NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: The sign-up & information thread was here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=555796).

The first day of Fleet Week 2008 turned out to be a bigger success than the planners could have ever imagined. Millions of Layartebians and foreign nationals packed the piers of Manhattan and Brooklyn to see the gargantuan naval vessels of the Empire and of the world. Though only a select few Layartebian exhibits would be open on this, the first day, most of the foreign exhibits were. Amidst cloudy but dry skies above, the millions gathered and listened to the opening ceremony speech at 09:00 hours, by the mayor of Layarteb City herself Alice Fairchild. Having won the 2006 election for mayor, she was the first female mayor in the history of Layarteb City and, some argued, among the best. Going into 2008, the budget, crime rate, and quality of life in the city had all improved greatly. A favorite amongst the near nineteen million residents, she was poised to easily win her second term in 2010, even if something went catastrophe wrong during the next two years. She had been the most important mayor of the city since Rudy Giuliani led the city between the years of 1994 and 2002. His successor, Michael Bloomberg was equally as important but had retired after his term, leaving the reins in his successor's hands, Alice Fairchild. She swept the election with a vote of nearly 82% in favor of her.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/afairchild-01.jpg

"Good morning. Good morning," she began, a smile from ear to ear as she stood at the podium. She was only 40 years old, a young woman by standards and both her husband and fourteen year old son stood behind her, along with dignitaries including the Minister of Defense, the event leaders, and the Admiral of the Navy. "It is my pleasure and my honor to welcome you to Layarteb City, the greatest city in the world," the crowd's cheers were deafening and she smiled. "I'm glad you agree. Today marks the first day of the twenty-first, annual, Fleet Week, where the entire world flocks to our great city to see the magnificent marvels of the Imperial Layartebian Navy and navies from around the world.

"Millions of you have come from around the world to see our city and our city welcomes you. You are here as guests and you will leave as honorary Layartebians. Layarteb City has a vast culture to offer the world, a culture that includes every culture from around the world. Immigrants, both rich and poor, have come from the furthest corners of the world to Layarteb City to start anew and our city has given them the fortune and prosperity they earned and deserved.

"I invite you to stay. To tour our museums. Dine in our restaurants. Layarteb City has so much to offer you, whether you are a resident here or a visitor. It's the city so big that it never sleeps and we'll never back down from that claim to fame.

"Thank you for coming out this morning! Fleet Week 2008 is about to commence. You'll see ships from around the world and from the mighty Empire herself. I hope your stay will be enjoyable and I hope to see you again next year. Please, let me introduce the Admiral of the Navy, who will officially begin Fleet Week!" She said as she stepped back, clapping. Everyone else in the area clapped as well and the stage was roaring with the thunderous applause that the great admiral deserved.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Of the world. And of the Empire. It is my greatest honor to bring to you these events. Twenty-one years ago, when we first began Fleet Week, we did it for a number of reasons. To raise the morale of the people and of our sailors, many of whom were fighting for our Empire. We did it to showcase our military prowess to the world and we did it to honor our veterans, fallen and living. The Imperial Layartebian Navy is the most advanced in the world with battleships, frigates, submarines, and aircraft carriers that would put any other navy to shame. It is our honor to show these marvelous wonders of technology and architecture to you, to invite you to tour them, and to thank you, the people, for your support.

"Our boys in white are more than thankful for the respect and support that you, the people, of the Empire have shown them. Never have you spit on them or denied them your fullest respect. You have sheltered them when they had no home, you have sewn their uniforms when they had no needles, and you have treated them as your sons, even when they weren't. It is with this honor that I thank you for coming and officially declare Fleet Week 2008 open! Thank you." He stepped back from the podium as the millions around clapped and cheered. He rang a bell on the side of the podium and the celebrations commenced with hundreds of balloons, being released into the air. Confetti fell like snow and a foghorn blew in the distance. Fleet Week 2008 had opened its doors.

FSS Achilles' Revenge, CNVX-45

The massive Thor-class supercarrier cut through the waters outside the Layarteb territorial waters on its way to attend the annual Fleet Week. Preparing for launch was the strike fighter squadron VFA-301 Devil's Disciples. Their F/A-18E Super Hornets were to be showcased at the airfield while the new F-14E Top Cats of VF-41 'Black Aces' were to perform in the airshow. Within the hangar deck, another craft was being readied to the deck elevator. Similar in appearance to the V-22 Osprey, the CV-30 Vogel was an advanced variant, boasting non-afterburning turbofans instead of twin tilt-rotors. The Vogel reached the flight deck even as the last of the Disciple's took off. It's wings unfolded as it was brought to the linear catapult. From the ship's Island, five figures walked towards it.

"Comrade-Premier," Admiral Polenin urged, "You really should reconsider going in a simple transport."

"It's all right, Yvgenni," the Premier said, "How else do we present our aircraft without showing our faith in it?"


"You won't try to...fly it, will you?" General Gorobev asked, referring to the Premier's naval career.

"Don't worry, I'll be here to stop his childish impulses," Samantha Lexi, the Premier's former wingman and current NSA assured the general.

"Where were you to stop me that night at Afterburners?" the Premier quipped.

"Fighting off some very enebriated Marines alongside you if memory serves," she chided.

Their conversation continued as the flight crewmen led them into the passenger compartment and got them settled in. The Premier smiled a bit as the pilot announced the change in the aircraft's call sign from Heavy-26 to Maritime One. The pilot throttled up and the catapult launched them into the sky. After gaining sufficient altitude, the engines pivoted into cruise angle and Maritime One headed for Layarteb City.

-------


The Premier applauded with the other dignitaries, agreeing with the speeches even as he was a bit stubborn in conceding whether or not Layatreb was better than Meridian City, the Commonwealth capital. Glancing at Samantha, he knew she shared his sentiment. They were patriots, after all.

"Boy, would I like to be the one to show 'em what our naval aviators can do," Premier Galindo joked.

"You and me both," she answered.

"There's my favorite Marine."

"Hey, it's Semper Fi and do or die," Samantha laughed.


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

The Achilles rumbled into it's berthing south of Brooklyn (did I get that right?), the massive ship's horn announcing its presence. At over 1300 ft long, it was longer than most other navies carriers. The crew was manning the rails as it came into port, lined up in their dress whites along her deck. On the flight deck, crewmen were aligned in the shape of the Commonwealth's Hammer and Sickle. Inside the CIC, however, there was still a flurry of activity.

"Standing down defense systems," a crewman reported. "All Phalanx and Harpoon platforms are offline."

"Lidar and radar intercept systems are on cold standby," reported another tech.

"Armory reports all defensive and offensive arms have been stowed away," answered Commander Dragicivic, the XO.

"All right," the Captain replied, picking up the ober-the-ship mike. "All crews are on port duty. Those of you that are serving during dignitary visits are required to maintain the highest decorum. Any members of this crew while on liberty are subject to Layarteb laws. Welcome to Fleet Week."

OOC: Good post.

The sun slowly rose over the eastern horizon, flooding the gondola of the airship inbound with warming light as the craft moved on towards Layertb. But to the captain though, he did not see the beauty of the morning: only hundreds of lines and icons that were displayed by his head-mounted enhanced-realty headset. Ahead of him, a long white line represented the airshipping lane he was currently in, an ending icon showing where the Layertb waters began, about 40 miles away. Almost there. He dropped his hand down to the main engine controls, and slowly decreased the air-hydrogen mixtures in the cylinders of the 6 massive turboprops while dropping the throttle and prop RPM controls. The distant throbbing slowed, before stopping all together as he reached cut-off. He then moved his hand to the fuel cutoff system switch, sending a signal to the large seal units cutting off all flow of hydrogen to the engines.

Feathering the props and then sticking the controls onto autopilot, the Captain stood up and stretched. 14 hours straight of flying, with another 16 hours flight behind him. Sor far, they had travelled 4500km from the colony of Tho'lara, and now were on the finishing straight of their trip. He walked past the empty control positions for Weapons, Defence and Navigation/Communications, before finding himself at the end of the small bridge. From here, a very narrow corridor led past two rooms to an end ladder, and from that ladder into the airship itself. He slid down the corridor and slid the door into the room open. He was in the bunk area, where all slept or had their own personal time. A curtain was drawn across the sleeping area, concealing the slumbering crew. He sat down at a table, taking a mug from the rack and pouring himself some Lka'co blend coffee. As he took in a breath of relief, he heard rustling, followed by the appearance of a sleepy co-pilot. He too sat down and downed some coffee, whilst calming down his unkempt hair.

"Almost there then?"
"I left us to drift on the wind. We'll be in their airspace in about 20 minutes, and then from there it'll be another 15 minutes to their harbour. From there, just manouveres."
"Then I guess then we'd better get smartened up while we have the time. I'll wake the crew, and tell them to put on their No 1s uniform."
"Right then. I'll just go and make sure the store's all in order, then get changed. Make sure when you wake Engineer Tha'soi you ask him to take a look at the air conditioning."

The two men stood up, the Captain walking from the bunk area to the corridor, and along to the other room. Inside, light from one of the windows illuminated multiple CFRP military cases, each labelled with a purpose. Food, Survival, Communications, Welding Equipment... all that were needed to keep an airship in the sky for months was in here.
He moved to the back of the room, checking all the boxes were secure, before unsecuring a heavily padlocked one and checking its contents. Enough assault rifles for the crew should they come under attack, and enough ammunition to shred any foolish attackers. Another large case nearby held blank and dummy rounds for the Autocannon, the unit sitting just beneath his feet on the gondola underside. He engaged the safety mechanism, before putting the boxes back, and going to get dressed into his dress uniform.

The five F-31 Sylvantes fighters landed at the appropriate airfield in a diamond formation, with one plane in the middle. With President Stinson (who had flown in earlier) in the audience watching the landing, it was certainly impressive.

What the other members of the audience didn't know was that the expert Lamonian pilots that had made the landing had spent weeks perfecting it.

President Stinson headed for the special hangers, and was admitted when his identity was confirmed.

The man that came out of the cockpit was LAF Colonel Richard "Bossman" Dixon.

"A good landing, Colonel. I don't think that anyone else will have the balls to perform such a landing, but it looks like the rough field modifications worked. How was your flight?"

"The flight went well, Mr. President. And yes, the rough field mods worked as advertised. This should work in our favor for selling more of these aircraft."

((OOC: What are your gun laws?))

The ship had left harbour the day before fleet week was scheduled to begin. This would give the crew plenty of time to find Layarteb on the world map and sail to the country. Not to mention find parking. It was usually as mess although with specific space allocated for specific ships; the spaces should be marked for each country and which vessel(s) to go in each spot should also be marked. Otherwise it would be hectic to land properly and enjoy the week.

The ship found the space just fine though and the 750 Uir toursists who had paid good arjets to go to Layarteb. It wasn't very often the Uir Government did anything besides law enforcement, national protection and business supports & grants. This was a special occasion and for most of them their tenth supposed once-in-a-life-time oppurtunity. In Uiri it was quite simple, really. Either one was one in approximately 250,000,000 Uir and one was rich, or one was one in approximately 2,250,000,000 and one was poor.

After most of the tourists had left the ship - being reminded to carry their passport and national identity card at all times in order to ensure that if one of them lost one they still had the other and could report the other stolen which would hopefully prevent any possibility of theft because either the thief would not know to report the other item stolen or the thief would not look like the picture.

Tourists carrying loaded guns were asked to inquire about weapons with the Layartebian authorities before bringing the weapon off the ship. Uir officials warned that penalties under Layartebian law would apply to those breaking Layartebian law and those breaking Uir law who were Uir citizens would suffer penalties under Uir law. This was warning not to commit anything which could possibly be regarded as a crime.

OOC: Gun laws in the Empire are as such. No citizen is denied the right to own a weapon. There is a minimum age for owning pistols and rifles and shotguns. Pistol ownership is at the age of 18, rifles are 14 - 16 depending on the locality but they must be purchased with an adult and until the age of 18 they cannot be over .308 in caliber. Shotguns it is 14 - 16 depending on the locality. Concealed carry is permitted by all citizens but requires a permit. All weapon's ownership requires registration. Automatic weapons are not allowed in the hands of civilians unless with special permit [much harder to get]. Bodyguards and other officials of foreign dignitaries are permitted to carry their weapons provided they are registered prior hand. The information as to quantity, caliber, and who carries is kept a strict secret. Foreign citizens who wish to carry weapons not in an official purpose must pass a more thorough background check, register their firearms prior hand, and may be subject to scrutiny during registration. Registration involves logging the serial number, taking finger prints and photo of both the weapon and the owner, as well as a test fire to get the imprint of the weapon on the bullet, in case it is committed in a crime. All weapons are actually test fired before they are sold for this purpose as well.

Fleet Week 2008 Begins
By Alex Hammerford

LAYARTEB CITY (LNN) - Fleet Week 2008 began Monday with a spetacular speech and opening ceremony by Mayor Alice Fairchild and the Admiral of the Navy. With the release of hundreds of balloons and confetti, the Admiral rang in the beginning of the 21st Annual Fleet Week.

Expected to join the Imperial Layartebian Navy this year are ships from the around the world, including the United Federation of Eurasia, The Republic of Zinaire, the Third Spanish States, the Realm of Cotland, the Commonwealth of Hirgzistan, the Dominion of Hvergelmir, and many more. The Imperial Layartebian Navy will officially debut the newest class of warships, the Overburdened, a behmoth battleship that is expected to rule the worlds' oceans along with the Voodoo class destroyer.

Mayor Fairchild stated in a press conference before the start of the event, "We expect millions this week and we're planning for one hundred or more." When asked about security, Mayor Fairchild said, "The security at our event will be more than enough. We have arranged for the Layarteb City police department to work, in conjunction with federal law enforcement officials to prevent any breechs of security during this week." Tensions are high with concerns for security as, yesterday, the domestic terrorist group known as the Ghost Warriors attacked a police station in Florida.

Layarteb News Network (c) All Rights Reserved

Layarteb City Harbor
06:50 hrs, May 12, 2008

In the wee hours of the morning on the 12th of May, the Cottish contribution to this year's Fleet Week sailed graciously into the harbor, the parade flags flying from the ships and the crews formed along the lines to render honors to the ships already entered in the harbor, to the Layartebian Emperor's palace on Governor's Island, and to the people who had lined up aong the water and in the small boats that had shown up to greet the arriving foreign ships.

Leading the procession was the Cottish submarine HMS Makohai, a nuclear attack submarine in the Type 61 class, popularly called the Tigerhai class due to the name of the lead ship of the class. She was 117 meters long, powered by a single pressurized water nuclear reactor, crewed by 97 men and women, and capable of laying waste to an entire country with her cruise missiles which could be nuclear-tipped, and her other weaponry. Flying proudly from her mast was the Cottish naval ensign, flapping defiantly in the wind and with the first beams of sun shining down on the pale black hull, the Makohai was a spectacular sight rarely seen outside the Cottish submarine pens in Norway and northern Russia.

Next the Questerian-made Type 38C destroyer Kostroma, a 166.2 meter long, 7 500 ton heavy general purpose destroyer crewed by 275 men and women followed the Makohai, keeping a distance of 200 meters from the Makohai's stern so that the Kostroma had time to manouver in the event that the Makohai would stop or do something else that was unexpected.

The 98 000 ton aircraft carrier Kong Olav V, named in honor of a former Cottish king, followed the Kostroma, her sides manned by thousands of sailors and pilots dressed in dress uniforms as per protocol. On her flight deck, a small complement of her powerful air wing had already been positioned and prepared for the masses that were sure to board her in a few hours, with the mighty Candrian-made FA 16B Priest STOVL fighter and the equally powerful Pretonian-made RAC-201A Sea Shrike medium maritime strike bomber forming the bulk of the airwing, combined with a few HH-14A Merlin anti-submarine warfare helicopters here and there.

The remaining two Type 38C destroyers Belgia and Svalbard made up the rear as the five-ship squadron sailed gracefully towards their assigned berths. Within the hour, all five ships had docked successfully, greatly assisted by Layartebian harbor tugs, and powered down their respective power plants. Aboard, the final preperations were being carried out so that the bulk of the crews could get the long-awaited shore leave they had expected for weeks now. Shore leave was always welcome, and shoreleave in a foreign country was especially welcome. There would be many broken hearts in Layarteb City when the Cottish ships headed for sea again.

By 09:00 hours, the time the Fleet Week was officially opened, the ships had been prepared for the expected masses of visitors. Guided tours of the ships would be offered, with off-limits areas of the ships having been marked with signs in several languages and red ropes. Vital areas were under constant supervision, and in the (unlikely) event of saboteurs or other troublemakers, armed security teams were on standby in strategic off-limits areas out of view of the visitors ready to move out at seconds notice. Up on the decks, the sailors had prepared the small souvenir shops and cafés where visitors could sit down and relax with a soda or a coffee, something to nibble on, and chat with each other and the crew during their visit, something which had proven very successful in previous years. On the Kong Olav V, the pilots were on shift rotation at the aircraft which were going to be displayed, ready to answer questions from the visitors and explain things about the aircraft and such things. Children were even going to be allowed to sit inside the cockpit of one of the FA 16s, something which was bound to be a great success, while older children and adults were going to be allowed to try their skills inside a portable FA 16 simulator that had been installed in the hangardeck.

There was something for everyone to try aboard the Cottish ships.

Layarteb City Airbase (right?)
08:45 hrs, May 12, 2008

With thousands of people watching live and probably millions more via the live television coverage from the airbase, the twelve grey Questerian-made Blackadder maritime strike bombers of the 163. Maritime Strike Squadron of the Royal Cottish Naval Aviation preformed perfect landings at the airbase, the pilots displaying their great piloting skills. Within minutes, all twelve Blackadders had landed and were on their way to their assigned spaces on the tarmac, guided by the skilled Layartebian ground crews. On their way to their assigned spots, the large bombers passed the aircraft of other nation-states which had already arrived, and the pilots politely offered a salute from the cockpit windows as they passed.

By 09:00 hours, all twelve Blackadders had been lined up and powered down their engines, and the four-man crews could finally slow down a little. They had flown at supersonic speeds for five hours, having slowed down only to refuel over Iceland so they were guaranteed to have sufficient fuel to make it not only to Layarteb City, but also to the alternate airfields if something happened. Fortunately, no such thing had occured, and the flight had been uneventful. As the Commander in command of the squadron walked over to the waiting truck so he could deliver his complements to the Layartebian base commander in person, armed Layartebian MPs took up positions around four of the Blackadders, having orders to let no one but the Cottish crews past. The reason wasn't known to the public, but it was a perfectly good reason: The four Blackadders in question were each carrying two powerful LBM.63B Akkar heavy air-launched anti-shipping missiles slated to be expended in a live-fire exercise in a few days.

The Cottish were ready for Fleet Week.

The airship fired up its engines again into reverse thrust as it passed over land. Below, the crew could easily see the many ships pushing to get into the harbour, bedecked gaudily for the celebrations of the week. Slowing down, the Captain slipped into his mouth one of his awakening pills and gulped it down with some water from a bottle. Slowly started to feel much more alert, he nodded to the man on the communication controls behind him, hearing the hum of his headpiece tuning into the local air traffic. They had been broadcasting automated messages for minutes beforehand as the airship moved into safe areas away form commercial air lanes, descending as it drifted. In the last few minutes, they had lost 2 kilometres of altitude, and were now only 400 metres above the ground. Buildings and people all round could be seen from their vantage point, as meer pinpricks.

"This is the Captain of Special Flight MS - 0001. Requesting directions to touch down area. Altimeter at 1400 feet, Heading 205 degrees."

Behind their airship, the Aerodropcraft followed. A smaller and different design, the craft was the temporary home of 76 aeromarines and their 22 crewmen. Instead of having the calm awakening, they had been given the more sudden awakening. An alarm had started as they were roused from their sleep by the Color Sergeant, his bawl echoing across the entire gondola. Men sleepily rushed up, to get rapidly washed and changed into their appropriate uniforms: 2 platoons in No.1 dress uniform, and another platoon in No.4 Combat Fatigues. Food was hastily consumed as they tidied their bunks and placed on top fully packed kitbags, tidying the rubbish into whatever bins they could find. As they felt the airship changing course to their landing zone, inspection started. First of their areas, and then of them. Specks of dust were furiously removed before snaps to attention as the officers walked about, bawling at those not in perfect state. Finally checked, they moved off to the drop area. Amongst the strangely empty equipment rails, the men took seat on the folding seats, waiting for their final orders to leave. In these final minutes, corperal rushed about, delivering ammunition to the soldiers. All were armed with the AF-07P Paratrooper assault rifle, in th heavier 6.3mm AF calibre and with more items concealed in the folding stock and handgrips. All had been issued with 4x 30-round magazines for their rifles, filled with their standard jacketed rounds. As they were moved into stow pockets neatly concealed in the black dress uniforms, the ones in combats stood up: they would be the first out on the ground to help secure the airship, whilst the rest would march out later to present the airships and Alfegans to the public. Orange sashes, passing from right shoulder to waist, were fitted with medals, pins and ribbons, each symbolising the sort of men who could survive their occupation.

Below on the ground, the 4 ekranoplans had arrived. Using the flat terrain to their advantage, they had glided across the water and then land, to come to a juddering halt below. But already, they were preparing to receive the airships. Ground crews had already unloaded vehicles form one ekranoplan, whilst another was slowly raising a giant mast while digging itself firmly into the ground. Ground crews slowly beckoned in the giant craft, a cordon already established to keep at a safe distance the already arriving public who were watching this strange landing.

Layatreb City Airbase

The F-14Es and F/A-18 Super Hornets had landed the prvious day, and aside from the six Top Cats who were to perform in the airshow, all had been lined up for public and dignitary viewing. The Top Cats were the true marvels. Far from the design of its predecessors, its most notable features were its thrust-vectoring nacelles and angled vertical stabilizers. It was also the only F-14 variant to feature a single-seat cockpit design. A state-of-the-art avionics suite took over for the RIO, giving the pilot unrivaled control of his environment. In the hangar, the pilots of the Black Aces were going over the flight routine again. Among one of the best of the CMDFs strike fighter squadrons, the Black Aces had been given the honor of representing their country. From the hangar door, the Premier and NSA Lexi looked in on them.

"I was never that young," Premier Galindo said in jest.

"No, but you were just as arrogant," Samantha answered. "C'mon, their demonstration isn't for a while and you said we'd check out some of those museums."

"All right," he relented, "Just got the smell of JP-5 is all."

The figures walked off, unknown to the six aviators who were deep in conversation.

At 330 meters long and displacing over 70,000 tons, HIMS Kaatje was easily as large as aircraft carriers from other nations, although she was merely another cruiser to the Imperial Navy. Even to many of the great naval powers in Haven, that seemed incredible, but it was simply the way the IN had been since its inception. However, even to her designers she was an impressive ship, capable of going toe to toe with any cruiser squadron in the world and winning handily. While nobody in Layarteb City was likely to ever see her awesome power displayed, especially not during Fleet Week, her physical presence alone was awe inspiring.

"Captain, entering Raritan Bay, recommend that the ship begin stand down from normal watch," said the watch's helm officer.

Captain Barculo nodded, "Thank you, Helm. Tactical, please safe all guns and missiles and stand by to safe point defense."

"Aye, Cap'n. Safeing all guns and missiles, standing by to safe point defense," replied the tactical officer.

"EW, stand down all active systems, maintain passive watch," came the next order.

"Aye, standing down all active systems, maintaining passive watch," was the answer back.

"Navigation, bring up detailed charts and begin plotting the safest course to our destination," now it was starting to get tricky, since any accident was likely to see the commander of the ship's head rolling.

"Aye, ma'am, plotting course now."

"Comms, contact Harbor Control and inform them of our course once Nav has it," which would be the last step before the ship could safely enter its berth.

"Aye, bringing up Harbor Control presently, will inform them of our intentions once course is plotted."

The Captain satisfied, she stood up and began leaving the bridge, "Officer of the Watch, you have the bridge. Inform all hands not on watch that they are to Stand to Rails in dress uniform (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v172/NSFlags/Uniforms/NavyDress.png) presently."


***


The brisk Layarteb City air was refreshing in the spring, although the ship moving along at 15 knots gave it a slightly nippy character. Which wasn't really a problem, since any Imperial Navy sailor was used to it. The dark gray hull gave the ship a slightly menacing air, which was the intent of the Imperial Navy; anybody who saw the way oversized hull (compared to cruisers from other nations) of the ship and the paint scheme would forever remember the ship and if they were hostile to the Imperium they would (hopefully) be wary of doing anything stupid. Of course, at Fleet Week everything was friendly, but at the very least the odd scheme would still make the ship stand out from others.

As the Kaatje was towed into its berth by the harbor tugs, the ship and the men and women in the white and red of Imperial Navy drew the expected stares. It would take a couple hours before the ship was prepared to receive visitors, but with most of the cleaning done already it was mostly a matter of setting up the bridge, mess, the A turret, and a few rooms as exhibits. The highlight of the tour was expected to be the mess, since many would be eating Imperial cuisine for the first time.

The streets and piers of Layarteb City were alive with people of every background. Scandinavians, unaccustomed to the warm humid weather of Layarteb City, whisked away sweat from their brows while the Eurasians mocked them in good humor. The thunderous roar of jet fighters and the hum of bomber engines mixed with the drone of the throngs of people in the streets below to create a singular deafening roar. Street vendors worked overtime selling pretzels, sodas, and classic dirty water hotdogs. It was, without a doubt, a splendid gathering. It was, however, not so for everyone.

In past years public outcry against Layarteb and her allies had been quiet, lacking a singular unified voice. Fleet Week went unhitched for practically its entire 20 year lifespan and for good reason. The capital of the strongest military alliance, filled with the most deadly machinery human minds could create, and loaded with seemingly every nationality the world could offer didn’t seem like a smart place to pick a fight for any terrorist or national agitator. With every hotel room and street corner booked any large protest had been disarmed before it could even begin. These past few years had changed everything. Atrocities committed by Layarteb and her allies, notably Hirgizstan, had caused international condemnation and public protest had grown tenfold. New global communities formed, one such was present today at Fleet Week. Led by the dynamic fire breather, Paki Imamu, the World Human Project had grown to nearly four million members. The WHP had been in existence for nearly ten years but had only recently seen such prolific growth. Based originally around the idea of human rights’ it aimed to aid those under dictatorships and monarchies in non violent protests. However its recent focus has landed primarily on Anti-TOA movements. Paki had led this new direction with fanatical fervor. At 32, he was tall and handsome, credited to his upbringing in the mines of Angola. His family migrated to Namibia when rumors spread that the Bjornoyan government was ‘relocating’ citizens with AIDS. Since his younger brother had the disease his father wanted to risk nothing. He was enrolled in the University of Windhoek and graduated four years later. After the United States absorbed Angola and it became apparent that genocide had taken place, Paki decided to use his oratory skills and try to fight back against such travesties. His base of operations now located in Cape Town, South Africa, was home to a large multi-million dollar complex. The WHP had since become the world’s leading voice against TOA tyranny as they called it.

Fleet Week 08 seemed like a perfect time to start their campaign against TOA. They booked rooms nearly a year in advance and cobbled together nearly 5,000 members of all nationalities to protest the gathering of military force. With Fleet Week kicking off Paki was out on the front lines leading his 5,000 man army in non violent protest. It was only the first clash between WHP and TOA but certainly would not be the last.

The newest ship in the Mu Cepheian Fleet, the Water Class Battlecruiser, moved quickly through the waters of the ocean. The battlecruiser was followed by several oldies, but goodies. A Type 45 class destroyer, a F123 Brandenburg class frigate, a Ticonderoga class missile cruiser, a Sea Wolf class submarine, and a Nimitz Class aircraft carrier. All in formation heading towards the Layarteb port where they would show off their ships to the crowds during the week. Captains informed their Master Chiefs of the rules and regulations of the upcoming event which resulted in NCOs doing the same for the lower ranking sailors. All in all the Mu Cepheian Navy was ready for the show. There was one thing that bothered Lieutenant Colonel Fitch Keeler was why the second smallest branch in the military doing showing off it's equipment in a foreign country.

There simply was no gains to it. In Mu Cephei at least there was a chance for an increase in recruitment, but in other countries there was no money to be made, new sailors to recruit, and not even a possible increase in their budget. There was one thing that came to mind to the navel ariel demonstrator. Lieutenant Colonel Fitch Keeler, squadron leader of VFA-113 a navel ariel squadron demonstrator unit, realized the only possible way the navy could get something out this was them. Mu Cephei trained it's pilots hard and the two squadrons on this carrier were some of the best in Mu Cephei when it came to 'show time.' If things went nicely then Navy Air Command will be getting a nice bonus which can then be transferred to the Navy as a whole.

VFA-112, 'The Buggers,' flew over the carrier practicing a formation. They were followed by one of the two solo groups. Predator and Prey. Doing what they did best. The seventh fighter in that ariel demonstrator squadron always chased the eighth one in a game of cat and mouse all the while completing crazy stunts. His squadron was almost exactly the same as the one above. Six F/A-24C Hornets and two F/A-18E 'Super' Hornets. His two solos were called Tom and Jerry. Which were actually the pilot's real names. They had a similar act to Predator and Prey, but with more comedy involved.

They were also a bunch of other craft that would be in the show. Two helicopter squadrons, a AWACS squadron, a Anti-Submarine Warfare Squadron, and even some cargo planes to drop small gifts onto the beach for viewers to pick-up to play around. Not only tat speakers, tents, and other gear were being stored on the aircraft's storage were the missiles and bombs were kept. Those would be placed on the beach they would flying over so as to add that extra feeling of 'fun' with the show.

The best part. The aircraft was being modified to allow guest on board and it is being planned that those guest would be able to take on several roles of the air wing. Like 'shooting' aircraft (with help with the crew), air traffic control, and some would even be allowed to load aircraft with practice ordnance. Anything to add to the experience.

A few hours later the ships made port at the southern shore of Brooklyn while the air wing began taking notes on southern part of Rockaway Beach where they would be performing at. Lieutenant Colonel Fitch Keeler wondered if these Layartebians (?) were ready for him and the rest of the pilots to blow their minds.

OOC: Sorry that I'm late, is anything wrong with the post?

Layarteb City Harbor

E.S.S Sultan an Shark Class SSBN entered Layarteb City Harbor without difficulty, its effortless sail into its assigned berth. Most of the crew looked forward to shore leave. Even though the submarine was not open to the public, two Eurasians officers were station by the submarine to conduct public relations and answer any questions that the tourist would ask about the submarine.

Meanwhile the Premier and his wife arrive about the same time as the Sultan enter the Harbor, they wanted to enjoy the event to it fullest and put on going Ukrainian stabilization operations aside for now at least. Just the Premier, his wife and bodyguards roam the area and took interest in the many ships that were docked in the berth.

[12 May 2008]

Inside his comfortably adorned cabin, Капитан (1Го Ранга) Shapov lifted a pencil, spun it once between his fingers contemplatively, and began to write.

12 May 2008, 12.30 Hours Local

Delegation berthed without problems. Compliments to Layarteb harbourmaster and pilot tugs. Crew stood to rails between 08.55 and 10.05 to acknowledge Opening Ceremonies. General concensus amongst Officer's Mess, Mayor Fairchild worth taking on a cruise. Other Ranks undoubtedly share this sentiment as evidenced by commentary regarding immigration.

Cottish Navy in attendance. Olav the Fifth is certainly impressive. Aegir and Tsarina Alexandra will be open to guided tours - public and private - from 10.00 Hours 13 May. Diplomat appears to be settled comfortably.

Closing the leatherbound Captain's Log, Shapov stood and selected Walking Out Uniform No. 2 from the closet's rail. Buttoning the standing collar over his telnyashka linen shirt, he clipped his officer's sabre to the slings hanging from his belt and shrugged until the shoulderboards laid flat over his shoulders. Picking up his peaked cap, he left his cabin, closing the hatch behind him and stepping into the corridor to meet with Sakharov, the diplomat. Dressed in a dark charcoal suit pinstriped with thin lines of pure black, the soldier turned statesman looked magnificient. He held his head as high as Shapov, pleased to the very center of his being to be back aboard a warship. He was a former Naval Infanteer.

"Captain."
"Arkady Ill'ych. Care to accompany myself and some of the Mess to the IMAX showing?"
"It would be my pleasure."

Tied alongside the pier, the Project 1269 battleship was a sight to behold. Her hull, turrets, and superstructure were painted in Ship's Grey, Surface Combatant, Shade 52. Her number stood stark on the prow, RNV-832, with her name underneath: Aegir. She was the second vessel of the Norseman class, armed with both naval rifles and an impressive array of vertical launch system cells. Fully half of the Officer's Mess appeared on deck from a side hatch, attired in the distinctively collared black single-button-column jackets over straight-legged trousers of the same colour and polished deck shoes, gleaming in the natural light of Layarteb's bustling harbour.

A Bosun's Pipe sounded strident, bringing all activity on the deck to a halt. Two sailors beside the Coxwain slammed to attention and rendered perfect salutes, returned instantaneously by Shapov. The Naval Infantrymen at the gangplank halfway from the forward superstructure to the bow stood proud with meticulously cleaned SVT-40 rifles resting their steel buttplates on the deck beneath. Spines ramrod straight, their heels were touching and the toecaps of their knee-high black leather boots showed a perfect forty-five degree angle between them. As Shapov approached the Naval Infanteers, the breeze caught the tassles of their flat-topped caps and blew them towards the gangplank. They lifted their rifles by the forestock a precise five centimeters off the deck and slammed the stocks back down, producing a metallic bang by means of the Sentry's Salute (Close Order Drillbook, Honourifics, Movement No. 53) as Shapov stepped onto the bridge leading from ship to shore. He saluted crisply, his officers following him down the gangplank to the pier.

Sakharov strode beside the Captain, whose group was joined by officers from the Tsarina Alexandra, a Daurmont-class antisubmarine destroyer. On the move, they instinctively shook themselves out into formation, three abreast and ten deep for a total of thirty. Sakharov was echeloned right on K1 Shapov, and the officers fell into step with one another. The crowds seemingly parted infront of their broad-chested commander, who couldn't maintain his stone face as a tourist's child marched alongside him. The spectacle brought smiles to the remainder of the group of officers, and Aegir's Air Defence Officer, in the right marker slot in the formation, scooped the child up and handed him back to his mother with a smile.

Only Aegir and the smaller Tsarina Alexandra stood alongside piers inside the harbour. The remainder of the halved task force that had sailed here was anchored outside, ship's companies on rotating shore leave. Without exception, the crew of the Daurmont-class destroyer looked forward to the thirteenth of May, when their vessel - and the magnificient Norseman-class battleship - would be open to visitors.
As Shapov and a section of officers under his command enjoyed the IMAX feature How to Sink a Warship, their vessels remained seemingly devoid of activity. The decks had been made ready long ago, and the only activities left that had to be attended to were belowdecks, well out of sight.

The battleship KNS Predator sailed into the harbor of Layarteb City alone. It had been the first of what would be many new naval acquisitions for the Republic, and the president had decided that the older ships of the Khorsunite Navy were not really worthy to represent it in a gathering of the newest and the shiniest.

President Dorgan leaned on the railing, half-emptied bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand. He had a feeling of unease in his stomach; not quite seasickness, but he simply bulled through physical ailments by strength of will and so no one who saw him would have guessed how he really felt.

The ship was crowded, bustling, and noisy. More than 3,000 crewmen and nearly 300 dignitaries and wealthy tourists were all on board. The sailors were still getting used to their new vessel; this was its first time traveling. The tourists competed for space by the railing of the ship's deck, some to look out onto the multitude of foreign ships and sprawling Layarteb City, some to just throw up over the side.

Like the Predator, the harbor was crowded, bustling, and noisy. Dozens of ships jockeyed for the best spots in the harbor where they could best be viewed from the city, and Layartebian tugboats were overburdened trying to get them all into the proper spaces.

Kevin Hanford wandered over to Dorgan, a whole onion in one hand. He took a bite out of the onion, crunching loudly. Dorgan winced. Hanford was useful but he was a damned nuisance at times, such as formal dinners, where his eating habits were an embarrassment.

"Jesus Christ," said Dorgan, "I didn't know Navy rations were bad enough to make you do this." Hanford shrugged and swallowed his bite of onion.

"No, I just kind of like it," he said. The tears started welling up in the president's eyes. Dorgan snatched the onion out of Hanford's hand and pitched it out into the sea. "Hey! I was eating that," said Hanford.

"The ship has SCUBA gear if you feel like going down there to get it," said Dorgan. He looked out onto the flotilla Cotland had brought. "Now if you ask me, that's a damned waste of harbor space," he said. "Nobody needs to bring more than one ship." Hanford shrugged again and walked off morosely, probably going back to the kitchen to find another onion.

Dorgan picked up the bullhorn he kept on the ground next to him and shouted out to the crew of the little Layartebian tugboat that was guiding the Preadator to its mooring. "Just how much longer are we gonna be waiting? You've been screwing around with us for nearly an hour!" Dorgan was not quite fluent in English but prided himself on his mastery of some useful phrases.

Heads turned on the tug. "That damned president is annoying as fuck," said one sailor. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back, "We will be there very soon, Mr. President. We are doing the best we can."

Dorgan snorted loudly into the microphone. The sailor balled up his fists in anger. The President of Khorsun had been shouting down to them to get their asses in gear every five minutes into that stupid bullhorn of his. "Hey, you who is not wearing a hat!" shouted the foreign president. The sailor looked up. "I've decided to amuse myself till we get there with knock-knock jokes. Knock-knock!"

The sailor's face went brick red and he stomped off to find something else to do. "You're supposed to say who's there!" shouted Dorgan after him.

OOC: Yes all posts are fine, nice ones! The Empire of Layarteb or just the Empire or Layarteb is all suitable. The people are Layartebian. Ottoman and I RP'd the end of this on AIM.

The first day of Fleet Week had gone off without a hitch as millions of people crowded the streets of Layarteb City. Sailors from around the world mixed with the crowds and attracted women from every corner of the globe while the ships stood, clean and inspection ready at their berths. From Manhattan to the southern shore of Brooklyn, dozens of ships lay tied to port, their crews adorning their railings as they arrived. All Layartebian vessels that entered port did so by first passing by the Statue of Liberty, rendering a full salute until they were clear of the beautiful statue that meant so much to the both the Empire and the Republic before it. Flags flew high and the breeze kept them wavering and flapping as the ships were brought into port by the aide of qualified and veteran harbor pilots.

Throughout the day, IMAX movies played and both the Voodoo and the Druid stood open for tours, amongst the many foreign vessels. On board the Druid, the tour was pretty straight forward. A path had been created by sailors and it was, essentially, self-guided, although sailors stood at various points to offer insight, prevent civilians from wandering off, and to make sure nobody stepped out of line. Photography was permitted and many sailors smiled for the cameras as they explained. "The Druid is a small, coastal patrol corvette. She is 117 feet long, 22 feet wide, and drafts almost 5 feet of water fully loaded at 120 tons." One of the sailors explained. "She has a crew of 13 and performs coastal protection duties with the Imperial Layartebian Defense Forces." Another explained further down the line. "How fast? Well. On calm seas she can sprint up to 55 knots but that is a tough feat to obtain. Normally she will move at upwards of 40 to 47 knots. Our power comes from two diesel engines driving three water jets that give us a range of over two thousand nautical miles." A sailor explained as he was asked the top speed of the vessel. "Armed with a single 50 millimeter chain gun on our front turret, two heavy machine guns, four light machine guns, two torpedoes, four anti-ship missiles, and one point-defense missile system, we can engage many types of surface threats from pirate skiffs to full-blown warships and succeed in taking them out." Another answered further along the tour.

On board the Voodoo class destroyer, the tour was guided. Sailors brought groups of tourists, many as large as twenty-four throughout unclassified, safe portions of the ship, including the entire outside deck. The people briefly walked through spaces below decks, including the galley and some of the crew bunks but most of the tour was conducted above deck. Both vessels were the only two open to the public in so far as the Imperial Layartebian Navy and Defense Forces were concerned. The bulk of the Layartebian exhibits wouldn't officially open until 10:00 hours on May 13, the following day.

Everything went accordingly and, when the Celebration Ball kicked off at the Waldorf-Astoria at 20:00 hours, the Emperor was on hand to show his appreciation for Fleet Week. Foreign dignitaries and the social elite of the Empire were invited to the largest ball room in the world famous hotel and, among them, the Eurasian Premier and his wife, who found the Emperor and his own date for the evening quite quickly. The Emperor smiled as he met the Eurasian Premier. "My brother. How are you this evening? I hope our festivities are to your liking?" The Emperor said proudly as he shook the Premier's hand, a scotch in his own.

The Premier smiled and replied, "The festivities were well organized, very interesting. I must say, you out did yourself this year!"

"Thank you. Thank you. I must say the planners for this event are the best in our Empire. We cannot be happier and we hope that this week goes according to plan. We have every detail and every corner covered. Did you get to see some of our exhibits today? I know the Voodoo and the Druid opened up. I will be given a personal tour of our Overburdened class vessel tomorrow. I would be honored to have you accompany me on it. If you are available. I will be asking our October Alliance allies the same question as well. The Cottish, the Hirgizstanians, and the Hawdawgians I know will be more than happy to join me."

"Indeed, I did mange to see the Voodoo and Druid, fearsome weapons of war if I must. I will be honored to go on the tour of the Overburdened class, as long as you allow me to repay the honor with a tour of the Sultan. We did some updates to the sub systems that you should be most interested in."

"I can't wait. The honor would of course be mine. Now there is something I would like to talk to you about, more in private. Something more concerning business that is. If you can?" He motioned for a pair of bodyguards to move away from the stairs to the upper balcony, where few people were allowed to go, especially when the Emperor was there.

The Premier nodded and said, "Very well, lead the way." The Emperor nodded and led the Premier up to the upper balcony where they sat down at a private area, secluded and out of earshot from anyone. Bodyguards stood around, protecting the two heads of state.

"Concerning our situation in Ukraine. It has been months now since we first ventured down the road of securing Ukraine. Our forces are engaged now against the rebels and I am learning that we are not as successful as we should be at this stage of the game. What more can the Empire do to keep Ukraine in your hands?" As he finished, fireworks went off in the distance and the people gathered near windows to watch the near hour long display.

The Premier look across the ball room from the balcony and replied. "The situation in Ukraine is more or less a stalemate, for every time we win a battle and take back a town, the rebels win one back and a retake a town. The whole region itself is in organized chaos. The best choice we have in order to be more successful in this war is to fire bomb the whole nation or to use toxic gas. Just we rid the rebels hence no problem but its not that easy. The only way we can turn things in our favor without undermining our efforts is to declare total war on the whole region. Meaning we remove the civilians from their homes, then burn anything of vale in the region and just as we are, rid ourselves of the rebels. We've cut their roots out so to speak but I have my doubts on such a radical plan."

"I do as well. In the near three decades it took to build this Empire, we have fought rebellions and armies, the likes of every class we have seen. We have fought terrorists, rebels, nationalists, drug runners. You name it, the Empire has clashed with them. Never once though had we declared such radical measures. We have contingency plans for total war and, in Kaliningrad, we came close to opting for it. Perhaps it would have given us a victory though I imagine that it would have been Pyrrhic at best. Perhaps the issue isn't necessary just to annihilate everything. What good would that do to you in the long run? You will rid yourselves of this problem but open up dozens more. No. We must be committed to destroying the rebellion inside of the Ukraine without destroying the Ukraine. I fear though that, to achieve such an outcome, it will be long and costly, not just in dollars but in lives as well. That is something our side cannot afford. Perhaps the Empire can do more to assist. With the introduction of Vesta rocket systems and strategic bombers, perhaps we can put the rebels on the run. We can destroy their hideouts from anywhere and afford them no safe place to hide. It was a tactic we undertook in our conquest of Venezuela and it was met with excellent results. B-52s and B-1s dropped thousands of thousands of tons of munitions on underground target sites. There was little left of them in the end and, we conquered Venezuela."

"I agree such radical measures are not feasible for our long term goals for the region, which is why I refuse to even consider it when some of the officers within my general staff represent it to me. To the break the back of rebellion is key indeed. A joint bombing run on rebel hideouts is indeed a very good plan my friend, as long as the rebels can't rest they won't be able to organize themselves for their next attack."

"The Empire has the capabilities to essential bomb around the clock. What do you think it would take for this effort to be effective? My planners tell me that, should we consider this sort of option, it would take several months, perhaps as many as seven. That is a lot of ordinance to expend but it would be worth it if, in the end, the rebellion had nowhere to hide. Our bombers can reign destruction on any rebel location in the Ukraine and we only need target coordinates to do it. We can drop thousands of tons of conventional ordinance per minute on these hideouts from thousands of feet in the air, so high that they won't even know we're there until their bases explode. B-11 Zeus bombers alone can handle the task but we can combine their efforts with B-9 Sphinx bombers as well as fighter bombers."

"I believe this will most effective in crushing the rebel's spirit which is key in any war. Plus the Eurasian Heavy Bomber wings will gladly helps support your air force in any operation against the rebels. It might not bear any fruit in the short term but, long term, it will save lives and money by denying the rebels a base of operations."

"Very well. With our approvals, our military commands will implement this plan immediately." The Emperor smiled as the fireworks went off in the distance. "Shall we rejoin the party?" He asked as a mortar went off showering the skyline with brilliant red sparkles of light.

FSS Achilles' Revenge CVNX-45

The Gangplanks leading up to the ship were crowded to capacity, and unarmed Commonwealth Marines stood at various positions, leading the crowd onward to the awaiting carrier. On the flight deck, various examples of the Maritime Force's compliment were on display, including CV-30 Vogels and F-14E Top Cats. While people were allowed to enter the Vogel's, however, the crowd was not allowed in the Top Cat's cockpit for security *purposes. Several crewmen led groups of up to twenty through the decks of the ship, showing all but the most sensitive of areas.

"The Achilles is the third ship of the Commonwealth's newest Thor-class of supercarriers. Over 200 feet longer than the CVN-21, the Achilles and her sister ships also boast a larger attack compliment as well as a smaller crew due to advances in automation. A wider deck also allows the Achilles to launch four fighters simultaneously, with a full attack squadron able to launch within two minutes. Like the CVN-21, the Thor-class carriers utilize the EMALS, or, Electro-Magnetic Aircraft Launch System instead of the conventional steam catapult. This makes the launch system more reliable as well as 40% smaller than the steam system, increasing storage capacity. The ship is protected by a wide array of defense systems, first of which is the enhanced phased-array radar/lidar system. This is coupled with our main CIWS batteries, the seven Phalanx and four missile platforms, into our AEGIS defense system. The Thor-class design began in earnest in 1997 after the passage of the..."

"Company! Company... 'shun!"
The colour sergeant bawled out the command, watching the 72 men come to attention similtaneously.
"Company will move to the left... left turn!"
The company, perfectly timed, rotated to the right, stamping down as the officers were dismissed by the Captain, to stand in front of each platoon.
"By the left! Quick...march!"
The men began taking perfectly timed steps, marching away from the airship they had left to parade in front of the arriving crowds. The aero-dropcraft lay stationary on the right-hand side of the behemoth that was the Consul-class aerocruiser. On the underside, ramps had been deployed to the ground, with 4 on the adjusted missile bay. Inisde, the ground support crew were busy setting up the exhibit of missiles, checking that nothing had been damaged before leaving to their ekranoplans to set up final services. As the Company paraded in fornt of the crowds, the Flotilla Commander stepped down from the control gondola of the airship, flanked by the smartly-dressed crew. They were in sky-blue uniform, with white sashes bearing airship pins and medallions. They to the front of the area in front of the airship, before waiting for the ground support crew to set up an entrance on the temporary barrier.
"Company...halt!"
Two check steps, before a loud stamp. The Flotilla Commander began speaking.

"Welcome to the Alfegan aerofleet display here at the Layertb Fleet Week. Now, I don't think they got the sort of "ships" they were looking for. Still, I think you will find these airships of great interest. You are permitted to wander around the exterior of the airship and enter the missile bay of the Aerocruiser behind me, where there is a brilliant exhibition of Alfegan missiles. If you are very interested in airships, guided tours of groups up to 20 people will be done every 5 minutes. If you wish to, I can be found aboard my airship, and will happily discuss with interested members of the public about airship warfare and the like.
At 6pm, there will be an aerial boarding display, in which we will be mounting cameras onto the aeromarines' helmets with a live feed down to screen here. I think you will find that quite fascinating. Anyhow, please enjoy this exhibit!"

President Dorgan wasn't feeling satisfied with the ball. For one, he had never cared much for formal parties; parties were supposed to be a time to go wild, but everyone here was keen on being reserved out of belief that they might embarrass their home country.

"Damn, this party is dry," said Dorgan to Kevin Hanford. Hanford's mouth was stuffed with potato chips. "And you've got crumbs on your chin. Wipe it," he said dryly. Hanford nodded and walked away to find a napkin. Axel Dorgan felt that it would have been really convenient if Hanford had ended up sick today.

He walked over to his secretary, Rebecca Barr, who was engaged in quiet conversation with a few foreign ladies. "We need to get this party going," he whispered in her ear. She turned and gave him an odd, vaguely disapproving look and then went back to her conversation.

Dorgan wandered over to the bar. "Give me two measures of vodka, two measures of Archer's, one measure of Southern Comfort, and one measure of dark rum. Fill it out with a little Coke. And put a lemon slice in it," he said. The bartender grunted in surprise and then set to making the drink.

Dorgan finished it in two long swallows. It was strong. Very strong. He wandered off again, staggering slighty, to go find someone important and foreign to talk to.

President Dorgan wasn't feeling satisfied with the ball. For one, he had never cared much for formal parties; parties were supposed to be a time to go wild, but everyone here was keen on being reserved out of belief that they might embarrass their home country.

"Damn, this party is dry," said Dorgan to Kevin Hanford. Hanford's mouth was stuffed with potato chips. "And you've got crumbs on your chin. Wipe it," he said dryly. Hanford nodded and walked away to find a napkin. Axel Dorgan felt that it would have been really convenient if Hanford had ended up sick today.

He walked over to his secretary, Rebecca Barr, who was engaged in quiet conversation with a few foreign ladies. "Get the band in here with all their stuff. We need to get this party going," he whispered in her ear. She turned and gave him an odd, vaguely disapproving look and then walked to a corner and slipped out cell phone.

Dorgan wandered over to the bar. "Give me two measures of vodka, two measures of Archer's, one measure of Southern Comfort, and one measure of dark rum. Fill it out with a little Coke. And put a lemon slice in it," he said. The bartender grunted in surprise and then set to making the drink.

Dorgan finished it in two long swallows. It was strong. Very strong. He looked over to the entrance and saw that Gunpoint was not getting an easy entry. The band members were clad in the required tuxedos, although their neckties were covered in garish designs that stood out. They were trying to haul in the drum kit and other instruments while being pestered at the same time by the doormen and security. Heads turned from around the ballroom. "Shit," said Dorgan, and he headed (not quite managing to walk in straight line) over to the doors to sort out the problem.

About two minutes later and after a lot of argument the band had made their way in and set up in a corner. "See how long you can pull it off before you're thrown at," said Dorgan, leaving to go find someone foreign and important to talk to. About another minute, and suddenly the ballroom started to throb with the sound of heavy metal...

OOC: Your band would have been stopped before they entered the party. There is already a band there.

The next morning, after headaches had passed and Fleet Week moved onto its second day, the crowds thickened. It was the official opening of all exhibits of the Imperial Layartebian Navy and all other Layartebian exhibits along the piers. Amongst them, though it was not open to the public was the might Overburdened class battleship. The Emperor was about to go on his second tour of the vessel this morning at 10:00 hours along with the Eurasian Premier and the other leaders of the October Alliance. Choppered to the vessel on time by way of VH-71B Kestrel, the seven men and the Layartebian Minister of Defense stepped onto the deck of the mighty vessel in front of its captain, Captain Michael Dulles, a veteran of the Imperial Layartebian Navy. He had commanded one of the last Layarteb class battleships before they were put away forever. He had yearned to command an Earthquake class battleship but instead was chosen to be the first captain of the newest class, the Overburdened. He waited two, long years for the command, sailing around the world in an Unforgiven cruiser. Finally, when his ship was christened, he was there with a smile.

"Sir. Esteemed guests. I welcome you to my vessel. I trust that you will find our indepth tour very intruiging. The Overburdened class is the largest class of warship in the Imperial Layarteb Navy, eclipsing even the mighty Enterprise class supercarriers." He said with a smile as he extended his hand. The Emperor was the first to shake it and did so with confidence. He was pleased to be back aboard the mighty battleship, which sat outside of the harbor.

"Captain. Your vessel does me an honor by receiving our strongest allies and I. Thank you again."

"Most certainly sir. Shall we proceed?"

"Indeed."

"We are currently on the deck of this vessel, which measures 1,591 feet long and 174 feet wide. At full weight, she displaces just under 200,000 tons and drafts 46 feet. If you look over the stern here you will see our two rear turrets, each carrying three 20 inch by 48 caliber guns. To the far end you will see our 96-cell vertical launch system, which is packed with anti-ship and anti-air missiles. You can also see our heavy machine gun turrets to the far rear, for repelling smaller vessels and even aerial threats, should they get close enough. We also have three Mark 205 CIWS systems here on the rear, twelve total on the whole ship. Combine this rear armament with eight 5-inch secondary guns, six more 20 inch guns to the front, six 25mm chain guns, twelve more heavy machine guns, thirty-two heavy cannons ranging from 20mm to 40mm, an additional 96 VLS cells center and forward, and yes 12 more heavy machine guns that I forgot to mention. There is more too. We have two twin torpedo launchers armed with over thirty-six shots, twelve quadruple launchers for anti-ship missiles, twelve armored box launchers with anti-ship missiles, four point-defense MANPAD turrets, and a slew of small arms and shoulder launched missiles, we can essentially sink an entire battlegroup on our own.

"Further along you will see our massive sensor suite, which is classified of course. Suffice is to say, we know when threats are out there before they see us. Power to our vessel is provided by a pair of nuclear reactors, generating a total of 500 megawatts. We can steam as fast as 31 knots sustained or, should the seas permit, sprint up to 33 knots. Our helicopter deck here holds four helicopters and two unmanned aerial vehicles, normally Sea Hawks and Fire Scouts and while we do not have to refuel for ten years, we can only last three months at sea with our supplies. With over two thousand people on board, we certainly have a lot of mouths to feed." They continued throughout the ship for the remainder of the tour as the captain pointed out this and that, passing through the quarters, where sailors stood at attention, honored to have the Emperor, their commander in chain on their vessel. He conversed with many of the, shook their hands, and even stood for a few photos, despite the reluctance of the captain to allow such a thing.

"Nonsense," the Emperor said when the captain suggested that a photograph was inappropriate. "Captain. You have the finest men in the navy and it would be an insult to me not to be able to stand next to them, shake their hand, and smile for the camera. These men have sacrificed so much to get this vessel where it is today. What is your name?"

"Petty Officer Third Class Barnes sir."

"Do you have a first name?" The Emperor jokingly asked as the young sailor smiled.

"Yes sir. It is Adam."

"Well Adam, I am pleased to meet you. How long have you been in our navy?"

"Six months sir."

"Six months? This is your first vessel?"

"It is sir."

"You pulled duty with the finest captain in our navy and the finest vessel in the world. You should be proud of yourself."

"Thank you sir."

"Captain, shall we continue?" He said after he stood for the photo opportunity.

After the tour was over, the men boarded the VH-71B Kestrel and headed back to Manhattan where the Emperor went to a luncheon at 12:00 hours with over one hundred officers and their family from the Imperial Layartebian Navy. The luncheon was on the roof balcony of the Waldorf-Astoria and, high above the city, the Emperor and many esteemed and recognized officers of the navy enjoyed a fabulous cuisine. At the end of it, the Emperor would move to a podium set up behind the luncheon area and deliver his address to the nation. Television monitors across the city, including the largest one in Times Square would carry him live as he spoke from 14:15 to 14:35.

[13 May 2008. 10.00-14.00]

"This," the Старшина (1йСта) spoke loudly, booming his voice over the heads of tourists crowded between bulkheads and off the deckhead, "is the area just below and forward of the flight deck. Come up these steps and you're on the starboard side of our hangar. As always, no peeking under tarpaulins or you'll be charged with espionage, and no ma'am I am not joking."

Clambering up the very steep stairwell - more of a ladder, really - the tourists found themselves at the mercies of a group of aviators, clad in their light blue flightsuits and bareheaded. The senior flier's head was shaved bald and his grasp of English was less than precise.

"Daurmont class destroyer operates two Kamov type helicopters to kill submarine. NATO calls them 'Helix', we call them Летящая Коробка, или Овцемобиль... на английском языке, how to say in English... Андрюха! Прекратите смотреть это зажигалка, и помогите мне!"

Flight Sergeant (RAF Equivalent) Andrei Georgievich Ulkonov snapped to attention from across the hangar and respectfully asked his superior to repeat himself. He then translated from the Russian that Korolev often used in lieu of his native tongue when around foreigners to English.

"Senior Lieutenant Korolev wishes to inform you that our nicknames for the Kamov helicopter are the 'Flying Box' and one that isn't fit for mixed company, madam."

While carefully shepharded tour groups were aboard the Tsarina Alexandra, the Aegir's deck was clear save for the MORPEH sentries at the gangplank. She was currently awaiting the first of the scheduled private viewings by a party of dignitaries. K1 Shapov and his Executive Officer stood on the bridge in the same uniforms they'd worn yesterday, as their Dress Uniforms, Mess were being carefully pressed by the Ship's Messenger.

"It's a shame we can't bring a tour group here. It would make a magnificient photograph, looking out over Alya and Belka turrets like this."
"Bad luck to tarp our bridge equipment, One-O."
"I know, Captain. Perhaps on the gangway across the bridge front, have the bridge crew stand forward here shoulder to shoulder."

Shapov looked across the painted steel interior of his bridge, visualizing. He factored in the average height of tourists, the average height of his sailors, and that the gangway his 1O spoke of was a full meter below the rim of the porthole. Any tourist turning around with a camera would receive nothing but an eyeful of brass RVMF belt buckle and the white Naval jersey of Summer Walking Out Dress, Enlisted or the same and the uniform tunic of one his officers. He nodded.

"That we can do. Make preparations for when she opens to the public then."

Several of the officers were looking forward to the Veteran's Dinner and the Ball, as were a handpicked selection of the best seamen and petty officers aboard the Aegir. They would form up aft of Corinna turret and depart their vessel via the rear gangplank at 17.15 hours, plenty of time to make it to the functions. In his quarters belowdecks, Vadim Filipovich Lutkin polished his belt buckle to a high shine. The anchor of which stood over the Cyrillic lettering РВМФ, and the black tally of his dress uniform bezkozirka (http://www.undertheredstar.com/Navy/Navblackem.jpg) proudly displayed his ship's name.

(OOC: Guess I'm too late for day 1 for a change in the usual RPs I participate of. Also, I hope there is nothing wrong in this post)

A small flotilla was discreetly making its way towards Layarteb, composed only by three capital ships and three screening vessels. With it, nine aircrafts were housed into the angled flight deck of the flagship, the CC Orwell Cruiser-Carrier, an effective combination of both naval offense through power projection and through ship-based armament. Behind them eighteen logistics ships were following to give them support, to transport additional personell and to extend their range through supplies for their long trip towards their destination. Some unexpected incidents happened, particularly the temporary presence of a small squadron of four Sukhoi Su-34s and twelve Su-27s from the People's Republic of Spain which was nearby, fearing they were a small diversionary strike force heading towards them. As soon as they approached, all the eight air superiority fighters took off from the carrier and locked their weapons into their potential enemies, while almost at dogfighting range. An air of tension became evident for a while as the communist Spain's aircrafts accompanied them as they became farther from Spain and closer to Normandy. With the Rift becoming more and more closer to them. It was sheer luck that it didn't escalate into a small scale better, or perhaps the Stalinist scourge was well aware that even with a superior number of aircrafts, their limited operational range and complete lack of power projection meant an attack against even such small flotilla would be at best suicidal and at worst completely ineffective. And considering the fact the Head of State was being escorted among that fleet, attacking them would be more than enough of a casus belli for the Confederacy, who was looking for a long time for a justified case to declare war against their long-standing, but not openly hostile enemies.

Soon such issues were behind, although they actively contributed to delay the fleet from their way, as they lost about an entire day conducting anti submarine warfare as a precaution to ensure they were not being stalked, event though they were almost sure that La República had no nuclear submarines, it would be better to not risk, or perhaps it was the usual paranoia of Comrade Julio Santiago (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d3/Durruti-militia.png) influencing all of them for a change. He was the sort of ideological crusader that came double-packed into the oldschool of the military, among those who actually fought as irregular military forces before even Third Spanish States existed, and as expected, he was a difficult man for diplomacy due to his disdain of hypocrisy, lies, fluff and bureaucratic formalities, and thus had resigned from doing the speaking part after almost making a diplomatic gaffe during the Theeb Accords meeting in Vetaka. Nonetheless he was coming this time, with a small contingent of Marinos, as part of a demonstration of how their military is "different". He hoped there wouldn't be any protests, for the temptation of joining them would be big, specially considering the nature of Layarteb, which although not being in either the so hated fascist and Stalinist extremes, was still disdained by ideologically loaded military personell, although Julio was now more experienced on diplomacy than before, and would try to avoid another incident.

Soon the fleet ended in a strange new world as a massive rift into the fabric of reality was crossed by them. Geographically, it was visibly not different at all from their own, although soon the difference would be very visible for all of them, and maybe those fringe theories were right as they reached that new world, heading towards the coordinates of the City of Layarteb. They took some further days before finally being little more than 500 kilometers away from the coast

Although they were not used at all to taking-off from aircraft carriers, the three Air Force fighters of the 7th Garbosos were being already readied from the flight deck for their launch towards Layartebian airfields, as part of an unexpected surprise they sought to do. Isabella Ruiz (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2d/Amelia_earhart.jpeg) was the most vocal of the group, and just as the ladder was being put for her to enter into her own fighter, a light obsidian, camouflaged bird of prey awaiting for its time, she looked again to Hernán Garboso and said:

"I don't remember we had any real training with taking off from carriers. Let's go for it anyway? I think we should, no better training exists than first experience.". She smirked a bit awaiting for a response from him. It was no novelty for them, and it's not everyday that someone sees a bunch of loonies in wing formation making a high-speed low pass flight under a bridge, or almost touching the airstripe with their fighters. Everything part of an intensive training to improve even more the natural capabilities of the aircrafts they pilot, for when even a conventional aircraft is more difficult to detect at such altitudes, it is even more significant for stealth planes like theirs. Of course they were already warned to not get too far in the air show, for the last thing the Confederacy needed was an international version of the Fairchild disaster. It would be mostly aerial refueling and high speed dives, according to what they were told. The old "you have eighty-five millions in your hands" served as an effective deterrent to the abuses of risks squadrons like theirs tended to make.

Hernán simply nodded laughing loud from a few meters ahead, as he understood the implicit meaning of her question, and said loudly in explanation of what was to come about their first take off from an aircraft carrier:

"Don't worry! Our ejection seats also work as buoys, and we didn't pay for this stuff anyway, they gave it to us as a gift, right. Dare and conquer! That is our motto, right miss Ruiz?", his words were irreverent and careless, just like they were used to. Some would question what such a bunch of stunts and would be X-gamers were doing there, but somehow, they had their prestige from doing what they did, and as no disaster like Fairchild happened, maybe because of the fact nobody still got insane enough to pilot an strategic bomber like an acrobatic plane, there were no objections to what they did and continue to do.

"Yes! This is why I love you all! It sucks to work at management, but this, this is just as great as it can get. I hope we see some real action soon, because doing paperwork with more frequency than flights is something that doesn't inspire much glory, right?", she asked loudly to him again, while the support crew prepared the final steps before their take off, some of them visibly smiling from what they heard, while others, more serious than usual, frowning.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll have our chance to shoot down some Stalinist pigs almost right after our presence in the air show ends. It's like a huge gunpowder keg. Everyone knows it'll be a few months before the war starts, but that is not a joke. In fact, I wish we were going to liberate La Coruña or maybe Huesca rather than to this air show. Those fake commie scums killed thrice more than the Nazis in World War Two, but let's forget it for now, it seems unlikely it happened here as well, we are no longer in our own world... just some sort of bizarre alternate Earth that weird rift led us to.", were his last words before embarking as the preparations were done. All aircrafts were fitted with only an internal payload of decoy missiles, and fueled to go. The trick would be a live test of the stealth capabilities they were built with against something more than a mediocre third world radar grid. The three aircrafts took flight, and luckily they managed it despite having no experience with carriers, but take-off was arguably the easiest thing to do, the issue would be landing again, but for now they didn't care about it. Soon they began to climb, until reaching as far as their service ceiling allowed, still flying at subsonic speed however, at about eighteen kilometers above sea level.

They kept formation until finally, after requesting permission and identifying themselves, and still unsure whether they were detected or not during their flight before they opened communications, they landed on one of the available airfields they were guided towards by flight controllers. Before landing, using their encrypted radio, Hernán suggested:

"Let's make a quick upside-down first, what about it?"

"Sure, just don't make any low pass now, we aren't certain they would allow that. Let's hit it!", said Isabella as the wing formation rolled upside down and began to slow down and fly towards the airstrip in such position for a while, when roughly in the middle of their landing maneuver, they rolled back to normal position, for the alleviation of the flight controllers, and landed safely onto the airfield, taking more or less three hundred meters of the much larger airstrip to completely brake, as they were short take off and landing capable, the primary reason why it was never necessary to develop a naval variant for them. Then the pilots, the first arrivals from the Confederacy of Third Spanish States to that event, awaited for a reception right there as they climbed down from their fighters. It was roughly nine o' clock of the morning as they landed. Apparently they were very interested into the other aircrafts around for a reason. The informal leader of the group quickly addressed himself to the locals. It was strange the manner they addressed among themselves with very little formalities, and how they never used any military rank among them, using their own language, other than the usual "Camarada". There was a clear Spanish accent in the way he spoke. All of them wore black colored uniforms, with, rather than Third Spanish States flags, black and red flags, and no ranks or medals in their clothes.

"Hi! I am Hernán Garboso, democratically elected leader of the Seventh Garbosos squadron here, these are my friends Isabella Ruiz and Miguel Sanchez. We are from the Third Spanish States commission, but we arrived first because we are actually from the air force, but we took a hitchhike with the carrier because making scale flights all through here would be more expensive. If it have been a bit over what we did up there, I offer my apologies. We have trained such maneuvers for a long time, and we know how to make proper risk assessment. Don't worry, we know and have experience on what we do, I promise for my life we will not risk the safety of the event.", unaware of the fact that such promise would be more fitting than ever, for should he break it, his own life would be over. He also asked a simple question to those who came to them, apparently, for that day, there was only one thing that truly drew his interest from the scheduled events:

"We would love to see some recommended landmarks before your own Air Force flyover happens, for we would be very interested in watching it. Also, sorry for our late arrival, we had some problems during our trip, but everything is fine now. If you want to check, as you see, I opened the launch cells of its internal bay. All those missiles are duds. Sorry, but when we decided to bring them it was too late to inform you beforehand"

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

It would take some time for the rest of Third Spanish States group to arrive. The destroyers came first, at about thirteen o' clock, probably coming ahead to also test "for free" their stealth technology and see how much time it would take for Layarteb sensors and their Navy to detect them. They intentionally took some evasive routes, and their elected captains were very frank about it. Either when they were close enough for visual contact or when detected, they identified themselves as they headed towards some of the vacant piers to moor as instructed. It took a time as a sort of discussion happened between their crews. Actually they were discussing who to present. A sort of consensus was reached as the sixteen most popular members of the crew were elected as temporary representatives to address Layartebian authorities. The decentralized commission, with their gold and black naval uniforms and kepis, featuring similar aspects to air force ones, offered their greetings, in a way that seemed staged, for it was unlikely that sixteen sailors would speak simultaneously the same words, with the same intervals and tone, with the same Spanish accent as usual:

"Greetings! We are the chosen representatives of the crews of the Proudhon, Bakunin and Tucker, just right there. Nevermind, just talk with the comrade Ríos here, it's just our way."

Captain Valter Ríos was a middle-aged seaman among the asymmetrically lined crowd of representatives, who stood and, with their approval came to personally greet the locals, with a clear stance of seriousness which contrasted with the flamboyant behavior of the Garbosos. It would be difficult to guess he was the sort of captain of that ship in the strange military ranking system, if there was one among them, that these foreigners employed:

"Greetings, I am Valter Ríos, the old sea wolf who runs the Bakunin destroyer there. I believe we are a bit late, as we had some issues in our way through here, but hopefully that won't take away anything of the shine from an event like this one. May I ask which of your vessels are open for visitation and where they are located? We would be interested in knowing more about our strategic and tactical differences, as it's unlikely we follow the same doctrines on naval warfare. And perhaps, we all have enough experience to recommend vessels, should we find them adequate for the needs of the Confederacy. We are currently looking for amphibious assault ships and landing platform docks. On the other part of our fleet, it should be arriving in the next two or three hours"

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

It was about fourteen hours and fifteen minutes, when Cecily Lockhelm, from the Spartan bedroom in the transport ship she was into, browsed for news from Layarteb, dressed with her typical grey blouse, white pants and black shoes. She never traveled by sea before, and it surely was not pleasant to constantly hang near the railings, nor it was much awe inspiring all the times the crew of the transport ship saw her seasick and vomiting, she would definitively fit right into the stereotype of the landlubber, and the medicines did not help much either. Despite the problems, she managed to maintain a slight air of authority, in her case not really an authority, but more of someone with the complicated task of doing and trying to guess what the people want rather than what she want regarding diplomacy. Then the figure appeared, with that speech which seemed to make it even worser for her stomach. A sea of rhetoric, lies and doublespeak from what seemed a mild impersonation of the Big Brother. Clenching her fist, she decided to close the Internet TV before she got too angered to conduct proper diplomacy. Julio Santiago however soon came to her. with his retro black-colored uniform which seemed a sort of reenactment of Spanish Civil War uniforms, with not even a single hint that he was a major rather than just a soldier, and looked at her with a clear disgust in his eyes about what he saw before.

"We are getting into another heart of tyranny, lies, hypocrisy and oppression, Cecily, why do we have to travel to these disgusting places? I wish we could just sell whatever we need to keep our budgets without this. I hope I won't have to personally meet that fascist emperor, because I don't know if I can stand to pretend being someone I am not again."

Trying to hold her seasickness, and with a Spanish with a British accent, Lockhelm explained to Santiago something that would calm him about his fears. He did not want to have another experience like that he had in Vetaka again, and he was anything but a diplomat, being there just to stick with the Marinos for some demonstration if possible.

"Nevermind Santiago, I am going to cope with that, and only if I really need to, at least this isn't a Stalinist place, or a clearly Nazist one and there is some bits of elections around all, or an imperialist Theocratic police State. Otherwise I would probably never ask to join, so just ignore that, we don't want more enemies than those bastards from the Communist Part of Spain."

"Yes, you are right about it Cecily, but maybe we should just have attacked them instead of wasting time with this. The more time we wait to liberate Spain, the more they will kill, torture and enslave our brothers and sisters. I can't stand the idea that we have the power to change everything there, but we can't because of a bunch of pot-smoking hippies with their heads on the clouds and only crap in their heads. Those types who never saw a real war and think the capitalist pig and the Man will give up peacefully."

"But Santiago! Those bastards are looking for support right now. They just managed to have a much larger power, the Stalinist pigs of Stoklomolvi, to guarantee their independence, and what do we have? An alliance with still developing communes and an still unclear alliance with Beth Gellert, who could probably leave us alone should we be the aggressors in the war. To declare war against the People's Republic of Spain now would be an immediate strategic defeat. We must be patient and wait for a casus belli to happen. I would not mind if they actually attacked us while they stalked us in the north coast of Spain, in fact, I would find it more soothing to maybe die in a shipwreck and serve to inspire the revolution with such sacrifice to finally crush the false communist in your home country than to address to that emperor, but we'll have to wait for another opportunity for that."

On her mind, she remembered of all those who gave their lives to allow a handful of covert cells to infiltrate and "sleep" into lower rankings of the the Communist Party, surviving through wit and social skills from dozens of purges and witchhunts, and also of those, who were, secretly at her disposal, ready to, without any recognition, pretend to attack their own homeland waving the flag of the People's Republic of Spain to, should no other choice come, forge the casus belli for their war against the Communist Party. However now there were other priorities. After the emperor speech ended both began to browse the Internet for additional updates on the situation. They just spent their time in the Internet, as finally they arrived at the docks of Brooklyn at about fifteen o' clock. She simply closed her notebook and, carried it like a backpack while she grabbed a belt, which held her own holstered SF-27 submachinegun, and wore it. She headed together with Julio Santiago in a tiny conference room of the ship, and connected to the quantum encrypted Intranet of the fleet to make a speech to those who came all the way through there from their own will. She ignored the fact she still felt her stomach regurgitating while she spoke:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/09/Cleyere.jpg

"Comrades, I am very happy to know you all decided to come with me from your will rather than by force of 'duties', thanks for that alone. But I have something very important to ask to all of you. I believe you are well aware of what sort of State Layarteb is, and I know it is very difficult to pretend otherwise, but the truth is that none of us hold sympathies for the status quo of Layarteb. However diplomacy is like playing with snakes, all it needs sometimes is one mistake for all hells to break loose. Thus I ask from all of you to not comment offensively about the political system of Layarteb, and to respect the mother of their 'emperor', even because probably it's not her fault. So please comrades, don't call anybody as fascist pig, capitalist jerk, son of a bitch or alike while we are here, we have already enough worries with the wretched scum of the Communist Party of Spain, and this isn't our world anyway. That's all, and I will thank you for comprehending why this is so important. See you later friends!"

After that, they headed outside of the ship to disembark, and almost like father and daughter, the young Cecily and the old Julio walked together to ask some questions and make basic greetings to the personell around them. They seemed to hold no grudge about those people, and for them, it was much more pleasant to greet a simple employee, than a "figure of authority" which in turn represented the impersonation of what they believe that shouldn't exist, centralized governments and hierarchies. Maybe some of those simple workers would feel good that an apparent authority addressed them personally, struggling to slowly recover from the seasickness. She seemed to speak English much more fluently than the others, in a visibly British manner. Without looking into lists, the way they behaved gave no hints one of them was a head of State at all, apparently neither of them cared about formalities or ranks.

"Hello and nice to meet you pals, I am Cecily Lockhelm and this is Julio Santiago, we are here on behalf of the Confederacy of Third Spanish States. What is the closest hotel with vacancies here? We are not going to do much today, but we need somewhere to take residence in because... we aren't much of seafarers here, right Julio?"

"Yes, we are more used to land than to the sea. What is your name pal? We like to meet new people, even if for a brief moment. Actually, when I was fourteen I had a job like yours... nevermind, sorry for delaying you pal."

OOC: TSS yeah it doesn't matter what date we're on you can back date a post, nobody's going to say anything and if they do it's my RP so too bad for them :).

[15 May, 2008. 1800 Hours]

The HMS Svartån was entering Layarteb City’s harbour just as the sun was passing below the city’s tallest skyscrapers, casting a long shadow over the deep blue water of the bay. The HMS Svartån was the lead ship of her class, a new type of amphibious assault ship which had only recently entered service in the Royal Hvergelmirian Navy. She was almost 300 metres long, and capable of carrying an entire battalion of marines, as well as a demi-squadron of F-35 Lightning II fighters and two dozen helicopters. She was the pinnacle of Hvergelmirian naval engineering, capable of operating as a landing craft or a carrier, as well as supporting amphibious operations with cruise missiles, and defending her fleet with surface to air missiles and two 5”/54 calibre Mk. 45 guns. For a ship her size, she was incredibly streamlined and sailed through the harbour’s waters like a skater on a lake of ice.

Her captain, Konteramiraler (Rear Admiral) Eric Jorgenson, looked out through the bridge windows at the slowly approaching city. He had asked the crew to proceed with the customary caution – the sailor’s were usually suspicious of the skills of any tugboat crew that didn’t wear the RHN colours. Their suspicion was unfounded, but a measure of caution was always required. A mess-up in this close proximity of civilian vessels and naval vessels of foreign nations would be embarrassing, and possibly fatal with this many craft in such a small area.

“Captain,” said his XO, “the Layartebian tugs are signalling that lines have been attached successfully. We will be berthed within ten minutes.”

“Good,” said Jorgenson with a tight smile. “All crew nonessential to the berthing process are dismissed to ready the ship to take on civilians.”

The Emperor stood up just after 14:00 hours and made his way through the crowd. The officers and their respective families sat at their tables, respectful of their Emperor as he made his way through, careful to come to many of the tables he had not visited on his way into the luncheon or during the luncheon. He had made it a priority to visit each and every table and staying for a minute or two, thanking them for their service to the Empire. He would finish up the last round of tables after his speech, which would begin at 14:15 hours. Six hundred feet in the air, the small crowd sat quiet as the Emperor said his final bit and moved to the podium, a breeze blowing in from the west, cooling the air slightly. All across the nation, radio and news stations were preparing to simulcast the Emperor's speech, with a twenty-five second delay of course, in case anything happened that would warrant them to stop the broadcast. Regular television stations would do more of the same as well, some carrying a slightly longer delay, although the average was anywhere between twenty-five and thirty seconds.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/People/emperor-04.jpg

He stepped onto the small platform, which was more to conceal the wiring underneath than anything else. The wooden podium carried his seal and a microphone that would capture his speech clearly and broadcast it over a set of speakers in the rear of the balcony and all over the airwaves, from as close as the radio transmitters inside the building to as far away as Asia, Africa, and Australia. "Sir, you are wired and ready to go." A technician said as he pinned a small microphone on the Emperor's lapel, which was disguised and hidden. The Emperor never liked these kind of microphones, it made him feel like a motivational speaker, he always said. Then again, the other option would have been a headset. He felt that was even more "nerdy" and joked often about television evangelists and motivational speakers who used them. He had bought a special one just for these types of engagements when he was outdoors and it was more or less a pin of the flag of the Empire, behind which stood a small, wireless, microphone.

"Thank you." The Emperor replied as he straightened himself behind the podium. Cameras were set up and, as usual, there were no Teleprompters, no cue cards, and no notes. The Emperor was a brilliant orator and he could speak without these aides and always did. Rarely did he ever have cues and, on the rare occasions he did, it was simply because he had not had enough time to write his own speech, something he always did. There were no speech writers working for him and there never would be either. He had prepared this speech the previous day and refined it before he stepped foot onto the Overburdened that morning. Before the luncheon, he further refined it and, before he stood up to move to the podium, he refined it again, for the last time. He put the note cards into his pocket and watched for the signal. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, good afternoon." He began with a smile. "I want to thank all of the citizens of Layarteb, our esteemed guests, notable colleagues, and our foreign visitors for attending and making Fleet Week happen this year. As always, we have nothing short of a spectacular celebration honoring our soldiers, sailors, and airmen who keep our Empire safe and have helped us create one of the largest nations in the world.

"When I first stood at this podium, twenty-one years ago and delivered my first speech at Fleet Week, I remarked how strong our navy was, how brave our Marines and soldiers were, how capable our airmen were. Twenty-one years ago, the Empire was locked in a conflict so vast and so deep that it eclipsed twenty-six years of our history and established a country so large and so great that our model would be mirrored throughout the world. That conflict ceased two years ago when I stood here, on this very occasion and announced realization of the Empire.

"It was my hope and desire that the Empire would exist in peace after those days but I must admit we have not seen the peace that we have fought for, earned, and deserve. External forces have conspired to infringe upon that peace and dishonor the borders and sanctity of our Empire by aides and implanting those within that wish nothing more than to tear us apart. To kill as many innocent citizens as possible. To bring terror to our children and our grandparents. To undue everything that you, the people, have fought for since the fall of the Republic. These are forces that are displeased with the Empire, not because of any legitimate reason. The Empire has infringed upon no rights of those who infringe upon ours. These are forces that wish a return to the tyranny, corruption, and chaos that reigned in the Republic before its fall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are citizens of this great Empire. You have fought for your freedom, for your security, for your safety. You have fought for your right to life, your pursuit of happiness. You have fought for education that does not hold your children back. You have fought for a justice system that does not release dangerous criminals back into the public to harm and take from you and your families. You have fought for an economic system that will not leave you in the gutter because you aren't able to work for a day because your son or daughter is home with a fever. You have fought for a military that is not sold out to the highest bidder. You have fought for a political system that does not favor corruption, that does not put inept leaders in charge of your well being. You have fought for so much and sacrificed so much. These terrorists wish nothing more than to take all of that away from you. To cast you into an abyss of complete moral, social, economic, and political decay.

"Thirty-one years ago, you, the people, of Layarteb, said 'No more!' You said 'End this now!' To the decay of our society. You voted out the corrupt, the criminal, and the inept leaders that plagued the Republic and saw to its demise. You fought, for three years, against your brothers, your fathers, your mothers, your sisters, your friends, and your neighbors. You fought so that you may make a better life, not just for yourself but for your family, for your children, for your children's children, for every new generation to come. Would you simply give up all that you fought for and return yourselves to the disarray that you fought so hard to end? That your parents and elder siblings fought so hard to end?

"So long as I have breath in my body, so long as my heart beats, I will not let that happen. I, as your leader, will not betray the oath that I took when I was sworn into this office. As I took that oath on that day, I will repeat it here. 'I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the executive of Layarteb, and will to the entirety of my consciousness, preserve, protect and defend its borders, its sanctity, and its people.'

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, I stand before you, twenty-eight years since taking that oath with this. I have not broken my oath nor will I. I stand before you, as your Emperor, as a citizen, like you. I stand here, this afternoon, with the pledge that we will stomp out these terrorists. They will not succeed in undoing all that we have worked for, all that we have fought for, and all that we have made for ourselves. I will not run; I will not hide; I will not cower in shame.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. I have solemnly swore. I have faithfully executed my office. I will faithfully execute my office. I will serve. I will preserve. I will protect. And I will defend!

"Thank you." He stepped down from the podium. The officers and their family members were instructed, before hand, not to clap when he finished his speech. As he left the podium, the cameras faded to black and regular programming was resumed on all channels, radio and television. Dedicated news stations went to political commentary and analysis of the speech.

[13 May 2008. 13.58 Hours]

Aegir and the Tsarina Alexandra had been closed to the public since 13.30, the last civilian leaving the ships as the first of the Ship's Company stepped onto the deck in their summer dress uniforms. Старший Матрос (Senior Seaman) Lutkin stepped out onto the deck, white cover over his bezkozirka, white sailor's jersey perfectly pressed and open at the neck as required to show the dark blue stripes of his telnyashka linen shirt. He stepped into the growing formation and stood at ease, joined by the remainder of Divisions I through V on deck. The ship's officers formed up at a right angle to this formation along the starboard side of the vessel, facing out towards the Overburdened-class battleship.

Administration was completed, and a platoon of Naval Infantrymen marched to the roof of Belka turret, standing behind elements of Division V on Alya's roof. Their black uniforms contrasted sharply with their telnyashka shirts and the white jerseys that the sailors of other ranks wore. The officers were also attired in full dress uniform, black open collar jackets with crisp white shirts and Navy Blue ties underneath. The knee height boots of the MORPEH Infantrymen must have taken hours to shine to the high gloss they now displayed, matched only by the rich gleam of the ceremonial SVT-40 rifles's wooden furniture.

Standing to the front of both formations was the Officer of the Day, a barrel-chested fellow with a voice like a howitzer's blast. He used it to pound orders out into the gentle westerly breeze.

"Ship's Company! Attention!"

Roughly nine and a half hundred boot-soles slammed into the teak deck simultaneously. The cap-tally's tails were stirred by the breeze, the only motion on the deck before the Officer of the Day stepped forward once and crashed to his own drillbook-perfect halt. Shapov's Executive Officer stepped forward and marched across to the OOD's front. A crisp exchange of salutes.

"Ship's Company, Divisions One through Five reports ready for parade, sir!"

A repeat of what just occurred, as the OOD returned to the officer's formation and the Executive Officer repeated his mantra to Captain First Rank Shapov, who looked out with pride upon the immaculately uniformed sailors under his command. The small effort required to maintain their uniforms in this state spoke of their discipline and reflected a measure of the tremendous professional skill each had from - at minimum - ten months of intensive training.

The Chief of the Boat, in other words the Coxwain, stood left echeloned to Shapov. The Regulating Petty Officer was standing atop Belka Turret, right-angled to the double rank of Naval Infanteers.

"Ship's Company to stand at ease, Chief."

The Coxwain's voice was huge, echoing off the painted, face-hardened steel of the warship's armour plate. "Ship's Company! Stand at, ease!"
A few seconds ticked by as unseen, the Emperor of Layarteb stepped to a podium and donned a lapel microphone. The RPO was the first to slam to attention, the Naval Infantry platoon a moment later, and this signal had the Coxwain's voice again rebounding off the metal of his warship.

A thunderous crash as boot soles slapped against teak decking, and three shrill notes from the Bosun's Pipe the Coxwain carried. He snapped to attention just as the Emperor's speech drifted from speakers on the foc'stle and bridge. Minutes passed, sailors, petty officers, and commissioned officers straight backed and listening attentively. All admired the oratory abilities of their host's Emperor and the sentiments he spoke of, shared by the RVMF men.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire. I have solemnly swore. I have faithfully executed my office. I will faithfully execute my office. I will serve. I will preserve. I will protect. And I will defend!

"Thank you."

The RPO's voice was sharper, the powerful crack of a fieldgun to the dull roar of the Coxwain's. "Colour Party! Fly Colours!"
With this command, the Colour Party Commander pulled on the line that led to a rolled ensign laying motionless at the top of the highest mast on the Aegir. A tension cord snapped and the breeze caught the heavy silk, spreading it across the sky. That of the Russkyan Navy's Ensign (http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j8/PavelKirilovich/NationStates/RVMFNavalEnsign.jpg), flown as a salute to the Emperor.

OOC: Cool Russ, I love it. The Emperor will be honored.

ooc: can we freely RP our airshows...?

ic:

The CV-30 on display was a popular one. The crew chief's were busy ushering groups ten at a time in order to properly introduce the crowd to the backbone of the Commonwealth airlift fleet. Senior Chief Petty Officer Agnessa Patronik ushered in her fifth group of the day, still keeping up her inviting and friendly smile as she led them in through the aft ramp and moved forward to the crew compartments.

"Development of the Vogel began after the public announcement of the V-22 Osprey. The goal mandated by the Defense Directorate called for a medium-lift aircraft capable of SVTOL flight as well as comparable loads and range as the V-22. Shelving a similar tilt-rotor design, the design team instead went for the tilt-nacelle, utilizing General Electric's newest non-afterburning turbofans. The four GE-F4001X-2000 produce an astounding 40,000 lbs. of thrust each, and newly developed technologies allow the tubofans to burn fuel cleaner while cutting down fuel consumption.

The Vogel is now on its way to replacing many of the aircraft previously used for transport missions, including the CH-53 Sea Stallion and the S-3 Viking. Due to the variation of missions the Vogel is capable of achieving, the design of the aircraft has been one of continual adaptation and modification. The square apertures you see fore and aft of the crew compartment are designed to place various mission-specific modules, though the most common variety is an armament of four .5o caliber GAU-18 machine guns or combined with the Mk 19 grenade launcher. Variants of the Vogel include the KC-30 Albatross for mid-air refueling and a proposed SC-30 for anti-submarine warfare. Already in production is a sister aircraft, the E-5 Dark Eye. The Dark Eye is a SVTOL AWACS aircraft designed to replace the aging E-2C Hawkeye. There are currently three in service, all of which are embarked onboard the three Thor-class carriers."

ooc: can we freely RP our airshows...?

ic:

The CV-30 on display was a popular one. The crew chief's were busy ushering groups ten at a time in order to properly introduce the crowd to the backbone of the Commonwealth airlift fleet. Senior Chief Petty Officer Agnessa Patronik ushered in her fifth group of the day, still keeping up her inviting and friendly smile as she led them in through the aft ramp and moved forward to the crew compartments.

"Development of the Vogel began after the public announcement of the V-22 Osprey. The goal mandated by the Defense Directorate called for a medium-lift aircraft capable of SVTOL flight as well as comparable loads and range as the V-22. Shelving a similar tilt-rotor design, the design team instead went for the tilt-nacelle, utilizing General Electric's newest non-afterburning turbofans. The four GE-F4001X-2000 produce an astounding 40,000 lbs. of thrust each, and newly developed technologies allow the tubofans to burn fuel cleaner while cutting down fuel consumption.

The Vogel is now on its way to replacing many of the aircraft previously used for transport missions, including the CH-53 Sea Stallion and the S-3 Viking. Due to the variation of missions the Vogel is capable of achieving, the design of the aircraft has been one of continual adaptation and modification. The square apertures you see fore and aft of the crew compartment are designed to place various mission-specific modules, though the most common variety is an armament of four .5o caliber GAU-18 machine guns or combined with the Mk 19 grenade launcher. Variants of the Vogel include the KC-30 Albatross for mid-air refueling and a proposed SC-30 for anti-submarine warfare. Already in production is a sister aircraft, the E-5 Dark Eye. The Dark Eye is a SVTOL AWACS aircraft designed to replace the aging E-2C Hawkeye. There are currently three in service, all of which are embarked onboard the three Thor-class carriers."

OOC: Yes you may.

The Emperor and Premier weren’t the only two people talking of the Ukrainian situation that night. It was, actually, a point of topic for Paki and his group of protesters. Media coverage over the conflict was sparse and seldom seen throughout the world outside of the nations involved. Even then it was kept at a minimum and while no apparent atrocities had yet occurred in the global sense of the word, people were dying for their own independence. Because the antagonists of this conflict were members of The October Alliance, the WHP was using it in their campaign against TOA during Fleet Week. The first day of protesting accomplished little. Everyone was too caught up in the grandeur of the event to take notice of some noisy dissenters. The second day proved more successful finally attracting some media attention, however brief it might have been. They set up booths outside of ship entrances, protested the Emperor’s speech, and made speeches of their own. Signs, banners, and voices echoed the death toll of TOA’s doings. 15,000 prisoners of war murdered by Hirgizstan forces. Estimates of Layarteb’s killings in South America including the Mato Grasso incident were displayed. If nothing else, it would cast an unpleasantly on these grand festivities and hopefully open the eyes of people around the world.

Yet, behind the scenes, the WHP was doing a little more than simply opening eyes. The day drifted into night and a warm breeze hung idly over the harbor. Oleksiy Martyn lit a cigarette and leaned over a rail keeping him from falling into the water beneath him. While the harbor was still very crowded he was far enough away to only hear the faint hum of the crowds. The lapping of the waves against the wooden supports below him was louder than that even of the fireworks illuminating the sky in various colors of celebration. He heard footsteps behind him but didn’t turn, he just continued to smoke. He felt a strong hand against his back and glanced back to see Paki looking at nothing in particular in the distance.

His English was broken and his accent heavy, “It is a beautiful night isn’t it?”

Paki took a moment before responding, “Yes…yes it is.”

There was a long silence before Paki spoke, “I’m surprised you were able to get here.”

“The papers you sent worked fine, thank you.”

Paki shook his head and turned around so that his shoulders leaned against the rail. “How are things back home?”

“Not well and not getting any better. I am afraid.”

“Of what,” questioned Paki?

“That they will begin extreme measures.”

“I am not sure I can help in those matters. If they become radical then you must too.”

Again there was another pause.

“How are the toys?”

“Good, the kids love them,” replied Oleksiy, “we could certainly use some more though.”

[If the Emperor would like to tour the ship, I'd be honored.]

OOC: Scand remind me what ship that was again? USB, win!

Tuesday had come and gone. That evening, invited veterans of the Imperial Layartebian Military, young and old, climbed aboard an Earthquake class battleship in the harbor and, for four hours, enjoyed a beautiful, clear, warm evening of dancing, partying, and nostalgic stories of the war fronts. Their wives and/or invited guests enjoyed the party just as well. Earlier that evening, a group of two hundred veterans and their immediate families dined with the Emperor, where he exchanged a few of his own war stories from the First Venezuelan Civil War, over three decades earlier. When the dinner ended, the Emperor returned back to the Fortress of Comhghall, on Governor's Island in Upper Layarteb City Bay, where he continued his administrative duties. He saw Fleet Week as a sort of working vacation. As he went to the events, he left the country, momentarily, in the hands of the Minister of the Interior and though the Emperor was still in charge, he wouldn't answer any but the most important of calls. He worked three hundred and sixty-five days each year to keep the Empire afloat and, Fleet Week, was a chance for him to take a minor vacation, even if he was only a few miles away.

Wednesday morning opened with a ceremony to welcome all of the foreign countries to Fleet Week. Dignitaries from every foreign participant were invited to Pier 94 for the welcoming ceremony, where various Layartebian dignitaries, including the Emperor, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Mayor Fairchild welcomed and thanked them for their part in making Fleet Week 2008 happen. Later on, the Imperial Layartebian Marine Corps put on a spectacular demonstration using both air, land, and sea forces to "invade" Liberty Island. Guests and citizens invited to Liberty Island for the event had little idea what was really going to happen. They were given only a brief warning, before the assault, that they were part of a demonstration and that they were not under any threat, nor should they act in panic. Twenty minutes later, the demonstration began as a flight of six F-35B Raven multirole fighters streaked across the island, banking overhead. A few hundred yards from the island a group of small, wooden craft in the harbor, simulating obstacles and enemy patrol boats exploded. Brilliant fireballs erupted from them and lit up the water and Liberty Island as the Ravens banked around for a second pass of Liberty Island, hitting targets on the other side, simulated of course. There was a thick overcast Wednesday afternoon with cloud cover beginning at 4,500 feet, which was still high enough for the demonstrations.

As the Ravens flew away, to provide air cover, the next wave came in, which more than told everyone on the island what was really happening. Startled by the Raven overflight, they snapped pictures of the aircraft and now of the next group of forces coming to the island. Making up the lead force was a group of four UH-95A Super Huey helicopters, each carrying eight Marines. They came in low, barely above the water, in a tight combat formation. They fired off flares and, with rocket pods attached to their hulls, fired off blank rocket rounds, simulated attacking the beach. More fireballs erupted from the backside of Liberty Island, where people weren't allowed to go. Cameras clicked off a thousand pictures a minute as the Hueys came to a hover over the rear side of the island, the Marines fast-roping down, securing the area immediately with little resistance, of course. Though they were the focus of attention, there was a third force incoming to hit the island, a group of Marines, numbering forty-eight on rigid-hull inflatable boats. Armed to the teeth, they landed at three different points, two boats per point, offloaded, and hit the island. They moved through the crowds of people, acting as if they weren't even there. It was a bold and risky demonstration but it was professional and nobody was ever in harms way. EMTs were available on the island, just in case something happened and the Hueys could evacuate wounded, if necessary. They even simulated a MEDIVAC of two civilians from the crowd, who were really Marines, and two Marines. The Huey took off to cheers and claps as the Marines moved in and secured the base of the statue of liberty. It took about half an hour to forty-five minutes but the demonstration was a big hit. Cheers, claps, and even hugs went around as the two hundred people received the Layartebian Marines.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Ride%20the%20Lightning/towerofluna.jpg

Later on that evening, the foreign dignitaries would be invited to the Tower of Luna, the tallest building in the Empire. It stood 2,057 feet into the air in central Manhattan Island. Up at the 149th floor, dignitaries and foreign guests would join a more lively, upbeat party than they may have been used to attending. There wasn't the usual orchestral group that normally bored these types of gatherings. It was a rock band, not necessarily a band such as Metallica or Sevendust but they were lively and upbeat. There would be dancing, some singing, and who knew what else. The Empire was a country known for its parties. At the Waldorf-Astoria, they held a more ceremonial type of party that was, by all means, not dull. This, on the other hand, was more of a celebration, dedicated to all of the foreign participants and heads of state and government. These gatherings were known, throughout the world, to forge lasting alliances. The October Alliance was originally thought of at such a gathering.

[HIMS Kaatje, CAN-1056. Free's writeup can be found here (http://z7.invisionfree.com/FDI/index.php?showtopic=67).]

OOC: Oh yes he'll definitely want a tour of that one.

(OOC: Not posting now, but if you want the emperor might like a tour of one of the airships.)

Layatreb Airbase

Commonwealth Airshow, PT. 1

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said over the loudspeaker, "Boys and girls, children of all ages; we invite you to immerse yourselves in the flying prowess of the Commonwealth Maritime Defense Force's VF-41 'Black Aces!'"

From behind the grandstands, the roar of jet engines could be heard. The crowd looked back as the six F-14E Top Cats streaked overhead, passing by in a diamond formation. As they traveled a good distance from the crowd, the planes on the leading edge of the formation switched positions, rotating clockwise from the view of the crowd, before the formation nosed up in a vertical climb. After completing the Immelman, the fighters dove again towards the audience before splitting off into pairs, leading contrails of red and yellow in their wake.

One pair split from one another and came in from opposite sides, in what could only be a head-on pass. As they neared each other, the fighters nosed up, their nozzles vectoring to keep them stable as they went into matching Pugachev's, throttling up and following each other into a vertical climb...

ooc: sorry, but i ran out of ideas @ the moment. will post the rest later, I promise...

Wednesday went down in Fleet Week history as leaders from the four corners of the globe gathered in the Tower of Luna. Alliances were definitely formed and possibly others ended. Layartebian officials entertained their many guests in the high tower in central Manhattan on the cloudy but pleasant night. The overcast from the afternoon hadn't blown out of Layarteb City that night and lingered in the morning with gray, ominous clouds. Thursday had a 35% chance of rain but weather forecasters were usually wrong, 95% of the time when it came to weather prediction. Nobody knew if the clouds were actually going to drop rain or not but the cool wind gusts spoke in favor of rain. Regardless, it didn't keep the crowds away as another day of events began at 10:00 hours when all Imperial Layartebian Navy exhibits opened. At noon, the space exhibit would open, which honored the many astronauts of the Layartebian Space Agency as well as the conquests of space that they had done, including going to the moon.

Thursday was also the day when Layartebians would pay tribute to the past. They would remember and reflect on the Conquests, the twenty-six year venture to establish and solidify the Empire. They would give honor and respect to the fallen, thank those who remained, and appreciate the history. It guaranteed very large crowds.

Paki’s meeting was brief and to the point. He was careful not to linger too long or say too much. He kept all meetings in this format especially when in a hostile country. It wasn’t wise to take any risk regardless of how small they may seem. His business was a risky one but after all he was a businessman first and a protestor second.

Wednesday found him leading a protest much resembling a picket line around the Tower of Luna. They assembled as close as possible, which wasn’t very close the building at all. With so many VIP’s in attendance security was tight, especially on Paki and his followers. With loudspeakers they shouted upwards toward the buildings in more of a show than anything else. Cameras were on hand to capture the event though these cameras belonged to the Organization. This demonstration was more to fuel the fires already burning in places like South Africa rather than to cause turmoil in Layarteb. It was highly doubtful that Luna attendees even heard any of the commotion.

The protests hadn’t been going all too well. It drew some light news coverage and turned a few heads but little notice had been made in the general populace of tourists. They would need to do something big to really gain the attention of people. Thursday wouldn’t be that day. In fact Thursday there would be no protesting, at least from the WHP. Paki understood that people had been putting up with them for now, but to disrupt a time of remembrance would put them in the cross-hairs. They would use this time instead to prepare for Friday.

F-31 Sylvantes Air Show

For those who came to watch what Lamoni had to offer, it would be a good show.

The speakers blared, "For a long time, the military capabilities of the Free Republic of Lamoni have been overlooked by virtually everyone outside the region of Atlantian Oceania. With the start of LAIX Arms, we are now in a position to display our military expertise to the rest of the world."

At this point, the five F-31 Sylvantes aircraft started coming into visual range. two of them came from the left, two from the right, and one of them flew right over the reviewing stand. They all formed up into a circle, and broke away, peeling off in five directions while shooting off red and blue smoke. This maneuver completed, the five aircraft pulled off matching Immelman turns, then pulled up into a vertical climb.

"The next generation Air Superiority Fighter from LAIX Arms is the F-31 Sylvantes. This moderately stealthy aircraft uses the latest technologies and weapons to rid enemy aircraft from the skies; thereby protecting friendly forces from the disruptive effects of enemy air action. The Sylvantes is truly an aircraft worth having on your side."

The planes then performed a Thach Weave manuver.

"The standard armaments for the F-31 include the Python V, Meteor, and the R-172 missiles. The Sylvantes also incorporates a BK-27 cannon for very close in fighting. This gives the F-31 the ability to engage targets up to 400km away, which few others can match.

OOC: More information on the F-31 Sylvantes can be found here: http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=3115

And I can do more of an airshow if others want.

[Lay, any time you want to have your Emperor do that tour, be my guest.]

[14 May 2008. 17.00-02.00]

Sakharov knew, he bloody well knew, that Layarteb was not exactly receptive to the 'Left' side of the political spectrum. And if Arkady Ill'ych was aware of that 'minor fact' his superiors certainly were. He wondered idly who he'd pissed off to have been pulled from Kolkata (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=551988) and its associated Igovian CCO liason duties. He found the Gelletian Celts to be fine company.

Not to disparage his current hosts, but when he had to mention that he was from the People's Socialist Republic in his precise English, conversation often took a turn for the road leading to the village of Cold Shoulder. And were it not for the apparent insanities of the Third Spanish States representatives - he'd heard them muttering amongst themselves of a 'temporal rift' or something to that extent - he'd try to strike up conversation there. He was sure he could be educated on just how wrong he was regarding his political beliefs. This elicted a heavy sigh, which drew the attention of a bartender. He received another glass of superb Ketel One vodka, measured the Russkyan way, by weight. Four hundred grams. That was the way to do it.

He'd come from the IMAX presentation regarding hurricanes, found it interesting, proceeded to walk along the quays gazing up at the hulking steel walls that were moored warships and then took a beeline for Aegir and his cabin aboard, which he shared with the Executive Officer. At 20.00 precisely he was at the Ball in the Luna Tower, enjoying the sight and this excellent Dutch-made vodka. He could have indulged his pan-Slavic urges and insisted upon Stolichnaya Black Label, but to be perfectly honest the Dutch had a superior product in Ketel One. Everything a vodka should be. Crisp. Clear. Eighty proof water.

[15 May 2008. 11.00]

Though all other foreign exhibits were open, RNV-832 and RNV-774 stood silent, brooding at the quayside, decks cleared as if for action. At 11.10 precisely, Alya, Belka, and Corinna turrets suddenly rotated to face East and elevated their rifles to maximum. A gaudy stream of signal flags burst from the center of a line run from the top of the Signals and Communications Mast to the fantail. Tsarina Alexandra duplicated the message.

RVMF salutes your fallen servicemen.

OOC: Post forthcoming this evening after I get done with work #2. Scand, we should do the RP on mIRC and then just upload it in one post to make it easier? What do you think?

[That sounds good. I've been looking to do that, but you haven't been on when I have. If you can be on around 7p, that would be great.]

(OOC: Sorry for my lack of participation, here is an IC reason for it)


A heavily encrypted transmission interrupted Lockhelm's time appreciating the event.

"Yes, it's Cecily Lockhelm, who is talking?"

"What? An amphibious assault against our land? Are they insane?"

"We have a too small flotilla here to make a difference, and it'll take some days for reaching the. But yes, you are right, we can't be showing off things while war is about to come. I'll ask my comrades here if we can elaborate a proper tactic with our small flotilla by catching their flanks and rear to destroy their transport ships. Fortunately we had some real ammunition stored just in case. I will inform everyone."

There was not much to do anyway. Cecily never stepped in the tower of Luna, and the pilots were too busy drinking alcoholic beverages in nearby bars to perform an air show, a funny sighting was to see dozens of military personell getting drunk. They probably became somewhat frustrated after the emperor's speech and weren't on the mood to show off their skills in a place like that. As they had a certain pride in the fact they would not please the emperor with futile effort. It was a quite surprise when one of them came and said quite loudly:

"The damn Stalinists of the People's Republic of Spain are going to invade us! Enjoy well these drinks because we are going to stay a long time without them. Hey bartender! I want two bottles of Whiskey!"

The reaction from the drunkards was cussing and anger, some laughable comments, some serious mentions of the "30-year genocide in Spain". All it was visible is how they were pissed about the mention of Soviet Spain, and that was good for the bar, as led them to ask for even more drinks, aware of their need of abstinence during the war. Many had to be carried away by their comrades, but unlike in wars, here it was not because they were too wounded to walk, but because they were too drunk to walk.

A single soldier, acting as a sort of tourist guide to interested groups, quickly said, following the moment he heard through the earphone of his helmet about the news:

"I am sorry, but we had a minor unpredicted incident and we will have to close the Orwell class for further visits."

As some less comprehensible tourists angrily asked what, propelled by their curiousity of seeing an entire aircraft carrier from all angles, the answer quickly came:

"All right! Our nation is at an impending state of war, we cannot show off this while our sovereignty is threatened, now please, we are about to depart."

At the same time, Cecily used her senses to guide herself to the highest ranking military authority in the harbor, and then began to explain the issue:

"Sir, my name is Cecily Lockhelm, head of State of the Confederacy of Third Spanish States, and I would like to make a request about something that is very important for us. As of now, Stalinist fleets from the People's Republic of Spain are being assembled to launch an amphibious assault against our nation, and we can't stay here now idle while our sovereignty is threatened. However, as this was a peaceful exhibit, our vessels and aircraft didn't carry any payload. Thus, I would like to ask for something. Basically I am asking to purchase missiles and ammunition for our aircrafts from Layarteb, and for them to be loaded into our aircrafts and vessels right here. We need it as fast as possible, but we understand all the logistics needs to transport them through here. We basically need Evolved sea sparrows, standard missiles, P-700 Granits, ASROC anti-submarine missiles, HARPOONs, Python 5 electro-optical missiles, MBDA Meteor beyond visual range missiles or equivalents of these. I hope you can help me or inform me who is the closest person I should seek about this issue"

Perhaps visiting this event could have been beneficial to their tactics after all, should they effectively manage to ambush the amphibious assault fleet of their enemies from behind before it was too late.

OOC: I am going to try to get something up soon. Sorry for the lacking, I have a pinched nerve or pulled muscle in my neck and it isn't too comfortable.

OOC: Neck feels a little better but still hurts enough that I didn't go into work today. Not a big deal though because I am not scheduled anyway, was just going to get some extra hours.

Thursday brought fourth gorgeous weather. The sun peaked out from behind the clouds and shined down summer-like weather, with temperatures surpassing 70°F by noon, rising to 76°F for the day, the humidity remaining low. Millions gathered at the piers and paid honor and tribute to the Conquests and those who had fallen to make the Empire what it was today. With the Layarteb City Yankees playing at home that afternoon, a capacity filled stadium, and a day to pay tribute and honor to the fallen veterans and warriors of the Empire during those Conquests, the air was more patriotic. Traffic was abysmal and with the opening of the Space Exploration Exhibit at 12:00 hours, it really was a day of days. That night would be the Emperor's Ball on Liberty Island, with some of the highest governmental officials in the Empire invited to the island for a festive party. Fireworks would continue to go off that night and as the sun beat its rays down on the people of Layarteb, Fleet Week continued.

A shadow rose from the grass filed where the airships were moored: one was taking off. A loudspeaker blared as a large video screen came online, showing a view from the head camera of one of the aeromarines rushing onto his airship. A few moments later, the airship he was in took off and began rising to their altitude of 200 metres above the crowd.

"Now to all watching, we're going to show you a boarding manouvere: 24 aeromarines to board and take over the other airship. Colour Sergeant Ja'soi, are you ready?"

The soldier with the headcam nodded, before talking through a microphone.
"Right people, here's the scenario: we've managed to pull up along a large airship suspected to be holding illegal goods. They don't want to stop. So, to begin with, we'll take out their engines."
There was a roar as blank rounds began firing from the autocannons, before a large smoke charge went off, leaving a cloud of putrid black smoke to trail from the airship drifting above.
"With a potential fire, the airship crew are forced to shut down the engine to prevent fuel from escaping. They slow down to a crawl, which is when we seize are chance."
The figure began moving to a side entrance, which he unlocked. Behind him, his squad stepped back as the large boarding ramp outside swung down onto the side of the other airship, digging in with spikes and a few harpoons.
"Now we cross over to the airship, and begin sweeping it, starting in the control gondola."
The image showed a plastic gantry with the crowd visible below through it, before he looked up, showing the dark interior of the airship. A torch was switched on, before all men checked their ammunition.
"The men are just checking they have no incendiary or tracer rounds: one of those in there near a fuel line could potentially blow us off this planet. Now we're ready, we'l start."
The image darkened as they rushed down a ladder inside the airhsip. Hundreds of cables, plastic beams and billowing film cells confronted the viewers as he moved through the network of cells towards the front of the airship, a torch illuminating his path. Down on a main walkway, the view was now of a silhouette blocking the light from a trapdoor ahead. A few voices eylled, before the man rose his hands slowly. A few seconds later, there was a burst of gunfire from behind them as another man opened up, followed by a retaliatory burst of fire back that saw the man collapse.
"Don't worry people: we're only firing wax rounds. He'll have a bit of a bruise when he gets up, but for now he'll be OK."
A group of men broke off to check the two men whilst the rest made their way towards the control gondola. A roar of gunfire and prolonged firefight saw them move behind gas cells as wax whipped about the interior. The gunfire ceased as an aeromarine lobbed a flash-bang grenade into the gondola, followed by a few yells. The men rushed inside, pinning the crew inside to the floor while checking the stowage area and controls. The man moved to the airship flight controls, before fiddling about with a complex bank of switches, levers and screens.
"I'm just bring us back down. We always go down to ground level after a mission so that we can remove casualties more safely and allow ground units to aid us in airship capture. As it is, we have 'killed' or captured all the crew, but still would check the entire airship for remaining crew. It normally takes a very long time, due to size, so for the meantime we won't bother and will bring them back down. If anyone wants to ask questions about this or wants to come have a guided tour around the airships, don't hesistate. We've increased groups to sizes of 8 and are doing tours on both airships every two minutes. Both I and the Captain of this airship will be happy in answering questions for all."

[15 May 2008. 18.30 hours local]

Exactly half an hour before the closing of all Imperial and foreign exhibits, a selection of Eastern European tourists hailing from the Kavkaz were brought aboard the RNV-832. They were briefed by the Regulating Petty Officer by the guarded hatchway that lead to the engineering spaces.

"You mustn't take any photographs in these spaces. If you'll be so kind as to leave the cameras with the Master Corporal, you can collect them on your way back out of the machine spaces. A lot of things will be under tarps, please don't look under those or you will be charged with espionage. Everyone understands?"

A series of acknowledging nods. He smiled warmly and nodded approvingly.

"Good. This is one of our Reaktnikii, also our Chief Mechanical Officer, as we say, PMK. Dragan L. Kozyar."

Kozyar smiled just warmly as the RPO and made eye contact with all of the tourists he'd be taking into his reactor spaces.

"It is perfectly safe. The only reason I wear this radiation warning badge is because I spend nearly all of my time down there. Nearly everything will be under tarpaulins, but you will see Alloshka and Nastyenka in all of their pressurized water glory. Everyone still interested?"

A series of eager nods. The RPO stepped aside, staying with the Naval Infantry security detail on this hatchway. As the tourists made their way along the gangway into the reactor compartment, they noted the ready smiles of the reactor crew in their coveralls and the primarily Ukrainian names on nametags. Aegir's reactor crew was primarily descended from Ukrainians, entirely accidental - the best qualified men in that training group had all come from predominantly Ukrainian families. They called themselves the "Chernobylnikii," black humour directed at their ancestral homeland, and joked that they knew how not to go about their job.

The tourists admired the neatly kept space that was the reactor compartment, with its efficient and professional crew watching over it. One woman, a few months pregnant, seemed a little uneasy until Kozyar's 1MK, Gorobets, described in detail just how perfectly safe it was in this space.

Just then, the lights flickered. As the white light cut out, the emergency orange lights immediately flicked on, strobing orange and white across the compartment. Kozyar got himself out of the way, and Gorobets also vanished. Then the tourists heard a low moan and Senior Sailor Fedoseev stumbled out from behind Nastyenka (Reactor No. 2) groaning, hand braced on the outermost steel shell.

"Get out. Failure in number two shielding." He raised his head, fixing the Georgian tourist in his gaze. "Get out. Now!"

Then the lights failed completely. In the dark space beside Reactor No. 2 where Fedoseev now stood, the emergency lights had been covered with a thick tarpaulin. The Старший Матрос quite clearly glowed an unhealthy shade of green, his coveralls, face, and hands being coated in the luminiscent contents of a dozen green chemical markers - "Glo-sticks" to the uninitiated. For his part, Fedoseev fell to the deck and suppressed his roar of laughter until the last tourist had disappeared beyond the two hatches that lead to the reactor spaces. The reactor crew, in on the practical joke, had not been smiling friendly smiles.

The tourists bolted back up the gangway in less time than it took to blink and had to be caught and calmed down by the MORPEH guarding the hatch. It took nearly a half hour, and Senior Sailor Fedoseev was subjected to a chewing out by his PMK infront of the tourists to assauge their shock that was rapidly turning to anger. The Russkyans didn't care, the tourists were Chechens, Dagestanis, Georgians. Bandits, as the MORPEH would normally refer to them. Sense of outrage soothed, the tourists were off the Aegir by 19.00 hours, now convinced that the Reaktnik's sense of humour was infact, amusing.

OOC: Sorry about the lack of posting here. I sort of run out of ideas. We can just assume it continued to plan and what we wanted to happen happened. Unless anyone else wants to bring up anything that would definitely require multiple RP roles.