot answer you right now. But Mr. Rinchens is open, would you mind speaking with him?" she said sypathetically.

"I'll have him come down."

ooc: I'll get a post up tommorow

Jack Boot was, more and more, an increasingly recognized figure. Though still a minor figure, compared to his legendary father, he had become the friendly face of the Buy & Sell Corporation abroad. Tucker was too busy running the corporation in Siriusa and the Vanteland, as well as governing the Company possessions and being president of the Vanteland; as such, he had appointed his son as the director of international expansion.

Now, he had been sent to represent the interests of Buy & Sell, and the new soda company, Mountain Beverages, in some deserted Pacific island. Some how, the situation failed to overwhelm him. He knew that it was important, with the potential of making lots of money and establishing a multi-billion industry, but it was just so boring. Some pathetic little island with hordes of Communists, all to get a few soda recipes to jump-start a business, and maybe sell a few guns? Pathetic.

Regardless, his father had him in Dyspepsi University that day to discuss bringing Cloaca-Cola down. Meanwhile, later in the day he was set to be the "Vantelander Mafia" offering to sell stolen arms to the Cloaca-Cola company. With both sides arming visibly, the defunt Republic would try to stop them; however, it would fail, if all the Vantanian Freeman Infiltrators had any say. With the Republic out of the way, it would soon be war.

The only problem was what to do with the Communists.

Nick Black, a god to some, a demon to others. This short in stature but insanely tempermental man is the president of the Dyspepsi company. On this particular day he is sitting in his office, discussing plans to bring Cloaca-Cola.

"First of all we need weapons. We may be able to hook this up with a guy from the buy & sell corporation, but nothings for sure yet. Second of all, we need guys on the inside. This we already have though, in fact there are agents on the Cloaca-Cola side of the island already, preparing for our first mission..."

The agents that Mr. Black was reffering to were in fact already on the Cloaca-Cola side of the island. Their mission was simple, to infiltrate a Cloaca-Cola factory and poison the drink was a slow acting nerve agent. It takes over a day to take effect, allowing for thousands of people to be poisoned before they even know what hit them.

Capital Cove, Anderia

It was a warm, humid day in Capital Cove, one which made it a very comfortable assignment for a man like Viktor Dyakov. Like most of his fellow citizens, he had spent his entire life in the hot, equatorial regions of central Vetalia, and like most of them he went in to a very profitable career in finance. As a matter of fact, he was well on his way to be a general partner in Demochev-Balk-Legotine, one of the many investment banking firms active in the Vetalian market.

It was this ambition that sent him halfway around the world with a suitcase stuffed with millions of rubles and three ships docked in Vetalian Tornus, all loaded to the brim with weapons for a Communist party that loathed everything he and his compatriots stood for. Thankfully, years of studying foreign languages gave him some anonymity; the Vetalian nasal, lilting accent was an immediate giveaway whenever they spoke their native tongue.

"Hey, Dyakov, over here!" In Russian. Vetalian Russian.

Removing his aviator glasses and rubbing them on his shirt, he walked towards the voice. It was a rather round man dressed in a silk shirt was sitting at an outdoor table, drinking some tropical beverage or another.

"You really shouldn't use my name, Boris Sergeyevich, and you really shouldn't be speaking Russian...I could place you as a Tornusian from a mile away." Grinning, Boris raised his hand and pointed at Viktor, waving vigorously.

"Dyakov! We've got Dyakov here!"
The rest of the customers didn't even bat an eye.
"See? Nobody cares. Now, drop the secret agent routine and let's get down to business. You have my stuff?"
"Yeah." The suitcase opened with a well-oiled click, revealing thick stacks of neatly wrapped 1,000 ruble bills.
"One point six up front and another three point four once the Communists agree to sell us both soda companies."
"Both are incorporated here so we should be in the clear as far as that goes. Get this money to their leadership along with the terms of our agreement, and you can keep 10% as a commission. Get caught, and I'm going to disavow all knowledge of you... you're gonna need the consulate in Tornus to get you out of this one."

"Yeah, I know, I heard it all at the conference call on Thursday. What should I do about them?" Boris motioned to the ships docked in port.
"Who?" Dyakov fished in his bag for a pair of binoculars and scanned the port. "Wait a minute, I know that ensign...I'll be damned, those are Londinian cargo ships! They sure as hell don't move through this area often..."
"Yeah, that's true. What I do know about this whole thing is that I've been here for three weeks and I haven't seen a single one of them dock here until a few days ago. They're docking in Capital Cove, no less...I'm pretty sure they're not here on a humanitarian mission, that's for sure. Londinian ships don't stop in warzones to sell trinkets."
"Well, Boris, if history serves there's a pretty high chance they're on our side. If you can get to those ships, it might help us later on. I'll use my contacts in the Ministry of Trade to see what the deal is and get back to you."
"You'll also need to get me an access pass to the port...place has been pretty tightly secured for a while now."
"I'll do that. It won't take more than a day or two to get you a fake inspection permit."
"Good, good. I take it you've also brought some other supplies..in case things get a little tense?"

"I think this should be enough. Our friends in the area are already keeping an eye out for us so we're pretty safe." A large handgun slid across the table before being quickly stashed away in Machinko's bag.
"Thanks. All things equal, I'll get our funds to the rebels by the end of the week."
"I knew I could count on you, Boris."
"Goddamn, you are an ass-kisser, aren't you? No wonder you're in the running for partner."
"I try...they don't give seven figures to the honest guys."
"And you're doing a good job." He paused, wiping sweat from his brow before continuing. "Shit, it's just getting hotter out here...I don't know about you, but I sure as hell could use a good, cold drink right about now."
"Same here."

From this point forward, the conversation switches to more mundane topics and nary a mention is made of the almost $4 million in rubles casually resting on the ground next to their table...