NationStates Jolt Archive

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The Meeting

Despite thrice holding the highest position in the land, Chairman Gary Girardi looked like a normal man. He didn't wear expensive designer suits, or shoes. His ink black hair was generically cut. He allowed his razor to barely glide against his skin, leaving a thin, yet distinct shadow around his mouth, under his nose and up to his ears along his rounded jaw line. He didn't drive multiple high end cars, or build a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Gary was never a man to flash his wealth or power, it just wasn't his style. The suits he wore were purchased for him at middle income store, as were his shoes. He hated going baby faced, made him feel too clean, too proper, too stuck up. He hated feeling like a model on display, dressing to impress. He was a man who lived way below his means. He had his toy car, his fantasy car, which he kept excellent care of, but he also had his family vehicles and a classic motorcycle, which he rode every chance he got. The house in which he lived was centuries old, in the middle of a fairly well to do neighborhood in the small coastal community of St. Clair.

Gary only became Chairman once in an election. His first time, some fifteen odd years ago, only to be defeated in the next election three years by his then Vice Chairman William H. Tanker. Following Tanker's conviction, one year after his victory, on charges of corruption, possession of cocaine with intent to traffic, conspiracy to commit trafficking as well as the charge of illegally importing a controlled substance with intent to distribute, Gary, the Vice Chairman ascended to the position of Chairman once again. In Saint Fedski, the candidates for Chairman are elected by popular vote, the second place finisher takes the Vice Chairman position. Again, election year rode around and again, Gary was defeated by his Vice Chairman and close friend, Katherine Schleicher, although not without debate. Katherine's campaign staff was accused of vote buying by the Election Committee of Saint Fedski. Allegedly her campaign director and now Chief of Staff Kremunn Voldink, threatened to reveal Sunshine Corporations illegal dumping and hiring practices if a fair amount of support was not given to the campaign. Katherine resigned as Chairwoman as following the conviction of Kremunn. The position of Chairman was once again handed down to Gary Girardi for another two years.

Gary withdrew his name from the next election, citing personal reasons. After spending the better part of a decade as Chairman or Vice Chairman to a corrupt Chairman, Gary's face started to show a little bit of age. His jet black hair was no longer entirely jet black; little specs of silver could be seen glimmering in the light. His face, always rugged, began to look weaker, his skin more pale. The stress of the job during wartime and economic hardships was finally wearing the man down. One thing he still hadn't lost was his optimistic attitude. He never frowned on a situation, only smiled that much more. Taking every dilemma and turning it around with a lot of hard work and a smile was his specialty.

Born in the small fishing and tourist town of Kirkland Lake, on the sparsely populated jungle paradise island of Girardi Island, the sense of regional pride and strength instilled in Gary since birth was strong. The region of Clearwater, the largest region, but not the most populated was somewhat detested by the rest of Saint Fedski. Maybe it was the political incorrectness that seemed to be prevalent. Or was it the fact that athletes from Clearwater seemed to have the most success? Was it because Clearwater's economy was the strongest or was it because citizens of Clearwater was as close to being the perfect neighbor as one could get, creating a sense of jealousy among the rest? Was it Clearwater's utter lack of concern or it's free spirit, work hard, party harder attitude? No one really knows. One thing was clear though, Clearwater had a sense of pride and unity that no other region in Saint Fedski, or the world could match.




Lightly strolling down the dark front steps from his front door to the cobblestone driveway beneath on which is car was parked, Gary reached into the front pocket of his black sweatshirt pulling out his cell phone.

“Answer the phone damn it” Gary muttered as he fumbled trying to find the car lock. “Answer the phone.”

“Are we ready?” The voice on the other end spoke with a hoarse rasp.

“Yes.” Replied Gary quietly, looking around before climbing into his car. “I will be there in twenty minutes.”

The car started with a loud roar, almost immediately the black armoured sport utility vehicles behind and in front sprang to life. As if under the control of one driver, the three vehicle proceeded slowly down the driveway, loose stones cracking between the cobblestones and the tires. Pausing for a brief moment while they turned onto the main road, the vehicles quickly accelerated to a quick pace, speeding down the unlit back road, led only by the daytime running lights of the lead vehicle, and disappearing into the dense jungle.

“We're here.” Gary muttered gloomily as the three vehicles ground to a halt outside of what seemed to be a small house.

Looking up into the clear night sky, he smiled as a tall, thin man stepped out of the shadows with an outstretched hand. “Glad you could make it Gary.” The man said in the same voice as on the phone. “Everyone is here. Everyone is waiting.”

“Thank you Matt. Thank you. I will be in in a minute. I just need some time to catch my thoughts here.”

“No problem Gary. I will let everyone know.”

Matt spun around and stepped silently back into the shadows.

“Wow. Sure is ironic. Not a cloud in the sky, but somewhere out there, is a storm waiting to start.” Spoke Gary in an ominous tone.

He turned around on his heel to where Matt had disappeared into the shadows, took a deep breath, then too disappeared down a narrow grass path that took him around to the back of the house and into what appeared to be a small shed. Twisting the knob with a slight squeak, and opening the door with a quiet creek, a dimly lit stone staircase, leading into a darkened pit opened up beneath him. At the bottom of the stairs was welcome mat, that stood at the base of a large, solid oak door, decorated with a massive brass handle. Muffled, and barely audible was the crackle of a fire coming from behind that door. Sternly pushing the door open, a large room, full of people staring his way came into focus. At the far side, a large brick fire place was roaring. In the middle of the room Gary counted twenty chairs and twenty people surrounding a long wooden table adorned with small candles along the length of the middle. To his right, a massive aquarium was covering the wall, a school of fish swimming gracefully near the front. To his right, two massive book shelves, separated by a large screen television and a doorway covered the wall.

“Ladies and gentleman. Thank you all for coming down here tonight.” Gary addressed the onlookers. “We all know why we are here. I think the time has come. I think the situation has reached the breaking point. 'The Government' has refused to listen. The rest of Saint Fedski ignores us, while reaping the benefits of our hard work. They criticize us, yet take advantage of our generousity. 'The Government' has refused to hear anymore talk of Independence. I feel it is now the time. We have to take action into our own hands.” Gary paused. A couple attendees shuffled their feet. A few shifted their weight. But they all had the same look: grim determination. “Now I know this won't be easy, and we didn't honestly expect it to reach this point, but we have been preparing for it just in case. Max the floor is your's.”

“Thank you Gary.” The man spoke softly, rising to his feet. He was little more than five feet tall, but built like a brick. He was very clean cut, as per usual. His uniform, that of a Saint Fedskian Field Marshall, bore the insignia of the Commander in Chief of the armed forces. His hair, somewhere between grey and black, gently combed in a neat part to his left. His crystal blue eyes gazing around the room at the nervous faces of his counterparts. “As you know, I have been so fortunate as to find great loyalty among the ranks of the soldiers from Clearwater serving with the Saint Fedskian armed forces. A great number of them have seen combat, including service with special forces and airborne units. Many more of them have seen combat fighting the mongrels on Stag Island. I can say with complete confidence that we have some of the best fighting men and women ready to support us.”

Dressed in a navy blue blouse with an equally dark blue skirt, and just as short as Max, this blonde bombshell stood up, immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Max, I like everyone else in the room have the utmost respect for you and your position. But how do we expect to overcome these odds? I mean, us in Clearwater are totally outnumbered, and out gunned. We have little in the way of tanks or aircraft. What's your plan?”

“Robynne, my dear, thank you for your concern. I was just getting there. As you know, we have some of the densest jungle in the world, not just in Saint Fedski. Our beaches are unique in the fact they are so soft and so fine. What good are tanks if they cannot be used in numbers? Not much, not much at all.”

“What do you expect the casualties to be like?”

“This will not be a walk in the park. We know they are good soldiers, with lots of experience and they will put up a fight.”

“Please let me interrupt here if I may Max.” Matt took to his feet. “First off I would like to add my two cents again. We know our population will be safe. Our contribution to the Saint Fedskian economy is way to important for them to destroy. They cannot afford to destroy our economy.”

“That's a good point Matt.” A man's grunt like series of words echoed. At the foot of the table a small giant had risen to his feet. Standing six feet, eight inches with light brown hair down to mid back and a brown beard that puts those of ZZ Top to shame, Gus Post was sweating profusely, as he was nearest the fire. “We need to be certain that our islands will not be bombed so hard we become an underwater crater. I would like to make a motion to declare our Independence from Saint Fedski effective immediately.”

“I second that motion.” Robynne squeaked from the other end.

“Any other concerns or comments?” Gary once again addressed the group. “Going once, going twice. All in favour?”

Of the twenty one people in the room, seventeen stood to their feet, leaving four seated.

“Motion passed. Seventeen to four. Max, Kenny, Jared, you have one day to get ready before this makes international headlines. Julie, I need you to make some copies of this and distribute them to whatever media outlets you can find, once we're ready. Everyone, please sign this on you way out. We have made a difference today, only time will tell.”

One by one the conference left for the dark stairwell, vanishing into the night, each ready to prepare for the storm. Left staring at the massive aquarium, Gary heard a shuffle behind him as a chair slid out along the hardwood floor. Robynne Hay, a former governor of the Sunset Islands and a former Minister of Foreign Affairs under three different Chairman, still had not left.

“Walk with me Robynne.” Gary held out his arm, which she quickly grasped. The two traitors walked arm in arm up those dark, stone steps and back into the jungle behind the house. “Robynne, tell me we made the right decision here.”

“We made the right decision Gary. The only option that was left to us.”

Upon reaching the road, and their respective vehicles, Gary took one last glance towards the sky. The stars and moon which had sparkled so bright only an hour earlier, had dimmed as wisps of clouds passed by and tiny drops of a cool spring rain began to sprinkle down. A deafening clap of thunder echoed through the forest with such force the rattle of the windows on the hut and the squeak of the starttled birds were barely audible.

“Looks like the storm has started.”


OOC: Basic idea: Clearwater wants independance from Saint Fedski. Diplomacy has come to an end, it's time to try something else. This nation is actually Clearwater, but due to the lack of availability CIearwater will have to make due. If you have any questions, please ask.

The Day of the Fry

Sweat was pouring from his brows as he crept alongside a low stone and mortar wall, his binoculars hanging around his next and bouncing off his gleaming black and green chest with every short step he made. Slowly wiping two of his fingers across his forehead, he lifted the lenses to his eyes and peered into the valley below.




The hamlet known as Ominion Junction was founded where two dirt paths crossed in the middle of the Pioneer Jungle. The tiny community lies in the middle of a small grassy clearing, halfway down a small mountain, just north east of Lake St. Clair. Ominion Junction has gained a reputation for being the cultural heart of Clearwater as it is here that many an artist or author have come to paint or write. Performers and film makers come from all over the world to show off their work every other year at the Clearwater Festival of Film and Art.




Placing one bare knee on the mossy ground, he continued to peer into the village, steadying his gaze on the largest building in the land, the Ominion Junction Honey Hotel. Moving down the greened copper roof to the stained glass windows beneath it, he finally rested his view on the main entrance and it's two fifteen foot high brass doors. Sweat continued to pour down the man's face as he knelt watching doors slowly dim as the shadows from neighbouring building began to cast upon them. Letting out a brief cough, he muffled it with his free hand, not wanting to spook the wildlife.




Surrounding the Hotel were the bars and cafes that made up much of the picturesque downtown. Picture tiny little bistro tables surrounded by small little walls with tulips and roses surrounding the cafe and separating it from the brick street where horses and buggies were still travelling amidst the absence of the prohibited automobile. The hotel itself, a dozen stories high, a third of that being the roof, rose seemingly in the middle of nowhere. One on side, it looked down the rest of the hill, above the tree tops and out into Lake St. Clair, the other two sides, offered an unparalleled view of the jungle, while the front, offered the renters a wonderful view of Ominion Junction and it's tiny little stone and brick houses that dotted the upper landscape.




The doors opened slowly, then stopped, leaving a black hole in the front of the building. Gripping his binoculars even tighter he concentrated, waiting, patiently to see what would be coming out. And then she walked out. An older lady, known to many as the keeper of the inn, strolled down the four steps, her frail little hands gripping the railing as she stepped to the bottom. He let out a sigh of relief as the doors were closed behind the lady. It was too soon. It wouldn't have made sense.




Each little apartment and each little town house kept their own garden either on the balcony or outside the front window. It was almost as if it were law to have flowers of a different colour than your neighbour. Everywhere you went, someone would greet you with a smile and a handshake. That's the kind of town Ominion Junction is. It's the kind where even the new comers can immediately feel at ease. However, not everything about Ominion Junction is as perfect as it seems.




Allowing arms to drop down a little the sweaty little man fell back, placing his backside on the soft ground. Reaching up, he quietly picked a plump little green pear from a low hanging branch on the tree. As he bit into it, the sweet juice just seemed too good to be true. Here he was, sitting and crawling in the jungle with only a pair of shorts to his name, all covered in sweat, dirt and paint, biting into what had to be the juiciest, sweetest, most delicious pear he has ever had. The nectar was just oozing from the fresh fruit, and dribbling down his already soaked chin when he heard the sound of an approaching, vehicle, or two, or three. Quickly taking one last bite, he returned to his kneeling position, raising the binoculars to his drenched brow one more time.The sounds grew louder until he could hear the tires hitting the street, somewhere behind the hotel there were vehicles, at least three, maybe more. Then they stopped, still out of view. Training his eyes back to those doors, he stiffened, and took a brief look down at his watch: five o'clock, it was time.




The doors opened smoothly, once again revealing a dark void that was the doorway. Slowly emerging from the opening were two men in army dress uniform, side arms clearly visible. They took a couple of steps out, then stopped and began studying the surroundings. One of the men look directly up at the hill as if he knew he was being watched, then gave a quick nod before returning to his surveying. The the vehicles came to life again, and began rolling up the street into view. Three massive sports utility vehicles sporting matte black paint, black windows and black wheels. They slowly ground to a halt in front of the hotel, where the two soldiers exchanged glances, then parted ways. Soon another man emerged from the black doorway, this man was wearing the uniform of a Field Marshall. Everything about this man screamed magnificence, from his shiny, polished black boots through his perfectly ironed khaki pants and his crisp tan jacket, past his gleaming medallions and up to his thinly cut hair beneath the maroon beret, adorned with a gold cougar.




He began to survey the windows of the hotel and the streets nearby, looking for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. The sweaty man began to shiver. He couldn't shake the bad feeling he was getting. There was something missing, he just couldn't figure it out. His heart beating harder and harder, he frantically scanned the area, where could it be? What could the hold up be? Suddenly he heard it. It sounded like a dozen chain saws awakening all at once. Swinging his head from side to side and up to down, he couldn't pinpoint the location of the noise. The two men at the doorway took a step closer to the Field Marshall he saw. That was not a good sign, everyone was tense.




Four buildings up the hill from the hotel was the town's general store. The only place in town where you could by tools, including chainsaws and lawnmowers, so it wasn't so surprising that such noise was coming from here, except for the fact that it was a Sunday evening and the store wasn't even open. Lurching out from a shed behind the general store, the dirt bike sputtered, then wailed as it accelerated across street towards the hotel. The men scrambled to get their sidearms but it was too late, the surprise was complete. Without even skipping a beat, the masked motorcycle bandit fired his Uzi towards the Field Marshall and his guards, chips of stone and brick flying into the air as bullets peppered the walls and steps. A beautiful chime filled the air adding a soothing effect to the assassination attempt. As quickly as it began, it was over, the bike had disappeared around the corner, the sound fading into the night.




Panicking, the man jumped to his feet, quickly looking through his binoculars to his face, trying to find the hotel in his sights. Breathing like a madman he found what he was looking for, only not in the shape he was looking for. The two soldiers and the Field Marshall were strewn about steps, blood pooling around their bullet riddled bodies. The man reached to his head, cupped his ears and began to weep. It wasn't his fault. No body else saw the man on the bike until it was too late. Surely they can't blame him. He began pacing, contemplating what he should do. Without even thinking, he reached into his holster, removed his revolver, pointed it into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

(Feel free to have news reports reporting the issue as well as private or public government reaction...something to get the ball rolling)

SFNN (Saint Fedskian News Network) Breaking News

“Joining us live from St. Clair in Clearwater province, via satellite phone, is our own Kelly Matheson. Kelly can you hear me?”

“I can hear you.”


“Tell us about what just happened. We've heard there has been a shooting, but who and how?”

“I learned of this a little more than 20 minutes ago. Field Marshall Neil Ryan has been shot and killed outside of the Honey Hotel in Ominion Junction.”

“What was he even doing in Ominion Junction, given the tension lately?”

“Apparently he had just finished addressing a group of concerned citizens about the recent military deployments to Clearwater. Details thus far are sketchy, but it seems to have been a well planned drive by shooting. Witnesses report that a lone motorcyclist armed with a small machine gun drove by at the precise moment after the meeting when Ryan was leaving the hotel to enter his motorcade.”

“Has anybody claimed responsibility for it yet?”

“At this time nobody has. But it appears to have been an inside job given the high security around this visit. It has also been reported that two of his escorts were shot as well in what has been said to have been just a hail of bullets.”

“What happened to the gunman?”

“He didn't even stop. Just kept driving. Security personnel returned fire but as of this time no one has been admitted to the hospital with gunshot wounds.”

“As more developments happen, we will check in again with Kelly. Kelly, thank you for you help. We'll be right back”



Sarnia, Sarnia Island - 5:30pm

“We need to put a stop to this shit. This has gone to far.” Louis Riel slammed his fist onto the desk, knocking his lamp off. “Ah hell.”

“You're right Lou. This is the end of the line. We need to take action and we need to do it now. I don't think we need to involve anybody else right now, let's get it done, and get it done swiftly, otherwise precious time will be wasted.”

“I agree with Harold. No need to alarm anyone, let's just get it done quick and simple” Added Sean Keane. “Let's get Ray Franks and Janice Clubb in here to get the ball rolling. We already have enough of a garrison in Clearwater.”

Louis Riel, the current Chairman of Saint Fedski has been a staunch supporter of a unified Saint Fedski. It was his order as Minister of Defence under Chairman Gary Girardi that a large quantity of military personnel were stationed and trained in Clearwater. Officially it was to take advantage of the spare population as well as the varied terrain, but secretly it was to deter and intimidate any locals from joining the growing Independence movement. Riel was a scheming little man, little more than five feet tall, he was always undermining the authority of those above him. It was in his blood to seek power and now that he had achieved it, he'll be damned if someone was going to chop him off in the knees like he had done to so many others. Controlling much of finance and public image of the military, he was able to select which units got equipped with the latest weapons and which didn't need to receive upgrades. It was in this capacity that he set his plan in motion; units of predominantly Clearwater residents were rarely upgraded while citizens from other provinces and states had priority. And as such, he had single handedly put the military options of Clearwater at a major disadvantage. Saint Fedski soldiers out numbered Clearwater soldiers in Clearwater by a ratio of 2 to 1 (including the recent, unplanned influx of Clearwater troops as ordered by Commander in Chief Maximus Obliqus).

Again pounding his fist on the table Riel began to pace as he waited for his chief intelligence officer, Raymond Franks and his favourite member of the defence staff and Chief Air Marshall, Janice Clubb. He knew Franks had a stack of binders nearly a foot high with intelligence reports from Clearwater and he knew that Janice Clubb could get her special air force airborne with just minutes notice. Until they arrived though, all he could do was wait.

“Where are they?” He demanded. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE THEY? DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S AN EMERGENCY.”

“Lou, Lou, calm down. They will be here.” Keane assured him. “They have to get their staff back on duty otherwise nothing will be happening until tomorrow.”

“Get Maximus on the line. We need him to send a general alert to all concerned units in Clearwater. Tell them it's a drill, a training readiness drill or something.”

That's when Harold Willens, the longtime Minister of Justice spoke up again.

“Just make damn sure civilians are not targeted or hurt. We cannot have another Wyoming on our hands. It will be the end of this administration, and I will not be able to stick my neck on the line again without having it cut too.”

Back under Chairman Gary Girardi, the Saint Fedskian military had been accused of over stepping it's bounds by assisting local police in a series of nationwide raids on illegal weapons warehouses. Opposition accused Girardi and his Minister of Defence of Riel of intimidation and genocide when photo and video evidence surfaced that tanks, bombers and artillery of the Saint Fedski Active Policing Reserve had been used to raid an Arms Manufacturing Worker's Union headquarters, the center of the Anti-Clearwater movement. Over one hundred people were killed as shells and bombs rained down on the compound which infuriated much of the nation. It was Harold who was able to push the story that initial police units came under heavy fire and that surveillance actions revealed large quantities of heavy weapons. In the end, it came down to his ruling that an acceptable amount of force had been used as warranted by the reports of heavy weaponry that the local police were not trained, or equipped to handle. He also pointed out that all units in the military are trained police officers and that many reserve units act as a national police force as opposed to actual front line formations.

There was a knock on the door, followed by another.

“They're here” Sean announced as he opened the door for Ray and Janice.

Ray spoke first. His hair was no longer the usual tidy, it was blown all over and it looked as though it had been infested by giant lice. His tie was loosened t he point of nearly undone, his sleeves were rolled up and his pristine white shirt covered in tomato sauce.

“What is the meaning of this Louis?” He demanded in a huff.” I was in a pleasant dinner with my family down at Miss Molly's Good Golly when a helicopter landed on the beach with this message for me. “

“Yeah I want answers too.” Janice interrupted sharply. “I've assembled my staff, many of whom were on vacation, alerted Maximus and cannot provide them with any details of what's going on. The SAF is on standby, AGAAAAIN. Are we going this time? Are you going to get cold feet?”

“Haven't you heard? Neil Ryan was shot. He's been killed.” Keane informed them. “It's been all over the news.”

“WHAT?!” Janice screamed. “When? Where? Who? How? Why?”

“Yes, a lone gunman drove past on a motorbike firing an automatic gun of some sort, his security detachment say it was an Uzi, and killed him and two of his escorts.”


“Where did it happen?”


“At the Honey Hotel in Ominion Junction, again.”

“Clearwater?” Frank asked rhetorically. “Shouldn't have gone there. I warned the bastard.”

“Who did it?” Janice asked.

“We don't know yet. No one has claimed responsibility. We can only assume it was a Puffer, one of those slimy Clearwater nationalist movements, but we don't have much proof.”

“How did they get near him?”

“His motorcade had just arrived and he was stepping out of the hotel when the attacker flew out of a nearby building and caught everyone by surprise at just the right time. We assume his security was comprised as there is still one member of his detail unaccounted for.”

“Well we're going to finally act are we? We've finally grown some balls? Louis you can't pussyfoot around this anymore. Janice was attacked there, Sean was attacked there. Ambassador Diagus was shot in a drive by. We know they are connected. Let's go in there and finish the job.”

“I agree Frank.” Louis replied softly. “That's why we're all here. I'm not seeking public approval. We're going to move at first light. Give them a chance to settle down a bit and then BAM” He punched the air. “They won't know what hit them.”

“It's about time. I will have everyone ordered ready to move at six.”

“Thank you Janice. I trust you will take care of this for us.”

“Damn right I will. They took a crack at me, now they will regret it. Frank, can you have Tufty send in a couple of teams to locate the missing member of his security detail? Hopefully that will give us some answers.”

“Already done. He sent them in once he heard.” Frank replied.

“Same plan as before. Let's get it done. Does anyone else have anything to add?” Louis waited for a minute, no one spoke up. “Good. Let's go. Good luck everyone, see you tomorrow downstairs.”

Without another word, Harold, Sean, Janice and Frank all shuffled out of Louis' office, blank looks on their faces. It was real this time. They cannot afford to change their minds now that every military unit in Clearwater is on high alert.

Ominion Junction, Clearwater
9:00pm, Four hours after shooting...

"Shh. I think I heard something."

"What is it?"

"Shaddup... There it is again."

"Yeah I hear it. It's coming from over there."

"Let's go. Be quiet, stay alert"

"Roger"

The four men crept slowly towards the raspy breathing sounds, pausing only to listen intently for any other sounds.

"Stop." The point man whispered. "It's around here somewhere. Watch out for the pear"

"Hey! A bite is missing, looks like some paint on here as well" Said the man second in line, also in a whisper.

"Blood" A third man quietly exclaimed as he examined a nearby pear tree. "Danger, check over that direction"

"Right" Danger replied as he began moving towards Ominion Junction.

Brushing a little bush out of the way, he moved into a small exposed hole in the jungle's canopy, a hole that offered the perfect view of the Honey Hotel.

"Here's the spot guys." He stated, scanning the area intently. "Guy's over here! I think I found something."

The three men followed Danger down a little ledge below the hole to where a boot, attached to a leg was visible beneath a fern.

"Help me" Came a raspy voice from just beyond the foot. "Kill me."

"It's him alright" One of the men assured the group. "He looks pretty bad. A hole right through his skull. Missed the brain. He needs help immediately."

"Helicopter is on the way" Danger replied immediately. "Son what happened?"

"Help me"

"Help is on the way... you have to tell us what happened."

The wounded man choked a bit, blood leaking from his mouth as he spoke. "Man... motorcycle... shoot... chief... push... cliff"

"A man on a motorcycle shot your target. Yes we know. What happened to you? Where is your uniform? Where is your radio?"

"Ambush... beat... shoot... push... cliff"

"What's he trying to say?"

"I don't know. Where is that heli Danger?"

"It's about five minutes out sir." Danger replied before turning back to the injured man. "You were attacked?"

The man nodded.

"They beat you then shot you?"

He shook his head.

"They beat you and you shot them?"

He nodded again, spitting up more blood.

"Let's get everyone out of here. Tell the others we found him."

Fort St. Clair, St. Clair, Clearwater
Telegraphed messaged to 8th Army Headquarters. Addressed to General Jared Fedora, Commanding Officer, 8th Army, St. Clair, Clearwater.

Commencement of Operation Tidal will take place at 5:30 tomorrow morning. Begin preparations at midnight. Four hours will be given to complete preparations. Intel reports of increased activity by local militants. It is strongly advised to solidify defensive positions and implement your passive aggressive defence. Good luck.

Sean Keane
Minister of Defence


Fort Canatara, Kirkland Lake, Clearwater
5:30am, early dusk...
"Let's move out" Came the order over the radio as the two platoons of Z-33 Jaguars (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9075372&postcount=1) started their engines in unison.

The sound of the twenty six diesel engines rumbling echoed through the valley to the west of Kirkland Lake. The engines revved a couple of times before the tracks began to grind and squeak along the pavement towards the gate.

"Alright boys. You know the drill. Keep yourselves buttoned up at least until we have the area secured. We don't need anybody getting hurt at this stage of the game."

Staggered throughout the armoured column was the infantry of the 16th Mechanized Infantry Battalion mounted in fifteen SF A3A armoured personnel carriers (similar to M113), each carrying 12 soldiers.

The column, lead by an A3A covered in six different greens, slowly followed the narrow dirt road through the valley (like this (http://blueridgeblog.blogs.com/blue_ridge_blog/images/2007/06/27/road.jpg))towards Kirkland Lake as they had done so many times on training exercises. The dim sun cast eerie shadows across the dark road as the dense foliage prevented much of the light from penetrating the canopy. To the left lay a mattress of ferns, with young saplings breaching the green layer like bed posts. To the right a steep, moss and ivy covered ridge rose, disappearing beneath the overwhelming vegetation. Monkeys jumped from tree to tree through the thin mist that hung lazily beneath the leafy ceiling, almost touching the road.

Moving one hundred meters a head of the main column, the camouflaged A3A came to an abrupt halt, skidding on the moist ground. Like mice, the twelve infantry dismounted out the back, split into three groups and vanished into the bush. As quickly as they disappeared, a group of four men, dressed in moss and fern ghillie suits, returned to the road in front of the vehicle and began walking slowly forward down the road, each footstep making a sickening sucking sound. The vehicle followed, its gunner sweeping from side to side. The commander, a brand new Lieutenant was standing out of his hatch peering far down the road through his binoculars, trying to spot any sort of potential danger. The other two groups of soldiers were following the lead group from the concealed cover of the wilderness, keeping level with their ride, ready to ambush any possible ambush that may be laying in wait.

Joining the symphony of sloshing boots, rumbling diesels and screaming monkeys, was the patter of a half dozen rotors whipping the air slightly above the treeline. Belonging to the 84th Recon Squadron, the MD-500s circled overhead, waiting for any possible targets to reveal themselves. Armed with two TOW-like missiles slung under the cabin and two miniguns located on the stubby wings, they were prepared for whatever resistance the meagre Clearwater militia could muster.


Sunny Island, Sunset Islands, Clearwater

Sunny Island is the Northern most island in the four island group. It is, in it's near entirety, an active army base. A small little village of about six thousand residents sits on the Western tip and another village, roughly double the size on its Eastern with a wider two lane paved highway connecting them directly, dividing the island exactly in half. The island is the perfect proving grounds for the army. The island contains everything from Jungle at its densest, to grassland as it emptiest, from swamps at their lowest to mountains at their highest. Located in the Northern half is the 1st Armoured Division and the 10th Heavy Infantry Division

These two divisions, among the most experienced in the country, remained on low alert. Increased patrols around their bases of operation and scouts located near the villages, just to make sure, constituted the only major changes on the island as the habitants of the two tiny divisions are considered to be a low to no threat. Just as a precaution, all leaves were cancelled, all scheduled departures and arrivals were postponed and training stopped. They would need every fully trained man and woman they could get if they needed to be moved to another island.


Fort Lambton, Treasure Island, Clearwater
Midnight....

"Men, this will be hardest thing you'll ever have to do. Invading your own country is a once in a lifetime activity, it's also the hardest activity you will have to take part in. Our orders are simple. Move through the swamp and secure the civilian airport at Zas, thirty kilometers away. We know that support for the Clearwater Militia is strong in the area, thus local police forces cannot be trusted. Second Brigade, you will move north-east along Highway 8, before cutting due south and seizing the airport. Third Brigade, you will also move north-east along Highway 8, only you will continue on to Zas proper, which is only twenty five kilometers. The town will be surrounded and cut off from the rest of the island. City hall, police headquarters and the jail will be seized. First Brigade, you will be held in reserve. Move east along the local back roads until called upon."

"Alright you heard him second brigade. Report to your units and get ready. We move in five hours."

"T'ird b'gade, Listen up. We're heading ta Zas at... umm... before sunrise. Let's load up. I wan everyone ready as soon as possible. NOW MOVE!"

The base became a hive of activity as small utility vehicles and pick up trucks whizzed around the place like bees in a hive. Of course, the all too familiar rumble of diesel engines shook the ground as vehicles of the second and third brigades began to take up formation.


5:00am...

Final preparations complete, Operation Tidal was set to begin. In half an hour, the three brigades of veteran 67th Armoured Division would be in position to begin their assault on Zas and Zas airport, securing a vital forward supply base.

"CHAAAARGE!" Lieutenant General Chuck Parson bellowed. Standing atop his Alligator (BVS 10 lookalike) command post and pointing ahead, was typical Parson in action. He would've been at home as a king on the medieval battlefield, leading his troops into battle and emerging victorious. When asked about his leadership style, he modestly replies, "I'm still a soldier at heart."

The division began to move up Highway 8, right through the middle of the tall grasslands. While driving, the men's heads were barely level with the top of the luscious green blades. Pairs of jeeps with dimmed headlights led the columns down the slightly moonlit highway and dark parallel roads. The only sounds came from the vehicles.

An air of apprehension hung over the sleepy soldiers. They had no clue what they weregoing to run into. Intelligence reports suggested little recent militia activity, but also warned of the friendly 17th Clearwater Armoured Division joining the side of the militia. Would the 17th join the fight with the 67th or would it lead the fight against the 67th?

Back in Fort Lambton, the airfield had become a makeshift campground as tents were popped up next to black attack and transport helicopters. Crickets chirped gleefully as the airmen lightly napped, patiently awaiting the sound of the bugle to stir them into action.

Upon receiving his orders from Minister of Defence, Sean Keane, Maximus need to step up his game. The Clearwater rebels were going to start their plan in motion at the same time, but in order for it to work, they would need to be in some sort of position prior to the Saint Fedskians. After changing his orders slightly, Max faxed the new ones to all his commanders on their private lines.

Conference call by Field Marshall Maximus Obliqus with his field commanders. Midnight. Seven hours after shooting.

"Gentlemen, we have a situation. As you most of you have no doubt by now received your orders from the Government, you can understand our little predicament. I have faxed your orders to each of you specifically in response to the orders I received from Riel and Keane. I expect you all to assign the appropriate resources and select the best tactics to employ. It's for certain that we will not have control of the air so we have to make due with stealth on the ground. Ensure you have as much mortar and anti tank support as possible as artillery and air cover will be limited, initially. The move officially starts at five thirty but most units, but none of ours, will begin at five or so. I'll cut this off here as you need as much time to get into position. That is all. Good luck."

The stage was set.

~~~~
"Keane, this is Max. Everyone is ready here. Due to some recent militia movement, I have made a couple slight changes to my plan. As far as I know, everyone will be ready by 5:30. I will be back there soon. Good bye."

Max hung up the phone. "Now we take them by the balls."

Fort St. Clair - 4:30am
21st Clearwater Light Infantry Division

"Let's go, let's go, let's go" Lieutenant Steve called to his men as they loaded up into their jeeps. "Mount up. Let's go. Time's a tickin boys"

The fifty three men of First Platoon scrambled into the fifteen dark green vehicles armed with 12.7mm guns. Using standard Saint Fedskian protocol, mostly developed by the 21st CLID, the men were dressed appropriately in 'fern and moss' ghillie suits. They needed to hurry. Their objective was the intersection of Southern Highway 50 and Southern Highway 34. If they could secure and hold it (even for a little while), it would severely hamper any government attempt at reaching St. Clair International Airport by forcing the St. Fedskians to move through the jungle and across the rivers. They would haul ass to the intersection and immediately take up defensive positions slightly to the west. Fourth Platoon, containing the mortar, anti tank and sniper teams, would follow closely behind to provide support. Second and Third platoons were following to secure the flanks. That should put Alpha Company firmly in position and allow Bravo and Charlie Companies to pass through their position south to Manitoba leaving Delta in reserve, scattered and hidden amongst the jungle East of the intersection.

Acting as the pinhead for 21CLID, this solitary battalion was expected to hold off elements of a Saint Fedskian Mechanized Infantry Brigade and half an armoured company until appropriate reinforcements could arrive. The 86th Clearwater Armoured Division was conveniently on training exercise north of Ominion Junction. It could take a day, even two to arrive. Until then, it would the be elements of 1CLID against a full armoured division with mechanized infantry.

Fort St. Clair - 5:00am
21st Clearwater Light Infantry Division
The buzz of fifteen whirling rotors rose over the temporary calm of the Fort. Out on the tarmac fifteen Little Birds sat awaiting their cargo. Ten of them would each transport two fire teams of three men to their destination while the other five flew as fire support. The goal of the platoon was to recon the intersection and report back for command to develop a new offensive plan.

Fort St. Clair AAS - 4:30am
9th Clearwater Infantry Division

The bagpipes began to wail as the 9th Clearwater Infantry Division was roused from it's slumber.

"W-w-what's goin' on?"

"The fuck if I know."

The sound of massive jet engines wailing explained it all.

"Attention all personnel. Prepare to move out. Assembly is in ten minutes."

~~~~

By sheer coincidence, 9CID had been preparing to ship out from Fort St. Clair Army Air Station for exercises in Northern Saint Fedski for roughly a week. The division was set to depart later in the afternoon as part of a strategic airlift exercise with other Saint Fedskian units. As such ten T4 Starlifters were waiting as transport for two battalions.

Stumbling around in the city of makeshift tents, the grumpy men assembled for departure twelve hours earlier than scheduled. Dressed in full battle kit, the tramped up the ramps and into their aircraft, many falling back to sleep once they sat. The planes began to roll. Faster and faster until they were no longer rolling; they were airborne and heading the opposite direction.

The loud speakers in the planes blared a recorded message from the Company commander.
"Gentlemen, we have received the orders. Our training exercise has been cancelled. We are moving to Melbourne Air Force Base. We will arrive at approximately 5:30. Your orders are simple. Secure the hangers and the aircraft within. Speed and surprise are key. Expect light resistance initially but gradual increases as the shock wears off and an organized defence is established. We must prevent any aircraft from taking to the air. Do not take these guys for granted. Once they realize what is going on, they will fight hard. Expect the rest of the company to arrive shortly, with our heavier equipment to follow after that. There will be some personnel on base sympathetic to the cause as well as many from the local community. Good luck men.

~~~~
Meanwhile, the entire 11th Transport Group stationed Basla had been mobilized slightly earlier. Forty Super Stallions were landing as the men assembled in the airfield. Without skipping a beat, each helicopter contained a platoon and was off, disappearing into the grey dawn. That was one full company moved. Only one hundred or so more to go.


Ominion Junction
86th Clearwater Armoured Division

June 13, 2007 - 1:00pm - (One day before shooting)
Training maneuvers were not the most thrilling thing to do. They became even less thrilling in the mixed terrain just north of Ominion Junction; one minute you could be driving steadily over perfectly solid ground to traipsing through grassland before reaching a dense thicket then swimming in a swamp without any warning. Many a tank has become stuck or even sunk because of this. Command insists it is necessary and can tolerate the loss of tanks if it means more skill in maneuvering through this mess.

Unlike other armoured division in Saint Fedski, we are still using the Type-74, albeit quite modified. They have been upgunned to a 120mm barrel and fitted with thicker tracks to decrease ground pressure among other things. It always seems to happen this way. Units in the rest of the country always seem to get new equipment first, sometimes even multiple times before we see an upgrade. An example in point is the 1st Armoured Division with it's Z-33 Jaguars. That is their second upgrade since leaving the Type-74 behind to us. They first replaced the Type 74 with the Leopard 2, then replaced the Leo with the Jaguar. Rumour has it that the old Leos are being stored somewhere in Clearwater for use with reserves. I have no clue where or even if it's true.

June 14, 2007 - 8:00pm (3 hours after shooting)
During a pause in the exercises a couple of us were rounded up to join Field Marshall Neil Ryan when a group of concerned citizens voiced objections to the increased frequency and size of training maneuvers in the area. He wanted to introduce some of his men to the community to show they had nothing to worry about and to meet some of the men who would be visiting the community.

We had just finished when. The group of us stayed behind to mix with the civilians while Ryan left for another meeting. That's when I heard it. It sounded like a really loud zipper. Probably a dozen shots or so. People screamed. I was the first one up the stairs and out the door. He and two body guards were laying there in their own pool of blood. Bullets had been lodged in the door and chunks were missing from the walls and steps.

Since then, everyone has been on edge. During our exercises we now carry more live ammo and less training. I think Command is expecting something to happen, but I just don't see it. The populace hasn't changed much. It's business as usual in Ominion Junction.

~~~~
June 15, 2007 - 5:00am
We were assembled at four this morning. We were up late last night maneuvering, simulating an attack on a heavily fortified village as infantry support. Unfortunately, my tank found it's way into a deep swamp and was stuck. We had to call in recovery while a squad of infantry and another tank provided cover. We were able to catch a couple of hours sleep before our replacement tank rolled in, but just as it did, orders came in for my brigade to assemble at The Junction that is where the highways cross. We will be making our way to Sol which is about 30km east. I was forced to unload all of the training rounds and load up on HE. I can hear my tank straining against its chains on the trailer behind me as we move down the highway in the truck. I don't know exactly where we'll stop, but it must be a sight to see, dozens of tank and armoured vehicles just motoring down the highway. I could swear I heard jets and helicopters earlier but it was so dark and no windows in my cabin to look from. Time to catch some more sleep before we have to disembark.

Inquisitor Asvel Naelgard was not known as a ruthless, scheming torturer. This was mostly because very few people knew who he was. But those who knew him knew that he had some odd interests. The si'Thaluo government, as a rule, paid little attention to the outside world; this was probably a fortunate thing for the outside world, as the Damalgians had a tendency to attempt to convert any other nation into a sort of prison state producing materials and food for the Home Oversector.

Naelgard was one of those few Inquisitors who actively sought to learn more about other cultures. He could speak several languages, knew the names of a number of foreign heads of state, and had even visited other countries on occasions -- although usually at the head of an invasion force. The High Command gave him free rein, mostly because they enjoyed watching him, even when he lost. And they listened to his ideas, because they were usually good.

So when Naelgard suggested Clearwater as a target of opportunity, High Command listened, and asked why. Naelgard had done his research. He presented High Command with statistics, resources (both natural and human), and as much military information as he'd been able to find. The High Command took three days to discuss it and returned with money and materiel. Naelgard was given a small strike force of Sol-Marii and Armiferi to bring to bear on the target. He was to run the campaign however he saw fit; and backup would be available when he decided the nation was sufficiently weakened to fall to a full-scale invasion fleet.

The Inquisitor found the contact information of the rebels' Commander-in-Chief without much difficulty. The encrypted message that eventually reached him ran as follows:

We have military power available to assist you in your struggle for independence. While my superiors have only as yet authorized me to use a division of ground forces, there is far greater manpower waiting in reserve, and the soldiers that you do receive will be the best.

MYCROFT.
The division was only small by Damalgian standards. It included two and a half thousand Sol-Marii, several hundred artillery guns of varying sizes, two hundred pilots in half as many aircraft, and over six thousand logistical personnel, plus Naelgard's command staff. But that could come later. Now: to wait.

To: Mycroft
From: Gary Girardi
The Island of Clearwater fully welcomes any support that can be offered by the si'Thaluo government, providing it is willing adhere to certain standards.

Let it be understood that Clearwater merely desires independance and not total control of Saint Fedski.
Attacks on civillian targets are to be avoided when and where ever possible.
Foreign militaries in Clearwater must be willing to fight under the command of a Clearwater officer and in conjunction with Clearwater units.

If the si'Thaluo government can adhere to these requests, your help is more than welcome. Be wary of the Saint Fedskian Navy however.

Regards,
Gary Girardi
Chieftan
Free Land of Clearwater

OOC: Er. The message technically didn't mention the si'Thaluo Damalg'iru at all. The only source was named as "Mycroft" and precautions were taken to prevent the national military in question from being identified. (That wasn't clear.) This is mostly the Inquisitor's way of making sure that no friendly or enemy forces will find out that the si'Thaluo is behind his group until he wants them to. Besides, if I'd actually signed it "The si'Thaluo Damalg'iru", you'd probably be politely declining my assistance, as we have a bit of a file in international intelligence databases. :P Otherwise, fine.

Inquisitor Naelgard perused the message gravely. The rebels were making demands of him. Fine; that was their prerogative, although he was uncertain why any rebel group would risk losing the support of an ally over things like that. He agreed with them: Clearwater didn't need control of Saint Fedski. It would be far more efficient to consolidate control in Clearwater before building up a sufficient military force on the home terrain to take on Saint Fedski itself. To do otherwise would be folly.

Now he needed more information, from the rebels themselves.

Acceptable, but for the last: We must request that our troops work on their own, partly because they are elites and the presence of foreign units may affect their profile or their ability to perform optimally, and partly because the vast majority of them do not speak your language. (I myself will be in command of this force, but am willing to place myself subordinate to a Clearwater officer.)

What air route into Clearwater will be easiest for avoiding Saint Fedskian notice?

MYCROFT.

To: MYCROFT
From: Gary Girardi
It can be arranged that your units operate independently of those from Clearwater for the most part, however some contact and cooperation may be necessary in order for us to fulfil our objective.

Air cover over the Sunset Islands is the probably weakest however once you approach Girardi Island, you don't really have many options. Our forces will do as much as we can with the little air assests we have but promise cannot be made. At this time, air superiority is definitely not our's, though we are working to rectify that.

Regards,
Gary Girardi
Chieftan
Free Land of Clearwater

TO: Clear Water Goverment
FROM: Patriotic Communist Alliance of Calaveras

We wish to help you, but we are unsure as to exactly what you want done.

"Well?"

"I can do it, Lord. But I need jammers."

"It shall be done."

"And based on satellite scans.... a fighter escort may be helpful. If I may be so bold."

"Anything for an old friend, Asvel. I will have them deployed from the Oversector Eleven base."

"My gratitude is eternal, Lord."

It was night. The air group was en route now; the planes, mainly fighters and transports, were widely spread and covered by a perimeter of jammers; but they were not active at the moment, as the Damalgians were still under EMCON. The formation was accompanied by three AWACS, widely spaced, and the route had been carefully planned to avoid standard air routes. Nevertheless, precautions had to be taken.

The "invisible line" was set at about eight hundred kilometers from the Sunset Islands. Now the AWACS crews began listening hard for radar echoes. (Damalgian active radar is probably the only aircraft-based radar around that can actually be picked up eight hundred klicks out, but that's another story.) They were looking for Saint Fedskian CAPs; while Naelgard was fairly sure the enemy had no inkling of his arrival, he had to assume that his opposite numbers on both sides were taking similar precautions to those maintained around, say, Oversector Eleven.

OOC: Ok, so it's been years since I've fought a proper air battle, and my memory is not what it once was (:P). Can someone remind me whether CAPs are usually flown with active radar or not? Saint Fedski will be given time to respond to this before I continue.

Fort Canatra, Kirkland Lake, Clearwater - 6:10am
On the road to Kirkland Lake
(OOC: I will name this group 'Task Force Donut' just for future reference.)
Reaching the edge of the dirt road and the edge of Highway 202, the Lieutenant called his men back to the A3A, satisfied that there was no more threat of a militia ambush. Spreading out across the highway, careful not to stick too close or spend too much time on the asphalt the fifteen armoured personnel carriers and the twenty six tanks sped east towards Kirkland Lake.

A small red car, the first on the road today, was coming towards the column. On edge and extremely nervous, the Lieutenant stopped the convoy again and ordered his troops out. At the sight of the armoured vehicles on the road ahead the driver slowed down and stopped before throwing his car into reverse. The Lieutenant who was manning the machine gun fired a warning shot at the car, forcing it to stop again. Slowly, but steadily, the squad approached the car with guns trained.

"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!" One of the men yelled at the trembling male driver as another approached the passenger side. "LET'S GO! FUCKIN MOVE!"

A third soldier moving in on the driver's side, ripped open the door and threw the man to the ground. Slamming the barrel of the gun in th back of his head, he told the others it was clear. Two more men moved in, opening every compartment, searching under the seats and even in the man's tin lunch box.

"Got something! Looks to be a revolver!" A soldier shouted.

"That piece is worth four thousand dollars. Be careful!" The man cried. "It's the prize of my collection!"

"It checks out. It has the paperwork. Let him go."

The men quickly loaded back into their vehicle leaving the confused man kneeling the street and his prized gun on the hood. So far the unit had been on the road for an hour and three quarters had been wasted. The Helicopter escort had already circled the city a number of times before heading back to refuel. They would never make it to Kirkland Lake before the sun rose above the treeline if they kept this pace.

The Lieutenant, recognizing his errors ordered the column ahead at full speed. It would only take them another twenty minutes to reach the city, providing they didn't make any more unnecessary stops.

Kirkland Lake - 6:37am

Finally reaching Kirkland Lake, the group split up into their teams and moved into the city. A list of names and addresses were provided to each squad who's job it was to detain them on charges of conspiracy to commit high treason, a crime usually punished with beheading. The hope was to use a show of force, make some high profile arrests and show those traitors who's who.

The first squad led by the trigger happy Lieutenant and escorted by two of the tanks arrived at their destination; a modest old cottage sized house snuggled comfortably in large grassy between a church and a seven storey apartment building.

"Team one on me. Teams two take the back door and four you cover them. Three, watch that building. Smokey (the call sign for the first tank) keep an eye south and Rooster, the north. Let's go."

Finally the squad had a reason to move out. Having shed their ghillie suits in the APC, they now donned grey uniforms similar to SWAT teams. The six soldiers of teams two and four split up, each taking a different route to the back of the house. With all teams in position, the arrest was set to go.

"Action." Lieutenant muttered into the team intercom.

Suddenly whole hell erupted. The backdoor and frontdoor were kicked in and flashbangs lobbed inside.

"DOWN DOWN! GET DOWN! ARMY! EVERYONE DOWN!"

"ARMY!FUCKING DOWN! DON'T FUCKIN MOVE"

"GET DOWN! LET'S GO!"

The two teams stormed in screaming. By Saint Fedskian Law, they were forbidden to falsely indentify themselves as police because they were in active army duty rather than in policing reserve. Smoke from the flashbangs hung in the air, slightly disrupting visibility. Each room was searched but no one was found. Not a soul. Not even the family dog.

"FUCK! Where is he? Where is anyone? SON OF A BITCH"

The first take down had been an absolute failure. One of the key leaders of the movement would escape this time.

"Team one reporting. Negative contact. Repeat. Negative contact."

"Team two reporting. Negative contact. Again. Negatice contact."

Across the board teams reported in with no success. Of the fifteen take down planned, only a fifth reported any arrests.

The Lieutenant was livid. His first operational mission as an interm company commander and it failed, he failed, miserably. "Alright guys." He told his platoon leaders. "Let's carry on. We need to rendezvous with the rest of the battalion north of Manitoba for resupply and prepare to move on to a tiny village at the south point of the lake. Intelligence informs us that there is a large compound there containing improvised armoured vehicles and a large weapons cache. By the time we get there, local police forces will have the roads closed and nearby house evacuated. They will be expecting us."

Zas, Treasure Island, Clearwater - 5:25am

The 67th Armoured Division had reached the staging point a little early. Unlike their counter parts on the Sunset Islands and Girardi Island, they still had yet to recieve their alotment of the new Jaguar main battle tanks and had to rely on the sturdy Leopard 2 instead. As planned, the second Brigade began to move south towards the airport continuing through the grassland, skirting the edge of a deep swamp to the West. It would only be ten minutes or so before the lead elements came in contact with the perimeter of the airfield, if all went as planned it would still be operating as normal.

Splitting away from the main group, a battalion of motorized infantry jammed into trucks hurtled down the main road towards the front gate. They needed to seize or destroy the radar consoles to prevent them from being captured and used by the militia. Unfortunately for the 67th, the planned aerial recon patrols had to be aborted as a thick bank of fog rolled in over their airfield, jeopardizing the safety of the helicopters.

Third Brigade had begun it's move on Zas. Among the targets were the two police stations, the court house and island jail. Leading the each group to their targets was a platoon of tanks, which was followed immediately by a platoon of infantry mounted in A3A armoured personnel carriers and again followed by another tank or two. Nobody was expecting any resistance for it was far too early in the morning and only a few in the brigade even knew what was going on so how could anyone outside the army know? A number of the vehicle commanders either had their heads or were standing up through their hatches trying to get a better view for the drivers and look for possible ambush points.

As planned, First Brigade scattered in to small company sized groups west of the city. If there was even slightest resistance, they were to block all entrances or exits, including rail lines, as quickly as possible.

Spot Island
Southern Command of the Saint Fedskian Navy is headquarted on the remote southern outpost of Spot Island. The three hundred or so vessels of the First Fleet call it home. It is approximately 1600km South-South-East of St. Clair and 1200km South East of the Sunset Islands. Also calling it home is the Tac-B, the only tactical bomber wing in the entire Saint Fedskian navy. Tac-B is tasked with the elimination of piracy and smuggling and the protection of natural resources.
(ooc: for information regarding my navy, I will post the link to my old one once I find it. I haven't revamped it yet.)

Currently, First Fleet is located North of Spot Island but South of Spell Island. Two Air Patrols of four fighters from each carrier are in the air during at any given moment during peacetime operations. Early detection is provided by a landbased AWACS and a single carrierborne E-2C.
(ooc: As far as I know CAPs are active but I could be wrong)

OOC: For reference, Tenuria is located in the far north and its southernmost sector -- Oversector Eleven, as established in this thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=542553), is something like 700-800 km south of the mainland.

In space, a single Damalgian satellite shifted position slightly and settled into a geosynchronous orbit. I only mention this because it is quite noticeable: area static increases as a result, some electronic devices cease to function. Damalgian sensors are too powerful to remain invisible. But the picture they return to Inquisitor Naelgard, of the First Fleet of the Saint Fedskian Navy, is nearly complete. From aboard his transport he considered: The Damalgians were approaching from the north, and would have to loop around the Sunset Islands to reach Girardi Island safely; the satellite had recorded fleet motions relatively close to the islands, and Naelgard was uncomfortable with that. He tapped in a sequence of keys and, in Tengrad, an officer gave a command to a second satellite.

Naelgard sat back. Now to wait for the images of Treasure Island and Girardi Island itself, and to analyze their air defenses. In the back of his mind he wondered irritably why nobody else had thought to do this before deploying.

To: Air Marshall Dubius Briggs
From: Field Marshall Maximus Obliqus
Re: Operation Escalator

Ten T4s will be making a brief stop in Melbourne at 5:00am. Their passengers will be disembarking as the T4s are needed as part of Operation Escalator. TH-53s will be arriving to pick up the soldiers at approximately 6:00am. During this time the base will be closed to all air and ground traffic. Maritime traffic is still permitted providing it does not interfere with units participating in Operation Escalator.

FM M. Obliqus
Commander In Chief
Armed Forces of Saint Fedski



En Route to Objective - 6:00am
21st Clearwater Light Infantry Division
The helicopters had been flying for an hour, with the soldiers exposed to the steady blasts of air from above and the front as they sat on the benches on either side. Having flown in a relatively straight line until minutes before touchdown, they scattered, each heading to their own landing site. Once landed, they would be occupying small, but important positions.

The only defensible area within the immediate vicinity of the intersection was a small brick and shingle two storey gas station and general store. Naturally it offered the best view both east and west along Highway 34, but it also provided the best view south along Highway 50. It presented an obvious target to the Saint Fedskian forces and as such, the actual intersection was not the primary defensive position. A small bridge over a creek, flanked by swamp lands presented a natural choke point while a wooden foot bridge about a hundred meters north provided a way to flank the surprised Saint Fedskians. South, towards the town of Manitoba were two wide dirt roads that used covered wooden bridges to get across the river.

County Road 3 was three kilometers away in the middle of the thickest jungle. So thick was it that there was not even a single foot path available to tramp through easily. Thick trees were only meters apart while thorny bushes were tangled by roots of every size that protruded from the ground at odd angles.

Rural Route 6 was an additional five kilometers south. It passed through the complete opposite kind of terrain. South of the road was swamp, usually shallower than a meter but the odd deep pocket dipping below the three meter mark. North of the road was a low meadow with grass only a meter or so high. A mere kilometer north of Rural Route 6 was the same jungle that County Road 3 cut through.

A helicopter had dropped off its passengers at each bridge, barely stopping before they hopped off, then rush back to Fort St. Clair at full speed to pick up the other half of the squad. The infantry had began moving west across the bridge, looking for defensible positions all the while keeping an eye out for signs of Saint Fedskian activity.

The ground force continued to race towards the intersection at full speed. The lead elements were three quartes of the way there with the main body only about half. It would be another half an hour until reinforcements and supplies would arrive for the isolated outposts.

Melbourne Air Force Base - 5:40am
9th Clearwater Infantry Division

The ten planes flew in over the air base, circling first as a precaution before landing. All was still.
The only signs of life came from a small handful of individuals working near a line of fifteen or twenty fully armed Little Birds. As planned, the aircraft landed and came to a stop a short distance away from the hangers. Before dropping the tailgate and opening the doors, the V-CAT all terrain vehicles were uncovered prior to being mounted in started. All at once the aircraft opened up, releasing one hundred armed utility vehicles and 1800 soldiers. Quickly spreading out, some of the vehicles sped towards the control tower, others to the command centre and even more so to the half dozen barracks. Exits also had vehicles speeding to them to lock the gates thus preventing escape and security breaches. The unmounted infantry sprinted towards the various hanger buildings looking to secure whatever aircraft were housed inside.

Once their passengers had been dismounted, the aircraft took to the skies again, heading back to Fort St. Clair to await further orders.

The helicopters were still twenty to thirty minutes away and were carrying additional reinforcements and supplies.

Zas - 5:30am
Local Militia
The Saint Fedskian regular moves had caught the local militia totally by surprise. One of the members who lived along the highway, made a phone call alerting them to the movement of heavy armour. By the time the local "officers" had been raised, the bulk of the Saint Fedskian forces were in place and conducting their operations. The entire police department of Zas was now locked up, but kept seperate from the regular inmates. Militia armouries and weapons caches were seized from the lockups in the police stations while gun stores were blockaded and prevented from opening to the public.

This was a serious blow to the local resistance. How were they supposed to hang on until help arrived when all they could use were their own personal weapons, which only a few members posessed? It was decided they would meet at the West Fire Station to decide the best course of action, until then, resistance was prohibited.