NationStates Jolt Archive

"There is no value to interference with our armed struggle, for the fight can not be put down while men and women have legs to lift them and arms to carry it!

"Listen, all you governments as would think it wise to send armies against a cause, to we who would live on without legal consent!

"Hear us when we swear this!- in defeat of our Soviet Militias and People's Armies, and even with our limbs lost, the fight for freedom will be caught in our teeth and dragged if we have to crawl on our bellies through the mountains to China, or float on our backs to the shores of Europe and America!"

-Comrade Abu Patel, Indian Red Army

The Indian Soviet Commonwealth of Beddgelert is wrapped in celebrations as the revolution marches on, feeling invulnerable as Portmeirion announces that, tonight, the population has passed twelve billion heads. But not everyone is content to rest on the great red throne that Beddgelert has built for itself on the sub-continent. Some see it not as a seat but a springboard from where to launch into the world-wide Final Conflict oft referenced in Igovian propaganda and anticipated as a final victorious show-down with the Freemarketeers and Bolshevists.

In lawless North Andaman, ostensibly under Azazian control since the Igovian revolution, but practically a den of piracy and vice, a radical element steels itself for action, appearing from without to be nothing more than the assembly of another piratical band.

Comrade Abu Patel and several others -men and women, Dravidians and Celts, Hindus and Atheists- were meeting for one last time before dispersing across the globe to seed terror in the black hearts of rich men and fan the waning flames of hope in the dimmed spirits of the oppressed.

Flight BG910, Bangkok-Heathrow via Karachi

The distinctive scarlet form of a Soviair JaF-330 passenger plane sailed through Mid Asian skies after refuelling in the Commonwealth, at Jinnah International, most of its 311 multi-national passengers and 14 Soviet Indian crew having boarded in Bangkok, Thailand, save a few who came on at Karachi, replacing a couple who alighted there.

Beddgelert's strict new laws on air travel were directed more at efficiency than security as was of primary interest abroad. New proceedures in airspace and on the apron were designed to minimise fuel consumption, and tight regulations meant that, suddenly, dirty old aircraft were either banned completely from Soviet airspace or slapped with heavy penalties. The failure of last-years monsoon belt cost the Commonwealth billions of dollars, and environmentalism was suddenly a matter of urgent national security. On the up side, from a commercial point of view, this meant that travel aboard the Commonwealth's own highly efficient JaF Triple Series airliners was actually a little cheaper as fuel consumption fell by a couple of percent, and foreigners -even from the 1st world- were suddenly using the previously taboo Soviet carrier.

Lazing in their seats, some passengers sipped at Ceylon tea or, in the case of some Geletians and a couple of intrepid -or naive- foreigners, a snifter of skull-cracking Geletian wine, listening on their complimentary headsets to Geletian folk-punk or adapted-for-radio ancient Sanskrit theatre. Those who chose to turn on the screens provided in the back of the headrest of the seat in front could watch the latest out of Bollywood, or Kollywood, or a documentary on how property is theft and central-planning is rape, while a few chose instead to watch the satellite map that showed BG910's position over the earth. We're over the Caspian... nnnnow!

Just then, over every seat, an orange light blinked on, and headsets were interrupted by a familiar tone. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. This is your Captain speaking. This flight is now under the control of the Indian Red Army. Please, return to your seats in an orderly fashion and fasten your safety belts."

In the aisle, a couple of flight attendants frowned or cracked stupid smiles as they looked around, apparently as surprised as everyone else, but their alarm was suddenly magnified when they realised that several of their number did not appear to share it, and were in fact giving them chilly stares. The shift leader appeared from the galley and, with a jerk of his head, called the rest of the staff from their duties. Confused, they hurried to gather behind the curtains, leaving passengers to exchange dumbfounded glances and engulf the cabin with a blanket of murmers.

Liberation, Nicobar Province, United Kingdom of Oceania

From the coast, as the cruise liners and aircraft made their final approaches, Liberation looms large. As a city, it is an oddly placed: before the city, sparkling white beaches and clear shallow waters that drop into a deep, turquoise Indian Ocean; behind the city, a sharply rising hill covered with redwood trees. The few square kilometres of relatively flat land was covered with high-rises and skyscrapers that glittered in the tropical sun. To many Liberation—and the nearby cities of Brownabad and Port Blair—were tropical paradises. Luxurious escapes for wealthy Oceanians.

The wealthy arrived at the airport on the far side of the island. Those that deemed themselves too important to ride the high-speed rail link to central Liberation took limousines and private shuttles to the gated and walled districts in the city centre. Few deigned to look out the windows.

For the outskirts and alleys contained a far grimmer picture than most would dare acknowledge. The Indian Islands exhibited one of the greatest localised rich-poor divides in the United Kingdom. Posters and propaganda fluttered in the breezes that whipped through the alleyways as the luxury saloons and shuttles passed. Perhaps the only true sign of a discontent with the existing state of affairs was the electoral success of the Democratic Socialist Party.

A part of the people. The working class people. But in the late 1990s, a young politician arrived in distant Georgetown. He introduced economic liberalisation to the economy and the Democratic Socialist platform. The wealthy saw one of their own and rallied around the quiet and charismatic Alistair Tetley. Since the 1990s, the Indian Islands had been a bulwark of the party.

But no longer. The Democratic Socialist posters still hung carefully in the airport and the lobbies of the hotels and salons. But no longer in the alleys. They were still present; but they now were soaked with the runoff, oil, and detritus defining the alleys and the lower classes. In their place hung new posters. Posters declaring a "fight for freedom."

***

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Explosion Rocks Central Liberation
Liberation—An explosion in the central city square outside the Liberation Stock Exchange has killed three people and wounded five more. While physical damage was limited to the shattered glass fronts of the High Street shops, the markets in the Oceanian province fell some 6.5%.

The bombing comes on the heels of the tragedy in the Oceanian colony in Sarnia, where a helicopter crash in the aftermath of a terrorist attack claimed the life of King George and former prime minister Lord Salisbury.

In Georgetown, both the Conservatives and Democratic Socialists condemned the bombing. Thus far, however, no group has claimed responsibility.

Soviet India

In the Commonwealth, minutes after receiving an alarming communication from Soviair, GSIC commanders and various Popular Consuls were assembled, many in person, others contributing via Indonet. Initially, there were doubts about the severity of the situation, and a miscommunication was being widely touted. Then, via the Gadar! newsmedia service carried by Indonet, the group learned of the bomb attack in Liberation.

Earlier suggestions of Islamists from the Pakhtunkhwa Soviet State, Hindu nationalists, or even Geletian Fascists as suspects in the yet unconfirmed hijacking were suddenly eclipsed. "Naxalites?" ventured one participant, giving voice to what most were thinking.

Even as the Igovians were moving to blame India's long diminishing Maoist camp, a Comrade Abu Patel was broadcasting a pre-recorded message over pirate radio in the Andamans and posting on Indonet, the Commonwealth's intranet, with a claim of responsibility for the previously unidentified Indian Red Army in the bombing in Liberation, though details and motives were not yet forthcoming.

BG910

Passengers looked on as their cabin crew's numbers diminished, all retreating behind the curtains while only three re-emerged. One passenger rose from his seat and headed towards the cockpit, clasping one of three remaining cabin crew by the shoulder as he passed by. The three attendants set to reassuring the passengers. Everything would be all right so long as they remained calm and stayed in their seats.

In the cockpit, the passenger was greeted warmly by the aircraft's captain, and wasted little time in binding the hands of the unconscious co-pilot, whom he promptly dragged back to the galley where a number of cabin crew were already disabled in a similar fashion. By now the three-engine Triple-series jet was moving over the caucasus and turning slightly to port, seemingly in contradiction with its original London destination.

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Unknown Terror Group Claims Responsibility for Liberation Bombing
Georgetown—The Prime Minister's Office has roundly condemned the actions of the previously unknown Indian Red Army, who have been airing a claim of responsibility for the bombing in Liberation. The Government has also indicated that the bombing might not be the work of the main group.

Anonymous sources inside the Colonial Office have acknowledged that the Indian Red Army is a viable terror organisation which has been establishing a base in the Andaman Islands. This development, the sources continued to say, is despite local attempts to shut down the organisation.

Inside the United Kingdom's intelligence community there are signs of slight surprise. Sources inside the Royal Intelligence Service admit that they have been tracking known members of the Indian Red Army, who have expressed a desire to strike at what deride as a corrupt, capitalist Oceania. RIS sources added that the Indian Red Army had not been thought capable of striking in such a publicly visible fashion. However, they also pointed out that while the bombing was tragic, that only three people had died and the markets in Liberation rebounded the following day.

Experts in terrorism and insurgencies point to the unsophisticated nature of what local constabulary officials are declaring a "crude pipe bomb." Local chief, Duncan Rogers, has expressed his views that the action was organised not by the Indian Red Army proper, but rather ideological sympathisers.

Regardless, most in Government—including the sources interviewed for this article—now privately admit that the United Kingdom faces a growing terrorist threat in the previously peaceful Indian Islands. This threat comes as instability grows in Oceanian Sarnia and continues at lower levels in various Oceanian colonies throughout the world.

BG910

"Father George Smith?" The big Celt almost spat as he read from a list contained on a crumpled piece of paper. His flight attendant's jacket had been removed and tie pointedly cut by a menacing kirpan that he had presumably been able to get aboard because of his position as a crewmember. No more noose around this worker's neck, he replaced the tie with a silver torque styled after a broken noose, open at the front, symbolic of the fact that here was a free man.

"I'm George Smith." Ventured a balding middle aged man in seat 14G, raising his hand. He was quickly jostled from his seat by another flight attendant, an Indo-Aryan woman with a Tokalert 9mm automatic pistol in her left hand, and prompted by several jabs of the muzzle to answer the Celt's questions.

"What is your profession?" He was asked, knowingly.
"Servant of God!" Smith protested.
The Celt snorted. "Where does your master live?"
"Everywhere!" The defiant reply.

The big man looked to his female comrade. "Take this down, 'G.Smith, describing himself as a servant of one called God, a vagrant.'" And then, looking back to Father Smith, "All right, forward with you." And the priest was shoved down the aisle and behind the curtain.

The big man and his gun-toting comrade made their way on to First Class, where there would be no more need of the list that had picked a few individuals from amongst the Economy Class seats. "Everybody up. This side first."

The airliner by now was heading on to the Black Sea and continuing west. Now air traffic controllers across the region were beginning to notice that the Soviair liner was straying off course, and alarm bells might be starting to sound.

BG910

Boots thudded rhythmically onto dry soil, dust rising to shroud the legs of the Taheisans. Sweat glistened on dark faces, CR-15 rifles thrust into the air. Guttural shouts crowded one another out. Vats of potent liquor, the village's primary industry, sat lined up in neat rows outside decrepit huts. Vorodyen lay on his belt buckle, rifle at the ready, trusting his safety to the local vegetation. Like the other three in his patrol, he was in "greenface", and like the other three in his patrol he was staying still. A large spider skittered across the dirt, chasing a insect van Roux had no time to identify before it was torn apart. He shuddered involuntarily. A drawn out Taheisan bellow caught everyone's attention and welded hands to weapons with white hot needles of adrenaline.

The fighters stopped running, lowered their rifles - meticulously maintained - to port arms, and listened to their officer. Physical training finished for the day, they went to classes. Vorodyen and the counterinsurgency specialists, for that was what PRELIKAZ had trained them to be, sat quietly in their observation post. They watched.

In his seat, Vorodyen tipped his head forward onto his chest and exhaled powerfully through the nose, trying to clear the remembered stench of Zanwesia (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=543648) from his consciousness. He looked left, then right. His fellow passengers were displaying all the classic signs of high stress. Turbulence? Then he saw the roughly aggressive shape of a semiautomatic handgun, wielded by what he'd come to know as an Indo-Aryan. Well. I slept too long. Scratching his neck, he feigned nonchalance. After his service in the RA, he was surprised to find himself in PRELIKAZ. After his service with the Covingsland Defence Forces as an advisor, he was surprised to have survived God's cesspit. And then he was surprised to have survived some of his travels. With characteristic fatalism, Vorodyen looked over to his friend Vorobiev.

Vorobiev (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=547829) tapped the screen in front of him. Flight BG910 was over the Black Sea. A pleasant vacation spot to be sure, but both Russkyans aboard BG910 were looking forward to Heathrow and the flight back to the People's Socialist Republic. Ivan Nikolayevich ran fingers through a close-cropped beard and shared a look with Vorodyen. Well friend, maybe we'll get to see our grandfathers again after all.

(OOC: Tag with B account / bump. I'll probably make a proper post tomorrow, revealing BG910's immediate destination. Still room for people to claim some of the passengers as their nationals!)

BG910

Dead south of Chişinău, east of Varna, the JaF -January Fort Brennus Co-operative Aviation Plant- airliner was making a little more than three hundred knots as the East Balkans loomed on the horizon. The plane began to bank gently to starboard as the pilot made a final adjustment before beginning a slow descent.

If Vorobiev were awake while his comrade dreamed, he would be one of few extra-Commonwealth citizens sat close enough to a couple of Geletian kids to hear them whispering when the hijackers first made themselves known. If the pair -a brother and sister both under ten years old- could be believed, the passenger (another Celt) who had gone to the cockpit and since returned to help identify passengers on that list, was one Awirenwrus Anhrefnomarus. Whatever that meant!

Closer attention would reveal the brother, after rooting through his carry-on baggage, was clutching a trading card topped with the heading Y Sbortóanghii! and depicting an ice hockey player bearing a clear resemblance to that hijacker, in action at some past Cherry Cup.

To anyone in the know, Y Sbortóanghii -the Young Sporting Warriors- were Soviet India's first international ice hockey side, raised from the ranks of guards and staff at one of the sub-continent's most secretive and infamous re-education facilities (which had existed during the authoritarian First Commonwealth in the 1980s) where prisoners of war from Iansisle were held in secret after their nation's disastrous 1984 intervention against Communist forces at the Battle of Salvador. Iansislian POWs at the facility in the fridgid northern mountains, released only after the fall of the Communist Party of India (Amalgamated Maoist-Leninist) in 1989, were seen playing hockey on icey days, and the sport eventually received a cult following in the land where field hockey was the official national sport, the Indo-Aryan and Dravidian majorities called cricket their shared religion, and the Celts all played Geletian rules football. Y Sbortóanghii surprised many by scoring a number of unlikely victories in their Cherry Cup appearances, largely due to the sheer power and energy they poured into the game. Awirenwrus had been a starting defender with a lengthy necklace of opponents' teeth, and as such was a minor celebrity in Beddgelert.

Alas, the rest of the hijackers seemed to stir little recognition in the youngsters.

The rate of the plane's descent suddenly increased, causing wails from the children as their ears popped painfully, and it became quite clear that they would land in the East Balkans. Whether or not anybody amongst the passengers had even heard of the tiny and lately war-torn People's Socialist Republic of Bulgislavia, it seemed, would have little bearing on whether or not they got to visit the uninspiring and little-used tarmac of Terevesti International...

"These men are communist terrorists doing thier part in helping the cause so of course in theory we would support them..... But doing deals or helping them could bring serious consequences to the government and its such an important descision that I can not believe the awful timing" said Acting Leader Humar.

Mehmet Çeau was currently at a international conference in the RBI.

"Allow the plane to land. I think we canturn the situation around so we can have it both ways. Ask if they want to refuel and try to convince them to release hostages" Humar hung up the phone

The Airport staff radioed the plane and said they had the all clear to land at the airport and that some government representatives were waiting to recieve the leader of the movement for hostage negotiations. The "Government Representatives" were actually sernior members of the Cigouriva.

The airport was fully guarded by the Cigouriva and some of the IRA's comrades in Bulgislavia were also present at the airport. Those members who were converted to thier cause during the recent upheavel in Bulgislavia

Terevesti International, Bulgislavia

More than likely the landing of flight BG910 in Bulgislavia had surprised international observers, and that suited the hijackers just fine. After a few moments on the tarmac, the aircraft's door was hauled open, and the pilot asked for stairs to be brought over.

In the cockpit, while the radio was not transmitting, Awirenwrus and the pilot chatted freely, resuming the roles of hijacker and hostage pilot when the tower was contacted.

"Tower, the lead hijacker tells me that he'll release some hostages. We've an elderly couple from Beddgelert, and the husband is having breathing problems. They're going to bring out two children who were supposed to meet their parents in London."

While the four passengers were being prepared to evacuate by the main door on the aircraft's forward port side, a door to starboard was cracked open, just a little, and pocket laser shon forth to alert waiting comrades to prepare to come aboard from this direction, obscured to most of the airport's buildings.

Portmeirion, Raipur, the Indian Soviet Commonwealth of Beddgelert

A general press release from the heart of democracy, as Beddgelens called their Final Soviet, confirmed to the world that a Soviair international flight, BG910, Bangkok-Karachi-Heathrow, had been hijacked, seemingly by a newly identified group calling itself the Indian Red Army, which had just claimed responsibility for a lethal bombing in the Oceanian-controlled Nicobar Islands. Gadar! (Revolution, the state media outlet) would keep the world updated on the flight's progress, saying that it was believed to have been headed last for the tiny Balkan nation of Bulgislavia.

BG910, on the tarmac of Terevesti International

While certainly not specialists in hostage rescue - Vorodyen and Vorobiev both hailed from Light Infantry units - the two Russkyans didn't have to be to understand that the flight was only truly safe when it was in the air, or to a lesser extent while taxiing. As the Soviair liner stopped, both men closed their eyes and rested their heads on their folded forearms, elbows on their knees. The thinking was that if the airliner was stormed, any assault team would be engaging heads above the level of the seats.

Both knew from personal experience that in close combat, someone's expression often identified them as much as their uniform or equipment when the shooting started; and neither man was likely to be surprised by sudden bursts of gunfire after their experiences in Karain. An unsurprised face, surrounded by so many shocked faces would likely be a target to an inexperienced assaulter. Vorodyen did not have a high opinion of the Bulgislavian security forces, and Vorobiev didn't know enough to pass judgement one way or another. Both hoped that their actions would not raise the ire of the hijackers.

(OOC: This is a bit of a stretch, I think and hope that Bulgislavia will be basically okay with it. I wanted to move on, rather than wait. Feel free to shoot me a telegram if you think I've jumped ahead too far.)

Terevesti

The four Beddgelen citizens having made their way out of the aircraft were now, essentially, under Bulgislavian custody, but it had to be expected that foreigners would arrive soon to question them, and the locals and airport staff. BG910 had Russkyans and Thais and British and others aboard, and they'd not been allowed out.

The old couple and the two children had exited on one side of the plane, and seven Red Army comrades had snuck aboard on the other side, beyond prying eyes. Some were Indian, some were Bulgislavian.

Now the plane started to move again, making to take-off once more. So far as the media was concerned, 4 hostages were released, and in return some fuel was given to the plane by Bulgislavia, and that was all that had happened...

Would anyone turn up to question the released hostages?

Terevesti

"Three, uh, four of them." The old woman stammered as her husband was given oxygen. "Yes, there was one man..." "Awirenwrus Anhrefnomarus!" interrupted the young lad, "...and three of the cabin crew were helping them. They tied up the others, and I saw the co-pilot tied-up as well, when they lead us out."

Due to the sloth of security forces around the world, the released hostages were speaking first to a television crew in Bulgislavia, giving their account to the world.

BG910, meanwhile, was taking off once more with a full load of fuel, the local authorities keen to see the back of it and happy to show-off the most vulnerable hostages, whose release they had secured. Aboard, quite unbeknownst to anyone outside of the aircraft and the upper reaches of the IRA network, the four hijackers -and the secretly involved pilot- had been joined by seven further armed comrades, some of them Bulgislavians recruited by Patel's organisation. The aircraft was headed generally southwest.

(OOC: If anyone else is interested, there's still room for claiming some passengers as your nationals. Since I'm off to a belated winter solstice do (shh), chances are the IRA will do something crazy a few drunken hours from now ;) )