NationStates Jolt Archive

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Southern Kellun
Gravel crunched under heavy boots as he paced along the shore. Two weeks ago everything was different. He had a loving family, a high-paying job, a luxury lifestyle. Now he had nothing except the clothes he wore and the revolver tucked in his belt.

Stock-markets can be fickle things, and recently the Kelluni markets had been in free-fall. Billions of Universal Standard Dollars had been wiped from the value of companies within Kellun, leaving thousands of traders down millions of Gold Strips. For some, the future looked bleak. For others it didn't exist.

A gentle breeze carried the westminster chimes to his ears. The sun had long since vanished below the horizon, leaving a black-blue sky in its wake. The bell tolled three. He paused, listening intently as the waves broke gently over the stoney beach.

He found the revolver in his hand and faltered slightly. Was there another way? Fingering the cylinder uneasily, his mind raced. What would his family think? How would they react?

The muzzle was at the side of his skull now, his finger tightening on the trigger, eyes squeezed shut. He felt the trigger jerk back, then nothing.

Shannisfax
"...the sixteenth casualty of what is being called the 'Kelluni Depression' was found today in the southern coastal town of Tillford. Police have not yet released his name but are expected to later today once next of kin have been notified of his death."

The TV flicked off, accompanied by the deep pop of the speaker system switching to standby. It had been doom and gloom for the past week. Fuel prices were up, food cost more. The only things that didn't cost more were homes and shares, but few could afford to buy them, and those who could preferred not to.

In the room stood pile upon pile of papers, reports and books. Most were brown with age, although some remained in pristine condition. All covered various aspects of economics. Micro and Macro, Positive and Normative, Heterodox and Mainstream. Somewhere in these thousands of pages there was an answer. There had to be an answer. So he picked up another dusty publication and began reading.

______In the country of Avalic

"Alright, the terrorists will be joining up as part of the crew, and we are sneaking onboard. We are to cause havock, and try to buy the country." Said Srg. Keith, while looking at each of his soldiers in turn.
Cpl.Amelia Carol- Demolitions expert, and explosion connosiuer
Pvt.Alan Smith- sniper expert, and camoflage
Cpl.Tarryth Cards - Insurgent speacialist
Pvt. Brian Inade - Criminal mastermind, and the driver

Their mission is to wreak havoc upon the country of Kellun, so as to buy it out. The United Socialist States of Daiwiz were taking in interest in the current situation in Kellun, for they saw a business oppurtunity. They beleived that they could drive the economy far enough undeground, that the people would be glad of being under new, and more capable government. They were to be the advanced forces, recruiting those who beleived they needed a new government, and wreaking havoc on Kelluns economy, in whatevr way they could.
For now, however, their mission was to find passage on the Avilican Pirate Forces ships, bound for Kellun aswell. The more assistance they could get in driving the economy under, the better.

In a dark room deep in the heart of Belschaft ten men and one women sat around a table. Together they controlled the country, and planned everyday to extend their influence. Eventually one raised the topic of Kewen.

"They are economicly and politically weak. Now is the perfect time to move on them - they will soon be willing to accept help no matter what it costs them."

"Could we not accelerate the speed of there collapse? We have assets in place which could do the work."

"We lack the strength."

"Then we must manipulate the situation to change our strength."

It was a cloudy day in the Kennyopolis, the sky was vehemently a drab shade of gray. The weather was the least of Sara Fields’ concerns. Her energy was focusing on the events in the small nation of Kellun, which in the early stages of a massive depression. She had seen the symptoms of a recession months before and concocted a plan. So far it was very in line, in fact she was live meeting with the director of Republic Bank Kellun via satellite.

The bank had been established around a year prior to the recession, and compared to many of the others it was faring well. It had survived run-ons at it’s branches earlier that week and remained open, now it was offering to buy people’s stocks for half-price. With the economy heading straight to hell many would have no other choice. Republic Bank Kellun was quickly picking up influence fast.

The pink-red sky that signaled the coming dawn gently lay over the Humanitarian White Cross team's mobile relief base. Due to a recent series of powerful storms and high stright-line winds, a small swath of towns in the nation of Kellu were hit hardest. Many families found themselves with out homes because of the storms and HWC relief workers were the first international relief organizations at the scene, providing temporary shelter and food for displaced families, until a relative or friend took them in.

After the camp was fully deployed, cleanup workers would start arriving to help with sifting and rebuilding for those affected. Until then, the doctors and nurses of HWC were practicing their calling, along with the help of a few general workers.

One of these general relief workers was on her fifth disaster deployment though she was no longer treated as a 'rookie'. Her bright disposition and permanent smile made her well liked among her pears. While her waist-length natural red hair could be a distraction for some her sharp emerald green eyes didn't miss much of what was happening around her. Friends often joked that if ever there was an argument and She observed it, she not only could repeat everything said, she could tell what each person's body language was and their movements.

As she stretched in her jogging suit, bathing in the rising morning sun, she decided to forget to wear her assigned sidearm. The HWC insisted that at least she wear one to protect herself. Oddly enough, she was the only worker that was asked or allowed to carry a firearm in the HWC. The only problem was, she didn't care for firearms and certainly didn't see why she should carry a firearm among the ones she was sent to help.

Placing the earwig headphones in her ears she turned her I-Pod on and selected her Jogging playlist. The Corrs "Breathless" started with it's fun and spirited vocals, and a smile broke over her face as she started running just as the sun broke over the horizon.

Today is going to be a good day!, she thought happily, I'm going to make a difference, here.

Above her right breast, a name badge was sewn into the jogging suit in gold

Анастасия Радченко

Anastasiya Radchenko. Anna to her friends and family. She was the pride of her parents and though it was hard being the child of the most powerful man in her country, she never went without both her parents' love and support which was all she needed. While in the older culture of Karshkovia, she would be considered a princess, that thought never crossed Anna's mind. She did follow with her country's ancient traditions, however.

In ancient Karshkovia nothing involving power was small. To that effect, a certain social peculiarity of sorts became popular because of the ruling of an ancient Queen that wanted to establish a pecking order among the population. The rule became that the length of a woman's hair indicates her status level in society. Rules concerning this are strictly followed, even in major cities as even today the length of a woman's hair is not a fashion trend; it is a badge of office.

For example, in old times servant girls in Karshkovia were required to keep their hair short. Nothing past their earlobes was allowed. Today, this status is reserved for women who work minimum wage jobs or have very limited mobility in the job market. Waitresses are often a good reference to use.

Also in old times, if a woman was a librarian, small shop owner, or minor royalty she was allowed to wear her hair down to the tops of her solders but no further. Today, small business owners, profession women and minor politicians are allowed to wear their hair this length. Also, if a woman is able to trace back her heritage to royalty, she may wear her hair the length of her royal bloodline would allow.

For women who were major business owners, or high royalty, they were allowed to wear their hair down to the middle of their back. Today such women are Successful big business owners/CEOs, high politicians or can trace their royal bloodlines to ex kings and queens (or other high royal successors).

Only one woman was ever allowed to have hair that touched her waist-line or lower and that was the Queen. Now that Karshkovia did not have a monarcy, the wife of the President...the First Lady...was allowed to have hair this length. Now that she was also the Prime Minister, it made it doubly acceptable.

That left Anastasiya. She was not part of the Government in any official capacity, however he was the daughter of the 'King and Queen' per say, and because of this, she was allowed to wear her hair between the middle of her back and her waist. Only the 'Princess' would ever be allowed hair long enough to approach her mother's length.

One of the reasons suggested that this bizarre ritual came about was practicality taken to a logical step. Women in the ancient times who were servants, didn't have time to worry about their hair. It got in the way and needed much attention. For those a little wealthier but still workers at heart, they preferred to keep their hair shorter as it saved on money and time, though their status allowed them some leeway. In any event, being allowed, and expected, to wear her fiery red hair down near her waist was very empowering, however she found she needed to wear it in one long, doubled up pony tail when she worked.

Now though, her hair was flowing behind her as she ran, pulled away from her face by a small white ribbon. It was a glistening red flag that captured the sunlight as it waved behind her.

ooc: OI! whos calling me weak !!! >.> <.< *bites*

OOC: economics may be failing, but they aint weak lol. i have nothing to say RP wise, until Avalic gets his pirates to Kellun.

1314 opened his eyes. Suddenly realizing this isn't where he went to sleep at, he began to struggle against the ropes that now bound him. Looking around, he noticed he was in a small crate. "Yeah, some special order from CM. Somethin' fragile." Slowly slipping off his restraints, 1314 looked around. Noticing a small string in the corner of his crate, he pulled on it and a light came on. Next to it, there was a small, hastily scribbled note.

1314,
I'm sorry I had to do this. It seems that the entire nation is on a manhunt for you. Remember the bomb incident recently? Well, it wasn't far enough away from the others, like we planned. The entire nation, civilian or otherwise, is up and arms and trying to hunt you down. I've sent you to some economically depressed country until the heat wears down. It might be a year, it might be a month. I'll come for you personally when it's all clear. Also, I had to remove your nanites. Sorry, but it was the only way.
-Vinny

Reading over the note quickly, 1314 found his rifle and pistol both stuffed into the crate with him. Grabbing them both, he slowly opened the crate up and slipped away under the cover of night, careful to avoid any and all sources of light...

ooc: i dont MT RP@ so you cant say nutting bout me!!!!

OOC:this isint MT? 0.o

Captain Andrew Cazein, leader of the most technologically advanced pirate crew from Avalic, was slowly driving the ship into the designated spot to meet the new recruits. As he slowly stopped the ship for the recruits to board, looking like a commercial yacht by using large tables with table cloth to hide machine guns, no doubt stolen from a coastal wedding.

"Well chums, it looks like were going to have a big score tonight, with the economy failing, these people will be in distress so they won't know what hit em once we deal with em. Remember, steal only things that look valuable and be carried by hand. Always take hostages if your found, shoot everyone, do not underestimate anyone and do not leave witnesses. Though of course, remember to use these masks unless you plan on becoming a casualty. John, remember to spread the sarin gas canisters in places that look the most populous and release em as silent as possible. You eight, your in charge of looking out for military, and if they're trouble, shoot em down with the sniper rifles. Use grenades if you have to, if there's tanks, mortars are your best friend. You five to the right, make sure you take out all other ships once were raiding the town. Everyone else, shoot everything that moves, blow up everything that moves, and if people are getting restless, stab em. Now it's time to meet the new guys."

A staircase then dropped down to retrieve the new allies. And so the path to Kellun was about to begin.

As the Avalican Pirate ship lowered its ramp, the terrorists began shuffling onboard. They carried with them many large cases, that did not carry cloths of any sort. They speacial forces squad quickly entered the group of the terrorists, who had been told they would have late comers. As they boarded the ship there were no problems, and soon they would be on their way.

The captain then pressed a button to raise the ramp and they were on their way for Kellun. He then announced "Fellow pirates, terrorists, and masterminds, we'll be hitting the coast of one of Kellun's town in approximately 2 hours and 40 minutes. Before we begin the raid, I'd like to inform our temporary members that we shall be releasing sarin gas over the most populated areas, gas masks are in the cargo area marked with the word "GOGGLES", we'd appreciate it if you waited till we unleash the gas first before you attack, though it does not matter to me, as it may or may not help the plan."

As the forces were stowing their gear on the ship, they half listened to the captain. Keith, however, kept an ear open for anything that may compromise the mission. Once he heard they'd be using gas, he knew he had to speak to the captain, for they were to infiltrate, and then cause losses in the economy. He began heading to the captains quarters, and hoped he would listen, and allow them to go ashore before the captains ship docked.

ooc: the title says MT IC and you guys dont know me FT either so there!

OOC:thats why i questioned it, because from how you said it, it sounded like FT!anyways....enough of that...will be back in 12 hours.need sleep.must become a vampire.

Prime Ministerial Offices, Shannisfax
Conan was used to these early morning sessions. He could hardly remember the last time he'd got a full eight hours sleep. Right now he was listening to the doom-saying of one of the country's finest economists. That and contemplating what his father would think of talking money before breakfast.

"The situation is only exasperated by the current stock market." The economist looked haggard. His dusty blond hair was unkempt and unwashed, dark bags hung under his eyes. The overall appearance was that of a man who saw less sleep than he would have liked. "People fear their shares are going to lose value and sell them, leading to the drop in price they feared and feeding the cycle. Consider, as an example, Kelluni Aerospace Industries. With the consistent levels of global tension, their shares were traded at over seven-hundred-fifty slips six weeks ago, today they're worth barely two-hundred. That's a near seventy-five percent drop in less than two months. At this rate, within a further month we'll be out of luck, money and jobs."

"Options?"

"We need to rebuild consumer confidence. There's a few avenues open to us right now. Firstly, we might inject some life into things with a cash grant to each and every citizen. Secondly, government-backed, high-interest, tax-free savings options could help boost the cash banks have to play with."

"Timeframe?" Conan knew it couldn't happen overnight, but his popularity could drop that quick.

"Best-case scenario? We can halt the slide within a few months and work to rebuild the economy. we could be back on the level we were before this slip within eighteen to twenty-four months."

"And worst case?" He tilted his head to the left, just slightly, but enough to get the vertebra in his neck to crack in an eerie series of pops. His guest cringed slightly at the noise.

"It fails and we enter a period of high unemployment, shrinking investments and hyper-inflation. In short, we are facing the very real prospect of a depression, and it could come in the next few weeks."

Silence filled the room. The severity of the situation was starting to become apparent.


Humanitarian White Cross Base
Over a mile from the White Cross's base lay two prone figures, each perfectly still, concealed from view by the undergrowth and their camouflage. The only trace they were there was the occasional glint of light reflected off the highly polished glass of the rifles scopes.

"Sierra-Delta One to all stations, reporting no change in the target. Security is still lax, looks like a go to hit them."

"Control to One, roger that. I'll despatch Three and Seven to the area. Hopefully we'll be able to catch them unaware and make our collection as uneventful as possible."

"Copy that, Control. One will remain on overwatch throughout the op. Out."

30 Minutes Later...

A pair of olive-drab Land Rover's eased to a halt outside the camp, cutting their engines almost as soon as the wheels stopped turning. Sixteen armed men dismounted, each wearing plain khaki fatigues, with a simple webbing vest. Most clutched the FN FAL assault rifle, only two carried the L7 GPMG.

A heavyset man stepped forwards, swagger stick in hand, and addressed the camp in general. "We represent Falcon Military Solutions, operating on behalf of the Kelluni Government. Refugee Camp Delta, Fifty-five miles south of here, is running desperately low on basic supplies. We have been sent to collect supplies from neighbouring camps and facilities. We need rations, medical supplies, ammunition and survival equipment. We will replace all equipment once our next supply arrives in three days time. Any questions?"

Somewhere in Kelluni teritorial waters

David Wolf sat on a crate on the fishing ships deck. It was an old, unremarkable, ugly little ship. In other words perfect - no one would give it a second glance, especially since you clearly see that it had fish on board due to the mess on the deck. However what it had bellow deck was completely different. Inside it's hold sat a dozen or so men and women silently considering the most dangerous part of their mission - all it would take was one over dutiful coastguard and they would be discovered, along with their cargo - dozens of crates of weaponry, ammunition and explosives, and enogth hard currency to finance a small war. Once they had entered the country however their mission was simple - meet their contact in one of the nations more extreme political movements, and see too it that things got a lot worse a lot quicker. Wolf knew that they were not the only team entering Kellun, but why would they be? What with the councils plan's for this nation twelve people would hardly be sufficent.

The captain heard a knocking on his quarter's door. "Come in, I'm just writing down these plans."

OOC: Sorry for the wait.

As Sgt.Keith heard his permission, he opened the door. "Captain, first let me thank you for giving us passage. Next, i have a favour to ask. Would you allow the terrorists to go ashore first, since we are to conduct terror, farther inland. We would have a hard time blending in, when we and your pirates, are the only ones not choking."

OOC:im assuming the gas causes people to choke to death.like chlorine gas in its properties?

OOC: Not like that exactly, much nastier. Got this off Wikipedia.

Initial symptoms following exposure to sarin are a runny nose, tightness in the chest and constriction of the pupils. Soon after, the victim has difficulty breathing and experiences nausea and drooling. As the victim continues to lose control of bodily functions, the victim vomits, defecates and urinates. This phase is followed by twitching and jerking. Ultimately, the victim becomes comatose and suffocates in a series of convulsive spasms.

IC: "Well, can you take the gas canisters with you though? They'll be released by remote control all at once so we just need you to leave them in various places, they'll look like sport water bottles, the plastic like ones. Once you leave them there we'll activate them on ship once all of you come back. It does not matter to me really where they'll be set off, the wind will spread them. Then when their dieing, we'll strike. If that's ok with you and your members of course," said the captain.

"That seems reasonable. We will leave the bottles, and move much farther inland. We are to come in, and cause long term damage, great enough to warrant the citizens selling all the shares, to our employer. We shall message you when we are out of the way, and have planted the bombs."

OOC: your pirates are real nice fellows, what with the gas, arent they?

OOC: They're educated, but they want quick riches. Kind of like world masterminds. They don't care as long as they get money. They're heartless when there's money on the line.

"Good, we'll be killing the remainder of the unaffected citizens or ending the miseries of others while we rob them of their valuables, or maybe if there's a bank there we can take the money and other things. We'll be arriving Kellun in 20 minutes, so you better get ready, I'm going to be telling the new plan to my crew members."

"Aye captain." said Sgt.Keith, before heading off to tell the terrorists and his men, the plan. He did not like where this was going, but then neither did he like the mission itself.

On the intercom the captain announced that we are now at the coastline of of Kellun, and told them all to have a great rip, so they would look like a commercial yachting service. The crew below got 10 bottles of sarin gas in containers out of the cargo box they had stolen from the arms industry in Avalic before the security change. They gave the bottles to the terrorists and then went back in deck to gather their guns, and fill them with bullets. They tied them to a back strap and they each took 1 burlap sack. Some however, were on deck, to protect the ship with mortars and machine guns, though each one gathered 5 grenades from their stock. The ones on deck and a group of 10 however, each had a sniper instead of an automatic rifle.

OOC:you dont wanna stand out, do you?

IC:The terrorists, and speacial ops knew their mission, and headed off to explore. They were dressed like tourists, with clothing borowed from the pirates. They headed into stores, coffee shops etc, and each left a bottle of gas. The clerks would toss said water into the trash, and when they were set off, would work as they are supposed to.
Once they finished this, they began to head inland, so as to blend into the populace. Also, their mission couldn't be accomplished in a dead city, now could it?

The pirates, getting dressed up in kevlar vests and helmets. They were watching the terrorists from a distance until they couldn't see them anymore. To pass the time waiting, they decided to gamble, though the captain restricted all alcoholic drinks till they were at least 5 miles near their hideout in the Avalican island colony. They had some people leave with suitcases of different clothes and walk back in there to fool the populace so they all exchanged clothes each time, sometimes glasses, sometimes sunglasses, sometimes even wigs. Though some had to dress up in drag, there were too few women to be coincidental. On board the captain was addressing the plan to his second in command, who would be leading a team to be looking out for enemy naval craft.

"If there are any ships coming your way that have weapons on it and/or have people on it looking like military men, to kill them if they tried inspecting cargo and to use a silencer, make sure to fire the first shot at the ship as well, and if needed, take it down by shooting at the bottom of the ship."

Alwin Korteweg, Minister of the Economy, was a happy man. Most people involved in the economy are miserable men, thanks to all the corruption and such going on, but corruption happened to be a field that Mr. Korteweg excelled in. In addition to being Minister of the Economy, he called the shots at Westham Industrial, one of the largest companies in Aprika, a manufacturer of weapons, cars, and heavy equipment. This had led to who knows how much added corruption, especially after he got the infamous in Aprika R110x assault weapon family deal to go through. Nothing like using government position to sell the military a sub-standard product for more money than it's worth.

But that wasn't why he was currently happy. In fact, he had been fingering through some international economic magazines and newspapers, and found word of an economic crash in a large, formerly very wealthy nation called Kellun. This isn't usually something that would make someone happy, but as said before, Alwin was a corrupt man. Were others saw a depressing example of the pitfalls of the economy in the Kelluni situation, Alwin saw a golden opportunity to make himself a good deal more money. He had already formulated a plan, and he would just need the blessing of President Martin, the Minister Foreign Affairs, and of course, the shareholders of Westham Industrial.

The shareholders were easily convinced that this plan, while risky, represented a potential major breakthrough for the company. After that, he only needed to get the government approval, which was sure to somewhat harder.

Several hours later, the roar of several jet engines was heard several thousand feet above the great blue Mediterranean sea. This roar was generated by a single business jet, and two AS-1A "Kestrel" fighters of the Aprikan Republican Air Corps serving as escorts. Aboard the business jet were some of Aprika's most important politicians, so the escort force was seen as necessary. In particular, the plane carried Associate President Jerry Dell, Minister of Foreign Affairs Micheal Keller, and Minister of the Economy Alwin Korteweg.

The plane's destination was Azul Isla. A medium sized island, and Spanish colony until the 1930s, when it became a part of Aprika during the Aprikan Wars between Britain and their colony of Aprika. After Aprika became reunited and independent in 1947, Azul Isla became a popular tourist location. Even after the 1978 regime change resulting from the rebellion of General Hernando Perez Martin (Now President of Aprika) that resulted in the current Aprikan dictatorship, Azul Isla retained more freedom than the other previous Aprikan provinces, and has laxer laws than the mainland, but still ultimately answers to the central, dictatorial government. It is also currently the only part of Aprika the outsiders can enter and exit freely.

Aprika still maintains a large military presence on Azul Isla, both due to it's important location in the Mediterranean and to deter uprisings and protests that often result in the laxer environment of the island's government. The planes destination was in fact a military establishment on the island, Perez Joint Force Base, a massive complex supporting land, sea, and air military forces.

The three planes dived and circled for a landing as the massive complex peeked into site. The business jet landed first, as the fighters circled to cover it's landing, and then landed themselves. As the business jet rolled to a stop, the door on the side quickly opened and the staircase folded down. A enthusiastic and still quite happy Alwin Korteweg was the first to disembark, followed by Jerry Dell, and then Micheal Keller. A small jeep rolled up beside the jet, driven by a member of Aprika's elite guard, the Grand Corps. The three men climbed aboard the vehicle, and it drove off towards a large, ornate security gate at the edge of the complex.

Reaching the gate, it was seen that several more Grand Corps soldiers, as well as a Grand Corps T-80 main battle tank stood guard there. Past the gate was cobblestone road weaving through a stunning beach shaded with palm trees. Two soldiers, armed with assault rifles, stepped up the jeep.

"Authorization?" one of them inquired.

Jerry Dell stood up from his position in the front passenger seat of the vehicle. "Jerry Dell, associate president, here with Alwin Korteweg, minister of the economy, and Micheal Keller, minister of foreign affairs." He spoke. He quickly added "Here's my identification" while handing a small electronic device, which the soldier then plugged in to a sort of PDA and scanned.

"Access granted, Mr. Dell" the soldier replied. The gate was drawn open, and Dell returned to the vehicle as it slowly drove past the security wall onto the cobblestone road. A short drive later, and they stood in front of a large house, built in stunning Spanish colonial style. Disembarking from the jeep, the three men entered the house and walked briskly to a large double door, which Alwin knocked upon. The door swung open, and they entered the room beyond it, taking seats at a medium sized meeting table.

From the other side of the room, Aprika's President Martin walked in through another set of double doors, and took a seat. He was old, in his early 60s, with grey hair and a weathered face with a large scar running diagonally across it, but despite his age, he still looked menacing and intimidating, like a hardened soldier of several wars, which he in fact was.

"So, I heard you requested to see me, Mr. Korteweg." He spoke in a deep, strong, impatient voice with a noticeable Mexican accent.

Alwin smiled brightly. "Oh yes I did President", he spoke as he slid a folder of papers across the table: Reports on the Kelluni situation and his own assessments on Aprika's course of action. President Martin carefully read the papers, and then placed them back in the folder with a smile.

"Although an obvious major risk, if successful, such a venture would certainly be profitable for our government, in addition to netting us a major ally. Mr. Keller, Mr. Korteweg, I want you to sort out the rest of the details of this venture and get it moving forward with Kellun's government as soon as you possibly can."

Alwin Korteweg was having a very good day.

Official Communique

Priority: High
Recipient: Kelluni Government
Origin: Republic of Aprika / Westham Industrial
Classification Level: Confidential
Subject: A possible solution to your economic downturn


As I am tasked with handling all national and international economic matters for the Republic of Aprika, I like to keep on top of the international economy. During a read of an international economic journal, I discovered the economic woes of the once very wealth nation of Kellun. However, as a noted economist in my home nation and chairman of the board at the major weaponry and heavy equipment corporation Westham Industrial in addition to my post as economic minister, I feel I have a solution that may highly benefit your nation.

Under this plan, Westham Industrial will establish a factory in your nation, creating as many as 15,000 plus new jobs, rejuvenating the region it is placed in, and quite possibly leading to additional establishments and a reversal of your economic freefall. In exchange, my government simply seeks an alliance with Kellun, both economic and military, allowing for open trade and, within reason, free travel of Kelluni citizens and military assets within our nation as well as the same in reverse for our citizens and military assets within your nation, as well as the right to collect a modest tax off the activities of the establishment.

To achieve this goal, the Aprikan government, backed by Westham Industrial, will deploy an engineering battalion to your nation to build the factory or convert an existing factory, as well as a battalion of armed soldiers and three squadrons (27 aircraft) of fighter jets to allow protection of our assets within Kellun. We personally favor converting an existing, unused factory to our needs, allowing us to set up shop faster, but we feel that this should be your decision. We simply suggest that the factory be built in an area hard hit by the depression to make more of a dramatic, visible effect, and require that the location be near an air force base with the capacity to accept our defense fighters as well as our transport force, four Antonov An-124 transports, and two ND Monster Lifter transports, which are similar in scale to the Antonov An-225.

The final choice of what this plant will produce is obviously up to you.

Sincerely,
Alwin Korteweg
Minister of the Economy, Aprika
Chairman of the Board, Westham Industrial

Humanitarian White Cross Base

Anastasiya Radchenko had returned from her run, showered and changed into the dark olive shirt and cargo pants that was common for workers to wear. While she didn't care for them at first, the black surplus military boots fit and wore quite comfortably. She left the 9mm Beretta in her backpack again, and walked out into the camp.

Milla Rovia and Susan Kramer greeted Anna as she walked up to the mess tent. Milla waved Anna over to her, "Anna! How was your run? We saved you a spot in line."

"Thank you, I'm famished. It was a good run, only a kilometer today. You should join me some time you two. It's very good for the mind and body."

Susan rolled her eyes and laughed, "No, I think you run enough for all of us. I get tired just by looking at you sometimes, Twiggy."

The women laughed as they walked through the serving line and then found an empty table to sit at.

Milla Rovia was a small, petite woman with deep brown eyes, olive skin and auburn hair. She was from the eastern coast of Karshkovia and an ethnic Karsha. Susan Kramer was blond haired with sky blue eyes and very light skin, though she never spoke of where she was from.

The three women had made fast friends two years ago during their first deployment together, and ever since they had pulled strings to stay as a team.

"So how are is your family taking it, Anna, being on your fifth trip into the wild?" Anna asked, concern written on her face.

"We'll my father is proud of me yet worries all the time. Mother still feels like I am wasting my life, though she says she has come to terms with my decision..and...well you know I'd rather not talk about it if that ok."

Susan smiled and reached across the table to pat her friend's hand, "No worries, Anna," she turned to Milla, "So, how was that date with Brad? Spare no details, we want to hear all of it."

Anna wasn't listening though. She was thinking back a few years ago when her life was so different.

For Anna, she remembered how growing up her father made certain she had the best in life. The best private schools, the most supportive and loving parents, and the opportunity later in life to follow any interest in college that suited her.

She had attended college and graduated with honors, though afterward she felt empty. Like her life did not have much meaning. She did know that she felt best helping and teaching others, however she had no desire to become an established high school history teacher or associate professor at some college. It just so happened that one day, Anna happened to be watching the television in her plush apartment when she took notice of a news story on the Humanitarian White Cross. There were people assisting others selflessly, handing out food and providing medical attention to a devastated area of Karshkovia. They had even set up a tent to allow local teachers to continue schooling of the local children.

Two hours later, Anna was sitting across from a kindly-looking man in the local HWC office. He told her exactly what to expect and what was to be expected of her if she joined the HWC. She agreed to what he was presenting and left her application for review.

A week later she had a phone interview with an HR person who confirmed her information and offered her a job as an aid worker. Anna accepted immediately.

Oh there had been a major row with her parents, and many harsh words were exchanged, however before she was sent to her familiarization course the family had made peace and started to mend. The HWC knew Anna was a VIP and though she was treated differently at first and many of the other workers thought she was just there as a lark, Anna worked very hard to prove she was true of heart. The HWC Public Relations office definately used her status to gain interest in their work, by quoting her in their new recruitment leaflets and making sure that any news crew that was filming the HWC in action got a few shots of her helping the local populous.

At first Anna didn't care for the publicity but after she dwelled on it, she saw it as a positive. Any positive news for HWC meant more donations and more victims of disasters that could be helped. If her photo in a newspaper handing out water, or a video clip of her helping to build a home for a family that lost theirs in a flood helped...well then Anna was glad to oblige.

Anna snapped out of her daydream at the sound of her friend's laughter.

"..and that big ape, kind-hearted as he is, stepped all over my feet when we danced. All I can say is Brad has +A for planning a date but a -D for Dancing."

Milla and Sarah laughed, while Anna smiled at her friends, clueless to what she missed in Milla's story.

"Did I hear someone mention my name?" Brad Nelson smiled and sat down next to the Trio, "Ladies, I need to say that I did warn her that this was a disaster area and she could be injured at any time."

"Not slow dancing to, "How do I live", you big ape!", Milla mocked playfully with her boyfriend. They had met between deployments and Brad just happened to have been given this assignment as well.

"Oh, Milla, you can't blame Brad. He is just the strong arms needed for heavy lifting around here," Anna teased.

"Clumsy feet too if you ask me," Milla added, "anyway, Brad, when does the rest of your team arrive in country to start clearing away debris and rebuilding homes?"

"Well my team is being held up by a hurricane that is blowing through the flight path they would need to take to get here. Say two or three more days and they should be here....hello? What is this?"


A pair of olive-drab Land Rover's eased to a halt outside the camp, cutting their engines almost as soon as the wheels stopped turning. Sixteen armed men dismounted, each wearing plain khaki fatigues, with a simple webbing vest. Most clutched the FN FAL assault rifle, only two carried the L7 GPMG.

"I don't like the look of this," Brad said while looking at the armed men. He turned to the three women and specifically Anna, "Get her out of sight, quickly and quietly. I don't know what is going on but lets not take any risks."

Brad stepped out of the tent and walked towards the jeeps slowly, arms at his sides while Milla, Anna, and Sarah snuck their way out of the mess tent by keeping the other workers between themselves and the armed men. Milla reached the women's tent with Anna and Sarah close behind.

A heavyset man stepped forwards, swagger stick in hand, and addressed the camp in general. "We represent Falcon Military Solutions, operating on behalf of the Kelluni Government. Refugee Camp Delta, Fifty-five miles south of here, is running desperately low on basic supplies. We have been sent to collect supplies from neighboring camps and facilities. We need rations, medical supplies, ammunition and survival equipment. We will replace all equipment once our next supply arrives in three days time. Any questions?"

Brad raised his hand in greeting, "I'm Brad Nelson, assistant camp manager. We are not a Government camp and we do not have any ammunition or arms. We are purely on a Humanitarian mission. We can offer you medical supplies and a couple of crates of MRE's we have on hand if that would suffice."

1314 suddenly lifted his head. Medical supplies? I don't know how long I'll be here, and I don't have my lab... 1314 lay there, wondering if he should slip in, or if he should wait until later...

Aberwick, Western Kellun
Aberwick, a historic town on the western coast of Kellun, had barely noticed the arrival of the men. Nobody paid much attention to new arrivals in town. Foreign tourists often came to Aberwick to sample the fresh sea air and fresher fish, and none of the locals spent much time keeping tabs on what some visitor was doing.

The Daiwiz contingent passed easily through the town, blending with the tourists and disappearing amongst the crowd. The Avalic pirates, on the otherhand, had caught the attention of a passing trawler captain who had dutifully reported the sighting of an unknown vessel to the port authorities, who in turn had passed the message along to the navy, who then handed it off to the nearest naval base, which had promptly added it to the pile labelled "In" and would deal with the report in due time.


Government Offices, Shannisfax, Southern Kellun
"Fifteen thousand jobs... but is it worth it?"

The room was illuminated by the gentle light of the rising sun. Richard Benson, Minister for Trade and Industry, sat opposite Daniel Fingland, one of the most respected businessmen in Kellun, senior lecturer at the Shannisfax School of Business, and freelance advisor to the Government. An ornate china teapot sat on the desk between the pair.

Daniel, the younger of the two, tapped the end of his pen against the leather-bound folio before him as he spoke, as if keeping some sort of time "There are several cities where that many jobs would be really well met. Kinniston, for example. A local steel works has recently had to lay off over half it's workforce, and most of those left are on three-day weeks. Or Edinfield. They've been hit by closures of all kinds of factories, manfacturing goods as varied as cutlery and high-end consumer electronics."

"But this isn't steel or forks or stereos." Richard's voice quivered slightly, rising slightly. It was the closest thing to a shout most people ever heard from him. "We're talking about a company who specialises in guns, bombs and all that goes with it."

"And there's always a war on somewhere." And war means profit. Daniel had been a member of the board at several arms companies over the last twenty years, equally eager to make a quick profit as he was for long term returns. "With respect, Kelluni Aerospace deals primarily, nay, only with our armed forces. When we have to cut funding there, they have to cut jobs. Westham Industrial is external. They aren't affected by the economic slow down like our native companies are. They can use our skilled labour and help them get back on their feet by paying them a fair wage. I'll admit, this isn't going to fix the economy on its own, but it's not going to do any harm."

Taking lessons on economics from a man thirty-years my junior, what have I come to? Richard's paused for a moment, lost in thought. The silence was almost daring Daniel to break it. Finally, he made his mind up and "I agree and understand, I'll leave it in your hands as to where you want to base their factory. You know the situation on the ground better than anyone else."


TO: Alwin Korteweg, Minister of the Economy, Aprika
FROM: Ministry for Trade and Industry, Kellun
SUBJET: Re: A possible solution to your economic downturn

I thank you for your interest in establishing a business presence in Kellun, especially in times such as these. The terms laid out seem agreeable, and I have evaluated several possible locations for the plant, but feel the eastern city of Charwood would benefit most from the jobs created. The local area contains several recently closed factory units suitable for conversion, as well as many large plots of land where a new build could be constructed.

Charwood Air Force Base, whilst not the largest in the region, is capable of accepting large aircraft thanks to its 3,200m (10,500ft) runway, and is capable of stationing both the troops and aircraft needed. There is also a major port within Charwood, enabling quick international distribution of goods manufactured within the city.

We hope this proves satisfactory,

Richard Benson,
Minister for Trade and Industry


DWC Camp
The troop commander eyed Brad carefully, almost suspiciously. Behind him, the fifteen men fidgeted, adjusting their uniforms and webbing. For almost thirty seconds there was an uneasy silence.

"I understand this is independently run to the government camps, which is why we will replace any materials we requisition when we have the available surplus. However, under the Emergency Situation Management Act, Chapter Three, Act Eighteen, I am hereby authorised to appropriate any equipment, personnel or supplies necessary to ensure casualties as a result of a non-military incident are kept to a minimum." That particular paragraph actually referred to the storage of non-perishable foodstuffs, but the true meaning wasn't important to him, how convincing he could make it sound was. Hopefully the foreigners weren't that well versed in Kelluni emergency plans. He glanced over his shoulder and waved one of the men forwards.

"Gaz, take your men and see what Mister Nelson here has to offer. The rest of you, take up defensive positions. We've had reports of raiders in the area. Oh, and Brad, if you could muster your staff, that'd be great. We need to ensure all papers are in order. It's important these sort of aid missions are all above board." He smiled wryly, idly fingering the cap of the swagger stick.

HWC Camp

Brad stood his ground in front of the troop commander. He had a notion that these men were not sent by the Government, but he wasn't going to put up any resistance to their demands as long as it was just supplies. He let the commander make the next move.

"I understand this is independently run to the government camps, which is why we will replace any materials we requisition when we have the available surplus. However, under the Emergency Situation Management Act, Chapter Three, Act Eighteen, I am hereby authorised to appropriate any equipment, personnel or supplies necessary to ensure casualties as a result of a non-military incident are kept to a minimum."

Brad didn't know if the man was lying or not but it didn't matter in this case...they had guns and his people did not. Before he could reply the commander waved one of the men forward.

"Gaz, take your men and see what Mister Nelson here has to offer. The rest of you, take up defensive positions. We've had reports of raiders in the area. Oh, and Brad, if you could muster your staff, that'd be great. We need to ensure all papers are in order. It's important these sort of aid missions are all above board." He smiled wryly, idly fingering the cap of the swagger stick.

Son of a bitch, thought Brad, this was going so smoothly.

Brad turned to one of his co-workers Bill, "Get the staff assembled out here for inspection by the military."

Brad then turned to Gaz and motioned him to follow, "I'll take you to our supply tents."

I hope Bill remembers that phrase Brad thought to himself as he led Gaz's team off to the supply area. HWC had developed a phrase to use in case an incident may arise that could put a VIP worker in danger. The term was 'staff' which meant Anna should be hidden while the others were gathered together.

Bill, however, made up his own mind about this situation. These were just local soldiers so why cause friction when they checked the crew manifest and saw she wasn't accounted for during the inspection. Brad is overreacting and that is going to get someone hurt or killed, he thought, besides that, she isn't in any danger from the local military so what is the point?

It didn't take him long to figure where Milla, Sarah and Anna had gone to and after some quick orders, they gathered together with the others. The wind had risen to a light breeze that gently tugged at Anna's waist-length hair. As she was the only one in the group with natural red hair, that was even down to her waist, she stood out from the rest of the workers.

The mistake Bill had made was that Anna was listed on the crew manifest that Brad had locked away in his personal secure footlocker, but not on the manifest that was in the camp office. That was so the coded phrase could be used and during a check of the manifest no one would see head count coming up short.

Now they would have a head count that was long...and Anna would be the one they would be wondering about.

In the few days that had followed his message to Kellun, Alwin Korteweg had taken up residence in a temporary office on the grounds of Perez Joint Force Base. It was expected... Or at least hoped, that Kellun would go through with the deal, so him and Mr. Keller had remained on site to direct the transport force when the time came.

As hoped, Kellun has went through with the deal, and made this clear the previous day. Alwin had been up all night tracking down maps, making himself familiar with the Charwood area, and choosing the exact location of their planned factory. He had decided on a large, fairly recently closed car factory, which would presumably have plenty of space to set up their production lines, and potentially even have some operational equipment left behind by it's previous owner.

One thing that was bothering him was that Kellun seemed to consider weapons production at the plant the main viable enterprise. After a sleepless night and several cups of coffee, he was in a high-strung and paranoid mood, and he had come to the conclusion that Kellun was substantially less stable than he expected, giving that they seemingly planned to have the factory be a weapons plant.

This really didn't matter however, the deal had went through and the conditions seemed to be in his favor. He had considered increasing the complement of troops to deal with the perceived instability, but the ARAC would throw a fit over that, as he would need even more transport planes to haul them over, or choose much slower naval transportation.

Alwin Korteweg gazed outside through his office window. Six large transport planes were lined up and open, with cargo being loaded on. Three squadrons of fighters were being loaded up as well, with external fuel tanks and a small complement of air to air missiles.

As he stood up to leave, he suddenly realized just how tired he was, and that he probably wouldn't get much sleep on the flight. Military transports don't tend to be comfy.

He left his office and began the hike down several flights of stairs to ground level. This building had been built with pretty much everything but elevators in mind. The military command in Aprika tended to be more concerned with bombs than with providing easy transport for the desk workers.

Finally reaching the ground floor, he headed out into the hot sun, and strode towards one of the larger planes. Flashing an ID card, he climbed aboard, hiking up yet another set of stairs to reach the door. Once within the plane, he found a place to sit and promptly dozed off.

Several minutes later, his snooze was rudely interrupted by the rough takeoff of the aircraft. He was beginning to regret this idea to tell the truth, if only because he had made the mistake of not sorting out a large VIP transport aircraft as part of the convoy. At his age, he needed his sleep.

---

Several hours, an inconvenient refueling stopover somewhere in western Europe, and an encounter with the Kelluni air force later, the thirty-three aircraft convoy began to approach Charwood Air Force Base. There was no way the large formation could land at once, so the small fighters, almost out of fuel were made the priority. The sleeping Korteweg was awoken for the seventh time (He was most certainly counting) on the flight as the last of the large transport planes came roughly to a stop just before the end of the runway.

Alwin, now feeling somewhat better after getting a little bit of sleep, stood up as the aircraft taxied around to area designated to them by the ground crews. Quickly grabbing something for support as he was almost knocked down, he made his way to the door. Pausing for a second, he pondered who should greet the Kelluni officials should there be any there. Although it would be most appropriate for him to greet them as the man behind the operation, the more even-tempered Micheal Keller tended to make a better impression of the nation. Keller's forte was dealing with foreign governments anyway, so Korteweg decided to allow him the honor of dealing with the Kelluni greeting party.

A small party of Aprikan officials then stepped out of the plane after the details had been sorted out.

"Hello, my name is Micheal Keller. Minister of Foreign Affairs, Republic of Aprika. Pleased to meet you", the tall, well built man with thick, dark brown hair announced as he offered his hand to the Kelluni official facing him.

(bump)

HWC Camp

Gareth "Gaz" Spencer had worked for Falcon for the last four years. Before that he had served twelve years in the army with the engineering corps. This background had enabled him to quickly climb through the ranks within FMS, reaching Section Leader within 28 months. He was well respected, both by those under him and his commanders. He knew what he was after: anything that could be passed on at a profit, although that could be anything considering they weren't actually buying the stuff. Rations, medical supplies and small arms always paid well, with clothing and shelter also fetching reasonable prices.

"Brad is it? What we're in need of is basic medical supplies. Crystalloid and colloid IV bags, morphine, antibiotics, specifically tetracycline and chloramphenicol. Other than that, basics like towels, personal hygiene products and ration packs would be a great help. I know we're asking a lot, but we've had an influx from a medium sized village and they've brought all kinds of bugs and viruses."

Meanwhile
The list made it's was into the hands of the commanding officer, one Carran Fletcher. Eight years with FMS had almost ensured him a high-ranking command. He could be running whole operations overseas, commanding hundreds of men, and yet he remained here, in charge of a single platoon totalling no more than thirty-two. That had always been his choice, to keep hands-on with the troops rather than become just another man playing games with real soldiers.

His eyes passed over the group, then the list. Mentally he totalled the number against what was listed. Too many. He counted again and the result was the same.

"I don't want to alarm you, but your manifest is showing you're a man up on where you should be. Someone standing here isn't on the list, any idea who? See any unfamiliar faces?"

Within seconds there was the noise of safeties being released and rifles shouldered, all aimed at the line of aid workers. Silently, Carran cursed. This was supposed to be simple. Get in, get supplies, get out. Trying to be professional about things had come back to bite him in the rear big time.

He couldn't stop the charade now, though. All he could do was play it out. "Rebels are prone to infiltrating these types of camps. Lot's of people, lax security. The perfect opportunity to blend in and gather intel." He pushed the PTT switch on the side of his radio, a short burst of static filled the airwaves before Carran's voice, "Gaz, conduct a full search whilst you're collecting the supplies. We've got an unknown on staff, you know the drill."

"Roger that, will search as we move, out." A single tone signalled the end of transmissions.


Junsford Air Force and Army Base
Military spending was on the decrease faster than any time in living memory. Huge numbers of programmes were being held or even cancelled. Future development on Project Cacus had been placed on hiatus, leaving the single, oversized cannon mothballed. The next-gen strategic bomber program, HASB, had been cancelled less than three months after it was initially commissioned.

The current standard was being maintained. Vehicles were seeing regular servicing and ammunition wasn't about to run dry if anything kicked off, but the mood was still deflated. Even in the military, belts were being tightened.


Charwood AFB
A small party of Kelluni officials watched as the Aprika planes approached, touched down and taxied. Each knew that the deal they would be finalising over the coming days, maybe even just hours, could represent a turning point in the economic situation. No-one believed it would happen over night, but it would happen.

Richard Benson was unable to meet the Aprikan delegation, but his deputy was standing on the tarmac, a bright-orange high-visibility tabard over the top of his business suit spoiling his professional look somewhat. A broad smile on his face, he watched as the officials stepped onto terra firma. Grasping the offered hand firmly he welcomed the newest guests of the nation.

"Mister Keller, welcome to Kellun. I'm Peter Jenkins, Deputy Minister for Trade and Industry. Richard Benson is looking forwards to discussing matters in person." He gestured towards an executive people-carrier parked nearby.

HWC Camp

Brad walked at a slow but reasonable pace...trying to give Bill time to get everyone assembled and give Anna time to get properly hidden away. He didn't care for the Army walking into his camp and taking any supplies but each nation had its own rules on what was or what was not allowed. Here it seemed they were allowed to take supplies. He just hoped they left enough for those in need at the locally-ran medical camp half a kilometer away.

"Brad is it? What we're in need of is basic medical supplies. Crystalloid and colloid IV bags, morphine, antibiotics, specifically tetracycline and chloramphenicol. Other than that, basics like towels, personal hygiene products and ration packs would be a great help. I know we're asking a lot, but we've had an influx from a medium sized village and they've brought all kinds of bugs and viruses."

Brad nodded, "I'm sure we have some supplies here for you to use, but per HWC rules, I can only give away up to 60% of my supplies here, but I am sure that 60% is much more than you may need."

To emphasis the point, Brad drew back the flap of one of the giant tents around the compound. Row upon row of medical supplies, rations and survival gear was stacked twice as high as a man's head, nearly 100 yards long and 50 yards wide.

"We are resupplying the local hospital and set up to help them keep their supplies stocked through this economic crisis so we have much more than we normally would carry. I'm sure you will be able to fill up on what you need. Just keep an inventory of what you need to take and leave a copy of it with me when you go. This way we can restock any supplies we may be low on..."

Meanwhile

Bill stood next to the commander of the military troops as they both looked over the crew manifest. He didn't know why he was uncomfortable but something about this whole deal seemed odd. He couldn't place his finger as nothing leaped out at him as being off, but something wasn't right.


"I don't want to alarm you, but your manifest is showing you're a man up on where you should be. Someone standing here isn't on the list, any idea who? See any unfamiliar faces?"

Before Bill could reply, the noise of safeties being released and the sight of rifles shouldered - all aimed at the line of aid workers - frightened him deeply. He tried stammering out a reply but the commander was calmly talking to him, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

"Rebels are prone to infiltrating these types of camps. Lot's of people, lax security. The perfect opportunity to blend in and gather intel," He pushed the PTT switch on the side of his radio, a short burst of static filled the airwaves before Carran's voice, "Gaz, conduct a full search whilst you're collecting the supplies. We've got an unknown on staff, you know the drill."

"Roger that, will search as we move, out." A single tone signaled the end of transmissions.

"WAIT!" Bill cried out, "You have it all wrong! No, please put the rifles down, it is nothing like that." His mind quickly raced played out different options on what he could say. He definitely would tell them about Anna but would the man believe what he heard?

Should he tell the commander that Anna was a last minute addition to the crew and the crew manifest hadn't been updated yet? No...that would give him cause to think that these rebels had slipped a man...or in this case a woman...into their ranks. Obviously the HWC crew would notice a new face...it wasn't like some stranger could just walk in and disappear as a worker...so then the commander would think they were in league with the rebels.

If he said that Anna was just overseeing some operations and wasn't part of the normal on-site crew so she wouldn't be on the manifest, that could work...but then the man could check with his command and verify that she had been flown in onsite with everyone else...so then Bill would be caught in a lie..and oh hell he didn't know what would happen then.

"Wait, the person you are looking for is a V.I.P. worker. A child of an important off-shoot Russian country's dignitary. So HWC doesn't keep the name on the manifest, so that is why you come up plus one when doing a head count." Bill looked around, found Anna, and pointed her out , "There, there is your extra head. The HWC didn't want to put her on the list as that way if rebels came, she would be able to hide and the rebels wouldn't have cause to look around when they looked over the manifest."

As Bill babbled on to the commander, Milla slowly moved her hand, which was straight against her side, on Anna's wrist. Keeping her lips frozen, she stared straight ahead at the soldiers but spoke softly so only Anna could hear, "Just speak Russian. Don't let them know you can understand English. Keep your cool."

Easy for you to say, Anna thought, it's not you they are going to be sending home in a body bag if this goes badly.

- Reserved Post -

As the terrorists began to spread out farther inland, posing as tourists, the speacial forces began to set up shop. They had found a few people, that wished the current government to be disbanded. Every country had these, and in these difficult times, they were far from few and far between. They were posing as extremists themselves, and so did their best to blend in. They had learned the languages, and customs normaly used, and had applied for a job. They had learned from other citizens, that an automobile factory was being used for anything but cars. They attempted to infiltrate it, and take whatever weapons they needed. This way they wouldnt have to smuggle them in, and the weapons wouldn't point to another nation. It was perfect, so long as they were accepted.

OOC:my dads been working on the computer, so i havent been on for a bit.

HWC Camp

Charwood AFB
A small party of Kelluni officials watched as the Aprika planes approached, touched down and taxied. Each knew that the deal they would be finalising over the coming days, maybe even just hours, could represent a turning point in the economic situation. No-one believed it would happen over night, but it would happen.

Richard Benson was unable to meet the Aprikan delegation, but his deputy was standing on the tarmac, a bright-orange high-visibility tabard over the top of his business suit spoiling his professional look somewhat. A broad smile on his face, he watched as the officials stepped onto terra firma. Grasping the offered hand firmly he welcomed the newest guests of the nation.

"Mister Keller, welcome to Kellun. I'm Peter Jenkins, Deputy Minister for Trade and Industry. Richard Benson is looking forwards to discussing matters in person." He gestured towards an executive people-carrier parked nearby.

"Thank you, I'm looking forward to it as well. Let me introduce you to my associates; On my left is Alwin Korteweg, Minister of the Economy and Chairman of the Board for Westham Industrial, I'm sure you've had the opportunity to correspond with him. On my right is Colonel Scott Porter, who is acting as the commander of military forces here."

"A pleasure to meet you, and I hope our business together will go smoothly." Korteweg spoke in response.

"Same here", spoke Colonel Porter. "Unfortunately, I have to sort out accommodation for the men under my command, and thus cannot speak with you much at this point." he finished.

"Well then." Keller spoke. "I suppose Mr. Benson is a very busy man, so it would be impolite to keep him waiting all day", he finished as he stepped into the vehicle. Korteweg soon followed suit.

OOC: Bump. Want to see some posts folks.

"Well, good morning folks. Hows the intel gathering coming? See anything we may want to 'expand' upon?" Asked Sgt.Keith, as the rest of the team filed in, bright, and awake. It was 5:26, just a bit earlier than Keith normaly awoke. That was the problem with being Braolpter, or speacial forces. You couldn't keep your sleep regulated at any time.
"We will move out to a nearby bank, within two hours, and we shall rob it. We are going to have some of our terrorist friends along, with their followers." He spit out the word terrorists, as if they were filthy and dirty. "We shall use plan B, 2. I want a guard at the front, preferably pistol, use lethal force if necessary. Take hostages, and give them to our 'friends' to take care of. We shall continue into the vault, blast it with C-4, and take what we can. This will take five minutes, and no more. I want two unlicensed vans waiting outside, one for us, and the rest for everything else. We take what we can carry, and the terrorists take the rest. Minimum risk for us at this point. Everyone got it?" A chorus of "Yes Sir" was his answer. With that, he headed out to pay a visit to their allies.

((this is a sorta bump.))

((Bump))

((bumpity))