NationStates Jolt Archive

Djatini, Djanval del Norte

"Welcome ta Hamhung, brudda mine!"

Fernando Nguema Nfondo introduced himself as Captain Po without bothering to offer his hand or stop chewing his gum. He was enjoying the chew, having liberated a grocery store on the outskirts of the capital, and saw no reason to move from his comfortable lean. The Captain was supported by the open door of a 4x4 pick-up that allowed his men, crowded into the back of the vehicle, to call themsleves, Po's Rangers: First Mechanised Infantry!

Behind, columns of smoke twisted in the wind, which carried small arms reports and a roughly equal mix of enthusiastic hoots and terrified cries. Djatini was the archetype of a conflicted society. Being fought was a race war, a class war, a clash of cultures, and countless petty vendettas. People couldn't even agree on the city's name: was it, as the government maintained, Dhat-eenee, or instead was it Dja-tin-ih, as Po's men would tell you if they hadn't already taken to calling it after the infamous warzone on the east coast of Korea.

Proud as could be of their part in driving the government out of its capital and breaking the whiteman's control of the Djanval's northern mainland, Po's Rangers were keen to pose for a photograph as soon as they'd found an intrepid foreign journalist. The government had now banned the international media from the mainland, but of course some were already on the ground before the sudden turn for the worse, and it seemed that at least one or two had neglected to join the hurried evacuation to the islands.

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Captain Po and his Rangers prepare to enter the city

Not far away, in the city streets, some locals and paramilitaries fought running battles with forward DANLA elements, whose progress was impeeded somewhat by a lack of communications and a propensity for excessive jubilation at how well things had gone thus far.

Djatini

Sporadic gunfire continued to rattle here and there, some celebratory, some related to the last jittery moments of a rebel militia's transition to occupation force, but most of DANLA's attention was now on showing-off for what few journalists could be found, and greeting confused locals.

Papa Africa was hobbling about, his old sporting injury forcing his distinctive gait, talking to white citizens with the primary aim of reassuring them. He was dragging a foreigner with a camcorder around behind him, along with a mob of armed militiamen, most of whom went to pains to remain out of shot. Mr.Derek had set-up shop at the central police station, where a large part of his militia was housed along with a few detained officials from the minority administration, while lower-ranking staff were held at a local school. Most of the city was ticking along in its normal manner, though far more slowly than usual, as nervous locals sought to avoid setting a foot wrong, unsure of any new rules that may be in effect.

DANLA had been inside the city limits for more than a week, and was well into its second day in indusputed control of the capital, and all that the infamous Djatini Scouts had done was to crack down on native populations on the islands still under the control of Major Torres and what remained of his government.

Quite suddenly the sounds of violence flared up anew, just around the stroke of midday. Explosions in the southern outskirts, and then the unmistakable noise of helicopters flying low overhead. A couple of Aérospatiale Lama light helicopters raced over the rooftops, followed by two G-Car light gunships, which sprayed machinegun fire through the streets, hitting DANLA fighters and black civilians alike, before three larger Puma followed up.

One gunship and two Puma soon congregated over the primary school at which officals were being held, a dozen white infantrymen with sub-machine guns and assault rifles pouring out of the transports as the G-Car lay down a barrage of covering fire from its side-mounted general-purpose machineguns. In just a few moments some twenty whites were evacuated from the school, and the helicopters were away, leaving seven dead DANLA and black civilians in and around the school-cum-prison, which was rapidly being consumed by fire started during a brief gunbattle.

At the main police station, however, things were going rather differently. The second gunship and remaining Puma had attacked here, apparently trying to capture Derek Igomo. Two of his bodyguards had been shot dead, but the coincidental arrival of Captain Po's infantry-laden technical saw the attackers suddenly laid under fire from several sides. With a number of rounds striking the G-Car as a heavy machinegun was unveiled on the roof of the police station and a second atop Po's technical, and a dozen special forces troops under fire from twice as many DANLA fighters inside the station plus the Captain's dozen in the streets around them, the mission was quickly scrubbed, with one of the whites badly wounded. Mr.Derek even appeared at a window, RPG shouldered, and narrowly missed the G-Car before disappearing in a cloud of smoke and debris caused by rather hastily discharging his weapon in a confined space... in the event, this perhaps saved Igomo from the fire that was returned on his position.

Southern Djanval del Norte

Not far from San Juan, where Papa Africa's forces had first ambushed the Torres government, the violence of that day had utterly subsided within hours, the white population being represented by really little more than the residents of a few upper-class mansions and estates, and incapable of offering resistance.

Now, though, the accordingly sparse deployment of DANLA forces made for similarly little opposition as Kircher's Cavaliers stormed into Djanval del Norte.

Over twelve-hundred soldiers of the Sud Djanval army were fully mechanised aboard trucks, P4 4x4s, and an assortment of Panhard armoured cars, and supported by further Lama and G-Car helicopters. A few militia units were quickly routed, and the force, lead by a General Buster Acland, made rapid progress into Cogo and Acalayong, only to continue north.

OOC: this is a closed thread to AMW members. Look at the recruitment thread in my sig for info.

Djatini

Ceylon's national interest is very limited in geographic terms, but this does not stop Colombo from sticking its fingers into all kinds of pies, both local and far afield. Bungussi-Djanvallaland is only the latest in a string of Ceylonese intelligence operations in areas where Ceylon really has no business. The primary agent of this meddling is the Special Research Directorate, an intelligence agency with far more experience in foreign operations than it really ought to have, given its very humble origins and miniscule budget. Time and resources were, however, found for relatively intensive involvement in West Africa, and this effort, code-named Operation Assembly, currently involves over fifty of the directorate's personnel, perhaps two dozen locally-recruited assets, and as many as seven light aircraft at any given time.

Establishing contact with DANLA in Djanval del Norte was one of Operation Assembly's more difficult tasks. Two SRD operatives were killed outright and two others disappeared in the first attempt, but a second try, where five Ceylonese advisers trekked overland through the jungle, did ultimately prove successful. Gustavo Alvares, one of three out of that group still alive after some time in the field, finds himself with DANLA forces in Djatini. Technically, in his capacity as military adviser, he is only supposed to take up arms in self-defense, and should not be directly participating in combat operations, but nobody is around to enforce that regulation. Alvares, an ex-paratrooper, is by no means one to shy away from a good battle, and his FN FAL has seen plenty of use lately.

Alvares is, along with most of the DANLA fighters in Djatini, in high spirits, the government's helicopter raid aside, and is equally happy to see the ocean after a long stint in the interior. He sets about trying to contact the SRD's nearest receiving station on an ancient British wireless set, hoping to inform them of this latest success and, with a bit of luck, arrange for resupply by sea.

(OCC: Sorry for this rather bland post. If anything here is unworkable, please disregard it. Hopefully I will have something more substantial up in the near future.)

Despite their racial appearance, the people of the Baltic knew all about being oppressed by another racial group, in their case the Kievan Slavs. Seeing a similar situation in Africa, the Baltic Federation saw no reason to side with the oppressive white government, and instead decided (without the consent of allies) to support DANU.

The occasional squad of the Baltic Privy Corps had managed to get through the jungle to give military advice and show government support, as well as attempting to ensure that any new government would be (at least in the long run) democratic and capitalist. The aim was to bring it as close to the Baltic/British model as can realistically be done in such an unstable region. The squads always left soon after arriving and so were able to give little help.

This was, a potentially unpopular policy, so the Baltic Federation kept aid to a minimum, and left no agents in the country for more than a couple of weeks; and even this was more than they wanted. They also never officially sanctioned DANLA or its military wing, in an effort to minimise traces to a Baltic connection. Seeing DANU seize power raised hopes for the Federation, it also gave them a chance to really help their African counterparts.

Seeing the 'unrest' in the country, the Baltic Federation immediately contacted the government of Djanval del Norte to announce that they would be sending a commercial trade ship with, medicine, food, water and other emergency supplies to the African state. This seemed to have no problems as the government did not find an aid shipment from a capitalist European nation suspicious. What they didn't know, was that one of the holds was to carry a reasonable number of recently phased out small arms, to be given to the rebel army. The plan was to unload all the stock on the mainland and sneak the arms through with some other supplies into the country. The back up plan was a bit more sketchy but there was the ability to drop of the aid without the weapons if things became too dangerous.

As the ship neared the Djanval waters the ships captain grew nervous. There were two platoons of the specialist Privy Corps on board for “security purposes” and the fact that these were on his ship made him even more nervous than the illegal arms trading they planned on carrying out.

“Contact the Djanval government, tell them we are about to enter their waters” he said carefully to his first mate, in a successful attempt to appear calm.

Freetown, USAR
Colin Olongwe sat brooding in a small hotel room booked for him by a minor government official, pacing about the cramped but tidy apartment. Thick carpet under his feet betrayed the room- and, indeed, the whole hotel- had been intended for occupation by foreign tourists, as did the general air of light and warmth apparent in the décor. Grunge and cobwebs had begun to build in some of the corners, Ologwe noted to himself, but for the most part it appeared that the building was being well maintained. This was, of course, solely because a majority of the high-ranking officials in the country spent their time in the city in these rooms, using them to impress the numerous women that accompanied them upstairs from time to time. But that was neither here nor there, and as Colin continued to pace he could feel his temper growing shorter. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a knock sounded at his door. Unfolding his arms, he paced over to the white-painted door and pulled it open.

“Mr. Olongwe?” a petite woman in a revealing maid’s uniform queried, voice perfectly clean of accent.

“Yes, that is me,” he replied, not skipping at beat. The woman was taken aback, albeit briefly, but continued on with her duties.

“My name is Sascha, Mr. Olongwe- mind if I call you Colin?- and I’m just here to make sure everything is comfortable for you. Are you finding your stay here enjoyable?” He gave her a deadpan look of complete miscomprehension.

“Are you serious? I must speak with Eric Bundu! I do not care about how my hotel room is!” Sascha again balked visibly before recovering her composure, flashing her large eyes up at him and leaning ever so slightly forward.

“Well, all right, but I just thought that maybe I could come in and clean a little and, maybe, make you a bit more comforta-“

“No!” he yelled, finally letting out his frustration. “I have been waiting for hours! I must speak with him! Now, get me Eric Bundu or get out of my sight!”

“Fine, yes, right away. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Olongwe. Please enjoy your stay.” With that, she turned stiffly and walked down the tiled corridor before disappearing around a corner. Mere moments later, a dapper man in a tailored suit emerged from a room across the hall and made his way over.

“Helloo, Meesta Olongwe,” he said as he presented his hand, “mah name ees West Guru, an’ I am de minista of defense he’a in the Republics. Tha preseedent is unable to greet you personally, an’ so he sent me. Now, wha’ can I do for you?”