NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC:]

CLOSED and MT.[/U] The OOC Thread is HERE, (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=578515) use it.
My first thread of this nature, I’ve worked on it a while. It blends in quite neatly with my nation’s history and future. This is open freely to the ASGARD nations and Alfegos, who I invited. Nations not signed up already may freely reply to the opening communiqué and subsequent diplomatic interests but may not commit military forces]

IC:



The RRG. It was a name that all Antigrans knew well and also one that struck many with fear and many with perhaps fond memories. The abbreviation, translated, meant Republic Revolutionary Group, and this group would be familiar also to those of the multinational force that fought them in the last Antigran civil war, thirty-five years ago, 1972, and subsequently lost. The beloved Royal Family was thrown out purely as a way of keeping even and total control over the cracked country, and this was where Marten Boden became known as he was. He headed the Free Republic Committee, a peaceful but fairly powerful assortment of normal citizens that debated the various merits of a totally free Antigr, one with no royal family, to say the least. Boden had risen to a position of power within the rebel group that ruled Antigr and decided, one night in March of ’72, to fulfil the FRC’s aim in a sudden move against the Royal Family. That was that. Antigr was a republic. Little of particular note happened until the rebel government, the people becoming bitter, held reluctant elections and was eventually beaten by Mr. Nielsen’s Democratic Socialist party, a reformation of the previous government over excessive unemployment and matters of the economy. Nielsen, new to this position of power, nonetheless worked wonders over the twelve years he was in power and in 1983, ten years on, it impossibly seemed Antigr is as it was. The overthrow and exile of the royal family had caused a severe loss of power and stability in Antigr, and the majority of the people began to miss them. Skipping time to a date two decades on, the royal family quite suddenly returned with King Fredrik II, taking his name from his father, widely remembered as the nation’s previous King. Three decades in exile was a long journey and a long time, and it is unknown why the family did not return earlier. However, much of the royal family was back, albeit slightly older, and the people readily accepted them as the new royals, Antigr becoming once again a Constitutional Monarchy. In the shadows, however, Boden bided his time with a re-established group. The RRG.

Antigr – A Brief History, Pages 442-443. 2007 Edition.


The six soldiers that lined the front roadway towards the sheer and magnificent Sæther palace in central Auston stood in their red dress uniforms, shining, unique polished steel helmets resting on their heads. Everything from their chin-straps to ammunition pouches gleamed in the summer sun, their muscled arms supporting the four-kilogram SeG-3 battle rifles with ease. The weapons had white slings and were polished to the highest degree, including the fixed bayonets, the wooden stocks of the weapons still in pristine condition despite many years of service as a frontline, then second line and parade rifle. Behind them were two more soldiers of the King Crown Guard and then the impressive black and gold-coloured sheer metal gates. Behind that, quite suddenly, was the palace, the tanned blocks that it consisted mainly of shining in the midday sun. Behind the façade was a well-designed building with several missile batteries and antiaircraft guns recessed into the roof and inner sides, but nonetheless the beautiful outer palace beckoned to tourists like a magnet to iron filings. All this could be seen through the telescopic sight of a stolen state armoury G430A1 bolt-action sniper rifle, the man wielding it silhouetted invisibly against the unlit room across the square in which he hid. Four .338 Lapua Magnum rounds rested in the magazine. One in the chamber. The safety catch was set to the red-painted [F] setting and a finger rested on the match trigger. Erik Suneson was ready to take a decisive shot.
__________________

The KRB, a translation of Royal National Security Command, was Antigr’s home and away intelligence agency. It would surprise many that it could be compromised to this degree, but a good third of the population had turned in the 1970-72 civil war and they were everywhere now, leading normal lives. A quarter of these were still deeply ‘loyal to the cause’ and the extremely low-profile wake-up call that had rippled around Antigr had totally escaped even the KRB. Sir Jonatan Bakke led the Auston station and was totally unaware that his systems and data were corrupt. Of course, a man like him knew of the possibility of something like this, a committee was even set up to debate the stability of a mixed Antigr, but the reformed country was resentful and so, inevitably, the employment of the ‘other half’ of the nation would create a hidden crack right down the middle of Antigr. No-one really cared, however – that was well over thirty-five years ago, and it was deemed unlikely that such a thing would develop.
In the corner of the room, Officer Rebecka Enckell discreetly observed her colleagues of Station 2, unaware. The word played in her mind, dancing up and down while the marvelled the very idea of it. The entire intelligence service was completely ignorant of what was going on. Of course, such evidence of a crack in Antigr had awoken every single one of the state’s enemies that their target was weak. All the meaningless acronyms that represented groups, large or small, that would exploit this sudden new weakness. ANB. BCC. CERE. DRA. EMM. FTA. KKAD. All of them were significant and wanted to strike at any given moment, and they were by no means the complete list. She knew for a fact three had been employed for what the leader had simply and flatly called ‘Zero Hour’, and the Alfegan intelligence agencies had just handed over an alert over two groups, the People’s Revolutionary Army and The Worker's Brotherhood, who were seemingly ‘gearing up’ for something. Little did they know. So very, pitifully little.
__________________

The sound the rifle emitted was sharp, loud and short. And dramatic in result. The 8.58mm round punctured the shiny steel helmet of the King Crown Guard sergeant with ease, striking with an unpleasant thump the man’s skull, releasing a trickle of blood as his rifle fell and he slumped to the ground. He was dead. Erik Suneson calmly observed the result for a split second through the sight before calmly drawing the bolt up, backwards, forwards, and then down again, ramming home the bolt with a metallic click as a hot, fresh, brass cartridge case was ejected. His mind was blank, sickly, strangely blank as he felt the kick of the weapon again. Another man fell. Aiming ever so slightly ahead of his prey, a third shot rang out from the weapon as another guardsman fell. A well-sighted soldier had dived behind a massive concrete block that made up the gateposts and returned fire to the muzzle flash, his burst nonetheless inaccurate as the bullets struck the building next to him and the crowd of tourists began to scatter. Even from this range, Suneson could hear the beginning of an alarm to scramble the guards and police sirens. Still, he calmly continued sniping. Over the next twenty seconds, five men fell. The scene was dramatic but familiar, disturbingly familiar as a police officer fell to a burst of sharp, barked gunfire from an SeG-69 assault rifle, a rechambered HK G36. Rebelling civilians and soldiers alike stormed the palace gates.

Inside the palace, King Fredrik II had a pistol in his left hand and two guardsmen either side, running for the west wing of the magnificent building. The guards were gruesomely efficient in their tasks, falling whoever stood in their way with a well-trained efficiency and a burst of automatic gunfire. They were stopped in their tracks by a voice, a lone voice. Fredrik Hallen-Ottestad knew the voice well, for it was a friend that stood in his path, wielding a service PT-3 submachine-gun.
“Home Secretary?”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you continue”
“Of all the people”
“You shall come with me. And my friends here, of course. I shall remind your accomplices that I have a clear shot at your head”
Two infantrymen appeared from behind a corner. Immediately they were recognisable, to the guardsmen, as men of the 64th Grenadiers Division. The situation had got a level more serious.
“I shall give you five seconds”
“Don’t give me this shit, Mikael”
“Three. Two. One”
The Home Secretary barked orders to the two soldiers, who began to raise their weapons. The guardsmen were doing the same, over what felt like several minutes but was in fact less than two seconds. The suited figure moved his submachine-gun slightly, aiming at the King’s head. It was then that he shot him, then one of the soldiers in quick succession, smoking KK sidearm in hand as the pistol discharged five times. A guardsman dealt with the other, having drawn his weapon the quicker, the infantryman going down spraying the ceiling with gunfire. King Fredrik moved closer to the dead Home Secretary as the guardsmen ran on, towards the armoured vehicle compound.
“Always those you’d least expect…”
“We must hurry, your Majesty”

The King ran for his life. The guardsmen ahead of him had been joined by whom he recognised as two of his long-suffering advisors, both wielding Walther P99s, struggle from an office. From the looks on their faces, he expected they’d just killed the first people they ever had, and they began to follow him as the group hurtled past another lone soldier guarding the doorway to the armoured vehicle compound. It was essentially a garage that led out to one of the many arch-shaped gateways from the palace, and, in the brief moments before he was ushered into the back of an MT-92 – a heavy armoured personnel carrier based on the hull of a Marauder medium tank – he saw the two unofficial 140mm assault guns kept in the compound revving their engines, which meant that things were truly kicking off. The interior of the APC was dark except for the outside lights and the yellow bulkhead light on either side, further forward. The next he knew he was on the floor of the vehicle as it accelerated, looking across at the commander operating the 13.2mm RWS machine-gun mount through his wide-angle periscope, the sound of the weapon deafening as it tore through the ammunition belt at 540rpm, cutting down rebelling soldiers and civilians with deadly aim. He heard a characteristic breaking of glass as a ‘Molotov cocktail’, a crude home-made petrol bomb, broke over the frontal arc of the vehicle, making no impression on the thick armour but scattering burning shards of brittle glass and fuel over the glacis plate. He winced as the sound of a 140mm high-velocity ETC gun ripped through the square, taking out – Shit. Shit. An MT-54 medium tank of the 40th “City of Auston” division had it’s turret torn from it’s bearings as stored charges combusted, another identical vehicle emerging from behind the burning wreck to fire it’s older, standard 120mm gun at the second assault gun.

The King tore himself away from the vision port as the round struck the assault gun’s left flank doing nearly it’s initial muzzle speed, detonating the ERA armour protecting it. The explosion was huge as the HEAT round was destroyed in a combined explosion with the armour. While the vehicle’s armour was not compromised, the impact lifted the vehicle almost onto it’s side before the left track made contact with earth again. While the vehicle was operable, there was probably splinter and spall damage, even beyond the capabilities of the spall liner. It was several seconds before the vehicle moved, but by now the MT-54’s loader had a 120mm charge in his hand, ready to ram it in and close the breach while the first assault gun turned towards it. There had to be only a second’s difference as smoke and a wall of sheer flame belched from the assault gun’s cannon, the APDSFS round ripping into the right-hand side of the vehicle and almost tearing through the engine and out again before it was contained by the left-hand side armour plating. The crew was most certainly dead, a lone hat visible lying on the floor of the turret basket through the hole that had been made. King Fredrik turned to the Captain manning the carrier’s machine-gun.
“Sound the retreat, captain. There must be entire divisions in the city”
“Should not we hold Auston, sir? My men - ”
“Your men know nothing of what is happening, as I do not. Take the regiment anywhere, but take it not to here”
“Tronsjo aerodrome”
“You are the soldier. Now, get us away from this inferno”
__________________

That the guards regiment had managed to disengage from combat at all was, to say the least, a testament to their status and training, for a mere ten soldiers were found to be disloyal to their monarch. The Captain, commander of the APC, was also commander of one of a few mechanised companies within the regiment and his genius showed, for Tronsjo military aerodrome was easily defendable, secure, and manned, in part, by soldiers of the King Crown Guard, the airfield one of few places deemed suitable as a base for Green Leader, the fully decked-out command aircraft of the King and Prime Minister. The aircraft was a feat of engineering, using variable-cycle engines and capable of Mach 1.83, at a size approaching that of the infamous Concorde. My god. He thought. It’s all going spectacularly well. With what guardsmen had identified as rebelling divisions – the known ones being the 64th Grenadiers, 29th and 40th “City of Auston”, 344th Armoured, 81st and 109th Infantry, and the 11th Motor Rifles – by their own eyes, since all command structure had not yet even begun to recover, had stormed all of west and north Auston, with marine units in the city south struggling to disengage from a partially unknown enemy. The 109th Infantry division was reported to have advanced into the eastern district of Auston, with forward units nearing the airfield. Nonetheless, Green Leader was in the process of an emergency refuelling and resupplying in Hangar C. Men had already being caught trying to crudely sabotage the aircraft and two hundred, by count, had slipped away. The enemy was truly everywhere. The King was inside the aircraft as air force personnel surged around him, in front of a computer with guards around him and further down the aircraft, as well as two men guarding the cockpit. The message he was typing was one he’d never hope for, the mere heading never used before. The cursor blinked in front of him.


http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Flag_Pic01.png


ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
[b]The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Leaders of the World
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir/Madam,

I address this broadly to the nations of the world in a situation of true emergency. The term ‘civil war’ may suit this time, although I cannot truly be sure as I do not know myself. Earlier today, from what I can gather, rebelling soldiers and armed civilians attempted to storm my palace, presumably to kill me. I escaped, though I shall not endear you with the details, me and my guards regiment as a whole had close encounters with a total of five known rebelling divisions as we retreated to our current location, which I cannot disclose for this message will likely be intercepted. Nonetheless, an intelligence commander has told me that this is an effort by an Antigran group, most probably the RRG, or Republic Revolutionary Group. In the last civil war, a fight which was essentially republicans versus royalists, I was exiled as a boy and learned of the events over the television. Once the war was over, to make a long story quite short, the country healed itself, and so sealing over the crack that split the two halves of the country and each side’s two ideals. It is likely that the storming of my palace was the reopening of that crack, and so the very heart of the nation is split. Over the next few days, I expect entire army corps to take sides and the country to be further torn limb from limb. My prime minister is missing and, as I type, I am within range of rebel artillery and long-range sniper fire.

So, this is an appeal for help to stabilise my country and to return it’s rightful monarch to power. It would be noted that sending military forces into the country until forces have seperated would be a disastrous decision. It looks merely like the previous civil war all over again, and so I must plea once again that nations send what help they can give before Antigr becomes two halves once again. Thank you.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.

Cobra Group Inc


To: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State
From: General Max Black, Head of the Cobra Group.

Subject: Military Contract

Dear your majesty,

Cobra Group Inc is a Private Military Company that employs 300,000 Private Contractors or Mercenaries. I wish to offer you the services of 10,000 Mercenaries to aid you against the Rebel Forces. But we have to negotiate a price for their use. We will also need weaponry and vehicles as they only carry a custom made 16inch Combat Knife with personal radios and a personal medical kit each. These men will be there until the job is done. I hope you get back to me on this offer as we wish to rid your country of the rebel scum.

The Ol'vi Cosmodrome - Alfegos

For the few hours before dawn, the cosmodrome lay quiet as the international spaceport was prepared for a new day of receiving and sending out the high-speed flights that the centre specialised in. The site itself was what had made Ol'vi famous, covering fifteen square kilometres. As well as the 6km runway built to receive re-entering sub-orbital and orbital craft returning at high velocities, there were two more conventional runways serving the cosmodrome. But the focus of most people's attention was the rocketry site a few kilometres to the north, the only one of its kind in the nation. Four launch pads stood in permanent repair for the use of commerical rockets, with a further three pads, now overgrown, set aside for the government. Away from the angled blast shields to reduce the force of the more powerful rockets that were launched, an enourmous airship hanger stood modified as a vertical assembly structure, for the construction of the multiple-stage craft the modern space-lift companies used for firing their contraptions into orbit.

By one length of the many hundreds of kilometres of fencing, a man casually walked along, counting the security cameras on watch towers positioned every hundred metres. Each one in range tracked his movements, an infa-red sensor used to cut down on the amount of work needed to be done by the enourmous quantity of equipment on this, the most secure sector of the entire cosmodrome. From the sharp constrasted images provided by the spotlights shining on the man, it was possible to see he held some form of metal case. Reaching some unseen conclusion, the man stopped, before placing down the container.
A few hundred metres away, through a gap in the massive concrete blast shields, a structure could just be seen: the cryogenic fuel facility. Hardened to contain any combustion of the fuel within, the structure resembled a small bunker, clusters of large pipes occasionally entering through the concrete into the hidden interior. A completely impossible target for a prospective terrorist to strike, even through it held the temptation of destruction on a scale that only fifty thousand litres of liquid hydrogen and seventy thousand litres of liquid oxygen could provide. Added to that was the fact it was mostly empty, save for days when a large launch using such fuels was planned. Such as today.

The container opened, in full view of the cameras. The man shown so far had not revealed his face, a scarf hiding the majority of his identifying facial featuers, with an additional thick hat on his head further concealing his details. The cases contents revealed little of his intentions either: the only object inside appeared to be some sort of surveying instrument, complete with tripod. Quickly assembled, it was rotated to face through the gap, before the man flicked a switch on the side. Without any obvious reaction, the man checked over the unit again, removing a side panel to reveal a complex array of circuitry. The one outstanding feature inside was a warning label - the one indicating of a high-powered LASER hazard. After fiddling about with it for a few seconds, there was a rewarding spark of electricty as a loose connection was rectified, followed by the anti-climatic result of a series of lights starting up on the unit. These illuminated the object better, revealing its poor construction - in places, duct tape had been used to hold parts together, whilst in others tangles of wires seemed to be the only thing holding the object together. Soon, the unit began humming, a fan operating to cool some unseen heat source. Distant sirens from police vehicles reminded the man of his next task - to make a call on his mobile phone. Quickly dialling a speed number, he let the phone ring, before hanging up before the person on the other end had chance to respond. By now, the man had started running, now able to see the flicker of blue lights at the end of the road. Not that the Police had any clue what was about to happen. From underneath the coat he wore, a submachinegun was visible, which the man reached for.

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20km NNE of Ol'vi

In the tropical forest of this area, which the military had areas cut out of for training exercises, the dense foliage had long been a favourite refuge for criminals and terrorists of various sorts, hiding them from prying eyes. Modern advances had reduced this advantage the vagabonds had, but still was limited to warm bodies hidden in the forest. For this reason, the truck parked in a small clearing had been left turned off, so it was harder for a routine scan to pick it up. Inside the truck cab, four men sat wherever they could, whilst another twelve waited in three cars parked by the entrance to the clearing. Inside the truck, a single mobile phone sat docked to a hands-free system, plugged in to the vehicle battery to charge. Quiet music played from the radio, as three lay asleep. The other was alert, the darkened cab not letting him easily perform the task he was carrying out on a hidden object on his lap. An assault rifle, AF-07, stripped down and being cleaned for the third time, invisible specks of dust brushed from the gleaming surfaces inside before a thick layer of oil was spread over the moving faces. As the rifle came back together, a series of vibrations came from the mobile phone. The man checked the number that was displayed - exactly the one he was expecting. He had no need to pick it up.
"Right then lads - time to get to work!"
A series of grunts came as the man opened the cab door, turning up the radio to startle them awake.

A minute later, the men had all congregated around the truck, dragging off the heavy tarpaulin off the top of the container on the back, meant normally for carrying gravel or spoil of some type. As it came off, it revealed the back had been converted for quite a different purpose. The light of a head torch shone over the form inside of a large missile,its nose mounted on the large hydraulic ram that would normally tip the loader unit back. Passing through a weld-cut hole, it attached to a more professional-looking device trailing neat wires as it connected to the missile's computer. On the other end, a woman sat at a laptop typing commands.
"Raise the missile to fifty degrees, then clear the area."
The missile was a Yu'xhi-class Short-range Ballistic Missile, which whilst small was a deadly asset during the 1950s. Designed to provide the sort of firepower that bombers were able to provide over heavily-defended areas, it became more famous as a bunker-busting weapon, used to crack open the bunkers of the democrats during the first stages of the 1st Civil War. A two-stage warhead, weighing in at 500kg, designed to drill a hole in the top of the structure with a primary charge and its momentum before a second charge detonated inside the bunker, had been predicted to have the capability of piercing 15 metres of concrete. Having gone 'missing' during the civil war, this missile was one of the many pieces of equipment that had assumed to have been fired off during the war, yet which was still in existence as part of the arsenal of the Peoples Revolutionary Army. A fifty-year old relic, now re-primed to fire with a replacement charge in the warhead providing a more powerful blast, and a modified guidance system linked to the original inertial steering. On the tip of the green-painted device, a shining new infa-red homing sensor sat amongst the old peeling paint.
The missile was finally raised to the correct angle, before they began running. The woman typed a command on the laptop, before disconnecting and following them to the cars. Leaping into the back, she was squashed between three men as the engine started, the car leaping into life and running off. As they passed from the clearing, she coered her eyes as she saw a blast of flame, followed by shockwave that cracked the rear windscreen. The light shot off into the sky, flying upwards before curving in a neat parabola. The inertial guidance system went offline as the missile locked onto the puddle of heat provided by the infra-red LASER on the ground - the top of the Cryogenic Fuel Facility.


_______________________________________________

Towering into the sky nearby was the upright shape of a Helios - II missile. An ICBM by original design, the modification now was to that of a civilian role. In this case, it was not just launching any satellite. Inside the shining metal structure atop the rocket, the first part of the new Palm Space Station was waiting to be placed in its new surrounds, above the nation of Alfegos in geo-stationary orbit. Acting as both a research station and a supply hub, this orbital resource was planned to give Alfegos part of the first steps in a mission to Mars, and from there...
All this was at a cost to the private sector of such that they could not afford to let it go wrong. A backup station lay in a hanger in New Zevkhay, costing an additional Æ8 billion.
Already, the media were gathered to watch this historic event. They were the few of the many thousands of people arriving at the airport, preparing for the morning rush of flights in and outbound. Clouds of steam drifted from the side of the rocket, as the super-cooled fuel began to be pumped from the facility into the fuel tanks, a process that would be complete to allow for its launch as the first few flights flew into the airport. But it was not to be.

The Police left their car, hands reaching for pistols as they moved to confront the man who, previously running, had stopped facing the sky. Turning around, the man held an AMP-04 machinepistol pointed at the two officers, whilst laughing.
"There's no point in even asking me to drop the gun - you're both already dead."
He began firing as the officers started letting rip, a brief exchange of fire caught on the CCTV cameras. 6.3mm pistol rounds hammered into the first officer, taking him down before he had a chance to fire. The second officer was able to react before he too succumbed to a spray of hollow-tip bullets - his Eri'ko-92 pistol fired three times, the more powerful 9mm rounds impacting upon agressor. One singed his shoulder, burning a groove in his skin, whilst the other two found themselves passing through the man's torso. He collapsed backwards, before lifting himself upwards as he checked his back. The rounds had passed straight through him, leaving ugly exit wounds in his back. From the pain, he knew he had been shot through the right lung and in the gut. Crawling over the hard ground, he reached the two downed men, before checking them over. One was dead, his head a mass of blood and gore. The other was still conscious, and reaching about for his pistol.
"Look up, officer. Do you see what I see? As I said - you're both dead."

A bright dot crossed the sky, coming down nearly vertically. The last second of its flight was impossible to see, but its results were visible. A primary blast cut through the concrete on top of the bunker, before the second main charge detonated milliseconds later. The heat and shock of the blast ruptured the high-pressure hydrogen and oxygen containers, gases escaping and mixing in the heated atmosphere, to be ignited. A massive fireball consumed the inside of the facility, the fuel feed pipes shutting off to let the blast find only one way out: by blowing the structure apart. The massive blastwave rushed across the cosmodrome, blasting the rocket over to the sound of a second explosion. It was followed by the fireball, incinerating everything near the fuel plant.

The terrorist and the officer were dead as massive hunks of concrete began crashing down around the airfield, falling from the cloud that mushroomed from the storage facility, joined by the smoke from burning buildings, the ignited jet fuel tanks and the destroyed rocket. In the distance, the sirens started.

_________________________________________________________________
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Somewhere in New Alfegos

New Alfegos had been colonised for many years, yet still the interior of the colony lay relatively untouched. Sometime in its history, the entirety of the island that the colony was but a small part of had been subject to a terrible war, chemical weapons deployed against civilians to drive them from their homes. All that was left behind were the empty towns, with no single person left alive.
Even with this treasure-trove of land to explore, very few experienced adventurers dared wander out into the wilderness. Furthermore, the many young daredevils that disappeared to explore the dead cities often disappeared, with very few returning. The colonists would nod knowingly with every report of a disappearance, whilst at the same time mentally ensuring they knew the exact location of their rifles.

The exception to this general rule was the old town referred to by the maps as "Town 29". It had at one time been an agricultural town, the rusted hulks of farm vehicles parked in neat rows outside old depots, all the glass gone and the buildings themselves in various states of decline. Strangely deserted, until one noticed the occasional black bomblet lodged in masonry or in the ground, all originally property of some force of evil. All now safe, though the new residents of the town still took no chances. Up in the buildings right to the edge of the town, the occasional fire flickered in the windows, disappearing on sight of anyone.

In the old town hall, the dome had collapsed, leaving a bare hole in the ceiling. Underneath, on the old tiled floor a group of people sat talking around an oil barrel, a fire burning inside releasing a colourless sheen of heat. The discussion was augmented by a laptop in the centre of the group, linked to a small satellite receiver. The leader of the 'group' was older than the others, skin weathered like leather. The much younger others still appeared to command great respect for the man though, listening intently.
"As we have discussed, the current regime in charge relies intently on its foreign policy to keep it in power. Without such foreign powers as Antigr and the Fegosian Union, it would collapse, allowing for a righteous government to take charge. Thrice we have tried to make this happen, and this fourth time will not fail.
We have already made a move, and a clear message to the government - we're back once again. They strike us down each time, and each time we will stand back up and once again return to harass them.
This time though, the target will not only be the corrupt regime in power. We will endeveor to aid our comrades in Antigr, in removing all support to them before we replace the weakened government with a fair one of our own. A socialist government, giving support to all, not just to the wealthy.
I already am in contact with the organisation, who I believe will be more than willing of our help. I think the stash we have here in Town 29 should be sufficient to arm them. If we also pull a few strings, I think we will be able to provide the foot soldiers as well.
If you are all satisfied, we will speak later. It is getting dark, and I fear that staying outside in the dark risks a most violent death."

___________________________________

Town 29 - The Hotel

Near to the main road that passed through the town, an old school lay abandoned, the playground empty and wind whistling through the swings. The windows were boarded up, though through some gaps it was just possible to see the occasional flash of light. This building was the house of the people who had talked earlier, the exterior unrevealing but the interior much more revealing. Posters both old and new covered the walls, bearing slogans along the line of socialism righteously smashing the capitalist oppressor. The hotel every evening became as busy as it once had been, classrooms filled with rows of beds as people socialised in the period between sundown and lights out. For this time, petrol taken earlier from the tanks in the filling station ran through a filter into modified generators, powering lights and some battered TV sets. Light was not present on the roof, where guards had taken up position for the night. Should the perimeter guards fall, they stood between the outside and chaos.

The lights went out at 10pm precisely, the generators winding down to a halt. Batteries left charging slowly continued the charging of electronic devices and the powering of the server inside the school, a high-tech piece of equipment important to the group's current invisibility. Before going to bed, the old man walked up onto the roof of the building, rifle in hand, to sit awhile with the guards.
"Long live the People's Revolutionary Army."
"Thankyou soldier. Had anything from the perimeter tonight?"
"A couple sightings of wolves down at the old service station. Apart from that, relatively quiet. No piggies, and no wolves getting within range of the buildings."
"Good news. I'll leave you now."
He paced back down the stairs, walking along the corridor to the old headteacher's office. Two guards flanked the door, nodding their respects as he entered. Inside, he locked the door, before taking out his laptop and typing his plans.

__________________________________

Town 29 -The Silos

Six grain silos towered over the town still, the others collapsed or removed by the past battle here. Apart from the school, this was the only other area one could feel safe in after dark, so long as they shut the door. The depot was made from concrete, internally supported by new metal beams to allow it its new lease of life. Amongst the rows of old crates, bearing rotted goods and rusted canisters, a large series of newer crates lay covered in a dusty tarpaulin, bulging in places the mind would not expect. The technology concealed underneath was of a similar age to the place they were kept, though in much better nick. It was here that yet more guards resided, with a greater reason.

At one end, a series of people were checking over the boxes, each with a large white piece of paper showing their contents. Those without a piece of paper were ignored - one assumed that opening them would be unprofitable both to the cause and to their immediate future. One of them did lye open as one of those present at the meeting stroked his hand over the contents. A light was brought over, showing the surface he caressed to be that of something similar to a bomb, yet lacking the guidance fins or controls. Instead, a crude fuse-box was linked to the side, a much newer addition with two dials. One showed time, stuck at 60, whilst the other jumped every now and then. A box was brought forth, a tube attached place pointed inside the crate. Small crackles showed to all what the contents were, with a mix of both awe and fear.
"Move it to the truck with the rest of the crates we were told to put in. It goes to Town 01 tomorrow morning, to the aerodrome."
_________________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________________

Telemessage
To the Antigran RRG, whom it may concern

This message is likely to be intercepted, so will be brief. If you wish to be assisted in any way by friends of a common cause, send a representative tomorrow morning at 9am (Antigran time) to the capital's international airport, to the Jetstream Airlines Check-in Desk 1 at terminal 1. You will receive further instructions there, which will lead you to our contact.

This message is via multiple proxies both physical and electronic, so can not be replied to via this route. Keep vigilant, brothers at arms.

___________________________________

Auston International Airport

Above the Jetstream airline check-in desk bank, a notice scrolled across the screens, the seal of the Foreign Ministry displayed prominently.

IMPORTANT NOTICE TO ALL ALFEGAN CITIZENS
All citizens are advised to leave Antigr without delay, before such becomes impossible. The decreasing political stability of the nation means that is dangerous to stay. Flights direct to Liberty International Airport will be run for free by the government, from all check-in desks. This offer applies only to those who can display a valid Alfegan passport.

An Alfegan couple stood yelling at Check-in desk One, arguing as they searched through suitcases for the passport. Clothes scattered across the floor as the man rummaged around, to the discontent of those waiting in the long queue behind. Most of them were tourists, alerted by the Foreign Ministry via mobile phone to leave the country before the situation deteriorated, with the occasional duel-nationality citizens bearing a valid ticket for one of the evacuation flights. Further along, a queue of airport staff stood by the Skyways check-in desk, helpers hired to deal with the airship traffic the city received, both passenger and cargo. They were to leave on the last flight out, SWAF-EAZ9, having now fuelled all airships unable to turn to safe ports for their return. Mixed in with them were workers for other airlines, who had been given a seat on SWAF-EAZ9 for its security. Jetstream airlines were working only for the speed of service they could provide away from Antigr, to safe waters.

In the seemingly-innocent crowd though, the People's Revolutionary Army contact stood in the queue with a large trolley of luggage, dressed in the typical tourist clothes with loud t-shirt and trousers. She looked on at those moving towards the desk - it was chosen so one could wait at the side of the desk away from the cordoned lines, thus making themselves instantly identifiable. The woman waited, occasionally texting on her phone, whilst the argument in front was resolved by the production of a valid passport and ticket.

Inter caecos regnat strabo
He was definitely not an Antigrian, nor was he one of the many Alfegans who had been rushing the terminal here, and likely everywhere in Antigr, for the last few hours. He was, in fact, very difficult to classify. He looked almost like he might be from somewhere, but as soon as someone made up there mind, it occurred to them that he was most certainly not from there, but actually resembled one of those sorts...

In truth, he was born and raised in the heart of the Dominion of Emperor Pudu, a land wholly foreign and likely unknown to all the occupants of this airport. There, however, he had been bred of such stock as to produce such a nondescript and 'regular' looking man. Such as he was.

His name, he would say, was Khvedor Szakula, and if he was ever asked, he was a doctor from the former Holy Empire of Selesia, and had fled during the civil war and anarchy that had enveloped the nation in recent years. Anyone who asked, however, would at that point become less interested, for they had never heard of such a country, and would then usually move on. He was just another face in this crowd.

He had been such a face for the past two years, ever since he replaced the last face in the teeming city of Auston. Since then, he had diligently served his masters in the Foreign Relations Office, reporting closely to his Frumentarii overseers the course of the revolutionary culture in the capital in particular, and the country in general. In this respect he was not alone; there were a half-dozen Pudite agents all embedded in various levels of each side of this conflict, and now that it had come, each would play his part.

For the past few months, the strength of the Frumentarii organization in Antgir had grown; personnel moving in, contacts made, and intelligence gathered. The Foreign Relations Office was preparing for something. They knew the powder keg that was the culture of Antigr was not going to survive the year, and they knew all to well the scope of the last civil war, and the potential of the next. They knew where on the map the nation of Antigr lay, and all who resided in close proximity...

Now, it was Khvedor's turn to play his part. Only a few hours before, he had been delivered a message - an intercepted and translated record of a communication by an unnamed foreign dissenter - outlining attempts to make contact with Antigr's domestic partisans, namely, the Antigrian Republic Revolutionary Group, a leader in the conflict decades before, and most certainly, a leader now. Therefore, having read and message, here stood Mr. Khvedor Szakula, the Selesian doctor, watching the Jetstream Airlines check-in desk one, in terminal one, in the Auston international airport.

Here, he waited.

Joint Intelligence Department
Ol'vi

Outside the blast-proofed windows of the office block facing over the massive launchpads of Ol'vi, a cloud of smoke still hung in the sky as fires raged across the cosmodrome. Even with the large baffle screens protecting the site from the regular launches, a few windows had cracked in the blast, and fragments of rocket lay scattered around the site for the numerous investigators on scene to collect. As video was looped on police computers in the incident centre set up outside the complex, it soon became apparent this was no accident. This was a matter beyond the police, as shown by the security that arrived quickly. Black APCs bearing a single message to the outside world quickly arrived, troops wearing the familiar all-terrain digital camouflage pattern rapidly deployed around the perimeter of the site as the cosmodrome fire crews fought the inferno.

The Internal Security Service, or ISS, was part of the Interior Ministry. As well as dealing with government corruption, it was more famed for its near exclusive use as an anti-terror department, boasting its own regiment of soldiers for use in a crisis alongside countless investigative staff recruited from the higher echelons of the Police and Military. And already, they had the video footage from the CCTV, looping in slow motion at the critical phase of the evening, to the point it finally ended in a flash of white light. This soon found its way onto the TV, as audiences across the nation watched the firestorm consuming the cosmodrome.

By daybreak, the fire had died down, the extreme heat of the hydrogen combusting producing a short-lived reaction. However, from the aerial footage of news airships that had gathered to watch from a distance, one could see the damage produced was devastating. The entire cryogenic fuel facility had been blown to oblivion in the blast, a large crater showing where it once had been. Inside, the mangled remains of walls and fuel tanks were visible, the heat having been enough to melt the concrete into flows of lava around the area. Nearby buildings had suffered from damage, from windows being blown out to the entire collapse of one of the vehicle storage buildings, where a smaller fire had been put out. But most painful were the remains of the rocket, the top section holding the payload damaged on impact and the bottom section completely destroyed.

By this time as well, evidence had been put together, with the video footage enhanced and a still of the gunman finally shown. A face was now recognisable, which had been processed. The results had been shocking, along with the connotations.

________________________________

In the Communications Interception department, the internet was constantly monitored for subversive action. Computers programmed to recognise certain words and word groups quickly highlighted a torrent of messages for people to check, graded according to threat. The highest level was normally reserved for messages with no source, and indicating a high level of danger to the Alfegan people, and to its allies. When a message of that kind including the acronym RRG was highlighted, it immediately qualified for that category.

The message could not be traced. After following it from the mesolite over Antigr to the New Zevkhay relay, it trailed across nations of Nova before vanishing completely at a server in Ol'vi. More alarm bells began to ring, and not before long a connection was made to the Interior Ministry, and the Orange Service. Conversations were held, calls made, and a conclusion was made.

The People's Revolutionary Army is back. This time, they are not limiting it to just Alfegos.

_________________________________

TRANSMISSION - RADIO MESSAGE
ENCRYPTION LEVEL - BRAVO 1
TO - ANTIGRAN MONARCHY

Alfegos intelligence has highlighted that the People's Revolutionary Army are escalating in their attack build up. This morning, a missile was launched that destroyed a large section of the Ol'vi cosmodrome, causing havoc in the area.
In addition, we have learnt of their possible intent to establish communications with the RRC. If this occurs, then you will be facing more than a domestic war - you may be looking at an apocalyptic conflict.

The next segment of the message is encrypted to high levels. We must repeat that this is for your eyes only, and will help you in understanding the urgency of this message.

ENCRYPTION LEVEL - ALPHA 2

The PRA are known to be in possession of weapons not limited to conventional missiles and arms - since the 2nd civil war, it is known they hold large quantities of weapons of chemical and biological nature, as well as being suspected to being in possession of nuclear devices. Whilst it is unlikely that they will use these, this threat must be tackled at all costs.

We will be sending agents into Antigr in the hope of intercepting the terrorists and removing this threat before it becomes dreadful reality.

ENCRYPTION LEVEL - BRAVO 1

We finally wish to apply for permission to send in a peacekeeper force to try and pacify the revolutionary group, creating a safe zone in which a major effort can be made to build up support for the flushing out of rebel forces. Such a force would likely consist of elements of the 3rd Airfleet, moored in New Alfegos, along with a surface force in the region of six to eight thousand infantrymen of various regiments.

We hope this threat can be resolved rapidly, so that a humanitarian crisis can be avoided. We wait eagerly for a response to this message.

______________________________

Auston International Airport

The Jetstream Airline desk queue moved further forwards, still with many a person to get through. The desks were starting to close as flights left, with a pause in service as they waited for the next aircraft to arrive. The woman believed she had timed it perfectly, as she noted the contact waiting already by the side of the desk. Though it was difficult to say - he looked nothing like the Antigran she would likely expect. More like some generic character from a film. How would she play this? Bending over, she took out her diary, making a copy of the note she had in her pocket, writing in a biro pen she had found on the terminal floor. She made sure the writing was legible, before tearing the page out and placing it in her pocket. Coughing, she turned to the man behind her.
"Could you mind my luggage please? I really need to go use the lady's room."
The man nodded kindly as he picked up her suitcase, watching her slip under the barrier as she walked over to the toilets. As she walked past the man, she let her arm brush accidentally against the man's waist, hand idly releasing a folded piece of paper into the man's pocket. If he was good, he would know exactly what it would mean.

Behind her, another woman watched. She had seen the drop, as had another agent viewing through a small camera concealed in her hair band. Not waiting, she quickly followed into the toilets, counting the cubicles. She was lucky enough to enter in a quiet time, when nobody was in there. Not that there were that many people using the toilets with the airport in its current state of danger. The cubicle her target was in was easy to locate, being the only one with the door shut. With a kick, she broke the lock and forced the door in, where the women was using the wall to write a copy of the message she had copied. Before she could scream, a hand clapped onto her mouth followed by a punch in the kidneys that knocked her to the floor. She was dragged into an adjacent cubicle, before the door was locked and a piece of masking tape was applied to the woman's mouth. A further length was used to wrap her wrists and ankles.

"You're done for. You might as well tell me what was in that message you dropped to our friend in the terminal."
The woman by now had slowed struggling, revealed by the presence of a syringe containing muscle relaxant inserted in her lower leg. The masking tape was removed, as the woman let out a laugh.
"Are you some kind of perverted lesbian? What are you going on about?"
The agent quickly moved through the woman's pockets, before flicking through the diary retrieved from under the cubicle divide to the page it had been on. Nothing was there.
"Let me go or I will scream."
The agent swore as she realised the page was missing. But how? She'd seen it written on a moment ago.
"Where did you put that page?"
The woman screamed, before the masking tape was reapplied. This was no use. She began talking to herself, picked up via a hidden microphone.
"Permission to use force to extract information, over."
"Negative. We will send in a team to extract her. Wait with her please."

_______________________________

In the toilet bowl, the copied messages floated in a screwed-up ball, the ink slowly melting from the paper. The toilets had a timed flush, to maintain cleanliness, which started at that point. The message disappeared down the pipe.

Well done. You have shown your willingness for this task. To gain our contact e-mail, go to the telephone box on the corner of the street in which the Alfegan embassy is in. Look through the telephone directory in there, and look up the details for a clown. The username is the name of the company with a cross by it, and the password is their telephone number.

With this information, use any computer to access the site www.forums.ipalm.alf, and go to the board labelled 'Cars'. There is a thread titled 'for or against - the AC-99 Thunderbolt Sports Car'. Log in with your account and post an answer in favour of the vehicle.

You will receive a personal message with fifteen e-mail addresses. The correct one starts with the number of posts on the thread.

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ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Leaders of the World
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir/Madam,

I address this broadly to the nations of the world in a situation of true emergency. The term ‘civil war’ may suit this time, although I cannot truly be sure as I do not know myself. Earlier today, from what I can gather, rebelling soldiers and armed civilians attempted to storm my palace, presumably to kill me. I escaped, though I shall not endear you with the details, me and my guards regiment as a whole had close encounters with a total of five known rebelling divisions as we retreated to our current location, which I cannot disclose for this message will likely be intercepted. Nonetheless, an intelligence commander has told me that this is an effort by an Antigran group, most probably the RRG, or Republic Revolutionary Group. In the last civil war, a fight which was essentially republicans versus royalists, I was exiled as a boy and learned of the events over the television. Once the war was over, to make a long story quite short, the country healed itself, and so sealing over the crack that split the two halves of the country and each side’s two ideals. It is likely that the storming of my palace was the reopening of that crack, and so the very heart of the nation is split. Over the next few days, I expect entire army corps to take sides and the country to be further torn limb from limb. My prime minister is missing and, as I type, I am within range of rebel artillery and long-range sniper fire.

So, this is an appeal for help to stabilise my country and to return it’s rightful monarch to power. It would be noted that sending military forces into the country until forces have seperated would be a disastrous decision. It looks merely like the previous civil war all over again, and so I must plea once again that nations send what help they can give before Antigr becomes two halves once again. Thank you.

Signed,
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King Fredrik II.

New Roanoke Isle: Central Hurtian Intellegence Agency HQ: Director's office
The message glowed on his screen...
As acting secondary to the now deceased Minister of Foriegn Affairs, it washis duty to order the appropriate response.

At the same time, reports of violence breaking out around the Hurtian embassy stationed there "filled in the details", it was a frigging war.

He ordered the nearby, and misnommerly named "ASGARD Peace Corps" to achieve "weaponsfree" status, that is, to shoot anything that moves, and that they may exert their influence outside the compound, rather than follow peacetime ROE. This would buy some time...

He then sent 3 other orders to 3 different commitees. One to the regular military -which he now had direct access to- ordering them to mobilize for immediate penetration and counter-offensive amongst the Antigrian frontier. The send, went to Pedro W. Mendez, CEO and de-facto general for the Hurtian-subsidized PMC known the world-over as "Hutrful Outcomes Incorporated", informing him that he'd like to pay for the activation of a few divisions, with following maintnance-fees billed to Antigr. And Lastly, there was "Grant" -his predecessor- now in charge of a band of 'rebels' whose sole purpose was to justify the over-inflated Hurtian military/police budgets and methods, his orders wre to get into contact with the RRG.

No reply-letter was given by the director, as hethen forwarded it to Leader milo, stating that he has already raised the alert status of an entire Marine division...

The series of words hovered on the screen of Officer Rebecka Enckell. As a communications officer, she was ideally placed by the RRG to intercept such a message. It had appeared mere minutes after the computer had been set up in her undisclosed concrete-walled location, although her senses dictated that she was underground. In getting here, some of her more foolish comrades had decided to try and shoot Sir Jonatan, although they were quickly despatched by his hand and his SIG P230. Enckell had decided not to follow such a course of action, and bided her time.

TRANSMISSION - RADIO MESSAGE
ENCRYPTION LEVEL - BRAVO 1
TO - ANTIGRAN MONARCHY

Alfegos intelligence has highlighted that the People's Revolutionary Army
are escalating in their attack build up. This morning, a missile was
launched that destroyed a large section of the Ol'vi cosmodrome,
causing havoc in the area.
In addition, we have learnt of their possible intent to establish
communications with the RRC. If this occurs,
then you will be facing more than a domestic war
- you may be looking at an apocalyptic conflict.

The next segment of the message is encrypted to high levels.
We must repeat that this is for your eyes only,
and will help you in understanding the urgency of this message.

ENCRYPTION LEVEL - ALPHA 2

The PRA are known to be in possession of weapons not limited to
conventional missiles and arms - since the 2nd civil war,
it is known they hold large quantities of weapons of chemical
and biological nature, as well as being suspected to being in
possession of nuclear devices. Whilst it is unlikely that they will
use these, this threat must be tackled at all costs.

We will be sending agents into Antigr in the hope of intercepting the
terrorists and removing this threat before it becomes dreadful reality.

ENCRYPTION LEVEL - BRAVO 1

We finally wish to apply for permission to send in a peacekeeper force to try
and pacify the revolutionary group, creating a safe zone in which a major
effort can be made to build up support for the flushing out of rebel forces.
Such a force would likely consist of elements of the 3rd Airfleet, moored in
New Alfegos, along with a surface force in the region of six to eight
thousand infantrymen of various regiments.

We hope this threat can be resolved rapidly,
so that a humanitarian crisis can be avoided.
We wait eagerly for a response to this message.

A course of action was simple; they would not care to check her computer in such a situation as this, and her fingers were typing in the registry command that would [almost] delete the files. Of course, they were never really gone until she'd drilled two holes in the hard drive. Her fingers moved quickly, but perhaps not quickly enough. Sir Jonatan Bakke's piercing gaze was shining over her shoulder, and before she knew it a fist had been landed firmly across her face. Punching was overrated. Even to a man such as Bakke, the sharp connection with bone reddened his white knuckles and she was reaching for the KKC compact in her jacket. How could I make such a mistake? She heard two shots and the familiar kick in her hand as Bakke fell to the floor.
The last thing she expected was for someone to creep on her and punch her hard in the chest. Looking around, her vision was suddenly becoming greyscale, broken by a few random splodges of colour, but there was no-one there. Then the floor hit her in the face. Only her uninjured station commander stood in front of her, for the second shot she'd heard was his, blued P230 in his hand.
"You disappoint me, Officer Enckell"
His voice was cold, but underneath she heard a small twang of pain in his voice.
"You have no idea, Bakke. No idea"
He stepped over her and read the messages, which the officer had successfully decoded. The last thing she saw were his steely grey eyes.
__________________

Marten Boden, now one of many heads of the group. The founder, not that such a fact was of an consequence anymore. His face was average, not memorable in any way, with brown hair and an unkempt look. A stubble and tired eyes. The security guards had fled, and it was mostly foreign crew that kept the flights departing, getting tourists out of the godforsaken country. His accomplice, carrying a bulky Beretta M12 inside his navy-blue blazer, drew no attention from the fretting foreigners clustered round check-in desks. Some where crying. All of them flinched when the hustle was broken by the occasional chatter of machine-gun fire, which had already punctured, quite literally, two of the massive window panes. The cold liquid-crystal display on his watch blinked. 09:02. TUES 13 JAN 09.
He leant against the side of the row of desks, of which Jetstream Desk 1 was at the end, apparently texting on his phone.
__________________

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ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: REPLY_BY_SAME_CENTRE.:.PRESIDENT_OF_ALFEGOS.:.CLASSIFICATION.:.•ΕΘ•
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir,

I can only appreciate the gesture that has been given, although I think you have underestimated the scale and rapid development of the situation. I escaped from the Palace only yesterday afternoon and already I am recieving reports of severe outbreaks of violence all over Antigr by my extremely broken-down intelligence and command structure. Most Antigrans that had previously supported Royalist forces are in the North and East, although you must understand that it is neighbour against neighbour; at this moment, I cannot trust anyone, for the Revolutionary forces are not concentrated in any particular area, but everywhere, quite literally. I'm afraid I have doubts of your aims for an immediate peace, and while I wholly agree, sending in forces as you have described would be suicidal at this time. Please wait until you can distinguish one side from the other.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.


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__________________

ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: REPLY_BY_SAME_CENTRE.:.'COBRA_GROUP'.:.CLASSIFICATION.:.•ΖΔ•
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir,

I am pleased by your enthusiasm and aims, but I feel it is somewhat incompatible; not only can I not distinguish between the sides, but I have no weaponry in a concentrated quantity to give, and it shall remain such for several days or weeks. I therefore cannot follow through on your offer at the present time, as it seems all have underestimated the current circumstances; one of our escorts has already been shot down by anti-aircraft shells. I shall have to negotiate with you on the matter, or request actual Madurastan government intervention.

Signed,
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King Fredrik II.

Tralheim Manor, Southern Zaheran

The sun was shining from a cloudless sky, reflecting in the clear water of Lake Chiemsee. A man was sitting in a small motorboat with a fishing rod in his hands, patiently waiting for the fish to take the bait. He was an unremarkable man, of average height and size, with thick black hair that had begun to grey at the temples and a small, neatly trimmed moustache under his nose. He wore a simple sheepskin bomber jacket and a pair of cargo trousers of the type favoured by hunters and fishermen. Winters in this part of the country were usually mild, so even in january these attires where enough to keep him warm. The image of an angler was completed by a baseball cap wearing the logo of the Zahran Fireflies football team and a pair of aviator sunglasses.

Beneath the harmless surface, however, rested one of the most powerful men in the country. Adam Weinhof was the director of the Central Intelligence Directorate, a position he had reached through brutal efficiency and ruthless competence. In the ten years he had headed the CID, the organisation had grown to become Zaheran's foremost intelligence agency, with over five hundred thousand employees and thousands of agents all over the world. As it grew, so did the work burden resting upon the director. Adam Weinhof worked twenty-five hours a day organising and administrating his small empire, stopping only to catch an hour or two of sleep on the camp bed installed in his office. It was tough both on the psyche and the body, and even the workaholic Weinhof knew that sooner or later, the continous stress would start to degrade his funcionality. Therefore, two weeks every year he handed over all his work to the vice-director and travelled down to Lake Chiemsee for fourteen days of uninterrupted relaxation. He spent his days fishing or hiking in the mountains and allowed himself to completely forget about his work. It was now the thirteenth day of his holiday. Although he did not admit it to anyone but himself, he was beginning to feel bored about the lack of activity. So in a way, he was almost glad when his mobile began to ring. The display told him the caller was Johann Dracvir, his vice-director. That signalled that something important had happened. He pushed the 'yes' button on the phone and held it up to his ear.

"What is it?", he asked grumpily. "I´m on holiday."

"Sorry to disturb you, sir", Dracvir said apologetically. "Something quite urgent has turned up, and we need your presence here. I have sent an helicopter to get you. It should be there in another twenty minutes."

"Why the hurry? What has happened? Has another tin-pot dictatorship managed to get invaded, or what?"

The line went silent for a moment.

"Worse, much worse", the vice-director replied at last. "Early this morning, we recieved a message from Antigr. There has been some kind of revolution, and King Fredrik II has fled from the capital to an unknown location. Then, just a few hours later, we recieved reports of explosions at the Ol'vi aerodrome in Alfegos. We don't know if the events are related, but we cannot exclude the possibility."

"Shit. Any of our citizens harmed?"

"One hundred and fifteen left in Antigr, the foreign ministry is working getting them out of there. As to the event in Alfegos, we are trying to find out if any Zaheranians have been killed or wounded. There is a high probability, unfortunately, ZA does regular flights to the Er'soi cosmodrome."

"Understood. I'll be with you as fast as I can. In the meanwhile, activate all our assets in Antigr. I want to know exactly what is going on. Then contact the NSD. If the explosion in Alfegos was a terrorist attack, they might strike here as well."

He hang up without waiting for the answer. Already the buzzing of the helicopter could be heard in the distance.

The Imperial Palace
A few hours later

The CID director walked through the long corridors of the palace, escorted by two black-clad soldiers from the Storm Legion with the characteristic grinning skulls on their collars, shoulders and berets. Security had been increased after the attacks in Alfegos. Every entrance to the giant building was guarded by a platoon of soldiers in black uniforms with heavy weapons and grim faces, who controlled every visitor thoroughly before they were allowed to enter. Metal detectors and detection dogs protected against anyone trying to bring weapons or explosives into the palace. The nobles and servants passing through the palace were quieter than usual, unsure what this new development meant. Many glanced at Adam Weinhof as they passed him, hoping to get a hint of what had happened. But his face carried the same impassive expression as always, revelealing no feelings. He had changed into a elegant grey suit, the kind of formal attire worn by the majority of the senior bureaucrats in the Zaheranian government. He was walking at a fast but not overly hurried pace through the lavishly decorated corridors and halls. His destination was a small room at the top floor of the west wing. A massive bronze door, engraved with a masterfully crafted eagle, blocked his path. It was guarded by a platoon of soldiers in the same uniforms as the pair who had escorted him. For the third time that day, he showed his ID-card and waited as a soldier studied it carefully. Finally, the man handed back the card and gestured to his men to open the door.

A big conference table in Victorian style dominated the room inside. From the walls, portraits of famous Zaheranian military commanders and previous rulers stared down at him as he stepped through the door. The men sitting around the table looked up as the doors opened. The Emperor was easy to recognize. With half of his face covered by a silver mask, crafted to resemble his face, he looked like a cyborg from a dystopic future vision. The ruler of Zaheran smiled with what remained of his lips when Weinhof walked in and took a seat.

"Good to see you, Mr. Director. I trust you had a pleasant holiday?"

"As always, Your Majesty", Weinhof replied politely. "The lakes and the mountains has an refreshing effect on both the body and the soul."

"That is true. Alas, it has been a long time since I walked in the mountains and swam in the rivers. The burden of ruling a nation is heavier than a mountain. If I had known beforehand, I'm not sure I had taken the job. And that brings us to the issue of the day. Marius, has there been any new developments in Antigr?"

The Foreign Minister shook his head.

"Not as of yet. The rebels, whoever they are, have not issued any official declarations of their intentions. What we know is that parts of the army has turned against the king, and that he has been forced to flee the capital after an attempt on his life. The situation is very chaotic over there, so we don't know who controls what, or even what the factions are. We have tried to contact the Zaheranians that are in the country and told them to get out as soon as possible. We are still missing twelve persons. We don't know if they are dead or wounded or if they just have their mobiles switched off."

"We must intervene", the Interior ministry said. "A successful revolution in Antigr could easily inspire would-be revolutionaries here too. We don't want another incident like the Wulfenstein rebellion."

Everyone shuddered at the thought. The AHC rebellion in Zaheran's largest city had cost the Empire considerable time and effort to fight down. Nearly a hundred thousand people had died or been wounded during the fighting from house to house.

"I'm inclined to agree", the Emperor replied. "Not to mention the danger another large, unstable nation with a government opposed to monarchy would be to world peace, and to us. I propose we deploy at least one division's worth of troops and supporting naval forces to the Antigran theatre, as soon as we can distinguish friends from enemies, that is. Lucien, what forces do we have available?"

"The 278th Panzergrenadiers are accustomed to cold climate", the Defence Minister replied. "They are at MILAL Three at the moment, but with the Council's permission I will raise it to two. They should be ready to move within ninety-six hours. I will also raise the MILAL status of the Sixth Fleet and assign it some additional troop carriers and escorts. We should be able to have a force in Antigr within six days. By then the situation should have developed enough that we will know where they will be needed."

"Do so. Marius, send a diplomatic dispatch to Antigr and state our support for the legitimate government. I declare this session of the Council over."


http://img383.imageshack.us/img383/1717/sealxr7.gif
The Holy Empire of Zaheran
Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Encrypted Communication


To: King Fredrik II
Encryption Level: High(256 bit key)

Your Majesty,

We have heard of the unfortunate developments in Antigr and your distressed situation. Be assured, Zaheran will answer to your calls. As I write this message, the Holy Empire's forces are readying themselves for battle. However, as you pointed out in your message, we will not be able to respond until the situation gets clearer. Should you require it, we can arrange an evacuation to Zaheran or another friendly country within forty-eight hours. We hope that this situation will be solved quickly and the rightful government returned to power.

Yours sincerely,

Marius Stee
Minister of Foreign Affairs

To: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State
From: General Max Black, Head of the Cobra Group.

Subject: Military Contract

Dear your majesty,

We have found that since we cannot find a suitable alternative, we have given the Madurastan Government through unofficial channels a report on the situation. You will recieve a communique from the Madurastan Government probally shortly after this one is recieved.


Republic Of Madurastan Communique

To: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State
From: President Jack Browning

I have heard of your predicament and i agree to help. The Madurastan Government has only heard this through the unofficial channels as you know, but will assist a great ally. We will be sending the following:

ORBAT:

Madurastan Navy:

Cruisers
MC Braveheart
MC Dauntless
MC Vigilante

Battleships
MB Marauder

Aircraft Carriers:

MAC General Jack Storm
120 Sea Wasp Fighters
MAC Highlander
120 Sea Wasp Fighters

However we are not sending ground forces due to the confused situation on the ground, but support will be available from Madurastan Air Force Air Fleet 4which is based at Bahia Air Base in the Madurastan Colony of Moriabia.

Auston International Airport

Black-bagging was the term that had been coined for how the secret services captured terrorist suspects, and right now showed how it was correct. In the anarchy of the airport, nobody would care if they saw something such as that happening, though slightly un-nerved. This was the fate of the men and women of the PRA, especially with the woman now being dragged by two men across the terminal floor, muffled screams coming from under a black hood secured tightly around her head. The two men were dressed in dark black shirts and trousers, each with a small bluetooth unit in their ear, and had the woman restrained by her arms between them, both wrists in a tight lock. She continued to struggle, not just for escape but for the sheer terror.
As part of their recruitment, the members of the Righteous Ones, the branch of unstable citizens the group found to indoctrinate in their views to the extreme, they were subjected to psycho-conditioning to make them more willing to commit suicide if they were ever captured. As well as 'footage' captured by one of their members of the torture of a series of their number, they were subjected to the same techniques, and constantly reminded of the fear they were to have if captured. Right now, if she had a gun, she would have been dead within six seconds, along with anyone else unfortunate enough to be in the 'five second madness", a spray of pistol bullets at anything and everything in front of her.

She finally managed to lash out as an agent stumbled on a wet patch of the terminal floor, knocking one of the guards down before running blindly towards the desk. Her hands had not been cuffed, allowing for her to rip the hood from her face as she rushed two the two now assembled where she had asked. They both must hear the message.
She spoke to the man she had made the drop to as she sprinted past, a quick garble she hoped he could decipher.
"Give the paper to him as well. For the revolution!"
She hoped he had given a nod of recognition as she ran past, the two male agents in pursuit, slamming through the crowd as they tried to catch her, before she got hold of a weapon. Feet rapping over the tiled terminal floor, she flicked off her shoes to allow her better stability as she sped up towards a secure area. Sensing the presence of weaponry there as well, the agents sped, slamming a half-closed door the wrong way and shutting off their movement.

By the time they got through the door, they were too late. They saw a door slam as she ran out onto the tarmac, nobody in chase after the desertion of the airport security.
Outside, the woman slowed as she saw no-one in pursuit, looking at what she had found. Out here on the airship landing pad, a single airship hovered a few metres out of reach to her, cables and pipes trailing from its side. However, under the airship, a small truck was loaded up with methane fuel cylinders, the cage open as one of the workers passed the cylinders up to the engineer hanging below. Punching the worker in the face, she picked up the cylinder before rummaging through the worker's pockets. She found what she wanted quickly, before pacing out onto the tarmac at a stroll with her items - a full canister of methane, labelled as highly explosive, and a lighter. Ahead of her, the two agents had stopped, pistols drawn as they came to the same conclusion. They did not have to think twice as they shot at her, the total of nine shots grouped at her chest and head. She was dead as she hit the ground, the lighter unlit as the cylinder hissed gas out into the air. The blood spread from her smashed face as the agents put away their Ev'kho 22 service pistols, making their thanks to whatever deity had managed to prevent a catastrophe out here. The blood mingled with raindrops as it began to rain, splashing up and flowing faster across the asphalt as the airship workers began yelling out. An alarm sounded on the large airship as the crew were called to, the men and women gathering to watch.

The female agent let out a cry, before rushing over to the body. Checking the pulse confirmed the obvious, as one of the agents called in for back up.

Khvedor Szakula had remained still, reclining, appearing to wait in the line for the terminal, without ever moving. He watched as the crowds moved around him, and took notice when they did not. When the woman bumped her, he felt the piece of paper in his pocket, but did nothing, knowing he would be under observation as well. He continued to read the paper he had picked up earlier, and waited.

He was surprised when the woman re-appeared, sprinting through the crowed, pursued by armed government agents, but stayed in-character, as it was. He, after hearing the woman's instructions, ducked out of the way of the guards, feigning the shock and worry of the soon-to-be-refugees surrounding him.

As soon as the disturbance had passed, Khvedor knew it was time to act; those agents would not be the only ones about, if not now, than soon. This was not a safe place to be right now. Even as he heard the gunshots outside the terminal, Mr. Szakula left his line, and approached the man he had observed at the end of the row of check-in desks. This must be the man the woman meant, nobody else has stayed here long enough to breath, let alone await a message...

As he passed Marten Boden, Khevdor made as if to fold his paper and place it inside his jacket, but dropped it. Bending to pick it up, he had time to whisper a message to the man he hoped was the real Republic Revolutionary Group contact, "Follow me, I have a message for you - from her,"

Not once did Mr. Szakula, the Selesian doctor, even glance at the Antigrian, but down here at the end of the check-in lines, there was nobody else for him to be talking too. He only hoped that the foreigner would listen...

Placing the newspaper in his pocket as 'intended' before, Khevdor made his way towards the terminal exit, slow enough to be followed...

Freehold Media Group, Int'l News broadcast
-simulcast in English, Spanish and Arabic

... The top story tonight is of course the hostilities which recently broke out in Antigr. Sources say the growing civil war is a popular resurgence of an anti-royalist movement that overthrew the Antigran monarchy about thirty years ago. The more recent uprising apparently began with gunshots outside the palace in Auston, where the Royal family had just recently returned to Antigr after a thirty year exile. The return was supposed to be to a reconciled Antigr, one in which pro and anti royalists mixed freely, the revolution of '72 all but forgot. However, those fateful shots apparently triggered lingering passions in the Antigran populace, resulting in a new civil war which has already torn the country apart.
We have with us now Dr. Karl Erlenheimer, a former Antigran citizen who is now a professor of History at the University of Gebua...
...
The Tramp Freighter 'Rusty Bucket II
- registered under the flag of Questralia

"Ahoy, turn that thing off, you know I never like to see a country I'm about to invade in the news, Always worried I'll see my own face."
"Sorry cap'n, it just came on." the abashed private reached for the off switch but didn't quite make it before his CO's final say.
"Well make sure it just goes off again, and stays that way. "
"-Aye cap'n" he replied, hitting the switch."
“Aww cap'n, they'd never put your ugly mug on the tube.”
“Oh? And I guess you're the pretty boy from Akcan* to be on the news eh?”
“Why, of course, just look at me!?” The seargent gestured vainly at his scarred face and struck a pose showing off his muscles, or, it would if he had been wearing any less than a full exposure suit.
The door slamming open into the frigid wind cut the captain's response off.
“We are about to make umm, closest pass with Antiger yes? If you are going there on leetle boat, best to go now.”
“Of course, and I don't need to remind you that once we're on our... leetle boat, we were never here and most certainly didn't get off to go to Antigr.” the captain casually grabbed his pistol and the foreign crewman nodded vigorously and backed quickly out.

“Allright, this is it boys, into the water.” With that, the eight man special forces team filed out of the tiny deck-house and over to the side where a small, camouflaged zodiac was waiting, tied to netting hanging over the side. Silently, the team descended the net into the boat and cast off for Antigr.


*Akcan, a small coastal Mondothian town, the nearby airbase is, according to local legend, the home of Mondoth's J-force, roughly equivalent to the SAS, GSG-9 etc.

His surname was Berg. He was well-liked by his friends, full of life and generally a nice person to know. He was still on the inactive reserve lists of the Antigran military's national service register and had an SeG-3 semi-automatic reservist carbine locked up securely at home along with exactly four fifteen-round clips. Looking out of the window, sweaty and with rifle in hand, he saw two Royal Marines running down the road, pursued by an angry mob. The mob was armed, as were the marines, and it was immediately clear the mob were Rebels. Two of Antigr's national television stations had been hijacked by a thirty-something bloke with a beard, the rehearsed words 'Join the revolution! Fight for the people!' Echoing out of television sets. The crack of the muzzle and the kick against his shoulder were harsh, but immediately he could see a Marine lying in the street. The other one was dead seconds later by his own hand. He went downstairs to take on any neighbours too stubborn to see the justness of the cause.
__________________

Ensuring the small pistol in his inside jacket pocket was cocked, Boden made no attempt to disguise his actions, following the mysterious stranger at a distance. Looking back, there was every chance the stranger would not be seen in the crowds, but his eyes were fixed firmly on him. The slip of paper in the pocket of his jacket remained unopened, his accomplice eying him struggling to keep up.
__________________

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Flag_Pic01.png


ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Marius Stee, Zaheran Minister of Foreign Affairs
CLASSIFICATION.:.•ΕΘ•
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir,

I am truly endeared by your gesture of support. As you have said, until the situation has got clearer, no support can be given; a truly irritating series of circumstances. I shall take your offer under close consideration and you may give us what aid you can when you can deem it safe to do so.
__________________

Norje
4 Days Later
17th January
08:40


Green Leader was once again on the ground. The King himself had shot the pilot and the co-pilot seemed to be more loyal than his dead Captain. The man sat in the corner of the on-board situational and command room. It was probably right, of course, but the feeling of nausea had not receded. The pilot was best man at his wedding, and was like an uncle to his two children. He looked up to see Generalmajor Thune step through into the room from the adjacent sleeping area.
"Couldn't sleep, Håkan?"
"My mind is elsewhere, your majesty"
"The same could be said for us all. Sit down, and tell me what your mind has thought of"
"Well...It's a long shot. It probably won't succeed, but..."
"But what?"
"But it might be our only hope of fighting back"
"Thune, when I had you extracted from that hellhole you called a divisional barrack headquarters, your men were shooting each other. I think in fighting back we would destroy ourselves"
"Surely the definition of civil war?"
There was no reply, so the General pressed ahead.
"I propose that we disengage every loyal citizen and soldier we can find from these rebels by means of the Omicron network to contact them"
"Omicron may well be compromised"
"I think it will have been kept clean. Anyway, we can move these people to where the highest percentage of loyal citizens are"
"The North"
"Yes"
"How do you suggest we move in excess of two billion people distances of up to ten thousand miles?"
"We could scrape together a few loyal divisions and corps from the north and give us a starting point. The rest shall have to be done...over time. With a secure zone, however small, we can get foreign help"
"You do realise that the rebels will rapidly take over the country we have left behind? And kill many of my retreating supporters in the process!"
"The few for the many"
The resultant pause and exchange of glowers lasted for none short of five minutes, broken by a thunderous boom from the Monarch.
"Initiate the Omicron protocol!"

As the Madurastan taskforce headed away from Madurastan Waters, the vessels began to prepare for war. This was the first aggressive action of the reformed Madurastan Navy, since the Colstream Era. They needed to find an area of coastline which loyalist soldiers held where the taskforce could be berthed near out at sea and conduct combat operations. But with the communications in Antigr as they were, they could not raise any Antigran response. The taskforce however continued west towards Antigran waters, hopefully to an area near to loyalist territory.

Town 1 (New Milkavich) - International Transportation Hub

New Milkavich was a large town, built amongst the ruins of what had once been a port. Large pre-fabricated plastic domes were clustered towards the centre, black numbers emblazoned across green exteriors covered a thin layer of grime, the few windows in them lit up by 'natural light' LED bulbs that always seemed to cast a sterile light similar to those of fluorescent strips, even if at lower voltages. Piping entered each one from a central utilities hub at the centre of the site, painted white with a large tower atop it. Around the inner settlement, a large fence acted as a barrier to anything that could try to get in, with razor wire coiled around the top.
Outside, the town seemed much more dedicated to industry than to anything else. Oil refineries crowded the shoreline, jostling to drink as much of the dark black gold that rushed out of the ground as possible, curtains of heat rising from gas flues alongside masses of steam from the hydrogen-fired furnaces. Further out still, hundreds of wind turbines stood providing power for the industrial complexes, rotors throbbing in the incessant winds that blew from the stormy bay.

It was here that the International Transportation Hub was built, a small city in itself on the periphery. Towards the shore, large warehouses stood amongst the container ship bays, whilst the occasional concrete slipway for ekranoplans led to the airport sector, many more warehouses standing waiting for goods. The transport hub was on the site of the old port itself, and was not merely dedicated to the petrochemical industry: airships carrying raw ore from the mountain mines stopped here to dump it into the massive silos on the airport periphery, to be collected by awaiting transport ships and airships bound to foreign destinations; roads led from the numerous settlements inland to this point, to some of the 'tourist destinations' inland in the mountains, based around the old mining towns; hundreds of thousands of hectares of wheat and other crops sat waiting in grain silos from the explored strip of land around the mountain exterior and the coast, soon to be shipped to feed the mouths of tens of thousands of people.

The airport again was surrounded by clusters of the prefab buildings, these dedicated to the military garrison. With their presence, and that of a series of electrified fences towering around the area from shoreline to as far inland as the buildings went, the zone was classed as a 'Green Zone' - that is to say, it was perfectly safe for one to go out at night, if they were careful. Outside, clusters of other buildings formed parts of the 'Yellow Zone', the urbanised areas and major transport routes where the number of people often scared the worst of the predators off, but still were at risk. Outside of these, the orange zones covered the majority of the explored strip, the rest marked as red.

What exactly the residents feared was apparent as a battered military truck pulled into the terminal area, passing through the gate and checkpoint without any problems. The gate had a large hole smashed through the wire, where a trail of blood started. This continued through the second gate, widening as it moved towards the guardhouse and stopping just outside at the body of an animal. A 'piggie', as the locals called it, was more often referred to by its biological classification 'Sus Terriblis'. A relative of the wild boar evolved to hideously large proportions, to become a dominant carnivore in the nation, the creature was almost eight foot of solid muscle, with a skeleton heavy enough to give it momentum similar to a rhinoceros. It had tried to charge a solider outside the guardhouse who had been smoking, obviously to kill him. An entire magazine had been emptied from his assault rifle, his partner contributing with several shots from a high-calibre pistol, stopping it short of getting to him. The creature would now likely be butchered and sold to the local food supply depot, where orders for meat from the animals had a long backlog trailing to all corners of the globe. A few spectators watched as a tow-truck came from

The lorry shuddered to a halt outside the passenger terminal, the engine cutting out with a cough. Inside the cab, the old man sat with three other men, dressed in neutrally-coloured casual clothing, mirroring the attire of the majority of the workers in the colony. In front of them, the airport passenger terminal stood as a large shining metal-and-glass construction, surrounded by landscaped gardens and old aircraft carcasses mounted artfully. Groups of people occasionally passed in and out of the building, the majority at this time of the year being foreign tourists keen for adventure, or for the ski resorts in the Crescent Mountains. In the crowd of people leaving the terminal, the old man spotted the person he was looking for, the man looking downwards so as to hide his face to the majority, a heavy scarf wrapped around his face and head to protect him from the chill. That person soon split from the group as they scattered to the various transport termini, walking towards a small red FVC M5 pickup truck. As the man passed the truck, he took out a packet of cigarettes, opening it and taking out one. Almost carelessly, he accidentally let one fly from the packet into the back of the truck, as he raised it to his lips, fumbling inside his pocket for a lighter. He soon was gone, watched in the wing mirrors of the truck as he disappeared off, following a walkway labelled to the railway terminus. Once he was out of sight, the old man spoke.

"It appears that everything is falling into place. Hopefully, our woman inside Antigr will have succeeded in her task in informing the contacts of what they are to do to get into contact with our e-mail. Once they've made communication with us, we'll be able to start sending the arms and men out there. Start the new campaign against the capitalist oppressor."

After waiting a few minutes, one of the men got out of the truck cab, going out as if to check the cargo. Rummaging about for a bit in the canvas-covered trailer, he left and walked back to the cab, taking a b-line for the pickup truck, scooping up the cigarette idly and making as if to throw it in a rubbish bin. He walked back, and re-entered the truck. Taking the cigarette, he unrolled it to reveal a small rolled up message in place of the tobacco. Unfurling the paper, it was passed to the old man, who produced a magnifying glass.
You have my crew's support. We fly when you are ready. Meet me and my crew at the base of the Fego'net Radio Mast at midday, with the payment.
"Well, we've got some time before we need to be there. Let's pay our friends in the city centre a visit before we give them their money."

________________________________

In the government headquarters for New Alfegos, security had been risen in light of the bombings on the Ol'vi Cosmodrome. The garrison had detached a platoon of soldiers to guard the building, the police airship for New Milkavich hovering above the building almost constantly. Outside, the streets surrounding the building had been cordoned off, to stop the potential of a car bomb being set off by the building. The occasional police vehicle cruised the streets, checking the registration of any parked vehicle without a driver and on the look-out for any suspicious individuals.

The truck stood parked by the shoreline, a surreal clash of the sandy beaches and the domed buildings on poured concrete surfaces, where the police were unlikely to look, the government headquarters directly visible through the windscreen as a single shining glass tower-block. What the casual observer was unable to see was the open manhole underneath the truck, from which a man poked up his head exhausted, closing it behind him and rolling out from underneath as if he had been fixing something on the underside. He climbed back in the cab, after removing his shoes and socks. He had just been clambering through the large sewerage pipe that was fed by the entire town, a large plastic-and-steel cavern built with the aims of massive expansion, making it safe for the future. For now, running at less than 5% of full capacity, it was possible for a man to walk through it, though not without unpleasant reactions.
"I put the sticks where you said to: the toilet pipes from the building. I made sure as well I rammed it up, and left the metal rod in as you said to stop them being flushed back down. I'm lucky nobody was using it when I was down there."
The others recoiled slightly from the man as he closed the cab door, who got the message and opened it again. Outside, the shoes showed that he had slipped inside the pipe, in the form of a reeking aura around the dark stains across them.
"I'll say one minute now. Get the camera ready."
One of the man had a small video camera on a bipod, rested against the dash of the lorry, as the other man threw his soiled shoes in a bin before jumping into the cab. The vehicle sped off, driving over to one of the spoke roads to the government headquarters at the centre of the town.
"Thirty seconds now. Start filming now."
A small switch was flicked in the camera, as the truck pulled onto one of the roads, driving towards the centre at just under the speed limit of the road. Ahead of them, the tower stood above the city, fifty stories high and flying a massive Alfegan flag. As a the clock hit Eleven am, it happened.

The charges that they had laid were rather long sticks of C4 plastic explosive, each bundle weighing five kilograms, of which ten had been placed into the pipes draining sewerage from the building. A long steel rod had been used to shove the explosives the distance needed to be into the base of the building itself, less than a metre underneath the concrete pavement outside in some cases. As the crude timers on them reached eleven o'clock, a small contact was made by a wire attached to one of the hands. This allowed a detonation charge to pulse the short distance into the explosives, setting them off.
Outside the building, the pavement leapt up, fragments raised as an angry cloud of smoke blew through. A long crater formed as the charges blew in sequence, the street collapsing from a point a couple metres outside the building to inside the building itself. The large sheets of glass around the reception area cracked as the main charges went, followed by a section of floor revealing the ancillary area beneath. An alarm sounded as the blasts finished, soldiers at the checkpoint rushing in to aid the wounded and secure the area. The truck turned off as the emergency services started pouring into the centre of the town, moving towards one of the large road routes. The camera footage finished.
"Right then. Now we have a deadline to keep to."

______________________________

ANN News - 10:00am Alfegos Time

"Today, fire crews and police continue to investigate the attack on the Ol'vi cosmodrome, which saw the destruction of a large area of the vertical launch area as well as damage to Terminal 1 and the main runway of the facility.

The government has released a statement of what they believe is the final death toll from this attack, in which very luckily few people were killed, the majority being journalists gathering early for the launch. Of the thirty-one people dead, only three are thought to have been foreign journalists, the majority being local reporters.
There are a large number of wounded, mostly suffering from minor injuries, being treated at the Ol'vi Medical Foundation, the majority being early arrivals to the terminal and workers."

Paraphrased IC:
*Crosses border on foot and horseback (with a few tanks), something about Hurtian's own paranoid defensive-works getting in the way*

OOC:
Must start thinking of names to drop and throw a curveball @ you for canning Griffy...
Seeing about whatever Antigr would mention of my dudez already in the embasy shooting anything that moves...

Norje
17th January
13:29


"You are not serious"
The King stared incredulously at Thune, standing before him with a distinct look of world-weariness.
"I-I'm afraid I'm quite serious, sir"
"Omicron is compromised?"
"Slightly worse. It's been completely dismantled! For over two months!"
"Tell me good news"
"I have none, your majesty"
"Then what do you have!"
The Major-General sighed as he sat down on the leather bench seat on board Green Leader. Furrowing his brow, the monarch noticed a hole in his military overcoat surrounded by a very small brown stain. Seeing the King's gaze, Thune explained.
"Six-point-five, nicked my shoulder, sir. I went into town to get that information, for my Omicron network contact to be found dead and someone else behind him. A damned reservist, with a handmade patch on his arm with RRG in marker pen. Our men are starting to do the same, sir"
"And what men do we have?"
"In Karlsfors and Voxang, we have a total of six completely loyal divisions. Further south, such as here...well, neighbours are taking up arms. I suspect that half of our men may end up dead before they can form groups, although reservists and soldiers from random units have clubbed together. They know where to find us, we're lucky you landed here where there was security. I've managed to decipher radio-sattelite babble, and I've identified quite a few completely revolutionary military divisions, which I marked with a green biro on a handy map, sir"
"My god! Look at Auston!"
"It's early days, sir"
"When do you predict we can have a fighting force?"
"Providing you can get the message out, I think another four days. As you know, all regular military units are fully mechanised, as are about half of reserve divisions, so given fuel they could rally here, sir"
"Have you any idea how we can get the message out in secret?"
"Secret is impossible. We'll have to risk the rebels knowing and doing the same, but in reverse. There's a major broadcasting station across Norje which has a capability to control the whole station. Four stations in fact, not including the six radio statio..."
"Get me a car! Let's go!"
"Erm..."
Fredrik II narrowed his eyes, and uttered one long, distasteful word, spitting out the 't' sharply.
"What?"
"If you'd care to look at the map again. There's a green splodge over Norje, sir"

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/MapNew_Pic05.png

"A division?"
"Almost a division. Intelligence doesn't seem to have noticed some unusual preparations going on"
"How can I get there, then? What alternatives do I have?"
"I hate to say you have none equally hard to reach for over a hundred miles. You're a conspicuous target, too, sir"
"So we have to fight our way there?"
"You have come to the conclusion very rapidly, but yes, sir"
"When you say almost a division, what do you mean?"
"Well, sir, it's a mobile reservist division. It's seen a large number of odd postings and exchanges in the last six months. There's been havoc in the streets, children and adults running everywhere passing rebel messages. They've rallied most crudely but most effectively, and are roughly ten thousand strong"
"And we have what?"
"The division was eighteen thousand on paper. About a thousand understrength initially, six thousand haven't turned up and the remainder decided to default to us. As this base is manned by King Crown Guard, many decided to come here. We have a slightly understrength regiment of said guards, sir, I'd say twenty-eight hundred, as well as a remainder of an Air Force Field battalion and some marines, barracked at Svenssberg, of which about a battalion have rallied here. Rather splendid effort by the local commander, sir"
"What about air support?"
"Er...this is a transport base. They have six fighters here, but all are dedicated high-altitude interceptors, save for the detachment commander's bird and his wingman's, but no ground-attack weaponry is kept here, except for some nuclear ballistic missiles. They have no ground-attack capability unless modified to have so, which would take a day, a ground crew has told me"
"Nuclear. Ballistic. Missiles?"
"Yes, sir, this is part of the 'Iota' command, static weapon silos"
"We have another reason to fight. We need to keep rebel forces off this base"
"The odds are stacked high against us"
"I know"
__________________

Norje
17th January
13:57


The rapid 610rpm baritone thump-thump of the pan-fed FVAR light machine-gun from an open window cut the leader of the rebel reservist patrol almost in two. Spent cases made a metallic clinking noise as they hit the floor as the gun cut down the patrol's grenade-launcher, the machine-gun supplemented by the faster-sounding rattle of automatic rifle fire. The patrol had been sent to investigate gunshots as an armed civilian opened fire on the advancing Marines, who in turn shot him and occupied his house. It was from this house that a grenade was thrown, 'cooked off' so it exploded just before it hit the ground. An Air Force Field Command Lieutenant and six of his platoon ran down the street with rifles at the ready, but they were not challenged. Advancing towards the city centre, the Marines followed.

Auston: Embassy Center, Block 07: Hurtian Embassy,
"Thinky" was under siege, their Antigrian-provided hovercraft had been sabatoged, their helicopter shot-down for target practice upon arrival, and their sport-planes unusable in the confined space...

And now people were shooting...

Two could play at this... For a "shooting war" the small "garrision" was quite well armed, stocked, and barricaded, including hastily improvised flamethrowers from the oil-fed furnace, excessive amounts of kevlar, razor-wire, and concrete had made their compound resemble a tri-corner prision/fort within a rectangular fenceline...

It was only natural to place a fireteam along each corner, and to hope for the best as the workers readied the armored-car for a breakout...

Then they saw tanks...

Outskirts of Auston: ASGARD "Homeless shelter"
SPECTRE-Six had done their best to utilize Antigr's free-market economy to the fullest, by smuggling in nothing short of an entire army mechanized brigade within 30 miles of the Capitol...

This however, was no small feat... Although they still lacked tanks and heavy artillery... They made-do by quadroupling the number of trucks and doubling the number of hevy infantry weapons and mortars in their organization (up to 120 trucks+80 heavy mortars supporting 4,000 people), as these proved much easier to transport without suspision.

Now with hostility declared, they marched, and for a time, blended with the rebels by using the "smile and wave" tactic, in addition to continuing to pose as the refugees/vagrants/homeless of Auston...

They took their time diffussing themselves throughout the land and gather much needed information.

Hurtian/Antigrian border: War?
Even during peacetime, there were tanks along the border, mostly just to make illegal immigrants think twice, also in case Antigr ever became fed-up with the Hurtian-culture on a whole and went on a genocidal rampage.

Now they advanced.

The first wave consisted of three Marine Expeditionary Logistics divisions suportd with additional armor borrowed from local Railway artillery divisions, including the use of armored trains to expadite their movement.

Air-support as minimal, but readily available in the form of a multitude of SAMs and an ever-vigilant squadron of 40 Hurtian F-4 Phantom IIs.

Kampfenburg, People's Republic Of Hurtful Thoughts: The letter nobody will see.
Newly appointed Minister of Foriegn Affairs Ret. General Marcus Gable sat in his desk, overviewing the new mess unfolding in his lap.

Gumbal had pretty much declared open hostilities against any Antigrian holding a rifle until someone was willing to sort out "who the bad-guys were"...
And now it was Gable's job to make sure everybody knew who's side everyone was on, which isn't easy once troops start crossing borders, bullets start flying, and the entire communications network decides to quit on you...

Steve Barnes was still feverently attempting to find/predict/divine a communications-link with the presumeably hiding King, and other loyalist forces... So far, things were rather a mess, since the contact-listing was kept in the embassies, to which they have lost contact shortly after allowing return-fire...

Ultimately, it was decided it really didn't matter, as broadcasting their location/intentions openly enough for some besieged freindlies to hear, would eliminate any surprise on the numerically superior rebel-forces... So they'd have to hope Antigr still had sufficient C3 to spread word to the frontier as well as simply making them aware of the fighting within their own country.

Still, Barnes decided to make one more letter:

To: King Fredrik II
From: Steve Barnes
Re: Protocol-84

Sir, in regards to your recent public messege, we over in the east have decided to enact Hutrian Protocol 84 upon your nation. As such, any sign of hostility upon our forces shall immediately designate them as rebels, and be dealt with as such to the unit commander's disgression. The suggested action to take, upon meeting these forces, is to surrender, allow your troops to be processed, and if they pass loyalty, will be re-issued to combat along with correct IFF badges.

Failure for forces to surrender may resault in the following:
-Becoming an POW of the Hurtian Army or Hurtful-Outcomes Inc.
-Summary execution
-Killed in Action for resisting arrest

This operation also extends to the civillian population if they resist occupation.

These actions have been chosen because we believe that any other means of IFF would allow insurgents to remain unrecognized by posing as loyalists.
This way, even if they do pose as loyalists, they will be imprisioned, and the will be caught, and therefore, dealt with accordingly.

I will admit, that this method is quite brutal, it is also is undoubtedly effective at removing the rebels for a more expedient re-consolidation of your power.

Steve Barnes

PS: This is more of an FYI, some of our troops have already been mobilized and taken seen action in Auston

Khornate Tribes:
"The director" was busy deciding how to best approach the issue of contacting the rebels, and struck upon using contacts in Spectre-six already based in Antigr to pose for the time being as Five-Point Militia/Republic Revolutionary Group sympathisers/members, at least until he could send in the political outcasts from the real FPM to do the bulk of the fighting.

Auston
17th January
16:20


The two MT-85 Marauder medium tanks rolled up the road, followed by, at the very least, by three oversnow APCs and two companies of mechanised troops of the 11th Motor Rifles, one of the formations that had spearheaded the attack on the palace a few days previously. As soon as the guns of the defending Hurtians began rythmically chattering, the soldiers sought cover behind the tanks and against the walls. A grenade was thrown, outright killing two men as the defenders recieved a volley of incoming rifle fire. While one of the tanks halted and the 40mm supercompact roof-mounted chain gun rapidly swivelled on its hydraulic mounting and began to spit high-explosive fragmentation shells, the other four vehicles continued at a slower pace as the infantry took cover behind them.
__________________

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ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Steve Barnes
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir,

I shall command you to halt your forces at the border. Not only are the decisions made disastrous, your message appears to be more of an open declaration of war on Antigr as a whole. This border crossing is unsanctioned and illegal, and not only that, but Royalist and rebel forces will, under their default training, open fire on your forces at will for a variety of equally valid reasons. I can only repeat that your troops will come under fire by numerous, likely numerically superior, forces. A hundred and fifty miles or so back from the border are a line of heavier defences and ballistic and cruise missiles, nine-tenths of which have a nuclear capability and nine-tenths of these have nuclear warheads on standby. I cannot be held responsible for the annihilation of your forces unless you come to a more sensible conclusion, as your attack as a should-be ally is on Antigr as a whole. I suggest you revise your aims before you become and enemy of all sides. Reprisals should you carry out your threats will be unimaginably serious. Pull back your troops. Royalist forces shall attack you as invaders should you proceed.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.
__________________

Norje
17th January
17:13


A 13.2mm heavy machine-gun that had been set up in an anti-aircraft mount at the top of the broadcasting station was put to an abrupt end by a well-placed lightweight rocket shell, smashing away the concrete surroundings and emphasising the bullet holes all around, backed by the black stain of an explosion and a small fire in one of the windows. If the fire took hold, the station would be useless so the Air Force Field Battalion acted fast. In an old British style, they unhesistatingly attacked in one seething mass, overwhelming the diminishing rebel defenses bit sustaining inevitable casualties in the process, the rattle of 6.5x47mm slowly dying down as soldiers poured in and sought out pockets of the lion lying in wait for it's prey, the enemy divison. Meanwhile, half a platoon had entered the building, grabbing fire extinguishers along the way and relying on the lead five soldiers to gun down the surprised and few defenders. The hiss of the carbon-dioxide extinguishers began as the equipment-safe amateur firefighting effort got underway. The King would follow soon.

Steve Barnes was surprised to recieve an actual reply...
It wasn't quite what he expected, but still, maybe he could salvage something...

To: Fredrik II
From: Barnes
Re: Friend or Foe

We find this mesege most confusing, initially you ask for help from all corners, with no further information, then decide to push away the most readily available reinforcements at your disposal.

Protocol 84 was devised for situations where proper identification of friendly forces is no longer feasable, and letting hostiles to permuate the ranks unnacceptable. If you have some magically foolproof way to distinguish hostiles from friendlies, I'd like to hear it.

I'd imagine though, that unless you have already started employing such measures yourself, you have already had your share of close calls, if we where to be without P84 or propper tactical IFF capabilities, this would ultimately decimate both countries due to friendly and hostile fire.

Please reconsider your efforts to turn down our aid, especially when you can't even control your own country at this time.

As for the thinly vieled threat of employing nuclear weapons so close to your borders, it would be far simpler to use them on yourself, as it would spare us the effort of retaliatory gains, plus solve your 'rebel problem'.

And lastly, protocol-84 is not a declaration of war, merely a declaration of martial law imposed from an outside and autonimous source in order to maintain the continuity of government; in short, to keep you alive and in power at whatever the cost.

Auston: 17th January, 16:21
Grenadiers! Enemy in the open, bearing: 157, range: 0800 from fence, fire 1CS 2F.

Moments later, three dull thumps could be head, as overhead flew a trio of large shells containing tear-gas and heavy anti-personel fragmation, while the unit commander continued to bark orders.

"Take cover"

As the enemy 40 mm erupted, the forces along the SE corner fell-back, the grenadiers then prepared to fire heavy AT-shells from the protection afforded by the 24" thick reinforced concrete walls.

"Engineer, Prime SE flamthrower, 1st stage."

And with that command, nearly 2 tons of stockpiled fuel-oil weregushed up from the ground and into the fenceline.

One of the riflemen, with a clip loaded with WP 'target-designating" ammunition, originally intended to screen retreats, designate targets, and find enemy troops attempting to use Active camo, was used for its secondary incindiary effect.

He wasn't sure if he took lossses, or the extent, though he noted that some of his 'soldiers' were now wearing the suits and ties of the office-workers rather than military fatigues... Somehow he could tell he had sustained 200% losses already...

Wilhelmshaven, Northern Zaheran

Although no information had been released on what had been codenamed 'Operation Winterstahl', the inhabitants of the city had begun to understand that there was something in the wind. There had been a upsurge in activity in the naval bases within and around the city, and the more observant noted that most of the arriving ships were troop carriers of the new Thalberg class, ships that could carry large quantities of soldiers and equipment to their destinations overseas. Another hint came when leaves for soldiers of the 278th Division, among which many hailed from the city, were cancelled, and the division itself placed on a higher readiness status.

When the news of the crisis in Antigr finally reached the Zaheranian populace, many of the city's inhabitants came to the quite obvious conclusion that their country was going to involve itself in the civil war. It did not cause an uproar, as it might have done in other countries. The Zaheranian were not by any means a pacifistic people, and idea of their country conquering long-time advantages by intervening in a foreign conflict was not in the slightest foreign to their minds. That casualties were to be expected was also accepted. The idea about the 'greater good' was since long firmly rooted in the Zaheranian mindset, and since all soldiers were professional, both they and their families knew that death was a risk they had taken upon themselves when they chose to serve in the armed forces.

That the news agencies had identified the rebels as communists, maybe slightly incorrectly, further increased the widespread belief that a Zaheranian intervention was necessary to prevent the 'red menace' from spreading to other countries. Many still remembered the Civil War and the days when communist guerillas and militias had terrorised the civilian population. Ever since then, branding oneself as communists had been one of the safest ways to commit suicide. To fight communism wherever it was found was believed by many to be absolutely necessary. The government usually took a more pragmatic view, but the Propaganda Ministry still took every chance it got to condemn Zaheran's enemies as communists, knowing it to be a safe way to fuel the populace's hate. This time the approach was a bit more discreet, with publishers quietly encouraged to write about atrocities committed by the rebel forces, whether real or not. Government spokespersons had not yet made any statements regarding the Antigran conflict, but official leaks confirmed that the Zaheranian government was strongly in favour of the legitimate government.

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ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Steve Barnes
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir,

Your statements are quite true, sir. However, I fear a border crossing at this time would destabilise the countries further; wherever royalist forces can be found they are continuously fighting and interrogation by friendly forces would be the very last thing that they need. Indeed, we have no magical way of distinguishing hostiles from friendlies save for makeshift insignia. I'm grateful for your support, but certain amounts of trust and trust alone would have to be mantained; your methods, and subsequently shooting our men who would not want to waste their time being interrogated, would only decrease, and decrease hugely, our fighting ability. No doubt this communication will be intercepted, I can warn you to expect cases of friendly fire, as soldiers will be only following their training. You would have to cross at predetermined northeast border points at which royalist forces reportedly are stationed, but I cannot allow you to destroy our fighting capabilities. I suggest we come to an agreement.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.

To: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State
From: President Jack Browning

I would like to offer our services. However, we don't have a full view of the situation and we don't know how we could help you. We fear landing forces could provoke an aggressive response from the loyalists as they would probally see us as rebel forces. We don't want to see an old friend disappear the same way the old Republic Of Colstream did, ravaged from rebel forces inside its own borders.

Modnothian J-Force team infiltrating Antigr
"Look, those bastards dropped us off early, We're here see, and we should be here, a good way farther north of where we are."

"What a mess, We'll never make it to the rendezvous from here. Looks like our best bet is to backtrack, go south overland to Haverdalsstrand, try to locate revolutionaries in the city that can get us transport to Auston, or wherever we can find some rebels with some authority. Let's move out, we gotta lot of walking to do."

The Tramp Freighter "Rusty Bucket II"
"Oy, Cap'n, lookit dese charts, this look okay to you?"
"Hey, stop wavin' it arround, lemme get a good look." The ships captain grabbed at the map, spinning the wheel erratically as he did so.
"Hey, here, jeez, take a look." The navigator shoved the map at the captain, "Lookit, you see dat bit of land over there?" the Navigator pointed at a smudge ont he distant horizon "I tink dats where we were s'posed to drop off those guys in the leedle boat."
"No see your confused, we dropped dose guys off hours ago, that must be this little island here." The captain jammed his finger onto the map, taking his other hand off the wheel he pointed at the map scale "See, that's about so many miles..." The navigator gaped

"Oh man cap'n, dat's the wrong map, see, it's in kilometers."

"What! Well then were de hell are we!?"

"We're way off course cap'n, probably deep in Antigran seas now, we gotta turn around!"

Khvedor Szakula made his way towards the doors, making certain to keep the foreigner behind him. As he did, he wondered over the wisdom of returning to the streets of the city; certainly, a dangerous place. He had an apartment he had been using for quite some time, and it was safe there, there were people to assure that, but what about the journey. He decided, even as he stepped out onto the street, that he couldn't risk losing this meeting. Besides, he hadn't read the note yet either, he wanted to know what it said.

Suddenly, Khevdor turned around, right on the sidewalk. Staring the tailing Antigrian right in the face now, he spoke to him, "This," he said, producing the paper the woman had slipped to him, "Is likely for you, if you are who I think you are," Khevdor looked down, inspecting the message, and then offered it to the presumed Republic Revolutionary Group envoy.

"If indeed you are who she thought you were, than you should read this. I believe she thought I was you, which for you, was a stroke of fortune, for I am here to help."

"And," he continued, "If you're not who she thought you are," he looked over his shoulder at the rooftops, "Consider this conversation over, very, very soon..."

There was, of course, nobody up there. The Frumentarii had a military arm, but none of their operatives had come with Khevdor here. Besides, they reasoned, he could take care of himself. Now, with circumstance and his own impatience working against him, he was taking far larger risks than anyone deemed to have been able to take care of themselves would engage in.

It would be over soon, whatever happened...

Settler's Hill - New Milkavich

On the outskirts of the geometric settlement was a large hill, higher than most of the surrounding landscape, with views across all of Town 1 and its sister cities along the coast. Originally, the dirt track that wound its way up the side led to an observatory, now reclaimed by nature in a tangle of brambles and tree branches. In a single cleared area, a large radio mast had been erected, stretching a couple hundred metres into the air. Microwave receivers dotted its side, a tangle of cables leading from them and the main mast down the shining galvanised frame to a station at its base, humming from the volume of signals it received. From the station, a squat metal hut with heavy padlocks on the two entrance doors, further cables sprouted, leading off through the forest, to the city below.

At the edge of the fence surrounding the mast, a car which had obviously seen better days sat hidden beneath the lower branches of a Fir tree, a squat specimen that had narrowly escaped being felled. Whilst it seemed the Astra had once been red, age and many home repairs had left it a patchwork of red, blue and beige, punctuated by many scratches, dents and rusted body parts. Whoever had had it shipped in to New Alfegos had obviously been searching for a very cheap car, and been rewarded by an eccentric contraption that just passed its road-worthiness test. It definitely turned heads, but was a useful vehicle nonetheless. Inside, behind the dirty windscreen, five men sat listening to the radio, crammed into the small car like sardines. On the roof, another two people sat, one with a pair of binoculars aimed down the track. The other sat fiddling with a machine pistol, stripping it down and reassembling it as if extremely bored.

As a cloud of dust appeared further down the track, the man with the binoculars banged on the car's roof, leaving a dent in the rust. The other man almost dropped the bolt from the weapon as he panicked, quickly slotting the parts back together and inserting a magazine, making sure he was aiming down the track through the flip-up sights of the AMP-02C. His associate calmly drew a large revolver from an inside pocket, pulling back the hammer as the truck drew in to sight. Inside the vehicle, the driver smiled as he recognised the vehicle - they had been under surveillance all the time by the side they were dealing with.

The vehicle finally pulled up by the fence, the four men inside all disembarking from the cab with an assortion of armaments, ranging from the almost standard PRA AF-67 of the driver to the sewer man's shotgun. The old man himself appeared as unarmed as he walked with the four men to the car, now surrounded by armed men and women. A man stepped forwards from the group, swinging a rifle around onto his shoulder as he extended a hand, met by the other's.
"Good afternoon, Captain Einria. I am sorry we are late by a few minutes, but as you may be aware, we had to stop by to check our handiwork was appreciated in the city centre."
"A pleasure meeting you as well. Now, as the police are doubtlessly agitated by that diversionary attack, it is best if we don't stay here for long. Do you have what we wanted?"
The old man nodded, as two of his men peeled off to the back of the lorry. Clambering inside, they heaved out a large wheeled crate onto the edge at the back, before letting the now-bent tail lift drop it to the ground. The other party collected the box, bringing it back to the car with immense effort before opening it to check the contents. Inside, rows of shining silver metal ingots bearing no stamps save for a purity mark lit up as they were illuminated, some with patches of iridesence. There was a quick count of them, along with some whispering in Einria's ear.

"I am sorry Xea, but it appears you got me wrong. I asked for a payment of twenty four bars of Iridium, plus an additional six bars for me forgetting who you are. You only have provided twenty bars."
The old man smiled, as the box was loaded into a trailer behind the car.
"We had problems with acquiring it in time. Thus, we will have the payment to you when we leave."
"I want my payment now." The response was much less friendly now, as the men began to draw their weapons. As the old man's retinue all raised their weapons, he smiled.
"You see, from your viewpoint, we are both mutually assured to destroy ourselves, since neither of us will back down. However, from my viewpoint, I hold the majority of the aces. The first is that I have a sniper at this very moment trained on you. The second is that we all are, shall we put it, less likely to die than you without taking down everyone else. The third, and most important, is this."

Xea knew he was in control as he slowly opened the inside of his jacket, revealing five hand grenades, pins attached to a single piece of string. The opposing side backed off as they saw him pull the strings taught. The Captain winced, thinking a moment before sighing and signalling for his men to holster their weapons.
"Alright - I accept your deal. But if you don't have it by then, the deal is off."
The men hurriedly returned to the car, which started and drove off fast, the trailing bouncing madly, throwing both the crate and the two men sitting in it around. The old man turned around and walked solemnly back to the truck, taking off his jacket and swinging it over the back of his seat in the cab. He took out a small mobile phone from the glove box, and began typing in a number. He turned to the driver, who nodded.
"From this, you can learn a very valuable lesson: ensure you have an ace up your sleeve in a a tight situation. Follow their vehicle, and make sure we turn off the city ringroad before the airport. We wouldn't want to be attracting any attention, would we?"

_____________________________

The two men riding in the trailer kept looking at the crate, resisting the urge to open it. The value of iridium was high in Alfegos, but more so on the foreign market. A single one of the 50-centimetre long bars, weighing twenty kilos, was worth in the region of $400 000 on the international market, the total four hundred kilos of the metal worth a tidy sum.
One of the men finally gave into temptation, opening the box to look inside. From this angle, he saw the metal had a strange film on it. Curious, the man tried to pick up one of the bars, finding it almost impossible to lift. He finally prised it away, suddenly giving with the crack of superglue breaking. The bar was far too light, and he could now see a hidden cable trailing from its underside directly into the bar below. Inside a mobile phone began ringing, following by a deafening explosion.

The man had not realised until now that the 'ingots' were but aluminium tubes polished to shine, the insides filled with a high explosive concoction. To make the entire box appear to be genuine, a large amount of lead shot was concealed within the walls of the crate, which in the combined blast of nearly fifty kilograms of RDX turned the box into a deadly nail bomb. The heat and shock of the blast blew a deep crater in the road, as well as blowing the car into a storm of shrapnel. The few tens of thousands of pieces of lead shot careened out wildly, soon stopped by industrial buildings surrounding the ring road and other road users, nearby cars appearing to shatter as thousands of 00 buck shot impact upon their sides.

A mushroom of smoke rose up into the air, along with the sound of sirens. On the intercity road leading to the mountains in the far distance, the old man saw the smoke in his wing mirror, and smiled in satisfaction.
"We now have control of the airship. Make sure that the 'replacement crew' are there this evening to ensure that the remaining member's of the Captain's crew are dealt with accordingly. We ship the arms to the airship on confirmation of our support being needed by the Antigrans."

[OOC: Mondoth, Pudu, Colstream, I'm afraid I'll only have time to reply to you tommorow. Being lazy is taking up a lot of my time]

Auston
17th January
16:22

The other vehicles slithered to a halt on their tracks as the multi-stage explosive-reactive armour on the first Marauder was heard to detonate, destroying an incoming projectile that nevertheless shook the vehicle with ease. After a single hissing and gushing sound, they noticed the frontal arc of the vehicle was now on fire. The armour was, of course, designed to withstand this but many of the periscopes of the vehicle were now useless, either damaged or obscured by the flames, which were now detonating.
Luckily, the rebel soldiers seemed to sustain little damage from the anti-personnel shells behind their assorted cover, and two combat engineers, behind the large walls, had decided that the concrete was impenetrable. Instead, they lit a satchel explosive charge and lobbed it over the top, crouching down behind the rocks, slinging their rifles over their shoulders and covering their ears. Meanwhile, the other Marauder was moving again, faster, with a contingent of soldiers on the back of the vehicle, followed by two of the three APCs, going onwards to the gateway. If things didn't go their way, an Army Aviation Squadron was on hand, their in-demand attack helicopters on patrol over the vast city.
__________________

On television sets across the country, many, even revolutionary supporters, sat down to watch the monarch's serious, slightly sweaty, tired but determined face flash onto the screen.
"People of Antigr"
He began.
"I have a very simple and straightforward message for you. For those rebel scum that are watching, I can hold you only in contempt. For those others that are watching, I have an appeal; to come to the north. In the north, regrouped, we can fight this common menace that has tried, very nearly successfully, to claim my life and the life of all those that are loyal. I need you to rally behind me.
That will be all"
With that, the grainy image dissapeared as the King reached towards the screen and pressed a button on his set.

Destroyer H.M.S Hendriksgard
120 Miles West of Haverdalsstrand
19th January
15:55


The RRG ship Hendriksgard was, by most accounts, a new ship, the blue-tinted grey paintwork still shiny with an acrylic touch and a deep texture, most of the missile tubes without trace of launch nor battle, the electronic systems seamlessly efficient and without a scratch. Of course, the ship had seen a small battle, when the maintenance crew on-board when the ship was at dock had either scarpered or been shot. Now, the ship was crewed to nine-tenths of the normal capacity and was running smoothly. The smoothness, however, was broken by the shout of one of two radar operators, the Officer of the Watch arriving to notice a medium-strength, respondent blip on the high-capability long-range radar, proceeding to sit down on one of the suprisingly comfortable chairs in the corner.
"What do you think, sir?"
"Well, what do you think?"
"Approximates to a freighter, I guess. Although it's nearer to the naval base
than would be allowed, war or peacetime"
"It must be royalists, then"
"I'm not that sure, it could be - "
"Royalists, sailor"
"Er...yes, sir"
"I'll alert the Cap'n. I suspect we'll be heading towards it sooner or later"
__________________

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ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: President Jack Browning, Republic of Madurastan
From: King Fredrik II


Sir,

I have a slim chance for you to land forces, although by means of port facilities and rapid rebel advances no more than a few dozen thousand men can be landed. Before rebel forces completely cut off the port, Vaskinde, thanks mainly to two currents, is ice-free year-round and has a narrow passageway out to sea. However, rebel forces are advancing on the city; you must land quickly and aid local royalist units to advance to larger contingents of allied forces further north or face entrapment and destruction. Rebel forces will, at multiple occasions, be able to take pot-shots at your forces without you having the capability to respond. You may also face so-called 'friendly fire' if you are too brash; it appears, for the moment, you have chosen the losing side.

Signed,
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King Fredrik II.
__________________

Auston

Boden looked at the stranger, not knowing what to do or say. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he said, quietly;
"And if you're who I think you are, you may wish to know that my friends and I are having a little get-together tommorow to discuss some business. If you're not who I think you may be, then this conversation could be over for you very soon"
Then, he reached into his pocket and very casually, with his left hand, opened the folded piece of paper.

To: King Fredrik II
From: President Jack Browning, Republic of Madurastan

We have already dispatched the following forces to Vaskinde:

ORBAT:

Madurastan Army:

5th Army:

21st Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun

22nd Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun


23rd Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun


24th Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun


25th Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun

Madurastan Navy:

Freedom Class Aircraft Carriers
MAC Freedom
120 Sea Wasp Fighters and 2 Westland Sea King Helicopters

AC-12 Cyprus Medium Carriers
MAC Defender
46 Sea Wasp Fighters, 2 Westland Sea King Helicopters

Battleships
MB Darkness

Cruisers
MC Vigilante

100 Landing Craft
50 Heavy Landing Craft


Support is available from:

Madurastan Air Force:

Air Fleet 4:
(Based at Bahia Air Base in the Madurastan Colony of Moriabia)
75 F-25C Revolution Fighters
50 F-39A Fearless Fighters
75 MK1 Cobra Fighter Bombers
30 A-10 Thunderbolt Close Support Aircraft
50 B52H Bombers
15 AC-130U Spectre Aerial Gunships
100 C130J Hercules Medium Tactical Transports
80 C-141 Starlifter Heavy Strategic Transports
20 Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker Air to Air Tanker/Transport
5 Boeing E-767 AWACs (Airborne Warning and Control System) Aircraft
2 Boeing RC-135U Combat Sent Signal Intelligence Aircraft
20 CH-47 Chinook Heavy Lift Helicopters

Madurastan Air Force B52Hs are on standby to bomb rebel positions.

We will be landing soon. We have Madurastan Aircraft on the way to harass the rebel positions.

OOC: Will post the landings tomorrow.
Some Tanks, Humvees and APCs have been left behind because i have not many landing ships available.
Is this a better ORBAT Antigr?

[OOC: Don't post the landings, in RP terms your fleet still needs to be harrased by rebel naval forces and you're not yet deep in Antigran waters. On your other point, the ORBAT is better, although you'd have a multitude of submarines, supply ships, frigates and destroyers. Your divisions seem to have too many very similar calibres mixed, this is not usually done for logistical purposes. There's no point in, say, ten 100mm guns, ten 105mm guns and ten 107mm guns because they have pretty much equal performance but cause supply hastle, so instead thirty of the same calibre would be used. Anyhow, I'll get your bit of RPing going, remember that this will take a while. Allow for a response at every opportunity, never assume victory]

Tronsjo Aerodrome
21st January
09:10


Tronsjo. The very airfield the King had fled from just over a week ago, on the twelfth, was now occupied by the RRG. Those of the King Crown Guard that had stayed behind, about a hundred in all, had not surrendered and so all of them died or seriously wounded, bodies even now still being collected. It is true that a plan never survives the first hour of battle but it had been nine days and so far, they were the victors, and seemingly would be for all of eternity, in the history books. Tronsjo had been chosen because it was a substation of the IOTA network, not having control over the numerous nuclear missiles but having access rather to a state-of-the-art military-grade communications centre. Marten Boden's brown-haired, skinny but alert deputy sat at one end of the oak-wood oblong table, the polish still fresh, eyeing those clustered around him. Even as Boden's deputy, he had superior authority over at least half of those here, and had managed to convince them not to use nuclear weapons. Boden was an advocate on that - the RRG should not appear as villains, merely fighting for the people, something that was perhaps reluctantly but firmly agreed upon. His oddly quiet, staunch voice began the conference, after a sip of Brandy, pausing as he went.
"Gentlemen, ladies. We are...nine days now into this campaign, and I must say it is going rather well"
All eyes were on him as he sat back in his cushioned wooden chair, as if chairing a business meeting. In that way, and many ways, he was Boden in a mirror. Identical.

"However, while our forces are widespread, we have no effective command structure or rallying point. I'd very much like to see that this is done. General Tanquist, General Temrin"
The two generals looked in focus more, in a heightened state of attention.
"Army, militia. I want numbers"
Temrin spoke after some consideration.
"Well, we have a total of about two hundred and fifty divisions, of more than two-thirds rebel strength. General Tanquist came up with the idea of making up for numbers with militiamen, the regular army can refresh their memories of how things work. Most have been or are reservists, thanks to national service. Including independent militia, a quick mental calculation would tell me we have about four and a half million men. Other armed services included, I'd say a total of fourteen million. Of course, so early on, this is below half, I'd guess, of the actual number of our supporters. However, at this stage, the soldiers and militia can only be used in a generally, and very generally, offensive role. About fifty of these divisions are fully mobile, about twice that in an organised state. Organisation shouldn't take too long with leadership, such as yours, but an unorganised division simply cannot fight professionally"
Boden's deputy, Wrede, thought this over.

"Not completely satisfactory, but good. After this, you two shall have authority to rally whatever military formations you can find together. I shall tell you why now"
Wrede quickly got up from his seat, a giant map of Antigr appearing on cue on the screen behind him.
"Mr. Boden cannot be here tonight, but he has informed me that thanks to the Omicron network the royalists only have about a hundred rallied divisions of land forces, all types, and similar equivalents at air and sea. Of these, a higher proportion are mobile and fighting, and military units are defaulting to them at about the same rate as to us. However, Mr. Boden predicts we shall have roughly equal forces but a high tactical advantage. Pay attention, now"
All in the room shifted their curious gazes to him.
"Using three ground formations"
Three rings appeared on the map.

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/MapNew_Pic06.png

"Centred here, here and here, we shall bite at the tails of the royalists as they flee northward and inflict heavy damage. Er...no doubt you'll have seen, heard or been informed of the King's message"
A murmur ran round the room.
"Twenty divisions and the equivalent again in reservist and/or militia units are covering their retreat. Considering the current situation, their rallying into an effective, deep but still weak front is thanks only to good leadership. Speaking of which, we have secret service defaulters moving in to assassinate military leaders. Back on topic - our mobile units outnumber royalist forces by about seven to four. These three groups, from left to right, we shall christen Army Group East, Centre and West. They will punch through royalist lines and form a triple pincer movement, creating two pockets and destroying the royalist front. Of course, because enemy forces are still mainly dispersed, the front is less than a third of their number but will be a severe blow. Already, smaller corps of a few divisions are moving in on the royalist-held Selingstad, as well as Enkarret, which is the most northerly-held significant point, and Vaskinde mainly by sea, with the help of Marines. However, this morning I recieved some annoying news"
The pointed to Vaskinde with a stick.

"A Madurastani mixed but mainly naval contingent is in Antigran waters, just, seemingly going to attempt to land troops at the docks, about five divisions or a hundred thousand men in total. I will tell you now that land forces, including marines, have almost, and I say almost, sealed Vaskinde into a pocket. Our naval forces are as we speak sailing to intercept the Madurastani fleet, at the moment they are outnumbered, but not by much. The local royalist commander, a Generallöjtnant Nilsson, has set up the strongest possible defenses to keep our forces out. However, there are several weak point which we intend to exploit. As for now, this is our new command centre. A question, Admiral?"

The Madurastan Fleet moved slowly into Antigran Waters. Fighter cover from Bahia Air Base in Moriabia was present, with MAC Freedoms 120 Sea Wasp Fighters and MAC Defenders 46 Sea Wasp Fighters along with the Battleship, MB Darkness and Cruiser MC Vigilante covering the sea around the fleet. The sea was calm, with nothing seen for the moment.

Wilhelmshaven
22st January
04:35


Snow fell over the city, for the fourth day in a row. Decimetre-thick layers of snow covered the roofs, parks and roads of the multi-million city. Hundreds of snowploughs were working overtime to keep the roads open to traffic, but though they were mostly successful, traffic jams had become routine for the hundreds of commuters travelling to and from their jobs inside the city centre. Accident statistics had risen at an alarming rate over the latest days, and the icy roads had filled the hospitals with patients with broken wrists and legs.

For the strange vehicle procession making their way down the city streets towards the harbour, the harsh weather was more a nuisance than a hinder. Their route had been cleared in advance by the military's own snowploughs, and the thin layer that had formed since then was barely noticed by the hundreds of tanks, infantry fighting vehicles and trucks belonging to the 278th division. The few pedestrians who were defying the early hour and the harsh weather stopped and stared as the vehicles, with their new arctic warfare camouflage painted on their hulls, rolled past towards the harbour. Military policemen, wearing reflective jackets over their snow-white winter uniforms, were patrolling along the column on motorcycles, making sure that the road was kept free from civilian traffic, not that there was much this early in the morning. Apart from the military vehicles, Wilhelmshaven's broad boulevards were almost empty.

Down at the harbour, activity was far more hectic. Extra shifts of dock labourers had been called in so that the loading could be finished in time. Soldiers, vehicles and the thousands of tonnes of supplies they needed to keep going were loaded into troop carriers and other transports. The circular harbour and the roadsted outside were filled with ships of every class and type in service in the Imperial Navy, from troop transports of the Thalberg and Bremen classes to Arleigh Burke class guided missile destroyers. The centre of the armada was the proud flagship of the Sixth Fleet, the Hauptstadt class aircraft carrier Zaheran. The mighty ship, one of three of her class in commission in the Zaheranian navy, could carry enough aircraft to level a small city. A small fleet of frigates, destroyers and cruisers surrounded the precious vessel, like bees around a beehive, protecting it from harm.

Anchored next to the carrier was three vessels of a type seldom seen. As the Antigran waters tended freeze during the winter, the naval command had allocated all of its icebreakers to the Sixth Fleet. They were nuclear-powered ships of the Arktika class, gigantic vessels built in the early seventies to clear the northern shipping lanes which usually froze during the winter, when temperaures up north sometimes could sink to forty degrees below zero. With their strong hulls and high speed they were idealic for breaking through thick ice sheets, and so they would clear the way through the frozen Antigran waters for the rest of the fleet.

With the loading finally finished, the armada began to head out towards the open sea. A protective screen of submarines and ASW ships formed around the fleet as they entered international waters, ensuring that no enemy submarine would be able to sneak up on the capital ships and troop carriers in the middle of the fleet. Helicopters and airplanes flew overhead as the giant armada began to make its way towards Antigr.



ORBAT:


Navy:

Sixth Fleet

1 Hauptstadt class carrier (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13917790&postcount=30)
3 Ticonderoga class cruisers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ticonderoga_class_cruiser)
3 Arleigh Burke class destroyer (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arleigh_Burke_class_destroyer)
3 Olver Hazard Perry class frigates (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Hazard_Perry_class_frigate)
6 Type 212 class submarines (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Type_212_submarine)
3 Supply class fast combat support ships (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supply_class_fast_combat_support_ship)
50 Thalberg class amphibious assault ships (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13937231&postcount=70)
40 Bremen class amphibious assault ships (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13937127&postcount=69)
3 Arctica class icebreakers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arktika_class_icebreaker)

Army:

278th Panzergrenadiers(Mechanised)

20,000 soldiers

130 x LY4 Wolfhound MBT
490 x LY219 IFV/APC
20 x LY219 Armoured Recovery
5 x LY219 Command Vehicles
25 x LY219/220 Shepherd STMRAD
72 x LY300 Manticore MRS
3000 x HEMT trucks
80 x TRA-92 "Eiko" Light Attack Helicopters
1 x LY471 Skyguard Battery
1,500 M94 snowmobiles

Inside the Executive Palace; January 14th
As Chancellor Muller looked over the emergency diplomatic message received from the United Kingdom of Antigr, all he could do at the moment was shake his head in disbelief. It wasn't just to long ago that he been in high level talks with King Fredrik II and his foreign minister on the issue of establishing an embassy. Now, it would appear that peace and prosperity with the United Kingdom of Antigr was going to take a little longer to achieve then previous thought. First things first though, making sure the embassy was secure was paramount. As such, after conferring with his Chief of Staff, National Security Advisor and Secretary of Defense on the situation in Antigr for what seemed like an entirety, it was decided to send the following two messages. One would be directed directly towards the Embassy of United Earthlings within Antigr and the other a general broadcast over the airwaves directed towards the people of Antigr themselves.

Diplomatic Communique to the Embassy of United Earthlings; Encryption Level 1[Basic]
Alert to all diplomatic personnel: Contingency Plan Black has been placed into effect and is to be observed until further notice.

General Broadcast to all nations
It has come to my attention that what appears to be the beginnings of a possible civil war have erupted within the United Kingdom of Antigr. While, no words of sorrow can express the pain I feel for the nation and people of Antigr at this moment, I could not in good conscience drag my people into what is expected to be hellish nightmare for all involved. As, such I have issued a declaration of neutrality and request that all sides within Antigr leave our Embassy and it’s people in peace until they can be evacuated from Antigr. However, even though our neutrality prevents us from intervening, I offer this ray of hope as little as it may be to whoever would seize upon it to help alleviate the suffering of their fellow citizens. If requested, our nation would be willing to send food, water and medical supplies to those in need. Finally as a final act of goodwill, those wishing to flee the chaos in Antigr for a better life will be granted political asylum within United Earthlings if requested.

However, before the meeting had ended and the above following messages sent, a quick discussion on what military options were available had taken place should a evacuation of the Embassy prove necessary. “Henry [Defense Secretary], what’s the closest vessel to Antigr we have on station. Sir, the closest vessel is the HMCS St. Augustine, a Seawolf class attack submarine. How long until it is in range of Antigr? About five to six hours, Sir. General, give the order to have the vessel divert course to Antigr, we need to know first hand what’s going on.”

“And General, how long until the Seventh Amphibious Group is ready to sail with elements of the 12th Marine Amphibious Force on board. If, things get any worse we may have to abandon our embassy until some stability returns to Antigr. Sir, the Seventh can be ready in a few hours, but getting even a part of the 12th Marine, is going to take quite some time. How long General? Around 12 hours, Sir. You got six, after that the fleet departs for Antigr no matter what. Yes, Sir. And Henry, I want hourly updates until our people in Antigr are safe and sound. Thanks, that’s all for now. Thank you Chancellor.”

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

Auston; 4 days later
While the Seventh AG had been at sea for a better part of three[3] days, the situation in Antigr had gone from bad to worse. From constant power outrages, rioting and looting in the streets to gun battles that could be heard in the distance. Everyone within the embassy on been on edge for the past few days, praying and hoping all this would soon be over. Still, no one had yet attack the embassy directly and with a month worth’s of food, water and fuel in storage, there was no reason to panic yet. In fact, with the embassy in full lock down mode, unless a organized battalion sized formation appeared out of nowhere and attacked in mass, the Embassy complex was probably one of the most secure places within Antigr itself at the moment. Finally, it wouldn’t be long before the Seventh AG arrived in about a week bringing with it much needed reinforcement of supplies and personnel at the least or should events on the ground prove beyond a measurable of control, the possibility of an evacuation to safety.

[OOC: Acknowledged, UE - Don't expect a reply as of yet. Madurastan, I'm assuming your ships don't detect this sub simply because it would be incredibly unlikely that they would before attack. Even at close range. BTW, got a writeup for that battleship of yours? Bear in mind that conventional battleships simply do not work anymore, have limited capabilities, and are incredibly vulnerable. SEE THIS THREAD (http://www.forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=535249)]


Submarine H.M.S. Vedamåla
19 Miles West of Blajkliden Island
22nd January
12:15


Blajkliden. One of the many islands clustered around Antigr, this was the southernmost of a string of Islands around the northwest Antigran coast, the only receiving the fairly warm but small current that ensured Vaskinde was free of ice. Vaskinde. Blajkliden island was comparable to a small to medium-sized English county and lay almost directly west of the port, which was roughly a hundred and seventy miles from it. It was this island that meant that the Antigran territorial waters were so far from the mainland, and as such the Vedamåla, a four-year-old Stirling propulsion system inshore hunter-killer submarine, named after a county, territory, state or area like all submarines, had been dispatched from Blåvikstrand naval base, under RRG control, three days ago, one of not all of the fully crewed and organised vessels of the 4th Oceanic Fleet, based at Blåvikstrand, forty miles north of Vaskinde. She was a mile, a single mile, inside Antigran territorial waters, surfaced. Her radar signal was blended with a stray iceberg floating just behind her, just a few metres in fact, Antigran naval officers being trained to do such things. She was surfaced taking on a little air for the crew but also to use her radar to the best of her ability.

The Madurastani fleet was dangerously close at this point but beyond visual range and so the radar could distinguish, at this range, sizes, types and speeds of vessels, cross-checking them with the advanced computer database onboard. Already, submarines and a contingent of modern MTBs were approaching from Blåvikstrand, but the Vedamåla was first on the scene. With the gathered radar data recorded, she began to dive level and as quietly as possible, heading towards the enemy fleet silently. Unless their sonar was focused in very highly concentrated beams and they knew her angle of approach already, her detection was nigh on impossible, and her torpedoes were of a locally-developed supercavitating type. RAM and gun-based 'sea-whizz' defence system have very limited or no capability to tackle torpedoes and there wouldn be no time for evasive action, the torpedoes running at three hundred and five knots, an even higher figure in miles or kilometres per hour. Four were loaded, one in each of the fore tubes, and one in two of four underwater vertical-launch tubes, the others housing cruise missiles.

The Captain was taking a gamble, and what a gamble it was. Now, a mere mile away from the Madurastani fleet and running at sixty metres, near the sea bed, the radar data recorded had predicted the paths of the ships going on a straight heading at constant speed, which they were doing. Inevitably, even with her quiet propulsion system, an alert sonar or hydrophone operator would probably hear her waterjets, when she got close, at about four to five hundred metres. She ran now at seventeen knots, maximum 'silent' speed, to that distance. She was approaching the MAC Freedom from her foreward-starboard quarter. The freedom had been chosen as the target because she was the most potent threat, followed by the smaller carrier and cruiser. The battleship, a far outdated design, was of limited usage and so not considered much of a threat, for an aerial assault, the skipper knew, was coming and would wipe out the battleship, a fat target. At four hundred and fifty metres, by which time the Vedamåla had probably just been heard, she gunned it, surging to her maximum speed of thirty-two knots and turning wildly. Before she lost bearing, her sonar was activated fully, her sudden appearance inevitably a shock to the fleet. They wouldn't know what had hit them.
Three torpedoes accelerated to 305 knots, two from the forward tubes and one from the VLSs behind the sail, one torpedo programmed to hit back a bit from the bows, where magazines and hangars would be in close proximity to, one in the middle where her reactors would be, and one to the stern which would hopefully cripple mechanicals, steering, crankshafts. There would be no time for evasive action and CIWS would be of little use. Immediately afterwards, just one or two seconds, two more torpedoes were launched at the smaller carrier, the MAC Defender, and the remaining torpedo simultaneously at the cruiser.

Not waiting to see the result, the captain yelled;
"BOTH ENGINES TO AHEAD SLOW! KNUCKLE TURN PORT! CRASH DIVE TO TWO HUNDRED METRES! DON'T LET THEM GET A LOCK ON US!"
The sail was quiet for only a few milliseconds before seamen leapt into action. Green and red lights flashed alternately as the engines deccelerated, the submarine banking to port at full rudder, the ballast tanks flooded rapidly and the bow planes angled downwards as far as they would go. Following the Vedamåla would be two submarines, a large group of fast supercavitating-torpedo armed 45-knot MTBs and two destroyers and a cruiser. Just ahead of them, three four-aircraft flights of rebel Coastal Command D5D anti-shipping strike fighter variants flew, covered from above by older, local-upgrade-package but still highly capable Saab J35K Drakens and a fewer number of D5D multirole fighters. The Madurastanis would have to send more ships.

OOC: The Battleship is a left over from the old Colstream Navy. It is a relic. Because of the civil war, everything was kept to fight the rebels. Nothing was then considered as it was thought the Battleships would be destoyed during the war. Most were, but only 2 survived. They won't detect the sub or torpedoes due to an antiquated sonar, but the Cruiser will detect the torpedoes. Sorry i lost the writeup. Its like the Iowa Class Battleships that served in WW2.

2 torpedoes hit the MB Darkness, which exploded in flames, alerting the fleet to a threat. The MAC Freedom was hit 3 times and small fires began to take hold. The crews sprang into action and began to fight the fires. 22 Sea Wasps were destroyed, with 2 turbines somehow escaping with only minor damage which could be repaired. MAC Defender which was close to the now sinking battleship swung hard port to avoid any more torpedoes but one hit on the stern. Another clipped one of the propellers slowing the Carrier to 10 Knots. One hit the MC Vigilante which somehow failed to explode and the other hit but caused little damage. The other 2 hit a supply vessel carrying 5 fuel trucks, which blew up and swerved starboard before rolling over. MB Darkness was mortally wounded. The Battleship quickly sank with no survivors.
The task force started to move out of Antigran Waters to avoid being attacked again. There would be no landing yet. They would have to return to international waters until reinforcements come or they were withdrawn. The carriers could no longer be effective until adequate cover could be given. The rebels had won this round.

Madurastan

With the news of MB Darkness's sinking reaching the Madurastan Admiralty, the reply was immediate. The task force was to be recalled out of Antigran Waters. The fleet was too valuble to lose and the Madurastan Air Fleet at Moriabia which was only 180 Miles away would now take up the fight.

The situation was, generally, terrible. Khvedor had to trust this man, the man he had just met, and to trust that he had passed along the message unobserved, and that he had not been observed earlier, or that he was not even now being followed. Subtlety had failed him in this endeavor, culminating in a confrontation with a new, possibly malign, contact in broad daylight, on a public sidewalk...

Khvedor nodded to the foreigner, and responded hastily, "I'd like to think I am who you think I am, and am indeed interested in this meeting; where?".

Submarine H.M.S. Vedamåla
18 Miles West of Blajkliden Island
22nd January
12:51


Half an hour later. Silence. Hydrophone operators had been excitedly reporting the sounds of impacts and the subsequent breaking up and crushing of the MB Darkness as it sank. It was evident that her magazines had probably been hit, the grand ship rolling over and sinking quickly, with few survivors. Although he'd caused the sinking, the skipper was quiet as opposed to jubilant. It was true that seamen hate to see another ship sunk. More than this, however, he was surprised that their destroyer escort wasn't coming after her; more surprised to find the remainder of the fleet wheeling away at full speed, making some degree of exhaust fumes as they accelerated. The skipper looked to his right.
"Sonar, any on our tail?"
"Er...no, sir. They're all turning away. The barrage of torpedoes probably made them think that there was a much larger force, the light carrier's crippled, making nine knots and listing heavily. Larger carrier's on fire but making speed. Screen tells me that they're about five miles away now, they've left in a hurry. Probably survivors left in the water"
"Very well. Surface and find an iceberg for cover, scan the area. I expect they'll be to preoccupied to retaliate, I expect their air cover is retreating with them. I expect there'll be retaliation for this, so stay alert"
"You heard him! Rudder twenty degrees starboard, all ahead two-thirds. Surface! And get that machine-gun ready on the sail, alert the marines"
__________________

Boden looked at Khevdor again, thinking over the answer, the cogs of his mind churning. Carefully and slowly, he spoke, pausing often, keeping eye contact.
"The meeting will be one of many similar meetings...but this one bigger...if you really wanted to find it there will be...rumours on the streets...but head to the Hilton hotel a mile north of here, at nine o' clock tonight....Transport...will be arranged"
__________________

XIII Corps
Army Group Centre
13:10


The 445th Grenadier Division was one of many similar formations here, packing up camp a few hundred miles West-South-West of Cathrineholm. Diverted from keeping security in Auston, a job taken over by static reservist divisions, it was now part of army group centre, as strong as the other two army groups combined. Sergeant Amdahl looked to his right. A battery of eight 175mm self-propelled field guns had been in action all morning, shelling with extended-range projectiles the flimsy royalist lines twenty miles to the north. The 445th, from recovering military intelligence, would be facing two complete infantry regiments drafted in from Voxang, as well as two understrength regiments of combat engineers. D5D fighters and a variety of ground-attack aircraft, he knew, had been harassing enemy infantry all morning, royalist air forces being capable but completely overwhelmed by entire fighter groups.

The 445th had another target; one of the King's three sons was commanding a battalion of infantry further back as a Major. If he were to be killed, it would be a great propaganda and morale gain for RRG forces; a chance they could not afford to miss. He also knew royalist forces, in fact most of the royalist forces in the area, were centred around the two-million-population city of Dombäck. His thoughts were distracted as the towering Regimental Sergeant-Major strode past, his stick under his arm, an officer-like cap on his head and a rifle on his back. His 'flak jacket' was covered in equipment, the bayonet clearly visible in an easily accessible position.
"Sergeant, get your squad that personnel carrier. I have it on good authority that we move out in ten minutes"

The Fleet moved out of Antigran Waters and began limping towards Moriabia. MAC Defender could be saved, even though the carrier had a 10 degree list on the port side. But it would be 6 long months and millions of Madurastan Money before the ship would sail again. The Fleet would now head west away from the battle zone until the Madurastan Government decided what to next. All eyes would be on Liberty City to supply the answers.

With the arrival of MAC Highlander and MAC Liberation, 2 Freedom Class Aircraft Carriers plus 3 Ashland Class Attack Submarines, the task force began to move back east towards Antigr.
4 more Cruisers, MC Fearless, MC Braveheart, MC Dauntless and MC Courage, now joined MC Vigilante in returning to Angitran Waters. This time, they had cover from under the waves and also 3 times the air cover even though MAC Defender was now at Moriabia having major repairs.

[What's coming up may confuse you, so check the map in my sig]

VI Corps, Army Group Centre
A Mile from Dombäck
23rd January
15:26


Sergeant-Pilot Ketola squeezed the trigger on his centrally-mounted control stick, sending 40mm rounds spitting with a sound like a circular saw from the huge rotary cannon beneath his feet.
The A9D Martinet was a specialised ground-attack aircraft, but unlike aircraft such as the A-10 Thunderbolt II, was capable, but only just, of Mach 2, giving it the capability to take on and destroy fighters to a fair capacity, like such aircraft as the Il-2 Sturmovik of earlier years. Now, however, he flew in a straight line at three hundred miles an hour, shredding the royalist oversnow armoured personnel carrier like a motorised lawn mower to a small rodent. Then he pulled up, and the blazing vehicle was below him, ten more enemy troops less to worry about. Pushing the throttles twenty percent forward to give him more power for a hard turn, he banked to ninety degrees and pulled back.

Momentarily, he saw RRG troops, tanks and assault guns advanced below him, and then more targets were in his sights. He glanced at one of the multifunction displays, and checked the top-right corner. 40MM: 466 RNDS. That piece of information alone gave him a smile, a smile which was broken by the sharp PING PING PING of a missile lock alert, a warning repeated by voice in his ear. Slamming the throttles forward, he began to turn clumsily, rolling over a hundred and ten degrees as a short-range air-to-air missile shot towards him. Fate, it seemed, had spared him, but not his wingman, for the missile blew that man's A9D into a million pieces and more, the fragments making short work of the uppermost part of his rudder, tailfin and after planes. His face saturated with a red mist, he turned his sights to the battery of MT-103 mobile anti-aircraft vehicles as their forty-millimetre darted around the cockpit. Then they were gone, shredded like the rest.
__________________

General Jakobsen strode anxiously around the map table, the four five-pointed stars on his shoulders glinting angrily in the yellow light. He looked up again at Lieutenant-General Lindberg, who, he could see, had donned a basic outline of a crown on a cloth armband like many royalist troops. Jakobsen was acting in the King's absence, who was catching some well-deserved and fitful sleep.
"They've advanced how much?"
"Twenty-two miles, sir. They've - "
" - Completely smashed our lines, you mean to say"
"Er..."
"Fortunately, we have no major fixed defences, I trust the line is deep?"
"I gather so, sir, we're going to try and attempt a counterattack and cut off their rear at dawn. Well, that's what I've discussed with General Wiik, sir"
"That's not going to work, you know why?"
"No, sir"
"They'll have cut off our rear first!"
"Do you want to be depressed, sir?"
There was no response, so Lindberg went on, passing Jakobsen a slip of paper.
"Read this, sir. Intelligence"
Quiet. Utter silence, even the clock ticking couldn't be heard.
"They...?"
"Yes, sir. A new secret weapon of sorts. They have General Sandrez, his Corps is spearheading the attack on Dombäck"
"I-I'd like you to order...a strategic fighting withdrawal, to Dombäck"
"You mean a retreat, sir?"
"Yes. You know, I've been thinking"
"What?"
"Linnköping. I understand it's now completely under our control, says the dossier"
"Yes, sir, along with Kittelsbole, Vox - "
"There's a straight leading into it, a naval route. Consult admiral Crabo. We could get naval forces to land at the docks there, it's much closer to the action than Karlsfors, the straight is not frozen in for most of the way. Madurastan and Zaheran...whole fleets could use the docks there. Rebel forces could bombard them as they pass through the straights, but they'll be in minority!"
"Yes, sir. Certainly feasible. Allied fleets passing in from the northern sea, down the straight"
"I'll wake the King"

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Flag_Pic01.png


ANTIGRAN MILITARY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: To whom it may concern, Zaheran and Madurastan Supreme Command
From: King Fredrik II


Sir/Madam,

One of my Generals has had an idea. You will be aware that there is a narrow, ten-mile-wide straight leading down from the northern Antigran sea directly south to Linnköping. Whole fleets could use the excellent dock facilities there and land fairly close to the action in comparison to other ports such as Karlsfors. The port is secure. Please head for Antigran waters posthaste with available forces if possible. Our naval forces shall free the seas as best we can but this can only be kept up for a few days; please get back to me on this matter with figures, dates and times so that you may land forces.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.

[What's coming up may confuse you, so check the map in my sig]

VI Corps, Army Group Centre
A Mile from Dombäck
23rd January
15:26


Sergeant-Pilot Ketola squeezed the trigger on his centrally-mounted control stick, sending 40mm rounds spitting with a sound like a circular saw from the huge rotary cannon beneath his feet.
The A9D Martinet was a specialised ground-attack aircraft, but unlike aircraft such as the A-10 Thunderbolt II, was capable, but only just, of Mach 2, giving it the capability to take on and destroy fighters to a fair capacity, like such aircraft as the Il-2 Sturmovik of earlier years. Now, however, he flew in a straight line at three hundred miles an hour, shredding the royalist oversnow armoured personnel carrier like a motorised lawn mower to a small rodent. Then he pulled up, and the blazing vehicle was below him, ten more enemy troops less to worry about. Pushing the throttles twenty percent forward to give him more power for a hard turn, he banked to ninety degrees and pulled back.

Momentarily, he saw RRG troops, tanks and assault guns advanced below him, and then more targets were in his sights. He glanced at one of the multifunction displays, and checked the top-right corner. 40MM: 466 RNDS. That piece of information alone gave him a smile, a smile which was broken by the sharp PING PING PING of a missile lock alert, a warning repeated by voice in his ear. Slamming the throttles forward, he began to turn clumsily, rolling over a hundred and ten degrees as a short-range air-to-air missile shot towards him. Fate, it seemed, had spared him, but not his wingman, for the missile blew that man's A9D into a million pieces and more, the fragments making short work of the uppermost part of his rudder, tailfin and after planes. His face saturated with a red mist, he turned his sights to the battery of MT-103 mobile anti-aircraft vehicles as their forty-millimetre darted around the cockpit. Then they were gone, shredded like the rest.
__________________

General Jakobsen strode anxiously around the map table, the four five-pointed stars on his shoulders glinting angrily in the yellow light. He looked up again at Lieutenant-General Lindberg, who, he could see, had donned a basic outline of a crown on a cloth armband like many royalist troops. Jakobsen was acting in the King's absence, who was catching some well-deserved and fitful sleep.
"They've advanced how much?"
"Twenty-two miles, sir. They've - "
" - Completely smashed our lines, you mean to say"
"Er..."
"Fortunately, we have no major fixed defences, I trust the line is deep?"
"I gather so, sir, we're going to try and attempt a counterattack and cut off their rear at dawn. Well, that's what I've discussed with General Wiik, sir"
"That's not going to work, you know why?"
"No, sir"
"They'll have cut off our rear first!"
"Do you want to be depressed, sir?"
There was no response, so Lindberg went on, passing Jakobsen a slip of paper.
"Read this, sir. Intelligence"
Quiet. Utter silence, even the clock ticking couldn't be heard.
"They...?"
"Yes, sir. A new secret weapon of sorts. They have General Sandrez, his Corps is spearheading the attack on Dombäck"
"I-I'd like you to order...a strategic fighting withdrawal, to Dombäck"
"You mean a retreat, sir?"
"Yes. You know, I've been thinking"
"What?"
"Linnköping. I understand it's now completely under our control, says the dossier"
"Yes, sir, along with Kittelsbole, Vox - "
"There's a straight leading into it, a naval route. Consult admiral Crabo. We could get naval forces to land at the docks there, it's much closer to the action than Karlsfors, the straight is not frozen in for most of the way. Madurastan and Zaheran...whole fleets could use the docks there. Rebel forces could bombard them as they pass through the straights, but they'll be in minority!"
"Yes, sir. Certainly feasible. Allied fleets passing in from the northern sea, down the straight"
"I'll wake the King"

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Flag_Pic01.png


ANTIGRAN MILITARY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: To whom it may concern, Zaheran and Madurastan Supreme Command
From: King Fredrik II


Sir/Madam,

One of my Generals has had an idea. You will be aware that there is a narrow, ten-mile-wide straight leading down from the northern Antigran sea directly south to Linnköping. Whole fleets could use the excellent dock facilities there and land fairly close to the action in comparison to other ports such as Karlsfors. The port is secure. Please head for Antigran waters posthaste with available forces if possible. Our naval forces shall free the seas as best we can but this can only be kept up for a few days; please get back to me on this matter with figures, dates and times so that you may land forces.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.

To: King Fredrik II
Madurastan Supreme Military Command

We are glad we can use that channel. A rebel submarine took out a battleship and crippled a carrier which had to leave the area. The Fleet is only 40 miles from that area so it will be directed to that area. The Fleet will be there in around 2 hours time and will navigate the strait and land forces. New ORBAT:

5th Army:

21st Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun

22nd Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun


23rd Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun


24th Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun


25th Division

15,000 combat soldiers
5,000 support soldiers

100 M8 L1A1 Lariat ‘Long Arm’ MBTs
150 M344 Wolverine APCs
200 O’Gara-Hess M114 Armored Vehicle (Humvee)
80 Reaver M2061A2 Medium MLRS Module
60 105mm Light Gun
30 110mm Light Gun
15 125mm Howitzer
5 M - 46 130mm Towed Gun
12 155mm AS-90 Self Propelled Gun

Madurastan Navy:

Freedom Class Aircraft Carriers
MAC Freedom
120 Sea Wasp Fighters and 2 Westland Sea King Helicopters (10 Damaged and 20 Destroyed)
MAC Highlander
120 Sea Wasp Fighters and 2 Westland Sea King Helicopters
MAC Liberation
120 Sea Wasp Fighters and 2 Westland Sea King Helicopters

Cruisers
MC Vigilante
MC Fearless
MC Braveheart
MC Dauntless
MC Courage

100 Landing Craft
50 Heavy Landing Craft


Support is available from:

Madurastan Air Force:

Air Fleet 4:
(Based at Bahia Air Base in the Madurastan Colony of Moriabia)
75 F-25C Revolution Fighters
50 F-39A Fearless Fighters
75 MK1 Cobra Fighter Bombers
30 A-10 Thunderbolt Close Support Aircraft
50 B52H Bombers
15 AC-130U Spectre Aerial Gunships
100 C130J Hercules Medium Tactical Transports
80 C-141 Starlifter Heavy Strategic Transports
20 Boeing KC-135 Stratotanker Air to Air Tanker/Transport
5 Boeing E-767 AWACs (Airborne Warning and Control System) Aircraft
2 Boeing RC-135U Combat Sent Signal Intelligence Aircraft
20 CH-47 Chinook Heavy Lift Helicopters

More ORBAT

25 Ice Breakers
40 Fuel Ships
120 Landing Ships

Destroyers

"Francis Class"

MD Barista
MD Polaris
MD Lightning

"Leighland Class"

MD Warestan
MD Karajan

"Westland Class"

MD Carasta
MD Aragua

The Task Force now lay just under 1 day away from the straights. The Icebreakers were ahead, planning a route through the ice they would have to pass through as they approached the straits. Every vessel was on high alert, even though below them was the 3 "Ashland Class" Attack Submarines protecting the vessels from beneath them.

Alfegos Senate

Shouts echoed across the senate hall as the COnsul tried to restore order, the ISS agents in the background gathering at entrances into the hall itself. A shaft of sunlight cut through the hole in the centre of the dome above the hall, illuminating the inside of the chamber alongside numerous other vents into the building. Beneath, on the carved stone benches, the senators themselves sat in furious debate, traditional robes shimmering in the light as they gesticulated wildly. In the centre of the hall, the shimmering red robes of the Ministers had divided into two factions, yelling abuse at each other as they attempted to reach a decision. On the one side, the Interior Minister led a verbal assault on the Foreign Minister, the gap between them filled by a few of the braver ISS agents, ready to step in should it break down further. Further across the hall, the Judicial Senators and the Regional Senators were divided in similar arguement, the vociferous Ol'Vi Senator booming across other objections.

In the centre of the hall, the President turned to the Consul and winced, raising his voice to be heard above the din.
"Tell the ISS to break this up: I can't have senate temporarily disbanded, since time is of the issue, and we need a decision rapidly. Not a referendum on the entire thing."
The consul turned, speaking into a hidden microphone under her chin. The President placed his fingers deep into his ears, ducking down at the same time as the rest of the ISS guards. Split seconds later, white noise cut across the hall, temporarily deafening all present as they dived to the floor. It carried on for a few minutes as the ISS guards sprinted out to move senators back to their seats, before it turned off.

In the ringing silence, the president spoke.
"As I am very sure you are aware, we currently are debating an issue of the utmost criticality - that being of starting a peace-keeping operation within Antigr to re-establish the deposed government. The government has strong links with us both in political and trade circles, to the point of being one of our closet allies. Diplomatic means are known not to work, leaving us with this only option - a military operation.
We have had the speakers for the two sides make themselves clear, giving to you all the current state of affairs. Therefore, all present, I will give permission for you to start your vote. You have five minutes to make your vote at your relevant stations, before they are counted. If such disorder occurs again during and after the voting period, the Consul will give permisison to eject trouble-makers from the hall until they are deemed to be in a fit state to perform the duties of government. Thankyou."

______________________

ANN News Channel

"Now for some news just in. The vote for a movement towards a war against the rebellion in Antigr was completed fifteen minutes ago, and the results have just been revealed. Crossing now live to our Senate Correspondant, Li'si Kjo'as."
The image switched to a view from the gallery withiin the senate, where a tight crowd of onlookers were pressed against the walls of the dome-shaped hall and the metal railings. The correspondant stood looking over the senate, as a row erupted between the Ol'vi Senator and another senator.
"As you can see, the results of the vote have been rather controversial, in light of the increased activity of the PRA in Alfegos. The motion, for war in Antigr, was passed 65 to 22, with an unconfirmed amount of abstainees. Whilst no direct action is likely to occur immediately, it is expected that the first stage of attacks will commence shortly."

______________________

AAS Valkyrie - 250km WSW Antigran Mainland

What nobody had realised was that attacks would be started so quickly. As Antigr had fallen into disorder, an emergency first-strike force had been assembled to liberate the Alfegan Embassy if necessary, providing air support from a hastily assembled airfleet group originally designated for airway patrols.
The first of the airships to be gathered had been moved from a routine transferral to the role of providing attack. Along with the aerocarrier, a pair of aerofrigates sat as long-range missile attack escorts, stationed offshore Antigr with enough range to provide quick interception of missiles and aircraft that wanted to start a fight, or that would be following in the wake of the attack

The airship itself was a Valkyrie-class, loaded for an attack on ground targets. Inside its massive payload bay, twenty Fegofighter-02Bs sat locked onto the interior metal panel decks, pilots alert and ready to be scrambled. Further along the airship's underside, a heavily armoured pod held all the munitions for the aircraft, in the form of mixed missiles and bombs. A mid-air transferral of items a few hours earlier meant the payload pay was full to the brim, of many heavy bombs and anti-surface missiles.

The call came as the pilots finished their pre-flight briefing: an attack on major positions in the south, to try and gain air superiority. For that, cluster bombs had been loaded to attack runways and airports, with further anti-air missiles for defence enroute. Only six of the planes were to sortie in this first mission, as a test of the opposition's strength, with major airfield targets in the south west of Antigr to be targeted in their run. The sleek planes were all painted a greyish-blue, similar to that of the airship, with white numbers stencilled on. The sleek shape of the fighter-bombers not only accounted for their high maximum speed, but also for their stealth, which the external bomb pylons would guarantee once they had dropped their load. Underneath each wing, a section of the aircraft was covered in unpainted ceramic tiles, the reason revealed by the large vectored thruster jets on the underside, necessary for the aircraft to return safely to the airship. The powerful engines hummed as they idled, the pilots entering the cockpits and performing last-minute flight checks as their craft were prepared for launch externally by the ground crew.

In the lead aircraft was Fight Lieutenant Syu, a veteran Alfegan who had flown many such sorties before. His aircraft was something of a legend amongst the Alfegan Air Force, a slightly older craft with the segment just under the window marked with his kill list - thirty enemy aircraft. An impressive record for a man marked for fighter-bomber missions, a result of his many sorties in the many conflicts he had been posted to. As he ran over his final instrument check, he felt the characteristic nudge of his aircraft as the chocks were removed from under the wheels, the engines now being the only thing keeping him still. A small tug unit latched on to the front wheel, towing him over to the launch ramp, slowly folding down out of the base of the improvised hanger of the airship.
"Valkryie height is six thousand metres and stable. Average wind speed is eighty klicks per hour from 810 mils, with gusts of up to nintey-seven klicks. Current relative airship speed is zero klicks. Launch time in thirty seconds."
The hanger depressurised as the floor of the hanger magically folded away, leaving a gaping hole in the centre wide enough for the plane to depart the vast construction, a segment of floor angled downwards to give optimal speed for a successful flight.
"Go!"
A light turned green outside the hanger, followed by the release of the aircraft from the tow unit. The aircraft rolled forwards, as Syu pushed the thrust control levers fully forwards. Two jets of flame rocketed from the aircraft exhausts as the launch afterburners cut in, throwing the plane forwards at high speed. Ducking down the ramp, the aircraft cut from the harsh interior lighting to the external ambient light: the evening twilight just off Antigr. It was a cloudless sky, perfect flying weather normally, as the plane shot out from underneath the airship, engines screaming. As the craft dropped to four thousand metres, it reached minimum flight speed, circling upwards from the airship as the next aircraft followed from the airship now above him.

After ten minutes of circling at low speed, the aircraft finally were all launched and at the correct altitude. As Syu gave an order, the aircraft peeled off into an arrowhead, with him leading at the front. With thurst once again at full, the aircraft quickly left the area of the airships, accelerating to Mach 1.1 as the aircraft armed their bombs for the attack. Each plane held six 100kg cluster bombs on their external pylons, GPS guided and armed to cause massive damage across runways. Internally, a small payload bay held four SRAAMs and a RADAR decoy, to aid with their escape from the area should they be pursued. Across the six aircraft, this represented a considerable amount of firepower, ready to be used on demand.
"Target minus eight minutes. Prepare for engagement."

Far away, one fo the aerofrigates started slowly rotating, bringing the side of its missile payload bay inside. As part of a two-pronged attack, the aerofrigate was armed with four Splinter ULRSAMs, along with a considerable number of MRAAMs and ABMs, for defence against any aircraft. At a mere 420m, the craft was greatly overshadowed by the 900m Valkyrie, yet still possessed a keen amount of firepower that could be guided on demand by the Valkyrie's onboard RADAR units. As the aircraft closed in on Antigran airspace, a pair of the Splinter ULRAAMs shot from their holding cells out into the air, to be boosted by the main engine ignited mere seconds later. The two large missiles arched upwards, following a steep parabola at a speed much faster than that of the aircraft. Each missile was equipped with a 100kg Directional Fragmentation Warhead, enough to blast a wing of aircraft out of the sky. With small onboard RADAR units and the data received from the Valkyrie and the six aircraft on their attack runs, the missiles were designed to home in on any airborne targets within the area they found without a friendly beacon, to detonate and destroy whatever follwed the aircraft away from their attack site.

__________________________________

CLOSED MESSAGE - TO THE KING OF ANTIGR

AAS VALKYRIE REPORTING. SIX AIRCRAFT CURRENTLY ENROUTE TO ATTACK REBEL-HELD AIRFIELDS. ISSUE WARNING TO LOCAL FORCES OF IMMINANT AIRSTRIKE. REQUEST PERMISSION TO DEPLOY CONVENTIONAL BALLISTIC MISSILE WEAPONRY TO CONTINUE STRIKES.

___________________________________

Fourty-eight hours behind the airship strike fleet came a small carrier force, to continue the air bombardment. Troop deployment would likely take its time, yet for now an air campaign was what was considered to be the most effective route of dealing with the rebel forces. The carrier fleet would approach from the same direction as the air fleet force, along with an accompanying airship taskforce to strike much deeper into the heart of the enemy positions.

ORBAT - CARRIER FLEET DEFROST
> AS Zevkhay - City-class Carrier
+ 32 Fegofighter-02Ms Multirole Fighters
> AS Ol'vi - City-class Carrier
+ 32 Fegofighter-02Ms Multirole Fighters
> AS Nos'vi - City-class Carrier
+ 10 Fegofighter-04Is Interceptors
+ 8 Palm-Bomber-22 Strategic Bombers
> AS Zev'ka'lia - City-class Carrier
+ 22 Fegofighter-04Is Interceptors

> AS Polia - River-class Missile Cruiser
> AS Zevka - River-class Missile Cruiser
> AS Ultimatum - Deadline-class Battleship

> 4x R-class Frigates
> 6x F-class Destroyers

> 3X Auxilliary Ships

ORBAT - 7th Airfleet Taskforce
> AAS Colstream - Consul-class Aerocruiser
> AAS Antigr - Consul-class Aerocruiser
> AAS Shooting Star - Consul-class Aerocruiser

>5x N-class Aerofrigates
>1x L-class Aerodestroyer
>1x RADAR Mesolite (Type Ruby)

ORBAT - SUBMARINE TASKFORCE TIGERSHARK
>AS Anaconda (Hunter-killer)
>AS Boa (Hunter-killer)
>AS Mamba (Hunter-killer)
>XS 97 (Nuclear Ballistic Missile Submarine)

Aboard HIMS Zaheran
23rd January
19:54


A cold wind blew across the flight deck of the carrier, carrying with it a strong smell of petroleum. Admiral Heinrich Jaeger barely noticed it when it reached his nostrils, he was used to it after twenty years aboard three different carriers. Zaheran was his latest command, the grandest vessel so far. With it came responsibility over whole the Sixth Fleet, one of the oldest and most renowned formations of the Imperial Navy. With the additional troop carriers the fleet had been assigned for the Antigran campaign, the number of ships under his command had reached one hundred and twelve, an astounding number. He could not think of any other naval commander in Zaheran's modern history that had led such an armada. Another sign of the Empire's growing power.

They were now barely one hundred and twenty nautical miles from the Antigran west coast, and travelling with a speed of twenty knots. The Antigran mainland was only five hours away. Now they only had to find a port still in loyalist hand, so that they could unload the twenty thousand men in the troop carriers' cargo bays. The situation in the country still seemed chaotic, and the usually so confident intelligence officers could not tell him which cities had fallen to the rebellion. The satellite photos showed large concentration of troops marching northwards, but it was impossible to tell if they were loyalists or rebels.

A polite cough behind his back made him turn around. The communication officer standing there gave him a snappy salute and handed over a sheet of paper, still warm from the printer.

"From the Antigrans, sir", the man explained. "They ask us to head for Linnköping. Quite urgent, it seems."
"Thank you, leutnant", Jaeger answered with a salute of his own. He read through the message. What the man had said was correct. They were to head for Linnköping. He looked up at the officer.
"Signal all ships that we have a destination. Retain the current formation. We are switching to full combat readiness status, but no one will fire unless fired upon. If we are approached by warships belonging to another nation I want to be informed immediately. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." The man saluted again and ran off towards the communication central. Jaeger followed after him. He could not prevent an expectant grin from forming on his face. It was beginning.

http://img383.imageshack.us/img383/1717/sealxr7.gif
The Holy Empire of Zaheran
Ministry of Defence
Encrypted Communication



To: King Fredrik II
From: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, Commander of Strike Force Antigr

Your Majesty,

As per your request, we will head for the port of Linnköping. We are currently positioned one hundred and twenty nautical miles from the mainland. We are estimating that we will reach Linnköping in six to eight hours, unless resistance from rebel forces is encountered. An ORBAT of our forces has been attached to this message.

Navy:

Sixth Fleet

1 Hauptstadt class carrier (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13917790&postcount=30)
3 Ticonderoga class cruisers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ticonderoga_class_cruiser)
3 Arleigh Burke class destroyer (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arleigh_Burke_class_destroyer)
3 Oliver Hazard Perry class frigates (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Hazard_Perry_class_frigate)
6 Type 212 class submarines (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Type_212_submarine)
3 Supply class fast combat support ships (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supply_class_fast_combat_support_ship)
50 Thalberg class amphibious assault ships (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13937231&postcount=70)
40 Bremen class amphibious assault ships (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13937127&postcount=69)
3 Arctica class icebreakers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arktika_class_icebreaker)

Army:

278th Panzergrenadiers(Mechanised Infantry Division)

20,000 soldiers

130 x LY4 Wolfhound MBT
490 x LY219 IFV/APC
20 x LY219 Armoured Recovery
5 x LY219 Command Vehicles
25 x LY219/220 Shepherd STMRAD
72 x LY300 Manticore MRS
3000 x HEMT trucks
80 x TRA-92 "Eiko" Light Attack Helicopters
1 x LY471 Skyguard Battery
1,500 M94 snowmobiles

Yours sincerely,

Heinrich Jaeger
Admiral

[OOC: I have limited time in this post, so I'll cut something out, perhaps to be edited in later. Alfegos, you have your verification ICly. Rebel naval forces shall come later. I want 30 hour days]

RAF Hendriksgard
145 Miles West of Jerijärvi
25th January
20:35


That three J35K Drakens had managed to get in the air at all, considering the circumstances, was a small miracle in itself. None would have had the chance to accelerate to the speed of sound, Mach 1, before they failed to evade incoming long-range Alfegan AAMs and destroyed.
This was inevitably the work of the Alfegan taskforces, although the airfield personnel didn't know this at the time. All they knew was that they were being annihilated. As defence of the airfield fell to RAF field units, it became clear that their operational capacity would be severely reduced. The Alfegan attack was just another problem of many - various closing in militia units and a Royalist infantry regiment were just the more major ones.
A battery of static MT-103F mounts then went into action, launching a barrage of missiles at the rapidly incoming Alfegan fighters and firing some carefully-guided rounds from their twin 28mm revolver cannon. A fighter banked towards the battery and unleashed it's on-board cannon as other aircraft dropped cluster bombs on hangars and the concrete, two-mile runway. Then, minutes later, they were away, leaving the airfield a smoky ruin. For those that had survived, taking to the transonic aircraft with rifle and pistol, carnage was everywhere, the massive holes in the runways meaning that only helicopters and VTOL aircraft such as the D5D Brigand would operate from this base from now on.

(OOC: I'll do all the lovely details - I do like overdoing things don't I?)

Syu's aircraft rocketed through the sky alongside the rest of his formation, the last of the evening light glinting off the rear of his canopy, lighting up the controls with a warm, dying light. Ahead of him, the sky was lit up by his virtual sights, an OLED film panel covering the sky with details of interest. The virtual horizon monitor sat at 0 degrees, a small icon to the side flashing to show the autopilot was active.
"Target minus 2 minutes. Switch to manual controls, and reduce to bombing run speed."
He flicked a pair of switches, an alarm sounding as the plane gave him manual control. The name itself was deceptive, for as the aircraft cut through the sky the onboard computers were continually adjusting the aircraft's path, controlling hundreds of servo motors on the wings and control surfaces to optimise performance in changing conditions and at changing speeds. For now, the wing edge was set to spring into action should the computers detect tell-tale signs of either an attack run or evasive action, increasing its mobility to an exceptional level.

The computer display flickered into life as the RADAR detected three fast-moving air targets, moving in towards their craft. Another pair of icons to the far side of the screen showed the response.
"All aircraft continue on course, and prepare to engage enemy ground targets. Left wing, your path is clear."
Ahead, a massive flash cut through the sky as one of the Ultra-long range missiles detonated, ripping across the sky. As the aircraft's thermal sensor switched off to prevent damage to the processors, the display showed only a single enemy target, disappearing a couple seconds later in a second flash.
"All enemy air targets down: left wing, its your run."

Syu led the other wing off to the side, banking to change their angle of attack as the other aircraft moved off. In his headset, he head the voice of his 2IC commanding the wing in to the attack.
"Lambda Two, take the AA defences. Lambda Three, you take the runway. I'll go for the hangers."
"Affirmative."
In the distance, a series of flashes came from their target, along with the flicker of tracer fire. As they came around to seventy degrees from the normal, they banked, rolling as they accelerated towards the airfield, dropping to a few thousand metres in altitude. Syu lead the wing as they started attacking. Flicking to his bomb sights, the screen marked the GPS programmed co-ordinates of the runway, a secondary target compared to the control buildings of the airport, and its hardened hangers. Selecting the bombs, he felt a quiet shudder as the bomb doors flicked opened, followed by four loud clicks.

Below, the four bombs dropped a short way, before a quiet burst of gas blew the casings apart. Inside each, a canister spilt opening, revealing a storm of bomblets. The many bulbous projectiles continued onwards at a few hundred kilometres an hour, before impacting on the ground. Loud series of explosions roared across the asphalt of the runway and buildings, followed by clouds of smoke as fires were started by explosions nearer fuelled aircraft. As Syu moved away to prepare for a strafing run, a quiet siren started.
"I've got a missile locked to me. Have all Anti-air weapons been destroyed?"
"Negative - we still have a missile launcher in operation. Lambda one going to engage."
Syu moved to a small switch on the side of his joystick, depressing it. Behind him, the RADAR decoy dropped back as it deployed a slowing parachute, the missile following exploding on impact on the brightly painted device. Flicking the joystick, the aircraft tightly twisted, as he dropped downwards towards the hellish airfield. The gunsights were now active, superimposed on his ground sights. Approaching along the runway, he let rip, his autocannon ripping into the already-cratered tarmac. The loud burst ended as it reached a vehicle driving hastily across the tarmac below, another cloud of smoke billowing up. Another steep turn let him fire upon an already damaged hanger, rounds ripping through the hanger buildings and exploding.

As he turned for another run, he heard a call on his radio.
"This is Romeo Two, I've been hit, and I'm leaking fluid from my left wing. Requested mission abort, over."
Syu finished his run on the command tower, before turning away.
"Permission granted. All aircraft, mission abort. Return at once to Big Bird at maximum velocity."
He turned, firing up the engines to full as he rejoined the rest of his formation, moving now at high speed away from the attack site. Syu raised up above the formation, moving slightly using trim to position himself with a good view of the damaged aircraft's wing. A group of rounds had clipped the wing underside, ripping a series of holes in the top and bottom of the wing. The control flaps on this side lay jammed at zero degrees, with a pair of airbrakes flapping in the transonic winds.
"Romeo Two, looks like you'll be first in."

A few minutes later, the aircraft were idly circling below the airship, with the damaged aircraft almost hovering in the air below the craft. The same hole in the underside of the hanger was visible, from which a contraption had been lowered to grab the Fegofighter. Inside, as it was dragged up inside, a swarm of engineers surrounded the craft, staying back as its engines wound down to turning off, the crane moving the craft across to an empty repair space on the hanger floor. The ground crew quickly flicked the canopy open with the external controls, helping the pilot from the aircraft as the underside was expected. A jet of cold gas from an extinguisher cooled a burning hydraulic reservoir, as the damage to the wing was damaged.
"Syu, it looks like your man took quite a battering. We'll see what we can do to get the craft back to working order, though I doubt we'll be able to have it in the air for the next week or so safely. We're ready for the next bloke."

_____________________

Bunker 22A
New Alfegos

Deep below the wasteland of the Red Zone of New Alfegos, the control room of the bunker was full with officers as they awaited their orders. A few hours earlier, their silo had been raised from Blue to Orange Alert, and the resulting scramble of people to the bunker to start off the end chain of events of part of the high command's convoluted plan to cripple the Antigran rebels had been large.

The bunker itself was adjacent to a large silo, equipped with a number of IRBMs, a weapon of choice for the Alfegan deterrent, and strategic attack system, with the angle of incursion that such missiles used able to circumvent the majority of enemy detection systems. Four concrete caverns stretched down into the dark soils of the region, each fitted with six such missiles. Each was a sleek, deadly device, warheads already fitted for firing at a moment's notice, as a last resort for the defence of the Alfegan Homeland or as a last resort in the nation's MAD policy. Two silos, the highest security ones, held missiles fitted with multiple nuclear warheads, of a sufficient power to cause the near total destruction of a country with a single salvo. The other two held a mix of conventional and biochemical warfare missiles, further designed to act as a defensive measure.

Inside the bunker, orders had already come in for which missiles were to be prepared for firing: six of the missiles, an entire silo, three fitted with high explosive bunker-attack warheads to destroy nuclear bunkers in the hands of the rebels. The other three were fitted with high-yield Explosive Flux Compression Warheads - EMP missiles, to be targeted at cities to the south of Antigr, to knock out all power supplies in the most densely populated areas and to limit military technology available in the area.

At the radio control station, a message started coming in, a scrambled jumble of letters that rearranged themselves as they were decoded from the embedded code set identifier.
PERMISSION GRANTED TO FIRE MISSILES AT DESIGNATED TARGETS. CODE-22A7F329.
The single message turned the crowd of people into a storm, whirling around the interior of the bunker to stations, co-ordinated preparations to fire. A siren started as blast doors were closed, in anticipation of the missiles firing.
At the missile firing control desk, the three officers in charge set the missile launch sequence and checked the missile systems, the large consoles flickering with LEDs as the missiles were readied for fire. Once the checks had been done, the Bunker Commander walked over to the safe in the far side of the room, dialling in a code that was then added to by the ISS Commander. The safe accepted the code, bolts retracting to allow access to its interior. Reaching inside, the Commander took one of the orange-cased cases, checking the code on the outside before breaking it open.
"The code is 22A7F329. The fire message is genuine."
The ISS Commander reached further inside, removing an orange strongbox, into which he placed another code. Inside, a pair of keys resided.

The Bunker Commander took his key and paced over to the control desk, checking its colour - orange for conventional fire missions. The key on the end of the fob was a hexagonal prism, made from a dull grey metal with notches engraved across its body as if by a laser, an intricate pattern that nobody could hope to recreate. He lifted the key, stretching the elastic string it was attached to the strongbox with, and inserted it into a slot on his control desk. Nodding, the other commander inserted the key. Both turned the keys in synchrony, lighting up a bright orange lamp on the console and starting a loud klaxon. The commander yelled across the room.
"Launch is in thirty seconds. All apply hearing protection."

In the silo, a cloud of steam erupted from the pipelines holding the six missiles upright, as fuel rushed into the tanks at a staggering flow rate. Above them, a series of large steel slabs folded downwards into the bunker, letting a cloud of dust into the structure. As the doors finished opening, the pipelines dropped from the sides of the missiles, which had by now disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The engines fired up, jets of flame diverted down blast channels away from the base of the missiles, as they were slowly thrust upwards into the sky. The flickering exhausts of the craft lit up the dark land beneath, a chasm now appeared in the middle of an abandoned village filled with flame.

Within a few minutes, the missiles had accelerated rapidly to full speed, arching upwards through the mesosphere as they changed their angle, targeting towards the targets in Antigr. Within ten minutes, any working Antigran Missile Defence modules would likely sound the alarm of an impending attack, which would be assumed nuclear. The panic would be intense as the disjointed rebel structure tried to rely the message to command. Within thirty minutes, the warheads would have detonated, three destroying rebel-held nuclear bunkers and three disrupting large areas of the south. Chaos to act as cover for the Alfegan and Madurastani attacks to arrive.

Blåvikstrand Naval Base
Blåvikstrand, 40 Miles North of Vaskinde
29st January
12:38


Blåvikstrand and the 4th Oceanic fleet had been under total of revolutionary forces for over a week now. Just a few days ago a submarine of the base and fleet and attacked and severely damaged or completely destroyed all the capital ships of the Madurastani landing fleet and made what hadn't been sunk make a hasty retreat, leaving their survivors in the water. Overall, quite a few prisoners had been taken and would inevitably yield information. And now they have the gall to come again, Admiral Rudkilde thought. He stepped aside from his place on the deck, sidestepping towards the rail as a platoon of Royal Marines jogged past him. The unusual thing about Antigran carriers was that, as a design feature, the various emplacements for machine-guns, missile launchers and such were combined into a flush, continuous deck running round the ship, partially underneath the overhanging flight deck, and so personnel had easy passage along the sides of the vessel and well as somewhere to lounge around. Two sailors approached him, one carrying, with difficulty, an enormous wooden box. Giving him a brief, strained salute, they carried on past him to place the wooden box, which he now saw was marked '13.2 x 106 MM TRACER AP - 300 ROUNDS', next to one of the mounted weapons which pockmarked the deck. To the left of him, crewmen were loading missiles into one of the twenty-one cell RAM launchers.

Indeed, it had been a mad scramble to get crews, even at a state of readiness, although, unlike in peacetime, the ships would end up going to sea with a full compliment of crew and supplies in a shorter period of time. Across his line of sight, another fleet carrier was putting to sea. Hearing the clank of footsteps on the metal decking, he turned to see his adjutant approach with some pieces of paper clasped in his hands. Saluting, he handed Rudkilde the sheets without further ado.
"Is this all we'll have? I don't think it's enough"
"Well, sir, elements of the 2nd Oceanic are putting to sea at Rydal but there aren't very many of them. Everything else is on the sheets. The 6th and 7th Oceanic fleets are heading off to intercept the Alfegans, sir, and the remainder..."
"Royalist"
"Icebreakers?"
"On standby, but the ships have icebreaking bows and very high ice classes"
"The sheet. I'm afraid we're quite understrength, sir, only bringing combat squadrons and flotillas"
4TH OCEANIC FLEET
STRENGTH REPORT
29-01-09
BRAVO DELTA
90/511/32/28

HMS

Norra Skoga - Fire-Support Battlecruiser
Vikangen - Fleet Carrier
Nordaker - Fleet Carrier
Neder-Kångsta - Heavy Cruiser
Tårrajaure - Light Carrier
Hedenslund - Light Cruiser
Tifvarsgård - Light Cruiser
Yckelsbo - Destroyer Leader
Gimdalsby - Destroyer Leader
Efferarvet - Destroyer
Extorp - Destroyer
Fjalby - Destroyer
Vedasbacka - Frigate
Boviksbadet - Frigate
Osterljung - Frigate
Fullsjön - Frigate
Ostnora - Frigate
Over Lansjarv - Supply Ship
Ickdal - Supply Ship
Kihlanki - Supply Ship
Zinkgruvan - Supply Ship
Klattorp - Supply Ship
Ovvergård - Supply Ship
Qvistbäck - Tanker
Killinki - Tanker
Unfors - Tanker
Ivarsbjörke - Fleet Submarine
Vedamåla II - Fleet Submarine
Ostersund - Fleet Submarine
Erik Strindberg - Fleet Submarine
Axelassel - Fleet Submarine
Attack - Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine
Län - Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine
Besegrare - Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine
Vedamåla - Diesel-Electric Fleet Submarine
Halfvarsbenning - Diesel-Electric Fleet Submarine
Landskap - Diesel-Electric Fleet Submarine
Hemling - Diesel-Electric Fleet Submarine
Osterljung II - Diesel-Electric Fleet Submarine
Fredrik I - Diesel-Electric Fleet Submarine

The Madurastan Fleet now lay 1 week from the straights entrance. Aircraft were to be launched just before armed with bombs, missiles and Exocets just in case. Madurastan High Command was now wary of the fleet navigating the straights. They hoped that now some good luck would come their way, as so far the fleet had seen nothing promising since the Submarine Attack.

4th Oceanic Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
05:46


The twilight hours this far north, just south of the Antigran portion of the arctic circle, was none short of beautiful. Pink and orange rays of sunlight trickled over the horizon, casting their reflections upon the still ice shelves that layered the sea beneath it. The ice - the sea ice here was a metre thick, meaning that only ships with a very high ice class, such as those of the Antigran northern fleets, could operate in them, having a polar ice class of PC 1 to 3, one of the, perhaps the, only navy to posess such numbers of ships. Still, progress was not what could be described as speedy; icebreakers of the RRG-controlled 2nd Oceanic fleet had caught up with them after putting to sea at Rydal to protect the ships with the lowest ice classes.
Admiral Rudkilde pondered, surveying the dawn. He knew that a ship without an ice class simply could not operate in these waters, even with an icebreaker. While the 4th Oceanic had some freedom of actions, the fleets from Zaheran and Madurastan likely wouldn't. The fact alone brought a grin to his face, which stayed there until he was interrupted by a midshipman from Communications.
"Admiral, sir. Beg to report radar ships have picked up radar contact"
He glanced to the radar picket ships, two of them, modified destroyers, each with a massive IHTc-44 radar that dominated the after third of the ship. They were the eyes and ears of the fleet, sitting well-protected on either side of the fleet carrier HMS Nordaker, his flagship from which he surveyed, with the Fjalby and Tårrajaure on either side.
"Are they concentrating radar power?"
"Yes, sir. The contacts are reported on static bearing nought-seven-one, to our west-north-west. It's either a royalist naval force or the invasion fleets. Oh, latest intelligence, sir. Appears that Madurastani and Zaheran fleets are linking up"
"How far away are they?"
"About five hundred nautical miles, sir. Travelling slowly with the ice"
"Can we hit them at that range?"
"Long-range surface-to-surface launch, yes, sir"
"Get a positive identification. When you have it, inform me, I shall give the order to fire. They may well detect us, I want anti-air and anti-surface-equipped air patrols, raise the alert status"
The midshipman saluted smartly, touching the tip of his cap with his right forefinger.
"Sir!"

The Madurastan Fleet kept moving at a steady speed, waiting for the Zaheran Fleet to meet up and approach the straits together.

6th Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
06:05


Dawn was rising, but admiral Heinrich Jaeger barely noticed the beautiful spectacle on the horison. He had far too much to worry about to stop to admire a sunrise, however spectacular. The fleet's progress had slowed to a crawl as the thickness of the ice growed. The icebreakers were working overtime to clear a passage for the other ships, but there were to few of them. At this rate, there was no way they could reach the straits in anything less than a week. Jaeger swore under his breath and stamped with his feet to keep warm. Despite his fur-lined coat and warm boots, the cold was still creeping in. He pitied the poor soldiers who would have to fight in such an environment. Eventually, after spending another few minutes in the freezing cold on the flight deck, he gave up and went back into the comforting warmth of the Combat Direction Center. He handed his coat to an aide and went over to the officer in charge, a captain of Indian extraction going by the name of Ashok Singh. The giant Sikh saluted as the admiral approached and bowed his head slightly in greeting. With a height of almost two metres, he was by far the tallest man in the room, or, for that matter, aboard the ship. A turban in blue silk covered his long, uncut hair, and from his belt dangled the traditional ceremonial curved knife that all baptised Sikh men were required to wear, the kirpan. A curly, neatly trimmed beard covered his cheeks and neck.

"Good that you came, admiral. We've got a feed from a DEFSAT that passed half an hour ago. There is a large formation of ships gathered five hundred NM's from here. Probably Antigran, unconfirmed whether it's loyalists or rebels. Could be hostile."
"Are we in range of their missiles?"
"Long range surface-to-surface, most certainly. But they are in range of ours too, and they must know that."
"Hmm. We can't strike first, as they may be loyalists. But get a couple of fighters and a Hawkeye into the air, if they can get them working in this damned cold. That will give us some warning if they try with a surprise air strike. Should you detect any missile launch against us, you are authorised to respond with everything we have. How close are the Madurastanis?"
"Approximately fifteen NM's, sir."
"Good. I'll contact them, see if they know anything. in the meantime, make sure we are at full battle-readiness.
"Yes, sir!"

Jaeger moved over to the communication central. Minutes later, a message was dispatched to the Madurastani fleet.


To: Whoever is in charge, Madurastani battlegroup
From: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, commander, Sixth Fleet

We have detected an Antigran fleet five hundred nautical miles away from our position. Unknown if it is controlled by the loyalist or the rebels. It is range to engage in combat with both our fleets. Do you have any further information on the subject?

To: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, commander, Sixth Fleet
From: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup

We also have the ships on our radar. We have no idea of if they are Loyalist or Rebel. We are on high alert, just in case. We request a link up of our fleets to maximise each fleets firepower.

4th Oceanic Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
07:26


"Löjtnant! Löjtnant! Intercepted message!"
The officer in the communications room ran over to the seaman's post and looked at his computer screen, the green, orange and white light illuminating the curiosity on the man's face.
"What does it say?"
"It's heavily encrypted, but not heavily enough"
The seaman smiled as various meaningless computer code flashed in front of him, slowly being deciphered by the ship's computer. As a radar picket ship, the HMS Ostnora carried hugely powerful computer systems that were able to decode the 8192-bit encryption, at least in part. In such a short period of time, much of the message was littered with meaningless symbols but just about readable after four minutes of silent, patient waiting. The other seamen and warrant officers were watching now, rather than using their radar to catalogue the suspected enemy ships. Another two minutes, and the Löjtnant yelled;
"It's confirmed! It's confirmed, get me Amiral Rudkilde!"
__________________

Admiral Rudkilde jumped to his feet with perhaps surprising energy for a fifty-six-year-old, barking orders as he walked briskly to weapons control.
"How far apart are the enemy fleets, Kommendor?"
"Twelve nautical miles"
"Shit...we can't deliver a strike at the same time, and they'll find out who we are sooner or later. Very well. Order our aircraft to attack capital ships, especially aircraft carriers, from four directions, I want to split their capabilities as much as possible. I shall order a surface-to-surface launch timed to hit their anti-aircraft capability thirty seconds before our aircraft are within long-range AAM striking distance. Get our ice-capable submarines approaching fast from different axes, striking from below if possible. I want all anti-shipping strike fighters on first watch in the air, escorted by fighters and controlled by AWACs. How many fighters can be scrambled?"
"To fly that far, not very many, sir"
"Right...there will be long delays im between the first strike and subsequent strikes. We can't take out their anti-air and surface-to-surface capabilities in one go, so there will likely be retaliation. Looks like we're in it up to here"
__________________

The eight D5D multirole VTOL-capable fighters rocketed away from the 'ski-jump' at the end of the flight deck of the HMS Nordaker, preceded by a group of four from the Vikangen. Relying on their multirole capability and J35K Draken escorts to fend off enemy fighters, they rocketed off into the rising sun, afterburners roaring, breaking the sound barrier as they went. They would release their short-range but hard-hitting ASM payload at forty miles, where their radar could identify individual ships and guide the missiles to avoid RAMs, and at that distance even their rear-looking defensive radar could establish contact. If they managed to neutralise all Zaherani AA capability, they had two three-hundred-kilogram iron bombs with which to cause further damage if possible. Another D5D squadron was heading out to attack the Madurastanis. Unfortunately, the Drakens had a range of about seven hundred miles - halfway there the fighter escort would turn round. Still, the D5Ds had AAMs - all they needed was luck.

OCC: It's been nearly two weeks. Was just wondering how that reply to my post was coming along? For now, here's just a short reply as a reminded that I'm still waiting.

100 to 200 miles South of Auston; January 21st Around 15:30 hours

Onboard the submarine HMCS St. Augustine: For nearly three days, the crew aboard the St. Augustine had been silently sailing up and down the southern coast of Antigr monitoring any and all communications whatever they may be. Depending on their level of encryption, some they were able to read others remained garbled. Still, as far as they could tell, the two sides were still to busy fighting with each other to pay any heed to the Commonwealth Embassy at least for now. With the Seventh AG expected to arrive within a few days, hopefully all would remain quiet around the embassy until then the St. Augustine would remain on station sending short [very short to prevent detection] data bursts every few hours to update military command on what was happening.

6th Fleet
North Antigran Fleet
31st January
07:35


The E-3 Hawkeye took off from the deck of the aircraft carrier, powerful engines roaring as they carried the large airplane into the sky. Two minutes later it's two fighter escorts, two F/A-18E Super Hornets, joined it in the sky. The three planes began to circulate the fleet at subsonic speed, allowing the AWACS powerful radars to scan the sky for airborne threats against the ships below. The Hawkeye's radar had a range of six hundred kilometers, allowing it to detect enemy aircraft long before they became a real threat. As it could track two thousand targets simultaneously and at the same time direct up to a hundred air-to-air intercepts, it was an invaluable asset in the defence of Zaheranian carrier battle groups.

Oberleutnant Wilhelm Schutz watched the radar screen nervously as it scanned the skies around the battlegroup. The atmosphere inside the airplane was tense; the five men inside knew that a mistake, a mere second of distraction from their duties, could cause the deaths of thousands of their comrades and compatriots onboard the ships they were guarding. But the screen remained empty and silent, like the eye before the storm. They had been told about the Antigran fleet a mere five hundred nautical miles away from them, and that the high command suspected it could be hostile. Strike aircraft could close that kind of distance quickly to unleash their deadly munitions, and they were the only ones who could see them coming early enough to give the Sixth Fleet time to launch its own aircraft. It was a terrible burden, one that forced Wilhelm Schutz to keep his eyes open and focused on the empty screen, waiting for the echoes that would announce the enemy's presence.

When they finally came, it was something of an anticlimax. The Antigran aircraft were nor particulary stealthy, so the Hawkeye's powerful radar picked them up as soon as they got into its range. Schutz shouted out a warning over the internal communication system. A millisecond later, the aircraft's own warning sirens began to shriek. The combat information officer informed the CDC onboard the Zaheran of the incoming aircraft, while Schutz continued to watch the screen, shouting out important pieces of information that the other man relaywed to the officers aboard the carrier. The incoming aircraft had been identified as Antigran D5 Brigands and Saab 35 Drakens. The number of echoes had grown to about twenty. He could see friendly aircraft taking off from the decks of the carrier, scrambling to intercept the enemy. Silently, he prayed that they would be fast enough.

_____________________________________________

"Adler 1 reports a large number of aircraft incoming from north-west", a communications officer reported. "Identified as Antigran D5 Brigands and Saab 35 Drakens. Five hundred and ninety kilometers away, and approaching quickly."
"Shit!" Admiral Jaeger's fist came down on the table with a bang. "Launch fighters on interception course. Permission to engage when enemy comes in range. Ready AA defences and raise our alert status to red. I want everyone on their combat stations, and I want them there yesterday!"
He turned to Ashok Singh who was waiting with an impassive expression on his face.
"It seems like the enemy answered our questions about their alignment. Captain, you have my permission to engage with surface-to-surface missiles. I'll contact the Madurastanis and warn them. The rebel bastards could be attacking them too."

____________________________________________

In response to the incoming enemy aircraft, twenty F/A-18 Super Hornets took off from the carrier and soared forward to intercept the enemy, guided by the air control officer in the Hawkeye. The pilots switched to their medium-range air-to-air missiles and waited for the enemy to come in range.


To: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup
From: Heinrich Jaeger, Commander Sixth Fleet

We have detected incoming aircraft, most certainly hostile. Be aware that the enemy may have targeted you too. Recommends launch of interception fighters and counter-attack with surface-to-surface missiles.

To: Heinrich Jaeger, Commander Sixth Fleet
From: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup

We will do. We will launch immediately.


As soon as the Zaheran message was received, the order was given to go to action stations. At the same time, a total of 60 Sea Wasp Fighters armed with AIM-9 Sidewinder Missiles were launched from all 3 Aircraft Carriers and headed on an intercept course with the incoming rebel aircraft. MC Vigilante, MC Fearless, MC Braveheart, MC Dauntless and MC Courage fired 1 Harpoon ASM towards the rebel fleet to force the attacking rebel aircraft to protect their own fleet rather than attack the Madurastan and Zaheran Fleets.

[Sorry, but I can't really think of a reply to give you, UE]

4th Oceanic Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
07:39


Sergeant-Pilot Kjellin looked again at his radar screen. In concentrated beams, it had a range of two hundred and fifty kilometres although in sweeps in was about a hundred less. The controls of the D5D felt light and responsive in his hands despite the aircraft's bulk for it's size; something that made his job easier. They were about two hundred miles from the fleet now, the J35K Draken on either side of him giving some cold comfort. In another hundred miles, the J35s would turn back, having used almost half their fuel, leaving the long-range D5Ds to slug it out on their own. If attacked or when the escorts turned back, whichever came first, the Drakens would either fight or leave accordingly and the D5Ds would dive two thousand metres to low-level, below enemy radar, and accelerate to their realistic top speeds of Mach 2 and a half. In theory, the D5D could do Mach 3 and had done on test flights, making it, in theory, fifty per cent faster than the F/A-18s they would face. Luckily, theory wasn't that far from the truth, as the Brigand was built for pure speed and agility. Suddenly, all pilots jolted upwards in their seats as a cry came out over the radio. Undoubtedly, the Zaheranis would know who they were by now so the message was mostly in plain Antigran.
"Attention, enemy fighters detected at long range, bearing one-one-four relative, confirmed enemy, type unknown, probably F/A-18s. Unlock ordnance, strike group to protocol twelve under Wing Commander"
The Wing Commander replied immediately, broadcasting instructions to his men.
"Protocol twelve at medium-range AAM limits, stay in those fours"
Protocol twelve was a simple codeword for the maneuver that would split the group, wherein the Brigands would rapidly accelerate and dive while the J35s would occupy the enemy fighters. Hopefully they wouldn't know what was happening until the D5Ds were several kilometres away.
__________________

Meanwhile, the two flights, eight aircraft in total, of D5Ds were converging in twos from all four axes of the Madurastani strike force. Of course, that was the plan; at the moment they were still in formation, with a J35K Draken for every D5D. There was no resistance yet, although this was unlikely to last. High command knew enemy fighters were in the air and it was only a matter of time before they were bearing down on them. They were still in visual range of the other flights of D5Ds attacking the Zaheranis, although they were breaking away sharply now to lower the risk of a total force annihilation. Worst possible scenario.

Behind them, however, he knew that several long-range SSMs were aimed at the enemy fleets, and those SSMs would overtake them soon and hopefully damage or destroy enemy surface-to-surface capability before they retaliated. The missiles were now forty miles behind him, going at Mach 7.

AS Zevkhay
Alfegos Taskforce 'Defrost'
260km SSW of Antigran Mainland

Aboard the carrier, sirens wailed and lights flashed as the carrier alert level raised, entering within range of the torn nation of Antigr. The massive craft was aptly named the city class, being the home to a few thousand men, many tens of aircraft and even more in the way of missiles. Alongside it, a small frigate roared along, waves breaking on its bow as it cut across the roughening seas towards the staging zone.Hanging behind them, a few grey shapes cut in and out of the clouds and mist - the 7th Airfleet Taskforce, an embodiment of death that few would detect until too late, moving in to attack the land. It was a two hour flight now by the airship to the shore, not that they needed that - the planned operation would not need them until the full hellish nature of the attack was realised.

Whilst the radio occasionally crackled with the opening phases of the naval battle between the other allied fleets and the rebels, the Admiral sat in the carrier Command Headquarters, waiting for his advantage to take effect. In front of him, a massive glass table acted as a three-dimensional map of the surrounding land, the total networked power the battleforce's unused computing space provided at their moment in time acting as a sufficient calculator to plot the lay of the enemy land, zoomed out to show the relative position of known allied fleets, Alfegan craft, and identified targets. High above the surface fleets, a small icon drifted up, a complicated airship icon identifying a mesolite. Beside it, a small co-ordinate marker showed it to be fourty kilometres above the surrounding land, out of range of any air attacks, a radio beacon showing the RADAR-transparent object to where it really was.

The Ruby-class Mesolite was a type of mesolite designed for military use exclusively. Inflated and launched from a surface frigate, the craft had enough lift to move its 100kg payload to an altitude of 40km, from where it had an uninterrupted view of vast areas of land, sea and sky. The Ruby-class was designed to carry a paired RADAR unit, tracking objects in three dimensions at extremely long ranges. Whilst the surface ships could only sweep for targets up to around 150km, the Mesolite had the ability to either sweep for targets up to 300km, or focus in a region up to 500km away. Such an eye in the sky was enough to give the Alfegan battleforce an uninterrupted view well beyond the range of its ships, with a lifetime enough to see through even a multi-decade campaign, a series of plutonium battery thermionic generators providing more than sufficient power for such continued operations.

As the chief officers were accessed on a live radio link, the Admiral saw the mesolite icon solidify and emboldened, representing its position now in the sky above the fleet. Whilst it was stationary, they needed only to stay in a fixed location for the time being, with any further operations utilising either extra mesolites or the same mesolite, dropped from its altitude down onto a waiting craft or the sea beside it and relaunched from wherever it was needed. The battlefield network controlling officer nodded, speaking across the radio as the RADAR unit ran diagnostics, before sending out a test pulse.
"Mesolite is now in position. All systems functioning, all power levels normal. Receiver shows positive match on our carrier - the RADAR is functioning fully. Operational whenever necessary."

The admiral smiled as he placed his laptop atop an empty patch of sea on the map, plugging it into the table. On the screen, a simple control panel came up, with the plan he had written up from the archive - the theorised attack on Antigr had always been held in an archive somewhere, as were all countries that Alfegos had close relations with, in the event of their invasion or of a revolution. With a number of modifications as discussed with the Joint Military Command, the battleplan soon was streaming into a temporary memory unit, then on to the desk. The lights in the room dimmed, as video links started transmitting a 2D version of the plan to the other ships, and to the Aerocruisers above, the image displayed after travel through a number of battlefield encrypters.
"Right then. As you can see, Taskforce Defrost is currently located 204km off the coast of Antigr. The 7th Airfleet Taskforce is located 17km ESE of our position, and closing at a rate of 70km/h. Mesolite Ruby is located 18km NNE of our position, and is now at full broadcasting capability. Taskforce Pathfinder, the small airship group, is located approximately 58km NNE of our position. Submarine assets are present as demanded.
The situation, as you all know, is that Antigr is now in a state of civil war. The whole country is split, and the war that is going on is likely to be very vicious. Our job is to try and reduce that bloodshed, by giving the rightful Royalist faction their place back in government.
As you are aware, our mission is to spearhead the attack on their territory. What we do best is knocking out military resistance, reducing the rebel hold on the nation via establishment of air superiority, followed by the removal of their military assets. We have been told to reduce damage to infrastructure as much as possible, though the presence of rebel forces in civilian areas will doubtlessly mean that collateral is inevitable. Whilst the joint Madurastan/Zaheran forces move in from the North East through the ice sheets, we will take the relatively temperate waters here as our standing ground against them.
The operation will be split into a number of phases, which you will be briefed upon as and when necessary. The first stage is the establishment of air superiority. The AS Zevkhay, you will launch two thirds of your fighter compliment armed with mixed ordinance to attack southern coast airfield installations. We already are staging limited strikes from Pathfinder, in particular from the AAS Valkyrie, and will continue to do so, albeit now at a more escalated level. AS Nos'vi, you will prepare all strategic bombers for launch, to be escorted by the fighters from the AS Zevkhay. All fighters are to head for the airfields indicated, and cause as much destruction to the air force as possible. Back here, all planes should be readied for launch at a moments notice, should we detect retaliatory strikes inbound from the rebels.
The AAS Nyu, an Aerofrigate, will perform submarine patrols along with our submarine assets to try and ensure we are protected from any naval attack, though we can not guarantee that any submarines will be detected. Therefore, all Destroyers need be on guard to ensure we aren't surprised by any aggressors.
All Missile Cruiser crews, especially the members of the 7th Airfleet Taskforce, must be aware of the threat of either a SSM attack, or ballistic missile strike. We have already launch ballistic missiles at their nation to take out strategic nuclear sites and cut out power across a large swath of southern Antigr. We have no confirmation yet on the strikes being successful, so will try to check that as a secondary objective, should we not find that much in the way of resistance.
All pilots know the brief. We all know what to do in case anything should happen. If the AS Zevkhay goes out of complete communication, and we are unable to respond, then Commodore Ka'lao of the AS Nos'vi will take charge.

Any questions?"

____________________________

Bomber Squadron Sunbeam

The first of the bombers rolled up to the launch zone, the man inside just visible through the tinted glass canopy. The bomber itself was a strange craft indeed - a cross between a ground attack fighter and a strategic bomber akin to a B-52, the sleek canopy of the craft out of place with the large size of vehicle behind. Behind the pilot, the bomber man sat looking equally out of place with the large plane behind him. The wings were swept back, painted a bluish grey, with the six large turbofan units mounted in angular pods merging with the wings. Amongst them, large countermeasure units sat ready for use. On the underside, as a bomb trolley was pulled away at high speed, the bomb bay doors closed, hiding from view the racks of bombs, ranging from anti-airfield 100kg cluster bombs to bunker-busting 500kg bombs. A final attachment to the vehicle was a pair of JATO units, locked into place under the wings as the deck immediately behind the large plane was angled upwards slightly, to provide additional thrust. In front of the aircraft, an operator lifted a flag, waiting for radio confirmation, before dropping it down. The pilot released the wheel lock as he threw the throttle levers to full power, a blast of heat coming as the engine afterburners ignited. The JATO units further ignited, setting the bomber off at a frightening speed down the short deck. Seconds later, the craft was flying at near maximum speed as the JATO units ejected, falling down into the sea below. Behind, the progressive planes quickly arrived, joining the large formation headed towards the airfields of the southern Antigran coast.

Within minutes, the group of fighters and the strategic bombers passed over the coast, splitting off into their separate escort groups at the various airfields. Along with the fighters cruising at low speed alongside the bombers came a RADAR scrambling signal, emitted from electronic warfare systems on all the aircraft. Chaos was the one method by which success could be gained, and a disruption of enemy RADAR would be more than enough to stir things up.

The 60 Sea Wasp Fighters began to close in towards the Rebel Aircraft. At the same time, the fleet began accelerating to make it harder for the aircraft to score a hit on the ships.

Further west, one of the Ashland Class Attack Submarines had entered Antigran Waters and headed towards Antigr. Its orders were to sink any Rebel Shipping.

6th Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
07:41


Leutnant Jakob Heller licked his lips eagerly as his F/A-18 accelerated to its top speed of Mach 1.8. The enemy was only about a hundred and eighty kilometers away now, and approaching fast. He could feel his heart beating faster as he switched to AIM-120 air-to-air missiles. They had a maximum range of 165 kilometres, far longer than the outdated missiles of the Antigran Drakens. No one knew about the real capabilities of the D5 Brigand, but Heller felt assured that his top-modern fighter could handle anything the Antigrans threw at it. The distance between the opposing aircraft was shrinking rapidly. One hundred and seventy-five, one hundred and seventy, one hundred and sixty-five. The radio crackled as the controller onboard the Hawkeye issued the final orders.

"Attention, all aircraft. Proceed according to protocoll six-two-sierra. Engage with Fox Three's when enemy comes in range. This is Adler, over and out."

Leutnant Heller felt his heart beat even more tensely. Protocoll 62S was the codename for a two-layered defence maneuver where half of the affected aircraft would proceed forward to engage the enemy while the others stayed in reserve to intercept enemy airplanes that managed to get through the first group. His flight, codenamed Blue, would together with another group, Red, participate in the attack against the enemy. The distance continued to shrink. One hundred and sixty. His radar told him that the ten aircraft of the two flights assigned the defensive roll were reducing their speed and falling behind. One hundred and fifty-five. His hand closed on the trigger as he waited for the order to fire. One hundred and fifty. Adrenaline was pumping into his bloodstream, his heart beating faster and faster. One hundred and forty-five...

"Fire! For the Emperor!"

In near-ecstasy, he pulled the trigger. Two AIM-120 missiles accelerated against the enemy at Mach 4, followed by eighteen more from the other airplanes. The missiles homed in on the enemy, guided by the radars of the launching aircraft.

Inside the leading Sea Wasp Fighter, Lt Frank Messhing began to accelerate to give the rebel fighters little warning. "All aircraft accelerate. Rebel aircraft now at 6 miles and closing. Move to ambush altitude." All 60 Sea Wasp Fighters began to break through the clouds as they accelerated upwards. They would use the element of surprise to ambush the rebel aircraft. "Lets hope this works." Lt Messhing thought.

Zaheran 6th Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
07:42


It had been said of the Draken, famously, that 'never has a fighter remained so capable for so long'. This was particularly true from the series of uprades this entailed, particularly the Antigran J35K variant with a heavily modified, more efficient, more powerful engine and newer missiles. Still, it could only carry four short- or medium-range air-to-air missiles and was, by modern standards, still short-ranged. This would work to their disadvantage; still, even over fifty years old, they were entirely capable of putting up a fight, and this they did, immediately splitting into pairs and firing missiles against the enemy aircraft. No sooner had they loosed off one or two semi-active radar-homing missiles each then they recieved twenty AIM-120 AMRAAMs in return. There was a series of earth-shattering explosions as four of sixteen aircraft were decimated immediately. three more rocketed out of their aircraft in their Martin-Baker Mk.16 ejector seats mere seconds before the aircraft below them were decimated into little more than burning shreds, as they'd been taught to do if they could not evade; of these, one was killed immediately by the shrapnel from his no longer existant Draken. Two more were destroyed by missiles as the J35Ks accelerated and evaded, one or two getting missile lock long enough to fire another AAM, while deploying chaff and flares as best they could.

Below them, the Wing Commander in his two-seat D5D-3 (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=5149) yelled into his helmet's microphone;
"Protocol twelve! Dive steeply and try for Mach 3!"
As the words echoed around the squadron, it took only a split second before their afterburners were lit fully and the D5Ds in their finger-four formations diving at eighty degrees, jinking wildly as they decended in a few seconds from two thousand metres to little more than twenty. The Wing Commander doubted that the F/A-18s could catch up, but missiles could, he knew. He shut that out of his mind as he neared firing range of his SSMs, fifty miles; they were 'munitions carriers', missiles carrying supercavitating torpedoes designed to drop their torpedo load as soon as they were fired at by CIWS or defensive missile systems. They would seek targets as they went, programmed to target capital ships.
__________________

Under twenty kilometres away, the Madurastani fleet was about to endure a similar set of circumstances; however, the force facing the strike group was much larger. Admiral Rudkilde knew this, and so had commited some of the D5Ds from the escort carriers, usually only for fleet defence, to attack the enemy Sea Wasps, equipped entirely with air-to-air missiles and extra cannon ammunition. However, there were only four of these, one flight. There were two flights of strike D5D-3s, two-seaters, eight aircraft, escorted by eight flights of J35K Drakens. In all, there were thirty-six aircraft to face the Madurastani fighters, excluding the strike fighters, against a force of sixty. Commanding the escort group in one of four anti-air D5D Brigands, Wing Commander Birkeland. He looked with growing alarm at his radar screen as he deccelerated rapidly, raising the massive dorsal airbrake and lowering his flaps, letting the flaps' lift carry him upwards, then he re-lit his afterburners and began to climb with the Madurastanis, clearly visible on his radar - if they were trying to use the WWII tactic of diving into a surprise attack, it probably wouldn't work. Even a hundred and fifty miles away, the D5D's super-powerful radar could detect them climbing. Six miles away. What the hell are they doing? We can hit them with our cannon from here if we wanted to!

Well, waiting too long was something he was not prepared to do. They were well within medium-range AAM distance and coming into range of his SRAAMs, so the radar automatically chose the four most potent targets, now rapidly nearing at an almost suicidal pace, and fired a single short-range air-to-air missile at each. Four infrared-homing AvM-63 SRAAMs rocketed from his aircraft, leaving their blinding exhaust trails in their wake, two from the rear weapons bay and one from each of his wingtip launch rails. The Brigand (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=5149), a superfast fighter placing agility and speed above all, placed such emphasis on low wing loading that all weapons were in weapons bays between the two massive wedge-shaped air intakes or on the wingtip launch rails. Then the Madurastani aircraft were right behind him, and he banked to the horizontal and pulled back on the stick, the thrust-vectoring nozzles automatically rotating to make the turn sharper. Next thing he knew, the high-G blackout was fading and the Madurastanis were in his sights. As the strike D5Ds below him dived, trying to make Mach 3 as they could, he secretly contemplated his life, he his chances of success were small. Two to one, he was outnumbered. However, as his missile lock alert sounded and he banked hard, he looked up, towards the sun, dimmed by his visor, to see five ballistic missiles descending towards the Madurastani fleet; by now, reentry from space, they were going at Mach 21 and CIWS would be useless against them. These missiles, though few were carried by any fleet, would devastate the Madurastani and Zaheran fleets. As he launched flares, his inner mind waited for the exlplosions that would come from these missiles as they descended unstoppably.

6th Oceanic Fleet
RRG Navy Base Haverdalsstrand
1st February
12:20


Admiral Erikssen paced furiously up and down the dockside, his running adjutants struggling to keep up. He turned to one of them, the sudden fire in his eye bringing an eerie, fearful quiet around him, spitting the words out of his mouth in disgust.
"So is the fucking fleet putting to sea or not?"
"Er...yes, sir, but - "
"But what? Spit it out, man!"
"Alfegan bomber groups are rapidly closing on our position. Our carriers are a thousand miles away at Norra Skoga, we have no ready fighters to intecept them"
"Air force has done a shit job!"
"Looks like it's down to the harbour defences and AAMs to protect ourselves, but firing up to that altitude - "
"So things aren't going to plan, you mean to say?"
"No, sir. What's worse, the Grand Fleet, the royalists have managed to bring it up to almost full strength. It's been at sea for a couple of weeks, docked at Vaskinde before that fell, but now it's heading for us!"
"We're facing the fucking grand fleet as well?!"
"Yes, Admiral. But the 7th Oceanic fleet are heading to reinforce us!"
"When will they get here, then?!"
His breathing was becoming more furious as he spoke.
"A day, they set sail from Norra Skoga with our main carrier force..."
__________________

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Flag_Pic01.png


ANTIGRAN MILITARY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Alfegan Supreme Naval Command
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State


Sir,

This message is to inform youn that recent sattelite reports show that the RRG-controlled 6th and 7th Oceanic Fleets are putting to sea to intercept Alfegan naval and landing forces; these two fleets comprise almost half of the RRG naval force and should not be taken lightly. However, the Royalist-controlled Grand Fleet has been sailing south after replenishment at Ydrefors and is about two hundred miles north of the Alfegan fleet; reinforced to over full strength with elements of the third and fourth oceanic fleets, it is, from your intelligence reports, numerically superior to the Alfegan fleets and is heading towards them at full speed from the north to rendezvous. Similarly, the 6th and 7th Oceanic Fleets will be heading towards the Alfegan fleet to intercept to the best of their ability. Be warned.

Signed,
http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Signature_Pic01.png

King Fredrik II.
__________________

RRG Army Group Centre
Cathrineholm
1st January
09:12


Menig Gräslund was by now choking on the cordite fumes from his SeG-4 Battle Rifle as he ducked down to change his magazine. As he did so, he heard the chatter of what he knew to be 13.2mm machine-gun fire, the bullets hitting where his head had been, one so close to his ear it singed it. Luck was not the right word, however, as one of the bullets hit, with a sickening thud, his Sergeant's muscled chest, tearing through it and exiting in a split second later to embed itself in the wall of the farmhouse behind him. Instantly, he leant over to the man, whose eyes were already unfocused, a blanket of grey descended over them.
"Fanjunkare? Fanjunkare!"
A submachine-gun burst ricocheted in all directions around him, a round embedded in his shoulder. He hardly felt it; he was still crying for the Master Sergeant that had led his platoon of marines since Auston. He thought. I'm a conscript. I'm not a soldier. This is not meant to happen! He hadn't cried for the comrades that had fallen around him, save for the Sergeant. A tough guy he was, but he was the only man in the platoon who hadn't been killed or captured, the only man in the platoon he knew. He heard a click behind him as two RRG infantrymen cocked their rifles, the cold steel barrels procariously close to his neck. They said nothing for a few seconds, then;
"Stand. Put your hands up!"

Attack Tendril 4 - Approaching RRG Navy Base Haverdalsstrand

One of the tendrils launched had been diverted, to start an attack on a suspected naval stronghold. A pair of the Sunbeam Squadron bombers sat travelling at cruising velocity, six of the Fegofighters on their wings cutting through the darkening sky, as clouds built up around their target. Perfect weather for the attack, one could say, that the fighters were about to commit to. In one of the bombers, the pilot sat nervous as he flicked off the autopilot controls, increasing his altitude to 16 000 metres as the payload was prepared for targeting. They would perform two runs - the first would drop flares onto ships sighted in the harbour by RADAR from the mesolite along with psychological munitions, before the second run finished the enemy off at a lower altitude.

One minute till the attack...
"This is Sunbeam Delta, calling fighter units. We're ready to start dropping the marker munitions. Move into defence grid, and make final preparations for high-speed attack run." The voice sounded even more nervous - the pilot had just been informed of SAM sites around the harbour being picked up by satellite, making the 'simple' plan even more dangerous.
"Tiger One calling - don't you worry yourself. Just make sure you hit them good and hard."
"Thankyou Tiger One. See you at the debrief."

A marker on the bomb controller's display screen shone green as the computer determined they were within attack range. They now had a mere thirty seconds to release the munitions at the points sent to them in the form of GPS co-ordinates, a sure guide for any munition. There came a loud whine as they bomb bay doors were opened, followed by a series of clicks as the munitions were deployed. In total, twenty 25kg flare munitions dropped from the plane, rapidly speeding towards the ground. Behind them came a pair of missiles, launched from the same payload, which cut past the falling bombs. The missiles were known as 'Screamers', a psych-ops missile combining the terrifying effects of white phosphorous with the fear invoked by a ghastly siren in the tail jet, its rapid rotation producing an ear-splitting scream.
The two missiles hit first, aimed towards more densely populated areas of the naval yard - those being the living areas. Alongside a spray of phosphorous, setting fire to everything within twenty metres of the impact, came the scream of the missile siren, cutting above the chaos it caused. Behind it, the flares dropped, slowing themselves with metal drogues as they impacted upon ship decks, leaving a path of burning phosphorous in amongst the harsh white light produced by the magnesium within.

Above, the bombers banked for their second run, the bombers now targeting the bright pools of heat to act as an additional aim point for the GPS-guided bombs. Behind them, the fighters whipped around, afterburners igniting as they accelerated for their attack run. For them, the weapons of choice were a pair of 250kg gravity bombs each, for use alongside their cannons as they moved to strafe the enemy. Along with the move to the second run came the call over the radio.
"This is Sunbeam Echo - I've been locked by a SAM device. Looks like we stirred up the hive. I'm going up."
The bomber rose up to try and move out of range of the SAM sites on the ground, leaving its compatriot alone as it moved into attack range. It was alone in releasing its entire payload onto the targets below, before hitting near maximum speed as it moved off towards the carrier. Below, the ships found themselves on the receiving ends of fifteen 250kg bombs, flying downwards at high speed to impact on their targets below. Behind them, four 300kg Incendiary Cluster Munitions followed, along with a device reserved for the largest RADAR signature in harbour - the largest ship they could find.
The 1000kg bomb dropped downwards at a serene rate from the suddenly lightened craft it had inhabited, before the finned tail slowly moved to guide the device on a heading for the ship.

Meanwhile, the pilot on Sunbeam Echo realised two things simultaneously. The first was that he had stalled the aircraft in the ascent, the stall limiter removed automatically as he switched to evasive actions. The second was that the infra-red missile lock was still on him, despite the launch of flares to try counter the missile that was now in the air. As the altimeter of the aircraft hit a high of 19000 metres, the craft flipped over backwards, regaining speed rapidly as the lock persisted. The pilot's enhanced visual display showed a warning beacon as a missile was detected, rapidly enroaching on the rear of the aircraft. Firing off a second set of flares didn't help, exacerbating the situation by leaving a trail of hot signatures around the plummeting aircraft. The missile continued onwards, as a loud siren started inside the cockpit. In a split second, the pilot decided on the one course of action - to eject. Flicking a par of switch covers open, he hit the red buttons underneath.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. As the aircraft canopy blew off, the pilot's connections to the aircraft were severed as his restraining belt tightened significantly, before a set of rockets blew the unit from the aircraft. Behind him, the other airman followed suit, the units shooting rapidly upwards from the aircraft beneath them. Below, the aircraft exploded as the missile detonated, along with its volatile payload, the shockwave just noticeable from their height above the blast. As the rocket canisters finished firing, a parachute deployed, allowing the seats to drift down slowly. The pilot lay unconscious from the high G-force inflicted upon his frame, almost 20G in the initial burst that moved him from the cockpit, whilst his comrade sat conscious watching their long descent through the clouds to the land below. With the radio disconnected and a distress beacon initiated, it was obvious to the rest of the squadron what had happened, as they continued releasing their payloads upon the ships below.

_______________________________

The admiral read the received radiogram with interest, moving over to his tactical display map as he watched icons move across the display.
"It appears that we are about to receive a large amount in the way of hostilities, in the form of the 7th Antigran Oceanic Fleet. They know for a fact they outnumber us by ships, but do not realise the aces we have up our sleeve."
He smiled as he called over his fellow advisors to decide on the next course of action.

A half hour later, he took to the radio, speaking to all the ships in the Alfegan fleet.
"Everyone, we have an enroaching threat, in the form of the 7th Antigran fleet. They outnumber us in terms of ships, but do not have the fervour I know that you possess. Thus, all ships are to go to amber alert immediately, in anticipation of an attack. The airfleet taskforce, you will move position to roughly 200km NNW of us, in order to be the first to attack their fleet. All fighters are to be prepared for immediate scramble when we have them in RADAR range, and to be armed for air-to-air warfare, to defend our airships. All other ships, remember that we will prevail in the end - we have further support in the form of the Antigran Loyalist fleet arriving, meaning that we are likely to have more than enough fire to supplement our airships.
All Captains, I will talk to you in exactly fifteen minutes, giving you your individual briefs."

The captain of the lead Icebreaker suddenly spotted the 5 Ballistic Missiles heading towards them. "Oh Sh.................. The Missiles struck the head part of the Fleet vapourising all 25 Icebreakers and destroying 2 Destroyers and 15Troop Ships eliminating 785 Soldiers. Several other ships had been sunk by missiles firing from Rebel Aircraft making the death toll from the attack 1,368 killed and 1,583 injured. Somehow the Carriers had been missed, although the 38 Sea Wasps covering the head of the fleet which had been also caught in the Ballistic Missile explosion.

The 60 Sea Wasps had engaged the Rebel Aircraft and had found them at an advantage. The 2 Sea Wasps following Sergeant-Pilot Kjellins aircraft had managed to get a good lock and as they saw the aircraft begin to turn, fired 2 AIM Sidewinders each at the aircraft. The afterburners on the aircraft was making a very good target for the missiles as they acclerated towards it at 300 metres range..........

6th Oceanic Fleet
RRG Navy Base Haverdalsstrand
1st February
12:24


The screams of the survivors were indistinguishable from the screams of the missiles seconds earlier as they descended, cutting the accommodation blocks in half. Those that weren't killed instantly by the explosion, explosive charge or shrapnel would likely be killed later by their hideous phosphorous burns as they ran screaming from the devastated wrecks of the building. One such man came running towards Admiral Erikssen who'd left his cover towards the building. He was quite literally on fire from within, the shrapnel and phosphorous killing him slowly. After three seconds of this realisation, Erikssen drew his revolver with his left hand, for his right shoulder was nulled with a fragment of shrapnel, and shot him in the head. A far nicer death, certainly; however, he was forced to dive for cover again after holstering his .455 Wiklander VII as quarter-tonne high-explosive bombs rained in a destructive, steel shower of death upon the ships of his fleet. The three-hundred-kilogram cluster bombs only furthered the devastation, blowing a destroyer in half completely after a fire spread to it's magazines and missile rooms, but it was the solid one-tonne bomb that was the most destructive by far, for it was this that tore open the forwardmost flight deck of the fleet carrier Rifallet, one of four such carriers in the fleet. Then silence, broken only by the repeated SAM launches of the battered defences.

Only then did the admiral stand, but instead of the look of horror you might expect from a man who'd had a sixth of his fleet - his fleet - unexpectedly pulverised, he wore an odd grin. He was plotting.
"Don't you see, commander?"
He said to his seniormost adjutant, then continued;
"They didn't use enough bombs. Now we can hit back, only harder!"
"But, sir, what on - "
"Don't argue. Continue to put to sea as planned, but call up the first oceanic fleet, they're on standby about a thousand miles south-west of Kittelsbole, aren't they?"
"Yes, but - "
"They can strike at the Grand Fleet from the rear! Those royalist fools, they're sailing so close to the shore...if we could man the coastal defences,
we could demolish them completely!"
"But they'll have expected that, sir"
"They won't! They won't think we'd have the gall. The most obvious course of action for us is the least they'd expect. What did they teach you at officer school?"
"Er...'Do what the Brits and Finns did, attack, no matter what the odds'"
"Exactly! And it paid off for them. Right, take an order. I want every scrap of air power from Jerijärvi to Norra Skoga to hit the Alfegans and the Grand Fleet repeatedly, even half of Antigr would have more air power than all of Alfegos ever would. Gain air supremacy, then our bombers will be free to hit them at high altitude, iron bombs"
"Iron bombs are much more ineffective nowadays, sir"
"Not when they weigh seven tonnes they aren't. But before that, I want all the sectors of the IOTA network we've captured to hit them with ballistic missiles. We've got plenty of those, we won't run short - I want one every ten minutes hitting them, and there's not a thing they can do unless they have a radar which won't exist for another decade and a laser sea-whizz system"
It was becoming more obvious why "Fire-breather" Erikssen had his nickname.
__________________

IOTA Command Station
Jerijärvi
1st February
13:14


Well over a thousand and a half miles away at Jerijärvi, the battered IOTA command centre was being flooded with military officials of all kinds. They were escorted by Marines, their rifles loaded, wherever they went. It had only been ten minutes since the lights which hadn't been demolished by bullets were switched on and already the computer system had been hacked in to, the words IOTA COMMAND -- STRATEGIC MISSILE CONTROL making it painfully obvious what the underground station was for. The menacing BEEP-BEEP-BEEP of the countdown to launch thirteen ballistic missiles indicating that there was less than ten seconds left until the missiles, which would dive at Mach 21 and incinerate rather than simply hit their targets, would be fired up into space, each containing a six-hundred-kilogram explosive-incendiary warhead that would detonate before the missile actually reached it's target, otherwise it would be destroyed by the impact. The technicians didn't get the opportunity to see the missiles take off, nor did they see twenty-one fighters, which were being called in to strike the Alfegan and Royalist fleets from across south-western Antigr, fly over at Mach 2.2. Erikssen was going to use everything he had, continuously, and if that didn't sever the very arteries of the Alfegan fleet then they were invincible.

Orbital Command - Ol'vi

In the bunker tent city, now surrounded by tall concrete bastions to hide it from public eye, work was going on as ever. Throngs of people passed to-and-fro between the large temporary structures, picked out by the bright mid-day sunlight like criminals in searchlights, rushing away quickly back into the darkness they were used to. The bustle was shattered as a siren screeched out, people almost dropping paperwork as they sprinted to their workstations. At the installation, they were used to four different siren drills, all with their own meaning and lighting. A loud bell was a call to attention - a continuous ring from that bell was the fire alarm. Another klaxon would give out three short blasts in case of a security breach. But if that klaxon continued onwards, accompanied by emergency lighting systems engaging, that meant that a true nightmare for any civilised nation had come true.

Such an alarm now echoed out along the concrete as people ran to their action stations inside the buildings, particularly in the structure numbered "03". Inside, a number of servers lay in a state of disembowelment, cables spewing out to the many high-speed lines that lead to the intact supercomputers in the Orbital Command Bunker, feeding information to and from a number of computer consoles lined up in front of a giant projector screen on the wall of the bunker. It was this that showed the agitation. A map of the Antigran region showed a pulsating icon in red, a simple triangular symbol numbered, with details shown in the corner of the screen. A dotted line from the icon showed a circular icon, also flashing in red. At the front of the room, the Orbital Commander was busy speaking in an unnaturally calm voice on a video uplink to the two people he needed to inform - the Minister for War and the President. From there, the confirmation would rapidly reach all those important enough to receive the pre-written radiogram, before a plan of action was put into place.

A shout was all that was needed for the many people to silence, as the Commander began speaking.
"Ladies and gentlemen, as you are aware, we have detected a heat signature corresponding with the launch of a ballistic missile from a site in Antigr, via the EITS 4 Surveillance satellite, and confirmed by the Alfegos Global Mapper Satellite NIR module. As of yet, we are unable to calculate the targets of the missiles, and have no current idea as to the payload of the missiles. Since we have no direct proof otherwise, we will have to assume the launches are nuclear. Thus, High Command has raised the alert level across all Alfegan colonies to DEFCON 1, and across the mainland to DEFCON 2.
As we speak, High Command is making the decision as to whether a nuclear retaliation is necessary, and whether they will be able to gain access codes to our arsenal from Damirez. For the time being, our orders are to maintain surveillance on the launch nation and the missiles themselves, so as to determine the most efficient course of action.
Now, lets get to it!"

__________________________________________

Silo 29 - Neo'ilos/Oraz Joint Territory

From the past civil war, in which the island had been taken as a military post from which the Alfegan campaign was staged against the more negative factions of the civil war, the original bunkers had been the homes of deadly weaponry pointed at an unstable nation as metaphorical 'leverage', should war have broken out again. As relations warmed, the original SRBMs pointed at the nation were removed, in place for a much more ambiguous threat - those being ICBM systems. At the installations, a total of 15 Helios-2 ICBMs sat mounted with 12 400kT MIRV warheads, a grand total of 180 warheads enough to cause devastation on a colossal scale. All were part of the extended nuclear network, a scattered system that would almost certainly guarantee a hit regardless of weapon quantity.

The silo was one of the few nuclear assets not controlled by Damirez after the troubles, being a colonial site that posed little threat to Nova, in theory. Therefore, if nuclear missiles were to be launched, it would be one of the first places to fire its salvo. As a red alert was sounded, the bunker personnel rushed in from the surface, sealing the entrances with bulkheads of metres-thick steel and concrete. At the few entrances, members of the 'Subterranean Corps', a secretive army division of battalion size that guarded the most secret installations, sat nervously whilst external sensor feeds were monitored, to defend against any aggressors who could attack.

In the control room, a Colonel sat watching the main bunker command screen, reading and re-reading the message that he had received. The bunker had been called to a full level alert, and the message was most certainly not a drill. All he was to do now was await the final command for the missiles to be launched. He had but a few minutes hopefully to wait, each second ticking past as if it were an hour. Around him, the control desks were wild with activity as the controllers checked the programming of the missile guidance systems, calculations being made as maximal blast yields were calculated. The targets were mostly military-related, such as the 7th fleet, but with the majority of military targets chosen in close proximity to infrastructural hubs - in the words of a normal man, large cities. Such an attack, especially with the missile strikes previously that had disabled a large number of the RRG-held missile defence network, meant that the country would be a sitting duck. Death on a scale that nobody could imagine, in exchange for the threatened death coming in on them.

For every missile that they fire, think of where it could land - New Zekvhay for example. The initial fireball would kill everyone within a mile instantly. That's tens of thousands of people. People in the open further out will be burnt as well - it's a case with these modern nuclear missiles that if you can see the blast, that'll be the last thing you see. The first-degree burns on the side of your body facing the blast will blind you, or your retina will be completely destroyed. Then comes the blast. That's millions of people crushed under buildings, in cars, in trains, in airships. And in the devastation left, the radiation sickness sets in. Of the surviving eight million of the original thirty million people in both Old and New Zekvhay, at least a quarter of those will die from ARS, and another half will die from disease and injuries. Of those thirty million people originally, you'll have but a couple million survivors. And that's with the six minute warning. And they could potentially have thousands of those missiles waiting to be fired. Do you now see why we have to fight to defend ourselves? Take from the enemy what they take from us?

The Colonel sat in deep thought as he awaited the final order message.

___________________________


PRIORITY RADIOGRAM
TO - RRG, ALL LOCAL FREQUENCIES

WE HAVE DETECTED BALLISTIC MISSILE LAUNCHES FROM YOUR HELD TERRITORY. WE BELIEVE THAT THE MISSILES ARE NUCLEAR ARMED. ABORT IMMEDIATELY, OR RRG ASSETS WILL BE TARGETED USING PROPORTIONATE NUCLEAR FORCE. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES

___________________________

Alfegos Taskforce 'Defrost'

The sound of alarms cut across the ship as the Admiral attempted to plan his response to what he had just been informed by High Command - that the war could potentially have gone nuclear. His command did reach to the airships, but of them he knew that they in total only had 2 Anti-ballistic Missiles that could potentially hit an ICBM. The fleet had been armed for a non-nuclear conflict, and could now pay the price for their assumption. As he finally managed to get radio contact, he started talking quickly.
"All ships, as you are aware, we are now potentially fighting a nuclear conflict. Thus, all nuclear drills are to be followed. All ships are to spread out into as wide a formation as possible, so that we can limit the damage. All backup radio equipment is to be prepared, and the line of command must be revised.
I do not want to add to your worries, but we have early reports of mass fighter movements on long-range RADAR sweeps, possible headed towards us. Our airships have ULRSAMs and a plethora of missiles that should allow them to take on their fighters with ease, but I want to remind all carrier pilots to be ready for an air-to-air attack. Weaponry should be limited to SRAAMs and MRAAMs. Priority defence targets are the airships, since they will be providing the majority of our anti-air firepower at long range, and the RRG are likely to be bold enough as to try suicide tactics in an attempt to bring down our airships.
To the airship crews themselves - the aerofrigate with the 2 capable ABMs, you will have received your orders by now, and should be carrying them out with due haste. You will face the majority of fire from their fighters, so should be prepared to cause as much damage as possible.
But to all of you - best of luck."

________________________________

From the AAS Daemon, a pair of missiles shot from their hold at high speed as a booster fired, speeding them up to the point where their engines could take over. The missiles were experimental missiles termed 'Slipstream', and were few in number for a reason. A potential multi-purpose missile, the Slipstream was not powered by a conventional rocket motor save for the initial boost, but by a system known as a SCRamjet. Producing an unbelievable speed for a lower amount of fuel consumption and better acceleration, the engine meant that after seconds, the missile was travelling at nearly Mach 8, and slowly speeding up to the maximum speed of Mach 10. Following the projecting course of the ICBMs from the launch site, each missile had a short-range RADAR unit that meant that, once closed in on the approximate position, they could home in on the missiles before detonating and destroying their target. The speed meant that they would be the only shot at the missiles they had, before the missiles reached orbit. After that, the window for destruction would close as the warheads would re-enter at a near Mach 20. Big numbers for critical events.

Further along amongst the airfleet taskforce, another Aerofrigate rotated to line up with the approaching fighters. Jets of flame melted paint on the sides of the missile gondolas as a total of Eight Splinter ULRSAMs shot off into the distance, again seeking out to destroy whole squadrons of fighters before they potentially could cause a deadly threat to the taskforce. The other Aerofrigates began arming their long-mid range anti-air missiles, preparing for the oncoming storm as they took cover in the clouds. These were their only blessing, being able to mask their RADAR signatures that were large enough to suggest that they were, in fact, clouds, whilst they shut down their engines to remove any possible heat signatures that could be locked onto. It was now all down to the RRG to see how they would respond to the threat of nuclear conflict.

The Madurastan Satellites in orbit had registered several Ballistic Missile launches, but the taskforce could do little about them since they were heading away from them towards the Alfegos taskforce. However, the fleet was ordered to go to emergency stations and the crews began to climb into NBC Suits just in case. At the same time in Moriabia, the Missile Silos based there went to Alert Status Red, which was "Full Readiness". If it went Alert Status Black, launch codes would be issued and missiles would be fired at rebel targets in Antigr, including the rebel fleet near to the Madurastan Task Force. However, for now, it was a case of waiting to see what would happen.

Leutnant Heller watched with cruel satisfaction as several enemy planes disappeared from the screen as the missiles hit home. He took a deep breath and imagined what the scene would be like: burning airplanes plunging into the sea while their pilots struggled to survive in the cold, oily water. A suitable end for the rebel swines, no doubt. The arrogant smile as his threat indicator flashed. Missile lock. He swore and threw his aircraft into an evasive manouvre, dropping chaff and flares in an attempt to confuse the enemy missile. He could hear screams and prayers as other pilots where hit by enemy missiles, but he payed them no attention. The missile appeared to have been lured away by the chaff, and he breathed out for a brief second. Then he heard the ping of another missile lock. He tried another evasive manouvre, but he had run out of luck. The missile ripped of his left wing, sending him screaming into an uncontrolled plunge towards the surface. The aircraft exploded as it hit the water, killing him in an instant.

He was joined in death by three other pilots. Two more managed to bail out moments before their airplanes exploded. Their chance of survival, however, was not particulary better than that of their unfortunate brethren trapped in their burning planes. The sea below had been turned into a raging inferno by burning flight fuel, and if the flames did not kill them, then surely the cold water would do. The four remaining Super Hornets accelerated against the enemy, eager to avenge their fallen brother-in-arms. When they got in range, they fired their remaining missiles, four AIM-9 Sidewinders per plane.

__________________________________

It took the pilots of the ten planes forming the second line of the defence a couple of minutes to understand what had happened, and by then the Brigands had already passed them. The immediately turned and chased after the Antigran planes, but it was clear from the beginning that they could not match the Brigands' speed. Another batch of Super Hornets were launched from the deck of the Zaheran to intercept the enemy fighters before they reached the carrier group. Twenty F/A-18's accelerated towards the Antigran fighters at their maximum speed, hoping to catch the enemy with their AIM-120's before they had time to launch their missiles. Air defences on the escorting ships were powering up. Onboard the destroyers and cruisers guarding the convoy, air-to-air missiles were loaded into their launchers to combat enemy airplanes and missiles that got past the F/A-18's. Powerful radars started to scan the horizon, waiting for the enemy.

Onboard on of the ships, the Ticonderoga-class cruiser Ahrensburg, the scene was different. Instead of being loaded with RIM-66 Standard or RIM-162 Sea Sparrow missiles, its twin Mk. 41 vertical launch systems were prepared for offensive duty. The time had come to strike back against the Antigrans. All the one hundred and twenty two cells of the launchers were loaded with BGM-109 Tomahawk cruise missiles, the only weapon carried that could reach the rebel fleet at such a distance. As the enemy fighters closed in on the battle group, the order was given to fire. One by one, the Tomahawks left the launch tubes and began their one-way journey towards the enemy fleet.

6th Oceanic Fleet
Off Haverdalsstrand
1st February
12:31


One of the anti-ballistic missiles hit the descending weapons of destruction, destroying it and sending another off-course in the explosion as it's warhead detonated. The other, to make a long story short, missed, the sheer speed of what it was designed to counter working against it, unable to keep the target as it sped away at a Mach higher. That was the end of that, for the twelve missiles descended downwards. Erikssen, if he could see the effects, would be pleased - the missiles were sattelite-guided and could hit the enemy ships even at the missiles' high speed. Behind them by about seventy nautical miles and closing at two and a half times the speed of sound were a group of D5D Brigands, six flights, over squadron strength, meaning twenty-four aircraft in total. Of course, provisions had been made for the airships' bulk - their Anteck-N long-range AAMs were of modular design, the fuel cells that gave them their long range easily replacable by explosive cells.

Now they were carrying a hundred and twelve kilograms of high-explosive each, which would be lethal against the airships. Unfortunately, they only carried one, the other larger hardpoint reserved for a SHaV supercavitating torpedo, a weapon seemingly immune to CIWS systems and able to make 305 knots. Erikssen was giving everything he had, and most strike aircraft across the southwestern portion of Antigr would be heading to destroy the Alfegans and grand fleet, for the fighters, and there were more of them across one fighter regiment than the Alfegan fleet had in total, would continue to pound enemy airships, into the night if necessary, until they [the airships] ran out of ammunition or were shot down. Once enemy air and most anti-air power was eliminated, Erikssen planned to use one of the oldest weapons in the Antigran arsenal, the iron bomb. The Antigran air force and navy liked these, and the single seven-tonne version which could carried by Antigran light and heavy bombers would really on blunt, brute force rather than clever precision. Elsewhere, however, the King would intervene rather oddly.
__________________

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc40/NS_Antigr/Flag_Pic01.png


ANTIGRAN EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION
The United Kingdom of Antigr

To: Alfegan Supreme Command
From: King Fredrik II, Antigran Head of State

URGENT URGENT


Sir,

My men have detected nuclear missile launches immediately after ballistic missile launches by rebel forces at Jerijärvi. I shall warn you, ask you, to abort your missiles immediately; Jerijärvi is part of the second-stage IOTA Command and does not have missiles designed for taking nuclear warheads, or have any on-site. This report would be accurate to the day before the civil war erupted and these missiles launched at the Alfegan fleet would contain incendiary-high-explosive warheads. I cannot allow my country to be a nuclear inferno, rebel-held or otherwise. The IOTA Command is extensively equipped with ABMs and otherwise suitable defences, but these may not be relied upon to defend the rebels, something now to my disadvantage. Please abort your missiles. We wish you the best of luck otherwise - a non-nuclear response would be proportionate and proper. Please make contact with the Grand Fleet, closing at a hundred and forty miles from your position.

Signed,
- King Fredrik II.

Madurastani Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
09:16


Four missiles was definitely overkill, and nomatter how hard his evading maneuvers and nomatter how many flares and bundles of chaff he launched, Sergeant-Pilot Kjellin was doomed to a fiery death, and so his aircraft's fuel tanks exploded when two missile slammed into them from either side. He would die a hero's death, but a death nonetheless. He was out of the game forever. Below the Wing Commander, however, he saw the impact of the specially-designed surface-to-surface ballistic missiles. Devastation. Suddenly, however, he heard a PING PING PING and a surface-to-air missiles hit him in the face. With a combined impact speed of Mach 6, he had little time to evade, the explosion as his ordnance detonated spectacular. The Lieutenant who the command fell to yelled into his helmet's radio headset;
"How many aircraft do we have left?!"
"Four. Flight two has been wiped out!"
"Distance to target?"
"Fifty miles"
"We won't make it"
"Sir, our orders are - "
"Dump ordnance and head back for the carrier"
"Our orders - it's down to us, sir!"
"Forget the damn orders. Bug out!"
__________________

Elsewhere, the Zaheran Sixth Fleet ten miles from the Madurastanis were having similar success. One AIM-120 took out two D5Ds as the explosion shredded the wings and fuel tanks of the wingman's aircraft, two more AMRAAMs quickly finding their mark, The D5Ds dodging rather than returning fire. Like twelve miles away, flight two was wiped out completely and soon the J35Ks were out too. Burning embers that were once aircraft rained from the sky as the Brigands dived for their pilot's dear lives, the dive now reaching Mach 3, the 'elevons' now becoming so hard to control that hydraulic systems had to be put into place.

There was nothing these pilots could do but level out and unlock their ordnance as missiles shot around them like a fiery, explosive, murderous rain. On the horizon, the enemy fleet was becoming visible.

The Sea Wasp Pilots watched as the Rebel Aircraft moved back away from their Carrier. This was relayed back to the fleet, with a reply stating "Disengage and return to the fleet". Each aircraft turned back towards their carriers. However, 6 Sea Wasps had been shot down with 1damaged but able to fly with 60% of engine power available and shrapnel along the fuselage.

OOC: Alfegos now takes control of my fleet until the 21st. Can't wait to return to this thrilling RP.

(OOC: Sorry about that brief absence - I'll remove this once you've read. + we can finalise the discussions for the other RP sometime.)

Silo 29

The bunker sat in silence as a small light began flashing above the communications desk, indicating a VLF radiogram inbound. At all the desks, the crew had finalised the launch procedure, and finished the many reviews needed to ensure safe launch. The light stopped flashing as a printout was produced, and carried over to the bunker commander. Quickly pacing over to a large safe set in the bunker wall, he typed in a multi-digit code before opening the safe. Inside, he grabbed a black tag, double checking the colour code key inside the safe before breaking the message open and checking.
"The message is genuine. All nuclear fire to be aborted - I repeat, all nuclear fire to be aborted. We're switching down to DEFCON 3."
There was a loud cheer from the congregated staff, alongside a visible sense of relief from all the bunker crew. As launch plans were cancelled the bunker commander closed the safe, hearing the bolts slam shut inside as he turned to his staff.
"The message does warn that we may yet be required, so don't keep your hopes up. DEFCON 3 does not mean we're relaxing - until we can confirm that there is not a single missile left in Antigr that can strike us, you lot might have to go through that again."

_________________________

7th Airfleet Taskforce
AAS Antigr

A series of dots appeared on the long-range RADAR uplink from the mesolite as the inbound fighters were picked up, faint dots that suddenly surged to sharp points as the Mesolite focused in. It was a sign that the Taskforce Commander had not been wanting to see, yet was expected. Sitting in the bridge of the AAS Consul, a small console on the airship bridge reserved for him showed a simplified 2D battlemap, the fighters moving in slowly. Flicking on the airship intercom system, he began speaking.
"All crews, processor sharing to battle mode. You'll need your computer power."
In front of him, a scale showing the level of data transfer between computers on the battlefield sensory network dropped, changing to a faster encrypted data channel.
"Aerofrigates AAS La'lio, AAS Furient, AAS Redoubt and AAS Freerunner, we have targets closing in - for now, it appears in the region of twenty-four aircraft signatures. Targets are currently 200 klicks away, and approaching fast. You've got fourty LRSAMs and about two hundred MRSAMs between you, so a twenty LRSAM volley, followed by twenty MRSAMs to finish them off. Aerodestroyer, move to defence three klicks in front of the main taskforce and prepare all defensive measures. AAS Antigr will retire and prepare SRSAMs and 40 mils for final defence. All other airships, move to defence and prepare to take inbound missiles. Best of luck."

The RADAR unit detected the signatures of missiles launched as yells started coming over the radio from the main fleet.
"We've lost the Polia! I repeat, we've lost the Polia! All crews brace for impact!"
In the distance, the Taskforce Commander saw a brilliant flash, that lingered for a few seconds. A sickening feeling came over him as he watched it fade, not noticing the group of his own fighters moving in to intercept the enemy aircraft.
"Come in Defrost Commander! We confirm a large fireball, over the last position of the AS Polia. I'm suspecting tactical nuclear weapons have been deployed."
"This is Defrost Command - radiation and shock readings show that blast was non-nuclear. All airships prepare for a possible long-range missile attack."

On his monitor, the Taskforce Commander watched as the dots closed in, passing a tiny red line forming a circle around the Aerodestroyer, which began to do its work. Outside, a series of flashes rippled across the sky as the airship's defensive measures visibly took place - four duel-mounted point-defence autocannons poured 23mm ammunition into the sky in front of it, tracer intersecting mechanically with missiles, producing explosions as they made contact. Around the airship itself, a shimmering light was produced as the RADAR chaff launchers activated, multiple launch guns around the airship firing small projectiles into the air that exploded in a mass of specially-folded RADAR foil. On a RADAR screen, what would appear to be a squadron of aircraft had appeared around the airship, followed by further blasts as the autocannons swung to take on the missiles that followed the lure. The distant thuds continued, followed by a series of massive explosions.

One of the larger missiles had hit the largest RADAR signature it could find in front of the airship - that being a cloud of descending chaff. As it turned around to try and take the target again, it had struck upon the airship's engine gondola, exploding upon impact. The shockwave ruptured the methane fuel lines to one of the massive turboprops, releasing a sizeable amount of gas into that airship segment and out through a gaping hole in the side. As the engines shuddered to a halt, fuel lines locked shut, a second missile hit the engine gondola, igniting the gas and detonating the reserve methane gas tanks. Moments later, a blueish-purple ball of flame rippled across the underside of the airship rear, propelled by a blast front enough to crumple the armoured sides as if they were paper. Internal machinery fell in a hail as the inferno took hold, burning engine oil and melting plastic fittings in tears of black pain.

The airship systems though were unable to take all twenty-four missiles and win - the combined force of the autocannons and defensive systems meant that seventeen of the missiles were now sinking to the bottom of the ocean below. However, the burst of rounds had used eighteen thousand rounds, a considerable cut into the ammunition reserves aboard the airship, and had not stopped all the missiles.
Four of the missiles had hit the airship envelope, programmed to explode a set distance from the RADAR signature as they would with a normal aircraft that they would normally be bound for. As such, the blast of the explosions were unable to penetrate deep enough to ignite the fuel gas core, but were enough to make severe incursions into the airship gas cells. On the airship surface, the envelope now held four large holes, a network of shimmering gas cells just visible inside, those deflated in the blasts glistening as the film was caught by the wind. Whilst not enough to cause the airship full buoyancy loss, it was enough to cause it to list from the reduced upthrust of one side.

The final missile had been the decisive blow to the airship, the one that meant that nothing was there to stop the airship as it continued listing to an angle of 70 degrees, smoke catching on the underside as it found its way upwards. The missile impact had been to the crew gondola, blasting the front of the gondola away and leaving the remaining section of the aluminium structure slowly smouldering, the flaming supplies disintegrating into the sky to join the airship crew.

_________________

__________________________

7th Airfleet Taskforce
Off Haverdalsstrand
1st February
13:40


That the first flight was now completely decimated was a bad sign. However, Löjtnant Antonsson led the second flight fearlessly as they shot towards the enemy airships at Mach 1.9, through the burning debris that had been the first flight. He remembered some humoured advice that his army father had given him, first given in the first world war. When you are a soldier you can be in one of two places: a dangerous place or a safe place. If you are in a safe place…don't worry. If you're in a dangerous place you can be one of two things: One is wounded and the other is not. If you're not wounded…don't worry. If you are wounded it can be dangerous or slight. If it's slight…don't worry. If it's dangerous then one of two things will happen: You'll die or you'll recover. If you recover…don't worry. If you die…you can't worry. In these circumstances a soldier never worries. He smirked, briefly forgetting distintive sound of missiles coming towards them, pulling up and accelerating instinctively. Sound advice.
"Don't worry, lads!"
He shouted into his helmet microphone.
"I'll pull you through. Flight, release missiles at forty miles' range and accelerate!"
"Two, roger, Blue actual"
"Three, affirmative"
"Four, got that"
"Forty miles...on ten seconds!"
Suddenly a brief scream came over the radio as his wingman, Blue Two, saw a missile off his port wing and was completely obliterated by it. Don't worry might not work here. In the distance, coming towards him, he saw a second round of AAMs. Gritting his teeth, the pressed a button on the target computer in front of him and fired all his ordnance at the nearest airship. The others had time to pull away from the , but he didn't. But his ordnance was gone. His last thought, a quote from the history books. Thank god I have done my duty. Behind him, the other twelve aircraft followed. Although many more squadrons would follow behind, for Admiral Erikssen was committing all of south-western Antigr, the aircraft of No.226 Squadron were on a mission with little chance of their survival. Still, they would follow what they had been taught, to mirror the Brits and Finns; to always attack, nomatter what the odds.
__________________

IOTA Command Station
Jerijärvi
1st February
13:41


"Missile launch in five-four-three-two-away!"
The shout of technicians were drowned out by the sound of thirteen more ballistic missiles being launched. They soared into the air, making twenty-six of two hundred and eight-six stored on the site. Sattelites had confirmed that they'd bagged an airship, although there were no reports of surface fleet damage - however, four of the missiles were now aimed at the airships, the technicians only now coming to the realisation that airships were big and slow enough to be targeted. On this cloudless day, the missiles could be guided all the way to their targets from the sattelite. There were rumours of Boden himself flying down here to take command, and the Brigadier on-site wouldn't be surprised; however, he had elsewhere to go. Such as the small coastal city of Fjalby, which was now home to an artillery division and scores of naval seamen and officers rushing to man the coastal guns.

Using extended-range projectiles, the Grand Fleet were in range of the 175, 230 and 380mm guns of the coastal and divisional guns. General Fasjovik had been taken out of the line at Cathrineholm, for whom General Sandrez would cover for, to oversee the defence and he would do it well. He was determined to. Turning to an intelligence colonel by his side, he asked;
"Who is in charge of the Grand Fleet"
"I believe it's Amiral Hultman"
"An idiot"
"Well, he's led the Grand Fleet for three years, he must have done something to get that post, or - "
"He underestimates us. They are fifty kilometres away, but they don't think the Grand Fleet can be touched by the puny rebel scum. He's wrong, and he's made a big mistake. Tell me, Överste, do you see, or have heard of, reconnaisance aircraft? He's forgot. He's sailing to close to the shore"
"That's a mistake he won't make again"
Fasjovik smiled.
"Because he'll be dead?"
"Yes"
Turning unceromoniously to a Lieutenant from signals, the General gave a simple sentence.
"Fire the guns. Rapid fire, or they'll get a chance to launch their aircraft and obliterate us. Our D5Ds need a clear sky to get a chance to launch their torpedoes"
There was a thundering sound, the ground shaking, loose slates falling off houses' rooftops, as three hundred guns fired, followed by the siren-like sound of six hundred and ten 162mm rockets from MT-94 batteries. The General's hearing would take a couple of minutes to recover.

Sixth Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
09:17


Several enemy aircraft had been destroyed, but it was not yet time to celebrate. There were still many D5's left, and they were getting closer with every passing second. The Zaheranian fighters switched to their short-range missiles, AIM-9 Sidewinders, and once again attacked the enemy. With two missiles per plane, it added up to twenty missiles accelerating against the Antigran planes at Mach 2.5. As they were heat-seeking, they were prone to be tricked by flares and similar counter-measures, but it was doubtful that the enemy pilots had anything left to defend themselves with, bearing in mind the quantity of missiles that had been fired against them in the latest minutes. The pilots waited nervously for the result. They were completely out of missiles now, and if any enemy aircraft survived, they would have to engage with their guns or pray that the escort ships would be able to take out the surviving planes with their air-to-air missiles, doubtful when the enemy was flying on such an extremely low altitude.

Needless to say, the atmosphere onboard the ships was just as tense. In the Combat Direction Center aboard the Zaheran, activity had come to a standstill as everyone awaited the results of the intense air battle raging in the skies, the battle that would determine the fates of thousands of men onboard the ships. Within minutes, they would know if they had won or lost. Zaheran had her own defences, of course, but no one held any illusion of them being able to stop the D5's before they had time to unleash their devastating firepower against the aircraft carrier and her sister ships.

OOC: I am back now. I apologise profusely for my absence. This won't happen again i promise.

The Madurastan Fleet had survived the attack by the rebel aircraft, but with some loss to the defending fighters. Now the fleet counterattacked. 10 Sea Wasps armed with Exocets took off from the Carriers and headed towards the rebel fleet, escorted by 30 Sea Wasps providing cover. The attack was in fact a follow up to 4 sea launched Tomahawk Cruise Missiles which was now moving quickly towards the rebel fleet. The Tomahawk attack's objective was the rebel carriers while the Sea Wasps and their Exocets and escort would deal with any surface ships and the fighters protecting the fleet.

[OOC:] Got bored, decided to make this post early. No need to reply until Zaheran is back, though, and I feel uncomfortable controlling his fleet. However, I've RPed his missiles.

Sixth Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
09:18


The Zaherani pilots' assumptions were, in any case, correct. Among the twelve D5Ds still surviving, only six, half of them, had a salvo of flares or chaff left and these were fired, mostly unsuccessfully, as the AIM-9s caught up with the fated aircraft and destroyed them. Wing Commander Edbom and his 'finger-four', three aircraft aside from himself, one from the third flight as the others had been annihilated. The sickening screams that had filled the airwaves as pilots saw heat-seeking missiles stare them in the face before impact had died down, leaving only burning debris and incinerated, pieced remains fluttering gently down in the morning sky. This was then followed by a solid THUNK as one of the flying pieces of shrapnel tore off most of his wingman's left-side wing, and a high-pitched, alarmed voice screamed into his helmet;
"This is two, I'm on fire, I'm hit. Bailing out!"
"Good luck, two"
Any of the slow, dramatic hollywood theme tunes that would accompany such a film moment would apply. No such sound came, merely the whoosh of their engines, the quiet broken only by the dying sounds of F/A-18s and the clicks they heard as the aircraft, now at twenty miles distant from the fleet, dropped their two-each SHaV supercavitating torpedoes. There was a faint splash to be heard behind them as the Brigands pulled away and the 'tin-fish' accelerated to their top speeds of 305 knots.
__________________

Grand Fleet
31 Miles West of Fjalby
1st February
13:43


Midshipman Gottmo sat in the radar room, bored. Picking up a mug of tea, he saw that the thick, dulled white ceramic surface was stained from years of holding the liquid, but was otherwise empty. He put it down with a thunk as it made contact again with the laminated hardwood surface of his small desk, and returned to reading a novel. It was called Digital Fortress, by Dan Brown, and he'd picked it to keep him occupied over the more boring books, with front covers usually featuring a blurred picture of a lady in the same beekeeper's hat. The sharp, mid-pitched wailing siren sound initially didn't even cause him to look up, until he recognised the sound, thought back to his training and remembered what he meant. Leaping up from his seat, his hand shot out to the telephone marked BRIDGE, at the same time his other hand punching the menacing, dusty red button marked GENERAL ALARM. Yelling into the telephone, he managed only the short sentences
"Mutiple inbound contacts from bearing zero-nine-four! We're under attack!"
Before a surface-to-surface missile struck the deck of the aircraft carrier Pål Renberg directly above him, it's 600kg high-explosive warhead penetrating the bridge and armoured deck below it to obliterate the forward radar room moments later. Men ran screaming across the deck to be torn limb from limb as extended-range artillery shells, unguided 162mm rockets and surface-to-surface missiles struck the sea around, superstructure and hull of the vessel. A salvo of six fifteen-inch shells from the coastal defences at Fjalby completed the utter destruction of the three-hundred-and-forty-metre-long fleet carrier as it's battered hull slipped under the waves after two minutes, taking over four and a half thousand lives with her, leaving the sea boiling around where the mighty flagship had been and stained with oil and the smell of smoke. Above it, triumphant flights of D5Ds flew over where the combined land-air effort was at work.

Admiral Hultmann was now, frankly, dead, along with three-quarters of the fleet's surface strength which had dissapeared beneath the waves or were damaged beyond repair at sea. A hundred ships now lay beneath the surface, not including submarines of which, out of forty, nineteen had been lost on the surface, refuelling or resupplying. It was half an hour later when the late Admiral Hultmann's only surviving deputy, his third-in-command, Vice-Admiral Steffensen (commander of the fleet's submarine force) arrived to survey the damage aboard his divisional flagship submarine and he was shocked by it, slumping to his knees as crewmen plucked hapless seamen from the cold seas. Only after ten minutes spent in an unblinking, unfocused stare at the carnage did he turn to the Captain standing next to him now.
"I told him, Henric. We were sailing too close to the bloody shore"
__________________

Tronsjo Aerodrome
RRG Central Command
1st January
14:40


Marten Boden's prolific reputation as a speaker was put to his advantage now as he stood next to the huge map of Antigr projected onto the wall behind him. In his steady hand he held a collapsible pointing-stick with which to point at things, on his face he wore a childlike, excitable grin and in his eyes he wore a fiery determination.
"...and so, if General Adolfsson's military intelligence is correct, King Fredrik is still in Norje. Are you sure this is reliable, General?"
"Positively, sir"
Boden smiled at that. After news of the successes earlier in the day against the Grand Fleet, and the previous week against the Royalist front in Cathrineholm, they were addressing him as 'sir' as they would a Field-Marshal.
"...and Colonel Haarland, has your special forces regiment disengaged yet?"
"Way ahead of you. They're acting in a second-line role at the newly-liberated army barracks south of Dombäck, sir"
"Good. News of Isaksen's parachute division?"
"They've disengaged, but are two regiments understrength. We plan to join them with what's-his-name's parachute division in, er...Vedby, I believe"
"I gather they're understrength after defaulters to the Royalists, am I right?"
"Yes, sir. Joined together, and with Jørgensen's two parachute divisions - although they haven't completely disengaged yet - I think we have enough forces to take an hold Norje, the King and the two major airports for about a week. By then, I trust, you'll have either joined up with us or flown in reinforcements"
"I gather you've all tasted my brilliant plan by now. We fly into Norje, take it and the King and end the war at a stroke"
"What about the King's family?"
"Only his son is with him. The others are dispersed or dead"
"We've no use for his son. Wait until he makes a sudden move, then kill him"
"And when will this plan take place?"
Boden grinned again, showing his cream-coloured teeth in a wide, menacing grin.
"Two days. By then, Jørgensen's troops will have arrived the the fourth light corps will be on hand to punch through to Norje"
"Four hundred miles will be an awful big punch"
"We have a week until you are wiped out, Haarland. That should be ample time"
"I'm still not happy about using the light corps. Isn't the twentieth armoured available?"
"No"
"Two days, then"
"Two days"

Sixth Fleet
North Antigran Fleet
31st January
09:19


Most of the incoming enemy aircraft had been destroyed. This however, had not been good enough, as the two surviving planes had managed to fire their munitions. Once the torpedoes were in the water, there was nothing that could be done to avoid them. They were to close, to fast. The first torpedo struck the Ticonderoga-class cruiser HIMS Lichtenfels midships. The explosion ripped open a gaping hole in her side, killing twenty-seven men in the process. Thirty more were wounded. Moments later, a second torpedo hit her in the stern. The second explosion was less critical, but twelve more men died and both of the cruiser's two helicopters were destroyed. Lichenfels was still floating, but water was streaming in through the holes and much machinery had been destroyed, rending the once so proud warship essentially crippled.

The next ship to fall victim for the Antigran torpedoes was the frigate HIMS Buchhorz. A single torpedo hit her midships and exploded, killing forty of her crew and breaking her in two. Ammunition and fuel stores exploded as the flames reached them, further speeding up the unfortunate ship's demise. Burning fuel set the ocean around the sinking ship on fire, killing even more of the crewmembers fighting for their lives in the cold water.

The last torpedo struck one of the support ships. All of the two hundred and six crewmembers of HIMS Brücke died instantly as ammunition and fuel exploded under them, more or less vaporising them and the whole ship. Burning fuel, ship parts and human limbs rained over the water. The fire could be seen from miles away as the flames consumed the remains of Brücke and her crew.

Admiral Heinrich Jaeger watched in horror as three of his ships went up in flames, one after another. He did not want to imagine how many had perished as the torpedoes had struck. His only consolation was that none of the troop carriers had been struck. If that had been the case, the loss in life would have been horrendous. The situation was bad enough as it was. Lichtenfels was managing to stay afloat, although only barely. The other ships had sunk in a matter of minutes, taking the majority of their crew with them. Helicopters and lifeboats were still picking up survivors from Buchhorz, but the burning fuel made it hard to reach the few who had not drowned or been killed by the explosion. With Brücke, it was not even worth trying. The ship had carried replenishment ammunition and fuel for the rest of the fleet, and when it exploded, it had turned the water around the remains of the ships into a burning inferno. Sending in rescue teams would only result in more deaths. His fists hardened around the deck railing. The bastards would pay for this.

Orbital Command

In the temporary command building, now seeming to be more a permanence with the continuing repairs of the underground bunkers, the Orbital Commander sat watching the satellite screen, a cunning idea in his mind playing out with spoken messages across a telephone line. On the large screen, the criss-cross tracks of many thousands of satellites sat imposed on the screen, colour coded according to the orbital type. The screen showed satellites both allied, neutral and enemy, each represented by its own symbol as it tracked across the screen. Typing in a command, the screen zoomed in over a large region, centred on Antigr. In the sky above, the geostationary satellites known to be Antigran spy satellites sat still, no movement at all as the other low-orbit satellites and space stations occasionally passed by it. On the screen as well, an Alfegan military satellite, labelled 'Valhalla 19', was slowly tracking along a line nearby. What made it interesting was that the satellite orbital track was slowly changing, inching its way towards the Antigran satellite. As a final radiogram arrived at his station, he stood up and began speaking.

"Satellite control team - is Loki ready for attack?"
"Affirmative. T minus ten minutes."

_______

High up in geostationary orbit, a small conical object that on the satellite command's screen appeared to be inching its way along was in actual fact careening through the vacuum, at many kilometres a second. A flicker of flame from its propulsion system showed its movement relative to the black background, as it closed in on its target.

As the confirmation came to its computer that it was indeed on the correct path, the cone split open, two pieces of metal peeling off either side as the interior of the satellite was revealed. Inside, a spike of metal sat attached to a small body, a large antenna being the only peripheral on its exterior. Behind it, the rocket engine detached, as the device continued moving at rapid speed towards its target - one of the Antigran spy satellites. The hope was that disabling the satellite would hinder the launch of the ballistic missiles, giving time for an effective response to be made.

______________________________

Taskforce Defrost

Moments after the ballistic missiles had been confirmed not to be nuclear, the naval force had been pleased enough to open communications with each other, quickly sharing the good news. Outlooks weren't so good as the missiles finally were confirmed to be targeted at them. They had a three minute warning - three minutes to wait, and do whatever they could to minimise the damage. Bulkheads were secured, hatches tightly shut and sailors braced for impact as they awaited what was soon to befall them. Aboard the aircraft carriers, it was a different stories, the aircraft crews tasked with trying to get as many of the aircraft off the carriers as possible, with pilots scrambling to get in the air. They had been alerted to some enemy aircraft engaging with the airships, and were hoping to get up as quickly as possible to engage before all the enemy aircraft were no longer airborne.

The ballistic missile strikes came quick and suddenly, a deafening series of blasts across the fleet. The first hit a destroyer, the blast of fire melting through the top hull of the craft and quickly spreading to whatever it could find. Chaos ensued as it rooted itself in the aluminium construction of the ship, turning into a near inferno as it ate away at whatever it could find. When it came to the shipborne magazine, it quickly heated the stashed explosives to a few thousand degrees, enough to detonate them in a series of deafening blasts. As the call to abandon ship was given, the few able to clamber to the liferaft racks or plunge into the sea found the fires quenched by the sea rushing in to greet the flames. As the ship was racked by a second blast, the liferafts began drifting from the vessel, giving the tens of occupants enough time to see the vessel consumed by the sea, quickly disappearing to depths of the ocean.

From thereon, the attacks could only get worse. Whilst one missile detonated over empty sea space, a jet of steam erupting from the surface as it boiled, the other eight that arrived hit hard and fast. Of the assembled ships of the fleet, another three frigates and two of the auxiliary ships were on the receiving end lethal blasts that sank them within minutes. But the sorest wound was the AS Nos'vi. Not only did the first missile rip a hole in the flight deck, destroying a fighter in mid launch, it was promptly followed by a second blast that hit the superstructure, roasting the commanding crew alive as it ate its way through. The ship slowly began to list as the fires continued, the surviving crew trying to put out two infernos inside the carrier.

From the AS Zevkhay, the Admiral looked out at the carnage in the distance, plumes of smoke just visible from the massive spread formation they had moved into as soon as the missile launches had been detected. Thanking his luck for his survival, he turned quickly to the command screen. Looking at the available resources, he soon made up his mind.
"The barrage is over - all planes on green order to land and refuel immediately. All ships keep formation, and full speed ahead full to Objective Lucky Seven, with the AS Ultimatum hanging behind to pick up liferafts and guard the Nos'vi. We're going to see how they like us bringing the fight to them. Airship crews, full speed ahead to the coast, and commence attacks on coastal gun installations - give our allies a bit of a hand."
____________________________

Airship Taskforce

The airships soon started moving out at high speed, formed with the Aerofrigates on the outside to keep the enemy fighters away. All airships had started moving at high speed, reaching a maximum formation speed of 110km/h as their engines ran at near full speed on their run towards the target. In their sights, a mere three hours flight away, lay the coastal artillery batteries in the hands of the enemy. Each one seemed a perfectly promising target, with amble ammunition from the entire group to flatten most of the coast. With the coastal guns as their primary targets, the RRG fleet encroaching on them named 'Lucky Seven' by the Admiral would be a perfect target whilst engaged in a ship-to-ship battle.

IOTA Command Station
Jerijärvi
1st February
14:20


What was quiet orders had quickly escalated into confusion and ultimately panic as many of the command centre's screens went black, halting their viewer's enjoyment and awe as they saw the destruction of the enemy fleets, the only explanation the simple translation of the words UPLINK LOST.
"What - Kamark, get that connection back. Server failure?"
"Er...no, servers are fine"
"Wiring?"
"Everything is duplicated three times over. It's unlikely, system's showing no faults"
"Internal problems with the sattelite?"
"It's new, only a year old. Wires can't have burned through"
"Maybe just a plug"
"What if it's been attacked?"
The Captain spoke firmly, as if he knew the answer.
"...A possibility, Kapten. Based on what?"
"We're it a system failure, we would know. Were it a sattelite internal failure...it would be highly unlikely. Couldn't hurt to check"
"Check, then"

Ten minutes later, and after intensive sky-gazing by telescopic systems and the limited capabilities of radar in the search, it was clear that the FGZ-922 was no longer there.
"Response? What can we do?"
"We'll have another sattelite over the area, low-resolution only, in five minutes"
"And?"
"We could take out enemy sattelites, once we know where they are"
"Find out. Lieutenant, get me ASAT command"

Orbital Command

There was a cheer as the a message came up at the point the enemy satellite had been.
*COLLISION - BOTH SATELLITES DESTROYED*
Over on the screen, a small warning marker came up in their place, a circled region showing an area of possible danger from debris. Nearby, the enemy satellites were still moving, all tracked by powerful RADAR stations the nation had both on the ground in Alfegos but also across many other nations. In addition, space-borne anti-debris satellites carried a powerful RADAR that had a duel purpose in detecting 'space junk' and any satellites in orbit. For the time being, the Alfegans had only three satellites within the geographical region of Antigr - in addition to a communication satellite in geostationary orbit and a weather satellite in LEO, a single one of the anti-debris satellites was orbiting in between, flitting across the screen.
"Time to next possible strike is eighty minutes. I highly advise against further satellite strikes sir, since we only have a limited number of Loki devices."
"What anti-satellite missiles are available?" The commander had a sadistic grin on his face, as if he were plotting the downfall of an entire nation.
"Within range, we have four such missiles in Neo'los. Do you want to fire one?"
"Get permission to fire one. In the meantime, we'll wait to see what the next card they play is. If they have another spy satellite in the area, I'm sure our allies in the form of the Loyalists should have some idea as to what satellites are in the region."

Sorry, but I can't really think of a reply to give you, UE]

That's ok. In the end I wasn't expecting much of one anyway so it doesn't really matter.

OCC: Be forewarned, I'm doing a little back tracking due to my tardiness in getting up my last reply. Finally, in closing if my embassy is left alone then this is my last reply. Again, be warned I'm going a little backwards in time, sorry if this causes any problems, but I'm going to try to make sure the post doesn't intervene with anything that's been going on.

IC:

Somewhere hundred of miles south of Antigr in international waters
January 25th

Having been at sea for over a week, the Seventh AG had finally arrived within range to launch aircraft for a rescue mission. However, after a few hours of being in direct contact with it's embassy and ascertaining what the local situation was, it was decided that instead of a complete evacuation, the embassy would be reinforced by a platoon of combat marines to assist in security until such time as the conflict within Antigr died down.

Flying in under the cover of darkness with radio silence and lights out, the four aircraft composed of two EH-101s as transports and two Tiger ARHs for support in case the transports in the unlikely event came under attack would fly low to the ground once within Antigr airspace to avoid detection by radar. Once, over the embassy the Tigers would take up an over watch position as the Merlins landed to disgorge their human cargo and at the same time, refuel and take on board all those deemed to be non-critical personnel for evacuation back to the waiting fleet. If, all went according to plan, the round trip would take less then three hours.

Once, all aircraft were safely back onboard, the Seventh AG would return to it's holding pattern located a few hundred miles south of Antigr in the empty vastness that was the South Antigran Seas. There the Seventh would remain, until the situation within Antigr return to more of what the violence levels were before the outbreak of the civil war. Hopefully, this civil war wouldn't last for very long, allowing the embassy to continue to be occupied and used. However, should things take a turn for the worse, the Seventh Assault Group[AG] was there and ready on a moments notice to launch a full scale operation to evacuate the embassy or worse, land an armed force to further secure the embassy until it could be completely evacuated of all equipment and personnel.

Space Command, ASAT Division West Sector Command Centre
RAF Hamn
1st February
15:16


Under the more secretive aspects of the 2004 Defence Reforms were, oddly in the modern world, an increased budget, some of which would be used for Antigr to 'equip itself against future as well as present threats'. With ever-advancing space technology, it was inevitable weapons to counter spaceborne objects such as sattelites. It was known to naval Lieutenants and above that all frigate-sized or above ships with suitable launchers carried one ASAT missile, and Antigr was one of very, very few nations to deploy, and maybe the only in the entire world to use in numbers, the 'Space Events Ship', a secretive vessel designed to watch space events. One was now putting to sea at Auston, with its distinctive, massive four radar domes and it's unusually heavy self-defence armament. It was obvious to see that the vessel carried two RAM launchers and two 57mm guns as well as smaller machine-guns, such was the value of the ship and it's - armoured - radars.

Nevertheless, the vessel would only be there to survey Alfegan sattlite movements, and the explosions that would be to follow, for six hundred miles away north of the city of Hamn, the local Space Command ASAT Division Command Centre, a bulky and specialised title, had acquired a target, and had four large missiles on standby to take it, and any more targets that presented themselves, out. There were actually nearly a hundred such missiles on site, on paper, but only twenty-three were operational as such; it would take a team of seven conscript mechanics two complete days to bring them all into working order, even with empty tanks. There was a characteristic BANG from the underground launchers only then followed by the sound of the rocket motor's controlled explosion accelerating the missile away as the weapon shot out of the huge concrete slab that concealed the dull, menacing metallic launchers fifty metre below ground. Such precautions were required by legislation, ASAT weapons still in the same value category of medium nuclear weapons, the latter much more common. The missile was away, streaking towards an Alfegan mesolite. The mesolite was a very high-flying in-atmosphere sattelite airship, an Alfegan invention; however, it was so high, about the same altitude as the SR-71 Blackbird, that an ASAT launch was most suitable to take such a thing out. However, it's lower altitude meant that one of the missile's modular fuel canisters could be replaced with more explosives.


Antigran Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
08:42


Going at below the speed of sound, the Tomahawks were relatively slow and stately weapons compared to the Mach-21 specialised ballistic missiles that were being used in the southwest, and there was time enough for the general alarm to be sounded, again, and men take cover before the missiles came within range. The RIM-116 Rolling Airframe Missile, or simply and commonly RAM, was a new breed of Close-In Weapon System, far more able to take on enemy aircraft as well as missiles with a far higher hit probability. 21-cell launchers had completely replaced 24mm-calibre gun-based systems from the 1970s, with their, at best, third-of-a-second engagement times. Two were fired from the destroyer Sven Bjorklund as they [the cruise missiles] fast approached the outskirts of the fleet. One hit as the weapons shot past, the other RIM-116, having not found a target, following it's programming and exploding in the sea.

The cruiser Vasterra was next in the firing line, again firing two RAMs and one striking it's target, demolishing the projectile in a spectacular explosion that sent shrapnel thudding into the 30mm-thick icebreaking hull. The fleet carrier Hammarset managed to loose off a desperate three missiles, one blowing up a Tomahawk metres from the ship, forging a three-metre-diameter hole in the upper hull and setting the quarters behind on fire, the hiss of the surviving fire-suppression systens broken by the impact of the fourth missile, which sped in through the open hangar deck doorway to an aircraft lift and detonating on a hose truck behind, the resulting explosion that was carried into the fuel pipes and then to the forward A1 jet fuel tank not only destroying completely twenty-seven aircraft on deck, aircraft lift and hangar, but another one in mid-air and completely incinerating the below crew quarters, the lesser mess hall and the fire spreading quickly down the vast network of in-between-deck fuel pipes and setting the entire hangar deck on fire. Nine hundred were killed, mainly air wing and those in the enlisted quarters and mess, immediately or over the next five minutes as the raging fires and smoke consumed them. The fleet was taking a battering from a lucky strike, and it looked like the Madurastanis would not be destroyed a second time.

The United Earthlings' Embassy
Embassy Centre, Auston
January 25th
04:30


The sound of the rotor blades viciously slicing the air around them as the helicopters to which their flight depended on descended below them was barely audible to the Revolutionary sentries which patrolled the main road. After the fall of the Hurtian embassy a few days ago, the other embassies had decided it was best to follow the supposed technique for countering pestly wasps; 'leave them alone and they'll leave you'. Of course, wasps were the only animals on the world that didn't follow this, but nonetheless Marten Boden was no warmonger, merely the completely ordinary son of a poor Hammarset family, and he was content to let the embassy staff hide behind their concrete walls as long as they were not intrusive. Indeed, quantities of essential goods had been awarded to the embassies which weren't in total lockdown with trigger-happy, nervous guards at every corner, and it had remained this way, tensely, since far earlier that month.

Privates, Menig in Antigran Swedish, Andresen and Crabo were both conscripts, both in their third year of the basic soldier rank, for after five - if they wanted to stay that long - they would be promoted to Korpral, and were both bitter at having drawn the short straws to patrol the west end of the Embassy Centre. Nevertheless, they were friends and their postings to static reservist regiments meant that they wouldn't be at the frontline anytime soon, for it could take a year to move such a unit; rather, they were relatively green and relegated to patrolling Auston, still facing the odd guerilla attacks from Royalist forces in the mighty capital. The city's buildings all showed signs of one or two bullet-holes but few were destroyed, meaning citizens were either very lucky or very unlucky, one or the other. Nevertheless, the patrol's distant murmurings and thoughts were broken by the obvious sound of helicopters, faint but still audible, for they were now almost at the very gates of the embassy, still on the main road so as not to provoke any repercussions. Standing still for several seconds, the sound was still faint but clear. Crabo tapped his colleague on the arm twice and whispered;
"Get the Sergeant"
Andresen nodded, doubling back to the small hut two hundred metres away which had a telephone, for the men had no radios. The Sergeant, in Antigran, was actually equivalent to a Corporal, Fänrik the equivalent to a NATO sergeant. Nevertheless, he would likely radio a Lieutenant to investigate, although it may well just be extra food supplies. Neither of the men had been warned of any shipments, however. Odd.

The 10 Sea Wasps, each armed with 2 Exocets could see the smoke from the damaged rebel ships. The 30 Sea Wasps providing cover were flying at their port, starboard and rear.
One Exocet armed Sea Wasp selected the burning fleet carrier Hammarset on its radar and fired both its Exocets at a range of 15 miles.
Another Sea Wasp aimed at the undamaged destroyer Sven Bjorklund. Its radar clocked the vessel at 14.7 miles from their position. Both Exocets dropped from the wings and began an intercept course towards the destroyer.
The other 6 selected other undamaged targets and loosed their weapons. 16 vapour trails hung in the sky as the Exocets began accelerating to Mach 0.9 towards their targets at a low altitude.
All 40 Sea Wasps began turning on a reverse bearing as they moved back towards the carriers. They were alert just in case any rebel aircraft pursued them back towards the Madurastani fleet.

Military Intelligence Agency Headquarters
Central Zaheran
31st January
09:42


In a hardened bunker fifty meters below the ground a few miles from the Zaheranian capital, a group of men watched the feed from a military reconnaissance satellite over Antigr. The computer screens showed a view of the Antigran fleet a few moments after the Sixth Fleet's missile strike. The effects were not particulary impressive. The satellite's sensitive cameras and sensors had detected a single burning ship, the rest of the enemy fleet appeared to be intact. A catastrophic hit ratio, considering that over a hundred and twenty missiles had been fired. On the other hand, the ship that had been hit appeared to be a fleet carrier, meaning that the enemy's ability to launch further airstrikes now was crippled.
"We ought to get those Tomahawks replaced", one of the men, with Lieutenant General's insignia on his shoulder, remarked. "I will recommend the Defence Material Administration to look into acquiring a newer model."
"That might be so, generalleutnant, one of the other men answered as the satellite moved in over the Antigran mainland, "but can we focus on the matter at hand for moment? Jacob, has the Sixth Fleet been been informed of this development?"
A short, bald colonel in the black uniform of the Storm Legion nodded.
"Yes, general. I've personally made sure that Admiral Jaeger has been briefed on the situation."
"Good. I must go now, I have a briefing with the Minister in two hours. Continue to keep an eye on the satellite feed. I'm specially interested in large gatherings of rebel troops."


Sixth Fleet
Northern Antigran Seas


Lichtenfels was not a pretty sight. The worst damage had been makeshiftly repaired, but it was still clearly visible that the ship had taken a good beating. There where still large, gaping holes in hull sections not directly below the waterline, exposing the insides of the boat to curious eyes. Fortunately her engines had survived the explosions and the and the water that had flooded parts of the ship, and Lichtenfels was now limping homewards at three knots, badly damaged but still alive.

Admiral Heinrich Jaeger watched her depart with a growing sense of worry. Lichtenfels had represented a large part of his firepower, and the loss of the cruiser left the fleet significantly weaker. Reinforcements were on their way, he had heard, a destroyer squadron and several cruisers, but it would take at least a week before they arrived. Until then, he would have to do with what he had. It was not much, but hopefully it would be enough to escort the troop carriers safely to their destination. They were continuing north, there was no point in being a sitting duck. The Tomahawks had been insufficient for destroying the enemy, and he did not want to waste more of his precious cruise missiles in a pointless attempt to strike back. His plan was instead to join up with the Madurastani fleet they had been in contact with earlier. Together, the two fleets would be safer and stronger than they were alone, if also more of a tempting target.

To: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, Zaheranian Sixth Fleet
From: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup


Even though Madurastan Aircraft have attacked the rebel fleet with some success i would like to once again ask that our fleets merge to concentrate our forces into one large fighting force. It will also enhance the performance of our carriers and also make it easer to land forces once that time arrives. I will wait for your reply.

[OOC:] Jolt ate the first post, forgive the poor quality of this one.

Antigran Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
09:48


The characteristic BANG followed by the equally characteristic sound of rocket motor acceleration was quite deafening to those near the port-side RAM launcher as it's grey, hulklike form spat two point-defence missiles away from it. The Exocet was a worthy opponent; it literally meant flying fish in French and would be as slippery as it's namesake, for while one was destroyed completely, warhead, fuel and all in a spectacular explosion, one continued on it's deadly course, striking savagely the HMS Sven Bjorklund with such ferocity so as to make it list, something quickly countered by the rush of water flooding in through the massive hole it had made in the forward diesel generator room and mess deck. The watertight doors closed slowly, men scaling ladders so quickly to make it seem as if it were an olympic sport, for they knew that they had only thirteen seconds to get out and it would be a minute before the doors could be manually opened again. Inside the control room further aft, the closing bulkhead door sealed off a raging fire on the other side, countered moments later as automatic fire-surpression set in, although not entirely successfully.

Inside the control room, the ship's Captain and the Officer Of The Watch stood, cold-faced, looking at the damage indicators on the dull screens in front of them. The former was quiet while the latter barked frenzied orders, his eyes darting from one place to another.
"One and two damage control forward! I want a damage report!"
"Fire spreading through sectors forty through sixteen without exceptions, spreading to the forward VLS and magazines in sixty seconds"
"Flood them, now! The bow is going down, stop the screws and get all engine power to the pumps. Get help from the Geranger"

The effect on the Hammarset was less severe. Like the Tirpitz and Yamato of decades gone past, she was a capital ship and could take punishment. Nevertheless, her ability to land all but rotary-wing and VTOL aircraft was crippled as both Exocets struck the flight deck, the first shearing a slice off the forward superstructure and destroying the forward 140mm or 5.5inch gun, for it carried two, and the second and hopefully last demolished a load lift and cut a neat, huge crater in the aft half of the deck. Any aircraft that hadn't been destroyed would have nowhere to land. On the carrier Norra Skoga, the Admiral grimly surveyed the damage as a motor launch from the fire-support battleship Geranger headed in front of him towards the Sven Bjorklund. While few ships had been lost so far, he felt the battle was lost already, for Exocets had claimed lucky hits on much of the fleet's AA capability and air power. Sighing, he felt his arms drop to his sides and it took all his strength to drag himself back to the central control room.

Aboard the AS Zevkhay, the Admiral was trying to re-assert control as he consolidated his fleet, ready for their attack. He now was moving on the premise that aggressive action was to come to them soon, whether they liked it or not, and that he would be unlikely to win the battle in the way that he had planned. A fleet much smaller than the enroaching hordes would need to make use of its every resource to try and counter that threat.
As he finished a radio conversation with the crew of the AS Ultimatum, he moved over to look at the virtual battlefield map, alight with flashing markers from the damaged and destroyed vessels, computer frantically recalculating an optimal battle plan from the tattered remains of his fleet. Moving over with interest, he noted the known positions of the enemy coastal batteries, rings radiating to indicate ranges and danger levels around each position. He also noted his airships starting to gather, moving within range of their strikes, the occasional RADAR pulse from the Mesolite illuminating the land and sea in a shimmering glow on the virtual model.

It was with quite a shock that an alarm started. The image on the virtual battlefield display zoomed out rapidly, landscape shimmering as the imaginary camera changed to view where the mesolite was. Around it, a bright red ring had appeared, along with a basic message.
"SIGNAL FAILURE - UNABLE TO CONTACT RUBY"
The Admiral had a vague idea of what had happened, as he quickly hijacked the sensory systems of the carrier, checking the airspace above him. The result only cemented his views, as he turned to his advisors.
"It appears that they have struck their retaliatory blow - Ruby has been put offline by an attack, probably anti-satellite missile. From here, I believe we will be entering a phase of unrestricted anti-satellite warfare. I'll message high command to send us more mesolite units in their scheduled supply convoy, if they have any free. Until then, it looks like the playing field is more even. ETA six hours till we contact the enemy fleet - let's see what we can pull in that time."

Outside, there was a roar as one of the fighters circling the fleet came down to land, readying themselves for the climax of their mission.
_______________________

IOTA Command Station
Jerijärvi
1st February
15:04


"We have another sattelite over the area, wide-angle low-intensity view. Attempting to locate the fleet"
"Good, good. Search time?"
"Zoomed-out, a hundred kilometres in five or so seconds"
The Brigadier slumped back in his seat as the sattelite moved agonisingly slowly over the target area, desperately trying to locate the enemy fleet that lay lurking in those waters. Technicians were now slightly more relaxed, although still highly tense; their faces conveyed a mixture of edgy excitement, nervousness and misery. Many had lost their relatives, and now they were here in a dull underground bunker, which didn't help. The Brigadier looked up to see a weary air force type bearing the rank of Captain or Kapten salute as smartly as he could manage before returning to his standing half-sleepiness, managing words as they came to his head.
"All ready missiles are fired, sir. It'll take about an hour to activate, fuel and move to firing positions the next ten in line. Further down the line, it may take two days to refurbish the last missiles into ready state"
"So we have zero capability?"
"Yes, sir. This is a reserve station, we only have about twenty-four ready weapons. And you've fired them"
"Fantastic. Relay this to Tronsjo"

Above their heads, however, two further squadrons of aircraft were fast approaching from RAF Meafors, about five hundred miles south of Auston. Under their wings they carried as much ordnance as was theoretically possible. The overly powerful engines of the D5D allowed it to accelerate vertically at maximum take-off weight with all weight over the thrusters, with the wings performing no function, but in this state they would struggle to Mach 2.5 and no further. Nonetheless, they were half of the 62nd Fighter Regiment, which, along with one other regiment and their combined 180 or so aircraft, twelve having being lost in combat, were being redeployed from the frontline at Selingstad to attack the Alfegans. All of these 180 aircraft were fighters and all could carry two large, deadly missiles. They knew Alfegos would and could send another fleet if this one was destroyed, but hopefully they'd destroy that too. They'd be within radar range of the fleet in no time at all.

Sixth Fleet
Northern Antigran Seas
31st January
10:57


The sickbay aboard the HIMS Zaheran had the distinct smell of all hospitals, the sterile, unpleasant smell of antiseptic chemicals and cleaning agents. Horrible screams filled the air as the ship's overworked medical personnel removed yet another bandage from yet another horrible burn wound. Heinrich Jaeger moved silently through the white-painted rooms, looking at the young men and women laying in the beds. Many had lost eyes, arms, legs, toes and fingers in the explosions aboard Lichtenfels and Buchhorz; almost all had suffered terrible burns as they fought for their lives in water that had been on fire. In total, thirty-two bodies now laid in black body bags in Zaheran's freezer rooms, another fifteen aboard the returning Lichtenfels. More than a hundred rested at the bottom of the sea, too far down to be recovered. A short ceremony would be held later that day, in lack of a formal burial.

Of those that had survived, the doctors estimated that nearly a third would be unable to continue their service in the armed forces. Many would be forced to rely on assistance for the rest of their lives, their wounds so grievous that they would never be able to live a normal life. Jaeger's gaze reached a young soldier in a corner of the room, he could never have been more than twenty-five years old. The man had lost both his legs in the explosion aboard Lichtenfels. The doctors had amputated the stumps above the knees. He was staring into the air with empty eyes, his face blank of all human emotion. Not a word had passed his lips since they had dragged him out of the water, they did not even know if he heard them or if he had been rendered deaf by the explosion. They had found a picture of his girlfriend in his wallet, and Jaeger knew that one of his officers would have to tell her and the family that their beloved had been crippled for the rest of his life. It was not a duty he envied.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned with a sigh, somehow relieved to turn his thoughts to something else. The communications officer had coffee stains on his navy-blue uniform and dark circles under his eyes. Sleep had been a luxury aboard the ship lately. He saluted tiredly and handed over a printed message.
"Message from the Madurastanis, sir."
Jaeger thanked him and read through the short message two times. He then looked up and handed back the paper.
"Signal them that we understand and will do as they propose. Then get some sleep, lieutenant. You are to no use if you are completely worked out. Tell Captain Singh that someone else will have to take your shift, on my orders."
"Thank you, sir." The officer saluted again and walked off.


To: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup
From: Admiral Heinric Jaeger, commander, Sixth Fleet

Understood. We will do as you propose. We will reach your current position in approximately three hours.

To: Admiral Heinric Jaeger, commander, Sixth Fleet
From:Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup

Understood. We await your arrival.

The Madurastan Fleet had struck back with a vengence. Now they would hold until the Zaheranian Fleet arrived, then make a plan of action. Admiral Carl Petrevon now waited for the Zaheranian Fleet Commander to reply. But first he looked over towards MC Courage as she fired her last but one Tomahawk and watched as it arced towards a probally already rattled Rebel Fleet. This missile attack was to stall for time until the Zaheranian Fleet arrived. "I wonder how they are shaping?" mused Admiral Petrevon as MC Fearless and MC Braveheart fired one of their 3 remaining Tomahawks at the rebel fleet.

At the same time, Supply Ships were coming alongside the Cruisers carrying reloads for their AA Missile Launchers and also to carry off their "gash" to be transported to Moriabia for disposal. Fresh Supplies aboard other Supply Ships including food and ammunition were on their way from Moriabia to replace the ones that had made this resupply run.

Airship Taskforce

The airships soon found themselves within the range of their longer-range anti-surface missiles, as the airships closed in upon the coast. Relying now solely on GPS co-ordinates from previous intelligence, they chose to plot identified coastal weaponry emplacements to receive the brunt of the fire they could bring to bear. All three of the Aerocruisers were loaded up with sledgehammer cruise missiles, which soon found themselves screaming through the air ahead of the airship fleet, mixed payloads of high explosives and cluster bombs carried through the air at high speed on their way to take out the coastal targets.

As the airships armed the conventional missiles for when they were within close range, the lead aerocruiser spotted a blip on the RADAR screen, identified by the computer as a fighter-sized signature. As the screen refreshed, it was joined by more and more, flying in with an obvious mission in mind. Multiple squadrons, on a mission to take out the airships.
Orders were quickly conveyed amongst the airship crews, as missile plotting was changed to anti-air. As the airships assumed the enemy fighters released their payloads of missiles, a return volley of assorted anti-air missiles shot out to make their mark on the enemies, now dominating the RADAR displays of all the airships. As the airships formed up in anticipation of close-quarter anti-aircraft warfare, aerofrigates drifting to the front of the fleet, a wing of fighters split off from the ship surface fleet, moving into an attack formation as they prepared to engage with the enemy fighters.

The situation seemed bleak to the taskforce commander as he tightened the straps of his parachute, the rest of the crew doing the same as they prepared for the eventuality of having to evacuate the airship. He had seen worse though, in wars before. Looking back to the skies ahead, a wry grin crossed his face. He had a feeling he might just pull this one off.

Sixth Fleet
Northern Antigran Seas
31st January
14:01


Through his binoculars, admiral Heinrich Jaeger could barely make out the grey shapes of the Madurastani ships in the distance. The sight felt him with relief. Though the three-hour journey had been without incidents so far, he had felt anxious the whole way, fearing another attack from the enemy. But nothing had been detected, neither on the radar nor the sonar. The sea had remained treacherously calm and empty, like the eye of the storm. There was no knowing if submarines were lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right time to attack. The convoy's escorts were trailing back and forth down the long column of ships, searching the waters for threats, but it would be easy enough to slink in between the patrols to take a shot at the vulnerable troop carriers.

With a sigh he put the binoculars back into their case, not for the first time wondering if he was becoming paranoid. There was no sense in worrying about things he could not change. And now when they had reached the allied fleet, more escorts would be available to protect the convoy. He walked into the CIC. Ashok Singh was standing in the middle of the room, keeping a watchful eye on the men and women under his command. He saluted when Jaeger entered and walked forth to him to recieve his orders.
"Order the subs to surface", Jaeger told him with a salute in return. "I don't want the Madurastanis to mistake them for rebel ships. They could get a little nervous."
The gigantic Indian nodded and bellowed out an order to one of his underlings. Jaeger watched in amusement as the man sprinted away to the communications central as fast as his legs could carry him. It seemed the men feared the Sikh captain more than they feared him, despite his higher rank.

He observed the activity in the room for a few minutes, noting with some satisfaction that it seemed to be running with its usual efficiency. With a glance at his watch, he decided it was time to alert the Madurastanis to their presence, if they had not yet noticed them. He walked over to the communication central to send a message to the Madurastani commander.


To: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup
From: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, Commander, Sixth Fleet

We have arrived. Suggest that we continue towards the straits at maximum speed.

Airship Taskforce
Geranger Sea
1st January
16:50


The D5D Brigands, the first group of three flights, twelve aircraft, streaked across the sky in lead of the others. They were armed with a mixture of medium- and short-range air-to-air missiles, five of the former and six of the latter, a load that would prove suitable as they dived slightly to meet the enemy aircraft. The Brigand, being stupidly overpowered, had a service ceiling of some 65000 feet, almost twenty thousand metres, and could go 5300 feet higher, although the Martin-Baker Mk.16F ejector seat would not work at more than 65000 feet. This allowed them to gain a height advantage, however miniscule, above the Fegofighters peeling off below, several dozen miles away, beneath them. It would be an advantage quickly lost, and not so big an advantage as it was in the days of the gunfighter, for it had taken them twenty minutes from 65000 feet to get to 72780 feet - the maximum altitude was a level of how far a plane could go without the climb rate going below a certain level rather than an altitude where the aircraft would bounce off the sky, something the Brigands were very nearly doing. The voice of the group's Kapten broke the radio silence, speaking mostly plain, neutral Antigran.
"Unlock ordnance, pair off and engage"
Roger, blue actual. Two MRAAMs at max range first flight"
As soon as the command was given, two AvM-88 medium-range air-to-air missiles spat from each aircraft of the lead group as the other squadron's 24 aircraft neared, armed each with four short-range missiles and two long-range superheavy missiles for taking on the airships. The remaining twelve aircraft lingered behind, with one of the long-range weapons, SRAAMs and MRAAMs in cased the other aircraft didn't make it. There was a yell of surprise and four explosions as the lead aircraft of No.422 squadron were decimated by the remaining Alfegan long-range missiles. Ten miles until they could drop their ordnance and dive to Haverdalsstrand.


Antigran Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
14:10


The second hunter-killer submarine groups were making full speed away from the fleet now, although ahead by barely seven knots; the fleet was commiting half of all it's attack submarines to the enemy warships, a fairly risky thing to do. Still, fortune favoured the brave; nonetheless, many officers, in fact everyone, felt that the battle was lost. A simultaneous attack by all elements of the fleet would not have succeeded and now much of the fleet's surface AA and air power was destroyed. This strike by five submarines would be decisive and probably the last attempt at a victory. It was on-board one of these submarines that Vice-Admiral Johansson was startled to hear one of the radar operators yell for him, for the radar masts were still up.
"Three Tomahawks or Exocets, over our heads!"
"Shit! Warn the fleet!"
It was too late. By the time the vessel had raised her transmitter communications mast and sent a message, two destroyers and a cruiser were in flames. There was an explosion as both magazines of the HMS Leif Berntsen detonated, killing nine-tenths of the crew that were not already abandoning their vessel instantly. The Nord was more lucky, the missile blowing a hole in the ship's stern and destroying her hangars and helicopters, but leaving her amidships VLS intact, the forward gun and forward fre control systems already destroyed. The Tiger, a cruiser, had her radar masts and forward superstructure destroyed as the tomahawk was neutralised by a RAM too late, killing her Captain and most of the senior officers and leaving her blinded, radar and fire-control annihilated.

To: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup
From: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, Commander, Sixth Fleet

We have arrived. Suggest that we continue towards the straits at maximum speed.


To: Admiral Heinrich Jaeger, Commander, Sixth Fleet
From: Admiral Carl Petrevon, Commander, 1st Expeditionary Battlegroup

I agree. Lead the way.

The Madurastan Fleet began to follow the Zaheran Fleet, turning towards the Antigran Mainland to create a bigger gap between them and the rebel fleet west of them.

A bogus Message was sent back to the Madurastan Mainland on a prearranged frequency, uncoded so to divert other rebel surface fleets on a wild goose chase.

Madurastan Fleet linked up with Zaheran Fleet Stop Moving east at high speed Stop Request more surface ships to provide more support Stop

Aboard the AAS Colstream, hell broke loose as the missile exchange hit home. A volley of short-range anti-air missiles shot from the airship, modified Vesper-type SRSAMs designed to home in as part of a swarm and intercept an aircraft fleet as a barrage of deadly incapacitating explosive shots. In front of the airship, two of the N-class Aerofrigates had opened up at the inbound aircraft, small flashes in the distance from missiles exploding revealing to the human observer the reality of any impacts.
"Hold the fleet steady, and prepare for landfall in five minutes. Once we're on land, divert all fire to creating a safe emergency LZ for damaged airships. All ships maintain..."
The taskforce commander was cut off by a furious burst from the airship autocannon, as the missiles started arriving. A couple hundred metres in front of the airship, and anti-air missile exploded as it was hit by the autocannon, flickering tracer fire whipping across the sky as the gun moved in its electronic mount on the underside of the airship to take out the enemy missiles. Some got through however. Any crewmen standing up were thrown to the floor as an explosion rocked the airship, a blast to the lower gasbag. A small alarm sounded as the airship start to slowly roll, the pilot struggling to correct the airship's balance.
"I don't know what the hell that was - we've just lost 10% of our lift. Engineering crew, get the hell up there." A second nearby explosion rocked the gondola itself, the cockpit glass crazing from one of the AAMs detonating in front of the airships. The normal mechanics of an AAM was for it to detonate in front of an aircraft, the lack of any aircraft armour requiring little to blow it to pieces. The front glass of the gondola however was made from triple-glazed Aluminium OxyNitride glass, the sort of material that would stop a .50cal round with a single layer. The rest of the airship gondola was similarly made from armoured material, plates of KRP and CFRP sandwiched around a thick layer of aluminium wire, able to withstand the shock of even a direct hit with most anti-air missiles.

The taskforce commander picked himself back up as he saw missile after missile hit the airship group. The autocannon continued firing, all other airships contributing to the wall of fire as they tried to take out the missiles. Above him, the AAS Antigr was ironically taking the brunt of the missile fire, mainly directed at the hot engines to the rear. Small explosions around the craft left tattered holes on the airship's surface, the dark grey envelope ripping to reveal small areas of white-grey film within. Mixed in amongst them, the Taskforce Commander saw the occasional jet of flame from the surface of the airship itself.
"Captain of the AAS Antigr, it looks like you've been dialled into their sights. They're using some sort of rudimentary anti-airship weapon in addition to their AAMs, so be prepared for an emergency landing."
As he spoke, he saw a cloud of flame erupt from where the engine gondola of the AAS Antigr was, the smoke interrupted with puffs of blueish flame.
"AAS Antigr, you have a hydrogen fire! Drop down to emergency height immediately."
A second puff of blueish flame from further along the underside confirmed his fears.
"Hydrogen fire is spreading rapidly - you must have a ruptured fuel line. Dump your munitions ASAP, and make ready for emergency landing on Antigran coastline."
The airship started tilting forwards, clouds of smoke engulfing the airship as decoy flares and missiles started streaming towards an airfield on the coast. The aim of the attack was to eliminate as much around the airfield as was possible, so that the airship could land and perform emergency repairs, before evacuating to friendly areas. Cruise missiles and cluster bombs lifted up clouds of smoke, dust and flame as the buildings around the airstrip were demolished, leaving the flat runway area intact for the airship to land on. With engines offline, it was relying on air brakes and the friction of the ground to stop it.

The airfleet started descending around the AAS Antigr towards the airstrip, more missiles streaking away to targets nearby. Parts of its missile gondola dropped as it dumped most of its munitions, a mix of SAMs and SSMs plunging into the sea and then onto the coastal area as it moved in to land. The rest of the airships levelled off at a few hundred metres, allowing the airship to come down onto the runway. With no working engines and the airship lack of landing wheels, the near-empty missile gondola took the force of the airship. First digging up chunks of turf, parts were ripped from the underside as the airship braked, the CFRP melting as the friction produced such immense force. The airship finally stopped near the end of the runway, before slowly rolling onto its side. Fire had now engulfed the engine gondola, flames hot enough to melt the aluminium frame of the gondola peering from the gash in its side and gas between the slabs of ceramic armour.

As the taskforce commander waited for a response from the airship, an emergency evacuation request was sent to High Command back in Alfegos. An Aeromarine team were scrambled from one of the many airship bases, rushed into supersonic transport planes as strategic stealth fighter-bombers started taking off into the air. In total, an entire company of aeromarines sat aboard three of the supersonic transports as they started reaching supersonic speeds, supercruising at 22000 metres behind six X-2 'Magic Dart' stealth fighters. Akin to the F-117 stealth fighter, the X-2s made use of a smaller payload bay in exchange for a more varied selection of electronic countermeasures, state-of-the-art devices designed as part of the airship focus on countermeasure devices. They were tasked with defending the transport planes as they delivered their special cargo, before returning back to Alfegos. Reaching a speedy Mach 1.1, the X-2s sat well within their comfort zone of flying, turbofans designed to reach a choppy Mach 3.3 if necessary. Relying on the proximity of Taskforce Defrost to their objective, they would have to refuel on the carriers before attempting the home leg of their journey, the X-2s not having the range of the transports.

Hallsborg
Southern Geranger Island
1st January
17:01


Hallsborg aerodrome had so far been considered too small to have a major combat role for the forces of the Republican Revolutionary Group. It was, however, home to a flight of C130 Hercules transport aircraft as well as three SH-79B naval helicopters of the cross-forces strike command. As well as this, the area was the command post of the local commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Fredrik Forssell, a command detachment, and an anti-aircraft company. The surface-to-surface missiles came as only moderate surprise as the imposing shapes of the airships rumbled closer to the airfield, the first missiles destroying two entrenched TK light machine-guns and two of the three SH-79 strike helicopters. Immediately, the air defence vehicles, positioned hulls-down at three locations around the area, swivelled their turrets, bristling with surface-to-air missiles and two fifty-seven-millimetre guns, towards the approaching hulks, taking first aim at the flaming AAS Antigr that loomed closest.

The airships, travelling at well over 100kph and descending fast, soon closed the gap that the battery needed to fire and so two SAMs shot from each of the four vehicles. It was four because one had just been completely obliterated by a missile. By now, RRG Marines and army were leaving the vulnerable command building and communications structure, the latter of which had already been rendered helpless by one of many missiles; Forsell, the commander, had a piece of shrapnel embed itself in his side which knocked him to the ground, stumbling once again to his feet, carbine in hand as he ran to keep up with the soldiers dispersing themselves around the airfield, hoping to do their best to destroy whichever forces would arrive. There was a company of combined marines and two army headquarters troop detachments there, and while many had been mown down by the hellish, ceaseless hail of missiles bearing down on them, there was a division of RRG Marines north of Hallsborg, fifteen miles away, and precious army reinforcements, a battalion, a lesser distance away. They would probably be en route, and alerted the most mobile alarm units of the 51st Marine Division in the process.

In the control gondola of the AAS Antigr, the pilot picked himself up from the wreckage of the structure, brushing hunks of glass shattered from the window off of him as he turned to look around the gondola. Inside, the crew were alive, albeit in differing levels of shock. A klaxon still rang, the gas release alarm, the airship losing gas through the many holes in its sides. The floor was tilted at an angle, the entire airship slowly rolling over in the side wind. The computers were still online, enough for the pilot to make up his decision and start the wiping programme. The electronic warfare units and communications units soon found themselves being deleted, hard discs and solid state memory chips wiping themselves of all data before corrupting the airship operating systems. His move had been a good one, as one of the engineers emerged from the stowage area to the rear of the gondola with a GPMG.
"We'll have definitely attracted their attention by now - let's get to someplace where we can put up a defence."
The rest of the crew were picking themselves off the floor, some with broken limbs collapsing as they tried to lift themselves up. The Captain was unconscious, his body being carried by the engineer as he scuttled up the ladder at the rear of the gondola into the inside of the airship.

Within a couple of minutes, the crew of thirty had gathered on one of the many maintenance platforms, surrounded by an intact section of the cell network. Half of the crew were armed with a mix of assault rifles, shotguns and GPMGs, the rest of the injured left with pistols and SMGs to defend themselves in the corridor as the crew moved to find firing points throughout the airship. Clambering up ladders and along narrow gantries, the sixteen men soon found points to shoot from, high up on the airship's flank. At sixty metres from the ground, the pilot lay on the edge of a twisted walkway, watching as men in the distance sprinted towards the airship from the wrecked buildings. Flicking up the sights on his AF-07 assault rifle, he took aim as he flicked the fire selection switch from safe to single shot. There was a reassuring metallic impact as he cocked the weapon, forward assisting instinctively as he took aim at the men in his line of fire. Once he was sure he had a target, he fired three shots, before standing up and moving back into the airship. Further down, he heard the roar of two machineguns starting up, clouds of dust rising from the concrete where the bullets landed. This was followed by a roar as a missile launcher fired, the anti-tank warhead streaking down into a section sprinting across the open ground.

From above, the lowest airship opened fire with its autocannon, blowing craters in the ground as it strafed infantry formations. The rest started rising back up into the sky, waiting for the aeromarines to arrive and begin their attack.

51st Republican Marine Division
Near Hallsborg
1st January
17:27


Generalmajor Olov Paulsen was the man in command of the esteemed 51st Marines division, a post the highly decorated fifty-year-old had held for six years. The 51st was one of Antigr's more experienced and admired formations, and still retaining its old and well-versed designation, making some 17680 men at strength, although the strength now was closer to sixteen and a half thousand; the fifty-first had been mainly republican from the start but inevitably there had been desertions, and so about two regiments' worth of soldiers, approximately six thousand men, had been transferred from the 57th and 4th Marines. The man himself was sat down in the commandeered Christiansen hotel, now the command post for the entire sub-region, observing the MT-85 Medium Tanks (http://z4.invisionfree.com/NSDraftroom/index.php?showtopic=3925) rolling down the road not twenty metres away. It was here that MT-430 communications carrier picked up the rushed, garbled but distinguishable message from a battalion of the 911th Infantry Division.
"Generalmajor! Emergency communication from the 911th incoming!"
The fifty-year-old rushed down the stairs, putting on his mighty green-grey greatcoat as he went, a Marines Colonel carrying his M/91 carbine rifle coming out of a side-room to follow him.
"What is it, Löjtnant?"
The Colonel said, leaning over the young officer's shoulder to peer at his radio set.

"Enemy airship landing at Hallsborg south aerodrome, unknown circumstances. Evacuating command centre and under heavy gun and missile attack. The 911th's 29th Infantry Regiment's D Battalion is currently under full deployment, requesting armoured and heavy anti-aircraft support immediately"
"Very well. Colonel, scramble the alarm companies. Get the nearest armoured battalions to the scene as well, and request whatever air support we have"
"Air support...limited the A9D Martinet CAS aircraft at Ytterhult"
"Contact those flyboys and tell them to load up with air-to-surface missiles and heavy bombs, inform them that it's likely they'll come under heavy resistance from cannon and missile fire"
"Their chances don't look promising, then. I doubt they'd be stupid enough to do that"
"Antigrans are stupid enough to do it. And please use the word 'brave' in future"
"Sir"

Sixth Fleet
North Antigran Sea
31st January
16:37


After linking up with the Madurastani fleet, the Sixth Fleet continued northwards towards the straits. The speed was considerably lower than before. Since all the Madurastani icebreakers had been destroyed, the combined fleet was left with three icebreakers to make way for more than a hundred ships. The long convoy had to make its way through three narrow channels of open water, making it very vulnerable to an attack. Admiral Jaeger had done what he could, positioning escort ships at regular intervals, but he still found himself looking at the sonar screens with a growing sense of worry. A submarine going under the ice would have no problems to find and attack the convoy, and there was not much they could do to prevent it. Passive sonobuoys had been dropped in the convoy's wake, so hopefully they would at least get some warning before the enemy was over them.

Zaheran was in the middle of the convoy, her massive size dwarfing the escort vessels which surrounded her. On the flight deck of the mighty carrier, service crews in white winter uniforms were clearing away the ice that constantly tried to form on her aircraft and runways. On Jaeger's orders, three fighters were in the air at all times, so that another attack by enemy aircraft could be intercepted before it became a threat to the fleet. The battlegroup's anti-submarine warfare helicopters were also kept constantly ready, in case they had to deal with a submarine incursion. It would be four to five days until they reached the straits at this speed, and with the forces they were carrying, the rebel army would surely have made it a priority to stop them before they could reach Linnköping and reinforce the loyalists.

“Shh! I think they’re inside.”
The Captain lifted himself up onto his knees, knowing his leg to be broken from the impact they had sustained. Using part of the railing, he had splinted his leg, allowing him some relief from pain as he crawled over to the ladder. The gantry platform that they had moved onto rocked gently as he moved, cables suspending it from beams hidden far deeper inside the airship. The section of the airship, whilst below the layer that had suffered damage, was still showing signs of the fight it had stood up against, with light coming in through a gap between some of the cells. The sound that came in with the light was a dim rumble in the man’s ears, a ringing cutting above the sounds of conflict. The ladder they were by was one of the main routes in the airship, one of the twelve ladders that went all the way from the bottom gantries to the very top. As such, they were hoping to catch some people at their most vulnerable, climbing, and harass them before moving on. Taking aim with his AMP-2 machinepistol, he peered down into the dark depths.

Further down the airship, an engineer was busy trying to quench the fire that had started to the airship rear. Along with one of the weapons controllers who was only walking wounded, he moved down the lower internal walkway, the fuel pipeline. With the gas cut off from the main central gas cells, it was only a matter of time until the fire put itself out. Until then, he was making the best of his time to speed that up, so that he could inspect the true damage to the 30 000hp engines that resided inside the engine gondola nearby.
Breaking through a tattered piece of film, bubbled where the heat had melted it, he found himself face to face with the engines themselves, letting loose a burst from a handheld powder extinguisher. With careful aim, he started raining down powder onto the base of the fire, where the main pipeline to the fuel-processing unit was. The intense heat shortened his stay, patches of air dancing with flame as they caught the air moving in through the gaping hole in the airship side. It was in that brief period that he realised the airship engines were beyond repair – with puddles of lubrication oil leaking as tears of molten fire from pipelines, and the majority of the backup methane cylinders ruptured, it was likely he’d get a minute of power from them before they died. From his observation though, he noted that the helium reserve tanks, holding a few tens of thousands of cubic metres of helium, were relatively intact, the intense chill produced by the surrounding coolant mechanism fending away flames even with ammonia from the unit eating its way through unprotected metalwork.

He whipped around as he heard movement, drawing up an ugly pump action shotgun, before cowering into the shadows. The sound of people moving outside had reminded him of the severity of the situation. Turning back, he emptied the fire extinguisher into the area around the helium tanks, before scampering back into the airship to where he had left his equipment. Bypassing the electronic pumping systems would take some time, but was possible with an ounce of skill. The other man followed, toting his AF-07 assault rifle as he covered the engineer’s back.


Inside the AAS Colstream, the Taskforce commander sat at the airship controls as the pilot was treated by the airship medically-trained officer. A second blast from one of the SAM batteries on the ground had been enough to throw a spear of glass into the man’s arm, leaving a hole in one of the glass panels that made up the cockpit glass. Across the front, bullets riddled the glass, from a mix of small arms and stationary machineguns on the ground, the occasional drumming revealing even more of an attack upon them. Making up his mind, the taskforce commander opened the radio channels again.
“All airships, ascend to ceiling and prepare to move to maximum altitude. Continue missile bombardment whilst ascending and at ceiling level. I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang around this low any longer.”
The airships quickly rose up, purging air from the main buoyancy cells as they moved. The taskforce commander adeptly operated a series of levers as he watched gas flow into sections of the cell network not cut off due to leakages, the airship tilting slightly as the computer assisted the airship ascent by changing the angle of the giant tail elevators. As the airship levelled off at 6500 metres, he got a shout from the second shift pilot, dragged from his duties as an assistant to the engineers to replace the injured pilot. With him, he brought bad news.
“The entire underside of the airship is riddled with bullet holes. I don’t know how long we’ve got, but I’m guessing that, even if we patch up the large part of the affected region, we’ve got about twelve hours left with our current loading. If we fire off our entire payload, maybe twenty-four. Most of the other airships seem to be a bit like that as well. What should we do?”
The taskforce commander stood up, turning around in thought.
“The monarchist contingent still holds the most part of the arctic areas. At full pelt, we could probably cover 1400km, enough I think reach a friendly area. From there, we’ll see what we can do. I’ll radio in to command and tell them what we’re going to do. At any rate, we’ll have to hang around for another hour to cover the arrival of the aeromarines.”

“An hour till you jump lads. Looks like our LZ is going to be very hot.”
The company captain spoke over the radio as the transports hurtled through the air, a supersonic boom trailing over the ocean as the aircraft cut high above the clouds. Ahead, the six black shapes of the accompanying X-2s formed an arrowhead as they watched out for any long-range interceptors, or potential foreign aggressors that would do anything to have a potshot at a stealth aircraft. The aircraft themselves did not make a supersonic boom, the shape of them alongside a strange antenna on their nose silencing their movement through the sky at supercruising speeds. Any faster, and the spike would be useless, the aircraft still producing a deafening rumble.
“A reminder of what you’ll be doing again. 1 Platoon, get yourselves onto the top of the airship, and lay down as much fire as you can, alongside a smokescreen on the runway. 2 Platoon, move in and clear the airship, before setting demolitions charges on strategic points of the structure. 3 Platoon, land in the nearby ruined buildings and provide as much fire as you can on the battalion that’s made it their home. You’ve got maybe 5:1 in terms of opponents, so use of cover will be key. If possible, move into the storm drains underneath the runway and use them to move about and clear the enemy.
We need to keep the LZ clear for our supersonic transports to land. They’ll be expecting a minute turnaround for 2 Platoon to evacuate the crew onboard, whilst 1 and 3 platoon cover them. The second aircraft will be landing in similar circumstances, and you’ll have even less time to get onto it. You’ve got two minutes to board that aircraft. We wait for no man, so get yourselves in gear and ready for it.
We’re hoping that the airships will act as a magnet for fire for any re-enforcements, and they will be used as such to delay re-enforcements and divert them from the runway, so that we can get ourselves out of there as soon as possible.
Transport planes, you’ll have to rely on an instrument landing. You’ll have to turn around whilst they board, in the smoke, so your flight computers have planned on them a satellite map of the runway for them to work on to allow for your instruments to turn you around. During that time, you’ll be the most vulnerable, which is where the fire support from the aeromarines is essential. A single missile will kill our transport aircraft, so don’t be afraid to use up all your ammunition to prevent that missile.

Finally, we’re hoping for an aircraft strike from the carrier fleet beforehand – our sunbeam bombers should have enough in the way of munitions to flatten the surrounding buildings further to prevent any attacks.

Good luck with this. I’ll remind you again 15 minutes before the attack as to the plan, so that you all have it at the top of your minds. Your Captain, over and out.”

29th Infantry Regiment D Battalion
Hallsborg Southern Aerodrome
1st January
17:40


Bullets ricocheted madly around the wreck of the MT-104/85 the section were using for cover, their Sergeant, actually equivalent to a corporal, doing his best to keep his seven men alive while ducking rounds himself. A cloud of cordite gases were choking the soldiers as they continued firing their SeG-4 Battle Rifles in short, accurate-as-possible bursts as their doctrine emphasised; the two section TK light machine-guns had been firing almost non-stop from their positions atop the wrecked turret of the air defence vehicle, empty double-stack 79-round pan magazines lying in piles around the weapons as they chattered through another with a staccato thunk-thunk-thunk and metallic ring of empty brass cases as they bounced off the heavily armoured hull of the wreck. They fired the Antigran standard 6.5x49mm round, as did the rifles; the round was still used as it was deemed to be controllable under fully-automatic fire - just - it was smaller than many contemporary full-size rifle rounds, the extra hitting power would be a key advantage in a firefight and there were vast stocks of it. However, this meant that the recoil made the battle rifles jump back in the soldiers' hands limiting long-burst accuracy, meaning that the powerful rounds would likely not hit their targets.

Captain Dahlbeck broke the repetitive chatter of automatic rifle fire as he headed up the quite muddy ditch that led to the vehicle's wreckage, a left-side-feeding PT submachine-gun in his hands as he approached, which he then discharged ten rounds or so from at the enemy to contribute to the supressing-fire effort. Lying down exhausted behind the tank, he turned to the section commander and asked;
"How are we doing?"
"Badly. How many of us are here?"
"The battalion is arriving now in full force complete with our integral armour sections"
"Good, because we aren't going to get these buggers shifted without heavy fire"
Captain Dahlbeck sighed.
"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, fire off all your rifle grenades; I need to buy enough time to get our MT-107s in place"
"Even better, we'll need their mortars and 40mm cannon fire"
He gave the order and the two soldiers with grenade-launchers fired their grenades, the other riflemen affixing one of their two bullet-trap rifle grenades - one smoke and one fragmentation high-explosive - to the muzzles of their weapons and setting the rifles up to a high-angle position to act as mortars; this usage of rifle grenades had been taught extensively in heavy weaponry training and the section were well-versed.


Antigran Fleet
North Antigran Seas
31st January
15:29


It had taken well over an hour, at 38 knots, to get to within long-range sonar range of the closing-together enemy fleets, and now, the five submarines slowed to their maximum silent speed of twenty knots simultaneously, so as not to be detected for as long as possible. They were now still over a hundred kilometres away, but did not use their missiles just yet; it was intended that they would sneak up as quietly as possible, as close as possible to the enemy fleet before engaging. Admiral Nelson would be proud. Now, however, anxiety and anticipation grew among the 'wolf pack', quiet from thought, orders to be quiet and more thought. Every torpedo tube had been checked and re-checked, each 584mm torpedo confirmed loaded, each vertical-launch RBS-15 confirmed ready to fire. It would be difficult a task nomatter how well-prepared they were as they slipped through the waves without a sound, two hundred metres below the surface.

The Captain took out his radio set as an idea dawned upon him, thinking of what he could do to try and turn the tide of the battle in his favour. With the number of rounds coming down on the airship, many now cutting straight through the airship and ricocheting off beams, the Antigrans appeared to be winning the firefight. And if the machineguns went silent for just one moment, they'd have the enemy charging them, and flooding the airship inside. With suspicions of there already being people within the airship, he needed to act fast. Flicking open the radio channel, he began speaking on unencrypted wavelengths he hoped would be monitored by the Antigran rebels, to try and see if he could persuade them to calm down their assault.
"Alpha to Echo One - the gas valve's just broken. We've got aergas coming back down to the fire areas. If it goes up, there's no question about what will happen - everyone within five hundred metres will burn. Get yourself there ASAP."
He hoped at that stage that the Antigran rebels had no airship experts, or airship-trained officers, in the area. If they were there, they'd know the message was false - the methane-hydrogen gas mixture concealed within the airship fuel gas cells was in an environment where combustion was difficult, requiring an oxidiser missile or the trauma of an aircraft impacting to expose the core to enough oxygen to overcome the surrounding leaks of helium. And if there was a blast, it would be a flameless explosion, damaging only anyone right next to the airship, with few pieces of airship structure being able to be turned into effective shrapnel. But it was worth a shot.

-----

Atop the airship, one of the gunners with a GPMG collapsed backwards as a round caught him in the head, blowing a small bloody crater in his forehead and leaving his body to fall back, rolling down the side of the airship until he was caught on one of the elevator fins, a bloody trail marking his passage. The pilot, who had been firing his rifle off next to him, jerked back to behind one of the giant control fins, the occasional rattle of rounds coming off of it. From the volume of fire coming down, he knew he would stand little chance if he was seen. Peering back over, he exposed only his head and rifle as he looked down at a position where fire was coming from. Around a blown-out vehicle, he caught a glimpse of a person ducking down into cover, before letting rip a burst at the top of the airship.
With a definite target, he moved to a prone position, resting the magazine of his weapon on the maintenance platform he was on. Setting the sights to a more precise level, he began calming himself down, slowing his breathing. A burst of rounds sailed past him, rattling against the grey-painted plastic construction, stopped by the thick aluminium structure inside. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, pushing the noise of battle out of his head, before opening them again. In his line of sight, a few hundred metres from him, he saw a man lying down, light machinegun firing, whilst the occasional man popped up from behind him to let loose a grenade. Below him, the occasional explosion came as fragmentation grenades detonated, the roar of the second machinegun stopping. He took it as his signal to fire.

A single shot rang out from his rifle, followed by three more, all aimed towards the man lying down. He finished by letting off a burst, cut short by bolt hooking back as the magazine emptied. Throwing off the magazine, he fumbled in a pocket, finding it empty. Swearing, he crawled out to where the machinegunner had been, in a vain attempt to grab the machinegun. Just as his hand grasped the stock, a grenade went off next to him. A deafening blast rolled him over, knocking him out. A couple seconds later, he found his ears still ringing, his only sign of being alive. His vision was blurred, dark patches covering his view. From brief glances, he made out he'd fallen down the access ladder, breaking his ankle as he landed. Deep pain criss-crossed his entire lower body, fragments of shrapnel etching agony across his features. A mixture of sweat and blood caked his legs as he slowly regained his senses, enough for him to raise himself up slightly. The blast had sowed shrapnel down both his legs, leaving a smattering around his lower back and groin. It took him a few seconds of surprise to come to terms with his predicament, before the pain truly kicked in. With a white hot agony wracking his form, he collapsed back into unconsciousness.

------

Aboard the AS Ol'vi, four of the 'Sunbeam' bombers were lined up on deck, as final armaments were fitted. Each one was now outfitted with six 250lb guided bombs, as their effort to target the enemy vehicles at the airship crash site. The pilots were nervous after the loss of their two compatriot aircraft, but a heavy dose of coffee had been enough to awaken them for the task at hand.
"Takeoff in 5 minutes. ETA at the target is fifteen minutes at maximum speed. Once you're there, no faffing about - one pass, and you bug out. Pilots, go in high, level and fast. Weapons, make sure you aim for the first and last vehicles in any convoys as your priority, with secondary priority as any artillery or AA vehicle. Make sure they aren't going anywhere."

Town 29

Xea was not an impatient man, but the lack of an Antigran response tested his patience. With the side either too cocky to enlist with the likes of them, or too preoccupied in its own campaigns, it had left the person behind the People's Revolutionary Army in a predicament. At the aerodrome, the airship had not left, even though trucks were waiting back at the grain silos with a full load. He had aired his concerns to one of his comrades as he sat in the old town police station, now turned prison.

The People's Revolutionary Army rarely took anyone as a prisoner - hostages were fine, but prisoners were seen as an inconvenience. The holding facility existed only for those who were worth keeping alive - alongside important government and military figures, members of the organisation who had gone astray, turning against their comrades. It also served a grizzly purpose as an execution area, where those who were guilty of betraying the PRA were killed in ways that struck horror into anyone who watched. It was in this place that the remaining members of the airship crew, alongside two traitors who had been 'processed', were lined up. Fifteen men stood inside the execution area, once an office. Metal plating had been stapled to the walls and window frames, and a lorry parked against the only entrance acted as the door.

Watching the executions was Xea, alongside those he had selected from his personal retinue who he thought were becoming disillusioned. A camera sat recording on a stand as the hooded executioner walked into shot, behind the similarly hooded prisoners. Eight gunman stood with a mix of assault weapons aimed at the prisoners, to eliminate the possibility of a prisoner escaping, even with their hands and legs tied. From the line, the two traitors were selected, and moved forwards into the shot of the camera. The muffled voice of the executioner began, reciting a note.
"These two people before you are traitors to the People, turning against their cause willingly to cause both suffering and widespread misery amongst the people who trusted them, and called them comrades. Such people are not worthy of the People, or of their own lives."
He ripped off the hoods, revealing two emaciated faces, glistening with sweat and blinking in the sudden light that entered from holes in the roof.
"You have been sentenced by the people to a fate fitting of your crime - death by immolation."
He picked up a can of kerosene, showering the two men in it as the others in the room looked on. Taking out a blowtorch, he turned to face the two men, both struggling and flailing from their restraints.
"I will take that as a no."
The blowtorch ignited, a small tongue of flame reaching out. Finding the flammable liquid, the flame leapt across the two men, surrounding them in flame. The two began screaming and writhing as they tried to put out the flames, collapsing to the floor in their spasms. The heat was enough to be felt by Xea as he watched on with a neutral face, no emotion playing on his visage. It was a few minutes before the screams finally stopped, the bodies left to continue burning.

The camera was turned off, no longer needed as the airship crew were brought forward. It had been easier to abduct them than to kill them without a trace at the airport, so meant that here was their final resting place. Their hoods were taken off in sequence as the executioner began to speak again.
"All of you know your crime of true idiocy - that you thought you could bargain with us on your own terms. The PRA are never bargained with - we take what we need. Since idiocy is a crime all seem to commit, you have been sentanced a fairly painless death."

He walked back to where Xea was, before rifle fire echoed across the room. The line collapsed, riddled with bullets around their chest and heart. Xea stood up when it was done, leaving the room as the lorry pulled away. His comrade tagged behind, deep in thought.
"You know, the Antigran lot will be getting that treatment if they keep us tagging behind any longer. Don't they know what we do? Who we even are?"
He spat on the side of the road as the lorry pulled away, the stench of human roast washing over him.
"I don't care what they say - I want the airship sent right away, along with one of our commando teams. If they throw a fuss over there, tough - we want some of this. The attacks will go on."