NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: This is open to all members of LION and specifically invited others (Please TG me if you wish to be included), however please conduct all OOC via telegrams or the LION boards, unless it is accompanying a substantial post. Thank you. (Prelude here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13894110&postcount=93)).]

August 7th 2008
Pictish Sovereign Base Area, Designation: "East Partha"
02:30 hours (local time)

East Partha is a desolate place; a land of plains where winter never ceased to exert its icy wrath. In the frozen wastes of the Grestonian north, the joyous summer enjoyed by Pictland was completely absent. Sentries huddled in closely to their winter clothing as an icy wind prevailed from the west, howling as it blasted through the concrete jungle of the base.

Over the past few months, construction on the base seemed endless, and now most of the vast complex lay within substantial concrete bunkers to shield its personnel from not only the empathetic weather, but from also from the fire of Grestonian assault. Peculiarly, a couple of large troop transport ships had docked in the base's harbour, a fact undeniable to the Grestonian satellites that would inevitably be monitoring the base. However, the ships were not here to reinforce the base, their purpose was quite the opposite. In the eyes of Grestonian orbital assets, a small, thin line of troops could be seen boarding the vessels. Not at all dissimilar to ants, the troops marched aboard in tens, then hundreds, then thousands until the ships could take no more.

As the penultimate soldier border the vessel before him, their Commander turned toward another man. Unlike the regular soldiers of the Óglaith na Pictavia (Pictish Defence Force), his clothing was almost exclusively black save for a burgundy-red beret that he donned on his head with a certain degree of pride, or authority, or both. The wind was beginning to die down to a lesser wail, however the tremendous crash of wave after wave against the harbour forced the Commander to shout;

"Ceannasaí Breandán!" the Commander yelled to gain the other man's attention, the brief vowels in Pictish nearly lost to the wind, "Ceannasaí, go mbeannaí Dia thú!"

The other man merely nodded, and then returned a salute. The Commander turned and boarded his ship, knowing he would never lay eyes upon East Partha nor Breandán again, as the words of the Commander echoed in Breandán's mind; may God bless you. Breandán hoped, nay, prayed, that God is as forgiving as scripture dictates, for his life has been naught but sin in the eyes of the almighty. The ship's tethers were let loose, and the transports and their accompanying escorts headed south at full speed in the dead of night, tearing through the whites of the waves with a tremendous force. All that remained in East Partha was one attack submarine, nestled in a covered sub pen, and under a hundred soldiers of the ARCAI (http://wikistates.outwardhosting.com/wiki/ARCAI). Breandán turned his back to the fleet and strode swiftly inside, out of the storm, for now.

*****

19th August 2008
Consular House, Fortriu, Pictland
04:30 hours (HMT-1)

Eógan Sol marched into the Consul’s office, with a mixed sense of urgency, anger and fear about his person. There he found the Consul sitting at his desk, his gaze not even broken by the flurry of movement that was Sol. He was lit only by the flickering, dying light of a candle sitting on the desk in front of him. Sol stood for but seconds, wondering if the Consul had been sat as such all night, he was still in the same suit he had been the day before, after all...

"Sir!" prompted Sol, only to no reaction. He tried again; "Gaius!"

This time the Consul's stare was broken and his eyes immediately locked with Sol's, his slumped posture unchanged,

"Sir, I've just been informed that you requested an emergency meeting of Parliament, not even before day-break! The Speaker has let me know that your proposal for an immediate withdrawal from LION has been approved by majority!"

With a brief flash of his tongue the Consul wetted his lips, like a snake, before he opened his mouth to speak;

"Yes, that is true. I could not wait 'till morning, Eógan"

Sol stood back, puzzled, yet still irate,

"Why the hell could this have not waited 'till morning, exactly? I wasn't even bloody present!"

The Consul licked his lips once more in the same, unsettling fashion,

"Eógan, Can you not see? Can you not sense a change in the wind? Can you not smell the sombre scent of ashes in the air? Or are you oblivious to all that is going to fall from the sky with such relentless damnation? In no more than a month, Pictland will have a new Consul, for McKay’s term which I have so rightfully fulfilled following his tragic death draws to a close. Eógan, we are on the verge of depression in this country, recession and the constant threat of war suffocates our people! Can you not see?"

The Consul licked his lips again, his eyes now wide with a crazed excitement inspired by terror. Sol lowered his voice; worry now his only expression,

"Sir, I have also been informed that the Second Army has been deployed"

The Consul's face was one of madness, the shadows cast by the candle dancing archaically across his features,

"This is my legacy, Eógan"

*****

19th August 2008
LION base, 300 kilometres south of Dal Riada
05:00 hours (HMT-1)

Elements of the Second Army Group were already in place just after the breaking of dawn, chiefly the first air assault and mechanized brigades. As the sun broke over the horizon, the silhouettes of soldiers, armour and helicopters marching through the country could be seen for miles around, and farmers who woke at first light to go about their daily work stopped for a moment to watch with curiosity. In fewer than two ours, the remainder of the three-hundred-thousand strong force will have taken their positions around the base, completely surrounding it. From the sea, the destroyers and submarines of the Chabhlaigh na Pictavia (Pictish Fleet) were already in range of the base's harbour, having only a few hundred kilometres to travel from the naval stronghold of Dal Riada. Arriving troops were swift to dig in and establish a line around the target, training their rifles on the distant structure almost immediately. In the sky, TF-71A1s and FA 15 cardinals patrolled the airways in packs of three, constantly vigilant against any movement, as their heavier brethren armed back at base.

In orbit, Observation Satellite OBS-017M whirred as it's lens focussed on the Faxanavians, Grestonians and allies on Pictish soil below, its thermal camera tracing every movement within the base. OBS-017M did not judge, nor did it discriminate unjustly, OBS-017M merely watched the fate of the world as it unfolded beneath.

*****

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Unencrypted Communiqué

Since Pictland's admission into the League of Ocean-faring Nations, I have witnessed naught but endless war fought against all those who stand in the name of peace, with little or no reasoning nor compassion from LION. Pictland joined LION in the footsteps of our allies, however, you are all lambs to the slaughter should you support the actions of LION's bloodthirsty leadership: Faxanavia.

Thus, it is without regret that I must therefore declare Pictland, by 'Parliamentary Directive #09632-08, Diplomatic', to no-longer be a member of the League. As you read this, Pictish forces are taking up positions surrounding the LION base south of Dal Riada where upon they shall establish checkpoints to evacuate LION personnel in preparation for the hand-over of the base back into Pictish rule. As such, we request that the smaller Barronian and Asgarnieu marine battalions be first to approach the checkpoints, unarmed, where upon they shall be transported to a temporary camp to await deportation, and treated to satellite television, beers and steak dinners.

Writ in my own hand,
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The Rt. Hon. Lord Consul Gaius Kadesh

Parliament House
Georgetown, United Kingdom

The frosted glass door shut with a quiet click. And as the sound registered to each of the assembled men and women, a tall and narrow-build man looked over at one of the two stoic black-suited men serving as his security. "Ladies, and gentlemen," he began in a quiet voice, "I call to order this meeting of the Emergency Counsel of the Cabinet Office."

The Emergency Counsel of the Cabinet Office, or ECCO, served as an advisory body for crisis situations. Its name served to remind those assembled that their advice would officially be considered counsel given to the Crown. But all assembled held no illusion, the man who had just quieted them held the actual power. Rodney Ingrahm was, after all, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

Ingrahm waited until all the others had taken their seats, then nodded at his Foreign Secretary and sat down himself. The shorter man, also with greying hair, leaned in towards the table and passed around a single sheet of paper. "This is the reason for our convening. As you are all aware, His Majesty's Government recently signed the necessary articles for admittance into the League of Imperial Ocean-faring Nations." Gavin Astley waited for the anticipated coughs and groans of a select few of the Cabinet. "Now, one of our fellow members has presented the organisation with an ultimatum demanding the organisation vacate a military facility currently occupied by," Astley paused to look at his briefing papers, "Grestonian, Faxanavian, Asgarnieu, and Barronian personnel. Pictish forces have surrounded the facility. Given established statute in the League's charter, if the Council does not deem the Pictish actions to be backed by 'sufficient reason' it is possible that the League shall take direct action against Pictland."

Those sitting whose portfolios related to the defence of the Realm murmured and muttered. Several small Blackberries lit up, mobile phones snapped open to clicks of keypads, and then shut. Ingrahm and Astley shared a neutral glance. Undoubtedly, somewhere in the Empire, pawns were beginning to move. "Thus far, our envoy to the League reports no official response is immediately forthcoming. Discussions are, of course, behind held."

"If called, we've very little to combat them in Haven. Just those forces deployed to aid Cravan and Hamptonshire against any Doomani aggression." Another short man, this one brown-haired with a distinctive goatee, added his voice. He was Radovan Noskovic, First Lord of the Admiralty. "And of course, getting reinforcements to Haven will take a considerable amount of time."

"This assumes that we are sending reinforcements," Sir Quentin Sterling represented the other half of the defence establishment, the Ministry of Defence. "we cannot be seriously considering coming to the assistance of LION."

"But we could be obligated by treaty," Astley added. "If called to by the Council."

Another man, seated close to the Prime Minister coughed, politely silencing the room. "I think Quentin's point, Gavin, is that this," the balding man looked down at his own briefing, "Consul Kadesh," he attempted to pronounce the name properly, "raises solid points. According to the same charter, the League," the man looked again to his briefing papers, "and I quote 'serves primarily to defend its members,' end quote. Thus far, the League has distinguished itself in a fashion wholly inconsistent with its stated objective. Waging aggressive wars and threatening punishments…" he trailed off, trying to find the words. After a long moment, he shook his head. "Blenders, ladies and gentlemen? Are we to seriously consider ourself members of an organisation committed to waging aggressive wars so that our so-called allies can place human beings inside blenders?"

Ingrahm waved his hands to silence the growing raucous. "And our participation in NATO, Rodger? Surely then our Gothic allies are a paragon of liberty?"

Rodger Livingstone, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, pursed his lips and nodded several times. "The critical difference, Mr. Prime Minister, is thus: both NATO and LION serve as an alliance to establish a common defence. However, LION has, as of late, taken upon itself to wage war—without provocation—upon nations without regard for the conduct of said war." Livingstone then turned to face his colleagues, "we have to examine whether, on a fundamental level, we desire to so explicitly continue to support the League."

The table then erupted. Ingrahm leaned back into his seat, and looked to his right, finding Livingstone exchanging some argument with the Transport Secretary. To his left, Astley, looking straight back at the Prime Minister with the trace of a grin upon his face. Ingrahm allowed the debate, to describe it politely, to continue for a few minutes before tapping his china teacup with his teaspoon. "We are here to discuss responses to a potential LION call to action."

Livingstone tapped his fingers on the desk, "sir, I think we first need to reconsider whether or we not we belong in the League."

Ingrahm shook his head vehemently, his animation startling those at the table. "No," he replied emphatically. "We shall remain in LION. However," he then softened his tone, "if there is a consensus, we shall consider, a less punitive response to the Pictish decision."

The vote took a few minutes, fifteen to seven. "Very well," Ingrahm finally announced, "we shall take a more lenient position towards Pictlands than we may have in other circumstances."

Unencrypted Communique

His Majesty's Government, while disappointed that the Pictish Government shall no longer contribute to the decision-making apparatus of the League, nonetheless recognises the right of the Havenic Federation to withdraw from the League. Accordingly, His Majesty's Government urges its fellow members to recognise said right and depart from Dal Riada forthwith.

It is the desire of the United Kingdom that, in the near future, the League shall once more acquire the respect, honour, and dignity once retained. And when such a time arrives, that Pictland will reconsider its decision to exit the League.

Rodney Ingrahm
Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

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I am both saddened and angered at the actions of the Pictish in their decision to leave the League and forcibly evict her soldiers in this time of great need for us. As I have said in my speech at the Aquaticus building yesterday, the League is in a state of dire need, but we shall persevere. That Pictlands would leave us, would drive us out in such a time is an act no better then treachery and deceit. We shall remove our forces from the nation of Pictlands, but only if they shall agree that no harm shall come to our soldiers, nor those of the League.

Respectfully yours,
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Garret Linsares
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia and her Associated Territories


The Faxanavian marines cowered in their bunkers, AVIR's clutched protectively to their chests. All that stood between them and the Pictish threat outside was the firm, cold metal held close. Sergeant John Piem rose briefly, glancing out into the stormy sky where FA-15 Cardinals soared. Pictish soldiers marched together. He dropped back down. Hopefully, they would get oout of this alive. Hopefully.

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Office of Telegraphics
52nd Floor
Diplomitas Building
New Misenae

Sir

We in Barronia whole-heartedly accept and appreciate Pictavia's decision to rescind her membership to the League. Whilst we cannot agree with your reasons to do so, we respect that you hold enough conviction to stand by your beliefs and act upon them.

However, this recent communication has concerned us; it is not within any nation's nature to hand over unarmed troops, leaving behind millions of dollars worth of equipment, to an ex-ally epressing serious dislike for those he requests leave his land!

With this in mind, we propose to relieve you of the problem. We will charter civilian passenger and cargo planes, and collect our men in that fashion. We cannot, with clear conscience, allow unarmed members of Her Majesty's finest surrender themselves to the whim of a nation who speaks so vengefully against us.

Yours

Amelie Carpentier-St Claire
Magistrate
Office of Extra-Imperial Affairs

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http://www.thewe.cc/thewei/&/&/images4/2005_war_photos_january_3/patrol_us_refinery.jpe
Pictish armour completely surrounds the LION base by sunrise.

Breaking News: League forces commence artillery strike
DUN AUGUSTIA, PICTLAND: The Fórsaí Constanta has confirmed that the 3rd Mechanized Infantry Division has sustained sporadic and light artillery fire originating from the joint LION forces' base three hundred kilometres south of Dal Riada. Although no official notice of specific casualties has been released, the Fórsaí have stated that several soldiers of the Garda na Èideann have been injured and are being air-lifted to the nearest medical facilities; a local field-hospital, where their wounds will be treated.

The artillery strike began nearly two hours after LION forces in the base were requested to lay down their arms in preparation for deportation back to their respective nations. With the LION base not being a sovereign base area, and in fact merely under lease by the Pictish government and thus still under Pictish jurisdiction, the failure of LION forces to withdraw has been interpreted as an act of invasion. The attack itself, while far from a barrage has been understood to be a series of ‘warning-shots’ directed towards the Pictish army that currently has the base encircled; suggesting that those within have no intention to cooperate and peacefully withdraw. This morning’s strike now places the Havenic Federation in a de facto state of war with the nations of Faxanavia, Greston and Barronia unless said states admit to having no control over their regional assets. Although Prime Minister Linsares had confirmed that he would withdraw his nation’s forces from Pictland, his government’s communiqué, which has been made public, in fact labels the Picts as ‘treacherous and deceitful’, throwing concern surrounding the frequently over-aggressive state’s true intentions. Thus, it is unclear whether Linsares is indeed still in control of his forces in Pictland, however Barronia has since stated that it will not comply with the previous Pictish request, hinting that Barronian influence may be the cause of the assault. The governments of Asgarnieu and Greston have yet to release a statement concerning the Pictish move, and their silence beginning to be viewed as resistance to Pictish requests. Although commentary by member-states is sparse at this stage, the League remains split on the issue, with the United Kingdom urging LION authorities to comply immediately and withdraw from the Federation.

In a press release issued immediately after the first report of the assault, Lord Consul Sir Gaius Kadesh laid out his terms to the suspected ‘breakaway’ LION faction in Pictland: “Following the assault on Pictish servicemen surrounding the now illegal occupation of the area, the Havenic Federation will not settle for anything less than the complete and unconditional surrender of all military personnel and resources on Pictish soil, either by local commanders who have assumed authority over their superiors or by the perpetrator nations themselves. Failure to comply will be met with overwhelming force“

Critics of the Kadeshi government have stated that this crisis bares a stark resemblance to the Mediterranican Debacle of May, however a spokesperson for the Consular House has since stated that the two scenarios are fundamentally different. Foremost to this reasoning is that unlike East Partha, the LION base in Pictland was never granted colonial status, and does in fact remain territory of the Havenic Federation. By failing to immediately withdraw from the area and cooperate fully with local authority, LION forces have effectively initiated an occupation of sovereign Pictish territory.

View in: English | Pictish
© The Fortriu Observer, MMVIII
http://feed.fortriuobserver.co.pi/

__________________
[OOC: Lawl propoganda :3
Main post to come tonight or tomorrow.]

Nova.
Undisclosed location.

”The Pictish crisis,” an old man started a meeting that would never be known to the public, ”That's what the media likes to call it,” he added lighting his pipe, puffs of smoke filling the room, ”I believe you all know the details and how this fits in the grander scheme of things,” it wasn't a question, even though the old man probed each and every participant for a slip, a weakness he could exploit later on, ”And how we can use this.”

This wasn't the first time these men were to meet and it would certainly not be the last. Among the upper levels of Damiran Intelligence Agencies whispers and rumors existed, about the existence of a 'Circle' of high ranking officials that held sway above the ongoing in Damirez and that their secret was fiercely guarded, the identity of the members unknown and even the existence of this group labeled as a fantasy by most, except for a few, and those already willing participants in the group.

”Officially,” there was a smile on his face, ”I'm sure you're all aware that our hands are tied,” he paused, filling the room with smoke again as the others waited patiently for him to finish his sentence, ”But that never stopped us before,” his left hand reached for the table , a holographic image coming to life. ”As you can see,” he started commenting on what was shown, ”Someone did his homework,” an appreciative nod to another in the room, a rare occurrence on his part, given his contempt for anything less than perfect, ”And is willing to share,” with a slight gesture of his hand the speaker changed.

”By now you are all familiar with the organization named LION,” the flags of various member nations were shown, those of the leaders projected with a red halo, ”And of the various uncertainties this organization brought to us,” a single flag, that of Oceania emerged as the others faded, ”Our analysis on the Oceanians and their intentions show that,” a few Oceanian officials were presented, names and various facts listed next to the holographic busts, ”Support for LION is diminishing,” the halo around Oceania went towards a bright shade of blue, ”Perhaps enough for them to be convinced to leave the organization,” the image shifted again, this time all flags but the Pictavian one vanishing, ”But another, more recent situation came to our attention,” the image of a man, one who people in the room could recognize as Gaius Kadesh, the consul of Pictavia appeared next to the flag of his country, ”The Pictavian announcement took quite a few people by surprise, especially given the presence of a LION base on their soil,” a map of Pictavia appeared, the location of the base a flashing red dot, ”And the repercussions that this action might have on their nation,” data about Pictavia and its relations with various LION members appeared, ”While Pictavia doesn't represent a traditional ally of The Principality or even a more recent one, this should be considered as a positive evolution.” Kadesh's image was brought hack, this time without any additions, ”However, even though this fits with the unfavorable trend of events towards LION,” a short pause, ”Various reports have us reconsider the initial estimates,” a few files were handed, the old paper preferred even to the newer technology used for the presentation, the various individuals in the room skimming through the pages before one of them voiced his concerns.

”This... might be a problem.”

Cordia.
Lille Class Vessel.

The Cordia was just one of the many ships of the Lille class spread around the globe by the Damiran Admiralty, or, in some special cases, by the Delian League. The class was designed as a work horse for the Merchant Marine of Damirez, able to transport huge amounts of valuables across the vast oceans of the world with minimum costs. Initially an all civilian design, it was quickly adopted by the Navy as a solution to a common yet worrying problem; the same distance that caused the design of the Lille Class was also a sore spot for military operations, it was virtually impossible to get enough men and equipment in time for any intervention in a situation that deemed it necessary. The Lille Class proved the solution to the problem. In short, several ships of the class were transformed in floating military bases for teams of special forces, allowing quick response in the eventuality of major crises around many parts of the globe.

Initially deployed near Pictish territorial waters with a potential conflict with LION in mind, the orders for the troops onboard the Cordia were changed with the new developments. The Halakian compliment was to unofficially assist the Pictish government in solving the current situation, or at least that's what the Pictavians were going to believe.

OOC: Cleaning the rust... not too happy with the post.

Diplomitas Building

"They claimed what? But this is an outrage! Get me the ambassador! Now. Have him meet me in briefing room 25."

The Ambassador from the Pictish embassy in New Misenae had a lot of explaining ahead of him. A free press was one thing, but indeed, blatant lies were another. Cadence Niels, Magister Premier of Barronia, was tasked with finding out exactly what the hell the Pictish press thought it was up to, and, indeed, the administration.

----

LION Base, Pictlands - Barronia Sector

"Were it but so simple as breaking out, sir. We need the Grestonians or Faxanavians on board for it. We're a light infantry battalion, our largest vehicle an M5. We've enough anti-tank weaponry to cause a dent, but even if we make it to the coast, then what? 125 LY-83's aren't exactly floatable. Ytterbia is days away by fastboat, let alone anything else, and we have 1000 men here. The navy cannot help us, our destroyer has moved to Ytterbia, and cannot take us all. She barely has the room for her current crew."

"Alright, get the Faxanavian here. We need to put our heads together on this one. Just remember - we're Royal Marines. Her Majesty is counting on us to make this as spectacular as possible."

"Yes sir. Jenkins, the Fox!"

The base was in a panic. Notified of the recent news report and the demand for full surrender, the marine commander had considered it. Then he had rethought his decision, and decided it would be a much better opportunity to show the prowess of his men and vehicles by breaking for the coast. The sheer number of troops in the base meant they had every chance, were it not for the air support. The Grestonians had the heavy weaponry, but no word had been received from their sector. The Faxanavians could help, if sufficient submarines could be made available - any attempt to break out would be an act of war, although it may as well be that already. 1000 men...how many would he give his final speech to in just a few hours?

August 19th, roughly 11:00 hours
Taigh nan Consal, Fortriu

The Consul sat at his desk, curtains covering the grand windows; the absence of light inescapable. His gaze was once again locked upon the void before him, his eyes staring with such intent upon nothingness. He sat with ruffled hair, somewhat slumped, with his arms resting upon the wood and his fingers interlocked. His suit, while still immaculately clean, was betrayed by crease after crease across its entire body. Although crumpled it remained crisp, proud, not dissimilar to its wearer's expression. For despite an air of what lesser minds may label as one of desperation, Gaius' defined jaw remained strong, shut, his stare absolute. He did so for some time longer, as he had already done so for far longer beforehand; completely still. Nobody came for the Consul, his duties already fulfilled by parliament; a house of fear of their leadership, managing the Federation as best as they could. Minutes melted into hours and without the presence of the sun, it was impossible to gauge whether night had yet befallen the realm, or indeed whether days had in fact already passed in this fashion.

Without any apparent stimulation, the Consul's lips parted ever so slightly, and he began to voice nothing more than a mere whisper:

"Cogadh..."

Despite the volume, the word carried weight, substance. He repeated, barely louder: "Cogadh". Upon recognizing its master's voice, a thin, metallic slit that ran in a crescent shape in front of the Consul right across the desk, began to exhale a water vapour into the air, before being joined by a symphony of lasers in the crevasse that lit up the air before him, the illusion of a hologram coming to life. What hung in the air was the word whispered: War, in a deep red, yet bright. The word soon flickered and was replaced by a flurry of activity as several scripts of words apparently without background shot down the nothingness in front of Gaius, shortly to be joined by a variety of animated instruments of measurement; graphs, power-bars, odd circles that seemed to operate like pie-charts without centres to them. Gradually, each part flickered and disappeared, until the entire opus gave way to a real-time satellite image of the LION base. Certain aspects of the image were highlighted by bright, blue rings, often accompanied by small text of a similar intensity. Along the 3rd Mechanized’s sector smoke could be seen rising from the ‘enemy’s’ artillery-strike some time ago, to be met with yet more troops and armour arriving at the front. Gaius shifted his position slightly to release one of his arms, and then outstretched his index finger towards the heliodisplay. As his finger moved towards what was little more than mist, light and thin air, sensors calculated the precise vector and velocity of his movement in order to gauge an adequate response. The satellite feed faded into the background to be replaced with Prótacal na Meadhanan Cogadh an seachd-deag written across in the same red colour as before. With a flick of Gaius’ finger the text brightened and immediately turned blue before the feed faded back into view. Media-War Protocol 17 had been initiated, however Media-War Protocol 17 wasn’t propaganda. It was something much less, but of far greater consequence.

11:43 Hours
Undisclosed military airbase, North of Victoria

Wing Commander Cairbre surveyed the seventy or so men and woman lined up before him, each already in their flight-suits and with helmets underarm. Behind Cairbre was a considerably large wooden crate, several metres wide and tens of metres long. The Commander himself was wearing the same blue jump-suit style flight-suit as the rest of his pilots save for the obviously different rank insignia, however instead of his helmet in hand he carried a rather weathered red and silver crowbar.

“Fáilte-” he suddenly shouted, “Welcome to the pros, boys and girls, for today I have bestowed it upon my very own fine self to ensure that you shall fly like gods!” Cairbre then decisively pointed his crowbar at a member of his wing, “You! Lieutenant! What the hell do you want for Christmas?”

“Sir?” The officer seemed somewhat confused, so Cairbre elected to repeat the question:

“I said tell me what the fuck you want for Christmas, pilot!” The Lieutenant shifted on the spot, rather uncomfortably, before bellowing out:

“Probably Sir, one of those Willinkian Olympia gaming consoles, Sir!” The Commander raised his voice rather substantially at the outrage of this statement,

“WRONG, Lieutenant, you do not want an Olympia gaming console! What you want, I have got, in this very mother-fucking crate no less! I am your goddamn provider, Lieutenant, I am goddamn Santa-fucking-Claus himself!”

The Commander strode over to the crate and jammed the crowbar into one of its edges, placing his heel against the side for leverage. He struggled for a moment, but with a grunt the side of the crate came crashing down followed by every other side, kicking dust into the air and obscuring the crate’s contents for a moment. As the dirt settled, what lay within became shockingly apparent.

“Behold, boys and girls, the F/A-77 Kovas Air Superiority Fighter, fresh from the most vehement land of Soviet Bloc! This pretty bastard comes all fuelled-up, ready to go, and if you don’t know how to goddamn fly this bitch then you’ve got fifteen minutes to learn! Saddle up, because at 12:15 hours you are escorting the Sariels of the First Strategic Bomber Wing into the combat-zone! Now what the fuck are you waiting for? Move, move move!”

Nearly a hundred-metres away, twelve SB-22 Sariels of the First Strategic Bomber Wing had already refuelled and were edging slowly onto the runway, one-by-one. The lead plane then lined itself up before its engines began a tremendous whine; glowing from a fiery yellow to white hot in seconds. The aircraft began to pick up speed leaving the hot air rippling in its wake, and then soared into the sky. Once it was joined by its airborne comrades, they flew in a delta-formation towards the target, their flanks being protected by three-times as many Havenfighters. They would reach their target in a matter of minutes.

12:17 hours,
Joint LION military base, Pictland

Eight Síanach-class guided missile destroyers sat several kilometres offshore of the LION base, completing the surrounding of the Pict’s pray, although remaining out of reach of another potential strike. As the order to initiate an aggressive response to the LION artillery strikes was received by each captain, crewmen scurried across the ship’s decks to man their stations. Already racing ahead of the fleet were some thirteen Visby-class corvettes, perhaps the navy’s favourite toy, with their RBS-15 anti-ship missiles prepped for launch. Almost a hundred metres below the group lay four Nowotny-class attack submarines that were also receiving the same orders as their surface counterparts. Each vessel knew their part in the plan of attack, and the Nowotny’s were to fire the first shots; launching several 533mm and 324mm torpedoes each at various docked targets; primarily the two LION destroyers still docked, amongst other troop transports and supply ships that were unlucky enough to be assigned to resupplying the base at this time. The Visby’s soon followed suit, launching their missiles to ensure there would be no survivors whatsoever.

Hundreds of metres above the base circled the patrols of F/A-15 Cardinals that had been in operation since the dawn of the crisis. Until suddenly, without warning, their previously predictable routes broke and the aircraft began to release over five-thousand kilograms of guided bombs each, with the aim of eliminating the LION anti-air capability in one movement to clear
the skies for the Sariels.

Surrounding the LION base from a three-kilometre long radius, on Terra Firma, lay over one-hundred and ten artillery batteries, each housed within its own infantry or mechanized brigade. Chief to these batteries were 155mm M777 howitzers, which sat in lines of eight. With each loaded, their crews covered their ears as each fired one after the other in quick succession. Attached to the mobile units were packs of M270 MLR Systems, who trained onto their targets with guided rockets that shot out of the vehicles with an unsettling fizz at an incredible speed. In a matter of seconds, the air was thick with thousands of different artillery munitions, speckling the sky. To the enemy they would appear to hang in the sky for mere seconds before their impacts would be known. The howitzers were indiscriminate in their targets, primarily concentrating on fortifications, however the guided rockets soared like lances of light towards any and all military hardware left in lesser shelters, hangers and out in the open.

It was then that the First Strategic Bomber Wing arrived on the scene, several minutes after the first exchange. To the distance, the artillery units were already reloading and preparing a second volley, a task that would take mere minutes to accomplish. The Havenfighters suddenly banked to either side of the bombers, flying the perimeter of the base but never overhead, while their larger counterparts flew over ten thousand metres above the base at supersonic speeds to outrun any ground-launched missiles. Once overhead, a steady stream of incendiary bunker-busters and guided bombs fell from some of the squadron, while two-thirds dropped GBU-43/B fuel-air bombs that hurtled downwards towards the main installations of the base. The shock alone from the blasts could bury an entire division underneath the rubble of the bunker they were taking shelter in.

12:28 hours,
Pictish Sovereign Base Area, Designation: East Partha

The soldiers of the ARCAI left behind after the evacuation of the base had now been alone, preparing for their certain death for almost two-weeks now. Commander Breandán stood in the missile silo control room, watching the Grestonian News Network channel. If all one ever did was watch the Grestonian news, Breandán assumed that you would only know of one thing: war. Undoubtedly aided by the multi-front conflict Greston had already succumbed to, war must have become an every-day reality for these people. That was not going to change any time soon, at least not until their armies lay wasted. That was what Breandán and his hundred men were here to do. As the clock ticked to 12:29 hours, the screen in front of the commander suddenly changed. The words “Breaking News” shot across the screen, and a rather flustered, obviously exhausted reporter began to inform the Grestonian masses that yet another nation had joined the ranks of those who wished to destroy their empire. This country was, of course, Pictland. That was the confirmation Breandán required. Since the departure of the base’s former troop complement all conventional contact with Pictland had been severed in preparation for the assault. All communication was done via “Media-War Protocol 17”, which relayed coded orders to the secret soldiers through the means of local television and selected words used by Pictish politicians. Nothing that could ultimately be traceable back to the Federation, of course.

Breandán had all the information he required that he was to continue with his previous orders. Despite their low numbers, the ARCAI felt secure in the large, Pictish complex. It had been under construction for a substantially longer amount of time than its LION counterpart, which would likely provide barely substantial shelter due to its young age, and East Partha in contrast had grown into a sprawling underground series of concrete bunkers. The sea and land remained heavily mined, left unchanged since the preparations for the defence of the base from the Mediterranican hordes some months earlier, and thus it would be next to impossible for any force to approach the base without detonating some explosive. This, of course, had proved somewhat problematic for local wildlife however. The majority of personnel, who weren’t in watchtowers, were in fact spread between the base’s rather modest seven cruise-missile silos. The silos themselves, if indeed they could be called such, were not large at all as they were only designed to combat close-range threats. What was close enough for the missiles, however, were the various Grestonian troop positions surrounding East Partha in response to the Pictish presence in such close proximity to Greston. Breandán did not even need to relay the orders himself, for the television audio was being broadcast through the base’s radio to his men. With the final preparations already in place, seven cruise missiles soared into the sky above East Partha, leaving a trail of white smoke in an arc behind them as they adjusted their flight trajectory. They were of course loaded with VX; the horribly fatal nerve agent, and were of course now screaming towards Union Square, home of thousands of Grestonian troops. The ARCAI began to load, for death deals in twos.

The Commander turned the television off, and walked towards a console to monitor the missile's progress. His eyes darted towards the middle of the room for a moment, contemplating his near, fiery future: for at the centre of the room lay one nuclear warhead.

[OOC: As it's 04:30AM I am rather tired so there may be some holes in this post. If I left out any details, or if there is anything you need to know, please TG me and I'll either reply or try to fit the answers in my next post. Oh, and obviously I'm not putting pilots straight into brand new planes, that bit was a joke :P Cheers.]

OOC: Aplogies, Picts, for being so late on my posts. I've been layed up with a cold, which somewhat limits my posting ability.

The papers on Garret Linsares's desk were scattered and seemingly random- only the Prime Minister could parse his strange filing system. He was shuffling through it as the door to his office burst open, a scattered young aid by the name of William Jenkins hurtling through. He clutched a manilla envelope, which he lay on the Prime Minister's desk before scurrying out in fright. Looking up from his labor, Garret slid open the envelope with a letter opener, and read its contents. With a muffled curse, he rose from his desk. Not hours ago, Pictlands had declared war and bombed the LION base in Pictlands. He swung around, seating himself in front of the slim computer that sat atop his haphazard filing cabinet of a desk. He began to type up a communication to the Picts immediately.


http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2397/2694138618_d3ab434443.jpg?v=0

To whom it may concern,

Let me first say I am astonished at the deterioration in your actions. First, you ask us to leave your lands, a request which I begrudgingly acquiesced to. Yet, now, without consult or response, you have opened warfare between the nations of the League and yourself. Let me say, we do not wish war with Pictlands- the League has enough trouble to handle already, and a former ally is not one we wish to war with. Your destruction of Faxanavian, Grestonian, Barronian, and Piccavian life cannot go unpardoned, but we do not wish more death to come of it. If there is some way that we can reach a peaceful conclusion to this current conflict, I beseech you, please tell me of it. It would bring great peace to my mind to know that yet another war does not have to be fought by the League.

Respectfully yours,
http://wikistates.outwardhosting.com/w/images/5/59/Signature_Garret_Linsares.PNG
Garret Linsares
Garret Williamson Linsares,
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia and her Associated Territories and President of the League of Imperial Ocean-faring Nations


Sergeant Piem dragged himself slowly from the wreckage of the bunker, casting shadowed eyes about him to take-in the scene of mass carnage. Of the 25,000 men brought to Pictlands, there to represent the League and Faxanavia, a mere 2,500 remained. They're forces had been decimated 9 times over by the destruction the Picts had wreaked. The majority of their contingent had been down in the mess when the strike occurred- only the few arrayed throughout the stronger or less targeted parts of the building survived the destruction. As Sergeant Piem slid out from underneath a pile of rubble which had, miraculously, failed to crush him. crawling on his hands and knees through the twisted wreckage, he managed to reach the small bed on which he had been so recently reading, until the sudden strike by Pictish forces. In desperation, he reached out on any channel he could find. "This is Sergeant Piem of the twenty-third Faxanavian Light Infantry broadcasting on all available channels. We have been struck by Pictish bombing, possibly up to 90% of our forces dead. If there are any Pictish troops out there- we surrender. I repeat. We surrender. We have injured men in here, and we need to get them immediate attention. Anything that can be done to save these men, I will do." He collapsed against the bed, praying silently to whatever god would hear him.

Official Grestonian Communiqué

To: Pictish, Faxanavian, and Barronian Foreign Ministries
From: President and Imperial Parliamentarian The Rt. Hon Sir Jerry Striker
Subject: Pictish Stupidity

Dear Whom it May Concern,

Dear sir, Mr. Garret Linsares, one of the most honourable men I am pleasured to know, you are wrong; the destruction of Faxanavian, Grestonian, Barronian, and Piccavian life can go unpardoned. For once I may agree with the dishonourable, rubbish populace of Pictland, the Faxanavian government has not been slow in declaring war in the name of the League. I agreed with the Hegemonic invasion, infact I proposed it, but at what cost is the death of the Hegemon? Are we so ready to abandon our people and let the death of our millions be the price for the death of one?

The 50,000 Grestonian infantry soldiers located within the Pictish base are to surrunder to Pictish forces within seventy-five hours, Pictish authorities may do what they want with them, other then murder or torture. After the invading Mediterranican Union forces withdraw from our territorial water, the Grestonian government will dissolve and allow for myself and others to rebuild.

With this statement, I hope the Pictish in East Partha will withdraw. Union Square Base has been retired, I hope soon enough East Partha will too.

From,
President and Imperial Parlaimentarian The Rt. Hon. Sir Jerry Striker

"Gentleman, Ladies, Royal Marines. Today is a rare day in our history, one not oft seen before and hopefully never to be repeated. We are here, our motherland powerless to aid us. I have received word from command, and we are to surrender ourselves to the Pictish. But fear not, Marines! We shall have our fireworks; for everything Barronian in this base is to be destroyed. Every Fox, every rifle, every BDU. We walk out in our dress uniforms, and we walk out proud, as Royal Marines should be! This may be a rare day in which a Royal Marine Commande orders his finest to surrender, but this is a rare day in which our dignity remain-"

The first missile hit one of the few stationary defences, a missile platform. The men manning it were incinerated, their bodies turned to ash before they could so much as react to the threat.

The base went into immediate chaos. It's small size and lack of effective defences the bane of the Marines' as they scattered, throwing themselves on the ground.

"Radioman! Radioman! Get a message out to those damn bastard Pict asswipes! Pull that attack off! Sergeants, get flares out!"

The radioman found his way through the explosions to the command building. Immediately he found his way to the underground radio and communications room. Throwing the officer at the desk out of the way, he immediately made the following distress call:

"All Pictish units, all Pictish units, this is Barronian Sector LION Base, we are preparing to surrender, preparing to surrender, please call off the assault. I repeat again..."

This continued, until the Sariel bombers made their assault. The fuel air bombs tore through the units left in the open, the bunker busters burying those who had made it to cover. By the time the assault finished, fewer than 50 men had survived, many with injuries amounting to limb loss, 75% burns, or worse. The vehicles left on the base were wrecks, the only survivors a series of Ambulances left in a far corner - those still capable of walking, including the Commander who by some freak of luck had managed to hide under one after instructing his men to find cover and "get the fuck out of the way of those goddamned bastard havenfighters."

Pulling his radio, he continued the plea for the assault to stop - for the number of men he had lost, it was worth at least someone being left to punch the first man who tried to "debrief" him.

[OOC: Greston: You really need to RP your casualties, at Union Square as well, as I cannot accept a surrender unless I know what's happened. Plus your 75-hour surrender is rather silly, we don't have enough shells to fire at you for that long :S]

Joint LION forces base,
300 kilometres south of Dal Riada
12:24 hours (HMT-1)

The Pictish barrage had already released three salvos of howitzer shells and guided rockets against the besieged League base, the guns of the Federation launching a continuous hail of firepower at the unfortunate soldiers ten kilometres away. The "Thunder bringers" of the Third Infantry Division were the primary Divarty Fires Brigade of the unit, comprised of seven 155mm M777 Lightweight Towed Howitzer Batteries, numbering forty-nine guns in total. The guns could easily hit targets accurately at ranges up to four times the current, and with satellite firing coordination it was unlikely that there would be much, if anything left in the LION base at all. Combined with this awesome firepower, the guns were manned by some of the most professional artillery crewmen in the Pictish Army...

"HEY CAT? CAT! HEY!"

Saighdiúr* Catriona Aithne of the 3rd Infantry Divarty swung around, her hands covering her ears from the deafening booming of the ongoing assault,

"WHAT!?"

Both gunners were shouting, nearly screaming at the tops of their voices to hear each other through their hands and the blasts,

"DID YOU FINALLY SHAG THAT CIVY?"

"FUCK YOU CORPORRA* ASSWIPE"

"HEY, NO NEED TO BRING RANK INT-" The sound of the guns stopped although it still took Corporra Asswipe several more syllables to realize that he was now shouting for no good reason, "C'mon Cat I'm serious, did he roger you silly?"

"I said fuck you Corpailear*, alright?"

"Woah Cat, I was only messing with you, where’s the arty love?"

It did not take long for the Sárdseant* to notice their lack of input into the reloading of the howitzer. Needless to say, he was rather pissed.

"Angus, Aithne, get the fuck over here and help the rest of us load the gun, dammit!"

Corporra Angus hefted over a fresh shell, grunting with the weight while Cat hurled a smoking casing into the pile, and there were probably a few mechanical clunks here and there. When all was done, the crew covered their ears again and the guns of the battery fired one after the other in quick succession, launching another wave of explosives towards the base. Not a second later the Sgiobair's* voice cried from the crew's radios with a sense of noticeable urgency,

"FOIS-LOSGAIDH! CEASE-FIRE! All units: cease-fire! Barronian forces have surrendered, POW’s incoming. All units, stand-by to re-engage on my order"

Loudspeakers across the frontline, originally raised to broadcast propaganda to the besieged forces, began to boom orders to the surrendered:

"ATTENTION BARRONIAN AND FAXANAVIAN FORCES: LAY DOWN ALL PERSONAL EQUIPMENT AND ARMAMENTS. EXIT THE BASE SIDE-BY-SIDE, IN BARRONIAN AND FAXANAVIAN UNIFORM ONLY. KEEP YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS AT ALL TIMES. WALK FORWARD UNTIL YOU ARE TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY METRES FROM PICTISH FORCES, WHERE YOU WILL AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION. AMBULANCES MAY ADVANCE UP TO 800M, WHERE UPON THEY SHALL UNLOAD THEIR WOUNDED AND RETURN. FAIL TO COMPLY AND WE WILL OPEN FIRE.

ATTENTION GRESTONIAN FORCES: MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO EVACUATE THE BASE AT THIS TIME AND YOU WILL BE SHOT. REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE"

Mortar teams had already been deployed all along, or more accurately 'behind' the front line, ready to shell 'no-man's land' at the first site of unauthorized activity. Mechanized units; tanks, and infantry fighting vehicles in particular mingled with the entrenched troopers and smipers who lay in shallow fortifications with their rifles trained on the enemy base. Great pillars of smoke could already bee seen stretching into the sky, obstructing the F/A-15 Cardinals from view at certain points. This did not hinder the aircraft's combat capacity whatsoever, which was now directed at 'painting' any emerging armour for the artillery and Lariats. Infrared detection and ground-tracking systems were engaged in the hope that the pilots would get the opportunity to let rip with the aerial predator's Mettel DBG30/190 30 mm cannons. Fun was still to be had.

Pictish Sovereign Base Area, Designation: East Partha
12:35 hours (HMT-1)

The white trails of the first wave of cruise missiles lined the Parthan night-skyline, the missiles themselves now nothing more than fiery lights in the air hundreds of kilometres above. Satellite targeting was immediately engaged, directing the missiles to the nearest mass-concentration of Grestonian military personnel**. A handful of ARCAI troopers braved the open-air, darting across the concrete ground towards a bunker built around a variety of MLRS units. Loaded with the same VX nerve-agent as the cruise missiles, two M270s opened fire, launching a rocket-housed volley of the fatal toxin towards pre-marked military targets across the border. The rockets hissed into the air one after the other until the vehicles' complements were depleted, at which time a hasty-reload was commenced. With the base's sole air-cover being SAM installations and MANPAD units, the soldiers did not want to spend any more time out side of the security the fortress than they needed to, even in the cover of darkness.

http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y154/Retro_1989/PictlandCommuniqu.png

Unencrypted Communiqué

Now that I have the League’s attention, I must announce that the surrender of all Barronian soldiers has been accepted. It is unfortunate that Barronian personnel chose to remain within the base, as Pictland’s quarrel was never with the Island Empire. You have my word that should said soldiers following the appropriate instruction of the military, they will be treated with the utmost humanity and dignity.
In regards to Mr. Striker’s surrendering of local forces: we have yet to receive word from the LION base itself. Should they wish to surrender, they will have to coordinate their evacuation with the Fórsaí Cosanta. One hour of cease-fire is now in effect after which time the destruction of the LION base shall ensue, should all survivors have not surrendered by this time. I must also confirm that there are no Piccavian personnel in the base, in fact the present roster declares only Grestonians, Faxanavians, Barronians and Asgarnieu service personnel. The last nation’s commitment is yet to be confirmed, as we have received no official word of their presence. East Partha will not be returned to the Imperial Republic by myself, considering the instability and pending dissolution of yet another overly aggressive Grestonian government.
Mr. Linsares, we request either the immediate dissolution of the League, and ending of all hostilities where applicable in the name of the greater good and future-stability of the globe, or the unconditional surrender of all local forces. Should you fail to comply, all resistant Faxanavian and Grestonian military personnel in Pictland will be destroyed, and our allies alerted to the danger presented by the continual existence of the League.

Writ by my own hand,
http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y154/Retro_1989/Signature.png
The Rt. Hon. Lord Consul Gaius Kadesh


Footnotes
*Pictish Army Ranks:
'Saighdiúr' is the rank of a Private/gunner. 'Corporra' is the adjective of Corporal; ‘Corpailear’ being the noun. 'Sáirdseant' is Sergeant and 'Sgiobair' is a military captain.

**If you have abandoned Union Square, it was never RP-d to my knowledge, so presume the targets are elsewhere since Pictish intelligence would not of missed the movement of tens of thousands of Grestonians off what is probably the most highly monitored area in Greston.

<Snip>

The Faxanavian troops came slowly out of the base, hands clasped over their heads, adorned in tattered dress uniforms. Many hobbled on makeshift crutches, and others were dragged or supported by their comrades. Guns had been left back at the base- they were of no use now. The came to a slow rest at 250 meters from Pictish forces, forming up into small groups, huddling close together for what little protection it afforded them.

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To whom it may concern,

I regret that our relationship has become so soured that we must speak as though two warlords, locked in pitched battle. As per your wishes, the Faxanavian and Barronian forces in the area have surrendered to your forces, and I entrust that you shall take the best care of them. However, I cannot be responsible for the actions of the Grestonian or Asgarnian forces in the area. Their actions must be taken into their own hands, and from this point on, as that base is no longer a LION-base, their decision is no longer a LION decision to make. I hope that they make the right one, but I hold no sway over them. As such, you have the full, unconditional surrender of all LION forces in the area. Whatever those remaining in the base choose to do, it is outside of my power.

Respectfully yours,
http://wikistates.outwardhosting.com/w/images/5/59/Signature_Garret_Linsares.PNG
Garret Linsares
Garret Williamson Linsares,
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia and her Associated Territories and President of the League of Imperial Ocean-faring Nations

<snippage>

"Goddamn Pict bastards, give them what goddamn for when I get out there..."

The commanders swearing continued as the ambulance rattled to life. Jamming it into gear, he swung by the walking wounded, soon rounded up and driving ambulances of their own.

Eventually, the wounded were piled in, 5 stretchers to a vehicle, nearly 40 men in total making their way through the potholes and ruts of what remained of the base. 500, 600, 700 meters passed, the ambulances shuddering to a halt at the 800 metre mark. In the distance the armoured vehicles could be seen, turrets trained on them.

The stretchers were unloaded, the groans of pain having to be ignored in hopes of comprehensive medical treatment being made available. The ambulances were driven back, left in the gateway of the base - or at least, the remnants of two pillars that once made a gate.

Reaching for his radio, the commander made a final transmission:

"Ready for pickup - you bastards better get over here soon."

Official Grestonian Communiqué

Unencrypted

To: Consul Gaius Kadesh
From: President and Imperial Parliamentarian The Rt. Hon. Sir Jerry Striker
Subject: RE: Pictish Stupidity

As of this time, I have heard word that the surrunder of local forces has not been accepted. This act of mindless violence on the part of you belligerent scum bags shall not be accepted.

With saying this I feel like my predecessor, a man whom, I have now come to under stand, was a great man under pressure. As kindly as I can explain the following statement, it just would not do. So, as unkindly and impolitely as possible: fuck off.

The troops inside the Pictish base have surrendered, your act of refusing to let them out is disgusting, to say the least. Thus, the impending doom of East Partha shall come today. Hand over, to their respective governments, all Grestonian, Barronian, Faxanavian, and Piccavian forces.

I tried to be straight with you, I attempted peace. But it seems your Picts no nothing of it. With you bombing of the retired Union Square base and your continued aggression, I hope that god may have mercy on you, for we shall not.

From,
President and Imperial Parliamentarian The Rt. Hon. Sir Jerry Striker

IC:

The bombardment had taken a heavy toll on the 25,000 Grestonians souls, the once great 25,000 was turned into a withered grouping of one thousand remaining men. When the first shells had hit, they had turned to tail and taken cover where ever possible, it was not enough to save most of them and stop the loss of limbs and severe burns to the surviving.

The surrunder had been given and the troops, head up by Brigadier General Joseph Asenbon, and they were down to nothing but their casual clothes and Brigadier General Asenbon who had the flag over his shoulders, their uniforms were dropped and thrown away, as with most of their equipment.

The Barronians and Faxanavians evacuated with out problem but when they attempted to, they were stopped from the ominous 'propoganda shitters' as the brigadier general had come to refer to them.

"Fuck! No! Let us out," the gunners and panicing men pounded on the doors, ready to leave the man made hell hole. The LION flag had been taken down and it was obvious that it was no longer a LION base. The men were on their own.

Waiting for the reply, the chance to be let out, the majority of the group seemed to panic. Even the stern, calm leader seemed to break out into a sweat.

No man's land
12:39 hours (HMT-1)

Thumph, thumph, thumph, thumph...

The sound seemed peculiarly familiar to Saighdiúr* Riley, as he stood amongst the dying, although in his daze he still could not place exactly what it was. He bent his head back on his neck as far as he could, and raised his left arm to shield his vision from the midday Pictish summer sun. As he squinted upwards, the silhouette of a helicopter soon came into view, its rotorblades seemingly moving somewhat slower, befitting of the atmosphere.

Thumph... thumph... thumph...

The rear tyres of the ACI-39 Bellicus gunship were the first to touch the dirt, soon followed by the front of the craft. Another helicopter of the same design landed some ten-meters downfield, with a further two still in the air. The airborne pair remained hovering some thirty-meters high, watching the Barronian Base's border and indeed the Barronian wounded like a hawk. Its 23x135mm gun system, mounted on the undernose of the gunship, moved and changed targets with the illusion of free-will. Apparently selecting as it pleased, the gun would direct itself at one individual for but a couple of seconds, before switching to the next target of suspicion; be it a crater, abandoned vehicle, wounded man or the base itself.

Riley was a Combat Medic, the red cross insignia clearly depicted upon an armband round his bicep. He and a few others had been sent out during the first few minutes of the cease-fire to meet with the oncoming walking wounded, secure in the knowledge that to aggressively fire upon a medic is considered a war-crime by many cultures. Behind him came the rumbling of two Lariat 1A1L Main Battle Tanks, which escorted a handful of IFVs and Plasan Sand Cats. The former deployed numerous infantry squads who immediately moved to establish a perimeter around the wounded, while yet more Medical Technicians dismounted from the latter. On the order of a senior medic, Riley swung his F2000 S around to his side and helped lift some of the most severely injured's stretchers aboard the helicopters, while the unharmed and walking wounded were marched towards the Pictish line, after being frisked. However, there simply wasn't much to frisk; the Barronian marines had already been ordered to abandon all their personal equipment, and many had found their dress uniforms nearly burnt right off of their backs.

With the first batch of wounded now in the air, the two pairs of helicopters switched roles, and the 'guard' gunships landed to pick up more Barronians. The Federation had been particularly cautious about picking up survivors, especially those who would associate themselves with Grestonians who had so little respect for their own word. As it would if it were Grestonian wounded, deceit was expected, however the men and women that lay before him on the grass with their hands on their heads, were far to battered and bruised. The air was rife with the smell of smoke, and littered with the groans of the surrendered. As the last immobilized combat personnel were loaded aboard the IFVs along with guards and medics, Sgiobair* Tristin Lennox approached the Barronian commander,

"I am here to accept your and your men's surrender"

*****

The Faxanavian wounded, considerably greater in number, were far closer to the Pictish line. They had been monitored since they set foot outside the LION base, analysed for any bulky clothing where a firearm could be concealed. Three ACI-39s circled the group as they matched onwards, guns trained on hem as they had been with the Barronians. As they approached 250 meters, infantry got to their feet from their makeshift trenches and approached the Faxanavians, fanning out to meet each one face-to-face.

"This is Alpha Company actual, moving to intercept wounded enemy combatants"

With their guns trained on them, they ordered the walking wounded and stretcher bearers to the ground while more troopers continued to search them as was previously demonstrated. Satisfied, they loaded the worst aboard the gunships and armoured vehicles, and began to march the walking wounded in single file through armed checkpoints and behind the Pictish line where they were loaded aboard prison trucks scavenged from a local work camp. The trucks then took to the road, each flanked by armour, and transport to a makeshift POW camp established nearby.

Footnotes
*Private/Captain respectively

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Unencrypted Communiqué

Dear Mister Striker,

The legitimacy of your last communiqué is currently under question, as it has displayed several inconstancies. Firtsly, the Federation has not bombed any 'retired' base, as our own satellites could easily confirm the presence of Grestonian Service personnel and so would select their target from such information. Furthermore, you may rest assured that such an attack from the Federation would result in the highest of Grestonian casualties and, as far as I am aware, the Imperial Republic has not yet confirmed such bloodshed on their own soil.
In addition, local Grestonian forces never surrendered, in fact we have received no word from the base's commander to this extent. All we have received is a communiqué from yourself which details that local Grestonian forces 'have 72 hours' to do so, although this does not specify at which point in time said forces will actually surrender, if they haven't already.
Penultimately, as was said in my last communiqué, the roster for the 'Joint LION Forces Base, Pictland' shows that there are zero Piccavians garrisoned here. Quite frankly, your insistence to bring up this misinformation is most worrying.

Finally, "Fuck off" is not language becoming of a national leader, especially in an event of international diplomacy during an international crisis. In fact, the phrase "fuck off" has become rather overused by Greston and thus regarded as, well, a bit 'gay' by the rest of the world, something akin to an undisciplined child throwing a fit. Perhaps some etiquette is in order, or we shall see fit to remove the lives over every one of the besieged Grestonian troopers along with your tongue.

Writ by my own hand,
http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y154/Retro_1989/Signature.png
The Rt. Hon. Lord Consul Gaius Kadesh

<snippage>

"I am here to accept your and your men's surrender"

The commander was beyond furious. He had watched his own force reduced to a twentieth of it's former size, watched his men have limbs incinerated, blown off, torn to shreds by shrapnel. This upstart common-or-garden Captain was the last straw.

"No, you're here to get my men the medical treatment caused by your trigger-happy bullshit. What the fuck was that? 950 men dead because you guys can't wait for a speech to finish? That's bullshit, soldier, and you know it. That, sunshine, is the mark of a pathetic, cowardly, no-good excuse for an armed forces. Now get the fuck away from me."

No man's land
12:41 hours (HMT-1)

Sgiobair Lennox wiped a speckle of spit from the enraged commander off of his face from under his eye, and moved his other arm down towards his UCP. In one swift motion, he grabbed his sidearm and pistol-whipped the commander square in the jaw.

"That's 'get the fuck away from me, sir'. You address a senior officer correctly, P.O.W."

Two Pictish troopers from the 3rd infantry swept in from behind the commander, each hooking an arm under his, and continued to drag him away. The captain pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began polishing his pistol, ensuring no blood was left on the piece. He then holstered the weapon and began to walk back towards the main line.

"Fuck humanity" He muttered to himself.

Official Grestonian Communiqué

Unencrypted

To: Consul Gaius Kadesh
From: President and Imperial Parliamentarian The Rt. Hon. Sir Jerry Striker
Subject: RE: Pictish Stupidity

Dear Mr. Gaius Kadesh,

The legitimacy of your claims is more so questionable than my attitude percieved in the second communiqué I had issued. As of 12:28 hours, missiles packed will the deadly nerve gas, VX, had been launched from East Partha at Union Monument Base, curruntly home to the majority of Waldenburger soldiers in Greston as well as 25,000 Grestonian military personel. The VX nerve gas had, most certainly, slaughtered Grestonian civilian contrustion staff, the large amount of Grestonian Military personal, and the Waldenburger military personel in the area. This is the confirmation you must have been waiting for, Mr. Kadesh.

You may continue to attempt to decieve me by persistantly telling me that no surrunder was issued but I assure you, thus far three surrunders have been issued. My first communiqué was the official surrunder, but you and your infinite wisdom refused to accept it. The forces were ordered to issue a surruneder, one that the commander gave to me after giving it to your trigger happy soldiers. As well as my communiqué before this one. This men must be handed back to Grestonian hands immediately so that their wounds may be treated. As for the term I had used, that term is something akin to what I would much rather have you do then to wave your undisiplined, pompous forces in my face.

You may remove my hands, and then tongue, my eyes can be removed too. You may severe my ears and arms, my feet may be cut loose too. You may do all this but you shall not kill innocents as long as I am still alive.

From,
President and Imperial Parliamentarian The Rt. Hon. Sir Jerry Striker

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Official Declaration

The present actions and diplomatic correspondence between LION members and favoured nation Pictland have reached our ears.

Once again the Grestonians show their horrible tendency to offend people in situations where they would be better off try to achieve a sort of detente. While we once believed that the Grestonians had grown out of this phase, it appears that they have regressed back to the terrible twos and must therefore be put in time-out.

Furthermore, the recreational war being pursued by LION forces is quite frankly despicable. The intentions of LION nations to attempt to disband the Hegemony and blend Lord Sumguy purely for shits and giggles assures us that the League is nothing more that a collection of first-graders with nothing to do but pick on other people.

Such an organization is one that ought to be outlawed, and we have no business being a part of it.

I therefore announce Akimonad's withdrawal from the League and the unconditional demand - nay, order - that the present hostilities cease immediately. Failure to do so will result in further action on our part. You can likely guess what that may involve.

Furthermore, the Government of Jerry Striker and his associates is ordered to disband immediately and submit to rule by more competent and polite personages. We are quite fed up with your obscene shenanigans and they will not be tolerated.

With Contempt,
Dr. Jules Hodz,
Lord Protector of Akimonad

**********
Off the coast of Ytterbia

The presence of a Barronian destroyer was by now well known to the Fourth Fleet as they patrolled the waters and economic exclusion zone of Akimonad's only Havenic colony. Satellite imagery had indicated its presence as it approached the colony, which the Barronians probably thought would be a safe haven.

But there was no haven for them in Haven.

The Fourth Fleet had been down by Ytterbia for exercises with ships from fellow allies Chevrokia and Aequatio. The large sea separating Ytterbia from its nearest southern neighbor, Pictland, made it ideal for live-fire sinking exercises and other such things.

The Fourth Fleet had brought along several decommissioned Block I Type 07 Avisos which were to be sunk as targets to create artificial reefs. The Chevrokians had also brought along a retired Alexandria light cruiser to be sunk as well. It was earmarked for a few keelbreaker torpedoes from the participating Aequatian submarine.

The fleet was into its second day of exercises when an emergency order came through. The fleet was immediately ordered to intercept and capture the encroaching Barronian destroyer.

The admiral commanding the fleet, sneaky and clever as he was, radioed the allied ships participating and asked if they wanted to tag along. After all, exercises were a far cry from actual combat.

The response was an affirmative from both nations' fleets. The admiral therefore issued orders to proceed at maximum speed towards the destroyer. Marines were told to prepare for a helicopter assault on a ship and appropriate equipment was readied. Helicopters and aircraft were fueled and armed and the ships ran checks on all their weapons systems.

The combined, somewhat ragtag fleet made for the destroyer, the seas tossing in their wakes.

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Official Declaration

The present actions and diplomatic correspondence between LION members and favoured nation Pictland have reached our ears.

Once again the Grestonians show their horrible tendency to offend people in situations where they would be better off try to achieve a sort of detente. While we once believed that the Grestonians had grown out of this phase, it appears that they have regressed back to the terrible twos and must therefore be put in time-out.

Furthermore, the recreational war being pursued by LION forces is quite frankly despicable. The intentions of LION nations to attempt to disband the Hegemony and blend Lord Sumguy purely for shits and giggles assures us that the League is nothing more that a collection of first-graders with nothing to do but pick on other people.

Such an organization is one that ought to be outlawed, and we have no business being a part of it.

I therefore announce Akimonad's withdrawal from the League and the unconditional demand - nay, order - that the present hostilities cease immediately. Failure to do so will result in further action on our part. You can likely guess what that may involve.

Furthermore, the Government of Jerry Striker and his associates is ordered to disband immediately and submit to rule by more competent and polite personages. We are quite fed up with your obscene shenanigans and they will not be tolerated.

With Contempt,
Dr. Jules Hodz,
Lord Protector of Akimonad

**********
Off the coast of Ytterbia

The presence of a Barronian destroyer was by now well known to the Fourth Fleet as they patrolled the waters and economic exclusion zone of Akimonad's only Havenic colony. Satellite imagery had indicated its presence as it approached the colony, which the Barronians probably thought would be a safe haven.

But there was no haven for them in Haven.

The Fourth Fleet had been down by Ytterbia for exercises with ships from fellow allies Chevrokia and Aequatio. The large sea separating Ytterbia from its nearest southern neighbor, Pictland, made it ideal for live-fire sinking exercises and other such things.

The Fourth Fleet had brought along several decommissioned Block I Type 07 Avisos which were to be sunk as targets to create artificial reefs. The Chevrokians had also brought along a retired Alexandria light cruiser to be sunk as well. It was earmarked for a few keelbreaker torpedoes from the participating Aequatian submarine.

The fleet was into its second day of exercises when an emergency order came through. The fleet was immediately ordered to intercept and capture the encroaching Barronian destroyer.

The admiral commanding the fleet, sneaky and clever as he was, radioed the allied ships participating and asked if they wanted to tag along. After all, exercises were a far cry from actual combat.

The response was an affirmative from both nations' fleets. The admiral therefore issued orders to proceed at maximum speed towards the destroyer. Marines were told to prepare for a helicopter assault on a ship and appropriate equipment was readied. Helicopters and aircraft were fueled and armed and the ships ran checks on all their weapons systems.

The combined, somewhat ragtag fleet made for the destroyer, the seas tossing in their wakes.

OOC: WHY!, WHYYYYY! It was going to be over, I could attend to things I actually cared about, but no!

[omg bump]

RSM Respublika Chevrokiya (CCGN-31)
Carl J. Thorvaldson class command cruiser
Off the coast of Ytterbia

Rear Admiral Oleg Grigorevich Golovko cringed, the overpowering sound easily audible in the bridge even given the distance, the layers of steel, aluminum, and reinforced glass, and his own fingers firmly placed in his ears. The sharp crack of the 305mm main guns was a greatly different from the deep THUD from the guns of the “old” battleships and supercapitals. Oleg remembered from his earlier service in the Chevrokian Republic Navy. The lines of battlewagons stretching as far as the eye could see … those days were gone.

Not that the Chevrokians had ever gotten that far with their capital ships. Paralyzing actions by the Labour governments in the 1960s had essentially ceased all naval construction, while many other countries continued with bigger and bigger ships. By the time some decent folk were elected into office, the Chevrokians were playing catch up. The biggest warship they put into service were the rather odd Revenge class pocket superdreadnoughts; just two triple turrets with 30.5 inch guns, displacing a total of 620,000 tons. They didn’t stay in service long, the time when they would have been at all useful had passed, and they were sent to the breakers. The guns were removed and fixed in short batteries, but eventually, even those were scrapped, replaced with batteries for the ubiquitous Khan missile.

Even the “smaller, more practical” Kinsgaard class fast battleships had gone away. Never having seen combat, there was no justification to keep them around even for naval gunfire support, they too went to the scrapyards, the metal from them feeding the new construction. To fill the gap in for command ship and naval gunfire, the Navy commissioned the Carl J. Thorvaldson class. A large cruiser, she had two triple 305mm L/60 gun turrets forward, a tall, square bridge structure to mount a massive radar and communications suite, two eight cell box launchers amidships, and 96 VLS cells aft of the helo pad and hangar.

“Three clean hits, three near misses,” came the message on the radio. The Respublika Chevrokiya’s Osprey was out, reporting the results of the firing sessions. From forty miles away, the ship couldn’t visually see the target, a decommissioned Type 07 Aviso, and was receiving reports on the success of the shots. In this case, though, they were just training rounds meant to simulate the somewhat uncommon armor-piercing rounds for the main guns, and the exercise involved a simulation of the rather unlikely scenario of Respublika Chevrokiya actually having to fire at another ship with her guns. Had they been live rounds the little patrol ship might have been split into many pieces; as it was, the training rounds made enough damage to cause the ship to start taking on water.

One of the many ratings came up to Golovko, handing him a slip of paper. “Admiral Golovko, message from Akimonadi commander.” The Admiral looked down at the message and read:

“Am ordered to proceed to following coordinates to intercept and capture Barronian destroyer in the vicinity of Ytterbia. Request Chevrokian and Aequatian assistance.”

“Right, sounds like a plan,” Golovko said. “Relay to the Akimonadis ‘Have received message and confirm. Will proceed to coordinates as listed.’ Captain Sturluson, let’s get on our way.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain replied. “Aviation, bring our Osprey back. Helm, bring us left to course two-three-zero. Engineering,” he paused for a moment, “make it full ahead flank” he said, looking over at Golovko, who nodded his silent approval.

Taigh nan Consal*, Fortriu
12:57 hours (HMT-1)

The tapping of the young man's shoes as he walked echoed down the corridor of the house, the oak of the upper flooring proving to be a more than adequate amplifier of his brisk pace. As he began to approach the end of his journey, two suited persons opened the glass double doors before him to reveal the house's situation room, already filled with the relevant officials of the senate. As he took his seat, one of the suited persons leant towards a small screen built in to the wall next to the doors, and tapped at it twice. The doors and walls immediately frosted and engaged the room’s active soundproofing.

"Fáilte, duin-uasal. I expect you’re growing rather accustomed to these surroundings" Gaius spread his arms ever so slightly to indicate the object of his jest. He paused for a moment while the heliodisplay across the centre of the table flickered into life, portraying a tactical map of the former joint LION base in Pictland. Various symbols indicated the divisions of the Arm na Pictavia that surrounded it, while the base itself was split between three colours. Green zones indicated areas that had either been completely destroyed by the bombardment or were confirmed clear, yellow zones indicated unsearched areas that may still yield resistance, and red zones indicated areas with a confirmed Grestonian presence.

"Operation: Vital Dislocation has proved a complete success. I understand many of you held negative opinions surrounding this action, however I assure you that had we not destroyed the League task force in Pictland, thousands elsewhere would ultimately have suffered at their hands. The two thousand, five hundred and fifty enemy captured combatants have been transferred to secure holding camps, however I await the wishes of the entire Senate concerning their fate. This afternoon, however, I will advise that the Faxanavian POWs be held until Linsare surrenders or makes peace with his many enemies. As for the Barronian personnel, their involvement in this affair was most unfortunate. However as they continue to fight alongside and indeed pledge their allegiance to the League, I do not foresee the release of their soldiers under present circumstances, especially considering the Akimonadi ultimatum. Furthermore, Striker is growing less and less comprehensible. He maintains that his force previously surrendered, while we had obtained no word to such extent from either him or his military. We must act now to limit the resources of a character we can no longer predict nor reason with"

Across the room a few heads began to nod in agreement. The First Minister of Parliament, Eógan Sol, had to agree with the Consul. The actions undertaken in the surprise attack against the League may be viewed as conspicuously devious, however its contribution towards the greater good and the ending of the war was undeniable. As Gaius had said, many more lives had been saved by the action than were apparent to the casual observer. If the task force had instead be sent against the Hegemony, there would be far more than eighty thousand casualties. Indeed in the pitch of battle it is likely there would be at least double this number as the forces of Lord Sumguy are ground beneath their boots, not to mention the saving of thousands more of civilians from the crossfire and blades of the League's most infamous blenders. However, it still seemed strange to watch the Consul in this manner, for a mere matter of hours before he was nothing more than a sorry figure slumped upon his desk in a self-imposed darkness muttering in his abject solitude. In war, he came to life. The soldier in him surfaced, his previously elusive clarity returned and his charisma shone once more. Eógan told no one of the Consul's condition during peacetime, although his lapse in coherence was no secret. The public had gradually noticed his absence from national affairs, and his puzzling conduct when he did participate. Questions over the Consul's sanity of mind arose long ago, however the media, and indeed people of Pictland had little evidence to sway themselves either way.

As Eógan’s consciousness returned to the meeting, it was almost over. He cursed himself for his lack of attention to what was a crucial national matter, however the lack of sleep of the night before was beginning to take its toll. Curiosity returned when he realized that everyone in the room had their eyes upon the Lord Praetor, who was holding a telephone to his mouth. Unsure of the purpose of this call, Eógan chose to observe also.

*****

Pictish line, 300 meters south of Dal Riada
13:08 hours (HMT-1)

Compared to the hellfire beforehand, the battlefield (if indeed it can be called such, slaughterfield is perhaps more appropriate) was rather peaceful. There was no birdsong, as there was a complete lack of avian life; the artillery had seen to that. However the sun was out and the guns were silent. If it weren't for the taste of smoke and burning flesh in the air, it would have been a perfect summer's day.
Seanailear** Aindriú sat in his trench, observing the smouldering carcass of the former LION base beforehand. According to the roster and accounts of the interrogated prisoners, there should only remain a herd of Grestonoids within. Then the call came through, and Aindriú was soon to press the bulky field radio against the side of his head. The radio itself was built to withstand being shot, and was not dissimilar from a late 80's mobile phone.

"Yes, sir" was all Aindriú said into the radio, before he awkwardly knocked it back into its cradle. He sat for a moment, saying nothing, then took a deep breath and turned to another senior officer;

"Resume fire"

Footnotes
*Consular House, similar in role to the White House.
**General


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Unencrypted Communiqué

I must echo our modest noble of allies, Dr. Julez Hodz of the Akimonad, in demanding the immediate cessation of aggressive actions on the part of the League, where possible, and the resignation of yet another completely incompetent leader of Greston. I pray this time that the Grestonoids shall not elect yet another hopeless ape as their president.

Should the League instead wish to attain direct governance of Greston themselves, after the establishment of peace through either treaty or surrender, we would fully support such a valiant operation.

Writ by my own hand,
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The Rt. Hon. Lord Consul Gaius Kadesh

The BMS Sunday Mass powered through the water, headed for the nearest Ytterbian port. The crew were more relaxed, having barely made it from the Picts in time; the nearest friendly nation short of dispatching an entire fleet was the Akimonadi - for now at least. The ships communications officer was, along with his second and third shift counterparts, was currently poring over his equipment - along with the ships electricians, all trying to figure the problem with the equipment. It was thus that the broadcast tagged "Of the Utmost Importance to All Personnel" was missed, leaving the lone destroyer one of the few units in the nation that didn't know of the Akimonadi ultimatum.

And so she sailed on, blissfully unaware. Only when the cloud of ships appeared on her sensors did anything appear untoward. Nonetheless, the ample supply of flags on board allowed a message to be displayed:

"COMMS INACTIVE REQUESTING ASSISTANCE SUPPLIES"

At the bridge, the concern of the captain was not unknown. Such a large concentration was worrying, when for a friendly nation, the most would be a simple welcoming escort.

"Helmsman, slow us up to one-third, increase the alert status one level."

"Aye Captain, speed one-third."

The ragtag armada plowed forward as the Barronian destroyer slowly came into view.

"Order the fleet to encircle the destroyer. Let's send a message requesting their surrender and get some helicopters over there." the Admiral ordered. He was presently sitting in the spacious bridge of the AMS Canvatica, a Questarian-designed Sandakan-class battlecruiser. It was the largest ship in the armada and probably the most imposing as well.

"Er... the message might not get through, sir."

"Why's that, Ensign?"

"They seem to be using signal flags. It appears their comms are down."

"Damn. Well, give one of the helicopters a bullhorn. We'll just have to have them relay it. This could get dicey real fast."

Seven SH-28H Sea Peregrines, loaded mainly with marines, took off first, flying above the rocky seas below them. Afterwards, several SH-28Hs carrying light anti-ship missiles and torpedoes took to the skies, taking up positions surrounding the ship. The Canvatica pointed its singular gun towards the bow of the Barronian destroyer.

In one of the Sea Peregrines nearest the bridge of the Barronian destroyer, one of the marines pulled out a bullhorn.

"Heave to and prepare to be boarded. Do not make any offensive moves or attempt to escape." he bellowed, the bullhorn amplifying his voice.

"Sir, with permission, but what the fuck is that?"
"That, ensign, with orders to stow the mouth, is a surrender order. Lieutenant, get the flags. Relay the following..."

Aboard the ship, the maximum readiness alert had been relayed to the crew - all hands were preparing for a fight. Though it would inevitably be an annihilation, they would be ordered to fight to the death.

Aboard deck, the 127mm Naval Rifle stirred to life, slowly bringing herself in a slow arc round across the bow, appearing to survey the targets in front of her. Whilst this strange process was underway, new flags were appearing on the deck.

"NEGATIVE NEGATIVE ACCESS TO PORT REQUESTED REPEAT BOARDING REQUEST DENIED"

As if to reinforce this point, the 127mm gun rested herself on the Canvatica.

"Steady...."

Akimonadi Sea Peregrine helicopter, 15 meters from BMS Sunday Mass
Gunnery Sergeant Martin Lane was not having a very good day. It started with being sent out for the fleet exercises. That sucked the sleep right out of him. It was hard to sleep on a rocking piece of steel.

Now he had to sit in a helicopter that hung precariously about 15 meters to the starboard of the bridge of an enemy ship and bellow things through a bullhorn.

The noise from the rotors was pretty much deafening but it was lessened a bit by the headsets everyone in the helicopter was wearing. Lane had just delivered the surrender order and was waiting for a reply.

"They're doing stuff with flags again!" one of the other marines yelled.

"SOMEONE READ THAT!" Lane ordered.

The pilot, probably the only person in the helicopter that knew how to read signal flags and was on hand, turned the helicopter a little to get a good look.

"They want access to a post. 'Boarding request denied'." he relayed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. They don't have a goddamn choice." Lane said.

He picked up the bullhorn and bellowed some more.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, IT WAS AN ORDER. HEAVE TO AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!"

He put the bullhorn down again. "Put us down on the ship-" he began to say.

"Their gun is moving!" the co-pilot exclaimed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Give me that flare gun."

Lane took the flare gun and fired it directly at the cupola of the gun. It hit the cupola and exploded in a violent flash of red light.

"Tell the other helos to load their gatlings with AP rounds and prepare to fire."

The gunners in the helo aimed towards the turret and prepared to fire.

AMS Canvatica

"Admiral, they've pointed their gun at us."

"Well, tell the fleet to point back."

In almost perfect synchronization, the nine other ships in the improvised fleet turned their guns at various different points along the Barronian destroyer.

The Canvatica activated an infrared laser and pointed it directly at the bridge.

"Check." the admiral said.

"An order, hmm? We'll see about that. Ready the fast-fifties, and have Engines prepare for full forward."
"Sir?"
"Lieutenant, sometimes we must do things for our country that don't seem logical, or sensible, or even seem suicidal. This is one of those times - we are outnumbered, with a nation previously friendly demanding our surrender - you and I have no idea what happened in Pictlands, but we both saw the fighters. If it wasn't for those bastard communi-"
"Sir, I cannot allow you to continue that course of action."
"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?"

The cocking of an officer's revolver brought the captain's attention to his side.

"Captain, I believe I have the full backing of the crew when I say I will not allow you to waste our lives in this manner."
"Lieutenant, this is mutiny. I will see you flogged, along so with any other man who dares go against my orders!"
"That, Captain, is now out of your hands. Ensign, escort the captain to his quarters."

Turning to the captain's console, he relayed new instructions to the crew:

"All crew are instructed to down weapons. The Captain has been taken ill, and I am now in command of the ship. I repeat, down weapons. Signallers, arrange our surrender."

Aboard the deck, new flags appeared:

"VESSEL UNDER NEW COMMAND BOARDING REQUEST GRANTED"

"Gentlemen, hold her steady - I'm heading deckside."