NationStates Jolt Archive

At Mühlhausen Air Force Base near Mulhouse, France, everything was quiet. The air force base had been built by the Empire during the early 1990s upon leasing the land from the North Germanian government. It was a "super-base," so to speak with classified projects being conducted under its tarmac, runway, and perimeter, many of them advanced projects for aircraft design. The airbase was home to a number of aircraft squadrons, including the 4704th Space Control Squadron, one of the most decorated reconnaissance squadrons in the Imperial Layartebian Air Force.

The 4704th Space Control Squadron had been moved to Mühlhausen in 2003 after a long tenure at Griffis Air Force Base, where they flew sorties throughout the Conquests. When the Empire was established in 1980, they flew the U-2R Dragon Lady and, in 1990, they upgraded to the U-2S Dragon Lady. They flew that aircraft for seventeen years all over the world, taking hundreds of thousands of reconnaissance imagery and collection thousands of hours of SIGINT data. Then, in 2007, they upgraded to the U-6A Blackcat, which was just a massively improved U-2. The "Blackcat" began life as the U-2X Dragon Lady, which was a gigantic production improvement of the existing definitive U-2S. The "X" model featured a slightly more powerful engine, longer fuselage and wingspan, increased payload capacity, increased range, entirely digital avionics, stealth features, and higher ceiling and speed. It was dubbed the U-6A Blackcat on January 2, 2008, when it reached IOC, the 4704th Space Control Squadron being the first squadron to get the aircraft.

The U-6A Blackcat was unveiled to the public several months later and there was little to distinguish it from the U-2S Dragon Lady except these minor external differences, which several research U-2s from foreign air forces already possessed. In the rare event that one were to be downed by a surface-to-air missile or hostile fighter, there would be no way to tell who owned the U-6. None of its parts had serial numbers, they carried no markings, and the pilots were elite professionals who were trained, in the event of capture, to simply shut up and accept execution or suicide themselves. With all of the missions that the 4704th had flown, they had not lost a single pilot or aircraft over hostile territory or due to enemy action. They did; however, lose a single aircraft due to a malfunction once over eastern New York. The pilot safely ejected but the airframe was lost, recovered, and scraped shortly after the cause of the malfunction had been determined.

Sitting inside an environmentally controlled hangar at the airbase, one of the six U-6 airframes at Mühlhausen was being prepared for a night mission. Outfitted with the latest in digital imagery, SIGINT collection equipment, and avionics, the Blackcat was a $65 million beauty. With eighty-four airframes in service in the Imperial Layartebian Air Force, she represented one of the most advanced aircraft in the inventory. Its partner-in-reconnaissance, the U-5A Icarus was a completely different story though and on the pinnacle of technology.

Major Bruce "Batman" Harris had just finished his oxygen breathing exercise when the clock struck 22:00 hours, local time. Because the U-6 flew so high in the air, the pilots wore pressure suits akin to those worn by astronauts and they breathed pure oxygen for one hour prior to flight time. Major Harris was ready to go and he was escorted from the barracks to the airplane by two armed guards, both under orders to protect him at all costs. Reconnaissance duty was at the highest level of secrecy in the Empire and though it was under the banner of the Ministry of Defense, the Ministry of Intelligence, essentially, called the shots. Secrecy was their second nature. Major Harris took with him nothing but a portable oxygen canister, which would continue to feed the pure oxygen into his suit until he could be hooked up to the oxygen system of the U-6 and a capsule, tucked away in his pressure suit. Inside of the capsule was a small cyanide pill, which would produce a quick death, should he become stranded in hostile territory. All pilots were issued this piece of equipment and it even had a silly designation that was subject to much ridicule.

The escorts opened the doors to the hangar and led Major Harris in where a team of grounds crew were preparing the aircraft. They were delicate and they had just finished fueling the mighty aircraft with 19,800 pounds of JPTS jet fuel, a special fuel made just for the U-2 and now the U-6. It boasted high thermal stability and was meant for high altitude use. As one of the grounds crew members removed the fueling nozzle, Major Harris began his walk around of the aircraft, holding his oxygen canister in his right hand, inspecting the aircraft. When he was satisfied, he climbed the ladder and was helped into the cockpit of the aircraft, where two more grounds crew members hooked him up to the plane, attaching the oxygen feed line and the filter lines. They disconnected the portable oxygen canister and strapped him into the chair, removing the arming pin on the ejection seat as they stepped down and pulled away the ladder.

Major Harris, now a little more comfortable, began to boot up the systems inside of the aircraft. The jet was still on external power, which was a simple electrical feed into the jet. It would be used to start the engines as well as upload the flight data information without turning on the engines. This had already been done and Major Harris had begun to review it. He would take off and head east, over southern Germany, into the Czech Republic and Slovakia, into Ukraine, then turn north, fly through Belarus over Minks (his target), then northwest over Lithuania, out over the Baltic Sea, and back down through Germany and to his airbase. The round trip of the flight was 2,320 miles and he had a ferry range of 4,500 miles. He would have plenty of fuel for the mission. His mission was to photograph various military targets around Minsk, which was in the midst of an ongoing revolution. His flight path would take him over three airfields and out of the way of a pair of known SAM sites. Despite flying on the edge of the atmosphere, care was always taken to avoid radar and missile sites, unless they were going to be photographed.

Major Harris was finally satisfied with the flight plan and called for the electrical feed to be removed. The engine was started shortly thereafter and brought up to idle speed. The low whine of the engine was deafening in the hangar but, at high altitude, it wouldn't even be audible on the ground. He did a final check before beginning his taxi out of the hangar, which was to check the digital computer bank of the reconnaissance sensors and SIGINT sensors. They functioned normally and the system self-test returned "OK" status. He could take up to 10,000 digital imagines at 15 megapixels and over twenty hours of SIGINT information. He wouldn't need to take that much data but, if he had to, he could.

The nimble bird pulled out of the hangar and down the taxiway to the runway while several people at the base watched from their windows. The control tower had already cleared a flight pattern for the Blackcat and his callsign, "Jackknife One" was set. He pulled up to the runway and received his orders from the tower, "Jackknife One, hold short."

"Roger that." He put on the brakes and stopped the aircraft at the start of the runway. It's massive, 106 foot wingspan hung over the edge of the runway and the rigger wheels kept them from flexing too much on takeoff, a very stressful procedure for the seemingly flimsy aircraft. Finally, as the pattern was verified, Major Harris was given the clearance to take off and he did, pushing the throttle of the aircraft to maximum power, sending 22,000 pounds of force out of the back of his aircraft. He didn't get too far down the runway before the aircraft leapt into the air, his airspeed at 81 mph at that point. The massive amount of lift generated by the airframe allowed the U-6 to get into the air quickly and without much runway space. He continued to accelerate though and banked towards his heading, raising the landing gear and beginning an ascent to 25,000 feet at a rate of 15,000 feet per minute. Once he got to 25,000 feet, he would ease back on the climb rate and ascend to 84,550 feet, his mission altitude.

http://www.forsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/LDC/u6.jpg

Once he got up to 84,550 feet, his airspeed was just 430 mph, barely above the stall speed of the aircraft. The Blackcat passed over Germany and into Ukraine without incident. The sensors of the Blackcat picked up the intense ground war being conducted in Ukraine by Eurasian, Layartebian, and Hirgizstanian forces. Soon, the Blackcat turned north and passed over Belarus' southern border. The SIGINT equipment was active and the cameras on automatic. All the pilot had to do was fly the plane, though it was on autopilot. He kept a close eye on several things. The biggest was his rear-view mirrors, which showed if he was leading a contrail or not. He wasn't. The second was on the RWR, which showed if he was being targeted. He wasn't. The third was on the flight report. It datalinked through satellite and kept the plane's position and status known to the mission planners back home and in the Ministry of Intelligence. Minsk wasn't too far away now and the flight was more than routine, it was flawless so far.

A high-altitude anti-aircraft battery had been placed alongside a small country road in a hay field, the farmer was not so thrilled, they had let his Frisian Dairy Cows loose, he was running around trying to get them back through the open gate while a loud alarm started to go off, the team jumped to life (they had been sleeping). A man yelled, "Incoming aircraft, 85,000 feet, prepare the missiles." The man then picked up a portable radio, "Sir, we have an inbound aircraft, 85,000 feet, 40 miles to the southwest, Permission to fire missiles?"

A voice came through, "Permission granted." The man on the radio then gave a thumbs-up sign to another man who hit a tiny little red button, the missile battery came alive, shooting 4 Surface-to-Air missiles high into the sky, 45 seconds later, directly overhead, 4 explosions were seen and heard, they had hit the aircraft.

Major Harris looked down at the RWR in shock and disbelief. "There isn't supposed to be a SAM here!" He said to himself as a "10" appeared with a diamond around it. He was being tracked and painted by an SA-10 site and now the audible warning hit his ears. "Holy shit! There isn't supposed to be a fucking SAM here!" He yelled aloud as the tone went from just tracking to a lock. He was being locked on by the missile site, which was off to his 2 o'clock. He couldn't react any faster and as he reached down to activate the ECM system, his cockpit became alive with noise. The high-pitched squeal was followed by the voice of a friendly woman, except she wasn't saying anything friendly.

"MISSILE WARNING...MISSILE WARNING..." Bitching Betty repeated over and over as the pilot looked down at his MFD. His missile warning system picked up the launches and plotted them in position and distance to his aircraft. The threat warning system also classified the missile types by the guidance system and classified it as an S-300PMU-1, an SA-20A Gargoyle missile. No intelligence report even mentioned the Bull Hornians as having this sort of advanced missile technology. The pilot looked back down at the plot and saw that there were four missiles inbound, tracking on his aircraft and they were coming hard and fast. "MISSILE WARNING...MISSILE WARNING..." Bitching Betty continued to blare as Major Harris took his aircraft off autopilot, increased power to full, and banked the aircraft hard to the right. The Blackcat wasn't a fighter and evading a missile wasn't easy but he wasn't going to sit back and let them hit.

As he banked the missiles past his nose and to his 9 o'clock position, be banked the plane upwards. The absolute ceiling for the Blackcat was on the order of 96,500 feet and the S-300PMU-1 had a maximum ceiling of 98,000 feet. Though he was under strict radio silence, he now had the pretense to break it and though all of the data from his aircraft was being sent to the mission control center thousands of miles away, his voice would tell a lot more than a bunch of instrument readings. "Jacknife One. Jacknife One. I am defensive! Four inbound SAMs. SA-20A missiles. Four missiles inbound. Four missiles! I am defensive!" He climbed the aircraft hard as the missiles came inbound and though he could pull no more than 3Gs he did have a few advantages to his credit. At such a high altitude, the missiles would be almost out of propellant, if not already, and unable to maneuver more than one turn themselves. He also had the advantage of the powerful ECM system. Still, the odds were four against one.

The first missile came flying towards him, its engine already out of propellant and, with a powerful blast of ECM and the release of several expendables, the missile lost track and could not need up with the lumbering spy plane. The second missile was more of the same, the U-6 now at 92,000 feet. He kicked back to full power and released more chaff as he turned into the third missile, hoping to cause it the same grief he caused the other two.

The sudden, sharp yaw and thunderous shake told him that he failed in his third endeavor. The missile had tracked and exploded just before reaching the side of his plane, sending thousands of fragments through the thin skin of the aircraft, severing it into two pieces also immediately. The tail piece instantly went into a falling spiral, pieces of it tearing apart from the lateral G forces exerted on it, the engine literally snapping itself in half in the process. The other part of the fuselage was larger and still maintained the wings but it had no aerodynamic stability and went into a flat spin, tearing to pieces as it fell, descending rapidly. Major Harris saw every warning light on his cockpit instantly light up as he watched the tail spiral away, his own view of the world turning quickly. "SHIT!" He yelled out as he looked out of the window to see the fourth missile slam into the tail section, obliterating it, showering his own part of the aircraft with more fragments in the process. "This is Jacknife One. Mayday. Mayday. I am going down. I repeat. Ejecting!" He yanked up on the handles for the ejection seat and was blasted into the air at over 500 mph, out of the cockpit of the aircraft at over 90,000 feet. His seat contained an oxygen pack and he stayed attached to it as a small, stabilizer chute deployed to prevent his chair from turning rapidly as it descended, gaining speed and momentum as it fell towards the earth. In addition, his seat deployed a pair of small wings and telescoping booms, to further stabilize his descent.

As he ejected out of the aircraft, a signal was sent throughout the fuselage, by way of radio. This armed and set a ten second countdown for a set of small, plastic charges in vital parts of the aircraft. The first set was in the reconnaissance bay and on the external pylon pods. The second set was on the avionics set and ECM equipment, some of which had been blasted when the fourth missile struck. The third set was on the data processing drives in the airframe and the fourth set was on the wing chords. The charges were simple C4 and, when the countdown reached zero, they simultaneously detonated. The explosions would thoroughly destroy the data processing systems in the aircraft. Since no hard-drives were attached to the seat chair in this aircraft, there would be no evidence of what the Blackcat had taken pictures of, recorded, or where it originated. When the final set of charges exploded, they ignited the fuel, causing a major explosion in the remaining fuselage. There wouldn't be much of the aircraft to salvage, if anything.

Major Harris' descent continued down to 15,000 feet when he was separated from the chair, it falling away underneath him. His own parachute deployed moments later and caused him to go from terminal velocity of over 150 mph to a comfortable 30 mph or less in a few tenths of a second. It was a hard stress to his body but, as he reached up and grabbed the guides of the parachute, he realized that he was definitely in trouble. He touched the ground a few minutes later, uncomfortably slamming down and spraining his ankle in the process. Quickly, his escape and evasion tactics went into play. There would be no rescue mission, he knew that, and he had a wife and newborn son. He wasn't about to take the cyanide pill either. He yanked off his helmet and breathed in the fresh air around him as he yanked his parachute to the ground and crumbled it up into a ball, to stash and hide. Then, he stripped off the space suit and hid it in the same place, in a thicket of bushes. He stood up, the pain shooting up his leg and began to hobble away. He had no idea where he was and without any sort of maps or GPS device, he really had little clue where he was. All he knew was that he was being hunted, someone had definitely seen the parachute come down.

He calculated his position as being about 60 miles south of Minsk when he was shot down so he figured that he was somewhere in that fall. If he headed south, he could go into Ukraine. Despite it being in the middle of a major offensive, it was technically Eurasian controlled. Eurasia was an October Alliance nation and, if he got to Eurasian troops he could get home. He set off southward, ignoring the pain and the damage he was doing to his ankle. This was survival!

S-300 Site

The man at the missile site picked up the radio, "Confirmed hit, pilot ejected and touched down, roughly 70 miles south of Minsk, Copy?"

A voice came through, "Copy that."

Minsk, Bull Hornia

"Your mission is simple, we have a foreign pilot down about 70 miles south of here. Bring him back, Alive! He may be vital to our future." The soldiers then left the barracks, jumped into multiple all-terrain vehicles and took off toward the south.

S-300 Site

"Get into those vehicles, now." The battery commander was yelling. APCs and lightly armored vehicles were lined up, men scrambled to them and started them, a low roar was heard and a dust cloud was seen as they cruised toward the pilot. Small fragments of the demolished aircraft rained down from over 90,000 feet, none were useful but they gave clues as they were in the right area.

"Sir, look over here," a man yelled from behind a bunch of brush. "Footprints here," The man pointed at a pattern of footprints, "And here what appears to be where he rolled his parachute."

"The pilot appears to be heading south, get surveillance helicopters up here, I want EVERY square foot checked by Infrared cameras, no excuses."

Minsk

A radio transmission came through, "Colonel Vladimir Sashenka formally requesting aerial surveillance and thermal imaging, Over."

"Request approved, sending 3 Mi-24s, ETA 30 minutes."

70 Miles South of Minsk
30 Minutes Later

Three Bull Hornian Mi-24s came into view, they were being briefed by radio as they were en route, when they arrived they knew the plan, search a path, 30 miles wide, toward the south, the pilot had not been down long so he must be close, if nothing is found within 45 minutes then permission will be given to extend the search area.

They began their search alongside the ground troops, it wouldn't be long now.

Major Harris knew that he was in trouble. Nobody was coming for him and he had no radio and no GPS unit. He had only a small utility knife in his pocket, a compass, the cyanide pill, and some other important survival tools. That was about it though and the one thing which would have been perfect, a map, he didn't have. Foreign intelligence analysts could tell where a map was printed based on ink and paper type. There would be no way to prove that he was Layartebian. Every piece of his gear was purchased in different corners of the world. This was all meticulous but for a good reason. A captured pilot could do more damage to foreign relations and the credibility of a state than any genocide could.

Major Harris knew that and he knew the consequences of being shot down. He also knew that, until he had guns on him, he had a fighting chance. He varied his path, randomly turning west, then back north, then to the east, back to the south, and what not. He was wasting time and ground but he was also making things difficult. He had moved south right out of the gate but now his path moved far. He hurried and slowed his steps as he moved, doing everything he could to throw off his trackers. He was far away from Minsk and, he hoped, far away from the brunt of the Bull Hornian military. He was; however, within an hour of a missile site, meaning within an hour of armor and who knew how many armed men. He knew that they were searching for him but, in the rural areas of southern Belarus, he had a lot of things to his advantage. If the Bull Hornians had found his chute it had taken them a lot of time, meaning that he was definitely further away. He found areas where he could walk that wouldn't reveal footprints and stuck to them as he hid underneath a canopy of trees. The only problem was that he was at least eighty miles north of the Ukrainian border and who knew how much further to allied forces.

He knew that they would search for him by air and possibly even satellite. They would listen to the radio waves for his communications but he would have none. They would try to find his GPS emissions but there would be none. If they wanted to use thermal imaging they would have trouble trying to see through the leaves. They were thick and unless he moved through open areas, he wouldn't be easily found. He was injured and he knew it but he also knew that if he stopped he would be dead. Trying to hide with local people wouldn't be a good idea either. E&E was a significant part of his training and he wasn't trained in E&E for nothing.

Center Of Military Command, Minsk

A man in a green uniform started to speak, "I want border patrols set up, the pilot appears to be heading toward Ukraine."

"Yes, sir. We will notify the ground troops."

"I also want a international conference, I want to know who's pilot we have."

Search Party

"Send men out on foot, we need to find that pilot, if we don't the consequences will be great."

The path of the pilot was winding, he changed directions very often, he must have been trying to throw them off. Some spots the prints disappeared. They were dealing with a highly trained, highly motivated individual, this was not going to be easy at all. The few footprints they had leaded them into a heavily wooded area, the pilot must have thought that his action would throw them off, how foolish. Infrared tracking can still pick up heat through the leaves, it also gave the search party an advantage, they had an area, that they could surround, they knew the pilot was there.

A soldier was walking, when all of a sudden he saw a slight movement, he stopped, another movement, he raised his pistol and yelled, "Stop! You are violating international laws!" He ran toward the pilot and tackled him, other soldiers followed, they escorted the pilot back to their vehicles and they took him to Minsk, they had succeeded.

Deep inside the Ministry of Intelligence, inside the Blackcat operations room, panic was in the air. When the sensors for the Blackcat kicked back to them that it was being painted by a radar, they had all tightened up and the sweat began to drip from their foreheads. When the missiles launched and the pilot reported that he was in a defensive situation, everyone tightened up more and the sweat poured rather than dripped. Then, when the aircraft took the first hit, everyone suddenly stopped. They had an aircraft down, a pilot in foreign territory, and a mission failure. In the twenty-eight year history of the Empire, not one reconnaissance mission had been so grave a failure as this. There had been aborts but no aircraft had gone down and no pilots had been lost either. Now they had a snag in that perfect record and a grave one indeed. As the pilot screamed out that he was ejecting, the mission director immediately pulled out a key from around his neck and dropped it into a hole on the countertop. A shatter-proof plastic cover popped up from the desk and revealed a red button underneath, which was now lit. He reached down and pushed the button, which did a number of things.

First, it sent a signal to the aircraft and activated the fail-safe system on the aircraft. If the ejector seat failed to set off the explosive charges, his system would, without fail. The second thing it did was initiate a sweep of the computer systems. It would clean out any and all registries to the aircraft and the pilot. Within nanoseconds, his entire life would cease to exist electronically. His birth certificate, DNA, library card, driver's license, etc. would all be erased. There would be absolutely no evidence of his existence except his family. "Yes. We have a situation. Initiate Codex Charlie Lima Echo. Phase one is complete." The director put down the phone and looked around the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are in a crisis mode. You know what to do."

Over an hour later, the pilot was captured. Unable to down his pill before his capture, he was now in the worst scenario of his life. He was captured, behind enemy lines, and he knew he had been disavowed. He was either going to be executed or held forever, either way torture was definitely involved.

Minsk
When they arrived in Minsk the president, Alexsandr Lukashenko, was waiting. "What has happened?" He asked.

"This man," the commander of the search party pointed to the pilot, "Was flying a high-altitude aircraft when we picked him up on radar, we then fired a series of missiles which shot down his aircraft, he ejected, we found him a couple hours later, heading toward Ukraine."

Alexsandr Lukashenko spoke in perfect English to the pilot, "Where are you from?" If the pilot did not respond he would have translators ask in every main language, if he didn't respond then, he would be tortured until he responded. But if he didn't respond then Alexsandr would hold an international meeting, asking who sent the aircraft, and for what reason. Any foreign military's aircraft flying over Bull Hornia was a breach of security, so this would not be taken lightly.

Major Harris knew that he was cooked. His trained would kick in now and he remembered the weeks and weeks he spent in interrogation training. All in all, he spent six months there. Normal pilots spent just two but since he was reconnaissance, he would be there longer. The risk of his capture was greater and the chances of his rescue were less. Training. He thought as he stared straight ahead, silent. His eyes locked onto a spot on the wall and he let his mind go blank. He listened but he did not speak and neither would he. Nothing they could tell him was the truth and nothing they could tell him could get him out of the situation. His fate was sealed and now only he could determine how it went.

"If you tell us your name and country of origin we will release you with no penalty whatsoever." This was a lie, it was supposed to tempt the pilot into telling them all that he knew. They were going to publicly execute him anyway, by firing squad for breaching national security.

The pilot sat quiet and still. He would endure the pain and the beatings, whatever torture they could deal, and whatever suffering they would bestow upon him. He wasn't going to give away anything, he had been trained too highly for that and he knew that, as he stonewalled his captors, an Air Force officer and priest were telling his widow how he bravely died in a training accident somewhere over the North Atlantic Ocean. His body would be, unfortunately, not recovered. Regardless, that was about all that would come for him and his family would be supported well by an Air Force fund that was more than classified.

.:. bumpification .:.

A man picked up a telephone, he dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up, "Hello, Layartebian Ministry of Foreign Affairs." a voice said, it was a young lady, in her mid 20's, she was a secretary for the Layartebian Ministry of Foreign Affaira. The man said, "I am Vladimir Baltzar, leader of the Bull Hornian people and I am calling with an offer."

It was a while before the phone call could be authenticated as originating from the state of Bull Horns Rule but, even there, there was no guarantee that who spoke was really who they said they were. It was decided that, because of this uncertainty, the call was moved to a low-level director in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Since authentication could not be had, there was no real urgency. The Empire had no embassy in Bull Horns Rule but there were ones in neighboring states, such as Cotland that could be used as an intermediary. "Sir. This is Frank O'Connor, Director of International Affairs, Eastern European Division. How may I help you today? You say you have some sort of offer for us?"

"This is Vladimir Baltzar, we have a pilot, which we believe to be yours die to the technologically advanced aircraft he was flying. We then shot him down and tracked and captured him. The pilot also spoke with a southern accent, leading us to believe he is Layartebian. So, now I present you with my offer. The pilot, is yours, no questions asked, and we receive your trust. Is it a deal?"

"Sir. I am afraid that we are not missing any pilot. Such a matter is a topic for discussion with the Ministry of Defense but surely the Empire is not in the business of spying on other countries. Vladimir Baltzar, if you are who you claim to be, we must be able to authenticate this. So far we have not been successful in authenticating your authenticity. Should this be doable, I would gladly pass you on to the Minister of Foreign Affairs as, if you are who you said you are, you certainly deserve no less than our Minister of Foreign Affairs."

"Damnit! I am a fucking leader of a fucking country! I will take a private jet with my own security force and fly into Layarteb tomorrow with the pilot. We will work out details tomorrow!" He slammed the phone down, "Bastards."

"Sir? Sir?" Frank O'Connor put the phone down and looked around the office. He laughed. Surely the Empire had no downed aircraft or missing pilots. He didn't have to be in the Ministry of Defense to know that but he also knew that, regardless, he should at least file a report and pass it on to the uppers of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He knew one thing though, if the caller was whoever he said he was, he would be in trouble if he attempted just to land in the Empire. He would need clearance from the air control network and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would be the only ones who could let him exit the terminal. Despite being a foreign leader, certain authentications and arrangements still had to be made. If he attempted simply to enter Layartebian airspace without advanced warning, he could find himself looking at a pair of Layartebian interceptors with orders to divert or shoot him down.

The plane was hundreds of miles away from Layartebian airspace, Vlad pulled out a satellite phone, first he called the Layartebian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he explained the situation and asked for permission to land at the nearest airport.

Still, with no way to authenticate the identity of Vladimir Baltzar, such conditions could not be simply granted. Instead, air traffic control provided a corridor and permission for the airliner to land at Layarteb City International Airport under several restrictions. First and foremost, once the airliner reached Layartebian airspace, 24 nautical miles from the shore, a pair of F-26A Typhoon fighters from the 102nd Air Defense Squadron at Suffolk County Air Force Base, Westhampton, New York, would fly to intercept and escort the aircraft to the airport. Once down, Layartebian police would hold the aircraft at a secure location away from the rest of the traffic until the identity of Vladimir Baltzar could be verified.

The private jet flew until the two jets had reached it, it was then escorted to the Layarteb City International Airport, the squeak of the tires hitting the runway sounded like music to Vladimir.

Policemen stood guard outside of the secluded, secure hangar at Layartebian City IAP while Vladimir Baltzar deboarded and spoke with the various associates of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Finally, after a half hour, Vladimir Baltzar was authenticated as who he said he was. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, who happened to be on scene as well smiled and approached the man. "I apologize for the procedures and the past twenty-four hours but without proper authentication, we cannot simply know who we are dealing with as a man of your stature should understand. What may I ask is the meaning of your visit here? You have told my associates of some deal and a pilot? I can assure you that, should you have a downed aircraft and pilot, he would most certainly not be Layartebian, nor would any aircraft."

"I understand fully. But we have reason to believe that the pilot is yours. The RADAR signature looked a lot like a Layartebian Spyplane and the pilot talks in English with a southern Layartebian accent. Regardless of if he is Layartebian or not he has been given as a gift to the prosperous nation of Layarteb."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs laughed, "Mr. Baltzar I am not expert on radar signatures. I was a corpsman in the army when I served but I do know that Layartebian spy planes are classified to the highest order. I do not know what their radar signatures look like and I find it difficult that anyone else does save for the pilots and the uppers of the Defense Ministry. It is probable our Emperor doesn't even know them.

"English is also a common language in the world. Billions of people speak it and feigning an accent is not an issue," the Minister of Foreign Affairs ended his sentence with an Irish accent. "Most people can do it," he finished. "Come. Would you like to meet with the Minister of Defense concerning this matter?"

"That sounds perfectly fine to me, would you like to take custody of the pilot, he no longer is worth anything to Bull Hornia."

"Mr. Baltzar, I am afraid I have no authority to do such thing without first consulting the Cabinet of the Empire but I will bring this about to them." A half hour later, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Vladimir Baltzar were seated inside of a secure conference room in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a magnificently large building on the Lower East Side of Manhattan Island that was now flying not only the flag of the Empire but also of Bull Horns Rule, a respect given to any foreign head of state or delegation team that was meeting there.

The Minister of Defense had arrived too, along with a small party of aides to both. "Mr. Baltzar, it is a welcomed surprise to have you here with us today. You have informed my colleagues of the downing of a Layartebian spy plane and a captured pilot? I can assure you Mr. Baltzar, there are no Layartebian spy planes missing nor have there been any flying over your territory but do proceed please.

"Would you agree to handing the pilot over to us as an intermediary? Perhaps it would be worth it for us to find the owner and save your country the stress of such an endeavor?"

Vladimir explained the whole story, he had a set of notes from eyewitnesses. He then thanked the representatives of the Empire of Layarteb for their time, he added on, "It would be fine with me if you took him as an intermediary." He suspected that he was Layartebian and that their story was merely a cover up, but he said nothing.

"While I cannot say your story is not convincing and compelling I simply know for a fact that this pilot and aircraft are not from the Empire. I am pleased though that you have sought a peaceful solution. Do you wish for the Empire to inform you of his true identity when we find out ourselves? In addition, what have you of the aircraft, perhaps we could obtain some elements for research?" The Minister of Defense asked with a smile.

Vladimir knew the game the man was playing, and he didn't find it funny. "I wish to know of the pilot's origin. The plane was struck with a missile, the pilot ejected, and it blew to pieces."

"Most unfortunate. I'm sure we could have learned something of the technology this aircraft used. Very well. I shall speak to the Cabinet and the Emperor. Should they agree to and find it a proper avenue, we shall undertake this responsibility and, of course, return our findings to you." The Minister of Defense added.

"Is there anything else you wish to discuss? What of the matters of your internal strife? Where do the Bull Hornians stand? What can the Empire do and where can we stand?" The Minister of Foreign Affairs added quickly.

"Nothing has really happened within Bull Hornia since the revolution, our military is in great need of reorganization though. Our country has kept our revolution pretty well secret. A small group of revolutionaries infested the capital and exterminated all government officials. Then they seized control of the military and put me in control of Bull Hornia because they desired a more democratic government. I made it a democracy and we are still in need of military reorganization."

OOC: Dude go into some detail on your revolution so I know what's what. Give me some sort of synopsis of it, what happened, etc. One liners kill an RP dude.

OOC: Updated...

"I understand. We have been carefully watching the developments and we applaud this move to democracy. Socialism is never a good course of action. The Empire itself cannot support such governments. Perhaps we can move together to create international relations between our two states. We could even, possibly, assist with this military reorganization you so desire." The two Ministers nodded, approving the suggestion.

"Thank you for your offer, we need all the help we can get. As for the relations, that is another great idea. Maybe our two great nations could form an alliance."

OOC: This is going along with what you said earlier, something about creating some anti-something alliance.

"The biggest questions we have concern your future. What future does Bull Horns Rule have? Secondly, what benefit could the Empire have from a future alliance with your country? You see, the Empire has much to offer in the way of economics, influence, et cetera." The Foreign Minister continued.

"We are currently working on new laws that would help improve the economy of Bull Horns Rule. Especially the defense industry, mainly because we are overhauling our military." Vladimir proceed to say.

"Naturally you must realize that the Empire cannot support or endorse any sort of unstable government that is only set to be overrun by radicals. You must understand our hesitation here in these matters. A further issue comes in that you are a landlocked country and your exports and imports are very limited. Perhaps these are issues that will resolve themselves with time. A bigger issue lies to your south, in Ukraine. As you are aware, the Nerotikans have expanded to said state. We are interested to hear your position on this matter?"

"I understand the challenges we face. I believe that the Nerotikans should release their hold on Ukraine and return it to it's former government."

"That is an admirable feeling and one that the Empire certainly agrees with across the board. Perhaps the nation of Bull Horns Rule and the Empire have something in common. Would you permit me to raise these ideas at our next Cabinet meeting? Should they be approved, we can continue based on their decision." The Minister of Foreign Affairs said with a smirk, knowing now that the Empire could, theoretically, box in the Nerotikans.

"Sure, we can offer assistance after we rebuild our military. It will probably take 2 to 3 months to rebuild and then we could offer assistance as needed."

"Most excellent I will return the decision of the Cabinet personally. Please, enjoy your stay here in the Empire and I will have an escort for you to show you whatever you wish to see within our great Empire and city as well as to escort you back to the airport when you decide to leave. I hope this is acceptable?"

"Yes, perfectly acceptable, I would like to be a 'tourist' for a day and then return home. May the future be prosperous. Thanks for everything."

With that the meeting was adjourned. The Bull Hornian leadership would be escorted around the city via ferry, helicopter, or limousine, depending on their tastes by two aides, one of them Josh Hammond, a young analyst with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs who was a journalist intern prior to coming to the Ministry and also by Jamie Preston, a low-level supervisor within the Ministry.

When the Minister of Foreign Affairs returned his reply several days later, it was an overall positive one. The Empire would assist the Bull Hornian people get on their feet with international aide, a coveted item from the Empire as well as contracts through the Layartebian Defense Corporation for military restructuring, advisers for the establishment of stable government and economy, and so on and so fourth.