Guerrillas Outbreak [SEMI-CLOSED,MT]

[-West]

This thread is Semi-Open, if you want to join go to the OOC thread.

INTRO
In mid-19th century Reformed Britannia and The West had merely seized their belligerents pertaining the Revolutionary war. In order to save the economic desires between the two first world Elysium nations. Thus, in acts of stimulation the Western government had come to an agreement in regards to the purchase of an specific area formerly known as Reformed Britannia, named Torchland.

---

This specific (considered small) area is located West of the commonwealth, east of the Elysium Jungle, and borders south with the ocean. Torchland is rich on various valuable recourses including gold, wood, and coal. This is also the main reason why the purchase was made from Western perspective. Benefits were high since the merely desert lying West lacks on wood, something the Elysium jungles are rich of.

---

Torchland is in majority populated by ethnic Britannians, with some small numbers of Westerners. Torchland isn’t much of an densely populated area, For the reason that is dominated by large amounts of tropics. The majority of people settle in the four cities (New Georgeston, Codrington, Harlow, Oldshare) While Torchland counts many villages. Farmer communities lay further south.

Torchland’s local political parties are TRP (Torchland Republican Party), TLP (Torchlander liberal party), and Greenism. Torchland’s national currency is the Britannian Pound. The currency both inherited from Britannia and West.

---

In Torchland all automobiles ride on the left side of the road. With as only adjustment to The West; every car’s steer lies on the right side of the automobile. Transportation for that matter is in ease because of the advanced motorway system. Motorway A1 starts from New Codrington, Milo Paulo industrial/business district, and finishes in the Specsville east of Codrington.

---

The capital and largest city of Torchland New Georgeston with an population of 193,000. New Georgeston counts one of the most Western emigrants but still in stance of minority. Latest demographics show that 40% of the people in New Georgeston is Western, while 55% is Britannian. Issues among ethnicity had never really occurred. There, nor elsewhere in Torchland. Some Westerners still refer themselves as Britannian for that matter.

---

The second city of Torchland is Codrington. Named after the last governor of The Western Colonies. The city borders with Reformed Britannia. Codrington is attractive to tourism, while it only counts 140,000 inhabitants. The city has its own Disney World, which is a few miles from the commonwealth’s border.

---

Problems facing Torchland is illegal drugs smuggling. The bordering nations have different drug laws. The border police has difficulty to find the smugglers because of the immense amount of tropics which spread throughout the borderline. The West recently tries to go In cooperation with the Britannian government, and Britannian local authorities alongside the border. To prevent the amount of illegal drug smuggling. Rumours of guerilla groups are not exclusive. Especially in cities such as: Codrington, and Harlow.

OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE OF THE DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE WEST

From: Lesley Lousiana
To: Reformed Britannia, Tetrakon Nations
Subject: HELP NEEDED
Encyrption: Open

Greetings,

After acknowledging several rebellion guerilla threats being sent to us through mail. We came to ask for your help and assistance in this. It's maybe of importance to sharpen our defences throughout the borderline, and we cannot take the risk. The amount of armed Western forces in Torchland is minnow. That's why we need your help. Torchland may be doomed, and fall under guerilla control if we do not intervene quickly.

Yours Faithfully,
Lesley Louisiana Major of Codrington

---

Puncho Gonzalez, Hispanic, mid thirties. A muscled, black haired, moustached, cocaine smuggler that had a big snake tattoo from his neck to his left hand. He sat on a bench on his balcony in his white underwear and T-shirt. Enjoying the morning sun, as he just woke up. Smoking a cigarette wearing one of the finest Rolex watches. His apartment was big, occupied by gold everywhere you looked. A sly, and intelligent smuggler that knows how to do his job. He absolutely hates the government.

Suddenly he heard someone ringing on the doorbell. He extinguished his cigarette in his ashtray, and walked towards the direction of the door, ringing. "Sí, me voy!" He said, which means. Yes, I'm coming in Spanish. He opened the door and saw one of his mates. "Holmes, get inside Ricardo." Puncho then said in a pretty tone.
"Listen, holmes. We go business to do, yo." Ricardo Grenada said. He was also Hispanic. Twenty-three years old, developed muscle structure. He continued as he looked around if nobody saw him, then he got inside Puncho's apartment. "Here it is" Ricardo said as he showed his AK-27 from underneath a sheet he brought with him.
"Tomorrow Western Checkpoint P65, then move onto The Britannian one. We got some serious amounts this time, bro. VIVA FDR"

The Free Drugs Republic

He was talking about the drugs, obviously. Checkpoint P65 was the A1 Motorway border checkpoint, close-by Codrington.

[Reformed Britannia]

"..and fall under guerilla control if we do not intervene quickly." The prime minister's tone of voice had become progressively more alarmed as he read the communique that had been sent to him aloud. "Bloody hell."

"Well,when you think about it, sir-it does sort of make sense." Field Marshal Cunningham, the aptly-named commander of the Britannian Expeditionary Force, interjected. "The concentration of Western forces in the area is quite low and has always been that way. I don't know why a guerilla movement would be taking hold now-maybe they're hoping to establish some kind of freeholder's republic, who knows."

"Hmph," the prime minister replied curtly, "we need to stabilise the area. Field Marshal, I believe you know what to do."
The military officer rose out of his chair slowly, bringing his hand up in the traditional military salute of Britannia's armed forces.
"Of course, sir. You issue the communique, and I'll move some fast reaction troops into the area. With luck we'll get in touch with some local Western forces and start to help them bring things under control." Sweeping his peaked cap onto his head, the field marshal turned to leave.
"God save the king, Cunningham," Powers-Carne said, not taking his eyes off the communique.
Cunningham paused at the doorway, then turned and nodded.
"God save the king." With that, the commander of Britannia's land forces exited the office, already beginning to formulate plans to assist the Westerners.

---

OFFICIAL COMMONWEALTH COMMUNIQUE

The government of Britannia has been made aware of the unfortunate circumstances which now plague the border between Torchland and Britannia proper. Britannia has a zero-tolerance policy towards insurgents of any kind, and if there are guerilla fighters threatening the peace and stability of an allied holding we will not think twice about assisting our allies in restoring order.

Therefore, it is our pleasure to report that-as of the issuing of this communique-the 2nd Mountain Division, a fast reactionary force of the BEF, will be dispatched across the border and into the rebellion-stricken areas of Torchland-provided the government of the West sees fit to allow Britannian troops inside the territory.

With luck, this spate of violence will be quelled without too much incident. However, we must remain cautiously optimistic about this whole ordeal-while it would be nice to resolve things efficiently, guerilla wars can drag on interminably.

Sincerely,
The Britannian Foreign Office

GOD SAVE THE KING

---

Chester, on the Britannian border

The small village of Chester was an iconic representation of rural Britannia. As the warm rays of the summer sun gently heated the fertile earth, the villagers-mostly farmers, woodcutters and miners-went about their daily business. This tranquil scene of country life, however, was becoming increasingly rare across Britannia as the vast bulk of the population now lived in the big city. Not to mention the fact that most of Britannia's 'rural' areas were relatively untamed jungle, most of which had been designated as national parks to prevent further deforestation and destruction of wildlife.

Today, however, the simplicity of country life was juxtaposed against the high-tech, raw efficiency of the Britannian Expeditionary Force as elements of the 2nd Mountain Division, headquartered in the highlands near Mael Dubras, trickled into the village. The villagers had initially greeted them with astonishment, watching in awe as the two hundred soldiers of Charlie Company filtered into the area. The soldiers, mostly carrying Britannian variants of the SAMIR, the FGR and the Lyran-designed MGJ-21 light machine gun, were friendly to the populace-and within a few minutes of their arrival, the villagers were already bringing them food and water.

Sergeant Geoff Tramley, along with many other soldiers in the company, had arrived via a fairly odd method-bicycle. The Britannian Expeditionary Force maintained the use of lightweight, durable, collapsible military bicycles in all of its mountain divisions. The logic was simple-bicycles were cheap to build and maintain, and a man on a bicycle could move a hell of a lot faster than an infantryman on foot-not to mention the fact that he could do so for long periods of time. This meant that Britannia's infantrymen were exceptionally mobile, and capable of reaching locations that would otherwise be near impossible to get to in an LUV-an important asset in Britannia's tropical climate.

That didn't mean that the mountain divisions were completely un-mechanised, however. Charlie Company had brought with it some Spartan MCVs, Aequatian-designed behemoths that the Britannians considered to be superior to most other IFVs in existence. Tramley sat atop one such IFV, pouring the water from his canteen over his head as his squad conversed amongst themselves.
"Christ, it's a scorcher," one private-who had just turned eighteen and had been transferred from the reservves-murmured, mopping the sweat off his brow with a cloth. "At least down in Whitehall we have the ocean breeze to cool us off. You'd think that they'd get some of it here, too...but nope."

Tramley smirked, hopping off the IFV to refill his canteen from a nearby water pump.
"Ah, come on now, Flanagan. It's not that bad, considering we could be moving into a warzone within a few hours."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the squad as Tramley brought up the subject of actually fighting against a guerilla opponent. Amidst the silence, however, a local girl waded into the midst of the soldiers and set down a massive tray of food-freshly baked bread, some meat, and a good helping of fruit, alongside some juice, milk and water. Unhesitatingly the soldiers began to gorge themselves, although Flanagan's eyes remained squarely fixed on the blonde-haired farm girl as she walked away.

Corporal Hutchence-the joker of the squad, of course-took notice. Gulping down a chunk of mango fruit, he spoke.
"Hey Flanagan, you speak Gaelic, right?" Without waiting for a response, he continued. "How do you say 'jailbait' in that language, huh?"
A few other members of the squad cracked up, but most hadn't been paying attention and didn't know why Hutchence brought that up seemingly out of the blue. Flanagan, however, shot him a glare.
"She was at least my age," he said half-heartedly, grabbing a slice of bread off the tray and taking an angry bite.

It's going to be a long campaign, Tramley thought bemusedly, screwing the cap back onto his now-filled water canteen.

[-West]

In a village in the jungles of Torchland Puncho and Ricardo were to explore FSPM troops, for their assistance. While moving deeper into the Jungles north of Codrington city, they saw a shed, The shed was made of wood and quite unhygienic looking. It was guarded by two camouflaged guerrilla soldiers. "This is it." Puncho said. In hope of being accepted. The FSPM was another guerrilla movement they are communist and hated the capitalist regime in Torchland. They call themselves the FSPM Free Socialist People’s Movement. Doubtless they walked to the shed from the tropical shrubs. They had no idea whether they were taken under visor. The palm-covered a large area that they could not see. It appears to be an army base. "¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" (What are you doing here?) Ricardo and Puncho heard it and immediately hold their hands up. Ricardo had forgotten that his AK-47 rifle was still hanging on his torso. With ammunition clearly seen from the front. "Hemos venido a ayudar, nos disparara muerto!" (We will help you!) The two guards looked at each other. But the first thing they did is take the weapon. Then they brought them to the shed where the rebel General Sat An old general Hispanic, gray hair, and a small goatee. The general movement of the FSPM said: "¿Qué estás haciendo aquí, ¿quién eres?" (Why are you here, who are you? Tell me) One of the brutal guards hit Puncho on his jaw. (with the taken AK-47). Kneeling, he fell against the wall, while blood dripped from his mouth. Ricardo then shockingly replied: Somos el movimiento libre de drogas república. (We are of the FDR drugs free republic.) The general was now a little angrier, still remained calm.

Then he switched to laughter. He looks at the guard. "It smells like stinking capitalists?" The guard nodded and smiled a little along. An fairly stupid guard that couldn't even spit out three sentences. The general continued "Sólo por el dinero, ¿eh?" (Just for the money, and destroyed the society. Isn't it?) A fly buzzed through the sentence of the general, In a bit of an annoyed tone. The General rose from his wooden seat, walking toward the exit, as he told the guards: "Take them out." Fearing Ricardo. In which he replied: "General, please." The General walked further into the training area, the guard sharpens his machete. "We both have the same enemy, you know!?" The General turned abruptly, looking at ricardo kneeling. "What enemy?" "The West and the British." The general thought and finally said to the guard: "Make them go. Give them something to drink and eat." Then he looked in the direction of Ricardo. "I am interested." Ricardo laughed in response and Puncho the-blood-dripping-moustache-man laughed as well.

After some time they were being called to contribute in a conversation in which the plan to overwhelm both authorities would be undertaken. Puncho was well known in the "Free Droga republica". Ricardo was a newbie, he just joined. But knew Puncho ever since he was a baby, they became good mates. In this conversation they had talked about attacking from-out the jungles, which they wouldn't control. While then capture the city of Codrington which is known only to be secured by low grade security forces, such as the police. This plan, however is not totally in favour of the FDR, as they were seeking to smuggle large amounts of cocaine from West to Britannia. They wanted to take out the border police. But admit they are outnumbered, and nowhere without the forces of the FSPM. "Well, that's our plan. I expect to meet you here tomorrow at 8 am." The general said. "Yes, we will be there." Puncho replied, and off they went, back to Puncho's apartment Ricardo would sleep there too.

---

Western Military isn't deployed in Torchland in multitude term. Rather local police officers, or inexperienced senior volunteers. In addition to other areas, and cities within The West. Though by time intergovernmental transactions are taken. Early 90's demographic statistics show that at least 100-500 Well-trained soldier of The Western Army reside in Torchland and surroundings. Though many have claimed their retirement. Torchland is known of one army base, and military airport called "Cover 'n' Sight".

Of course actions have been undertaken with the Western army first, that's-why 3 squad groups of 50 troops each have been set to action. Under leading general Lumiére Moss. The three squad groups were named:
• Torchlander- NGVA(New Georgeston, volunteer army), Or in shorter term; Nobles. Leaded by Lieutenant Rowdy Yorkshire.
• Torchlander-CESD(Codrington), Or in shorter term; Equilibrium. Leaded by Lieutenant T.J. Russell.
• Torchlander-HESD(Harlow), Or in shorter term; The Yanks. Leaded by Lieutenant Peter Highlander.

It would be a long road from New Georgeston to Codrington, but luckily with the developed motorway system it shouldn’t be such a problem. Before they would begin their travel in small class Humvees they would go under inspection, and general Lumiére Moss would give them their last words of stimulation before they leave. “Listen carefully, whole Torchland counts on you. Don’t disappoint me.” He said in the most Farmer-like accent you could ever imagine. Leaving the lieutenants say: “Yes general” without actually knowing what he said. After which the lieutenants gave their Squad groups orders to sit in the four M813 Series military transport trucks. And one Humvee the first vehicle of the military convoy. Soldiers, and volunteers equipped semi-automatic rifles from M-16s to AR-15s.

[Reformed Britannia]

It had been several hours since Tramley and the rest of his company had arrived in Chester, and the men were already becoming restless. The border was practically a stone's throw away and yet they had been idling here for what seemed like an eternity, no doubt as Command tried to streamline things as much as possible. But the longer they took, the more chance they had of losing the element of surprise-at least, that was the opinion shared between Tramley and his squadmates.

"It's bad enough that they make us sit out here in the open, but now they've got their own heads up their arses." All the good humour had come out of Hutchence's voice as he bemoaned the situation. He was answered by a chorus of affirmative grunts from the equally uncomfortable troopers around him, even Flanagan, who was cradling his FGR across his lap.
"It shouldn't be too much of a decision making process. We're a fast reaction unit-we go in and we get the bloody job done. I don't see why they're bothering to organise this like we're invading a hostile territory."

At this point, Tramley felt obligated to step in and defend the brass, even if he didn't personally take kindly to the precious time they were wasting.
"Now, Hutch, Command is just being careful. We should be grateful that we aren't being sent in without any logistics backup. We don't know how many guerillas there are over that border, and I would rather wait a few extra hours and be well supplied with ammo, food, and water for the duration of the action than wind up facing some scrawny rebel kid with a Kalashnikov and not have any two-eighty to gun him down with," Tramley reasoned, referring to the .280 Britannian ammo for his SAMIR rifle. "And I'd rather not come down with scurvy or dengue fever thanks to lack of supplies."

Just then, however, the company commander's voice crackled through everybody's radio. Captain Milne was a likeable fellow, idolized by his men for his tactical coherence and calm under fire-and his voice retained that same sense of calm to it as he spoke.
"Alright, gents," he began, his voice slightly distorted, "the order's finally come down. We're moving out. Mount up and let's get this thing going. God save the king."

Almost immediately, the soldiers in the village dropped whatever they were doing and clambered back onto their method of transport, whether it was an IFV or a bicycle. Tramley himself slung his rifle over his back, as was common practice when riding a military cycle, and mounted up. The relatively heavy load carried by the light infantry meant they had to be specially trained in the usage of bicycles-and however ridiculous it looked to see a column of armed men riding around like children, it was a very efficient and speedy mode of transportation.

The company began heading towards the border, the stark contrast between man and the lumbering machines easily visible as the Britannian soldiers and their deadly IFVs departed the village and headed in the direction of the border, hoping to rech Codrington within a very short period of time.

[-West]

FSPM Army base North Codrington
In this early morning The general of the socialist FSPM movement would meet up with the small group of FDR militias. Planned out by Puncho, which then sat in his car. He called some of his friends though his mobile phone, in regards to the meeting, and the planned attack afterwards. FDR was more seen as a gang than a real guerrilla movement. The FSPM however was exactly the other way around.

"Holmes, We gotta kill those Brittos too ukno" Young Ricardo said as they were driving. Initially they just wanted to smuggle the amount of Drugs over the border, they in fact hate the FSPM. They do not even care a tiny bit about the politics. Religion, Respect, and Money was all that mattered. Though, they have made it to a movement.

Puncho Grazed outside the window as he drove to the nearby petrol station where he would meet up with other FDR members. A few minutes later, the first car drove by. Then, the second, third, fourth. And at last the Fourth. All cars were manned with 5 people each. Which would be a total amount of 20/25.

Puncho opened his car window, and said: “Yo, follow me. We going with to those FSPM guys. We will be there soon.” After that he closed it and they all drove after Puncho’s car in high speed. “Dang Holmes, we got 15 more minutes ‘til 8am. Those fuckers are strict.” Ricardo said. “Don’t worry, in this speed we will be there soon.”

10 minutes later they arrived at the FSPM settlement. The same guard walked-by. Puncho spitted in his face as he did so. The guard did nothing.
Then they saw the general walking out of is shed. “Hey, capitalists. How are you doing?”..
Awkward silence occurred. Then Puncho said: “We got our men, general. How about yours?”
“Relax, they will be here soon.” And at that time, there were people coming out of the Jungles. The FDR had no idea how many men they saw, and that it was this hard to spot them.
“You see?” The general then replied.
“OK, we shall be going then?” Puncho said.
“Yes…”

[Reformed Britannia]

The heat was unbearable. One would think that the jungle hanging overhead would at least afford the Britannian troopers some protection from the sun, but the temperature didn't seem to change much in spite of the shade the canopy provided. What was worse, the troopers were no longer allowed to ride their bicycles-once they were within a combat zone, the collapsible bikes went onto their backs alongside the rest of their supplies. And as light as Britannian engineers had strived to make them, they were still an extra burden on the backs of soldiers who were already tired and essentially relying on a combination of salt pills and water carried by the IFVs to keep going.

They were moving slower now, too-not just as a result of the heat, but due to caution. Their IFVs hung back a distance, allowing the infantry to move in front of them-the idea being that if there were any ambushes set up, they wouldn't risk any of their precious few IFVs by having them drive into an anti-tank mine or get hit by an RPG. The fact that they were essentially acting as bait didn't bother the men, however-many of them had been through their fair share of ambushes before, many of which they had set themselves. These were men who probably considered the jungle to be their own backyard when they were growing up, and that-coupled with their intensive 32 week basic training-meant that they were easily sharpened into a deadly weapon for usage in the thick, tangled undergrowth.

Tramley wasn't point-no, Hutch was leading the column, his SAMIR carried at a slant and his eyes scanning the ninety degrees directly ahead of him. Behind him was Flanagan, who took the ninety degrees above and to the right, and then came Tramley, who took the ninety degrees above and to the left. This was a tried and tested system of the Britannian army when operating in the jungle-sending squads through the jungle at a very slow pace, stopping every hundred steps or so to survey their surroundings. This would allow the soldiers to become more 'in-tune' with their environment, noting the most minute changes in the foliage of the jungle or the most silent of noises, allowing them to 'sense' when something wasn't quite right and also to avoid traps more effectively.

And in spite of the fact that they were advancing at a mere snail's pace, not a single man complained. There was silence amongst the soldiers save for the occasional, necessary whisper, with most communication being done through subtle hand signals and other gestures. Their exposed skin had been smeared with charcoal to ward off the bloodsucking insects, who carried such vile afflictions as malaria, yellow fever, dengue fever and the feared sleeping sickness that was transmitted by the bite of the tsetse fly. While extermination efforts in Britannia had largely eliminated these diseases, the insects were still abundant in the more sparsely populated areas of the country, particularly in the north. Besides, nobody liked having to scratch at bug bites in the middle of a firefight.

After a while, though, they received a radio transmission from Command. According to their GPS position they were nearing Codrington, which-of course-was right on the border anyway. They were told to pick up the pace, so that they could maintain the possibility of catching their enemy by surprise.
"Finally, we're moving," Tramley heard Hutchence mutter as the soldier raised his pace to what was essentially a brisk trot. Tramley couldn't help but chuckle as he spoke.
"Eager to get shot at, Hutch?" The question was obviously sarcastic, but Hutchence cast a glance over his shoulder that surprised Tramely.
"Sarge, I just want to kill these bastards and head home."

Tramley was a little shocked at this revelation. While he could understand the soldier's wish for a speedy campaign, Hutchence had always been one of the more professional-if prone to practical jokes-soldiers in the unit. His words were practically resonated with a desire to get this thing over with, something Tramley didn't like to hear since it usually meant rash decision-making.
"I'd like to get home too, Hutch. But we've got a job to do, and it's a job that requires professional Britannian soldiers to get done." The sergeant paused, letting his words sink in as Hutch turned away and quickened his pace a little bit.
"Can I trust you to act with professionalism, Hutch?"

"Shit, sergeant. Of course you can," came the reply. Although it was certainly informal, Tramley knew Hutchence well enough to understand that he was speaking the truth. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he motioned for the column to move a little faster as they began rapidly approaching Codrington.

[-West]

Tremendous sunlight clashed on the faces of the car driving tanned guerrillas. Over time they have been planning their invasion of so called checkpoints alongside the border. As said, the FSPM (Communist rebellion movement) would help the FDR (Drug rebellion movement/gang) to smuggle huge amounts of drugs in reformed Britannia. Though the state of the Western checkpoint seemed to have been completely abolished the conditions were unspeakable. It looked quite rubbish and unorganised, it has even been compared with ruins lately by little children. As their journey finally began and they met up with the FSPM the two groups appointed at the Western checkpoint, and then move on to the Britannian one. Knowing that the Britannian border is by far more secured than the Torchlander, there was no doubt they had to sneak up to the Britannian checkpoint to even make a chance. Otherwise the Britannian strongly developed border patrol in the Britannian-Torchland border would take them out in no time.

So they did. They got to the Western checkpoint. Borderpatrol Tim Jackson stood there. An Ougadougan (Black) Westerner mid-thirties. Ask god how this guy even got to the border patrol. He is dressed inappropriately, and it's like someone invented a new grade of being nonchalant, the only way to describe him that is. "Passport please" he said, while-after Ricardo puts a gun on his nose, "Passport this", with one single shot he killed poor Jackson. Puncho was shocked to see his friend ruining their plan of being as unsuspicious as possible, probably the nerves were too much to handle. "What are you doing, YOU LOCO?" he said as they were riding straight through the stop fence. The Western police tried to catch them as they got out the poor checkpoint building Torchland was known of. "You stay right where you are!" In a desperate attempt they tried to catch them on foot. But that didn't result well.

Two lorries mounted with FSPM guerrilla troopers made their way to the Western checkpoint and shot the checkpoint, just out of brute intimidation. Richard ducked underneath his table. Fortunately nobody else but Tim got shot, which means the remaining two policemen now tried to contact any law enforcement agency in the West. They would have to start with tapping the emergency telephone number 119. But even then it would be too late, either way Tim Jackson is clinically dead.

"Richard call the Britannians, we got a runner, tell them they are armed Tim is shot dead for Christ sake." He ran just inside to see Richard's face. After which Richard immediately called the Britannians, as they would answer the phone he would say: "Western checkpoint 213 here, We got a runner, he's heading your direction. His registration is TOR 43L A23, they are armed, I repeat they are armed." he loudly muttered, partly as if he didn't even realised what happened, but also partly because he forgot how to respond properly after his colleague and friend got murdered in front of his blue eyes.

Meanwhile in one of the lorry the chauffeur celebrated with old Rusikstani vodka, a funny thing to drink vodka in the middle of a fight. But they were crazy, and crazy they still are. Especially as Rusikstan vodka has the most alcohol percentage of all alcohol drinks in the West. “Sweet taste of victory, don’t you think Conzales ,(High ranking in the FSPM) -“Indeed sir” Conzales said as he got his tiny little glass. He took it and said: “Chairs! Viva communisto!” The celebration was of short term, as they now had to pass the Britannian checkpoint.

At some time they saw the Britannian, Western, and Elysian Union flag. The four guys quickly stepped out of the automobile and shot the flags several times, and threw a few homemade incendiary bombs. “Die you Western scum!” one of the men said. Slowly but carefully the three flags burnt to dust. After which the guerrillas got back in their automobiles.

The car of the FDR now almost got to the Britannian border. Ricardo heard THIS song on the radio and turn on the volume. It fits perfectly with the climate, the cars speed increased with 40 Mph in a fraction of an second. It pleased him and the other five fighters. Not only them, but now, the members of the FSPM left their cars behind and started vandalising the flags. that were sitting in the car as they now approached the Slow down, border 700m sign. "Here we go guys, moment of truth we will teach those Britannians." Ricardo said as he once again turned on the volume, with high speed they rode into the Britannian checkpoint.

[-West]

OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE WESTERN REPUBLIC

Subject: Inconvenience
To: The Commonwealth of Britannia
From: The Western office of Foreign/Elysian affairs
Encryption: Ultimate

---

Greetings fellow allies,

It shocks us that an unwanted plague possesses property throughout the Torchlander borderline with Britannia. It's our urge to pledge for smooth cooperation between our nations and so I must desire to speak with you. As we have given you the chance of further BEF deployment within Torchland. Our administratively controlled region faces troubles beyond self-determination.

Issued by the Polaris Initiative and the Elysian Union. The recognized paramilitary group BNSF, and local terrorist farmer groups originated from the Western republic, Have probable possibilities to unify militias and face their belligerents against the Britannian commonwealth, and The Western republic.
The farmers are not the usual farmers that rake grass. No. Their professionalism lies in killing innocent people of foreign descent with their primitive shotguns. And so our policy had to constitutionally detain them. But the majority managed to flee away, and so they came to Torchland, where they still reside in the Jungles.
The Britannian National Syndicalist Front has already plagued Britannia with its toxic barren, they now also reside in Torchland. And if its not up to us they will spread throughout the Elysian Union.
Also, the combined forces of the guerrillas separatist groups form serious problematic which might further spread within your nation as well.
Which finally leaves us Torchland where crime is officially legal. It does not stop there, as the international community will blame us for not having responded in time.

This said, I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely,
Western Foreign/Elysian affairs

[Urarail]

OOC: What's this? Chaos in Elysium without me? Well, I think it's time your northern neighbor gets his piece of the action. Place holder for IC post

To: the Foreign Ministry of the Reformed Britainnian Commonwealth
CC: the Torchland Colonial Administration of the Western Republic
From: Central Military Intelligence Service of the Holy Imperium of Urarail
Encryption: Maximum

To our southern colleagues and neighbors:

Greetings from Urarail. We have been monitoring the deteriorating situation in Torchland, and are distressed by the recent events befalling our neighbors. We have been instructed to offer our services in aid should you desire them, and would begin immediate counterinsurgency operations with your approval.

All the Empire asks for in exchange is 1) establishment of embassies with your respective nations, and 2) allowance to construct a military base in Torchland at a site of your choosing upon cessation of hostilities.

We will patiently await your answer.

Sincerely,

Orlin Malthus, Director of CMIS

Addendum: To my Britannian counterparts, I have a pistol that I believe belongs to Agent O'Hara that she dropped on her last visit to my country. Would you be so kind to provide a mailing address so I may return it? Many thanks.

[Dalam]

(Image)
By messersullivan at 2011-11-23

Uploaded with ImageShack.us

Subject : For a Brighter Future

From: General Gregory Freeman of Dalam's Armed Forces.

To: FSPM Commandante

Encryption: HIGH!!

With the support of out King, Jacob Liam, we wish to aid your cause and fight by your side, as well as providing weaponry and supplies to further bolster the strength of your forces.

The West and the Britainnians are an untrustworthy band of looters that need to be ejected of this land that belongs rightfully to you. If you choose to accept our proposal we will send a full brigade of soldiers ASAP to any designated safe zone you can provide us.

Either way, if you choose to accept or refuse, we wish that you terminate this message so that it may not fall into enemy hands and compromise our nation.

[Reformed Britannia]

It was a beautiful day on the Britannian side of the border-and Michael Nickerson couldn't have been more grateful for it. The 27 year old lieutenant in the Princess Natalie's Fusiliers regiment never cared too much for overcast, gloomy days-even when compared with the ruthless heat of the midday sun. Skin cancer be damned, he preferred to bask in the warm rays of the sun. Took his mind off the more stressful issues in life, such as putting down an insurgency in what was formerly Britannian territory.

It was going to be rough when they eventually went in, they'd been told. It wasn't like back in Karaqistan, where nobody looked or acted like your neighbours back home and it quite frankly didn't matter if a laser-guided bomb blew a family to pieces as they were sitting down to eat supper. No, these people right across the border were Britannians and Westerners-and as much as he would have liked to think that no Britannians were involved in the insurgency, that probably would have been shirking the truth.

The question was, would his men be able to capture, interrogate, or even kill men and women who were basically a part of their culture? Would they be able to see past culture and nationality, and simply view everyone who opposed them as 'the enemy'? Nickerson doubted it. He knew that he wouldn't be able to oversee counter-insurgency operations with as much vigour as he had back in Karaqistan-after all, these people weren't living in some third world country with third world customs and traditions. No, these were effectively his people.

He sighed, pulling his standard-issue combat helmet down over his face to shade his eyes from the sun's radiant glare. It bothered him sometimes-the contrast between here and Karaqistan. Nickerson wasn't a racist, nor did he hold a supremacist attitude with regards to his own country. And yet, when it came to rooting out insurgents, he hadn't thought twice about the most invasive tactics and strategies, as long as they were effective. Back then it hadn't mattered who got killed or the circumstances of their deaths, as long as they were insurgents.

But it was only now that he realised how ruthless he had been. Would he have done anything like that to his own people? If some part of Britannia had seceded or rebelled or whatever, and the Princess Natalie's had been sent in, would he have applied those tactics? No. Hell, no.

The inward questioning of his own morals as a human being would almost certainly have continued if the radio hadn't crackled to life at that very moment.
"Western checkpoint 213 here, we got a runner, he's heading your direction. His registration is TOR 43L A23, they are armed, I repeat they are armed."

Without a moment's hesitation, Nickerson shot up out his his chair and ran outside the checkpoint building. The men of his squad were looking around at each other-no doubt they had also heard the message, as everybody was on the same frequency. A corporal by the name of Whitman dashed up to the lieutenant, unlimbering the SAMIR rifle that was held across his back by the weapon's shoulder strap.
"Sir, did you hear-"
"Yes, corporal," Nickerson responded, cutting the man short. The lieutenant's eyes darted back and forth, before settling on the squad's support gunner, Private Reynolds.
"Reynolds," the lieutenant barked, "I need you on the twelve point seven. They're coming at us in a vehicle-so I need you to smash their engine block to pieces. But aim carefully, we don't want to kill the men inside."

Reynolds responded with a short, affirmative 'Sir!' before dashing over to the checkpoint's 12.7mm machine gun, placed there for the explicit purpose of stopping vehicles. The powerful rounds it fired were capable of destroying the engine block of a vehicle with a couple of shots. And once the engine block was gone, it was a simple matter of waiting for the vehicle to stop or crash before securing the occupants.
"Alright, lads," Nickerson shouted to the rest of his men, "I want some of you to take up enfilading positions in the ditches lining the road. If any of those bastards try to run, aim for the legs and try to bring them down. Remember, shoot to wound-we need hostages, not hamburger meat. Wait until Reynolds brings that thing to a stop before you start shooting!"

The squad's members scurried off in different directions, finding areas along the road where the cover was best. Nickerson himself walked back into the building, and pushed a button on a control console. Immediately, a row of spikes appeared on the road that the checkpoint guarded-if the 12.7 didn't stop the guerrillas, a lack of functioning tires hopefully would.

Nickerson then dashed outside, gripping his own FGR rifle tightly as he slid into a ditch beside one of his soldiers. And not a moment too soon-they could hear the vehicle coming up the road, with some song playing over the noise of screeching tires. The soldier beside the lieutenant snorted derisively.
"Those bastards must be one hundred percent bat-shit crazy. Guess they don't care too much for the element of surprise," he snarled, peering over the ditch and up the road. Nickerson was about to say something else when Reynolds motioned for the two of them to flatten themselves down, no doubt because the vehicle was getting close.

Nickerson could feel his heart beating as that familiar adrenaline rush that preceded combat returned. The swirling sensation of anxiety and anticipation was reassuring to the soldier. But he didn't have much time to savour it, as mere seconds later the whole world seemed to shake with the noise of the 12.7mm machine gun opening up on the approaching vehicle.

---

OFFICIAL COMMONWEALTH COMMUNIQUE

AD VICTORIA, PER AUDACIA

The Britannian government is aware that the situation in Torchland continues to deteriorate. However, an increased BEF deployment in the region may not solve the problem, and may in fact embitter the populace of Torchland against Britannia and the Western Republic.

We will, however, consider the option of a troop surge. But at this point in time, we believe that most efficient option would be the systematic destruction of the BNSF and other paramilitary groups in the region by removing their sources of income and killing or detaining their leaders. The BNSF is known to have connections to the drug trade in Torchland-therefore, we would perhaps consider the deployment of a gendarmerie to Torchland in order to crack down on criminal elements while the BEF begins an armed offensive against the insurgents themselves.

In regards to the Urarailian proposal, the Commonwealth would be more than willing to allow a Urarailian embassy within Britannia, and has no problems with the establishment of a Urarailian military base in Torchland after the conflict. However, as the territory is currently held by the Western Republic, we believe they should get the final say on the matter-but make no mistake, the gracious offer of assistance is deeply appreciated by the Commonwealth.

Sincerely,
The Britannian Foreign Office

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

Postscript-76 Dewinter St., Postal Code E4C 8H6. Ms. O'Hara sends her regards.

[Urarail]

To: the Foreign Ministry of the Restored Britannian Commonwealth
From: Director Orlin Malthus, CMIS, Urarailian Empire

To my esteemed Britannian colleagues:

Our nation's government is most glad to hear of your feelings on the Torchland matter, and is preparing to deploy CMIS Counterinsurgency Specialists to Torchland as a show of good faith. More resources will be dedicated to the situation following the Western Republic's acceptance of our original offer.

We hope our assistance proves useful, and the situation in Torchland is pacified quickly.

Sincerely,

Orlin Malthus, Director of CMIS

---

To: 76 Dewinter St., Postal Code E4C 8H6
From: CMIS Directorate Building, 271 Gallant Street, Sudentor, Grabcr Province, Post Code 28650


Miss O'Hara,

Attached to this communique is a package with a personal possession of your's enclosed. I believe you might have dropped the item during your last visit to Urarail, and it is the position of the Imperium and the CMIS all visitors have the most pleasant stay possible while here. Additionally, if you have the time, I invite you to come to lunch with me the next time business or leisure takes you to Sudentor. My treat.

Sincerely,

Orlin Malthus

---

When the black hood was yanked off Tycho's head, his pupils recoiled in protest from the harsh light blazing right at his retinas. He tried to adjust his head to minimize the bright offense, and it was then he noticed he was still bound and secured to a plain wooden chair, that creaked beneath his weight in protest. Directly in front of him was a battered wooden table, held together more by hope than any structural material. Opposite him on the far side of the table was a man appearing in his 60's, gray hair thinning on top. The older man's tall, thin, almost viper-like figure contrasted with the short, husky form of Tycho. The man was smartly dressed in a black sweater and dark slacks, with wispy, elegant glasses perched on his aquiline nose. He was reading a folder stuffed with papers. Seeing Tycho move, he smiled, but it was anything but warm.

"Ah, Mr. Jameson. I trust you are enjoying your stay?"

Tycho made a sneer, "Go to hell old fart."

The elder man chuckled softly. "Not today, Mr. Jameson. You however, might be able to leave the hell you have made for yourself." He paused, reading Tycho for a response, before continuing. "Tycho Ballanth Jameson. Age 29. Father was a Rusich-Slav sailor on a cargo ship. Mother unknown ethnicity and occupation. Found in Torchland near Codrington by yourself at age 5. Made a ward of the state. Ran away from several foster homes before falling in with drug runners at age 17. Assumed current alias at age 19. Arrived in Urarail at New Hoffenburg at age 27, suspected reason to set up drug import operations here. Import operation broken up a year later. Fled to Volistad immediately thereafter. Arrested in Volistad by Imperial Police three weeks later. Tried and sentenced guilty in court, and incarcerated at Ordhaus Prison, where you remain today. And only 49 years left on your sentence."

Tycho had no idea what this man was getting at. Seeing the prisoner's confusion, he continued. "Mr. Jameson, the Imperium has need of your...expertise. We are prepared to offer you a full pardon if you agree to act as our, employee, shall we say."

Tycho didn't understand alot of things, but he knew he wanted out of this frozen, granite hellhole. He licked his lips, and eyeing the man, replied "Where do I sign?"

[-West]

OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE WESTERN REPUBLIC

Subject: Support Military deployment Urarail/ base.
To: The Empire of Urarail, The Commonwealth of Britannia
From: The Western office of Foreign/Elysian affairs
Encryption: Open

---

Greetings,

Britannia, the deployment of a gendarmerie is an splendid idea, minister, why even keep it to our own? Polaris gendarmerie is much more reliable as I heard the second Polaris conference is ongoing I hope you might inform your chosen delegation to present such. Unfortunately the Western delegation could not attend the Conference held in the Western most visited foreign city, Kensington.

Urarail, We admire your proposed support to this subject, and agree with the empire nonetheless, however the second point of your desideratum will have to have more clarifications. Military bases in Torchland are preferred, especially considering the administrative region possesses only one of its kind, but we'd like to know:

• What is the actual troop size of the military base going to be?
• Will the Empire of Urarail seize its existence after the conflict?

Pure out of curiosity as we speak. If you could answer these questions we will be very pleased. In such we hope to hear from the Empire soon. Other than that we unanimously approve your understandable demanding. And you will be given space northeast of the city of Codrington in order to construct your military base there.

Yours sincerely,
Western Foreign office

[That's for the communiques, the rest of the post will be finished by tomorrow.]

[-West]

OOC Thread

[-West]

The automobile now reached its high speed limitations, on basis of the parameters the car now drove at an -for some considered- anxious speed of 150 Miles per hour. A nice Prut car, that's for sure, as their cars were known to be the best of Tetrakon, based on the Western public opinion on the topic of: "Which country possesses the best cars?"

At this very moment it didn't matter for the members of the now-famous drug cartel, Free Drugs Republic. Ricardo prayed one time or twice and then grabbed the steer again. "Yeehaa!".
The car smelled pure cannabis, it's like the oxygen percentage dropped to five percent for that matter, but that was not really the reason why everyone sitting in the backseat were that "Sleepy", Ricardo and Puncho were not for sure though. As Ricardo was driving Puncho had already loaded his 9mm, Puncho the invisible as some of his friends like to call him.

Puncho just shot the window of the Co-driver's door. The glass shattered in several pieces on the ground, and in the car. He climbed half out the window, the wind blew that hard that an bug had the capacity to hurt him while he was trying to aim at the checkpoint. Every split millisecond a bug clashed in his eyes, which is normal in such a tropical environment. He tried to ignore such as he went for Yoga, and Kong fu lessons every now and then. A guy with an high self-esteem, fully in control of his body.

"All right, bitches, let's see if you got what it takes." he shot the cabin of the checkpoint several times with his poor weapon 9mm bullets, vaguely only tried to intimidate them, there is no way that would have done serious damage. But then bullets of high caliber impacted right into the bumper of the Prut car, none of them went straight through the glass. The bullets kept ongoing until it luckily stopped at the wipers, a few centimetres and Ricardo would have been shot through heart as a matter of fact. The engine of the car immediately shut down and the beautiful Prut imported car was total loss. It made a few slips here and there but then finally the car totally stopped moving.

"I will fuck this bitch up, look at what they did to your car holmes."
"Ricardo, shut the fuck up, you're the one ruining our plan remember?"
As Puncho and Ricardo kept on arguing, they could see in which proffesionalism the FSPM arrived at the Britannian border checkpoint. The lorries ware filled with approximately fifteen men each carrying SAMIR and m-16 rifles. The car that the members of the drug cartel were sitting in was catching fire and the four passagers left the car behind, and ran for the two lorries arriving just in time to team up with the trained FSPM men that were finally finished with celebrating their achievement as to burning both the Western and Britannian flag in-between the two checkpoints.

From this point the Britannian Police officer that aimed his advanced weapon on the car, with result, and few others laid down. Both the FSPM lorries made a little curve, resulting the right side of the two lorries pointing at the police officers. The troops quickly got out the two lorries from the back- with as result being clear for shot, some might die in the process- and took cover behind the left side of the van, trying to aim their rifles just around the corner of the lorries.

Ricardo and Puncho made a quick run for the ditch that was located close-by, taking cover there. "Puncho, quick. Grab my shotgun, and try to take this guy down." Ricardo Carvalio said providing just above the vocal grade of whispering. His heart was beating, quite inexperienced as well, so he had very good reasoning not to do so.

Puncho started aiming his shotgun at the police officer putting his shotgun just above the trench. Again the amount of bugs annoyed and bothered him. He put his finger on the trigger, he could shoot any moment from now. Although there was a chance the Police man moved away. Partly Puncho did it because he wanted to take revenge on his car. But on the other side he tried to get rid of those who bother their business. "Straight through Chester we go. And nothing is going to stop us."

From: FSPM Commandante Michaelo Concentistico
To: General Gregory Freeman of Dalam's Armed Forces.
Encryption: High

---

Comrade,

We sir, admire your support very much. These Britannians and Westerners are indeed leaches that are only up for looting during these times.

If you have the capacity to drop in our secret location within the Jungles of Torchland, then we can be more cooperative and track them down as result. We will give you the strict coordinates of our secret base, and very much hope you will give them for yourselfves.

Once again, thank you very much. We hope to hear from you soon.

Signed,
Commandante Michaelo Concentistico

[Reformed Britannia]

Nickerson listened silently as the oncoming vehicle was stopped short by the powerful impact of a burst of 12.7mm ammunition that tore its engine block to pieces. Reaching for his radio, he began communicating with the rest of his squad, who were split pretty much evenly between the checkpoint itself and the ditches on either side of the road.

"Alright, boys. Let's take this nice and easy. Shoot to incapacitate the moment you see anybody get out of the car."
At that moment, however, one of the soldiers in the checkpoint cut in, a sense of urgency in his voice. The reason was understandable.
"Uh, sir? We've got a pair of transport lorries coming down the road. No attempts at contacting us have been made, so are we gonna stop these muppets too?"

Nickerson was confused. The transmission from the Westerners farther down the road had implied that there was only one vehicle involved. But at the same time, the border between Torchland and Britannia proper was locked down-and in order to cross, any travelers would first have to contact the Britannian checkpoint using a radio transmitter, to minimize the risk of attack. And yet, transport lorries implied that they were security forces of some kind-unless things had really got out of hand and the guerrilas had managed to get their hands on some military-grade equipment.

As Nickerson debated on what orders to give, however, the occupants of the lorries made his decision for him, parking their vehicles lengthwise across the road to provide cover from the checkpoint itself. As soon as armed fighters began piling out of the back, the radio squawked to life once more.
"They're armed, sir! At least twenty of them between the two vehicles! Requesting permission to fully engag-" the soldier's transmission was cut short as a burst of automatic fire erupted from the road, causing the soldier on the other end of the radio to swear violently and fire back.

The checkpoint suddenly flared to life as the six soldiers within returned fire with their own SAMIR rifles, sending a hail of 7x44mm CTA in the direction of their newfound enemy. But the soldiers were drastically outnumbered, and with only twelve soldiers in the squad, they were either going to have to get creative or call in backup.

In the midst of combat, it was never easy to make a decision between two viable options-so Nickerson pragmatically decided to opt for both. Keeping his head low, he began speaking into his radio in a calm, unruffled tone-level headed leadership could do wonders for the efficiency of a squad, as he'd learned.
"OK," he began, the neurons of his brain firing as he tried to come up with a viable plan. Popping his head up for only a moment, he could see that the lorries were arranged in a position that was excellent for providing cover from the checkpoint-but at the same time, left the men taking cover behind it vulnerable to a flanking attack.

"Anybody who's still in the checkpoint, hold out and engage in final protective fire. Keep those buggers suppressed. Enfiladers, keep your heads down and move through the ditch until you're right beside those bloody lorries. Once you get there, hold your position. And everybody get ready to hit the dirt." The orders weren't delivered with a sense of gusto or inspiration, but hopefully, they were straightforward. The soldier beside Nickerson immediately rose from his prone position, and-keeping his head down to hopefully avoid being spotted-began moving down the ditch and towards the lorries. The lieutenant hesitated only for a moment before following him.

Switching frequencies, Nickerson contacted RFB Westchester, the forward operating base where his squad was currently stationed.
"Phantom Actual, this is Phantom Three. Requesting squad-level fire support, shell H&E! Sending coordinates to you now!"
Letting go of his FGR so that is was held in place only by his shoulder strap, Nickerson fumbled with the webbing on his vest as he pulled out a laser designator. Popping up over the crest of the ditch once more, Nickerson aimed the device squarely for the lorries and pulled the trigger before ducking back into cover.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. There was no response over the radio acknowledging the request for a mortar strike-nor was there the familiar scream of 81mm shells streaking downward towards their targets with lethal precision. Nickerson's heart skipped a beat-if there was no hope for arty support, they were either going to all die at this checkpoint or win by the skin of their teeth, and lose a lot of men in the process.

But sure enough, the radio crackled to life once more as RFB Westchester's fire direction centre replied to his urgent request.
"Wilco, Phantom Three. Squad level fire support inbound. ETA thirty seconds to a minute. Hang on, lads."

A haggard grin split Nickerson's features as he hastily switched frequencies again, flattening himself against the dirt of the ditch in preparation for the oncoming strike.
"Mortar strike inbound! Get your heads down!"
And then, another hitch in the lieutenant's plans.
"Sir! Reynolds is hit!"

The lieutenant, dismayed, craned his neck to look towards the MG. Sure enough, Reynolds was crumpled behind it-still moving, but with a large wound to his right side. The blood was only on his leg, so the vest must have stopped whatever the round was-more than likely buckshot.

"Tell him to stay behind those god-damn sand bags! There's an arty strike coming in and if he moves, he'll be mincemeat!" Nickerson replied, his voice betraying his frustration. He knew that the shrapnel form the 81mm rounds could easily tear right through the sand bags-but at the same time, it was too late to call off the arty strike. Much too late-

The thunderous impact of a mortar round on the asphalt caused Nickerson's ears to pop, and he instinctively flattened himself against the dirt as he heard the terrible shriek of shrapnel slicing through the air just above his head, colliding with branches and tree bark as it flew into the forest immediately behind him. Another round hit within a moment, this one farther up the road, and then another, and then another. The lieutenant's head was pounding from the sheer concussive force of the blast-even though the road itself was fairly wide, it felt as if the shells had come perilously close to hitting the ditch.

But there was no time to recover from the overwhelming shock of the blasts. Nickerson barked a final set of orders into his radio-
"Frags behind the lorries, and then mop up whatever's left! Shoot to wound if practical, but otherwise, light the bastards up!"

Nickerson was then able to watch as a volley of about four frag grenades sailed up into the air, one after the other, headed in a high arc so they would hopefully land behind the lorries. With luck, that would knock out the last real resistance-and allow the squad to begin mopping up.

But anything could happen. This day just kept getting crazier.

---

OFFICIAL COMMONWEALTH COMMUNIQUE

AD VICTORIA, PER AUDACIA

The Britannian government, having carefully considered the prospect of a troop surge, has come up with what we believe to be a necessary compromise regarding the Torchland situation-which we unfortunately believe is getting farther out of control.

The Britannian government requests that the government of the Western Republic allow Britannian forces to begin a military occupation of Torchland, which would allow the BEF to apply conventional counter-insurgency tactics in suppressing the guerrillas.

Sincerely,
The Britanntian Foreign Office
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

[Dimoniquid]

OPERATION Danger-mouse - Red Hatters.


James and his team breaching the warehouse.

Hunter Actual: All units, this is an update. We have intel that suggests the cargo is no more than a shipment of class-0 drugs and weapons, rather than a bomb like we suspected. Proceed with caution.

Hunter 2-1: Hunter - are you serious? Shouldn't we just leave it to the law enforcement? This isn't our kind of work.

Hunter Actual: That'd be a waste of resources, now that you're there, Sergeant. Proceed with the operation, as planned. Apprehend any individuals that aren't shot.

Hunter 2-1: Aye, Hunter. Proceed with caution, we're up. Lock and load, boys.


Colonel James Baker
7th Red Hatters Company, 1st Guardians
Port Dermo, North East Dimoniquid.
"734.124 - 523.421"

James was sat by the wall, sporting some new ballistic gear sent by the special forces group that were fed up with it. They didn't like it - obsolete, in their opinion. James, however, found them quite nice, for his old age. It was a lot stronger than the Osprey gear - didn't snap as easily, and you could fit a lot more more equipment on it. "Okay, all clear. Move up, stay silent." He ordered, getting onto his feet, and peering around the corner. In one quick motion, he he had his MP5SD5 up, and had started to move to the door. "Okay, all teams - engage operation. Go, go, go." He radioed, pulling a flashbang from a pocket and opening the door.

The pin had been pulled off, and thrown in, sending a flash to the people inside. Screams of agony were heard, and there was a lot of shouting from other individuals. James had been the first in, and had put two rounds into someone holding a rifle. The next person in had followed with one round to another strangers leg, causing him to fall. "Clear!" He shouted, moving apprehend the individual. A quick snap of some handcuffs, and he was placed against the wall. "One down, one wounded." He said, taking out a bandage and wrapping the man's leg up.

"Hunter Actual, we've got some news. These guys are armed, rifles mainly, probably a few machine guns if they do this right. I suggest we get a few more teams in." James radioed to Hunter Actual. After kicking over the dead body, he tossed the rifle aside and looked at the wounded man. "Alright, lets go." He said, moving to the next door. After the same procedure, the came up to the main door to the cargo area. "All teams, report?"

"A few people bagged and tagged on the west, sir." A voice radioed. As long as people were being productive, that was all James cared about. "Reaching cargo hold door."

"All teams, engage. I repeat, engage, make sure nobody leaves. Shoot 'em down, if you have to." James ordered, placing a breaching charge on the door. As the teams lined up, he detonated the charge, sending the door flying into someone who was standing near the frame. He let the team move in first, and followed suit soon after, firing his weapon at the first enemy he saw.

---

Dimoniquid Intelligence Service and Homeland Security Building, Luisiano.

"So, we traced back everything to one source." The agent said, clicking the laptop.

"And? Where does it go?" His superior replied.

"You know that Guerllia outbreak? In Torchland?" He asked.

"Yeah. It's all over the news."

"We traced the weapons back to a source in Torchland, and the drugs back to another source near it; seems the boys that were employed to unload it were all from Dimoniquid, however, the original cargo was exported from that part of the world, and then the boys in the trucks scattered away. It's clear - they're trying to start an uprising. Those boys at the warehouse were just pawns. It means that shit involves us now - we have to respond." The agent said, putting down his file.

"Okay. Get me the president, I'll inform him myself. I ran the operation, I'll do it."

OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE

DATE - 27/11/2011.
TO - The Kingdom of Britannia.
SUBJECT - Guerrilla outbreak.

Sir, seventeen hours ago, Operation Dead Mouse had been deployed, in which five teams of four soldiers had breached a warehouse after intelligence had suspected a bomb had been delivered by a terrorist force. After a quick update from their commanding officer, they had taken control of the warehouse, only to find weapons and drugs.

When the intelligence service had surveyed these weapons and drugs, they have found that they one thing in common - the export had come from a place known as Torchland, or a place somewhere near Torchland. As this operation involved the killing of several Dimonicist people, we are currently trying to figure out where the employer had come from, and why he had tried to supply weapons to them.

Since this also involves part of your nation, we wish to send three intelligence agents to try and find the culprit as soon as possible. This can involve the oversight of any agents you wish, however we recommend that this be done as quickly as possible. If we strike at the head, then the body will die soon after. By this, we mean that if we take out the leader, then the rest of the group will eventually dissolve.

We await your reply,
President Josh Barron.

[Dalam]

From: General Gregory Freeman of Dalam's Armed Forces

To: Commandante Michaelo Concentistico

Encryption : HIGH


Commandante,

We are grateful to your response, as I type to you this message our army's 19th Brigade has been dispatched to the co-ordinates you have provided. Bringing with them supplies and weapons needed to oust the West and the Brits from the land.

Expect for Brigadier Colonel Maximilian Deklaw, He will be in charge in aiding your efforts

Best wishes, Commandante,

General Gregory Freeman

High in the Sky, as a total of 5 Chinooks flew near the dense jungles of Torchland , each carrying thirty three soldiers willing to fight in the name of their kingdom and its people. The one leading the pack of transport helicopters contained Brigadier Colonel Maximilian Deklaw . His brigade specifically chose to support the FSPM guerrillas and their allies in order to ensure victory over the Westerner , The Brittannians and their allies. As the General surveyed the confines of the helicopter. He looked at each face of the soldiers under his command 'Young' thought the 52 year old general 'Soon though, they'll end up looking like me hopefully ' . He then turned to face his second in command and effectively the man in charge of leading the first battalion of soldiers into battle, his lieutenant , Gustav Peters.


"Sir, unless your batting for the other team and are infatuated with me I'd suggest you stop staring atme while lost in thought" said the lieutenant ashe broke his commanding officers train of thought ad recieved a look of annoyance while his brothers in arms gave out a chuckle " ah don't look at me like that Colonel, you know I'm only pulling your leg a bit"


"Funny Peters, it was so funny I forgot how to laugh" He said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice,the colonel then turned to his PAR-18 assault , undeniably he and his soldiers closest friends as they would enter the fray with these 5.56 weapons " All right lads, best make a last minute check up on your gear, only 15 minutes till we arrive to the LZ and once were there we should be wary of enemy Militia"

"I thought we were allied with the Militias sir" Voiced a Private " I mean, those commies were meetin' up with are Militia right? Why should we be afraid?"

" I see you were asleep during the briefing private....nonetheless, I'll answer: Yes we are allied with the FSPM Guerrillas , but Torchland has other Militia groups , and its more than likely that many of them aren't on the same page as the FSPM. Meaning From the LZ to the FSPM Militia HQ we should take care and not get shot at. Once we make contact with FSPM HQ we should gain our own ' piece of the pie' and contact the rest of the Brigade to drop off there so we can move this conflict to full throttle"

" Colonel, Sir, We are approaching the LZ. Prepare for landing" Said the Pilot as he approached a clearing

"All right boys, Time to raise the curtains and get the show on the road, remember we also have to protect a truck we brought along carrying some communications equipment and some small gifts for out new friends, some of you get to ride along with the equipment, some will get to ride on a couple of Humvees while the rest will have to make due on foot , affirmitive?"

"Yes,Colonel sir" Responded the soldiers as the Transport Copter landed safely on the ground and quickly exited the vehicle and moved a safe distance away from it to allow room for the next batch of soldiers, who proceeded to do the same thing to allow safe landing for the vehicles

As the Copters began to fly away the Colonel Faced his med and said " Alright lads, we only have two hours before the heavy transport planes will have to turn back for refueling, so we have about an hour to reach and contact the FSPM so we can in turn contact the rest to get the bloody hell down here" with an audible yes sir, each soldier took their positions as the Colonel rode shotgun along with his lieutenant in one the Humvee Vehicles " Hey Colonel, want to here some knock knock jokes" He soon regretted that decision as he remembered he was riding with someone who delighted in torturing others with lame jokes...thankfully a few minutes after the value of silence came to the lieutenants mind as they traveled through the dense jungles of Torchland, it shouldn't take long till they arrive to the FSPM base 'Lets hope nothing happens along the way'

[Urarail]

Urarail, we admire your proposed support to this subject, and agree with the empire nonetheless, however the second point of your desideratum will have to have more clarifications. Military bases in Torchland are preferred, especially considering the administrative region possesses only one of its kind, but we'd like to know:

• What is the actual troop size of the military base going to be?
• Will the Empire of Urarail seize its existence after the conflict?

Pure out of curiosity as we speak. If you could answer these questions we will be very pleased. In such we hope to hear from the Empire soon. Other than that we unanimously approve your understandable demanding. And you will be given space northeast of the city of Codrington in order to construct your military base there.

Yours sincerely,
Western Foreign office[/blocktext][/box]

---

To: the Western Foreign Office
From: Sera Halrath, Vice Director of CMIS
Subject: Our Proposal

Esteemed gentlemen and ladies of the Western Republic:

In reply to your questions, the Urarailian Empire answers that we wish to maintain a presence in the region to ensure both our southern neighbors and our own border interests are well defended and secured. In this, we hoped to maintain a permanent military and security force in the area, even after this unfortunate situation is resolved. Our projections were to construct a garrison of no more than 3,000 infantry with accompanying logistical and vehicular assets and an adjoining radar installation and air base. We wish to station approximately one strategic bomber wing, 1-2 attacker squadrons, 1-3 air superiority squadrons, and a heavy duty transport unit at this proposed base. It is our desire to be able to rapidly deploy air assets to meet not only any threat in Torchland, but to our neighbors in southern Elysium as well.

Of course, we would be quite open should either the Western Republic or Reformed Britannian Commonwealth wish to station their own forces and join in constructing a jointly operated base as well. It is afterll, your land.

The Empire is also willing to pay a reasonable sum as lease should this be deemed desirable by the Western Republic.

Please feel free to forward any additional questions to myself, this office, or the Ministry of State should you desire.

Thank you,

Sera Halrath

[-West]

OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE WESTERN REPUBLIC

Subject: Support Military deployment Urarail/ base.
To: The Empire of Urarail, The Commonwealth of Britannia
From: The Western office of Foreign/Elysian affairs
Encryption: Open

---

Greetings,

It is the intent of the Western state, nation, and peoples to act in a manner consistent with clemency and moral decency. Initially, the administrative legislative functions of Torchland are possessed by the Western Republic. But we will have to henceforward recognise that your-and therefore the commonwealth's participation equals to that of the Republic, if not even more.

Therefore, with the intent of juridical intuitions and in acts of securing the administrative region, Torchland. You have been seeking for understandable drastic changes within the region by military intervention on higher altitude in acts of suppressing the guerrilla formations. As our nation would not have responded otherwise, (unfortunately knowing that main military concentration mainly stations in the Western Republic itself, It is hard to reach Torchland from there), I unanimously grant you that opportunity.

Elaborating In other words the Western Republic approves the Britannian forces to begin a military occupation of Torchland. Not only because of the fact that Torchland faces tremendous times, but to further develop the knit partnership and cooperation between the commonwealth and the Republic.

I will, however, be willing to support you in the occupation of the border of Torchland and Britannia proper. Even though the resolution requires informational clarifications, furthermore it requires a formal military strategy so that we can signify your activities. I would even like to call up the Elysian Union summit, and propose the Polaris initiative and CAPINTERN to support our actions. This lies very sensitive and we will have get a somewhat structured backup to defend us from international deliberative opposition of nations that by ideology support the guerrillas.

Yours sincerely,
Western Foreign office

[OOC:I don't have any time to post, so it will be communiques until the next weekend. I am sorry.]

[-West]

Presidential House, Boroughsville, southern Westley

"Hmmpf.." President John Hangriss said, as he took a seat in his presidential chair carved in mahogany wood. He was thinking... Thinking of so many things he had to think about for example: The deliberative opposition of Minyang nations against The Western Republic, followed by a never ending convention pertaining The Multi-ethnic state of Talibastain. However West serving as full democracy, Parliamentary-Presidential republic to be precise. The President was not the only one that had to worry about every single micro-degree topic West participated in.

As previously thinking he started to say actual words: "I Just should have.." after which he face palmed himself a couple of times, because of his stupidity decisions in an pre-event. He continued "I should have saved the people that died after the collapse of the Sin.." He was about to finish that sentence, when suddenly one agent of the Intelligence Service Agency (I.S.A.) walked in the presidential office.

"Sir, I'm afraid something horrific happened, our administrative region Torchland is evaluating guerrilla warfare." The black suited Ougadougan said. Then he somewhat lowered his voice to an respectful degree, knowing that the president’s children might hear him. While at that same time the President was furious, furious of the embarrassed way the government has not undertook any serious step ever since the purchase of the valuable piece of land. And might be seen by foreign powers as “Weak”.

"I know that, good sir. I have informed the foreign office, which have been given the role of exclusive communiqués. I have things of higher importance in my head right now, I cannot compute with all those things at the same time. Especially after the collapse of the Sincere Tower." President J. Hangriss said, as if it didn't bother him what happened. Not that he is that ignorant, but he very much trusted the Britannian government to take care of the rebellion.
"It is officially approved by the ISA records that we are talking about various drug cartels, drug lords to be precise, from Hispanic descent. And as we speak, they are growing in size." The black suited man said statically. But by the look in his eyes, through his black painted sunglasses, you could see one tear falling from his dark tanned cheeks, and the president saw that. “Sir, my younger brother died as border patrol between Britannia and Torchland proper.”
“I am very sorry to hear that.” The president was a bit sad himself. Disappointed by the words he has given the poor Ougadougan. He looked outside for a few seconds and then looked right back in the agent’s eyes. “The Britannians seek a military occupation, and I will certainly help them with such. However Urarail wishes to do the same, by an build-up of a military base. It is your job to search for their true intend during this insurgency, if they have any. If you need any professionalism to be sent within the borders of the empire, then I will grant you permission to do such. If not, then, so be it. We will have to be sure.”
“I will most certainly mister president, you can count on the ISA for that matter sir.” The ISA agent left the office after a traditional salute, which was to be used after saying goodbye to the President.

The Intelligence service Agency, (ISA). Was the most legislative intelligence branch of the Western Republic. Leaded by Jonathan Cage, the agency had the potential to possess various modern afflictions surrounding Tetrakon. In which: satellites. And every single thing the government had to be pre-informed from were to be informed by the ISA.

---

Puncho watched a bit closer he actually realised that the policemen were soldiers of the Britannian forces, stationed in the twin city of Codrington, Chester, located within Britannia. However with expertise he managed to shoot the soldier that blew up the engine block into smithereens. The ditch was a perfect opportunity for providing cover against the well-trained Britannian forces, one of the best armies of Elysium, and maybe even Tetrakon.

"Alright, we got the sucker, now he's done for. The thing is, that the Westchester base is not far away from here and reinforcements are within a split-second. This is why we need to take them out quickly, or we won't have any chance.”
"Holmes, shut up and talk normal. You sound like some kind of Britannian. 'We got the sucker?' gosh, meet the new confederate Westerner."
"Shut up Rico."
The reason why the transmission from the Westerners farther down the road had implied that there was only one vehicle involved, was because the Western border patrol were murdered quickly-after the car of the drug cartel drove past them, only one managed to survive informing the Britannians, but he was killed once the lorries drove by. The military-grade weaponry were too powerful for the poor 9mm the Western border patrol carried, they were systematically erased within seconds.

The reason why the FSPM has the potent of higher grade weaponry is because various bribes between some individuals of the Western army within Torchland succeeded and through generation reached the paramilitary group. Once the region Torchland was heavily secured, by Western branches respectfully. However, after the abandonment of the current government, soldiers have dramatically lowered, due to spenditure cuts. So while the soldiers were unemployed the weapons were not taken account as result not being repossessed. To government’s enlighten however The drug cartels under which the FDR have not yet existed in that era, which is why they do not possess such weaponry.

For the matter that they have weapons is because the Western constitution allows certain weapons to be used by inhabitants for self-defence purposes.

The occupants of the lorries had almost selectively took cover behind the black painted lorries. The Britannians were outnumbered, and they certainly knew it. Some died as they have been shot from various directions that spread throughout the checkpoint.
Carried weaponry matched with the Britannian soldiers, but still outclassed. It is then the Guerrillas had decided to go full potential against the opposing Britannians. Any second now the recruitments would arrive and they would be done for.

The incendiary mortal shells had struck the surroundings of the two FSPM lorries. Through the brutality of the shockwaves, one of the lorries began heavily shaking.- It was then the commandant said: “Move away from the truck.”- on time, because seconds after, the lorry fell to its side, leaving ten of the troops literally pancake’d by their own vehicle. Unspeakable disgust, some screamed for their last breath as their torso was sliced off from the rest of their body. The sole five survivors ran away with their tales between their legs.

Away from their comrades they ran, which of course was treason and against the FSPM code. In such the occupants of the second lorry turned their weapons to the direction of the former FSPM members and shot them to total devastation. While some of them shouted "Treason I say, Treason!" in Spanish.
Once finished the executive job clearing those men trying to flee. They were now only up for vengeance and began throwing hand grenades with some home-made incendiary propane bombs towards the Britannian checkpoint. While only ten estimated FSPM troops remained they were facing the option for all in or die. However due to constant firing of the Britannian forces they couldn't lose their position of cover.

“Oh my god, Puncho, look at that..” Puncho tried to pay attention to Ricardo’s words but his ears began to give up, not just an ordinary tinnitus. Every word was just like gibberish to him, gradually he closed his eye lids, fainting out. While at the very last second he saw Britannian troops engaging. Ricardo turned around grabbed his gun, but he was defenceless and already too late, he knew that. Out of desperation he managed to say his probable last word: "Come on bring it."

Meanwhile diesel and oil began to leak from the tilted lorry, making the situation even more dangerous.

[Urarail]

Tycho had been under the impression the Urarailian military had more money than Midas. Afterall, the air base they shuttled him to after he made his Faustian accord had been stocked with fighter jets, hulking bombers and transports, and arsenals bursting with precision guided weaponry. However, in their infinite wisdom, whoever stood as Rycho's new puppeteer had seen fit to bestow upon Tycho and his "handlers" a decrepit, aging helicopter for transport. The pathetic thing didn't even have proper tail markings, much less the imperial heraldry Tycho had seen stamped on every other vehicle at the base.

So after a nice ride down the coast of Elysium on a similarly aged, decrepit bulk cargo ship with the copter the sole occupant of the otherwise clear deck, Tycho began having a bad feeling about all this. This operation was clearly unofficial, as absolutely nothing he'd seen was officially marked, and the cargo ship was flying a tricolor red-black-white flag with an eagle on it. Which of course meant if his old associates (or whoever killed/replaced them in the interim) didn't buy his story, no one was going to bother with a rescue.

Then again, it *was* a Faustian bargain, afterall.

---

After the ship neared Torchland's nearest coastal region, the team of the two handler-agents and Tycho loaded the chopper with enough guns to supply a platoon and took off for Codrington.

The convict watched the waves turn to tree canopy in the rear of the craft, while the helicopter cruised low and erratically, hoping to avoid any AA batteries the rebel groups might have deployed.

Nearing the Torchland-Britannian border zone near Codrington, the pilot grumbled into the radio, "This Bell Heavy One-oh-five to local Britannian Commonwealth air control. You've got a delivery from up north and I need a signature please."

[Reformed Britannia]

The recoil produced by the FGR's powerful .7.7mm round hammered Nickerson's shoulder as he fired at the remaining intact lorry, trying to selectively pick off enemy guerillas rather than laying down a hail of suppressive fire. No, he had been taught to use the FGR as a precision weapon-and in the hands of a skilled user, it was a deadly weapon indeed. It didn't possess the fire rate of the SAMIR, it was hard to carry large quantities of ammo and the weapon was fairly heavy, but what it lacked in those areas it more than made up for with its simplicity of use, its durability, its accuracy, and its sheer lethality. Nickerson had seen FGR-armed troops drop opponents at distances which would be near impossible to attain with regular rifles-and it usually didn't matter whether the target was a well armoured soldier or an irregular, one powerful 7.7mm Lucknow round was all it took to at least incapacitate an enemy.

But in such close quarters, the numerous advantages of the FGR started to be outweighed by its liabilities. The other Britannian troops, most of whom were using the general issue SAMIR, were capable of carrying much more ammunition-which meant they were basically free to suppress the enemy as they saw fit. And in the hands of a trained rifleman, the recoil posed by the weapon's 7mm round-exceptionally heavy for a service rifle-could largely be negated, and the true effectiveness of the weapon could be shown.

As the rounds pinged off the chassis of the lorry and skipped off the ground beside it, Nickerson glanced back towards the sandbags. He couldn't see Reynolds anymore, and the few Britannians who had opted to stay in the checkpoint were periodically firing and then ducking down to avoid any grenades or petrol bombs that came sailing towards them. The lieutenant, though, had an obligation to go and check on Reynolds-and it was one he intended to fulfil.

Taking a deep breath, Nickerson ran back up the length of the ditch, heading towards the checkpoint, before sprinting across the road as fast as his own legs could possibly carry him. The incessant supersonic cracks caused by the rapid exchange of fire between the two forces was no source of comfort as Nickerson dove behind the sandbags, taking care not to land on Reynolds, who was still lying prostrate on the ground.

Quickly, Nickerson turned the young private over-and was greeted with a blank stare he'd seen one too many times. A trail of dried blood ran from the soldier's mouth down the side of his deathly pale cheek, and his eyes were dull and glazed. Nickerson stared in shock, before pressing his index and middle finger against the soldier's carotid artery. There was no pulse.

Looking down, Nickerson could see that the soldier's torso was a mess. A high-velocity shrapnel impact had shattered his sternum and broken his ribs like twigs, leaving a gaping hole in his chest. And yet, in stark contrast to that bloody display, his face had been untouched-bearing an almost peaceful expression, even in death.

The muffled whump of a nearby frag explosion brought Nickerson back into reality. He didn't know how many other casualties his squad had, if any, since nobody had reported anything over the radio. But he had a feeling that time wasn't exactly on their side. His eyes fixed upon the 12.7mm MG, Nickerson stood up behind the weapon, loaded a new belt feed, pulled back the charging handle, and opened fire on the lorry, the weapon's recoil so powerful it felt as if it was going to tear itself off the tripod.

Nickerson was gambling on an assumption that the lorries had been relatively unarmoured-and if they were, the 12.7mm rounds fired by the heavy machine gun would punch right through and pepper the FSPM guerillas on the other side. And judging by how some others had apparently fled at the sight of casualties, he was guessing the ones behind the lorries wouldn't be too enthusiastic about sticking around if their cover was gone.

The Britannian soldiers still in the ditches continued to lay down a withering hail of fire, and the men still hunkered down in the checkpoint joined Nickerson in sending rounds towards the remaining lorry, steadily increasing their volume of fire. Nickerson's mind was focused on one thing-crushing these bastards who had attacked his checkpoint. There would be a time to mourn later.

---

It wasn't as bad out in Codrington itself.

In fact, Codrington was just a peachy deployment for a serviceman. Most soldiers didn't get the chance to be deployed there-the actual troops involved in the Britannian Mission in Torchland were mostly stationed in a perimeter around the city, with a hefty quantity of troops guarding the border. But if you were an air control officer like Lieutenant Kyle McCullough, you didn't have to worry about the mosquitoes or the dengue fever or the rebels. All you had to worry about was bringing in the miniscule amount of air traffic that touched down at Codrington's makeshift military airfield, RAF Codrington.

McCullough nearly jumped when the radio crackled to life-he hadn't expected anyone to be coming in today. There were no pilots out on patrol-hell, there were no actual air force pilots in Torchland at all-and every single BEF helicopter was grounded. And yet, somebody was coming in. Maybe a resupply run?
"This Bell Heavy One-oh-five to local Britannian Commonwealth air control. You've got a delivery from up north and I need a signature please."

McCullough didn't waste any time responding. The noonday sun's glare, reflected off the roofs of Codrington's buildings, shone fiercely into his eyes as he bent towards the radio transmitter to respond.
"Wilco, 105. I believe we have a spot for you on Helipad Six here in RAF Codrington. We'll get our pen ready."

Wondering what the nature of the 'delivery' was, McCullough's eyes returned to the flat-topped residential buildings of Codrington, and in his mind he began thinking about how many of them housed guerillas.

---

snip

OFFICIAL COMMONWEALTH COMMUNIQUE

AD VICTORIA, PER AUDACIA

You would be more than welcome to dispatch as many intelligence agents as you deem necessary to the city of Codrington, in Torchland. Unfortunately, the situation in Torchland has deteriorated rapidly, and the Britannian government is preparing to take military control over the area in an attempt to restore order. This will, however, mean that Britannian forces will be able to operate as they would in a conventional military occupation zone-meaning the Royal Intelligence Service will be able to act without scrutiny in order to figure out who the leaders of the various rebel groups are and put them down with all due haste.

As the guerillas in Torchland are made up of several different organisations and therefore lack a true leader, it could be difficult to locate the person who is responsible for the shipment to your nation. However, rest assured that the RIS will be doing their utmost to bring every single guerilla and their supporters to face justice. And as the saying goes, 'two heads work better than one'.

Sincerely,
The Britannian Foreign Office

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

[/quote]

[Urarail]

The pilot smirked a bit at the air controller's response. Then again, Britainnians had a reputation for witty responses, or at least he thought so. "Roger that Codrington control. 105 out."

The chopper came in on approach and lazily swung over the newly commissioned airfield. Tycho got a little nervous as the chopper's frame gave a few short groans, protesting the work of slowly positioning for a landing. Spotting a pad marked "06", the pilot guided the drab gray copter in, and gritted his teeth as the chopper gave a sick groan upon setting down. Powering the craft down, he made a quick motion with his off-hand, and Tycho suddenly found the other of his "friends" in the back rummaging through one of the duffle bags, before retrieving a paper-stuffed folder. He then hopped out of the chopper and gazed off in the direction of the air tower.

The pilot turned back to Tycho. Compared to the convict, he was almost scarecrow like, his face and frame all bone and sunken places, and brown hair that hung low on his eyes, which were currently hidden by thick sunglasses. He gave a wide smile and said, "Get the bags for us, would you Jeeves?"

Tycho muttered a few curses, but nonetheless began shouldering bags laden with small arms and explosives with his meaty arms as he exited the chopper. He forgot how warm it was here. As the heat blasted him as he exited, he marveled at how a few years in that glacial hell of a country could strip his body's memory of how true humidity felt. Tycho began perspiring as he stood swathed in bags and gun cases on the helipad, the noonday sun beating down with a fury. As the eclectic trio stood awaiting a welcome wagon, he couldn't help a hard smile.

Of all the ways to return home, this had to be the last one he could have imagined.

[Western cuba]

Outside of Havana City
President Adrian Soto

That helicopter crash had hurt him badly, even though it was from a few months ago he still had the scars on his body and it ached as he walked around his beach estate. Therefore he had been admitted to bed rest for most of his stay off his job, and the only time he got up was to eat and for therapy. As he was sleeping two of his officials walked in waking him up.

" Mr. President? ", Adrian looked at the two men his vision was quite blurry but he recognized the two men. They were Jose and Natal. Two of his most reliable aids. He recognized Natal's voice and knew that the man next to him had to be Jose.

" What do you boys need? "

" Well Mr. President we need to know what you want out of this situation. ", Adrian prepared to respond back but was hushed by Natal. " Just listen Mr. President your in bad health. You can respond when I'm done. "

" Alright so you've heard of Torchland right Mr. President. It's an island that is ruled on the east side by Reformed Britannia and on the west side by the West. On the West side there has been some drug problems that need to be addressed. "

" I don't want anything to do with it. ", Natal and Jose looked quite shocked they thought for sure the president was going to send aid. " But Mr. President. "

" But Mr. President what? "

" One of the drug cartels there is communist. "

Adrian looked at the two men and responded. " Send two squads over there out of special forces. Supply them with two LY83 foxes to use around the island, and have them fled there by a C-10 Minotaur which will also contain supplies to be given to the soldiers on the island, and for the people.

" It will be done, we'll send a letter to the Western government notifying them. Now you stay and rest Mr. President. "

" Good day gentlemen. ", now you may ask why Adrian Soto jumped to the fact that one of the cartels were communist. Well the helicopter crash he was in was not just a helicopter crash. Several months ago his estate in Havana City was attacked by militants he managed to escape but they also managed to shot down his helicopter he escaped in. The thing though was these militants were communist, and aligned with Vladimir Makarov II who everyone thought was dead but apparently wasn't. Soto knew that the WCCP would probably attempt to aid any communist group so he had to put a stop to it.

To the Government of the West

From Natal Gomez, Representative of Western Cuba

I write to you on behalf of Adrian Soto, the President of Western Cuba. Due to Adrian Soto's injuries that he suffered from his assassination attempt he is unable to respond to this letter, however though I am to write his exact orders. The President has agreed to send aid to Torchland. A C-10 Minotaur is heading towards the Torchland, accomplished by two Sparrowhawk fighter jets. Ten soldiers are being sent to the Torchland to aid in operations against the cartels along with supplies to be given to the soldiers and citizens of the Torchland. We hope this aid will help in your attempt of removing the drug cartels out of the Torchland and to beat the drug trade on the island to a pulp.

Belfras
Vladimir Makarov II

" Я есмь Альфа и Омега, Первый и последний. ", muttered Vladimir Makarov II. Former leader of Western Cuba. Translated he said I am Alpha and Omega, the first and last. The famous verse from from the Book of Revelations. He was a strong Christian in faith, unlike most people in communist regime. Especially his dad. His faith was quite different compared to many people though. He had his own vision of god. He thought of the commandments as irreverent to him. That God only applied this to the average being, and that he as an inferior being had the person to judge the life of others and to steal if necessary. Makarov grabbed some of his vodka and took a sip and Nikolai one of his most trusted friends walked in. Nikolai had only been a major back during the day when the Britannians invaded Western Cuba, but fought hard and his soldiers were the owns that put up the greatest fight in the Battle of Havana. He managed to escape capture, and fled to Belfras meeting up with Makarov.

" Vladimir you heard of the Torchland right? "

" Why yes who in Western Cuba hasn't. It's inhabited by the damned Britannians. What are you getting to? "

" Well the so called Government of Western Cuba lead by Adrian Soto is sending soldiers and aid to the Torchland. "

" And why does this matter to me? "

" The reason they are sending soldiers there is because of a drug problem and guerrilla groups located in the Torchland. Apparently one of the group's is communist. There known as the Free People's Socialist Movements. This is our...", quickly Nikolai was interrupted by Makarov. He wasn't used to this though.

" Why yes we can support the insurgency, I got the money to and the arms. Why I still got men also. I need to contact the Free Socialist People's Movement. Please get this letter to them, you know men who can deliver it to them. Just make sure they aren't compromised. Also contact several officers who are in terrorist camps in Western Cuba which belong to the WCCP. I want them to be send to the Torchland to meet up with the Free Socialist People's Movement, have them bring crates of weapons to supply the FSPM also. Have the weapons to be a variety, AKM's, RPK's, IED's you know Nikolai just make sure to get the stuff. "

" It will be done Vladimir, I'm contacting the terrorist camps right now. By the time we get word back from the Free Socialist People's' Movement the officers and supplies should be heading towards the Torchland. "

To: The Free Socialist People's Movement

From: Vladimir Makarov II, Leader of the WCCP

Hello I am Vladimir Makarov, the true leader of Western Cuba. I have noticed what is happening in the Torchland right now and the imperialists believe they can destroy you and the cartels. I have faith in the FSPM. For you are the right cause for the Torchland. The WCCP will like to aid you in your movement. Officers will be sent to aid the FSPM, and weapons and supplies will be given to the FSPM. Ranging from small arms like AKM's to larger ones like RPG's. I hope to hear word from the FSPM soon.