NationStates Jolt Archive

Associated Press:

Today in the ASoGM, the Coastal Defense Force ship Protector stopped an unmarked self-propelled semi submersible craft entering ASoGM waters. Upon boarding of the craft by CDF sailors, they discovered the crew attempting to open scuttling valves. Once the submersible's crew was detained, the craft was thoroughly searched, and 10 tons of cocaine were discovered in the hold. The crew was arrested, the drugs secured, and a tugboat called to tow the semi-submersible to the Roanoke Naval Yard.

As of this point, ASoGM authorities do not have any leads as to what nation this cocaine came from, or who it belonged to.

OOC: Anyone that wants to play the role of the drug smuggler, feel free.

A Shack, A Field, The Theocracy of the Beatus

"We've lost contact with Hotel Romeo Delta 1 2 3 4 Echo," said a man sitting in front of rather sophisticated communications equipment, for a shack in this neck of the woods.

"Where were they?" asked another man, laying on a nearby cot.

"According to the transponder, they were in ASoGM, when a scuttle attempt was made, however we never received confirmation."

"This don't sound good Tim," the man on the bed said.

"No it doesn't, Alaster," replied Tim. "You'd better inform the boss."

With out another word, Alaster left the bed, walked outside, to a fire pit. He quickly lit a fire, and began sending Morse code, using smoke singles, in the clear afternoon sky.

As the Protector eased towards Roanoke Naval Yard, the tugboat towing the semi-submersible followed behind. Soon, the semi-submersible was tied to the dock, and the tugboat moved back to its normal duties. The crew of the Protector unloaded the cocaine and prisoners to the MPs, then returned to its normal patrols. The cocaine was logged into evidence, and the prisoners were processed at the brig. The prisoners were to be charged with smuggling, possession of drugs with the intent to distribute, piloting an unregistered vessel in ASoGM waters, and illegal entry into the ASoGM.

Brig, Roanoke Naval Yard, ASoGM

Arther J. Fielding, had been in charge of the operation. It wasn't supposed to end like this. He was confident in his crew however, they wouldn't let him down. "Zebadiah," Arther suddenly uttered, quite loudly. Zebadiah Iosif, was the one most likely to crack under torture, or intense questioning. He was also, most likely the one most susceptible to sleep deprivation, and drug treatments. "Give the kid a beer, and he'll practically tell you anything," though Arther, slightly panicked. He could single handily bring down the entire operation.

A Larger Shack, Archers Hilltop, The Theocracy of the Beatus

One Ezekiel K. DiMauro was looking through his window, with binoculars, reading the smoke singles, aloud, to his cohort, Stan Wojciehowicz, who then, looked through his code book, as he prepared to make a phone call. Ezekiel finished reading the smoke single, Stan, flipped a few more pages, found the proper section, and dialed the phone. After being on hold for a few minutes, he got through.

"You're on with the one and only DJ Phil 'the Flounder' Fish, on 89.7 FM, 'the Dish"'" the voice on the phone said. "What's your request?"

Street Corner, City of the Blessed, The Theocracy of the Beatus

Two bums were standing on the street corner, listening to 89.7 FM, "the Dish!" When Stan Wojciehowicz's voice crackled over the airwaves, one of the bums perked his ears up. "Well, Flounder, I want to request, Lake Shore Drive, by Aliotta-Haynes-Jeremiah," he said.
"An oldie, but a goodie," the DJ replied. The song started, "There’s a road I’d like to tell you about,
Lives in my hometown.
Lake Shore Drive the road is called,
And it’ll take you up or down,
From Ratz," played before the actual owner of the radio, a street vendor, turned the dial, and smooth jazz filled the street. The two bums moved on.

"So," said one of the bums, "If I remember the codes right, somethings gone amiss, a Jerry?"

"What?" Jerry said, clearly in deep though. "Oh, yea Timothy," he continued, as they walked home. "We'll have to check the code book when we get to my place. Moments latter, they turned down an ally, and began walking towards, what might look to some, as a random collection of cardboard boxes, however, it was far from random. It was Jerry's makeshift home, while he was in the city at least. It was kind of cramped, but the two of them, crawled into the "dwelling", a term which applies more to rats, than humans in this case. Jerry was soon going through a code book. After a few minutes, he slammed it shut. "HRD-1234E, has been lost. Last reports are an attempted scuttle in hostile territory, however, no confirmation," Jerry said, his face was turning pale. The could bring the entire operation down. "Here," he said handing Timothy a phone card, and pointing in the direction of a payphone. "Go make some phone calls, we're leaving for the country house today. I want everyone out of the city. Cancel all ongoing operations, pull the men back. I know the chances are slim, but if we are found out, I want to be ready to fade away."

The prisoners were brought into separate interrogation rooms. A military prosecutor, accompanied by an MP, entered each room. The prosecutors asked each man his name and age, read the charges to each prisoner, pointed out that the maximum sentence each man faced was 25 years to life, and asked if they wanted a lawyer. The prosecutor with prisoner RNY232345 noticed that the man seemed a little younger than the others.

OOC: Bump.

Like 99.9% of living Beatusians, the crew were all young, the oldest, the captain, being 17. Such was life in the Beatus these days, after the war. Zebadiah was, by far the youngest, at 13. He was fidgeting nervously in the interrogation room. However, he remained silent. Occasionally, he would mouth his name, and place of birth, silently. These men were serious he though to himself. They would lock him away, and he wouldn't get out until he was, at this point, he started counting on his fingers. Over 38, an old man, at least to him. He remembered what it was like in the caves, during the war, the hiding, the small dark places. The fear returned to him, as it did when he though about such things, or when the night terrors came. All he wanted to do right now, was curl up in his warm bunk, and hide from the world.

Like 99.9% of living Beatusians, the crew were all young, the oldest, the captain, being 17. Such was life in the Beatus these days, after the war. Zebadiah was, by far the youngest, at 13. He was fidgeting nervously in the interrogation room. However, he remained silent. Occasionally, he would mouth his name, and place of birth, silently. These men were serious he though to himself. They would lock him away, and he wouldn't get out until he was, at this point, he started counting on his fingers. Over 38, an old man, at least to him. He remembered what it was like in the caves, during the war, the hiding, the small dark places. The fear returned to him, as it did when he though about such things, or when the night terrors came. All he wanted to do right now, was curl up in his warm bunk, and hide from the world.

The prosecutor watched the young man fidget, and keep mouthing something. As the prosecutor noticed the fear creeping across the prisoner's face, a slight smile crept across his face. He slammed his hand down on the table, and yelled, "Hey! I'm talking to you".

Zebadiah was already close to the edge, and this man's yelling wasn't helping. So, he did what he always did when the outside world overcame him, he went to his happy place. A wonderful place, in his mind, where he was safe from the mean old outside world, and the fears thereof. He could sit there, with the prosecutor for hours, without even acknowledging anything outside his own little world within his head.

(OOC: Being aggressive is not best the technique for dealing with young children.)

Zebadiah was already close to the edge, and this man's yelling wasn't helping. So, he did what he always did when the outside world overcame him, he went to his happy place. A wonderful place, in his mind, where he was safe from the mean old outside world, and the fears thereof. He could sit there, with the prosecutor for hours, without even acknowledging anything outside his own little world within his head.

(OOC: Being aggressive is not best the technique for dealing with young children.)

The prosecutor realized that the young man was shutting down, and wouldn't say anything. He signaled for the guards to bring the prisoner back to his cell, to await his lawyer. The prosecutor hoped that his coworkers were more successful with their prisoners.

OOC: I was trying to push him to start spilling his guts.

ah maybe that was one of my sub reported lost at sea due to unknown cause u said that was a protector class how old is it rusty or what my sub has a pirate flag on it on the blades

ah maybe that was one of my sub reported lost at sea due to unknown cause u said that was a protector class how old is it rusty or what my sub has a pirate flag on it on the blades

OOC: The Beatus already claimed the sub as his. And it's the USS Protector, not the Protector class. It's a Hamilton class cutter.

The other prisoners didn't reveal much. However, one of them, Waltar Hildagarde, did let something slip. It might not have seem like much, but it could be the key to unraveling the true nature of the mission. When they first brought him in, he seemed really uptight, and scared, but after the questioning went on, and the prosecutor brought up the drugs, he called down immensely, stating, "Oh, the drugs, is that all this is about." Some might take that to mean there was more to be found on the submarine than previously though.