NationStates Jolt Archive

The velvet sea broke restlessly against the sandy shallows in the darkness, its noise drowning out the sounds of the night. Startled by the appearance of intruders, a bird of the night let loose an eerie cackle and flew off with a swish, its wings striking the air like mallets on a drum. Gerard Johns looked up suddenly to watch it soar over the silent beach, but did not stop with his forward march; he seated himself on the edge of the tideline and tenderly lay down the inflatable boat he carried, mindful that it did not slip into the booming surf.

His men gathered around him silently, many swinging down their packs from their shoulders to rest. But Johns allowed them only a moment. Then he spoke; his voice fatherly and gentle, yet commanding and penetrating above the noise of the sea. "Somewhere out there is the Third Bell. That'll be our new home for a couple of weeks, until we hit land. Mind you, Third Bell is no luxury cruiser." He paused for a moment. "Conditions will be cramped. I can't vouch for sanitation, or quality of the vittles. There may be breakdowns in the middle of the ocean, miles from land. There may be misfortunes and malfunctions. If any of that makes you feel queasy... well, you shouldn't have joined the Marines."

Silence. Johns looked around expectantly. "All right, we're pushing off. One last thing -- you boys are combat ready now, after months of training, but you should know how much two weeks will put you out of shape. Third Bell has exercise rooms and a running track. Use them." He paused again. "Hail Kharanjul."

In unison the men around him whispered: "Hail Kharanjul." Then they descended, wading through the waist-high waves and pushing the boats between them. Johns was the last to get in. He claimed one of the paddles -- yellow plastic, but in the darkness of night everything looked similar -- and began to propel his boat, in almost total silence, across the wine-dark sea. High above the clouds had parted somewhat and the ghostly light of the moon cast faint and distant glimmering reflections upon the water. Or perhaps it was a lighthouse.


[Bait? =P So who wants to get attacked? I feel like picking a fight (beware, I'm no techie, so pardon any stupid questions).]

ooc: well you can attack me if you wish... do you have a navy? If you dont expect a swift ass-kicking.

[No, my Marines are actually going to *walk* across the ocean. :rolleyes: Anyway, if you're interested, I'll continue.]

OOC: Epic fleet of motorboats.

[I don't appreciate sarcasm, unless I do it. >:-(]

Across the broad bays that abutted Kharanjul Island awaited dozens of ships. Under cover of night, they loomed from the waters like towers; but not silent, no, for within their hearts machinery clanked, processors hummed, screens whined. The ships were of myriad classes. Some were troop carriers, vast but vulnerable, each one loaded full of Kharanji marines. Then there were the military ships: destroyers, cruisers, submarines, tankers; perhaps most vital of all, aircraft carriers. The ships were not of flawless quality, but they were many, and manpower is cheap.

They all awaited only one order. That order, if it came from anywhere, would emerge from the commanding vessel, the largest carrier in the fleet. Deathfire was hundreds of meters long, dwarfing the cruisers and destroyers that escorted it; planes were gathered upon its flat deck like ravens around a carcass, hungry and expectant.

In the mountain-bound stone towers of Kharan City, a computer activated one of its many preprogrammed sequences.

High in orbit around the planet, a satellite received a string of numbers. It dutifully passed them on to another satellite, which in turn transmitted them to a prearranged location.

Moments later, below the sea, there was a grinding noise, and a hum that began to immediately increase in pitch and volume.

The fleet began to move.

(Well, seeing the difference in size I'm going to have to help Logan here. Mind?)

[I'll fight anyone really, I'm just bored... so feel free to do whatever you'd like.]

ooc: I doubt i'll need any help... my military budget is much higher than his. However before your attack actually takes place I must inquire as to rather you actually have bought things at a storefront so we can know the exact number of ships/other eqipment you have or whether youre just estimating.

[say what? where can I find these storefronts, anyway?

Kharanjul is an awful lot like China. We produce most of our own stuff, and it's not necessarily of the highest quality; but because we have loads of people, we build an awful lot of it. Given that this is intended as a free-form roleplaying game, I wasn't aware that there was an "exact" number of ships or whatever else one could have (if I want exactitude, I'll go play Astro Empires or something), but granted.]

[Bump?]

ooc: uh well it would be nice if you would get some exact stats on your weapons and whatnot. Just go to the compass for the international incidents forum thread and find a storefront. Also, lets make this a non-canon war (meaning it wont actually affect our nations).

ooc: uh well it would be nice if you would get some exact stats on your weapons and whatnot. Just go to the compass for the international incidents forum thread and find a storefront. Also, lets make this a non-canon war (meaning it wont actually affect our nations).

[I don't understand half of the stats on the equipment sold in storefronts, let alone the write ups. Nor do I think it's really necessary to the telling of a good story that I'm using a M-97 Burninator turret mounted on a T-66 Blastroyer chassis. It's a tank, it travels on treads and fires big shells full of explosives -- what more do you need?

And why a "non-canon" war? R u scairt? ;-)

BTW if anyone else feels like getting involved, just say the word. I'm open to anything really.]

Kharanjul: Check your telegrams, bitte.

[I don't understand half of the stats on the equipment sold in storefronts, let alone the write ups. Nor do I think it's really necessary to the telling of a good story that I'm using a M-97 Burninator turret mounted on a T-66 Blastroyer chassis. It's a tank, it travels on treads and fires big shells full of explosives -- what more do you need?

And why a "non-canon" war? R u scairt? ;-)

BTW if anyone else feels like getting involved, just say the word. I'm open to anything really.]

Whatever man, screw this...

[I don't understand half of the stats on the equipment sold in storefronts, let alone the write ups. Nor do I think it's really necessary to the telling of a good story that I'm using a M-97 Burninator turret mounted on a T-66 Blastroyer chassis. It's a tank, it travels on treads and fires big shells full of explosives -- what more do you need?

And why a "non-canon" war? R u scairt? ;-)

BTW if anyone else feels like getting involved, just say the word. I'm open to anything really.]
OOC:I ain't afraid! Come at me! Some of the info CAN get confusing. It all depends on which storefront you go to. I'm open to you attacking my coast if you can think of an excuse.(Note: Don't go to my storefront. It's under construction)

Four days had gone by; four days filled with nothing but the endless grey sea stretching out like an infinite gently undulating plain on either side of the ships. The fleet was widely spaced, but from his seat upon the deck of Third Bell Kirk Wullover could see five or six ships distantly looming from the foggy sea; he was sure an equal number were visible on the other side, and sonar nets would be even busier as they picked out the submarines too, running far from silent at well over twenty knots.

His face lacked either surprise or recognition as another man sat down beside him without warning, as though appearing from the fog. His voice was toneless as he spoke to the newcomer.

"So, what's all this about?"

The older officer toyed with a pen, twirling it in silence. When he spoke there were occasional pauses for no particular reason. "War," he said. "For food. And glory."

Wullover nodded in understanding. The island of Kharanjul was almost completely covered by dense jungles, towering mountains and forgotten caves. Industrial centers had been hewn from the unfavourable landscape, despite the penetrating heat and lack of arable land; but efforts to clear-cut the jungles and fish the seas were proving far less fruitful than they should have. The Kharanji feared the jungle; they would rather not venture into its confines; folk legends said that evil spirits dwelled there. As for the seas, the fish were becoming less and less plentiful -- perhaps due to the intrusion of human industry at the port megacities on the island, perhaps simply due to natural cycles of the earth; but either way there was neither enough agriculture nor enough fish to feed a population of three billions. Importing food from outside was possible; but Kharanjul neither had enough to offer in return, nor a government sufficiently willing to engage in diplomatic talks. Thus, why not claim a colony -- one unlikely to offer much resistance, and rich in arable land? A nation of mere millions could not hope to stand up to the combined forces of the Kharanji Chancellorate.

"How long 'til we arrive there, then?"

"It's not close..... days, maybe a week, maybe more. Of course, this creates the advantage that nobody has any idea where we're bound."

"Element of surprise, I see." Wullover paused. "Where are we bound, anyway?"

The other man flicked his pen into the air and watched it spin, clattering to the floor in front of Wullover. He smiled, cocked his head to one side like a bird, and was gone; he turned and was swallowed up into the fog.

Wullover bent down and picked up the pen. It was a ballpoint and its ink was a shade of dark blue that approached black. He had nothing to write on, however; and it was beginning to rain, the first droplets already plunking hollowly on metal.

[I'm attacking de Vliggenplaat, as he seems to be a decent writer and realistic roleplayer. Anyone who'd like to join is free to jump in on his side -- not only is he a lot smaller, but I'm also a sort of stereotypically "evil" nation.]

Hooves clattered over cobblestone. On this day, the King was escorted on his morning ride by the Third Squadron of the Royal Hussars of Maran (Koninlijke Huzaren van Maran) through the centuries-old downtown core of Zutgen.
The roan horses of the Third Squadron formed three columns of platoon, with the King riding at the head of the center column. Highly ornamented, the King's escort wore uniforms that had changed little since 1802, though now their saddle holsters held modern semiautomatic pistols instead of flintlocks and their sabres were manufactured of a higher grade of steel. The King himself was unarmed, dressed almost casually in a heavy riding jacket to fend off the morning chill and a smart grey vest over a blue-pinstriped white shirt, worn open at the neck. Like his escorts, he wore knee-high black leather boots, though his were adorned with no spurs. Never a spur in his life had he rammed into a horse's flank, and he'd not start now, as he constantly told the Stablemaster.

Some patriotic souls awakened at this early hour to walk or jog alongside the Third Squadron on the morning ride. Others, out for the sake of exercise alone, bypassed the cavalry. One Hussar shrugged his left shoulder slightly, settling the fur pelisse more comfortably and revealing the sharkskin-wrapped handle of his razor-edged sabre. One redhead caught his eye, her long legged strides stretching the nominally baggy windpants she wore over her curves. He smiled, thinking how much better she'd look in a pair of cut-to-fit breeches like the ones he wore, where leather reinforced every area that might contact a saddle or horse. Karl von Ulvern van Stahlberg II, a man with a bearing and face as regal as his name, inclined his head towards a soldier from his Luchtmobiele Brigade, who'd suddenly appeared from the brick facade of row housing and frozen at attention, fingertips hovering millimetres away from his temple as his right hand rendered the salute. Behind him, his girlfriend of expensive tastes could be seen wrapped in a sheet, leaning against a wall in the entranceway, unaware of whom 'her soldier' saluted. A Leutnant of the 1.Zug, riding on the left, returned the crimson-bereted soldier's salute.

When the King returned to his quarters, the Third Squadron would stable their horses, change into day uniforms, and rejoin restive garrison life. The machinations of the King himself they were not privvy to, nor did they care to be. Most of the Hussars thought of the man as a sort of father figure, his face always breaking into a warm smile during inspections of the units that served him directly as part of the specialized three-battalion Guard. Very few people bore him ill will, barring a few Communists and Anarchists, that sort of rabble as the Duke in Chaucel Province would say. He was a genuinely benevolent, kind-hearted and practical man.

Completely unbeknownest to the citizens of Vliggenplaat, the Kharanjul fleet sailed towards them, still far beyond the horizon, a work-week's quick sailing. The leaders of that island nation had picked well, the rich polder of the Dominion provided grain surpluses on a regular basis.
The Plaatische farmers took every pride in making their small nation an agricultural powerhouse with modern farming technologies so efficient they could help feed the neighbouring nation of Gaullicana by as much as 30% and export dozens of tons of surplus to other nations, nations who did not border them directly.

OOC: DV mind if I join in on your side once he invades?

Ten days in, and Commander Georg Wolf was beginning to notice that the motion of the fleet had slowed. At first it was only hints on radio chatter -- the submarines had entered silent running and were grouping into squadrons; power allocation had been adjusted to "compensate"; combat air patrols becoming more and more frequent -- and of course the rumours that the first convoys of supply ships had already set sail from Kharanjul, substantiated primarily by those with brothers or friends in the Navy, although not even Wolf knew for sure.

But now it was plain that the destination was in sight. Wolf had checked the maps. Within seven hundred kilometers or so, straight ahead, lay the Plaatische mainland. And of course now the fleet turned, and slowed; for only now would its true destination be suspected.

In the exercise rooms on board the troop ships, and on the decks, half a million Kharanji Marines returned to the weeks of intensive training; makeshift obstacle courses were set up with whatever was on hand; gunfire resounded from every room as marksmanship was practiced. Gerard Johns, as an officer, was among them. They had been trained in the jungles of Kharanjul, which were hot, rugged, and teeming with hostile life -- from mosquitoes and poisonous snakes, to creatures bigger than men that existed only as legends but could do much to explain the unaccountable disappearances of dozens of Kharanji over the years. The flat and unvegetated polder would be alien and possibly quite cold to them.

But the strictest preparation of all occurred beneath the waves. The Marines still had forty-eight hours or more before their mission began; but for the submarines, the mission was already underway. In squadrons of four or six they crept through the murky depths, gliding almost silently past shoals of deep-sea fish and strange, unrevealed life. Within the captains had mandated complete silence; they flinched at every beep of a sonar screen or click of a keyboard. The Plaatische navy was small and primarily defensive; that didn't prevent it from serving as a definite obstacle to the real objective. Landfall.

Luftmacht Maritime Patrol Boundary
19.13hrs Local, 22 May 2008

"No."

Rawlins looked over her shoulder, because there was nothing to look forward at except her instrument panel and steel-coloured ocean. She could see her radar operator fidgeting with the controls for the screen he sat infront of, and then she heard the coolly professional report. At an altitude of nine kilometers above sea level, the AN/APS-507 surface search set was reporting a significant number of returns.

An encrypted - as nearly all Koninlijke Kriegsmacht communications systems were encrypted as opposed to secured - message was immediately sent to the coordinating aircraft. Two more Heimdallr aircraft were vectored into the search. As the approaching fleet could only come from the Western arc of the compass, and Rawlin's aircraft was nearly due east, the other two were brought in from the north and south. By 22.00, in the now dark sky, these Heimdallr patrol planes had precisely located the approaching fleet.
At 24.00 they were forced to return to base, their increased speed and cautious manouvres in a very wide circle around the incoming fleet having drained their fuel tanks. Such a large fleet on a direct bearing towards De Vliggenplaat could mean only one thing; invasion.

[OOC: DaWoad: Some of your technology, from a review of your factbook, does not appear to be modern tech compliant.
The Heimdallr Maritime Patrol Aircraft is for all intents and purposes a CP-140 Aurora with the Arcturus's surface search radar set.]

Hundreds of meters below the surface, the officers and enlisted men of the Kharanji Navy ran through half a week's ration of coffee in silence, bleary eyes nailed to the sensors and screens. The sonar arrays had once been the most advanced available, but they had been attached to the submarines for two decades or so; they couldn't catch everything. Whether this meant that they would only miss small fishing boats and whales, or whether they could pass over a submarine entirely, remained to be seen as yet. Combat trials.

Then a machine beeped and paper began to print from an otherwise uncooperative aperture. The few words that were spoken, released as an indistinct rush of relief, were quickly silenced by watchful officers as the captain of the submarine leafed through them quickly.

"Targets," he said. "And within range."

Moments later, following a brief exchange of orders between the bridge and the torpedo bays, more astute sonar screens would note a sudden rush of bubbles -- as of air being released -- and then the uniquely identifiable sound of torpedoes accelerating. Twenty-four of them to be exact, four from each submarine in the squadron. The first shots of the invasion. The submarines had meanwhile dropped back, running silently (although still in formation) along a preplotted course.

The submarine squadrons were still far from shore. Perhaps they had happened upon a few far-ranging patrol ships; perhaps the vessels were merchant ships destined for Plaatische ports; perhaps even civilian liners. The chief Kharanji officers didn't know and frankly didn't care. If you're already invading the place, it's not like anyone will make a big fuss over piracy.

Luftmacht Maritime Patrol Boundary
19.13hrs Local, 22 May 2008

"No."

Rawlins looked over her shoulder, because there was nothing to look forward at except her instrument panel and steel-coloured ocean. She could see her radar operator fidgeting with the controls for the screen he sat infront of, and then she heard the coolly professional report. At an altitude of nine kilometers above sea level, the AN/APS-507 surface search set was reporting a significant number of returns.

An encrypted - as nearly all Koninlijke Kriegsmacht communications systems were encrypted as opposed to secured - message was immediately sent to the coordinating aircraft. Two more Heimdallr aircraft were vectored into the search. As the approaching fleet could only come from the Western arc of the compass, and Rawlin's aircraft was nearly due east, the other two were brought in from the north and south. By 22.00, in the now dark sky, these Heimdallr patrol planes had precisely located the approaching fleet.
At 24.00 they were forced to return to base, their increased speed and cautious manouvres in a very wide circle around the incoming fleet having drained their fuel tanks. Such a large fleet on a direct bearing towards De Vliggenplaat could mean only one thing; invasion.

[OOC: DaWoad: Some of your technology, from a review of your factbook, does not appear to be modern tech compliant.
The Heimdallr Maritime Patrol Aircraft is for all intents and purposes a CP-140 Aurora with the Arcturus's surface search radar set.]

OOC: actually all my tech is either in production now (ie. the F-35) or in development

I have no idea how to find half of the stuff you are doing, I wish I did but I suspect it will take time.:headbang:

[bump?]

[OOC: Apologies for the delays, Kharanjul. Check your telegrams.]

[Order of battle, for naval forces:

Capital Ships: 20 Suffer Not Injustice Class Aircraft Carriers
[24x Su-33K 'Flanker' derivative; 24x MiG-35 'Fulcrum-F' derivative adapted for naval use; 6x anti-submarine (Ka-27 derivative) or close air support helicopters; 4x E-2 or E-2C deriative]

Escorts: 12 Devas Class heavy missile cruisers (a more lightweight Kirov derivative); 24 Kalesh Class light missile cruisers (similar to Kresta I); 36 Red Knight Class frigates (bear vague resemblance to Kashin); 36 Blue Knight Class frigates (bear vague resemblance to Krivak)

Transport vessels: 125 troop transport ships [4000x Kharanji Marine; 4x CAS gunship]; 45 roll-on/roll-off transports [80x T-90 derivative or 20x MLRS; 20-40x assorted field guns]; et cetera

Logistical vessels: Fleet and submarine tenders; tankers; hospital ships; et cetera (about 80 in all). Nobody cares about logistics anyway. :P

For ground forces: I guess 500,000 Marines, a little under 3,000 tanks, a little under 200 MLRS, well over 1,000 artillery pieces

Air forces: 960 assorted fighters; 180 helicopters; 80 AWACS/ELINT and potentially intercontinental bombers I might deploy later on if I feel I need them (Tu-95 or 160 derivatives)

if I've overlooked anything I'll edit this.]

OOC: Thanks, posted in proper thread now.

[You'd probably be looking for this thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=13726432#post13726432), Aequatio. :P]

OOC:
Kharanjul: AWACS/ELINT (Modified KIAF E-2C) cannot "guide" an EMCON fighter force passively. What you would have been doing, if not radiating any signals (RADAR) would have been flying on a compass course, blindly, towards an enemy who knows where all of their aircraft are, as they're flying fixed-pattern CAP.

The strike against your AWACS would not have happened if they were not radiating. You can't passively detect passive sensors; therefore I'd have nothing to go on and there would have been no mindless release of weapons. It's listening to someone listening for you, no noise is made. Certain things are assumed: when you don't mention the guidance method of your torpedoes, I had to assume they were bore-sighted shots (IE: A WWII torpedo launch) at targets that haven't been detected, because you mentioned naught about active guidance, hadn't pinged anything, and complicated the sound picture by deploying decoys and then hiding behind the screen, prohibiting you from using passive sensors to listen forwards. In any case, the U212s are small targets and are bottomed: very difficult to pick up even on active sonars.
As such, when you mentioned the air group being guided by AWACS, I had to assume they were radiating. Otherwise it was simply flying blind towards the Plaatische mainland. Something very different would have happened had these aircraft, including their C&C/ELINT/AWACS, been under complete EMCON.

Exactly how far is your fleet from the coast? A day's sailing can be many different things.
Also, do you have any sort of Greenpeace-like organization I can inform about the "Senseless slaughter of innocent schools of albacore" ? ;)
At present, we have reached something of an impasse. I realize you are not well versed in military technology, but being specific and passingly familiar with the equipment is really all that's required.

Clausewitz said: "Fighting has determined everything appertaining to arms and equipment, and these in turn modify the mode of fighting; there is, therefore, a reciprocity of action between the two." This is why familarity with the technology of war is important, and when writing of war as we are, we must know what is happening. To know what is happening, we must know how it is happening, and that may be the crux of the problem.

[Hmmm. See, I meant to indicate that my air forces were traveling under EMCON, but didn't know that was the proper name for it at the time I wrote my post. xD As for the submarines, I have only a vague idea of how submarine warfare works -- "remain quiet, don't move around too much, then when you hear the enemy subs fire zee torpedoes!" is about it -- and it shows. I don't, however, accept "retroactive continuity"; mistakes I make ICly due to a lack of OOC knowledge are taken as IC mistakes. Therefore, for the sake of continuity, let us assume:

1.) My AWACS/ELINT turned on active radar while launching, to find out where your AWACS/ELINT (and fighters) were, then switched to passive radar after gaining the data and plotting flightpaths for the fighters to follow. This allowed your AWACS to find out where my AWACS were, and send the data to your fighters; but by the time the fighters on CAP arrived and launched their missiles my aircraft had already switched to passive radar, requiring the AIM-356s to use their own radars and thus making them targetable by surface-based SAMs.

Smart tactical move on my part? Not really. But I can always blame an incautious officer or bungled orders.

2.) My torpedoes use some kind of active guidance, but due to mechanical malfunctions on board the submarines, it doesn't always work properly and usually succeeds only in getting pinged by enemy ships (and in some cases alerting them to the location of the submarine itself). Expect some character roleplay along these lines while I attempt to figure out how sonar actually works. [facepalms]

3.) My fleet is about 666 (o.0) kilometers from your shore, or 24 hours @ 15 knots.

Unfortunately, we don't have any such groups -- the nearest equivalents would be resistance groups like the "Society for Reserving the Death Penalty for Serious Crimes Only" and the "Revolutionary Guild for the Reduction of the Income Tax Rate To At Least 97%". =o

Hope this helps, if there's anything I'm overlooking, let me know.]

OOC:
Apologies for the delay in responding.

Regarding Point One: There is no "passive RADAR." It is either on, hopefully detecting the opposition and radiating signals that are easy enough to detect, or it is off. Information you glean via use of the radar as you're launching is limited for three reasons:

i) The advantage of using an AWACS is that you've put a RADAR system at altitude. This successfully bypasses the "horizon" problem all surface-search radar sets have, and AWACS, to my knowledge, have been used for surface surveillance. This is besides the point, which is that aircraft move rapidly and that without up to date intelligence or first establishing a pattern (Identifying the pattern the Luftmacht fighters are flying on, for example, then assuming they won't change it) you can't plot an intercept without actively radiating. A brief look as you climb to altitude is insufficient.

ii) If we're ~650km from shore, and we assume the air combat is taking place within 150-200km of my shore, that still leaves the air action outside the fleet's air defence envelope. The fleet cannot assist in this combat action because, to my knowledge, the most up to date AESA air-search radars are only capable of a 400-425 kilometer detection. There are practically no air defence missiles that have this range, as well.

iii) I would not have launched the strike against the AWACS if the entire group had been under EMCON (AWACS included). If an AWACS is in the sky and it is not active, it is effectively useless.

Regarding point two: Sonar is pretty simple stuff. The hard part is remembering what acronyms mean, really. I used to be completely in the dark about this as well. Currently, you're facing exceptionally quiet boats who can launch without advertising their position until you get much closer (by moving through/around that decoy screen, or until the decoy screen fades) that are on the bottom. That they are bottomed makes them exceptionally difficult to detect on active sonar. There are ways to do it, which you will stumble across in your research, but a torpedo's active sonar guidance is highly unlikely to pick out this particular U212 type boat from the reflected signal coming off the ocean floor.

[Apologies about the delay. Was moving house.

1i.) Granted. I suppose you can therefore assume that my AWACS were actively radiating until they detected your missile launch, since the mix-up was probably my fault anyway.

1ii.) I am assuming that my air forces have not yet reached the air combat area, having only recently left the carriers, and thus are still within the fleet defense perimeter. Essentially, whenever we get close enough to engage your own fighters, I'll assume us to be too far out of range.

1iii.) Granted. See 1i. EMCON was only enforced once the missiles were launched in an attempt to throw them off or at least get them to light up on radar (due to still being within range of the fleet).

2.) Understood; so as my submarines can't really see anything, (I'm assuming the seas are rather shallow in these parts and thus they can bottom out without hitting crush depth?) they have decided to keep quiet and conserve their torpedoes. Any mistakes I made previously due to lack of OOC knowledge should be taken as IC.

In the meantime, I'll be working on posts between the moving sale, closing on my old house, unpacking, getting the telephone and internet set up, and getting faulty water pipes fixed; so don't expect too much activity. :P Will do what I can, though.]

OOC:

Good luck with the relocation. It's a pain in the ass sometimes.

1ii sounds perfectly reasonable and I'll act on that when I get the time to draft an IC post.

Expansion, #2: Crush depth varies from boat to boat, some combat boats can reach as deep as 600 metres. Those are later generation Russian designs usually, if I recall. The ocean floor topography (or "bottomography," if you will) here is probably ~500 meters underneath your fleet now, steadily sloping up towards the shore in a series of massive plateau-like geological formations until you come to 150m, roughly where the Uhlans are now. From there the bottom softens due to sediment buildup and gently climbs up to the actual coastline.

I would be willing to jump in on De Vliggenplaat's side. Protecting a nation like his against a rash is right up our lane. Is there something I have to do as a requirement to join?