NationStates Jolt Archive

Peel Castle, Cottish Military Headquarters, Isle of Man

Fucking fiskekakar again! God Damn! Colonel M.X. Carver cursed to himself as the familiar military kitchen steward left his evening meal on the table by the barred window.

For the past month he’d been eating fiskekakar, which were cheap ass Norwegian style fish burgers. He thought to himself that they might be nice were one actually in Norway, the heart of Cotland. But the military’s version was some cheap ass fish that tasted of salt and not much else.

There were some steaming boiled potatoes aswell, and a can of soda. Carver contemplated the meal from across the other side of the room. He put the magazine down. It was some English language Roman publication he was just about done with. He turned the TV up a bit and slid off the bed in the corner and walked over to the desk where he usually ate dinner. He could see the TV from there.

He opened the desk drawer and grabbed up his cutlery. It had taken them a couple of years to trust him with even a blunt knife. A couple of years…how long had it been?

Forever, he said sarcastically to himself. He was the last one now, all his men had been released about a year into their captivity. That had been a sad day, to take the last salute as his old 3rd Regiment paraded in their civvies out of the Castle under the watchful eyes of the Cots.

His men were not symbols, and that was Carver’s curse…the reason he was still kept locked up in the Castle year after year. At least that’s what the Cots told him, he couldn’t be released because they couldn’t afford and didn’t want another rebellion.

They weren’t persuaded by Carver’s declaration that he was no longer interested in rebellion. He truly wasn’t, he’d tried and failed and now there was no point any more. But they were still suspicious.

Carver didn’t mind them though. The Cots were an honourable people and they had treated him better than he ever should have expected. Carver had a TV with satellite channels, he got subscriptions to loads of newspapers and magazines and had full use of the pool and gym in the Castle.

He had once even entertained thoughts of being commissioned in the Cottish military. The jury was still out on that one, he kept asking and they kept saying they’d see about it.

Every now and then a doctor and a psychiatrist would visit. They certainly went out of their way to keep him in good health and he couldn’t do anything but be thankful for that.

Carver had also been asked to write a long and detailed account of the war on the island from his perspective and he understood it had been included as part of a training course in the Cottish military. He expected nothing less, professional military forces always draw lessons from their enemies. But that word was too strong now, they weren’t his enemies any longer.

The boredom was perhaps Carver’s worst adversary. One could only read and watch TV or work out for so long. Sometimes he was let out of the Castle for long walks along the coast or over farmland, always with a platoon of soldiers in tow, and usually a few vehicles somewhere nearby in case he tried anything. But he never did.

The monotony of his daily routine had been broken twice in the past by a strange visitor, the name of who he didn’t know and was never given. The man had not been a Cot, that was for sure. He was olive skinned appeared to be from Southern Europe…or somewhere warm at least. Carver had thought the man vaguely military, but had never found out anything about him. One of the Cottish Military Police had nicknamed the man the ‘Greek’ and it had stuck.

Carver had spent one day a year or so ago just answering questions the Greek continuously asked. They were about many things, from his health to his work-out routine to a run-through of the Colonel’s actions during the war and what he’d done since.

The second meeting had been not too long ago judging by the calendar Carver kept beside one of his room’s windows. The Greek had returned with a psychiatrist he’d never seen before and who had carried out quite a few tests he didn’t think were at all necessary. In a way, though, he was just glad for the break-up in his monotonous routine and every now and then he’d try to guess who the hell the guy was.

After finishing the fish burgers Carver went for a swim in the pool before taking in the sunset on the back of the island on which the formidable castle stood. He remembered, from his service years ago, that the Castle was once a Huahin Naval base. Back then it hadn’t been quite as well equipped as it was now. The Cots had turned it into a world class military facility, one that would be near impossible to destroy.

Carver’s cell wasn’t in the Castle’s military prison, which was somewhere else on the small island. His makeshift place was mid-way up in a castle tower close to an edge of the island. From the two windows he could see the sea crashing into the rocks down below. The other window looked back toward the Isle of Man itself and the road that led back that way.

It was nearly midnight when he came to draw the curtains across the windows and he thought nothing of the single car coming down the road toward the castle.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The driver of the car was the man that Carver knew as the Greek. The man was, indeed, from Greece- Rhodes to be precise. His name was Kalo Mostas and he was a Colonel in the Hirgizstanian Special Forces Cavalry, a unit made up of the very best of the Hirgizstanian military’s armoured troops.

He drove a rental sedan and wore a civilian business suit instead of a military uniform. The only other thing in the car besides himself was a cigar butt in the ashtray, a cheap sat-nav and an overnight bag on the rear seat.

In that black bag was his military uniform and a file on Carver, which included everything the Cots had given him on the man, as well as what he’d learned on his two previous visits. His service pistol was strapped to his belt in its holster. He’d have to give that up to the Cottish MPs but he’d done it twice before and he knew the routine.

Mostas also carried a military issue mobile phone that the guards would check over to ensure there were no bugs or illegal devices in it. There weren’t of course. It was to call someone if the Cots had decided to go through with the deal they had talked about.

The reason he was heading to the base for the third time was to see if the Cots were prepared to give up the Colonel. They didn’t seem to want him in their military, despite the fact he’d asked them to join. Mostas could see why they didn’t want him, he empathized with that. But when he’d first heard about the report Carver had written and then seen it for himself he believed he’d found a talent that would be wasted rotting as a POW or wasting his time in the civilian world.

The man had a military record that dated back more than twenty years. He had fought in the Huahin army during their ill-fated war against Doomingsland. Carver himself had survived nine tank wrecks and had lost thousands of men and his command due to refusing to send any more to their deaths.

Carver hadn’t been bowed by the Generals that had slaughtered his men and sent him to a backwater. The backwater happened to be his home and some sense of honor and redemption had led him to take on one of the worlds finest military forces on a tiny island and score several major hits before assaulting them in a last ditch effort that, Carver admitted, was bound to fail. But he’d saddled up anyway and ended up deliberately smashing his out-dated tank into a Cottish one, which is how he’d come to still be alive.

Ultimately Carver’s spirited resistance had been a total failure but he had made all the right choices and done everything he could with what little he had. And that’s what made him interesting. The operation to subdue to the IOM five years ago should have been, from the Cottish point of view, a cake-walk.

But he’d managed to orchestrate a hasty defence that in just a few days had put three Cottish frigates out of action, downed two Vigilante fighter-bombers, destroyed a number of vehicles and killed a sizeable number of Cottish soldiers.

The big sedan roared up the gravel road and came to a halt outside the heavily illuminated front gate. It rolled open and he drove into the holding pen, the gate sliding closed behind him. In the interior of the car he still heard the metallic clank of the tire shredders coming up in front and behind the car.

A guard stepped out of the shack to the left of the car and Mostas rolled down his window and nodded a greeting. He already had his identification in his hand- a military ID and his Hirgizstanian passport.

The Guard took them, nodded, and disappeared back into the guard shack. From another shack on the other side of the car a dog handler came out followed by a soldier with an under-chassis mirror and they set about searching the car. The trunk was popped.

They did a thorough job, letting the dog sniff inside the car and the overnight bag before the two men completed their checks and disappeared back inside their booth.

The first guard appeared again with a laminated visitors pass which carried a scanned photo of Mostas. The Cottish guard leaned down at the window and handed the IDs and visitor pass in through the open window.

A fresh, cold wind whipped in behind him, filling the interior of the car with the vague smell of the sea. The Cot spoke in perfect accented English, “Welcome back Colonel, park in slot 4 and wait in the car for your escort. Have a good night, sir.”

Mostas nodded, “Thank you Sergeant. Good night.” The man rapped the roof of the car and the front gate rolled back, the tire shredder retracting with a thunk and a whine.

He did as he was told and waited in the allotted car park until another MP appeared at the car. Mostas got out.

The Cot was firm but not threatening. “Sir, have you any sensitive items to declare at this point?”

“Yes Lieutenant, I have a military issue pistol and a phone on my person.”

The Cot nodded and produced a small black lock-box from behind him. “Please remove those items and place them in this box. The gun will be returned whenever you leave or change into formal military attire. The phone will be scanned and returned to you as soon as possible.”

Mostas did as he was told and then followed the soldier into the building through a familiar side entrance next to the car park. The building was warm and stuffy like a hospital.

Even though it was late he had business to attend to. He likely wouldn’t sleep again until he was on the Chinook back to the base in Belfast from where he’d come from. He’d spent a night there after a day of travel from Hirgizstan City to Dublin by a commercial flight and then a bus up from there to Belfast.

The layover in Belfast had done him good though, although the weather over the Irish Sea had been piss-poor and the Chinook had lurched up and down the whole damn way. It had felt strange being the only person on the big aircraft apart from the three crewmembers.

Once inside the castle one of the Cottish commander’s men took him from the MP’s office up the stairs to his office.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

OOC: Colonel M.X. Carver originally appeared in OPERASJON RASK AKSJON:

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=488593

The Isle of Man had changed considerably in the last five years. The Cots had fullfilled their promises and turned the island from the backwater barrened rock that it had been under Huahin into a rich Crown Protectorate, made rich from the billions of Rikskroner that had been poured into the island after the annexation, not only to rebuild what the Cots and resistance had blasted to bits but also to modernize and upgrade just about all aspects of the island, and the Cottish government had lowered taxes and encouraged businesses, Cottish as well as international ones, to establish branches on Man. This in turn created well-paying new jobs and formed a basis for local earnings, stimulating the local economy and giving the population of 82 000 people money to spend. The population on Man, and youths in particular, had the same access to many of the same goods that their compatriots in Oslo or Trondheim or Murmansk or Brussels had, and this showed. In a referendum carried out by an impartial international commission the previous year, 79 % of the population stated that they were pleased with the Cottish administration, and only 4 % were discontent with Cottish supremacy over Man.

This support in the populace had made the Cottish lower the deployment numbers to Man considerably. After the first year, the 11th Marine Division had been withdrawn and replaced with the 836th Marine Infantry Brigade, which the following year had been replaced with the following force, namely a single battalion of light infantry from the Army and a detachment of personell from the Air Force manning His Majesty's Air Station Snaefell (Glen Audlyn had been thurroughly destroyed during the annexation and deemed economically unsound to repair, especially since only one military airstrip was deemed needed in this friendly portion of Europe and Snaefell was less damaged) and its small airwing of four fighters, three maritime surveillance aircraft, two refuelling tankers, two tactical transport aircraft and six helicopters, and adjacent dock facility where supply ships docked occationally to deliver military supplies and fuel, as well as the 864th Military Police Detachment which was responsible for maintaining law and order among the military on Man. In total, the Cottish military presence on the Isle of Man didn't exceed 1 200 men, a far cry from the 20 000 men that had been deployed on the ground in order to subdue the island.

The commanding officer of the 864th MP Detachment, a major that had been on the island for three years and rather enjoyed it here, glanced up from the prisoner fitness report he was working on when the polished-oak door to his lavish office in the castle's main building with large windows facing the court-yard and the sea approaches to the town of Peel, opened and he saw his clerk, clad in the field uniform that the most Cottish soldiers preferred to wear due to the increased comfort over the duty uniform, open the door to someone. Curious, he looked up and found that the Hirgizstani Colonel that had visited the castle two times prior, each time to meet with the single prisoner of the castle with the capacity to confine over fifty high-priority prisoners. Smiling out of professional courtesy, the major rose from his seat and walked around to greet the guest.

«Colonel Mostas, welcome back to Peel Castle. I must admit, this was a surprising visit. Plesant of course, but surprising. Oh, where are my manners. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, soft drink?» The major asked as he held his arm out, motioning for the Colonel to have a seat in the comfortable sitting group near the window.

Peel Castle, Cottish Military Headquarters, Isle of Man

Mostas dropped his bag and shook hands with the Major he had met on his previous visits.

“Good to see you again Major. Just some iced water would be fine for me.”

The Major told his adjutant to make the arrangements and Mostas joined the Major in the sitting group. The large, well apportioned room was warm and inviting. The old bare stones of the castle gave many of the rooms an old-time feel that gave the facility a character all of its own.

“Major, please accept my apologies for the lateness of my arrival, but the weather didn’t die enough for a safe flight until nearly 2300.” The Major nodded understandingly. The Isle of Man could get some stunning weather even during the winter months, but when the Irish Sea was stormy it got battered. The soldiers stationed on the island would know all about it.

“I’ll be blunt, Major. The Hirgizstanian military has found, after lengthy consultation, that Colonel Carver would be an asset to us in a number of fields. However, my superiors are at a loss as to whether the Cottish military has a use for him or if they wish to keep him locked up indefinetly. It is our belief that this is a waste of his talents. And as his direct keeper I have been sent to you.” Mostas stopped talking as the Adjutant entered with a jug of ice water and a glass, pouring it for Mostas before retreating out of the room.

Colonel Mostas then continued, “Major, you are the decider in this case- your superiors look to you for their assessments about Carver’s usefulness or his danger to Cottish rule here. The question I have been asked to bring before you is: are you ready to release him to us or do you wish to keep him?”

The Major had his adjutant fetch two tall glasses of iced water and sat down in the seat opposite Colonel Mostas before the Hirgizstani officer explained the reason for his being on the island. It turned out they wanted Prisoner #36326, one M.X. Carver, formerly Colonel in the Huahinian Army and the brain behind the stiff defense of Man when the Cots had annexed the island five years prior, as well as the last permanent inmate in the castle's prison complex. The Major had been prepared for this eventuality, as he had received several inquiries over the past two years as to the likelyhood of Prisoner #36326 still posing a threat to the "safety and security of the Realm and/or its citizens," and whether or not the Major believed that Carver was still willing to resist the Realm.

From the initial entries in the prisoner's dossier, he had been subjected to what the report called "rather stringent interrogation over time" by the intelligence services before he had divulged any usable information that had aided the Cots in cleaning up the island, and he had proven hostile towards the interrogators and initial wardens. However, over the past few years, the prisoner had seemed to accept his fate and hadn't caused any mischief or trouble of any kind. It seemed unlikely to the Major or the other MPs and intelligence officers that had guarded him that he would keep up an apperance of having accepted his fate for so long, and that he would resist the temptation to escape during those few times they had decided to test him by letting him outside the walls for a few hours. The conclusion to the Major was, and he had reported this back to Oslo, that Prisoner #36326 did not pose a significant threat by himself to the "safety and security of the Realm and/or its citizens," although he didn't exclude the possibility that Carver remained a symbol of unknown underground nationalistic forces that had an unrealistic hope of freedom from the Realm, and that these forces, whose numbers were estimated to be less than a hundred, might try to persuade Carver to join their futile fight in a hope of gaining popular support if he ever was released. After reporting this, he had received instructions that the time might be ripe for a parole for the prisoner, and that if the Hirgizstanians wanted Carver, they would probably get him. The Major were under strickt orders not to release Carver without explicit permission from Oslo though. That permission had yet to come, although the Major was instructed to call Oslo immediately if the Hirgizstanians decided to ask for him.

"Colonel," the Major said. "The prisoner Carver have the potential of being a very dangerous person for the Realm should he ever be released. Even though he's been under His Majesty's care for the past five years, we can still not be certain of the prisoner's loyalty. He is a very capable combat commander, as he proved during the valiant but eventually futile attempt of stopping the Marines from annexing this island. Even though he's asking whether or not he will be accepted into His Majesty's Armed Forces on a regular basis, we have no way of making sure that he would be loyal to His Majesty or our Realm if he were to be accepted in. Add to that that we tend not to accept into our ranks enemy commanders that are responsible for several hundred Cottish lives, and you can rest assured that the prisoner Carver will never be allowed to wear the uniform I wear today. Of course, we haven't told him this as we do not wish to break his hopes or cause any more anamosity in him."

The Major took a drink of water before he continued. "Additionally, there are still those fifth-columnists out there," he motioned out the window towards the island, "That view the prisoner as a symbol of a long lost past that they wish returned, and they might attempt to use the prisoner in a foolish ploy to incite insurrection on the island, something we cannot accept. For these reasons, we can not release the prisoner Carver into the general population of the Isle of Man. However, if you are interested in risking using the prisoner Carver for your own purposes beyond the borders of the Realm and, more importantly, away from the Isle of Man, I have received hints from the central authorities that he can be remanded into your care. However, I have strickt orders not to release the prisoner without permission from Oslo. Furthermore, while this is a military facility, I am still duty-bound to obey Cottish law, which forbids Cottish citizens to preform military service to a foreign country without His Majesty's permission. Thus, the prisoner Carver would have to request himself to be released into your care and to serve your country. It is a technicality, I agree, but the letter of the law is equal to all."

The Major paused for a second before he smiled. "Although if the prisoner wish, he will probably be handed over. If you wish Colonel, we could go down to ask the prisoner if he wish to serve in your military right now. If he wish to serve in your military, "

OOC: Sorry for the delay Hirgy. You can have Mostas decide whether or not you want to go ask Carver now, but if he does, just have him say yes and start going down to the cell block, and I'll take it from the cell block. I've got an idea...

OOC: Just FYI- my plan is to have Carver play a major role in re-building the Ivorian military in the Land of Sin RP. His tactics and ability to lead a small, tattered band of resistance fighters is perfect for constructing, from the ground up, a shattered and almost non-existent military force that will play a central role in the RP.

IC:

Peel Castle, Cottish Military Headquarters, Isle of Man

Colonel Mostas listened intently to the Cottish Major explaining their predicament. Over the past few years he had studied Carver he had also studied various pieces of Cottish Civil and Military Law that pertained to his case.

As he has suspected, there was no hope Carver would ever serve in their military. Furthermore, the Cottish were, rightfully, concerned about the abilities of a fifth-column group perhaps contacting the Colonel if he was ever to be released into the general population of Cotland or the Isle of Man.

However, military planners at the highest level in Hirgizstan wanted Carver in the Hirgizstanian military. The man posed no threat to the Commonwealth. He would be offered a chance to remain in uniform and to serve a cause that was, without doubt, worthy. It was something that would, hopefully, engage him and remind him of his abilities and duty as a soldier.

"Yes, Major, I would very much like to ask the prisoner if he would like to serve in our military. However, that would be a recruitment duty and for that I have been told to wear my uniform, and so I will, by your permission, retire to a room and change before hand."

The Major nodded and said something over the intercom. The adjutant appeared a few seconds later and Mostas followed him to a small guest room not too far away from the Cottish Officers offices.

The room was small with a white-sheeted bed and new looking pine furniture as well as a drab, standard military nylon carpet. Mostas wasted no time in changing into his fatigues.

They smelt of a strong detergent and were slightly crisp. He'd washed them on base in Belfast, getting the smell of JP-8 and cordite out of them, although he did kind of miss the smell of JP-8.

With the DIGIPAT uniform on and his suit packed away, Mostas made it back to the Major's office and the Hirgizstanian followed the Cot into the labyrinthe of thick concrete corridors that led to the cell block.

There were various locked doors and guard stations on the way but entering the cell block properly was interesting. It was based on three levels in a portion of the castle that led up to one of the two towers, where Carver was kept.

Inside the last metal door was a hi-tech looking guard station with two uniformed MPs. One was reading a paper and the other staring at the CCTV screens that monitored Carver.

The Major talked to the two MPs and while one searched a wall of keys for Carver's cell key, Mostas managed to see that Carver was sitting at his desk reading, despite it being past one in the morning.

The Major spoke quickly in Cottish with the two MPs manning the guard station, informing them that they were to see the prisoner immediately. The MPs, being as well trained as they were, just listened to the orders and nodded before making the necessary arrangements.

Turning to Mostas, the Major motioned for the Hirgizstani to follow him outside where two more MPs had suddenly appeared, both being armed with Tazers and a foot long wooden batons coated with rubber. The two nodded quietly to the Major who informed them that they were to make a little visit to Prisoner #36326 before informing them crisply in Cottish to follow them before one of the MPs started moving, while the second MP followed in the back, keeping a close eye on the foreign officer while holding firmly on to his baton.

Mostas was politely but firmly requested to stand up against the wall next to the guard station, something he did. Inside the guard station, the two MPs there activated the Backscatter X-ray machine (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Backscatter_X-ray) that was built into the castle wall and checked the image that appeared on their monitors for any concealed weapons or other contraband. The backscatter X-ray machine was a relatively new addition to Peel Castle, but the technology had already proven itself in prison facilities and airports around Cotland for their effectiveness in finding concealed illegal substances, and was in the process of being installed in all prisons, important government facilities and airports in Cotland.

Colonel Mostas was deemed devoid of concealed contraband, and after listening to the voice that came through the walkie-talkie, the MPs in the hallway were informed of this. The Major, being a member of the prison's staff, was excempted from the scan.

«Thank you sir, please follow us.» The lead MP said before continuing around the bend. After asking for the metal-grate door there to be opened over the walkie-talkie, the procession made their way through the door and found themselves in what the print on the wall called Avdeling A2, which was a semi-circular one-floor room with seven cell doors labelled A2-1 through A2-7 facing the center of the room. Six of the doors were open and revealed a grated window, a desk and a bed with a military blanket and a pillow lying on top, while the seventh door, labelled A2-5, was closed with a red light lit above it, showing that it was occupied.

«Please wait here sir,» The MPs said to Mostas and the Major when they were in the middle of the room. On the floor, there was a red line painted in a semi-circle, exactly two meters away from the wall and cell doors. «Please do not step above the red line, for your own safety.»

Whether the MP meant that Carver might attack if he stepped over or they'd detain him if they did remained unclear, and they left him to think about it as the two stepped up to the closed door. One of the MPs unlocked the feeding hole in the heavy metal door and looked in to find Carver awake and reading.

The prisoner turned to the hole in the door, surprised that they were checking up on him at this hour.

«Yes?» He asked, surprised.

«You've got a visitor. You know the drill.» The MP said, watching as Carver put down the book he was reading, walked up to the door, turned his back to the door and reached his hands out the hole. The MPs gently handcuffed the prisoners hands before the hands were pulled back inside and the prisoner kneeled. When he was on his knees, the MPs were satisfied and unlocked the door, holding their batons ready for action just in case. The two MPs took Carver by the arms and half helped, half lifted him to the standing position before escorting him outside to face Mostas and the Major. Parading the prisoner up to the two, they kept him two meters away from the two men before ordering the prisoner to halt and stand to attention. Carver complied and held his tounge as the well-known ritual transpired.

«Herr major, fange nummer tre seks tre to seks er klar til inspeksjon.» The MP reported formally, never once mentioning Carver's name, and especially not the rank that he had officially lost four years prior when the prisoners of war had been released from captivity, as the Cots had officially released Carver as well but arrested him immediately thereafter as a «direct threat to the safety of the State», sentenced him to «remain in His Majesty's keep until such a time as His Majesty deems fit to release him» and remanded to the care of the military police. In reality, he had been quietly transfered to Peel Castle and informed that he had been dismissed from service as there no longer existed a 3rd Regiment or a Manx Defence Force, and that he was being kept in the prison for his own safety. Since then, he had not been referred to as anything than Prisoner #36326 or, in «private» meetings with the Major, Mr Carver.

«Takk.» The Major replied in Cottish before switching to English. «Prisoner three six three two six, my apologies for disturbing you at this ungodly hour, but you have a visitor. This is Colonel Mostas of the Hirgizstani military. I believe you've met before. Colonel Mostas have a rather important question that only you can answer. Colonel?»

The ball was now in Mostas' hands.

Peel Castle, Cottish Military Headquarters, Isle of Man

Mostas couldn't help but admire the set-up the Cots had managed to install in a Centuries old castle. He particularly liked the set-up of the cells in a circular pattern with the red line a few feet away from the cell doors.

Carver now faced him in his bright orange jumpsuit, two MPs tight at his side watching his every movement no matter how small.

Strangely, Carver was the first to space after the introductions. "Mostas...I finally learn your name and your nationality. What could you possibly want with me?"

Mostas decided to go for a zero BS approach. Hopefully, as a fellow soldier, Carver would appreciate it.

"Mr. Carver, to my knowledge you have asked the Major here and his superiors whether it would be possible to join the Cottish military. Your a smart mine, and hopefully you realised these chances were slim?"

Carver looked slightly dissapointed but it appeared he wasn't surprised.

"Well, Carver, the Hirgizstanian military has, for two years, taken an interest in your written work and you personally. We, the COH military, want you. Before you answer, bare in mind that you will never be allowed to serve in the Cottish military due to your past and the offer from my military will not be extended twice."

The prisoner let out a sigh and he didn't say anything for a minute or so. The only noise in the circular room was the wind whipping at the castle outside and the heating system ticking over gently.

Carver looked at Mostas' rank badge before responding. "Colonel...what exactly do you want me for?"

Mostas turned side on to Carver to show the circular unit badge that had 'Special Forces Cavalry' written on it. "Classified, Carver. You'll find out if you say 'yes'."

Carver smiled at the Hirgizstanian's response. He didn't say anything in response. Instead he thought about the offer. Somewhere deep in his head he knew the Cots would never accept him as one of their own, never mind let him serve in their military. He wasn't bitter about it and understand exactly why they were that way. However, he'd never really admitted it to himself, mostly to keep his hopes up of life beyond his cell in the castle. Escape wasn't an option. He was on an island and he could swim but making it to England or Ireland was beyond him. He'd be noticed on the island itself and picked up quickly, perhaps even shot for his trouble.
Now this Hirgizstanian was offering him a way out. The man was cagey about why they were interested in him. That probably meant he'd be either in great danger or sat behind a desk if he accepted.

Carver wanted to accept, no, he had to accept. The cell was getting smaller by the month.

"I want to accept Colonel Mostas, but I'm not a citizen..."

"I realize that Carver. You'd have to become one. If you say yes, we're prepared to offer you that."

Carver thought again about that. In a way he'd always liked the Hirgizstanians. But becoming a citizen was a big step, although he'd already become a Cot by definition so what was another nationality? At least the Hirgizstanians would let him out of a cell.

However, he had to ask- "Are you not worried about my past, Colonel? The Cots are obviously still concerned about it, otherwise I wouldn't be here." He looked around the room.

Mostas smiled, he had expected that question, either from the Major or Carver himself. "Mr. Carver, if you accept you'll never set foot in Cotland again. And there aren't any Cottish revoluntionaries in Hirgizstan." Everyone smiled at that. "But, on a serious note: if you ever try to forment dissent or anything of the sort you'll find yourself in a predicament that will make your treatment by the Cots seem like a 5 Star holiday. Your a smart, well read man Carver, you know our reputation for dealing with dissenters."

Carver nodded. He knew. Quietly, he said "Yes, I accept the offer."

Mostas was satisfied. One part of the deal was done. "Excellent Mr. Carver. The decision is only half made though. Myself and the Major need to contact his superiors. Hopefully we'll be back here with a decision soon."

The MPs went through the process of placing Carver back in the cell and then they followed Mostas and the Major back out of the cell block. The two officers went back up to the Major's office to make the necessary calls.

Back in the office, the Major immediately got on the phone after offering a seat again to Mostas. It took a little while for someone to answer in Oslo, and it took some convincing and debate before the drowsy non-commissioned officer in Oslo agreed to patch the call through to someone with a bit more authority, in this case a Brigader that had just arrived home from a moist evening in one of the fancier establishments in Oslo. After some more discussion and waiting for the Brigader to get some extra strong coffee that would clear his mind a little and allow him to think clearer. After about ten minutes, the Brigader's head had cleared up sufficiently to allow him to be able to listen and actually understand what the Major said, and after listening to the brief explanation from the Major, the latter was ordered to call a Lieutenant General and not worry about it being so late. After writing the number down and apologizing to Mostas for the time it took, the Major called the Lieutenant General in question and was greeted by a not-so-pleased growl from a Lieutenant General that only twenty seconds prior had been sound asleep in his villa in the hills outside Oslo. After explaining the situation, the Lieutenant General was slightly less hostile, but he was still annoyed with being awoken at the ungodly hour. Still, he ordered the Major to stand by until the next morning, when the Lieutenant General would get the ball rolling to get Carver released. With that said, the general hung up and returned to sleep, leaving the Major standing in the office with the phone on his hand. Surely Mostas had heard the aggressive sounds coming from the phone, but the Major didn't care about that as he returned the phone to the cradle and turned to Mostas.

"The appropriate authorities have been informed sir. Now, we have to wait until the morning. It's getting late sir, and they'll probably have this affair as their first item of business tomorrow morning. May I offer you to stay here in the castle until tomorrow sir? It would be easier than trying to find a hotel room on the island at this hour."

OOC: You'll decide Hirgy, but regardless of what you choose, the affairs will be in order by the morning so I figured that my next post would be the release of Carver.

Peel Castle, Cottish Military Headquarters, Isle of Man

Mostas could hear the gruff and angry voices on the other end of the phone from the other side of the room. He had no idea what they were saying but 'angry' and 'pissed off' were clear in most languages.

In truth the Colonel didn't blame them for being angry. It was late at night, nearly two o'clock in the morning if his watch was correct.

Once the calls were placed Mostas took the Major up on the offer of a bed for the night and the familiar adjutant led him back to the room in which his suit was stored. Lying down on the hard, military issue bed Mostas was alseep almost immediately.

The knock on his door seem to arrive just after he put his head down but, after checking his watch and noticing the brighter natural light in the room, realized it was morning, coming up to seven.

"Okay, come in." He shouted and the young adjutant's head appeared around the open door. "Colonel, the paperwork went through this morning. The prisoner will be released at 0730. The Major is waiting for you. Would you like to eat breakfast with the Major?"

"Yeah, sure. I take my coffee black, two sugars. Be there soon."

Mostas got up and went into the small bathroom and showered quickly before getting changed and using his toothbrush and electric shaver. Feeling the tiredness slip away during his morning routine the Colonel got his uniform back on and grabbed up the issue cellphone.

He had to call the naval base in Belfast for the Chinook to come get him and Carver at the airport. The base commander had given him his personal number and within a few minutes the Chinook was being fuelled up.

The second call placed was to the Pentagon in Hirgizstan City to confirm he had Carver.

His calls ended, Mostas made his way up the familiar corridors and stairs to the Cottish Major's office. He could smell coffee in the corridors as he went.

After the breakfast with the Major, during which the two officers had discussed their respective families and the current state of world affairs, the Major's adjutant knocked on the door to inform the Major that the final paperwork had been approved by Oslo and had been forwarded to Peel Castle, and that the prisoner had been prepared for release. Nodding, the Major rose from the table where the two officers had enjoyed the breakfast and motioned for Mostas to follow him.

The delegation made their way down the oaken grand staircase into the lobby of the administration section of the castle's building and through a maze of stone corridors and metal doors before they reached what seemed to be the prison section's lobby.

The lobby was large and mostly empty, with a large blast-proof glass wall seperating the lobby from the control booth which monitored everything that moved in the outer perimeter of the prison section. On the far side, a large set of double metal-reinforced oak doors marked the exit into the courtyard, while on the other side from those doors, a set of metal blast doors marked the entrance to the various blocks of the prison section. Next to the glass wall, there was a smaller window with an open slot underneath it. The overall impression people entering the room would get was one of depression, as if all hope was lost for those unfortunate souls that had been condemned to spend a long time behind the mighty gray weathered walls. The color of choice, gray, and dimmed lighting helped to amplify that feeling. A full contingient of MPs were in place, as were representatives from the island's intelligence service detachment, distinguishable from the MPs by the lack of red berets and black armlets with the red letters MP, all just waiting.

They didn't have to wait long. At exactly twenty-five minutes past seven in the morning, there was some activity inside the control booth, with the two MPs inside suddenly paying extra attention to the monitors that were positioned so that no one from the outside could see what was on them, and pressing buttons and turning knobs at regular intervals until three minutes later, a loud buzzing sound was heard and the blast doors in the far end of the room opened to reveal M.X. Carver, handcuffed with his hands in front instead of behind his back, flanked by two MPs, with a third behind that again, carrying a cardboard box with Carver's books and other belongings from his cell that he had wished to keep.

There was a distinct difference from the Carver that Mostas had seen the previous night and the one that now appeared before him. Instead of the orange jumpsuit, Carver was dressed in a upper-end pinstriped dark grey suit that fitted him perfectly (after five years in Cottish custody, the Cots knew exactly what Carvers dimentions were) with a black linen shirt which had the upper button undone as Carver didn't have a tie on, and a pair of black leather Brouge shoes on his feet. Carver was freshly shaven, having been woken up at 5.30 in the morning and sitting in the prison barber's chair by 05.50, and his hair was freshly cut. It was standard for former prisoners that were being released by the Cottish authorities to receive a new suit and trip to the barber just prior to release, as it marked their rebirth into society as (hopefully) rehabilitated citizens that were ready to take their place among the ranks of the law-obiding population, and especially since the clothing Carver had worn when he had been captured had been burned shortly after capture due to it being torn, blood-covered and generally unusable.

Now, M.X. Carver was marched into the center of the room where the Major, Mostas and the Major's adjutant stood, and to halt one meter from the Major. Carver did as ordered, coming to a crisp halt in front of the Major, who for the occation was dressed in his black Class A uniform.

"Prisoner three six three two six, it is my duty to inform you that his Majesty the King has deemed the time mature enough for you to be remanded from His Majesty's keep. As such, it is my duty to release you from your sentence on the condition that you be remanded to the care of Colonel Kalo Mostas of the Hirgizstani Army." The Major said formally to Carver before addressing the two MPs flanking Carver. "Guards, please remove the handcuffs and escort mister Carver to the Administation so he may collect his personal belongings."

The two MPs nodded in acknowledgement before they uncuffed Carver, giving him a few seconds to rub his wrists before they gently marched him over to the window with the slot and ordered him to halt at a red line painted in the floor approximately one meter from the window. Carver obeyed, and the non-commissioned officer behind the window opened the slot and collected a closed plastic container marked with Carver's prisoner number from a shelf that was out of sight for Carver and placed it on the desk in front of the window before he opened it up and started taking out the items inside.

"One leather wallet, contains a sum of thirteen Huahinian pounds in bills and nineteen pence in coins, some old reciepts and a VISA card issued to one M.X. Carver. One wrist watch, metal. One pair of sunglasses, aviator-type. One set of metal insignia, the rank is Colonel in the old Huahinian military I believe. A tanker badge in gold. A few photographs, most of a personal nature. One pack of condoms, unused. And that's it. Please sign here." The NCO said, pushing a clipboard with a form that remanded the items to one M.X. Carver out to the ex-prisoner. After Carver signed it, the clipboard was pushed back to the NCO, who then pushed out the box with the items.

After Carver had recovered the items, he was marched back to the Major and Colonel Mostas while the NCO took the now empty box and placed it on the shelf before he walked off to file the paperwork.

"Mister Carver," The Major said. "There remains only one minor detail before you're free to go. Well, relatively free."

The Major nodded to the adjutant, who produced another clipboard with another document, namely the formal document that had been signed by some bureaucrat and a Lieutenant General somewhere in Oslo that in legaleese Cottish ordered the release of one M.X. Carver from the detention center on Peel Castle with immediate effect.

"Sign the dotted line near the bottom please." The adjutant said, offering Carver a pen. Carver accepted it and signed the document, and in doing so, the former Colonel cleared the final obstacle that stood between him and relative freedom.

"Thank you," The adjutant said as he retrieved the pen and clipboard, turned a few pages of the release document Carver had signed and ripped out a thin pink slip, a copy of the document with Carver's signature having transfered through the layers of paper and onto the pink slip which was handed to Carver as a copy of his release, before the adjutant returned to hovering in the background.

Now, the Major spoke again.

"Mister Carver, it has been a... special experience. I hope that you haven't suffered any unnecessary burdens during your stay here with us, and that you've understood the reasons behind the requirement for you to be confined to a controlled environment. Now that you're going to leave us, I wish on the behalf of myself, my staff and the Realm to wish you good luck and godspeed on your future endeavours. And of course, it goes without saying that should you ever think about returning to Man... Well, I doubt we'll fill your cell any time soon." The Major said with a thin smile, offering his hand for a shake - a first for Carver, who hessitated for a second before he shook the Major's hand.

"Colonel Mostas," The Major said, turning to face the Hirgizstani. "If you'd be so kind as to sign the necessary paperwork?"

Again, the adjutant appeared with another clipboard, this time containing a similar clipboard, only this time with a slightly different document, still written in Cottish legaleese that in short declared that Mostas agreed to take over responsibility of Carver and that the Cottish government or military was in no way responsible for anything Carver did after the document was signed by Mostas, as well as a clear warning that should Carver be caught on Cottish territory, and on Man in particular, in the future, he would be subject to summary imprisonment and/or execution as a "direkte trussel mot Rikets sikkerhet og stabilitet" (direct threat to the safety and stability of the Realm), regardless of his diplomatic and/or military status.

After the document was signed in triplicate (one for the prison's archive, one for the central archive in Norway and one for Mostas himself), the Major smiled again.

"Thank you Colonel. Mister Carver is now your responsibility, and I wish you good luck. I have a feeling you're going to need it." He added quietly so only Mostas could hear. "Well, I believe that concludes our business together. I wish you both good luck on your journeys back to Hirgizstan."

OOC: And I guess that concludes my involvement. You want to send them on their way and end this RP Hirg?

Isle of Man

Mostas said his goodbyes and walked Carver out of the building into the chilly morning air rolling in off the Irish Sea. It was damp but the wind was crisp and fresh, a refreshing and bracing morning. The Colonel went down the steps and saw Carver had paused outside the castle doors, breathing in deeply, a contented look on his face as he stared skyward. A prisoner savouring his first breath of free air.

The Hirgizstanian left him to his thoughts, collecting his gun from the Guard shack before returing to the rental car.

Carver jumped in the back and was silent. Neither man said anything for a while. The islands roads weren't busy so early in the morning. There was just quiet.

Eventually Carver began to shift in his seat and began to talk. "So...where are we going?"

Mostas kept an eye on the Manxian in the rear set. The box with his belongings was sitting beside him. "Belfast. A Chinook is coming to pick us up at the airport. Then, well then we're going to a place called Waddan, the-"

Carver cut him off, "the Home of Armor."

Colonel Mostas nodded, smiling a little, "Correct. I shouldn't be surprised you know that, you were a tanker after all."

Carver nodded slowly, thinking about his past for a second. "I see you are as well. I heard about you guys once, the SOF Cavalry- best tankers in the world."

"Thats us." Mostas smiled again.

"So why did you, the Hirgizstanians, want me? It seems like a strange thing to do...free a prisoner of an allied power?"

"Well, Carver, most of your writing has made it into Hirgizstanian military literature and hand-books. Basically, your potential was seen and as far as I know there was a diplomatic effort to see if you could be released into our custody."

"Potential for what, though? I haven't seen a tank in five years."

"I can't tell you what we need you for. First of all you have to get your citizenship and then we'll see if your fit enough for the Hirgizstanian army. Then we'll talk about those things. I do hope you've been keeping fit though. When we get to Waddan you'll be tested. Be ready."

Carver nodded, taking in the information. He wasn't worried about being tested. He had used the sizeable gym in the castle every day of his captivity. For his age he was amazingly fit, with a lot of spare time on his hands it was easy to find the time to work out.

It took the best part of an hour to reach the airport. But Mostas didn't follow the signs for the civilian entrance. He took a few turns and ended up in front of the gates of the military section and, once the gate guards saw his identification and that of Carvers, he was let through.

The car was left at the administration building. The Cots had rented it for him and they'd return it. Both men took their belongings over to the small terminal with seats overlooking the runway and taxi areas.

Mostas had a cup of cheap coffee, Carver just stared out the window and said nothing. Eventually they saw the Chinook sweep in toward the airfield and it landed close to the terminal. They waited as Cottish ground crew refuelled it and then a Cottish Air Force Sergeant came and walked them to the Hirgizstanian aircraft, its rotors firing up as they climbed the steps up the side doors.

The Crew Chief wore a helmet that covered his entire face and he gave both men headsets and then told them, via the headsets, where to sit and what do to in an emergency. Mostas had heard it before. Carver had heard similar things many years ago. Both nodded they understood and the Crew Chief gave them a thumbs up before jumping outside and doing his pre-flight checks.

Eventually he appeared again and took his seat opposite the one and only Gunner, on seats by the side doors behind the cockpit bulkhead.

And then the two men felt the big aircraft's engine pitch increase and it began to lumber into the sky, engines roaring against gravity to lift the hulk of metal and computers and wires into the air.

It wasn't long before the island was taken out from under the Chinook like a rug as it picked up speed over the coast, heading out into the forthy Irish Sea. Carver kept looking out the window at the island, his home and birthplace, receding into the distance. He'd never set foot on it again.

OOC: ATTENTION- TO ALL READING THIS THREAD:

Colonel M.X. Carver's story does NOT end here. Follow him in Land of Sin:

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=517901

He will be appearing very soon.

Thanks, and keep reading.