NationStates Jolt Archive


A Successful Armed Struggle from Tyranny, or Out of the Fire and into the Flames?

Greater Guyana
27-06-2008, 16:39
[OOC: Hello! The player behind the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg gave me permission to role-play this puppet account, and helped type up this joint opening post (specifically, the parts beyond the first bolded part and before the announcement by the Grand Ducal Decree), so thanks VL! Participating in this play include the player behind Southeast Asia (with I controlling the Greater Guyanan Dominion), the player behind the newly risen Imperial Federated States of Romandeos, with the IFSR hungry for empire, and the player behind the Most Serene Imperium of Izistan—with the Izistani Imperium being covertly involved (read: Secret IC) with the Greater Guyanan Dominion in hopes of economic returns and a prosperous long-term future. This conflict is *closed* to all entities not crucially involved. Naturally, this conflict which will deem the fate of the island and geopolitical consequences beyond it’s fate...without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, get ready to RUUUMMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLEEEE!]

A Successful Struggle from Tyranny, or Out of the Frying Pan and into the Flames?

Somewhere in Van Luxemburg, near Guyana...
Circa 2008 CE...

It shall be any moment now. was the sole thought of a well-built, man of late middle age, alone in his office.

Months and years of planning had lead to this. At long last, the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg’s grasp on Guyana would be unhinged. The Guyanan Liberation Movement might not have been successful, at least for the many many times it tried, but now it would. Planning and scheming, even more elaborate constructions and reservations, were all employed over the course of months now. Social protests and what not were slowly undermining the Van Luxemburgian general populace’s belief that they should be keeping the island. The legislature of their unbearable dominator would at last lose political self-consciousness, disregarding reputation for practicality. This would give rise to the birth of a new nation.

Thierry Karbel is a complete nincompoop who fortunately I won’t have to worry about. thought the man with contempt. He was glad that Karbel was nowhere to interfere with his plans—the leader of the short-lived People’s Republic of Guyana Island, whose bumbling arrogance and outmoded political doctrine cost the sovereignty of the island. Then again, I dislike miscommunication...there were things in that plan that went horribly wrong thanks to that. Thankfully, Project Ultimate Arc is fully in fruitition, thanks to a network of funders which the intelligence services of the Grand Duchy never quite smashed.

The man was lying in a chair flat in his office. It was the sort of chair that you would expect in a psychiatrist’s office, designed for one to recline. Hell, Thierry Karbel isn’t in existence anymore...I had to rid of that blasted idiot for sure, and I don’t regret sending his vessel to the bottom of the Seven Seas. Still, there are members within the Guyanan Liberation Movement that agree with his defunct school of thought...no matter.

Getting up from the chair, there was a 15-inch screen laptop computer sitting on a mahogany desk. He put his buttocks on a different chair, meant for this mahogany desk. The chair was leather and capable of reclining. The man seemed content, confident, disciplined. It’s a good thing to be the Boss. he thought; had one heard him one would notice a degree of superciliousness.

The Boss then reached for the wireless mouse, smiling briefly at the beautiful screensaver of a butterfly dancing in a perfect sunny day, with clear blue skies, and cool breezes. The Boss’s hand paused, hovering over the mouse to admire the screensaver. It was a photograph taken on the island of Guyana. How beautiful my homeland is, he thought, and how beautiful is it of me to finally realize evolving economic philosophy...much bounty lies on my oppressed land and people, in resources.

His hand fell on the wireless mouse. The screensaver faded. It revealed an Adobe PDF file, encrypted and transmitted through the tightest and securest of communications. The document, had a picture of the DR-83 Tactical Assault Rifle (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=10318644&postcount=1).

Boulevard 5. Mee 1945, Residence du Premier, Luxembourg

Despite the fact the Premier’s Residence was a tiny palace; it was in an ideal position for the Grand Duchy’s head of government for the coming four years. Located right next to the Ministry of General Affairs, protected by Marechaussee troops and a thought-out security system, he or she would have nothing to fear from the outside, save from some uncalculated risks in times of peace. On the other side of the Boulevard 5, Mee 1945 was the Ministry of General Affairs, a building constructed in the same style as the Premier’s Residence. In the distance, one could see either the legislative complex or the Grand-Ducal Palace, depending on which direction one looked.

Within his spacious executive office, Premier Nicolas Hirtz was seemingly at work as usual. He sent mails, read his own, met with people that he had appointments with, and met with his cabinet. Nothing special, you would expect, but this day was a little bit different. He had a meeting with the Guyana Committee, an investigation group formed within the Ministry of General Affairs to solve the problems the Grand Duchy currently had with it’s first and foremost colony. Outside his office, three officials of the research unit sat on comfortable chairs, each taking small sips from a cup of coffee. When the Premier welcomed them in, the three individuals put their cups down and respectfully rose from their chairs; each of them nodding quickly and entering the office for three chairs arranged for them. There was no need to introduce their persons for all were already acquainted with one another.

“Gentlemen, sit down, please. I see you already had your coffee. Then I suggest we get to the essence of this visit, your recommendation for our colony.” Premier Hirtz said, as he gestured towards the chairs, and sat down on a modest office chair himself.

“Well, sir...” Wilhelm Amsel, the older, blue-suited, blonde-haired man in the middle spoke, “my colleagues and I have one recommendation. After careful research, visits to the island...”

“Yes, yes, I believe all that. Just get to the core straightaway, please.” The Premier interrupted, somewhat agitated.

“No matter what we invest in the island with our current policies, we will not be able to keep it under our full control anymore. Sending the Grand Ducal Army will not solve the problem and will only lead to unneeded casualties. We recommend selling off the island, regardless of price.” The younger, brown-haired, lavender-suited man called Alessandro Kaelin spoke while not moving any other muscle; supporting the notion the Grand Duchy should abandon Guyana Island.

“I see your point, gentlemen, but will you understand that this will be very hard to get through the second chamber? It is very hard, if not impossible.” Premier Hirtz said, somewhat concerned.

“We have thought about that too.” Mr. Amsel spoke, “We would want to recommend you to go to the Grand Duke, and let him draft it through the first chamber. It will have a greater chance of success. We also would like to advise you to gift it to one of our close friends. After a careful selection programme, we have concluded that our best option would be Romandeos …and as you know, a revolution has undergone Romandeos, but that is not our concern.”

‘I will speak to the Grand Duke about this matter. In fact, I will do that immediately. The only problem is that he is near Venezia at the moment, but I will try to reach him.’ Hirtz said, as he rose from his seat and opened the door of his office to let the committee members out.

“Please do it in person. There will be a better chance of success.” said the middle-aged, orange-haired, gray-suited, black-tied Adelbert Lafranchi as he and the rest of the Guyana Committee walked out the door.

“I will, gentlemen. Goodbye.” The Premier assured them as he closed the door. He sighed, and then moved on to the telephone to make sure the governmental Gulfstream jet, acquired for domestic flights, was ready at Luxembourg-Findel.

Moiano, Venezia, Arvaglio

The sounds of roaring automobile engines filled the air as several black, camouflaged cars whizzed past over the banked track of the Moiano circuit. This could all be heard from the entrance of the national motorsport track, which also functioned as the prime test location for Monteluci and Lepanto automobiles.

As Premier Hirtz’s Duca slowly made its way towards the entrance of the main building, another set of cars catapulted past over the track, leaving their engine notes echoing around again. As the Monteluci slowly halted at the main entrance, the door was opened by a single Marechaussee, who was serving as a guard to the Grand Duke. As the Van Luxemburgian Premier quickly thanked the guard, he walked on and entered the building. He then was keen on taking the lift to the top floor, but had to wait until it had reached the ground floor first. As the lift doors opened, Premier Hirtz quickly stepped inside, pressed the button for the top floor, and watched the doors close. He felt the lift ascending quickly, reaching the top floor in a matter of seconds. As he exited the lift, he greeted the Marechaussee guard standing next to the lift. The guard saluted back in a military fashion, before returning to his original stance.

“Premier Hirtz? What are you doing here?” The voice sounded through the room that offered a view of the track. It belonged to the Grand Duke, who looked curiously at the person who had just entered.

“I…need to talk with you, sir, in private.” said Premier Hirtz as he looked around the room, motioning towards the door as he looked towards individuals other than the Grand Duke. As they all left, without saying a word, the Premier closed the door and locked it. He then sat down at the same table the Grand Duke sat, and began speaking.

“I just had a conversation with Messrs Amsel, Kaelin, and Lafranchi of the Guyana Committee. I came straight down here to tell you the result, as it is quite…unconventional.” He paused for a moment before continuing.

“They advise us to give up Guyana, preferably to an ally like the newly rechristened ‘Imperial Federated States of Romandeos’.” Hirtz said swiftly.

The Grand Duke sat motionless for a moment, processing what the Premier had told him and the Committee’s findings. The Premier continued his explanation.

“It would really be the best decision. If we continue holding Guyana Island to ourselves, it will cost us billions of euros. The majority of both the First and Second Chambers would be in favour of the decision…the general Van Luxemburgian populace is finally in unanimous agreement due to exhausted patience; we have little to worry about reputation. You only have to say yes, before we can make it an official Grand-Ducal Decree.”

The Grand Duke answered with a nod of his head before speaking.

“Very well, it shall be a decree. We currently have other things on our mind than trying to control a small island that has its own ideas.”

Premier Hirtz nodded in agreement, before he rose from his seat and walked out the door, revealing the lift doors with the nearby Marechaussee guard at the ready. The Grand Duke of Van Luxemburg watched on his colleague took the lift, and the doors closed behind Premier Nicolas Hirtz. The Grand Duke would then have the individuals who left the Premier and him alone return to continue watching the track.

A few days later…
Moiano, Venezia, Arvaglio

It would be earth-shattering news for the residents of the cities of the island, and to nations which maintained a relationship with the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg. It would have been received over the airwaves of the Romandeosian Transnational Radio Network, the international news radio channel which was under the jurisdiction of Channel NewsAsia, in the Federal Kingdom of Triancia’s media services, and elsewhere. For the mysterious man, he knew that the time was ecstatic for the people of Guyana Island. Thankfully for a certain individual, the masses were not violent, but one could easily sense the animosity beneath the blanket of tranquillity that marked the civil celebrations on the island. All over the island, Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg read out his Decree, over the radio, television, and the Internet.

Official Televised Statement by Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg
http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b76/VanLuxemburg/Headers/GDHeader.png

Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg: Having passed through the First and Second Chambers of our legislature, here today at this humble town, I read out to you my Grand-Ducal Decree regarding the fate of Guyana Island.




WHEREAS, the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg has provided the people of Guyana Island by investing millions of Euros for human development;

WHEREAS, the populace of Guyana Island still resent the leadership of Van Luxemburg despite the offerings of help;
WHEREAS, the resentment were to build up due to a Van Luxemburgian military, economic, and political presence;

WHEREAS, the presence of all three of these factors were to be mitigated or removed altogether, bloodshed for both the people of the Grand Duchy and the people of Guyana Island could be avoided under a colonial Guyana;

WHEREAS, the great likelihood of power vacuum on Guyana Island would lead to unnecessary problems due to the removal of such presences and possibly conflict yet again as seen in the year 2006;

WHEREAS, the Guyana Commission created by the Ministry of General Affairs recommends selling the island;

WHEREAS, the Imperial Romandeosian Government wishes to acquire Guyana Island for a sum of VL€15,000,000,000;

WHEREAS, the findings of the Guyana Commission of the Ministry of General Affairs support the best scenario of certain departure, with the likelihood of collapse of order, and the Imperial Romandeosian Government’s interests in acquiring Guyana;

WHEREAS, a provisional/transitional government shall be established, a Guyana Interim Administrative Institution for the continuation of stability and maintaining other services (like the civil service);

TO BE RESOLVED; for a sum of VL€15,000,000,000, in the interests of triple party benefit in overall welfare, the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg formally allows the transfer of sovereignty over Guyana Island to the Imperial Federated States of Romandeos.


Submitted by:
Koen van Luxemburg
Grand Duke of the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg
June 27, 2008

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and farewell.

End Speech


In the living room of the house of the Boss…

Ah shit. was the thought of the Boss as he glared at the plasma television screen with a look that showed how half-surprised he was. Why didn’t I quite plan for this?

He should have known that the now former overlord of the island, the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg would have pulled something off like this. Although their master had lost patience it was evident that they remembered the actions of a certain foolish communist warlord. 15,000,000,000 in Van Luxemburgian euros! Jesus Christ, it seems this newly ascendant power is very much ready to throw the monkey-wrench…

He was watching the Van Luxemburgian state-sponsored news channel, seeing the Grand Duke get flooded by flashing cameras and nosy reporters, all of which the Grand Duke declined. The head-of-state entered a VLT L7, which was then swiftly driven away. The reading of the decree had commenced at Moiano, Venezia, Arvaglio, far away from the capital of Luxembourg. Perhaps the reading of the decree had to do with political symbolism. Perhaps it had to do with diverting attention to a friendlier Van Luxemburgian image, for one to smile at the fine roadwork and automotive design. But whatever the case, it was clear that the Grand Duchy received a handsome bag of dough, and it was notable that the growing Romandeosian power was up for the task.

It is doubtless the Van Luxemburgians will arrange for a small armed force under the control of the Guyana Interim Administrative Institution to maintain their criminal order until the Romandeosian menace’s arrival. thought the Boss as he pressed the “Off” button on the television remote control. He then left for his working office, the laptop screen closed; the computer hibernated.

He lifted the screen up, revealing a pair of e-mail alerts. “The longer we make them take,” he said with a wry grin, looking at the attachments in the e-mail messages, one containing a helicopter and one containing a light battle tank; each message also having what looked like an accounting fee. “the longer it takes!”
Romandeos
02-07-2008, 07:39
OOC:

Not as good as I'd wanted to make it, but it's taken too long already, and I'm not in the mood to keep everybody waiting.

IC:

Imperial Palace Complex, Monarch’s Residence
Within Days of the Grand Duke’s Announcement

Empress Taunja sat at the head of the table in a private dining room.

“Gentlemen, this is an excellent development. Excellent! Now that the legal work is done it is only necessary to reach out and make Guyana ours in fact, as well as in theory. When it has finally been secured, we will be on the way to truly global recognition.”

Men and women seated around the table nodded in agreement. Most wore uniforms, were high ranking officers in the Imperial Armed Forces. Despite the generally positive reply a lot of the nodding was hesitant, and nervous.

Especially that of one man, seated at the table’s end opposite the Empress.

“General Yeakel.” The monarch looked down the table at the person. “You are uneasy?”

General Edward Yeakel, the one chosen by the Empress personally to lead the expedition into Guyana stirred some of the food on his plate before setting down his fork and raising his head to look at Taunja. Yeakel was one of the Army’s more old school officers whose high rank had been given him before the Generation Disease spread and the massive raise in force size which the Armed Forces had undergone just afterwards. Because of this fact, he was among the oldest generals still serving in the Army, in his early sixties. Even so, it had actually been his age-and time in service-which led the Empress to choose him over a huge stable of younger, more recently promoted officers. Taunja had wanted to have such important work handled by a capable, experienced person.

“I will confess to a certain degree of unease Majesty,” he replied. “Guyana is legally ours now, but we must still make it so in fact, and given the harsh mindset of the locals getting it done might prove somewhat…difficult.”

“I don’t see how you can say that.” That was Vice Admiral Serena Benson, the person the Empress had assigned to command all the expedition’s navy forces. “We know they don’t have much in the way of conventional military forces, and most of what they do have and keep ready to fight is seriously outdated. The local administration is loyal to us, and holds in its possession all the large cities, and most of the island’s infrastructure.”

Yeakel looked at her, bit back a sharp reply. As well as his navy commander, Benson was his named overall second in command. If things were to go smoothly, then he would need her to have a good working relationship with him.

“The local administration is a caretaking government. It isn’t really loyal to us. It is doing its assigned job left to it by the Grand Duchy, that’s it. This also raises a question. Once it has served its purpose and we have arrived, what do we do with the GIAI?”

“We can integrate the most capable personnel into our own local administration,” said the Empress. “The rest will be given a pat on the back and allowed to do as they like.”

Nods around the table greeted this statement. Use the best, drop the rest.

“I see,” said Yeakel. “Regarding the fact that the GIAI holds all the cities and the like, the likeliest reality is that they do maintain civic authority, but, we have yet to see them when insurgent forces make any concentrated effort against them.”

“What insurgent forces?” Benson interrupted. “Any rebels on Guyana are focused mainly in opposition to the Grand Duchy, which is now gone, and even those are disorganized, at least on an island-wide scale. Most of them will see they have no cause to fight us and the large part of them will probably just lay down their weapons and go back home.”

“I find this excessive optimism distressing,” commented Yeakel. “Going into a fight with ideas of certain victory is terribly dangerous.”

“So is going in expecting defeat.” That was another officer whose name Yeakel could not immediately recall.

“I do not expect defeat,” he all but snapped in reply. “I merely recognize it is possible and keep my mind open to all scenarios, even the unpleasant ones.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Taunja’s sharp intrusion cut short a reply from Benson. “We are in the same team. I should not have to remind you.”

No response came, so the Empress continued.

“General Yeakel and Admiral Benson both have valid points. There will most likely be at least some active resistance present on the island. However some of them will doubtlessly hesitate to fight us, for many causes. Some will have been fighting because they hated the local Van Luxemburg-supported administration. When we arrive, they might not resist us in the same way. Others will just be sick of the fighting.”

For a moment she paused, letting the words sink in some.

“It would be silly, however,” she continued “to assume that local warlords and insurgents in Guyana will simply pack up and go home universally. Many of them fight for an island ruled by the local population. Many of these will likely fight us.”

Nods came again in response.

“For this reason,” she continued. “I have approved a request from General Yeakel to send in a reconnaissance mission of Dragoons. The purpose of this mission will be to help with identifying those elements of the local population most likely to resist us actively. Once it is completed the data from this mission will be used to decide how we proceed from there in the pursuit of our overall goals.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Yeakel had submitted that request just that morning and was hoping to use it to gain more knowledge of the intended landing area.

From there, the meeting went fairly smooth. Assignments were discussed, and last minute ideas for changes to the plan talked through. The assault landing would be postponed, and in advance of the main landings a force of Romandeos’s elite, Dragoons, would be landed in the vicinity of Port Boukhari, the target of the main landings.

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

HRMS Beaconsfield, offshore from Guyana

Guyana – a fetid, sweltering jungle Hell, surrounded by ocean. At least, that was what the intelligence analysts had said about it. Commander Charles W. Salvaggio decided, gazing intently through a periscope, that he would have to agree, much as he hated spooks. It had little in the way of redeeming qualities so far, according to the reports. The warlords there had ruined the island, wasting the plentiful resources in perpetual combat, each one trying hard to gain control of a place none of them deserved. There were reports of children who had been forced to fight as young as fourteen years old, innocent women raped, men slain if they refused to support the local faction, and so forth. It was enough to make even folks like the Romandeosians, fairly tough and strong, cringe.

“I’m beginning to pity you already, Major Barnett,” he said to the man standing with him.

“Nobody said it would be a pleasure cruise, sir.” Major Jasper Barnett, the Special Forces man whose team was assigned to this mission grinned in the fashion which Salvaggio had learned meant he was nervous but had no desire to confess it.

“Well,” he said. “Let’s get this done with, shall we?” He stepped back from the periscope in a single motion and signaled that it should be lowered. Then, signaling Barnett to come he moved swiftly forward through the Navarre-class boat. In a few moments the two men had reached the torpedo room within the submarine’s nose. Waiting inside were the seven men and women who Barnett had chosen to bring with him on this mission, as well as the men who crewed the torpedo room that shift.

“Major,” said Salvaggio. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, but, the time has arrived in this mission for us to part ways. I wish you and your Team luck.”

“Thank you, Captain Salvaggio, and I hope to see you again.” Barnett turned to his Team, looking at them silently a moment before speaking.

“Right then, ladies,” he began.

“Sir!” responded the three members of his Team who actually were ladies.

“We’re going ashore in thirty minutes,” he continued. “Everybody make final preparation in that time and be ready when the deadline comes up.”

“Yes sir!” was the reply chorused by the Team.

Barnett and his fellow Dragoon Operators spent the next thirty minutes checking gear and looking through pictures and family letters which they would have to leave behind aboard in order to make identifying them as difficult as possible.

35 Minutes Later…

Even with all his training, Barnett still often found swimming in full kit, as well as diving kit, very difficult. He always felt like he was moving too slow. It didn’t help that he was a handler for the underwater ‘sled’ which carried some of the Team’s heaviest equipment, a light black frame with small motors on it, carrying several watertight canisters.

He looked around himself, first at the Operator on the sled’s opposite side, helping him as he moved it along. The rest had taken up a flanking position, three to each side swimming in formation. Each one was loaded down with diving gear, and sealed person kit.

In this way, Barnett and his men swam ashore on Guyana many miles from Port Boukhari in the dead of night, on a lonely, narrow beach. Moving quickly, they removed equipment loaded on the sled and buried the diving gear, before moving out. They would start inland in keeping with the orders given to them. Along the way, they would contact more Teams landed along the southern beaches, forty Operators in total.

In this secret and highly concealed action was made the first move in a grand chess game, liable to last longer, and cost more than any of the players could have ever foreseen.
Izistan
20-07-2008, 05:35
The air of the dusty warehouse was thick with the petrochemical stench of cosmoline as DR-83’s, fresh from the surplus depots of various Havenic armories, were unpacked and cleaned by teams of nameless and faceless men; men from the Strategic Technical Services Agency. Men who were not afraid of getting their hands dirty – but literally and figuratively.

Detective-General Akardy moved among the men, studying the cleaned rifles. Some showed evidence of use, but most were in pristine condition, metal parts gleaming in a bed of foam and wood. Soon they would be shipped out with a collection of other “tools” destined for Guyana. Then he could relax his role in this madness over with, and he could go back to counting planes on satellite imagery.

One of the loading bay doors creaked open as a armored truck backed in. The rear doors were flung opened and two armed guards jumped out.

“Hurry it up! The boat leaves in two hours and we gotta be outta here in thirty minutes to make the deadline!” One of them shouted as he grabbed a “processed” rifle case and started stacking them in the back.

“Alright alright.” Akardy directed some of his men to start packing up the rifles and move them into the truck. At least they’d gotten the cosmoline off them…
Greater Guyana
14-08-2008, 06:03
Contrary to what the Romandeosians might have read about the island, the Van Luxemburgian-sponsored reconstruction programme did have some good. Urbanisation saw to better economic standards through increased sanitation, the development of other firms that were of the tertiary kind instead of primary and secondary kinds. Perhaps the Romandeosians had acquired documents which might have been a little bit out of date. Perhaps the Romandeosians underwent an act of hubris. But whatever the case, the Imperial Romandeosian Government and it’s subjects found out easily that the Guyanans were indeed glad that the Van Luxemburgian authority was leaving…

In Port Boukhari…

“VICTORY FOR FREEDOM!” cheered one of the many individuals that composed the gleeful mass of Guyanans.

The taste of victory was sweet. For the Van Luxemburgians, it could be noticed as the Leopard 2A6 main battle tanks, a sense of defeat and a sense of betrayal. A sense of defeat for they failed to accomplish their task in spite of their utmost benevolence; a sense of betrayal for the government not letting them finish the job. But whatever the case, the Van Luxemburgian government wanted them out.

So did the majority of the Guyanan populace, their glee being displayed in a variety of ways. Some people burned flags of the Grand Duchy. Others chucked garbage at effigies of Grand Duke Koen van Luxemburg’s head strapped to the body of an octopus. Others waved flags of the defunct People’s Republic of Guyana Island, composed of a yellow-coloured hammer and sickle in the centre with confident red surrounding it.

“DOWN WITH VAN LUXEMBURGIAN RULE!” yelled somebody, who then promptly chucked a few eggs at a Leopard 2A6 as it made its way to the naval base for departure on some landing ship. It would be an amusing sight as the tank rolled its way into the base.

That somebody was not alone in the task. Elsewhere, occasionally some people pelted garbage at Van Luxemburgian soldiers, who took utmost restraint not to pull a stupid maneuver. All over the island, the Van Luxemburgian armed forces were making their move to leave the island, and other things.

Other things that would involve a certain Mr. Armand Chevalier…

In the Secretariat of the Chief Administrative Building, Complex of the Guyana Interim Administrative Institution, Port Boukhari…

“Armand Chevalier is the Secretary-General of the Guyana Transitory State.”

Those were the words that cast Monsieur Chevalier into his executive position. The retired Reebouwuecht Colonel had been elected to the Department of Society in the Van Luxemburgian region of Levallois-Perret. The now former Regional Councilor for Society spent the past three-plus decades of his life in the Van Luxemburger armed services, eventually climbing to the Grand Duchy’s fabled Reebouweucht—or in English, “Rainbow Force”. His time as a Regional Councilor for Society, due to his judgement, ability to govern, and to lead, brought on success in community-organising and better standards of respect and happiness.

It was for the qualities that endeared him, that led to his early promotion in the Reeobuweucht and him being hand-picked by the Guyana Commission (with whispers from the top echelons in the Government of the Grand Duchy playing a part). But it did not take a political analyst to tell that Mr. Chevalier and his appointed colleagues in the Guyana Interim Administrative Institution of the Guyana Transitory State would be fighting an uphill battle.

Resentment was clear. Mr. Chevalier might have had a degree of understanding of the Francisated culture due to his French heritage, but it was yet to be seen whether or not they would accept him as the executive caretaker of the island.

It’s going to be a long period until the Romandeosians arrive... Chevalier thought as he glanced as his speech note-cards and his schedule book.

Meanwhile, in Port Boukhari...

It’s not much of a flight, thought the Boss, so I really shouldn’t spoil myself, but I only do this rarely.

The Boss had taken a VL€1600 flight. By the pricing, it was quite expensive. But the clothes he wore didn’t betray the fact that he could afford such a flight. He was dressed relatively comfortably in an unassuming white-coloured polo and a pair of jeans, and his belt was a modest brand. Dark-skinned with dark brown hair, it was quite clear that the Boss, like a good number of other Guyanans, were of mixed ancestry—Western European features with the distinct native features of a local Guyanan. Due to his genetic background, he was only as tall as the average Westerner at a stature of five feet and ten inches, yet possessed a noticeably musculature on his body. To the casual eye, people would think he was a quiet man going about his business, but those who could tell knew that he was good at avoiding too much attention and suspicion.

Even the automobile which arrived was one that would not attract too much attention. It was a VLT L5, a common four-seat space wagon. Grey-coloured, it was secretly armoured with bulletproof windows, slightly tinted to protect one from the sun, and capable of moving at a pace which was swift and unsuspicious. The driver who exited quickly exchanged brief smiles and a handshake, and opened a backdoor for him. The Boss entered, and the door was closed for him by the driver.

As they drove away, the Boss turned to his right to the man next to him—the head of operations on Guyana.

“How did the delivery of products go?” asked the Boss.

“Well, we have a few hard copies of the documents required...our agents at the docks are reporting everything is going to plan.”

The Boss paused momentarily, thinking analytically with an aura of calmness. “Or so it seems.”

“Why do you ask, sir?” wondered the head of Guyana operations.

“Because you can’t be too careful,” came the response of the Boss, “the Romandeosians will take a while to arrive, but for now, the soon-to-be-extremely-temporary regime takes hold. Knowing the Van Luxemburgians, they left behind some loyalists to their imperial order that played a part in the downfall of the People’s Republic of Guyana.”

“True...the GIAI has its agents, so far we have evaded them.” commented the driver,

“Those aren’t the ones we really should actually worry about,” The Boss responded flatly, “it’s the agents of Romandeos. The Van Luxemburgian power’s puppet government left to care it’s job shall be brushed aside should everything go to plan. The matter is, I would like my colleague here to see to it that any foreign agents be terminated.”

“It shall be done,” responded the head of operations on Guyana, “and speaking of the order the Van Luxemburgians left behind, why not we take a laugh at the new fool doomed to rule over us?”

“That Chevalier person?” smiled the Boss snidely, “Though he may have proven himself in the past, I’m going to enjoy the comedy.”

With that, and the 8.8 inch television screens found on the backs of the front seat head-rests were turned on by the universal remote controller, which was taken out by the operations head from a compartment to his right. There would be sounds of laughter throughout the car.

* * *

Official Televised Statement by Armand Chevalier, Secretary-General of the Guyana Transitory State

Armand Chevalier: Greetings, residents of the Guyana Transitory State! The world exists in a time of change, and Guyana has yet again gone through that state of change. Human development on this island has increased, and will continue under this interim body’s existence. I speak before you all today not only as one of French heritage, but also as a human working for the common good.

This shall not be an easy endeavour. The Guyana Transitory State faces many challenges. Questions from those who doubt of the role of our institution arise, questions from those who seek to undermine us in our duties. Where the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg has left off, the Imperial Federated States of Romandeos brings this island a sense of resolution and power. Our French heritage shall be regarded with respect by this new ruler, and preserved. Unity is something which shall be brought under once we all recognise the new way forward for us, is with Romandeos.

As the opposed try and hack us and divide us into politicised violence, I send you all a message.

Guyanans are a mixed people, united in racial heritage and French culture.

In the northwest, you can find people who resemble the original natives of the island. In the southeast, you can find people that look like King Charlemagne. You can find animists in the east, and Christians in the west. One can find animists in the north, and Christians in the south. This is one people, all bound to the island, all united by the idea of Guyana!

*loud applause for Mr. Chevalier*

Let us all unite in the face of adversity, strengthen the role of this interim government in its defence of Guyana against the rebels who continue to divide us, and prepare for our stand as a people and welcome our new masters! Thank you ladies and gentlemen, and farewell!

* * * End Speech * * *

In docks around the island...

Scenes like this happened clandestinely. It was hours after Mr. Chevalier’s speech, late at night. It would be in a short while, that a man named LeBoissière would ascend to the national stage. A young man of eighteen years was hard at work here. It would not be too long before he himself participated in an uprising. The smell of cosmoline still lingered in the boxes. He smiled, with a torch in his left hand and his right hand lifting up the nail-void crate lid, he saw the DR-83 tactical assault rifles.

“Oh yes...” the young man grinned, “Chevalier will have no idea what hit him.”

Turning around, he tilted his thumb in the direction of the crates, indicating non-verbally that the goods were indeed there.
Romandeos
11-09-2008, 18:43
OOC:

I decided to cut my original planned post in half, posting two sections at a go.

Enjoy.

IC:

Imperial Palace, IFSR

It was not a tear-jerking speech, but it was good enough for the purpose, and, considering its origin, more than acceptable. It was broadcast recorded around Romandeos, but for the leaders of the IFSR it came several hours earlier, broadcasted live by special arrangement in order to keep them fully abreast of the developing situation. As the speech played out a highly trained MFA interpreter listened, repeating the entire speech in English.

Empress Taunja I watched in silence as the speech came to a finish, and listened to all the intense applause which followed that. She remained silent as she watched, sipping from a lightly smoking mug of coffee, her brown eyes locked on the television set. She said little in moments like this, preferring to watch her surroundings and act when she had gathered in as much information as possible. Even so, her stillness was disturbing. Around her, the ministers who comprised the Imperial Cabinet watched her as closely as they watched the live broadcast trying to spot any kind of action.

“Your Majesty?” one of them ventured as the broadcast ended.

“Good enough,” she said, seemingly to nobody specifically. She turned her eyes from the large-screen television and looked at the assembled officials. “It wasn’t perfect, but, what is, eh? I’ll have to make sure to make a speech myself, too, soon.”

“When do you think, Your Majesty?” That was Minister of Foreign Affairs Jamie Bladen inquiring. He was the nation’s top diplomat and would have a part to play in convincing a hostile local population in Guyana to submit to Imperial rule alongside Robin Wilcox, the highly capable but diplomatically inexperienced Interior Minister whose job would be the integration of the infrastructure in Guyana with Imperial Standard.

“I’d think shortly before the first occupation troops arrive,” was the reply. “Maybe a short little reply to what we just heard sooner, but any big reply should coincide with the troops landing, I think, for safety’s sake.”

“Keep as many people home and away from the landings as possible?” somebody asked.

“Exactly,” the Empress replied with a nod and a small smile.

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

Major Jasper Barnett had been marching and camping in the jungle of southern Guyana at least a week now. His mission was almost over, with just a few days left before the march had to be turned back to the southern coast and extraction.

His small column, just forty Operators, including himself, had consolidated just days in to its mission, and then marched as one body into the jungle. The main objective was simple in the extreme. They were to gauge local rebel forces for hostility to the IFSR and mark a list of any groups and individual personnel who should be dealt with when the main force landed. It was exactly the sort of job Dragoons were trained for, really.

It was also a dangerous job, one with two conflicting objectives. All forces and personnel likely to oppose the Empire were to be tracked down. At the same time they were to have little to no contact with the locals. These two conditions had made life interesting, but the men and women of the Dragoons thrived on interesting work.

Barnett and his men had spent the last few days mostly monitoring the small communities in the countryside where most rebel forces were likely to be concealed. Thus far, they had located almost no signs of enemy activities. Barnett was still sure something was up, even in the circumstances, and had insisted on using every moment possible to keep going.

His determination seemed to be wasted on this day however, as nothing was located, even in spite of the Dragoon’s best efforts. They made camp on a knoll surrounded by tall trees in addition to coverage of dense foliage, and settled in for the night. They lit no fires, kept heavily covered with IR shrouds and local plant life, and moved only when necessary.
Izistan
17-09-2008, 19:56
Battleford Harborfront.

"Excuse me sir, but uh, these are helicopters..."

Manfred, sometimes paid operative of Stragetic Technical Services, sometimes freelance smuggler was getting annoyed. Of all the customs agents he had to go and get stuck with the new guy on the job...

Time to apply a little authority.

"Now look here." Manfred almost tore his jacket in his rush to get his STS card out of his pocket. "See this? If I say they are specialized tree trimming machines, they god damn well are. Now get the fuck out of my way!"

The customs agent fled.

- - - - -

Obsidian Throne, ??? Izistan.

"This IS secure right?" Zedlacher was most annoyed by the insisant delays in setting the communications array up. "I was told it was secure..."
One of the technicians sighed. "Quantum secure sir. Man in the middle attacks scramble the information. We're remixing the laser on the moon, and uh, jesus sir, its a fuckin' laser beam. "

"Right, right." Zedlacher left the toiling experts to their task. "And what of General Andropov?"

"Here sir." A small man stepped out of an annex, his figure not calling to mind the deceased soviet premier, but another infamous fellow by the name of Yezhov...
Zedlacher toyed with the throne controls rather then answering, but a map of Guyana came up on the wall.

"Alright. So Popov will be handling the Marine landings, but I asked you here because I need someone with airborne experience commanding the dragoons. I remember how you managed to encircle the Vault in Athabasca, damn good show that was. You've been briefed have you not?"

Andropov shrugged. "You want me to lead a suicidal charge into a jungle populated by neo-Marxist rebels and those Romandeos chaps inbound. I'll do it, but I'd much rather be supporting the landings."

Zedlacher sighed. "I know its a lot to ask, but someone has to secure these sites. Last thing we need is vital infrastructure being blown up before we can secure them."

"There is a car out front General. It'll take you to IAF Baxter. We've been running training drops out north near the Hamptonians. Your command is waiting.