NationStates Jolt Archive

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For the third consecutive week, chaos continues to ensue inside the nation formerly known as Corbournne. Rioting began early last week as the government collapsed, and numerous militant factions have risen in response to the power vacuum. Many of these militias are rumoured to be recruiting from the former Corbournnien Armed Forces, though these allegations are thus far unconfirmed. Militant forces have wrecked havoc on the capital city, and numerous other larger cities have been devastated by the fighting. What precisely these groups are fighting over is as of yet uncertain. There are dozens of militias, paramilitaries, and gangs which appear to be vying for power, yet all with differing, and secretive, agendas.


Refugees have sought escape from the brutal conflict by fanning out into the countryside and are establishing large tent camp communities, though if this conflict is as generic as most others of its kind it will not be long before militia forces advance on these communities. Many fear that the potential for genocide is great, and a wanton massacre is just around the corner.
Civilian casualties have been heavy so far. Though there are no official figures available, Wanderjarian inside observers have placed the toll in the tens of thousands. The identity of these observers remains anonymous, but it is safe to assume that we can expect a much more involved Wanderjarian presence in their balkanizing neighbor in the near future.


****

New Pretoria, Wanderjar
1434 hrs, February 27th

The War Room, a nickname for the secretive office where the President of the Afrikaner Republic meets with his top ranking advisors on matters of critical state importance. The room really never had a more formal name, and as such the nick name stuck. President Michael Blair now sat at the head of a long, mahogany wood table, his legs crossed and arms folded over his chest waiting patiently while his political advisors filed in from their variety of offices within the various wings of the great Office building.

He allowed his mind to drift for a moment, as he scarcely had any time to himself since taking the office of President six months prior. He was still new to this job, relatively speaking, but he was proud in knowing that the country still ran, its economy was still among the fastest growing in the world, and Wanderjarian people still had jobs.

“Not to mention that the Wanderjarian Commonwealth is among the largest of any of the economic empires in the world,” he added mentally with a wry grin. He looked down at his straight black Armani suit and the dark black and maroon tie which he so fancied. He had come from a fairly wealthy family, and had always prided himself on dressing well. A well dressed man, never-mind an organized man, he believed, made an impact on those he dealt with much more so than a slovenly one. He had believed that during his tenure as a junior officer in the Royal Marines, and he still believed it today. And as such he somewhat vainly dressed himself in Armani suits and Gucci shoes. His tie was Hermes. All custom tailored, of course. In a sense, he enjoyed the image it gave him, but in a sense he feared that he would come on too strong, as a gluttonous, vain man. But, alas, a young, vibrant, good looking individual was expected to be self confident, and in a position such as his confidence to the point of arrogance was commonplace if not the rule…and to be expected.

He was the defacto head of the Nationalist Party, a highly conservative, very militaristic political association which had formed a coalition with the Constitutionalist Freedom Union, to form super-libertarian society. They came to power on a mantle of civil freedom, liberty, but simultaneously harsh rule of law to dissuade those who would take advantage of those granted freedoms. It seemed to work; the crime rate had downed significantly and the general faith in the government had risen since the blood sucking socialists had lost in the past elections. ”Which,” he thought to himself, “Is a very good thing.”

But he had to cut his reveries short. The Ministers of Defense and State, Mr. Stanley White and Mr. David Cobble respectively, entered the room, followed by the Chiefs of Army, Navy, and Air Force. The Minister of Intelligence, Mr. Stephan Hawk came in last. He was a curious sort, of average stature and slight build, yet with a dark look which chilled him to the bone. He turned curiously to look for his Prime Minister, Mr. Christopher Ward, who was not to be seen.

“Thank you for coming gentlemen,” Blair said with a grin, looking around the table, meeting each of his Ministers in the eye. “However, before we begin, where is Mr. Ward?” Minister of Defense Mr. White was the first to respond.

“He is, Mr. President, engaged in a meeting with the Minister of Foreign Affairs on this very subject. We will brief you on what we know however.”

“Thank you. Now then, on the subject of the chaos in our neighboring state, what precisely can we gain from an expedition there aside from the obvious?”
“Of course by obvious,” began Mr. Cobble, “a much needed access port to the sea.” All at the table grinned and chuckled. “I believe there is much to be gained. Corbournne has a decent supply of resources, and the additional manufacturing base which we would gain from this would be considerable. There would be much expense, I fear, from the clean up from this little trouble they’re having.” General Samuel Dutch, Chief of the Royal Wanderjarian Army, nodded.

“Yes,” he began, “We would have a lot to do. But I believe that with my own Royal Corps of Engineers and the use of private contractors we could very easily, and efficiently, rebuild this infrastructure into an economic powerhouse. This would take, I estimate as an engineer myself, approximately three years to get things running smoothly. Five years to get everything to maximum potential, but that is an absolute high ball.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mr. White. “do we have any real way of knowing how long it will really take for this to be completed?”

“Of course not,” the General said bluntly. “There are so many variables to consider that establishing a timetable at all is a mistake. But I can give a rough idea of how long it’ll take under the best of conditions. That’s the best I can do for you.”

“I appreciate your honesty, General Dutch,” President Blair said with a nod. “Now then, is there anything else I should know before I give the go ahead for this operation?” Heads shook all around the table, though General Dutch spoke up again.

“Sir, as you know the Royal Armed Forces have been on standby since this crisis began. We’re ready to deploy at a moment’s notice and move inland. We’ll simply need twenty four hours to gather up humanitarian supplies and move them to the rear of the prepared convoys.”

“Understood General. If there are no more concerns of issues to be brought up, then let’s get operation “Restore Hope” in order.


****


Oliver Dupéré was terrified. Tight, paralyzing, white knuckle terror filled every part of him, and had every moment of the day for the past two weeks. This war had taken everything from him. His wife had been executed by those Nationalist bastards, his teenage daughters taken away for…tears stung his eyes. He wasn’t a soldier and never had been, but now he sat in the muddy pit of a sandbagged bunker, defending a mountain pass into the Arcadian held territory. The ethnic Arcadians, who resided mostly in the north, had thus far defended this critical pass leading into their lands and separating them from the conflict that was tearing apart their country. He had been from the capital, which was now a smoldering ruin which glowed brilliantly on the horizon after each sunset until sunup. Plumes of smoke hung still in the sky as far as the eye could see, showing newly burning flames as well as the still smoldering remnants which had yet to be put out. Gunshots cracked in the distance, and periodically a Nationalist column would make the mistake of trying to press the Arcadian defenses. Bodies reeked as they rotted in the sun, hundreds of them. Birds pecked at them. Despite the horror of it all, they knew better than to move them. Other than the obvious psychological effect, snipers hidden in the trees and shrubbery farther south would tear apart any effort to try, that had happened last week and they’d suffered eight casualties. Such a waste…

But there was nothing he could do. Not for those bodies farther south, or for his kidnapped and probably dead daughters, and not for the rest of his friends trapped in that hell hole which southern Corbournne had sunken in to. But there was something he could do. He could defend this pass with his assigned militia column. He could kill any of the enemy militiamen who tried to break through to attack the Arcadian home territory and take his brothers’ lives. To his left and right were dozens of men from similar circumstances to his. They’d fought and learned much in the past three weeks. It’d been nearly a month, and he couldn’t hardly believe it. No one quite knew how this all started, news service had been lost entirely by the second day of the war and most electricity to the cities were cut in the opening hours anyway. What he had gathered were that there were numerous petty gangs vying for their own power in various townships and villages throughout the heartland of Corbournne, with the major cities being fought over by a combination of the Nationalist Front, a group of men, predominately former military, seeking to establish a military police state in Corbournne. They were heavily entrenched in the capital now, and his getting out of there with his life was purely by the grace of God.

The other was much more curious. The Catholic Church had a number of followers in the military as well, not to mention vast popular support. After the collapse, it seems as if they had tried to jump for power right as the Nationalists did, or had they been working together? Then why were they fighting each other? It made no sense! There were other groups, such as the Communists and anarchists, but those Reds were few and far between and mostly relegated to the south where they squabbled about creating Soviet Councils and freeing the people: ultimately to create an egalitarian Utopia. Most of the freedom loving types had run to the Arcadians, those with nowhere else to turn to. He remembered what he was told by a kind looking man in loose fitting green fatigues, about three days after the war started.
“Welcome friend, to Free Arcadia. We’ll feed you, clothe you, and most importantly: arm you.” And since that moment on, he did his shift in one of the various trenches that had been hastily dug to defend against attack. Luckily the Catholics and the Nationalists seemed too busy fighting each other to worry about the Arcadians, but who knew how long that would last…

“Hey Oliver!” a voice called, shaking him from his thoughts. “Pay attention! Daydreaming will get you sniped man.”

“Sorry Augustin,” he muttered, looking down at the mud sloshing around his tattered sneakers, “I’m afraid I’m just getting tired.”

“Yeah, ain’t we all.” Pierre shook his head wearily. Oliver rested his head against the back wall of the fox hole they shared. He turned his face skywards into the clear, blue sky. It just didn’t seem appropriate that such a perfect day occur for such wicked times. He thumbed the action on his rifle, balancing it between his body and his curled thighs. It would be a long guard duty for him.


****


Alan MacDonald, 2nd Lieutenant, Wanderjarian Royal Army, sat eagerly on his bunk. He’d been in this forward field encampment along the highway leading into Corbournne for the past week, waiting for the Go Code to commence Operation Restore Hope. This would enable him to grab his pack and rifle, then immediately sprint to his rightful place in the lead humvee, and promptly take off like a bat out of hell and charge headlong into the town, called “Antoinette”, thirty miles from the border. His battalions order was to secure that town and ensure that the highway junction it possesses on its outskirts is in firm Wanderjarian hands. His platoon’s objective was, specifically, to clear the main road junction in the center of town. Easy enough. Intelligence reported that the town had been only moderately affected by the war. Police had taken on a roll much more akin to that of storm troopers than they had before, as militias formed and wreaked havoc all over the country. Gangs and mafias had become, supposedly, a serious problem, something they Wanderjarian troops were certainly going to need to deal with. This meant, of course that if there was any resistance to the Wanderjarian force, they were going to shoot first and ask questions some whole other time…and that was fine by him.

“Hey LT,” his platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Matthew Wilkey called from a few meters away, “we’re all set.”

“Good, Sergeant,” MacDonald nodded. “Word from Battalion is that we’re going to get the go code within the hour. Let’s get to it, eh?” The sergeant nodded and walked off to continue making his rounds, checking the platoon, leaving the lieutenant to himself. He kicked his dusty boot into the thick, claylike ground which made up the better part of Wanderjar. The sun beat down harshly on him, and beads of perspiration built up along his brow. He sighed. The nerve wracking not-quite-fear-but-more-than-nervousness grew within him. He could feel the butterflies beating around in his gut.


His rifle was slung over his shoulder, and atop his head wasn't a helmet but a floppy brownish boonie hat. The helmet he would wear in combat was laced to his webgear at his thigh. On his back was his Camelbak Hydration Device...a complicated name for a back pack which stored water. A little tube ran up the side of his body armor and had an attached nozzel head where he could suck warm but satisfying water from at any time he chose. Much more efficient, and less noisy, than those pesky canteens. He looked around and noted the tens of thousands of brownish tan tents established as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of thousands of troops were ready to mobilize, with millions more waiting to go in the second wave. It would truly be an operation of the ages.


And soon, he'd hear the wail of that siren, sprint to his humvee, and lead his men to victory.


****


One hour later, Go Code: “Hope” was issued by the General staff. Based in large tent encampments dotting the border, over five hundred thousand Wanderjarian soldiers prepared to begin immediate combat operations across Corbournne. They would not, of course, be alone. The Republic of Greal had offered its support in the operation, and would immediately begin cordoning off the southern theater. Meanwhile, the Yanitarians were positioned to cross the border from the north and relieve their ethnic Arcadian cousins. Tens of millions of Wanderjarian troops remained in reserve, ready to support the entire operation in any way possible. The initial combat phase, however, would need speed, precision, and a small supply train.

General Travis Edmond had been chosen to lead the expedition. Commanding the newly founded “Corbournni Expeditionary Force”, he hoped to have the capital city secured and flying the joint Wanderjarian, Yanitarian, and Greali flags within two months. A confident man bordering on arrogance, he sneered at reporters who insinuated that Wanderjarian troops might not be able to quell the violence as easily as he proponed.

“The rebel militias will drop their weapons and flee at the sight of such a force as ours,” he said with a grin, removing his Ray-ban aviators from his eyes, folding them, and placing them in his pocket. “they’ll never know what hit ‘em.” Meanwhile, Wanderjarian Royal Marines were positioned just a few miles off short on Landing Ship-Troops (LSTs), and Assault Carriers, waiting for the order to assault the major Corbournnien harbor. It would be the greatest landing undergone by Wanderjarian forces in the history of the Royal Armed Forces. Over two hundred and fifty thousand Marines Commando would land, and establish a beach head to bring in supplies and begin the transportation of international relief via port. The Royal Marine commander, Major General Timothy Huggins, only needed the go code.

President Blair had decided that it would be prudent to wait until the first of the major highway junctions had been fully secured by the Wanderjarian Expeditionary Force, and then the beach assault would promptly begin. Hopefully, it’d be the beginning of among the greatest humanitarian relief operations in the history of the world.

(OOC: I’m running short on time but I wanted to make this post happen before I disappear for the night. So I’m going to post the actual movement inland and securing my objectives when I get back, as well as the Royal Marines landing. Greal and Yanis, if you all wish to begin moving in on your Areas of Operation please feel free. But remember, Corbournne is a big country and you’re going to have to move into every single township, village, and city to secure it…well mostly that’s to Greal, Yanitaria’s sector is mostly based on sector defense and establishing ties to the Arcadiens. I’m RPing the Corbournniens in all of this also. For other regional nations, feel free to get involved in anyway you see fit or desire. For non-regional nations who want to get involved, shoot me a TG.)

Greali Naval Task Force, off Coast of southern Corbournne

The massive Greali Naval Task Force had been assembling off the coast of southern Corbournne for a few days. The Task Force was made up of elements from several fleets dispatched from Womer. There were two hundred thousand Greali Marines. Half of them were to establish a beachhead while the other half were to secure harbors along the coast. Greali marines were so eager to get off their ships and fight some militia who couldn't possibly stop the Corbournni Expeditionary Force, that they waited on the deck hours earlier then what was planned. Their Marine commanders were examining satellite and reconnaissance photos to determine whether there was any obstacles to the advancing Greali. Accompanying the naval task force were also hospital ships that awaited the casualties from the Greali theater.

Southern Corburnne-Wanderjarian border

Greali army convoys had traveled on the Wanderjarian highways to get to the border areas. The Air Force and even civilian helicopters help lift supplies to border areas and occasional companies of troops. Fourteen divisions numbering four hundred and twenty thousand men would secure the south for Greal. Of those, Four were armored, one was a heavy armored division, three mechanized divisions, and six infantry divisions. Once the Greali forces arrived, they were ordered to "rest" for one week until the operation began. A few hours before the operation began, special operation teams infiltrated southern Corburnne to secure areas and strike enemy militia. Most of these teams composed of ten men. Accompanying the special operation teams were squadrons of jet fighters. The Air Force wasn't expecting any resistance in the air, but there was a concern that the enemy militia might have some SAMs to shoot down fighters. Paratroopers would be dropped on strategic townships and villages ahead of the convoy.

The Independent Hitmen Embassy, Corbournne Capital City
Five days after the collapse of the central government

Sergeant Jon Davies peered down the scope of his silenced M21 rifle and squeezed the trigger yet again. Four hundred yards away, just outside the embassy perimeter wall, a militiaman fell to the ground with blood pumping from a vicious chest wound. As he fell he pulled the trigger on his assault rifle which spewed bullets into the sky until the magazine ran dry with a soft click.

On the roof of the main embassy building Sergeant Davies adjusted his aim slightly and fired again. His customised M21 recoiled as the 7.62mm round left the barrel and sped towards its target. Davies saw the red mist through his scope and blinked hard and slightly shook his head. There was a barely audible phh as the sniper behind him fired at another militiaman on the opposite side of the compound with another silenced M21. Both snipers were lying prone on the embassy rooftop using the bipods on their rifles to steady their aims even further than their expert training allowed by itself. Davies felt a breeze on the left side of his face and his left hand moved to the dial on his sights and twisted it two notches to add half a minute of angle to the next shot to compensate for the increased wind.

Inside the embassy building many of the staff still remained, some had got out at the very start of the conflict and had made it out of the city and to an airfield where they had been picked up by Air Force transports. But over fifty people remained, not including the eighteen man Marine platoon, four Diplomatic Security Agents and the eight man Special Forces team that had been dropped in to assist the evac. Marine Captain Dennis Waters was nominally in charge, but had allowed the Special Forces Lieutenant James Sheridan to organise most of the defences. Two Marines were manning a .50calibre machine gun watching the main gate with the rest spread around the interior of the main embassy building looking outwards. The emergency generator was still running so the CCTV cameras, radios and lights were still on and the embassy staff were making the best of a bad situation.

There had only been one serious attempt to get into the embassy by the militia’s now roving the street and that had ended badly for them. The Special Forces snipers had removed those who seemed to be in command and the massed firepower of the Marines machine guns had cut swathes through those that had forced the main gate open. The bodies had been collected together and then pushed over the perimeter wall so that they formed a natural ramp into the compound that some other militia had tried to exploit on the third night. They had found the area rigged with claymores and their remains were dumped over the wall and the ramp never used again. Captain Waters had orchestrated that ambush before the Special Forces troopers had arrived, but now they were hear they preferred a more proactive approach and so any armed person near the compound was being taken down by the snipers. There was no Corbournne government to protest after all and the safety of the IH and two Stevidian citizens inside the embassy was of paramount importance.

Captain Waters and Lieutenant Sheridan were standing at the rear of the embassy, looking out at the pristine green lawn.

“They should be here in ten minutes Sheridan. Is everybody briefed and ready to go?”

“Yes Sir. Your men are being replaced by some of mine and they are assembling in the main lobby from where they will secure the LZ”

“Good. The choppers are on schedule?”

“Yes Sir, Five minutes out.”

The two military men were interrupted by the Ambassador, a fifty something career diplomat, entering the room.

“Captain, I have destroyed all sensitive material and one of you men is standing by the radio and computer equipment that remains functional Lt.”

“Thank you Ambassador. If you could prepare your staff the helicopters will be here soon.”

“Of course Captain. There are enough for everybody yes?”

“Yessir don’t you worry about that.”

The Ambassador left and the two shared a glance as they heard a dull rumbling coming from the open window. Captain Waters pressed the button on his communications gear.

“Teams one, two and three move to position.”

In the main lobby the Marine NCO’s shouted at their men and the three lines of heavily armoured troops ran out of the veranda doors at the back and began fanning out around the makeshift helipad that had been created the previous night. They all pulled their goggles down over their eyes and brought their weapons into the shoulder looking outwards. The embassy building had a high wall, but you could still see into the compound from several buildings around it and it was these that received the most attention as the Marines each fired two shots at anything vaguely suspicious. With no return fire they kept up their watch as the first of the helicopters came into view.

The VH-67 Knighthawk Gunship circled the embassy compound, the door gunners training their miniguns at the buildings around as six HH-63 heavy lift helicopters came into view, speeding over the rooftops of the skyscrapers before dropping like stones down towards the embassy compound. As the lead helicopter received the all clear from the Marines on the ground two others broke off and came in for a quick landing on the grass within the Perimeter established by the marines. The load masters dropped the ramps at the rear of the aircraft as they pivoted ten feet off the ground to face away from the embassy building and slowly settled down onto the ground.

With their wheels touching the grass the first of the Diplomatic Security Agents ran out of the building leading two columns of civilians, one to each helicopter. They battled their way through the downdraft from the big helicopters rotor blades and ran up the ramps into the cavernous interiors. When all were inside and sitting on the uncomfortable fold down seats the loadmasters stepped back onto the ramps and signalled the pilots who clawed the aircraft back into the air.

As the next two helicopters touched down the Special Forces snipers quickly packed up their gear and swung their sniper rifles into their carrying bags and picked up their M4 Assault Rifles from where they were laying. They both calmly left the rooftop and proceeded down the stairs to their teammates who were now collapsing back on the main lobby of the embassy. A boom came from the radio room as the contents were destroyed by the demo man and the Special Forces team collapsed out onto the lawn where only the security men were left, all the civilians being in the first four choppers which were now heading for a refuelling point nearer the coastline. The last two heavy lift choppers touched down and the Marine perimeter collapsed in an ordered fashion into them. The men with the .50 calibre machine gun lead the way into the choppers and then the Marines followed with their backpacks weight down with personal possessions and carryable material from the embassy. The Special forces troopers and the two commanders were already in the choppers as the last two Marines stepped aboard and turned onto a knee to act as rear gunners.

Again the sounds of rotors increased as the helicopters clawed their way up into the skies. From his seat in the rear of the helicopter Lieutenant Sheridan could see militia and others pouring towards the embassy, no doubt seeking some loot from one of the last foreign buildings to be evacuated. Bad luck fella’s was his only thought as he took a detonator out of his top left pocket, opened the cap and flicked the switch.

The embassy building erupted in a ball of flame as fifteen pounds of high explosives ripped through the structural supports and caused the building to come crashing down upon itself in a ball of flame, flying masonry and smoke. It had been decided not to leave anything useful for the rabble and what couldn’t be carried had to be destroyed.



IHS Truro, New England Class Fleet Carrier, 45km off the coast of Courbournne
One day later

The helicopters came into land on the huge carrier deck one by one. The grey paint blended with the grey sky and the even greyer deck of the aircraft carrier as they touched down in a line near elevator number 9. Nobody disembarked from the helicopters until the rotor blades had stopped turning and several deck crew ran out to form a rough corridor for the newest arrivals on the ship to safely get to one of the two large superstructures that dominated the otherwise flat deck.

As the Ambassador was escorted across the deck he looked out across the ocean at the fleet arrayed around the carrier. He could see at least five other flat decks, aircraft carriers or assault ships he couldn’t tell, and many other transport vessels in a box formation in front of the ship. He could quite clearly make out the flag flying from the nearest; such was its size, the famous yellow and white of the 9th Marine (Assault) Division. It gave him something to ponder as he walked into the superstructure to go and meet the Admiral in charge of the fleet. He had assumed that the company of paratroopers that had secured the refuelling point had been the biggest IH land force in the area, but the size of the transport fleet indicated not.

Morrdun, Morrdh.
1500hrs, March 4th.

"Gentlemen," General Doyle began saying. "As of almost a week ago one of our regional neighbours descended into civil unrest. Some of our allies, namely from the Fedala Accord, have already deployed troops to the effected area."

Prime Minister looked up from the report he was reading and asked out loud. "I presume the causes of Corbournne's collapse is being fully investigated?"

"The Intel spooks have been working overtime on the matter sir, though due to the suddeness of the crisis has proven to be problematic."

"Hmm...so what is it your proposing then General?"

"At the present sir, we lack influence across the entirely of the region. The situation in Corbournne gives us the chance to establish a solid Morridane position which could prove to be of great benefit in the future."

"Very well...I shall contact our Wanderjarian friends on the matter."

"Very good sir, we'll have a division ready within a week."

OOC: MAPS

Political. (http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i156/UNDComrade/Yanitaria/Maps/Corbournne.png)

Geographic. (http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i156/UNDComrade/Yanitaria/Maps/CorbournneGEO.png)

IC:

Fauconcourt, Province Montagneuse, PRUY, 01h37m

Maréchal d'Armée Renée Fosse looked up from the status reports and glanced out the window. Fauconcourt was an idyllic sort of town, one of many in southern Yanitarie, where ski resorts and quaint villages are the norm. This particular town was chosen for it's open fields, unused at the moment since the planting season wasn't for another month, and it's central location with in the Yanitarian operation. The soldiers, mostly officers, for whom the army had rented rooms from the locals, stood outside in the cold night air, most of the smoking their newly issued cigarettes. In the distance, a veritable tent city had been set up for the enlisted crowd. On the street below, a young girl and her friend passed by a group of officers, who shouted unrealistic romantic propositions after them. With the noise, her headache returned.

She thought back to the past two weeks of chaotic planning. With the sudden collapse of government in Corbournne, and the violence that was taking place, Maréchal Fosse was placed in command of the Force du Maintien de la Paix Corbournnien, or FMPC. Originally planned as three armies total, though so far this had been upped to nine armies, with six in reserve, and an entire Force d'Air. With one army split by the mountains, they would sweep through Corbournne Arcadien, spreading hope to their cousins across the border and crushing any resistance, while a special psych warfare battalion rallied the locals into a basic government. Hopefully, since the fighting in the north was pretty light, with in the next six months Northern Corbournne would be back to relative normalcy, with the main changes being political.

Adaptation, she thought. That was the word that the minister of defense used in his email. Political Adaptation. It made her stomach, such a thinly veiled indication that their intent was colonial. As a mixed Arcadien-Yanitarien herself, she could appreciate colonialism for the benefits it brought to her country, and overlook the fact that colonial natives were second class, at best. However, the most recent colonial prospect were their southern neighbors, who might as well already have been Yanitariens already. What of them? Certainly they would benefit eventually, but not without a slow process of political absorption, something that inevitably brought about secret operations where dissidents disappear, and where collaborators catch political breaks like the common cold. While it was expected that, with proper management of the local government, and with the right shade of propaganda, the Arcadiens should identify, and perhaps even celebrate the coming of their Yanitarien cousins, it still cannot be avoided that there will be some civil resistance.

She wiped her brow and stood up, walking towards the door. Down the stairs, and out the door, and she was in the cool night air. The smell of cigarette smoke and diesel in the air. A TPK 640 CTL, the large transport trucks used by the Yanitarien and Corbournnien military, rolled by, and the soldiers, who's seats faced outward rather than inward like other western designs, saluted her. She threw a half hearted salute back. Her troops were ready, at the assigned time, 2h00, to cross the border and begin the peace keeping operation. Already her men knew of one garrison, located in Neuvéglise which was battling communists just over the border. Already the hostile forces had taken half the city, and were pushing the non-aligned Arcadien forces back. A courier had crossed the border, and extended an offer for aid in return for support in rallying Arcadiens deeper south. While there was no official organization between the Arcadiens, individual units worked not necessarily together, but towards the same goal of putting down any unrest and keeping the fighting out of their territory. By eliminating the communists in Neuvéglise, Fosse hoped that the reputation of the FMPC will resound throughout the north, and allow them to easily sway individual commanders into helping them.

But then again, what plans ever work perfectly?

OOC: Sorry if the quality here is off, and if it's a bit short, I rushed it a bit since I dropped off the face of the earth for a week.

Planning Room, onboard the IHS Merill, Leadbeater Class Assault Vessel
Off the coast of Courbournne, level with Ladinhac

All around the large planning room stood men in woodland coloured fatigues discussing various parts of the IH plan. The 9th Marine (Assault) Division had been ordered to take and hold the Port of Ladinhac on the Courbournne coast for use as a strategic base for the Navy and Air Force. The Operations and Planning staff had come up with a simple plan to utilise the division’s three Regiments to secure the objective in cooperation with a battalion of paratroopers from the Army’s 14th Air Assault Division and Special Operations teams from SPECOPSCOMM.

The plan would involve using all the rotary assets currently held by the Division and the Carrier Air Group to land battalion sized forces at key points in a perimeter around the city whilst further forces cleared the city of the hostile militias that still rampaged through it. Mission briefings were going to be held in the afternoon with the first helicopters leaving the ships decks at 0535 the next morning. The first units to embark would be those of the 21st Marine Assault Regiment who would establish the Northern part of the perimeter, including Hill 521 that dominated the Northern approaches and the two main highways that lead to the city. 4th/21st would be responsible for securing the strategically important hill, 3rd/21st would take and hold the highways and surrounding area, 1st/21st would establish a perimeter between the highways and the coast, 2nd/21st would be held in reserve.
To the West the 20th Marine Assault Regiment would secure and hold the ridge line that ran from Hill 512 to the highway leading into the city from the south. From North to South the battalions would be deployed 1st/20th, 3rd/20th, 2nd/20th, with the 4th/20th held in reserve.
Further south the 19th Marine Assault Regiment would secure the smaller Hill 300, the highway in from the south and the main airport. 4th/19th would secure the airport in conjunction with the 2nd Battalion of the 14th Air Assault Regiment and then both would go into reserve, 3rd/19th would take Hill 300 and 1st/19th and 2nd/19th would take the coast road and the southern highway respectively.

Once the perimeter was established the reserve units would then turn inwards towards the city and with extensive UAV and aerial support re-establish order through the destruction of militias and the capturing of key figures. Whilst sounding the simplest part of the plan that would actually be one of the most difficult, before the struggles the city had a population of nearly 2million people including nearly 100,000 sailors of the Courbournne Navy for whom this was a primary base. Several of the vessels from that force were already sitting on the bottom of the harbour after various groups had tried to take them, whilst the rest of the force was thought to have scattered south towards friendly countries in the first days of the breakdown of government taking many high ranking figures with them.

Air Support would be provided by the carrier Air Groups from the escorting force, they would make an initial sweep in the night and target the few armoured vehicles and suspected militia camps that had been identified by satellite reconnaissance. Strikes from IH based B-52HI’s and B-6C’s, already in the air, would level the trees on the hilltops of Hills 300 and 521 to provide good vantage and landing points for the Assault troops landing there the next morning. Tactical air support would be delivered by circling wings of F/A-18G’s and F-30 Shinden II’s that would strike targets of opportunity as well as those called in by the marines on the ground. As usual the Hitmen were taking a firepower intensive route, they would attempt not hit civilian targets but it would probably happen. But ultimately more people in the city would be saved by a quick return to stable government; the plan dictated that it would take no more than two weeks to eliminate the militias as a dangerous force which would allow the troops on the outer cordon to begin allowing in refugees from other parts of the country. It would become an island of calm in a sea of unrest.


Inside the City Limits of Ladinhac

Lieutenant Sheridan was back in Courbournne with his team of Special Forces. They had been brought in the night before on a long range transport helicopter and had disembarked on the top of a twenty story building adjacent to the biggest park within the city limits. Sheridan and his two snipers were now on the nineteenth floor, set up to look across the park at a point where an RPG round has smashed the windows and part of the corner wall. Two of the other troopers were three floors below watching the stairway in case there were any militia around whilst the rest slept in one of the supply rooms that had been emptied of stationary by an industrious thief some days before.

Sheridan was lying prone on the floor, they had stripped cushions off of the few remaining office chairs to provide a softer position than the thin carpet did and they had positioned a few desks above them to keep out the rain that periodically drove through the seaside city and came in through the blasted out whole. All in all it was a good observation position and gave them a good all round field of view to determine how much activity there was in the city. Being deep in the commercial sector there seemed to be little in the way of housing, but the blocks of apartments about three hundred yards from the parks southern entrance appeared to still contain people. They didn’t appear that plush from the Special Forces positions and had probably managed to avoid the worst of the looting and violence that occurred in the aftermath of the breakdown of government.

To Sheridan’s right Sergeant Davies spoke softly.

“Two o’clock. Morning patrol on its way by the looks of things LT.”

Sheridan tilted his scope down and to the right and could see a pair of pickup trucks with several armed men in the back of each. The mandatory .50calibre machine gun had also been mounted on the roof of the first truck and they appeared to have plenty of ammunition for it. The trucks continued along the road that was littered with burnt out cars and other vehicles and disappeared from sight.

“They looked organised and determined as well. You think that the park might be a demarcation boundary for territory of these new militia groups?”

“Possible LT. Only way we will know for sure would be to infiltrate one but I don’t think we have the time on this mission.”

“Negative Moal. The Marines are hitting their LZ’s in less than 24 hours and they want to set up their divisional logistics point and main supply depot right in front of you. We observe patrol patterns and then provide over watch and advanced targeting for the air heads if necessary.”

“Roger LT. Got more movement in the apartments, looks like a family doing a runner.”

“God help them. None of that lot will.”

Sheridan peered through his spotting scope again as the five people scurried out of the apartment block and headed west. If only they had stayed put for another day then a small measure of security would have been restored and perhaps they would have been safe. As it was he knew that they probably wouldn’t last more than a few hours on the streets, the fathers pistol would make the daughters look less attractive but not enough to stop a militia from grabbing them he was sure. Unfortunately he had seen it before on deployment, the nature of man meant that he would probably see it again before this one was over.


The next morning, the skies above Ladinhac International Airport

Twenty nine grey painted C-440 transport aircraft were flying in two V-shaped formations over the airport. The entire 2nd Battalion of the 14th Air Assault Regiment was in the aircraft, all strapped into their parachutes and standing in neat lines leading up to the now open rear ramps. As the red light flicked off and the green one on the load master shouted above the roar of the four huge jet engines and the paratroopers began filing to the ramp and launching themselves off the end two at a time.
Trooper Johann Wurtenburg was the last out of his aircraft and felt the normal rush of adrenaline as he freefell for a couple of hundred feet before opening his parachute. They had been dropped low, only three thousand feet, to leave the troops exposed in the air for the shortest possible time and so Johann didn’t have very long to take in his surroundings. Off to the North there were numerous plumes of smoke drifting up from the city but the airport looked remarkably intact, aside from the two burnt out shells of commercial airliners of course.

Johann and his stick of two hundred men from the fourth C-440 had been dropped nearest to the main terminal building and as soon as the green fatigued men hit the ground they unstrapped their parachutes and began forming up their squads and heading for the entrances to the building. With his Squad Automatic Weapon Johann was the third man into the building as his squad ran through the halls looking for a way to the control tower that adjoined the structure. As he ran through the terminal he looked left through the large glass windows and could see IH combat Engineers landing on the grass outside and moving off to examine the main runway before the follow up aircraft came in and tried to land.

In another part of the airport a team of Forward Air Observers were setting up their large radios that had been dropped in with them. A squad of paratroopers were arrayed around them as the two Captains and a Major started talking to the incoming aircraft. The Major was taking reports from the combat engineers that were scanning the runway with their eyes and portable metal detectors for booby traps as well as any signs that it wouldn’t support the weight of the massive C-440’s that were only five minutes away. The Major was on the radio to the Captain in charge of the Engineers who was reporting all clear and so the Major raised his thumb to one of the other operators who gave the message to the lead aircraft that it was ok to land.

With the telephone like receiver in his left hand the Major turned and removed his flak helmet to observe the aircraft come in. He could just see the dot in the distance, fast approaching and beginning a steep approach, again to minimize the risk of ground fire. Behind it came four others that were visible only because their landing lights were on despite their massive size. The Major’s eyes tracked the aircraft as it approached the end of the runway and he could just see the shapes of green fatigued combat engineers running out of the way as the wheels touched down in a cloud of smoke and the engines whined as they were put into full reverse thrust. As the aircraft rolled past their position the Major gave it a salute, before turning back to look at the next one, a minute or so behind. Commercial air controllers would have a fit at the minimal spacing between the next few aircraft as they began to land barely twenty seconds behind each other on the one cleared runway.

At the end of it the aircraft turned into an area that had been demarked with yellow mine tape and they came to a halt, leaving their engines running as the rear ramps were lowered. In the case of the first three it was to allow several HMMWV’s to roll off, all armed with machine guns or automatic grenade launchers. The fourth aircraft contained some utility HMMWV’s towing trailers which contained UAV’s and the fifth had two heavy artillery pieces and the battalion mortars, plus the crews and a basic load of ammunition for both.

Johann Wurtenburg watched the Hummvee’s roll out of the first aircraft and then turned his attention back his designated sector. He was now high up in the control tower, scanning out of the big plate glass windows along with four other binocular armed troops from his squad. His sector included a view of the main gate and he watched as three of the Hummers sped across the airport, the lead one smashing aside a small barrier, to set up a checkpoint at the main entrance. From his elevated position it seemed that the operation was going swimmingly.