NationStates Jolt Archive

Eastern Nova.
Shattered Kingdoms.

To say that the eastern fringes of Nova were an unfriendly place was to say little of the truth laying behind this area of the region. Once home to a proud number of nations, the North Eastern area of the continent there now lay in ruin, only a shadow of its former glory. Once the great empires of the region succumbed to their weakness, once the great fleets that waged war on these shores and far away from them retreated to their own, troubled, homelands, the Kingdoms of the area turned to one another. It was here that the Novans learned their most precious lesson in regards to warfare.

”Never thou shall use a nuclear weapon on thy homeland,”

Those were the words that many a history books shared in the region. In desperation, one of the kings of the kingdoms resigned to history used the dreaded weapon to contain enemy advances on the soil of his nation. In just hours, the retaliation came. Nobody knew, nobody suspected that in a mere day what was once a vibrant area of Nova would be turned to dust. A billion senseless deaths came with the pulsing, flashing white flowers of destructions created by mankind's mastery of the atoms and in their wake millions left without a home, without hope or a future. Fortunately, if one can say these words, the destruction was limited and for many outside of the nations involved life went on as usually.

At that point in history, the shattering of the Atrean Imperium, the end of the Nova War I made few willing to watch to what was happening here and by the time ears and eyes headed towards the kingdoms embroiled in war, it was already too late. It was a tragedy like no other for the region. Influxes of refugees, billions of death, chaos, fights over what fertile lands were left and above all the fear that other nuclear weapons were hidden, stashed away in those lands prevented intervention as anarchy prevailed. What little was left those years destroyed and the area was all but abandoned. Without any reason to do so the Novan powers saw no reason to interest themselves in the scarcely inhabited lands. They held no value, no reason for intervention.

Nobody cared...

The years came and went afterwards. Nova saw the advent of new powers, the disappearance of others and the stubborn
persistence of some. The region nations settled themselves in a comfortable routine, the occasional dispute and tension not uncommon, yet with the end of NWI crisis at an intraregional level were adverted despite several conflicts. Diplomacy prevailed and the birth of several international alliances was witnessed, the Free World Alliance, an isolationist yet persistent group of nations, the Delian League, an organization created on the island of Delos, now controlling the waters of Nova at a level that not even the defunct Empires ever achieved and numerous pacts and agreements between the Novan nations at times with the inclusion of outer regional nations. But mercy was not something that time had...

Years after the Shattering the patience of the Ages finally went out. It started with an unexpected conflict, waged between allies, orchestrated by a madman and as Alfegos fell ”Never again!” the Novans vowed. But in the region things were changing. A civil war here, the collapse of a nation there, tensions between supposedly friendly nations, preparations for war, adverted conflicts. Things were not looking good and it was this moment that was chosen.

Eastern Nova.
Regional Boundaries.

The Jaguar clan was the first to enter Novan waters. It was an act that few ever considered fifty years before in the Clan Confederacy, to travel so far from the homeland, so far from the ancestral lands of your clan and venture forth into the lands that exiled them so long ago. The news about these lands were few and far between as they held little relevance to the power struggle back home, to the rivalry between the clans and to the appointment of a new Fang once the old one was finally outmaneuvered and made irrelevant by one more cunning than him, either from his own clan or from a rival clan. But that age came to an end twelve years ago when an unexpected alliance brought a new Fang to the throne. The Sabre clan, one of the most respected clans, with a history almost as long as that of the Confederacy, backed up a new and unknown rising star of the Raptor clan, itself a large an influential clan. The alliance between the two clans had come as a surprise at that point and the instatement of the new Fang made it clear that things were going to change.

Rivalries between the clans were not easily forgotten and for all the backstabbing and betrayal between them, alliances came with suspicion, suspicion and the expectation that you will be betrayed by your ally. But such did not happen between the two clans and concerns started to grow. This stability changed the situation as never before. Battle lines were being drawn and people started getting paranoid about the whole situation. The addition of the industrious Iron Panda clan to this alliance made things even worse. The new power block was something the clans were not used to deal with.

Those hit the worst by this were the small clans, those who had always stood between the larger clans, insuring their survival by brokering their services to one faction or another, by selling their services there and here or by using their usually strategic position as a means of gaining leverage. It was the way they lived and survived, their battle prowess respected by the larger clans whilst their position making many interested in leaving them alone, either for use as buffer states or as client states. Nobody hard any interest in having them conquered by another and have a thorn in their thigh, yet by the same reasoning nobody wanted to risk wasting troops on a siege or war with a minor clan and risk a rival clan to move in and enjoy the spoils. It was the way things were and now it was all threatened.

Without the ever rising tensions between the larger clans to rely upon for political maneuvering, the small clans had to find another way to survive and prove their worth. The Jaguars were the first to think of it. If there was no foe they could risk fighting at home, no glory to be gained from practicing the art of war in the homelands then they would move west, back to the origin of the clans in a search for glory and means to increase their influence amongst its fellow clans. The Jaguars were not adventurers though, much like the animals they were named after they preferred prey of opportunity. It was not their intention to engage the Novan powers knowing they were obviously inferior in numbers and capacity, but rather exploit the current Novan situation in a way not remote from that of the pirates of old. The merchant ships of Eastern Nova were to be their primary target, the avoidance of Novan Navies a primary concern.

The revenue generated by this 'campaign' was expected to bolster the coffers of the clan and allow them to improve their standing at home. The tactic had its risk and many expressed concerns about the possible failure, but with no other alternatives visible, the Clan moved. The entry in Novan waters was not however the easy trip they were expecting and several close encounters took place, the ships of the DLN a sore sight for their crews even before any engagements took place between their ships and those of the League, but in the end their sailors proved true and several Jaguar bases appeared on the lands of the Shattered Kingdoms. The perfect location for their operation, these lands were all but abandoned by civilization and the few local warlords that tried preventing the Jaguars from setting foot on the shores were quickly dealt with, in proper Clan fashion, their skulls adorning the gates of the bases, a gesture of respect on their part for a foe that fought with courage and skill.

Once the location secured, they waited. It took some time for the clan to learn of the procedures and 'Modus Operandi' of the regional navies, but they learned the patterns and obstacles they were to encounter, they managed to do it despite all the obstacles encountered. The area was teeming with merchant traffic, even though less intensive than its western counterpart, but unlike the waters of the west, there were no navies here that could threaten them directly. The Grand Duchy was perhaps the most immediate threat, but the great nation was but a shadow of what it was once was in their eyes the isolationist, peaceful path they took foolish in the eyes of the clan. Even so they were studied alongside the navies operating and the Jaguars were finally poised to strike.

Daring yet cautious, the Jaguars marked their first targets in the Paradis Oceanus. Using advanced detection and jamming technology, they would isolate their 'prey' and then strike! The merchants ships would be unable to deal with the Jaguar ships and before military support could arrive they would be long gone.

This was the place where everything was about to start.


OOC: All OOC posts, remarks or comments go here! (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=566813) Thank you!

Eastern Nova
Western Paradis Oceanus, Deck of the Princess of the Malay

Jason Streeter paced slowly around the front deck of the three year old bulk carrier, as it cut through the choppy waters of Eastern Nova. Looking out into the quickly fading autumn sunset, the infinite reach of the water overwhelmed him. "It's as if we are the only ship in the entire sea." He was somewhat embarrassed at even having such a feeling, considering this was the fifth time he'd made this trip this year, but there was something about the Paradis Oceanus, the gateway to Nova, that always seemed to bring out his emotions. It was if this crossroads marked not only a geographic shift, but a shift in his life.

Not five days ago he had been at the Port of Singapore, waiting as the cargo was loaded. By colonial standards, Singapore was a bustling city, with plenty of diversions to keep him busy, but even it compared poorly with the smaller cities of the metropole. In a few days, he would be in one of those cities, Lanpao, his "home," or rather the city where he kept a small, cluttered apartment, much more a storage unit than a real living space. Ever since gaining a job on the Princess of the Malay four years ago, the majority of his life was spent on the ship, tending to a never ending stream of simple, monotonous tasks. He was no ship fanatic, but he was young, the pay was good, and it gave him a chance to see a bit more of the world than his working class upbringing had allowed, even if he generally only saw the port facilities and met the diverse, yet universally gruff bunch of people who worked the docks.

He moved closer to the cargo holds as he continued his nightly round. This month the ship was the lucky bearer of several tons of taro root, newly plucked from the fields of the various plantations in the Southeast Asian colonies. Ever since the root had touched the Mephrasian palate a few months after the formal incorporation of the Colonial Dominion of Siam and the Malay, demand had soared, and it seemed like every restaurant in the Empire was offering dishes with the "exotic taste of the tropics." Jason couldn't stand the flavor, nor the texture, but shipping was not a business which cared about personal preference, but rather about the economics of supply and demand, and the fortunes that were collected and spent on either side of the equation.

As a gentle breeze wafted onto the deck, Jason grabbed his radio and reported in. "Everything clear on the front of the ship. Cargo is secure. Ocean is empty." As he placed the radio back onto the clip on his belt, he once again looked to the horizon, which had shifted to a nearly solid black, speckled with the countless stars that sat as suspended sparkles in the night sky. The absence of the moon made the stars seem even brighter than usual. Suddenly, a faint light began to emanate from the edge of the horizon. As Jason strained to see just exactly what was the source of the coming light, the screech of the motor of a small craft pierced the night sky. "What the fuck?!" Jason shouted as his eyes moved down into the water below.

His eyes widened as through the darkness he was able to make out a small cluster of ships which had gathered only a few hundred feet from their ship. How in the hell did they manage that? Jason knew, of course that pirates still did exist, but to his knowledge, since the dawning of the Delian League, most pirate activity had disappeared, under various directives which sought to "pacify the seas" no doubt in the name of free trade, or more accurately, in the name of trade that benefited the Delian League. More shocking was despite recent gains, the Princess had been equipped with the latest of tracking devices and anti-piracy equipment, something he of all people would know well, as he had read every manual in preparation for his job interview which in stern black text, had assured that no pirate would get within a kilometer of the ship.

These thoughts pulsed through Jason's head almost in simultaneity as he reached for his radio, and turned to run for the weapons cache. But seconds later, three bullets tore quickly and quietly through his chest. As Jason slumped to the floor, clutching his chest with one hand, and the radio with his other, he looked up one last time, at the obscured and darkened faces of his attackers. With his last breath, he spoke into the radio in as clear of voice as he could muster, "Pirates...."

Yet as that single word crackled through the twenty three radios spanning the entire of ship, it was already too late. The pirates had seemingly materialized from nothing in key areas of the ship, and at every post, in every cabin, crew members were falling victim to this silent menace. Not a single distress call would come over the wires that night, and to the various radar systems of the Novan shipping apparatus, all was calm, all was normal.

But in six days time, the difference would be apparent, at least in the port city of Lanpao, where several tons of taro, along with one of the most respected container ships in the Mephrasian fleet, would fail to arrive. At the same time, one cluttered apartment, containing the records of one simple human life, would lie empty, collecting dust, as its owner, along with 23 other men and women, would never return to their homes. While Lanpaoans would have to suffer a slight taro shortage, they could hardly grasp the repercussions of that single violent act, or its effect on a regional order, whose foundation had been ever so slightly shaken in the middle of a dark ocean thousands of miles away.

Eastern Nova.

The initial ventures of the Jaguars in Novan waters were a success according to the initial assessments made by various Jaguar clan commanders. Naturally, boasting and bragging were not unfamiliar to those in the homelands, used to the ever increasing rumors running around even the smallest of victories, it was after all expected out of them, the ages of warfare and bleeding between the clans long gone, only small skirmishes taking place in the last ten years, ever since the Iron Panda clan joined the Raptors and Sabre clan in what many thought to be an unholy alliance. At that point only the Tiger Tail clan had enough assets readily available to upset the scale once more and they were still locked in their one hundred year long cold war with the Serpent's Tongue clan, a conflict that neither clan was willing to start out of fear of decimation from the other clans, always opportunistic when it came to taking advantage of a wounded prey. Other alternatives were the Wise Crow and Laughing Fox alliance, if their shaky alliance went off beyond the point of hating everyone else than they hated each other, the spy network of the Fox clan comparable only with the Crow's delight for information. No, the situation was tense and the former Fangs, the Child of Tears was in no measure to make a come back at this point, despite boasting one of the largest resource base and population for a clan, the death of their previous leader leaving them in a tense position, unable to elect a new Clan Father to lead them, such was the divide between various Elders. Supposedly, only the fact that a split and the birth of new clans would have doomed the entire clan kept them together. No, the politics of the Clans were not something that allowed for much glory to be boasted around, uncertainty and even something akin to fright permeating the Clans, none of them bold enough to make a move given the risk. The Phoenix Wing clan might have tried, but they had not the power to overwhelm or successfully engage the secretive Shrouds that enveloped their territory on all sides.

So in all truth the reports of the enthusiast captains and commanders were not believed in the slightest when they first come. Many of them were young, still not smeared with blood from a thousand battles as the old veterans liked to say it, but rather enthusiast, if well trained, greens. Yet some time after the first reports came in they were convinced. What did wasn't the written words or oral descriptions, but the goods delivered from Nova. At first a small trickle, not enough to even matter, they now boasted an impressive number, for a small clan that is, increasing their yearly revenue with almost fifteen percent whilst also covering for the prohibitive costs of the campaign. That felt quite well for the Clan's purse as they were able to buy the services of a smaller clan and bribe another into closing its ports to a rival faction, effectively increasing their status in the eyes of the local clans, making them quite influential, yet not enough so for the larger clans to notice them. It was however enough for that ripple to be felt by the other small contending clans. They knew something was different and despite all the secrecy it wasn't all that hard to find out just what the shipments from the Novan waters observed and recorded quite easily. It was true, the Jaguars had a head start, but if such riches were so readily available then it was obvious that others should enjoy them, such was the general assessment that many other Clan Fathers reached in regards to the, obviously, unfair power balance. The Jaguars influence had to be limited before they could witness something none of them were willing to, an increase of status of such nature that their clans would be absorbed by the Jaguars, a rare, yet entirely likely scenario, the shrewdness of the small clan, able to survive even in combat with the Iron Panda clan, known to them all. There was a lot of antipathy floating in the air around the Jaguar's ambitions those that the clan knew it had and those that it had no idea it had, but the small clan was always quick on its feet, able to maintain itself above the waves, as made obvious in their latest debacle with the Iron Pandas. Nobody knew how they received the support of the Shrouds but the minor clan managed to do it surprising every clan with said action. It was this ability of the Jaguars that scared the other small clans senseless. Many thought they had Shroud protection, but the Shrouds made it clear such was not the case citing a 'debt' to the Jaguars as the reason for the intervention, yet nobody knew what the debt was all about and the Shrouds never bothered to make it clear.

For the Jaguars, the fact that many other clans suddenly decided to emulate them wasn't a surprise and for their leadership it was an even welcomed fact. It was quite obvious that their actions in Eastern Nova were drawing attention, no matter how secretive and attentive they were, someone would catch on to their actions sooner or latter and with the reduced rate of piracy attempts prior due to Delian League interventionism and ruthless eradication of the pirate cartels it was just a matter of luck at that point. The odds were certainly heavily in favor of the Clan superior detection and jamming equipment, but the Jaguars never assumed their enemies were fools and as such they enjoyed having a secondary plan. Safety in numbers an old saying said, safety in hiding the Jaguars thought and what better way to hide than to have other clans portray the bait for those searching. Oh, they certainly knew that the others were no fools when it came to combat, but the assumption was made that the odds for them to be discovered amongst the clans would run down, perhaps enough to allow them to establish a permanent establishment in Nova. Most likely not enough to face head on any of the Novan states or escape the DLN if it came knocking, but certainly enough to allow them to improve their position in the homeland, maybe even enough to increase their position from a small to a medium clan by absorbing others and in the long run take what was, at least in their view, their rightful place at the table of the large clans, those with the real decision power and maybe, just maybe with a bit of luck gain the Fang position. It was a long shot, but for a clan starting with ten thousands people and reaching the position it had it wasn't as far fetched they might have thought.

And even if the current assessment was wrong and things took a turn for the worse the Jaguars were not unprepared. There were plans in the making and the Jaguars were on top of their game.

For the Jaguars already in Nova, the scheming and plotting of the Elders did not matter, their hunt deprived instincts were sharpened by the attacks on merchant ships and their skills praised by their commanders. The success was enough to beckon the detachment of even more Jaguar ships from the homeland, this time veterans, with some of the larger ships the clan had at its disposal. It was enough for them to know that their actions were valued and many wondered what the reward will be. The fact that other clans would be sending ships wasn't as well received, but the competition was considered to be thrilling, increasing the reward out of a good catch just as evading the somewhat increased naval presence of various navies in the area already was. It got to them, the fact that they couldn't engage the enemy in true combat, the fact that they had to ambush merchants and then waste their time disabling tracking devices or otherwise neutralizing crews, but it was a lot better than the anxious and awkward wait they faced back home. There was some curiosity as to what clans will be the first to follow, but it was a fleeting feeling. They would increase the number of missing ships and more and more revenue will come to the coffers of the Jaguars. And perhaps from time to time they would enjoy some exquisite dishes as the one prepared by the cooks from several shipments that could not be sent back to the homeland due to their cargo.

Things were going well for the clan, things were looking worse for the shipments in Eastern Nova.

”So... what do we have?” it was a simple meal for several insurance fraud investigators at one of the restaurants in Lanpao. Representing one of the largest insurance companies in Nova, they were here because of the desperate calls made by one of their subsidiary offices in this city. One of the Mephrasi companies that they insured had some financial difficulties with a case, a ship suddenly disappearing at sea enough to cause a hole of a couple of million dollars in the pockets of any company. ”Beyond that the Insurance Company had an insurance with us that they're calling on, what seems to be the problem?” the inspector, flown straight from Peteh queried his hosts his eyes flying from report to report soaking up data regarding the situation.

Well,” one of the others at the table spoke whilst offering him a file, ”The fact that the company had an unusually high insurance for that ship made the Mephrasi company insuring them suspect something's not right and they called us in,” what wasn't said was the fact that fraud was suspected. It wouldn't be the first time stuff like this happened, greed making people try one way or another to try and trick the insurance companies into providing undeserved capital.

”In other words, they smell something and want us to handle it?” the man was blunt about it, no sense in hiding behind his fingers, there was only one reason he would be dispatched to Mephras and this would be it. ”I assume you guys already made the preliminary work?”

The rustling of papers made a few of the other customers throw them a couple of looks, but otherwise their privacy was respected, the restaurant a nice place for business meetings of this nature and the food was good, enough to make the employees of the insurance company to render it as one of their favorites for a meal. ”Well,” the fact starting flowing, ”The owner of the ship has no financial troubles that are visible at a first glance, the ship was in excellent condition and most of all it brought quite a profit hauling merchandise from the Mephrasi colonies...”

”What about the sailors, any of them with...”

Enough to say that the Mephrasi company received its money, the results of the investigation proving that the ship and its entire crew were indeed gone, an unpleasant but concerning fact. Enough even to make the Insurance company to file a report regarding the situation to the Admiralty back in Damirez and submitting one to the Mephrasi government and Delian League Headquarters. Although implausible at first thanks to the Delian League patrols and various other Novan Navies traveling on the route the Princess of the Malay took piracy became an increasingly likely cause for the disappearance of the ship and if pirates were around, then it was bad, not only for the shipments in Eastern Nova, but also for the pockets of the insurance companies, enough to make them concerned and have them show direct interest in the affair and possible solutions for it and once more ships started vanishing, the pressure only increased on the authorities to present solutions.

--

”Missing ships? Care to tell me what all this is about?” DIS was the first agency in Damirez that caught up on the subject, even before the first official request for insurance was forwarded, ”I trust that you have a good explanation for what's happening there?” it was as much a question as it was a statement and a threat all rolled in one, the fact that the news reached the newspapers before it was solved obviously not to his taste.

”Sir, it seems as...” the words came slowly, though not betraying the insecurity of the speaker in regards to the subject, but enough for Valer to draw his own conclusions.

”You have no idea?” Valer spoke, a tinge of anger slipping in his voice. It was one thing for DIS to be blindsided by unexpected events or cataclysms, but another to have a story reach the media without his own men having a good explanation. ”I want you to find out who leaked this story, if it was a leak and how to prevent any further damage to the investigation. Gods know the navy and foreign department will be thanking us for the free publicity,” his voice dripped with sarcasm at every word.

Aetius Valer, the feared shadow of DIS, a man you didn't want on your bad side, not only influential in his own right and heavily associated with DIS and its clandestine operations, but also a member of the second richest family in Damirez, even though his relation with his older brother was obviously not one to be mentioned around him. Ever since his appointment as DIS head, the service went dramatic transformations, becoming one of the prime intelligence services services in Damirez an an invaluable source of information for various operations. It was during his mandate that the service switched from a passive approach to matters to a more active one, reason why he was so agitated about the mysterious disappearances in Eastern Nova.

Despite the numerous infiltrated agents in various piracy cartels, satellite pictures, naval and aerial recon, nobody could find anything. It was as if there was a black hole in that area sucking up ships, crews and cargo but he knew there was no way such an explanation could be valid. Someone was attacking those ships and he had no idea who. A warning bell was going off in his brain and as he checked the files again he couldn't help but wonder, ”What am I missing?”

For the Damirans, the thought of a large force, operating in total secrecy wasn't at that point in time a possibility. Later on, they would live to regret the relative blindness in regards to the affair the decisions or lack of there off made then haunting many officials for years to come afterward.

On-Time Inc. Office, Port Butsky; Revguin Commonwealth Realm, Wagdog

The assistant manager for the verification call center was having still heavier a day than usual; alas, responsibility was going pear-shaped for her and she could only imagine what that meant for her Damiran superiors one level up. "What do you mean the shipment simply disappeared?" This was the third bulk-cargo shipment between Wagdog and Animarnia, one of several routes covered by this Damiran business, that had simply gone off the radar entirely. No arrival, no word on delays from the ship; nothing at all. Just the empty sound of Fate smiling with its' maw that none saw glint upon teeth of until it was far too late.

"I meant exactly what I said, Justina; ma'am." Vicky caught herself before she tread upon grounds for insubordination; no, however bad things were they certainly did not justify a disciplinary layoff. Didn't they? "The shipment is just... gone. And the insurers you've been having me call don't even pick up the damn line anymore when they see our ID; I hate to be the bearer of bad news but every call has come back this way ma'am." She fidgeted a little involuntarily, her apprehension getting the better of her; like many around here she was attentive to the news and it was even grimmer than usual in recent weeks.

Justina ran a frustrated hand through her auburn hair; this was bad, and getting worse. Not only Vicky's job was on the line, but so was hers ultimately. If the disappearance couldn't be explained, then she couldn't attribute it to anything that might excuse it from being laid upon her own supposed incompetence. "And the insurer didn't say anything to you the last time you checked?"

"Not as such ma'am." Vicky shrugged, her freckled face looking geekier still behind her thick black glasses. "As far as I can figure it was probably on one of those ships the news has been covering as missing; missing, and presumed captured by pirates of some unidentified sort." The easternmost District Fleets of the Wagdian Revolutionary Navy, namely Second, First, and Sixth were having difficulty covering the Paradis Oceanus region; there and the Coralaia Ocean, whenever a jammed and broken distress call were somehow picked up one of the resident surface action groups for the relevant District Fleet would sortie. And invariably, so far, find nothing when they arrived; even air support was always just that bit tardy enough for the ship(s) to vanish along with the unknown(s) that had claimed them. And if the Navy could be forgiven for the ancient superstitious bent of sailors starting to reemerge, well then perhaps that happening also among the local ports' civilians could be excused still more.

"Yeah, that or the Eastern Star Triangle again, damn!" Justina like every Wagdian her age remembered the time-warp that had thrown their nation from 1976 to 1996 in a single perceived night for the locals, the area being for the outside world a bizarre Twilight Zone-like anomaly until the islands' reemergence after two decades resynchronized the two realms. Her thoughts ran paranoid, "Is it happening again? Oh please God, not again! She didn't even want to guess what a second such 'timequake', as some now called it, would do; the first was quite bad enough no thanks.

When superstition comes into hard, physical being, truly one is never prepared. The ships hadn't been, and nor would prove their nation soon enough; it wasn't then for that unexpected trial, and it wouldn't be now for a new if less outright-esoteric one. The coming days would be ones to regret, or savor; above all though to survive at all costs.

The Clans were in turmoil. The recent success, even though somewhat hindered by increased naval activity from the local powers, was starting to take its toll on the clan members. Many wanted more, and it was getting harder and harder to keep the younger captains in line. Several times already, the Jaguars showed their fangs at other clans when they risked bringing the unlimited attention of the region to them. The Novans were searching, that much was clear, but not even they knew what they were searching for and the Jaguars wanted things to remain the same, at least for now, more time, more resources, more ships were required in order for them to achieve their objectives and even though they shared their prey with the other clans it didn't meant that they would allow for the juicier meat to escape their grasp. No, they would be patient and careful, but those that threatened the operation would most likely risk a feud, even if one taking place here in the far reaches of a foreign, hostile region. But something had to be done to remember the others just who was top dog here, at least for now.

For the clans congregated in Nova, those following the trail of blood, ships and riches left by the Jaguars, the news hit like lightning. A carrier, a carrier so far away from the home land. The Jaguars once again shifted the balance in power by taking a risk. Bringing a carrier so far out, weakening the defense of the homeland and exposing one of their three carriers was not to be taken lightly. They all knew that the Jaguars never showed their heavier gear just as a bluff, they played for keeps and the arrival of the Celesta heralded bad news. The role the Jags gave themselves was clear already. They acted as some sort of policing force, always enjoying the greatest spoils, always preventing others from attacking military targets. It was constraining, confining and so much against the nature of the clans, yet with a carrier on the field none dare challenge the Jaguars, they once again outwitted the others. True at a great risk, but what a splendid sight it was to see a Clan Carrier in these waters. Even though resented, it couldn't stop all those in the clans to celebrate, such an action was a mark of pride and courage and not even the Great Clans moved ships so far away from home, especially not carriers, but this, this was the dawn of a new age and commanders from every clan called home announcing the news. Perhaps their clans would take advantage of it, perhaps more ships would be heading to Nova, that they could not know, but it was an opportunity, one they just had to make heads and tails of it.

In the homeland, the eyes of the larger clans finally shifted on the enterprises of the lesser clans. They could see, oh how well they could see how the minor clans suddenly got bold, suddenly had their treasuries filled to the brim and started acquiring equipment. The balance of power was far from being affected, yet for the clans the subtle change was already noticed. This was changing everything and a war between clans loomed on the horizon. All waited for the Fang to say his words, to comment or condemn this initiative, to dig a grave for himself or find a way to profit out of this all. Nobody dared move a finger, the armies, already mobilized waited for orders as the clans watched. The Fang still had their allegiance, but one slip, one mistake was enough for that allegiance to be lost, for the clans to end this age, this unnatural feeling coursing through their hearts ever since the new Fang rose to power. But it would not be so easy.

The Fang knew, felt the gazes of the clans on him, the expectations and hopes, both favorable and opposed to him, but he was no mere fool. He too was intimately familiar with what the Jaguars had started, a clan he had sworn to extinguish by himself should he ever have the change in exchange for the now solid alliance with the Iron Pandas, a clan that somehow escaped his grasp and that of their many enemies too many times for it to be labeled just as a mere coincidence of stroke of luck. He knew how slippery the Jaguars were but they were not a concern here. What he was concerned mostly about was the effects of their actions on the others. This adventure of theirs was like threading on thin ice over a river, in spring. They knew the risks, but also the potential benefits, the problem was that so did others, but where the minor clans were not such a disturbance to be felt, even one of the major clans could bring to bear enough firepower to wipe out a nation. It was hard to miss that. No, acting hasty was not a solution, but waiting was not one either. There were so many unknown in this problem that a lesser man would have long since abandoned it, but the Fang knew that were he to expect, a solution was to come.

In Nova, the arrival of the Jaguar carrier meant more than yet another shift of the power balance between the minor clans. It also meant that the Jaguars were willing to shift the ante yet again. They were ready to increase the stakes at a level never seen before by any clan. Their policing days were bound to come to an end. The Elders of the clan knew that better than anyone, yet the information was not shared. They knew that sooner or later another clan, perhaps even one of the major ones, would move in the area, making their dominance perish in lights of the stronger fleets they could field, yet they were not willing to admit such happenstance without some semblance of preparation. The knew of the desire of combat that so many had and of how close to ignition a war between the Minor Clans and the Novan Powers had been, a war the Jaguars knew that they couldn't win, not with so few clans there, a war they didn't even knew if they wanted in the first place, even though it would certainly be entertaining to watch the other minor clans perish as their fleets were lit by the numerically superior enemy. A delightful prospect, but one that would leave them nowhere and the other had probably realized that much on their own already.

To stir the pot, to gain something more, something else was needed, but they were not yet ready, but the Celeste was a step in the right direction. Soon, soon enough the Jaguars will get rid of the excess baggage and test the mettle of the natives in combat in just one strike of the sword. All that was needed was for the opportunity to present itself.

Soon the clan will have its share of glory, on the battlefield.

News of disappearing ships began to reach Monavian intelligence agencies and police forces. At first, it was nothing of major significance, but as the attention given to these happenings increased in other member states of the Delian League, more weight began to attach itself to the matter. The gravity of the situation was not yet fully realized, and most Monavians were still unaware of the existance of the "Clans". Only the knowledge that these people operated like pirates kept people interested, until a story began to circulate in local newspapers around the country.

The articles were short, lacking much detail that would otherwise be expected, but that could not be rectified yet. Information was hard to come by, and no one knew all of the facts. Reporters regularly came back to their companies empty-handed, and the skill of the Clans at concealing their actions only served to heighten the anxiety that grew throughout the mass media.

About two weeks after the ship Princess of the Malay mysteriously vanished, news of the disappearance began to permiate the Monavian press.

MEPHRAN SHIP MISSING

According to sources in foreign intelligence agencies and public notices, a Mephran ship has reportedly disappeared in the Paradis Oceanus. The disappearance has been attributed to pirates, and even now, as information slowly trickles into the national media, the identities of those responsible remain elusive.

The cargo of the ship was reported to be worth a large sum of money, though the exact figures remain undisclosed. The ship itself was allegedly worth several million USD, and the possible theft of the ship and its cargo is being considered the most likely cause for the disappearance.

Undisclosed Mephran port city - 2330
A hole-in-the-wall sailors' bar

Brendon Sawyer drank his beer quietly, seeming to be lost in thought. And that's partially because he was, but also because he was listening in on the conversations. The scuttlebutt was that the Princess of the Malay, apparently a revered ship and the Mephran sailors of this "fine establishment", had fallen prey to pirates. However, this was not news to him.

He happened to be more than just a sailor; he was a naval intelligence agent of Her Majesty Czarina Deeane I of Krommindy's Royal Navy. After checking in with the Mephran naval intelligence agency, he had gone bar hopping to gather his initial informations beyond what he had already been fed by his superiors. If he was going to be stuck out here, he was going to start at the bottom, and have himself a drink or two and try to enjoy himself.

Throughout the course of the evening, he kept to himself, remembering details of the conversations. Of course, these stories were not anywhere near all true. But even the tallest of tales have an element of truth somewhere in them, and that little grain was what he was after tonight.

At the end of the night, he had picked up a common theme - the pirates appear to be able to strike completely without warning, and leave with their booty undetected. One more drink as nightcap, and then he'd be on his way to his hotel room...

Eastern Nova, southern coastal atomic wastelands

The wastelands held a certain reputation. Or at least they did if you were an impressionable young rating still in the first few months of your very first sea duty. A couple of years ago Rating Third Class Rizat Choudry would still have been watching atomic mutants battle it out on the Saturday morning cartoons. And if he wanted to he probably could still catch those cartoons on the mess plasma screen, but these days Choudry was one thing his parents would hardly believe unless they could see it with their own eyes. Busy. Permanently busy.

The EAS Mannheim could never be called the most glamorous of duty stations, or be mistaken as the sleekest ship in the Maritime Force fleet. The lightly armed ocean patrol vessel or OPV was barely a warship even, the largest guns she could muster on her deck the mountings for .50 cal machine guns and 7.62 mm miniguns. The EAS Mannhiem was a perculiar kind of beast which in fleet parlance ‘did all the other missions’. That might mean tagging whales in the Antartic one month, protecting trawlers in a minor international spat the next, or making an official visit to some far-off and exotic port the following. As the old adage went, join the navy - or in his case the Maritime Force - and see the world. And the best bit, at least as far as Choudry’s parents were concerned, was you never got shot at.

Rizat might have complained about all this, but the sea life was agreeing with him, and as abovementioned, his life had taken on an all new sense of urgency and direction. Unlike back on shore where everyone was busy knifing each other, metaphorically speaking, for that meritorcratic promotion. In the military you knuckled down and did the work.

“Enjoying yourself yet, Rizat?” grinned the young man’s best friend on the ship, Rating Second Class Hector Escovada. Though close in age by just a few weeks, it was enough of a difference that Hector had already been promoted ahead of him. Not that Rizat was especially bothered by this. Both ratings were still firmly at the bottom of the ladderwell as far as the chain of command was concerned.

“I just love this weather!” Rizat shouted back against a bracing wind as he was worked at putting the finishing touches to the remote weather station he was emplacing.

That was the thing about being aboard the EAS Mannheim. The work was hard, but also it was varied. A week earlier they had put in to Costa Verde in Costaguana where both men had enjoyed a night’s liberty in the tropical fleshpot before their cruise west back to home port. The stop over off the coastal wastelands was to be their final task of the mission.

Even dressed to the nine’s in an artic parka and thermal suit and boots, and even wearing a radiation dosimeter, the two men couldn’t help giggling as they completed their work performing the annual replacement of remote instruments that monitored the slow recovery of the desolate land that surrounded them.

“Chowdry, Escovada,” the radio abruptly crackled to life, killing the mood. “Get back to the chopper,” interrupted the gruff voice of Chief Gallagher.

With a sigh of “All done anyway,” Rizat followed his friend back over the low rise at the top of the beach and across what seemed like shingle, but was in fact glass beads. The melted remainants of a multi gigaton nuclear exchange.

“What’s happening?” Escovoda asked to no-one in particular as they arrived back where the NH-90 helicopter was waiting for them, noticing the worried looks of some of the other ratings already present.

“Some kinda communication failure,” a rating replied grumpily in a thickly Alfegan accent.

“Maybe it’s radiation?” Chowdry offered as way of uninformed explanation.

“Yeah, , maybe,” added Chief Gallaher, walking back to the NH-90 and sliding back its passenger door. “Load up! I don’t plan on freezing my stones off finding out. Let’s go girls, ricky-tick!” the chief petty officer extolled his young wards.

Rizat could hardly complain at this order, happily taking a jump seat along with the others as the turbines whined with the startup of the engines. There was barely a second between the Chief entering and slamming the door shut and the whole helicopter had leaped into the air and the grey wastelands were flashing past the window. He could hear one of the crew trying to raise the EAS Mannheim on the VHF as the helicopter gained altitude over the sea. Sinking back into his jump seat it seemed the day’s excitement was over and he was intending to enjoy the ride home when suddenly unfamiliar alarms begun to sound off in the cabin and the two flight crew begun to shout.

“We’re being painted!”

“Take evasive! Get us back to the--”

“Mother--” was the last work that Rizat heard as a surface-to-air missile struck the helicopter near the port engine, causing an instant and catastrophic breakup of the airframe. Engulfed in a fireball debris begun to rain down to calm waves below, a mute witness as it took up the dead.

Lake Concordia, New Corinth, Etoile Arcture

Deputy Secretary General Thierry Fourcade’s office was, typically for the man, both spartan and modest. The only concession to the high office he held was the seal of the Technocracy that hung on the wall. From his window he enjoyed a rather decent - some might say spectuacular - overview of Lake Condordia with both the Directorates and Diplomatic Parc both within his vista. Theirry never really got much of a chance to enjoy that view, and today was proving no exception.

“Her last known position was in Western Paradis Oceanus. She’s been overdue now twelve hours,” a naval attache explained, a captain by the rank on his sleeve. “An EP-18B Triton has been launched from Googlewoop Atoll to commence a search and will reach the search area in 3 hours. A destroyer group has already been diverted and a carrier group is preparing to sail from the Atoll. Weather and sea conditions are predicted to be good, ideal for a search.”

“And you can sssure me that the Mannheim was not conducting any military operations in the area?” Theirry asked in return, ever one to anticipate the political ramifications.

“Absolutely not, Deputy Secretary General,” the captain replied sounding almost hurt by the suggestion. “The Mannheim was in the area purely to conduct scientific minitoring or fallout and radiation levels in the wastelands.”

“Captain, I look at this map,” Theirry said as he inspected the screen of the man’s laptop, “And I notice where our ship has gone missing is close to where several commercial vessels have been reported missing...”

“If you asking,” the captain inteerrupted. “If I or my colleagues at the Maritime Force believe there is any link. Then I must sy that presently we do not. While the EAS Mannhiem carries a light armanent, she does have state-of-the-art sensors, countermeasures and communications which would make it impossible for any pirate, no matter how determined or well equipped, to ambush or seize her. And even if those defences were breached or fooled, her crew would be well able to defend themselves from any assault by small arms.”

“I certainly hope that this is merely a case of a faulty GPS transponder or SATCOM,” Theirry told the man. “Keep me apprised.”

“Thank you, sir,” the captain replied before leaving the office.

Also attending the briefing, Fourcade’s chief of staff Lewis Galbrath breaks the silence of the last few minutes with the same thought going through his political master’s mind. “This may necessitate us informing the Delian League, sir.”

“Very possibly,” Fourcade answered as he turned towards the view outside his window that he never seemed to find the time to enjoy. If the captain had had a higher security rating, the technocrat mused, he may not have been so quick to boast of the EAS Mannheim's defendability. “Very possibly...”

New Corinth, EA - 0700 HOURS
Outside of the Intelligence Directorate

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Despite his perfectly legitimate documents clearing him to enter the lowest security level to file his report before leaving the country, he was not being permitted to go in. He could see it in the grimness of the guards faces that whatever it was, it was real, not a drill or exercise.

This, of course, meant he couldn't leave - at least not by any official means, and not if he wanted to properly represent his Czarina to these foreigners. Which in turn, gave him the perfect excuse to stay another night. And drink. But no hole-in-the-wall bar tonight. No, he was going to something more befitting of his rank of Lieutenant. Specifically, an off-base pub known to have a bit of class, frequented by officers. And to top it off, since he was here legally and legitimately, he didn't have to try to blend in one bit. He would be in his uniform, but the Intelligence Officer insignia would be absent, traded for that of his original skill set of a naval aviator.

And, afterall, there's no law preventing him from listening in on what his counterparts might spill after a few drinks. But of course, he wasn't going to lead them one bit - anything he got would be fair and square...

Eastern Nova
Bulk Cargo Ship Windurst

Captain Arthur Brooks sat down in the captain’s seat on the bridge with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was bored. His ship was sailing west toward Wagdog, her holds packed tight like usual. Thus far, the seas had been calm, there had been no bad problems aboard and a long, somewhat boring voyage throughout the region looked to end without incident. This had been a good run overall, but even so Brooks was looking forward to seeing the end so he could go back home, and spend some time with the family.

“Boss, you awake?”

Brooks looked up at that. Charles Fauntleroy was on the helm, and right now, he was also looking at the RADAR screen.

“What is it, Charlie?” asked Brooks. Fauntleroy was twenty-five, half Brooks’ age and he had a reputation as being a bit jumpy. It was probably nothing, but even so Brooks felt he had best humor the young man a little.

“I’m seeing a few contacts here, boss, maybe about a dozen.”

Brooks raised an eyebrow. Well, that was a bit unusual for this part of the ocean, but, still it was nothing to be overly concerned about.

“Is that all?” he asked. “Well, if any of them get too close, we’ll just call them up and-”

“They’re close, boss,” Fauntleroy interrupted. “Some are about a hundred meters out.”

“What?!” Brooks demanded, practically leaping to his feet now. “How the fuck didn’t we notice them before?”

“I don’t know, boss,” was the reply.

“Best find out what they want, then,” said Brooks as he walked toward the radio.

He didn’t even make it halfway before the shooting got started. A hail of bullets tore in to his ship’s bridge, obviously not aimed at anybody in particular, just trying to cause chaos. Fauntleroy was knocked down by flying shrapnel and hit the deck with a thud Brooks got lucky and was able to hit the deck unharmed, though he was dazed. When he came to, the loud noise of people moving around on his deck reached him faintly.

He was being boarded. Pirates were boarding his ship. He could hear the noises of people heading up the stairs to the wheelhouse. He didn’t have much time before they were upon him. He had to get on the radio, turn on the emergency device. Raising himself up, he put his sights on the radio, half walking half crawling toward it as fast as he could move.

“Yes!” he exclaimed as he reached the radio desk and found the ship’s emergency beacon had not been damaged. Somebody was wrestling with the outside hatch, now. He grabbed his pistol from his belt with one hand, as he hit the beacon’s “on” switch. He turned about in the direction of the hatchway, just as it finally burst open. He lifted the pistol but didn’t have a chance to fire as a hail of bullets from the hatchway cut him down.

Because of the nature of the situation, the Windurst would normally not have been missed in port for some time, but because Captain Brooks had managed to send out a signal reply had been almost instantaneous. Romandeosian authorities began looking into the ship and inquiring as to her crew, cargo, destination, and so forth.

In addition, a message was sent to the government of Katonazag, a very private encrypted message intended only for the highest levels of the Hunnic Confederation’s leadership, an inquiry as to the possibility of a special, highly secret, plan.

War Department, St. Istvan, HCSK - 1300 HOURS
Intelligence Services and Operations Command HQ

A realtively new Captain was giving Major General Zrínyi Miklós an equally relatively uninformative intel report concerning the communique from the Romandoesan IFSN. But it changed in a moment when he said, "SATCOM reports that they have found no evidence of the Windurst, her crew, or the purported pirates. However," he paused, "there has been an unusual... anomaly discovered. Upon routine sweep of a certain coordinate, the operator reported that the screen 'whited out', which cleared as they moved on. Moments later, he rescanned the coordinate and the anomaly appeared again. Then..."

General Miklós cut him off, "Get to the point, Captain. If this is something important, we need to move on it. If not, we need to move on." He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Right, sir. After repositioning and using the satellite's 'peripheral vision' with some filters, he spotted the outlines of three frigate-sized ships and a partial of one possibly the size of a destroyer." The Captain stopped to wait for the General's reaction. He didn't have to wait long.

"So, they are blinding out satellites. Means two things: first, they have something to hide, and second, they know we're looking at them. This does not sit well with me that they know the orbital locations of our orbital eyes and are willing to give them the proverbial poke. This is worth investigating much more closely. Make sure Lieutenant Sawyer doesn't have any more trouble getting out of the EA. He's already spent too much time drinking his way across that continent. Tell him he better be in my office no later than his time tomorrow or I'm going to drown him in a bowl of grog myself!" The general was now red in the face.

"Yes, sir!" His salute followed by about-face as sharp as his acknowledgment.

Now for the plan. General Miklós picked up the phone and began dialing. He heeded his own advice - they needed to move, and now.

Slowly, but surely, the wheels were turning. In a poorly lit room, the Elders of the Jaguars gathered. They had planned for this, expected for the inevitable conclusion, but now, as they reached closer and closer to their goal they could not help but return to the drawing board yet again, there was to be no flaw, no unexpected modification in how the events unveiled themselves and already there were divergences from the initial path. Divergences that in appearance were no more than a bump on the road could prove fatal to the path. It had happened before, it could happen so again and only careful planning as events unfolded, careful supervision and adjustments could prevent the development of a flaw, the emergence of a mistake that could cost them all dearly. This was their task now, to insure that events unfolded according to the initial plan, alterations included, the outcome to come most favorable to the Jaguars above all else.

By the orders of the Elders, new, bold orders were distributed to the force in Nova. If at first the engagement of military vessels was to be avoided, even if it brought shame, dishonor and scorn to the captains of their ships, now, a different tactic was in place. Whilst the general engagement rules remained, the Jaguars now had a limited permit to engage military ships belonging to the Novan Navies. But the targets had to be carefully picked, small ships, isolated ships, poorly armed ships, enough for the presence of the clans to be felt but not enough for the military officials to have suspicions of their true presence. It was a careful balancing act and were it to succeed the Jaguars would bolster their numbers with the remains of the other clans, unaware of their maneuver, bound to engage the ships that were bound to investigate the sudden disappearance of their military ships.

Beyond the carefully developed political ploy there were other, more practical reasons for this movement. The Jaguars had yet to deduce the true extent of technological development in Nova, what weapons and equipment lay at the hands of the Novan Lords or whatever the name stood for their leaders, the evidence so far gained serving only to confuse them as to the political layout of the region. There were Fangs, named kings, that received the title by rite of inheritance! Without proving their worth and prowess in intrigue or battle! They ruled in the name of something called ‘God’! What was the merit in this the Jaguars and others like them did not understand, it confused them to see rulers raising to power just by virtue of blood. But that was not the end of the astonishment, there were many other nations with Fangs elected just like back home. They were chosen amongst their most skillful or treacherous, yet unlike back home, the previous Fang was left alive! How they could suffer such a threat was a matter they couldn’t understand. In the eyes of the clans this system, called democracy was eerily familiar, yet in the same time strange, too strange for them to understand it. There were weird clans called parties, yet their members willingly mingled day after day in various tasks, no differences acknowledged beyond that of belief. As a comfort, they found out about nations that were ruled by strength of arms, their rulers climbing to power on a path of bodies, but even there, even there differences were too great. Only one nation in Nova brought them a reminder of home, a nation torn in war by its clans, a nation where children were brought to this world to become soldiers, just like home.

It was understanding, or perhaps lack of understanding regarding these foreign cultures that modeled the plans of the Jaguars. By enticing the Novans, by antagonizing them and instilling fear in their merchants the clan hoped to make them retaliate in force. It would be enough at that point for the other clans to be swept away by the waves, enough in the general chaos that was to come for the Jaguars to achieve a victory or two, enough for them to be regarded with awe and amazement, but not enough to shatter their forces for the moves they would make back home. The added benefit to all this was that the sea would once again be clean, the competition for riches vanished in one swift move, yes, the Jaguars had planned it well, but from the times of old no plan, no matter how adjusted, how complex or simple survived its execution.

The flaw in this plan was an accident an unexpected event taking place amongst the countless boarding actions undertook by clan ships. It was a brief occurrence, but one of their ships, usually kept in perfect working order and excellent shape had one rather embarrassing ‘accident’. The consequence, in combat against other clan ships and indeed, other military ships with even inferior technology could have been devastating as the jammers they so relied upon failed. For the unfortunate trading vessel targeted by them it didn’t make a difference, too little, too late for them to be saved from their fate, but, as their dying message reached the eyes and ears in the sky of their patron nation, the Clan knew it made a mistake. They had allowed a warning to pass, enough to draw unwanted attention and it was enough for them to make new calculations. Others noticed, knew about the mistake yet, despite this the Jaguars were left in the dark about it. A disturbance in the plan they could not foresee, enough so to unsettle their carefully crafted ploy, enough to push the Clans and the region even more into the Abyss.

At home, beyond the plots etched by the minds of the elders, beyond the careful wait of the massive armies waiting to be unleashed upon the enemies of the clans, the Fang pondered the developments. A careful trade with the Shrikes allowed him to know much more than one would expect about the inner workings of many clans. The cost was indeed high, but the insight they provided was more than enough to make up for the costs. He knew in vague lines what the Jaguars were plotting, what the other clans were hiding and the outcome that was coming, it was as watching a train wreck. The plots, the movements of the minor players, he knew were they were heading. It was thus unavoidable that sooner or later he was to be involved. Too many wanted for the spark that the Jaguars were to produce to be used to lit the already short fuses of the Major Clans, too many for him to be certain about his position and the future of his clan. He had to find a way, he knew there was a way, to exploit all this, to redirect all the energy stored by the clans in the years of peace in such a manner that his throne would not be usurped. Perhaps, and this was something he often mused about, enough to afford him a death of old age, a honor no Fang, ever since the death of the first one and the end of the old Order. It was no surprise that even he thought this dream to be one far beyond his reach, but even one such as he afforded to dream in what little respite his position and dangers involved with it afforded him.

A plan was made…

Western Nova.
Principality of Damirez.

”Any leads?” Valer’s voice was tired, unexpectedly so from the usual energetic DIS Director, yet entirely understandable in the current setting. Despite the extensive operations undertook by DIS to discover the truth behind the disappearances in Eastern Nova nothing came up. True there were whispers and rumors, but nothing concrete to point out the exact culprit. The merging pattern was not one that the Aetius liked, it implied things he refused to believe despite his screaming instincts. It was this lack of information that forced his hand to request a meeting with the ever elusive leader, commander or whatever the true name of the function he had was, of ISS. The Infiltration Special Service shared, at least in his view, the same tasks as DIS in regards to foreign operations, making them a somewhat redundant and expensive institution to maintain. But knowing the man he had in front of him at the moment and the influence and power he wielded, he suspected that ISS wasn’t going to go down easy if he were to suggest an absorption of the organization into DIS.

”Some,” came the simple reply as the old man enjoyed his wine, his eyes never leaving the other’s face, watching, waiting for a reaction, no matter how minute. It was a game he played since before Valer was born and he knew every trick and ploy that the other could employ to evade him. Aetius was a man of action, at least as much action as one could perform in their current positions and his reform of DIS, the aggressive take he had on the operations the service was to undertake outside the borders. At the same time, he also knew of the ambitions the man had for ISS, enough to draw a smile from him at times. There were few inside ISS and even fewer outside ISS that knew the true extent of what the ISS operatives did or as to the size of the service and he was content to leave it this way. Often enough, this very secrecy allowed them to foil plans made against the Principality before they even left the ground in a manner that left many to believe coincidence and fate were to blame. ”I have to admit though that the evidence is somewhat inconclusive,” it was his own way of admitting that even the famed ISS was confused by the current events, ”And there’s no proof that this is the work of usual pirates. The technology they use, the way they act, it all smells of military training and heavy funding,” it was the kind of analysis only a man that managed to age on the very edge of life and death could make.

”You suspect foul play from…” Aetius stopped himself before the words on his tongue slipped, but the intention was obvious even though he refused to give the other man another card in the game they played.

”No, not really,” came the quick reply, ”We’d know, there was no doubt he was absolutely convinced of this, such was the reach of the ISS. ”I doubt even DIS would miss something like this.

The obvious barb was not missed, but a game of words was not something he had energy for, at least at the moment, ”So in other words we have a total unknown on our hands?” DIS and ISS were aware of the problem and searching for the cause for quite some time now, but recently other secret services had recently started buzzing around the subject. How could they not when the newspapers didn’t fail to report the disappearance ‘derby’ taking place in Eastern Nova.

”Yes, that seems to be the case.”


---

Delos.
Delian League Headquarters.

Normally the reports of a few crazed insurance agents were not enough to drive the League officials into a frenzy, but recently there seemed to be a tide of reports and requests coming from the insurance companies, all requesting the same thing, clarification of the ongoing situation in Eastern Nova. Worse yet, League interests in Eastern Nova were threatened by the acts of piracy, the Wagdian and Mephrasi representatives most empathic in their demands and understandably so. That was reason enough for the League to try and address the problem. The situation was analyzed even before of the complaints, but there were not enough resources available at the moment to take a firm position, but now the allotment of resources was different. Nobody threatened League interests. The briefing that followed the first complaint made that very clear.

”So, we have pirates in Eastern Nova, operating unchecked for who knows how long now because we couldn’t get enough ships in the area to make a point?” Admiral Yves was usually the radical element in regards to any conversation about pirates. For those that knew him the reason was clear, the loss of a younger sibling enough to shape his view of pirates for the rest of his life.

”Not exactly Yves,” the reply came in Atrean, but with an accent that pointed to the non Damiran origin of the speaker, ”There are League ships in the area, actively hunting for the pirates, but they’re like ghosts. Lessons of experience perhaps?”

The question was enough to remind Yves of the ‘hunt’ the League initiated years before, the hunt that was directed at the elimination of the pirate threat from Novan waters. They were somewhat pleasant memories for Yves. He had gained his Admiral rank in the campaign and many of the officers the League now had earned promotions during that time. ”No, no matter how experienced they are it’s impossible to just ‘vanish’ from radars or sonars,” the more rational part of the Admiral came to light as he looked over the situation.

”It’s a tricky situation,” another officer replied, ”But there’s a lot of pressure for this issue to get solved,” indeed the pressure from all kind of officials and dignitaries built up from the very first report. ”There’s word about a task force assigned to hunt these pirates down…”

Yves knew that the Task Force was already a reality even as these words were spoken. He had been contacted earlier that day to be announced of the honor of tracking invisible pirates and removing the threat to Delian interests. He was looking forward towards the mission, but in the same time a feel of dread washed over him. Something wasn’t right.

The fact that the Delian League had to divert additional resources to the area, the inexplicable secrecy in which the pirates operated, nothing made sense. Who or what was preying on the Novan shipping?

Office for Shipping Protection
The War Ministry

Ever since the 1800s, the People's Nation of Alfegos had always taken the possible threat to its shipping seriously: the lifeblood of a nation that relied on mass exports to the rest of the world. Whether it had been AerGas or Mahogany, washing machines or airships, such losses were unacceptable to a nation whose economy was balanced as it were on a razor blade. Even the investments that Damirez had made in the north of the nation had had no impact on the majority of production from the nation, that being almost central to the province of Milkavich. Known throughout Nova for xenophobia, especially to those of the Principality that had tried to help the fanatics, to the end of watching the skies burn once again as an insane government waged a war that could have resulted in such strife. With the Damirean government having a stranglehold over the weapons that Alfegos was renowned for, from the infamous intra-regional missile silos in the high mountains to even the eastern railgun emplacements of coast shield, the War Ministry was ever pressed in trying to control its own policies without having to call upon the Damirean "overseers".

After the massive reshuffle of 2007, few offices had remained as they originally had been. One of the few that was unchanged, save for the décor, was Office for Shipping Protection. Amongst the six operations that were run from here to the Naval Command Bureau, the one now meeting in the small conference hall on their floor of the War Ministry Command Complex in the rolling farmland of central Zevkhay province was the one commanding most attention. Operation Triangle (produced from a random word generator years back) was the one that dealt with protecting Alfegan shipping, both civilian and military, by any means necessary, in regional waters. Whilst the other operations dealt with such in international waters, in foreign nations, specifically with piracy or what, Operation Triangle dealt with shipping on both the water, was was expected, but also in the sky. Airshipping, the most common show of Alfegan influence over an area, was the most important type that the department strove to protect, as well as being the method which the department was now using more and more often.

By mid-day, the room was packed full, with many members sitting in folding seating provided by them selves or standing up by the exits. The room was only meant to hold a maximum of all Office personnel, yet it was teeming with invited representatives of the Ministry of Transport, the Alfegos Airshipping Consortium, Aerofleet Sky Command, the Naval Command Bureau, and even a pair of shady figures from the Ministry of Information. The Office head paced up onto a raised stage to the front of the conference hall, receiving silence from the onlookers.
"Good day to you all. I am sorry for the short notice of this meeting, but I believe it is urgent due to its possible impact upon our nation's economy."
He spoke calmly and smoothly, learnt on his 2-day speaking course, observing some of the invited members were showing an assumption of this being but a trivial meeting.
"So I don't detain you all, I will cut straight to business. As you all know, there have been attacks on shipping in Nova that, up until now, we attributed to the normal pirate presence. However, some of you may be aware that there has been one such attack upon military shipping, those being of Arcturian origin. Whilst this raises issues as to the audacity of these pirates, this still is not the reason we have come here."

Behind him, a screen lit up, showing an aerial photograph of a country, recognisable of being towards the east of Nova. As they watched, the "photograph" showed itself to be a recorded feed, embedded text revealing it to be from a Mesolite station.
"This is footage of an attack upon ships belonging to Mephras. As you can see from this low-quality standard scan, there appear to be more than one ship involved in attacking the ship. We do not have high-level footage as the Ministry of Information tried to switch to a satellite feed to provide detail upon these attackers."
The image that came up on the screen was whited out, static criss-crossing the image from a damaged CCD sensor.
"The ministry tells me that the footage is inconclusive, but corresponds with LASER jamming. If this is true, then these "pirates" we are facing are not just the normal level threat that we are able to combat with existing measures in place: we are facing an extremely organised group attacking shipping. Chances are we will have a serious encounter sometime soon, and the potential loss of shipping means that we can not afford to sit by. I am calling upon Operation Triangle to co-ordinate a response now, and for the associated departments and such provide the necessary information, ideas, and support overall. Before we start the planning, any questions?"

With the navies of the Delian League beginning to launch patrols of the areas where ships began to disappear, the Monavian forces were now placed on higher alert. Ships were ordered to keep channels open to League fleets, and Monavian ships were issued an advisory to avoid Paradis Oceanus. Hopefully, no one would fall prey to the Clans for a while, but for some, time was running out.

Days passed. The news had not changed much, thus the naval command was having more difficulty trying to justify the heightened alert to some media people, but that was often a common problem. Heightened alerts were not common, so naturally, there was always a troublemaker who would take umbrage to the whole event.

Eventually, a task force was to be dispatched towards the site of the troubles. Meanwhile, satellite commands were being prepared for the coming conflict.

[Intelligence dossier hand-delivered by HCSK military intelligence officers]

MEMO FOR INTERNATIONAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICES - URGENT

CC: IFSN OF ROMANDEOS;
IMPERIAL MEPHRAN NAVY;
INTELLIGENCE DIRECTORATE OF ETOILE ARCTURE;
DIS;
NAVAL COMMAND BUREAU OF ALFEGOS;
AEROFLEET SKY COMMAND OF ALFEGOS;

SUBJECT: PIRACY IN EASTERN OCEANS

ISSUED BY: HCSK INTELLIGENCE SERVICES AND OPERATIONS COMMAND;
NAVAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY CZARINA DEEANE I OF KROMMINDY

CLASSIFICATION: INTERNATIONAL TOP SECRET - MISUSE WILL BE GROUNDS FOR DISCONTINUATION OF FURTHER INTELLIGENCE COOPERATION

It has come to the attention of the HCSK Intelligence Services and Operations Command that the piracy being experienced in the Eastern Oceans may be but a symptom of a much greater threat. Since these pirates are able to approach and board vessels without being noticed, evade conventional and even sensitive military grade detection methods, and escape equally unnoticed with their plunder, we have to entertain the possibility that they may be operating far closer to our homelands, if they are not already doing so. Furthermore, they are also capable of blinding visual and electromagnetic satellite imagery as demonstrated in the attached (and also Classified) images.

The implications of this sort of technology are indeed grave: we may be dealing with a threat that we have no way of fighting because of no means of detecting them. Therefore, it is of the utmost importance that we accomplish the task of discovering a reliable detection method. We will be conducting a mission in conjunction with the IFSN of Romandeos to attempt exactly that.

All you need to know at this point about Operation: Tin Dolphin is that there will a be a bulk freighter operating in this region (description to be forwarded at a later time for operational security reasons), and that you do not need to be alarmed if a slight radiation level is detected, or if ICBM launch is detected. It is intended to mimic a nuclear launch. Communications frequencies, signals, counter-signals, etc. also to be forwarded separately at a later time.

Any questions or concerns should be directed to the HCSK Intelligence Services and Operations Command, through secure means. Do not electronically transmit anything contained in this or subsequent intelligence documents pertaining to the subject. Due to our enemy's level of technological sophistication, we can only assume that they are listening and may have more cryptographic capabilities than our nations. Failure to protect this and future communications on the subject would be ultimate foolishness could doom all of us.


Major General Zrínyi Miklós
HCSK Intelligence Services and Operations Command

[End of report]

[Attached high-res images: one of a blinded satellite image, and the one of the ships described in previous post]

Marquis Tavern and Bar - Lake Concordia, New Corinth, Etoile Arcture

Adam Lithgow was a strong believer in chance meetings, especially those that you arrange yourself. It was to this purpose he had come to the Marquis, a well known and popular haunt of naval officers, their significant others and wannabe significant others.

Some found the swirl of testosterone and estrogen heady in such a place, and the rising and falling voices, loud music and the humdity of so many bodies packed into such close proximity on a friday evening spoke to that. None of it impressed or swayed Lithgow though as he doggedely, and directly, walked to a particular table and without announcement or ceremony sat before the lone occupant dressed in the uniform of a foreign navy.

The search for the Mannheim was still only twelve hours old when the Windurst's emergency beacon had been detected by one of the Triton search planes. By luck it had been possible to task an ocean surviellance satellite to make its fly-over of the area within fifteen minutes - in time to catch the heat traces and wakes of the pirate vessels departing the scene

On the basis of this Adam, among others, had recommended to the General Secretariat to raise readiness levels to Security Condition Four. It would buy some time as it shut down all directorates to public access and put in place a media blackout, but Adam doubted that would survive the twelve hours before dawn regardless. The raise in security level was bound to raise suspicions in of itself. Added to that family members in regular SATCOM and Internet contact with those serving on the Mannheim were sure to soon ask questions why their calls and emails were not being returned. For Adam his job became more difficult as soon as the search for the Mannmheim became public knowledge. Then, the situation would no longer be containable or its consquences predictable.

“The tavern has an Interesting history,” he told the stranger seated before him, leaning back against the soft leather backrest of his chair. “Originally the tavern was called La Hotel Marquis, named after the man who built it, the Marquis de Concordant, who chose to do so on the shore of the lake that he also lent his name to. It’s among the original wood and stone buildings from the colonial period. Of course, since then it’s been renovated and refurbished many times, and fifty years ago it was moved brick by brick and plank by plank to its current location, care having been taken to retain its original redwood panelled decor.

"It was here where the Marquis de Concordant oversaw the Franco-British partitioning of Etoile Arcture. Actually, it was up at that bar,” Adam explained glibly. “And the war of liberation two-hundred years later started not far from this spot. In fact,” Adam added, this time pointing across the floor to a table virtually hidden from view by patrons in Dress A’s and slinky off-the-shoulder numbers, “Exactly there is where the first committee of the rebellion was held. It seems an auspicious place for two members of foreign intelligence services to exchange notes on a common enemy, wouldn’t you agree Lieutenant Sawyer?” Adam finished. Contact had been made.

Lake Concordia, New Corinth, Etoile Arcture – 2215 HOURS
Marquis Tavern and Bar

Lieutenant Brendon Sawyer waved his hand toward the barkeeper, who nodded in acknowledgment of his desire for a drink. “Yes, Mr. Lithgow, I would indeed agree that this is a fitting place. And a proper place for officers, to boot. Much better than the dives I've been at the past few nights,” he added with a measure of bourgeois-esqe disdain. “I trust you have received the intelligence report that went out today? Ironically, I won't be briefed on it until I get back to St. Istvan.” Looking at his empty glass, he idly commented, “What the Czarina saw in aligning Krommindy with the HCSK... That the Admiral now answers to that foreign General just...” He regained his composure and straightened up in his seat. “Down to business then. Since you will have access to the report anyways, I'll go ahead and tell you what I've found over here on this side of the world. It would appear that the privateers can go completely undetected, even going as far as to pick off the last ship of a convoy without a trace. What they or their vessels look like is inconclusive, and it's doubtful that any survivors actually exist. I'm sure I don't have to say much more than that for you to extrapolate a picture of their capabilities, and the potential uses for such technology against any country in the region. What have you to bring to the table? And for that matter, when is that barmaid going to get to this table?

She chose that moment to make an appearance - a voluptuous, dark-eyed brunette wearing a modern business skirt that sharply contrasted with the old-world style striped sailor shirt that left only a little to the imagination. Careful to lean over just a little too much, she placed Lt. Sawyer's fresh glass of bourbon. She was fishing for a bigger tip, but she had no idea that would be only the beginning of what Lt. Sawyer intended to give her. She looked over at Mr. Lithgow and asked, “What'll it be, sir?”

Port Weston, Kingdom of Krommindy – 2215 HOURS
South End, Dock 31

Major Lóránt Szenvedés carefully surveyed the dock and ship from the safety of the shadows across the port's internal road. This was the old, dilapidated section of the port, and about half the street lights were out. He had been in this spot for well over an hour observing for any signs of outside surveillance, carefully scanning with his own eyes, and with the light amplified and heat detection modes of the electronic ones he had brought along for the ride. Surface by surface, shadow by shadow.

He had been doing this for the HCSK Army for almost 16 years. The first eight as an enlisted man, he had done it all. He had started as just another gunner in a mechanized cavalry division, but had grabbed at every chance for more training. He had qualified as an Assault Trooper, thus his enduring affinity for his custom Saiga-12 auto shotgun. Air Assault and Airborne paratrooper training followed, with a short stint as a Partisan in between. At the age of 24 he had achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant (E6) quite early, and combined with the glimmer of the steel on his service uniform from his all his training caught the eye of then HCSK Army Huns, Colonel Zrínyi Miklós. The Colonel with great confidence gave him a shot at becoming one of Katonazag's most elite type of soldier, at which Szenvedés did not disappoint. Two years later, Brigadier General Miklós gave him his second big break – a shot at a commission, and was again pleased with the results. And eight years later, Szenvedés was still doing Miklós' bidding and with more deadly efficiency than ever.

The Edisto was an old bulk freighter, nearing (or at, depending on who you talked to) the end of it's useful service life. Weighing in at a humble 28,000 dead-weight tons, there was very little that it could do that couldn't be done faster, cheaper, and more efficient by ships 30 years her junior. Perhaps that's why she had been donated by her previous owner – traded to the Czarina for a tax write-off. Once a respected ship common to the ports of Krommindy and the surrounding waters, the Edisto was now very much like the dock to which she had been moored for the past several years, just waiting to be sold for scrap or perhaps to a third-world merchant who would never make his way in this brave new globalized world. However, she was destined for a fate much more glorious than any of her class as her new and final owner was the Krommindy Royal Naval Intelligence Service. During the mission, she would most certainly be lost in the service of protecting Her Majesty Czarina Deeane I and the Kingdom of Krommindy.

Satisfied that the place was clear, Major Szenvedés crossed the street, barely visible in the poor lighting to the naked eye in his old gray trench coat. He did the millionth mental gear check that night and felt the chamber indicator on his brand new suppressed Springfield XD-41 before leaving the cover of the last cargo container. After inspecting the rusty old gangplank, he strode to the top and onto the deck. Looking about, he was glad they had this ship for the mission; he had trained throughout his career on the wrecked hulk of one of this class out in the extreme West Desert training facility.

After unlocking and clearing the relatively simple ship, he went up to the bridge and looked out over the dock and then back towards the bay. “Only a few days to get this rig up and running,” he said to himself. Sure, the KRN maintenance sailors had made sure the ship was functional and fueled, but there would be a lot of intelligence hardware that would need to be installed. As the mission commander for Operation: Tin Dolphin, it was his duty to be first on board and to get the process started. And that meant starting up the clunky, leaky, old generator to get the power flowing.

He quickly went to work setting proximity alarms in the dock area, and around the ship. Setting his laptop up in what was to become the command room, he decided to rest a while before his crew would start arriving sometime that day. But as always, with one eye open...

The Marquis Tavern and Bar - Lake Concordia, New Corinth, Etoile Arcture

Having ordered a whiskey from the very pleasant barmaid, as soon as she had left Adam’s smile faded away as he retrieved a glossy sheet and slipped it across the redwood table to the other man. “This will no doubt prove of some interest to you then,” Adam told him. “Captured in just the last hour over Western Paradis Oceanus.”

Adam deliberately waited to see Sawyer’s reaction to the grainy satellite image before continuing. “That notwithstanding, the best brains in Maritime Intelligence have so far only provided my service with conjecture and supposition. What you might be looking at could be stealth frigates fleeing the latest attack - or innocent trawlers! Imagery analysis couldn’t match the hull design or thermal signature to any known vessel type. Excepting the possibilty of a serious failure of intelligence regarding a new class of ship coming out of any of the known dockyards, we appear to be dealing with something - and somebody - new on the scene.”

At that moment the barmaid returned, bearing their orders on a tray. The woman could sense the change in mood between the two men as she frowned at Adam in spite of his polite thankyou. As soon as the woman had left that same serious tone infused his voice as he took out a USB flash drive and placed it on the table. “This is everything we have - sat images, radio intercepts, last known positions - not very much,” he explained, not even trying to disguise the frustration he felt in his voice. “This information is being shared with the Delian League as well. We have a ship missing in the area as of four hours ago, and a large air-sea search ongoing. But I wonder if we are the quarry rather than the hunters.”

Southern Palace, Near the Sea of Mephras

The formal reception hall had been impeccably prepared, as it was everyday, in anticipation of the various government officials and ambassadors who would pass through on their way to formal audiences with the Empress, who had taken up residence for the duration of the summer. Servants flanked every doorway, while nervous bureaucrats sat on the plush and finely carved furniture, all illuminated by the enormous crystal chandelier which dominated the center of the room.

But today, things were slightly different. Instead of small intimate meetings of peacetime, there was a dire need for a larger, more all encompassing conference. A large, oak table had been brought in a placed under the glittering chandelier, and a mismatched group of chairs had been placed all around it. All of the nations top naval, trade, and defense advisers had been called to the palace. At the head of the table sat the Empress herself, trying her best to exude an aura of confidence, despite fighting a deep inner concern for what was occurring in the greater Novan region.

"My lords," Mei began, attempting to steady her voice, "you have all been called her today to discuss of major of extreme importance and great concern to our Empire. No doubt you have read the countless reports coming from the Paradis Oceanus, not the least of which concerning our own ship, the Princess of the Malay. To have such a large ship appear to vanish is most troubling, yet that appears to be only the beginning. Numerous reports have been coming in from other Novan nations, along with Delian League patrols have noted this series of strange events with a grave concern. The Delian League fleet is one of the most feared on the planet, and even they are baffled and seemingly powerless in the face of this bizarre foe. I realize that today it is only one ship in a fleet of millions, but we must act quickly, for what would happen tomorrow if our trade were to dry up? Our industries would grind to a halt, our people would starve.

As Mei slammed her fist on the table, as if to confirm the obviously serious nature of what was going on, she continued. "So today, I have called you all here to figure out something. I realize that we may be blindly grasping for straws, but no longer can we put our heads in the sand. We must act quickly, we must act now. I need every idea that you can come up with. Form as many committees as you can, and start them working around the clock. The Southern Palace can host as headquarters for the time being. We shall continue to stay in close contact with our regional allies, and should anything new happen, you can be assured we shall be among the first to know. That is all for now, we shall reassemble in this room twelve hours from now to see how we will proceed."

As the various top generals and ministers began to withdraw from the central room, to begin to form committees of their best and brightest underlings, it would appear to any outside observer, and truly to many in the room, that the Empire had decided to meet this challenge head on, and that it would find some way to solve it. Yet for Mei, who had put on a brave face for these many high ranking men and women, there still lingered a deep doubt, on that wouldn't disappear until these mysterious happenings had been completely put to rest.

Lake Concordia, New Corinth, Etoile Arcture – 2230 HOURS
Marquis Tavern and Bar

Lt. Sawyer looked at the fuzzy image before him. “Sure, the ones in the rear are frigate-sized, but if we're facing an unknown enemy then you're right, it could be a ship of any number of functions. Judging by the angle, I don't think each ship carries the necessary equipment to jam satellites. This means that either they have a ship or several ships dedicated to electronic warfare, or the frigates are just too small to carry it and there's some larger ships that can equip it. Either way, they are definitely operating as an organized fleet; well-equipped, and disciplined. Despite their technological and tactical advantage, their overconfidence could potentially be turned into a weapon against them.”

Pausing briefly to rejoin the never-ending battle against sobriety, he thought for a moment. “Devising a reliable detection method has got to be our top priority – we can't fight what we can't see. The angle used in the picture is an unorthodox one. If I ever meet the operator who thought to try it, I'll buy him a drink or three. It would appear that they can avoid line-of-sight detection, but may be vulnerable to more indirect methods. I have a couple ideas, but it will be as tricky as shooting pool in space, and could get messy and expensive. But the only way to find out if they work is to test them, and we have no test subject except for the enemy themselves.” Realizing that he was most likely going to be the unlucky man to have to do it, he depleted the contents of his glass, and waved for another.

Picking up the portable storage device, he turned it over in his hand a couple times before putting it inside his jacket pocket. “I suspect you're right about the premise that whatever our active response is, we'll be running headlong into a trap. But a passive response will only delay the inevitable. Pirates of this magnitude will take all they feel they can get away with. If we can't stop them, then it's only a matter of time before our own soil will fall to their advance.” Straightening up in his seat once again, this time with pride and resolve, he declared, “And as long as I have strength in my hands and breath in my lungs, I'll do everything it takes to keep the Czarina on her throne and Krommindy in her dominion – God save the Czarina!”

The barmaid handed him his fresh glass just in time for him to raise it, and take a sip. With that, he looked at her with his ever-smooth smile, not in the least ashamed of his patriotic oration, and said, “Thanks, miss.” Turning back to Adam, he asked, “Is there anything further we need to discuss, Mr. Lithgow?”




Port Weston, Kingdom of Krommindy – 2310 HOURS
South End Docks

Captain Dezső Kedvenc was what senior NCOs and officers alike referred to as a “young gun”. Blessed with both academic and athletic prowess, he was the ideal combination for a Sky Raider of HCSKAF's special forces. Some people allow obsessions and compulsions to destroy and imprison them. Not Dezső. His drove him to excellence in nearly anything he put his hand to, but gave him a touch of eccentricity and nerdity that sometimes gave the impression of instability. But if nothing else, he was what anyone could call purposeful, logical, and calculating. And he was as quick on foot as mentally. One of his college scholarships had been for running track, which complimented his others for nigh-flawless grades. In and of itself, it's not so big of a deal. That he was 16 when he set foot into his freshman year of college was. Two and a half years later, he had graduated with a BS of Science in Engineering. At 18, while the guys who had given him a hard time while growing up were in basic training being run to death, crawling and sleeping in the mud, he received his commission as a 2nd Lieutenant in the HCSK Air Force. His first assignment at SATCOM bored him terribly. So having already achieved the top of the technical food chain, he decided to refocus his efforts on the combat side and applied to train to become a Sky Raider, the Air Force's elite special forces. And as usual, he completed the extensive and intensive program with flying colors.

Now at age 21, Captain “Kid” Kedvenc had been assigned to a mission unlike any that had ever been attempted before, and against a completely unknown and technically superior enemy. General Miklós had told him that he had been hand-selected as the man who could most likely devise the nature of the enemy's technology. Then he had followed it by saying that he regretted having to put him at risk, but that the mission was a “one time shot” and the stakes were very likely to all-or-nothing.

“Captain Kid doesn't fail,” he though to himself from beside the unmarked 26-foot moving truck. He had removed a piece of the classified C4ISR equipment, a long range camera and had wired them to the truck's electrical system and hooked it up to his laptop. From well in excess of a mile, he had comfortably watched in great detail as Major Szenvedés surveyed, approached, boarded, and deployed sensors around the Edisto. This was some good equipment – he had been able to positively identify him even in the dark from that distance by his facial features, build, and the heat shadow from the thin folding pack on his back that carried his custom Saiga-12. If the rest of the equipment was this good, then he'd definitely have a shot at making this mission a crown jewel amongst his successes.

After packing his equipment back up, he put his truck back on the road up to Dock 31. Having specific knowledge of where Major Szenvedés had placed the sensors, he stopped the truck and shut it down just outside the range of the perimeter. “Time to ring the doorbell,” he said with a smile after observing the place for a couple minutes. Picking up a chunk of broken concrete, he reared back and lobbed it into the middle of several sensors well inside the perimeter.

On board the Edisto, Major Szenvedés' eyes shot wide open as the speakers on his laptop squawked to life. Looking at the screen, the perimeter sensors were fine, but several further in were tripped. “Probably a seagull...” he muttered to himself as he slipped a mag into his Saiga and clicked the tactical scope over to night vision. He looked back to his screen and enlarged the camera inset, but the large white object was no seagull – instead, he found a truck with a guy with a crooked grin and night vision goggles sitting on the hood looking straight at his camera.

Captain Kid took out his LED IR illuminator and began flashing the sign sequence to let Major Szenvedés know it was him. He had been well informed of the Major's propensity for putting tungsten penetrators through people he suspected to be infiltrators.

“That asshole...” the Major muttered as he went up the stairs. Opening the hatchway at the base of the bridge that led out onto the deck, he began to yell. “Are you going to just sit there and choke your chicken all night?!?! Drive that damn truck forward NOW and wipe that goddamn stupid grin off your face or I'll scrape it off with the barnacles on the hull!”

This exchange sobered up the young Captain rather quickly. He did as he was told, and the Major went over to the onboard crane that would lift the truck into the cargo hold.

Alfegos Aerofleet Sky Command

The aerofleet sky command, like all aerofleet installation, resided far away from major population centres. Whilst it was a curse for the logistics costs incurred, it was a blessing for the secrecy and defensive nature of its location. And the view...

The Sky Marshall had been briefed by an aide on the meeting that had gone ahead recently, on the incidents involving the shipping in the seas around Alfegos. Whilst he had some control over Operation Triangle, he did not have enough to exert the full force of the plans that he had made to try and take these pirates down. Whilst the international community was obviously up to something, he had to forward the Alfegan response before the Navy went and mucked something up.
He sat with sunlight streaming in from a large window, a layer of slats on the outside acting as a defence against attack, warmth filling the room. The room was his private office, in which he had ensured no listening devices were fitted, and in which he held his most confidential meetings. Across the table were the two Fleet Commanders, one in charge of the Solace-based fleet, and the other of the Colonial fleet. Alongside them, the Aerofleet Financial Official from the Funding Office of the War Ministry lurked with pen and paper poised, with two members of the Intelligence Office, the Aeromarine Master and assorted high auxilliary officers watching in from chairs further out from the desk.

"Good afternoon gentlemen. As you are aware, the situation involving these "pirates" has become more severe. The general theory is that the craft are not simple pirate vessels, but must be part of a more advanced force. Whether these are an extra-regional fleet conducting guerilla attacks or something more sinister, we have not idea yet. Whilst the navy have the solution of sending out increased patrols, and will be petitioning us soon as a result for the deployment rate to be increased to 40%, I have drawn up my own plans as to what we will be doing to counter this threat, which we will discuss here.

As we have been made aware, a vessel is to be sent out by a Novan government to act as bait, with what we believe to be a simulated nuclear weapon launch to try and lure in the enemy. Whilst they are all very well in expecting this ambush to work, there is always the potential for the ambush to fail. As such, we will be using our own bait."

Behind him, an image flickered into focus on the projection screen, showing a civilian craft. The image became a wireframe schematic as he continued talking.

"Operation Beryl will involve the airship shown here, the Uila, recently purchased by the Aerofleet for aeromarine training. She's a three-hundred metre Ulia-class Aerofreighter, and was sitting around in a scrapyard for a few years. What makes this class unique is that they use Hydrogen as a buoyancy agent, which is why they were banned and have since been used for scrap or as tethered units.
We will be filling the craft with hydrogen, and setting it out with a skeleton crew. They will proceed to a point a couple hundred of kilometres south of Weccanfield, before being extracted by onboard helicopter. From there, automatic controls will ensure that the airship sinks to an altitude of fifty metres above sea level, broadcasting a distress call on all frequencies. We will try to ensure that the appropriate governments are informed to delay their responses to the call.
The craft will not, however, be used to just attract them. Onboard, we will fit some cheap observation equipment to detect the ships coming into range, which will be unaffected hopefully by dazzler effects. When the ships are within a range suitable, we will detonate the ship's payload: one thousand tonnes of ammonium nitrate slurry. The resulting explosion will act as a marker for our mesollite, as well as producing a massive damaging effect on the target ships. With the damage this is likely to cause, the mesolite will then track the ships to their home berth where they will moor up for repairs. When that is located, the second phase will be discussed.
As insurance, we will be flying a Ghoul-class Stealth airship, to be referred to as Second Sight, behind to observe. It will use the cover provided of the skies around the area of Weccanfield at this time of year, with typical chance of cloud cover being high enough for effective deployment. This will be used to visually track the ships, with the RADAR cross-section of the craft being sufficient to fool any sensor into believing it was a cloud.
Any Questions?"

The room was silent for a moment, before the discussions of precise costs, deployments, dates and times. The ball had begun rolling as Alfegos formulated its own response to the crisis.

Port Weston, Kingdom of Krommindy – 1700 HOURS
South End, Dock 31

Lieutenant Brendon Sawyer was exhausted. Last night's informal intel meeting with Adam Lithgow, the rendezvous with the barmaid, the flight back and jet-lag, getting verbally torn a new asshole by General Miklós for being late from fight delays, only to have to gather his gear and get on a plane again – exhaustion was definitely understandable.

He would have driven himself, but he knew that tired people make mistakes. When your job is an intelligence agent, that can prove quite hazardous to your health. The unmarked black SUV rolled up to the dock, parking in the area in front of the ramp up to the deck. The driver helped unload the Lieutenant's duffel bag, bid him Godspeed followed by a good “God save the Czarina!”, and began his drive back to headquarters.

Of course, none of the crew would be wearing any sort of military uniform in order to maintain the image of being a civilian crew. But Lt. Sawyer was still going to show up well dressed, and had worn a civilian merchant uniform fitting of a captain, as he would be essentially commanding the boat itself at the direction of the mission commander, Major Szenvedés.

The man standing at the top of the ramp was obviously not a sailor. He recognized the man in the gray trench coat as the Major from a picture he had seen in the General's intelligence dossier. “Good evening, sir. Lt. Brendon Sawyer, Krommindy Royal Navy. Permission to come aboard, sir?” he asked as he rendered the proper courtesy.

Major Szenvedés returned his salute and replied, “Permission granted, Lieutenant. Welcome aboard the Edisto. I'm Major Lóránt Szenvedés, HCSK Army Huns.” Although he was Army, he had read a book summarizing seamanship in preparation for commanding naval personnel. Lt. Sawyer occurred to him as a well-refined officer, unlike Captain“Kid” Kedvenc who came off as brash and relatively undisciplined by comparison. He then pointed to a man rappelling facing down (OOC: “Australian rappelling” or “abseiling Geneva style”, depending on which part of the world you're from) on the outside of the bridge tower. He appeared to be standing on the wall, installing something. “That man is Captain Dezső Kedvenc of the HCSKAF Sky Raiders. Even though he's the same rank as you, he's a 'young gun' and insists on being called 'Captain Kid'. You can call him a grabasstic piece of amphibian shit, for all I care. I'd kick him off the boat if General Miklós hadn't assigned him personally.”

Lt. Sawyer turned his attention back to the Major. “I'm sure I'll have the 'pleasure' of meeting him at a later time. May I have a tour of the vessel while we get right down to the business of the mission?”

“Naturally, Lieutenant.” the Major replied, and then gave him the grand tour of the aged vessel.

Port Weston, Kingdom of Krommindy – 1700 HOURS, Three days later
South End, Dock 31

The Edisto's C4ISR suite was fully installed, classified equipment was loaded and staged, and booby traps were placed. Only two pieces were left: the triggers on the traps, and the Romandeosean enlisted naval crew.

Major Szenvedés looked at the sun as it hung low in the sky, and shook his head. The IFSN crew was taking too long to get here, and he suspected that the mission may have been compromised. Too much longer, and he'd have to report it to General Miklós. General Miklós would probably postpone the mission pending an investigation. Depending on the results, the mission might get scrapped. And without the mission, there would be further delay on learning the nature of the piracy threat, and their technology that threatened the security of the whole region.

Captain Kid was running the C4ISR suite through some tests. Focusing on another freighter miles and miles away, he zoomed the cameras in on it and engaged several unidirectional sensors. In three seconds, another monitor began showing the thermal signature, followed by another picking up light beyond the edges of the visual spectrum, and finally one more with the complete transmissions analysis of all active signals coming from the vessel. Captain Kid would have smiled, but he knew what kind of mood the Major was in. But it wasn't so much the mood that bothered him; no, he was used to having to walk on eggshells around him. It was the reason for the mood, which definitely justified the Major's uptightness in his opinion. He understood all too well what mission compromise could mean for them, and he glanced over at his M249 chambered for the new .416 Heavy round. Some might call it overkill for this mission, but he figured if he was going to have to shoot his way out, he was going to do some wicked damage. He didn't much care about ricochet if it came down to that. He could also feel the weight of his XD-41 in it's harness, his last mag modified to hang before chambering the last round. If he was going to get captured, he would silence himself.

Lieutenant Sawyer was having his doubts too, but his concerns revolved around protecting the Czarina. If the situation was as dire as the Major had expressed to him privately, the Kingdom of Krommindy would be first on the menu for the cutting-edge corsairs. Sure, Her Majesty's Royal Navy was among the finest fielded in the region, but how can one hit what one can't see? He knew how critical the mission was, and he hoped the Romandeoseans knew as well. From atop the bridge tower, he could see for miles. He pulled his flask from inside his jacket and took a nip as the sun continued to set.

They called it a high-risk operation. In other words, a suicide mission.

Air Captain Schmitt looked at airship frame held on the underside of a much larger craft, before laughing. The NZK-220A, known as the Uila, was even worse than he had expected, the flood-lit hanger doing no favours in highlighting every gash, tear and piece of graffiti on the side of the craft, with a large dent in the side of the craft suggesting part of the skeleton had buckled from a past collision. Worst of all, a tree appeared to have been growing from inside the control gondola, the roots hanging on the underside and the branches growing protruding from smashed windows. A siren sounded as the Uila was dropped slowly into a large hydraulic clamp on the floor, slowly contracted to hold the craft snugly for the repair operations.

Behind him, his 'crew' stood staring with differing levels of disbelief at the craft before them. Five men, of whom only two were airmen. The rest were there to tend to all the modifications the craft was to have, as well as necessitating their escape from the flying weapon it was to become. The briefing stated they were all qualified in their various departments, though closer observation showed they were only just - all five had completed their respective training mere weeks before, fresh graduates from various military academies and training sites. All showed it in their near-impeccable work order uniform, the blue boiler suits with fluorescent orange bands showing no signs of use.

Getting over the initial reaction to the decrepit airship, the Captain quickly paced over to the repair bay the airship was now in, ducking under a series of fuel pipes to gain access to the area directly underneath the airship, where engineer crews were already at work assessing the damage and making starts on repairs. A saw roared as it cut through rotting nylon on the underside of the craft, slabs collapsing onto the ground to reveal the unhealthy interior, moss and algae growing on the latex-mylar gas cells. Pressure hoses blasted dirt from the exterior, whilst a heady mix of industrial detergent and warm water rinsed the inside, the strong smell mingling with that of decay.

He continued under a jet of water until he reached the crew gondola, at the far end. As he had guessed, it was not a pleasant place at present: a rotted carpet was home to insects and small shrubs, which broke into the basic electronic systems filled with rust. A team had already displaced most of the insects in the crew area, rotten wood panel beds removed through the hole in the floor where the tree had grown through. The tree itself, a large fruit plant, was currently being sawed in two, to try and remove it from where it had entangled a large cable conduit. The strong smell of petrol and oil in here was shown to be from the two large engines on the gondola exterior, a bird's nest lodged in the cowling and a rusting body showing it had been a while since the engine was run.

"Vintage 1950s technology lads - you'd better get used to it. I doubt they'll have all the systems replaced with shining new articles within a week, so get busy familiarising yerselves."
The Captain spoke in a coarse accent as he continued his tour up a rusting ladder into the airship interior. A rustle came from a gas cell above him as some small animal moved to hide, his light picking out rat droppings and holes nibbled in the cells. A few minutes of pacing around the interior walkways led him to a large hole in the airship, where the cargo gondola should have been.
The hacked support joists showed that the gondola had been removed many years previously by the scrapyard owner, obviously to sell on to another company, leaving the rest of the craft for junk. Here, the majority of activity was on cleaning the interior further, as teams surveyed the gas cells to check whether the craft would even fly.

At the end of his inspection of the craft, the Captain walked off to a small portacabin by the side of the repair bay - the planning centre for the operation. A slab of wood served as his desk, on which a preliminary report lay from the head of the two hundred engineers tasked to the project.


The general opinion of the airship NZK-220A is that, in its current state, it is impossible for it to fly. The state of the gas cells are appalling, with a check on underside cells showing only 30% are able to hold helium without a significant rate of loss, let alone hydrogen. An order for replacement Aerofibre cell units is enroute, though installation will take the majority of the time.
The airship envelope is, in most places, still intact and suffering only minor damage, so therefore will only be replaced in rotten and significant areas with Aerofibre patches.
The internal skeletal review has shown integrity to be adequate, with structural oxidation minimal to moderate. A joint on the rear left of the airship has given, though replacement is low priority, with cable holds being planned to maintain structural strength. The impact on the airship's performance should be minimal, though a counteraction of 50kg upthrust is recommended on the left side to maintain stability.
The mechanical section of the airship control system still appears to be operational, with most control cables still under tension. However, hydraulic cylinders are mostly inoperable at present, and all cables will need to be replaced to ensure flight success. Control stations will also be replaced.
The airship engines are currently inoperable - both of the gondola engines are scrap, and the two extra engines are missing. All will be replaced with priority with modern diesel equivalents, though it must be noted that the diesel fuelling will change the airship's characteristics from a coregas craft.
The electronics on the airship remain in good condition, due to the units being air-tight and the rubber being in sound condition. However, external contacts will need to be replaced, and additional electronics will be added. The nature of electronic systems means that the manual will have to be modified to cope with both valve and transistor electronics, producing an interesting combination.
The cargo gondola is missing, so a replacement is en-route. The gondola will be liquid-storage configuration to hold the slurry, with provision made with the order to allow for the booster charges to be installed. Electronics for the detonators will use the empty space above the gondola.
The crew gondola will be kept, due to relative integrity. However, the lack of working utilities and other priorities means that it is unlikely the water and heater systems will work, and engine load will mean that heaters will be difficult to install.

The overall estimate is that work will not be completed in a month, let alone a week, and that the high command plan will be unable to be carried out satisfactorily unless extra workers can be drafted in.

The captain sighed, before moving through the further documentation he had received: a copy of the original airship manual, the fuel order forms and an order form to the station stores. Even though high command had given him his orders, got the airship in and given him free reign over stores orders, it seemed they were reluctant to give him the full picture. He had been told to fly the airship out into the middle of nowhere with this crew, activate a load of electronics and explosives, and get out of there. He had been told it was for a test of what a nuclear device would do to an airship, though the speed at which the airship was needed to be out there, and the near unlimited budget for destroying something worthless seemed strange. He wasn't one to question though - this would certainly entail a promotion at the very least, in addition to the 'danger money' he would be paid on completion.

He finished looking through the reports, before turning to the crew assembled, sitting on a series of fold-out chairs in front of his desk. All had notepads out, reading through or writing notes. Either side of them, large maps of the region and of the sea south of Weccanfield were pinned to the wall, along with some old advertising posters for the Uila-class aerofreighter.
"Right then. First, a little roster call, so we can all get to know who's who. For your benefit, I am Air Captain Schmitt, former captain of the AAS Guardian, working as part of the 2nd Air Fleet. You all should know the drill on how to address an officer, but so you understand - you call me Captain unless you are on the receiving end of a bollocking or in the presence of other officers, in which case you will call me sir. I am liberal when it comes to letting you do what you want, but I would advise you against testing it. I will be acting as pilot of the airship as well, due to the restrictions we have on crew size."

He finished speaking, noting one of those present had been taking notes. There's always one. He flicked through the crew folder, finding the man's picture and file. The photo showed a short, pale young man with blonde hair and dark brown eyes.
"Sapper Tho'la, I would advise against you taking notes for now. I want the information in your brain where you can use it, not on a piece of paper. For everyone's benefit, the Sapper is here to deal with the explosive firing systems aboard the airship, along with getting this old gasbag to keep flying. He will be helped by..."
He flicked to the next picture in the file, of a much taller, darker man.
"Airman Do'soi. Do'soi, like Tho'la, is from the Airfleet Engineering Academy. He specialises in mechanical maintenance, so will be focusing more on the holding together of the craft during the operation."
He paused as he looked at the only woman in the outfit, noting the vertical-facing rotor badge sewn on her left shoulder, above her squadron badge.
"Private Ae'dai, of 41 Squadron, the Alfegan Air Force. She will be flying the helicopter, and acting as support to the engineering staff due to her basic knowledge of electronics, as well as getting us copious amounts of coffee. Now though to the actual airman here."
The last two men sat at the back, both slightly older than the rest present.
"Airmen Tya'lo and Smith. These two will be acting as both pilots and helping as navigation crew. Both have yet to be assigned an airfleet, being fresh out of the academy."

He finished, throwing the papers down on his desk before standing up and walking in front of the ragged hunk of wood. Facing his small audience, he picked up the photograph of the Uila from the scrapyard, showing it to those assembled.
"Right then. As you are obviously aware, this airship is in such a state that it had to be carried to this hanger by airship, let alone being towed in. The report I have suggests that the necessary repairs to make it able to float, let alone safe to fly, will take more than the weeks preparation we have. The engineers are hard at work as we speak, and have quite a bit of work on their plates, as you saw when we had that nice little tour of the craft. Once we depart, it's a 96 hour flight to the South Weccanfield sea, outside territorial waters. From there, a nice complicated timing system is in place, Sapper, to set off the explosives?"
"Yes it is."
"Good. When the timer starts, we make away in the helicopter to the AAS Valkyrie, which will be positioned a thousand miles to the ENE, whilst the explosives aboard the airship go off in a simulated nuclear blast, sans radiation and EMP. I'll brief everyone more in detail nearer the time, when I have all the plans for the electronics and the actual helicopter itself, which I believe is likely to be a Fegocopter-22 modified for long-range flight. In the meantime, we will all be preparing in our own ways, meeting back here every four hours for group talks.
Engineers, you will be dealing with overseeing the electronic setup in the gondola for the explosives as well as getting the charges set up correctly. Ae'dai, you'll be familiarising yourself with the helicopter and flight path once we finally get the details, and in the meantime help me and the pilots plan our course and get to grips with the airship manual. Work starts in thirty minutes, so you've got a break to do whatever amuses you. Since you lot are all new, I will go through with the orders."

He took in a breath, before standing to attention.
"Room. Room... shun!"
The crew now standing crashed to attention, all perfectly in time and looking straight ahead.
"Room.... dis..missed!"
The crew turned before filing out in an orderly line. Once they had left, the Captain sighed before throwing his papers down. High command were up to something, and had got this crew of novices with him as 'disposables'. In other words, they thought he had little experience, and were more willing to get him blown up than any other officers.

Calming himself down, he picked up the wad of files, before getting out the order form to the stores. They were going to need a lot of caffeine tablets and coffee.

Adam Lithgow had felt refreshed following his all too brief return to the field a few nights earlier. This had been just as well considering the scale of the task he found placed before him. News of the EAS Mannheim’s dissapearance had broken only hours after leaving the Marquis, with events playing out much as he had predicted. He couldn’t fault the anxious relatives appearing on the rolling news channels, or the shock from the representatives and deputies over the loss of one of the Technocracy’s most sophisticated patrol vessels. Searching questions were being asked from numerous quarters, and Adam was in the business of finding answers, sharing the same desire as the populace to get to the bottom of it all.

Three days later the air-sea search in the Western Paradis Oceanus had still to turn up any traces of the missing ship or of its shadowy attackers. Speculation was rife about pirates. Even officers in his own section who didn’t have clearance on the latest intel would huddle together in corridors and canteens to share their own often wild hypotheses. While it was heartbreaking for the relatives no wreakage had been found, it at least kept the rumours limited to just that. Once pirate activity was confirmed things would get messy, demands from lawmakers and the populace louder, Adam’s job that much more difficult.

It was for this reason he had come to the Yagotan Point Space Centre. Located on a lonely north-easterly outcrop of the Etoilian peninsular surrounded by mangrove swamps the centre itself was an artificial island connected to the mainland by two enormous causeways. Over 40 years ago the causeways had brought the construction equipment that had built the numerous launch complexes on the island. Today they were used by massive crawler transporters that moved rockets between assembly buildings and launch pads. The choice of such a remote location had been partly for reasons of safety to launch over unpopulated areas and the sea. Though, over the years the resorts of the Harmony Coast increasingly encroached the site from the west. The other reason had been a near-equatorial position granting any rockets launching easterly across the Sea of Harmony a roughly hundred metre per second velocity boost from the Earth’s rotation.

“The original 100 kg test transmitter was launched by a Pegasus XL from Googlewoop Attol back in 2005,” the launch director had explained to him during their first meeting. “Coincidentally, the launch position of the NC-300 carrier aircraft had been over the Western Paradis Oceanus.”

Not that Adam believed in coincidences he hadn’t arranged himself.

------

Getting the launch campaign of a sophisticated muilti-billion Accounting Unit satellite accelerated was no easy thing. Even with the full backing of the General Secretariat, the total committment of the Defence Dirtorate and EASA technicians at the launch centre, and unlimited funds to draw upon to get the work done. It was the kind of high risk/high benefit operation that Adam favoured, even after years being behind a desk instead of in the field.

“SBR Node Zero, codenamed Viamana after the flying chariots of Indian mythology, is the prototype transmitter of a planned constellation of space-based radars,” explained the Defence Directorate briefer at the same meeting. “The eventual system will consist of multiple sythetic aperture radar transmitters and in-orbit spares situated in geosynchronous orbit, cross-linked by data relay satellites in medium earth orbit. Each SBR node will be able to illuminate a 350 nautical mile circle in overlapping fields, allowing the full system to provide continuous surviellance of air, ground and sea targets. The purpose of the SBR Node Zero satellite will be to validate this system in preparation for the first launching of the first SBR Node One satellite in 2014.”

“Thank you, Colonel Khan,” Adam had told the officer before addressing the dozen other intelligence, defence and space agency officials present. “Before all of you is a folder, please open it,” he had told them, watching the men and women break the seal and come across the first page marked Top Secret: Project Viamana. “As of now the SBR Node Zero satellite had been placed under the operational control of the Intelligence Directorate and given a new mission...” Following a brief synopsis of events to date Adam felt ready to continue. “Therefore, it is our intention to use the SBR satellite to locate and track the agressors responsivle for the Mannheim and possibly other attacks in the Western Paradis Oceanus. To cover such a large geographic area the SBR Node Zero will operate in cooperation with E-17A Watchtower and EP-18 Triton surviellance aircraft, effectively as a radar illuminator for the airborine receivers. Not only will it allow us to detect an intruder, but also to track them passively without betraying the presence or location of our aircraft.”

“The satellite was of course designed to operate within a bi-static network, but Node Zero lacks the power and resolution for a wide area search," one of the technicians interrupted. “This is beyond the scope of a single satellite, even one sitting directly above a operations theatre. Detection probability would be significantly higher, of course," the technician added tellingly, "If we knew approximately where to look..."

"And of course," Adam replied, "I never said that."

------

It was, of course, a typically Etoilian solution. High tech, complex and expensive. But there was a human element too. The Intelligence Directorate was aware of the Q-ships and bait missions planned by Katanazag and Alfegos and others. Adam couldn’t admit this even to a classified meeting among high-ranking officials of his own nations, but SBR Node Zero would have somewhere to point its transmitter when the time came.

The rocket had rapidly taken shape on a launch pad in the days following his arrival. Towering 180 feet tall and 140 inches in diameter, except for the flared payload fairing that sat on top of the stack, the Pulsar MedLite vehicle wasn’t even the largest booster available. The rocket was almost all-solid fueled except for the liquid apogee kick motor that would place the radar satellite in oribt, and was finished by two smaller Primus solid boosters strapped to its side.

When a few days later the rocket ascended on a column of flame and smoke into the sky Adam was watching from the safety of the mission control centre twenty miles away. He didn’t leave Yagotan Point until a day later, once he knew the satellite had completed its on-orbit checkout and had unfurled its solar arrays and transmitter. By the time he had arrived back in Concordia the first signals had been recieved from patrol aircraft and ships testing out the system. By the time other powers had moved their own assets into the Western Paradis Oceanus in their own bid to snare the pirates, Adam would be ready...

The next morning dawned with the loud call to arms of the entire station, part of the daily drill. The emergency siren sounded as normal, display screens at doors around the base signalling it to be a drill, with the strobe lights switched off as a notice of this. Quickly wolfing down a cup of tea in his 'office', Captain Schmitt reached under the 'desk' to grab his body armour and carbine, fitting an empty training magazine before checking the 'firebox' holding the documents was secure.
Why don't I just think of them as what they bloody well are?
He stood up from over scavenged locker with six padlocks strapped to it, before turning around and leaving the porta-cabin, giving the small section of a large tree a kick as he left. Outside, the 'crew' were waiting, all standing to attention and kitted out appropriately.
"What are you doing just standing here? Take defensive positions around the repair bay, now!"
He gestured at each man to cover offered by the portacabin and the stacks of crates that had arrived outside in the middle of the night. He almost smiled to himself as he crouched behind a metal chest of industrial-strength coffee satchels - he'd over-ordered, as normal. Whilst he knew it was a drill, the officer part of his brain reminded him to take it as the real thing, making him calmly aim through the small sights unit atop the AMP-22 and search the hanger area in front of him.

The hanger itself was a typical military airship hanger: it was cut into the side of a mountain. The vast chambers followed existing caves, albeit widened and heightened considerably, and now held up by an intricate web of guy lines and metal joists. Above and to the sides of the hanger, up to a kilometre of rock acted as sufficient protection from an aerial attack, with the only weak point being the hanger doors itself. Just visible in the distance, these comprised of two concrete-and-steel slabs each a few hundred metres high, mounted on massive engines that took a minute to move the doors a few paces. For that reason, they always stood half-open, cleaned to perfection. Outside was the realm of the aeromarines, the official station guards who manned the numerous stationary and mobile weapons mounts located across the mountainside below, both automated, remote controlled and actively manned by aeromarine crews. The inside of the airship hanger was the realm of the airmen themselves.

Right now, it appeared that today the base commanders had ordered a slight twist. In the distance, the sound of blank gunfire came, along with the occasional explosion. Checking his sights again, he saw a couple of figures run across the hanger floor towing what appeared to be a 40mm grenade launcher, which they promptly mounted atop a defensive mount, before firing towards the hanger door, a couple miles in the distance. Smiling, he took his mobile phone from his pocket, before dialling a number.
"It's Schmitt here, Lieutenant. Could you remind me what actually is going on today?"
"Didn't you get the message last night? I thought all officers were supposed to get it."
Schmitt swore as he remembered the file he had dumped in the locker for future reference, before regaining his composure.
"How long is this training exercise, and what the hell are they playing at?"
"Looks like it's aeromarines versus the aircrews, seeing whether you remember what you're supposed to do in case you get a real alarm. It's on for an hour and a half, before all officers convene out on the launchway to get a lecture from station command."
"Thankyou. And we're supposed to be on a tight deadline here getting the AAS Shithole in the air in a few days time. See the problems there?"
The Lieutenant, knowing better than to fear the wrath of Schmitt in a pad mood, hung up.

"Right then, crew. We're supposed to be in the middle of a fun training exercise. Sorry I forgot to remind you. Anyhow, we'll be here doing absolutely nothing until they get near enough to shoot at, so shall we do a check of the supplies I ordered?"
There was a murmur of mutual consent as the squad stood up from their various positions around and on the portacabin, looking through the various crates and canisters as the Captain called out from his order list. Each item identified was shifted over to a pile at the side, which began growing. At the end of the list, he noted a small huddle of wooden crates not on the list.
"Guess what? Free sides with every order! Let's see what high command have mistakenly sent us today!"
The piercing sarcasm was silenced as the first crate was levered open, revealing a pair of GPMGs, complete with para-stocks and beefy 20x scopes calibrated for distances in hundreds of metres. Another crate revealed an AAT-07 missile launcher, complete with a modified long-distance laser designator. The other crates he left to guesswork as he checked down the list.
"I'll be having a word with command about this. In the meantime, I think the excitement calls for going back to our original activity. Back to cover!"

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

After two hours, the Captain sat back in his office, the crew sitting down and pretending to look at their notes as Schmitt bellowed down the phone.
"What do you mean, I don't have the clearance to know? I want to know why I need -"
"Three GPMG-01s modified for heavy calibre, an AAT-07 missile launcher with anti-ship configuration and ammunition for such? Oh, and flare launcher tubes?"
The Captain sighed for a moment, before continuing.
"Yes, those. Why can't I know why we even need them?"
"Because you don't need to you yet."
Schmitt was now furious, holding back a flood of profanities to recompose himself.
"I would like to see your superior."
"You really want to... take it higher up, Captain?"
"Yes I do, Taskforce Commander. I want to take it right up as far as it will go, right up the stairs to the top floor if I have to. Do you understand?"
"If you insist. But don't blame me for anything untoward happening towards you."
The Captain slammed down the phone, before looking up at the crew assembled. Smile and don't let them see you angry. You are their moral superior, so should not fall to their standard.

"Right then gentlemen. Are you all sitting comfortably? Then we will begin. Take notes if you wish, but ensure they get up in your head as well - I will be testing you later."
He opened one of the weapons crates, now tucked securely behind the desk to act as a support to stop it rolling backwards. From inside, he took one of the machine guns, and placed it on the desk.
"None of you will have had official training on the GPMG-01, the standard machinegun of the aerofleet. The army use a different machine gun altogether, with us getting their old one. I have had training on this, so will impart my knowledge to you, per se, before letting someone qualified to test you do so on a range somewhere near here. I do have official teacher training and testing capability on the missile launcher, which we'll cover at another time. Right then."
He flicked up the top cover, taking a pen out of a pocket to point at each part, naming it as pens rustled from note taking. Outside the 'office', a group of engineers looked in, murmuring as they watched.
"Most important drill first which is..." he pointed at Do'soi.
"Normal Safety Procedure. NSP." He spoke as if reciting from memory.
"Well done. First, pop the lid up, but don't open it fully. This is to allow any rounds in the breech to cool down, and so any cook-offs don't go off in your face. Yank the cocking handle fully back, getting angry with it if you need to build a bit of muscle, and it should lock back in place. Once you've done that, lift the lid and sweep the ammunition tray. Flick that up and check inside for anything in the chamber and the mechanism, before closing that down and the lid. You might need to hit it to make sure the catch engages. Once that's done, open the sights and aim at a safe spot, before firing off the action. Final step, close the dust cover. Any questions on that drill?"

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

After the lesson, the Captain left the office to have a quick check on the airship. From the spot he was standing, he already could see the difference - the entire underside and most of the sides were now a much cleaner greyish colour, the green algae blasted off to reveal the surface underneath. Once it dried out, the airship would likely weigh a tonne less. Passing underneath a large crane moving men up to one of the temporary external gantry, he quickly picked out the Station Engineer Commander by the four large silver chevrons on his boiler suit. The man was standing by a large lorry, holding the tree extricated from the gondola, as removed gas cells were loaded up, in various stages of decay.
"How's it going then?" The Captain knew he had asked a poor question, quickly retreating behind the bastions of defence his position as an officer provided.
"Take a look for yourself. I'm sure you can see exactly what needs doing, helped just brilliantly by the little training exercise the station command had planned for this morning, in which we lost the ability to insert at least twelve new gas cells. For your information, that's out of about four hundred that are yet to be put in. Add to that the time we need to link them up to the gas network, which we've just managed to find is faulty and almost blew us sky high when we found a hydrogen cylinder still pressurised taped to the pipe network! Taped!"
He pointed to a large tall cylinder of hydrogen, a long piece of metal hose held onto the tank regulator by a thick lump of duct tape, coated in plastic spray. It was held in a small cylinder cage, a large series of warning signs surrounding it.
"Let's hope we don't leave any surprises in there for you. Any more questions?"
The Captain smiled as he unconsciously backed from the cylinder slowly, still speaking.
"No, that will be all for now, SEC. Do you mind if I look around the gondola?"
"Go ahead, be my guest. Just mind out in case you fall through the hall in the floor. They're getting a new CFRP panel in there for you, so you don't get the chill. While you're there as well, you might want to check out the crew quarters. See where the coffee machine's going to be. Since I have no time for that, it's down to you to sort out where you lot are sleeping."

The Captain stepped into the gondola, having a look around. The first thing he saw was the mouse, sitting in the corner and chewing on a leaf. Both froze, staring at each other and not taking a single breath. A few seconds later, the mouse turned back to eating, completely ignoring the captain. This was its mistake, as Schmitt leapt over to sweep the mouse up in his hand. The mouse started violently squeaking and wriggling, as he decided what to do with it. He could throw it out the window... too cruel. Making up his mind, he dropped it in an inside pocket, before zipping it shut. The mouse continued struggling, before obviously giving up and rustling in the pocket in a sulk.
Now where are we going to put this little fella?

Nyugat, West Katonazag - 1400 HOURS
University of St. Istvan/Nyugat, National Aerospace Science Institute

Dr. Csíp Körmönfont sat in his seat near the podium of the university's main auditorium with a smug I-told-you-so smirk on his face.

Eighteen years ago, when the HCSKAF began planning their current model of satellite network, he had noted the possibility of an enemy figuring out that it was possible to jam a visual surveillance satellite with a laser-type implement if the angle was precise enough. He had designed and developed a lens filter that would take that window from a 4° angle range to a nearly impossible 0.18° window of precision and make it absolutely impossible to blind the peripheral edges of the satellite's vision. The only disadvantage to the filter was that when engaged, the filter did reduce the resolution by about 30%. But given a choice between that and being totally blind, it was a good trade off.

Now that the HCSKAF suspected that the 4° they claimed nobody would ever be able to achieve had been done, his attitude was definitely warranted. He did feel a little disappointed that it had been proven by an unknown entity suspected to be pirates instead of his own research team, but ignoring a genius had it's consequences. His inward joy made him feel a bit guilty, but only for a second or two.

His delight manifested itself in the admissions of the colonel at the podium that Dr. Körmönfont's theory had been right all along, and that his specially designed filter was now needed to help define the nature of this new regional threat. The presentation was completely unnecessary, of course. The HCSKAF could have sent their Sky Raiders to nab the prototype and bribe his research team into helping, but the results would have been less than ideal with a slower production time due to having to reverse-engineer the parts they couldn't figure out. Time was of the essence, so the HCSKAF was going to have to kiss his wise ass if they wanted him to play. And naturally, they would have to pay through the nose for it too.

In addition to the prototype, his team plus the GHAS contractors could get three more ready in as many weeks working around the clock, which the HCSKAF oddly enough had four satellites in reserve ready to go that could accept the filter. The launches would be timed so that they could take place within 72 hours of the final tests of the satellites.

With the recognition he so long deserved finally begin given, he then began to give thought to the task ahead before the echoes of applause had even begun to fade.

[Intelligence dossier hand-delivered by HCSK military intelligence officers]

MEMO FOR INTERNATIONAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICES

CC: IFSN OF ROMANDEOS;
IMPERIAL MEPHRAN NAVY;
INTELLIGENCE DIRECTORATE OF ETOILE ARCTURE;
DIS;
NAVAL COMMAND BUREAU OF ALFEGOS;
AEROFLEET SKY COMMAND OF ALFEGOS;

SUBJECT: PIRACY IN EASTERN OCEANS - DETECTION RESEARCH

ISSUED BY: HCSK INTELLIGENCE SERVICES AND OPERATIONS COMMAND;
NAVAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY CZARINA DEEANE I OF KROMMINDY

CLASSIFICATION: INTERNATIONAL TOP SECRET - MISUSE WILL BE GROUNDS FOR DISCONTINUATION OF FURTHER INTELLIGENCE COOPERATION

In the course of research into possible detection methods for the unseen threat in the eastern oceans, we have developed a method of alerting us to the presence of such as force encroaching upon territorial waters. Although it isn't likely to be able to help much in the actual combat against such a force, the early warning of their approach could buy time. We are in the final testing phases of the project, and if successful, details will be provided for use of other nations.

What HCSK/ISOC and KRNIS need for the final tests are a variety of naval mines from different nations. No explosives or classified components need be sent, as the casing is the important part to us. Feel free to send recycled duds, quality control rejects, and any other substandard or unserviceable ones, as their quality for standard military use is irrelevant for our purposes.


Major General Zrínyi Miklós
HCSK Intelligence Services and Operations Command

[End of report]

War Department, St. Istvan, HCSK - 0800 HOURS
Intelligence Services and Operations Command HQ

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'LATE'?" General Miklós roared angrily into the secured phone. After directing some expletive-laced declarations about Romandeosean ancestry at Major Szenvedés, he slammed the receiver down, possibly bringing it's service life to an abrupt end.

After cooling down for a moment, General Miklós opened the secure line again and dialed the line of counterpart at KRNIS, Admiral Alan Denholm. He was glad that the Admiral wasn't one of those "Lord Admirals" - they were so pompous that it made him want to strangle them. After a brief word to the Admiral's secretary, his smooth and proper voice came over the line. "Good morning, General. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"The Romandeosean squid didn't come as planned," said General Miklós. "We might need some from Krommindy for our dolphins." Though the line was secure, they had to assume the enemy may be able to break it, and therefore had to communicate in code.

"I see," said Admiral Denholm. "Naturally, we'll send you some of our finest, with the Czarina's regards for your new aquatic mammals. Please let us know if there's anything else we can do for you, General. The Czarina has a very keen interest for these things and she will be pleased with your persistence despite the unfortunate setback."

General Miklós replied with confidence, "Tell Her Majesty that she can rest assured that we will give it everything we've got, and maybe some we don't. Good day, Admiral."

"Indeed, and good day to you as well," said Admiral Denholm before hanging up.

If the Romandeoseans couldn't supply the manpower, the Kingdom of Krommindy would. Any threat to their corner of the region would have to strike there first, so their cooperation in the matter was a matter of survival. Of course, Admiral Denholm was fully aware of the mission's details and would send the correct personnel for the mission. This was the easy part of getting the mission back on track.

The hard part was, of course, determining if the mission had been compromised. General Miklós planned to use the couple days of delay to investigate this very possibility. Picking up the secured line, he began dialing again...

Chief Petty Officer Frances May and Petty Officers 2nd Class Heather Dewitz and Preston Marra of the Imperial Federated States Navy were having a bad day. Exactly nothing they had planned was going correctly. First, the flight to Katonazag had been cancelled so they had switched to the alternate plan, a cross-mountain train, which had been delayed.

Following that, they had been horrified to learn the contact in Katonazag who would have helped them arrange transport had gone missing. Fearing a compromise of security they'd hidden out for several hours, waiting to see what happened. When all seemed well, they'd rented an automobile and set out on the roadway posing as tourists. For a time it seemed a largely uneventful trip was ahead of them, but then the rental car, which had not seemed a high-quality buy in the first place, but had been easily obtained, had broke down.

By this point, everybody was starting to get very mad. Marra good-naturedly remarked he had begun to suspect that some heavenly force was out to sabotage the mission. May said if that were the case she was going to find said force and kick its holy ass right up behind its holy ears, a sentiment Dewitz and Marra could certainly agree with. After several hours of trying, the vehicle was made to function enough to get them on the move.

Now, finally, too long behind scheduled time, they had made it to Krommindy, and the destination was in sight.

*Bump.*

Port Weston, Kingdom of Krommindy – 0230 HOURS
South End, Dock 31

The Edisto's engine stumbled and shuddered to life. The lights flickered a bit as the power switched over to the ship's massive diesel engine. With the crew assembled in the command room under the base of the bridge, it was time to begin the operational phase of the mission.

Major Szenvedés had several metal folding chairs set up on the other side of the command room as an improvised briefing room. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As you know, I am Major Lóránt Szenvedés, HCSK Army Huns. We will be getting underway shortly, but there are some things we must go over first. If we want any chance at success on this mission, we have to all be on the same page. Of course, some things can't be discussed until we actually put to sea.

First of all, since we have a 'mixed' crew in several senses of the word, let there be no doubt that we are here for a common goal. Anything else you've got in your head needs to be left ashore. Conduct yourselves civilly and professionally at all times. Though we're all in civilian clothes, remember that we are military professionals and represent our respective nations and branches of service.

Romandeosian sailors, report to Captain Kedvenc after this briefing is over to have your protective clothing issued and your biometric devices applied."

CPO May nodded.

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she said.

Major Szenvedés continued, "Shortly after we leave the dock, the 'security system' will be brought online. A five minute and one minute warning will be signaled by the ship's intercom beeping. Report any problems with your protective clothing or biometric devices to Captain Kedvenc. Have you anything to add, Captain?"

"No, sir." Although he was tempted to make remarks about applying those biometrics to the two female sailors, he held his tongue. They entailed two sensors on the chest to monitor the heart and breathing, and one on the upper thigh as a backup. And the protective clothing the Major was referring to was actually barium-lined undergarments. Since the ship's booby-trapped security system relied on radioactive triggers, there was enough on board to cause problems if there were long term exposure. And there was no knowing how long the mission would take. He was also in charge of administering the pills that would protect their thyroids.

Major Szenvedés could tell that Captain Kid was thinking something unprofessional, but he couldn't do anything about it since he didn't say it. Turning back to everyone else, he said "I now turn over command of the Edisto to Lieutenant Brendon Sawyer, Krommindy Royal Navy." He gestured for the Lieutenant to stand and be recognized.

Rising to his feet, Lieutenant Sawyer walked to the front of the group and said "Thank you, Major." After rendering his salute to the mission commander, he said "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As Major Szenvedés said, I am Lieutenant Brendon Sawyer of Her Majesty Deeane I of Krommindy's Royal Navy. As you well know, many functions on board this ship have been automated to minimize crew. All of you are here to perform your roles in the mission in reference to your specialty, but you may be asked to perform additional duties at times - especially in reference to the watch.

Now, I don't have to remind you what's at stake here. Each of our countries could pay if we can't figure out what's going on. Our primary objective is to find out as much about this new player as possible. Find out how they're jamming our technology, and find out what they're capable of. Our respective governments have to know how to fight this potential enemy for the common good. If you love your country and countrymen, you'll do your damndest to make this happen.

No spoken reply was heard from the Imperial sailors but a deep, guttural war whoop.

"If there are no other questions," began Lieutenant Sawyer, as he looked around, "then stand to your stations, and let's get underway!"

Captain Kid rendered his salute to Lt. Sawyer, but only because Major Szenvedés would have tried to punish him otherwise, and then walked over to the command center's computers, with his M249 seated beside.

From there, all three Imperial sailors got to work. Marra found his way down towards his domain in the engine room, Dewitz got on the move, and May conferred with this Lieutenant Sawyer, before getting to work helping get the ship underway.

Weccan Sea – 0000 HOURS
HMS Calibogue

After sending their classified guests on their respective ways, they had steamed south from the North Weccan Sea near the island of Rófhada, Weccanfield. But instead of turning southwest back toward Krommindy, they turned southeast into the Weccan Sea. Not that they had not gone there before, but normally after a real mission, they would have put into port somewhere first. This increased pace of operations meant that whatever it was now, it probably wasn't a drill either.

The classified light attack helicopter had been doing more than just stopping and waiting for something, it had also been delivering a not-quite-as-heavily classified piece of equipment. The HMS Calibogue was going to be the first ship in the Krommindy Royal Navy to receive the capability to uplink to the HCSK's powerful battle management satellite system. Newly installed, it seemed to work perfectly, and the ship's radar operators were eagerly learning how to fully use it. According to it, there happened to be a ship traveling the same direction. It was registered on the BMS as being a freighter from Port Weston, Krommindy called the Edisto, but the odd thing was that it wasn't transmitting that information. Normally, a commercial vessel wouldn't have the transponder or be labeled at all, but it had instead been "marked" by SATCOM, much in the way foreign or enemy assets were.

The HMS Calibogue sailed alone through the dark of night, with no lights, and in communications silence.

OOC:

Has anyone considered making a map of the area where the action is taking place and adding events as they happen to it?

Two days before the airship was to launch, Captain Schmitt sat in his office once again, engaged in a serious meeting. After days of hassling his superiors, his phone bill now looked like some insane flyer, reeking of the bureaucracy that had brought it into existence. But the endless emails, memos and phone calls had made someone wake up, and he was finally being rewarded with the meeting he had demanded, and then some. His portacabin now sat surrounded by a group of armoured vehicles, aeromarines forming a cordon and shooing off anyone who made some form of motion towards the craft. This guard of honour was for two reasons. Firstly, the meeting itself was meant to be highly secretive, so that it could be carried out with success. Secondly, a black shipping crate had been delivered outside of the portacabin, holding a new development to the mission.

"So, Captain Schmitt... you wanted to be briefed again on your mission?"
"Yes sir. In addition, I would like the truth about what is meant to be happening. With all respect sir, the plan you've had has not been implemented that well. For a start, I have had hardly any time to prepare for this, or prepare my crew. We're assuming that we're just flying the airship to one place, flying off in a helicopter, and that's it. Once you start shipping us machineguns and missile launchers, you give me a completely different impression all together."
He stopped speaking as he watched the man in front of him think. The Vice-Sky Marshall was very high up in the air fleet, and rumour had was the sort of person to discipline people with the smallest of stimuli.
"I offer you my profuse apologies on behalf of the Airfleet High Command that you were not briefed fully, but the nature of the mission is such that we can't go publicly broadcasting these things. I hope I can offer you some help now. However, all that I say from now on is both off the record, and most secret. You'll receive an official brief with what I'm about to say about 12 hours before your departure, which will contain most of what I am about to say. Don't tell the crew what is going on, until given permission in the brief."

The Vice Sky Marshall paused, before beginning.
"As you are aware, there have been numerous piracy incidents in the East Novan seas. Whilst they have been accredited to pirates, we believe the motives to be much more sinister. When observing a distress call, we found that satellite and radio jamming techniques were being used to disrupt communications. Afterwards, we found no trace whatsoever of the aggressor ships, and have yet to find a wreck in the deep ocean.
We recently obtained footage though, showing the aggressors to be using advanced naval surface vessels. Whilst we have yet to identify it, we will be sure to find it out in your operation.

The airship is to be loaded with well over a thousand tonnes of high explosive, plus the hydrogen fuel. However, this is not to simulate a nuclear test. Instead, we will be using your airship as bait to try and attract the pirates. Once you've set the airship up, you'll escape via stealth transport helicopter, which is the craft provided in that crate outside. Hopefully, with them taking the bait, we'll either remote detonate it once we see the pirate or enemy naval vessels, or let the automated anti-boarding sensors do the job. The damage will be enough to sink the vessels in an area where we can send in salvage teams, or cause them to return to their home port. When that happens, we will use an unmanned stealth airship to track them back to the home port. From there, attacks can be launched.

The weapons you were delivered were for if everything went belly-up, so to speak. If you had to engage the enemy, we thought you could do so with some sort of effect, especially if they try boarding, which is doubtless.

Any questions on that?"

Schmitt sat in thought for a moment, before speaking.
"None at the moment sir. Thankyou for taking time out of your busy routine to explain that to me."
"Not a problem, Captain. I'll see you sometime later. Until then, get yourself ready for the flight at hand."

________________________________

Twelve hours before the launch, the office lay empty, its contents in crates outside the cabin as it was disassembled by engineers. Schmitt and his crew were now extremely busy people, in terms of their preparations. He had twelve hours to take his crew through the mission, and get all their kit aboard the airship and helicopter. They were travelling light, with enough to get them to the place and back again. Cheap army sleeping bags were to be used as their sleeping facilities, with a small electric stove installed as their hot water boiler.

Schmitt ran the crew through the mission a final time as the airship was released from the repair clamps. By now, the majority of the airship had been repaired to a decent state - the exterior now was only fragmenting in small places, and a shining new cargo gondola hung on the underside. Tanks of ammonium nitrate explosive sat on the outside of the gondola as well as on the inside, painted a bright white and linked with many pipes and cables to hidden tanks within the gondola. The engines as well were now working, tested in short bursts as the airship was towed out into the main hanger area. What was hidden to view as well was the helicopter, inside the cargo gondola. Schmitt had glanced it a couple of times, leaving the helicopter pilot to go through all the operating schemes as they prepared for the mission.

Finally, he lay down in his sleeping bag as the airship was moored in one of the alcoves, alone as it was fuelled with hydrogen. The rest of his crew lay asleep, save the helicopter pilot, frantically re-reading the manual for the craft she was to fly.

Bump

St. Istvan, HCSK - 1500 HOURS
Secretary of Foreign Affairs Office at the Főváros

Mátyás Széchenyi stared blankly out of his office window at the cloudy infinity from in his rich leather office chair. So many issues at stake... the aid mission to Holy Marsh, suspicious goings on in Rofhada, and the new piracy threat that was blinding satellites. The latter of which being the reason for his impending meeting with the representative from the Fegosian Union.

A few days ago, SATCOM picked up the silhouette of an airship not using the normal known shipping lanes that put it on course to be in the same area of Southern Sea east of Weccanfield as the Edisto and the HMS Calibouge. General Miklós swore up and down on a stack of Bibles that he would do some very unholy things to his Romandeosean counterpart if he had sold the HCSK out and let the mission slip to agents of Alfegos. Fortunately, the situation was still under the Foreign Affairs Office and not the War Department, at least until the airship gets too close.

And it was precisely to avoid the possibility of a needless military disaster that he had chosen to bring the situation to the Fegosian Union instead of the government of Alfegos directly. If things were as he suspected, it was just a coincidence that they were headed the same direction for similar reasons. Simple modification of the mission's course would fix everything - problem solved. But if it was as General Miklós suspected, the Fegosian Union could stop Alfegos from doing anything the world couldn't afford while the piracy threat continued to go unchecked and unmonitored.

The sudden ringing of the phone on his desk startled him from his trance. He picked up the receiver to hear the familiar voice of his secretary. "Yes, send them in, please..."

The Fegosian Union had many a delegate party on standby, across the Union, to act should anything arise. The call that the Katonazag Secretary of Foreign Affairs had put in to the Union for an urgent meeting meant that an international team of diplomats had been summoned from the Union Headquarters in Alfegos, taking supersonic jet from their nation to Katonazag. The long journey had been slashed to a mere three hours, making use of a commercial line to save on costs. Landing at the airport, a priority pass through customs had meant they walked straight to their taxi, before pulling up at the correct offices.

And now, entering the office, the three diplomats for the Union said their greetings, standing at the back of the room by the door.
"Good afternoon Mr Széchenyi. I am the Diplomat Trasti of the Fegosian Union, and these are my aides - Mr Ta'ko and Miss Reynolds. So, what is it that you wished to to talk to us about on such short notice?"

______________________________________

The airship slowly drifted through the sky, relying as much on air currents as its low-powered engines to slowly cruise towards its target. With food the only limiting consideration, the airship had two weeks-worth of supplies for their planned operation. The craft had, days before, digressed from the main shipping lanes, its military call sign being enough in terms of permission for it to digress from the lanes and into wherever it desired in international airspace. Far away from any coastal borders, the craft sat still high in altitude, its deadly cargo sitting ready for arming.

The Captain lay slumped against the side wall of the gondola, catching a quick catnap. A machine gun sat next to him, within quick reach of his hand, a belt of rounds already loaded. A single man sat on the airship controls, scanning the radio frequencies idly whilst checking over the system dials. Unlike the airships he was used to, the diagnostics display had no computer screens, entirely covered in dials. It was a true work of beauty, with nearly a hundred monitoring everything from sector gas pressure to sector temperature. The standard aircraft primary instrument cluster was vaguely discernible, radio compass and artificial horizon sitting amongst an altimeter and other important displays. The ones he was interested in were the auto-pilot controls - located on a panel at the top of the main console, a number of switches were set to hold the airship's course straight to the target area, a tiny pulsating light showing the autopilot to be active.

Taking out a map, he placed it flat against the electronics panel, using a pair of dividers to measure the distance from where they were, and where their final destination was. With a figure of 1050km, he looked back to the console, where a small airspeed meter sat indicating speed.
"Fourteen hours."
Leaning over, he moved his hand to four large control levers, flicking a locking pin before moving the entire assembly forwards partially. The speedometer slowly started moving, the needle inching its way upwards. Soon, he was satisfied the airship would arrive at the destination in the very early hours of the morning. The best time for springing the attack, when pirates would roam the seas.

___________________________________

A couple tens of kilometres away, within the nearest bank of clouds, a smaller craft drifted in the sky. Completely unmanned, the Spectre-class was a floating stealth platform. As a limp-structure craft, it had limited payload, that being focused around a long-range RADAR unit and a bank of telescopic cameras. With a lack of major internal structure, and all equipment held in stealth 'pods', the airship was essentially invisible to sight. High-performance turboprops, run only when in the midst of a cloud, were adjusted so that heat signatures weren't as pronounced. That left the visual camouflage. Which meant hiding it in a cloud, and using clouds to follow the airship. Thus even a satellite scan would find it difficult to find.

The craft, from afar, was being remotely controlled, RADAR information and video from the cameras tracking both the airship and the sea beneath streaming back via secure radio channels to the Alfegan Airfleet High Command. This was what was going to find the pirates, or anything else that posed a threat to shipping.

St. Istvan, HCSK - 1505 HOURS
Secretary of Foreign Affairs Office at the Főváros

"Well, sir," started Secretary Széchenyi, "at the forefront is a rather sensitive question. What is the purpose of this airship?" He handed the Diplomat a satellite photo of an airship with coordinates marked. "It's flying on a course that is not in the normal shipping lanes, and may end up interfering with HCSK operations."

The Union representative was quiet for a moment, before quickly taking out a laptop.
"Excuse me a moment, and I'll see what they are doing. I do believe... ah yes."
He finished bringing up a document, before rotating the screen. A date mark on the top corner showed it had been issued mere hours before, whilst the union representatives were enroute.


SECRET
DISTRIBUTE TO -
RELEVANT UNION HEADS
LOCAL NATIONS

1. In light of the piracy threat in Nova, the AirFleet has decided to launch an operation to locate, track and show force against the pirate fleet.
2. The operation will make use of an unmarked airship.
3. The airship will use the call-sign IVY.
4. The airship will carry as a payload approximately 1000t of high explosive, to be detonated remotely.
5. To attract pirate vessels, the airship will issue a distress call. The distress call is false, and MUST not be answered.
6. When pirates are sighted by the airship and in range, the craft will detonate, destroying/damaged pirate vessels.
7. Damaged pirate vessels will expectedly return to a home base, which will be tracked by Alfegos units.

8. IMPORTANT - DISTRESS CALL FROM IVY MUST NOT BE ANSWERED.

"I think this will answer your question. I am surprised that you have not received this yet - there must have been an error in communication.
So, can I help you at all with this?"

St. Istvan, HCSK - 1510 HOURS
Secretary of Foreign Affairs Office at the Főváros

Secretary Széchenyi mentally breathed a sigh of relief. "This is indeed fortunate that this has been brought to our attention before our forces' missions mutually impeded and compromised each other. As a professional courtesy, I feel you should know about what is going on in your area of operation.

Operation: Tin Dolphin is a mission of similar goals, but with a different means of achieving the end. There are currently two vessels in the area. Closest to your airship is the HMS Calibouge of the Krommindy Royal Navy, an AEGIS-equipped destroyer. It is shadowing at a great distance the Edisto, an old bulk freighter that is conducting electronic/electromagnetic surveillance to obtain as much information as possible concerning the nature of the piracy threat. It is officially listed as carrying iron ore, incase they are tapping our information networks. Third, the Romandeoseans are supposed to be silently deploying a fleet to the area, but I've not heard anything about any contact. But that's probably because their admiral is under orders to be unnoticed.

I will have them alter course in order to not to interfere, and pass along to them the instructions to all forces not to respond to a distress call. On the same note, the Edisto may at some point trigger an ICBM launch warning. They will indeed be launching an ICBM as part of a contact protocol if they come under attack from the pirates, but it does not have a warhead. The Edisto may at some point issue a distress call, but this means that the destruction of the ship is imminent. Sinking from hostile fire or scuttling of the ship is an acceptable variation of the plan, so feel free to use it as a beacon to give away their position should our forces encounter them first. Should a distress call come from the HMS Calibouge or the Romandeosean fleet, it would be real.

Please do not electronically transmit anything that I have told you here, as we must assume that they have the capability to compromise encryptions. I hope we can be of further assistance to you and we will most assuredly share any information gathered from this mission with the Fegosian Union and it's nations. Have you anything else to discuss with us at this time?"

The Union representative stood up, smiling.
"I don't think there is much more to discuss, is there? If you have any queries about Union matters, whilst we are here, we would be happy to discuss them."

St. Istvan, HCSK - 1515 HOURS
Secretary of Foreign Affairs Office at the Főváros

"If you're implying that we should strengthen ties with each other, I believe it is in good keeping with our foreign policy to do so. Perhaps a seat in the Fegosian Union may be in order? Pending both ruling bodies consent, of course. It would make good sense considering the circumstances we may be faced with, depending on what we find."

"I believe sir that, in the upcoming conference in New Zevkhay, your nation will formally be awarded a seat in the Union Council. Informally, since your application was accepted a couple weeks ago, you already have de facto union membership, though not all the paperwork has been done yet."

He smiled, before motioning to leave.

"It'll be excellent to see you at the conference. Anyhow, I will be off now. I see you are a busy man."

Coralaia Ocean - 2030 HOURS

The last rays of the dying sun painted the bridge of the Edisto a bright orange through it's dirty old windows. Chief Petty Officer May guided the ship on her patrol course as Major Szenvedés visually scanned the horizon through a pair of digital binoculars. The Edisto had been on patrol for over two months now, and not a single enemy contact.

Captain Kedvenc came bounding up the stairs with a piece of paper in his hand. "Major! ISOC broke contact silence! Orders from Miklós!"

Taking the orders, Major Szenvedés read:

ORDERS FOR MAJOR L. SZENVEDÉS

SUBJECT: OPERATION: TIN DOLPHIN - TERMINATION;
NEW ORDERS;

"Looks like the mission is over..." said the mission commander to the crew present. He continued reading.

ISSUED BY: HCSK INTELLIGENCE SERVICES AND OPERATIONS COMMAND;
NAVAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY CZARINA DEEANE I OF KROMMINDY

CLASSIFICATION: INTERNATIONAL TOP SECRET

Operation: Tin Dolphin is hereby terminated in incomplete status. This is not by any means the fault of the commander or crew, but as a result of lack of enemy contact.

You are being assigned a new mission. The Edisto is to meet up with the HMS Calibouge and proceed to port at a naval base in New Manth, where the Romandeosean portion of the crew will disembark and will be replaced by a fuller Krommindy Royal Navy crew selected by KRNIS. The Romandeosean personnel will be airlifted back to their homeland by the transport aircraft on their way back to Krommindy. The Edisto will be switching out some of it's supplies and taking on more to meet the new objectives.

The new destination is the Indian Ocean where you are to rendezvous with the Manth fleet. There you will receive further orders for assisting them in their conflict with Allanea.

Raise the Krommindy Royal Navy flag, and make all haste. And don't forget to disable and secure all radioactive sources and active anti-boarding measures before putting in to port.


Major General Zrínyi Miklós
HCSK Intelligence Services and Operations Command

"Looks like we're ordered to New Manth. All ahead full, heading 270," said Major Szenvedés.

"All ahead full, heading 270. Aye, aye, Major" replied Chief May as she threw a lever and began turning the ship's helm.

Major Szenvedés opened the ship's intercom. "Now hear this, now hear this. This is Major Szenvedés. Operation: Tin Dolphin is terminated, and we're heading to New Manth. Lieutenant Sawyer, report to the bridge immediately. That is all."