NationStates Jolt Archive

It was around six in the morning in Laurana, and Director Annadale was just arriving at the Offices of the Directorate at One Imperial Square. A group of aides swarmed her as she exited her VLT L7 in the underground parking garage of the Offices of the Directorate. Her vehicle chirped with delight as she locked it.

"Good morning, Madame Director, I have that report on Arrannic crop production you requested."
"Excellent," Annadale responded, "And also, don't forget the future estimated production report. I want it on my desk by tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Madame Director, I'll get on that right away."

As she entered the VIP elevator, hot mug of tea in hand, she was awoken fully with a jolt as Director of Imperial Intelligence Ian Powell was already there awaiting her arrival.

"Morning, Liz."
"Good morning, Ian... What's the occasion?"
"We have some things to talk about," he said, "Your entourage will have to wait for the next elevator."

Annadale promptly waved her group of aides off and entered the elevator alone with her chief intelligence advisor.

"What is it, Ian?"
"Azaha," he said simply and softly.
"What of it?"
"Well, following their signing on with the Doomani, remember how you ordered surveillance runs over the country to scout out threats and points of interest?"
"Yes... I do vaguely remember that," she recalled as the elevator rumbled up in its shaft.
"Well we lost a plane last night. Last radar contact happened somewhere over a small island about three hundred sixty kilometers off the coast. We're not sure if it was shot down or if there was a malfunction."
"Was it a manned flight?"
"Yes," Director Powell said, "We established contact with the transmitter from the pilot's ejection seat shortly after the crash. We've been in limited radio contact at certain points but otherwise we don't want to compromise him."
"We have to get him out of there. And immediately," Annadale said, "How fast can you have a team deployed?"
"I have a team ready to deploy from the HIMCS Arausio. They'll deploy by dinghy to the coastline and move in to recover the pilot. I can have a Sariel brought over within two hours with your permission to destroy the wreckage."
"Do it. Get that boy out of there."
"They'll do their best, Liz."

The elevator jerked to a soft halt, and a bell pinged off as the doors opened on the correct floor. Annadale stepped out.

"You have twenty-four hours to get him out or we'll have one hell of a mess on our hands."
"You have my word, Liz," Powell said as he pressed a button to take himself to the underground tunnel network which would lead him to the Imperial Department of Intelligence's headquarters, "You have my word."

****************************
HIMCS Arausio
Hallad Strait, off the coast of Azaha

"Officer on deck!"
"At ease, gentlemen," Captain Andrew Trannell said as he ascended the staircase into the combat information center of the Arausio. The room was bathed in red light to signify darkness on the surface above. "What's our status?"
"Sir, we've arrived on target at the drop off point. We can deploy at any time as per your order."
"Don't let me stop you, get to it."
"Aye, sir. Helm, begin ascent."
"Aye," the helmsman responded as the submarine lurched upwards suddenly. As its ballast tanks emptied, the vessel approached the surface. "We've hit air, sir."

Captain Trannell ascended a ladder located towards the rear of the command room, opening the hatch atop the conning tower and stepping out into the humid air. Off in the distance he could see the lights of coastal Azaha as some who awakened early in the wee hours of the morning began their daily routines. Trannell looked down at the surface of the sub to see a group of twelve men rise from a hatch. They were dressed in dark jungle camouflage patterns, and they immediately set to work putting their watercraft to sea. Three rigid inflatable boats set off from the Arausio.

"Sometimes I wonder why I didn't apply for that job," the captain remarked with a laugh.
"Perhaps because you're not crazy," his executive officer, who had ascended the ladder after the Captain, replied.
"Doubtful. I travel on a penis shaped ship that goes deep under the ocean with mostly all men. I wouldn't call that normal."
"You're right, sir," his XO replied. After a few minutes of silence while watching the three inflatable boats disappear into the darkness, the XO spoke up again. "You know, sir, I think I just figured something out about myself after you put it that way."

****************************

The Special Maritime Combat Service, or "smucks" as it was sometimes referred to, was one of the most revered services in the Cravanian military. Less than two percent of all applicants to the service were accepted into its ranks, adding to its romantic allure to members of the Imperial Armed Forces. It was one of the most secretive organizations active in Cravan; reaching heights of covertness similar to the IDI at times.

Right now, however, the only thing on Ensign Richard Montgomery was the wellbeing of the pilot who was now stranded on the island which lay dead ahead in his field of vision. The small rubber boat rocked on the waves of the warm sea as the low rumble of the engine vibrated through Montgomery's bones.

"How long," he asked in his thick, Arrannic accent, "till you think we're there?"
"About ten minutes until we hit shore," Senior Chief Petty Officer Amanda Ketting, the team's designated marksman and only female member of the rescue mission, replied.
"Good, then. We'll get in, get out, and be back in time for tea."

As the three boats rode the waves towards the island, the lights of the coastline shimmered brightly on the surface of the ocean. Dawn wasn't too far away, and as the sun approached so too did further risk and danger add to the mission.

****************************

Lieutenant Gerald Power breathed heavily as he set himself down upon a log at the edge of a clearing. He had been moving through the thick vegetation towards what he perceived to be the shoreline he was instructed to go to for almost a half an hour by now, and knew that it wouldn't be long until he was tracked through the jungle by the Raj's forces.

After catching his breath, Power again began his trek through the jungle. He had with him the bare essentials he would need to survive on the island for a short period, however he would not last long if the Azahans began searching for him as aggressively as he knew they would. The Azahans had an infatuation with the helicopter, and he dreaded the sound of rotors that would likely be over him within a few hours.

Power had only his jumpsuit, his boots, some scarce rations, a flashlight, a compass, a watch, a faulty radio, a lighter almost out of fluid, and his sidearm with four additional twelve round magazines to rely on. During the plummet from his aircraft he lost his GPS unit, which would of course be infinitely useful at this point in time. He had undergone training specifically for this type of situation, though, and was so far managing himself well.

As he set down again to rest, he heard a branch snap in the wood behind him. Turning around cautiously, he realized the sound was that of a jungle animal picking its way through the bush in the early morning hours while on the hunt. Despite not looking specifically for him, Power knew it would be best to continue moving anyway. He again lifted himself to his feet, and trudged on in the humidity.

How much time he had he didn't exactly know. All he knew was that it was limited. The clock was ticking, and it wasn't in his favor.

The plane rumbled as it touched down on the tarmac. The sound of the propellers reversing pitch to slow down the craft filled the cabin with a deafening roar. It affected none of the operators inside the massive maw of the cabin though. They were all used to it. If anything, they’re flying steeds they used to enter combat was louder, due to smaller size and bigger rotor.

Major Hakim sighed to himself, looking behind him out the window as the plane taxied within the small confines of the Coast Guard station. The only part about his job that he disliked, was the fact that, there were no facts. He was a ghosted, a mystery, a nothing, in the military world. He left his old life behind, to be in service to the Raj. He was not a part of the military, due to the Doomani having supreme control over the military. No, he was actually classified as a ‘cook’ in the public records, in the service of the Raj. It amused him, he hated to cook.

As he looked around, he saw the stalwart faces of the 27 men accompanying him. All of them were enlisted, he was the only officer. Something to do with loyalty, and centralized command. He didn’t care, he didn’t think of himself as an officer, or above his men. He was one of them, and they all knew they would all die equally. But there was still a semblance of command. There were three squads, each with 9 men, and of course one squad would have him, making the total 10. He had great faith on his squad leaders. Especially Staff Sergeant Salim, who also served as the platoon sergeant. He needed to think no more, because he would prove himself again on this operation.

Outside, the engines started to die and rev down. The bay door to the rear of the aircraft began to lower, the hot humid air washing over the men, causing beads of sweat to form instantly. All at once, they stood. They had very little with them. Weapons, ammo already loaded into magazines, olive green garments, with a small assault pack on their backs. Such was the curse of Azahan special operators, they never knew where they were going, and always hoped there would be more supplies at where they were heading. Even Hakim didn’t know what the hell was going on.

As they exited the plane, the sound of helicopter rotors powering up was heard. There were three ACI-39’s. Large helicopters mainly meant for troop transport and support gunship roles. The Azahan government had bought them a long time ago from the Doomani, when they were still the old regime. Despite the rest of the military, the Azahan helicopters were actually maintained, and these ones looked almost new. Most of Azahan infantry doctrine revolved around helo support. Without it, the poorly trained army units would usually be annihilated. However, they were not poorly trained. But the transportation and firepower they provided was a bit better than hiking through vermin infested jungle with hot uniforms and gear.

The three squads started to separate themselves and board the different aircraft. The Squad leaders and the major gathered outside the first helo, the wind wash and noise almost made it impossible to speak or hear words.

“What’s the word on the op? We know what we’re up against yet?” yelled one of the squad leaders, his voice sounding distant.

“Negative. I was told there would be a folder on each helo that the pilot has the details the specifics, really, we won’t know what we’re doing until we’re in flight.” The major screamed back at the top of his lungs.

The same Squad leader yelled “God I love the op!” as they all split and boarded their aircraft. The ‘op’ he was referring to was of course the Azahan Special Operators Group. They’re beloved brotherhood.

The crash was on the other side of the island about, and the CG station was on the mainland side of it. It would be a little bit of a flight.

Ensign Montgomery watched as the transport aircraft began its landing approach. He had since set foot upon the sandy beach, and his team had set to work hiding their boats in the bush near the shoreline by picking them up over the heads and carting them to the vegetation like ants carried food from a picnic. They promptly set to work covering over their tracks by walking in randomized directions into the forest. Keeping contact by wireless networked communication, the three SMCS teams were able to meet up again further inside the jungle where they began to coordinate to find their target and evacuate him.

"We're approximately four kilometers from the crash site now," Montgomery said as he removed his GPS from a pouch on his vest, "and our last radio contact with Power was around here." He pointed to a marked waypoint on the screen. "Since he was instructed to head south, he should be moving along this path. If we cut across this way through the jungle we should meet up with him about seven or eight klicks down the road."
"So we're going that way?"
"Team Alfa is," he said, "Team Bravo will move along the jungle through here. There's a road back in that direction which leads to the base on the island. We need to keep track of Azahan movements around that base and that road. Bravo, your duty will be to keep low and scout out that part of the island."
"Gotcha, chief."
"Charlie, you're going to be backing us up. As Alfa moves along Power's projected path you'll provide cover and move in a path parallel to our path through the jungle. You have that Star Flare, right?"

One of the operators pointed to a large, metal tube strapped to his back with the appropriate electronic systems included. The Star Flare MANPADS would undoubtedly be useful in a fight with helicopter borne Azahan troops.

"Alright, we clear on our objectives? Maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary. That mostly applies to Bravo, since Charlie should be within wireless range of Alf-"
"Sh," Petty Officer Ketting interrupted Montgomery, "Listen."

The sound of beating rotors lifting off from the ground could be heard in the far off distance.

"They're scrambling. We haven't much time. I assume they'll visit the crash site first."
"Sir, with all due respect, I think we should watch them at the crash site," Senior Cheif Petty Officer Leroy Klatch said, "to gauge what we're up against."
"Good thinking. Take your team and hunker down in that area; wait for the Azahans. If you get the opportunity take them out, but don't risk yourselves."
"Roger."

The team of special operators broke to their orders and set to work as the sound of beating rotors drew nearer.

*******************

Lieutenant Power also heard the helicopters take off in the distance, and the fear began to run down his spine as he did. He removed his sidearm from his thigh mounted holster and checked the action and safety. All was in working order. Reholstering it, he continued on through the jungle to continue his effort to evade detection. He knew the rescue team had to be on the island by now, but he wasn't sure where they could be or where they had landed. All he was certain of was there were two parties searching for him, and only one he wanted to be found by.

As he ducked under some vines, a light rain began to patter around him in the tropical wilderness. His ability to hear impaired, Power finally decided to rest on a log and gain his bearings. He said a short prayer despite not being religious, and began thinking about what he would do when his ordeal was over.

Several Hours Earlier

Decurion Marcus Capellus recognized a non-friendly RADAR contact when they popped up; after all, he'd been doing this job for ten years now. The powerful OAM-V phased array set the Apostle-II missile battery was built around picked up the Cravanian spy plane several hundred kilometers off the coast of Insula Aclys, as the island was called by the Doomani who now called themselves the masters of Azaha. Capellus immediately picked up the phone beside his console, which immediately put him on the line with the battery commander, Trenturion Gaius Cumba, whose watch had been over for a mere twenty minutes when the RADAR contact came up. After a swift conversation, Cumba was sitting beside Capellus, his eyes glued to the RADAR console.

Cumba interrogated Capellus for details regarding the aircraft, which was now being tracked by a friendly AWACS. Finally, the order to fire was given. The OAM-V RADAR set was switched from search mode to track mode, and Lieutenant Power suddenly found his aircraft completely lit up.

The battery command post, a permenant fixture on the island, was actualy some ten feet under ground in a hardened concrete bunker, tied directly to the TER and TELARs. The OAM-V TER was constructed on a raised berm to give it the ideal view for searching for targets. Six tracked TELARs containing three Apostle-II surface-to-air missiles on exposed launch racks surrounded the central berm, surrounded by raised earthern walls short enough to allow for their own RADARs to operate. A dirt perimeter road surrounded the battery, cutting through the jungle which was used ever so effectively to conceal the launchers, and paths had been cut through the jungle from the launchers to the TER.

Trenturion Cumba, utterly stone-faced, ordered his weapons man to select launcher number three. Five hundred meters away from the TER and several hundred meters away from the subterranean command post, launcher number three's turret began to rotate towards the coast, its hydraulics crooning as the launch rack began to elevate, its three missiles training skywards. Cumba nodded, and Decurion Scapha, the weapons operator, selected two of the launcher's missiles with his touch screen interface, and then selected the illuminated RADAR contact in question.

The order to fire was given a moment later; the ground within the bunker shook slightly as one missile was launched after another, contrails of puffy white smoke following the two missiles skyward as their solid fuel rocket motors pushed them to mach two, where their boosters would detach and ramjet engines engage, accelerating the missiles to speeds exceeding mach four. The eight men in the command post eagerly watched their screens as the two missile icons moved across towards the RADAR contact; the first icon broke apart just beside the RADAR contact, which seemed to split apart into several more contacts. That was a kill; the second missile burst near what appeared to be the tail section of the dead aircraft, which had split off from the fuselage when the continuous rod warhead went off. The enemy aircraft had been hit some twenty miles off the coast of Aclys, and a parachute had been sighted descending toward the jungle by the crew of one of the FANAT-M anti-aircraft guns that defended the island from low altitude infiltration and cruise missiles. The crash had been easy enough to sight, although the aircraft hit the ground in several pieces spread out over two kilometers of jungle.

Within moments of confirmation that the contact had been successfully engaged and shot down, Cumba was on the phone with Centurion Titus Saevus, commander of Centuria IV, Cohors VIII, Legio DXVI, which was stationed indepedently on the island to prevent infiltration of the battery by saboteurs. Legio DXVI was actualy one of what was to be roughly three hundred legions raised in Azaha, consisting of both the children of Doomani immigrants to Azaha and the children of Azahan converts to Doomani Catholocism, trained entirely to proper Legionary standards. It was one of the first "multinational" legions although admittedly the Azahans in the unit were raised as 'proper' Doomani, as it was the army that had raised them. It was all part of the process of the Christianization of Azaha; having the locals accept Doomani culture and religion and in that become Doomani themselves.

Saevus was himself Doomani by birth, transferred from an already existing legion to serve in a leadership role in this new legion, a seasoned veteran who'd first drawn heathen blood in the war against the Questarians in 2017-2018. The centuria barracks and motorpool was located a mile away from the battery on a fortified hill. Orders were barked and within ten minutes one hundred-forty legionaries had climbed into the backs of flatbed trucks and CMPLs, which in turn took down a dirt road leading down towards where the pilot had been seen landing...